my TF fanfics here always turn out this way... Short and in first-person. Oh well. I like this one, dispite the length. It was inspired by "Cut", authored by Patricia McCormick.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, but If I did, I'd be bragging about it all the time. The only person I own is "You". Yu'll get it when you read it... wait... Oo

Summary: Based after Armedon with a different ending. But I shall put my version of Armada at the end. (Otherwise, it's a spoiler) An Autobot has the most interesting silent patient.

Bars on The Window

I just listen to the clacking of your keys from the computer sitting on you lap. Yet there is never anything for you to type. You look up; I can still see your optics below the helmet ridge, painted blue. You stare at me, but never at my eyes. I am placing my bets on the picture just behind my head is what you are really looking at.

You just try to get me to talk.

"How was your week?"

Straighten out your position; you seem to be very uncomfortable whenever I go to the session with you. The room is empty, yet oddly cozy. All that is there is a chair bolted to the floor, your desk, your chair, and an assortment of different documents and pictures hanging from the wall, along with a window.

Yet there are bars over the glass. I begin to just count the bolts that line the ceiling.

"Did anything happen since last session?"

Little happens… I think, Aside from sitting in a cell, watching guards walk by every ten minutes… and during the night cycle, making sure I was asleep, or else to bring out the sleep energon. And than wait in the bare cell, still shackled at the wrists.

"Do you want to discuss anything?" You ask. Someone has to tell you that you need to work on small talk.

I just keep silent. As I have every other time I was here, ever since…

"Do you want to talk about why you're here?" You say, sounding so calm, but your hands shake over the keys.

17… 18….20… I stare at the ceiling, trying to drown out your voice.

With a click of keys, you started talking again, "Apparently-"

You go on to tell me things I already know. Ever since Unicron- you gulp when you say the name- … well, things have definitely changed. Now here I am, in this pristine room, under the careful watch of other Autobots. Optimus asked that I remain here until I'm considered sane again… I don't necessarily blame him. I nearly strangled someone out of my own madness.

Though you know the truth… everyone else, even I know what will become of me.

I shall never leave here.

I've tried attacking others while here. But than a restricting tag around my wrist prevented me from doing so. If I get within a foot of another, I get a violent jolt. Its crude, but they think it works…

You look up, your eyes are dark yellow, but not gold. I would never call it gold.

"Why did you cut yourself?" You ask; a look of concern on your face. You still sound calm, but I see nervousness. Especially when you put your fist up to hold up your drooping head, but draw it back as you hit the wound.

I remember what I did well. You were the first I tried to attack. The scar is just starting to heal over; after all, I cut your cheek pretty bad with just the first blow. I start counting the bolts in the ceiling again.

"Why did you cut yourself?" You ask again.

20… 23…24… I know why I cut myself… just a quick escape. Though I bet you don't know how... though it was simple.

I ripped the leg off my bed, and used its sharp end as an edge. Pull apart the armor over my lower arm, just revealing my skin. And braced myself, letting it sink in. It's just a tingle at first, but after a while, it feels as intoxicating as the strongest energon. The only problem was I couldn't get my fuel line to stop spurting my own mech fluid. I was caught, and put into solitary. Though they described it as just a 'time-out'. Now my bed is just a recharge birth sitting on the ground.

I don't tell you that, though.

Eyes shifting, you look up at the clock, and close your computer, putting it back on the desk.

"Okay… time's up…" You say softly, and press a button under your chair with your finger.

Two guards come in, or 'escorts' as they call them, and just simply lift me up by the arms to my feet. These 'escorts' are the only ones I can get near without being rushed with potent raw energon.

"Next week, than-" you pause, and finish your sentence, "Megatron. Next week."

I don't answer.

Okay, now for my version of Armada.

Everything is the same except Megatron doesn't die and instead is deemed insane (as if we didn't know that). Hence this story came to mind.

Please R&R please. I'd like a few opinions... feel free to type out somethin'!