Unspoken

Fires of Betrayal and Redemption

Hot Shot's optics widened as Wheeljack raised his weapon, the barrel of the blaster aimed directly at his chest. Time seemed to slow as Wheeljack's scarred face twisted with fury and resentment, his defaced Autobot insignia gleaming in the dim light. Hot Shot barely had time to register the betrayal before the blast hit him.

The shot struck Hot Shot in the chest with a sickening force, sending him skidding across the ground. His frame shuddered as the pain radiated through his circuits, the heat of the blast searing his plating. His optics flickered, struggling to stay online, but the pain was too much. He looked up just in time to see Wheeljack vanish into the shadows, his business for the day concluded.

"Wheeljack..." Hot Shot gasped, his voice weak, filled with disbelief. How had it come to this? How had his friend, the one he had fought beside, turned so completely? The question echoed in his mind as darkness closed in around him, the last vestiges of consciousness slipping away. He didn't know how much time passed, but eventually, the pain gave way to numbness, and his world went black.

Hot Shot slowly regained consciousness, his optics flickering back online as he found himself in the sterile environment of the Autobots' infirmary. The soft hum of machinery filled the air, and he could feel the weight of his injuries pulling at him. His chest still throbbed from the shot Wheeljack had fired, and his systems were working overtime to repair the damage.

He turned his head slightly and saw Side Swipe standing nearby, his posture tense with concern. Side Swipe had been the one to bring him back to the base, saving him from the battlefield. Hot Shot's optics softened briefly in gratitude, but his mind quickly drifted back to Wheeljack.

"How..." Hot Shot muttered weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. "How could he do this?"

Side Swipe turned toward him, his optics filled with sympathy. "Hot Shot, I know this hurts. I can't imagine what you're going through, but Wheeljack—he's changed. The Decepticons have poisoned him. You couldn't have stopped this."

Hot Shot closed his optics, trying to block out the flood of memories. The last time he had seen Wheeljack before this, they had been comrades, brothers-in-arms. The memory was burned into his processor—a fiery battlefield on Cybertron, the flames consuming everything in their path.

The battlefield had been a hellscape of fire and destruction. Buildings crumbled under the weight of the Decepticon assault, and the sky above was choked with smoke. Hot Shot had fought beside Wheeljack, the two of them pushing forward against impossible odds.

But then, disaster struck. A massive piece of debris had fallen, pinning Wheeljack to the ground, his legs trapped beneath the wreckage. The heat was unbearable, the flames creeping ever closer.

"Hot Shot!" Wheeljack had shouted, his voice desperate. "I'm stuck! Help me!"

Without hesitation, Hot Shot had rushed to his side, grabbing the debris and pulling with all his might. But it was too heavy—too much for him to lift alone.

"I'll be back! I'm going to get help!" Hot Shot had shouted, running through the flames in search of reinforcements.

But when he had emerged from the blaze, his superior had stopped him. "You're not going back in there, Hot Shot! It's too dangerous!"

Hot Shot had protested, trying to explain that Wheeljack was still in there, trapped and waiting. But his superior had refused, pulling him back. Ignoring the orders, Hot Shot had broken free, running back into the flames despite the risks.

But the heat had been too much. His systems had started to fail, the fire overwhelming him. Before he could reach Wheeljack, his optics had dimmed, and he had collapsed, unconscious.