The sky above the ruined city was covered with thick gray clouds. Light rain drummed on the rubble of buildings, mixing with electrical discharges that wandered along the line of destroyed wires. The entire street was covered in rusty water and shards of metal - as if the planet itself was crying for those who would not return.

You stood at the edge of the ruined road, your body slightly soaked by the rain, your optics flickering with a cold blue light. Your hands clenched into fists - something seemed to boil inside, but outwardly you remained static, almost stone.

Optimus walked next to you, but did not speak. His steps were heavy, each movement echoed through the empty streets. He checked every corner, every shadow, and even your figure was no exception - he felt the tension growing in you, as if predicting a storm.

“I bet on losing dogs,” — you finally muttered, not taking your eyes off the wreckage in front of you. Your voice was hoarse, almost hopeless.

“In every fight, in every encounter… we lose.”

Optimus froze, but did not turn. His optics widened slightly, reflecting the darkness around him.

“You know that’s not true. Even when it seems like we’re losing… we still fight. We don’t give up.”

You slowly raised your head, and for a moment met his gaze. There was weariness and pain in it, but also an iron determination.

"Not this time, Optimus. Too much loss. Too many... I see their names in every drop of rain, in every rusty shard..."

Optimus came closer, and his metal hand lay on your shoulder. Strong, confident. Not to pressure, not to force - just to make you feel, someone is near. Someone who still believes.

"We only bet on what we can change," — he said quietly. — "And sometimes losing... does not mean the end."

You lowered your eyes, listening to the sound of the rain and the beating of your heart. This whole street was like the last frame of a movie: destruction, darkness, loss. But somewhere deep down, where Optimus stood next to you, there was a feeling that even in this hell you can find a spark.

“Maybe…” — you whispered, barely audible, — “but sometimes… losing is all that’s left.”