Against Will

It was really a long time ago and he almost had forgotten how brutal Decepticons could be. At least he was glad that they didn't suspect him that he was alive and he was well damn to the pit to be sure that status would remain that way.

After all, his past self was dead.

He couldn't remember how it all had started, but he remembered that he was raided in his humble home and was forced to plea his loyalty to Megatron in order to survive. He doesn't remember how many had followed his example and survive-he doubted all have gave their alliance to Megatron.

He was trained brutally to become their assassin, their deadly weapon that no Autobots would compare. It was successful, he mused, the Autobots really didn't see him coming. It also didn't help that he was the one who pushed the war at favor.

He wanted to be free of this locked chain prison on what he called his 'faction' and 'home' and just disappear in the face of the Cybertron and never to be seen again. But no matter what, that hopeful wish was crushed again and again as more Autobots fall in battle.

But he wasn't expected for his own miracle to happen.

He was wounded, he was sure, close to death and far away from where the Decepticons were. He hadn't got a clue how he got injured, but he can guess that Primus had given him a second chance to live, a chance to escape, a chance to be his own self.

So he did.

He hid himself away from both Decepticons and Autobots, conserving his energy and trying to heal himself, but he managed to survive just as the war had closed its curtains to its violent audience. He thought of having a new identity, as he was sure that he was being hunted by Autobots despite his 'death' at the battlefield. It won't hurt to be safe than sorry.

He discarded his Decepticon's sigil, the only evidence of his past and walked away to restart a new.

He is going to keep his past a secret, and he is going to protect it until his own death to the Allspark.

-.-

"Hey, Bulkhead."

Bulkhead blinked back at his little yellow friend he had made back in the bootcamp. Their experience back at the Boot Camp wasn't all that great, but both of them had managed to set aside their difference and became inseparable.

"Yeah, little buddy?" Bulkhead asked, using his friend's nickname, normally that would aggravate Bumblebee, but Bulkhead was glad that he was the only exception who can call him that. Any others who would dare say that would have a stinger in their face.

"What are you painting?" Bumblebee asked pointing at the canvas that Bulkhead was working on, "It's like you're painting one of Picasso's work, except….it's kinda violent…like explosion kinda violent."

"Hmmm?" Bumblebee was right, Bulkhead had painted quite a violent picture, it wasn't real detailed due to his large servos, but at least it was arranged the way that would make people scream that Picasso was still alive (how Bumblebee knew Picasso was quite a mystery, but he guessed it had something to do with Sari). Bulkhead wasn't, of course, expecting this to come out.

"I guess it had something to do with us fighting against Decepticreeps." Bulkhead concluded, "It's kinda….right at your face ya know? I can guess why Ratchet was so grumpy all the time."

"I guess I can relate…" Bumblebee wondered as he stared at the picture. Bulkhead wondered if Bumblebee had faced something in his past. But he was more surprised that Bumblebee actually had stayed and admitted his relation to the picture.

And it was sort of troubling him.

"Why don't you go and visit Sari for a bit. I bet she's missing you for more than a week." Bulkhead suggested wanting for Bumblebee to forget about the drawing, and besides, the Autobots hadn't even seen Sari for nearly a week. He guessed it's a good time for Bumblebee to drop in and just say hi.

"Ok, big guy!" Bumblebee chirped, his revelation about the drawing forgotten, "I'll see her right now!"

With a resounding goodbye, Bumblebee zoomed away from Bulkhead's room, leaving him all alone and his art project.

"…Another like me." Bulkhead mumbled, as he looked back at his drawing. It was mocking him, as if it was the only bane of existence of his own past. Drawing and painting has been his own therapy, suggested by Sari due to his large size (and his constant breaking things), but it was more to that.

Bulkhead sighed as he picked up the canvas. This one was not meant to be shown in the art exhibit, this is his own journal-his own venting frustration of his own leeching past that won't let go of him.

This is not the first time he had drawn this and he was thankful that Autobots knew of privacy and opened his closet where his various collection of his violent art was stored.

Each have different shapes, but Bulkhead knew that each of every art tells a different story. These are the fight that Bulkhead was in during his time with the Decepticons and the Great War.

In the small detail of every art, there always a small figure in the canvas. Small, black, and red, Bulkhead was glad that he had abandoned his old frame and became a huge tank to hide his past identity.

After all, who would suspect that an Energon Farmer with the knowledge of Space Bridge was a Decepticon Assassin?