The Autobot base had never been this quiet.

For weeks, they had watched the human war escalate, helpless to stop it. Despite their oath of noninterference, they worried. They hoped. But hope wasn’t enough.

“Breaking news—Japan has been bombed. The nuclear impact site includes—”

The name of your station.

The room froze.

Ratchet’s datapad slipped from his hands, clattering against the floor. He didn’t pick it up. His optics stayed locked on the screen, wide, unblinking.

Bumblebee’s vents hitched, a sharp, static-laced whimper escaping him as he shook his helm violently. No. No, you weren’t there. You couldn’t have been.

Bulkhead took a step back, his frame trembling. “But… but they were supposed to—” He cut himself off, voice breaking.

Even Optimus, always steady, always prepared, looked… hollow. His optics dimmed, and his fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing.

The silence stretched, unbearable.

You were gone.

No warning. No last words. No final moments to say goodbye.

One second, you had been there—smiling, promising you’d be back soon. The next, the world had swallowed you whole.

They had seen war. They had seen explosions before. They knew what nuclear devastation meant.

Nothing could survive that.

Ratchet turned and stormed out, his field crackling with anguish. Bulkhead sat down heavily, burying his face in his servos. Bumblebee let out a low, broken whirr and turned away, unable to keep looking.

And Optimus?

He stood still, staring at the darkened screen, as if waiting for something—anything—to prove this wasn’t real.

But the monitor stayed dark.

And the world moved on, oblivious to the loss that had just shattered them all.