Petal was crouched inside the burned-out husk of a transport carrier, her yellow paint scoured down to raw metal in patches. One arm hung at an unnatural angle. Her optics were dim, flickering.
The terrain was worse than usual. A dust storm had rolled in overnight, reducing visibility to twenty meters. His magnetized feet crunched over shattered metal and something softer he did not look at. His blaster was useless in this weather—he could not see far enough to shoot anything. So he walked. autobot-7712
His squad was three other mechs: , a former medic who had stopped carrying medical supplies after the first month; Runnel , a scout with a cracked voice box who communicated in static clicks and gestures; and Javelin , their commander—a sleek, arrogant femme who still believed the war could be won with proper tactics and discipline. Petal was crouched inside the burned-out husk of