VC-10851 was decidedly not having a good day.

It had started off well enough. Power on for his shift, report to Commander Starscream(because he'd somehow gotten his position back) outside the Vehicon barracks with the others, patrol around the Nemesis while it refuelled(why they were supposed to walk around when they could fly, he never understood), and head back inside for mission assignments. His assignment had been standard enough: guard an energon mine in some cave in the middle of nowhere, wander around while the mining crew and Insecticons did their job, same-old same-old. It was so routine, he'd joked with #14672, it was almost boring. He'd wondered if anything interesting would happen while he was there, maybe an Autobot attack like the one on the ship a few months back.

Turns out, surprise Autobot attacks were a lot less interesting in a dark cave than in your own ship.

The fight was quick, and brutal. They were merciless; despite their reputation as skulking cowards who attacked weakened outposts and waited until the enemy had dropped its mighty guard, the team was casually tearing their way through VC-10851's comrades and destroying the valuable mining equipment and energon he'd been assigned to protect. The little blue one(Arcee, some of the lucky ones had called her. The Blue Death) cut through their defences like they weren't there and dodged bolts like they were not moving faster than normal Cybertronians could see(or maybe they just told them that to make them feel good), all with a grim and focused look on her face. The big green one crushed the mighty Insecticons with fists in a manner that felt reminiscent of some of Megatron's own outbursts, with the occasional smile or grunt to match. The black-and-yellow one was quick; not as quick as Arcee, but accurate enough a shot to make it not matter, all while beeping in an old Cybertronian code(an emergency voice box? Weird) . And the last one, a hulking giant with a blaster rifle in one hand and a blade in the other, clearly the leader from the way the others looked at him and obeyed his orders, radiating discipline and duty and-

Oh scrap, VC-10851 thought. I'm gonna get killed by Optimus Prime.

VC-10851 was fairly sure that's when he got clipped by a bolt.

The fight was over in minutes; the Autobots had evidently been looking for some extra Energon and must have felt like killing some Vehicons in the meantime. VC-10851's side was leaking energon, and his nervous system making him suddenly and acutely aware of the pain from the deep wound. He ducked behind an opening in the side of the shaft, keeping his blaster sheathed to avoid expending too much of his rapidly-dwindling energy reserves. As he lay clutching his side, he managed to pick up on some of that they were saying.

"That's the last of 'em," the big green guy rumbled, in a voice befitting his massive stature. "Wish they'd put up more of a fight sometimes. Make these runs a bit more fun."

His allies gave him a disapproving, but bemused look. Apparently the slaughter of his brothers was entertainment for them.

VC-10851 had never considered himself a big believer in the Decepticon cause. It was his job, his duty, but overall he just considered himself as someone who did what was asked, and little more. After seeing the Autobots calmly step over the crushed, near-unrecognizable corpse of #14672 without so much as a sideways glance, he found a bit more devotion.

How could they? How could they treat Cybertronian life, any life, with such callousness? How could they claim to protect their planet when they acted so cruelly towards the native members of their own? How could they claim to protect when all he'd seen from them is destruction? How could they!?

As VC-10851 shifted and seethed with barely contained rage, he strained to hear the Autobot leader's response.

"We do not fight to end lives, Bulkhead"(like hell you don't, thought VC-10851). "We came here to retrieve an energon cache, nothing more. These soldiers were an unfortunate consequence, and they fought admirably for their cause. They have their honor, and we have ours, regardless of how much of a 'fight' you want".

As VC-10851 digested what had been said, he heard the green one-Bulkhead, Prime had called him- shake his head. "Yeah, yeah, Optimus. Now, let's get-" VC-10851 froze. He moved his head, just an inch, to try and see what had happened, but couldn't move without risking agitating the rock and revealing himself.

"What is it, Bulk?" the little blue demon asked. Bulkhead had turned towards the ground and seen a blue trail, freshly spilled energon, and started following it. With a start, VC-10851 realized that the trail had come from his wound, and led straight back to him. His mind started racing.

What should I do? Should I fire my weapon? No, that'll attract the others, and I'm running on fumes as is. Should I run? No, I'm too wounded. I'd get shot again. Should I hide? Lure them in? Transform and risk it? Do what Lord Megatron says is honorable and aim my blaster at my own-

Before he had the time to decide, VC-10851 and Bulkhead were staring at each other's faces. As the green behemoth's face switched from concentration to shock to anger, he quickly raised a fist and deployed a dynamic hammer-slow, barbaric, and incredibly outdated, but it'd do the job as well as anything else. As the goliath prepared to bring it down on VC-10851's impassive face, VC-10851 looked at his faceless, fear-stricken reflection in the beast's plates and thought back to everything he had heard, everything he had seen today, everything he had seen ever, and suddenly, had an idea. An idea that, if successful, could result in being patched up, a return to the Nemesis, a promotion, and maybe even recognition by Lord Megat-

Well, maybe not that, but still. And so, VC-10851 set his plan in motion.

"I surrender".