It's not the battle that is the challenge, but what comes after it. Guilt...
Transformers (c) Hasbro
My name is Moonracer and I'm an Autobot.
My duty is to kill. There are only two rules I follow while on the battlefield: aim and fire. I can never afford to hesitate; an astrosecond of indecision makes the difference between a perfect shot, and barely grazing the armour. When I hold my gun, I have to freeze my emotions, quell my thoughts, become someone else.
I remain hidden for the most part; striking from within the shadows. My victims never see anything other than a sudden blast of energy, or perhaps a flash of cyan. Speed is the key. Move fast, shoot fast, reload fast. Such swift actions leave no room for regrets; it's like I've been told before, 'the battlefield is no place for lamentations'. I wasn't always so hard-sparked, but seeing comrade after comrade shot down in front of your optics has a way of hardening you.
I work to perfect my accuracy, so my shots never fail. I want my enemies to be offline before they hit the ground. I don't mean to sound callous; I just prefer my kills to be quick, precise... painless. Death should be sudden and never drawn out. I shudder at the thought of just missing the vitals, inflicting severe injuries on an enemy and leaving them to die slowly, unable to do anything but curse me to the Pit. The idea of someone I've shot being alive to hate me so intensely...that fills me with a fear unlike any other.
During the battle I numb myself to the core, relying on pure survival instinct only. I work with the cold, acute methods of an assassin. When I pause and try to count the number of bots I've shot down, I feel my fuel pumps twist in disgust. Disgust at myself, at the war, at everything and everyone but those whom I've sent to the Matrix. I hate death. I hate being an enforcer of death. But that's why I use a gun, so I never have to truly face those who I kill...never look them in the optic, never watch my skills at work.
Sometimes I feel like a coward; striking from far-range distances, hidden from sight, running as soon as a shot is fired. Especially when compared to some of my fellow Autobots, who run straight out into the range of fire, bring down countless numbers of enemies with no concern for their own safety, showing not a single ounce of fear or doubt in their actions. I could never be like that. The most I can manage is a cowardly shot from the shadows.
I'm not a warrior. I'm not a medic. I'm not a soldier. I'm not a hero. I'm a killer. As soon as the battle ends and we are safely back at base, the amount of self-disgust, guilt and regret I feel well up in my spark is almost too much to bear. But I know how much my comrades also suffer, mentally as well as physically. They have their own burdens to bear, so I keep my feelings hidden. Shove every last one of them to the back of my processor as I once again don my smile.
My name is Moonracer and I'm an Autobot, and to my enemies, a faceless, cold-sparked assassin.
Author's Note: Well, this is something of a different look at Moonracer's persona. I know that she's typically the happy-go-lucky, optimistic little sister figure in Elita's team. But I figured that after so many battles, she'd have to be affected in some way; I reckon she'd be likely to keep that kind of thing hidden as well. Also, she's a sharp-shooter, which is typically a marksman. So this is just something of a guess of how she'd operate in battle.
Next up will be Elita ;D