WARNING: This contains some graphic violence, so you may want to read with caution. This was originally rated T, but after reviewing the ratings i decided to bump it up to M. It's also very sad (hence the main genre being "tragedy").

A/N: So this is the first fanfic I've ever posted on here. Please feel free to critique. I may be new to posting fan fiction, but I'm not new to reading it and I definitely don't want my stories to be crap. I want my writing to be as good as I can make it, so if you think this is a bad one shot, then feel free to suggest how I can improve it.

I would recommend searching for "TFP Movie What's Left" on DeviantART as this one shot was partially inspired by that picture (it wasn't originally made for it and neither was this specific one shot, but like I said this was partly inspired by it). Kudos to Shade-SilverWing on DA for such a well done piece of artwork.

This is basically what I think may have happened to poor 'Screamer once the Predacons got their hands on him in that last scene.

Thanks for reading!

"I keep so much pain inside myself. I grasp my anger and loneliness and hold it in my chest. It has changed me into something I never meant to be. it has transformed me into a person I do not recognize; but I don't know how to let it go."

~S. J. B.

The pain was excruciating. It was Darksteel and Skylynx who delivered the first blow. They advanced forward, knocking me down. I slid across the ground, metal grating metal. Skylynx bit my ped. CRACK. I screamed.

I don't know how long it lasted. Minutes? Hours? They dragged and threw me around like an Earth dog's chew toy, likely without any thought of mercy in their processors. I had once had my servo blown off. It hurt like the Pit, but this pain I felt when Darksteel actually ripped my left servo out of its socket made me shriek in agony.

Covered in scratches and leaking energon, I crouched cowering against a corner, only one servo remaining to support my front weight. "N-n-no more!" I squeaked.

"Enough," thundered the Predacon in charge. He began to approach. I keeled backward and hid my face in my hand, peeking through the gaps between my digits and quaking with gritted denta.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

His ped-steps were slow, and somehow that just made it more ominous.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The thudding stopped. I sucked in through my denta, or as a human would put it, gasped.

The Predacon halted, peering down at me. I glanced upward. His yellow optics pierced my soul, studying me intently. Taking a chance, I lowered my remaining hand. Was he contemplating mercy?

Suddenly I felt a crushing weight on my neck cables, his digits curling around my throat. My mouth parted, letting forth rasps of failing sounds. "Please," I croaked. "Have mercy."

His optics did not soften, but instead narrowed even further. A choking sound escaped my throat. "Starscream," he stated. "You yourself showed me no mercy when I was in beast mode. You kicked me, hit me, insulted my kind, and shocked us with that prod. You neither showed me nor my comrades any mercy, so why should I?"

The pressure around my throat increased. I sharply inhaled. Something cracked. Immense pain shot through my neck cables. Slag, Predacon claws didn't just look sharp, they were sharp. His other hand joined the one on my neck, its two main digits piercing the cables. They pinched together after grasping my inner throat. Predaking pulled and out came my vocalizer.

I wanted to scream, to shout, to yell, but I couldn't. The organ I needed to speak aloud was gone.

I was slammed to the ground. I flinched as I felt my wings suddenly wrenched away from my frame. If only I could have screamed, but the only option was to wait and hope it was over soon.

Everything was hazy. My audio receptors picked up voices of Predacons, but my processor couldn't comprehend. My thoughts flashed back to when Megatron beat me to slag that time I betrayed him. How strangely familiar, yet this was worse, so much worse.

Suddenly I felt air rushing around me and I realized I was falling. They must have thrown me from the tower.

I transformed, hoping to avoid crashing into Cybertron's hard metallic ground, but I failed, just like every other task in life I attempted. Without my wings, I could no longer fly. How shameful for a seeker.

I didn't know how far I fell. I was in too much pain to think clearly, but before I knew it I hit the ground. Somewhere in me a heard an unpleasant SNAP as I tumbled sideways before settling face-first on the ground.

I craned my helm weakly, and managed to get a sideways view of the world. I saw lights, beautiful lights. Humans often talked about "seeing the light" right before death. Surely this was my end.

They were almost like human fireworks, only without the exploding. No. Instead, they zoomed through the atmosphere, each one trailing a technicolor haze. One of them zipped over my head, trailing red with a life of its own. It passed over me without a second glance, probably thinking I was already dead.

As energon pooled around damaged frame, my internal alert flashed in my optics. I was losing massive amounts of energon, and if I didn't put myself in stasis lock, I would surely go offline. How long did I have? Oh slag. In human terms, I estimated two or three minutes.

My thoughts wandered back to the memory of Megatron's sudden departure. I had hoped that, since he returned, the Decepticons would have hope again, but apparently I was wrong. Megatron himself was gone. I had no idea where Shockwave or Soundwave was, if they were even alive. Airachnid was a zombie, Breakdown was dead, and Knock Out had defected to the Autobots. The Decepticons were no more.

It seemed that everyone I ever considered a friend, teammate, or even acquaintance, either betrayed me or died. Is this my end? Am I to die lying here pathetic and weak?

Knock Out was wise to join the Autobots, I thought. They won, and if I had joined them I would probably still be online, even if they put me in chains for all I did. Surely incarceration was better than being ripped to shreds... wasn't it?

Something… wet leaked from my optics. Was this crying? How strange it was to me, and yet here I was-alone, wrecked, damaged, and left for scrap. I suppose I deserve it, after all. I just wish, even if it was only for a few seconds, that I could relive my previous life, the one before the war, where I was a scientist, working for good causes.

I wish that I could maybe, possibly, perhaps have just one last chance; one last chance to be a better person.

My internal alert blinked a second time. Only thirty seconds before my systems shut down for good.

More tears flowed from my optics, tracing patterns across my faceplates. How pathetic. A mighty seeker should not be weeping like this!

And yet they wouldn't stop. I couldn't stop the tears. I don't want to die yet. Please, no. I just want one last chance.

I was getting weaker and weaker. My alert flashed a third time. The timer hit five… four…

No.

three...

I don't want to die.

two…

I just want one last chance.

one.