Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Believe, you'd know about if I did. And guess what? It's time to play 'Let's See How Many People I Can Put Onto Antidepressants In One Go'. Yep, ladies and gents, it's a dark, pointless, character-sniffing angst fic. Don't worry, I won't make a habit out of it. Merely a way of expressing my homicidal fury at not being able to update for the next couple of weeks, due to unavoidable circumstances set in my path by a cruel, uncaring universe (i.e: exams). ((weeps, whines, takes to the hills with a flamethrower))

Just a little stream-of-consciousness thing dictating the feelings of a certain character during the episode "Sacrifice". And no, it ain't Smokescreen. Smokescreen isn't the only one I feel sorry for when I watch that ep. Instead, I tend to focus on he who gives new meaning to the words 'highly strung' (Yeah, you got it. Him. I'm obsessed, I know).

Sacrificed

What?!

He's…no. They're…they're gone. They left.

What? But…I don't understand…

Oh. Right. The plan. This is part of the plan. I see. They're gone and he left and it's all part of the plan. I understand.

I think I'm going to scream. Interesting. Wonder why? It's all part of the plan, after all.

Why the krell am I soaking wet? Ah, yes. It's raining. Of course.

He left me behind.

"Why?"

He left me!!! The slagger! The bastard! The lying, cheating, stupid scrap-made bastard!

What…but…what did I do? What did I do wrong? Wasn't I fast enough? Wasn't I strong enough, or brave enough, or smart enough, or good enough? What did I do?

I'll kill him! I'll make him pay! Nobody leaves me behind, nobody! I'll make them all pay!

"Why?"

They left. They left me surrounded by the blasted Autobots, panic slowly rising as I received no response from my dead com-link. Yes… I remember. The grass getting wet beneath my feet and the thick, unpleasantly oppressive clouds looming above. The entire sorry scene seemed to take place in a series of glassy pictures, each one jaggedly sharp. The yellow one, the brat, smirked at me. He told me that they'd gone, that I was alone there, that Megatron left me. I didn't believe it. I won't believe it.

I took off, away from Optimus Prime and his words, from the brat and his smirk, off into the rain and the ominous sky, suddenly quite anxious to get back to my useless, disjointed team, to our creaking hull of a base, to my leader.

They weren't there.

Why am I surprised? It's just like the smug, lousy backstabber to desert me. I'm not surprised. I shouldn't be surprised.

Why am I soaking wet?

Oh. Yes. The rain.

I'll kill him.

"Why?"

I…I tried! Primus, I tried! What more does he want from me? What more do I have to do? Why isn't he here to tell me what did wrong this time?

Why did he leave?

…I shouldn't be surprised. We're not Autobots. We don't wait around for those who aren't swift enough to make it. We don't waste time rescuing those who are stupid enough to need it. You make your own way in the Decepticon army. It's better that way. There's nobody to slow you down that way. No one to hold you back from reaching your full potential. No one to save you when you need it. That way, you learn how to save yourself. Sensible.

And it works. We've made ourselves strong that way. Decepticons are rarely left behind, because they know just what to expect if they are. Intelligent. Not like the sentimental, unthinking Autobot way of war. Yes, they rescue their fallen, if and when they can. They also teach themselves how to rely on being rescued, how to depend on each other, how to become content with their passionless, hive-mind mentality. Weak. Folly.

I know. I understand.

It's not fair!!!

I tried.

"Why?"

I imagine Thrust put him up to it. Yes, that wouldn't be surprising. I imagine all this was just another of our darling tactician's tactics, another of his oh-so-marvellous plans. Sacrifice one to the Autobots so that the others might achieve and grow more powerful. Offer up one to death and betrayal so that the whole may succeed and reach victory, at last. Of course. If it wasn't me being sacrificed, I might the applaud the cold directness of it. Disgusted and sickened, I would still applaud. It is sense. It is certainly inventive.

I wonder if Megatron even knew about it before we left the base?

…Maybe not?

Why does it matter?

It doesn't.

"Why?"

The warp gate's closed. I can't get back. I can't get home!

Calm down. Wings. I have wings. One thing he doesn't have. I can fly. He can't. I'll fly back to base. Yes.

And then?

I'll…think of something.

…He had to bring Thrust into it, didn't he? Contrary to popular belief, Thrust isn't our best tactician, not by a long shot. I know; I read things. He's good and he's won a few battles, but the majority of them were due more to Tidal Wave's brute strength than anything else.

No, Thrust wasn't the best. Thrust was convenient. Thrust was a flyer. Thrust was respected. Thrust was-Primus, help me-the new favourite. His new favourite. Far better than a reckless, insubordinate seeker.

What?! But I am the most accomplished flyer, the best swordsman and the bravest warrior in the Decepticon army! He can't do this to me.

I suppose it took him long enough to get sick of me. The betrayals, the treachery, the rebellion that has continued unabated for the last three million years.

Confusion grows within me like a hungry creature, fury and disbelief mingling with one another. From out the tangled, dancing haze of questions and alarm and wounded pride, something flickers. A brief, distant flicker but my mind clutches it, needing something to hold on to.

Suddenly I remember.

I'm standing here in the rain, stupidly clutching onto the mythical, almighty sword as if it's actually going to help, water trickling down my wingtips. And, for no apparent reason, a memory flickers before my dimming vision. Another one of a million fragmented, battered memories blooms in my mind like the ghost of a flower.

I remember a battle. Yes. A battle. On Cybertron? Possibly. Over what? Some stupid thing, an energon deposit or a factory or something. I remember…

Yes. Suddenly it's all there, a clawed thing springing out at me from the darkness.

I took a hit. Not an Autobot, not laser fire. A beam came loose from somewhere, a large metal beam. By incredible bad luck, it succeeded in knocking my anti-gravity mechanisms out of commission, every one of them. The rest of the seekers had already taken off for home. Thundercracker and Skywarp with them. Maybe they thought I was right behind them, or more likely, too far ahead of them to be seen. I remember gasping as pain sent white light through my mainframe, and falling…

My hand caught hold of…something? The edge of something, a bridge, perhaps? Yes, the non-fliers were all retreating across a bridge, at the opposite end of which waited our ship. Except I was not at that end. I was clinging to the end of it that had been near torn apart in the attack.

My fingers began to slip. The structure of the bridge was already weakened, I could tell. Icy terror. Rage.

Just as my hand came loose, he caught me. A larger, powerful arm shot out of the smoke and ash and took hold of my wrist, pulling me upwards with his immense strength.

And then…and then we were both standing unsteadily on the torn remains of the silver structure. I looked up at him and received a blow that almost shattered an optic. I remember, I glared up at him. There was a line of fluid trickling down his face, silver in the light of the battleground. I remember, the way it ran down from a crack in his helmet to become two separate paths on either side of his nose. I remember the smell my scent detectors picked up. Charred paintwork, combined with the odour of heated metal.

He glared back and snapped, "Stupid seeker! Do you enjoy trying to get yourself killed?!"

Later, after the retreat, we got into a fierce tussle over that one unseen punch. Him, because he was tired and angry and the raid had been unsuccessful, me, because I was just angry. Afterwards, when we'd finally gone beyond the point of caring, we both collapsed on the floor, our own fuel puddling around us. He shot me another glower and I attempted to give him a smirk, not an easy task through a dented faceplate and a mouth full of mech fluid. Then he sighed, and told me that I was impossible. I told him he was too, far more so in fact, to which he had growled, cuffed me yet again and stalked off to get repaired. Just before he left, he gave me a look that was half fond smirk and half cruel smile.

Why do I remember that so clearly?

Maybe because it was the last time we fought like that. The last time when it didn't mean anything. The last time when it didn't hurt. We never did it again. Things...just…

…changed.

No. Stoppit. Enough memories. Enough. I wish to remember none of this! This is ridiculous. This is Autobot thinking. I want to remain angry at him, I want to keep hating him with every drop of fuel in my body. I do hate him, of course. Of course.

He left me behind.

He left me.

He…he left.

It's his fault!!! All his!

I shouldn't be surprised.

"Why?"

But I never won! He won! Always, always he won! Always, no matter how fleeting my occasional triumphs were, he always won!

I didn't mind that he always won. Winning wasn't the point. Losing wasn't the point.

Victory is the point!!! In this case, revenge is the point! I'll kill him.

The rain's forming a pool around my feet. It's kind of pretty. Especially when the mech fluid from various wounds starts to contaminate it, giving it a slick, oily shine. Looking closely, one can see red and white reflected in the pool. Looking very closely, you can just make out the reflection of…something…standing all alone in the rain. Hmm. How odd. Who'd want to be outside in this weather? It's not even good for flying in! How stupid of that creature, standing all alone and cold in the rain. He looks like he's waiting for someone…

I shake my head to clear away the increasingly hysterical thoughts as I lose more and more fuel. I need to get back to the base. Right now.

Looking at the horizon, I can just see the still-rising smoke that symbolizes the quick work my cannons made of the forest. Got their attention, all right. I almost snigger. I don't. If I do, I'll start to scream.

My leg hurts. Everything hurts, actually, but the leg is the first one to start complaining about it.

What did I do wrong? I don't understand!

Yes…Thrust. His new tactician. I am Second-In-Command, leader of every seeker in the army and yet he lays a thousand times more store by the word of that slimy, subservient drone than he does by mine! Not fair.

Ironic, really.

I'll kill him.

"Megatron, why have you abandoned me?!"

He left and I should have seen it coming. I shouldn't be surprised. I won't be surprised. I won't let it hurt me. Not this time. Not ever.

I won't.

…

Why am I cold? It's raining, I remember that. But cold? Our kind does not feel cold. Why am I so cold? Why am I surprised?

Why did he leave me?

"WHY?"

I'll kill him.