Scream to the Stars

by nobleknightkaeru

Armada. My previous fic, of the same title, completely rewritten – a retelling of Starscream's final act in the episode Cramp and the events that led up to it.

Scream to the Stars

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from this except my own interpretations; characters and situations belong to Hasbro.

(...Is it really required we do disclaimers?)

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Accessing Cybertronian Memory Archives... Please Wait

Memory Log: # 5742-50234 M;
Recipient: Starscream;
Faction: Decepticon;
Function: Seeker;
Status: Deceased

Transmission Connected

I try to lose myself in the wind as I rip through the dark velvety skies at top speed, little more than a streaking blue blur as I race to where the battle between the Autobots and Decepticons is being held, as it had happened a hundred times before, and will happen a hundred times again if something is not to change. Red and purple lasers sizzle through the air and into the armour of the opposing Transformers, covering the whole battlefield in a grotesque blanket of smog, making it difficult to see anything within thirty feet, as if trapped in a haunting dream.

But this shall be nothing I will be waking up from, as I seek to find the two that bring me into these circumstances. I don't know what I will do when I find them, but I have to do something – anything.

Flying over a small sunken clearing to the side of most of the fighting, my new strange, ice-blue optics brighten in acknowledgement as I lock my sights onto them. I swoop down to the sidelines of the leaders' fight, safely hid from view by the broken, rusted remains of the once glorious buildings of Cybertron, torn beyond recognition by the endless barrage of laser-fire, forming somewhat of a ring around the leader's fight. Switching momentarily to auxiliary power so that Megatron will not sense my energy signature and give away my location, I watch as Megatron forces Optimus Prime down to his knees, struggling to hold back the Decepticon's Star Sabre. Optimus tries vainly to convince Megatron of the gravity of the situation, so that the tyrant might put apart their differences and join forces, not only because of this war that has been going on for millions of years, but because of the impending doom that drifts above all of our heads at this very moment: Unicron.

But I know Prime's words will do no good. I had already tried to reason with Megatron, for once holding back on the burning desire to lash out at him and try to claim leadership for how short-sighted my Leader had been being, but my surprisingly-somber arguments for him to join with Optimus were received only by a harsh back fist which slammed me into the wall, jarring my circuits and successfully silencing me.

I tried to reason with him as – I grudgingly admit – an Autobot might, but I've long since learned that the warlord won't listen to me or anybody else if I don't do something drastic. The warlord is anything but ignorant – that I've learned all too well – but his pride and arrogance will never allow the Decepticon leader to lower himself enough to work side by side with the Autobots, or set aside his eternal grudge with Prime.

Megatron just smirks, cold superiority flaming in his optics as he looks at Prime set down on his knees. Pretty phrases and witty words do not work with him, his warrior's mind interpreting Prime's offers of peace and alliance as a cunning ploy to rid the Autobot leader of himself. It was a tactic unlike Prime's usual methods, but Megatron has long learned that Prime could adapt, change, and survive.

Megatron could recall a time, that these sorts of battles were a common occurrence, far before both our faction's elite had gone to Earth, or the Minicon's departure from Cybertron, when Prime enjoyed fighting Megatron as much as the warlord did himself, but the war became ever more intense, and with the deadly introduction of the Minicons, Prime's tactics changed, and though he still fights valiantly, he advocates a pacifist goal. But sometimes, just sometimes, his perfect persona slips, and the Autobot leader will claim, the Minicons belonged not with them, but to the Autobots. It is only a seldom slip, unnoticed to all others, but it was there. But Megatron and I always noticed, and smiled. The irony is priceless.

But this is not the time for reminiscing, I swear to myself. I can tell that nothing is going to come out of this battle, still standing unnoticed far on the sidelines, so I switch back to default power and bring my cannons forward into position, but my optics and aim waver on the tyrant; here I stand unnoticed, cannons ready, aiming directly at my Leader's back. One precise hit and...

No. That is not what I came here for - not treason, treachery, or revenge, yet my resolution in my decision to come begins to crumble away as I stare at Megatron.

Indecision. Uncertainty. Confusion. They are all emotions that I've felt all-too-often in the recent months. It is almost laughable that I, Starscream, Decepticon Air Commander and Second-In-Command of the entire Decepticon Army, had come here to defend the Transformers, Decepticons and Autobots alike – and the humans. The primitive, short-sighted creatures are neither threat, nor benefit; the main population does not even know of the Transformer's existence, nor would they likely believe it if they were told of the alien visitors.

Yet there are those handful of humans that do know, and do believe that the Transformers exist – and know the threat that the Decepticons pose to them. I had always believed, when we arrived to Earth, that the humans were weak and insignificant, so if they are wiped out in our pursuit for the Minicons, then so be it – they do not matter; but oddly, I now found they did matter, to me.

It is a ridiculous concept, really. But the one human, the sole female in the group – Alexis – she had believed in me, and soon the four other humans did as well. Me: the Decepticon defected to Autobot, the traitor, the seeker. By all logic, it made no sense for her to talk to me – let alone trust me – but she did.

Perhaps that is what is rather redeeming about the organic species – or 'Squishies' as I had once heard Cyclonus label them. They did know threat that the Decepticons posed to them – that I had posed to them – yet they didn't care, though, whether this was from extreme ignorance or wisdom beyond their startlingly short years, from Alexis who seemed to seek only understand me, to the round one – Fred, who seemed to take me as some kind of bizarre role-model, it was hard to tell.

I had found all of them annoying at first, especially Alexis, as she persistently tried to talk to me, considering her like a human might consider a bug: occasionally entertaining to observe, yet if the thing wondered too close to one's foot for comfort, one would not feel remorse in squishing the Squishy. There were several times when the thought crossed my mind out of sheer annoyance, but I settled on just stalking away from her. Yet she did not stop trying, and eventually when I listened to what she was saying, I found she was not as pestilent as I had first thought.

Thus slowly, slowly, the word 'Autobot' started to be not affiliated with 'enemy' in my mind. It was certainly startling at first, to come out of recharge, and open my optics to see the clean, polished ceiling of my temporary Autobot quarters, unlike the rusted, debilitating ceilings of the Decepticon Lunar-base, and for a fuel-pumping moment not being able to remember how I had gotten there. Yet I always remembered the circumstances that brought me into the Autobot base, and a blazing untold emotion – hate? – rose up inside my very spark directed toward the one I am still aiming my cannons at.

Hate. Because even through the millions of years I have been under Megatron's command, through all the battles, treachery, and deceit, I never left him. Nor did he ever abandon me.

Until that.

It had seemed like a simple enough mission: Thrust was to send an anonymous signal to the Autobots to lure them out of their base, while I received the Star Sabre to attack them, and force them to defend with the Requiem Blaster, thus giving us the chance to seize it for ourselves. Unlike Thrust's previous plans – which usually resulted in extended periods of time in the CR chamber healing – it seemed like it would work.

But something went wrong with the plan. Or perhaps it had been planned all along. I honestly don't know, or care – all that matters is that I was left behind, alone, in the cold, cold rain. At first I thought it was a mistake – a miscalculation – but after I called for my so-called comrades again and again, the only answer being the echo of my scream-scarred voice, and the group of Autobots closing in all around me, just taunting, taunting, my panic and confusion had risen to a mind-breaking height.

But they didn't kill me. Perhaps it was out of some kind of pathetic sympathy, or maybe they thought I simply wasn't worth their time, but even they retreated, leaving me bleeding in the rain in the middle of one of those infernal earth-forests, making a take-off, especially in my already damaged state, all the more harder.

But I did make it back in spite of all of them, energon-drained and thoroughly dented, but still in one piece by the time I arrived at the moon-base. My first impulse when I saw Thrust, chatting so flippantly with Megatron and the tyrant actually listening, was to kill him, to beat his cowardly conehead into the ground and dismantle the armour that still remained so clean and intact, until the stars that he so dictated the meaning of would not even recognize his lifeless shell, for sweet, sweet revenge. And I probably would have if Megatron had not called me off of him, and for one of the first the times since we had arrived on that wretched planet Earth, he commended me.

He said I was a good warrior. That he knew I would make it back. And I was moronic enough to actually believe him. So I rather grudgingly unclenched my death-grip on Thrust, causing the coward to squabble to the ground, choking and wretching in an excessively theatrical manner, and headed to the CR chamber for repairs, noting that it seemed Thrust's plan followed the usual pattern after all.

Though surprisingly, I was in high-spirits once I had been repaired and my armour was whole once again. It had, after all, been an accident that I was left behind, not by any order or consent of Megatron – or so I had foolhardily thought.

But that faulted belief was soon shattered as I heard the star-gazer himself and Megatron talking of the day's events: it had been no accident that they left me behind, in fact, the only accident of the plan was that I actually survived and made it back to the base still functioning.

I am a warrior. That is what I always have been, and always will be. I know how to be nothing else, but I am good at it. My speed is unmatched, my sword skills unrivalled, and a pure, unrelenting stamina that would keep me going until my joints would simply refuse to function any longer. I should have been the perfect soldier – yet that egotistical slagger of a leader had the audacity to speak of me as some kind of worthless grunt.

Perhaps if I would have stopped and thought for a moment, things would have turned out differently. But as it happened, no coherent thoughts passed through my mind, just pure, utter rage, with the ferocity of a thousand suns that threatened to burn me away from the inside.

Thus I had lunged at my Leader, with every intention of slicing the tyrant in half, as he sat perched on his ridiculous throne, but he had seen me coming a moment too soon and dodged out of the way. While Thrust was in the corner screeching something about 'rebellion!', I made easy work of Demolisher, Wheeljack, and Cyclonus with the Star Sabre, but as the ravenous battle-rage slowly dissipated, panic soon overcame me.

I had not only attacked virtually all of the Decepticon-Elite, but had tried to cut down Megatron himself, and though truly that would not have been the first time that had happened, I had never attempted to usurp his throne with such blind and deadly intention, something he would surely not take too kindly to – so I did the first thing I could think of:

I ran.

Or rather, flew. Flew as fast and as far as my after-burners could possibly carry me, yet I crashed down to earth via a nosedive, compliments of Tidalwave, and as if I was Primus' personal form of amusement, the Autobots showed up. Although ironically, they were the ones that drove away Tidalwave, and they took me – though in handcuffs – back to the Autobot base.

And with the help of Alexis, I thought maybe, just maybe, I might stay. Though I did return to the one I am still aiming my cannons at – how long have I been standing here now? – but just as Thrust played a large part in pushing me over the edge to join the Autobots, he also was crucial to bringing me back, although not completely on purpose. Stupid conehead.

He had confronted me during one of the seemingly endless battles between the factions, while we were still on Earth and before the emergence of Unicron, where he told me that Megatron would allow me come back, though under only one condition: I bring back both the Skyboom Shield, and the Star Sabre.

It was an easy choice, initially. As stupidly annoying as they were, I could trust the Autobots – I still found their methods of teamwork vapid and pointless, and though they still didn't trust me, it was better than going back to him- wasn't it? He would allow me to come back, hah! Though my decision to go to the Autobots had been made in haste, the outcome had been rather satisfactory, in a way. I swore that my reason for joining the Autobots was solely to be able to bring down Megatron, but I did not mean it in a wholly physical way.

Because Megatron had always been one to play mind games. He seemed to know what I was thinking and why, before even I myself could sort it out, and he rapidly used that to his advantage. But when I defected, the tides had turned, and the puppet thus became the puppeteer when I broke from the strings he had bound me with. I was away from his influence, and had done the one thing that I knew would be the greatest slap in the face thinkable, infuriating him to the core and defying everything he ever tried to instill in me – by joining the Autobots.

Yet there was always that pit feeling while I was with the Autobots that what I was doing was wrong, because an Autobot's logic was so different from mine, a Decepticon's. Perhaps it is something that is programmed into our being as we're created, or maybe it is because the two factions are raised under such different morals, but no matter what the cause of the difference is, I knew I could never understand them or their beliefs, let alone ever truly fit in as one of them. Not that I wanted to.

But perhaps Thrust was not quite as incompetent a tactician as I had once thought, because he understood this and had played into the difference that existed between me and my so-called comrades, and my resolution in my decision began to waver.

I hadn't wanted to listen to the conniving tactician anymore, what he spoke seeming to ring more true each moment that passed, so I did what I what any decent Decepticon would do to one they did not like: kill him, finish what I had started on that horrible day only a couple short months before, but this time, there was no Megatron or Autobots to stop me from ripping his worthless hide limb from limb.

And I should have killed him – I wanted to kill him! – but I couldn't. I swung my sword with every intention of slicing him in half as I had wanted to do to Megatron, but something stopped me, and I veered my sword off its killer-course at the last moment, barely passing within inches of Thrust's armour, yet he didn't even flinch. I thought it was just a passing feeling – temporary insanity, if you will – so I swung again, but again I couldn't bring myself to deliver a killing blow.

But as I took a moment to try to decipher what the unknown feeling was that would not allow me to mark the armour that I would have loved to rip apart with my bare hands only months before, the realization scared me more than staring down the barrel of Megatron's cannons ever had.

I would have felt... guilty, for taking that worthless slime's life. Why? Why should I have cared? I hated the scum for all that he did: if it hadn't been for him Megatron wouldn't have left me behind; if it hadn't been for him I never would have joined the Autobots; if it hadn't been for him I might not be in the hell I'm in now. But for all the things I irrationally blamed on him and for all hate that I had for him, I couldn't strike him down. Because it wasn't the right thing to do. And that actually stopped me.

What was a warrior - a Decepticon warrior - that could not kill? I had tried to understand the Autobots and their morals in battle, yet I concluded it a failed experiment, but I still found their beliefs preventing me from striking down Thrust, and it terrified me.

The Autobots believed in teamwork. They believed they were only strongest as a whole, each person contributing to the greater goal with his or her best skills, so once that everything was said and done, they would have achieved what they would not have been able to do separate, and they continued to fight to end all fighting.

Yet to the average Decepticon, these ideals were ridiculous. Fighting only spawned more fighting, and that was how it was meant to be. But most importantly, teamwork meant weakness. To work as a team meant you had set yourself below others, to be subservient to your teammates, and if one 'bot failed in their job, the whole would fall apart. Decepticons didn't waste time in working as a team or trying to rescue the fallen, since if they were weak enough to be defeated or simple-minded enough to rely on others to find victory, they were not worth having in the force. But every soldier knew this, and worked twice as hard to make themselves stronger so that they would be self-reliant and never fall behind.

And I had been no exception to this. I worked myself until breaking point in everything that I did, just so that my Leader might finally notice me, but in the time I had joined the Autobots, their morals – though only slightly – had leaked its way into my programming, and that meant I was weak, the worst fate a Decepticon could ever succumb to. An icy terror overcame me, so intense that it was almost a tangible thing - a completely opposite feeling to the burning rage I had felt when leaving the Decepticons.

Again – if only I had stopped to think it through, to control my damnable irrational and explosive emotions… I can only imagine how different of a situation I'd be in now, as I stand on the outskirts of the battlefield – but only the one horrifying revelation kept screaming through my mind, again and again, that I might be becoming weak – I couldn't be weak! I wouldn't! – until it threatened to overload my motherboard and send me spiraling to the ground from my position high above the billowing clouds. Yet there was only one irrational thought that whispered its way through the chaos of my mind:

I had to go back to the Decepticons. Back to Megatron. I couldn't be weak - he wouldn't let me be weak!

I know my leaving hurt Alexis, hurt the kids, and even the Autobots who had slowly been coming to trust me, but I had fought to be the best, to be the strongest ever since my very activation – it was everything that I am. I couldn't just lay down and let the Autobot ideology take me over, rape me of everything I had once held dear as Decepticon warrior – even for Alexis.

So I left, trying to never look back. Though sometimes, when the Earth cast its long, cold shadow over the wreckage that was the Decepticon Lunar-base, and I laid slumped against a wall, nursing wounds that came from no Autobot hands, I couldn't help but feel that it was the worst possible choice I could have made.

But I now find myself here, as I stand on the sidelines of the opposing Leader's fight, standing like one of those Earth-deer might in the headlights of a vehicle that the Autobots disguise themselves as, but even as I've rejoined the Decepticons, I can't shake that ghost of Autobot logic that has somehow made its way into my mind, and perhaps that is why I'm impelled to do what I planned to come here to do – but exactly what I plan to do – I'm not quite sure yet. So, truly, it's not a plan. But that's beside the point.

I mentally scold myself to keep focus, as my cannons hiss with the dangerousness of the most deadly Earth-snake as they charge up, still aiming at Megatron's unprotected back, yet right before my cannons reach full capacity and fire, I veer their aim away from the killing target without hesitation. A cloud of smoke erupts directly behind the Decepticon leader, barely singeing his polished armour, but it was enough to startle him out of his fight with Prime, as the smoke enveloped my form, making it impossible for the leaders to see who the perpetrator of the blast was.

I can still run. They haven't seen me yet – I can still retreat and fight with the rest of Decepticons against the Autobots like Megatron had ordered me to. But I have never been much of one for following orders. Instead, I stand rigid in the midst of the diminishing dust, which had been gathering on the once shining and glorious metal that is our planet, slowly being diminished by the ravages of war.

Even before the smoke has cleared, I can see Megatron's hell-red optics burning into me, cutting through the smog and piercing me to the core in a way that only he seemed to be able to do. My wing-sword glows a blood-red to counter the hell-red as I draw the shining blade from my back, and with one swift stroke, I sweep away my temporary hiding-place, thoughts of running forgotten as Megatron and I – two perfect counterparts, two utter opposites – face each other.

His glare holds such hate, such scorn – I know what he is thinking: that I've come here to once again betray him, directly disobeying his orders for me to stand down, and in a way, he's right – but I won't be following Prime's orders either. I haven't come for treason, and hardly even revenge; I just want him to see – to finally see me.

Through the millions of years that I had known him, he seemed to constantly contradict himself in his actions. He never gave me the slightest respect; I had always been a Decepticon soldier under his command – I was built a seeker, the epitome of Decepticon design, built with speed and efficiency to finish a task with agility, yet strength enough to carry it out, the perfect model for war.

And that was all that I was meant to be – a seeker, one of countless numbers mass manufactured to try to turn the tides of war back to the side of the Decepticons.

Yet the Decepticon leader had to have seen some kind of potential in me even from my early activation, since he had hand-picked me to train with Decepticons many millennia older, where I exceeded even their skills with ease. He quickly promoted me up the ranks, and would personally observe my fights in the training-pits at the war academy, where I would demolish any opponent to be misfortunate enough to have to fight me, yet he did not once utter a compliment. Even on the rare occasion that the tyrant spoke to me was to inform me of a flaw in my fighting, so I fought longer, harder, more viciously, just so that maybe, maybe I could win a single compliment from my leader, but my best was never good enough, so I grew cold, indifferent.

Even when he accepted me into the high ranks of his army, sent me into the fiery midst of danger and death of battles, his regard of me never changed. Though most importantly, at one point, I had been loyal. Very loyal. Sickeningly loyal.

How stupidly naïve I had been, to honestly believe that if I obeyed his orders to the letter, I might earn his respect – but I quickly learned other wise when, if anything, his respect only further diminished with me in my loyalty, and things between us only went to the Pit from there.

I honestly can't remember what started it. It seemed like a concept that correlated much with the human's theory of 'the chicken and the egg.' Even when I was loyal, I was highly ambitious, mowing down anyone who might stand in my way to getting in Megatron's favour, while Megatron himself would slaughter anybody misfortunate enough to stand in his way to dominating the universe – which was, basically everybody. But he didn't just charge into battles blindly, he calculated, rose where leaders before him had fallen, building the greatest Decepticon Empire since the faction's ancient beginning.

But much to his own annoyance, that did not mean he didn't make mistakes, and even more to his annoyance, he didn't like his subordinates pointing out his mistakes.

But I did – though, admittedly, initially with only honest intentions. There was occasionally a flaw, a loophole in the strategy, where the Autobots could exploit the weakness, which escaped Megatron's keen vision, that I would see and thus correct – but the warlord didn't take as kindly to the advice as I might have first expected. He wasn't physically violent in his reaction, at first, no – but he put me down, degraded me, and said that he didn't need advice from a newly-activated seeker.

At first – I am loathe to now admit – I was hurt by it. But hurt was smothered by anger, and anger was thus stunted by a newer, rawer, more startling revelation:

He had noticed me.

For the first time since I had joined his army, he had really, honestly noticed me. Negatively, yes, but that detail was somehow lost in my mind as the spark of rebellion had been ignited, which grew in the blazing inferno that often threatened to burn me away from the inside in blinding moments of battle and defeat.

It became like a game, to see how far I could push my Leader, before he would retaliate. I constantly kept him on his toes with my tricks and treachery, slight at first but slowly they became more and more dangerously bold with each jibe, and in some perverse way, it made him respect me more than he ever had when I was truly loyal.

Though, perhaps, 'respect' has too much of a positive connotation. He occasionally acknowledged my skills – which never failed to stroke my ego – yet at the same time his personal goal seemed to be to tear me down, to tame the untameable.

But on Earth, things just… changed. Megatron wasn't good at covert; Megatron didn't like covert – the brighter and louder the explosions, the better – but when we arrived to the foreign planet, that was out of the question. The humans were pathetically weak in small numbers, being only a fraction of our size with soft, useless armour, and their technology was crude to say the least, but there were billions of the things infesting the whole planet. They were nothing that a decent Decepticon fleet couldn't handle, but with Cybertron already critically low on supplies and energon, we simply didn't have the resources or backup to handle billions of squishy-attackers.

Earth was weird. There is no simpler way to put it – we had seized innumerous metallic-based and organic planets alike, but never had we seen such strange carbon-based life forms that infested Earth, who in some strange, bizarre way, were slowly converting themselves and their planet to metal with their crude, but rapidly accelerating level of technology. In some way this proved to our advantage, since we could reformat our vehicle-modes to look like their earthen vehicles, yet I still found the situation on Earth new and strange, so for a time after we arrived on Earth, my rebellious nature tamed.

Yet the constant losses on both Earth and Cybertron must have taken a toll on Megatron, since he began to make more and more mistakes, only further diminishing the Decepticon's iron rule, and the goal of him becoming the "ultimate leader of the universe" slipped away like Earth-sand through his ebony fingers; the harder he clenched, the faster it fell. He had built up the Decepticons from a gang of disorganized spitfires, to one of the most powerful – and quite possibly the most mentally instable – group of warriors the history of the Decepticons had ever seen, but all that he had fought for, through the millions of years of only the most recent war, was being threatened to be taken away by a weak, insignificant, organic species. But as his stress of the losses mounted, it inevitably had to be released, yet unfortunately, he unleashed it on me.

I hadn't done anything. For once, I really, honestly, hadn't done anything. Corporeal punishment is hardly unheard of in the Deception ranks, and the constant power struggle between me and Megatron had been going on for millions of years, often resorting to blows, but… I hadn't done anything! Sure, I made one sarcastic comment on our most recently lost battle, but that was hardly out of the ordinary, since sarcasm comes as easy to me as breath for a huma, yet Megatron immediately ordered me to follow him into one of the back, mostly unused rooms of our base. He hadn't sounded angry, yet there was something so… strange about his attitude not even I dared to argue.

I wouldn't have been so innerved if I could have seen anger, frustration, or even hate burning in his optics, which seemed to be glowing so bright in the faint light – but instead he looked at me with such blankness it seemed as if he might not have been seeing at me at all. Raising his fist in front of his face, he uttered two words in that weird, hollow voice that still sends a shiver running down my back whenever I think about it:

You're terminated.

And I thought I was. We had fought before – countless, innumerous times, but they were always over petty arguments, tearing away at each other's armour but never really trying to deactivate the other, but at that moment, I had truly thought my life was going to end. As he rained blow after blow on my brilliant red armour, I had forgotten all my training and experience in battle, offering almost no defense, even as I felt my armour begin to crack and my consciousness begin to give way, until a bright, brilliant abundance of light flooded into the room as the door slid open with a hiss. One large, hulking form and one slender, short form ushered into the room in shock, though it had only been until Demolisher and Sideways spoke that my shortened mental processes could compute who they were.

Megatron looked down at me as if seeing me for the first time since we entered the room, battered and broken lying on the floor, and looking up, I came out of the shocked – not afraid, not afraid! – stupor, seeing Demolisher look down at me in such dumb, open-mouthed shock, Sideways with silent, almost smug amusement, and Megatron in deep contemplation. All of them looking down – down! – at me, I couldn't stand it.

So I left the base in a roaring of afterburners, but the rush of speed I had felt as I ripped across the moon's grey, dreary ground, sending up plumes of the grey dust as I buzzed the ground, or causing sonic booms to bellow through the air gave me no rapture or peace of mind as it usually did, instead it had just billowed up the anger inside of me exponentially, assuaged by only one thought:

I'll kill him.

But I didn't, though not for lack of trying. I had challenged him to a "duel to the death," and Megatron heartily agreed, leading me out to a broad sunken expanse of land, surrounded but steep overhangs on all sides where Cyclonus, Demolisher, and Sideways watched as spectators, so that it had reminded me eerily of the training pits at the war academy. Yet this time, Megatron was not on the sidelines scrutinizing my fighting skills, but standing right of me, strangely, offering a deal. He said if I won, he would allow me to take leadership of the Decepticons, but if I lost, he would finish what he started in the darkened room, and kill me once and for all.

It had seemed like such a risk for the leader to offer his empire, to extend such an offer to me, but I agreed, though somewhat cautiously, but, as Megatron must have realized from the beginning, I was horribly outmatched by the large tank, so it only took a few solid hits before he had paralyzed me to the ground. But he didn't kill me as he had first promised, as he held the Star Sabre only a couple threatening inches from my face, taunting, flaunting before me the reasons that he was superior to me, yet in some weird, twisted way, it seemed like he was trying to mentor me, so that I might not make the same mistakes twice, as if trying to mold me into his image.

But he never had any effect on me. No matter how many times he beat me down, degraded me, tried to change me, I always reverberated back with twice the rebellion, doing the exact opposite of what he ordered me to do just to spite him, which is truly probably one of the few reasons that Megatron never actually did terminate me. Certainly Megatron didn't make it a habit to keep such dangerously insubordinate soldiers in his close company, since the Decepticon leader had encountered innumerable traitors and usurpers in his long reign, all of whom he disposed of without a second thought, but I was the single fiery, insubordinate seeker that he never disposed of.

Because he saw something in me. Something grand, fiery – powerful. A spark that glowed with a radiance like no other. A personality chip that would never be suppressed.

He saw the potential to be great, cold, cruel – he saw the potential for me to be like himself. But at the same time, that also made me dangerous – very dangerous. He knew the potential that I had, but he also knew he couldn't let me realize it fully, else my misguided attempts to usurp him might finally succeed. He gave me power – a lot of it, in fact, first as Air Commander and then Second-in-Command of the Decepticon army, just to give me a taste of what I could have – and what I could not have – if only I became stronger, like cruelly giving a single a bite of food to a starving human: enough to whet his appetite, but not enough to nourish him, or to take away the constant gnawing pain in his stomach, making the knowledge of the inevitability of his doom if he did not gain more disturbingly apparent.

So I sought more power, like the starving human, blindly, desperate, just so that I would not fade from existence, alone and forgotten. But I was already Second-in-Command – there was only one position that was left unfilled by me, and the maddening desire to gain Megatron's power sometimes overcame me.

But at the same time, Megatron both suppressed this and encouraged it. Obviously he didn't encourage me to try to assassinate him, but such fiery emotions – such power – could be harnessed and used to his benefit, my pain and anger making me a deadly adversary to whoever opposed me, no matter what faction symbols they bore. So he learned exactly how to manipulate me, so that I would do his bidding without even realizing it, and even if I did, I despised myself for it, but could do little to prevent it.

Yet he also suppressed it in that, he could never let me realize what my true potential was, since even though I tried to usurp his throne, I never succeeded, and more times than not, he simply let me try to take his throne so that the pain of failure would sting my pride and ego more than his fist ever would. But if I ever realized that he was truly controlling me, and broke from those bonds, I could succeed in what I had tried so many times before, so he constantly cut me down, convinced me that I was so much less than I truly was, both physically, and – probably far more painfully – emotionally.

Because he constantly, constantly put me down, insulting me, even on the rare occasion that I tried to go by his orders. I tried to pretend that I didn't care, that I never heard it when he insulted even my best efforts, or when I was the laughing stock of the entire Decepticon army, but I did. I boasted greatly of my own talents and skills, telling anyone who might listen – even someone who didn't want to listen – just so that maybe, in the midst of all the insults and jibes, somebody – anybody – might finally believe that I was worth something.

But I realize that now. Thinking through it all, as I stand in front of my leader, deadly calm and composed, I almost have the bizarre urge to laugh for the ridiculousness of it all, for not seeing over millions of years what seemed to have been so obvious to everyone else, from my being loyal to him, to rebellious, to downright dangerous.

Its so strange that I only realize it now, in the pressure of the threat from Unicron, but because of Him I have come to consider all that led me here, for what I am about to commit to do. For the first time I've put all the pieces of the puzzle together and have finally realized Megatron had always derived his power over from my fear, my fear of life itself: fear of failure, fear of weakness, fear of people despising me if they truly knew me at all. Megatron had understood this so long ago, and played it all against me, only encouraging me to isolate myself from all others, or else someone finally make me realize I was so much more than he was allowing me to be.

But someone did. Though, if anyone had ever told me it would have been through a tiny, carbon-based Earth-female, I would have probably declared them mad and thus fragged them for their stupidity. And though I may have broken Megatron's manipulative strings that bound me for a time when I joined the Autobots and with Alexis, I went back willingly, oh-so willingly, to Megatron as I always had for millions of years – back to the punishments and false-words, back to the maddening desire for power, back to everything that I never seemed to be able to escape – because I'm not much of one to leave tasks unfinished. But right here, right now, we will finish what has gone on for millions upon millions of years too long, once and for all.

The game's over, Galvatron.

Megatron greets me with taunts and threats, in an attempt to force me to back down in a way that I have to admit, would probably have worked not-so-startlingly long ago. But I can now see the twistedly methodical way he has of breaking me to his will, as I stare into Megatron's hell-red optics that meet my cold, ice-blue optics that hold a seriousness and calmness that is certainly unnerving for the tyrant, in place of the usual rage or hurt that he is so used to see burning behind my disgustingly readable optics. But I make myself immune to the taunts and ignore the threats, so I stand my ground unwaveringly.

I'm not going anywhere.

It is ironic that, upon realizing he no longer has a hold on me, I also realize the potential I've always had to beat him, and to seize rulership of Decepticons for myself, but as the opportunity for my genuine success finally arises, I no longer seek to seize it, but that doesn't mean I'll be going down quietly…

Come and get a taste of my blade, Galvatron.

I raise my blade into a challenging position, never breaking optic-contact with Megatron as I stare at him, radiating with confidence. For once I keep my emotions successfully in check, but I still allow a thin smirk to slide across my face, just to try to tick my Leader off, and I note with satisfaction that it seems to have worked, since Megatron's dark grey face contorts in rage and the red optics flare in anger as we lunge at each other simultaneously.

With a brilliant clash of sparks, our blades meet in the middle, each fighting for dominance over the other, but neither gaining any ground. Our faces are dangerously close, only feet apart, so that I can feel the power that radiates from him, but I feel no fear. Growling, frustrated, he offers me one "last" chance to back down – to save my neck, as he so elegantly put it. I always did have a way of grating on his last nerve, so this would certainly be no different now, but now that his insults no longer have any effect, it only served to infuriate him further. After all, I had still been as "loyal" as I ever could be only earlier this day, yielding to his command after being silenced with a backfist.

How I could have become immune to his manipulation so suddenly must have confused him to no end, and I love it, I realize – because finally, finally, I am the one that understands the situation, I am the one that knows what he's doing while he knows nothing of me, I am the one that in control of the situation, not the other way around, as it had always been.

Glorifying in my silent victory, our blades rip apart as quickly as they had clashed together, both of us leaping to opposite sides of the so-called arena, our blades soaring so quickly through the blue and purple twilight of our planet that they leave ghosts of their paths, blue and red streaking together in fabulous patterns that would seem like an exotic light show to any onlooker, including Optimus. It is his turn to stand at the sidelines, as Megatron and I duel, and though he was just as surprised to see me show up to interrupt their fight as Megatron, he now makes no effort to intervene. He does not understand – but he knows this is between me and Megatron, and respects that, more respect than Megatron ever gave me – but as our blades dance around each other, one hardly gaining ground on the other, we were oblivious to all that was going on around us, even as a bolt of Unicron's deadly lightning erupts from the moon above – just Megatron and I, fighting for everything yet nothing at all.

Neither of us escaped damage however when we broke apart, a wave of dizziness sweeping across my body as my sensors register a rather deep gouge cut into my abdomen, though I stand my ground without wincing. Megatron smirks cruelly in knowing that he caused me pain, but his smirk soon degrades to a grimace when a very similar injury of his own splits open, electricity pulsing from it to attest for its seriousness.

Unicron again spat a bolt of lightning, not the centralized, powerful beam it had been before, but a raging, wild beam that split into many more bolts, ravaging the area around us, causing the air to burn and the ground to sizzle and break under His might, gathering all around Him as He summons and gathers His power for His awakening. The shell of rock that incases Him in the moon begins to split away, revealing the maw that had devoured so many planets before us, organic and mechanical alike, that would do the same to us if he is not stopped.

I can't let this go on much longer. As much as the thought of beating Megatron slowly and allowing him to wallow in his own sorrow of defeat is satisfying, that is far out of the question. Without any farther hesitation, I charge at my Leader, catching him slightly off-guard with my speed so that all he can do is parry in defense, instead of meeting halfway. Sparks fly as the blue and red blades tear at each other relentlessly with little refinement, but rather with the savage want and need to overpower the other and gain the upper-hand. I thrust my blade downward over Megatron's, forcing him to point it towards the ground in hopes of being able to disarm him, but he quickly reverberates with his clearly greater strength over me, causing me to lose my grip on my wing-sword as it flung far into the air, obscured by the glare of the sun that is weak and filtered by pollution, but plenty bright enough to blind the vision.

Megatron smiles a wide, wicked smile, showing his devilishly pointed teeth, eerily similar in design to mine, thinking that he had won. He raises his sword to the right over-zealously in an attempt to gain more power in his swing to cleave me to the side, enough to incapacitate me but perhaps not quite deactivate me, since I had no sword to parry or defend with. But he forgets that while he is clearly superior in strength, my forte has always been speed, so in the extra spilt-seconds it takes him to powerfully swing his sabre, I dart upward into the obscurity of the sun, retrieving my wing-sword swiftly, leaving him slashing unknowingly at nothing but dust in my wake.

I revel in the speed and rush of wind I feel as I fall back to the ground, temporarily feeling a fleeting sense of freedom, but I quickly come back to reality as I twist around in the air, using both the momentum I gained in falling from the air and the glare of the sun to my advantage, crashing down on Megatron with all the force of my descent, and using the sun to disguise my movements, so that again, all the warlord could do was blindly parry in defense.

He smirks again, with more taunts trying to break down my defenses, as I fall back from my latest attack kneeling on an outcropping of broken metal, so that I can pounce into action if I need be, but as I calmly watch him, behind his smirk, glistening in his optics, I can tell that he is vaguely innerved by how well I am able to keep up with him in battle, since the last time we fought I was clearly outmatched, but he tries to hide his uneasiness behind the insults that seemed to come so naturally to him.

And now – that makes twice. Twice now that he has given me a "final" offer for a chance to flee and rejoin the ranks of his army under his command, though I can't help but smile – not a smirk, but an honest, slightly amused small smile – upon realizing he offers me the chance to flee not so much for my own benefit or welfare, but his own, as he slowly starts to acknowledge to himself that I am becoming a true threat to him. But no, I wouldn't flee so quickly, there is still so much left undone…

This battle is far from over, Galvatron.

No, it is barely beginning. I am only sorry that I won't be around for when the true action starts…

Quickly banishing such thoughts aside, I make no reaction to his jibes, noting with even more amusement that he also does quite well at 'monologueing,' since when I offer no response to what he is saying when he clearly expects one, he simply answers himself and continues talking. Though, after several moments, it becomes clear that I will not retaliate verbally, which only raises his confusion exponentially, since my not screeching and raving in response to his insults is about as rare as the moon coming alive – which, coincidentally, it just happens to be doing so right at this very moment.

The lightning that had been gathering around Unicron suddenly pulses and explodes outwards, sizzling through the air with deadly intention, lighting up the grim purple sky into a vibrant yellow, radiating such power that it lifts debris and fallen mecha alike from Cybertron, soon to be followed by the rest of the planet if His power was not stopped now. Optimus cries for us to get down as a blue bolt of lightning streaks across the ground, coming deadly close to Megatron and I, but the cry was completely lost upon us as we charged at each other, hoping to catch the other by surprise in the chaos that Unicron ensued, but we clash in a deadlock, focusing on each other and paying no heed to anything around us. Optimus could only stare in awe, limply standing at the sideline of our fight, amazed at the sheer level of determination that pulsed between us, two restless souls seeking for final domination, something that the kind-hearted leader could truly never understand.

Megatron rushes me, thrusting his Star Sabre toward my abdomen again, hoping to increase the injury that I had already attained, but I swiftly swivel to the left, so that the sabre slides harmlessly parallel to me. I quickly pin his arm holding the sabre securely under my left arm, preventing any further attacks, while simultaneously bringing my sword crashing downwards, in an attempt to strike his open head, but he sees the attack coming and easily blocks upward, the flat edge of my sword resting harmlessly on his upper arm, so that both of us are trapped in a complete deadlock.

I find myself thrust completely against his body, his face is even closer to mine than it had been when we started fighting, but he did not do what the logical thing a fighter would do, which would have been to head-butt me which would successfully free both himself and me from the deadlock we found ourselves awkwardly trapped in, but he smiles again his wicked smile, looking down at me, offering – for the third time – a chance for me to escape, accompanied by the ever-present insults and mind-games.

But I've long learned that three strikes against me is his limit, and though I wondered if he really did this consciously or without realizing it, at this point, that is nothing but trivial. Thinking deeply, gazing long at my wing-sword that still lay locked against his arm, I knew that this had gone on far too long already, that I had to get him to finally listen to me so that he would join Optimus to destroy the beast that's quickly gaining power, but only actions would ever get him to listen to me, so that we maybe, just maybe, might be able to end this seemingly never-ending war.

But it will end. Someway, somehow, even if it's only by the extinction of our race –which might be startlingly close because of Unicron – this war will end. Yet I can only hope, that somehow, what I'm about to do might have some influence.

I realize that I'm no hero. I don't expect to be. I might die here and now, or millions upon millions of years in the future, but either way there's a good chance I will be neither mourned nor missed, but as I stand here, locked in battle with my Leader, staring straight into Megatron's hell-red optics, fighting the claustrophobic urge to flee being so closely pinned to him, I realize how far I'll have to go to get him to finally listen to me, to finally put aside his differences with Optimus to unite to destroy the omnipotent planet-eater, but in some strange way, it doesn't bother me.

My resolution set into grim determination, for one final time I break away from Megatron, landing in a cat-stance with my sword to the side ready to strike at any moment. Megatron laughs, taking my breaking away as a sign that I had finally decided to give up, but as he swings his sword to the side to prepare to strike with a fierce growl, I swing my sword in a wide, arching hook to his left, leaving my chest wide open for attack.

Megatron swings his sword forward, motion seeming to slow slightly as I prepare myself for what I know is about to happen, but as the shrill hiss of metal against metal cut through the air, it didn't prevent the shock of suddenly finding myself trembling greatly, circuits jarring. Our swords didn't come together in a deadlock as they had before, but instead my wing-sword lay cut deeply into the thick armour of Megatron shoulder, painful but not necessarily dangerous to his health, while his Star Sabre had hit its mark as well: lying mortally embedded in my chest, completely cracking through my canopy and piercing straight through my sparkbox.

My pain sensors take a few milliseconds to register the initial pain of the strike, but as soon as they did, I immediately wish they hadn't. It felt like burning, horrible fire erupts in my chest, and such a simple thing as ventilation becomes a very arduous task, my breathe coming in short, thin gasps.

Megatron stands close to me, shocked, confused, still holding the offending Star Sabre with hands that, surprisingly, were almost trembling – almost. He had practically trained me in fighting himself – he knew I was far too good of a warrior to unknowingly leave myself open to such a deadly attack, which only led him to a much more startling, and much more disturbing question: why in the universe would I knowingly leave myself open?

I knew that he could never understand – krell, I was having trouble understanding it, I realize in desperation. To sacrifice oneself so that the whole could succeed – it was an almost a laughably Autobot philosophy, but as I think back on it, almost dazedly, since my mental processes shorten as my body attempts to null the pain that rips unbearably through my sparkbox, I realize it was from the Autobots that I had, in fact, learned it.

Because Optimus… Optimus died. He was brought back, but he still died. All the details are fuzzy, my mind slipping farther and farther into the darkness that was trying so hard to overcome me. But… the Hydracanon. Megatron was going to destroy the Earth with it, to get rid of the Autobots, along the billions of humans who lived on it, and strangely I had actually found myself bothered by this fact, but… but Optimus had blocked the blast. With his own body, at the cost of his own life, he sacrificed himself for the billions of humans who had no idea of his existence. I hadn't understood it at the time, all I could find seem to do at the time it had happened was stare in incomprehension but… I understand it now. I really think I do.

But it almost hurts to think – which is not a comfortable sensation at all – but I soon found myself feeling a far worse sensation as Megatron lets go of the Star Sabre, falling to one knee in the shock of this sudden bizarre turn of events, his pride of never letting his confident exterior slip forgotten. Electricity pulsing through the wound painfully every couple of seconds, the feeble support of him holding the Star Sabre gone, in a swirling of blue and purple of the sky, I soon find myself falling backwards, landing with my back on the ground, and as if I needed any more pain, my canons crushed beneath me as I fell, though I dimly noted they might still function.

But the sharp fall helped knock my mind back into reality, clearing some of the black fog from my mind, and the maddening, burning pain in my chest had lessened, only to be replaced by a cold, numbing sensation, though which one was more innerving, I can't honestly say.

Megatron stands back up, towering over me, anger flaring in his optics. He didn't understand the situation. When he didn't understand the situation, he couldn't control the situation. When Megatron wasn't in control, he was angry, which he certainly seems to be now. But I can see… somewhere deep within his optics, I can see that the anger is just a mask.

He says something. Something angry. Something that probably would have hurt me, under different circumstances. But whatever that something was, I didn't care to listen at this point. I stare vacantly up at the sky, trying to think about anything besides the blade that is still sticking perpendicularly out of my chest.

Suddenly, I realize, I feel very, very sleepy. But no… not yet. I still have something to finish. And there's still something for Megatron to listen to.

I remember, a very long time ago, I made an oath to you, Galvatron… and I could never break that oath.

His anger flares again. The oath was a joke. Something that the ancients made so long ago, that its meaning was forgotten and its importance irrelevant, something that wouldn't exist at all anymore if it wouldn't take more effort to get rid of it than to keep it. He raises his chin in disdain, though that hidden, unseen emotion still dances behind the depths of his optics, as he scoffs, realizing – asking – if I had this planned all along.

I did, sir – but all of this could have been prevented if you only had given me some respect.

Megatron says something again. I didn't bother listening at all this time, trying to find enough strength for something as simple as speaking, but my systems are all starting to slow and shut down. I didn't have time for arguing, not anymore. He has to understand…

I tried to gain favour from you, but nothing was ever good enough. No matter how many battles I fought, you always found fault. Then I saw how Optimus treated his men, and I realized he was a leader of integrity – unlike you.

Optimus walked up to stand only a few steps behind Megatron, looking down at me, but not in the same derisive way Megatron did. Megatron said something, and this time I took the energy to listen: "You were too weak to ever gain my respect," was his terse retort. But the statement didn't hurt me as one would expect, but instead hardened my resolution. I would make him see.

None of that matters now!

I tried to stand, but the injuries I had taken are all taking their toll on me, all flaring up at once from what had been almost complete numbness, but I won't let them stop me. Not now – not after I've come this far! With a determined and pain-filled cry, I tense, finding it difficult to move, let alone stand, but I lurch forward into a sitting position, the world around me spinning wildly, threatening to send me right back to where I was laying on the ground.

You must listen!

My face contorts, showing an age that is far beyond what I have actually lived, but I force myself to keep what little focus I have left, focusing on my words instead of the sensory overload of pain and warning signals that are flashing all across my vision, as I make one, final stand.

Do as Optimus says and join forces with the Autobots, or else every last one of us is doomed.

I lurch forward, about to lose my perilously attained balance, the light and durable Star Sabre that was still sticking grotesquely out of my chest seeming to suddenly weigh several tons.

I barely regain my balance, straightening my back, almost proudly, though my arms still hang limply and weakly at my sides. My mind still spinning, I momentarily wonder if this has all been a waste, if my death will be forgotten and I'll simply fade into oblivion, but as I look up in the sky to Unicron, who's attacks seemed to have temporarily stopped, I realize that if Megatron doesn't join Optimus, everyone is doomed to be killed at the cruel hands of Unicron, so at least if I died… the others had a chance to live – Decepticon, Autobot, and human alike – if by some act of Primus, Megatron finally decided to set aside his pride and unite the Autobots and Decepticons.

I smiled. I realize the bizarreness of the idea – such an Autobot idea – but it doesn't really matter to me anymore. It seemed a worthy cause to die for.

Please sir, do it for me.

Unicron had been silent for a time, building up his power, but at that moment he unleashed his power in a surge of billowing strength, brighter and more deadly than it had been yet, and my attention shifts from my leader to the hellish beast.

Him. He was the one that forced me to go this far, He was the one that threatens my home and my people, so He is the one that will pay. Nothing stops me from attacking Him now – all other thoughts besides revenge, I growl, the over-whelming frustration and hate I have for the dark planet-eater threatening to all explode outwards at once.

Determination set, rage building, I pitched forward to seize hold of the blade that was set mortally in my chest, tearing at it with all the strength I have left to rip it free, lurching forward as a fresh wave of pain ravages my body and the shining blue blade slashes through my fingers. I stagger, the pain as I try to wrench the blade free threatening to throw me into a stasis-lock that I know I would never come out of, but with one final rebellious, demented cry, I rip the blade free, fuel spurting and electricity pulsing from the open wound.

My cannons were already damaged, I know, from my fall, but that is the last thing on my mind. I forget all pain as I arch my back, screeching to the unholy demon that still loomed above me, all my pent-up anger, frustration, and pain finding release, in that one, final blast, as rear my canons into their forward position.

It's time to finish this once and for all, Unicron! Activate Proton Cannons!

My body has already over-exerted itself, barely having the fuel and energy left to stand, but as I charge up my cannons for my last act of defiance, to finally prove myself to my Leader, I draw energy from my core, my very soul – my spark. The vibrant green orb glows within my chest through the open wound, with the brilliance and radiance of the most breathe-taking of stars, as the deadly twin beams from my cannons are unleashed.

Vibrant and wild, they are not the usual thin, centralized lasers, as they shoot from my canons, firing with power far greater than they were ever designed to output, but massive beams of pure destruction, harnessed by nothing but space itself as they scream through the heavens, rushing toward the stars, to hell-bringer himself.

The sheer force of the blasts send a shockwave of dust and grime pulsing around me from Cybertron's surface, pushing me with such force that the ground beneath my feet begins to crumble away, but my stance and determination never waver as I face the monster than no one before had dared challenged. My blast rips through the sky, pelting with deadly speed and accuracy, but before I can even realize what was happening, I'm enveloped in burning, horrible pain lashing across my body as Unicron retaliates with a fiery bolt of lightning of his own, capturing me in its burning Hell before I can comprehend what is happening, let alone avoid the deadly blast.

I try to move, but the lethal blue beam holds me enthralled, as I am trapped in the blazing pain of Unicron's wrath. I know there is no escape, that this is truly the end, but I don't stand quietly and let the lightning tear away at me, but scream with the ferocity fuelled by the rebellious, vibrant green spark that had not been quelled for millions of years, and wouldn't be put to a quiet end now, so that it shook the very stars that Unicron is suspended around.

The intensity of Unicron's deadly barrage only increases, because I had the daring and audacity enough to challenge Him, something the Planet-Eater wouldn't stand for, so He tries to stamp out the insignificant gnat of a Transformer who was foolish enough to stand up to Him alone. But as my paint rips away unnoticed, systems spasm and fail, bonded parts begin to tear apart and separate, on the verge of death – inevitably only seconds away – I finally begin to realize what the strange, foreign Autobot idea that I have come to hold as my own, that allowed me to join the Autobots, allowed Alexis to trust me, what kept me from striking down Megatron or even Thrust, which ultimately drove me into this situation now:

Second chances.

The Autobots had given me a second chance, welcoming me – though grudgingly – into their base, when easily it could have been another Decepticon ploy to get rid of the Autobots. From the nosedive I took caused by Tidalwave, my anti-gravitational and weapon fields had been thrown offline, not allowing me to fly or fire my null rays, and though I still had the Star Sabre, my neurological nets must have taken some minor damage as well, since a confused fog had settled over my usually blade-sharp reflexes, which left me – put crudely – thoroughly screwed. I would have been easy prey for the Autobots to finish off, or perhaps to simply leave me alone to die at the hands of Tidalwave, as any rational Decepticon would have done. But they didn't... they didn't.

Even when Optimus had thrown himself in front of the blast of the Hydracanon to protect the billions of unknowing humans from instant destruction, he had given them a second chance at life. It was of no benefit to himself – quite to the contrary considering the blast obliterated him – but he laid down his own life for the billions of humans that did not even know of his existence, the only sight of him they would ever know would being the resulting shower of his ashes that fell into the Earth's atmosphere as shooting stars, in such a magnificent show of brilliant lights, that it seemed to rain from Heaven itself, so astonishing it would warm even the hardest of human's hearts who might have seen the spectacle.

And in the milliseconds before my consciousness fades and my body breaks, as the white inferno that so threatened to blind and rip me apart me moments before fades to a twinkling light, the roaring that had threatened to deafen me fades to a dull, soothing hum, and the blinding, hellish pain that had engulfed all of my systems fades to a cool numbness, I almost – but not quite – smile upon realizing that I am doing almost precisely the same thing as Optimus had.

But my second chance has come and gone, now no more than a memory whispered in the wind, though now it is my turn to offer the unknowing Transformers of my planet a second chance to live, but more importantly, to set apart their differences and work together to defeat the hellish Unicron, so maybe, just maybe, my sacrifice won't be in vain.

Yet right before my consciousness falls into nothingness, two illogical, seemingly unrelated thoughts whisper their way into my mind:

Will you even care that I die, Megatron? Will you be proud of me, Alexis?

And then, there is darkness. Sweet, restful, darkness.

End Transmission.

---------

I. Finally. Finished. It.

Please, please leave a review, even if it's only a couple words, because I spent forever and a day writing this and trying to get it right, so feedback is yay.