~Author's Note~ This's a story for Wheelie in TFPrime; it's a combination of the Spotlight: Wheelie comic, The Story of Wheelie, the Wild Boy of Quintesson storybook, and then my own ideas.
Part 1 reviewed by TFMegatron on DeviantArt; some things in here were his idea, so I give him credit for all the help he was with this.
"Yeah I rhyme, all the time- but there's a big freaking reason. And I don't fragging care if with that, you find idiosyncrasies in. My name is Wheelie, and I choose to speak this way, really. If you want to hear my story, then fine, I'll tell it to you now; and to finish it without rhyming on purpose, I certainly will vow...
...
"It's...fuzzy to me now. I don't really remember much of what happened the cycle my creators made the decision that we were going to flee from our home planet of Cybertron- couldn't tell you what they said, everything they'd decided, when we'd leave and for how long. I...can't even remember the city I'd been born in. Or...it's ruins I guess I should say. I couldn't even tell you my creator's designations I'd been so young when we fled. They'd wanted to keep me out of the war, wanted to keep me safe- they gave me the one possession I'd never give up, even if I grew a little large to actually be able to use it. I can remember my sire going down on one knee in front of me, my carrier behind him, holding his shoulders as he held the object out to me.
"I can remember the soft glow in his golden optics; the gentle smile offered to me on his dark grey lips; his rich, gentle voice.
"'Wheelie,' he'd said, holding out a navy blue, lighter-striped slingshot to me and a handful of metal pellets to go with it, 'We're giving you this in case there ever comes a time we can't protect you. Always keep it in your sight. Understood?'
"'Yes, Daddy.'
"I remember my carrier wasn't the most pleased with giving me a weapon- but they'd both agreed it was needed. We'd be going off-planet, who-knows-where, to escape the war between the Autobots and Decepticons. They hadn't wanted to take a side, stubbornly remaining Nails (Neutrals) up until the moment they got the ship they'd spent so long saving up for. At the time, I didn't understand. I'd been too young, naive, carefree- but now, I understand too well. They'd seen wrongs with both factions; one mecha from the Decepticons could have a gentler spark than most 'bots, one 'bot could commit merciless murder far worse than a 'con. They were both wrong, my creators must've believed. They...maybe they hadn't wanted to become killers; and I bet they didn't want me to grow up around bloodshed and hatred.
"So we fled. They strapped me in tight in the third row of seats, putting some of their weapons in the second row where they could reach- just in case, they'd said- and they took the pilots' seats up front. I can remember being lulled into recharge from my carrier's gentle humming of a sweet lullaby, her cerulean optics glancing back at me every once in a while until my shutters closed over my own eyes.
"The next thing I'd known, my creators were shouting, trying desperately to change our ship's course. My servos had pressed against the glass, optics that'd still been recalibrating from their sudden onlining looking out the window to my left. Our ship's systems were starting to fail. They'd driven us right into a radiation belt without realizing- at least, not until it'd been too late.
"They couldn't take control of the ship. I remember a scream splitting from my lips as we'd been dragged into an unfamiliar planet's atmosphere by its gravitational pull. They'd kept trying, and trying, to regain control.
"But as we'd hit the ground, my head slammed against the window and everything blacked out.
"When my optics opened again, everything was blurry and my whole frame ached. Most of the windows were completely shattered- I used the broken glass to cut myself free of my harness. I'd found that my slingshot had also slid across the center aisle- I'd probably dropped it during the crash.
"When I went to pick it up, I was met by the sight of my creators... The front of our ship'd been completely caved in; I couldn't see anything from them at the waist down. Energon was already pooling. I'd probably woken up shortly after blacking out.
"I'd gone over to my carrier first, shaking her shoulder harshly, shouting at her to please wake up. Telling her it was alright, telling her someone'd come soon to help us. But as I'd been shaking her shoulder, her head had been turned; looking back at me were black optics, and her forehead had been completely bashed in by the dash. I'd backed away from her, my back then bumping my sire's servo.
"At first I'd been afraid to turn around to look at him; afraid of what horror would meet me.
"'Whee...eelie?' His servo had been weak, but it managed to take hold of my arm just barely. It was enough to get my attention.
"'D-daddy...?' I had turned to look at him only after I'd heard his voice, felt his touch. His optics, that I remember glowing so brightly, filled with hope and love just before we'd left, were now dull and tired. Energon trickled from a deep gash in the side of his head; a broken part of one of the levers (that hadbeen in front of him on the dash) was embed deep into his chest.
"'Go-" He'd growled before finishing that order, his dentia grinding together and a shaky servo reaching for the rod buried in his chest. Stained digits curled around its base. 'Go find...h-help, Wheelie... Now. Go, ge-gnhhh...' I'd covered my optics at that moment, as he groaned and pulled the lever out of his chest; tossing it aside and then covering the wound to try to stem the leakage.
"I'd been so terrified as I watched him bleed out- his words had fallen on deaf audios as he kept trying to usher me out, even resorting to yelling at me to get me to leave when I hadn't budged. But I'd stayed there, right by his side despite his shouting, his cursing, when he'd begun coughing up energon; I'd stayed through it all. Right up until he fell silent, until his dull optics offlined and he quit struggling to get his legs freed from where they were being literally crushed beneath the caved-in part of our ship. Right up until I cried out at feeling out creator-offspring bond shattering.
"I'd backed away when his frame went limp. The image of my creators leaking energon, their spark-chambers partially crushed, lower frames trapped- it still burns like a hot brand in my processors.
"I'm only alive right now because they'd been cautious enough about the war to put their weapons in the second row of seats, and I in the third. If I'd been any closer to the front, I would've suffered the exact same fate: being half-crushed, trapped, and maybe, like my sire, bleeding out slowly until my spark couldn't hold up any longer. My carrier- unlike my sire- was fortunate though; she'd been offlined on impact, while he'd slowly leaked out and I stood by and watched- helpless to do anything for him.
"It was something I'll never forget, never be able to purge from my data-banks. Maybe, if I'd been older at the time, it would be easier to move past it- but it left a scar on my processors that's slowly rusting over. It haunts me every time I close my optics- I've woken up screaming before because I can't stop seeing the images. That event will probably always haunt me- much like the fact that afterward, I just...left.
"I didn't run, I didn't even cry. Still to this day I think it's because of the shock, how quickly it'd happened that my processors hadn't quite caught up with me. I tried to find someone, anyone, to help me; to save my creators even though I already had known they wouldn't be waking up. I felt alone, confused. At the time, I'd been so young; I hadn't understood why they had to leave me alone. I hadn't understood why they couldn't come with me- sure, now as a more matured mech from that experience, I know it couldn't have been helped, but back then... I just wanted someone by my side; I hadn't wanted to feel alone. So what do you expect happened when I encountered the first inhabitant on the odd planet we'd crashed on?
"My creators had taught me some...Universal Greeting, they'd called it. 'Bah Weep Graaagnah Wheep Ni Ni Bong', I think it went. The inhabitant definitely wasn't looking to be friends... The creature (I later found out it was called a 'Chaosteros') came right up to me. It was fragging huge- especially compared to a Mini-Bot youngling like me. I can still remember in vivid detail what it felt like when unbearable pain tore through my left arm, the beast's fangs cutting through the limb like it was nothing. I remember fragging screaming as it tore my arm off my frame, swallowed it whole, and just...lumbered away. It had been the first creature I'd met on that planet, and already things were trying to kill me.
"It had hurt like fragging Pit, I tell you... I'd fallen to my knees, clutching the joint at my shoulder that no longer connected with anything; dentia bared and optics shut tight. I wasn't really sure what to do- but I knew I'd need to get the arm back. Without it, I couldn't collect the items I'd be needing, I couldn't defend myself; I'd die out there. I remember grimacing as I pinched the broken energon-line with my digits until it stopped leaking, trying hard not to gag or purge. I'd heard my carrier, who'd been a medic even before the war, talking about how to do certain procedures all the time. Sometimes she even showed me her data-pad of medical information, and would tell me what all the pictures meant; how to discern the pictures to repair someone. I knew I'd have to do it on my own, that I couldn't just start wandering without the limb. My hopes of finding anyone to help me had plummeted to the deepest and darkest part of my spark that cycle.
"I can remember getting back to my pedes, clutching the empty joint and knees shaking a bit before I'd been able to collect my bearings- and I followed after the beast. I don't know how long I'd followed it in circles around our crashed ship as it'd hunted other organics before I'd been able to retrieve my arm from its scat. It...wasn't pleasant on the olfactory sensors, I'll tell you... My arm luckily hadn't been digestible, and passed straight through its systems; the only thing wrong with it was that the paint had been stripped, leaving it a pale silver-gray, and the the rubber on the tire was also gone.
"I carried my limb back to our ship- hoping, praying my carrier had brought her medical supplies, and that if she did they hadn't been destroyed in the crash. I was lucky; she'd put all of the supplies in a compartment at the back of the aisle- everything in sound condition. With the supplies, packed away carefully were explosives. I'd ignored the case of explosives, going right for the data-pad and medical supplies. I went through my carrier's notes until I found some on how to reattach a limb.
"I'd quickly realized it would be a lot harder to do than I thought- especially with only one available servo and the illiteracy I'd had at the time. Not only that, but the sight of the detached limb itself had caused my tank to churn; it was sickening. The armor pierced in various places, the protoform underneath shredded at any point that the fangs had met; some of the punctures even passing all the way through the limb. It wasn't a pretty sight, and I hadn't been very confident on my abilities to get it reattached at the time. But I'd known I had to try- no matter how sick it made me feel.
"It's...it's hard to forget something like that. Maybe if I'd been older, maybe if I'd seen war, maybe... But I hadn't. I'd been thrown onto that fragging planet, and was alone for so slagging long, at such a young freaking age! I'd been forced to come up with ways to survive- and I'd survived only because I built up the bearings to reattach my own slagging arm that cycle. After that, it all started to come so much easier...
"I'd figured out a way to get it reattached; using a broken, bent beam from outside the ship to hold the arm at an angle at the elbow, and cutting away some of the harnesses from their seats to tie the beam and keep my arm in one place, hanging from one of the seats so I could lean back against the wall. I remember the troubles I had at first with keeping the arm against my shoulder- I'd actually ended up putting my slingshot's pouch at the elbow, and the handle between my dentia, so that it'd stopped swinging every time I tried getting joint and wiring redone.
"It was difficult, and I'd ended up needing to restart the process a couple of times (the images in my carrier's data-pad had been difficult to discern for some areas), or because I'd felt the need to purge. At least four times, I'd retched up a small amount of energon before I'd been able to continue with the...'procedure' on myself. Eventually, despite my troubles, I'd been able to reattach it well enough I could move it without difficulty in most directions, and the digits'd still worked right. It ached pretty badly, yeah- but I did what I could to fix up the bite marks.
"Had I been scared? Frag yeah, I was. Where the Pit was I? What the slag would I do now? For all I knew back then, the only inhabitants of that planet could've been the feral animals that'd attack something the moment they saw movement.
"What was I suppose to do...?
"I'll tell you exactly what the slag I did.
"I'd started looking through weapons to start with; the only ones I could carry effectively- and probably even be able to use- were the small explosives. Once I got good with my slingshot they'd fit perfectly with it. I subspaced quite a few of the explosives, collected the rest of the pellets my sire'd packed away for me and did the same with them, as well as my carrier's data-pad and some of the smaller medical supplies. I took a broken panel from outside, made it into a sled using the harnesses I'd already cut away, and put some of the items I knew I'd be needing on it: some extra panels, the remaining medical supplies and explosives; and then I left, for the second time that cycle.
"I took to the jungle, finding a slight rise and set up some of the panels in a tent-like structure that'd keep liquids (rain, mostly) from dripping onto me and rusting my frame. On one side of me, to the back of my shelter, there was a drop off; the other side, to the front, a gradual slope. That'd ensured that if something tried to attack me, it could only come up from the front of my makeshift shelter, letting me see what it was long before it reached me.
"Ya know, until I found out there were these big, flying creatures on the planet that always attacked from the side with the drop off. They hadn't been that hard to scare off, but I will tell you that because of them and other creatures of the nocturnal hour, I had a lot of sleepless nights.
"I'd started training myself with my slingshot within my third or fourth cycle on that planet. But I'll tell you, the first time I'd used it... I'd pulled back on the bands, a metal pellet in the pouch, but let go way too early and ended up shooting myself in the wrist. I'd yelped pretty fragging loudly because not only did the pellet hit me in the exposed protoform located there and drew a little energon, but the band had snapped my servo, too. There's actually still a little mark in my wrist because I'd been just that 'good' at repairing myself.
"I never went too far from my shelter- the farthest I'd ever go was back to the crashed ship to collect more panels, salvage what I could, and collect what'd been saved from our energon-reserves.
"You know...I was forced to grow up, mature, far too quickly because of that crash. How many younglings to you know who can reattach their own limb (even though it hadn't really been done right), or try to kill or injure something without crying about it afterward? Alright, I'll admit I don't have much of a guilt-conscious- but it's kinda hard to have one when you've gotta kill just to survive a single cycle, isn't it? Out there, it was kill or be killed- so don't go and judge, you got it?
"I ended up collecting the energon converter from our ship- that was literallythe only component from it that still worked right- and strapped it to my back using some of the harnesses. Don't ask me why I took it; I'd, very literally, just been collecting everything I could've salvaged- including that cumbersome thing. I'd ended up taking a couple of the harnesses, too- they'd helped me a lot by that point already, and it would've been a waste to leave them behind.
"I never had gone to the front of our ship again. I'd been there for nearly a year by that time, so it'd smelled of stale energon and rust inside; I didn't want to see what my creators looked like with their armor slowly being eaten away by the red disease. Yeah, I'd matured beyond my age; but would youwant to see your carrier or sire's offline frame slowly being devoured by rust? I didn't think so. Now shut the frag up if you want to hear the rest of this story, you got it? I'm not enjoying telling any of this. I will stop right now without second thought if you don't listen. You wanted to hear it, so you'd better shut your mouth and tune your audios.
"Over that time, I got pretty good with my slingshot; able to hit targets from as far as the weapon would allow once I'd gotten enough practice with it. I could injure the large, flying creatures (I never did learn their name) with it; I once even wounded a Chaosteros by shooting an explosive at its eye.
"But even with my supplies and my ability to actually use my weapon by that point accurately, I couldn't have stayed. My energon-supply'd begun running low. My creators had planned to go to a planet where they'd been paying a smuggler to get a bunch of energon to, so hadn't brought a lot for the trip- too bad we'd never reached the planet they'd initially planned on stopping at for pickup. There'd only been enough there that, for just me alone, I could've gotten it to last nearly a year- but that time'd almost been used up when I decided I needed to leave.
"So with energon-converter once more strapped to my back, taking a single panel from my shelter and once more converting it into a sled, I took what I'd needed and left in search of some way I could keep myself from starving. I went back to our crashed ship one last time to collect what was left of the dwindling energon-stores (as long as I was careful with rationing myself, I could have gotten it to last me a few more weeks), paid final respects to my creators, and then went on my way. I never looked back.
"I'd traveled through the jungle for who-knows-how-long (my chronometer had been fragged up in the crash, and the only way I knew the time that passed was whenever night fell. I'd long since lost track of the exact cycles in my time there), before I found my way out of it, and into the desert.
"In that desert, I remember how hot it was, how much faster I was going through my energon as my frame overheated and used it faster than I would've liked. I can remember my fear of dying out there- and the fact I'd been ambushed by lone, spider like creatures ('Arachnosaurs', I later found out) didn't help any. They were definitely huge pains in the aft- spilling some of my energon, trying to take bites out of me after springing out of their hiding places where they'd bury themselves in the sand- just waiting for you to get close enough. Within my first few cycles in that desert, one'd ambushed me and attacked me from behind- it bit down on my energon-converter.
"If...if it hadn't been there, the Arachnosaur would've taken off my head. I can remember that it'd run before I could even get my slingshot ready, and then I'd been stuck for two slagging cycles making repairs to the converter so that it'd stop leaking, finding one of the spider-beast's mandibles stuck in it. I figured that had been why it ran off so quickly- it'd been injured, and probably died out there when it'd lost the use of its powerful mandibles. Well good riddance.
"Eventually I'd learned to be able to tell where the creatures were at by watching the sand carefully. I'd started teaching myself to watch for inconsistencies, patterns, in the sand; the Arachnosaurs were good at hiding themselves, but there was always a slight shift in the way the sand settled over the ground, the way it sometimes seemed so alive once I got dangerously close. I'd taught myself to just be very careful in that desert- it was there I'd developed a keen eye.
"It was out there where I'd run across some other crash-sites, and was able to build up my energon and medical stores whenever I'd go into the ships and take a look around for valuables. One of them was actually a merchant ship, and had tons of credits aboard- I'd completely ignored them, and went straight for the goods. The energon- high-grade- wouldn't have been any good to me and just make me feel more fuel-deprived and mess with my processors and reaction time; but I'd figured I could find some other things of use. I'd stayed at the crashed ship for the night-cycle, I remember; using whatever I'd found on it to reinforce my slingshot, making it stronger so that it wouldn't break if I pulled back too hard; making something for my hip so that I could put the weapon there instead of holding it at all times (hey, your digits would start locking up too if they were curled around a weapon all day and night). It's because I'd reinforced my slingshot that night I was able to survive on yet another planet- but that's a story for later.
"The mechs who'd been aboard that merchant ship were Nails, just like my creators and in turn, myself if their lack of symbols was any indicator; I remember that they'd all been offline- the pilots, the passengers, everyone. One mech looked like he'd suffered similar fate that my sire had over a year ago by that time, a lever embed into his spark-chamber and old energon pooled around his chair on the floor. Another mech had caused me to scream unconsciously when I'd found his frame- just his frame, I might add. A ceiling beam from above had partially collapsed because of their crash from the looks of it and, while the mech was still strapped into his chair, the beam'd been in place of his head- which I'd found had rolled to the other side of the aisle. That...that was definitely disturbing, and kinda hard to forget...
"I'd tried their ship's comm. despite there being one mech to the left of me with a rod sticking out of his chest, and his copilot to my right with a beam- the same one that'd also been replacing the head of the mech behind her- pierced through the back of her seat and sticking out of her abdominal plating from the front. Unfortunately, just like any other ships I'd already tried by that point, all of that one's systems had also been down.
"As soon as the sun had risen again that cycle, after I'd recharged in the weapon-stores room to be away from all those offline frames, I took one last look around the place. I'd ended up changing my old welder for repairs with one that had full fuel, and also cut away some of the harnesses (they were good quality, and probably would work a lot better than the ones I'd taken from our ship since they'd become so worn by that time). A last run through of my supplies- energon, pellets, taking some more explosives from the merchants' ship, harnesses, medical supplies, slingshot, energon-converter- once I could say 'check' that I had all of them, I left to continue my trek.
"It hadn't been long thereafter (six, seven cycles later, max) that I could see a ship spiraling out of the sky in the distance. I can remember hope having bubbled up in my spark; could that be my way out? Could I finally get off that planet after being alone for so long? I can remember grimacing when it'd crashed behind one of the many dunes in my path- that had my hope faltering, when I could see the smoke rising from the crash-sight. Maybe...maybe the pilots'd offlined... Maybe it'd been false hope like it always turned out to be, and I'd ended up getting excited over nothing- but I recall that at the time, I didn't care. A ship! A fragging, Cybertron-origin, ship! Maybe the pilots would offline from their crash- they never did seem to get lucky in the ones I'd found yet- but I'd actually witnessed that crash. I thought that, just maybe, I could at least reach their comm.s before it shut down.
"I remember how excited I'd gotten, even how wide my optics had grown. I'd almost dropped the harnesses holding my sled so that I could just run I'd been so hopeful back then. But I knew that it would be a waste of fuel if I'd gone all that way, only to need to turn back to get my sled, and then go back in that direction again. So then I just started running, dragging the panel with my supplies behind me, before attempting to transform. I'd been so fragging excited to have seen that ship- the first Cybertronian life that possibly was still, oh I don't know; alive!- that I'd forgotten how much of a mistake that would be. I'd immediately screamed in agony, forgetting that as I hadn't connected my arm overly well all that time ago, it didn't transform right. I'd already had to drive away from Arachnosaurs if there'd been more than one at once, and that was when I'd first discovered that transforming caused excruciating pain in the limb. I remember groaning as I'd slowly willed my frame to shift back into its bipedal form- then I just started running, hoping I could reach that ship in time.
"Once I'd got past the other dunes that'd been in my way, reaching the last one that the ship'd crashed behind, I wasn't really sure what I was supposed to expect. My excitement had simmered down after my attempted transformation, and instinct kicked back in. That ship had just crashed- I couldn't just run down there. What if the mecha on board were aggressive, unsafe? What if they weren't even Cybertronians at all, and just acquired a Cybertron-model ship through some means?
"I decided to play it safe, reaching the top of the dune and ducking down, looking carefully at what might have been happening down there. At first, I remember relief settling over me- two Cybertronian mechs, identical, were out of their ship and looked for the most part uninjured. I'd been almost ready to run down there to greet them, until I saw the purple glints of their symbols on their chests in the scorching sunlight. Decepticons. I couldn't miss the mark. My carrier's medical notes had the symbols of both so-called factions, stating below them that a majority of the Autobots were ground-models, while 'cons were usually flight-capable. To me, just a youngling, that violet insignia looks just as evil now as it did to me back then. It reminds me of the face of a monster you'd see in your dreams- harsh, sharp angles that somehow managed to draw you closer; and before you realized your mistake it'd lash out and slice your throat open just as you jerk awake with a scream.
"The fact that those two mechs had another creature, some alien species I hadn't yet seen on this planet, held captive and ready to torture him? It didn't improve my opinion. I mean, of course back then I wouldn't have trusted an Autobot either- but the 'con symbol just always gave me a very uneasy feeling...
"Those two wouldn't be helping me, I'd soon realized. They'd rather take me and do to me whatever they were planning to do to the alien creature if they saw me. So I was careful, sliding down the dune while keeping out of the mechs' sights. I'd ended up getting pretty close to them- and almost ended up smacking myself because I had no fragging plan up to that point. I needed a distraction; I needed to get onto their ship, but they would see me instantly if I'd tried to sneak on it. Then I'd set my sights on the alien, took aim with my slingshot, and fired one of my pellets at the device keeping him trapped.
"I remember smirking to myself when it'd caused just the distraction I'd been look for, freeing the strange creature so that he'd taken off, the 'cons quickly pursuing. Sure, I was concerned of what'd happen to him if they managed to catch him again, but the thought of getting off that planet made me immediately forget my concern. Maybe, just maybe... But my hopes had once more been shattered. Their ship, like my own and the others I'd found in the desert, was damaged beyond repairs and their communications had already shut down. I could've broken down at that moment, could've just dropped everything and given up on ever getting off that planet. But I didn't; I wanted off that planet, yeah- but until I was able to get off, I'd just have to keep fighting.
"I can remember turning around, ready to leave that ship, and then yelping at the sight of a third mech- this one also identical to the other two. He'd been impaled through the chest by the shattered canopy window by the looks of it, and I wasn't sure if he was still online or not. I'd unconsciously rubbed at my own chest-panel at the sight of him- the glass in his chest was wider than I am tall, and I don't even want to try imagining what it felt like.
"I'd gotten off the ship, decided I'd best leave before the other two 'cons returned and trapped me in it. I'd survived that long- I was not going to just become some prisoner after struggling to stay online for so long.
"I'd ended up deciding my best course of action would be to track the creature I'd set free, and I'd ended up following his tracks into an old ruin. At first, I didn't know where he was; but I did see his ship.
"I'd felt so close to tears when I saw it; it wasn't crashed, and was standing tall and proud in front of a platform; a ladder leading into the open hatch. It'd almost looked like it was waiting for me all that time. I'd...been so distracted by that ship, everything that it could've meant for me, I hadn't even noticed the alien until he'd attacked me. He seemed...larger than I thought he'd first looked when I'd set him free. Despite that change in size, he wasn't very heavy compared to me- but an organic, while I'm made entirely of metal. It hadn't been too hard to get him off my back. I'd spoken a few quick words before he could do anything again, and (after it'd looked like he hesitated a bit) he shrank back down to what I think was his natural size- a little shorter than me. Heh...I can remember my confusion- an organic with some kind of transforming ability? But it'd been quick to jump to my processors that, whatever his species was (still to this day I couldn't tell you its name) could probably change their physical sizes- a shape-shifter, if you will.
"Once he'd realized I wasn't going to hurt him, we talked. He was a native to the planet, I'd found out. And he...spoke entirely in rhyme. I remember looking at him with so much confusion when he'd started talking to me. Luckily the alien, Varta, had a universal translator chip in his necklace, and we'd been able to speak without difficulty. Or...at least he could speak to me. But he hadn't really been able to understand me, and I'm being truthful here. I wasn't rhyming, so he had no slagging clue what I'd been saying at first.
"'Your words are jumbled, strange, a structure we must rearrange,' he'd said.
"So I'd tried my own rhyme in hopes of having him understand: 'Um. Wheelie is, ah, my given name, and...er...you and I are a bit the same.'
"I can remember jumping and flinching slightly when his translator necklace made a loud beep and the words Syntax Error were all but yelled from it. Varta had looked up at me, tapping his chin a moment. 'Cadence, meter, and pitch are all vital to the switch.'
"'Everyone's a critic.'
"Varta did reveal to me that his ship was space-worthy, but that it was missing its power source and needed a patch-up. Of course, I was more than willing to give him my energon-converter for that missing power-source. He showed me how to work on the ship, teaching me what I could do to repair it. You know, at first I hadn't even realized that I'd adopted his strange form of speech- rhyming starting to come so naturally to me as the time went on. Varta taught me about his planet (LV-117 being its name), the names of some of the creatures I'd encountered, taught me his language, even. 'Course, I couldn't speak in it fluently even if I wanted to; but I still remember some simple phrases- greetings, farewells, common questions and their answers, things like that.
"Varta even worked on my arm a bit. Yeah, it still hurt like Pit when I'd transform, but it was at least bearable from what it had been before. Though I'll tell you...even to this day I still get phantom pains that tear through my circuits in my left arm whenever I least expect it.
"We were able to repair the ship, just about ready to leave- until the two Decepticons who'd captured Varta following their crash ambushed us. I'd already been on board when they shot Varta in the back. My spark'd felt like it stopped when he'd collapsed at their pedes- but there was no wound. I hadn't understood why that was until the 'cons said they'd only used a stun setting on him. My relief had disappeared quickly when they said that they'd finish Varta off if I didn't let them have the ship. At first, I hadn't really known what to do. Was I supposed to climb out of the ship to allow the mechs to take it, or take off despite their threats to finish off the alien, ending out friendship short? I could have left, just abandoned Varta right then and there- and yeah, I actually had considered that I'm not the most proud to admit. I was just going to leave him behind so I could get off-planet; I'd been there for too long- but I didn't want to fall to a Decepticon's level. And...Varta was my friend, the only one I'd had for a long, long time; it wouldn't have been right to leave him there.
"It's because of that cycle I decided if I ever got off LV-117, I'd never side with the Decepticons...
"I pulled the safety catch on the energon-converter- Varta had told me not to mess with it, because it'd cause a leak and more than likely an explosion if removed once the ship took off- and descended the ladder so that the 'cons could take the vessel. I'd knelt down to help the alien back to his feet- aside from being a little shaken, he hadn't been too badly hurt by the blast.
"I...told him I'd considered leaving. I'd told him the only reason I'd stayed, when he asked me why I'd give up my own freedom for his sake that, really?- it came down to faction. I didn't want to be like the Decepticons; if those two'd been any indication, it was an awful faction. But I hadn't felt guilty when I told Varta I'd considered leaving. Not once can I ever remember feeling the emotion in my spark- from why my creators and I crashed, up until this very day.
"Varta and I had both looked up in time to see the ship explode, and the alien had immediately shot me a quizzical look- only to grin and clasp his hands together when I'd held up the safety catch for him to see. You know, I still don't know to this day if the 'cons had gotten out before the explosion since I'd been talking to the alien, and not paying much attention to anything else until that noise rang loud and clear through the sky. It still makes me laugh to think about Varta's reaction to the lightshow- the 'fireworks'- when that ship'd blown up.
"But after that, we were stranded. No way out. So we just started salvaging the ship and built ourselves a home near the ruins. Varta...became my best friend, and I loved him like a brother. I'd again felt hope by that time; something I'd, truthfully, not been able to hold onto after the Chaosteros bit off my arm that single year ago.
...
"You know, it feels odd not to be rhyming. It's because of Varta, his teachings, that my hope again started climbing. Not like you'd know what I mean, since your life just took a sudden careen. But hey, I'll keep telling you my story- not like for what I've done to you I'm sorry."
Wheelie pauses his story and grimaces as he brings a welder against the mangled digits of his right servo, casting a glance to the frame at his left; the other Cybertronian isn't much bigger than himself, and their chest-panels were blown apart. Clearly the result of some sort of explosion. The mechling huffs with irritation when the other Cybertronian groans- that had gotten very annoying when he'd been telling his story...
The Mini-Bot's orange armor was dull and dirty; rusted in multiple places; stained with energon from himself and others (mostly his own) along his arms, chest, and servos. He'd long since stopped trying to keep his frame cleaned every time it got a speck of rust- he'd found it was a futile effort. He'd tried to help this Cybertronian after firing an explosive out of panic- the range had been too close, and the explosion resulted in almost blowing his own servo off as well.
He didn't feel bad about it, he never did when he made mistakes. Besides, the Cybertronian had been a Decepticon- a faction Wheelie had grown to distrust and hate long ago.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken with someone- sure, he'd started talking to himself and offline sharkticons or Cybertronians at crash-sites on Quintessa, and for a while had a group of Autobots he'd been with who'd taken him back to Cybertron; but they'd been separated months ago. He'd had nothing to occupy his processors, no one he could say anything to but himself as he'd wandered, scavenging for energon and spare parts so that he wouldn't offline. Now, he had someone to talk to- even if their spark might not even hold up long enough for him to finish his story...