![]() He tells stories of how everyone is dealing with your death. ![]() He began to speak, about how empty the ship feels without you. To see you, to feel you press your hands against his face? Much to his shock and surprise, he felt… warmth. He called your name out softly, barely above a whisper. I think I’d choose to stay here, on the ship.” Some say we continue on to the next life. Some say our soul stays with those we cared for. He’d performed your last rites, and prepared you for cremation. You’d talked with him about what would happen when you died, at least from your education. When Ratchet handed him your broken, limp body, he felt his spark break. He’d give anything to see you smile again. Another small collection of innermost energon, no less than half a dozen vials, decorated your desk. He knows he’s one of the few that comes in here.
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