Bulkhead knocked four times on Wheeljack's door, glancing down at a data-pad.
"Hey, 'Jackie? Old 'Wave thinks he's picked up a lead on somethin' he thought you might like to see," he said. "I mean, I dunno—somethin' about an old lab? He thinks we should have a looksee before the Omega Locks hit it, and that you should serve as Ratchet's guide while Ultra Magnus and I provide cover. Optimus agrees." The green Wrecker snorted. "That, uh...
That still sounds weird, doesn't it? Who'd've thought the former head of 'Con surveillance would be this eager to help out with our intel and security? He still creeps me out, to be honest—even if Elita-1 and Knockout say he's cool. It's probably the whole no-face thing..." Bulkhead raised an optic-brow. "Uh, 'Jackie? You in?" He knocked again. "Wheeljack?"
Ped-steps on the other side, then the door slid open and Wheeljack groaned as he slumped against the doorframe, raising a servo to the side of his helm and cringing as he blinked in the hallway light. "Ugh, what time is it..?"
"Quarter past noon," Bulkhead replied, deadpanning. "Hammered?"
"No, no." Wheeljack waved him off. "Just... didn't enter stasis, last night."
Bulkhead blinked, then he grew worried. "Pit, 'Jackie—are you havin' nightmares, or-?"
"No." Wheeljack's optics narrowed in a clear warning to change the subject, then he sighed. "I just had... other things to do."
"... Wheeljack, are you gettin' bad again?" Bulkhead asked quietly. "Because if you are, you need to tell me now—before you get worse—so that I'll know to step in and help you before things go to far." Wheeljack looked away, frowning. "Remember all those months ago, when Ratchet told you all those ways you could get help if you needed it? Maybe you should really start thinking about it, 'Jackie."
"I don't need any help, Bulk." Wheeljack looked up at his friend, annoyed.
Bulkhead raised an optic-brow. "You're tellin' me that, gettin' all those degrees, you missed the psych one?"
"I didn't miss the psych one!" Wheeljack scoffed, standing up straight and crossing his arms. "Pit, that was number eight!"
Bulkhead blinked, then he sighed and closed his optics. "Just tuckin' that one away for later..." He opened his optics and frowned at his friend. "Okay, so: you got the psych one. Now, tell me..." Bulkhead seemed to have to brace himself. "If roles were reversed, 'Jackie, and-... And somethin' had happened to Miko..."
"Bulk." Wheeljack's face immediately dropped. "Don't even s-"
"I know I would be in the same way," Bulkhead told Wheeljack. "Maybe worse, 'cause... there'd be no seein' her in the Well." The green Wrecker shook his helm. "Once a human's gone, they're gone—maybe not gone-gone, but... we probably don't get to meet again, when all's said and done." Bulkhead clenched his fists, then he let them fall open. "So, roles are reversed. You're lookin' at me, and I'm actin' like you are now, and you've got all those degrees in that head of yours... What do you say?"
"... Bulk-"
"I already know what it is," Bulkhead said, his optics narrowing. "I already know, 'Jackie, 'cause... as reckless and scrap-headed as you can be when someone's hurt, runnin' off and tryin' to set things straight whether it's with revenge or self-sacrifice or somethin' else... you are the biggest hypocrite when they try anythin' even remotely similar." The green Wrecker gave a weak laugh. "You think Miko never told me what you did, how you protected her on your revenge run and she had to scheme her way onto the trip?" His expression softened. "That I forgot how, when I tried to save you while that bomb was strapped to my chest, you stepped in the way and held me back? When in the Pit did you get so strong, 'Jackie?"
"I, uh... It's a long story," Wheeljack noted quietly. "I've... only told the gist of it once." His face fell again as realization seemed to wash over him. "And... never to-..."
Bulkhead sighed. "... 'Jackie, we both know that if roles were reversed, you would be kickin' the scrap out of me right now so that you could drag me to Ratchet and force me to get my head back on straight. You'd do it for my own good."
"Hm." Wheeljack looked down, then he looked back at Bulkhead. "That so?"
"Yes!"
"... Then, hit me," Wheeljack decided, and Bulkhead blinked. "It's for my own good, right?" The green Wrecker just looked at his friend, and Wheeljack finally just stepped out of his apartment and closed the door. "Let's go."
Bulkhead watched Wheeljack start walking down the hallway, then he sighed and followed as he drew a ground-bridge remote from his storage compartment. 'Frag it all.'
/\
Wheeljack and Bulkhead stepped through the ground-bridge and into the Iacon Hall of Records.
Following the Battle of the Well, the Autobots had constructed a landing field for returning refugees before beginning an extensive process of cybermatter synthesis. In keeping with the original plan, they restored the original Omega Lock and got hard at work with it while working at the constant refueling and reuse of the synthetic second Omega Lock.
Near-constantly, beams of blue light could be seen streaking across the sky from both locks as the massive planet was gradually restored on a need-based schedule. Cybermatter was also allocated to the production of protoforms, both for the rebirth of the unfortunately slain and the eventual arrival of the next generation of sparklings.
Protoforms were all kept under heavy watch at Iacon, which had become the headquarters for the group which had once been Earth's Team Prime. This was done in order to ensure that the reborn individuals would be educated as to what happened in the time since their sparks entered the Well, and to keep a close eye on potentially dangerous arrivals.
Makeshift, the Decepticon that had infiltrated Autobot Outpost Omega One while disguised as Wheeljack, had made an appearance and was promptly outfitted with an ankle monitor. He could have been jailed, but Knockout noticed the Autobots' discomfort with the idea and instead advised the team to let him try something... and locked Makeshift alone in a room with Soundwave for ten minutes.
The crimson-opticed medic kept a bored expression as he held the door shut, nodding along to the terrified screams as if they had been choreographed. Makeshift was more than cooperative, if visibly shaking, for the duration of his time at Iacon after being let out of the room; Soundwave had left silently as ever, a smiley-face emoji on his visor as he looked at Knockout and held a thumb up.
In short, those two were still adjusting to being on "the winning team", but they had the right spirit.
The Iacon Hall of Records had been chosen as a headquarters due to its nature both as a cultural center and as a stronghold, and to try and provide Optimus with a bit of comfort in light of all that had happened.
One year later, and he was not the same anymore than Wheeljack was.
"Bulkhead, Wheeljack." The Prime turned around as the pair of Wreckers entered his office, offering a small smile. "It is good to see you, my friends." He looked at Wheeljack and nodded. "It has been too long, Wheeljack."
"Prime," The white Wrecker nodded back, then he gave a small smirk. "Lookin' good, as usual."
With the war over, Optimus had finally expressed some discomfort with all of the extreme modifications his frame had undergone towards the end of the war, so—with Knockout's help, despite some protestations due to it still having been in the early days—Ratchet performed a procedure to try and restore Optimus's frame to as close to its pre-Darkmount state as possible.
There was little to be done for the increased stature, but Ratchet and Knockout were able to slim the Prime down and make him look far less big and threatening.
Then, Ratchet watched in astonishment as Knockout was even able to adjust, alter, and collapse the flight-modification so that Optimus could keep it, remove it, and even conceal it within his frame in case of emergencies. The younger medic had just shrugged and said something about gladiators being 'all about aesthetic' and being accustomed to difficult custom work, surprisingly modest for a change.
When the Prime woke up, he thanked both medics, and everyone was astounded when Ratchet pushed Knockout forward and praised his work. It had not been too much, but to say that Knockout had been practucally attached to Ratchet at the hip in the workspace from that day on would have been an understatement. Ratchet made no note or comment, but no one failed to notice how he always made sure to tell Knockout when he had done well.
"Hm." Optimus shook his helm. "Elita says I look tired. Personally, I do not know how I could be." He glanced around the office, at the desk at the back wall—comprised of mostly a window, a small mercy—with the computer and stacks of data-pads marked 'Urgent', the conference table in the middle, and the shelves of data-pads covering a majority of the three remaining walls. "I barely leave this room, these days."
"It sounds like you're on your way to developin' a bad case of claustrophobic restlessness and irritability," Wheeljack suggested, and the Prime looked back at him. "Uh... Cabin fever, chief. Spend too long in one place, and it can start to drain you."
Optimus blinked, then he hummed quietly. "I see. Perhaps that is it." He shook his helm again. "In any case, I require your assistance." He glanced at Wheeljack again. "Believe me, I-... I would not have called upon you had I not been convinced it was absolutely necessary. I would have preferred to have kept you on the occasional incident suppression, if even that... But some new information has come to light, Wheeljack." The Prime hesitated. "Before the others come in here... is there anything you would like to tell Bulkhead about your life before the war?"
"Huh?" Wheeljack raised an optic-brow, then his face fell. "Prime, I-"
"Wheeljack." Optimus frowned at the Wrecker. "We found the lab, and we researched it so that we would know what we would be going into when we began our investigation. We found its records here at Iacon, and a file with your name on it was among them. Arcee selected it on impulse... Had she known what we would find, she would have never done so."
"Okay, did I miss a meeting?" Bulkhead asked, confused. "What's goin' on?"
"... You want me to lead a team to investigate the lab I worked at before the war," Wheeljack noted. "And you want me to have plenty of backup, 'cause... you're wonderin' if Shockwave and Starscream might be there."
Optimus nodded. "That is correct."
"Old lab, plenty of old tech to scavenge," Bulkhead decided, thinking he put it together. "But what does any of that have to do with 'Jackie?"
"... Because for the first fifty-thousand years I worked at that lab, Bulkhead, Shockwave worked there too," Wheeljack admitted, glancing up at his friend. Bulkhead blinked, then his optics widened. "It was before the war, before he went crazy and became Buckethead's pet psychopath—all logic, no conscience or emotion." Wheeljack looked away, frowning. "He, um... He didn't like all the noise and other 'bots too much, so he eventually got his own lab and moved out, and that was the end of it."
"Was it?" Optimus raised an optic-brow.
Wheeljack looked up at the Prime, then he sighed. "I was young, I was still figurin' stuff out, so... I was relatively quiet, and I tried to be helpful. So, he didn't seem to mind me much—let me in his lab sometimes, let me see what he was up to and use his tech. Wasn't anythin' like what he'd be up to now, but... they kept it intact after he left, just in case." He crossed his arms. "They kinda hoped he'd come back, 'cause of how brilliant he was—and they asked me to sorta... look after things."
"... THEY GAVE YOU SHOCKWAVE'S LAB?!" Bulkhead demanded, stunned.
The white Wrecker cringed. "Agh, that's a bit loud..."
"He was the only scientist of a similar caliber to be found, so it made sense," Optimus filled Bulkhead in, and the green Wrecker looked at him in shock. "So, even if Shockwave has not been there, it is possible that Wheeljack can still help us make use of what is left from before."
"It was millions of years before the war, Prime," Wheeljack reminded Optimus, shifting uncomfortably. "That stuff is old, real old. I mean, I can probably fix it or reverse-engineer it, but it'll take time—and it really was a different Shockwave." His optics narrowed. "Believe me: I got the full picture in Darkmount. Old lunatic didn't even seem to recognize me, even after diggin' around in my head."
"... Will you lead the team, Wheeljack?" Optimus asked softly.
Wheeljack looked down, then he sighed and closed his optics. "I'll serve as a guide, help 'em get into and fix whatever they have to."
"Thank you." The Prime nodded, recognizing that this was the best he would get. "I will... understand completely, if you wish to be left alone for a time after this mission."
"I'm not made of glass, Prime." Wheeljack opened his optics and looked up at his leader, annoyed. "And can you stop talkin' like that, already? For Pit's sake, it's not like anyone blames you for the kid!"
Optimus froze, his optics wide as he seemed genuinely taken aback. "I..."
"Wheeljack!" Bulkhead looked at his friend in frustration, then he looked at Optimus. "Prime, you alright?"
Optimus just looked at Wheeljack for another moment, his wide optics locked on the white Wrecker's glare, then he blinked before casting his gaze down. "... I do."
"What?" Wheeljack blinked, his expression falling into one of surprise. Optimus closed his optics, and Wheeljack started shaking his helm. "Prime, there-... You couldn't've-..." His optics narrowed. "It is not on you, you got that? It is on a lot of things, Prime, but it is not on you."
"How is it not?" Optimus looked up at Wheeljack, his expression grim. "My creator set in motion a series of events which led to a child sacrificing her life in order to counteract a decision I was going to make. She was set upon that path because of my decisions, because of who I am." He rested a servo over his spark. "Because of me... So, how is it not my fault?"
"... Because he had months to plan while you had seconds, and he killed that girl anyway," Wheeljack said softly, and Optimus's optics widened as his servo fell from his chest. "So, Prime, you can fraggin' believe me when I say... I do not blame you." The white Wrecker glanced down, then he looked up with a small smile. "And I'm glad you're not dead... Y'know, for someone who supposedly has the collective wisdom of the Primes, you're kind of an idiot."
Optimus just looked at Wheeljack for a long moment, then he cracked a small smile before he actually bowed his helm and let out what was either a hoarse laugh or a quiet sob. Either way, he sat down on the edge of the conference table and raised a servo to his face, and Wheeljack walked over and rested a servo on his rotator-cup.
Bulkhead just looked at the two, stunned, and Wheeljack glanced back at him and gestured to the door with his helm. The green Wrecker blinked, then he nodded and quickly moved to stand guard.
When Ratchet, Knockout, Ultra Magnus, and Soundwave arrived at Optimus's office, they found the doors closed and a green and yellow mech standing impatiently outside.
"What the Pit's goin' on, in there?" Springer murmured, then he glanced back. "Oh, Ultra Magnus. What's-?" He blinked, then his optics narrowed as he activated his cannons. "Decepticons!"
"Friendlies!" Ratchet shouted quickly as Knockout ducked behind him and Ultra Magnus raised an arm between the former leader of the Wreckers and Soundwave. "These two changed sides before the Battle of the Well, and they have been aiding us in the reconstruction of Cybertron ever since."
Soundwave put on a smiley-face emoji.
Springer did not seem convinced. "You're tellin' me that you actually think you can trust those carrierfaggin' little-?"
"Given that Knockout assisted me in a surgery performed on Optimus Prime himself and Soundwave has been helping us monitor Cybertron's streets for any signs of hostility for the last year?" Ratchet raised an optic-brow. "Yes, I believe that we can give them the benefit of the doubt at this point." He glanced at Knockout, giving a wry grin. "Unless you intend to stab me, right now?"
The crimson medic shook his helm. "No, thank you."
"Then, that's settled." Ultra Magnus looked at Springer. "Lower your weapons." The green and yellow Wrecker hesitated, then he sighed and obeyed. "Thank you, Springer... What business do you have with Optimus?"
"I wanted to report some incomplete files and incompetent workers," Springer replied. "They've had a year to write up the history of those final chapters of the war, but the others and I spent two hours wanderin' around downstairs and no one could tell us what a 'techno-organic' was—let alone give us any intel on this 'Jenna Darby' character 'Jackie ran around with." He saw their expressions and sighed. "I told them about what you and 'Jackie told me, and I figured that—if we knew more about her—we might be able to help the kid."
"You won't find anything," Ratchet admitted. "Yes, it's been a year, but... it was just the team who knew her, Springer, and you will find that they do not have much in the way of strength when it comes to speaking of her."
"Really?" Springer asked, frustrated. "Come on, can't someone give me somethin'? 'Jackie is in trouble, it's got somethin' to do with her, and I have to have somethin' to go off of."
"... Well, it might not be the best perspective..." Knockout cringed. "But perhaps-"
:Well, Wheeljack,: Starscream's voice began as Soundwave opened a file and started playing a recording. :You went into stasis, so I've had to entertain your little pet.:
:You call this entertainment?: A girl's voice asked dryly, and Ultra Magnus and Ratchet froze. :Dude, I'd rather rupture my own ear-drums before I had to listen to one of your boring 'I'm so cool, pathetic Autobots, weak humans, bow before me, I kiss Megatron's aft' speeches a-: A sharp fizzling sound. :AH!: A soft thud. :Ah...:
Starscream's voice growled. :Silence, human.:
"Human?" Springer asked, confused.
The girl took a few deep breaths, then she went quiet. :... I-:
:Jenna, quiet!: Wheeljack's voice snapped, and Springer blinked. :Don't get yourself killed!:
:You've trained your pet well,: Starscream noted. :Make certain that she curbs her tongue, or the next time she 'plays dead' will be her final, permanent trick.:
:... Yeah, when I get out of here, I'm ripping your My Little Pony unicorn-horn off and using it to poke your optics out,: the girl announced dryly. :How's that for a trick?:
"Well." Springer blinked once the recording ended. "I suddenly have a much clearer image... That makes WAY too much sense, aside from everything about how 'Jackie acted. He should've been cheerin' her on, not goin' all mother-hen and-... Ugh!" The former Wrecker leader turned back to the door and finally pried it open. "What's goin' on, in here?!"
"Err..." Bulkhead cringed, standing between the five and Optimus's office. "Well-"
Ultra Magnus stepped forward and moved Bulkhead aside, and he blinked. "Oh."
"Yeah." Wheeljack deadpanned, still in the process of patting a teary-opticed Optimus Prime on the back. "Are you all gonna back out of here slowly, or am I gonna hafta hurt ya?"
Optimus sighed, shaking his helm and wiping his optics with his arm. "There is no need for that. You all have my sincerest apologies."
"For actually permitting yourself to have a moment of release from the day-to-day pressures of leadership and public emotional repression?" Knockout raised an optic-brow. "You may be a Prime, but you are still only Cybertronian. Honestly, it was about time." He crossed his arms. "It's been—what? A year, at least? I haven't seen you crack since I joined the team, so it's either been that long or you are just that crafty with hiding it." He noticed how everyone aside from Soundwave looked at him. "... What?" He huffed. "So, what? I've kept an eye on it. It's not healthy."
"Optimus doesn't crack, Knockout," Bulkhead tried to explain. "Primes are built different. He doesn't laugh, cry, or lose his cool—so this is... weird."
Knockout blinked, then he squinted. "Excuse me, but what kind of fraggin' nonsense is that? The mech became a Prime, not a hunk of rock. If he can feel, he can hurt and he can crack." He raised a servo and pointed at each of the Autobots, and optic-brow raised. "Don't tell me that you actually managed to beat the Decepticons while believing that your leader required absolutely no mental health assistance."
"This is a 'Con medic, huh?" Springer asked quietly, glancing at Soundwave, and the faceless mech held a thumb up. "Huh."
"For Pit's sake, say what you will about the legacy of backstabbing and corruption, but at least the Decepticons would notice when their leader was ailing mentally and needed help and actually offer to try and do something!" Knockout huffed, then he walked over to Optimus and looked him up and down. "L-... Megatron would typically refuse aid, but the thought was there; he was our leader and he could kill any of us with a flick of his wrist, but we all knew he was still only a mech... You would have had to do that in Prime's case especially. keep close tabs—the clear signs of trauma and the emotional repression would make his reaching out to others for help in a personal matter unlikely."
"Don't forget the introverted nature and the obvious fear of disappointing others," Wheeljack advised, and Knockout looked at him in surprise. "Prime has a very small social circle, trusts very few people and is terrified of letting them down. He'd probably think that any sort of crack or compromise would make him seem weak, that we'd abandon him or lose faith in him." He glanced at the Prime, giving a light smirk. "That's 'cause he's an idiot and he doesn't realize his sentimental scrap 'bout family goes both ways." His smirk fell into a frown. "He trusts all of us implicitly on the battlefield, but there's a lack of trust with personal matters. I'd chalk it up to personal experience; there's a history of abandonment, a hidden fear of it."
"You're good, very good," Knockout commended the white Wrecker, raising a servo to his chin, and Wheeljack glanced back at the crimson medic. "I'm guessing it should be Dr. Wheeljack?"
"Try it, and I cut you," Wheeljack said, deadpanning, then he blinked as he noticed a wide-opticed Springer. "And -uh- it was... just a hunch."
"A hunch? Wheeljack, that was an excellent psychoanalysis," Ratchet marveled, then he glanced at the wide-opticed Optimus with a frown. "One which makes far too much sense."
"... We need to discuss the mission." Optimus sighed, closing his optics, then he opened his optics and looked at Wheeljack with a frown. "Are you ready?"
Wheeljack looked at the Prime for a moment, then he took a deep intake of air. "I'll do it on two conditions. One: you let Knockout here start tryin' to help you with all of the stuff goin' on in your head." Optimus looked down, then he reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Alright, then. And, two..." Another intake of air. "I want you to look me in the optics and say that what happened was not your fault, and I want to see you mean it."
"Wheeljack," Bulkhead tried, but his friend crossed his arms and stood unyielding.
"I..." Optimus looked at Wheeljack, his optics wide, then he sighed before he seemed to almost force himself to get back onto his peds and stand up straight. After taking a moment to compose himself, the Prime looked Wheeljack in the optics. "... The death of Jenna Darby was not my fault."
"Try again."
"The death of Jenna Darby was not my fault."
"Again."
"The death of Jenna Darby was not my fault."
"Once more, with feeling."
"The death of Jenna Darby was not my fault!" Optimus half-snapped, then he blinked. "I am sorry, I-"
Wheeljack gave a small smile and nodded. "Damn straight, Prime. Damn straight."
Optimus blinked again as Wheeljack turned and gestured, leading the way out of the room.
Bulkhead followed him, reluctantly followed by Ultra Magnus and Ratchet.
"I'll -um- go and keep an eye on things," Springer said, still really confused. "But -uh- the records downstairs are seriously incomplete. They have nothing on that kid, so -uh- yeah... Maybe someone should work on that."
With that, Springer departed as well.
Optimus just watched after them for a moment, then he sat down on the conference table again and put his face in his servos.
Knockout gestured, and Soundwave quickly closed the doors and stood guard so that the medic could start tending to the Prime.
"Hey," the crimson mech tried, frowning. "It really was not your fault. She... made a choice, and she perished while doing what she felt was right." He shook his helm. "It, um... It actually reminds me of how Dreadwing went, to a degree."
"Dreadwing?" Optimus asked quietly, looking up. "No one ever told me what-..."
"He learned what Starscream had done to Skyquake's body, and that Megatron intended to cover it up to maintain his loyalty and continue to manipulate him," Knockout said. "As soon as he returned from what I can only assume was delivering the Forge of Solus Prime into your hands, he came back to try and avenge his twin. Megatron came in and ordered him to stand down, but Dreadwing insisted that Starscream had to pay and that he could no longer obey Megatron's orders if they meant going against what he believed was right... so, Megatron killed him where he stood." Knockout closed his optics. "He made a choice and did what he felt was right, and it cost him his life."
"... You sound like you regret it," Optimus noted.
Knockout opened his optics and looked up at the Prime. "Soundwave and I only got close after the dissolution of the Decepticons, and Starscream and I could never trust each other with our backs turned, Airachnid was a sociopath, and Megatron was -well- Megatron. So, after Breakdown died... Dreadwing was the only one on that warship I half-trusted." He gave a light smirk. "I poked fun at that whole 'honor' bit, but... I was grateful for it. I knew I could turn my back." He shook his helm. "He never raised his hand against an ally unprovoked, never went out of his way to make my life the Pit or throw me under the starship.
He wasn't cut out to be a Decepticon, not really—not as we were, in the end." He looked down. "He rarely spoke to me, but after Breakdown-... There was a moment where he just grabbed my rotator-cup in passing and stood there. He never said a word, he just stood there and looked at me before he let me go and went on... It was the only attempt at comfort anyone gave. It meant the universe." He glanced up at Optimus again. "... He was an idiot. He must've known that stunt would get him killed, but he did it anyway. He went after Starscream, refused a direct order from Megatron right in front of him... He was an idiot."
"... You regret it," Optimus decided.
Knockout nodded. "I do... but he made his choice. No one could have stopped him."
"Either of them," Optimus said numbly, and Knockout nodded again. "My processor tells me that it makes sense, and even the Matrix of Leadership urges me to believe that it is so... but in my spark, I cannot bring myself to believe it." His fists clenched, then they fell open. "She was a child."
"Yes, she was," Knockout agreed. "And she wanted you to live to raise yours, so... if you're going to insist upon this sentiment which is oh-so-typical Optimus Prime... you can at least do it in a way that allows you to make yourself useful." He gave a small smirk as Optimus looked up at him. "Or do I have to call my personal favorite out of you blue-eyed bleeding hearts in here to knock some sense into you, hm? I'm certain she would not hesitate to oblige."
"... Hm." Optimus actually managed a small smile. "Knockout, your various... and rather unconventional... means of providing comfort take some getting used to."
Knockout shrugged his rotator-cups. "You'll grow acclimated with prolonged exposure."
/\
When Bulkhead stepped through the ground-bridge with the others, he noticed an immediate change in Wheeljack.
His best friend went rigid at his side, his optics wide and his expression near-panic, and he jumped a bit when Ultra Magnus rested a servo on his rotator-cup before he took a deep 'breath'.
Bulkhead hadn't failed to notice the new habit when it developed, but he never mentioned it—not even during one of the worst incidents way back towards the beginning, one that left him wondering how a Cybertronian could hyperventilate when they did not have lungs.
"So, what's the mission?" Springer asked, confused.
Ratchet looked at him, sighing. "Reconnaissance, which will hopefully provide clues for our investigation regarding two Decepticon fugitives." He glanced at Wheeljack. "Lead the way."
"... Right," the white Wrecker said quietly, glancing up at the large building they were standing before with a frown. He went to step forward, but Ultra Magnus held him back. "Hey, what-?"
"I was against this," the commander said. "I just-... I was against this." He looked down, then he looked at Wheeljack with a grim expression and shook his helm. "But I did not say why."
Wheeljack blinked, then he nodded. "Thanks." He shrugged Ultra Magnus's grip free, then he approached the doors and drew one of his swords, carefully wrenching the door open enough for him to be able to peek inside. "... Yeah, uh—just a second. Looks like some of the old booby traps held up."
"Booby traps?" Ratchet asked, confused. "It's a laboratory."
"Yeah." Wheeljack drew a grenade, slipped it through the crack in the door, then took several steps back and shielded his face. The blast blew the doors off, and Wheeljack lowered his arm before sheathing his blade. "... But towards the start of the war, a-... A kid I used to know barricaded himself inside."
"Why would he do that?" Bulkhead questioned Wheeljack as the white Wrecker started leading him and the other three towards the cleared entrance.
Wheeljack paused, his fists clenching, then he kept walking. "After the Decepticons raided this place, he was the last one left. The 'Cons slaughtered the rest..." His optics narrowed. "Before he snapped and paid 'em back."
Wheeljack led the small group through massive facility, carefully disabling traps like he could see through walls, dust, and debris and tell where they were a mile away.
Ratchet and Springer seemed impressed if confused.
Ultra Magnus just seemed to grow more and more sad.
Bulkhead did not know what to think. "Uh... 'Jackie? That kid you knew, how-..? How long was he here by himself?"
"Uh..." Wheeljack squinted as he came to a T in the hallway, pausing and thinking. "Mind if I get back to you on that? He, uh... He lost track. I think he knew at one point, but... it's gonna take me a little while to remember."
"Do not try and force it," Ultra Magnus advised.
Wheeljack waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just keep movin', Shockwave's old lab's least-barricaded entrance is not far from here." He noticed their expressions. "Top scientist, remember? He had a whole wing, multiple stories. Basement-level was practically a bomb-shelter, top level came complete with a landing strip."
"How do you know all of this?" Springer questioned Wheeljack. "This friend... Were you with them after you left the Wreckers? Is this where you were?"
Wheeljack blinked, then he looked away. "No, um... This was all before the Wreckers."
"Before?" Springer looked like that had never occurred to him before. "Huh. Y'know, I never asked-"
"Let's keep going," Wheeljack advised, and he started moving again.
Bulkhead felt a sick feeling settling over his spark.
Wheeljack cleared three booby-traps before they could enter the laboratory.
Springer tried to enter after the first two, and Wheeljack stopped him both times just before he tripped the traps.
"Did you help your friend set these things up?" Springer finally asked as Wheeljack finished with the final trap. "That's the only explanation I can figure for you knowin' where they are before anyone can see 'em."
"Yeah, alright? I set 'em up," Wheeljack grumbled as he stood up. "Happy?"
"... How long were you here?" Springer wondered, his brow furrowing. "If it was before the Wreckers... You joined up about two and a half hundred-kay into that damned war, kid, and you were by y-"
"Let's keep moving," Wheeljack insisted through gritted dentas, and he walked into the lab stiffly.
The others followed, and they were soon looking around in amazement.
All around, there were tables containing projects that were completed, near-completed, in-progress, or just barely started with their blueprints and more blueprints, schematics, and project descriptions pinned up onto the walls or scrawled onto boards.
Whoever had been working there had been brilliant, and they had been using advanced machinery, tools, computers, and software to bring their designs to life by the look of what was set up around the periphery of this one floor of this multi-level lab—a lot of it custom-made.
"Whoa," Bulkhead managed, in awe.
Ratchet remembered how to blink first, then he looked at Wheeljack in disbelief. "I don't-... I don't even know what to say."
"The 'bot who lived here sure must've been fun at parties," Springer remarked, raising an optic-brow. "Geesh. How much time'd he have to spend alone to put all this together?" Wheeljack's fists clenched, then he reached up and grabbed Ultra Magnus's arm when it looked like the commander was getting ready to say something to his former second-in-command. "And what's with the empty space at the middle of the room?"
"He was training," Wheeljack explained, and Springer looked at him. "He killed the leader of the 'Cons who attacked this place, took his weapons, and taught himself how to use them. Even built drones to practice on, make sure it wasn't just for show."
"Oh, really?" Springer raised an optic-brow. "Must not've practiced long enough." He raised his servos. "No offense, no offense. I'm sure your buddy was a stand-up guy, but... he's not here, is he?"
"... No. I guess not," Wheeljack said, then he sighed and walked over to a consul. "Middle's also open so that nothin' falls when this happens." He pressed a button, and there was a low groaning sound before the lights flickered on. The others blinked, surprised, and Wheeljack sighed. "Custom backup generator, solar powered in case the Energon ever ran low—main structure down in the basement, safe for the most part. 'Bout a fifty-fifty of it still workin'..."
The white Wrecker pulled a large lever built into the consul, and a barred railing suddenly rose from the floor in a giant square around the center before the floor split open.
The two panels slid apart gradually, revealing the levels above and below where a similar process was happening—four levels above and three levels below, the lowest set of doors being the largest and creating the most noise as the two massive blast-proof panels grinded back into compartments.
Every single level seemed to be comprised of more lab space—some of it specialized, but all of it clearly still holding innovative designs and experiments from a bygone age.
A portion of the railing dropped back down into the floor as a platform rose from within the final level and hovered in place, waiting there as if it expected something to happen.
"That's our ride," Wheeljack announced, and the others looked at him in alarm. "What?"
"I am not gettin' on that thing," Bulkhead told Wheeljack seriously. "And if you think you're gettin' on that thing, you're crazy."
Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Hey, this stuff was built to last. Best materials, best fundin'—and the designs were pretty kick-aft, even for the Golden Age."
"Wheeljack, this is a bit too far," Ratchet said, his optics wide as the white Wrecker walked towards the platform. "We can find another way down. Don't get yourself-!"
"Killed?" Wheeljack stepped onto the platform, turned, and crossed his arms as he faced his companions with an expectant look. "I thought Prime assigned me as your guide. You gonna trust me on this or what?"
"... Very well," Ultra Magnus said, and the others watched in concern as the massive mech hefted the Forge of Solus Prime onto his rotator-up and walked over to the platform. The Wrecker commander paused just before the gap, hesitating for only a moment, then he stepped on. "Whoa."
"Easy, chief," Wheeljack teased. "It can sense your fear." The others hesitantly walked over and stepped onto the platform, and Wheeljack looked at Ratchet. "Shockwave's stuff all sorta ended up in storage on Floor Seven, over the years. You and I can head there while these three check out the other levels, see if they can find any signs of scavengin'." He glanced at Ultra Magnus, Bulkhead, and Springer. "Stay off of the computers, and stay out of the basement."
"Understood." Ultra Magnus nodded. "But... you'll have to show me how to use this thing."
"Ah, right." Wheeljack gave a small smirk. "Voice-activated, and sophisticated enough to pick up what you're tryin' to say even if you slur your words together." He blinked. "The -uh- fella who designed it had some rough days..." He glanced up, frowning. "Clearance Code: 0-9-1-7-1-9-8-4. Floor Seven, moderate speed."
The platform started moving, and Ratchet looked at Wheeljack with a frown. "A remarkable memory."
"Some stuff just sticks with you," Wheeljack said, then he closed his optics as the platform arrived at the correct floor and paused. "Looks like this is our stop, Doc."
"Indeed." Ratchet nodded. "Lead the way."
Wheeljack stepped off of the platform, and Ratchet followed him across the room and towards a door.
Ultra Magnus watched them go until they passed through the door and it closed behind them, then he looked up. "Clearance Code: O-9-1-7-1-9-8-4. Floor-"
"Eight!" Springer cut in, his optics narrowed. "Moderate speed."
Ultra Magnus looked at his former second-in-command with narrowed optics as the platform started moving. "Just what do you think you are doing, soldier?"
"'Jackie is hidin' somethin', and I'm gonna find out what," Springer replied as the platform came to a stop, and he looked around the dark space with a glare before pressing a button. Dim, yellowed lights flickered before turning on, and Springer stepped off of the platform to face a massive whirring and groaning engine. "That must be his generator."
"Spring, we shouldn't be here," Bulkhead tried, stepping off of the platform. "Wheeljack's gonna be furious!"
"Only if he finds out," Springer said, starting to walk around. "Now, come on!"
Hesitantly, Bulkhead started to follow Springer.
Ultra Magnus's fists clenched, then he started following as well. "Soldier, you have until the count of five to get back onto that platform. One!"
"Huh." Springer blinked as he rounded the engine. "Looks like someone was livin' here. We've got Energon, a berth..." His optics narrowed, then he blinked again. "And armor."
"Armor?" Bulkhead asked, confused, as he followed Springer into the space.
Ultra Magnus gritted his dentas as he trailed behind them. "Two!"
"Look." Springer kneeled near a stack of old Energon crates and picked up some armor plating that was resting on top of it, a frown on his face. "Boxier edges, glass in the front for aesthetics, thin design... This is pre-war armor, non-laborer. White, red, and gray coloring suggests a professional—if not a medic or doctor, then some sort of nerd.
This might've belonged to 'Jackie's friend, alright." He squinted, then he snorted. "Covered-up scorch-marks, not from a blaster. We've got a troublemaker..." His brow furrowed as he picked up a helmet with a rounded crown and three bars on top, then he chuckled as he noticed something in one of the wing-like side panels. "A really young one.
I remember these things the kids were wearin', they'd light up when they spoke. This kid put 'em in the sides of his helmet." Springer glanced at the other two Wreckers. "A -uh- friend of ours might've done somethin' similar, at one point. His friend could've taught him to." He set the helmet aside and looked up at Bulkhead. "Owner must've gotten some new gear, ditched the old stuff."
"Three," Ultra Magnus said tensely, and Springer rolled his optics. "Soldier, I am ordering you-"
"War's over." Springer stood up. "I'm here for Wheeljack, not you." He blinked, then he chuckled and picked up a pair of goggles with a broken lens. "Looks like our little friend didn't have the best sight."
"But he knew how to keep score." Bulkhead raised a trembling finger and pointed, and Springer and Ultra Magnus blinked before following the gesture.
The wall behind the berth was covered in tally-marks and symbols that had been scratched into the metal.
At the top, there was a message:
I will leave and find help in thirty days.
Underneath, there were thirty tally-marks.
I will leave and find help in ninety days.
Below that message, there were ninety tally-marks.
I will leave and find help when I'm sure that I won't get myself killed two steps out of the door.
It's not safe. They won't let me go.
Below that message, there were thousands of tally-marks.
After the first thousand, there was a short message:
I'm switching to years.
After that note, there were a thousand more tally-marks.
I will leave and find help when I can't take it anymore.
It's only a matter of time.
The tally-marks under that message were too many to count.
I left.
If you have to ask why, go frag yourself.
Bulkhead felt ready to be sick.
"... Thousands of years," he realized, stunned. "He was here for thousand of years."
"And then, he either escaped or died," Springer deduced, then his optics narrowed. "But how does Wheeljack factor in?"
Bulkhead felt a shudder go through his body as he raised a servo to his mouth. "We messed-up, Springer. We messed-up big time..."
"Yeah, you keep sayin'." Springer walked out of the space and blinked, then his optic narrowed. "Time to break both rules." He approached a computer and powered it on, and he cursed quietly as a password bar came up. "Frag it all..."
"Well, you tried," Bulkhead said quickly, lowering his servo and rapidly blinking his optics as he choked something back. "Guess we gotta go."
"... Clearance code," Springer noted. "The 'bot who lived here was clever enough, but his inventions... They all looked like they were meant to make various tasks easier or simpler, he was practical. Ergo, he probably kept things simple." He typed in the eight numbers, and he smirked as he was granted access. "There we go."
"Alright, that's enough," Ultra Magnus insisted, marching over. "This has already gone too far. Wheeljack said-"
"Since when were you and Wheeljack so buddy-buddy, anyway?" Springer glanced up at Ultra Magnus, annoyed. "Last time the two of you spoke, far as I can recall, it wasn't exactly the most civil of conversations."
"There were many things I did not understand back then that I do now," Ultra Magnus announced coldly. "And I can confidently say, Springer, not as your commander but as Wheeljack's friend that you better get your aft back onto that platform in two seconds or—so help me—I will haul you there myself."
"Oh, will you?"
"You want to know more about Jenna Darby?" Ultra Magnus's optics narrowed. "Why don't I personally show you how she handled matters regarding her partner? I believe you will find them very educational."
"Will you two QUIT IT?!" Bulkhead demanded, slamming a servo down onto the computer's keyboard. The screen flickered. "None of this is gonna accomplish anything aside from upsettin' 'Jackie and makin' everythin' w-!"
:Whatcha workin' on, Doc Shock?: A young voice asked curiously, emanating from a speaker in the computer.
A second voice sighed loudly. :Please, refrain from calling me that.:
:Heh. Sorry, Dr. Shockwave,: the young voice replied sincerely. :I'm just gonna grab a few tools and get out of your way.:
The three Wreckers looked to the screen and saw a familiar figure: Shockwave—slimmer without his battle-armor, lacking his heavy cannon, and squinting out of a single yellow optic—hard at work in the laboratory, appearing to be working on some sort of cable.
A white figure had just moved past him, and Shockwave sighed and closed his optic before glancing after it. :Perhaps a second opinion is in order. You did receive your psychology degree, yes?:
:Oh, yeah,: the young voice said off-screen as a light rifling sound rang out. :That one was... number eight, I think? Or was it nine?:
:Hm.: Shockwave almost sounded amused. :You never said why you spent so much time to get so many. Your intellect must have made scholarships no issue, but... why keep going?:
:Uh, well... Um...: A nervous laugh. :To be honest, I kinda felt like I had to stay in school—in a dorm—until I got to a certain age. Bein' as smart as I am actually kinda stressed me out, 'cause they moved me too fast.:
:Too fast?:
:Yeah. I mean... I couldn't get my own apartment until I was technically an adult, y'know? Everything after that was just for fun.:
:For fun?:
:Mmhm. Figured, 'I've come this far. Why not collect 'em all?':
Shockwave shook his helm. :Such an odd, illogical little thing... Come here.:
:Okay.: Someone approached on the other side of the table, next to the camera. :What's the project?:
:It is more of a concept than anything,: Shockwave admitted. :And I am honestly... unnerved by it, at times. I believe it could be used for good, but in the wrong hands...: He forced himself to calm. :When a machine is failing, you sometimes begin physically by attempting to see if anything is wrong with its component parts. If nothing is wrong with its component parts, you must then deduce that something is wrong with its programming. Correct?:
:Yes, sir.:
:It is the same with a Cybertronian,: Shockwave insisted. :If one is behaving irregularly, you first examine his frame and component parts. If nothing is wrong, you next examine his processor... But what happens if therapy is not enough to reach the patient?:
:They, um...: An uncomfortable shift. :They sometimes get locked up, sir. Or, if they're considered a real danger to themselves and others, they... sometimes get stuck in stasis pods.:
:Yes.: Shockwave nodded. :A terrible fate, regardless—trapped for the rest of their lives or frozen forever... I have an idea, but I am uncertain as to how it will be received.: He set the cable down on the table. :What if a trained psychiatrist could act upon a patient's mind manually, actually go in and see as they see and examine the problem in order to learn from it?:
"He's talking about.." Bulkhead's optics widened. "The cortical psychic patch."
"It was meant to be a medical tool," Ultra Magnus realized, then his optics narrowed. "Before its creator lost his mind."
Springer shook his helm. "He already lost his mind, if he thought anyone would actually think that was a good idea."
"He didn't," Bulkhead noted. "He's strugglin' with it."
Shockwave looked up at his companion. :Logically, that is the only way they could ever truly understand their patient's predicament. We could perhaps design more-effective treatments from the studies, operate on a case-by-case basis.:
:But once someone's in someone else's head, how do you keep 'em from messin' around?: The younger voice asked, and Shockwave nodded. :Hm. Maybe not put someone in someone else's head, then? What if you could do a VR thing, hook up a link between a mind and a computer and project images onto the screen? Bit less invasive, that way.:
:But it all but defeats the purpose of seeing things in the patient's point of view, as seeing a screen is different from seeing through your own optics. One would also have to be afraid of the patient's mind passing into the web or a hacker implanting something detrimental into their processor.:
:Huh. That's a tricky one,: the young companion confessed. :I mean, if you had to do it... you would have to set up a series of failsafes to protect the patient and the doctor while also allowing the doctor to go in and observe... You need to do all of that, and then you need to make sure that you make it resistible.:
:Resistable?:
:Make it so whoever is on the receiving end can force the other guy out,: the young voice insisted. :Let them put up walls, let them hide things, let them defend themselves... This is a medical tool. This needs consent.:
Shockwave nodded. :Absolutely.:
Springer snorted, and Bulkhead nudged him.
:... Frag. I still can't say I agree with this,: the young voice admitted. :Just because something has good intentions doesn't mean-... I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think it's right.:
:And what logic leads you to that conclusion?:
:Heh. That's the thing, sir... It's not logic,: the young voice explained. :Logic tells me that this is a tool, and that every tool can be used for great good or great evil. My conscience tells me that some tools are just not meant to be made, and... um... I'd pick listenin' to that over logic any day, 'cause that's what separates us from the machines.:
:... Hm.: Shockwave's optic formed a half-circle shape that almost looked like a smile as he shook his helm. :Logic tells me that your way of thinking will make this quite the difficult profession for you, but... something else reminds me of a saying I heard back in my school days: 'nothing worth doing is ever easy'.:
:You heard that durin' your school days?:
:I had to take a philosophy class for honors credit. I hated every second of it,: Shockwave stated bluntly, and the young voice laughed. :Now, what do you need that for?:
:Fixin' my lights. I think it's almost time.:
:With that? No.: Shockwave reached offscreen with an oddly extendable arm before retracting his servo back, having picked up a different tool. :Here. This will be better.:
:Oh, okay. Yeah, that'll probably be a lot better.: The voice sounded embarrassed as ped-steps rang out. :Sorry, sir. I guess I got nervous, and-:
:Doctor.: Shockwave rested his free servo on the rotator-cup of someone unseen. :You earned your place here. You are new and still have a long way to go in the way of experience, but in time you will realize you are where you are meant to be and you will earn the respect of your colleagues.:
:You think so?:
:Logically speaking, I believe it must be possible. After all, you have managed to last this long in my lab without testing my famously short patience.:
:Heh. You don't seem so impatient to me, Dr. Shockwave,: the voice insisted. :I just think you're pressured.:
:Pressured?:
:Logically speakin'. I mean, this is a really big lab. That means a lot of people are watchin' you.: The voice lowered its volume. :I know what that's like.:
:... I believe that I will soon make a breakthrough,: Shockwave stated, then he offered the tool in his wrench. :Another step, doctor, if you don't mind?: Shockwave's companion stepped into view, and the senior scientist looked at the camera. :The cortical psychic patch may never be invented in spite of logic's insistence that it would serve as a useful tool, but—if my colleague, Dr. Wheeljack, is to be believed—one must not always look to logic when making the decision as to what should be invented.:
A young, scarless Wheeljack tensely reached over and took the tool from his companion, the awkward smile on his face covered by a banded mask but enough to reach his optics. :Um...: Lights in his helmet lit-up as he spoke. :Just because you can doesn't mean you should?:
"Uh..." Springer paused the footage. "What in the Pit?"
"Springer, calm down," Bulkhead advised, glancing over at the former leader of the Wreckers. "No one really knows the whole story. 'Jackie plays it close to the chest, and it's pretty obvious that whatever happened is somethin' he doesn't like talkin' about—and why would he? His coworker turned into a psychotic, Predacon-clonin' Decepticon." He pointed at the screen. "He even got the patch used on him, back on Earth. He's never told anyone what happened in there, either."
"And I'm just supposed to accept that? To accept any of this?" Springer demanded. "We don't know him, Bulkhead."
"Like I know everythin' about who you were before the war."
"I don't talk in the third person when I tell my stories!"
"He's scared."
"Of what? Us?!"
"Well, look at how you've reacted!" Bulkhead snapped, and Springer blinked. "And I don't just mean this, all of the sneakin' around and suspicion! Think about how he must've been feelin' about everythin' you were sayin'!" Bulkhead rolled his optics. "Must've been fun at parties! Spent a lot of time alone! Stand up-guy! He's not here, is he?! No offense, no offense!" His optics narrowed. "And since we've been down here? Nerd! Little friend!
You are so condescendin'! The only time you showed the slightest bit of respect was after you realized that whoever lived here might've been a bit of a troublemaker, a bit of a Wrecker." Bulkhead shook his helm. "That's why 'Jackie never said a damn thing. How could he? He was our second-youngest, and..." He gestured to the wall of tally-marks. "The writin' is on the wall, Springer. Just think about how he was when we found him... We messed-up."
Springer just stared at Bulkhead, then his face fell. "I..."
"He has saved our lives so many times." Bulkhead lowered his servo. "So, so many times... Those 'lucky guesses' weren't lucky guesses, they were him. They were him tryin' his best to help us, even though he was young and scared and didn't have a clue about what he'd do if he messed-up." He looked down, then he looked back at Springer with narrowed optics. "That girl, Jenna Darby? Let me tell you somethin' about her.
Before she died, she made a list of things she wanted to do... and most of the things on that list weren't for her." The green Wrecker's fists clenched. "And the thing she did for 'Jackie? She convinced him to tell the team how smart he really is." Bulkhead's face fell. "And he's really smart, Spring. He's really, really smart... He just closes up, when bad things happen.
He closed up after he got captured when he arrived on Earth, he closed up when he watched Seaspray die, he closed up when he watched me nearly get axed by the same 'Con who got Ol' Barnacle Butt, he up when I got shot, he closed up every time that girl got hurt... She helped, and now she's gone and we don't really know how to help this time."
"... How did she die?" Springer asked quietly. "You mentioned the Battle of the Well and sacrifice, and... Wheeljack mentioned Primus."
"She-..." Ultra Magnus looked down, then back at the former leader of the Wreckers. "She took the Allspark into her own body so that its reliquary could be used to capture Unicron. Once that happened, he and his armies were instantly defeated and Cybertron and Primus were saved—this all being per Primus's personal instructions to her." The mech closed his optics. "But she was unable to separate her spark from the Allspark as a result, so she..."
"Oh." Springer's optics widened. "She-... Oh, no." He shook his helm. "You're tellin' me that the kid had to watch as his partner... took a swan-dive into the Well of Allsparks?"
"Essentially," Ultra Magnus admitted, and Springer raised a servo to his mouth. "So, keeping all of this in mind..." His optics narrowed as he pointed. "Get back onto the Pit-damned platform."
Wheeljack paced back and forth behind Ratchet as the medic went through the storage vault and scanned old pieces of technology, the white Wrecker's arms folded behind his helm and his optics on the ceiling.
They had already downloaded the laboratory's database, something that Wheeljack knew he hadn't exactly been subtle about showing his discomfort with.
"... We were all something before the war, Wheeljack," Ratchet noted, glancing back. Wheeljack sighed, closing his optics as the obligatory 'here it goes' went through his processor. "I just cannot fathom why you are so ashamed of who you once were... Yes, there were some rather... dire circumstances... in your youth and what became of Shockwave is unfortunate, but-"
"This doesn't have anythin' to do with him," Wheeljack insisted, lowering his arms and looking at Ratchet with narrowed optics. "With any of it, alright? And contrary to popular belief, I'm not ashamed."
"Then, why do you hide it?" Ratchet asked, turning to face the Wrecker.
Wheeljack's fists clenched. "You wouldn't get it."
"Wheeljack, please-"
"No, don't!" Wheeljack stepped forward, glaring. "You wouldn't get it, Sunshine, so don't start pontificatin' at me like Prime would! I worked for everythin', every damn day of my life! Workin' so hard, gettin' those scholarships and grants—that's how I kept myself off of the streets and out of homes, but I am NOT ashamed of any of that because I was good at it and I used what I learned!" He gestured to the door that would take them back to the laboratory. "I worked here for millions of years before the war started! What do you think I did, sat around and built bombs?! No, that could wait for the war.
I experimented with different Energon types, and I built things that weren't meant to destroy everything in their fraggin' path! I designed half of the equipment you use in your med-bays, and I designed modern starship engines, stasis cuffs, better blast-proof armor! That's not even half of it!" Wheeljack looked away, raising a servo to his helm and giving a bitter laugh. "And imagine my surprise when half of the stuff I designed ended up gettin' used by and against us durin' the war, huh? All that stuff I made to make things easier, to make folks safer..."
"... Why do you hide it?" Ratchet asked again, frowning. "We both know... it was on her list." Wheeljack bared gritted dentas, his expression flashing with rage as he lowered his servo. "It was so important to her that you stop hiding it, Wheeljack, and she knew you better than any of us do. Why would she-?"
"Why does it matter? She's gone."
"Wheeljack-"
"She's gone, Ratchet!" Wheeljack snapped, taking another step forward. "She's gone, and she's not-!" A ringing began in his audial processors, and Wheeljack felt the world sway beneath his peds as his vision went blurry. "Get-... Get out of this room, and close the door."
Ratchet blinked. "Wheeljack?"
"Get out of this room, close the door!" Wheeljack shouted, closing his optics, and he was barely able to hear the retreating ped-steps and closing door over the increasing volume of the ringing. "Fr... Frag..."
The white Wrecker took deep 'breaths' as he sat down right where he was, raising his shaking servos to the sides of his helm and keeping his optics closed as he tried to calm down and wait it out.
"So, you are finally learning to be logical?" A voice asked, and Wheeljack's optics snapped opened and he looked up, his optics widening in disbelief. "A shame that your mind does not appear to be doing a good job of surviving the process."
"G-Get away from me!" Wheeljack reached back and drew one of his blades, gripping it in both servos as he scrambled back. He needed to regain his bearings, quickly—but he could still barely hear or see and it was getting worse again.
Shockwave tilted his helm. "If I wanted to harm you, I would have done it from a distance." He gestured with his cannon arm. "You would have never even realized who sent you to the Allspark. That is what would have been logical, yes?"
"I-I..." Wheeljack blinked, his servos starting to noticeably shake. "I guess..." His optics narrowed. "So, why didn't you?"
"It would have been a waste of Energon," Shockwave remarked, walking over to a table and starting to place assorted tools into a crate. "You are clearly in no condition to engage in any sort of altercation." He glanced back at Wheeljack. "... You took good care of my belongings while I was away, doctor. You have my thanks." He looked down at the crate as he continued packing it. "I do not require much for my purposes. What I leave behind this time is yours to keep and use as you wish." He placed an Energon processing rig into the crate. "Consider it reparation."
"You have a long way to go before anyone's gonna forgive you for all the scrap you pulled during the war, Shockwae," Wheeljack said, staggering to his feet and glaring at the Decepticon scientist. "The weapons, the experiments, the Predacons, the Omega Lock over Earth, the patches! A warehouse full of old tools and machines won't make that right, not with Cybertron!"
"I know." Shockwave picked the crate up and turned to face Wheeljack. "I did not say that this was for Cybertron. I said that this was for you." Wheeljack blinked, then his optics widened. "What I leave behind is yours to keep and use as you wish. Consider it reparation." The scientist gave a slow nod. "For Darkmount."
Wheeljack blinked again. "Darkmount?"
"You did well, defending yourself," the older scientist noted, and the white Wrecker went tense. He expected more on the subject, but Shockwave left it there. "Cybertron will have its turn, soon enough." The Decepticon tucked the crate under his cannon arm and drew a ground-bridge remote. "But other matters must be attended to first."
"I'm supposed to arrest you." Wheeljack looked up at Shockwave, glaring. "And I should, damn it. You hurt so many people."
"But what logical sense does it make, locking me up now?" Shockwave tilted his helm. "The Decepticons are no more. Starscream and I have parted ways. What good will it do to place me in a cell, if I intend to offer my services at a distance and do no harm... aside from that in self-defense?"
"Self-defense, huh?"
"... You always placed conscience over reason, allowed your emotions to sway you in spite of logic," Shockwave noted, approaching Wheeljack. "If you say you must arrest me here, I will cooperate. I will not make myself the subject of a manhunt by slaying an Autobot, and it would be rather unfortunate to obliterate you now that we are even."
"Gee." Wheeljack rolled his optics. "Don't I feel special, Doc Shock?"
"But I offer an alternative," Shockwave said, and Wheeljack blinked. "Allow me to leave this place and continue my work until the next time we meet, and I will provide you with information I believe you will find much more crucial than my arrest."
"Oh?" Wheeljack raised an optic-brow, frowning. "What's that?"
Ratchet's left optic was visibly twitching as he gazed at the three Wreckers.
"Unbelievable! You had very, VERY simple instructions!"
"Not my fault, Springer did it," Bulkhead said, pointing at his former leader.
Springer pointed right back at the green Wrecker. "He started the video!" He pointed at Ultra Magnus. "And HE didn't stop us!"
"You are blaming ME?!" Ultra Magnus demanded, his optics narrowed. "I have half a mind to-!"
"I don't care whose fault it is!" Ratchet barked, then he gestured. "Behind this door, that mech is in the middle of what I can only assume is some sort of psychological reaction, and you completely invaded his privacy!"
"Oh, no." Bulkhead's optics widened. "I gotta get in there. He needs someone to talk him down or distract him from whatever's got him like this, or he'll be in there for hours."
Bulkhead went to step past Ratchet, but the medic blocked his path. "Bulkhead, I would not advise-" Ratchet blinked. "Wait."
"What?" Bulkhead asked, then realization dawned on him. "I..."
"Bulkhead," Ultra Magnus spoke, and the green Wrecker looked up at him. "This has happened before?" Bulkhead was frozen, unsure of how to respond. "How many times?"
"... I lost track after about thirty," Bulkhead confessed, and the others' optics widened. "He told me not to tell." The green Wrecker looked down, then he looked up at the other three mechs with a forlorn expression. "I don't think 'Jackie's gonna get better on his own, but I don't know what to do... Please, help."
Wheeljack stared down at the data-pad in his servos, then he closed his optics.
"What is your decision?" Shockwave asked. "Your allies will likely be returning for you soon."
"... Get the frag out of here." Wheeljack sighed, his rotator-cups slumping, then he opened his optics and looked up at Shockwave with a glare. "But put one fraggin' digit outta line, and I'll hunt you down. No Autobots, no Prime—just you and me, and I'll end you myself."
"Is that your conscience?"
"Spite."
Shockwave nodded. "Understood." He took a few paces away from Wheeljack and raised his ground-bridge remote. "But there will be no need."
"... Why did you show yourself?" Wheeljack asked, and Shockwave paused. "You could've just waited and left quietly when I left the room in a bit, let me take the stuff on my own once you were gone." He raised an optic-brow. "Got someplace you need to be?"
"The technique is referred to in some texts as a 'locating a focus object'."
"Excuse me?"
Shockwave glanced back at Wheeljack. "I thought you had received a psychology degree."
"Yeah, I-" Wheeljack blinked, then he just watched as Shockwave created a ground-bridge, walked through it, and disappeared as the vortex closed. "... Huh."
Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, Bulkhead, and Springer looked back as a shaken Wheeljack emerged from the storage room, gripping a data-pad.
"Well, Shockwave sends his regards," the white Wrecker said bluntly, and their optics widened. "So, that's a thing..."
"He was in there?!" Ratchet turned back and placed his servos on Wheeljack's rotator-cups, examining the mech worriedly. "What happened?! Are you alright?! Where-?!"
"Mind the volume, Doc. My processor is killin' me." Wheeljack cringed, then he sighed and held out a data-pad. "Looks like Shockwave and Starscream fell out, and Shockwave figures he'd do well to have informant credit with us."
"Informant?" Ultra Magnus took the data-pad and looked down at it, his optics narrowed, then he blinked. "What?"
"What is it?" Bulkhead asked, concerned.
Ultra Magnus looked up. "According to this, Starscream is sending out one of his trademark calls—high-frequency signal, embedded message—on an old Decepticon line, attempting to intercept any Decepticons returning to Cybertron and direct them to wherever he's been hiding. With Megatron off-world and missing, presumably forever, he has been able to fashion an elaborate lie which he is using to rally those who are still mad enough to fight in their leader's memory to follow him."
"He wants to re-start the war," Springer said, his optics narrowed. "That little-"
"No," Wheeljack corrected the older Wrecker, crossing his arms. "Starscream isn't a revolutionary, he's a backstabbin' schemer. He doesn't take power by openly seizin' it."
"He intends to take Cybertron subtly, from Cybertron's underground," Ultra Magnus agreed. "Organizing quietly, gathering an army of common people with lies that appeal to even the smallest base desires and hiding in plain sight until it is time to strike in one swift, coordinated attack."
"... A coup," Ratchet realized, his optics widening. "Starscream plans to stage a coup."
"And he's ready to play the long game," Wheeljack said. "So... I'm SO not gonna be the one who has to say this to Optimus." He placed his index finger at the center of his faceplate. "Not it!"
"NOT IT!" Bulkhead immediately did the same, his optics wide.
Ratchet huffed. "Of all the irresponsible-" He noticed that Ultra Magnus had placed his finger on his faceplate and appeared to be trying to cover the move by pretending to scratch. "Oh, for-" He looked over at Springer and saw that the former leader of the Wreckers was doing it as well. "Do you even know what that means?"
"Nope, but I figured I better do it once Ultra Magnus started movin'."
"Hmph." Ratchet rolled his optics, then he sighed. "... But I don't want to do it..."
/\
Optimus sat at his desk and gazed down at the data-pad, then he set it down and closed his optics.
"Of course, there is every chance that Shockwave could be falsifying this information," Ratchet concluded. "Nonetheless, I believe that it requires further investigation."
All around the room, the members of Team Prime were standing around and watching Optimus with concern. They were joined by Knockout and Soundwave, and the only absent members were the Predabots, Bumblebee, Sari, and—of course—Jenna.
"... Well?" Elita-1 asked at last, frowning at her sparkmate. "Are you going to comment, or are you hoping that—if you're quiet enough—you'll be able to hear Starscream coming?"
"Hm." Optimus opened his optic, then he sighed. "... Everyone who enters the Iacon Hall of Records will undergo an identity and weapons check. Any other sort of precaution or heightened security message will only heighten fears and send recruits straight into Starscream's hands." He folded his servos. "I want increased advertisements for our mail-in comments and encouragement for public leaders to come and speak with me about the needs of their communities, and I want to schedule another address to be made so that I can remind the people that—once Cybertron reaches target population between the return of refugees and sparks from the Well—democratic elections will be held for our Congress and that I will be stepping down and stepping back."
"That'll shorten Starscream's timeline," Arcee noted, and everyone looked at her. "If he's going to grab power, he has to do it while Cybertron is still united under a single leader." She glanced at Optimus. "He has to kill you before the elections. Once you release that announcement, he's going to be watching the population counters like a countdown timer."
"So, what do we do?" Bulkhead frowned. "If you don't want us to cause a panic, how do we make sure we keep this in check?"
"I am uncertain." Optimus shook his helm. "I can only ask that you watch for potential signs of this developing following as you go about your patrols and move about throughout your days. Other than that, we must simply be on our guard."
"At the risk of sounding cocky... at least it's only Starscream." Smokescreen shrugged, giving an awkward grin. "I mean, come on—the guy's got enough hot-air to melt what's left of the polar ice-caps. He's his own worst enemy—and odds are, he'll screw this up long before he gets to the point where he could be a threat."
"You underestimate him," Knockout noted. "Starscream nearly assassinated Megatron on more than one occasion, and that was while acting alone. Megatron only survived each time due to his use of Dark Energon or by manipulating Starscream psychologically." He glanced at Optimus. "Two tactics I'm not inclined to believe our resident lord of the goody-goods would take kindly to."
"... I've got an idea," Wheeljack said, glancing up with a frown. "But you're not gonna like it." Optimus looked at him, and the white Wrecker sighed. "There's a way to increase security around here tenfold without drawing suspicion, 'cause we wouldn't be addin' anything that would seem out of place here." He shifted in place, then he glanced up at Optimus. "... A fully-realized techno-organic with cyber-ninja trainin' and the 'bot who gave Megatron the axe would be the best option, Prime. You need to call Bumblebee and Sari back from Earth."
Optimus blinked, then his face fell. "I would not wish to distract Sari from her mission. Not after-"
"If you don't call her and somethin' happens, she will never forgive you," Wheeljack told the Prime, his optics narrowing. "And neither will 'Bee. They will want to be here, and we all need to do whatever it takes to keep you alive, so you better make the fraggin' call."
"Wheeljack," Ultra Magnus tried, and the white Wrecker closed his optics. "... This day has been quite strenuous. Perhaps you should take a moment, gather your thoughts."
"I'm fine," Wheeljack insisted, opening his optics and looking at Ultra Magnus in annoyance. "Seriously, why does everyone keep treatin' me like I'm about to blow up or shatter or somethin'? Today, for the most part, I seem to be the only one with any fraggin' common sense. I am fine." He rolled his optics and looked away. "Did you guys go all domestic while I was just stickin' to runnin' ops with Bulkhead, forget how much a Wrecker can take? Please."
"... Did we convince you a Wrecker was supposed to be able to take anythin', kid?" Springer asked, and Wheeljack looked over at him with a glare. "Did I teach you that? Did Bulkhead?" He raised an optic-brow. "Did Seaspray? When were you gonna tell me you watched him die?"
Wheeljack blinked, then his face fell. "Spring-"
"You're smarter than this, 'Jackie," Springer insisted. "Smart enough to know that no, you're not fine. You need help."
"Tch." Wheeljack's optics narrowed. "Alright, first off-"
Springer held up the pair of broken goggles. "Practically a bomb-shelter, right?" Wheeljack froze, his optics widening, then he actually took a step back on instinct. "Look, you had me worried. I was just tryin' to-"
"'Jackie!" Bulkhead shouted as Wheeljack suddenly transformed and started driving, knocking the doors to Optimus's office clear off as he drove through the Iacon Hall of Records and out. "Springer, you idiot!"
"We can track his coordinates at the command center," Arcee said, then she ran out of the room with Bulkhead, Smokescreen, Soundwave, and Ratchet right behind him.
Only Optimus, Elita-1, Knockout, and Ultra Magnus remained in the office as Springer lowered the goggles, his expression grim as he gazed in the direction Wheeljack had left in.
"What were you thinking?!" Elita-1 demanded, her four optics narrowing. "Oh, that's it!" She placed a hand on Knockout's wrist as the armor on her forearms flashed green, then she shifted her right servo into a spinning sawblade. "When I'm done with you, you'll be lucky if there's enough of you left to be recycled into-!"
"What was I thinkin'?" Springer looked at her. "I was thinkin' that it was about fraggin' time that someone drew attention to the fact that he's in trouble, and waitin' for him to sort it out on his own ain't gonna fly."
"... That wasn't a confrontation." Knockout raised a servo to his chin. "It was a demonstration."
"It was entirely unnecessary," Ultra Magnus pressed. "As were all of your actions today."
Springer crossed his arms. "Maybe. But maybe if all of you had done somethin' about this a fraggin' year ago, I wouldn't have gotten involved."
"Ugh." Elita-1 shifted the spinning saw back into a servo and crossed her arms. "If Jenna was here right now, she would be using all of us for target practice." She blinked, then she frowned and glanced back at Optimus. "Sorry."
"Hm... She would be furious," Optimus agreed quietly. "She believed that we would look after each other, that we would look after him... and we have failed."
"Hm." Knockout looked away, shifting uncomfortably. "It's starting to look that way."
"... We have not failed yet," Ultra Magnus insisted, looking up with narrowed optics. "Jenna may be gone, but Wheeljack is still here. We can still make this right."
Springer raised an optic-brow. "How?"
"We have to help him find closure," Ultra Magnus replied. "If we can do that, we will be able to gradually get him back to the point where he and Jenna left off. If we can do that, and we can acknowledge and accept what that might mean..." He glanced at Springer, frowning. "He might finally be able to reconcile the two sides of himself that he has been conflicting with all of these years, and he will know peace."
"... When I let that kid into the Wreckers, he became my responsibility," Springer said quietly. "I messed-up, and I wanna make it right." He gave a small smirk. "I might never understand the techno-babble or get why he'd wanna spend all day readin' or workin' in a lab when he could be blowin' scrap up or kickin' aft, but... if that's who he wants to be now that the war's over and he gets a fraggin' choice, and it'll make him happy... to the Pit with it." The former leader of the Wreckers shrugged. "Kid could use all the 'happy' he could get, right now."
/\
When Bulkhead found Wheeljack, the white Wrecker was sitting on the floor in a deep stasis, looking more exhausted than he had been even during the worst of the war.
:Ugh!: A voice from the Jackhammer's monitor shouted, frustrated. :There is a special place in Hell for whoever put letters in math!:
:Don't tell me you got another B in Algebra, kid. You studied all night for that test.:
:Well... it's not a B...: Jenna sighed, glancing at her camera with a deadpan from the shotgun seat of Wheeljack's vehicle mode. :And here, we see the soon-to-be extinct Jenna Darby. I say that because, as soon as my mother sees my Algebra grade, I am a dead woman.:
:Kid.:
:It ain't gonna be 'Cons who do me in, 'Jackie. It's gonna be the force of nature and wrath known as June Darby, as God intended.: Jenna chuckled weakly. :Say, you think it's too late to go downstairs and ask Creepsy-Deepsy to smite me?:
:Alright, that's it.: Wheeljack pulled over and summoned his holoform. :We're fixin' this. Let me see your fraggin' homework.:
:'Jackie, you can't do it for-:
:Oh, I'm not doin' it for you.: Wheeljack smirked. :I'm just gonna talk you through the basics and make your life a livin' Pit until you get it right.:
:'Jackie!:
Bulkhead paused the video just as Jenna closed her eyes, raising a hand to her mouth as she got ready to start laughing.
The green Wrecker gazed at the screen forlornly, then he sighed. "We miss you, kiddo, and... we could sure use your help, right now."
Bulkhead walked over to Wheeljack and grabbed his arm, blinking as something fell from the white Wrecker's servo and onto the floor, then his expression saddened all the more as he saw the flask.
Wheeljack stayed in his stasis as Bulkhead carefully carried him out of the Jackhammer and to where Arcee, Smokescreen, and Ratchet were watching with concern.
"This ship looks like it's been ready to leave for a while," Arcee admitted, frowning. "Where do you think he's planning to go?"
Bulkhead shook his helm. "I don't know." He glanced down at his friend, sighing. "We need to do somethin', guys. He can't go on like this."
"... He can stay in the med-bay tonight," Ratchet decided. "In fact, I think we should all stay at Iacon… and decide what our next course of action should be."
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I am not nice.
In fact, my niceness appears to be decreasing at an exponential degree.
However, we got some character development, plot development, and some more Animated elements thrown in here (with a few G1 references because I'm a piece of shit and I couldn't resist having some fun with that).
Plus, we got to explore a few things that were never really addressed in the show.
...
I know that I've explored the idea of who characters were before the war and how others might react, but I wanted to do it differently in this chapter.
It's not Wheeljack telling Bulkhead or Ultra Magnus finding out on his own and trying to be understanding in a difficult time.
It is a hardcore Wrecker learning that one of his own wasn't who they said they were, and having that conflict of emotion and ideology.
.
I also really like the idea of exploring the effect of the war on the psyche.
We only really got to see this when it came to Arcee in the show, with her clear trauma showing itself whenever she came into an encounter with Airachnid, but it was never properly addressed or treated by any other member of the group.
There were hints of other bits of poor mental health here and there:
Ratchet depriving himself of Energon to keep the rest of the team relatively well-fueled during a shortage,
Bumblebee's depressed and reckless behavior when he believed he had lost yet another part of himself,
Bulkhead's depressed and angry state following his injury,
Breakdown's abrupt change in behavior following the loss of his optic,
Star-"trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results"-scream,
whatever the fuck was going on with Megatron at any given moment (seriously, pick a scene),
Smokescreen's entire sense of self-worth being built up around the frail concept of destiny and everything going right and according to plan,
Wheeljack being the king of self-destructive tendencies and isolation,
Ultra Magnus being the most helpless introvert to ever live (someone, help this man),
Shockwave deciding that emotions were for chumps,
Dreadwing deciding that self-preservation was for chumps,
Knockout's probably got anxiety at this point,
Airachnid's… well... Airachnid,
and-of course-the legend himself that is Optimus "watch how many secrets I can keep and how many attempts to die I can make" Prime.
Whew... Shit, somebody needs to help these guys. 0_0
So yeah, we got to explore a bit more of what's going on with Wheeljack as well as get a look at other characters I haven't explored as much before: Optimus, Bulkhead, Shockwave, and Knockout.
Knockout, Bulkhead, and Optimus made me sad. Someone, help these boys.
Shockwave just kinda… happened, not gonna lie.
Don't read the scene wrong: he's still a mean old bastard, but he's playing nice because going to jail is not what's in his best interests at the moment (man's got other priorities), and he's probably got more than a little spite towards Starscream after being left to die by the Seeker not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES! Yeah, I'd be a little bitter too-and if I saw the chance to sic the Autobots on the guy, I'd do it in a second.
Plus, if there's one thing Shockwave was ever shown to respect in Transformers: Prime, it was a mind he held in a regard close to his own. Killing Wheeljack would have been a waste of Energon, but maybe he didn't only mean ammunition.
...
Plus, my boy Ultra Magnus got to be a fucking legend as always. God, I love writing that guy so much.
And Ratchet.
And Elita.
And Soundwave.
And Wheeljack.
And-
...
Just finished watching "War for Cybertron: Siege" on Netflix. Don't know what to think about that one just yet, but I do know that I am glad to see Elita 'cause it's been a bit and I think it's hilarious that she holds all the braincells and is ninety-eight percent of Optimus's impulse control. Plus, Wheeljack-the best of both worlds-gets to be smart and say "ass", so that's a freakin' win.
By the looks of my notes, this section of "The Artist" will-at most-be four more chapters. This number is subject to change, but that's what we're looking at right now. I'm not gonna draw this out any longer than that before I move onto the next stage. There are just a few more things I want to explore, and as you can see, I am setting up elements for a bigger storyline in the background of Part 2.
Part 3's gonna be pretty wild from the looks of it, and there's this one scene in there that I've been tweaking and rewriting and redeveloping for almost four months 'cause I wanna get it just right. Now, I think I've finally got it... and oh boy, what have I done?
I only own my OCs. Please read, review, check out my other stories, etc. Thanks! :)
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Comments Hall of Fame!
redemption295
"Hey, just like to say that this story is amazing. I can't wait for the next installment."
(Aw, thanks!)
"I have a couple questions, for you and for the characters."
(Oh, this is gonna be fun. XD )
"do you have like chapters written out in advance right now? also do you have an update schedule?"
(I have no full chapters written out, but I have chapter fragments, dialogue, and outlines prepared. I know where things are going, but not all of the details are in place as of yet. That's part of the fun.
I try to update "The Artist" every Tuesday when possible, but classwork delayed me this week.)
"also it's like 1:20 am here and I'm wearing sunglasses in the dark because I have a headache."
(Oh, geez. I know what that's like. Hang in there.)
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Ask a Character!
redemption295: "Everyone: it's been a year, how are you doing? Hope you all feel better soon, although somehow I doubt it."
Miko: *cringing* "Wow. You didn't have to do it to us like-"
Jenna, sitting in a corner beneath a "Time Out" sign: *shrugs* "Meh. Still dead, so..."
June: *sighs* "Okay, so that's how we're starting this one off!"
Jack: "Yeah, uh... Yeah. My sister's been dead for a year, so... still not really doing so good." *shakes his head* "You'll, um... You'll get more details in upcoming chapters, so... not gonna spoil that."
Fowler: "It's the same with the rest of us humans. Don't worry, we're not out of this yet."
Miko: "Yep. It's just been pretty... not great." *shrugs* "I think we took it all for granted, how the whole team survived to the end of the war on Earth. We thought they were invincible; that they'd always live, even if they got hurt." *quiet laugh* "Serves me right. Jenna always loved proving me wrong."
Raf: *small smile* "What we can tell you is that the 'Bots have stayed in contact, and that our guardians try to visit once a month and sometimes bring some of the others along with them. We're still family, even though we've lost."
June: *looks down* "We miss Wheeljack, though. We haven't seen him."
Bumblebee: "Sari and I have been travelling the world, searching for any sign of protoforms or techno-organics."
Sari: "We're also keeping an eye out for some of the loose ends from back during the war, missing 'Bots and 'Cons and Relics that we think should be accounted for. We haven't had much luck yet, but we've found a lot of Energon deposits and marked the sites down so that the stuff can be taken and shipped off-world. We don't want a new MECH to rise."
Arcee: "The rest of us have sorta been... what you've seen, really. Just going through the motions, trying to keep the peace as we try to pull everything together and create a better world."
Smokescreen: *chuckles* "I'm looking forward to retirement. Once the new government is installed, I'm going on a long vacation."
Ratchet: "You can't stay away for too long."
Smokescreen: "One good reason?"
Elita-1: *raises optic-brow*
Smokescreen: *blinks* "... OH, RIGHT! YOU AND OPTIMUS ARE GONNA HAVE A-! OH, I'M AN IDIOT!"
Bulkhead: *snorts* "At least there's some good news." *sighs* "Though I'm really worried about 'Jackie. He's really not doing good."
Jenna, peeking out from behind Ratchet: *cups hands around mouth, deepens voice* "Maybe we should stage an intervention!"
June: *hands on her hips* "Get right back into that corner, young lady! You are in a time-out!"
Jenna: *groans* "This comments section is a fucking nightmare!"
.
redemption295: "Optimus, how are you dealing with everything?"
Optimus: *smiling* "To begin, reader, I would like to thank you very much for your question. I was honestly not expecting to be addressed personally, and it comes as a pleasant surprise in these dark times."
Jenna, sitting in the "Time Out" corner again: "Someone, hug this guy."
Optimus: "Now, to address your question..." *sighs, rotator-cups slumping* "Could you define 'dealing with'?"
Jenna: "Seriously, he's an introvert. We've probably given him anxiety with our bullshit, at this point."
Optimus: "Apologies. That was rather-..." *recomposes himself* "I am admittedly still... struggling with last year's events, specifically the conclusion of the Battle of the Well."
Jenna: *sighs* "Prime-"
Optimus: "Though my allies try to reassure me, I fear that I will never forgive myself for the demise of Jenna Darby. I-" *blinks* "What are you doing?"
Jenna: *holding a notepad and paper* "Adding to my Thriller List." *squints, writes* "Figure out... how to hug... Optimus Prime... without making it weird... you socially-awkward mess." *looks up* "Done."
Optimus: "Thriller List?"
Jenna: *shrugs* "I'm dead. I've got shit I need to get done. It was the best name I could come up with."
Optimus: "... I will just continue with the question, now." *rights himself* "I was not expecting the position of power I now find myself in, nor do I say that I favor it. In fact, I would not wish it upon my worst enemy—and if Starscream were to kill me for it, I can almost guarantee that he would soon be regretting his choice." *sighs* "I look forward to the day when I can step back and watch over Cybertron as a Prime should, as a guardian and mentor rather than an all-encompassing leader. For now, I simply hope that I am enough to keep the peace."
Jenna: "And that your kid isn't born while you're in office."
Optimus: O_O
Elita-1: *sighs* "Great. Now, look what you've done." *turns helm* "Knockout?! We've got another freeze-up!"
Knockout: *not looking up from his data-pad* "Did you try turning it off and on?"
Elita-1: "I meant my sparkmate!"
Knockout: *shrugs* "Call support."
Elita-1: "I said it was for Optimus!"
Knockout: *rolls optics* "Must I do everything around here? Seriously, how are any of you blue-eyed goody-goodies still alive?" *opens commlink* "Yes, hello? I would like to report an emotionally-compromised Prime. He's frozen up, we're getting no response... Yes, I told her to try turning it off and on."
Elita-1: "You are not making a real call, right now. That is a fake call."
Knockout: *ignoring her* "Can I schedule an appointment? The sooner the better. Mmhm. Yes. Yes. Alright, then. That sounds good. Thank you very much." *hangs up, picks up data-pad* "... Three, two, one-"
*door bursts open*
Smokescreen and Bumblebee come charging in, and they both hug Optimus.
Sari, flying up into the air: *raises megaphone* "WE LOVE, SUPPORT, AND CHERISH YOU, YOU GIANT NERD!"
Elita-1: *stunned* "Wait, what?"
Knockout: "I told you to call support."
Sari: "STOP BEING SAD, YOU FANTASTIC CYBERTRONIAN BEING! YOU DESERVE ALL OF THE NICE THINGS, AND YOU ARE GONNA BE SUCH A GOOD DAD!"
Smokescreen: *grinning* "You betcha."
Bumblebee: *chuckles* "Yeah, I mean-we turned out pretty alright, didn't we?"
Optimus: *blinks, then smiles*
.
redemption295: "Wheeljack, are you gonna tell the other Wreckers about how smart you are?"
Wheeljack: *shudders* "Frag, no! Did you see that? I am not going through that with anyone else, ever again!" *awkward grin* "Pretendin' to be an idiot ain't that bad, anyway! It's a whole lot less pressure!"
Bulkhead: *sighs* "'Jackie-"
Wheeljack: "No, it is not happening! In another life, one where I still kinda had my scrap together, maybe! The reactions might've even been funny!" *shakes helm* "But come on, I am not doin' that—not to myself, not ever. I've already got too much else to worry about."
Bulkhead: "Can I talk, now?"
Wheeljack: "What is it?"
Bulkhead: "You do remember that Springer is a blunt, stubborn pain in the aft who can't keep a secret to save a life, right?"
Wheeljack: *blinks* ".. Son of a-"
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See ya, next time! :)
