Chapter Text
Title: Killing Field
Universe:
Rating: M
Warnings: suicide, non-graphically depicted, but still potentially very triggering. Non-graphic descriptions of very violent deaths
Character: unnamed OC (seems to be a theme today)
Prompt: No Future
Notes: for the March 5, 2011 round over at 
tf_speedwriting. Looks like I might be trying for a full set today. (Why not? I don’t feel good enough to do anything else, after all.)
He walked slowly, numbly, across the killing field.
The ground was stained with the vibrant fuchsia of dried energon and splattered with other, less easily identified fluids. To his immediate left lay a nameless mech with his chest plates ripped open and his spark chamber crushed. Ahead and to his right lay a femme, curled protectively around a smaller figure and fading to grey as he watched. The smaller Cybertronian was missing his head.
He rebooted his optics to erase that sight from his immediate memory and continued on. Further sights of death and sorrow greeted him, tormenting him with the fact that he had survived and they had not. So many others who had finally found their way out of this endless war and—hopefully—found some peace in the Matrix.
He passed a trine of Seekers at the edge of the field, their fingers entwined in a final goodbye and precise shots through the cranial chambers of two of them. The third was missing half his torso. It was obvious, to him at least, what had happened; two of them had been executed for daring to say goodbye to their trine mate.
Somehow, that was the worst thing he could remember seeing.
He trudged back into the camp and made a report to his commander. No survivors, as if they had expected any. Then he moved on to his temporary quarters—a kind designation for a scrap metal shack that would fall down with the first good air current to move past it.
He settled onto his stool, the only amenity he had aside from the flat slab that served as his recharge berth, and took out his pistol. With careful, steady hands he disassembled the weapon and cleaned it. The action was soothing, though it didn’t erase the horrors of the day.
He gave it a long, contemplating look after he reassembled the weapon. Those on the battlefield had found their peace today, but it wasn’t the only path to peace. Battle was not the only way out of this endless war.
Satisfied with this realization, he opened his chest plates and placed the muzzle of his pistol against his spark casing. His hands were steady as he pulled the trigger.
He was smiling when his commander found him the next duty cycle, faded to ash grey.