'Where am I?' Donny thought as he examined his surroundings. He was in a pastel white room, it was brightly lit but he could see no light fixtures anywhere. It had four walls and a door, but nothing else.

Whenever he had misbehaved in middle school, he could recall being locked for up to half an hour in a room just like this. He could hear voices from the other side of the door, quite clearly as if the door wasn't even there.

Donny warily approached the door, the now pristine tips of his racing gloves touched the door handle and turned it. The door was locked from the other side.

"Hey! Can somebody let me out?" He called, hoping the voices on the other side would hear him.

"- why won't he wake up? Wake up Donny!" He recognized the voice of one of his kid sisters, though he couldn't tell which one.

"Susan? Kelly? Can you unlock the door? I'm trapped!" He called out to them, but the twins apparently did not hear him.

"Donald Noel Davis, Born July 6, 1963… admitted on June 13, 1987… catastrophic accident… has been unresponsive for..."He knew that voice too, it was that moderately hot news anchor from channel seven. Why did he remember that of all things? Was he on TV in the other room? 'Why are they saying my name on the news?'

The voices died away, and he thought that was the end of it. And then he felt someone touch his arm. He jerked away from the contact, but there was nobody there. Another touch, he could feel the warm press of a wet sponge run over his chest.

"No… no, stop it!" He shouted, but the violation continued, until his whole body started feeling moist, "Stop fucking touching me!" He attacked the door again, but it was still securely locked, not even budging from the frame.

This torment continued, every other minute unseen hands reached out to molest him, voices from beyond the door talked to and around him. Holly, his Mom and Dad, his sisters, Patrick and Jonathan, all of their voices he could hear from time to time, whispering words to him and sometimes he could feel a warm invisible hand grip his own.

Holly said she loved him once, she really shouldn't. She didn't know the truth; guilt festered within him at the thought of Autumn. She deserved to know the truth.

Occasionally he heard more on the news, but nothing important. He still had no idea how much time had gone by.

Then, suddenly, the door slipped ajar.

Donny's eyes opened blearily, he was no longer in the Room. Now he was somewhere else, he was lying down on a bed. There was someone else in the room with him, he could not make out too many details but Donny was fairly certain it was a woman. He tried to speak, but words failed him. His voice was gone, somebody had taken it!

He tried to do something anything to catch the woman's attention, but she was already heading for the door. Darkness pulled at his vision and he was powerless against it.

The door clicked shut, and he was back in the Room again.

A new pattern asserted itself, from time to time the door would open a little bit and he would find himself back in the world he left behind, but he was always pulled back into the Room in the end. He could not escape it.

One time, he had seen his father, dressed in uniform and nodded off on a chair next to his bed. Why wasn't he doing anything? Why hasn't he rescued him from these people? He looked ten years older, and tired to the bone. He tried to move, to do something, to say anything, but his voice remained as elusive as ever. Maybe his kidnappers had taken it? Why is dad letting them do this to him?

Another time, he caught them in the act of touching him. They were scrubbing his naked flesh with lukewarm water and soft sponges, he had never before felt to humiliated in his life. He hated them, he hated them all for keeping him here! He was almost relieved when they sent him back to the Room.

Most of the time however, he was as alone in the Other Room as he was in the one he was in right now.

Instead of a simple crack, the door swung wide open and the light beyond overwhelmed him.

Opening his eyes once again, more cognizant than he had been other times, Donald took in the other Room with clearer eyes. More flowers were placed beside him, and a banner reading 'Happy Birthday!' hung on the wall in front of the bed.

Donny shifted his arm without even thinking it, and the impact on his mind was instantaneous. He could move again! His entire body felt so stiff and weak, even small movements caused his muscles to ache and twitch. What had these people done to him?! He felt like a stranger in his own flesh, the very thought of it made him sick in his stomach.

He needed to get in touch with his family, call the police and let them know where he was so that they could arrest the freaks that did this to him.

His stomach clenched when he noticed someone walk into the room. A woman again. She didn't seem to register his presence, seemingly regarding him as little more than another piece of furniture. He tried to speak, but only a soft squeak escaped his throat. She still hadn't noticed him and was simply tidying up the place. He redoubled his effort, trying to shout at her.

A zombie-like groan was all that he could produce. But it had made her pause, and finally look at him.

His kidnapper slowly walked over to his bedside, and he tracked her with his eyes. She looked surprised to see him awake and uttered a soft "oh" before backing away and retreating out the door.

'Coward… coward! Come back and face me!' he snarled mentally, his anger slowly rising as much as his tired mind would allow. It did help him wake up a little more.

Some time later, hours or minutes he could not tell, the door opened again to admit a middle aged man with graying brown hair and cool green eyes, he wore a white coat and khaki pants with a simple blue collared shirt and a cheap red tie.

"We are glad to have you back Mister Davis," the man said kindly, "Don't worry about your voice, it's a common side effect from your ordeal and will return in good time. You are currently recovering in St. Mary's Medical Center in San Francisco, you had an accident on the Laguna Seca speedway."

Recovering? In a hospital? Leguna Seca? So he hadn't been kidnapped?

"I am Doctor Parrot, I have been in charge of your well being since you were released from Intensive Care," the man – Parrot – continued. Well that explained the white coat, kind of a dead give away now that he was thinking about it. How hard did he hit his head?

The doctor paused and looked at him with sadness, "There is no easy way to say this, but you have been in a trauma induced coma for the past six weeks."

Donny's breathing increased in pace as panic overtook his thoughts. 'Six… what, did he say six months?! Oh my God, it's been six years!'

"The accident left you critically injured, we had to operate; I will spare you the details for now, but suffice to say the procedure was a complete success and you will make a full recovery. Unfortunately, there is some scarring and atrophy..."

Donny tilted his head and lifted up an arm, gone was the tone and the light tan. The limb was skinny and pasty white from disuse and lack of exposure to sunlight, he was fairly certain that the rest of him had been similarly reduced.

He still could not speak, but he felt tears gathering in his eyes. How much had he missed out on? It was a given that he had slept through a birthday, he was now twenty-four; but what else had he lost? Did he still have a job? Had his loved ones already given up hope on him ever coming out of it?

That doctor kept droning on about something or other, but Donny had lost the energy to listen and had slipped into a state of half-consciousness, still wary of going out lest he slip back into the Room. He was half convinced that these people were somehow responsible for making him stay in there for so long.

He settled for ignoring the doctor, too tired of listening and being unable to answer. Parrot noticed this after a while and stopped.

"Get some rest Mr. Davis, we can talk later."

He watched the doctor's back as he walked out of the room. He didn't want to talk, he just wanted to go home.

The sun was starting to set when his family came to visit him. The way he had treated them all like pests at Laguna Seca, it had all come back to haunt him. Donny did not usually allow things like guilt and remorse to linger in his thoughts for very long, and felt completely unprepared to process it now.

His vision had mostly cleared up at this point. He could make out the wary looks his family was giving him, as if one wrong move could send him back to an unresponsive state. Donny was also fearful of that possibility, in spite of how tired he felt he refused to go to sleep; he did not want to go back to the Room.

Donny took a deep breath and struggled to form words.

"H-hi..." He rasped, his voice barely audible. His mother was upon him in an instant, her arms embracing his weakened body as she sobbed gratefully into his shoulder. Donny was only able to just shift an arm around her back.

"I thought- I thought I had lost you," she croaked, her eyes puffy. Donny could make out more worry lines than he had remembered her previously having, along with bags under her eyes that hinted she had not been sleeping properly for quite some time.

"M' sorry," Donny whispered quietly. He wished he could say more, but speaking still took a lot out of him.

"Donny!" His twin sisters exclaimed excitedly in perfect sync with each other, before joining their mother in hugging their bed ridden big brother. Donny's heart raced at the sudden contact, and darkness began creeping at the edges of his vision; he willed himself not to faint, not now, not in front of his family.

"Alright ladies give him some air," his father intervened, likely noticing Donny's distress. The three hesitated before stepping back to stand off to either side of his bed. His mother was still struggling with her emotions; she was wringing her hands – a nervous tic Donny had become quite familiar with when he had been going through puberty and had started to notice girls for the first time.

"We… we made you some cards!" Kelly said at last, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "For your birthday, and for when you woke up!"

Two cards, one for the birthday he had missed, another for his recovery. He could tell Susan had made the birthday card, her art skills were unusually advanced for such a young age, the lines of his Mazda RX-7 on the front were well defined, as was the image of him holding a 1st place trophy on the back. Kelly had done the get well card, it was decorated with macaroni noodles glued to the borders with a rough picture of the girls embracing a passing likeness of him on the front.

"Th'nks," Donny mumbled, a weak grin spreading slowly across his face. The twin sisters visibly brightened at his slurred response to their efforts. And to think, just six weeks ago he had seen them as nothing more than annoyances, obstacles even. What in the Hell was he thinking?

His sisters took the role of filling him in on everything he had missed out on. The Russians hadn't nuked them yet – a given – they went over how his birthday had gone, the quiet celebration they had thrown him in the recovery ward, and their various experiences over the six week period. Donny took it all in with a small smile.

Donny looked again at his cards, more specifically the one with his prized Mazda on it. He looked to his parents.

"Wh't h'eppn, c-uhar?" He tried enunciating, finding it was starting to get a little bit easier with practice.

Donny's parents looked at each other, before his mother addressed his sisters, "Girls, can you wait outside for a moment. We need to have a word with your brother in private."

The two looked disappointed but obediently did as they were asked, the door shut behind them with a heavy click, leaving the two parents alone with their eldest offspring. Roger Davis regarded his son very carefully before speaking.

"The car is totaled," his father spoke levelly, "And that's for the best."

The Mazda was gone? He couldn't rightly recall the exact details of his crash, everything was a blur to him. Donny had poured his heart, soul, and his wallet into that car, it was his pride and joy! How the fuck could losing an eleven-thousand dollar vehicle – one he hadn't finished paying off yet – be considered a good thing?! And that wasn't even getting to how much money he had put into tuning it for peak performance!

"Bu- but..." He tried, but his mother fixed him with a piercing stare that halted his attempts to object in their tracks.

"You almost died, Donny," his mother spoke gravely, "I can't… I saw your car fly off the track! And when I saw them carry your body from the wreck I thought you were already gone! I- I- we can't go through that again!"

She was tearing up again, "Promise me Donald, please. No more racing."

Give up racing? He had his heart set on the idea since he became a teenager. He had built his own soapbox racer, moved up to go-karts, hit the tracks as soon as he got his license, and had dedicated himself to mastering his machine every chance he got. He had gotten a taste of his dream at Laguna Seca, and had fallen even deeper in love with the idea, and then he fell back to Earth. He had found himself fearing the touch of death.

And then there was his family. His fixation – no his obsession – had driven him close to severing his bonds with them; and that was unforgivable. But what was he going to do if he closed this door? What kind of future would he have if he gave up his dreams? He had no idea.

But one thing was clear, for his parents sake, for his sisters sake, he could not go on like he had before.

Donny set his jaw, his heart fell in his chest as he concentrated on saying his next words with perfect, sanguine clarity.

"I promise."

Bumblebee

Nevada was a different change of pace from California, Bumblebee decided. It was drier for one, and he found himself missing the sound of the sea on his audio receptors, there was also fair bit less in the way of human life out here; not that he was complaining mind, his encounters with humans had mixed results thus far. This world was very different from the wartorn one he had left behind, but he had grown to appreciate what it had to offer a little mech like himself.

There were no Decepticons of course – at least not anymore – and as such he had been able to let his guard down here and there, but not entirely. He knew Sector Seven was keeping an optic out for any sign of him, and humanity was nothing if not persistent.

He had also discovered friendship.

Charlie Watson, a human femme on the cusp of full adulthood, not much unlike himself a few hundred vorns ago. To anyone else, the time they had spent together would have been little more than a handful of klicks compared to the eons long companionships that many of his brothers and sisters in arms enjoyed. But from his perspective it felt like he had known Charlie for ages, and yet not nearly long enough.

His spark had already been germinating a guardian bond with her by the time his memory cells reactivated. He would have been happy to remain with her a while longer, but sadly it was not to be. Charlie was not safe around him anymore, his spark felt like breaking when she reminded him of his duty to the planet.

And she had been correct. His mission had to come first, he needed to find a secure location large enough to host Optimus Prime's resistance cell, and any other Autobots who were wandering the stars. To this end he was scoping out the roads least traveled, hoping to find the ideal spot to start his little project.

Optimus had not sent him all the way out here with nothing. Over the last several megacycles, he had begun picking up signals from the outer Solar System; Autobot signals. While he wished they were reinforcements, alas their ID transponders had them clearly listed as logistics pods, the tools he needed to get everything set up.

The only problem was getting everything down to Earth without arousing too much suspicion from the humans. The organization known as NORAD was constantly observing the skies above North America for anything that might be a Soviet missile, and he was fairly certain Sector Seven had the defense agency under their influence to some extent. But Bumblebee had a plan.

Bumblebee always had a plan.

The Sol system was a rather messy place, trillions of pieces of debris of all sizes orbited the sun, and it was a simple matter to direct the drones conveying the supply pods to redirect a swarm of space rocks towards Earth as they approached. None of the objects were dangerous, Bumblebee had done the math, most of them would burn up in the atmosphere and the rest would be too small and land in areas too remote to cause problems. It was the perfect cover for his supply drop.

The humans in Sector Seven would probably be suspicious of this anomalous meteor swarm popping out of the blue, but they would have no idea where his precious cargo would be coming down.

Bumblebee rolled to a stop next to a rocky outcropping and smoothly shifted into his true form. His large cerulean optics took in the evening skies, already starting to darken, the sun wouldn't be setting for a few more hours. The young mech climbed atop the rocks, hauling his frame onto the largest boulder which had a slightly flattened top. And he waited.

Five points of light appeared in the heavens above, his battlemask snapped into place and he zoomed his focus onto them, picking out spherical shapes shrouded by long tails of fire generated by air friction. Other pinpricks of light could be seen tracing the sky, not nearly as impressive as a true meteor shower, but his radio receiver was picking up excited telecasts describing the event taking place all over North America.

As the objects fell deeper into Earth's atmosphere, the air began to drastically slow down their rate of descent, until the fiery tails petered out. Once the objects fell beneath radar detection, they began maneuvering into a tighter formation and altering their course for his position. Bumblebee did not twitch so much as a single servomotor when they smashed into the earth in front of him in near perfect unison, throwing five plumes of dirt high into the air.

Bumblebee jumped off the rock and back onto the dry soft packed earth, his pedes sinking slightly into it as the energy from his fall was absorbed.

His optics settled on the five objects partially buried into the earth. They were silver in color, with a faint hex texture covering their surfaces, the Autobot insignia colored in red was visible on all of the pods. When Bumblebee approached the cluster, the pod in the center split apart, startling the young mech.

Out of the hollow shell, a strange machine floated out and above the rest of the pods. It possessed a smooth elliptical shape, with a pure white wraparound housing and an optics cluster set into it's lower forward face and an anti-gravity repulsor built into it's tail section. It's three optics pulsed blue as it floated over to the stunned Bumblebee who had already taken his compact riot cannon out of his subspace.

"Identity confirmed: Recon Specialist B-127," the drone stated in a masculine baritone.

.:What are you?:. - Bumblebee

"I am L33-M0, advanced cassette prototype. I have been programmed by Master Perceptor to aid in the colonization of Earth for the glory of the Autobot Alliance!" The machine replied with startling enthusiasm.

A cassette? Those were rare among the Autobots, the Decepticons however made extensive use of them. The insignia of his faction was proudly born upon the front of the drone, right on the plate fixed above the optics cluster. Sliding his weapon back into subspace, the scout allowed his guard to lower.

.:You are certainly enthusiastic:. - Bumblebee

"My creator personally coded my personality matrix to bolster the morale of our troops! It is a tremendous pleasure to be in your presence honored soldier!" 'Leemo' enthused, floating up close to Bumblebee's helm, "Together we will build a fortress like none other! And when we are ready we will march back to Cybertron and bring our fight for freedom to the door of Megatron himself!"

A small ray of light emitted out from beneath Leemo's optic cluster, scanning Bumblebee from pedes to helm, a moment later the cassette's white body turned yellow, perfectly matching Bumblebee's own color. "To assist you in your noble duty, I am optimized to integrate into your framework and boost key aspects of your functionality, most notably the addition of a kinetic shield and a cloaking field."

Wait, integrate? Bumblebee wouldn't lie, cassettes kind of creeped him out. There was something about having an autonomous machine roosting in his framework that put him off. But it was for the mission, and a stealth field would have come in handy when he first dropped onto this world.

.:Fine, but you better not do anything weird:. -Bumblebee

The lemon shaped drone floated around him and positioned itself behind his back plates. Out of the corner of his optic, Bumblebee watched the cassette flatten it's body, and mold itself to the contours of his frame, settling itself securely between his winglets, endowing the scout with an odd hunched appearance. He then became aware of something brushing close to his processor, the cassette's drone brain linking it's runtimes to his own.

.:Interface complete, soldier!:. - L33-M0

Almost immediately, a sensation of static washed over his tactile receptors. Curiously, Bumblebee ran a digit along the length of his other servo and encountered resistance a few hairsbreadths from the surface of his plating, a frictionless invisible coating that while malleable to a slow moving digit, would be extremely durable to anything coming at him at higher velocities. It wasn't too impressive, but it would definitely help keep his aft intact if he got into another mishap with the humans.

A few moments later, the kinetic shield collapsed and his servo faded from sight. It wasn't perfect invisibility, there were subtle distortions and warping that would give away his position if anyone looked hard enough, but when used in tandem with his usual sneaking skills, Bumblebee doubted anyone would ever notice his presence unless he allowed it, or Unicron had it in for him. The cloak deactivated, but the shield did not return. No use wasting precious energon when he didn't have to.

Turning his attention to the other pods he approached the closest one and relayed his identification codes to the whole set. The pods shifted, and panels unfurled from their sides with anti-gravity plates fitted beneath them. The spheres lifted off the ground and hovered stationary a few feet above their individual craters. A notification pinged him from the closest one and he received a short text file which imposed itself upon his vision.

/To: Earth/Senior Lieutenant Cliffjumper/Recon Specialist B-127

/From: AAF CENTRCOM/ Science Commander Perceptor

Assuming successful establishment of base camp, your mission is to proceed forthwith. Construction drones are pre-programmed to begin initial development in whichever site you deem fit. The Decepticons are relentless in their pursuit of us, and as such we can send only so much to Earth at one time. Below I have compiled a rough schedule for future deliveries. Stay strong soldiers, we will join you when we can.

2 Quartexes: Cell 2: Medical equipment, energon rations, secondary excavation unit

4 Quartexes: Cell 3: Nucleon Reactor, small arms package #4, energon rations

6 Quartexes: Cell 4: Hyperpulse Generator, MA-41 Supercomputer

8 Quartexes: Cell 5: Energon converter

10 Quartexes: Cell 6: Collapsible washracks, subspace reservoir, medical equipment

The list went on. Each shipment coming in at roughly two month intervals, and it would all be down to him and this little cassette to sort through it all. No mentions of how long it would take for the first groups of Autobots to start arriving; but knowing how badly the war was going, it could easily be years before he sees another comrade. At least when the Hyperpulse Generator arrived, he could start sending and receiving messages, it would be a little ways into the next solar return before it arrived.

Bumblebee closed the file, his spark sitting heavy inside his chassis. It had never truly sunk in yet, how the hopes of his family was riding on his shoulder struts. They were on the run, and while it was not mentioned, a few of them were missing. Either dead, lost in wild space, or still fighting on Cybertron. And those who did live were being hunted down by the Decepticons.

The Autobot sighed from his vents – a trait he had picked up from Charlie – and shifted into his alternate mode. At a silent command, the supply drones hovered behind his tailplate as he took off, turning about to the south-west towards his pre-selected construction site. He wasn't going to be getting much time for recharge once it all started, what with Cliffjumper's duty assignments being his assignments for the time being.

He knew deep in his processor that Cliffjumper was most likely offline. He had been one of the few who had been able to escape Iacon through the many pod towers scattered throughout the burning city, and was supposed to rendezvous with him on Earth weeks ago. Shatter and Dropkick must have found him first, and Bumblebee had no illusions of how that confrontation could have gone. Shockwave's elite soldiers rarely took prisoners, and when they did it was to bring them to a fate far worse than death.

At least Cliffjumper had been avenged in the end. The short nighttime skirmish over the marina tower had seen to it.

He recalled that fight very clearly. It had been the closest Bumblebee had been to being offlined for a long time; if it hadn't been for Shatter's emotional instability, that battle would have probably gone differently. He remembered the look of total devastation and rage burning in her fiery optics, her logic center had clearly been offline for most of the fight.

Her destruction hadn't brought the same kind of satisfaction that Blitzwing or even Dropkick's had given him. That fight was far too personal for his liking, in the end he could neither hate her nor forgive her actions. But he did pity her somewhat. In the end, the only things he could appreciate from Shatter's death was the fact she could no longer threaten Charlie, this planet, or his people.

Above all that fight had reminded him of a lesson Optimus Prime had tried imparting on him the first time he had taken a Decepticon's life in battle. Bumblebee had been sparked during the war, he had no memories of what Cybertron had been like before Megatron had brought it to ruin; more importantly he had no memories of a time when his people had stood as one. The Decpeticons had always been this insidious 'other' to him, being reared by the Autobots, he had seen them as non-Cybertronians, little more than base machinery bent to Megatron's will.

'They may be our enemies, but they are still our people.' Optimus had said, short and to the point.

Bumblebee had not thought much on the Prime's words back then. Autobots and Decepticons had nothing in common with each other aside from mutual hatred. But since that time there were moments when his simplistic view of the universe was turned upside down. All those times when he saw a 'Con cry out an offlined comrade's name in anguish, when he spied on the savage foe as they recharged in their camps telling longing stories to one another of times before the war.

And then there were the 'Cons who snapped. Their optics ablaze with pain and fury, launching themselves recklessly into the fray until they were eventually gunned down by him and his fellow Autobots. He had seen those same optics in comrades who had lost their squads in the unremitting cycle of attack and retaliation. He had seen those same optics in Shatter after he offlined Dropkick.

Yes he really did pity her. But he harbored no regrets either.

As he drove off into the setting sun, with the drones flying in formation behind him; he wondered if Shatter was at least content with where she was now.

?

Imagine your own body as a prison cell. That is the reality of stasis lock; working on minimal power with everything other than my most vital components kept offline, and my senses dampened to the lowest setting.

Even in it's inactive state, my body was a maelstrom of naturally occurring em fields, and subspace pockets. Bafflingly foreign in it's intricacy.

I have no idea how long I have stayed like this, perhaps a couple of breems or a thousand eons had passed since I had been dragged into this oppressive unconsciousness. Time had no meaning to a Decepticon in stasis. Worst still, I had no idea how I landed in this state, my primary memory cells are among the systems that went offline when the stasis lock gripped me. I would not know until after it had ended.

I had been heavily damaged, I could tell that much. Self-repair nanites moved sluggishly through my systems, far less efficiently than if I had been at full power and been completely refreshed with energon.

One fact that I was sure of; I am a warrior. Though I do not feel particularly brave or really skilled, I knew that my greater self was quite formidable in her own right.

I was simply a small splinter of something infinitely vaster. I don't rightly recall how I came to be, or how long it has been since I split off from the whole; but I do know who was responsible.

A vast mech looming over me. Purple plating, one cyclopean yellow optic. A monster completely void of all emotion, all restraint, and all morality.

Since that time, whenever the Whole went into stasis or a deep recharge, I remained cognizant. That purple monster had broken the Whole, leaving me to suffer the waking world while the rest of me was dead to it.

I was a glitch in the system.

Luckily I was just a tiny part, else the Whole would have gone insane long ago. As for me, I did not have enough memories to go insane; but I still had recollections that did not register in the memory cell array.

But for the most part, it was just senseless oblivion.

Wait, something was triggering a proximity alarm. Something is touching me. Sensing potential danger, my tyrannical logic center permitted a small burst of power to enter some of my secondary systems.

Emergency protocols: engaged

Partial emergence commencing: 3… 2… 1...

My senses opened up. I am underwater, high saline content, moderate pollution levels. Two contacts were in my immediate vicinity, my logic center did a quick search through the briefly activated data codex. Humans, primitive air breathing apparatus, heavy load bearing cables. I wished to know more, but there was no defying the logic center.

My sensors registered my tires leaving the sea bed, I was being pulled to the surface! Are they rescuing me? When I cleared the water, the tiny molecular optics on my outer skin not covered by rust looked up to see a large, orange colored crane arm holding me up by a set of cables, a few humans were watching as I was hauled up the side of the stone bay wall.

The wheels of my alt mode touched dry land for the first time in who knew how long.

"God damn… what a tragedy," one of the humans murmured, placing a hand on my rusted body, "She must have been gorgeous."

My dimmed spark shrunk in my ruined chassis at that statement. I was gorgeous once, why am I not anymore? What happened to me? I begged the logic engine to reactivate my memory cells, I had to know! But it rebuffed me. Every. Single. Time.

"The scrap yard is the only place for her now," another human commented, "This long in salt water, there's no coming back."

No, no… not like this.

Emergency protocols: suspended

Stasis lock re-initializing: 3… 2… 1...

I didn't want to die. Not again.

Author's Note: Seems like I found a schedule after all. Lets see how long that lasts. Anyway, next chapter I think is where our two leading characters will come together, and if not that one then definitely the one after it. Reviews are appreciated!