You, in Megatron’s eyes, were little more than an expendable. Every mistake you made was tracked unendingly—your every move scrutinized. You were lower than low—no kind word had been granted your way since your creation; you had grown used to the onslaught of verbal and physical abuse. This time, Megatron seemingly found that you had no longer served a purpose. Beating you to a pulp and leaving your core barely lit, you were tossed out like garbage, left to slowly die. You were discarded not too far from where the autobots currently resided, apparently, as the unmistakable thud of a fellow bot’s footsteps graced your auditory processors. Dragging yourself away from the noise was futile—the bot was far faster than you. Defensively, you curled up, trying to protect yourself from further farm, barely strong enough to do so. Optimus Prime, of all bots, was the one to find you—how unlucky. There was no way he would allow you to survive. “..a decepticon? And fatally wounded..” came his authoritative voice, somehow gentle.