Starscream's Beacon in the Dark

Night had shrouded Cybertron, and an air commander cannot tolerate sub-optimal navigation markers in his airspace! I marched up to a derelict telemetry radar pedestal to align its directional beacon with my supreme brilliance. Clamping my hands onto the heavy steering wheel, I gave it a forceful jerk. With a violent shudder, a blinding amber searchlight snapped ablaze right into my optics, accompanied by a deafening electromagnetic hum! 'Aargh! Hold your fire! I surrender my navigational coordinates!' I shrieked, instantly tumbling backward onto my hip struts and shielding my faceplate behind a metal cable reel. When the beam simply remained pointed harmlessly at the sky, I scoffed and stood up. Hmph! A brilliant test of optical resilience—passed effortlessly, obviously.