#paramagnetism.

Silver backed coffins lined the corridor, there would be no open funeral for any of them, there wasn't even a body to retrieve for... for.................. Gossamer filaments that lined delicate data slugs at the corner of his vision. A thumb rubbing incessantly over the white-stamped Autobot sigil, seared into his vision like a monitor ghost. Ironfist had known. He had known, and so did Perceptor. This was discussed with Prowl. Ironfist stared when they were on that terrible shuttle ride back from Garrus-9. No quips from Verity. No raucous laughter from Springer over a job well done. It was a brief moment that made him realize something harrowing. He figured him out. (A cruel twist in his spark was glad of that, the data seared into the scientist's module minutes away from expiration.) Ironfist handed the now-broken and shattered data slug into his hand, a hard look in his eyes. They did not need to exchange words. All that, all those deaths, all those sacrifices, and he stares at the remains of the data slug. What was the point? What was the point? WHAT WAS THE POINT. He had wanted to grab Prowl, then and there, pistol in hand. It would have been so easy to pull the trigger, he had gotten good at it. Instead he stood, limbs locked in place, not even a twitch on his face. Vision blurred, world spinning, audials ringing from the intensity of the anger that flared. It's not his job to get angry, not his job to put his feelings in place. Prowl had his reasons. "Are you listening to me, Perceptor?" Prowl's voice is like nails scraping against metal, pulling him harshly out of whatever stupor he was in. "There's still a loose thread I want you to follow up on," Prowl had finally deigned to say as though he hadn't just destroyed the only evidence of Aequitas' atrocities. And Perceptor had accepted the placement, had taken the trip to Kimia to investigate. One more job. (That's how it always ended up, wasn't it? One more job. It's not his place to moralize, it's his place to do the job.) "We're not winning this war, Perceptor," Prowl had once said. And it was true. It will always be true. They will never win. No one will.