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Title: Better Off 
Characters: Moonracer (main) Some small Firestar and Chromia. Mentions of other Decepticons.
Rating: T
Genre: Tragedy/drama
Warning: Character death, angst :p Evil Decepticons being evil.



The raid had gone from bad to worse in a matter of nanoseconds. Shockwave’s Rainmakers had been an unexpected inconvenience, but not something they couldn’t handle. The Female Autobots and the Cyclops’ specially enhanced Seeker trine had been going head to head for over five million years. Them, they could handle.

How could they have anticipated the arrival of Astrotrain? The sudden flood of Decepticon reinforcements? The fact that they knew every single fragging move they were going to make? From A to Z, they had it covered. Attack strategies, escape routes, backup teams, emergency shelters. All covered.

They were boxed in. Every last underground route was decimated or guarded. And above ground was laughable. ‘Cons were crawling through every last orifice of the canyon. There was no way out. Not this time.

Moonracer watched from her makeshift shelter of shrapnel mounds. Four gargantuan Decepticons stood stationed right across from her. She had one shot left in her blaster and her leg was hanging on by a wire.

She knew they had been sold out. The Female Autobots weren’t a large group. No more than ten in their ranks. It could have been any one of them.

Her spark sank when she saw Firestar uncovered from her hiding place and dragged into the clear by a cackling Wildrider.

Moonracer watched as the Stunticon yanked her helm back and snarled at her to reveal the location of her comrades. Firestar spat at him. She lowered her optics when the sounds of kicking and shrieking rent the air.

Her hands wrung about her gun. Firestar was determined, Elita was loyal, Chromia was tough … What was she?

Prime shared the most high-profile information within the Autobots with his bond-mate. Elita only ever divulged the contents of that to three select individuals; her, Chromia and Firestar. Neither of them would ever talk, regardless of the kinds of horror they may be put through by the Decepticons… But her?

A shuddering pede step caused her to swallow a whimper. They would find her.

An erupting of shots being fired caused her to jerk. This was preceded by snarling, grappling, cursing… They found Chromia. Or she’d made a charge at them. Moonracer couldn’t be sure.

Her spark contracted when all sounds suddenly ceased. She swallowed and felt her optics prickle.

No. Primus no! Not Chromia. She can’t be-

“Check over there” the barked order came from one of the Combaticons. The leader. Moonracer couldn’t remember his name.

Her intakes heaved in a sob as she felt the quaking pede-steps approach her. They would find her. They would torture her. They wouldn’t stop until she talked. She’d never be able to live with herself if she did…

Light suddenly flooded the alcove as her shelter’s top was roughly torn off. She gazed up into the gleefully bright red visor of the towering Decepticon. The only thing that tore her horrified gaze from him was the speck of blue out the corner of her optic.

Time seemed to freeze for Moonracer.

Chromia lay in a heap. A pool of energon had begun to seep around her and her gun remained tightly clutched in her hand. Firestar was not too far from her; red armour dented and splattered with energon. Her optics were still online.

Moonracer’s blaster had one last shot in it. She would talk under torture. She wasn’t tough enough. But she’d never be able to live with herself if she did.

So…

Her gaze dropped to the gun. When had her finger moved to the trigger?

I... I have to... to cut out the middle man.

She looked back up to the Decepticon and gave a shaky smile. If he was confused, it was only until the gun’s barrel came in line with her helm.

Moonracer was glad there was no pain. The blast must have torn straight through her processor’s sensory-receptor core. Her slight form hit the ground with a soft clink.

Her vision brimmed with static, though she managed to briefly lock optics with a devastated looking Elita One; hidden within a mound of shrapnel not too far from her own. She managed a small smile.

It’s better this way. I’m sorry.

Her vision faded to a cloud of static before turning white and fading to blackness.

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