A/N: This will be the first Transformers fic I've ever posted, so be ... Gentle? It's just a short drabble. I also don't write in first person so bear with me!
WARNINGS: Death fic, mild, very mild description of injuries and how to deactivate a mech. Fun stuff!
I have been fighting for as long as I can remember. Which is a very long time. I know how to take a mech down alive or dead. I can successfully take mecha apart and keep them alive for more than half of it. I take targets down in seconds, a few exact moves in a few exact places and the unfortunate opponent is offline, permanently. I do things differently than most. For example, most fighters go for the spark. The life source of every Cybertronian, the heart, the soul. But something I learned early in my function was to go for the helm. Oh yes, the helm. The most important but most unprotected part of the frame, the processor, the brains the operation. The spark powers the frame is the guild, but the processor. The processor makes the decisions the plans. Besides, take out the helm and the spark becomes a much easier target. Which is why I should have expected this.
'This' being the blaster shot through my back. The smoking hole in my chassis. I was the helm. I made the plans. Optimus might have been the boss, but he was the spark of the operation. But I was the helm. I knew the helm was the kill point, I practically invented the idea. But I hadn't predicted this. I hadn't considered this ambush was meant to get me. Just like I hadn't predicted Praxus or any other assault on Cybertron. Ha, and I was supposed to be the smart one. What irony.
"Slaggit," I cursed as my legs gave out. I slumped to the ground. I can believe I didn't see that coming. I'm such a fragging fool. I squinted, trying to make out the blurry shapes swirling around. Huh, my optics don't seem to be working. Figures. I'm faintly aware of someone calling my name, I look to the side seeing a familiar black and white smudge drop to their knees beside me." Prowler 'old on. Rachet's com'n, he'll fix ya up!"
Silly Jazz, he knew I was dying. Nobody can fix a shot to the spark. Which I left open to attack, what an amateur. I let my optics power down, too much energy keeping them on. "Don't you dare die Prowl," Jazz said his tone more frantic.
Weird he had more control than that, but again I am his closest friend. I felt the edge of my derma quirk up, "My fault. Should..have..seen coming."
That didn't sound like my voice, my vocalizer must be failing too. I tried to power my optics back on to see Jazz but I couldn't. I was too tired, so very tired. I let myself power down. Sorry Jazz, but I failed for the last time.
Critique is very welcome!
