Introduction: Takes place sometime after chapter 4 of Revolution.
Perceptor drove through the streets of Iacon in its perpetual off-cycle dimness. He liked that the sky here never truly got dark, though it did make stargazing difficult.
Even in the gloom, there were many mecha around—the crowded, bustling city didn't ever fully go into recharge.
The noblemech's tower which he'd graciously offered to let them use was becoming a military base now and they needed all the rooms they could get. They hadn't asked Perceptor to leave but he had volunteered, and then insisted. He wasn't sure what he could do to help them at the moment anyway. His expertise was in science, not politics, and certainly not war. He was still disappointed that there was going to be a war in the first place, but there was nothing he could do to stop it now.
He had warned them against bringing that gladiator into this, but then he had been fooled as well when Soundwave had pronounced Megatronus trustworthy. He still couldn't believe his student would choose so wrongly. It was almost enough to make him question…
He came to a stop in front of his own home.
How long had it been since he'd last been here?
It felt like a very long time, but it had only been four or five decaorns, hadn't it?
The door opened for him, and the lights turned on at the tap of a button on the wall, then flickered, then stayed on.
His pedes broke the silence as he walked into the front room, and the quiet made him feel like an intruder in his own house.
It would be different without mecha from Autobot here all the time.
He climbed the stairs, listening to the faint echoes of his motions, and then walked down the hall, past the open door of the old meeting room.
He froze.
Sitting on the table was a mostly empty bottle of clear liquid.
Cautiously, he entered the room. The table had several irregular holes and corroded dents in it where drops of acid had eaten through.
The enforcers had tied him to this table and tortured him.
A thick oppressive silence filled the room. He suddenly wished he'd stayed at Mirage's tower...
"No," he told himself out loud. "They don't have room for me. I've lived here for vorns, this is my home, it just… it just needs a little tidying up." He took in a deep vent, "They didn't bother to clean the acid off of this, so it's ruined now. I'll have to get rid of it. Too bad it's not the one with the wobbly leg Red Alert was so upset about. That would have been convenient."
He picked up the mostly empty bottle of acid off of the table. "And I believe this belongs in my laboratory." He subspaced it. Then studied the table again. "Let's see. Shall I drag you down to the basement or should I put you outside to be taken away to the scrapyard?"
The table didn't seem to have an opinion on the matter, so Perceptor turned it carefully on its side and dragged it out the door and toward the stairs. "Off to the scrapyard with you, then," he said. "The basement's too crowded already."
He dragged the ruined table outside, then headed back in. "My table-to-chair ratio is even less optimal now. Maybe I should get rid of some of those too, but then again I have more storage space, without Orion and his friends here, don't I? I can put extra chairs in a spare room somewhere." He sighed and went upstairs. "So much work to do," he muttered. "I should have come back and cleaned up earlier."
Other than the ruined table, the old meeting room was actually very tidy. In fact, the enforcers had kindly cleaned out every single piece of technology, from the holoscreen to the computer stations. "Theft," Perceptor muttered as he set a chair upright. "That government… they never cease to surprise me… oh, my lab!" He rushed from the room to his lab, worried that they'd taken equipment from there as well.
It was a complete mess, but after some quick inventorying, he found that almost nothing was missing. It took him most of a joor to put everything back where it belonged, and by the time he was done, he no longer felt like straightening the rest of the house up. He went downstairs and found some energon in the cupboard—fortunately, that hadn't been stolen either.
He should rearrange all the furniture again. That should keep him busy next orn.
He wondered if the Academy would take him back. He had disappeared for decaorns without any announcement or explanation. Some of his students and peers had probably assumed he'd been arrested or killed by the Council. They wouldn't be too far wrong—he had been arrested after all. Sort of.
He took a deep vent and let it out slowly, then went around the house and locked the front door and the back door and the door coming up from the basement—he had heard about what had happened to the groundbridge and he didn't even want to look at the mess down there.
He checked all the other exits as well, then went back upstairs.
He walked past Soundwave's room and hesitated. He missed that mech, and even his symbiots. Frenzy with his endless questions, and loyal Ravage and clever Laserbeak. He had enjoyed having a student tenant. It had been especially nice because Soundwave usually understood what he was talking about.
Perceptor already missed the rebellion too. He missed having Orion and the others in his home, planning and working and fighting for the rights of their fellow mecha.
But that era was over, and now there was going to be a war. Orion had offered to make Perceptor the Autobots' head engineer, but Perceptor had declined. Everything had changed too quickly over the past several decaorns, and he was tired of trying to keep up.
"Everyone moves on," he said to Soundwave's door. "They always move on and leave me behind. But that's part of being a teacher, I suppose. I should be used to it by now, don't you think?"
The door, of course, had about as much to say in response to that as Soundwave on a quiet day. Perceptor smiled sadly at his unspoken quip and turned to walk toward his room. It was going to be a long off-cycle.