Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers: Generation 1.
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I was disgusted by my own physiology. Suddenly I could feel it all. That I wasn't clean enough. How I would never be clean enough. Humans leave oil and fluids behind wherever they go. Fingerprints as evidence.
Too human. Not clean enough. Humans are not clean.
I wanted to be Cybertronian. Metal. Sleek metal. Like Mirage. Mirage was beautiful. I wasn't.
No evidence. Leave nothing behind. Disgusting human. Not clean. Never clean.
My mouth was dry and sticky and overall just not right. My body felt like lurching away from everything. The ground, dust, dirt, steel, cement-anything. Something was wrong. I felt disgusted by everything that I touched. I need to wash everything off of me. The thought was ridiculous in itself, since there was nothing visible on me. But I didn't feel clean. The area around me didn't feel clean. I needed to wash something off me. I didn't know what-But if my body was screaming at me to wash myself into oblivion, then I was not going to object. I couldn't touch anything unless I did that. My body made that crystal clear when Hound tried to set me on the ground and I jolted away from the metal floor like it was magma. Regardless, I drowned myself in the cold-
My reaction to the hot water: Vomit! Ick! Get it off!
-water and attempted to wash myself with soap-
My reaction to the soap: There's a spider crawling on my skin! Kill it! Kill it!
-before standing in the cold rain until I couldn't take it anymore. I went outside in the freezing-to-others weather. Not cold enough. Lay in the snow. Not cold enough. The human body gives off so much heat that it melts. Snow sticks to human skin, leaving a mark on the frigid wasteland. The snow melts, leaving water and other mammal fluids and god knows what else behind. The liquid seeps into cracks on skin both seen and unseen.
Too human. Too organic. Too disgusting.
Must get clean. Must get rid of the organic virus.
Too human. Too organic. Too disgusting. Too sweaty. Get it off me! Ick!
Not cold enough. I freeze. Get frostbite. I will never be cold enough because some human told me I would never be good enough for anyone because I was too ugly; too sweaty; too warm; too fat; too human. He died after a beating that night. He sat in a warm abyss and drowned in his own warm, sticky blood with his own bruised body. I almost died from frostbite in the morning. I froze in a winter wonderland and became blind from the burning white that attempted to conceal my broken heart.
I still pray to primus that he will find peace in a body that is not ugly, sweatly, slow, warm, fat, or human because that is what I want to be. He wanted to be indestructable externally so that his father could no longer beat him. I wanted to be indestructable internally so that no one could ever break my heart again. When our frames are made out of metal, we can meet again on another planet made from metal, and one of us can tell the other that they are too shiny, cold, swift, vain, and robotic for their own liking. The cycle will continue. Too human. Too robotic. Tell that to a technorganic that has to suffer being both. 'At least you know what you are. I'm stuck in limbo.' Every species has their own virus. The cure is illness-insanity-vanity-cold-warm-robotic-organic-sticky-sleek-crime-control-lust-
Unconditional love.