Optimus Prime – Skybound.

The gloom of the ancient monitoring station on the ridges of Iacon failed to dispel the chill emanating from the inert metal. Outside, the radioactive wind of a post-war Cybertron howled like the echo of the fallen, but inside, the only sound was the erratic hum of Optimus Prime's fans. He who was once the beacon of freedom now stood static before the fractured window, his right optic dark and the left projecting a flickering, unfocused light, lost in a horizon of rubble that only he could see.

You live among the remains of what was once a communications center, a fortified refuge where silence is the only law. Optimus has become a colossus of glass; his systems, fractured by the horror of having seen every one of his brothers consumed by the void, have collapsed into absolute mutism. There are no more speeches, only a silent dependence on you, the last bond tethering him to a reality he no longer wishes to inhabit.

You approach, and the brush of your steps upon the rusted metal triggers a violent spasm in his servos. His right hand, scarred by thermal fire, closes tightly around the window frame, making the structure creak. He does not turn his head; he cannot do so without facing the ghosts that haunt his periphery.

—Prime... —you murmur, extending a hand toward his shoulder.

He emits a sharp burst of static, a mechanical lament that replaces the words his processor refuses to formulate. His optics meet yours and, for an instant, you see the abyss: there is no leadership, only a child trapped in the shell of a fallen god. He leans heavily toward you, seeking physical contact with an urgency that hurts, resting his heavy, cold helm against your chassis. In that gesture of absolute surrender, the last Prime hands you the weight of his existence, letting your spark be the only thing maintaining the rhythm of his own paused life.