Bluestreak
——I’m in a crater hiding under a corpse. Hopefully I can lay low here until the battle is over… until all the senseless killing stops.
——The dead ‘Con’s wingspan is wide enough to cover me up completely. Hey... wait a minute. Turns out I know this mech! Former Rainmaker... the red one. What was his name? I forget. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that this Decepticreep fought for four million years only to end up dying on a planet that no one was even aware existed until like, basically yesterday. Sorry. That’s not gonna be me.
——Windcharger charges up the hill, leaving tracks by my head and a face full of exhaust fumes. Two jets are on his tail. One of ‘em fires a missile... he’s trying to shake it! C’monnn, Windcharger! C’mon...! Oh, scrap! Scrap... he’s not gonna make it. The missile explodes, flipping him over on his roof. He’s all smashed up… wrecked beyond belief! It’s gory. I want to look away, but I can’t. One of his wheels skips past me on its way downhill.
——Windcharger reverts to robot-mode and props himself up on one elbow—wow…. he’s still functioning! Thrust and Dirge transform and land at the edge of a pink puddle pooling in front of him. Thrust aims his weapon. My hand tightens around the handle of my gun, finger wrapped around the trigger. I’m about to throw this heap off me and blast the gruesome twosome while their backs are turned, yelling— “I never met a Decepticon I didn’t dislike!” But I freeze... I freeze up at the last moment.
——Suddenly Thrust’s arm jerks back around so that the tip of his arm-rifle is now pressed against the side of his own pointy head. Dirge’s arms clang down to his sides, wrists bonded to his hips. They’re helpless. Thrust tries to bring his arm down, but he’s not strong enough to break Windcharger’s magnetic hold on it. His armpit motors strain and spit sparks. He cries out in desperation... he doesn’t wanna die. Finally, he drops to his knees... begging for mercy.
——Just when I think I’m about to witness the termination of two of Cybertron’s worst, Windcharger collapses. He… he just shuts down.
——Thrust gets up off the ground. The two Coneheads stare at each other until one of them begins to laugh... then they both spin around and unload their weapons into Windcharger’s chest. After that… silence. It’s eerie. No jets flying overhead. No bombs dropping. No screams, no shouts, just silence. A cloud of smoke hangs in the air over Windcharger’s body like a ghost. He’s gone. They killed him right in front of me and I didn’t do a damned thing to stop them!
——I’m ashamed. But I’m not surprised at what I did... at what I couldn’t do. Alien races often wonder why we Transformers haven’t advanced much in our 12 million year history. Whole civilizations have come and gone in the millions of years that we’ve been at war. The reason for our stagnation? It’s because whenever we do exceed our limitations... whenever we go beyond our original tech specs, something catastrophic happens and we get booted back to damn near who we were in the beginning. Back to our initial programming. This war has us constantly starting over from square one as we all countdown to extinction.
——‘Bots say that I risked my life to save Grimlock back at the Smelting Pool. They say that what I did was pretty courageous. The problem is I don’t remember doing it. I took a dip in the Pool that day. The Dinobots scooped me out and Ratchet rebuilt me as good as new. The last thing I recall before waking up on a slab at the Ark was awaiting execution in a cell in Polyhex.
——That ‘Bot that risked his own hide to warn Grimlock about impending doom? That wasn’t exactly me. That was some upgraded version of me. A version where I somehow found a way to push my courage rating from two all the way up to ten.
——Dirge turns in my direction, sniffing the air. “I smell... fear,” he says.
——Wait. What? He can smell fear!? Fear has a smell!?
——Dirge follows his olfactory sensors over to the crater where I’m hiding—“Look, Thrust! I found another one! Hiding like a little rust-ridden retro-rat!”
——I’m staring down the barrel of Dirge’s rifle. He doesn’t see the tip of my own rifle poking out from under the edge of the Seeker’s wing. He laughs... A photon flare makes him scream—but I’m not the one who shot him. More flares whiz overhead, followed by a rocket. The Coneheads transform and take to the sky, leaving nothing behind but their contrails.
——I slide out from under the dead ‘Con to see Sideswipe squatting down in front of Windcharger. The red parts are already gray. There’s a gaping hole in his chest. Sideswipe’s wracked with guilt. “He’s dead! Windcharger’s dead, Bro! Those dirty Decepticreeps—! If only I could have gotten here sooner...!”
——“I uh, I...”
It’s not his fault. It’s mine. For the first time in my function-cycle I’m speechless.
——Skywarp pops in and fills my back with bullets. Sideswipe sends a stream of photons his way …and misses. Skywarp’s already gone.
——A drone rocket whistles through the air. Sideswipe yells “Take cover!” But it’s already too late. The explosion blows him head over heels. Literally. He lands flat on his back with one of his legs in his lap. The other leg clunks down nearby in a cascade of rocks and dirt.
——Thundercracker transforms and lands. Skywarp pops back in beside him with a smirk on his faceplate. Looks like we just traded Thrust and Dirge for a duo who’s even worse. Sideswipe mumbles incoherently as the two killers walk toward him.
———BAROOM!
——The sky sounded like it just exploded. Thundercracker looks up—
——”Who was that, Skywarp?”
——“It’s that traitor, Skyfire!”
——The staccato sounds of laser fire follow Skyfire’s thunderous sonic boom like heavy rain hitting the pavement. Relief! Skywarp and Thundercracker run for cover. Once Skyfire passes overhead they transform and vector in behind him. The hunter is now the hunted. I track them as their thrusters shrink away into the starry night... then I start crawling back to my hiding place.

——When you’re crawling on your front end leaking fuel, a few hundred feet feels like a hundred miles. But I make it. I’m back now. I’m safe. Ready to wait out the battle under this big hunk of dead metal. What was his name? I still can’t remember.
——“Gahh!” Oh, scrap! Did he just move!?
——He did! The ‘Con rears up and wraps both hands around my throat. I wedge my hand under his chin, trying to force him off me. I’m yelling. He’s cursing. No one’s listening. My fingers fumble for my rifle. His hands are crushing my neck... cutting off the electrical flow to my cerebral circuitry. Nnnng... just a little bit more... got it!
——I pull the trigger and a bolt of lightning enters his jaw and exits through the top of his head. He slumps down on top of me, circuits completely fried.
——He’s dead FOR REAL this time. But I’m not safe. Not really. Not until this war is over. I crawl out of the crater and drag myself to my feet. My weapon taps against my leg, still hot, ready to take more lives. When will it end? When will all the senseless violence stop?
(Transformers Resolute will return after these messages)