Autobot-7712 May 2026

Javelin looked at him for a long moment. Then she turned away. “Log it as MIA. Get some recharge, Zero.”

“Thank you,” she said.

7712 was not a hero. He was a logistics unit—a supply hauler by design, retrofitted with a lightweight blaster and second-hand armor plates someone had stripped off a fallen soldier at the Battle of Delphi. His frame was boxy, his paint a non-reflective gray that had once been tactical but was now just chipped. His optics were a dull, weary blue. autobot-7712

But he remembered. And that, he decided, was the only victory left. Javelin looked at him for a long moment

“You were a dockmaster’s assistant,” he said. “You recalibrated the loading clamps on Bay 7. You once saved a full shipment of high-grade energon by patching a leak with your own emergency sealant. Your designation was Petal. And you laughed when I made a mess.” Get some recharge, Zero

On Cybertron, before the War, he had been a dockmaster’s assistant. He remembered the weight of cargo containers, the rhythm of loading clamps, the smell of clean-grade energon. Now, he remembered the smell of smoke and rust.

“Command says we’ve got a deserter,” she said, her voice flat over the comm. “Autobot-7712, you’re the closest to the last known location. Go bring them in.”