I've known almost from the beginning that something was wrong with me, with Breakdown, and the rest of my brothers. No one else sees the inevitability of death the way I do; they don't seem to know that any day, any moment might be their last, and eventually, one day will be the last--no matter what they do, or who they kill, or what you rule. No matter what, someday I will die, and nothing I can do will make a difference in that. That awareness is always with me--yet others seem unaware and indifferent to their inescapable fate. For the most part; Dirge seems to share my morbid awareness of the inevitable end.

Breakdown is always afraid that others are watching him, that they are on to him, and are out to get him. It's worst when he's in car form--everyone that looks at him is someone who might guess that he's really a Decepticon killer in disguise; anything with a lens is a surveillance device looking for him. Since his car mode is rare, beautiful and fantastically expensive, he draws a lot of stares from humans. Cities like New York are a nightmare for my brother.

Motormaster is a sadistic, bullying bastard even for us--and don't think he spares us just because we are his brothers. Someone would have killed him long ago if he wasn't one of us.

Drag Strip always has to be the best, and let us all know about it. All that counts with him is winning, no matter what--whether he deserves it or not. Outsiders think he's a perfectionist, but I know better--he doubts himself so deeply that he has to have those outside reminders that he's good for anything.

Wildrider can't handle stillness and quiet. He has to be on the move, doing something, saying something, breaking something all the time. If he cannot, the restlessness will turn on him, starting with a nervous edginess like Breakdown's, getting worse and worse until he literally starts tearing himself apart. I've only seen him get that bad once, when the Autobots had him prisoner.

We're all broken in some way. Why? I feel the key, pun intended, is the command Megatron gave to Vector Sigma to bring us to life:

"Make them hate the Autobots and all that they stand for!"

It did not work as Megatron literally intended. Motormaster hates Autobots--like he hates everyone else. My other brothers hate Autobots because they are the enemy we are fighting now. I could care less--they'll all die eventually anyway. As for hating what Autobots stand for--I'm not sure what that is. What do Autobots stand for?

I asked Breakdown; he didn't know. I asked Wildrider; same answer. Drag Strip just looked at me oddly. Motormaster snarled, slammed me in the side of the head with his fist, and told me, "Why don't you go ask an Autobot?"

"What a excellent idea!" I told him, and left quickly, before Motormaster could figure out if I was sarcastic or serious. Either way, he'd probably punch me through the nearest wall for annoying him, and I am morbidly fatalistic, not masochistic.

It was the germ of a potentially good idea, but it needed polishing. Getting an Autobot to (a) hold still long enough to listen, (b) not shoot me in the meantime, and (c) actually be willing to answer a complex philosophical question posed by myself looked to be nearly as complex a problem as the question itself. Others might have added (d), get away in one piece, but I never thought of that as a realistic option. I knew I would be caught and probably killed in the end. I always know that, and have been pleasantly surprised to be wrong every time so far. I'll be right one of these days.

Without my brothers--and I don't drag my brothers into my purely personal obsessions--handling any of the more powerful Autobots was out of the question. I could kill one, but doubted I could manage a proper, non-hostile interrogation single-handedly. "What do you stand for?" is not the same kind of question as "Tell me where your friends are before I shatter your crankcase all over the highway," and requires a different approach. Surprising how hard it is for a Decepticon to ask an Autobot a single, non-threatening question.

I considered tackling one of the minibots, Cliffjumper or Bumblebee, perhaps. Unfortunately, except for Bumblebee, the minibots are annoyingly tough and belligerent--not good querents. Bumblebee, though...

Then I realized the perfect target: Bumblebee's human associate, Spike. The human was weak and would be easy to restrain, and knew the Autobots well. He could answer my question! That is why I kidnapped Spike.

Really, it was easily accomplished.. by me. Breakdown would have had the screaming meemies driving through that busy suburb with all the humans admiring his sleek form, Wildrider would have been too busy playing demolition derby at traffic stops, Drag Strip would have attacked Bumblebee just to prove himself better, and Motormaster would have attacked Bumblebee and the house just because he wanted to, and gotten the entire Autobot cadre down on his head in five minutes.

Internet databases are very useful to us; much easier to look up an address online than to get it from a phone book. I get more navigational data from MapQuest than from Soundwave's surveillance tapes. The way wireless networks are starting to appear in large cities, in a few years we won't even have to go back to base--or query Soundwave--to tap into the Internet.

But I digress. The point is, I knew where Spike lived without having to follow Bumblebee and Spike around and possibly be spotted before I was ready to make my move. It was much easier to park in the lot of a busy store near Spike's house and wait for them to drive by. Five minutes later, I watched the yellow Autobot drive off the other way, without his passenger. Bumblebee was out of the picture. Next, I pulled up into the driveway of their house and beeped my horn. Spike came running out, expecting a friend, no doubt--he found me, instead. I transformed, grabbed him, and re-transformed, tossing him into my passenger compartment as I did so, then roared off down the road.

I switched to back roads immediately; the only Autobot close enough to respond immediately to a call for help was Bumblebee, and I'm not stupid enough to run right back up the road he left on. Spike was not exactly happy to be my passenger.

"You better let me go, you lousy Decepti-creep! The Autobots will turn you into scrap metal for this!" he shouted, and many similar threats.

"Don your seatbelt, and do be quiet," I said. "Your threats mean nothing to me." I had some maneuvering to do, and Spike would be in no condition to answer my question if he put his face into the dashboard during a sudden stop.

I think it was the seatbelt order that shocked him into silence. Spike fumbled around and found the seatbelt and donned it, staring at it like it were some odd alien device he'd never seen before. Then he laughed, a little hysterically.

"Are you ill?" I asked, not ever having heard that particular tone from a human before.

"You just told me to put my seatbelt on!" he said. "You're a Decepticon!" Spike sounded incredulous.

I tried to find a logical connection between those two statements, and failed to do so. I fell back to my default response.

"So what?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Since when do you Decepti-creeps care about my safety?"

"Ah. I have question to ask you, and you can't very well answer it if your teeth are embedded in my dashboard," I said as I dodged around a battered Honda Civic and accelerated to cruising speed. I didn't bother to dodge the shiny black Dodge Ram pickup ahead of him, but just ran it off the road. The Civic already looked close enough to extinct that it didn't need my help getting there. Spike turned pale, a common reaction humans have to my presence.

"Furthermore," I added, "my name is Dead End, not 'Decepti-creep'. I am a--"

"Stunticon! I know you're one of the freaking Stunticons!" He was quite pale now.

"Don't interrupt, it's rude. You are correct, I am a Stunticon, and you are, for the moment, my prisoner."

"I'm not telling you anything!" He folded his arms and tried to look determined, but I could hear his heart racing; I scared him.

"I would not make any hasty decisions if I were you," I told him as I rammed a small red two-door that was driving much too slowly in the left lane. "Cooperate, and I will release you unharmed."

"Like I believe that!" He held tightly to the door handle now as I wove in and out of the oncoming traffic lane. "Do your worst, I won't betray my friends!" Pure bravado; he was white as a sheet--though that may have been due to my driving.

"Why would I bother killing you? You'll die soon enough, as will the rest of us. All I want to know is this: what do Autobots stand for?"

"Huh?" Spike's jaw dropped. "You kidnapped me to ask me that?"

"I suppose I could have rolled up to Autobot Headquarters and asked the first Autobot I saw, but I had my doubts that I'd get an answer before my painful demise," I said. "They don't seem to have a decent FAQ on their website, either."

"Uhh... FAQ?" Spike seemed confused, which surprised me. I'd have thought a human associated with Autobots would be up to speed on their own Internet. As it turned out, I'd misinterpreted his reaction.

"Frequently Asked Questions, according to several online lexicons. Really, I'd have thought you have known. You certainly post enough on that forum at the Autobot website." I squeezed between a large motor home and a semi-truck; the former vehicle's driver flinched and went careening off onto the shoulder.

"Gah! You creeps are on the INTERNET?"

"It is a communications network. Of course we monitor it." Something about that silenced the human. "About my question?" I prompted him. "What do the Autobots stand for? What do they value? What are their strong points, mentally speaking?"

"Well," Spike said, looking thoughtful. I moderated my driving to minimize distractions like crunching metal and breaking glass and random thumps and bumps. "They believe in protecting innocent people, like us humans, and in freedom.. and in peace.. They trust each other, and hope for the best, and have confidence in themselves. They care about people, and they don't want to hurt anyone if they can help it. Even you bastards," Spike said sullenly. "Most of them, anyway."

I thought about it for a few minutes. "An adequate answer." I pulled off on the next side road and swung open my front passenger-side door. Spike took the hint and hit the ground running. I pulled back onto the road in a spray of gravel and accelerated down the road again. Ten minutes later, you, the Aerialbots, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bluestreak, Prowl, Wheeljack, Red Alert, and Jazz caught up with me.

So, Optimus Prime, now you know why I kidnapped Spike. When you get around to pulling the trigger on that blaster of yours, please aim it about six inches down and a foot to the left--that way, you'll get my laser core in one shot.

And yes, I have my answer.

I have no hope.

Breakdown cannot trust.

Drag Strip has no confidence in himself.

Wildrider cannot abide peace.

Motormaster likes to hurt people, and cares nothing for others.

None of us are free; we are chained together by our brokenness.

We were made broken, by Megatron's order.

-- FIN --