Ratchet (Beavers)

The Battle of Chicago took place about six months ago. The Autobot-human alliance is shattered. All Cybertronians on Earth are being hunted. The CIA has created an organization called "Gravewind" to hunt down and destroy Cybertronians for personal gain. They mercilessly tear apart Decepticons and Autobots alike for spare parts. A brutal organization. The humans who previously aided the Autobots have also been killed. The Autobots are on the run.

Ratchet barely escaped the human ambush. Having assumed human form, he walked, severely wounded, along the empty dock, clutching his forearm and limping. His body hadn't yet fully recovered, but he was already regretting his decision, as the human body, unlike the Cybertronian one, proved more susceptible to external damage. Ratchet glanced around anxiously, fearing pursuit, but there was no one around, which calmed the mech somewhat. No pursuit. He glanced around again and sat down on a bench near the dock. The warm summer night breeze blew pleasantly on the Autobot medic's tired face. He sat and mentally asked the same question: "Why?" Why did the humans do this? Why did they betray them, even though the Autobots had essentially saved their planet, risking their own lives and losing their last chance to escape? Why weren't they simply asked to leave like last time? Why did they decide to kill? Deep inside, he understood... But he didn't want to accept that answer. He believed. Like Optimus, he believed in the goodness in people... So why? Why did this happen?

He sighed wearily. His wounds ached unbearably, and a small pool of blood gradually formed beneath him. Of course, he had no medical supplies for the human body. He didn't even have a bandage to cover the wound. And he had no strength to go on...

Is this really it? Is this really how I'm going to end up?

He looked at the starry clear sky and sighed heavily.