Hey Wheeljack.

Yeah, Ironfist?

Well, not to seem like a, you know, prick, but Perceptor seems…different. Been that way ever since Moonracer left the Guild for the rescue mission.

How'd you know about that?

I read, you know. I mean, I'm a writer…

…No, no. I mean, about Perceptor being…different.

Well, actually, there are a couple times he seemed just like this. After that little argument with Red Alert. After each talk he has with Alpha Trion and the rest of the Council. After working on Project Omega, or something like that. After his 'classified' projects. You've never noticed?

What I notice may be different from what you notice, Ironfist. What do you notice?

…That look, like...a piece of his spark was ripped out. And the only reason he isn't offline yet is because he's using some sort of device to keep himself online. Not big pieces, mind you. Just, microscopic ones. Little ones. Small enough to keep him alive, but big enough to cut him inside. Almost like his soul is being sucked out increment by increment.

Kinda….poetic, your thinking.

I am a writer, you know. Not just Wrecker stuff, though they are pretty awesome.

Let me…let me tell you a story, hmm? Just between you and me.

Ooh, that sounds great. As long as you don't blow up midsentence.

Alright, let's take a break. Or maybe not. Let's keep working? I don't know. This isn't a happy story. It may explain, a little better, why Percy feels the way he does.

Is the story about Percy?

…Not necessarily. Again, not a pleasant story. I'd rather not...this was a stupid idea…

….Please, Wheeljack. Tell me anyway.

It's about two bots. Two bots that, without knowing, changed many, and cast a shadow upon the moons.

I like this story already.

So far, so good.
Well, there was this mech. Not the most physically impressive, but his processor was…oh, I kid you not, he was a slagging genius. Solved equations in a klik, knew every little bit of quantum physics, could piece together a gun from scraps, could recite the elemental tables and knew what could make what, even created a cure for a horrible disease that ate away at a bots' finish and turned it to wretched rust without chronologic or liquid wear. Did calculus and biologic taxonomies for fun.

And there was this femme. Now, she was probably the most good-looking femme most mechs saw. Petite, lean, softer shapes than a bot like, say, Red Alert. She caught the optics of a lot of mechs, including, yes, this particular mech. And she was smart. She knew more about guns than he did. And social situations. And how the processor of a femme worked, which, of course, he didn't know. But she liked having conversations and building relationships by going out, whereas he was content to stay holed up in his spaces.

Now, under normal circumstances, these two very different bots would have never met. But fate…fate is a funny thing, my apprentice, and, well, turns out that this femme needed a job. And this mech, being head of his line of work, was a pretty good 'target' for her.
At first, he resisted, saying she wasn't qualified enough, not enough experience, didn't need the extra help anyway. But then one of his co-workers left for other things, and well, sitting there was this big bulky job opening she just so happened to fill.
See, the way she had been going around with asking him for the job, she was persistent. Would voluntarily clean his workspace. Keep him fueled. Would do this every morning, practically camping outside of his offices and such, until he was driven crazy enough to give her the job because of her persistence.

So, yeah, they worked together, due in part to the very clever partner of the mech. At first there was clashing, because she was warm emotion, and he was cold logic, and supposedly, those two things never mixed. His realism made her sad. Her idealism drove him mad.

But soon, he got used to her. Or rather, he came to like her. He came to like her cheeriness and curiosity. She came to like his never-ending facts and his patience when she didn't do certain things right. They both liked their meaningful conversations they had. They began entrusting secrets with one another, and everything was good. And they became the best of friends.

Until the war.

They were on the same faction, but had differentiating views. And well, the femme wasn't just an assistant. She was a warrior as well, and that side of her life kept her outside for most of the time, leaving the mech alone. Which was not a good idea. Because the mech was dealing with inner turmoils, and he needed her more than ever. The war was beginning to have its affect on him, and everything took a turn when their authorities demanded he make a weapon of mass destruction.

The femme did not like this. They fought. They argued. She left him for a while, to reunite with her warrior sisters and plan a rescue mission. And in his loneliness, and the pressure of the war, well….

…well, what? C'mon,Wheeljack.

No one but him knows how it happened, but a terrible accident robbed him of his voice. And his consciousness. The femme heard the news and came back to visit the mech. He was now in the care of healers and his very worried partner. He could not speak to her. Could not say what was on his spark. And oh, how his spark broke when she told his partner she was leaving. Leaving on a mission to find a long-lost sister that could help turn the tide of the war. And she did not know when she was coming back. She didn't want to leave him, but was forced to do so by her warrior mentor. She embraced him one last time, whispered her final words to him, and left, taking her uplifting spirit with her. The moons were new when she was forced to leave him.

And the mech?

Never truly came back online from his stasis. Even as his processor still cranks out ideas, even as energon flows through his frame, he still waits for her. Not like one waits for a sibling, or a twin, or a dear friend, but a sparkmate. Never consuming by his own will. Never recharging by his own will. Just waiting for her. Waiting for the solar cycle when the moons are new, and her rigel optics and crescent moon smile will stand out in the darkness.

It sounds like you almost like this femme.

For no reason other than that she was a good femme, and that she made the mech happy.

And the story. Is that the end?

Ah, and here's where I explain why I love this story so very much. Because the story has not ended. It has only begun. Everything else to yet to happen.

Really?

Oh, yeah.

And how…how do you know of this story? How does it relate to Perceptor's behavior?

Well…where I get my stories…you'll find out one solar cycle. And how it relates to Perceptor? Perce knows this bot very, very well. Walked servo-in-servo with this bot, you could say, and was his only companion when the femme was gone.

Do I know this mech?

A lot of bots think they do. They don't. They only know one facet of the story.

Maybe because it's got such a sad beginning. Most bots I know don't really like depressing things, though

But who's to say it won't have a happy ending to balance things out?

I really hope so.

…So do I, Ironfist. So do I.

Coming To a Screeching Halt

or

A story of irritated ninjas, a future leader, a weapon maker's assistance, a place of fond memories, and finding, despite all that, things have changed.

{Two cycles after the landing of the Quintessa}

[Fortress Maximus]

"Stop pacing, Moonracer. She'll be fine."

I turn on the lithe orange and violet ninjabot. Lancer's been saying that in response to everything I say, for the last cycle or so.

"What sort of evidence do they have against her?"

"She'll be fine."

"It's been a thousand stellar cycles. She's done time. Suffered a traumatic head injury. Can't they leave her alone?"

"She'll be fine."

"I wonder if they're tortured her yet."

"She'll be fine."

"She might one of her seizures in there. What then?'

"She'll be fine."

"Is that all you can say to make things better?"

"It'll be fine. There, how's that?"

It's driving me mad.

"How can you be so sure? Chromia has the longest list of wrongs on Cybertron. Chromia's the one with a violent history, particularly with Sentinel. Chromia is the one who experienced seizures in the past. Chromia is in the most trouble, and you want me to LEAVE HER HERE AT THE MERCY OF BOTS WHO HATE HER?"

Greenlight, to the right of Lancer, just stares at me for a klik. Lancer, on the other servo, simply nods and proceeds to pull me out into the hallway.

"I was right. You need to get out. Go empty your processor and relax somewhere. Go meditate. Go fix some ships. Go get overcharged, I don't fragging know. Because, as much as I've been driving you crazy for the last half cycle, you've been doing the same to me."

"NO! I stay here for Chromia. She's my mentor, and I can't fathom-"

"Um, excuse me?"

I have half a processor to just whip around and yell, "What?"

Upon seeing an old acquaintance, I shut my vocal processor.

He looks different. Not the inexperienced, shy, mech-next-door dreamer I remember from the times I hung out with Elita-1 and met a lot of her friends. More heroic now. There's wisdom in his optics, and a little sadness. He holds himself like a leader, like a bot who's seen things and survived to tell the tale. The only reason I even recognize him is because of the red chassis and the headbrace.

"Oh, hi, Optimus. Did you need anything?"

"Yes, I'm trying to find where they're interrogating Chromia."

"Through those doors, though you'll need Elite Guard access for that."

"I'm aware. Thank you, Moonracer."

Just as he turns to walk up to the doors and go through them, he turns and gives me a quizzical look for a nanoklik.

"Couldn't help but notice your visor there."

Oh, yeah. My servo flies up to the blue visor on the top of my head. It's blue, with a somewhat pentagonal shape for each lens. I forgot I had it on the whole time.

"It reminds me of the one Elita-1 had."

Immediately, sadness blankets the space in the hallway. Optimus looks away.

"I-I'm sorry. It's just-"

I hold up a servo. "Don't worry. We've known that for a long time. And, yeah, the visors…back when they were a trend and such.'

Not really. The visors that many, MANY bots had were more than a trend back in that solar cycle, but….

"I like this pair because it's protected my optics from a lot, and it's stood the test of time."

"Well, not just Elita-1. The visor thing, I mean. Perceptor, one of the Council members, has a similarly-designed visor that he wears all the time, though it's yellow, not blue like yours. I don't why I noticed, but…..'

I don't hear the rest of his words.

Perceptor. If Optimus has seen it on him, it means one; Perceptor's online and well. Yay! Two; Perceptor's a Council member, which means that he's been able to work his way up enough, and now has influence over issues regarding the Autobots, which is great. Three; Perceptor is wearing my old visor, which means he remembers me, and has, hopefully, forgiven me for my….words….all those stellar cycles ago…...

"….Moonie? Moonie? Oh, MOONRACER!"

A dusky purple faceplate framed with orange is yelling at me, but I hardly register the true volume of her shouting.

"Where is Perceptor?", I practically demand.

Then clap my servo over my loud vocal receptor.

Bad Moonracer! How rude!

"…I mean, if you knew, that'd be great."

Optimus seems unfazed; rather, he points in the direction of the Guild Sciencus before the two large doors close shut on him.

I look at Lancer, who merely shrugs.

"I'll tell Fearless Leader where you went. …..oh, no, I'm becoming Firestar."

I transform into my alt-mode. To the Guild it is.

I…...feel so stupid for feeling like this, but all I can think about now is him. And the Guild. The laboratories we worked in. His private laboratories, where no one stepped in except the two of us. And Wheeljack, of course. Longsuffering, dear Wheeljack. And Red Alert and Ironfist and the rest of the Ministry of Science and our projects.

And our list of shared memories trumped Wheeljack's list of injuries.

Working on a batch of corrostop.

Piecing Wheeljack together after a giant explosion.

Reorganizing the chemicals and supplies and tools after said explosion.

Accidently zapping a large space squid, causing it to grow exponentially and nearly wipe out the labs.

Again.

Peeling Ironfist off a panel of near-invisible space glass. Then helping him get back at Skyfall, his nemesis.

The pyrotechnics displaying Red Alert's medical success and graduation from Protihex to all of Cybertron.

Gazing up at faraway stars and planets through Perceptor's periscope.

Just scribbling notes, and trying to organize them.

The Guild comes into view, and my spark fills with joy. The tall, majestic spires, overlaid with the impressive sculptures of rods and wires from the past. The Guild is built on a slope, and the front is the top. Everything else behind goes down. There's now a silvery arch, with the Autobot insignia carved in the top. I presume that arch is the doorway.

My sanctuary. Perceptor's sanctuary as well. The safe haven of all intellects. A cool, clean, and knowledge-filled place that pulsed with life and science. Before it was corrupted by the likes of Dr. Flame and all those horrible war experiments.

No. No, Moonracer, I tell myself. Things are different now, I'm sure. That was all a thousand stellar cycles ago.

Perceptor is a Council member, which means, by now, he fixed things. Did away with the underground experiments. Worked with other MoS bots to ensure ethical treatment of bots involved in experiments, that resources were sourced responsibly. Got rid of bots like Flame, that would so willingly hurt bots like Firestar.

Even….even if he didn't forgive me, he is not...not a monster.

He wouldn't let the Guild Sciencus fall from grace just to spite me. He would make things right in my absence.

I only hope I'm still allowed in the beautiful Guild. I really wish to see what's changed in the last couple of orns.

I stop at the bottom of the arch, transform back into bot mode, and look up. Taller than I thought.

My presumptions are correct. The arch is the entrance. But, oh no, a lockpad at the doors.

"Um, hello there, can I help you?"

"Maybe. Do you know how to get-Ironfist!"

"Moonracer?"

It's good to see a fellow science novice again! We exchange a brief shake of servos as he chuckles a little.

"It…I can't believe it…..I mean, it's good to see you again!"

"Same to you."

"I...oh, I suppose you want to come in?" He quickly punches in a few keys, followed by the slide of a code card.

The doors slide open with a hiss, and the interior bathes in blue light.

I step inside, step by step, relishing and revisiting the feeling of this sanctuary. It is just as I remember.

"Follow me, Moonracer. I know somebots who want to meet you."

Eagerly, I follow him. Past the dark gray tiles. And the triangular prism-shaped blue lights. And the walls with the little shelves carved into them. In the shelves rest little artifacts, or disassembled prototypes, or little models of ships or planes. The ceiling is high and imposing as ever, but I've always told myself…it's because the Guild is a living bot that needs as much space as possible to contain and maintain the knowledge of the scientists.

Memories are carved into the gray and white walls of the Guild. The objects to the side have changed, but the way to the labs remain the same.

"Wheeljack's off working with Bulkhead, a spacebridge genius, on who-knows-what, so he's not here right now. But he'll be back soon. Red Alert went off with Firestar-good to see she's okay, too. Mainframe and Alpha Trion went off on some private business-"

"-Interrogating my mentor."

His optics widen in surprise. "Huh?"

"They're having a private chat with Chromia in a locked cell."

"I….see….."

"A—and….Perceptor?"

"Percy? As you and Wheeljack used to call him? Here."

We walk up to a very familiar set of white sliding doors, where the keypad was not at the side of the door, but located in the round convex panel in the center of the doors. The large blue panel held the doors together, and when the doors were opened, it would disappear with the right door panel.

The metallurgist fiddles with the panel keys, and it opens with a hiss.

A rush of cold air meets my plating, and blows on me a great hesitation.

The shared laboratories are well-lit, and I see that we're on a balcony, with a bridge that connect one work station to another above ground level. The walls have been painted from their old, peeling dark red, to a calming midnight blue.

No wonder I didn't recognize it at first. Then I realize why remembering took me a while.

This was the area where Project Omega was carried out. Where Percy created the Supremes, before….

….it doesn't matter. There are no weapons of mass destruction being built here now. Perceptor kept his promise.

How could I think otherwise?

"I'll leave you to….I guess, check out some new renovations to the Guild. I brought you here because you have a history of getting lost, or so says 'Jack, so I thought you could use a guide."

"Thank you, Ironfist."

"Of course."

I intend to step in, but my landing pads won't move.

"…uh, Moonracer, you okay? You…..gonna go meet up with Perceptor and say hello?"

"…...wha—oh yes, thanks, Ironfist. Again."

I force my landing pads to move, and they bring me into the familiar 'Commons' Laboratories, as he and I called them.

Bigger than I remember, but still relatively the same. And empty. Startlingly empty.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

Or not.

From the stairs coming from ground level, I see a bot I never thought I'd see again.

I almost feel like screaming my joy to the rest of the galaxy, but I control myself.

The same red chassis, and black plating. The silver dials and the black headbrace. His pale green finish and drawn-in optics. And my visor….he's wearing my old yellow visor. He's taken good care of it.

Perceptor has not changed. And my spark is glad.

"Perceptor!"

He looks over at me. He looks a little surprised. Of course he is. He hasn't seen me in a thousand stellar cycles.

"I….I've come back. A little unexpected, but….it's really me….."

He slowly approaches me.

"It's been a while. It's good…to see you're healthy. How have you been?"

No answer. He is now within reach. I could hug him, but I know how sensitive he is about touch, and does not take physical contact lightly.

"I….um….I'm really sorry for everything that's happened to you. Please know that I am truly sorry-"

"It is not your fault."

His voice. That's not his voice. Perceptor's voice, though crisp and blunt, had a slight accent to it, one that sent heat to my faceplates whenever he whispered something secret to me, because the accent became heavier whenever he had to lower his volume.
This voice….was cold. Emotionless. Nothing but simply existing. Yet it felt like the weight of a planet was pressing on it.

"What…happened to you, Percy? Your voice has changed."

"First of all, my voice is none of your concern. Second of all, how….do you know who I am, even using my partner's moniker for me?"

Is he serious?

"Percy? Is this all a joke? Acting like you don't know me. Your voice. Not responding to me well when I use your nickname. Look, if this is your way of getting back at me-"

"-Why would I desire to do that?"

"Because of what I said-what I caused-a thousand stellar cycles ago! Please don't act like you don't know!"

"I don't even know who you are."

And everything crashes. Falls. Comes to a screeching halt.

"…...What?"

"Was I not clear enough? I have no recall of who you are."

"Perceptor? It's me. Moonracer. Your best friend. You called me Moonie."

"No. I have no best friends. Just collegues and fellow Autobots. And a partner. No best friends. Who are you? How did you even get in here? These laboratories are for the Ministry of Science and all correlated workers. Why aren't you answering me? Is your vocal receptor locked? Why aren't your optics dilating? Are you ill?"

I….Percy….no….how did this happen…? No….no….no…..no….no…..

"Answer me, Miss, or I'll be forced to remove you from these laboratories."

I look up sharply. Into his optics. Nothing. No emotion. No memory. Not even an indication this is all intentional.

He doesn't remember? Why? How?

Horror fills me as the sound of my servo suddenly cracking across his faceplates fills the dark blue walls of the Commons.

Oh my Primus.

He grabs me by my wrists.

"I'm sorry, Miss Moonracer, if that is your name, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

No.

"Please comply, and this will cause minimal discomfort for the both of us."

No no no no no no no no no no no no n o nonononononononononono no no no

"You must leave."

"NO!"

Nothing. He throws me out, and the once familiar and benevolent doors nearly close shut on my right servo.

The servo that slapped him.

I slapped him. My best friend. Because he doesn't remember who I am.

The blue panel on the door glares down at me, like a singular blue optic. Accusing. Scolding. Mocking.

"You're a horrible best friend."

I almost want to retort with some smart-aft remark.

'You're fortunate I don't have my sniper."

Except my sniper won't help me now. Because of my transgressions in the past, it is now coming back to get me.

I bring my kneecaps to my chassis. Wrap my support servos around myself. Tuck my head into the empty space.

Fetal position. Crawl away from everything, curl up in the darkness, and just disappear. Just lay there and wait to rust away.

Because I didn't control my emotions, I lost my best friend.

Because of my words, I hurt someone I loved and cared for.

Because I put bots within my servo's reach out of reach, and willingly, I paid the price.

I still am.

No. No. NO.

WHAT HAVE I DONE?

...
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