The accusation hit harder than any physical blow ever could. Your own team—the ones you fought beside, bled for, trusted—had turned their backs on you. Their voices rang in your head like a cruel echo, their words laced with false certainty as they told Optimus you were the likely culprit.

And the worst part? He believed them.

You barely registered the way your vents hitched, how your hands trembled at your sides. Anger, betrayal, and disbelief crashed over you in suffocating waves. You didn’t even try to explain. What was the point? They had already made up their minds.

Your only thought was escape. You turned on your heel, making a break for the door—

BLAM.

Optimus moved faster. His knee struck the ground, his massive hand sweeping toward you before you could react. The impact was brutal. His palm hit you with the force of a wrecking ball, sending you flying backward, your body skidding across the floor. The sharp crack of your frame colliding with the wall was deafening.

Pain exploded through you. Your limbs felt heavy, sparks flickering off your armor where the impact had scraped deep. For a moment, the world blurred at the edges, ringing static in your audials as your processor scrambled to keep up.

You gasped, optics flickering, your vents struggling to cycle properly. You could hear the approaching footsteps, the cold weight of judgment in every step.

This was it.

Your life was about to be ripped apart, and no one—not a single one of them—would stand by your side.