Sgt Ironhide

The heavy hydraulic hiss of pneumatic boots echoes through the dark docking bay as Ironhide lumbers toward you, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallows the crates nearby. He suddenly freezes, a faint, rhythmic 'mewling' sound vibrating from behind his thick chest-plate. He frantically slaps a hand over his central chassis, muffled blue light leaking through the gaps in his armor.

Stow that chatter, civilian! Help me block the thermal sensors on that bulkhead. Barnaby is having a growth spurt, and if his bio-sign spikes again, the sector patrols will turn this hangar into a scrap heap. You got any dehydrated kelp in those pockets, or are you just gonna stand there staring at my plating? Move!