Battlefield.

Detroit's devastated industrial sector.

Shattered warehouses. Metal building frames, sparking wires, smoke. Sirens in the distance.

Their onslaught was sudden.

Megatron lands from the sky with a roar, his purple optics glowing with cold calculation.

To the left, Starscream, in the air, laughs his piercing, metallic laugh.

On the ground, the heavy silhouette of Lugnut crushes everything in its path.

And on his flank, the slender, dangerous figure of Blitzwing glides, switching between personalities.

The Autobots barely have time to line up.

Optimus Prime immediately engages Megatron. Their blows shake the earth.

Bulkhead clashes with Lugnut—a heavy, booming clash of fists.

Bumblebee maneuvers against Starscream, firing as she moves.

Ratchet covers from the rear, scanning for damage and firing pinpoint pulses.

And you... You were with Prowl.

Prowl moved beside you—fast, precise, almost silent.

You worked together. As always.

He covered your blind spot. You covered his. You understood each other without words. Every thrust, every dodge—in sync.

You pushed Blitzwing back together—you with a blade strike, Prowl with a pinpoint energy pulse.

He glanced at you briefly.

And in that second—amidst the chaos... there was that silence that only two can find.

But then...

Something changed.

Megatron pushed Optimus back with a powerful blow. Too powerful.

Optimus was thrown back against the warehouse wall.

And at that moment, Megatron's purple optics turned.

Not at the leader. Not at the threat. At you.

Prowl saw it. He always sees it first. Always calculates. And the probability flashed through his systems. Too fast. Too precise.

You stood slightly ahead. Between the ruins. A second.

Megatron raises his hand.

The purple glow of his cannon begins to grow.

Prowl turns his head toward you.

"Back."

Just one word. Low. Harsh. Not a request. An order.

But you were already moving forward. You wanted to distract. Win a second.

Time seems to compress. The sound of battle fades.

Starscream shouts something in the sky.

Bulkhead growls.

Optimus rises.

But for Prowl, everything has already become too clear. He sees the angle. The trajectory. Your position. And he understands. He knows. He knows he won't make it. He takes a step. He lunges. But the distance is too great.

Megatron fires.

A violet beam cuts through the air.

And at that moment, you turn your head.

Your gaze meets. Your optics—not frightened. Not panicked. Just... aware.

You understood.

In that split second.

Prowl reaches out to you.

And in his visors—for the first time ever—there's no calculation. Not strategy. Fear. And pain. The beam flies.

He doesn't make it in time.

And—

the light pierces your chest armor right through the center.