We are all just food for rust
The dark and dreary Dead End believes in nothing beyond the sheer pointlessness of existence. His nihilistic world view drives him to perform increasingly dangerous stunts in pursuit of even a fleeting thrill. He has been known to throw himself into the line of fire. Theatrically morose, he considers his Autobot shell the height of ironic fashion and composes poetry so bleak as to be farcical. His mini-bazookas are nigh-undetectable when stowed.