This ficlet is based on Wayward Martian's picture titled "Stupidity in Blue" (www dot insecticons dot com/images/Slog-03.jpg )Go look at the picture, then read the story. It also helps if you know who Slog, the combat artist of the Decepticons, is.
That the blue and purple Seeker named Duskwing was stupid, arrogant and generally clueless was a truism up there with Dead End's morbid depression and Swindle's greed. That said Seeker was better known as one of Slog's artworks than for his personality was entirely his own fault. The last of many mistakes in his erratic life was underestimating Slog...

Duskwing's notorious cluelessness stemmed not only ignorance, but from a mind that was always about three steps behind the pace of the events in sorting out what was going on. It finally registered that the Pretender Slog had just caught him and Windtalon red-handed, and that he'd been standing there gaping stupidly when he should have run. Thoughts of getting away, dealing with Slog, and what Shockwave, or for that matter, Megatron, would do to them for skimming off Earth shipments and selling them all crashed through his mind in no particular order. Duskwing panicked. Naturally, he picked the worst possible option.

"I see no reason to follow the orders of a half-sized artist, Pretender or not. Kill him," Duskwing ordered Windtalon, his trine-mate and occasional partner in stupidity. The turquoise and gray Seeker hesitated; even he knew that Duskwing had dumped his CPU core completely to issue such a command.

"Now! Pretender shell phase-out!" Slog leaped out of his shell, and everything happened way too fast.

The dwarfish Decepticon leaping toward Duskwing, claws out--

Diamond-steel chisel claws tearing through Duskwing's cockpit, into his chest--

Fuel pump ripped free, energon spraying through the air, nosecone hanging in abstract shreds of metal--

One final, precise blow, Slog's mercy blow, smashing the laser core--

Slog on the ground, looking up at the shocked, horrified face of his victim: "This one. Call 'Stupidity in Blue'." He glanced at Windtalon. "Who, then, will my next piece be?"

Windtalon was not nearly as stupid as Duskwing. He fled.

Slog's mistake, had he only known, for he was not a cruel Decepticon, was that he killed Duskwing too fast.

Duskwing finally realized he'd made a horrible mistake when his nosecone exploded in a spray of metal, energon and pain. The pain overwhelmed him; he could focus on nothing but that, and his diminutive tormentor. He didn't notice the blow that killed him and should have ended his pain--events hadn't quite made it that far through his processor when he and his processor were separated by death.

"Windtalon, help me!" Duskwing staggered forward, wrapping his arms around the grisly wound--not noticing that he'd left his rent and shattered corpse behind. He finally noticed a flash of turquoise as Windtalon transformed on the run and flew away. "Windtalon! Don't leave me!"

Windtalon had abandoned him. Bereft and bewildered, Duskwing could only turn to his killer. "Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't really mean it, please help me!"

Unfortunately for Duskwing, Slog could not hear or see him. He did, however, take home his new artwork and install it by the studio entrance as a reminder to visitors who might be feeling foolish.

Slog knows that something about that particular sculpture haunts his dreams and inspires his art. For in truth, Slog is the most kind-hearted of Decepticons; pity and compassion drive his horrific art. He, more than any other Transformer, pities those who have fallen, and his greatest compassion is for those he has had to kill himself.

And yet, Slog does not know that Duskwing followed him home, and still haunts his studio, hoping that Slog will finally listen to his pleas, be merciful, and help him.

-- FIN --