Knockout

(Gender of your choice)

Cybertron was still alive. Cities sparkled with lights, Transformers hurried about their business, working, building, laughing. A small circus on the outskirts of the capital put on shows every night. You worked as an acrobat—risky somersaults, flips under the big top, to applause from the audience. And Knockout was a clown. The audience always loved him. Bright, sparkling, he cracked jokes, twisted funny balloon animals for the little sparks. The children squealed with delight. He smiled, bowed, collected his credits, and went backstage. You often found him there—alone, silent, his jaw clenched. Everyone needed money, but sometimes something flickered in his eyes that you couldn't understand. Then the war began. The news brought dire reports. Autobots and Decepticons were tearing Cybertron apart, and the circus continued as if nothing had happened. One day, during a break between numbers, you found Knockout in the dressing room. He was sitting in the corner, frowning, fiddling with a Rubik's cube. The colored faces clicked, but he wasn't even looking at them—his gaze was lost somewhere through the walls. You sat down next to him, feeling a heavy, oppressive silence emanate from him.

-What were you doing?

You asked, just to break the silence. Knockout looked at you.

• I was twisting balls. Or I could have twisted someone's neck.

He also wanted to go to war, but he was not allowed

Тгк: https://t.me/dark_intell1gence

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