The mines of Cybertron never slept. Beneath the glittering spires of Iacon, deep in the planet's rusted underbelly, the clang of pickaxes and the hiss of hydraulic limbs echoed through tunnels older than memory.
Y/n's shift had started twelve cycles ago. The air was thick with dust and the faint, bitter tang of raw Energon. Every miner here shared the same story—no transformation cog, no future above ground. Just the endless grind.
A sudden tremor shook the tunnel. Not the usual settling of ancient rock. Something deeper. Something wrong.
MI
Miner
grabbing the tunnel wall for balance What in Primus's name was that?
FO
Foreman
voice crackling over the comm-link Section 7-B, report. We've got a pressure spike in the main shaft. Everyone hold position.
The lights flickered. In the half-darkness, Y/n caught movement—two glowing optics peering from a side passage, waving urgently.
??
???
hissing, low and urgent Hey. Hey, over here. You're going to want to see this.
