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The base hummed with life, each Autobot scattered into their own little routine. Smokescreen leaned against a pillar, running his mouth endlessly with fast words and bright gestures, while poor Bumblebee gave him half-hearted beeps, visor dimming as the scout clearly wanted nothing more than a recharge. Bulkhead had found a basketball-sized piece of scrap metal and was bouncing it like he owned the court, dribbling against the wall with deep, echoing thuds. Arcee, sharp-edged as always, poked at Knockout’s arm with her finger, smug grin plastered on her face as the sleek ex-Decepticon tried to keep his composure. He stood stiff, optics rolling as he endured her jabs—both verbal and physical—reminding him he was still the “new guy” on the team. The humans were wrapped up in their own little world. Jack sat cross-legged, phone in hand, scrolling with focused eyes. Miko leaned against Bulkhead’s tire, thumbs flying across her screen, likely spamming some game. Rafael was hunched low, adjusting his glasses every few seconds, the glow of his device reflecting against them.