A/N: This is an idea I've been playing around with since before the first Bay-verse movie came out. No warnings yet, please read and review.
Mostly G1, may develop movie-verse elements. Transformers belong to Hasbro Takara and all other creators.
"Hope, report!" The command was barked out over the bustling surgical ward, startling the small grey and white Junior Surgeon working on the still form of Senior Surgeon Slipback. The younger, one of the most promising barely glanced up, faceplates calm despite the severity of the internal damages he faced.
"Stabilized, introducing energon feeds. Neural net repairs commencing." The youngling kept his voice level, impressing his superiors, and advancing his standings in the graduating class from the medical academy. Several other Junior surgeons glanced from their work, scowling at the prized pupil. Hope had been brought here unconscious, unable to remember where he had come from, or who his creators had been. Then he had awoken, and had shown an immediate aptitude for medicine that led most to believe he had been the private student of one of the elite medics. No one could tell for sure.
Recent attacks from growing gangs had shaken Crystal Island, the lofty, floating island home of Cybertron's most elite upper class citizens. The shimmering silver hued crystals contained pockets of lighter than atmosphere Infinima gas that kept it buoyant in the heavy methane rich atmosphere. Several lineages had been decimated, the attacks seemingly random in nature only served to stir unrest in the lesser classes and fear in everyone as chunks of the heavy ruined crystals rained down deactivation on the lower masses.
Hope returned his attention to the torn neural network connecting relays from his patient's logic core to his extremities. The fine filaments had to be handled gently, chrio-cooled to extremely low temperatures to allow their structures to become malleable. Otherwise, mending the torn sections with fresh filaments would result in fraying and loss of neural sensitivity.
Few knew how he had become so advanced in his studies – fewer had ever asked. The young mech forced his attention once more on his patient, slightly smug to see that his lapse in focus had not caused any faults within the filaments. His work continued fluidly, making his station the one silent point in a busy bay.
Seeming orns later Hope finally left Slipback to the nurse attendants and moved to another berth. There were many wounded, and this shift was part of his full orn rotation mending the worst of injuries. He felt pride in his circuits as he worked. He had strove hard to reach this point in his studies, and he had proved himself to be one of, if not the best in his class. He knew he was the best, but he would never flaunt it. He hated the prancing idiots who flaunted their skills. Those idiots normally hesitated when they faced life threatening injuries.
'Yes, if I ever have my own clinic my first rule will be to never hesitate.' Hope nodded to himself, placing that thought in his memory files for later retrieval. One orn, when exactly he didn't know, but eventually, he would have his own clinic. One with a resident engineer and circuit specialist to work for him making replacement components as needed to reduce the storage requirements of standard parts and be better able to keep the specialized mechs fully functional.
As his shift continued he allowed his subroutines to focus on the patients while he focused on his dream. Eventually he would have the best clinic in all of Cybertron. When that day came all would know Hope, and all would respect the best.
"Designation: Hope. Operation: Infiltrate Iacon Academy. Goal: Attain a highest position possible. All others expendable, set redundant memory suppression on my mark – mark! Designation: Hope –"
Hope forced himself from his recharge cycle, vents cycling too fast as his logic circuits rebooted to remind him where he was. Unusual cobalt optics looked over the small shelf he lay upon, one of many in the dorm, he alone was out of recharge. With a sigh he once more lay back.
He had been here nine vorns, his masters demanding he put in the standard time at the Academy despite having completed all his courses and passed every exam. He was, by virtue of the exams, a senior medic but he was still designated a junior. His glyphs had been withheld, and would continue to be thus for another fifteen vorns. The unfairness and cruelty to keep his skills from aiding others galled him.
Hope twitched uncomfortably, memory file replaying itself of his recharge flux. Because of his enforced residency here at the Academy he had access to every senior medic within the Northern Quadrant and their CMOs, his test placement privileges allowed him full use of all medical databanks and the Cybertron library, and granted him the freedom to access any other database on Cybertron, even Decepticon Military Medical databases. And the insidious voice deep within his core processes that erased itself with every on-cycle instigated his curiosity into outside research.
He knew he knew too much, that if ever someone wanted to hurt another all they needed to do was tap into his memory cortex. The thoughts were terrifying. As he lie there his thoughts spun, whirled with his vain pride at his accomplishments and humble fear of hurting another. Yet as he chased his thoughts his recharge cycle reengaged and once more he fell off-line.
"…Infiltrate the Iacon Academy …"
Hope surged from recharge once more, finally goading himself from the dorm and out into the silent halls. He shuddered from the memory fragment of his creator's voice, that horrid voice! When a youngling is created, Hope knew from experience, they were to remain inactive during their core processes implant. Hope was not given that privilege. He had been aware as a small speck of consciousness as his creator had dumped entire memory core transfers into his still developing memory cortex. Entire caches of past medics filled his storage space, forcing him to resort to self upgrades by implanting additional memory chips into his own cranial unit just to keep up with the horrific process his creator had started.
He did not understand the reason for his thievery. Why did he need the memories from so many medics? More importantly, why had it taken him nine vorns to realize it? He had begun to get suspicious when his focus would wander while working on a senior medic. Whenever he refocused he found a data line hard linked into his patient's transfer port – and a high frequency data stream transferring unidirectionally, to him. Then the memory fragment resurfaced. The time stamp was from two hundred thousand astroseconds before he awoke in the Academy nine vorns ago.
He had yet to remember his creator's name. He knew it was in his databanks, under the restrictions from the redundant memory suppression forced on him. 'Wave, his creator's name was so close, something-wave. His pedes echoed hollowly in the empty corridors, during off cycle all on-cycle mechs rested while off-cycle mechs were busy at work. The two cycle shifts shared berth space, none of the medical students having possessions of their own. Finally, he resurfaced from his thoughts finding himself in the bowels of Cybertron far below the Academy.
"Welcome, youngling" A voice spoke from the glittering expanse.
"Greetings, elder" Hope replied with a respectful bow, "Where am I?"
"You stand in the Hall of Light, here we Disciples of Primus pray for the longevity and eternal survival of Cybertron, the Frame of Primus." The old orange and green mech smiled kindly down at Hope.
"Why is it here under the Academy?" Hope moved through the hall, pacing beside the disciple as he took in the vast, echoing space filled with a radiance emanating from the wall plating itself allowing no shadows to exist within the sanctuary.
"Once, long ago this was the highest point on Cybertron. Our roof held a beacon that heralded the return of long distance Decepticon troops letting them know that they were home. Yet time, and a forgotten era of chaos destroyed our beacon, and new cities have been built over the old."
"You mean, the construction division enlarges Cybertron with every construction project?" Hope asked amazed, looking at the archaic design of the hall in renewed amazement.
"Correct, youngling. Now, what has brought you to our humble temple?"
"I could not recharge. I am in training to be a medic." Hope swallowed tightly, his fuel intakes puling in discomfort with the bitter reality of his position as trainee. "I am not boasting, I know more than any of the medic professors. I have led several classes, been brought into the hospitals of six quadrants for assistance and have been allowed to volunteer as Senior Assistant Medic in sixteen Decepticon peace missions. I've had to take over for junior surgeons, senior surgeons, field medics, triage ward managers and Senior medics. But, they keep me in the Academy as a student, they will not grant me my crosses and there are entire districts out there thronging with the impoverished masses relying on only one or two volunteer medics.
"The over taxed medics and ignored patients need me to graduate and help with the workload, but my professors keep refusing to allow my graduation. I am useless within the academy." Hope hung his head, wishing with all his might he could follow his spark and aid the poor, the impoverished and the destitute. He wanted to open a clinic near the mining colonies, treat the former Decepticon Soldiers who had turned to mining, the poorest and hardest working of their numbers.
"The medics of the Academy are not known for their cruelty nor their ignorance. If they keep you there it is for a very good reason. Youngling, come with me, there is something that may help bring you peace." The pair made their way to the furthest corner of the temple, where a dreary statue sat neglected in a forlorn corner.
"This, youngling, is Falcate. He was the greatest medic known to Cybertron, and he was the founder of the Covenant of Light." He gestured to the shimmering, pristine white statue. Falcate was terrifying to behold, multiple crimson optics stared from his elongated face, plates jutted out from the sides of his lower mandible that even with being just a stature, still moved and shifted as if waiting for an age old answer to a silent question.
"I can feel him." Hope breathed, as something deep within his spark stirred.
"I had hoped for this, you hold within your laser core a resonance with the Light, come with me, and be blessed into the covenant. By vowing to the light you are giving your spark to Primus and requesting His guidance, willing to serve as His disciple in preserving the life of all others."
Hope felt his plating tingle and his spark lean towards the statue, "Yes, I would like that." Hope murmured as the vows of joining the covenant sped past in a blur until finally a series of glyphs were carved into his suddenly revealed protoform marking his as a disciple. "There, you are part of the Covenant and one with us. Should you need guidance, or aid, we will know and we will help in any way we can."
Hope smiled, suddenly realizing that for the entirety of his nine vorn life he had quested and searched for this – acceptance. He smiled, bowed and headed back to the dorms. While he felt too excited to recharge in the few remaining groons he had left before shift he could not go against his programming, which would make him perform in a normal manner regardless of how lagging his systems were from lack of recharge. He sighed and he began initiating his recharge protocols as he traveled, he hated feeling sluggish while his body worked at a normal speed. It felt disconcerting, as if he were being controlled by another mech.
Despite knowing his creator had enforced coercion upon his core systems, Hope was somewhat grateful for them. He had visited the Temple of Light repeatedly since his discovery over the past few joor. Yet as his confidence and calmness grew within, violence continued to escalate beyond the academy walls. The gangs had attacked again this orn, this time trapping every emergency response medic near Stanix, the peaceful Decepticon training base. Hope ran with other medics to the staging sight. They had to transport out to Stanix and aid the local medics there as well as treat any recovered medics from the Iacon Emergency Response Team.
Hope cycled his vents, excited and anxious to leave the Academy. He felt desperate to be able to make some good come from the evil he had done under the coercion within his programming. The halls echoed with the pounding treads of him and his colleges. For the first time in his memory grudges were set aside and all the medics functioned as a cohesive whole. Beside him ran Stradux, the one mech who had made Hope's life here miserable. Yet today Stradux only focused on what needed to be done, and Hope thanked Primus for the blessing.
The crew of twenty assembled medics, assistants, technicians and their accompanying six guards boarded the transport orbiter, launching over the metal skyline of Iacon. "Bots, our brethren of Iacon have vanished from radar. Stranix cannot give us details to their status. Lord Prime has requested two medics to join our forming search crew, headed by Special Autobot Rescue Squad Delta. This is a combined Autobot-Decepticon maneuver, whoever volunteers will be working with both our elite soldiers and elite peacekeepers. Questions?" Chief Senior Surgeon Broadspin towered over every mech seated in the transport, and Hope felt his small size more so than ever before. As the silence stretched on Broadspin nodded approvingly, "Then I need at least two volunteers. Those so inclined, ping your transponders."
Hope pinged his signature frequency to Braodspin before the senior mech even finished speaking, earning himself a slight scowl for his impudence, but Hope did not care. There were mechs that needed help and of everyone on the transport he was the most qualified. Once more the silence in the transport stretched, some fidgeted, and others began low conversations or kept to private comm only. Finally, just as Hope was beginning to think his request had been ignored Broadspin stepped forward once more.
"Well, congratulations, Hope, Stradux. You're on rescue detail. Everyone else, report directly to Guardian Prime. He's heading this operation personally. You know your duties, check all supplies and gear. Hope, Stradux, safe travels. Until all are one."
Hope refocused his attention, unnerved that his mind had wandered again while repairing a fellow medic. They had found the Iacon medics four orns ago, every one of them damaged severely. Stradux had been working on damage control, leaving final stabilization to Hope. Despite their differences and Stradux having been Hope's bane since awakening at the Academy, they made a decent team. Hope just prayed they were good enough.
"You two have done well. We have lost none." Guardian Prime looked the weary medics over, approving the positive state of the many patients. "Hope, are many stable enough for transport?"
Hope nodded, internally cringing at Stradux's scowl at being overlooked. "Yes, all are stable or will be. Begin the loading with Shunt and Drasus." Hope pointed to the mechs on the opposite end of the triage line as he turned back to his patient, mending the last few slow energon leaks before stepping back for Prime and his team to finish loading the last of the medics. With the last loaded the two medics sagged and gratefully climbed into one of the armored fighters allowing the larger mech to take them safely to the next staging site.
They sagged in waiting seats, sitting in silence as their systems wound down. Around the two healers several warrior models stood in tight ranks, all in silent recharge. The dark, silent figures showed little life signs save for the humming of idling systems.
"Why are you still on-line?" Stradux demanded, startling Hope from his silent musings. Hope startled, found himself on his pedes and backing away from his spiteful, unhappy partner.
"We still have patients and responsibilities waiting for us. Until I know my patients are properly cared for, I won't be able to sleep." Hope looked away and shrugged helplessly. He had tried to cycle down, attempted everything he knew to silence overactive processors while feeling strangely too awake and yet completely exhausted. Yet, nothing worked, his mind kept repeating the injuries from earlier that orn, noting how they seemed off from the report.
Stradux, however stared at Hope with unalloyed disgust as he looked the smaller, white healer over with furious optics. "So that's what you're doing, you're using gels, aren't you? Just to get the glory of saving the most lives! You sicken me." Stradux leapt to his feet, grabbed Hope by an exposed shoulder strut, and threw the smaller medic against the far wall of the transport. Hope screamed as he was flung, his frame effortlessly pushed open the transport's door and fell from the speeding Autobot, crashing into the wall just beyond the vehicle before grinding painfully down the wall to the ground and falling into darkness.
"Designation: Hope. Set redundant memory suppression …
A/N: So I know it's long and not much action, but aside from 'burn it' any ideas or suggestions?
P.S. A cookie to anyone who figures out who Hope is.