There were times when he was nearly conscious, and other times when he was just drifting in a black void. There were times when there was pain and times when there was nothing. He heard voices once in a while, snatches of conversation that he couldn't have comprehended, even if he'd been fully online.

Then, with a start, he woke.

"Get up! Move your afts! Shift starts in two breems!"

The nameless mech un-shuttered his optics to find himself in the same cavern he had been in before, with all the others milling around. He tried to get up. Pain and dizziness dragged at him, but he fought his way to his pedes, and was suddenly face to face with the blue mech, who scowled at him. The nameless mech saw hatred for the first time.

"If you give me any more trouble," the blue mech growled, low and threatening, "I vow you'll learn the meaning of pain. You'll wish you were never sparked, you fragging imbecile."

The nameless mech didn't understand all the words, but he understood he was being threatened. If he made this mech angry again, there would be more suffering.

He walked with the others, shuffling stiffly. This time when he got the cube of glowing liquid, he drank it down before anyone could stop him or take it from him. He felt it bring something inside of him to life. Yes, this was power, this was what he had been missing, what he had run low on. This would sustain him...

He stared at the empty cube for a moment and tried to remember what it was that he was supposed to keep going for. Had there been some reason?

He couldn't think of it, but it was clear that he must keep going. He needed to figure out what was going on. He needed to learn all the words that the mecha around him spoke. He needed to discover why things were the way they were.

So he followed. And he listened.

It was hard to move rubble—much harder than the previous time. He had to bend down so often he was sure he could feel his back splitting open. His vents were already clogged, and it just got worse as time progressed.

He was exhausted long before the blue mech called them away from the machines and the rubble and the glowing crystals.

The group headed back the way they came, and retraced their steps all the way to the room they'd begun in. Most of them slumped to the ground and lay still. A few stayed up and talked, though. A small mech, one of the ones who'd had his blue liquid taken from him the first time around, had been injured by one of the drills, and another mech was doing something to the injury. The nameless mech watched, wondering whether he was trying to help, or do further harm.

"Ow."

"Hold still, Rivet. Don't worry, this isn't so bad."

"It hurts."

"I'm sorry. It'll stop leaking in a few breems. Just let me finish patching what I can."

The smaller mech nodded, and held still, and then the larger one backed away, and the open wound had been sealed closed.

The nameless mech saw an opportunity and approached them.

They saw him, and the smaller mech hid behind the larger one, who glared defiantly. "What do you want?" he demanded.

The nameless mech wasn't entirely sure whether that had been a question or a warning, but he turned around and showed his back to them. "Please," he said.

"No," the other mech replied. "Go away."

"Please."

"No!"

"Photodraft, I don't think he wants to hurt us," the smaller mech said. "I think… I think he just wants you to help him."

"No," the larger mech's voice was harsh and ragged. "I can't. I'm not really a medic and I can't waste supplies on anyone else. You know that, Riv."

"He looks like he's really hurt."

"Everyone gets hurt. Go away! I can't help you."

The nameless mech nodded and walked away.

"We're sorry," the smaller mech said quietly. Somehow, though the nameless mech didn't understand the words, he caught the meaning. And he thought he could comprehend, at least why that had gone the way it had.

No one had anything extra here. No one could spare more. The only unusual thing about the encounter had been a certain quality to the mechs' voices—something discordant. It was regret, and it meant… it meant there was something wrong. There was something wrong with those mechs, especially the little one, something different.

He curled up in a corner and slipped into recharge.

And then woke to the blue mech's yelling, though he did not feel even remotely rested.

The cycle repeated itself again and again. They drilled and gathered crystals and drilled some more. The blue mech seemed to particularly hate the nameless mech for some reason, and took what seemed every opportunity to flick his glowing whip at the nameless mech's injured back.

Then, tired and barely conscious by the time they got back to the cavern where they all recharged, the nameless mech would curl up and slip away into nothingness.

Slowly, his back repaired itself, and the pain lessened. He started to watch and notice the differences between the others, in which ones would say "Thank you" and which ones wouldn't. In which guards would whip you just for fun, and which ones wouldn't.

And then there was the little mech and his larger friend. The nameless mech picked up from paying close attention that they were something called brothers. Their designations were Rivet and Photodraft, and they were different, because they cared. That bothered the nameless mech like nothing else. No one else cared. No one else gave anything up for anyone else. You took what you could and you held tight to it. You drank all your energon—the nameless mech had learned that that was what it was called—and you drank it quickly or someone else would. Rivet had his stolen from him almost every time. Whenever Photodraft tried to intervene, though, the others would push him to the ground too, and by the time the guards came in and broke up the fight, either the energon would be spilled on the ground, or someone else would have taken it.

No, Photodraft knew that was pointless. Saving part of his cube was pointless too, because someone else would take it from him, but the nameless mech had seen him hold the last of it in his mouth, and then take Rivet aside while the others were still in line, and carefully let it trickle down past his smaller brother's lip plates.

The nameless mech did not like this. Something about it was wrong. He wasn't sure what, but each time he saw it happen, his spark hurt. It didn't make sense—Photodraft was foolishly giving up something powerful in order to provide it to someone else.

The wrongness built up inside of him every time the cycle repeated. And then one time he was standing just behind Rivet in line. Rivet took his cube of energon from the femme who was handing them out, and ran. A large mech stepped in front of him, and made as if to grab the cube. Rivet clutched it to himself.

Photodraft had already gotten his cube, and was watching with potent frustration and helplessness in his optics.

Something in the nameless mech snapped. The femme held out a cube for him to take, but he ignored it and leaped at the mech who was trying to take Rivet's energon. He managed not to bump Rivet as he shoved the other mech away. Rivet downed the energon, and the other mech growled and attacked.

The nameless mech blocked, and then used the other mech's own weight to bring him to the ground.

Then the blue mech was there with his whip.

"What are you doing, you fragging glitch!" the tip of the rope caught the nameless mech in the side of the helm, and he collapsed with a cry. "Primus beneath, if you don't stop fighting, I'll offline all of you! If you want to fight, sign up for the fragging gladiator rings!" He kicked the nameless mech in the side. "Get up you useless pile of scrap!"

The nameless mech struggled to his pedes, because he knew it would be worse if he didn't. He wasn't sure why he'd done that, but it had felt… slightly less wrong. He had stopped Rivet from losing his energon. Now Photodraft wouldn't have to give up some of his. The nameless mech hadn't gotten any, though.

That would make things more difficult.

It did.

By the end of that cycle, when they trudged back to their cavern, he was so exhausted he collapsed to the ground as soon as he entered, which blocked up the entryway and resulted in him being stepped on several times.

Then he got up, because he always got up, because if he could force himself to put one pede in front of the other all the way back here, he could force himself to get up and move to his usual spot at the side of the room.

Rivet was waiting for him there, looking a little worried.

The nameless mech sat against the wall, feeling the familiar, almost comfortable pain of his still-healing back.

"Thank you," Rivet said quietly.

The nameless mech looked up. He still wasn't quite sure what that phrase meant. He'd only heard it used after someone had been given energon. He hadn't been aware it was appropriate to use it elsewhere, or in other circumstances.

"Rivet," Photodraft called from across the room, and Rivet left.

The nameless mech looked down, suddenly ashamed of himself, because he hadn't tried to help Rivet before, because he could have and he hadn't. He hadn't even thought about it.

But he wanted that… wrongness that Rivet and Photodraft had. No… no it wasn't wrong. Everything else was wrong. What they had, that was the thing he was missing, the thing he needed, whatever it was that made Photodraft save the energon in his mouth and then give it to Rivet, and be grateful to give it to Rivet. Because whatever it was, it must be more powerful than energon.

He drifted away, wondering what it might be, and whether he'd ever be able to find it.

He was one of the first in line for energon the next time they were woken up. He downed his quickly, and felt it revive and power him. The bliss of it after a whole cycle without overwhelmed him for a moment, but he didn't have time to bask in it. He hurried to discard the empty cube and went back to stand by the line, waiting with the others who tried to take energon from those they deemed too weak.

Rivet came through the line, and the nameless mech saw that he was watching.

This time, when Rivet got his energon, three others jumped at him, but the nameless mech got in the way. He knocked one down, and sent the second crashing into the third, which bought Rivet enough time to drain the cube and flee to Photodraft, who was staring at the nameless mech with some sort of confusion, and maybe even regret.

The three who'd tried to take Rivet's energon were not pleased. The blue mech came forward with his whip, but he wasn't fast enough, and the nameless mech's enemies converged on him.

For an instant, the nameless mech was perfectly calm and still, and he saw exactly what he needed to do. He knocked the pedes out from one of them, and sent all the power in his frame through his fist into the faceplate of the second. The third missed him and stumbled, and it was only a matter of…

The energon whip flew at him and he ducked, and stepped in close to the blue mech, close enough to grab his arm, and stop him from swinging again.

The blue mech's optics widened in surprise. Then the nameless mech realized what he'd done and released the blue mech. The other guards rushed forward to, but by the time they got there, the blue mech was already raining lashes across the nameless mech's helm and shoulders. The other guards watched for a moment, then pulled him off.

"Remember what they said," one of the other guards—the least dangerous one—said, "If you kill him before the quartex is up, Spiral, you're going to be demoted."

The blue mech glared, but backed away. The nameless mech got up, watching energon drip down his shoulders and feeling it tickle his faceplate.

And he didn't regret it. It felt good—not the pain, but the triumph despite the pain. He stood tall and glared at one of the mechs who had tried to take Rivet's energon. The mech looked afraid. Good. For the first time since he could remember, the nameless mech felt like he was in control. "Never. Again." He said.

He looked around and saw surprise on the faces of the watching workers. They weren't used to hearing him speak.

He made optic contact with several of them, and then got back in line.

His fresh wounds made work painful, and they were caked with dust and rust by the time they got back. He sat down by the wall in his usual spot, and started to wait for the darkness to take him, wishing for recharge and the nothingness it brought with it.

Then light from somemech's optics flashed across his faceplate.

He unshuttered his optics in time to see Photodraft crouch beside him. Rivet was standing just behind his brother, smiling.

"Thank you," Photodraft said. "For helping. I'm not sure why you did it…"

The nameless mech narrowed his optics, trying to work out exactly what Photodraft had said.

"I can clean out those scratches for you if you want. They probably hurt a lot, and they could get infected if you let so much rust and debris get in them."

The nameless mech wasn't really sure what was happening, but Photodraft was speaking calmly, in the same tone he used when Rivet was injured. Was he going to help? But… he'd made it seem like he didn't have the resources.

Photodraft carefully reached up and traced a finger along one of the nameless mech's injuries. The nameless mech bit back a gasp of pain.

"Sorry," Photodraft said. "I don't have anything to give you to control the pain. You can turn your pain grid down, though."

Now that… that had made absolutely no sense. What was Photodraft trying to tell him?

"Ugh," Photodraft said. "I need a rag and some solvent to do this properly. Can you hold still?"

Hold still? Yes, the nameless mech could do that. And he did, while Photodraft used mainly his fingers to clean out the nameless mech's wounds. By the time he was done, the nameless mech could barely keep from crying out, but he held onto his silence, listening intently, because Photodraft was still talking to him.

"I'm Photodraft, by the way, and this is Rivet."

Rivet nodded.

"Good job holding still," Photodraft said. "I've never seen a mech hold that still when I've cleaned out wounds like this… even if you had your pain grid on its lowest setting… sorry it had to hurt so much... What's your designation?"

The nameless mech looked down. Why did everyone have a designation but him? Did they have to pick one? No, their creators came up with them. But the nameless mech had no creators, did he?

He didn't have a designation. But Photodraft was looking at him, expecting something. And he owed this mech, because his wounds already felt more like the clean pain of healing and less like the hot pain of infection.

He didn't have creators, but there had been a mech who had found him barely online in the tunnels and given him a few words, which he had used to deduce the meanings of others. That mech, he could recall, was dead. The nameless mech would take one last thing from him and keep it to remember him by.

"It's ok, you don't have to tell me," Photodraft said.

"Megatronus."

Photodraft and Rivet both looked taken aback.

"My designation… are Megatronus."

"That's…" Photodraft tilted his helm. "Kind of unusual."

The nameless mech, Megatronus, frowned. He wasn't sure what unusual meant. Was it something bad?

"Well," Photodraft said. "Thank you again for helping Rivet. We… I… he looked down, and Megatronus saw bitter guilt on the other mech's faceplate. "I'm so sorry I didn't help you before, when you asked me… It's these mines… no, that's no excuse. I was wrong. I should have helped you, and I'm sorry."

Sorry was what you said when you'd bumped into someone and you didn't want them to be mad at you. Why would Megatronus be mad at the mech who'd just cleaned out his wounds and thanked him for helping Rivet?

"Don't… sorry," Megatronus said.

Photodraft frowned at him. "Are you all right? You used the wrong word before, and that…?"

Which word was wrong? Megatronus looked down, ashamed again.

"Are you from somewhere that speaks another dialect?"

Megatronus had absolutely no idea what that meant. "Don't understand," he said.

"What?"

"Don't understand words," Megatronus repeated.

"You don't understand Cybertronian?"

"Understand little," Megatronus amended.

"Why?"

Now that word, Megatronus had never been able to figure out. It seemed a difficult question, even to those who knew what it meant. "Don't understand," he said again.

"Where are you from? Where were you before here?"

Megatronus stared. Had he understood that correctly? "I… wasn't."

"You weren't… Well, you can't have been sparked here."

Megatronus nodded.

"No," Photodraft said. "That's impossible. You just showed up a couple of decaorns ago. You didn't do anything but stare blankly for the first few orns, but… oh."

Megatronus tried in vain to make any sense of the long babble of words.

"Oh, I get it," Photodraft looked up.

"What?" Rivet asked.

"They must have done a complete processor wipe on you before sending you here. That's why you got in so much trouble before, you didn't know what they were saying. I bet you aren't actually a simpleton like everyone thinks, you just can't understand us."

They both stared. Megatronus still wasn't quite sure what was going on.

"He needs a language package then, right?" Rivet said.

Megatronus looked back and forth between the two of them. The conversation was going too fast for him to follow. He wished he knew the words to explain that he really didn't know what they were saying, and they needed to slow down.

"Yes," Photodraft said. "But there's no possible way to get one here, not without bribing a medic or something and we don't have anything to bribe with."

"Um…" Rivet said, then looked up with bright optics. "We could just teach him… or you could transmit the data, Photodraft."

Photodraft looked solemnly at Megatronus. "Well… he's got an adult frame, so he's got to have a comm. but if they completely wiped his processor… I guess I could send a short range message over a public frequency… but he'd have to trust me enough to open it. Megatronus, will you let me send you some data?"

"Don't understand words."

"Can I give you words?" Photodraft asked slowly and clearly.

Megatronus mulled over that question for a while. He was pretty sure he knew what it meant, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Ok," Photodraft said. "Let's see… how can I frame this so that I don't have to use words to define the words…" he shuttered his optics, and Megatronus felt something in his processor, that same sort of thing he'd gotten from the mech he'd met in the hallway. He eagerly reached for it.

Words and meanings flowed through his processor, filling it, expanding it. Nouns and verbs and modifiers, and beautiful, beautiful meaning. It took a long time, and Photodraft had to keep sending more, but eventually, he had everything he needed.

Megatronus took a few breems to finish integrating the new knowledge. Then he burst into a fit of sobbing.

"Megatronus?" Photodraft asked, looking worried.

"Primus," Megatronus gasped, "Primus, thank you so much, you can't imagine what you've done, I can never repay you for this."

Photodraft stared. "I…" he said, looking shocked.

"Oh, thank you. Thank you, I couldn't…"

"It's ok," Photodraft said.

Megatronus nodded. It was ok. Everything was ok now, he could understand what everyone was saying. "Thank you. And thank you for cleaning out my wounds, nothing I did merits that sort of compassion."

"Can you… remember…?"

"No," Megatronus said. "I can't remember anything before being here. Nothing at all… it's just… there's nothing there. I don't know where I came from, I don't know what my real designation is…"

"Well, you might want to pick a different one besides Megatronus," Photodraft said, raising an optic ridge.

"Why?"

"Megatronus… well he's kind of… he's a historical figure."

Megatronus frowned.

"And he's kind of… a glitch. He betrayed all the other primes and, well…"

"I met a mech the first… the first orn I was here. He gave me a few words, the same way you did… He said something about Megatronus—seemed to really like the designation. I guess I just… decided to use it. I can change it, though, if you really think…"

"No," Photodraft said. "You know what, it's fine. No one really cares around here."

"So that's why you were always so quiet," Rivet said.

Megatronus nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry I didn't step in sooner. They shouldn't take energon from you like that."

Photodraft snorted. "Try telling them that. Around here… whoever's the biggest and the toughest gets what he wants. And Megatronus, I'd advise you to keep that in the front of your processor… or you'll get hurt."

Megatronus looked down, then nodded. "You're right."

"But," Photodraft said. "If you... no, I can't ask that."

"I'll make sure they don't take Rivet's energon," Megatronus said.

"And I'll help you keep those wounds clean until they're better," Photodraft said.

Megatronus nodded.

"Shut up! Some of us are trying to recharge," someone else called from the other side of the cavern.

Megatronus was exhausted. Photodraft and Rivet left to return to their typical spot, and Megatronus lay down, though recharge evaded him. He just had too much to think about—the whole world had opened up to him. Words. He had words now, a wealth of them.

And something else, as well, hopefully.

He had a friend.