Zero tossed and turned between the dominion of grotesque reality, and savage, frightening dreams.

Bumblebee hugged her close to his chest with an unbearable sense of solemn sorrow. He had failed her again. Even after he had assured her that she would always be safe with him, he had failed her. Primus, why do I have to be like this? he asked himself more than he did his god.

Up until this point, she had already possessed very few reasons to trust him. And because she had been shocked again, there was no way she would even entertain the thought. But it's not like it wasn't warranted, because, through his inaction, he had proved his previous words to be farcical. In his mind, he had committed an irrevocable malefaction. He had betrayed his declaration; therefore, he had not only deceived her, but he had prevaricated her. Churring in culpable dejection, he pressed his forehead against her quivering, but otherwise dormant frame, and just listened. The way her heart thumped from behind the cage of her chest reminded him of how his spark thrummed within its casing. And the way her blood circulated throughout her organic arteries reminded him of how his Energon coursed throughout the tubular circuits of his synthetic veins.

Bumblebee inclined his helm against the adamantine berth behind him and gritted his denta together. He wasn't particularly certain as to why he felt the need to do so, but what he was certain about was that Issac Braginsky was a dastardly human being, and one day, without question, karma would sink its fangs into him.

When he had watched Zero fall to the floor yet again, Bumblebee had noted how her eyes chilled and lost their ailing but keen spark. He maledicted his past self for not snatching her and getting out of that meeting while he could. He had the chance, but despite his more reasonable judgment, he had caved into his own self-doubt. It was a mistake that Optimus Prime would never have made, and it was a mistake he swore he'd never make again. The second he sensed danger was afoot, he was going to grab Zero and high-tail her out of there, no matter the cost or consequences.

Though the Lieutenant General may have been his sachem, Bumblebee couldn't help but abhor the man for every action he took. Unlike Prime, Braginsky was cruel and unfiltered, crass and condescending, unnecessarily violent and brash. There was no ray of benevolence to be uncovered within his personality, and it made Bumblebee wonder how someone like him could've wangled such a high-ranking position. But then, in a split second of remembrance, Megatron enthusiastically extolled his conscience. By no means was he saying that the Lieutenant was exactly like Megatron, (so far he wasn't a psychopathic world-destroyer hell-bent on killing half of his race) but it was undeniable that they both shared some repellantly similar qualities.

Aside from that, however, Bumblebee's failure to defend Zero made him begin questioning his own capabilities yet again. He had literally told her a few hours before the snafued meeting began that he wasn't going to let anything happen to her, yet he had. He angrily mulled the scene over and over in his processor, wanting desperately to punch something. The woman herself had even told him not to make nonsensical promises, and though he had thought that he could prove her wrong, it was she who had turned the tables on him just a short time later.

Abruptly and unexpectedly, Zero groaned, making Bumblebee shoot his helm up like a bullet. He flicked his antennas upward, but let them sag back down again when she merely rolled over on his chest. Imitating a sigh, he repositioned his servos around her so that she would be better protected. What she was to be protected from, he couldn't say. But knowing she wasn't exposed to the open air salved his whirling conscience if only a little bit.

A few minutes passed with nothing transpiring, but once again, Bumblebee ended up detecting a smothered burble from Zero.

"...Where am I?" she murmured.

For a second, Bumblebee's mind buzzed with the excitement of a sparkling. But then the harsh truth of the situation came crashing down upon him. Now that she was attentive, he would have to confront her.

Zero just surveyed him with half-lidded, jaded eyes. "Autobot," was the only word she could be bothered to convene.

Her previously dulcet tone now held a raucous huskiness to it, and Bumblebee meekly shielded his optics when she began her established routine of staring him down. Like always, her gaze was penetrating and invasive, but there was a crucial difference in the look she gave him now. Instead of being despotic and unmitigated, it was almost sympathetic and thoughtful. Pitiful, even.

Bumblebee tried to conjure up an explanation for his negligence—a reason for his inaction. But in the end, he just submissively lowered his helm, for the shame he felt upon seeing the inflamed, burnt red line that girded her throat was just too much for him to handle.

Zero didn't need to assert anything to understand that her keeper was under severe psychological duress. Like the last time she had been shocked, his spark drummed and flickered erratically but disconsolately. She could immediately infer that he was remorseful for what had transpired, and it made her think. She couldn't say that she blamed him for Braginsky's semi-electrocution of her since she had willingly blasted out of his hand and had stoked the flames of a race war without a shred of reluctance.

Putting that matter aside, Zero instead focused on the torrid blisters that littered her neck. She reached up to scratch and adjust her stun collar, but her hand was forcefully snatched away by another, more calloused one. Right away, she was a brief loss when she realized that the hand was human, and its size bore a striking resemblance to her own. Wanting to identify who the mystery appendage belonged to, she looked up and was intrigued to behold the sight of Bumblebee's holoform. It appeared identical to the time when she had first seen it, as it was adorned in the same casual garb, and its face was still as handsome and personable as ever.

Bumblebee quivered as he tightly restrained her wrist. "Don't do that," he said a little too quickly. "You could make it worse. The practitioners gave you some ointment, but your healing nanites should take care of the worst of it in a day or two."

Silence.

Bumblebee saw that he still hadn't let go of Zero's wrist, and immediately did so when she didn't respond. He nervously sat down on his own chest and threw his hands up in the air to signify that he meant no harm, all while he waited for her to reply. But much to his dismay, it didn't seem as though she was going to speak.

Though he desperately wanted to shatter the silence, he instead tousled his sandy golden hair with a finely tanned hand and looked elsewhere. Primus, he was so ashamed. She most likely wanted him dead as repentance for his folly. She did swear that she would exact vengeance against him if she were to be shocked again.

"...Autobot," Zero started, "how did you know my healing capabilities were enhanced with the use of microscopic nanites?"

Huh?

Bumblebee widened his clement eyes when she offered him a quizzical, almost innocent cast. She didn't look vexed in the slightest. "E-Excuse me?" he said.

"I have no desire to repeat myself. I am already aware that your hearing capabilities are far from inept, so respond with diligence," Zero said in her traditional, hollow timbre.

"Well, I... Uh, blood tests? I've done plenty of scans on you, so I know that nanites are—"

"That response is satisfactory. Now, if you do not mind, I am going to go take a shower."

Bumblebee was lost. Who cares about her nanites? She had just been shocked to the Well of Allsparks and back, yet he couldn't detect the slightest hint of fury from her. It was incontestable that she was capable of such emotions—he had personally discerned it and had been at the receiving end of her verbal wrath several times in the past. "Wait!" he shouted after her.

Zero turned around and regarded Bumblebee with little interest. Her current mission was to bathe, and he was impeding on her goal. "What do you want from me?"

"Aren't you mad? He shocked you again, yet—"

"It was entirely out of my hands," Zero said, but then a conjecting guise crossed her banal visage. "If this is about that insensate covenant you professed, then I believe I encouraged you not to verbalize such nonsensical remarks."

"But I should've... I could've..."

"Done nothing. Abstain from your loquacity at once. Your prattling is beginning to give me a headache."

Bumblebee went stock-still. For sure, he was going to get it now.

"What could you have done from the other side of the room? Autobot, I was already privy to the consequences of my actions before I set them in motion. What transpired was not a probability, but an inevitability. As my partner Jett once forewarned me, do not take on the responsibilities of a superhero. You will never be one."

Bumblebee went into defense-mode at that opination. "Slag it! I wasn't trying to act like a hero! It's because I wasn't fast enough that—"

Under different circumstances, Zero wouldn't have paid Bumblebee's jejune meanderings any mind, but this time the situation was different. She didn't oppose the way he was speaking to her. The unbridled sincerity in his tone was unique, and nothing like she'd repeatedly heard hitherto. She could tell he was being genuine based on his body language. There was no shilly-shallying—only an unswerving acknowledgment of his errors and an unspoken promise to make amends for these autonomously. It was a thought-provoking locus to her, and she couldn't pinpoint the motivation within herself to express anger towards the remorseful, solicitous other-worlder as she said, "First of all, lies. Say you got to me, and then what? Would you have struck your superior officer? Look, dwelling on what could have been is illogical. I hold no current derision towards your general ineptitude, so I cannot fathom why you are so disturbed by what occurred."

Bumblebee was utterly astonished, but not in a good way. She retained a point, but he was still so wracked with guilt that he couldn't accept her answer. Deep in the young mech's spark, he almost wanted her to yell at him—almost yearned for her to conclude that what he had done was unforgivable. Because aside from Sideswipe, he was known for screwing up. It was all he thought of himself. Perplexingly, though, her lack of discordance was throwing him off. For the lengthiest amount of time, she had suffered no problem in showcasing her distaste for his kind, so why was this instance any different? Did Braginsky and High Tide's argument really have that profound of an effect on her?

"May I?" asked Zero as she inclined her body in the direction of the hidden restroom door.

Bumblebee nodded and collapsed onto his robot body in defeat, exhausted.

When she escaped his sight, he retracted his holoform in a tizzy. And as he waited for her to finish, he clicked on his flatscreen and sifted through the channels.

He had a lot to think about now.


When Zero exited the shower, she stared at herself in the mirror.

For the most part, she seemed to be the same. Her eyes were still the same shade of blue. Her hair was still shiny and Stygian. And her face was still as round and ideal as ever. She started inspecting her body and grumbled when she reached the space below her clavicle. Her breasts were still relatively small, which was something Jett would often tantalize her about, for whatever idiotic rationality.

Zero explored her neck with the pads of her fingers and found herself lightly scratching at the itchy, festering burns that littered her skin. Her collar covered the worst of it, but she still felt repulsed by the brief sight of the carnage.

"Vile," she said, her reflection echoing this same sentiment. That entire meeting had been nothing short of vile and atrocious. It was obscenely disorganized and unprofessional, so much so that it made her feel nauseated just thinking about it. To her, High Tide and NEST's Lieutenant General were equally revolting in the respect that they were tasteless, close-minded creatures. But despite that, she almost couldn't help but feel somewhat grateful that her presence had been required. Though technically nothing was resolved, she had finally been effective in broadcasting her inner thoughts to her captors, and for some dubious reason, a weight seemed to have lifted from her shoulders after doing so. Also, her newfound understanding of Bumblebee's previously risible words riveted her, and she wondered just what other answers lied within the world behind the peculiar robot's optics.

As she wiped her dripping body off with a fluffy white bath towel, Zero searched for her undergarments and one of her orange prison jumpsuits. Growing slightly miffed when she couldn't procure them, she began to move at a more rapid pace. She vigorously opened and closed several cabinet doors, and became even more frantic when she was hit with a brutal, almost volcanic realization.

She forgot. She had forgotten her clothes.

This was something a non-mechanized human would do, and it was extremely problematic.

Zero wracked her brain, struggling to figure out how such a vital matter could have slipped her awareness. She just couldn't recall having ever forgotten something before, and right now, she was just as lost as Bumblebee. She was branded with the designation Zero-X, which meant that she wasn't allowed to commit any act of solecism, no matter how irrelevant or insignificant.

Her head began to spin, and she ratiocinated as cognitive dissonance kicked in. The supposed detox the NEST medical practitioners were exacting on her was to blame. Without a doubt, that was the answer. Her brain chemistry was scrambled, so that was why she had committed such a mindless blunder. She wasn't a broken biorobot—she was merely being toyed with by NEST and their demonic staff.

Zero wrapped herself within her gauzy towel and then reached a nervous hand towards the doorknob. She had to retrieve her clothing. She had to make up for this blunder. If I am discreet enough, the Autobot won't render me any mind, she concluded.

She hesitantly turned the golden latch and sneakily peeked out of the room, searching rapidly for Bumblebee's position. When she saw that he was perched in front of the flatscreen television, clearly engrossed in its contents, she exhaled a sigh of relief. The thought of having to ask him to grab her clothing seemed grotesquely unpleasant.

Zero tiptoed around the bend and ducked when she saw Bumblebee's antennas twitch. For a split second, she thought that she'd been heard. But rather than acknowledge her, he chirped in an act of childlike annoyance. He was following a game of human football, it seemed, and it appeared as though his favorite team was losing.

Zero scampered towards the dresser that was planted beside Bumblebee's berth, and when she got to it, she began pulling the drawers out from their stationary rectangular placement with extraordinary promptitude. The dresser creaked and rattled with the force of her movements, which made her curse NEST's officials for not equipping her with better living supplies. It was such a nonsensical grievance that she found it to be almost puerile. Not only did they neglect to provide her with a suitable cot, but they couldn't even be bothered to purchase her a decent dresser.

Zero swiftly grabbed her uniform, a pair of undergarments, and a lone bralette and bolted across the room again. And as her heavy metal feet made contact with the room's polished wooden floor, a brief but noticeable 'tap!' resonated throughout the immense, messy space.

Bumblebee casually moved his helm to the side, and when he did, he made perfect eye-contact with his little charge. Mortified, Zero merely sprinted to the restroom and slammed the door shut. Surprised and confused, Bumblebee mindlessly went back to observing his game. He made sure it was well established around the base that Zero was weird, so writing off her bizarre mannerisms as just another one of her bio-mechanical quirks, he figured he could just ask about it once she exited the restroom again. She had been too vivacious for him to analyze what she was up to.

While Zero changed into her standard prison livery, she felt her blood rush to her cheeks in bulk. She mentally chastised herself for being too rathe and timidly made her way out the door and towards the abandoned kitchen aisle, where she promptly sunk to her knees and patted her cheeks in concern. The fiery warmth was still there, and it was incredibly bothersome.

"Ayyy," rehearsed a smooth, cutting voice. "What's shakin', bacon?"

As Jett would say, shit.

Pirouetting to face her looming keeper, Zero said, "You witnessed nothing!"

"What'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

Zero pursed her lips at the snub-nosed remark. This Autobot absolutely loved playing games. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You locked eyes with me!"

"Woah! Chill yo' grill."

"Autobot, why are you like this? And how is it that your voice sounds normal when communicating through your holoform, yet it goes back to being broken in your standard robot mode?"

"You're being weird, so I'm being weird. And when I (static) use my other body, (static) my voice comes straight from my head, (static) so I don't have to use the radio."

"Well, that answers one of my questions." Staring deep into Bumblebee's soft optics, Zero probed them intensely for any signs of untruth. "...You did examine me, didn't you?"

Bumblebee trilled in unsureness. Zero complained about the most bizarre things, and currently, he was having a difficult time taking her seriously. The way her scanty, fluffy hair stuck up cheekily, and her buoyant, but by no means foolish words accompanied her alert expression was strangely entertaining to him. "Yeah, technically?" he replied. "But what's the problem? Who cares?"

Zero gave up. Bumblebee was right—who cares? She was acting eccentric because of the chemical imbalance that plagued her brain. Even if he had seen her, it wasn't a relevant concern to her. "Forget it. Autobot, I require proper, non-electrically-induced slumber," she said. "Today has not only been contentious in quality, but obscenely wearisome to every degree imaginable."

"Awww, but my game..."

"Based on my brief observations, your team is bound to lose after the third half. I have no desire to remain awake while you tend to such predictable endeavors. Oh, and it is possible we wouldn't suffer these issues if your NEST associates would bother to arrange me with my own sleeping space."

Ignoring her last sentence, Bumblebee said, "Did you just spoil a (static) live-action football game for me?"

"Affirmative," she responded as she started in the direction of the nearest comic book pile. Perhaps the thickness of the paper would provide her adequate warmth throughout the wintry night? "I find it difficult to believe that you couldn't have predicted the outcome yourself. But aside from that desultory wastefulness, if you refuse to halt your recumbent actions, then I shall simply make a spot for myself on the floor."

"Okay! Okay!" said Bumblebee, conceding to her will. Given everything she'd endured, it was the least he could do for her. "I guess it is about that time."

He offered her a place it sit inside his gentle servos, and she reluctantly crawled into them and waited patiently. When he got himself into a comfortable recharging position on his berth, she hopped onto his warm chest, laid down, and positioned her body at such an angle so that he couldn't see her flushed face. She really wasn't a fan of having to sleep near her keeper, let alone on top of him. But she assumed that the underlying reason as to why NEST was deliberating on preparing her a suitable sleeping space was so that she wouldn't be free from his constant surveillance.

Before she closed her eyes, Zero attempted to do what she always did before falling asleep: she briefly surveyed her surroundings for any convenient tools for a forthcoming escape, cleansed her mind, and focused on Bumblebee's thrumming spark. In the beginning, it wasn't something she had done intentionally, but since her head was right above his spark chamber, it didn't make ignoring it a very straightforward task.

As Zero did all of this, Bumblebee beheld her with a sense of determined resolve.

He would do better. He had to.


"Where is she?!"

"Jett Sterling, I must ask that you disengage from this hostile confrontation. Your inability to comprehend the recent skirmishes of the X-Battalion is a matter to be taken up with the Director, not myself."

"Shut up. What I want to know is why you three haven't been out looking for Angel!"

Three-X looked decidedly stultified. The Director had never programmed him for handling the subject of emotional outbursts. "Jett Sterling, I know not of any Angel," he said. "To my expert understanding, angels are spiritual beings often depicted in folklore that are believed to act as attendants or agents to God. If this is not what you meant, then please restate your question and try once more."

"I meant Zero, you horrible little gremlin child," Jett replied. He seriously wasn't a fan of this kid, or any of the other Xs, frankly. All of them were freakish and disturbing in his eyes. The way they looked, talked, acted—everything about them simulated liveliness, but it was all a sham. If anything, One-X, Two-X, and Three-X were nothing but semi-organic Cleverbots. Philosophical zombies. Zero was the only one of them that was actually worth something to him because she actually possessed a semblance of autonomy and personality.

Though his cute little friend was obviously in need of some severe emotional intervention, it was grimly evident to Jett that the other three were a lost cause. They were too far gone, and it was because they were too far gone that he didn't feel like such a jerk for talking down to them. It's not like they even registered his digs, anyway.

Three-X blinked his dismal gray eyes, finally understanding who the dudgeoning agent was referring to. "Jett Sterling, locating the prototype is not a chief concern of the Director; ergo, it is not a chief concern of the cardinal X-Battalion."

"Tough shit. I want Zero found, and I want her found now," Jett said, his voice forthright and his posture inelastic. "It's been months, yet there hasn't been any sign of her. You four are like siblings, so aside from the Director excuse, what the hell are you deliberating for?"

Three-X stared unfeelingly into Jett's eloquent, emotive brown eyes. The non-biorobot submitted the strangest of inquiries. His vocalizations were everywhere, yet he seemed incredulous to the reality that he could not be understood. It made the youngest X's mind shift. Dealing with such heuristic conduct was simply not apart of his protocol. "As previously mentioned, the Director has expressed no interest in re-obtaining Zero-X from the NEST conglomerate; ergo, it is not a concern of the cardinal X-Battalion. In all likelihood, my eldest inferior has been eradicated by NBE-High General Morshower or NBE-Lieutenant General Braginsky. Searching for her would be improbable and a waste of resources at best. Also, Zero-X, One-X, Two-X, and I share no blood relation. Equating our work relationship to that of siblinghood is illogical."

Jett scoffed. "Eldest inferior? Bullcrap. Anyway, I refuse to believe that Zero would have allowed herself to get killed, especially by those NEST bastards. She's not like you. If anything, she's better than all three of you combined. At least she isn't a mindless psychopath."

Three-X elevated a bushy, brown eyebrow in temperate disillusionment. "Wrong. A psychopath is a person who suffers from a chronic mental disorder that causes them to display abnormal or violent social behavior. No biorobot has exhibited such tendencies, so your words are erroneous."

"...Are you shitting me?" Jett wondered out loud. "Listen, I don't care if you look like a kid. I know deep down in that thick skull of yours, you aren't. If you can't look at this situation from a comrade-to-comrade perspective, then let me present you with this: what if she's still alive? Are you just gonna let NEST's staff scan and scoop out her insides for their mad-scientist research?"

Three-X thought about Jett's question, examining his left brain as he did so. The overall likelihood that Zero-X was still operational was roughly 32% and decreasing with each passing day. Also, the Director had executed his order. That made Zero-X's functionality or non-functionality irrelevant to him and his compatriots. If she was still alive, then she was on her own.

The inanimate techno-organic relayed this information to Jett and left the situation behind him after walking out of the room.

Angered, Jett reached into his pants pocket, whipped out a pack of smokes, illuminated the end of one of the cancer sticks with his new cobalt lighter, and then stared up at the ceiling. "Damn it," he mumbled as he mussed his finely trimmed hair in exasperation. Months. Months had passed, yet there were absolutely no new leads on what could've become of Zero. It sickened him.

Jett missed Zero. She was his sullen partner, and in a way, his greatest responsibility. And if the Director and the X-Battalion weren't going to take action, then he decided that he would.

He would get her back. He had to.