"You are either very brave or very foolish for a human," the Decepticon says once you've outlined your plan. "I think foolish."
"You're not wrong."
He makes a sound of dubious agreement, leaning back again while giving you a considering eye. "If you succeed..." but he doesn't finish, probably because he knows just how big an 'if' that really is. You're not going to argue.
He watches as you begin the first part of your plan, which entails quickly carving out some choice parts from the dead Autobot by light of your gun's flashlight attachment. You do so with tension singing along every nerve you have, aware of just how strongly the Decepticon feels about what you do. You keep reminding yourself that you know exactly what he's experiencing, because you felt it the first time you saw the poor, pathetic, sad creatures that are the Decepticon drudgers. Shockwave and his scientists believe in recycling certain kinds of waste, a category in which their deceased human test subjects fall into. The drudgers are what you consider a walking form of hell, so every time you catch a glimpse of the Decepticon's displeased expression while you work, you remind yourself that atrocities are committed on all three sides of this war.
When you decide you've got enough you are nearly elbow deep in the Autobot's chest, covered in energon from fingertip to shoulders. The bot had been in rough shape when you'd killed him, leaking internally, but you're not after the mother lode right now. By the time you slide off his chassis to the ground below you've amassed a small spool of energon tubing (clamped to prevent leaking), the remaining intact optic, and the T-cog, though you suspect it's damaged (you can't tell without taking it apart). You also managed to hastily and cleanly remove two vocalization circuits, which are nice additions. You survey your haul while you wipe at the energon painting your arms with a rag you carry in your pack especially for this reason. As far as scavenging goes it's not much and you can carry a lot more just on your own but you're running low on time—or rather, the Decepticon is running low on time. The red of his eyes has faded so that it's just a faint shine. Still, he watches wordlessly as you can begin wrapping your carves is dingy foam sheets, reused for the hundredth time over. Once everything is secured in your pack you slide your arms through the straps and stand, grunting a little at the weight, snapping together the front harness. You pick up your rifle again and now it's time. You're ready to leave.
The Decepticon says, "Will your spoils be enough to convince them?"
Ignoring the harshness of his tone, you nod with a confidence you don't really feel. You start walking, determinedly striding past him toward the tunnel you'd entered from. His voice arrests you. "Why do you do this?"
It's a moment before you respond, trying as you are to find a less self-insulting way to say because I'm stupid. "Faulty human reasoning," is what you settle on, half-turning to look at him as you respond.
You think there might be a ghost of a humorless smile arcing his mouth but you can't tell for sure, being as he's shrouded now in darkness. "I'll be quick," you say, more of a way to bolster assurance in yourself than to reassure him.
"I am certain you will attempt to be." He lifts a hand, waves you toward the tunnel. "Go. I hope for both our continued existences that you succeed."
It kind of sounds like he means it, which surprises you given his blatant abhorrence for both you and your species, but you suppose the looming promise of death might have changed his perspective just a bit. You leave without fanfare, your steps quick and determined and more than a little apprehensive, but you're on the path now. As scared as you are—and you are—you're also beset by what is undoubtedly a foolish anticipation. No risk, no reward, as the old saying goes, and there is definite reward awaiting you—in fact, that reward is how you're going to pull of the last half of this stunt.
