"Decepticons retreat!"

The order is given and we all obey. He is left behind; there is no time to go back. The Autobots descended upon him quickly. He only screams in feline frustration—Ravage.

That expression…what was it that made it so strange, that final look he gave me as he saw me leave? It was only for a moment, but it is burned into my memory. Betrayal? No, it was something more complex…like a brief strand of hope, followed by a deep anguish—not anger; not hate—but anguish and pain; a pain so loud and acute it pierced through the thick air of the battlefield.

I felt something for a moment—just a flicker of a moment before it was gone. I must follow orders, I remind myself consciously. My duty is first to the cause and then the leader (or perhaps the leader then the cause). Disobedience is not an option; His will must become reality. It is the best way and the only way for the future.

But no longer can I ignore it…that feeling. I cannot say I am familiar with such mortal things, such weak things, but somehow I know. I cannot ignore the calling. It is truly a world turned upside-down when such logical actions—the obeying of orders—seem so unnatural and illogical. Things were not right when they should be.

We left him behind—he who had trusted me; we who had fought together. Our fates, our minds—our very existence—more intertwined than I could have possibly imagined. I cannot ignore it any longer; I feel it as vividly as my own being. It is a strange thing, the mere existence of that feeling. It is all too alien.

I left him behind. Me. My very self. I am the guilty. I am the villain. Even the wrong, it seems, can be wronged. To fall back would be to abandon a piece of me; anything else would be disobedience and heresy. In the millennia and eons, it is the cause that will last; the empires that will be remembered. And still knowing that, this one individual in this one very moment would risk all that—risk everything—for the mere self.

I see it, the course of action, but it is too confusing. Even as I begin to move, I cannot believe what my sensors are telling me that I am doing. And yet as I numbly watch myself act, I begin to see—I begin to understand. What is two must become one once more; that which is broken must be fixed. In one last protest, my mind lingers for a brief moment on a lifelong mantra: Logic! Obedience! But from somewhere deep a quieter voice calls out (existence), and I can hear it clearly. I am. I will. For I, Soundwave, have left Ravage behind.

"I believe you have something that is mine."