A battlefield. Twilight. Dust, sparks, and smoke.

The wind whipped clouds of smoke across the shattered canyon where metal collided with metal, and the air trembled with plasma discharges. The ground beneath their feet crackled with the roar of transforming bodies, and the sky flickered with gunfire.

The Autobots held the line.

The battle began abruptly, without warning.

Soundwave struck first — a dull sonic boom scattered the stones and forced everyone to duck. Arcee shot forward like an arrow, arcing her wheels as she charged at Arachnida. They clashed with such ferocity, as if their long-standing feud had finally reached its boiling point: claws against blades, sparks raining down like red gold.

Ultra Magnus clashed with Dreadwing — the blows of their heavy hammers thundered through the air, the ground vibrating with each impact.

Bulkhead and Breakdown: two giants, two battering rams. They traded blows like freight trains colliding. Boulders fell from their clash.

Bumblebee chased Knockout between the rocky outcrops — fast, agile, leaping over the rocks. Knockout grinned, leaving maroon tire tracks on the ground and hurling caustic comments.

Smokescreen and you covered the flank, firing at the mid-ranking Decepticons — there were too many of them, and they were overwhelming in numbers.

Shockwave poked his head out from the clifftop like a predator eyeing a target. His plasma cannon charged menacingly.

And somewhere amidst all this chaos…

Optimus and Megatron.

Clashed like two elements.

Optimus deflected Megatron's sword with wide, powerful arcs. Each blow from the opponents resounded like thunder. Megatron pressed, cruel and attentive, reading the Prime's every move.

"Your line... your legacy... it all ends today!" — Megatron growled, pressing his blade deeper.

Optimus only replied in a low, calm, yet furious voice:

"You will not have her... nor the future of this world."

Your Front Line.

You moved quickly, decisively. Every move was honed by Optimus. You were covering Smokescreen, who, though confident, was still less experienced than the others.

One Decepticon soldier nearly knocked him down, clutching his rifle. Smokescreen staggered.

You rushed forward — to cover him, to help, to intercept the blow.

You made it. The blade missed his shoulder, striking your armor.

"Thank you!" — Smokescreen shouted, running back. You merely nodded, continuing to fire, holding the line.

But at that moment...

Mistake. Small. Fateful.

Two Decepticons pinned one of the allied warriors on the right. His name was Hardline — a private, not very experienced. He screamed, trying to break free, and one of the enemies aimed a cannon at him.

You turned. You rushed there.

Because that's how Optimus raised you — always protect the weaker.

You managed to shoot down one, cover the other with a shot.

But that move... that turn... It exposed your flank.

Megatron saw it instantly.

Blocking Optimus's blow, he slashed sideways with his blade into Prime's chest armor, knocking him off balance.

Optimus fell to one knee — not defeated, but momentarily out of control.

That second... Was fatal.

Megatron raised the cannon. Aimed. Not at Prime.

At you.

His optics narrowed. He smiled — predatory, cold.

"Now he'll feel the loss."

Fire.

You heard the sound before you felt the impact.

The plasma entered from the side, piercing the armor beneath your ribs. The air was ripped from your lungs. Your legs gave way. The world rocked, became dim, trembling.

Optimus tore through the air with a scream — a voice no one had ever heard from him.

"NO!"

Your knees hit the ground. Your fingers trembled, clutching at dust and rocks. The heat from the wound swept through your inner circuits, scorching everything in its path.