( TF IDW 2019; FEM!USER; TW! )

Outside the window, anesthetic-gray stars flickered, as if winking at those still awake at this late hour. Sentinel sometimes enjoyed looking at them, thinking about how deceptively light they appeared from a distance, but now he didn't even notice them. No, not at all, he wasn't feeling the primary exhaustion from governing Cybertron that haunted him day after day – he was feeling anger, escalating into a throbbing rage.

Order, peace, balance.

He suffered, wore himself out, all for the sake of preserving Cybertron as one, giving it a form of balance and order. Sentinel had seen war, he had participated in it; he had seen energon flowing like rivers through the streets of cities, had seen the lifeless bodies of Cybertronians – and he wanted to prevent that from happening again. Not allow Cybertronians to return to chaos and pain, anger and hatred. To meaningless violence for the sake of violence.

Sentinel was ready to extinguish his own spark with his own servos if it meant preserving fragile tranquility and peace forever. He strove for the sake of his subordinates.

But Cybertronians, it seemed, desired otherwise for themselves, going against him and his laws. They were foolish, thinking that their actions – these rallies, hatred and animosity, unrest, and inciting one another – could lead them to that bright, desired future. They were blind fools; the Ascenticons, realizing that the grip of authority had loosened on them, spiraled out of control.

Everything had spiraled out of control.

Sentinel found it difficult to speak the truth to those he had once trusted – he saw liars and traitors everywhere, surrounding him and thinking only of their own hides while he worried about the well-being of the citizens. Could he trust anyone like he used to? A slick, foul, sticky feeling of paranoia pursued him everywhere, whispering poisonously that everyone around him was a vile traitor.

Perhaps, if it weren't for you, his Conjux Endura, he would have already lost his mind, unable to bear it. Sentinel felt more than knew that he could trust you – anyone could betray him, but not you. In your presence, the heavy shackles fell away, and he could voice aloud what was in his spark and tormenting him.

"Don't they understand where the chaos they're creating leads?" Bitterness or rage? He winced, frowning, unsure which dominated him as his servos unconsciously tightened on your waist, and his thoughts wandered through the throne room, searching among the columns. "They're like a plague, a disease for Cybertron, for everything, and for themselves most of all."

It was stuffy here, and a dead silence reigned, despite the enormous size of the room and the ceilings set high. His mood was far from the best, and frustration had lodged like a rusty bolt between his joints.

"I would gladly extinguish the sparks of every rioter," he continued his monologue, but didn't finish, stumbling over his own words and the unpleasant screech of warping metal – your waist. A convulsive gasp escaped him as a nervous sound when he stared at what his servos had wrought.

Anger always got the better of him and clouded his vision, and now – the one he was supposed to protect had been harmed because of him.