Judgment
Summary: At the very end of the path that choices lead to he sits and thinks of all the events in his life that have led him to where he is. At the very end of that path it is the thought of sunshine and wind blowing over him that gives him strength.
He was one of the condemned. One of those upon whom judgment had been passed by those pretentious mechs who pretended to be so far above him so as to be capable of passing judgment in a fair and neutral manner. He was condemned for his choices and for those choices he would die. In 38 breems he would step out for the last time from his cell and would be allowed to watch as the sun's rays caressed the newly rebuilt buildings that would last only long enough for another uprising to topple them back to the ground. He would watch as glistening golden red rays of sunshine caused pristine metal sheeting to gleam as the cheers and calls for his deactivation swelled to a crescendo. For all they pretended to cling to their pretty morals and lofty standards they would prove to be as bloodthirsty and unforgiving as any found in his own faction with those who had once been their leaders coming to visit him to plead with him to admit to the crimes being laid against him in exchange for mercy and clemency.
Cuffs around his wrists buzzing as he snorted and leaned his elbows onto his knees a wry smile flitted across his lips as the shadows of his cell deepened the angular planes of his frame. Plead guilty to the crimes and have his life spared… If there were any charges that could truly be classified as crimes he might allow himself to consider it but he would not allow his choices and beliefs to be demeaned by the act of calling them crimes simply so that he might spend the remainder of his function inside of a cramped cell with no chance of ever feeling the wind brushing softly against his frame while the sun's rays warmed him. His actions would only be crimes if his reasons had been anything other than what they had been and still were.
What was killing the planet he called home were those that were meant to care for it, and those who had placed their trust in the wrong mechs; believing that their trust would be rewarded with true prosperity rather than the skilled facade that had begun to crumble at the end as unrest and dissension began to chip at the foundation. While the slow decay of his planet had not been caused by his actions or his choices the doubts and reservations had lingered as he watched the resentment build in pale blue optics. Those had disappeared once they had lost and he had begun to realize with a heavy dread threatening to extinguish his Spark that in spite of all that they had done that even their sacrifices were to be in vain and that was what would truly haunt him as he ascended those stairs to the waiting executioner.
Casting a quick glance at his chronometer he stiffened as he realized that he had only kliks left before they would come for him. Standing from where he'd been seated on the berth throughout the recharge cycle as he'd been unable to recharge his back strut was straight with the tremors running through his frame kept hidden from view. Pulled roughly from his cell by the guards sent to retrieve him he caught his balance and refused to react to the pain of having his delicate wings slammed against the wall as he was forced forward. Reaching the door leading outside to the place designated for his execution he took a calming intake through his vents and tilted his chin defiantly. Ruby optics glittering as he stepped out into the pale morning sun he met the optics of his wing mates and felt the tension bleed from his frame. He was condemned. He would die on that platform today but he would die with a clear conscience knowing that he did not betray himself by pleading for clemency. Shaking himself free from his guards Thundercracker ascended the stairs of the executioner's platform with only the regret that they had not been able to save Cybertron.