Protoforms

by Immortal Spark

Eons before Autobot and Decepticon, the mysterious Quintessons harvest a new energy discovered on a most unusual planet. To them, this is just another world to rule, and they created the protoforms to do their bidding. Cybertron will see many heroes and villains rise and fall in the millennia to follow, all will owe their lives to the first Cybertronians who set their world free.

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Generation Gap

The morning light was piercing through the gaps in the vents, casting luminous stripes over floor and wall. Tracer walked from the main entrance over to the primary power controls. His footsteps echoed in the vacant building. It was calming. He was used to hearing the com-station ringing with urgency or finding something left unfinished from the previous day. Ever since Lug got taken away he had to work with the constant stress of still learning. This was the first day he truly felt ready. Plus, his new upgrades were finally ready at the assembler. Yes, everything was finally running smoothly.

'Very cylinder.'

He turned the power on. The lights came on in sequence from one side of the building to another. Light fell on the bunks of hardware, the transports, and a large space that for once didn't have stacks of unsorted incoming materials.

Tracer could hear voices outside. It was the other two members of his team. They worked together just as they had when Lug was in charge. Tracer worked alone. They delivered the heavy pieces while he took all the small components. Easy work, but many more stops to make. Tracer didn't mind it, he preferred to be alone. Other protoforms didn't see things the same way he did. He couldn't tell them about his experiences with the wastes, the caverns, Escia, Alpha Trion, Rubbish, or the Quintessons… they wouldn't understand.

Bronzie and Axle walked in. Compared to Tracer these two never stopped talking. Axle was in the middle of another of his rascally tales.

"So he picked up an ingot, right… and he's really going at it with both hands, pretending it's a box that won't open. We knew he was watching us so he hands it off to me. And so now I'm trying to open this thing and I'm even banging it on the floor like this. So the enforcer finally comes over and grunts at us. Raytron, he says 'Aw my spark! The hinges on this thing are seized! We can't open it.' The enforcer grabs the ingot out of my hand, wraps his hands around it, and just gives it all he's got. We're trying to get him going more by saying 'oh yeah I can hear it. You're almost there!' and he's just losing it! Finally he picks it up, slams it right into the floor. It's completely stuck in the ground. And he just marches off. Oh, we were just killing ourselves laughing!"

Tracer pressed the button for the main hangar door. It slowly rose, letting in more of the morning light. "Morning bots!" he said while looking over his tablet. He looked up as they were opening the second transport to load in the last few pieces from the bunk. "Make sure you remember to hit the plating shop before you go to the garage in '22." They nod and wave back at him while they continue chatting. Tracer's eyes drift over to a lone protoform wandering through the main door. "And… are you lost over there?"

The protoform turned to look at him. Tracer had never seen a protoform like this one. Perhaps once. He had been around dozens of working protoforms but this was the first time he'd seen one that was… feminine. Subtle, but once he made the connection it was impossible to ignore. Like most protoforms she was grey with some asymmetrical stripes of white. She had a single strand of metal that swept down just to her cheek; like a manufacturing defect that someone forgot to cut off. Her optics looked Tracer over as she smiled, "Oh hi! Um… this is the distribution hub?"

"… The only one in the sector." Tracer replied.

She approached Tracer. She came to stand in front of him and smiled very professionally. "I'm Taurus-Luna, I'm working here now. Protoforms call me TL for short."

Tracer felt uneasy. Three members is a well-rounded number. They wouldn't send a new bot unless, "Uh-no…" Tracer groaned. His perfect day slipped from his mind.

She squinted. "No? But… I was told to come here—"

"Let me guess, Lodex Gamma assigned you here?"

"Yeah, actually. I guess he messaged you or something, I'm here because—"

"Tarnished scrap!" Tracer cursed at his lowest volume. "Trust me, Taurus, I know why you're here. Ugh…" He clenched his fists as his head rolled back slightly "Of course it just had to be today!" Tracer gestured for her to follow him and showed her into the transport.

Tracer climbed in the other side and sat down. He'd never sat on this side before. He knew what lessons he would someday teach, but the words fell out of him more monotonous than he would have liked. "Well… it looks like I've only got one day to train you. So pay close attention. You're in control of this crate, use the left pedal when you shift. First gear is a little worn out, but honestly you can get a good start out of second—just take it easy. This one's reverse, keep it under 4K RPC and press that red button all you want it does absolutely nothing."

"It does nothing?" she chirped, looking at Tracer as she slowly drove the transport out of the depot.

"Yep." Tracer confirmed looking out the windshield. He pointed with his hands to show which way she should go. "Bot who trained me made it sound like pressing it might blow up the transport. Every time I think back to that day I think more and more he made it all up." His eyes wandered over to her briefly "One day I pressed it and yeah, nothing happened. Just stay cylinder and take it nice and easy."

She paused and ran that through her mind again. "Did you just say 'cylinder'?"

Tracer slouched back in his seat. "Sure did. It's fun to say anything those tight-bolt recorders won't understand. But any protoform will know exactly what it means."

"But what does it mean?"

"It means…" Tracer looked off and tried to sound profound. "stay cylinder…"

TL shrugged and adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. "Okay then… How am I doing?"

"You're doing fine." Tracer glanced at her while she was focused on the road. "So are you a brand-new protoform?"

She hummed. "Not really. You recharge at stowing sector three, right?"

"Yeah…" Tracer said, suddenly suspicious.

"I've kinda seen you before. I don't think you'd notice me. We stow away in the same complex but we come and go at different times. I first saw you when they pulled you out of the collapsed building. You've kinda stood out ever since. Were you actually in the building when it blew up?"

"Yeah." He said, remembering the shock of the explosions, and the sight of Razor against the blazing inferno. It's nothing he cared to brag about. "Turn left up here."

"Ok. So you were trapped inside?"

He sighed "No, much worse. I fell into the caverns beneath the city."

"The pits?" She gasped. "What's down there?"

"Very bad things. I don't really want to talk about it. Switch it to fourth up here, we need to pick up the pace but remember to keep it under 4K."

"Ok." TL confidently perked up in her seat. "This is neat so far. I kept getting moved around a lot. Last two days I was under sector one working on a something-something core—what was it again? Anyway before that I worked at the new generator just over that way y'know. Before that, I spent a day cleaning the cooling vents in sector J or G or whatever. It was full of garbage—not ice or coolant… actual garbage! Before that…" she stopped herself. "Well, it doesn't matter."

"Why? What was it?"

"It doesn't matter—Oh! The kinetic polarity core! That's what I was talking about before. Protoforms think it sounds like it should be this tiny little thing. But it's actually really really big. Me and everyone else in my crew were putting the whole thing together from the inside. And we weren't crawling or anything—we were all standing up, sometimes working off hoists. It was pretty neat. We weren't building the whole thing. It's only in phase two out of five or something. Anyways our job was to pair up harmonizers and polarizers and arrange them in order of how much affect they have on inertia. So we're on into the second day, and the recorder keeping us on track has a breakdown: he started shorting out and burned himself out right in front of us."

Tracer chuckled. "Just shorted out? That'd be something to see."

"I know! Someone said he might have got some energon splashed onto him. Just TZZZZAP, then POP and TSSSSSSS… So what do we do? He hadn't given us the plan for the harmonizers. And if we just sat and waited for the next one to replace him we would have been a whole day behind! So I stood up and started putting everyone to work. I knew the harmonizers were going in order of how strong their field is, but I didn't know which side should get the strongest. I just started putting a strong one, then a weak one, strong one and so on. Well the replacement recorder shows up five or so cycles before recharge phase. He punched in the numbers and he 'anticipates six—or, er twelve—percent increase in projected output' or something. So I guess I did better recording than a real recorder. I could tell he was impressed."

Tracer was doubtful. "Impressing a recorder? I would've thought that impossible. Still, that's incredible. I would never have guessed."

She looked over at him a little confused. "But I told you when we met. You said 'I know why you're here.' or something. Because they really liked how organized I am and said they'd move me somewhere that needs good attention to detail… or something."

He sighed "Ah, I thought you were talking about something else."

"Like what?"

"Ugh, I've been trying not to think about this… They want me to train you so they can…" He fumbled for the right word "retire me."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

Tracer hesitated. Finally casting away his own denial "Well, 'retire' is a nicer way of saying they're going to kill me." He took in cool air to calm his anger. "Then you'll get my job full time. Your days of getting re-assigned are over. Once you settle in here they'll keep you here for the rest of your life." He looked out the side of the transport at all the buildings he's passed so many times without ever really seeing them. "I really hoped I'd get another day or two. There's some protoforms I thought would kick it before I did."

Tracer signalled for her to pull in front of the assembler's building.

"Why are we stopping here?"

"I just have to go in for a quick thing." Tracer abruptly stepped out and left TL alone in the transport.

Tracer walked into the assembler's workshop. The assembler was rummaging through storage totes at the far end. The assembler heard the door close "If you have an appointment, just wait by the first bench. I'll be right with you."

Tracer thought for a moment. He's supposed to get his new upgrades today. But all he could think about was how Lug only had one day to train him. He didn't want to waste time getting his new parts when he could be teaching TL. A small part of him liked having someone to finally listen to him. Besides, only one day with upgrades sounds wasteful. He felt an emptiness inside him grow, as he summoned the courage to refuse something he longed for with all his spark.

"It's Tracer." He shouted into the workshop. "I'm supposed to get some upgrades, but I think there's been a mistake… I already got the upgrades. Those parts can just go to someone else that needs them."

The rummaging stopped. "Are you sure? I was certain I… I didn't enter it into my journal, and I always…"

"It was a really busy day. You told me just to remind you if you didn't end up jotting it down. So anyway, I already got them. So I'm just going to go." Tracer didn't bother with finishing with any formal 'bye' or 'see you' for a mere drone. He knows it's pointless. He went back outside to his waiting transport.

The assembler emerged from his cluttered corner and paced over to a workbench with an arrangement of wires, servos, limbs and plating in anatomical position for a worker robot. He picked up his tablet and clicked through his journal entries.

"Hmm…" he mused. "Everyone's received all their upgrades… except me." He looked down at his tablet. "I'm still forgetting things. Perhaps a little more memory will prevent this from happening in the future." His eyes shifted back and forth from his tablet, the parts on the bench, and his own hands. "I could upgrade myself. How hard could it be?"

---

Tracer and TL were getting close to their first stop for the day. TL kept looking over at Tracer, thinking of something to talk about. "Hey, I just remembered. Today they're letting protoforms off work early to go to that new structure… the Colosseum. What do you think goes on there?"

Tracer rocked side to side as he cobbled an answer together. "It's some spectacle, bots competing against each other. That's all I know. I've delivered parts to the site. There's doors that'll open and close, columns that shift up or down, and for some reason they got basins for molten metal."

"Do you want to go check it out? Er, that is… if you're still, um…"

"If they don't come for me… sure, might as well. It's something other than work."

They pulled into the loading bay for their first drop off. "The bot here is Theta. He's got a major attitude malfunction. So just let me do the talking." They got out and went to the back of the transport. They each carried four boxes over to the main office that opened into the garage.

"Bust my hydros!" Theta shot up and nearly threw the tablet he was holding. "Can you ever show up on schedule?"

Tracer and TL were walking up with boxes in-hand. Tracer matched Theta's tone, and dialed it up a few notches. "Stow it, Theta! I just had a quick tune-up at the assembler. I'm not having a good day!" They placed the boxes on the bench beside Theta's station.

Theta stayed irritated "So what? Maybe if you stopped bringing the wrong parts I'd be glad to see you for once. Look at these… eight-thirty-fours! I gotta ask you a serious question: can you even read or are you trying to put everyone else behind schedule too. Cuz I'm not putting up with this rust-pile from you anymore! I told you yesterday: I need EIGHT-THIRTY-TWOS!"

"Yeah, you did—" Tracer began, but Theta cut him off before he could finish.

"THEN WHY CAN'T YOU FOLLOW SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS!?"

Tracer raised his hands. "Alright, that's enough! Now clamp it for a click, okay? These are going in the F-rhodactors from the other day?"

"And rhodactors need the thirty-two!"

Tracer smiled, opening on of the boxes up to take out the unit. "Not the new F-class! It doesn't have a belt-driven clutch. When you messaged me you said the rhodactors were making a rattling sound; not a whining sound from a belt! The thirty-fours have a hydraulic clutch—which will rattle if the knuckle jostles loose. You probably noticed fluid draining when you uncoupled the return line—right here! You're pretty smart, does a belt-drive need mech fluid?"

"Hmm…" Theta looked at the part. Not saying anything.

Tracer kept his fame rigid. "I didn't think so. Now, is there something you have to add here?"

"No, there isn't." Theta went over to his desk, clicking through files on his tablet.

Tracer tried to contain his satisfaction "Yeah… there's something we protoforms say… when we're wrong..."

Theta kept his eyes on his screen "Nope. There's nothing else. Get on out of—oh. Hold on! I do have something to add: someone was here looking for you."

'Oh my very spark—it's already happening...' Tracer found himself suddenly quiet. "Who was it, an enforcer?"

"I honestly wasn't paying attention."

"What?"

"Hey… I've seen hundreds of drones and protoforms in my life. After a while all the faces just blend together."

"So you're saying some random bot comes up and asks you where to find ME—of all protoforms—and you didn't stop to maybe ask why he was looking for me or who he even was?"

Theta stood up as he pointed around his cluttered office. "Look at my station here! I just got half a days-worth of scrap dumped on me in just the last cycle. I'm not going to get everything done. So if some random bot shows up at my dock and asks me who's where—or what's up—or this—or that, I honestly don't give two plugs about any of it! 'Cuz I got six orders to make, two reports to review, PLUS I have to audit our inventory of all the zeta-six couplers because SOMEBODY keeps stocking them into the kappa-five reducers' bin. WHO KEEPS DOING THIS? THEY DON'T LOOK ANYTHING ALIKE!"

Tracer had a hard time feeling sorry for him "Oh pipe down! You don't have an enforcer out to retire you."

"Nah, not an enforcer. I know that much."

"A recorder then, Lodex? You at least know him right?"

"Look, I DON'T KNOW! Are we done here?"

"Oh yeah, we're done." Tracer and TL headed back to the transport.

After they got back on the road, TL asked "Did he really have to be so mean back there?"

"You'll find that protoforms—especially ones who've been doing the same job for too long—get too settled into their routines. If you change one thing they act like it's a big problem." He paused as he looked TL over again. "Though I gotta say, this is the first time I've ever seen, let alone even heard of… a working female."

"Oh. You noticed, did you?" She tensed up "Please. Please don't tell anybody."

"Look, I'm pretty sure before the days over I'm going to be meticulously sorted into several piles of parts—and before you ask: no, I'm not going to tell you what that means. So I don't think you need to worry about me telling anyone. I think I know where you were before all your other jobs."

TL calmed herself "I didn't even get through one day... all they had me do was clean. We had to be ready for when they next protoform needed to be 'rewarded'. I didn't feel right. Deep in my spark I knew, I didn't belong there."

"So how did you get mixed up with the workers?"

"When the generator blew up, all the surveillance systems shut down. We worked together to get as many of us out as we could. We got outside just as the enforcers got there to put us back in our cages. We had to split up. I went inside the first open door I saw. A new team was just being assigned for maintenance on a cooling system. The enforcers were taking their names while the recorder logged the final roster into his report. The enforcer thought I was a worker who showed up late. I got scolded and reprimanded but my name was officially on the list as a worker! Every new job I get I make sure to avoid the recorders. They'll probably figure me out if they get a good look at me. But I never saw what happened to all the others who escaped. I hope they're all safe."

"You were lucky. There's really nowhere for them to go. Just try not to think about it and be glad you're safe."

"I can't just forget about them! Some risked their sparks for me and the others. There's got to be something better for us than where we were. Some place where we can all do what we want, not the jobs we're told!"

"Trust me. There isn't." TL huffed and cringed at the answer.

"So we're only here to service the rest of you? That's not fair!"

Tracer suddenly regretted ever speaking to his new protégé. Working hard has been the only thing that brought him any recognition. She ought to listen to his experience. "Nothing's fair! You want to know if your life really matters, do ya? Then walk up to the first enforcer you—or better yet, walk right up the Quintessons and raise one… closed… fist. I'll tell you, your life isn't worth the click it takes to rip the spark out of your chest! We're just machines: built for a purpose! You're wasting too much time thinking about how you want things to be, or what you think you're good at. Well guess what: nobody cares! We got a job to do and if you fall behind, you're gone! I wouldn't want you slowing me down. My advice to you is shut up! Shut up and stop caring so much about everything. You can't have what you really want out of life and anyone who gets close doesn't live long. You're a single component in this big system. If you work hard for one day it moves forward: but if you break down and give up, it'll grind you underneath without stopping. You're only worth scrap if you get... the work... done! I can make your life so much easier here and now. Shut up… and just look out for yourself!"

TL turned to look at Tracer as she let her anger take her. "How can you be so thick? Is this what you think matters most: getting the work done? What makes you so certain? How do you know there's no hope to change even one thing?"

"I know because I tried! It wasn't enough I was made from a protoform who defied the creators. But I stood up for a protoform, and got knocked flat onto my back. And every single protoform looked right at me and did nothing. They didn't care. Not a single one cared that one of our own was about to be killed. What if it were two? What if it were ten? How many of us do they need to watch die before they care? I tried to save a life and everyone else stood back to watch me fail. Forget them! Forget all of them, I'm not one of them anymore! I'm just another construct with a temperamental spark."

The transport pulled into the loading bay. Any bot could have said those words. But Tracer was the only one to make them sting. She felt broken, powerless as she collapsed in her seat. Her spark felt like a stone inside her core. Her voice was frail as she searched inward for even a fragment of her strength. Tracer looked at her. Her optics were locked forward as she struggled to contain her feelings of hopelessness. She whispered "The others said someone destroyed the generator. Someone fought so that I and others could be free. All this time I thought… but it wasn't you, was it?"

"No, and actually, I was trying to stop the ones who…" He saw TL's hands trembling. He could hear his inner drone mocking him: 'you've got a way with words, there.' He knew the pain in her optics, but never imagined that he could be the one to cause it. His life had been hard on him, but the worst of it didn't come from someone he admired... 'It never should.'

"I'm… I'm sorry. Every day since then has been the same for me. Every protoform treats me the same. I didn't want someone else to be shunned. I didn't want you to feel hated like they hate me. Uh… The protoform here is called Miscel. He's pretty easy to get along with. He's one of the nicer…" he paused, looked away from the sight of her despair. "okay. I get it. Just stay here. I'll drive the rest of the day if you want." He stepped out, grabbed the bundle of parts and carried them over to a window. Two robots were inside, another was leaning on the outside. He could hear them chatting as he approached.

"Hey! Here he comes! Guys. GUYS, he's here. Shh!"

"What are you guys up to?" Tracer probed, jokingly.

Miscel walked up to the open window as Tracer stepped right up. He leaned right out and peered intensely into Tracer's optics. "Sixteen. HA!" The other bot inside threw his arms up and gave a disappointed howl.

"Sixteen?" Tracer cocked a hesitant smile, waiting for an explanation.

Miscel turned around looking very satisfied. "Hex over there thought you'd have eighteen. Geminus said you'd have twenty—"

"—He said he was going to the assembler today! I should have won!" The protoform standing outside uttered before wandering off.

Tracer chuckled in anticipation "Anybody wanna clue me in to what's going on?"

"We're just checking out those pretty-blue optics of yours, handsome." said the second bot inside the office.

Miscel's expression of satisfaction faded into one of intrigue. "Your optics…" he began, "… work by opening and closing an aperture to let in light. Hex just got back from the assembler this morning, told him all about them. That's how we got on this topic. Anyways the iris has overlapping leafs that move in sync to open or close the aperture."

"So what, I got really good optics?" asked Tracer.

"Well they're pretty uncommon. They've been obsolete for over two weeks—but you already knew you were recycled once—at least you weren't this other bot. He wasn't here for anything; just wandered in and asked if any deliveries were coming in today. Um… yeah! We all laughed at the bot. But anyway, every bot we seen today got eighteen, or twenty. But I just stared at this guy cuz he had twelve! That's an odd number."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's even…"

"No, I mean it's unusual. See they change the current designs every week or so. Everyone else had to get overhauled to function in the new system. You can't keep just one component, it won't work. This guy's running off hardware that's been obsolete for over three weeks. We'd be lucky to live so long."

"Maybe they're putting new sparks in old shells?"

"You can't! The core programs aren't compatible after a while. Once the spark connects to a body all the programming syncs with it, and when it goes all that's left are the memories. Everything else: logic, personality, basic protocols, hand-eye coordination… everything needed to create even a working drone again vanishes with the spark. You'd have to boot the whole thing up with a brand-new core program. And trust me, when the Quintessons say a model can't be upgraded, it ain't happening!"

"Why would just the memories stay?"

"Your memories are stored separately because if they didn't you'd be able to change your memories like you can change your routines. Not like it does much good because it's all encrypted. See, when you look at anything, you interpret it based on your knowledge and even emotions. No two protoforms will see the same thing the same way. This perceptional distortion carries over into your memories. So basically anyone wanting to look through your memories will first have to decipher your own way of seeing things. I tell you that assembler; you ask one question and you get buried in the answer!"

Tracer waved the gesture for 'that's enough, you talkative pile of scrap' before asking "You said someone just wandered in here… did he ask about me at all?"

"No. He didn't say much actually."

"I know you were all too busy getting lost in his optics, but did anyone here see what the rest of him looked like?"

Miscel's optics locked with Tracers, then glanced over his shoulder for an instant. "It's actually funny you should ask."

"What do you mean?"

Miscel whispered, "Turn around. You'll see for yourself."

Tracer froze.

'They're here!'… His last day played out just like he knew: just like Lug before him. 'I better face this with a little courage'. He looked over his shoulder and turned to face his pursuer. Turning partially, in the corner of his vision he saw the shape of a robot just at the door leading to the streets. The light behind him veiled his features. Turning more, Tracer saw the glow of two optics could be seen, armoured shoulders sprouting rather typical arms. Tracer completed the turn and saw the form in full view for a whole click before it dashed around the corner and down the street. 'Who is that?'

The directive was rudimentary inside his head: running away could only mean a rogue protoform—or someone playing a cruel joke on him. But why him? Is this personal? Who even is this? Tracer's legs revved up as he accelerated into the street after him. Tracer pushed himself hard to catch up. "HEY." he shouted "STOP!"

The fleeing robot veered into a building. He typed into a keypad and waiting precious clicks for the small door to open. Tracer watched him slip into the slow-moving door. It held itself open as Tracer closed in, starting to close again just as he got to it. He swerved into the dimly lit building, listening to the footsteps ascending the stairwell. Tracer charged up, shoving past drones as he passed by the levels. Level 3… level 4… level 5… level 6…

… The footsteps stopped. Tracer heard a sliding door close just one floor above him. He sprinted the rest of the way up and pulled the door open with his hands. He ran out onto a flat rooftop to see the robot leap off the edge ahead of him. Tracer ran after him… the next building was only one floor lower, there was even a cooling module he could land on easily and jump down the rest of the way from. This building was still under construction, the rooftop was not yet finished. There were large gaps and unfinished columns projecting up.

Tracer hopped down and leaped across obstacles. The other robot was having trouble finding the right way to escape. He frantically looked at the space around him; loose piles of cord, and the many gaps in this corner of the structure. Tracer was closing in. He could count the robots fingers. He made one jump, his toeplate skidded off the far edge. His leg dropped into the open floor while his chest and arms fell onto the solid plating. He grunted and cursed as he wrenched his core body to pull both legs up again.

Once upright again, Tracer turned to look for the renegade. He had been right here… Tracer dashed over to where he last saw him. He could hear footsteps on metal beneath him. There was a large repair bay crisscrossed with many levels of metal catwalks. Frustrated, Tracer jumped into the nearest opening onto the level below. The renegade was climbing down the levels with a cord, tying it off at each level so Tracer couldn't cut it from the top. Tracer didn't want to waste any more time. He stepped over the railing and dropped down right over the fleeing robot. Level 4… 3… 2… [SHPROANG!] Tracer felt his limbs snap back as his body flipped over and buckled under intense tension. Tracer hung in the air, tangled in a mess of cables.

The renegade hadn't been tying off the cord to anchor it; he'd been rigging it up to snare Tracer. Tracer's head rolled around as he hung upside down within arm's reach of the ground floor. His circuits were buzzing with the immense damage he'd sustained. Two feet jumped down and landed in front of Tracer's view. Before Tracer could pull his cumbersome head around to see the robot clearly he'd already turned and jogged away and into a service corridor. He turned back for a final glance at the helpless protoform… and Tracer saw the renegade's face... the face of Alpha Trion.

'It can't be…'

[Shkezrit] Tracer contracted his hand and slipped his wrist out of the first snare. He freed his other limbs and placed both feet tenderly on the unforgiving floor. Although barely able to shamble he pushed his limbs hard to reach the service corridor. He looked left and saw the corridor continue on for a full sector with no junctions. 'He couldn't have run down there in that time.' Tracer turned right only to see a small workstation in a shallow alcove. He didn't see which way he went… no footsteps. No sound whatsoever… He just vanished!

Tracer stood there. Holding his strained limbs and listening only to the sound of his own servos quivering with fatigue. He took in the cool, calm air to settle the excitement in his very spark. He stood there for several moments hoping for a revelation; some clue as to what in all the known galaxies had just happened. He questioned his own senses. 'Impossible!' The damage longed to pull his body down into a heap on the floor. So little strength left in him, only a single thought kept Tracer from collapsing:

'I suddenly don't feel so old now.'