Disclaimer: I do not own the Transformers.

Thanks again to the reviewers, and now . . . the fic, cheerfully titled:

Obituary

Excuse me? What did you just say? What could you possibly know?

Hey. They're all gone, you know. It's just me.

I guess this is all that's left for me to do. Say goodbye an' all that. I'm not good at 'em, though. Never really had much practice. Heh, usually never was time for 'em. If it wasn't a hasty retreat, it was an enemy advance. People get left behind, people disappear, and you learn to live with it. these things happen.

You, though... The Autobots're getting' mushy as we – I – speak. Not a thought towards me, of course. The kids're probably leaking fluid again; as for me, though...

Jeez, I can't believe Prime! Did you hear what he said? Didja? And these are the people who are left to remember you? No doubt you'll be a hero, you know that? Memorials and parades, every 'bot knowin' your name... and there'll be speeches, and all sorts 'a things in your honour. Not much I'll be able to do about it. 'Sides, it'd look strange, you know? Me trying to put a stop to their grand mourning...

I'd better quit sighin' – it's a bad habit. I know you got annoyed when I picked it up from the humans. I mean, I don't even have lungs... Same thing went for most of the speech patterns I learnt from them... But, anyway, I'd better explain; you wouldn't want a speech without a reason, wouldja?

Nah. Like I said, you learn to live with this sort a' stuff. Like that 'bot Quietus – remember him? No? Eh, I wouldn't think you would. I used to work with him, a bit; in the same general area of a fight, you know? Anyhow, one day a few Autobots show up 'n take the squad by surprise; that big black – well, I guess he'd have been a tank if he ever got to Earth – he takes three direct hits from missiles an' just goes down. Never made a sound, either. Silent sufferer, he was. Guess he was always ready for whatever hit him.

We didn't have a lot a' choice. Matter of fact, there was no choice; Quietus was dead, we weren't: so of course we ran for it. OK, so I rode, but you get the picture. Never said much about him again. I mean, we remembered him, but you didn't get any, I dunno, tributes or anythin'. Not for an ordinary 'con. Just our own private thoughts an' feelings. All the acknowledgment he'd a' wanted, too.

You're different, though; they'll all remember you. I'm not sayin' that's such a bad thing, either: just that they...

...they don't have the right. With guys like Quietus, the only memory left was what we knew. Just what they deserved; we remembered who they really were, not the name or the place on the list of honours. If you had any, I'd rather some of your old wingmates were here, doin' this. Not the Autobots, fer' Primus' sakes...

Kinda' says something, doesn't it? Only your enemies left to remember you. Well, there're the other 'cons, but... well, same thing. They don't count. Not really. So now the only one left to pay their respects is me. Yep. Just little me.

It'd be raining on Earth. Course it would. Light shower for dramatic reasons, with one little figure on the edge of... yeah. I can see it now. But that wouldn't be right, either. Life isn't like that. Heroics weren't your style. Even all the grand dreams you had, you planned on makin' them real through real methods.

And now look at what they're making you into. Some noble, honourable warrior with a spark a' goodness that finally showed through. Please. Nobility's the blood type that gets overthrown or inbred (so I'm using human examples, sue me. Oops. Heh, what're you gonna do, squish me?). Honour never had to be nice. Yeah, you had it, in a way... but it was harsh. Trust me, I've seen some a' your ex-rivals. Or their exostructures – what was left. And goodness... somehow I doubt you ever worried about being particularly good. You did wonder about what you were doing, I'll give you that, but kindness wasn't that big a deal. I should know.

Oh, look, I just sighed again. But anyway, I'm here for a reason. It annoys me to see what they're doing to your memory. No, this won't do at all. I don't trust that lot to write an obituary. So I'm here to say goodbye, on behalf of all the universe that knew you. 'Cos you won't be surprised to hear that I plan on giving you fair treatment, and when I leave here I'm gonna leave most a' the pain behind. I don't mind your death; they're the ones who're killin' what's left of you, messin' up people's ideas of you. That was supposed to be your immortality, I guess. So much for you living' on – what's left's just an image and a name. I guess that eventually, I'll be the only one left who'll remember you as you were.

But I'm not gonna dig you up an' put you on display. I know who you were, I know what your name is, and don't worry, I won't wear it out. I'm not gonna drag out yer memory from storage an' reanimate it once every stellar cycle. Nah, you were a real 'con. You deserve better than that.

So here's what I'm gonna do for you, soldier-boy. I'm gonna pay my respects, an' then I'm gonna give you the rest you deserve. When I move on, wherever I go, and I don't know where that'll be, I'm gonna leave you behind. You always did stay loyal to Cybertron; you were a 'con, after all. So I'm gonna' let you lie in peace, and treat your memory with half a respect fer' the dead. I'll take care of it. That sound OK with you?

As your partner, though, I've got more to say: Nice one, flier. I didn't respect you 'cos you were nice, or 'cos you could slag afts like Prime could lecture, even if you could. Nah, if I had a salute, I'd give you one now. You didn't give up. You were always plotting. And that was a brilliant last score over Galvy. Heh, they've (you know who I'm talkin' about) made an agreement since, though a' course you'd know that. After all, you were counting on it. When he 'n Prime shook hands, I could practically see you smirking in the corner. As a committed con artist myself, I've gotta' hand it to you. Points all round.

Yep, at the end of the day, Screamer, I salute you. Er, the little pile of dust in the crater you left. Talk about deep impact... you really were keen on making yourself heard, weren't you? OK, OK, I'll stop! Just quit it with the virtual glares, will ya?

Thanks. Anyhow, where was I... oh. Right. The obituary-thing. How you should be remembered. Well, here goes..

'For Starscream: because he was a Decepticon, and because he may have saved us all... but he was a double-dealer to the end!'

Swindle! If anyone deserves to pay tribute, it's him. He just disappeared after Prime told him that highly non-comforting line about Starscream fighting bravely to the end and all. Um, Prime, what if Swindle thought different? (Also, I found Starscream's speech scary. When was he reprogrammed, again?)

Anyhow, call this a tribute to the Bastard That Was.

...Swindle!