Author's Notes: Thank you so much for the favs, alerts, and reviews everyone! They're very much appreciated. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter.

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Aporia

By Lindsay Smith

Chapter one: Round Hole and a Square Peg

"What is necessary to change a person is to change his awareness of himself." ~ Abraham H. Maslow

Since the cycle he was sparked, Unit D-17 was considered to be an odd one. Unlike his fellow spark mates in the D group, or the A-C groups for that matter, he did not like to interact with others and constantly shied away from the caretakers who over saw the growing populous of new Sparks in the Foundry. When not being instructed on various subjects, refueling, or recharging, he spent his time solving the Foundry's large collection of puzzle boxes. He spoke little, unlike the others who were at the age in their development that they seemed to do nothing but.

The caretakers were worried.

But no discernable malfunctions were ever found and his behavior was written off as a personality glitch that would work itself out in time. In the mean time, his caretakers would make sure he got equal opportunity to advance with the others. One caretaker in particular named Servo, was determined to see D-17 flourish. Sparklings were too precious to just be tossed aside because of a glitch; so many vorns of war and death, too long without new Sparks. D-17 was too dear to be rejected.

Cybertron had been a mere shell of its former beauty, lost without the Allspark to give it life and energy. But the Cube had been destroyed on a distant planet and the Autobot leader had called to them from the edge of the universe to the small blue pearl of a world called earth. There, where the Allspark had been extinguished, a new one was born. None but a few knew where the new Allspark came from, but after so long without a home, no one dared to question it. Cybertron was renewed and the Decepticons successfully driven to the edge of space where the last remnants of war were being fought. The Cybertronian Armada, lead by Optimus Prime, kept Cybertron safe from the war. It was the duty of Mechs like Servo to oversee the well being of the new generation.

"I don't want to," said D-17 as Servo handed him a canister of Energon. Around them, the other Sparkling happily gulped down their rations, a special mix of low grade formulated for their young systems, all under the watchful optics of their caretakers. "It tastes funny…"

Servo suppressed a sigh. It was routine by now: D-17, in his oddball way, did not like Energon. Or the taste of it, in any case, and refused to drink any under his own volition. Since his creation, he had been forced fueled through a direct line into his tank. But every once in a while, Servo would try the canister to see if the little one changed his mind.

He had not.

"It's not good to refuse your Energon," he told the young mech. "You need it."

D-17 sat at an empty table alone, away from the others, as was his want, and kicked his short legs impatiently. "I don't want it."

"All right. But I had to try," Servo rose from his seat on the other side of the table and walked around to stand beside his charge, pulling a fuel line from subspace as he did so. D-17 did not protest or flinch as Servo connected the line to his side and poured the Energon from the canister into the line. Bright green optics watched as the pastel colored fuel ran down the line and emptied into his fuel tank. Disconnecting the line, Servo stood back onto his feet and observed the charcoal colored sparkling before him. "One of these cycles you're going to have to take your fuel like an upgraded Mech."

"Can I go play?" D-17 asked, either having not heard Servo's statement or choosing to ignore it. Servo suspected the later.

Servo nodded ruefully and waved the little one off. "Yes, you may."

The Mech watched the small one toddle off towards the rack of puzzle boxes and pull one down, immediately engrossing himself in it. If nothing else, Servo consoled himself, D-17 would be nothing if a fine engineer the way he was obsessed with those puzzle boxes.

He did not know why, but ever since he could remember, really remember, nothing felt right to him. Everything felt wrong and unfamiliar. Even him. Besides all he felt, he knew he was different from the others by the simple way he looked. The others all had bright blue optics, a few had yellow, but his…his were green.

But he liked green. It felt familiar. It felt…safe.

When the larger metal people asked if he wanted blue or yellow optics like the others, he had panicked. No. He screamed at them and yelled. They wanted to change him, to make him something he was not. If he got different optics, he was afraid he would not remember the dreams.

He wanted to remember the dreams.

They could not change him…they could not. The dreams were the only thing besides the color of his optics that was familiar. The dreams made him feel better, but also sad at the same time.

He remembered faces and voices of people. He was happy when he thought of them, but sad when he remembered they were dreams and not real. Thos faces were not real. But he also remembered the monsters. They were real. He knew they were. Because he heard the others say their names when they thought they were not paying attention.

Decepticons.

The word itself was frightening and on more then one occasion he had scared himself into a panic by remembering them from his dreams. The large metal person who called himself Servo was there, trying to calm him down. Servo was a nice person, but he did not feel familiar. He felt…alien. Like the others. So no matter how hard Servo tried to be nice and to be his friend…he would not let him. He did not have any friends…

He was alone. He did not exactly enjoy being alone, but he preferred it over playing with the others. So he played with the puzzle boxes, their shape and the symbols covering them…they were familiar too, but in a vague way.

They called him D-17. He hated that name and did not like answering to it. When he had told Servo this, the metal person was a little mad.

He got mad a lot.

"Well then," he had said to him. "What do you want to be called?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember…remember what?"

"…I can't remember my real name anymore."

"You're 'real name'…?"

"Yeah. I can hear it in my head…but it sounds all fuzzy."

Servo was quiet for a long moment as he thought about that. "Well then…what should we call you until you remember then?"

"…um." He decided that he would settle for D-17 until he remembered.

D-14 was a purple femme who, for whatever reason, took a liking to D-17. But the feeling was not mutual. In fact, one could accurately claim that D-17 was scared of the femme. She was a little smaller then him and had vibrant yellow optics as well as a somewhat overbearing personality.

As was his want, D-17 was in the midst of one of his favorite puzzle boxes, sitting quietly in a corner, when it was abruptly pulled from his hands. His concentration snapped and he looked around frantically for his toy. He spotted it in the hands of D-14 who stood above him and looked downward at the little Mech.

"Why do you always play with these?" She asked.

"Because I like them," said the little Mech. "Now give it back!"

She pulled away, looking at the cube shaped toy in her hands. "But they're so boring!"

"No they're not," D-17 defended, reaching out feebly towards his prized puzzle box. "And why do you care? You don't have to play with them if you don't want to."

She looked at him from the corner of her optics. "You're really weird."

D-17 sat back. "I am not."

"Yes you are," said the femme. "Everyone thinks so."

He did not know why, but he did not like the idea of being considered weird. He wasn't weird. He wasn't. They were. Everyone else was the weird ones. The aliens. "I'm not weird," D-17 insisted, his voice betraying the hurt he felt. "I'm just not…"

"You're not like us," finished D-14. She had a look of smugness about her face that he did not like. He did not like being looked down upon.

"That's not a bad thing," he said defiantly. "It's not."

"Oh yes it is. How are you ever going to get adopted if you're weird?" She tucked the cube beneath her arm and pointed at him as if his weirdness was a physical attribute she could point out. "No one wants a weird sparkling to take care of."

D-17 glared at the little femme. "Well, I don't want to be adopted."

D-14's smug look was gone from her face and she stilled. A look of bemused shock graced her features as she beheld the little Mech before her as if he had suddenly spouted tentacles. "What?"

"I don't want to be adopted," he told her simply. And it was true. He had no desire to be placed in the care of other Mechs. In fact, he dreaded the idea. Ever since learning that all Sparklings, once they reached their first upgrade, were then eligible to be adopted by Mechs or Femmes. D-17 was scared, but he did not know why. He felt instinctually that if he was adopted that the ones looking for him would not find him. He had no reason to feel that way…he just did. "I don't wanna…"

He never told anyone because he knew they would react like D-14 was at that moment.

"Wha….well of course you do! Everyone does!"

He looked down at the floor, voice warbling meekly. "Not me."

"So then what are you gonna do then? Stay here and play with puzzles until your processor rusts?"

"Maybe I will," He said, suddenly feeling angry. He looked up at D-14. "And besides, no one would want a mean stupid femme like you!"

His words drew the instant ire of the femme.

D-14 drew herself up and yelled as she threw the puzzle box at D-17 with all her might. It struck him in the forehead and knocked him backwards. At first he did not understand what had happened and then an odd and very unpleasant sensation registered through his processor. He immediately began to wail. His hands rose up to cover the spot on his forehead and he felt a large dent there and a crack. He felt something warm pour out and his panic surged.

Bleeding…he was bleeding. Dieing…he was going to die…

He didn't see D-14 run away in a panic or see several caretakers rush to his side, asking him things and grabbing his hands and trying to pull them away from the injury. All he knew was pain. That was, until he saw a bright flash of light and several tall figures with optics like fire, speaking to him with words he did not understand. And the dreams so dear to him began to play in his mind again, except now they played with amazing clarity. A calmness overtook him and his limbs went limp.

As he was being carried to the medic's station, D-17 weakly called out to a guardian he did not realize he had and in a language he did not realize he knew.

"B-bumble…bee…"

His limbs were still trembling, even a joor after he sustained his injury. He had never been hurt like that before and it scared him. It reminded him of something bad, really bad…and it scared him more. Servo held the Sparkling in his arms while the Foundry medic whipped the last remnant of Energon from his forehead.

"Well little guy," the medic said, leaning down to look into D-17 optics. "You are now the proud owner of one very impressive dent. That little femme has quiet a throwing arm."

"Will you be able to repair it?" asked Servo.

"I have done what I am authorized to do," said the medic as he turned away and walked towards a table. "I don't have medical clearance to perform that kind of repair on a stage one Sparkling. Once he has his first upgrade then I'll be able to treat him. The metal there will have to be reformed. Likely replaced."

"Where do we have that done?"

"Same place his shell was forged. There is a medical practice stationed on the east wing of the Hall of Ancients," said the medic as he turned back around and handed Servo a data pad. "I am friends with one of the practitioners there and he is certified to repair first stagers. Go see him and he can patch bright optics here up as good as new."

The two metal persons talked to one another and D-17 sat limply in Servo's arms as his vents softly sucked in and blew out puffs of air. His optics gazed off into the distance as his mind nibbled on the clarity of the dreams. A conviction rose in him and he knew for certain that his precious dreams were no longer that. They were real. His precious dreams were no longer simple dreams…they were real.

A yellow Mech with very gentle hands. He remembered him best of all and thinking of him made his spark ache. But not in a bad way, not really. He missed him. He did not know you could miss someone you couldn't really remember ever meeting…

"Alright," Servo said as he rose to his feet. Addressing the Sparkling in his arms, he asked, "Ready to go see the doctor D-17?"

For the first time since being struck in the head by D-14, D-17 stirred and gazed up into Servo's face with a look of wonder. "That's not my name."

Servo felt the cycle's events hang off his shoulders like a counterweight, drawing him down and making him feel tired. "Oh Primus, not this again," he replied, exasperated. He walked out the medic's station and began heading for the transport dock, sending a message to the Foundry overseer as he did so. "Alright then, did you remember your real name then?"

"Yes," the small Mech said, completely missing the sarcasm of Servo's tone. "My name is Sam."

Author's Notes (2): Thanks for reading everyone and I hope I haven't confused you all too much. Please leave a review and let me know what you think.