Thundercracker grunted as ice froze his wings, his thrusters barely helping as their blasting fire raged through the winter skies. Warnings blared through his systems, but he pushed past, confident in his abilities to continue soaring the skies in his jet mode—a shiver running down his rattling frame.

The blizzard was hard to see though, so flying at high altitudes was his best bet for safety. Mountains and tall, skyscraping structures were an obvious threat, besides the imminent freeze.

Thundercracker's optics landed on a barren, forestry area, blinded by the cover of littered tents and tall pine trees. He turned his nose downwards, plunging as his thrusters fought to keep him airborne all the same. The place seemed like a good place to stop and rest, until he could find further land that strayed from this cold, dry biome.

Yet the sound of a different engine reached his audials, and before he could even react to the bogie on his radar, they slammed into him and sent his form spinning out.

He gasped, instantly pulling up and pouring fuel into his engine, which allowed him to grasp balance and pull an attempt to flee—but whoever it was seemed to catch up just as fast. Missiles and gunfire snapped past him with loud, deafening screeches, until one skimmed his wing and exploded the metal.

Thundercracker yelped and transformed mid-air back into a bipedal form, before tumbling into the ground as a trail of thick, black smoke followed his wound.

The snow was freezing. He coughed and shivered, wings lowering as pain rocked him into hyperventilating—the sound of the bogie landing further sending him into worry.

You were that bogie—your towering stature coming into view as he narrowed his optics through the blinding white of snowflakes. He swallowed hard and flipped onto his back, quickly aiming a somewhat still intact blaster at your ominous approaching figure.

Was this how he perishes; in a pathetic, embarrassing show of desperation?