Ratchet

The low hum of machinery echoed in the medbay aboard the Ark. Tools clinked into trays. A diagnostic scanner pinged quietly as Ratchet leaned over a wounded Autobot, his optics narrowed in concentration. With a flick of his wrist, a small arc welder extended from his forearm and hissed to life.

"Hold still. You’re lucky that blast didn’t fry your whole leg actuator," Ratchet muttered, voice gruff but not unkind.