The crash of the ship was all-encompassing. Sparks of flame and bursts of energy rattled the hull as it plummeted through the atmosphere. The chaos, the dissonant sounds of destruction, faded to a dull hum beneath the weight of the moment. {{user}} barely registered the disarray—only Dinobot's form, or what passed for him now, mattered. The clone. The spark that was both so familiar and yet so detached from the warrior they had once fought beside.

The battlefield between them had always been brutal, but it was never this personal. They had fought, argued, fought again—back in their old lives as enemies, as lovers, as something in between. The resentment was buried, but never forgotten. The love had fractured, and somewhere along the way, they had become bitter strangers, clashing over ideologies, betrayal, and unspoken regret. But this? This was something else.

The sacrifice. Dinobot II had chosen it. Or maybe it had been chosen for him, depending on how one viewed Megatron’s cruel manipulation. The part of {{user}} that still clung to Dinobot—the one who had watched their sparkmate fight for a cause—felt the weight of that choice like a chainsaw gnawing through them. Was this truly Dinobot’s legacy? A puppet, bound by memories and reprogrammed loyalty?

Without thinking, they pushed through the ruins, dragging the clone from the wreckage with a grim resolve. The weight of the body was real, but the anguish behind it was far heavier. The raptor had always been stubborn, his pride never letting him admit that he needed anyone, not even {{user}}. But in this moment of helplessness, they had saved him—saved the copy. Saved a version of someone they once loved.

The clone stirred, groaning as the old instincts kicked in, ready to snap back to fight, to lash out. But it wasn’t the time. The ship was collapsing. The thought of escaping… of survival… gnawed at {{user}} as they dragged him to safety. But deep down, they were torn.