Autobot-7712 ❲Best - 2026❳

“Designation of the deserter?” he asked.

He thought about the cargo clamps. About her laugh. About the way she had recalibrated the pressure seals with such care, even though no one was watching.

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

“What do you want?” he asked.

She tried to laugh. It came out as a grind of gears. “Because I was tired. Not of fighting. Of… this. Of the dust. Of the waiting. Of being a number.” She looked at him. “You understand. You’re Zero.” “Designation of the deserter

“Unit-512. Former designation: Petal .”

Petal. A small, bright-yellow femme who had worked in the same docking bay, back before the War. She had been the one who recalibrated the cargo clamps when they drifted. She had laughed—actually laughed—when he accidentally triggered the emergency purge and sprayed coolant all over her finish. He had not thought of her in vorns. He had assumed she was dead. Most of the dock crew were. About the way she had recalibrated the pressure

He reached out and took her hand—the one that still worked. His plating was cold. Hers was colder.