Chapter 4

"No, shut up, I've got this"

Flying was addictive. Who saw that coming? She sure hadn't. Hawkmoon finally knew why all those Striker Titans turned themselves into Arc-ified missiles. It was fun. And, as with everything titled F-U-N, there was someone who lived to kill at it. Not a stern Warlock this time around, but an equally stern Cybertronian.

"I get nervous when you start flying," Overwatch said in his sympathetic I-know-I-can't-order-you-but-I'm-gonna-anyways tone. "It can go wrong so quickly, and there won't be anything I can do to help."

You could stop putting ideas in my head. "Sorry." Not sorry. "I just... I have this need to take to the air. It helps me..." Hawkmoon hesitated. What word could encapsulate how she felt? "Forget."

He raised an eyebrow - nope, optical ridge - in a way that just screamed unimpressed. "Forget?"

"Forget all that's gone wrong," she said quickly. It wasn't a lie. He just didn't need to know the extent of her misfortunes. That was for her and her alone.

"You take to the air, you risk life and limb, just to forget what happened?"

Well, when you put it like that... "Yeah."

"Uh huh..." He didn't believe her. That was clear from the get-go. But, in all honesty, Hawkmoon didn't particularly care. Authority had always been someone else's problem, not hers. She was a free spirit. Nothing to tie her down.

Overwatch's optics shuttered. "Just be careful."

"I'll try." It wasn't hard to promise that.

Local Cybertron days were called orns, and they lasted thirteen Earth days according to her chronometer. It was... difficult to get used to. Especially since all the Cybertronians she'd met thus far treated orns like a normal twenty-four hour day. Phosphora and Overwatch went to work - the former as some sort of business consultant and the latter as a technician at a radio station in the centre of the city. Daybreak went to school.

That left her time to fly, or - as she'd just discovered an interest in - to go for a stroll and explore the surrounding metropolis. Stanix wasn't so much a city as it was a city-state. The city-states were the equivalent of nations, and they were spread all across Cybertron. The bigger, important ones, like Iacon to the north and Praxus to the west, were where much of the planetary governing power lay. In fact, Iacon was the seat of the Cybertronian High Council, which held jurisdiction even above the local governments of each city-state.

Or so Hawkmoon had been told.

Stanix was small, out of the way, and rather ordinary as city-states went. It was located smack bang on the equator, which went some ways to explaining the intense heat, and it bordered the Sea of Rust to the east and Helex to the southwest.

Vos, the city-state of Seekers, was in the northern hemisphere and practically on the other side of the planet, hence the lack of Seeker activity. That was nothing short of a blessing; Hawkmoon didn't want to chance running into others of the same chassis, lest they raise questions to which she had no real answers.

Without that fear, her walks through the surrounding cityscape were lax and easygoing. Phosphora and Overwatch lived on the outside of the city, in some sort of suburb district. There were no skyscrapers or factories to mar the morning views. It was... pleasant.

Hawkmoon always walked at the mid-morning part of the orn. There were fewer people around, meaning less eyes to ogle her wings and less noise to pollute her thoughts. She strolled slowly, unhurried. She hadn't any muscles(real or synthetic) to put to the test, so the whole jogging aspect kinda lost its lull.

Besides, if she wanted to go fast, flying was the way to go.

There wasn't any direction in particular for her to tread. Phosphora had told her there were markets southwards of their house that bustled with activity at midday, but Hawkmoon wanted to avoid crowds. And people in general. At least for the time being.

But some people just went out of their way to ruin her solitude.

A red car-thingamajig swerved around a corner and looked to speed right on past her, but it screeched to a stop and transformed. Hawkmoon stared; she'd never get used to it. The red car became a red mech, and said red mech strolled over with a wide grin.

"Knockout," she greeted amiably. What uncertainty had built up in her spark quickly dispelled by itself.

He dipped his helm. "Hawkmoon. A pleasure."

She raised an optical ridge. "I'm sure it is. You racing?"

"Alone? No, that's just a pleasure drive."

"At that speed?"

"What can I say? I like the thrill."

She rolled her optics. Damn but it felt good. "How's your work going?"

"Oh, fine." His smile fell, but it was all part of his act. "Nothing exciting."

"And what defines exciting?"

"Anything other than dents and rust spots."

"Oh no," Hawkmoon drawled. "Complexius is starving you."

Knockout shrugged. "Just how things go around here... But it won't be forever."

"You moving?"

"Certainly. As soon as I can, I'm out." His smirk returned. "It'll be the Iacon Academy for me."

"Medicinal practices?" Hawkmoon guessed.

Knockout nodded vigorously. "Exactly. Give or take a couple of vorns, I'll have my very own clinic to run."

Vorns. Cybertronian years. Equivalent to eighty-three Earth years. That was way too long for... everything. Orns were alright, she'd been on planets where the days just dragged on and on, but vorns? It was insanity. How could Knockout stand to wait entire vorns to find his dream job?

Maybe she was just impatient. Or maybe, she grimly mused, she was seeing it from the short-lived human point of view.

Knockout favoured her with a questioning look. "What about you?"

"Me? I'm..." She pointed down the street. "... thinking of walking a couple of blocks. Just to get some air. Afraid that's the extent of my plans."

He laughed. She didn't. He stopped. "But... can't you fly?"

"Ye-es." Hawkmoon nodded. "Doesn't mean I can't walk. I do have legs. See?" She raised a knee. Operating her new body was steadily becoming more fluid and natural. In layman terms: she was getting used to it.

Hawkmoon wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She started walking. Knockout walked with her. "But why not fly?"

"Why not drive?" Hawkmoon fired back.

Knockout frowned. "That's... a good point."

"Of course it is. Besides..." Hawkmoon rolled her shoulders. "It helps me master the art of not falling flat on my faceplates."

Knockout snickered. "A noble cause."

"Oh, don't patronize me."

"So... any luck with your memories?"

She rolled her optics. Again. "Smooth," she quipped. "And no, nothing."

"Pity." He didn't sound all that worried. "Hey, there's a place I usually pass through not far from here. Want to grab a cube?"

"You saying this as my physician or-?"

"Your physician?" Knockout shook his head. "That's Complexius. I'm just a... a concerned mech."

"Concerned. Riiight." Hawkmoon mulled it over. "Some energon would be nice."

"I'll pay."

"And I'll hold you to that, 'cause I'm broke."

Cybertronian society was scarily similar to human society. She was essentially having coffee with Knockout. But with a highly-energy fuel substance in place of coffee.

Everything else was practically the same, though.

When was the last time she'd had coffee? Years and years ago. Certainly before the Red War. Not during the Siva crisis, nor the Taken War. Hawkmoon had been working in Vanguard ops during all that. Before the Black Garden? No. Couldn't have been. That would have predated meeting Jaxson, and she remembered in vivid detail how she and Ikharos brought the young Titan out for lunch. It had been their single day off.

Oh yeah. It had been just after killing Crota. What a time to be alive.

It felt like centuries past. Far too long. By the Traveler, she missed her Fireteam. Missed their chatter. Their presence. Their reliability. Their strange relationship dynamics. Ikharos was the old guy, the smartaholic, the grumpy old granddad. Jaxson was the kid with a bright future. And she... she was the fun one.

And now they were gone. Gone gone gone. Out of her life. Maybe forever.

They were as irreplaceable as Gecko was.

She sipped her energon. It had a crackling bite to it. Like liquid Arc. It went down smooth and settled in her fuel tanks in a satisfying way she'd never known she'd needed.

"It's good," she said. Knockout smiled. It was the first real one he'd given her.

Hawkmoon could have really used a heist at that moment. A big one. To work out the stress. Preferably against the House of Devils. Or what remained of Taniks' crew. Those killers were always made for a thrilling fight. They packed cool toys as well. Hell, maybe she'd even steal their whole Ketch. What a prize that would have made: Taniks' own Ketch. She would have been the envy of the whole Tower. The only one with the steel to snatch the boogeyman's personal ship out from under his possibly-still-alive nose. Did Eliksni have noses? Nostrils of any kind? They could certainly smell people, but where-

"Will you go back to Vos?" Knockout asked.

Her response was immediate. "No."

"No?"

"I... don't know anything about it. Or anyone from there. What reason have I to go?"

Knockout nodded slowly and leaned back. They were sitting at one of the outdoor tables right in front of the Cybertronian version of a café. "No family?"

"Not that I know of."

"Really? Or maybe not that you care to know of?"

Hawkmoon sharply looked up. Knockout had an optical ridge raised questioningly. "... No."

"Fair enough."

He was more perceptive than she'd originally thought, even if still wrong. Hawkmoon clammed up; she would have to be more careful around him.

"Can you transform yet?"

She shook her head. "It makes me nervous."

"Nothing to be nervous about."

"Not according to Overwatch."

"Oh, he just lives to worry. It's fine."

"Is it?"

"It's natural."

"Natural scares me. Besides, I can already fly."

"Not as fast. And trust me." Knockout leaned forward and dropped his elbows onto the table. His optics twinkled. "Speed's the name of the game. Nothing gives the same kind of thrill. Well... almost nothing."

She rolled her optics. Again. Hawkmoon had a feeling she'd be doing that a lot where Knockout was concerned. "I'm nervous, how about that. I don't know how." She hesitated. "Okay, well I do, but I don't know how it'll go. It just seems so... weird."

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in... This is me. My body. My form. Transforming warps me into a completely different shape. That's so... strange."

Knockout's faceplates turned to gentle disbelief. "We're Cybertronians. Transforming's in our nature. It's how Primus made us."

"Primus?"

He faltered. "Aw, yeah. He's... the creator of Cybertron. Of the first Cybertronians."

"Your god?"

"Our god."

The only god I haven't played a hand in killing is the Traveler. And that's because it's already half-dead. "I have no god."

Knockout gave her a funny look. "... Suit yourself."

A short, awkward silence ensued.

He stood up. "Come on."

"What? Where?"

"There's an unused racing track by the Rust-Wall. Plenty of space to practice transforming."

"But I..." She processed his words and chuckled. "Oh, so you are a racer."

"In my spare time. Come oooon."

Hawkmoon downed the rest of her energon and got to her feet. "Fiiiine."

The racetrack was beyond unused. It was nigh-on unusable. It had so many potholes she swore it had to be a part of Luna's surface grafted onto Cybertron's bones.

"How do you even drive?"

Knockout chuckled. "I swerve around them."

"Each one?"

"Helps me master control of my wheels. It's not enough to simply drive. I have to know myself. I have to know my limitations. My potential."

Hawkmoon almost zoned out. It genuinely sounded like he was laying the groundwork for a Warlock lecture on meditation - except rife with self-congratulatory bragging.

He pointed to a less rickety part of the track. "Think you can use that to take off?"

"I don't have wheels," she deadpanned. "My takeoff's probably more vertical."

"Ah... Well, it's there if you need it. Don't scratch your paint."

"Don't... what?"

"You've got such a lovely paintjob," he said patiently. "It'd be a shame if it were ruined."

"Right..." Hawkmoon shook her head and offlined her optics. She reached inside, sifted through rivers of code and valleys of firewalls, until she found the knot of programming wherein her transformation sequences began. There was so much inside. The datapackets were full of... too much to process at once.

Hawkmoon retreated, took an imaginary breath, and decided that the surface function was all she needed. There was a lot to get through, but all she wanted was the basics. And the basics were genuinely simple to navigate. She could transform. It was within her grasp. All it would take would be a single command. Just one. As easy as blinking. A bodily function just like any other.

A Cybertronian function. Not human.

Her servos threatened to tremble. Fear radiated from her spark to her cerebral processor. It was so very alien.

"Are you alright?" Knockout asked, strangely concerned.

Hawkmoon nodded but had naught to say. She could do this. She could. It would be so easy. So very simple. So very...

She did it. She onlined the transformation sequence. A strange twinge came from her chest. She realized it was her T-cog. And then...

Then her sight warped. Her body fell apart. And she felt everything. It wasn't painful, but it was still too inhuman for her liking. She was falling. Falling. Falling. Her thrusters onlined and kept her from hitting the ground. Her body formed into a narrow arrowhead shape, and its steel hull was her skin. She was the vessel. The drone. The flying object.

It was her.

Her body knew what to do, just as it did when she first tried flying. Her thrusters powered up, and with a dull boom she took off. Hawkmoon performed a barrel-roll, just as she had done with her jumpship back when she was Exo, but this time it was her, just her, her alone, and she rolled through the air with more grace than any human pilot could ever have mustered.

It was... incredible. She flew with control over her every movement, beyond what any jumpship, Skiff, or Thresher was capable of. She was faster. She was more agile. She was more in touch. Because it was her. Every part of it was her.

Hawkmoon tried again and again, but she still couldn't wrap her head around that it was just her, even with every sensation that strived to convince her otherwise. The only thing she could come to terms with was that it was up there with the most wonderful sensations she'd ever had the good fortune to enjoy.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes when she returned to where Knockout waited, transformed in midair, and landed on two feet - no pedes. Her newfound balance was extraordinary. A far cry from when she'd begun, stumbling and tripping up on nothing but air.

"Impressive," Knockout murmured.

Her wings flicked back and forth. They were growing on her. Oversensitive perhaps, but in exchange for easy flight? Hawkmoon wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Well, almost anything.

She looked up. "I'm going to do that again."

"Need any help?"

"Nope. Just stand there and look shiny."

"Fantastic."

"I thought so too." Hawkmoon flashed him a smile. Just in case he didn't pick up on her not-so-serious tone. As similar as Cybertronians were to the humans she used to know, there was no telling where the differences started. "Thanks, Knockout."

"I didn't do much."

"You convinced me to take the plunge. That's enough."

He smiled back. "It was nothing. Just me being a concerned mech."

AN: Thanks to Nomad blue for editing!