Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers.
Livewire: Chapter 2
"This…is not a dream."
Carrie stared vacantly at her metallic paws, lying curled up, and still as a statue under the work bench she originally woke up on. Her head was craned upwards as far as the enclosed space allowed, and her ears were perked in alertness, stiff and immobile even as Wheeljack and Perceptor occasionally made scrapes and clangs as they moved about the lab.
The beings worked on various parts to an incomplete project. They seldom spoke, seeming to already know what the other needed at intermittent times. Their voices were hushed and tended to tail off distractedly. Perceptor was mostly glued to a large monitor while Wheeljack wired or soldered equipment. They would glance at Carrie often, their glowing optics curious, but they continued to honor her plea to be left alone to think.
It was a small mercy Carrie was thankful for while her mind felt scrambled, and not just because of her bizarre predicament that no one but her seemed privy to. It was like someone had hit her over the head too hard, leaving her temporarily with only bits and pieces of her memories. Her life was coming back in a slow trickle, working backwards from her most previous experiences and shifting into her oldest ones.
Her mind sorted itself of its own volition, downloading as if from an outside source, placing memories into a mental databank she could pull up at will. They were blurry, like most memories were; muddied by time to where only an emotional response to an idea remained. Very few had pictures she could physically draw up, such as the faces of her parents or the layout of her apartment. Amongst the mess, she mulled over her last moments of being human.
She couldn't recall what she had eaten for breakfast that day, or what she had done at work. Her most recent memories were mostly a blur shadows mixed with annoyance and shock. The latter emotion was tied to an impending death that she knew was coming, but couldn't stop. Carrie wasn't entirely sure she had died. The impact had been too quick — she couldn't recall feeling any pain. All she could tangibly remember was a loud screech, and a swirl of grey and black making up the silhouette of a large vehicle before losing conscience. It was too dream-like, just as waking up disoriented and in the body of a mechanical dog – wolf was.
Her funnel ears twitched at the word, wolf. Intrusive blurbs of information she didn't know the origin of kept pushing to the front of her thoughts, correcting her the same way as if she had call someone John before stumbling at remembering their name was Joe. It was disquieting that something that felt detached from her, yet still perfectly in synch with her thoughts was thoroughly convinced that she was lupine when, for all she knew, her body was a cat. She hadn't seen her new body in a mirror yet.
Maybe her mind might have been more messed up than she thought. She might have always been this way, and her human self was a crazy, intensive dream induced by bad food or an extra hard bludgeon to the head. It didn't help that the robots were familiar in a way that she couldn't place into words. Their existence nagged at her quickly sorting memories.
Something beyond the blurbs of information that agreed her current form was right, clawed its way from the pit of her stomach, overriding the mechanical logic with fierce denial. No, she was human, this wasn't normal, and she shouldn't be alive right now.
It led Carrie to wonder how long it had been since she died. Her thought of the day and time initiated a blinking set of zeros to flash at the edge of her vision. It startled her as much as various other bits of information that would occasionally pop-up. With a mere thought, numbers, charts, or calculations would dance across her vision as if eager to provide her with information. None of it had the ability to answer her questions; all of the data was wiped like a brand new computer with no information to go on but its basic programing and her own personal knowledge.
She was so focused on the blinking zeros, and her own thoughts, that she didn't notice one of the mechs approach and bend down to her level, casting a large shadow over her hiding spot.
"Come on now, you've been sulking long enough. I need to run a cognitive diagnostic scan now that you're online."
Carrie snapped her head to the side so quickly she cracked her snout against the partially enclosed underside of the bench. Her vision lurched, fritzing a moment as an uncomfortable throb of tendrils spread over the impact point. A whine escaped her, more out of being startled than in response to the strange bruising sensation.
Perceptor smiled broadly. "I apologize. I should have been clearer in my approach. You appear to be suffering from a form hyper stimulation. It could be a program malfunction. Don't worry; we'll get that fixed during the scan."
Carrie's yellow optics brightened and her ears pinned back. The two robots had wanted to perform a scan on her when she first woke up, and tried to plug multiple cords extending from a large machine into her frame. Just the thought of it was invasive and made her internally squirm, and the prongs on the ends of the cords looked deceptively like needles.
She wasn't a device or a, a computer to be abused by programmers, or a science project; she was a human being with rights - but, the second consciousness slipped in, using her own inner voice to state she was, indeed, a machine.
"Hang on, I got this." Wheeljack crouched next to Perceptor and his added girth made the space in front of her feel less like a window into the cluttered work room, and more like a cage.
"You have an idea?" Perceptor inquired, taking a step back so Wheeljack could proceed.
"Yep," Wheeljack stated confidently with a flash of his ear fins.
He reached into the crawl space and Carrie ducked her head with flattened ears as she warily watched his outstretched hand.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Perceptor warned.
"Why not?" The same moment he asked, Wheeljack tried to grab her behind the neck. Carrie reached up and snapped her jaws shut around the underside of his arm, sinking her metal teeth into the white armor.
Wheeljack flailed with a cry of surprise, banging his arm against the underside of the bench with Carrie still attached. She didn't let go until he jerked away, and she curled back under the table, hunched on her front legs, growling in warning.
Wheeljack stumbled to his pedes and looked at the dimpled metal with shock.
"That's why," Perceptor softly reprimanded as he grabbed Wheeljack's arm and turned it over for inspection. "The damage is superficial. She only caught the edge of your armor and didn't actually pierce it."
"Yes, I can see that. Thanks," Wheeljack clipped and pulled away. "I don't get why she's being so aggressive."
Perceptor placed his hands on his hips and observed Carrie with a focused, yet far off look. "True, it's odd that she's viewing us as a threat. We haven't made any threatening gestures, and I programed her to recognize Autobots as allies."
The red mech had said something that sparked recognition in her memories, if only vaguely. Her shoulders dropped, and she unconsciously switched from an aggressive stance to a pensive one. Autobots, why did that word strike her as so familiar? It's meaning was on the tip of her tongue, but just out of reach.
"This could work." Perceptor pulled something out of a shifting compartment in his side and cautiously approached her.
"Livewire, if you'll be a good girl and come out, I'll give you this energon stick. It doesn't contain near as much energy as a cube, but the Dinobots tend to favor them."
Carrie turned her nose away from the offensive pink glow stick being waved in her face. It had a sweet and sour sent mixed with something acrid, it was an artificial combination that made her tanks churn. He presented it to her again, shoving it closer. His movement caused light from the room to gloss over a red symbol that blended with the color of his chest, save for an outline, one that resembled a mask. A spark of recognition struck Carrie like lightning, and an important connection threaded itself together in her memories.
These two 'robots' were Autobots, sentient beings from outer space that had been living on Earth since before she was born. They were always on the news, involved in everything related to military or politics. She would usually flip the channel when a big red and blue one came on, Optimus Prime. He was always explaining how the Autobots and humanity should work together, or was apologizing for some mess they had made while defending human resources from the Decepticons. She couldn't believe she had forgotten.
"You're Autobots," she said with disbelief.
Perceptor smiled, pleased at her realization. "Correct, and you're an Autobot as well. We fight against the tyrannical Decepticons while protecting the humans of this planet. Can you tell me what your function is?"
Perceptor placed the forgotten glow stick by her paws as she looked between the two Autobots, trying to remember if she had seen them before. She knew a few faces and names from the news, but neither of these transformers were familiar to her. She was so caught up in searching her new data banks for Autobots that she almost missed his last question.
"No," she replied soberly. What did they even mean by a function, her job?
"Strange, maybe her programs didn't come on all at once." Wheeljack commented.
Perceptor added, "Livewire could be experiencing a delayed upload effect caused by impulse confusion during her first time forming neural pathways. Or do you think there could be an over sensitive firewall?"
Perceptor backed away to stand next to Wheeljack when Carrie blurted, "Why are you calling me Livewire?"
"Because it's your designation. I came up with it myself," Wheeljack said proudly.
The way he beamed at her should have been unnerving, but he looked genuinely happy about the menial detail, like a kid naming their puppy. It was an odd name, but all of the transformers tended to have strange designations. It didn't particularly bother her that she wasn't being called by her real name, but it was disturbing that the two Autobots seemed utterly convinced that she was something they built.
She scowled, mentally scolding herself for getting caught up over a name. She didn't care what she was being called; she wanted to know what was going on and how she turned out, like this.
"Will you come out now? I really need to run a check on your systems to make sure everything is working correctly," Wheeljack pleaded.
Carrie steeled herself with a deep breath and exhaled hot air out from under her shoulder armor. She shuddered as the air brushed against her sides and reminded herself that they were Autobots, the good guys. All of her history classes painted them in a positive light with almost super hero qualities, like a real life Justice League. In grade school, Carrie used to watch the news and cheer on the Autobots as they fought the Decepticons.
She came out slowly, commanding her limbs to move, thinking about where she wanted to place her paws upon the metal floor. The flexing claws connect with the ground, clicking softly. Her movements still felt wobbly, like the floor wasn't sitting right. It didn't help that her back legs were bent at an odd angle, drastically changing her perception of movement.
"Her equilibrium stabilizer doesn't seem to be calibrated correctly," Perceptor commented as the two Autobots converged on her.
Carrie's ears flattened and her tail fell. She took a small step back before stilling, and allowed them to touch her. A phrase popped into her head as their hands ran over her, one of Optimus' most coined phrases. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. They wouldn't do anything bad to her, they were the good guys.
Wheeljack applied pressure to her back stilling Carrie with his hand. She hadn't realized she was swaying nervously on her paws. "Try not to move."
She stayed still as a statue, or as still as she could. The floor looked like it was tilting a little further. Without permeable, Perceptor plugged a small device into the back of her neck, and an invasive feeling poked at her conscience. Something trickled through her mind, barriers she didn't know she had fell away in its wake like an opening dam. It was strange, but not uncomfortable.
"Alright, I'm in," Perceptor announced. "Livewire, lift your foot and put it on top of Wheeljack's."
She complied, lifting her paw and placing it on the floor near Wheeljack's pede. Strange, she could have sworn she was right on target.
"Off by .556." Wheeljack commented.
Perceptor calibrated again and asked her to repeat the action. This time she connected with Wheeljack's pede with a soft clink, and the floor didn't look like it was leaning anymore.
"Very good," Wheeljack praised, and Carrie couldn't help but feel a small measure of accomplishment.
Perceptor released the device from her neck and studied a small screen attached to it. "All of the programing appears intact, including defense protocols. I also managed to set her internal readouts and chronometer. The only irregularity I can see is the memory chip fluctuating at an odd rate, but it should be nothing to worry about."
"It might be the source of her slow reboot," Wheejack added.
Perceptor looked thoughtful for a moment. "Perhaps, but either way it's slowly kicking in. I would just check in a few joors to make sure it has stabilized properly. It won't do if her memory banks fail to file new information or accidentally begins erasing older ones."
Carrie was about to protest her head was fine, but Wheeljack suddenly stood at attention, shifting his focus on the door on the far end of the room.
"Powerglide's coming." Wheeljack swiftly looked to Perceptor with brightening optics. "We've gotta' hide her!"
Perceptor jumped into action, waving her backwards with his hands while looking over his shoulder. "Quickly, get back under the work bench."
Carrie swiveled her head around his large girth to see where Wheeljack was going. Her rear end bumped into the wall under the bench, and Perceptor shoved a large machine in front of her hiding spot, blocking her from site.
Perplexed, Carrie stuck her nose through a crack between the machine and table leg as Perceptor joined Wheeljack. She could barely make out their backs as an automatic door swished open before them. She did not appreciate being trapped, but was more worried about what had spoked them.
"Oh, Perceptor's here," A new, disappointed voice echoed from the entrance.
"Indeed, I am," Perceptor smiled broadly. "Wheeljack and I were working on a molecular transmogrifier. Would you like to help us test it out?"
"Uh, no thanks."
"What brings you here, Powerglide?" Wheeljack warmly greeted while stepping aside to allow the new mech into the lab.
Powerglide stepped into Carrie's view with slumped shoulders. Numerous dents and bits of loose dirt were smeared over his red and white frame. He looked vaguely familiar. "That turbo tweak you made to my engines keeps over compensating. If I try to bank left, I wind up going into a spin. If I try to bank right and up-" he drifted into a desperate octave. "I somehow turn a one-eighty, at a speed that isn't healthy to my frame, and nose dive into the ground."
"Alright, alright," Wheeljack said hastily. "Come over here and we'll find out what's wrong."
He began sweeping scattered components off a metal table and into his arms, depositing the parts on one of the nearby benches.
Perceptor stood next to Powerglide, staring at the ceiling but not actually seeing it. "A string of programing may be over calculating the amount of thrust you need to perform micro managed movement, or isn't factoring your frame weight or speed counters correctly. If we tweak the code to-"
"Perceptor, please. Spare me the science mumbo-jumbo."
Perceptor looked down at Powerglide as if coming out of a daze. "My apologies. I work best when I think aloud. I'm afraid I'm an auditory learner."
"That doesn't make any—actually, never mind." Powerglide perched on the edge of the now clean berth as Wheeljack fiddled something.
"I need you to lie down for a minute. This shouldn't take very long." Powerglide complied, lying flat on his back so Wheeljack could plug him into a handheld that wirelessly transmitted to the monitor on the wall.
"Send your latest flight logs, everything from takeoff to landing." Wheeljack prompted.
The screen blipped to life, displaying a scrolling, chronological log of numbers that Wheeljack and Perceptor leaned towards to study with scanning optics.
"There." Wheeljack paused the download and pointed to a line Carrie could only partially understand, they were readouts of some kind.
Wheeljack then pointed to the line above and trailed his finger across the string of code as if reading an open book. "We'll, something is definitely making it squirt out more fuel than needed."
"Great, tell me something I don't know-" Powerglide cut off with a mechanical squeal of surprise that grated on Carries sensitive audials as Perceptor prodded one of the twin engines mounted to his wings.
He pulled hand back with specs of a congealed blue substance decorating his servos. "You're also leaking fuel. We should check for a line rupture before making any further tweaks."
"Great," Powerglide grumbled. "And will you warn me next time? I'm not used to mechs prodding around my innards."
"Noted," Perceptor replied dully.
Wheeljack began examining the opposite thruster and the bent wing it was attached to with interest. "What were you doing, by the way? To my knowledge there hasn't been any 'Con activity."
Powerglide turned his head so he wasn't looking at either of the Autobots and unknowingly stared straight at Carries hiding spot. "Nothing important."
She may not have thought there was a reason to hide, but after pensively watching the odd check-up, the idea of suddenly being found sent her fuel pump rate skyrocketing. When he looked at her, she sprang upwards in fright, ready to flee, and banged into the underside of the bench, startling her further. Carrie fell back with a crash, and still unsure of how to judge where her limbs were, succeeded in making an even louder racket as she tried to hold still.
"What was that?" Powerglide shot to a sitting position but Wheeljack caught him before the mech could potentially spring off the table.
"It's nothing to worry about. Something probably just fell over." Perceptor, who conveniently had his back to her, positioned himself so the back of his leg was blocking her view.
"It didn't sound like something falling over. It was more like a ricocheting gunshot. Nothing is going to suddenly blow up over there, is it?" Powerglide made a sharp scraping sound and Carrie heard his metal pedes clang on the floor.
"Why would an inert object explode?" Wheeljack asked quizzically. "Wait, where are you going?"
"Not to be rude, but can I reschedule this? I-I just received a message from Prime saying that he needs me." Powerglide's voice was sliding further away as he spoke.
"Sure, just give me a ping." Wheeljack said moments before Carrie heard the sliding door open and close.
"That couldn't have been anymore unproductive." Perceptor vented.
"Actually, the data he provided will help with a similar project I've been working on." Wheeljack's description of a device Carrie didn't understand a lick about was drowned out by her hammering fuel pump.
She laid on the floor, her nose pushing through the crack between the machine and table's leg, trying fruitlessly to shove her way through. A frustrated whine escaped her.
There was movement, and scuffling pedes before the heavy machine was dragged aside. Perceptor stood as Carrie darted out from under the desk and into the middle of the room with flattened ears and a lowered tail. Her optics were on the door, contemplating leaving with the mech that had just gone, but her common sense got the better of her. No human would recognize her, and in all honesty, she wasn't in that much of a hurry to return to her office and explain to her boss where she had been if it had been several days since her supposed death. He would believe her story of dying and waking up as a robot about as much as her dad did when she accidentally fell through a first story window by leaning on the glass.
"What's wrong, Livewire?" Wheeljack kneeled in front of her so he was at eye level. It took all of her willpower not to flinch. Her mind was wandering too much, she needed to focus.
She approached him cautiously and clinked the tip of her nose against his hand that was resting on his knee. She was disappointed when he didn't so much as twitch at the contact, but wasn't sure what she was expecting from him. Maybe a pat on the head, or words to reassure her that the world wasn't about to crumble under her feet along with her perception of reality.
"Why did you hide me?" Her voice sounded pathetic, even to her. She tried to clear her throat, but the mechanisms that made up her vocals couldn't produce the sounds or sensations she wanted. They growled instead, startling her, but she repeated herself more firmly this time, "Why are you hiding me?"
Wheeljack's optics brightened. "Because, we can't go showing you off until we're sure you're perfect."
She would have laughed in his face if she were in any other situation. "I'm not a project," she stated like a broken record. So many questions were wanting to claw out of her mouth, yet she couldn't form any of the ones that really mattered.
"Of course you are. You're a beautiful project! Probably one of my best, yet." He produced a smudged rag from seemingly nowhere and rubbed gently against the side of her snout.
She stilled under his touch, and even though all she could sense was pressure as he went in a circle around the spot she had whacked, it somehow made his strangely praising words more comforting.
Wheeljack pulled away momentarily to look at the scuff mark before continuing to rub at it. "Just try not to bang your face into anymore tables. That looked like it hurt."
She would have blushed in embarrassment if she were still capable of turning red.
Perceptor circled around them with a thoughtful look, glancing mostly at the mark Wheeljack was erasing. "Perhaps we should reevaluate her self-preservation program the next time we conduct a diagnosis?"
Carrie pulled away from Wheeljack and gave Perceptor a hard glare. She swore that if the red Autobot kept treating her like a glitching program, she was going to bite something off with her shiny new teeth. They seemed to have done plenty of damage to Wheeljack's arm even though she hadn't put much force into the action. She glanced at the tooth marks and felt a shred of guilt mixed with the surreal knowledge that she now had the ability to bite through metal.
It was a little comforting to know she could defend herself if need be, especially as her worries grew. She was beginning to think telling the Autobots about her being a human wouldn't be such a good idea. It was hard to tell if they believed in such things. Being logical, mechanical aliens, they might find her situation highly illogical. They would probably check off her claim as another glitch in her memory, and Perceptor seemed to be looking for any excuse to explain and fix her bewildered behavior. The possibility to being subjected to some sort of alien mind probe was highly unappealing.
She mentally backpedaled and tried to reassess her situation. It might be better to just play along as their pet project and see if she could figure out for herself how to change back, or at least find an explanation to her condition. Besides, adopting the name Livewire and getting out of work for a while didn't sound so bad.
A spark caught Carrie's eye on a work bench across the room. It flared twice more, shooting across the surface and tangling around the metal objects scattered on the table. "Is it supposed to do that?" She asked uncertainly.
"What-" Wheeljack followed her gaze, and when he saw the rapidly sparking component, leapt to his pedes. "Slag!"
Perceptor became panicked. "Don't tell me you left a spark plug next to a battery again!"