That tone in her voice. That quiet desperation and the weight of dreams killed and desires suppressed, when combined with the more urgent touch of her hands shakes something loose in the back of his mind. His fingers curl around hers and tighten into an actual clasp with them. Whether it's meant to comfort her or steady himself is open to interpretation.

"I've heard theories," he starts in a voice much shakier than he wants it to be, prompting him to pause and make an effort to collect himself before continuing. "About our origins that are entirely divine and some that are disturbingly mundane. Suggesting that we may not even be as sentient as we believe ourselves to be. That we started our existence as products to be sold. The Decepticons were modeled for war, the Autobots were modeled for maintenance and protocol. Basic programming differences that render us completely unable to ever be reconciled, even with our renowned abilities to adapt."

He shakes his head, wishing he knew why this touch was so important to him.

"But I've done some research now on human history, and much of it is defined by war. Given their frailty, their wars are much shorter, but they seem to be frequent, usually over land and resource disputes. So I'd bet that the real challenge would be to find any society anywhere that truly values peace over progress. And if you do - search their eyes and see if you can spot the one plotting to overthrow the leaders and take control for themselves."