Ammunition: 19NC_Medix

Leena: HuntressNuva

Autobot Brothers and Transformers: Hasbro/Takara Tomy

Warning: Depressing Thoughts, "Useless" type of thoughts, Bitterness, Spilled Energon

Rating: PG to PG 13

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Energon and oil seeped out multiple claw marks that embedded his ultramarine frame. Ammunition laid there, on the tulips, in pain and exhaustion. He felt weaker by the millisecond as his own lifeblood trickled down his injuries gently, calmly.

His vents went shallower by the second, his frame increased it's aching that hammered down his pain receptors.

But he never cared. He ignored the Energon, he ignored the pain. He ignored his cracked vision that blurred once his visor was cracked and shattered. He ignored the metallic taste that left his broken dermas at the edges. He ignored the shuddering his nerves were causing to his systems. He ignored the red warning systems that flashed repeatedly in his helm, as strong as the helmache that echoed like a hammer on a slab of stone, threatening to crack open his helm.

But he specifically ignored calling any of his siblings. He ignored the bond, which was blocked.

He wanted to leave before they realized what was wrong and arrive. It never took long to know his area, considering that it was awhile since he talked.

The pain increased sufficiently as he flinched and clenched his dents, gulping in air as his cooling fans kicked in, which tried in vain to cool the heated frame.

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was a figment of imagination.

It never mattered though. He was a burden.

Ammunition moved his helm to the left, metal groaned in protest at the slightest move. It was painful, that was true. He despised the grave of flowers that surrounded him, but more importantly...

He despised himself. He was useless. Ammunition knew that he wasn't that smart, he knew that he wasn't that strong, but he also knew that he was useless. Who wanted around a mech that had no personality, that can barely even remember if he did his reports or not.

Who wanted him around? They were right at the Academy, he might as well hit the canyons and die there and no one would notice. He never told Prowl what were the true reasons why he left the Academy...

Come to think of it, he told no one. He kept it in his spark, allowed it to grow and grow and grow...

It never left him. He hated being weak, but he couldn't help it. They taunted him, physically and emotionally. He was a doll, an entertaining one. 

He kept quiet, no matter how much his siblings pressured him into telling. He never wanted to come out as weak, even though he was.

Soon, he heard faintly engines that roared. Who were they? Were they his siblings?

"Ammunition!" he heard a yell. Then why haven't he recognized it?

His vision blurred further, threatening to offline and leave reality. Even so, he still managed to see blurs of white, blue, and mint green. And silver too.

His subconscious recognized them though... And even so he barely felt his frame being lifted, his siblings' cries for him to wake up.

"L-l-l-leave m-m-m-me b-b-b-be..." he stuttered out in an inaudible whisper.

To my grave of flowers, he added silently. The protests grew slightly louder as his optics gave in to the call of darkness.

And nothing else was felt.

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Hmm... Fits the song "Silent Scream"

*shrugs* Got no regret of writing this out.

Just learn the lesson of the one-shot

"People aren't the judges, your actions are"