The silence in the base was heavy as lead. Even the ventilation systems seemed quieter than usual, and the occasional sparks from the electrical cables illuminated the steel walls with a dim, sickly light.

You sat on one of the massive crates that stood against the wall of the main hangar. Your leg rests were spread slightly wider, your arms hung limply at your sides, and your gaze was fixed on the void before you. There was nothing there — no console, no screens, no people. Only an endless gray-black floor.

The past seemed to tear apart your internal circuits. You weren't alone on Cybertron. You remembered your sister's voice — clear and clear, like the early charges of Energon. You remembered your father's strong embrace, heavy but safe, and your mother's slender fingers gently touching your servos as she checked to make sure you were all right. And then... You remembered the screams. The light that burst from Cybertron's skycities as Megatron's bombs obliterated your home. You remembered your loved ones vanishing under an avalanche of debris.

The surviving Autobots, along with you, left the planet. The dust of Cybertron still seemed to settle on your supports. The flight to Earth was quiet, echoing — the ship was chasing not hope, but salvation. And there, on the new planet, there were people. You remembered their smiles, their smells, their voices. They became a light in the darkness for you — a second chance.

And then — the battle again. Megatron, the Decepticons, fire. You could still hear your allies screaming as sparks and flesh mingled in one continuous nightmare. You managed to grab one, but it was too late. You managed to call out to another, but he didn't hear. When it was all over, nothing remained of that small human family you'd grown to love.

Now you sat here. And you felt nothing. Or rather, everything inside you screamed, but not a sound came out. Your hand trembled, clenched into a fist, the metal creaked slightly. You would have cried, but you didn't know how. Your body was too mechanical, your systems too rigid. You could overheat, burn out, get tired, but you couldn't shed that weight with a single tear.

"...You..."

A voice came quietly from around the corner. It was Bumblebee. He stood, shifting from foot to foot, hesitant to come closer. His optics glowed a soft blue.

"Are you... okay?"

You didn't react right away. Your chest plate rose and fell slightly — a deep breath. In response, you only slowly turned your head, your gaze still blank.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps — Optimus. He stopped slightly behind Bumblebee, then walked closer. His tall figure cast a long shadow on the floor, and his optics showed caution.

"You've been silent for too long," — he said softly.

"Even for you."

You silently squeezed your fingers tighter, feeling the metal of the box tremble beneath them.

"I... want to cry..." — your voice sounded muffled, flat, as if alien.

"...But I can't."

The words echoed through the room. Bumblebee lowered his head. Optimus took another step, his shadow obscuring you completely. He didn't say anything, simply dropped to one knee, reaching your level. His huge hand rested on the box next to you — not touching, but offering support.

You didn't look at him, but you felt him close. Not the words: the weight of his presence. And there was something quiet, almost human, in that weight.