WARNING: So... this story is darker than my others—to the point where I almost didn't enjoy writing it. A lot of it's just kind of psychologically disturbing because, you know, brainwashing, but there's also some torture, and a couple of unpleasant deaths. Thought I'd give you a heads-up. If you don't want to vicariously experience what messed Wheeljack up so much in Many Voices, then this is not the story for you.

Also, just a note—like most of my other spin-off stories, this one can technically stand alone, but it makes more sense in the context of Many Voices.

It started out as a normal orn.

Wheeljack thought it was funny that he'd left Iacon to avoid making weapons for the government, and had immediately gotten a job making grenades in a government factory. Of course, the difference was that these were comparatively harmless. The explosives he made were mostly used for mining—at least that was what they told the factory workers.

Work was a little boring but it was mindless enough that he could think about other things while doing it. He collected spare parts and other materials and sneaked them home to use in his own inventions, and while he pieced grenades together on the assembly line, he amused himself by thinking of ways to make them more efficient, and more powerful.

"Hey," the mech standing next to Wheeljack said. They were discouraged from talking to each other, but so long as no one started making mistakes because of it, you didn't really get in trouble.

Wheeljack nodded. "Hi. What's up?"

The other mech smiled. "Not that much."

"How's your sparkling doing?"

"Good," the other mech said. "How about you? You need to find yourself a femme, Jackie."

Wheeljack shook his helm. He didn't think any femme would want to be bonded with someone who was hiding from the government.

Wheeljack wondered sometimes how long this would go on. This wasn't the absolute worst situation he could be in, but he missed the freedom of being a student, and having projects and professors and lots of highly educated mecha to talk to. He didn't want to be here for the rest of his life.

"Hey," the other mech said. "Have you heard about that rebellion in Iacon?"

There was a rebellion in Iacon? Perceptor hadn't mentioned anything… though he had talked about Orion wanting to do something to fight the Council. "Not really."

"I heard there's something going on up there," the other mech said. "They're calling it Autobot."

"Huh," Wheeljack said.

"I wasn't sure I wanted to bother looking into it at first," the other mech said, "But they might actually be doing something. They want to get support from the city, then go get an audience from the Council."

"To talk about what?" Wheeljack said. "The Council's stubborn, and dangerous. Trust me, I've lived in Iacon, and I'm friends with a senator who used to complain about it all the time. What exactly does this group want changed?"

The other mech shrugged. "Don't know. But they seem to talk a lot about the government making mecha disappear, and how that's wrong.

"Huh," Wheeljack said.

"They got a bunch of mecha to help them make a list and post it all over the place."

Wheeljack wondered if Searchlight's designation was on that list. He'd have to look into it later.

"That's interesting," he said. "I wonder… I think I know one mech who the government made disappear… of course, that was in secondary school."

"Really?" the other mech said. "What was his designation?"

"Searchlight."

"Hmmm… the other mech looked down and fixed something inside of the grenade he was working on. "I can't remember seeing any Searchlights on there… maybe there was one… uh… there was a Wheeljack, though."

"Oh…" Wheeljack hesitated.

Silence stretched between them with the unanswered question hanging in the atmosphere. Wheeljack wanted to tell him—he really did. But though he didn't think this mech would turn him in, he couldn't be so sure about some of his other co-workers. And even if they didn't, they might talk about him to their friends.

"Must be some other Wheeljack," Wheeljack said. "If the government had made me disappear, would I be standing in an assembly line building grenades?"

"Guess that's true," the other mech said, sounding slightly disappointed and not one hundred percent convinced.

Wheeljack sighed and went back to work. "Do you know who's in charge of this… Autobot thing?"

"Nope," the other mech said. "I couldn't find that out. Do you have any ideas? You did live in Iacon, right?"

"Well, I didn't know everyone. If it is anyone I know, then they haven't told me. I might check it out, though… I'm not exactly the Council's biggest fan."

The other mech lowered his voice. "Me either. Maybe that's why we're friends. Of course, I'm not about to join some rebellion… call me a coward, but I've got a femme and sparkling to look after."

Wheeljack shook his helm. "Nah, you're not a coward."

"Thanks," his friend said. They worked in companionable silence for most of the shift after that, interspersed by short conversations about the weather or sports, or grenade assembly.

When the shift was over, Wheeljack slipped the few spare parts and pieces he'd gathered into a pocket. They had subspace scanners that made sure you weren't stealing company property, but they didn't scan for what was in normal pockets. Most mecha didn't even have those in their adult frames.

Wheeljack headed home, unable to get that rebellion out of his processor. Perceptor had usually seemed kind of distant whenever he commed, and Wheeljack had been his student long enough to recognize a note of discomfort in his voice sometimes. He'd been withholding information of some sort. Wheeljack hadn't called him out on it, because he wasn't entirely sure, and he usually got distracted before he could remember to mention it.

Maybe it had something to do with Autobot. But why wouldn't they want Wheeljack to know about that? It wasn't as if he was a security threat. He was keeping his own secrets well enough.

Wheeljack's apartment had been pretty boring when he'd first arrived in it, and it still felt a little small sometimes, but he had made it livable. It was littered with bits and pieces of inventions, and blueprints covered the walls.

He sighed and sat at his desk, then unloaded the bits and pieces he'd picked up this orn. It wasn't stealing, not really. You were supposed to throw this stuff away, because it was defective. Wheeljack needed some of it for something he was working on.

There were a lot of things he wanted to build that he didn't have the materials for. He could only make things out of pieces of grenades… but that was just part of the challenge. And surprisingly, there'd only been one explosion so far. Fortunately, the landlord had been very understanding, and had given him another chance.

He turned his computer on, and started tinkering with one piece he'd brought home. It had a defect, but Wheeljack could fix it, and then he could use it in his project. It was exactly what he needed.

He looked up when he was finished to find that his computer had started up breems ago. Why had he turned on his computer again?

Oh, yes, to look up the rebellion in Iacon.

He was careful when he searched for it. He was pretty sure any information on it would be cut from the public database, so he tried a more open city-wide network.

It didn't take very long for him to find what he was looking for—Autobot's list of mecha the government had gotten rid of. Searchlight's designation was up there at the top of the list. And shortly below him…

No.

Wheeljack stared at the screen, unwilling to believe it.

Senator Shockwave.

That couldn't be right.

That couldn't be right. Shockwave was fine. They would have told him if something had happened. Wheeljack pulled up the public database and searched Shockwave's designation.

There was nothing, so he broadened his search, frantically requesting files from the database. Within breems it became clear that according to public record, no mech named Shockwave had ever even been a senator.

Still hardly daring to believe it, Wheeljack went back to the underground database and searched for his friend's designation there. Here, he would surely find something.

It took half a breem. He found an article, written about how senators kept disappearing. It had a section about Shockwave, how he had been seen entering the Council Hall, but never leaving it. How Paradigm had been found dead the same orn. How there had never been an investigation.

Wheeljack didn't finish reading. He shut his computer down and spun his chair around. Across the room, on the walls, his blueprints flickered in their holographic frames.

Shockwave was... gone. Missing.

Why? Why had no one told him? This must be some sort of joke, or mistake—it didn't make any sense. Wheeljack shuttered his optics, not really sure how to feel.

How to feel?

His best friend had disappeared and they hadn't even bothered to tell him.

When? When had this happened? He spun back to his computer, and looked it up. Almost a quarter of a vorn ago. Less than a decaorn after Wheeljack had been forced to leave. This had happened just after he'd gone—maybe because he'd gone. Shockwave had been helping him—protecting him.

This couldn't be happening.

He hadn't talked to Shockwave since then. But he'd just assumed it was because Shockwave was busy, or didn't want to risk giving the Council information about him. Wheeljack had occasionally passed Perceptor messages for his best friend. "Tell Shockwave, I'm doing all right. Tell him if he and Paradigm have a sparkling, they should let me know. Ask him if he remembers what professor Arcana said about sonic disturbance damaging primary mental functions." Perceptor had never given him replies from Shockwave, but half the time, Wheeljack had forgotten that he'd asked the question by the next time he talked, and when he'd remembered, he'd just assumed Perceptor had forgotten, or that Shockwave had been busy and they hadn't had time to talk to each other.

He had asked how Shockwave was doing at some point, surely. Perceptor must have lied to him then. They'd all lied to him.

He very nearly commed Perceptor so he could demand to know what was going on, but stopped himself. Why? There had to be a why about this.

This had happened just after Wheeljack had left—just orns after Wheeljack had left. He had spent the last quarter of a vorn thinking that his friend was all right, still fighting for the good of society, brave and noble and good in a Council of liars and murderers.

Wheeljack looked down at his shaking hands. He had run away and hid like a coward, leaving his best friend to clean up his mess, leaving his best friend in danger. Now Shockwave was gone.

Able to stand it no longer, Wheeljack got up and started pacing. He still didn't want to believe this. Had Shockwave known this would happen? Had he made the rest of them promise not to say anything to Wheeljack? How could they do that to him? He had trusted them—all of them. Soundwave and Orion and Ratchet and Perceptor, and Accord and Dion.

Paradigm was offline.

Was Shockwave?

Wheeljack went back to his computer. He didn't want to do this, but he needed to know. He started looking for any evidence that his best friend had died.

He could find none. There were a lot of speculations about what happened to senators and high-ranking officials who disappeared. None of them ever turned up as bodies.

Wheeljack tried to construct what must have happened in his processor. He had gone into hiding, and then orns later, Shockwave had disappeared. Not necessarily dead, just gone. But they hadn't told Wheeljack? Why?

Wheeljack would have come back. He would have insisted they look for Shockwave.

Maybe Perceptor had kept him in the dark because he'd been afraid Wheeljack would try to find Shockwave, and then get in trouble too. But... that wasn't Perceptor's choice to make.

Wheeljack crossed his arms on the desk, and buried his helm in them, frustrated and guilty. He had run and hid like a coward while Shockwave had taken the fall for him.

Now what could he do?

If they had lied to him, there must be a reason.

They would have told him if Shockwave had died.

He could still be out there somewhere.

Wheeljack somehow managed to fit everything he owned in subspace. He toyed with the idea of leaving a message on the computer, but there was no way to tell who would find it.

He didn't owe Perceptor an explanation anyway.

He left for work, but this orn would be different. Instead of clocking in and going to take his place on the line, Wheeljack went straight to his manager's office.

The manager looked up at him. "Yes? What is it?"

"I'm resigning," Wheeljack said. "Here." He held out a datapad with the proper documentation. "Thank you for the job, sir."

The supervisor took the document, frowning at it. "This is sudden…" He looked down at the paper.

"I know," Wheeljack said. "I'm sorry for the trouble, but I'm leaving."

"Why?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "It's nothing against you or the factory or anything, I've just been called away to do something else. Thank you, sir."

"Thank you," the manager said. "Are you really certain about this?"

"Yes," Wheeljack said.

"Very well… if you are ever looking for a job around here again, be sure that we would be happy to hire you. You were a good worker."

Wheeljack nodded. "Thank you, I will."

Then, before the manager could ask him again why he was quitting, Wheeljack left his office and the factory, and then got on a mass transit leaving the city. He had spent most of the off-cycle trying to figure out everything he could about what happened to the senators who vanished, and where they were taken to.

He was going to find Shockwave—if he was still online—and free him.

He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't try. He knew his friend would do the same for him.

On the mass transit, he second guessed himself a few times, and felt a little guilty about not saying anything to Perceptor. But he was still angry at them for not telling him. It was a betrayal he wasn't prepared to forgive yet. And he knew he could never trust them again.

He slipped into recharge on the transit—He hadn't gotten much the off-cycle before—but woke up before he got to his stop. Altihex, the leading city in science. Wheeljack had once anticipated living and working here.

Things didn't always go the way you planned.

The first off-cycle, Wheeljack got a room in a hotel with the fake ID Soundwave had gotten for him. He had researched fake identification a little, and determined that the one he had was actually better quality than most. Good old Soundwave, always the overachiever. Wheeljack wondered what Soundwave had thought about keeping him in the dark. And what Ratchet had thought.

He wasn't sure where to start looking. The most common and well-supported rumor was that missing senators went to some place called the Institute. Supposedly it was a government research facility in Altihex. But everything Wheeljack had found about it was either vague or very speculative, and rumors weren't much to go off of.

He started by checking a lot of maps on the public databases. But Altihex was a city full of research facilities. To break into each one and sneak around, looking for his best friend… that wasn't going to work.

Perceptor commed him around the middle of the on-cycle. Probably just a regular check-in. Wheeljack ignored him. He didn't want to talk to Perceptor right now, or possibly ever again.

He put in a request to change his comm. code so that he couldn't be contacted. He changed the code for his datapad's messaging system as well, because he knew Perceptor would try that. The professor would be worried about him, but at the moment, Wheeljack didn't really care. Perceptor had lied to him—intentionally.

That off-cycle, Wheeljack went back to his hotel and set up his computer. With the credit he had, he could probably stay here for two or three decaorns. He had that long to find Shockwave and break him out. After that, he'd probably need to comm. Perceptor and get help. There was no telling what state Wheeljack's best friend would be in—if he was alive at all. Wheeljack didn't want to believe any of the speculations he'd seen about what happened in this 'Institute' place.

He started by searching the public database for government owned facilities. There were some research facilities you could tour. Those ones were probably out. The Institute would be smaller and probably not open to the public at all. It might even be disguised as something that wasn't a research facility, which broadened the search a lot.

Wheeljack had to give up after a few joors. He was stressed, and needed to build something. He pulled everything out of his subspace and built a small grenade from the parts he had, right there in the hotel room. Then he built another. He had enough parts for several. Not that he needed grenades. He wasn't really certain what he might want to use them for, but it was nice to take things apart and put them together again.

Finally, he felt ready to continue his search. He had narrowed it down to all of the less public buildings in the city, but that left him with a list of more than a thousand in the central sector alone. No good. And there was still a chance that the Institute wasn't here, or that it didn't exist in the first place. Wheeljack needed more information, but if this place existed, it was a very well-kept secret.

Frustrated and running out of patience again, Wheeljack searched for buildings related to the word 'institute.'

He got about fifty results. Not that the government would paint the word in big blue letters above the door, but it didn't hurt to try.

He scrolled down, thoughtful. A lot of these were hospitals or schools.

He stopped about halfway down. This was no use.

But why did they call it the "Institute"? That sounded more like a school than a research facility. Wheeljack skimmed through the list again, looking for anything that stood out.

If he was the Council, where would he hide a secret reprogramming facility? Somewhere no one would look. Somewhere you could send mecha without anyone getting suspicious. A school was actually not a bad idea. But then what if normal mecha tried to enroll too? Surely someone would notice.

It probably wasn't just a random warehouse, because they'd want good security, and it would be hard to have that in a warehouse without making someone suspicious.

But if it was a hospital… they would have too much traffic. And they'd either have to keep it very, very secret or have every doctor and nurse in on it. That didn't make any sense. You needed somewhere with a smaller staff than a regular hospital, and fewer patients coming and going.

He stopped and scrolled back up a little to read one of the entries near the top.

[Altihex Institution for the Mentally Ill.]

Wheeljack stared at the computer screen. He really, really didn't like the sound of that. Hiding a research facility in a mental hospital.

But it almost made sense. It would work, too. And it would explain why they called it the "Institute."

A chill crept up Wheeljack's spinal struts.

If Shockwave was in there, Wheeljack needed to get him out as quickly as possible.

It was just a hunch, really, which was dangerous. But, Wheeljack figured sneaking into a hospital was less dangerous than trying to sneak into a government research facility.

He had checked the mental facility out. It seemed to be legitimately what it claimed to be, but if the Institute really was there, it was probably just one ward of the facility. It might even be something most of the workers didn't know about, or at least didn't ask questions about. He wished he had Soundwave's hacking skills, because information about the patients and the mecha who worked there wasn't on the public databases.

He could try to sneak into the building somehow, but if he got caught he'd be in a lot of trouble. However, if he could find out the designation of one of the patients, he'd be able to get in to visit them, and then hope for a chance to look around a little. It took a joor of searching, but eventually he found a news article about a mech who'd gone to the mental hospital.

He left most of his belongings at the hotel, but brought the grenades and his identification. He hid the grenades in his pockets instead of in subspace because there was a possibility they would scan for them.

And then he headed for the mental institution.

There was a femme at the front desk. She didn't look up at first, intent on something she was typing into her computer console. Then she noticed him and smiled cheerfully. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, yes," Wheeljack said. "I'd like to talk to a patient, please."

"Oh, sure. Are you a friend or sibling?"

"Yes," Wheeljack said. "Just a friend. It's been a while since I've seen him. I didn't even know he was here until a few orns ago."

"Oh," the receptionist said. "I'm sorry. What's his designation?"

Wheeljack gave her the designation of the mech he'd read about. The receptionist checked her database. "Yep, he's here. I'll comm. ahead and let them know that he has a visitor. Thank you so much for dropping by. We don't get very many mecha here."

"No problem," Wheeljack said. "Like I say, the mech's a friend.

The receptionist waved him through a scanner gate. Wheeljack didn't dare to vent as he stepped through.

Nothing happened.

"So, just wait in that hallway and someone will come get you," the receptionist said. "All right?"

"Thank you," Wheeljack said, barely believing his luck. He could go exploring without even having to talk to the mech he was supposedly visiting, and then if he ran into anyone he could pretend to be lost.

He walked through the indicated doorway into the empty hall behind the secretary and kept going past the waiting benches there. The hallway was curved and Wheeljack was willing to bet if he walked down it, he'd eventually circle around to where he'd started. There were regularly spaced doors on either side. If he didn't find another hallway, he'd have to start trying doors.

Something clicked behind him and he turned around to see a door open and a large mech step through it into the hall.

"Oh, hi," Wheeljack said. "I'm sorry, I'm lost, can you help me…"

"Put your hands up where I can see them," the mech said, shifting his arm into a gun.

Wheeljack took half a step back, and then glanced up at the ceiling where a security camera hung.

"Camera can't see you," the other mech said. "Don't make me shoot you."

Wheeljack heard another door open behind him, and another mech come entered the hall. "I… don't understand," he said.

"Come with us," a voice behind him said. "Come on, mech."

He turned around. The second mech had the same color scheme and insignia on his shoulders. They were some kind of security guard.

Well, this was great.

He suddenly hoped that he had been wrong and this place was just a normal mental hospital.

He let the guards lead him through one of the doors they'd come through, down some stairs and to a spacious office full of medical equipment.

He was shoved roughly into a chair and one of the guards put stasis cuffs on him while the other accessed his subspace and emptied it—not that there was much in there. Then they searched him until they found his normal pockets and took his grenades away.

He probably shouldn't have brought those. They must have scanned for external weapons as well as subspaced ones.

"I'm still not sure—"

"Shut up," one of the guards said, powering up his gun and standing just off to the side of Wheeljack's chair. The other guard left the room.

Well, this was a mess. What had he been thinking, bringing bombs into a hospital? Even if this was just some harmless mental hospital, he was definitely going to be arrested. They'd turn him over to the government.

He didn't have too long to berate himself for being an idiot before another, different mech came in. This one was wearing official government colors, and had a small insignia on his shoulder that meant he had graduated from the Academy… specializing in medicine if Wheeljack was reading the glyphs under the insignia correctly.

"Hello," the medic said cheerfully, and pulled over a chair so he could sit across from Wheeljack. "So, what have we here?"

Wheeljack looked down.

"Care to tell me what you were doing bringing grenades into my hospital?"

"I'm very sorry," Wheeljack said. "I forgot I had those. I must have picked them up accidentally. I really didn't mean any harm with them."

The other mech almost looked… disappointed. Then he shook his helm. "That seems a little unlikely to me," he said. "But we shall see. What's your designation?"

Wheeljack gave the mech his fake name, and the mech nodded thoughtfully. "It's not so often we have an intruder here. Let's see… I took the liberty of looking at those grenades the guards confiscated. They look factory-made, though one of them is a defective. Where did you get them? They're government property, you know."

Wheeljack was saved from answering when the door opened and the other guard came in.

"Sir," he said. "We ran some checks on his ID and it's fake. We haven't got a clue who he is. He worked at a factory in Polyhex for the past quarter, but quit a few orns ago. Should we send a team to his hotel room to pick everything up there?"

The Academy mech looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, please."

The guard left and Wheeljack once again found himself under the scrutiny of the Academy mech.

"So," his questioner said, "That was not your real designation. Do you mind telling me what it is, and what exactly you hoped to accomplish here?"

"Um… I…"

This was not good at all.

"Come now," the medic said. "It is in your best interest to tell the truth. If this really is some sort of horrible mistake, we would be perfectly happy to help you sort it out and be on your way."

"Have you commed enforcement?" Wheeljack asked.

"Not yet. I want to hear your side of the story first."

"You should comm. enforcement. They probably should arrest me, you know. After all, I did bring bombs into a hospital. That's an act of terrorism, right?"

The medic nodded. "Indeed it is."

"Then what are you waiting for? My side of the story right there. I came to blow the place up. Comm. Enforcement."

The medic shook his helm. "Not unless you tell me your designation, and where you're from, and how many mecha will come looking for you if you disappear."

Wheeljack met the medic's optics.

"You look a little nervous, but that third part didn't surprise you," the mech said, then shook his helm with a world-weary sigh. "You know you're not the first one to come try and destroy my work."

The door opened and the security guards came back in.

"Bring him," the medic said. "We have to find out who he is and what he's here for, and if he has contacts on the outside who know about this place.

The guards grabbed Wheeljack and followed the medic into a different room. No, this was definitely not a regular mental hospital. Wheeljack was in more trouble than he had ever been in his entire life, wasn't he? Had he been right? Was the Institute here?

Not that it did him any good to be here if he was a prisoner.

They walked down a set of stairs, and then another and another, until Wheeljack was certain they were underground. They finally came to a small, sterile-looking room with a berth and numerous pieces of unusual-looking equipment on the counters.

"Oh, good," the medic said. "No one's working in here right now. Put him on the berth."

"Wait…" Wheeljack said.

The guards took the stasis cuffs off of him and shoved him down on the berth to restrain him there.

"Wait, what's going on?" Wheeljack said.

"It would be very helpful for us," the medic said. "If you would cooperate and answer our questions. If not, we will try persuading you."

Wheeljack hesitated.

"First, let's start with something easy," the medic bent over him, and Wheeljack gasped as something was pried away from his neck. "My designation is Neurosis. Now what's yours?"

Wheeljack froze. He had heard of the medic. This medic had been sentenced to lifelong imprisonment for illegal experimentation.

Neurosis stuck something into his neck. Wheeljack gasped. It hurt, and he was even more afraid than he had been before.

"I'll ask one more time," Neurosis said. "What is your designation. Tell me."

Wheeljack looked away, refusing to speak—more out of fear than anything else.

He was suddenly filled with pain like he had never experienced before. It wasn't plasmatic energon—he'd been shocked before—it was something different, worse. He couldn't even scream until it went away.

Then he lay on the berth, venting heavily, gasping.

"What is your designation?" Neurosis asked again.

"W-Wheeljack," he stuttered. "I'm Wheeljack."

"Very good," Neurosis said, and signaled at one of the guards, who left the room. "Next question. How did you find us?"

"Find who?" Wheeljack asked. Pain drowned him again. It felt as if his entire neural net was on fire, like he was being eaten away by acid.

When it finally stopped this time, he screamed and fought his restraints.

"How did you find us?" Neurosis repeated.

"It was… it was a lucky guess," Wheeljack said. "This is the Institute, right?"

"A lucky guess?" Neurosis asked, "I find that difficult to believe."

"I was just looking…" Wheeljack gasped and let out a shaking whimper, "For a friend, I… I promise, I was just looking for Shockwave."

Neurosis was silent.

"He… he disappeared, but no one told me, not for the whole quarter. I found out a few orns ago, and came looking for him. There were rumors they sent… senators to the Institute and rumors the Institute was in this city. I thought… I thought it would make sense for it to be in a mental hospital instead of an official research facility, because…. Because they seemed to be hiding it so hard."

"Hmmm," Neurosis said. "That seems extremely unlikely. Did someone tell you where we were?"

"No," Wheeljack said.

The pain came back. This time it stayed so long, Wheeljack thought he would overload and shut down. When it finally retreated, he couldn't talk for half a breem.

Neurosis waited patiently, then asked. "Who helped you find us?"

"No one," Wheeljack sobbed. "No one, I swear, I swear. Please, no one knows I've come here. It was just a lucky guess—just the first place I was going to look."

Neurosis reached for a control panel.

"Please!" Wheeljack screamed. "Please, please don't, I'm telling the truth, please…" He braced himself, but the pain didn't come. Neurosis seemed to consider his words. "Please," he said again, suddenly disgusted with himself for his begging, but unable to stop.

"We will wait and see what comes up about your designation and decide if you are lying when we have more information."

Wheeljack lay back on the berth, shaking. He could still feel an echo of the pain, and he couldn't believe this was actually happening. Like a sparkling, he started to weep. What an idiot he was. He should have gone to get help. As it was, no one would be able to find him. He hadn't even left a note for Perceptor.

Maybe that was good, though. No one knew anything, so no one else would get in trouble.

Too soon, a guard came in and handed Neurosis a datapad. Neurosis studied it in silence for nearly a breem.

"So," he said. "You are Wheeljack, a former student at the Iacon Academy, and friends with senator Shockwave like you said… hmm, Soundwave too. Interesting. Did you know he was one of my patients, a very long time ago."

Wheejack looked up. "What?"

"Apparently not," Neurosis said, with a wave of his hand. "Let's see… it looks like you disappeared not long before Senator Shockwave did… ah, the government wanted you to develop weapons based on your spark energy research. Hmmm… we'll have to see if they still want you or not. We can't just let you go, not now that you know this place is here, not without uprooting it and moving it again." Neurosis shook his helm. "If you'll excuse me, I have to place a comm. Drench, would you kindly take over here. The patient ought to fill out this questionnaire," He pulled a datapad from subspace and handed it to one of the guards, before leaving the room.

The guard, Drench sat in Neurosis's chair, grinning down at the control panel.

"Okay, mech," Drench said. "Let's see what you're hiding from us."

Wheeljack braced himself.

Neurosis waited impatiently for a superior to answer his comm. He really didn't have time for this, but it would be worth it. He needed more test subjects, and they were hard to come by, especially with that stupid rebel group up in Iacon who were now trying to keep track of when mecha disappeared.

Wheeljack was perfect. He knew too much about the Institute to let him go, even to give him to another government program. They could wipe his memory, of course, but hopefully he'd be more valuable to them if Neurosis could convince him to help them with the spark energy research. They were having more and more reliable success with shadowplay. There were still things to work on of course, but the successes had been successes.

He just needed more subjects.

Finally, he got through.

"Hello?" the mech on the other end of the line asked.

"Hello," Neurosis said. "This is 7-delta-9 of the sigma research grant, who am I speaking to?"

The other mech spoke his clearance code, and indicated that the line was secure. "You have something to report?"

"Yes," Neurosis said. "I have apprehended an intruder in my facility."

"An intruder?"

"Yes," Neurosis said. "I believe he was attempting to free one of my subjects. I will send you information pertaining to him. I… would like to make a request."

"Yes?"

"I want him as a patient."

There was silence for an astrosecond on the other end. "Who is he?"

"He's been missing for a quarter already," Neurosis said. "He went into hiding after the military requested that he make weapons for them… but now that he knows where the Institute is, he'll be more trouble than he's worth for you."

Silence on the other end.

"I can transmit the information I have if you like."

"That would be appreciated."

Neurosis transmitted the file they'd cobbled together about Wheeljack. Then he sat back in his office chair to wait, thinking over the possibilities.

This Wheeljack had spark, even if he was inexperienced and easy to break. He was barely more than a fledgling, really. Not nearly as determined as Shockwave, no doubt, but he'd found the Institute. Not many did that, and never working alone. If Neurosis could successfully turn him… He could be very useful to the government.

And if Neurosis could make mecha more useful to the government, the Council would be pleased, then Neurosis would get more funding and more test subjects.

He was waiting for nearly half a joor before his comm. was returned. The mech at the other end told him he could keep Wheeljack.

Perfect.

He left his office and returned to the operating room he'd left Wheeljack in. The mech was trembling and whimpering while the guards laughed. What idiots. Waste of good energy. Well, if Wheeljack had had any secrets he hadn't wanted them to know about how he'd found the Institute, he probably didn't anymore.

"All right," Neurosis went over to the berth. "Turn that thing off, and take him down to the cells. He's going to be a patient now."

Wheeljack cried out as Neurosis disconnected him from the sensory emulator. The guards helped him to his pedes, and supported—well, more like dragged—him out of the room. Neurosis sat down at his computer, and entered Wheeljack into the computer system, making a few notes about his initial personality and resilience.

He wasn't going to be difficult. Three or four rounds at the most.

"Let's see…" Neurosis muttered to himself. "We should give you a little time to get acclimatized to your surroundings, and simply observe you for a few orns to read your personality… let's schedule you to begin round one, phase one in two orns. That should give you plenty of time." Neurosis sighed. "Looking for Shockwave, huh? He's too critical right now. Maybe we'll introduce them to each other in a quartex or two, when they're both a little more stable. That will make a good test run. For now, though, Wheeljack, you just go get to know your fellow patients."