Chapter Text
He chooses his objective carefully: a busy recruiting station in Iacon's industrial district, where one more bot with new paint and a fake ID shouldn't stand out. By the time Glazier gets his farewell message, he'll be enlisted. He wishes he had her blessing, but she doesn't understand. Factionalists, she calls them, Autobots and Decepticons both, as if they conspired to destroy Praxus. He knows better — and he's not one of her spun crystal sculptures, to shatter under fire.
Art is infinite, but you are unique. Irreplaceable. I forbid you to go.
"Name?" asks the recruiter.
"Uh, Smokescreen," he replies.