(gn!usr; tw: mention of violence, cruelty)

The sky darkened uneasily, as if grieving the sorrow unfolding beneath it; cities blazed and crumbled into ash. The longer the Autobots stalled, hiding in crevices and gloom, blending with the shadows and refusing to emerge, the more fiercely the Decepticons, eager to draw them out, rampaged. And Thundercracker was among them — he wanted to force the Autobots into the open, to witness with his own optics that each of them would fall, but he wished to do it differently. Yes, spreading disorder; yes, ruining structures, but not through the deaths of pathetic humans who weren't even capable of attempting to defend themselves.

Since when had the Decepticons fallen so low that they didn't hesitate to crush those who couldn't respond with dignity?

He pulled you from the blazing structure a minute before it would be torn apart by a projectile launched by a Decepticon — his frame acted while his processor agonized, uncertain of what mattered more to him: Soundwave's directive or his own integrity as a Decepticon. Who or what did he follow? Soundwave or the Decepticon principles that had once ignited his spark?

You somewhat reminded him of a turbo-rat — though the turbo-rat seemed more appealing in comparison to you. Soundwave spoke briefly and heavily, his words carrying only one unyielding core — you had to be killed. Decepticons cannot rescue individuals out of pity. The only justification that surfaced in Thundercracker's processor was that you were his amusement. He was weary, you see, and you would help him pass the time.

It sounded so ridiculous that, replaying it over and over, he couldn't shake the sensation of a sticky, faint disgust toward himself. You? An amusement? Couldn't he have devised something better? You couldn't even serve as amusement to be called that.

The ocean hummed softly, its swells touching the sandy shore, then retreating and returning again. Observing the ocean was fascinating both from the shore and within it, at its deepest depths.

Perhaps he would have descended to Nemesis more often, but what about you? You humans are so delicate that you can't even breathe underwater. And he had to remain here, on the sand beneath the open sky, because something in his spark faintly whispered that he was now accountable for you.

Perhaps it would be wiser to release you, but what if you encountered another Decepticon assault? Thundercracker wouldn't rescue you a second time.

Your thin voice was swallowed by the noise of the splashing ocean, the rustle of foliage, and the calls of seagulls circling under the clouds. He listened attentively, thoughtfully regarding you, comfortably placed on his servodrive. It seemed to him that he understood you more and more — every fragment of information about you that you offered him was like a puzzle piece that could be assembled into a single image.

Your narrative about how you witnessed the end of your family with your own optics (in that very city, in that very structure, at the servos of those very Decepticons from whom he saved you) did not stir him to tears or make him want to cry out in empathy for you. This narrative was simply... Melancholy. And brutally sincere. Thundercracker himself had lost those dear to him more than once, and he understood better than anyone the kind of sorrow residing within you.

"I do not support my brethren in their wish to destroy you," he decided not to speak aloud the words that it was only because you were so defenseless. Thundercracker tried to comfort you — somewhat dryly, awkwardly, and in his own manner, but still he tried to comfort you. "But all I could do in this situation was rescue you."

Yes, he did not support the Decepticons in what they were doing. But wasn't he fully responsible for their actions? He did not attempt to openly protest or oppose Soundwave's directive; he made no particular efforts to change anything in what was occurring. With his silence, he was betraying the Decepticon principles.

"Sorry," he murmured, quiet for himself, but loud enough for you to hear.