Author's Notes: Hi everyone! Long time no see, and I don't just mean this story. I've been working on a lot of projects and real life stuff, and therefore haven't had a lot of time for fanfics. I'm still technically on sabbatical from FF, but I worried about getting rusty so decided to post a new chapter. I went with this story because I have less done on this one, and therefore could reread to try to remember where I was going with this. Sorry it's so short this time, but I'm out of practice. Thank you to everyone who reads my work, and also thank you for your patience. I'm not dead, just busy ^_^'

Chapter 3

Sparkless

Knockout returned to the Nemesis with what he believed was Breakdown in tow. Agent Fowler didn't yet know how to fight back against the Decepticons, so he knew his best course of action was to play along and try his hardest to pretend to be the deceased mech. He could formulate his escape plan right under their noses…well, they didn't have noses, so under their…Fowler decided to drop the analogy since his head hurt.

"Lord Megatron," Knockout called out as they entered the bridge, "The rescue attempt was successful, and I have brought back our captured soldier. Now, tell me who's the best recon mech around."

"Enough posturing, Knockout," Megatron spat, disgusted by the flamboyant display of ego, "Now, Breakdown, give me your-…report…?"

Megatron stopped talking when he actually got a look at Breakdown. In fact, everyone was staring at him at this point. He didn't just look injured. He looked like a rotting shambling corpse.

"Knockout…I…" Megatron took a moment to regain composure, "…I want you to scan Breakdown for any…maladies."

"Y-yes, of course, Lord Megatron," Knockout stammered, "Right away."

Knockout led Breakdown away by the arm, and Fowler put up no resistance. He worried that his cover was already blown, but he had to keep up the act until he was sure. If he could just get a distress signal to the Autobots, then he could still get out of this mess.

"I've never seen our master so tongue-tied, have you?" Knockout commented as they walked down the hall, "I can see why though. I don't want to alarm you Breakdown, but your body is in rather rough shape. Don't worry though, I'm sure with medication and physical therapy we can repair the damage."

"Physical therapy?" Fowler couldn't help but ask, "That works on mechs?"

"Of course," Knockout replied, "I'll also need to see about fixing your voice box. You sound rather…stuffed up is the best way I can describe it."

"Hey!" Fowler snapped.

"Don't take it personally, big guy," Knockout chuckled, "You've been through a torturous ordeal. It's only natural that things would be different. At least the humans were industrious enough to give you a new optic, even if it does look a bit out of place. Can you actually see out of it or is it just for cosmetic purposes?"

"Hm, I dunno," Fowler pondered, "How do I check?"

"Just put your hand over each optic and try to receive visual input from the open optic," Knockout instructed.

"Oh, so just like with humans," Fowler let slip.

Knockout snorted laughter, and only then did Fowler realize what he just said.

"Humans?" Knockout asked in amusement, "Breakdown, I think you were in your captors' care for far too long."

"Eh heh, yeah, you're probably right," Fowler played along, "So, um, how far is sickbay?"

"We're almost there," Knockout replied, his tone softer, "You'll remember your way around soon enough."

Fowler could tell by Knockout's change in mood that he said something wrong. He wasn't sure what to call this demeanor…patronizing? Maybe. Either way he was sure Knockout was becoming suspicious. This was not ideal for Fowler, since he still didn't know how his new mechanical body worked. He needed to be able to ask someone about his readings and percentage levels, but he didn't know how much of this was second nature to a mech. He didn't recall the Autobots talking about this sort of thing, so they probably just didn't think about it.

The duo arrived at the medbay, and Knockout led him to a berth. Fowler didn't sit down right away. He saw that similar berths were upright at a slight angle, with holes that indicated energy shackles. This was not only a place of healing, but also likely where Decepticons tortured their prisoners. If Knockout knew more about this situation than he was letting on…

"I'm alright," Fowler tried to bluff, "I can just stand."

"Ever the brave soldier, eh Breakdown?" Knockout replied in amusement, "I'm not too surprised. I know you don't like to look weak in front of others. You know I won't judge you though. I need to catalogue the extent of your injuries, as well as check your fluid levels. Now, sit down."

"I'm fine, really!" Fowler shouted defensively, "I can go back to work!"

"Back to work?" Knockout asked incredulously, "You're literally decaying as we speak! Now Breakdown, quit being a sparkling and get on that berth, or I'll never take you driving with me again!"

Fowler, afraid of drawing further suspicion to himself, reluctantly did as he was told. He tried to digest what he just heard the Decepticon medic say to him. Apparently the doctor would reward his lackey with trips off base. This meant that Breakdown valued his time outdoors, and it might even indicate some sort of camaraderie between the medic and the now deceased brute.

Once Fowler was on the berth Knockout picked up a scanner and began to run it along his patient's body. Fowler didn't feel anything, but he knew that device was likely exposing his secret to the unsuspecting 'Con. If he could sweat he would, and part of his mind felt like he actually was.

"Hm…that's odd," Knockout hummed to himself, "Your spark signature isn't coming through very clearly. In fact, the electromagnetic activity in your chassis doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before. It's incredibly faint, and unconcentrated. This might require emergency surgery."

"But I feel fine," Fowler insisted.

"Breakdown, I haven't allowed you near any mirrors because I didn't want you to see the full extent of your condition, but…well, how do I put this? Do you remember what happened to Bludgeon during the Battle of Technaar?"

"No," Fowler replied honestly.

"I'm not surprised," Knockout shook his head in dismay, "Your body is disintegrating, rusting away. Your spark is the real concern however. According to these readings you should be dead. I don't know how you're still going or what these humans have done to you, but I will do everything in my power to repair you."

"It can't be that bad," Fowler feebly protested, "I just need some rest, that's all. I can recover from this. You don't need to open me up."

"You see? This is what I'm talking about," Knockout argued, "You have never been afraid of medical treatment before. I suspect this could be psychological trauma from the humans, but there are too many other issues to consider. Your body is rotting away, your spark is all but missing, and your personality and voice have both changed. If I were a superstitious mech, I would say you weren't Breakdown at all, but had been replaced with a Sparkless."

"What's a Sparkless?" Fowler asked.

"An old tall tale, nothing more," Knockout assured him, "My grandsire would regale us little ones with stories about sparkless beings that were built by the Quintessons to replace real Cybertronians. According to the legend, the Sparkless would find a mech that had died, and then give the body to their Quintesson overlords before replacing the mech. They would be like a normal mech, but without a spark of their own. They would also harvest the sparks of those who dared discover their true nature, and replace them as well. That sort of nonsense is a lot scarier when everything else is fine. With no planet and no hope of this war ending, sparkling stories like that just don't have the same impact anymore."

"This might sound dumb to you," Fowler said cautiously, "But what's a Quintesson?"

"Another fairy tale monster," Knockout smirked, "They were these five-faced tentacle creatures that were said to kill Cybertronians for their own amusement. They were like a cross between ominous judges and evil creators of undead creatures. Honestly I just think they were stories dreamt up by low caste mechs to vent their frustrations over the real world judges that oppressed so many. Sometimes when you have no power, you make up stories to explain why."

"That makes sense," Fowler faintly nodded, "Listen, can the surgery wait? I'm pretty tired, and I'd like to get some shut-eye if it's alright with you."

"No! Don't go into recharge!" Knockout shouted frantically, "If you shut down you might not get back up. I have to stabilize whatever is wrong with you at once."

"I don't need surgery!" Fowler argued, "Listen, I uh, I didn't wanna tell you this, but, uh…"

Fowler struggled to come up with an excuse, anything that would keep the Decepticons from discovering his true nature. His head hurt and his mind wasn't working as quickly as it should, but he had to think of something to save himself. If Knockout found his frail human remains within the Cybertronian shell he occupied, then he knew his death would be slow and filled with interrogation.

"What?" Knockout demanded, his servo on his hip.

"Uh…okay, I admit it. The humans did do something to me," Fowler pretended to confide, "They scattered my spark."

"Scattered it?" Knockout asked skeptically, "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, it didn't make sense to me either," Fowler played along, "But that's what happened. Something about conservation of fuel or something like that. I don't think their twisted experiment was successful, but that's why my spark looks funny. They messed with it, but it isn't hurting me or anything. I'm actually fine, it's just giving off a weird reading. I, uh, just didn't wanna scare you by telling you."

"You know I'm the first one you should come to with a medical issue," Knockout chided him, "However, you do seem more energetic than a moment ago. I still think I should examine you, but as long as you're not dying I suppose that can wait. I know you've had a harrowing experience with those flesh-covered butchers. Megatron did order a report however, so you will have to report for a physical next shift."

"Yes, sir," Fowler replied formally.

"Heh, funny," Knockout smirked, "Just get some rest, Breakdown. With the Autobots trying to get the relics at the same time as we are, we don't exactly have time to loaf around. Just be sure to come to me first thing if you feel anything untoward within your systems. Alright?"

"Yeah, sure. No problem," Fowler quickly replied, "Anyway, um, my head still hurts. Can you help me find my, uh, recharge station?"

"Recharge station?" Knockout parroted obliviously, "Oh! You mean your quarters. Of course, pal. I still think your memory loss should be examined, but I suppose that can wait another few joors."

Fowler wanted to breathe a sigh of relief for getting away with that, but he didn't actually know how to do that. There was a lot about this body he didn't understand, and he now realized autonomous control wasn't the only information he lacked.

Decepticon culture was never examined by The Pentagon, likely because it was assumed they were just the evil version of the Autobots. It never occurred to Fowler, or any of the soldiers, that the Decepticons could care about one another or view each other as more than just cogs in the war machine. Knockout seemed so concerned however; so nurturing.

He also seemed to know Breakdown's personality on a level that would make him difficult to fool. If Fowler was going to escape, he needed to come up with a plan quickly.