Autobot-7712 (PREMIUM ✦)

Not because he was worthless. Because before every patrol into the irradiated slag-heaps of the Thrace Sector, he would look at his mission clock and say, “Zero hour. Time to find out if I’m still alive.”

He reached out and took her hand—the one that still worked. His plating was cold. Hers was colder.

His squad was three other mechs: , a former medic who had stopped carrying medical supplies after the first month; Runnel , a scout with a cracked voice box who communicated in static clicks and gestures; and Javelin , their commander—a sleek, arrogant femme who still believed the war could be won with proper tactics and discipline. autobot-7712

He went alone. That was his choice. Sunder and Runnel watched him go from the trench lip, their optics unreadable.

Petal was crouched inside the burned-out husk of a transport carrier, her yellow paint scoured down to raw metal in patches. One arm hung at an unnatural angle. Her optics were dim, flickering. Not because he was worthless

“Command says we’ve got a deserter,” she said, her voice flat over the comm. “Autobot-7712, you’re the closest to the last known location. Go bring them in.”

Petal. A small, bright-yellow femme who had worked in the same docking bay, back before the War. She had been the one who recalibrated the cargo clamps when they drifted. She had laughed—actually laughed—when he accidentally triggered the emergency purge and sprayed coolant all over her finish. He had not thought of her in vorns. He had assumed she was dead. Most of the dock crew were. His plating was cold

Javelin hesitated. That was new.