He studied the air flow patterns over the mountains as best he could with his failing systems. He watched the hue of the sunset change on a daily basis knowing that the smoke came from some burning human city or another. With the scant data he had, he tried to deduce which city the smoke emanated from, trying not to think of the casualties that were most likely involved. He noticed that the sunset did not seem as red as it had in days past, but it was most likely due to the calm winds rather than to a lull in utter destruction.

Windcharger dropped his optics to the ground far below him, in part from dismay, in part for watching for another friend's appearance. Within minutes, he watched the small deer venture out of the small forest nearby and walk cautiously around the parameter before dashing back into the forest. For weeks, this deer had done much the same thing, almost daring some Autobot to spot him and kill him on sight. There was no logical explanation for the animal's actions. It was not searching for food; that was almost certainly in greater abundance under the cover of his forest sanctuary. He couldn't imagine that such a simple creature could be capable of courage. Still, it seemed this way.

Windcharger closed his optics, fighting away fatigue and pain. He was an Autobot warrior, the pride of the Autobot War Academy. He was taught how to handle anything an enemy could dish out. Except how to mentally handle when the enemy one faces is the same fighting force he enthusiastically enlisted with many millions of years ago.

Autobot warrior, he thought gravely. It did not seem so terribly long ago that this phrase meant something. It used to be a badge of honor. It used to cause awe and even respect from other races. Now it seemed that "Autobot warrior" was merely an alternative to "mindless destroyer." Autobots were not only feared, but loathed. Races aligned themselves with Autobots out of fear that the ever-expanding empire will trample them next. And even these races were not above being trampled thusly when it suited the Empire. Honor? It had become a word to use out of convenience to placate a naive despot. Allies? Fools willing to do the Empire's dirty work and easily discard without a thought.

He opened his optics and looked up at his bound hands, tied tightly with energon bonds to a spire several hundred meters from the highest point of Autobot City. He should be dead. Lord Prime, the Terrible, the Fiend, the Scourge of the Autobot Cause, wanted him alive because he believed Windcharger knew things he should not know. He wanted to know who else knew these secrets and didn't have the option of turning to Perceptor for the time being to dream up some new frightening way forcefully getting that information. In his anger and paranoia, Lord Prime strung Windcharger up, intending to break him.

Windcharger smiled. "I won't break so easily," he whispered hoarsely, aware others were listening. "I'm an Autobot."