A/N: This is a PSA of just two words; Covid-19 SUCKS!

I'm on the road to recovery, but I don't care who you are, please don't wish this sickness on anybody, no matter how much you may hate their guts. It's not right, human, or even tolerable to wish someone with a potentially deadly disease. Be a better person.

I'll put this here, since I don't know where there will be a better time, but a lot of writing that I do is for myself. It's how I explore real-life concepts, questions, and concerns. I do honestly try to avoid writing myself into the story, as that defeats the purpose of thematic exploration, but personal feelings on the current state of the world will be bluntly clear in some of the future plots. Again, that's just me exploring my own personal beliefs on my views of the world. Political turmoil being one of them, as I'm just one of the millions of Americans confused by our… strange political climate.

So, feel free to go ahead and read this story as just an entertaining story. Or, once we get to the bulk of politics, feel free to politely state your feelings on such matters that crop up. I guess I just want to gain some different views without social media backlash. *sigh*

Anyway, on to the chapter.

(Oh, no idea when the next chapter will be out. I'm trying my best, but there's been hiccups along the way.)

Transformers: Prime

Brave New World - Gilded Earth

"It's incredible to note that the tertiary sector brought in an estimated 12% increase in tax revenue in the decade after the Merciful Uprising, considering that the majority of this sector consists of industry centered on independent daubers and free-lance decal designers. I highly doubt that such an individual and artistic driven sector will ever truly become monopolized, I suspect that as this particular industry matures, only a select few names will become household familiars. I've spent a great deal of time interviewing and studying the current runner-ups, and the following is a worthwhile list of potential investments that are sure to drive the economy in the years ahead."

-Quote taken from Stylish New Investment Opportunities from the Third Sector, from TheBusinessInsider: ADVANCE

Chapter 12: Stress-inducing Make-over

June wasn't happy. Of course it was difficult to be happy when overly stressed. Stress sucked out joy faster than her son could wolf down dinner. And June had been stressed for a long time. If it wasn't the job or mortgage payments, then it was Jack. Always Jack. Then Jack and his late night habits. Then Jack and his newfound friends. And it was then June had discovered a whole new level of stress that she couldn't previously imagine, after that terrifying incident with MECH. She really needed a therapist, but suspected that spilling military secrets would get her in a lot of trouble. Or taken to a mental institution, depending on how seriously the therapist took her.

But this? This was yet again a whole new layer of stress she didn't know existed, one she'd rather not experience. Having her body forcefully changed was shocking enough, but the process of making it presentable for other aliens to not immediately attack her was downright unbearable.

After having woken from her short nap, 'recharge' Ratchet had called it, her surgery was deemed 'healed enough' for Ratchet to dive back into her brain, turn on her pain receptors, give her medical override permissions, and to do what he called DSC, a Data Storage Check. June did not like that one bit. Ratchet kept assuring her that he couldn't see or understand the contents stored in her processor, and that he was just checking her limits and how many information packets she could reasonably hold at a time.

Just to be clear, June did not like it.

It was a cross between a psych evaluation and an eye exam, all while standing before a panel of judges for an audition she didn't remember signing up for. Ratchet would ask her the randomest questions which ranged from high-level mathematical equations (high for a human, that is), to describing an average day, to what did she think of her mother? It was all very bizarre and June swore she could see her thoughts come to life sometimes, like it was on a faded t.v., especially if it was a powerful memory or something easy to visualize. It gave her a headache. And to make things worse, Ratchet spent long minutes between questions doing nothing but silently monitoring her. She wasn't left to her own thoughts, she knew because when her mind wandered she could feel her grumpy companion trailing behind as a silent and judgemental observer. And the whole process took even longer because she would get freaked out and start randomly throwing up firewalls, which apparently messed up Ratchet's calculations.

June just wanted to be done.

When Ratchet did finally pull away the sun was high in the sky and Wheeljack was back at pounding the walls of the ship which only worsened her headache. She was only given a short while to herself, since apparently Ratchet needed a break just as badly as she did. While the two Autobots then took turns at pounding on the poor ship to get it flightworthy, June practiced walking. She began with small, careful steps, always aware of where she next put her foot. She had to throw out her arms and pinwheel them a few times when she got too unsteady, but all in all, she made good progress. By the time she had managed to circle the aircraft the third time she was feeling much more confident, and normal. Definitely much more normal. True, this body was still foregin and she would be startled when the sun reflected brightly off her silver hands, but she was starting to feel much more like herself.

That was until the banging stopped and Wheeljack had disappeared inside the ship only to reappear with what were unmistakably paint cans, stained rags, and what she was pretty sure was an electric buffer. Warily she moved over to Ratchet's side when he beckoned her.

"We need a break from fixing the Jackhammer, so now is a good time to paint you," he had explained.

It shouldn't have been that bad, June reflected morosely. It's paint, for crying out loud. But they didn't start with paint. To her utter horror, Wheeljack paused to pick up one more item before setting them all before Ratchet. A grinder. An honest-to-goodness everyday tool that was just being used on the freaking ship!

"Um…" June thought to protest. Her eyes got wider when she witnessed Wheeljack vigorously shake the particles off and blow on it to let the dust fly.

"Did the medical grade grinder not get packed?" Ratchet asked with annoyance.

"Had to pack light, Sunshine," Wheeljack said with not a smidgen of remorse as he casually tossed the tool to the medic.

Ratchet fumbled in catching it and June didn't need her newfound extra-sensory skills to know that he was irritated. She heard a strange sound, like wind whistling through a dryer vent, and it took her a moment to realize that it came from the old autobot. He was huffing in aggravation.

"Figured you're the better one for that job," the wrecker casually threw over his shoulder as he attempted to open the cans of paint.

"Quite right," Ratchet agreed.

"Um…. What?" June's eyes hadn't left the grinder. They weren't seriously going to use that on her, were they?

"Give me your arm, June." The medic's command was gruff and not meant to be disobeyed.

June decided to take a step back instead and tuck her arms protectively over her chest. "What are you going to do?" She asked with a rising sense of panic.

"Healing after surgery can leave troublesome scars. We need to smooth out the metal before we paint it."

"Grinders hurt!" June protested. She recalled a young man that once had to come into the emergency room after an accident with a grinder. It had taken nearly all the skin off his palm and had even cut into his wrist, causing a dangerous amount of blood loss.

"Only if it's used incorrectly," Ratchet ground out. "I'm a professional. I do this all the time." When June still wasn't asuayed, he sighed, "Can you trust me June? Because if this doesn't happen, you're at a much higher risk of rust rot."

"Rust rot?"

"A common condition that occurs when moisture condenses in scratches and grooves. Every cybertronian experiences it at least a little, and it's generally not fatal. At least in small amounts. But it's horribly itchy and can lead to greater problems. So. Give. Me. Your. Arm."

June jumped a little at his tone and frowned. As she processed the information she decided that rust rot sounded a lot like a rash. That was one more thing she didn't need to worry about. But still, that was a grinder.

"Fine," she growled as she grudgingly took a step forward and offered her arm. "But don't freak out when I start freaking out and cut my arm off or something."

Ratchet just scoffed. "Won't happen," he said, but his confident tone didn't do anything to comfort the former human. After turning her arm this way and that, he nodded to himself. "It'll be an easy job. You've healed nicely. Now, go sit on the ground. I need to sanitize this before I begin. No point in trying to prevent rust if we're just going to introduce it with the tools we use."

That, for some reason, made June feel better. Something as common as sanitizing the tools before a procedure was familiar protocol for the nurse. And comforting in the fact that Ratchet was a professional and was doing his best in this awful situation. Settling herself on the ground, she looked over to the open paint cans. One was a brilliant white and the other a bold red. Wheeljack was putting the lid back on the third one which she glimpsed was a startling green. That made her think. Tapping her toes together in debate, she plucked up her courage to ask.

"So, Wheeljack?"

"Huh?" Not bothering to look up from his struggle in getting the lid to lay flat, he grunted.

"Ratchet said that colors and symbols were important to cybertronians. I'm just curious, but what do your colors say about you?"

He froze for a moment. His EM field was tightly tucked around him, and he was facing away from her, so June couldn't glean any information that way. She worried she overstepped her bounds.

"I was an engineer. A good one. I was chiefly in charge of making STTs."

"STTs?" June asked with a furrow of brows. She thought what she heard was an acronym, but she couldn't be sure as there was an odd slurring to his speech.

"Specialized Transforming Tools." Again there was the odd hiccup as if the English terms weren't quite accurate, but Wheeljack spoke slowly enough for June to parse it together. "Like the fancy doo-hickys Ratchet uses. My speciality crossed into the medical field quite a bit, though I was never trained specifically to be a medic."

"Huh, so that explains the red and white, right?"

"Yeah," he drawled, a bit self-satisfied when he finished his fight with the lid. "For the most part. Colors don't decide everything. Green was a personal choice."

Another thought occurred to June in the brief silence, and she had no qualms asking this time. Pulling her knees up to let Wheeljack walk past unhindered, she curiously stared at his arms and inquired, "So do you have any STTs? Since you invented them I'm sure you use the best."

Wheeljack nearly tripped over his own feet. Giving up against gravity, he let the paint can fall to the grass. He gave June a wide-eyed, aghast stare and said, "Pits, no! At least nothing beyond a basic, reliable weapons' system, and that's only because I have to. Do you know how finicky and troublesome they can be? There's hardly a worse decision a cybertronian could make than to equip an STT!"

June was surprised by his reaction. The way he was looking at her was like she had just confessed to switching out the nursing home's pharmaceuticals for caffeine and sugar pills.

"It's that bad?" She asked doubtfully with raised brows.

"It is!"

"It is not!" Ratchet hollered as he exited the ship.

"It is!" Wheeljack insisted just as loudly. He was working himself into a frenzy, his paint can completely forgotten on the ground. "Most STTs have an average ninety-three point six percent failure rate at critical seams or joints. And improper initial installation can wreck havoc on the T-cog's inherent capabilities. And most installs are incompatible with the majority of frames, but mechs want them anyway because they think it's 'cool' and they completely forget that it's specialized for a reason. But medics go ahead and install them anyway because-"

"And I'll stop you right there," Ratchet said cooly. He had just rolled his eyes when the wrecker began and moved to stand by June, but became suddenly hostile with Wheeljack's leading accusations. "Not all medics were that greedy, thank you very much."

"Still, they're not something every Joe-schmoe off the street needs to have."

"And I agree," Ratchet replied in a much calmer voice. "Until the war."

There was an odd sound, similar to how June's old car groaned when she hit the gas pedal too hard and she blinked when Wheeljack flinched. He covered up his momentary slip of panic and aggression with a low mutter of, "Until the war."

June opened her mouth to ask what the war had to do with their earlier topic, as the two had slipped into their native tounge, but immediately she closed it. This was obviously a touchy subject for both of them. So instead she decided to piece together their words on her own.

It was strange. She knew she didn't know Cybertronian. The few instances the 'Bots spoke it around her left her bewildered. The sounds they made were certainly foregin, but she couldn't deny it as a proper language as the cadence of sounds certainly had their own rhythm. She just had no idea how to interpret those sounds. She was no Raf. But something was different now. Instinctually she felt better hearing Cybertronian, but had no basis as to why that would be. And something else told her that with a little time, she would be able to speak the language of the aliens herself. The thought might have scared her if she didn't stubbornly file the feelings away to pick apart another time.

Ratchet was standing before her, looking expectantly. "Um, sorry, did you say something?" She asked worriedly, still wary about that grinder.

"We need to move away from the ship. We don't want a stray spark hitting any leaked energon."

June just stared dumbly at him before bringing a distinctly metal hand to her face. Slurring, she sighed wearily as she attempted to get up, "Sparksss…" Of course sparks were going to be a thing. She was now made of metal and they were going to use a freaking grinder on her.

Catching Ratchet's offered hand, she managed to finally get off the ground. And she allowed him to lead her with the ever slow and careful steps. She almost tripped, though, when a terrifying thought occurred to her.

"What do you guys do during a lightning storm!?"

Ratchet was unfazed. "We have little to fear from lightning, or electrical surges in general, because our EM field protects us."

"So what, you guys never get shocked?"

"Not true. It's just that random occurrences such as lightning have an extremely low probability of injuring us because of the EM field's deflection and the body's natural insulation. Weapons, on the other hand, like stasis prods do hurt and can cause any number of injuries."

"Great. Remind me to never get on the wrong end of one of those," June muttered as she settled herself back onto the ground.

Ratchet knelt next to her and lifted her arm for a better inspection. June failed to not tense and the medic picked up on her distress and frowned. "June, you'll need to keep your EM field in check. The dampeners from the ship can only do so much from this distance."

"Trying," June returned just as gruffly. And she truly was, but as soon as the grinder was brought level to her arm she couldn't stop the spike of fear.

Ratchet refused to comment and solely focused on his task. The electric grinder was flipped on with a single button push and June's ears, or whatever passed for ears now, were filled with the whirring sound of the mechanical tool. Instinctively she closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and waited for the inevitable pain.

She first picked up on the sound. It was just as she expected. Loud and piercing and totally misplaced in the otherwise serene wilderness they were surrounded by. Next was the feeling. That too was excruciating, but in a totally different way.

Snapping her eyes open she saw the bright sparks bouncing from the point of contact. Her eyes confirmed it. That was a grinder. And it was currently smoothing out the few bumps that had formed on her… skin. But by all accounts it didn't feel how a grinder should. Involuntarily, a shiver coursed through her and she slapped her free hand over her mouth to keep from making any embarrassing noises.

It felt… good.

The closest experience she could refer to the tingle moving across her arm was like an exfoliating scrub. A bit gritty and slightly uncomfortable at first, but quickly became a soothing sensation. And then it was over.

June just blinked when the grinder was pulled away and Ratchet leaned over to inspect his work. He turned her arm gently, allowing the sunlight to reflect off it at different angles, then nodded in satisfaction.

"Done," he announced as he let go of her arm at the same time he turned the grinder off.

"That's it?" June asked incredulously. She wasn't sure if she was to be elated or disappointed that it was over so quickly.

"It was a simple job," was Ratchet's simple reply. He stood and stretched, before reaching down to offer his hand to her. "There really was nothing to fear."

Taking a moment to bring her arm close to her face, June denied commenting. Of course Ratchet knew her misgivings of the procedure, but of course the crotchety old medic wouldn't do much to allay those feelings. He preferred to just get the job done and over with. And to June's untrained eyes, it looked to be a good job. The metal plating of her forearm now was completely smooth with a seamless line where the mediwrist was implanted. No ridges or 'scaring' to be seen. There was the streaking that she was familiar with on all metal that had been ground or buffed, but it could only be seen when the sunlight hit it in a certain direction.

When she was done staring at her arm, she then put her hand in Ratchet's and let him lead her back to the paint cans. Grudgingly, she admitted on their slow walk back, "It wasn't quite what I expected."

"I can't imagine what it is that you were expecting," Ratchet was kind enough to give her a glance, "but you need to come to realize, June, that a lot of human weaknesses just don't exist for you anymore."

"That doesn't mean I don't have weaknesses," she countered back.

The Autobot was unfazed and with an unreadable expression he acknowledged, "Correct. In time you will learn what those weaknesses are and how to counteract them."

June fell silent. The two stood next to the paint cans and Ratchet bent over to inspect them. "Considering our limited supply here," he commented, "Looks like you'll mostly be white."

"No complaints there. What's the first step?"

"A good primer," Wheeljack growled as he walked out of the ship. He tossed another can towards Ratchet. June silently noted that the wrecker liked throwing things, and likewise Ratchet didn't like catching them. "And we're nearly out."

With a worried frown, Ratchet opened the can and peered inside. With a deep sigh he said, "We'll make do. Critical parts only then."

"And those are?" June asked curiously.

"Struts and chassis. It would be easier if you had an alt-mode" Ratchet turned around and gave June a critical look-over before glancing back into the can. "Do you-"

"Right here." Wheeljack materialized next to the medic, holding out some strange contraception June couldn't immediately identify. Without another word Ratchet poured the primer into the… bottle?

June tried to keep a tight lock on her apprehension. Yes, that was primer. It smelled just like the earth-based stuff, and she couldn't help grimace. June was rather sensitive to smells like paint, gasoline, and the like. It always gave her a… She stopped and watched with interest. Even though she was standing right next to the paints and primer, none of it bothered her. She still didn't like the smells, but they weren't negatively affecting her either. Huh, well, she could mark that as one positive change in this crazy situation.

When commanded, she held out one arm and tried to relax. This stuff wouldn't hurt. It would be fine. Then Ratchet began spraying. June couldn't stop the shiver.

"Don't move!" Wheeljack barked, clearly annoyed. "We can't waste the stuff."

June squeaked, "Right, right. Sorry." Honestly though, it was just like being sprayed down with a light mist. And when Ratchet was finished with one arm he moved to the other, which created a problem. Tired of holding her arm up, She began to let it down, only for Wheeljack to bark at her again.

"Don't put your strut down! It needs to dry."

"Seriously? But-"

"No buts," Ratchet spoke in monotone, clearly focused on not wasting a drop.

June sighed in exasperation but obediently tried keeping her arm up as long as she could. It was difficult though. Her arms were really starting to shake. And she couldn't stop tapping her heel impatiently.

"Stop that," Ratchet growled.

"Stop what?"

"The tapping."

"Oh."

June stopped. But an urge welled up inside her and she twitched and twisted as Ratchet moved to spray her chest. A new sense of uncomfortableness came over her and she instinctively leaned away. Ratchet narrowing his eyes and the feeling of being irked stopped her from taking a full step back. She decided to close her eyes for this next part and desperately tried focusing on something else.

Jack? No, no, that was a bad trail to go down. Work? Nope. She obviously couldn't go back to the local hospital. June frowned at that. She had agreed to become Ratchet's apprentice, but to what end? To be a worthwhile medical practitioner there had to be patients. And as far she was aware, the only two autobots on Earth were right next to her. Did that mean… she would have to leave Earth?

That thought terrified her. Humans were just discovering space. And she was certainly no astronaut. She knew nothing about the wonders of the universe. How could she leave Earth, her home? And what about Jack? There was not a chance in any universe that she would leave him behind. She had no idea how well Cybertronians fared in space, but humans certainly had their drawbacks. She recalled the specialized spacesuit Jack had to wear when he took that crazy trip to Cybertron. No. Humans couldn't survive in space. But June couldn't see a reason as to why Ratchet would stay on Earth. Suddenly, June was feeling very conflicted.

The sputtering of the alien spray bottle made June snap open her eyes. Ratchet had moved from her right side to her left, in a slow sweeping motion. But with the last of the primer dripping sadly out of the nozzle, he gave up.

"That's it," he sighed, as he thankfully stepped back. He again gave her a sorrowful look-over before shaking his head. "I'm sorry June. This is not going to be a very good paint job."

She could only give him a wry smile and an awkward shrug as she was still holding her arms up, "That's OK. I have no idea what I look like, or how I'm supposed to look. So doesn't really bother me what the end result is like."

Ratchet only stared at her in surprise and Wheeljack was looking a little dazed. She shifted uncomfortably under their stares, but when she next looked up, there was a bit of relief in both their faces.

"This isn't a problem. Honest." She rolled back on her heels then back down in nervousness. What was she really going to do? June found that she wanted to ease her current companions' worries, and so she found herself rambling in an effort to cover her own unease. "As soon as we can get more primer, we can finish the job, right? And I'm patient, so don't worry, since there's plenty of other things to worry about."

Wheeljack huffed, but it wasn't disdainful in the slightest. "Ain't that the truth." June's rambles seemed to do the trick, as his lips quirked in a sort of sad half-smile. But they quickly turned back into a straight line with his bark of, "Hey! Keep your struts up!"

"Still?"

"Yes. It needs to dry."

"Well, how long will that take?"

"Should be less than a megacycle."

"English?"

"An hour."

"WHAT!?"

An hour? Seriously? There's no way she could hold her arms up for that long!

"It should be dry enough in a bream to move around. But don't lean or bump against anything."

And that's how June found herself in this current, unbearable predicament. It was a lot like painting her nails at home, as it was a long and arduous process with nothing but waiting. And she could do nothing but stand there, as she didn't dare try walking in case she stumbled and fell. So she waited. And waited. She was left alone, as Wheeljack mentioned something about taking a recharge, and Ratchet walked off morosely without saying anything. By his closed-off attitude, June figured he needed some well-deserved time to himself.

So there she stood for what felt like forever. It was a new kind of agony for her. There came a point where even she felt that she was fidgeting too much. After fighting with herself, June realized she couldn't help it. Her body just wanted to move. Was this how most cybertronians were? That didn't seem quite right, as she had witnessed Ratchet stock still for over an hour when he was deep in research. Arcee, too, had stayed in her garage for months without June even having an inkling that the motorcycle could move on her own. So why did June feel like she could race a mile and do cartwheels without getting tired. She was a bundle of energy, like a rambunctious kindergartener-

"Oh," June murmured, almost wanting to smack herself in the face. A sparkling. How many times did Ratchet refer to her as that? If they were anything like humans, it would make sense that the newest members of their species had the same boundless energy as children.

It almost made the mother want to laugh, whether in true humor, self-pity, or just as stress relief, she wasn't sure. But it was honestly messed up how adult-minded she still was, but her body urged her to do the craziest, albeit temptingly fun, things. June was having a horrible time resisting the urge to explore, and bend, and try and figure out what it was she could really do. Ratchet kept reminding her how unhuman she was now, so June silently filed away her absolute desire to see how far that went. But for now, she had to be a boring adult and just stand there. Joy.

"This is gonna be a long…" June thought back on the word Wheeljack had said, then sighed, "megacycle."

A/N: Wheeljack suffers the same fate as most engineers; the curse of expertise. He knows too much to trust the integrity of anything. XD At least that's my reasoning. It's cool and all, but for the life of me I could not understand why he would bring swords to an energon blaster fight. Like, you're fighting fellow metal beings, Jackie, so those had better be some insanely sharp swords or made of some wicked material, or you're going to spend a week sharpening them for just one hit. So this is my thought process. Swords and grenades may be objectively inferior, but Wheeljack prefers them because they're not STTs, and most enemies don't know how to counter those weapons immediately, giving him the slight edge he needs to pull some crazy stunt. And he's a Wrecker, so he's just crazy.