Author's Notes: I edited this chapter a little on 10/01/2019. I found one typo, but then it turned into a whole thing. Oh well. It's my fault for reading this chapter again after so long. LOL! XD

Chapter 12

What Dreams Are Made Of

PR-35 was starting to get fidgety. Ratchet had left immediately after getting the results from the spark test and had deleted everything from the computer. PR-35 didn't know what was going on, but he could see that Ratchet was acting weird. He didn't know what to do with his time, so he stared up at the wall. It was made of rock from the mountain the base was built within, so PR-35 tried to see designs in the cracks and bumps.

One design looked a lot like a femme's helm in profile, and another looked like a chicken, which was a bird on earth known for crossing roads and tasting like itself. He also saw some bumps that, when he turned his helm just right, looked like three racing cars. This image made another image flash through his processor; the image of a red and a gold car racing ahead of him.

PR-35 was starting to see his dream images during the day when he was wide awake, and it was starting to concern him. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was probably the reason the Autobot medic was performing so many tests on him. He hoped he wasn't sick or something. He was just starting to enjoy the idea of living, and he didn't want to die for a stupid reason like a virus.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ratchet came back into the medbay holding a cube of energon. He handed the cube to PR-35, but the Vehicon was reluctant to eat it. Ratchet looked pensive. That might mean he poisoned the energon.

"So, PR-35...It hardly seems right to call you by such an impersonal designation," Ratchet said; trying and failing to sound casual as he spoke to his patient, "Would you prefer to have a real name?"

"Um, I don't know," PR-35 replied nervously, "I mean, I don't really want one. I've been PR-35 my entire life. I'm not sure I can get used to another designation. Of course, if it's an order then I'll comply. I don't want any trouble."

"No, no, it's not an order. Merely a suggestion," Ratchet quickly told him, and then carefully placed his servos in his lap to keep them from shaking, "Listen, I got the results back from your spark test. I...oh, I just don't understand how this could happen!"

"What?" PR-35 yelped frantically, "Am I dying? I'm dying, aren't I? I knew it! I have a virus! I'm gonna wind up in the scrap yard!"

"No no no, you're not sick!" Ratchet yelled while PR-35 was still wailing.

"I'm gonna die, and Vehicons don't even become one with The Matrix!"

"Listen to me! You're not ill."

"Then why are you so upset?" PR-35 asked sharply, "What could be worse than dying?"

Having your entire life stolen from you. Ratchet thought to himself.

"PR-35, I need to speak to Optimus and the others about what I've found out," Ratchet said as a distant haunted look crossed his face plate, "I think what I've discovered about you could have grim ramifications for the entire Cybertronian War. I'm sorry, but I just can't talk about it now. I need some time to process what I've seen. You'll be fine, though. Just drink your energon and rest. If anyone gives you any trouble you come straight to me, you understand? I'm here for you, Bl- uh, PR-35. Everything is going to be alright."

PR-35 knew a medic saying things like that was a bad sign, but he could also tell that Ratchet wasn't going to talk about it until he was ready to. The Vehicon gently nodded and took a sip of his energon; hoping with all his might that it wasn't poison. He watched the medic go and wondered why the old 'Bot was so upset. What could be so special about one drone that it could affect the entire war? PR-35 was confused, and he wanted nothing more than to take Ratchet's advice and rest.

The lights flickered in the space station. The soldier searched for Autobots, but couldn't find any. The halls were made of white plastic, a rather cheap material that indicated the station was never meant to be permanent. Everything felt hollow and eerie to the soldier as he searched for any signs of life.

Then, as he turned a corner, he saw the main airlock where many Autobots had escaped, and standing right beside it was Prowl; the commander of the station. Of all the mechs he could encounter, why did it have to be him?

"You're here," Prowl said to him in a bland monotone, "You are too late. They are gone. You will never find them."

Something about the words felt wrong. They didn't sound like the words of a living mech, but rather of an echoing shell. Even Prowl's blue optics didn't seem to have light in them, and the soldier became nervous.

"You should have run," He found himself saying to the Praxian.

"No, you should have run," Prowl replied sadly as he hung his helm, "I did what I was supposed to do, and I will die knowing what I did made a difference. You, however, will not have this fate."

Prowl's coloring then disappeared, and nothing was left but a glowing outline of where he had stood. The outline continued to look at him, and suddenly the floor gave way and swallowed the soldier!

The soldier felt the pull of escaping air as he was sucked out into space, and the stars glistened innocently in the expanse. He was floating, yet he was falling. Suddenly a flash of light appeared before his optics, and he found himself in a courtroom.

There was a black and white mech on his knees in chains surrounded by seekers. His blue visor was cracked, but he still stared defiantly up at a group of Decepticons. No one noticed the soldier as he stood there and bore witness to what was transpiring.

"Autobot Jazz, you have been found guilty of crimes against Lord Megatron," Starscream sneered at the helpless prisoner, "For your crimes, you are hereby sentenced to experimentation by Shockwave. Oh, and I hear he has some new equipment to test..."

Starscream and the group of seekers with him laughed at the Autobot's misfortune. The soldier could do nothing but watch as he was carried away. It felt like the soldier's pedes were stuck to the floor. Before the Autobot was out of earshot however, he heard something yelled, almost sobbed, from the halls.

"You killed Prowl! I hope you rot in the pit, you monsters! You killed Prowl! You killed him! You killed him!"

...

VS-5001 awoke in a mineshaft with a mild helmache. He thought of what he had just seen. His research was correct. His command chip was malfunctioning and now he too was experiencing the dreams. He would have to take this information to Knockout and hope the medic would be able and willing to cure him and the other troops.

When Ratchet gathered the other Autobots no one quite knew what to expect regarding the tests performed on PR-35, but what Ratchet told them was beyond shocking.

"You think he's your what?" Ironhide asked skeptically.

"My son, Bluestreak. All the evidence points to it," Ratchet repeated; his voice still a little shaky.

"That's ridiculous!" Chromia exclaimed disbelievingly, "It's a Vehicon, Ratchet. Not even the Decepticons have the technology to disguise a mech as a drone."

"It's not a disguise!" Ratchet exclaimed in frustration, "He is a drone! His body isn't nearly as advanced as ours, but spark signatures don't lie! He is Bluestreak. He is my son! Oh, Optimus...He's my son. My son is alive. My sparkling is alive."

"This has obviously been an ordeal for you, Ratchet," Optimus replied before Ratchet had the chance to completely break down, "Does he know?"

"No. I don't know how to tell him," Ratchet rubbed in between his optics as he spoke, "He obviously doesn't recognize me. As far as he knows he was born a Vehicon and lives only to serve Megatron. He thinks he's an expendable piece of machinery like a scanner or a gun," Ratchet's sorrow turned to rage as he said, "Megatron turned my youngest son into a toy soldier! He ripped my son's spark out of his chassis and implanted it into the suppressed body of a mindless drone!"

Ratchet was shaking with fury as he thought about everything Megatron had forced Bluestreak to do, and the marginalized life his sparkling had led. Ratchet grabbed the nearest thing he could find, a lobbing ball, and threw it as hard as he could against the wall to vent some of his frustration. The ball shattered on impact!

"Ratchet! I needed that!" Bulkhead complained.

Ratchet turned and glared sharply at Bulkhead, who just held up his servos in surrender and backed off.

"Wait a minute, you're saying that without the spark test there's no way of telling an actual drone from a Cybertronian that was turned into a drone?" Arcee asked as the implications began to sink in.

"I've thought about that," Ratchet said quietly; his anger abated for the moment, "The conclusion I came to isn't a good one. The truth is, there's no way of knowing if there are non-sentient drones. PR-35 isn't a unique Vehicon just to look at him. He's just like every other drone Megatron has. If one of them can be a civilian-turned-weapon, then all of them likely are as well."

No one said anything for a moment. The possibility that every Vehicon that had been killed in battle was a potential innocent victim or loved one...

"You don't think the test was rigged?" Ironhide asked almost hopefully, "I mean, this could all be part of some elaborate plan for Megatron to learn the location of our base."

[I don't think PR-35 could keep up a lie that long,] Bumblebee pointed out, [He talks too much to keep a secret.]

"Bluestreak loved to talk," Ratchet muttered as he looked down at the ground to avoid the sympathetic stares of his friends, "He would talk to anyone, about anything. Most of the time he started off talking about one thing and then would change the subject ten times over the course of the conversation. His teacher once said he believed Bluestreak had a processor glitch that kept him from focusing. I never thought of it as a glitch though. It was just a part of what made him who he was. I miss him so much. I never should've left him alone!"

"Ratchet, we cannot change the past," Optimus replied as he placed a comforting servo on Ratchet's back, "However, we can shape the future. You have been given a rare gift. Whatever form he has taken, you now have your son back. You have an opportunity to bond with him again, and to get to know him as he is now. I believe once this situation comes to light Bluestreak will need a sire more than ever, and he will have one."

"Thank you, Optimus. I needed to hear that," Ratchet replied gratefully, "I just know Megatron has probably taught him to hate me, but I won't let that stop me. I just hope we can repair the bond that has been lost for so long."

There was still a lot of planning to do regarding the other Vehicons on Megatron's warship. They would have to be more careful when they fought from now on, and the hopes of saving all of them were slim. The Autobots would have to plan their next move together, but Ratchet already knew what he needed to do next. He needed to talk to his son.