Cybertronian time measurements according to 'The AllSpark Almanac':
nanoklik ~ a second
cycle ~ 1,5 minutes
megacycle ~ 2,6 hours
solar cycle ~ a day
orbital cycle ~ a month
stellar cycle ~ a year
Bumblebee was half-recharging when the sound of steps shattered the silence. Steps that he didn't recognize.
Was it already time to leave the infirmary? After all, it had been three solar cycles since he onlined here...
Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, he got out of the berth. He sneaked out to the edge of the white privacy screen guarding his location and listened with a racing spark.
As if on cue, Micelle's voice filled the room. "Oh, Lunarway, hi! Wait, Rotorpoint isn't with you?"
He peered out and noticed a purple and black femme standing close to the Decepticon doctor. She was shorter than Micelle, but she appeared a lot more... intimidating. Dangerous. Her weapons - blasters attached to her forearms - did as well. A tremor ran through his servos at the sight.
Lunarway chuckled. "Oh, he's waiting outside. Are they ready?" She looked around, and he retreated at the last nanoklik, Energon pounding in his audials.
At the sound of Micelle letting out a sigh, he all but jumped. "Well, they are..."
"Oh, chin up, doc! They'll be alright!" The pedes thumped through the room. "So, make sure they're ready-ready and bring them to the vestibule. See ya."
He froze in place, panic setting in. He knew this solar cycle was coming, even so, he couldn't stop his processor from freaking out.
In a fit of desperation, he slid under the berth and hugged his knees tightly. The clatter of his dentas filled his audials. Unbidden, memories of the last time he was hiding under a berth bombarded his processor.
His spark sank a little, and he couldn't fight back tears anymore, unable to control his emotions.
Sobbing, he scarcely saw the crimson optics staring at him, their owner kneeling by the berth.
He nearly leapt at the sight, letting out a startled shriek. The Decepticon squealed back in surprise.
"Oh, you scared me here, Bee!" a voice said, and it took a while for him to realize it was Micelle. "Why are you there?"
His frame trembled all over as he let out a sob, hugging his knees closer to his chassis. "I don't want to go anywhere," he choked out finally.
Micelle was silent for a moment before speaking. "Okay. You can stay here." And with that, she left.
A deep sigh escaped his lipplates. This whole situation was beginning to get to him on every level, freaking him out more and more with every passing nanoklik. It was just... so confusing. One cycle, Grindwar tormented him, and the next one he was online in the infirmary on another fraggin' planet! And, on top of that, it wasn't just any infirmary; it was the infirmary of a facility with a description that sounded disturbingly like a prison. Why, for Primus' sake, did they bring him (and a lot of other Autobots, for that matter) to such a place? Were regular hospitals not working or what?
And since they were obviously gone from the apartment, was Shockwave looking for them? Or had he abandoned them after putting his bizarre drug to the test? It would have appeared so, given how he hadn't done a decent job of keeping them safe, allowing three degenerate Decepticons to get them...
He had asked Blurr earlier if he knew anything more and voiced his concerns, but Blurr merely stated he had entered a stasis lock shortly after him and that he shouldn't dwell on it. It's bad for your processor, he said.
And since he saw with his own optics Prowl falling into a stasis lock, he didn't bother questioning him.
He'd even begged Micelle for some more detailed explanations, but she just politely shrugged him off. In any case, everything pointed to the fact this was his new home or rather his new cage. His longing to return to their plant, back on Earth, poured into his spark. He needed Bulkhead and Sari, not this...
But perhaps it wouldn't be all that bad? He had free board and lodging, so to speak, and even medical care. Well, maybe not exactly free. Apparently, he would work here. And it would be mainly a maintenance detail... There was no escape for him from that particular gig, it seemed.
Bumblebee winced, squinting, the brightness of natural light assaulting his optics after being enclosed for so long. As his vision improved, he recoiled, noticing a tank outside the building. Primus, was he big. He flinched as the tank's barrel moved towards him and his friends.
Still in his vehicle mode, the Decepticon spoke, "Holy frag, another one? Is Stormpetrel amassing a collection of these frames or what?"
Oh, he was talking about his frame, alright. A model, which happened to be the most popular among Autobots. But what exactly did the con's words mean? There were more of the 65356-9292-346 frame-type owners?
Sure enough, he was too scared to ask, as he froze in the vestibule. Why did every Decepti-creep have to be so slaggin' large? And terrifying?
His frame trembled of its own accord. Frag, he wanted to go back to the infirmary. The sound of Lunarway's voice snapped him from his thoughts.
"Keep moving."
The tank, Rotorpoint presumably, pulled back, making room for them. Someone pushed him softly, and he jumped, startled.
Blurr muttered behind him, "Bumblebee, go."
He braced himself and put his pede forward. Then again and again, until he stood right next to the tank.
"All right, let's go," Lunarway said, once Prowl and Blurr joined him.
And so they did.
The smell of burning Energon in the air, the wind brushing over his plating, seeing such an enormous expanse with no boundaries enclosing it... It was invigorating. So different from the indoors of the apartment-prison, and then of the infirmary, and also so different from the Earth's atmosphere.
Sure, he could see the fence far away, yet it didn't feel as confining as solid walls. He also saw a variety of buildings of different sizes and shapes.
"First, you will meet the drill sergeant," Rotorpoint piped up behind them, making his spark miss a beat. Primus, why was he so jumpy? Quite frankly, it was starting to annoy him, too. He had seen the Decepticons before, and he had even fought Megatron and his lackeys! Multiple times at that! Surely he could handle the presence of some ordinary cons?
Clenching his jaws, he kept following the con.
The drill sergeant was an unusual sight to behold. His expressionless faceplate just didn't chime well with his heated voice, which was now delivering a very passionate speech.
"You're now a part of the beautiful world, ruled by your superiors. You're subjects to our illustrious leader, Lord Megatron, Primus blesses his spark." He closed his optics for a moment in a reverie. "You are to stop calling yourself an 'Autobot' or a 'bot.' You're simply mechs from now on."
Then, the con recited all the rules and regulations, but he couldn't focus on his speech.
All of his recent feelings bubbled to the top of his processor. Sadness, trepidation, dread, terror, all mixed up into one concoction. It was too much for him, too many emotions he didn't want to experience.
His intake clenched, coolant threatening to spill out of his optics. Wringing his servos, he fixed his gaze on the ground, trying to calm himself somehow. He bit his lower lipplate and took a sizeable portion of air. Then he slowly let it out.
"Am I boring you?"
It took him a while to realize the con was speaking to him. He lifted his helm tentatively, only to be met by an enraged stare. Energon in his circuitry turned ice cold.
"Am I boring you, midget?" the con ground out.
He shrunk back into his seat, paralyzed. All he could do at the moment was tremble, dread creeping into his spark. He barely shook his helm, not even properly looking at the drill sergeant anymore.
Thankfully, his response satisfied the Decepticon, for he resumed his speech.
But he still couldn't force himself to listen to it. Seeing the sergeant's furious red optics...
It did something to him. The vivid memories of Grindwar began returning to his processor fully. All the horror and agony… Coolant blurred his vision, his cooling fans kicking in. Shaking, he clung to Prowl's arm.
Prowl jumped a little at the touch, startling him. As coolant flooded his optics, he couldn't remain quiet any longer, a loud wail escaping from his mouth. The sergeant stopped talking.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was his sobbing.
"Someone will come for you in a few moments," the con announced flatly, before walking out of the room, leaving them alone.
Blurr let out a long sigh. "Primus, preserve us..."
He continued to bawl into Prowl's arm, trembling all over. Prowl shifted before his free servo started stroking his arm. The kind gesture only made him cry harder.
He didn't even hear when Blurr got to his pedes and behind their chairs. Shortly after, there was a servo on his shoulder, rubbing him in a soothing motion. He felt Prowl tense for a moment before he relaxed again.
A tinge of guilt pierced his spark. What if his crying was making Prowl's mood worse? And Blurr's?
Blinking away his tears, he glanced up at Prowl. His spark sank a little, seeing his downcast expression, his teammate on the verge of crying himself. He pressed himself more into him, debating on what to do.
Should I comfort him? Then again, Prowl rarely expressed his feelings openly, being the strong, silent type that he was; wouldn't it make him uncomfortable?
Or should I just pretend like I didn't see it?
But, especially when Prowl was distraught, there was no way he could ignore him in good conscience.
Convinced enough, he opened his mouth to let out a few comforting words, but a voice from behind beat him to it.
"Calm down. It's okay," Blurr said.
This... wasn't exactly comforting. He looked up again to catch Prowl's gaze. "I'm here," he whispered, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
In response, a small smile flickered across Prowl's faceplate. Cosy warmth suffused his spark, knowing he wasn't completely alone in this new, strange reality.
They passed the next few cycles in relative silence as they waited for someone to take them to their house. Finally, Lunarway arrived, this time without her enormous companion. She took them out of the building, and they walked and walked until they reached a cluster of small structures.
They eventually came to a standstill in front of what was supposed to be their house, based on the number seven on it. It... didn't look like a house, really. It seemed barely bigger than his room on the plant.
"Okay, it's small..." he started, folding his arms. "Very, very small... But at least it has a roof and walls. And a door…"
Lunarway piped up, "A small house for small mechs. Besides, you'll be spending more time outside it, anyways."
With a dismissive wave of his servo, Blurr commented, "If this is the designer's display of artistry, they should be fired."
"Yup," he agreed, not sure what was coming next.
In any case, the Decepticon ignored their remarks as she unsubspaced a few datapads. "Your work schedule, a facility map, and other nonsense. Here," she said, handing Blurr all the datapads. "See ya."
And with that, she went her way, leaving them to their own devices.
Absurdly, their house seemed even smaller inside. Immediately upon opening the door, three identical berths with boringly grey covers lined one wall. Two berthside tables sat tightly in between the berths. And that would be it, as far as the major furnishings were concerned.
"This berth is mine." Blurr pointed to the one in the centre.
Without a word, Prowl went to the right berth, leaving him the left one.
He perched on the edge of his berth, his gaze roaming over the room. The air felt stuffy and stale. Steel blue walls, austere and dull, a cheap-looking lamp hanging off the ceiling, no windows. Next to the door was a small panel, a light switch, no doubt, and a digital chronometer. As if they couldn't boot their inner chronometers!
His optics stopped on Blurr, who was going through the datapads intently and sorting them into several piles.
"We're not going anywhere, anytime soon," Blurr remarked abruptly, more than cementing the reality of their situation.
His intake constricted, spark heavy under his chestplates. "But we won't be living here indefinitely, right?" he asked, his gaze fixed on Blurr now, silently begging him to agree.
"I don't know," he announced flatly.
He didn't like that answer.
He shook his helm vehemently. "What do you mean you don't know? I don't want to spend all of my remaining solar cycles in this place!" He threw his servos up in frustration. "Maybe we can ask someone to let us out? I'm not supposed to be here! I'm not a criminal, prisons are for criminals! Right?"
A look of pain crossed Blurr's faceplate, but he recovered his composure at once, though not quickly enough to prevent him from noticing. He swallowed with tension.
"The Decepticons won, and we're prisoners of war. They don't care what we want. We're at their mercy," he explained curtly, somewhat peevishly.
He remembered Shockwave's words, something about the Decepticon Empire, but he just refused to believe that. It felt surreal. About as surreal as Longarm being a Decepticon spy...
"But it's not like there's no hope, right? It's not completely over? Like, Bossbot is still out there, somewhere, a-and other Autobots will rebel...? It can't be forever like this..."
Yup, he couldn't be here forever! How was he supposed to reunite with Bulkhead and Sari, being locked up here? Couldn't Blurr see that?
"Decepticons control space bridges now and the-" Blurr came to a halt. "Do you understand what that means?"
Bumblebee ignored him. "But the Autobots always get on top. It's just temporary, right?"
Prowl chimed in, "Space bridges and what?"
"And that is bad enough," Blurr replied with a scowl.
"Hello? I said something! It's just temporary, right?!" His voice wavered, cracking under the overwhelming sense of desperation.
Blurr let out a long, exasperated sigh. "How do I know?"
Anger flared up inside him, setting his Energon to boil in an instant. "You're from the Elite Guard! Aren't you supposed to know everything?!"
Blurr's focus shifted to him with an intensity he wasn't expecting. "Oh, for Primus' sake, stop those stupid questions already! You'll develop a processor-ache if you don't stop running your mouth."
With a gasp, he turned his helm away, coolant already gathering in his optics. It should not have happened, yet Blurr's words harmed him. But it was just Zippy being Zippy, with a stick up his aft, right? It shouldn't bother him.
Yet it did.
There was a beat of silence until Blurr sighed. "Here, it's your schedule," he said in a softer tone, placing the datapad on his knees. "The map and other general information are in the datapads on the berthside table next to you."
He clenched his jaws, stubbornly staring at the wall, refusing to look at Blurr. He didn't even turn around when someone sat next to him.
Guessing who it might be, he turned his helm tentatively at last and saw Prowl. He snatched the datapad from his knees and powered it up.
He wiped the coolant off his optics, curious as to what Prowl was up to.
Prowl still seemed a bit subdued as his optics roved across the screen. "We'll start working in the next week," he said, showing him the datapad.
He nodded, without even looking at the screen. Prowl put the device on the berthside table, and they just sat together in companionable silence, shoulder to shoulder, observing Blurr as he read one of the multiple datapads. He could only hope the warmth of their closeness soothed Prowl as much as it did him.
At some point, Blurr lifted his gaze and looked at them, a slight frown between his optical ridges. "Listen to me," he began firmly. "Don't tell anyone about the planet Earth and what you were doing on it. Don't mention any of the Decepticons you fought, especially not Megatron. And Shockwave." He fell silent for a moment. "Just don't bring up your past at all. And if anybody asks, tell them you spent the entire time on Cybertron. Do we understand each other?"
"Why?" he asked, confused. "Shouldn't we be proud that we fought Mega-jerk?"
Blurr rolled his optics, sending a ping of annoyance through his circuitry. "First of all, do you want some Decepticon zealot to hear you affronted their beloved leader? Unless you want to expedite your funeral, just keep your mouth shut," came the gruff explanation. Blurr remained silent for a moment before he rubbed tiredly at his faceplate. "Just... please, don't draw unwanted attention to us. That's all I'm asking of you."
There's no such thing as too much attention, he once told Prowl, back on Earth. He couldn't bring himself to say it again now. And he didn't like that change in him.
After all, this was his life and he should be the one to control it, right? Not some Decepticons lurking in his processor, menacing him with memories of what had happened to him.
And nobody else, for that matter.
That was why he sprung to his pedes and trotted to the door.
"Bumblebee?" Blurr and Prowl called in unison.
And, besides, how to call being locked up with eighteen more Autobots anything other than a great opportunity to make some new friends?
He gave his companions one last glance. They stared at him, a hint of a question in their raised optical ridges, as he palmed open the door.
Notes:
Hi, hey, hello!
65356-9292-346 body shell is a canon thing. Yup, Bumblebee said those exact words to Prowl in The Arrival #2 comic.
Anyway, best regards and see you all next time!
"seven-three
slang Take care; best regards. A common sign-off phrase used in amateur radio (also known as "ham radio"). A verbalization of the number 73, thought to be derived from early American telegraph codes."