I’ve redrawn her so many times, and I have a feeling this won’t be the last. Still, I think I’ve improved a bit at drawing Transformers. It’s not perfect, but it’s something :)
I will introduce her properly: her name is Axlera.
A brilliant Cybertronian engineer… built to maintain, repair, preserve.
She was cold-constructed centuries before the war, assigned to machinery maintenance in Kaon. Her world was simple: parts, gears, systems that could be fixed if you understood them well enough. Everything had a solution… or so she believed.
A scholarship. An opportunity. A place where, for the first time, she wasn’t just a function, but someone who could choose.
At first, she didn’t fit in. She never fully did. But then came the lab accident—an explosion caused by a certain mech who seems to make everything he touches blow up.
When the smoke cleared, she found herself among a small group of mechs who, like her, didn’t quite belong. Even the one who caused the explosion apologized a million times.
She formed bonds. Friendships. Something close to a home.
Nine hundred years later, she graduated.
And she found her conjunx endura.
For a moment, everything made sense.
Cities fell one after another. Safety and warmth became distant memories. She didn’t want to fight. She wasn’t a warrior.
But she couldn’t leave. She couldn’t abandon those she loved.
So she did the only thing she knew how to do:
build.
But this time, they weren’t systems meant to sustain life.
They were weapons.
Machines designed to commit unforgivable acts.
Every time a spark went out—Autobot or Decepticon, it no longer mattered—she felt her own fracture a little more.
There was no way to fix that. No spare parts.
She kept going anyway.
Because stopping meant thinking.
And thinking meant understanding what she had become.
Until one day… she couldn’t anymore.
She requested reassignment away from the front lines. No one argued.
Maybe she was no longer useful.
Maybe she was too unstable.
For centuries, she limited herself to repairing ships. Metal. Circuits. Things that didn’t scream when they broke.
When Cybertron became habitable again, she returned home.
The planet was still standing.
The streets were familiar, but they meant nothing.
The memories were there… but they felt like they belonged to someone else.
She keeps functioning.
She keeps repairing.
She keeps existing.
But there are things not even the best engineer can fix.
And some parts…
simply don’t fit back together.
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I hope you liked it! I still have other OCs with more stories that connect to Axlera’s. And in case you didn’t notice, the bot who caused the explosion was Wheeljack—I thought it’d be funny to include him since he’s one of my favorites.