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Vehicons are lining up, each with a rock in their servos. There is a pile growing steadily as it covers the remains of the only officer who knew their names.
XL-517, with trepidation is their step, approaches Knockout who in studiously avoiding every mech's gaze. His usual glimmer is absent and his frame is falling into disrepair.
"Sir, I'm very sorry for your loss. He was a good mech and we'll all miss him. I understand you must feel-"
"No you don't! He was my-", the medic broke off as his vocalized spit static.
Sinking to his knees in the mud, he lets the tip of a claw scrape against one of the rocks. A closer look reveals deep scratches in his servos and energon stains.
With pain in his spark, Knockout shuttered his optics and thought, "I should have told him."
