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Ultra Magnus could tell it was day, even in the dark of the cave and behind his shuttered optics. He reluctantly opened them, to see the light slowly creeping into the warm darkness. Fractals of red and orange and yellow, dancing among the few clouds up in their barely-there atmosphere. Just enough for venting. Just enough for thrusters to fire. He rolled over. He wished to recharge some more, but he had a task he needed to do.
So he got up, pain radiating along his back support beams, from the spindly little Insecticon-web cracks, souvenirs of his last tangle with the Command Trine, ending with him falling over a hundred miles in the air.
He limped out from the darkness into the new, sweet dawn. The dim sunlight drenched his plating and slowly warmed his armor. Yet he felt none of it.
He looked at the trail of energon he left behind him. He needed to go. Go before the wretched Seekers inevitably found his trail again and would draw even more, adding more strain onto already depleted reserves.
He gritted his accursed fangs against the metal insides of his mouth. A 'little gift', Ratchet had called them. He knew full well Ultra Magnus hated Beastformers. Optimus had called it a 'unique form of motivation'. Optimus hated failures. The ones who failed needed to be punished. And Ratchet always needed new test subjects. It had worked out perfectly for those two.
Magnus didn't particular care for the constantly drug-addled doctor. He'd go to the medbay to get one repair or another and more often than not, Ratchet was too high or too busy getting high that Magnus didn't want him coming near him with any sharp tools. Sometimes Ratchet would get into one of his 'moods' and frequently chase Magnus out of the medbay with a knife, blaster or whatever the hell he managed to grab while Magnus had to defend himself from the 'Bot Optimus hired to fix everyone up. The irony was not lost on anybot but no one dared complain. Ratchet and Optimus were as close as close could be: utter loyalty and a borderline conjunx-esque care for the other.
Or maybe they were conjunxes, but Magnus didn't know and didn't care to know. He already knew too much about both of their lives to feel very comfortable about either of them.
The things he put up with for this cause.
He began marching onward, servos clenching tight enough to draw energon.
He had an army to flee from.