Autobot-7712

But he remembered. And that, he decided, was the only victory left.

Javelin looked at him for a long moment. Then she turned away. “Log it as MIA. Get some recharge, Zero.” autobot-7712

“Unit-512. Former designation: Petal .” But he remembered

“She’s not a deserter,” 7712 said quietly. Then she turned away

His squad was three other mechs: , a former medic who had stopped carrying medical supplies after the first month; Runnel , a scout with a cracked voice box who communicated in static clicks and gestures; and Javelin , their commander—a sleek, arrogant femme who still believed the war could be won with proper tactics and discipline.

He thought about the cargo clamps. About her laugh. About the way she had recalibrated the pressure seals with such care, even though no one was watching.

7712 was not a hero. He was a logistics unit—a supply hauler by design, retrofitted with a lightweight blaster and second-hand armor plates someone had stripped off a fallen soldier at the Battle of Delphi. His frame was boxy, his paint a non-reflective gray that had once been tactical but was now just chipped. His optics were a dull, weary blue.