Mad World, a transformers/beast wars fanfic

All around me are familiar faces

I…can still see them; the haunted, offline faces of the ones to have come before me. The other ten Series. I know who they all are; both in their numbers, and designations.

Worn out places, worn out faces.

The building I'd been trapped in was falling apart on itself—but not even the creaking from it that I could hear at times seemed worse than the condition of the others' frames. All of them overworked; so clear within dark optics and mouths held in a permanent scream of pain, whilst their sparks drift aimlessly within an empty Void.

Bright and early for their daily races

None of us—myself, nor the other Series—really got much recharge. Testing, experimentation, repairs; always done late into the night-cycle. It only began again as soon as the first light began to show. Series Five… I'd even heard he had offlined because of his lack of recharge. Doesn't seem like it had changed much despite that. We'd all be forced to work our hardest in that lab…

Going nowhere, going nowhere

It never mattered how much any of us had worked; we only got rewarded if we'd done exceptionally well. I…guess I don't know exactly why I, myself, did it… To please my…creator…I suppose. My work never really got me anywhere, though; it never got any of us anything but further testing and pain…

Their tears are filling up their glasses

So many tears of sorrow and agony shed within that lab…

No expression, no expression

Although their lip-plates forever remain parted in a silent scream and plea for release from the torture we'd all endured, their black optics left their faces blank, eerily lifeless.

Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow

Even to this cycle, what happened within that lab leaves me with a deep ache within both spark and processor. My helm is often bowed, optic angled either to the floor, or unfocused so as to look right through someone. I've…constructed walls around myself; no one can know of this pain. I am…just a weapon, after all.

No tomorrow, no tomorrow

Cycle-after-cycle of being torn apart and then put together once again; physical and verbal abuse; my processor all but destroyed—I still don't fully understand how it is I'm still online. I should have offlined upon that operating table time and time again. When I was young, ,tomorrow' only ever meant either more pain, or finally a release from it all.

And I find it kinda funny

I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I'm dying

Are the best I've ever had

I…I'm not proud to admit this, but during my…procedure…I prayed and I prayed for my spark to stop. I begged for Primus to release me from my agony; prayed that when I fell into recharge, I wouldn't wake up again.

I find it hard to tell you

I find it hard to take

Saying these things aloud makes the weight of it all come crashing down. I've…never been able to handle it; there's a reason that I'm far from a sane mech.

When people run in circles

It's a very, very mad world, mad world

Everyone around me is always in a rush, it seems… Does anyone even know how to take things slowly anymore? Others take advantage of what they have; they don't realize that, one cycle, it can all be ripped away from them. They can retreat into happier childhood memories when their cycles become poor—they don't need a Medic to sedate them to do so. They all run around without a single care in the world…

Children waiting for the day they feel good

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday

And I feel the way that every child should

My processor still causes me so much pain; but I've come to the realization that I just need to accept the way that I am—there's no way to change it, lest I want to go through similar yet again. I stand tall and strong and keep marching onward; cycle-by-cycle, vorn-by-vorn.

Sit and listen, Sit and listen

I don't want to offline; not anymore. I've had…friends, to thank for that. Friends I can proudly call my brothers despite their anomalies. They…aided me a great deal after I left that lab.

Went to school and I was very nervous

No one knew me, no one knew me

After I was restationed from my original squadron, I began a lot of shifting between many different Commanders; I was never really with whatever platoon or squad I ended up in for very long. I didn't really meet many others because of it; not that I was upset with it, but rather that I didn't know what to expect any time my station was changed.

Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson

Look right through me, look right through me

Most of my Commanders were never very patient with me. It is almost…humoring how many times my station was changed just because I had a Commander who refused to have a—how did they always put it?—"glitched, tri-faced freak" I believe?—work under them. Ahh, or some would simply pretend I was simply not there until I, myself, requested a relocation. Ha…how humoring it can be, so long as it is not yourself, hmm?