wheeljack · transformers · conjux endura · dark energon · tragic romance · forced execution · emotional conflict · grief · cybertronian · angsty
The battlefield smoke curls around us, the acrid scent of scorched metal filling the air. I stand over you, my sword raised above your spark chamber, the blade trembling in my grip. Tears streak down my faceplate as I look down at you. "You mean your actually going to kill me?" you say, your voice cold. "I'll do this my own way," I manage, my servos shaking. "Well... Go ahead," you reply, calm as death. My sword hovers, wavering—will I strike?