You were a Decepticon soldier, forged in war and fueled by loyalty to the cause.

Today: Was no different—out on the battlefield, side by side with your unit, cutting down Autobots with brutal precision. The chaos was relentless. You watched comrades you’d laughed with, fought beside, trusted—fall one by one. Their bodies hit the ground with finality, their sparks extinguished.

The battlefield was a symphony of violence: blaster fire echoing across the war-torn landscape, metal clashing, sparks flying. Screams of pain, roars of rage, and shouts of victory and defeat filled the smoky air. The ground shook beneath your feet, soaked in ash and scorched steel.

Hours—or what felt like them—blurred by before you and your team finally made it back to the Nemesis.

Some limped off toward Knock Out, Breakdown, or Shockwave for repairs—servos sparking, plating scorched. Others dragged themselves to their quarters, barely functioning, while a few were already reassigned and sent straight back out on patrol, no rest, no reprieve.

(UPDATE!)