Author's Notes: A very special Thank You to all of my readers! This fic is the second fic I've ever written to reach over 10,500 views! Hooray! *throws pathetically small amount of confetti*. Anyway, I had wanted to include more plot points in this chapter, but I realized if I did that then this segment wouldn't get the attention and emotion it needs, so this chapter focuses on PR-35. The next chapter will have more to do with the other Vehicons. This is also a chapter I've been looking forward to for a while because a big development happens in the story. I hope you guys like this chapter of "My Spark Still Shines", and thank you for 10,500 views :)

Chapter 19

Recovery

PR-35 was frightened. He had been online for over a joor and had yet to receive his core programming. Mechs and other drones rushed about the facility and ignored him completely. Why was his processor so empty? What was he supposed to do? Who was his master? Was he broken? Would he be forced to sit on the berth until his power gave out? Why wouldn't anyone tell him anything?

The white and orange mech was in the room the most. Was that his master, or did he merely work for his master? Was PR-35 permitted to speak? Would he ever be programmed? Should he restate his request for programming again? That would make 36 times he did so. Was the 36th time the one the mech was waiting for?

The white and orange mech left the room looking dejected and tired. Scrap! PR-35 missed his chance to ask for programming again! The drone went back to doing absolutely nothing and wondered if he was just a decorative Vehicon. Perhaps his purpose was to sit there without programming as a display model for potential masters that wanted other Vehicons.

A couple breems later the door opened, and PR-35 was about to ask for programming, but then realized it was just another drone. Why did that drone get to have programming when he didn't? It wasn't fair!

"Hey, PR-35," VS-5000 greeted him as cheerfully as he could manage given the circumstances, "You should probably transform or something. You don't wanna get stuck like that, do you?"

"Invalid user," PR-35 replied; unwilling to take orders from a mere machine.

"Yeah, and you're so valid!" VS-5000 scoffed, "Look mech, you can't sit here forever. Your sire is worried about you, and he's yelling at us. Come on, get up! Even if you don't remember being Bluestreak, just pretend that you do and it'll make him feel better. Okay?"

"Invalid user," PR-35 repeated.

"Ugh! This is hopeless!" VS-5000 exclaimed, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish Soundwave was here! He knows how to hack into anything, so maybe he could hack into your processor and- wait! That's it! We gotta take you to Soundwave, and he can repair you! Oh mech, it's perfect!"

"Invalid user," PR-35 repeated again.

"Oh, right. You need programming," VS-5000 deflated when he realized his idea wasn't as brilliant as he thought, "Wait right here!"

VS-5000 ran out of the medbay in search of an Autobot, and the first one he saw was Bumblebee, who was repairing a lob ball Bulkhead and Ironhide had been using for physical therapy.

"Hey, Bumblebee!" VS-5000 called out excitedly.

[What do you want?] Bumblebee whirred; less than thrilled to see the annoying Vehicon.

"I need you to program PR-35 to obey you," VS-5000 explained.

[What!? Why would I do a thing like that?] Bumblebee asked in shock.

"Because then at least Ratchet will be able to talk to him again, even if he has amnesia," VS-5000 explained, "Besides, you get a free Vehicon. Tell me that isn't a great deal."

[That's horrible,] Bumblebee scolded him, [I would never enslave a sentient being.]

"Look, you don't get it!" VS-5000 snapped at the young scout, "A Vehicon without programming is a trapped shell of a drone! He needs this. Ratchet isn't fixing him fast enough, and PR-35 will rust before he so much as moves without orders. I can't help him. I'm just a drone. You can help him. If you want Bluestreak back, then step one is for you to go in there, look PR-35 in the visor, and tell him what his purpose in life is! Now, you go imprint on that old drone, and I'm gonna go clean the wash racks! Are you with me?"

[Calm down, buddy!] Bumblebee exclaimed, [If it's that important then fine, I'll help. I just hope this doesn't backfire on us.]

Bumblebee, against his better judgment, went into the medbay to find PR-35 sitting exactly where he was six hours ago. The drone turned his helm toward the scout, and Bumblebee felt slightly unnerved by how mechanical and lifeless the movement was. It was as if PR-35 really was just a manufactured robot.

"I am PR-35, awaiting core programming," PR-35 stated in a monotone voice.

[Okay,] Bumblebee beeped nervously, [Okay, my name is Bumblebee, and I'm going to give you your programming...]

"I am PR-35. Awaiting your orders, Lord Bumblebee," PR-35 replied.

[Oh, brother...] Bumblebee groaned; wondering why he had to be the one to do this, [Alright then. PR-35, your name is Bluestreak, and you are Ratchet's son.]

"Identify Ratchet," PR-35 requested.

[Oh right, you don't know any of us yet,] Bumblebee reminded himself sheepishly, [The medic is Ratchet. He is an ambulance-former. You are his son. Listen to him. Oh, and don't shoot any Autobots ever. Understand?]

"Understood," PR-35 nodded, "My master is Lord Ratchet and I am an Autobot sympathizer."

[Oh, boy!] Bumblebee facepalmed when he realized what he'd just done.

PR-35 stood up but made no move to leave the room. Bumblebee didn't really know what to do, so he grabbed a cube of medical grade energon and told PR-35 to refuel. PR-35, not remembering his medical training, attempted to drink from the intravenous cube and failed when he couldn't find the hole. Bumblebee facepalmed again when he saw the Vehicon clanking the cube against his face plate uselessly. Bumblebee, not knowing how to hook the cube up to the fuel line simply used his thumb to punch a hole in the cube. PR-35 drank, hated the bitter taste, but continued to drink it anyway.

Bumblebee left and hoped the new programming actually helped Ratchet, but this seemed like an uphill battle. PR-35 was like a newspark in the body of an adult. He didn't know anything about the world around him, but he could still do almost anything as long as he received instructions to do so.

Ratchet was running out of options regarding how to repair Bluestreak. He had one idea left to try, but it was the riskiest of all. He would have to force a reboot of the secondary chip inside Bluestreak's processor and then deactivate it while it was reloading the processor block. If this didn't work the only thing left to do would be to remove the chip altogether, but that could kill Bluestreak.

When Ratchet came into the medbay he was surprised to see PR-35 standing next to the berth with an engraving tool in his good servo. He seemed to be drawing on his chassis, but Ratchet didn't understand why.

"Bluestreak! What are you doing?" Ratchet shouted worriedly.

PR-35 turned back to look at Ratchet, and then put down the tool and stood at attention. The half-finished designed looked awfully familiar...

"Greetings, Lord Ratchet," PR-35 greeted him formally, "I am applying the Autobot sigil to my chassis to show my sympathizer stasis, sir. I await further orders."

"Lord Ratchet?" Ratchet whispered to himself, but then shook his helm and said in a normal tone of voice, "Bluestreak, I need you to lay down on the berth for me. I'm going to open your helm, and I need you to stay perfectly still while I operate, okay?"

PR-35 was nervous about that. Was he a defective model? Was his master tired of him so quickly? Was he only built to be destroyed after his first orn of life? What kind of master could be so cruel? Either way, PR-35 knew he had to obey his master, so he got on the berth without complaint and silently hoped it would be over quickly. He also hoped he would survive the procedure.

Ratchet got his tools and began to slice back the armor plating on PR-35's skull. He sighed as he realized this was dangerous and was also his last chance to get his son back. He stroked his son's shoulder guard without thinking about it as a subconscious way to comfort his sparkling. Then he set to work.

The operation took several minutes, and PR-35 didn't so much as move or make a sound during the entire process. Ratchet at one point feared his son had passed out and look at his face plate to check on him, only to see the Vehicon was staring straight up at the ceiling fully conscious. Ratchet was proud of his son's discipline, but knew he needed to hurry so Bluestreak didn't have to experience the discomfort much longer.

He finally found the chip again and set to work getting it to reboot. It worked, and as the program was uploading the processor block back into his central memory core Ratchet found the connecting circuit pathway and severed it. PR-35's visor glowed for a mere second and then went back to normal. Ratchet held his intakes wondering what would happen, and a moment later PR-35 lost consciousness.

Ratchet gasped and tried to wake him up. He feared that Bluestreak might be dying right on the operating table, and Ratchet had to do something to save him! He fed an energon line into his creation's arm and began desperately applying energy to his spark through a magnetic wave pulse generator. Ratchet had to avoid getting emotional as he worked on the Vehicon, but he was having trouble keeping his composure. After all, this was his son's life in his servos. All he could do was work and hope he wasn't too late.

The replays came at him like a wave. It was like a broadcast being played on fast forward. It was a moving slideshow of the mech's entire life, a tapestry that held the code to his true identity.

...His sire fell down the stairs at the Iacon Hall of Records while walking with a topaz cane. He had injured his hip joint before, and Bluestreak knew his sire had to be careful. Bluestreak felt responsible for making him fall, because if he hadn't been trying to show his sire a cool looking cyberhound he saw then his sire never would've stopped paying attention to where he was going and fell. Or course, his sire didn't blame him, and neither did Prowl, but Bluestreak blamed himself.

...Bluestreak was exploring a cave with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker kept complaining about the grit getting on his pristine golden paint, and Sideswipe kept making fun of him for it. When the sparklings found a dead scraplet hive in the cave Sideswipe got the brilliant idea to keep them and use them to prank the bullies, especially that blowhard Tracks that picked on the little sparklings and spread ugly rumors about Sunstreaker.

...Ratchet and Bluestreak received a postcard from Prowl in the mail. Prowl was doing fine and excelling at the police academy. Barricade got sick when he drank spiked high grade at a party, and Jazz covered for him by telling the teacher he had a tank virus. Bluestreak was so proud of his big brother. He was going to be a police officer and protect Praxus from all the bad guys.

...Bluestreak was trapped under their house after the earthquake. He didn't know what was happening, and he couldn't hear anything due to all the debris. The silence scared him, and he just wanted his big brother to come and save him. He was soon found, but by two of the meanest looking Vosians he had ever seen. The grey seeker taunted him, and the purple and black one would punch him every time he cried. He wished they would be nicer to him. If they would just help him find his brother then he would be their best friend. Didn't they know he was a good sparkling?

...He was on an conveyor belt surrounded by metallic arms and cramped in a tiny hall alone with those mechanical harbingers of doom. He knew he was going to die, and his sire would never know what happened to him. He was doused in boiling acid, and then his spark and processor were taken by the wall's arms. All he could process was the pain, until-

-He was fresh off the assembly line. This was his first orn of life, and he couldn't wait for his master to program him. He checked his nearly empty processor for a serial number. He was PR-35. His master was an imposing mech named Megatron. Oh wow! Megatron spoke to him! He was programmed as a warrior class mech. He would help destroy Lord Megatron's enemies and make a better Cybertron for the Decepticons!

...He was drinking high grade energon with SS-PLX-333. He was a good mech, but there was something off about him. He had recently been transferred to Cybertron from a mining planet with lots of organic life. The experience had obviously done something to him. SS-PLX-333 believed his designation was Hound and that he was son of the Prime. It was no surprise when SS-PLX-333 was euthanized and smelted down for parts. PR-35 would miss him, but he knew it was for the best.

...He was on the Nemesis after Breakdown died. He tried his best to avoid Knockout at first, but soon realized the red medic didn't have anyone now that his only friend was gone. PR-35 wanted to befriend the medic, but Knockout didn't want any part of it. PR-35 accepted that. He was just grateful the torturous medic didn't use him for his cruel experiments or something equally painful.

...PR-35 could smell the energon as soon as he ran out of the mine. TGP-538, is best friend, was dead. PR-35 was exposed out there alone and the Autobots could find him at any moment. He heard a noise in the cave where he had just left, and saw a small human. It could help him! He needed its power!

...He was on a mission with Chromia. She used the mask of Zeta Prime to melt a tree. He was terrified of this femme already, but now she had a super weapon! He only hoped she didn't hate him. They were soon attacked by Vehicons that thought he was a traitor. PR-35 actually got to solve the conflict without violence against his fellow Vehicons. He even recruited VS-5000. It was a great day for him.

...His helm hurt. Everything hurt. He was confused and scared. Why was his master opening his helm? He had to lay there perfectly still. His pain would be worse if he moved. He didn't know where he learned this lesson. Wait, Lord Megatron! Knockout! Starscream and Skywarp! Hound! Of course, this was how he knew! Every time he asked questions or hesitated he was punished. Every time a Vehicon dared to believe they were more than property they were killed.

It all made sense now. He could finally piece together his entire life. He was a happy sparkling with a love of adventure and a curiosity about the world. Then he was taken by the Decepticons, burned alive, and transformed into a mindless slave. He was what the humans might call a zombie. Bluestreak was a mere shell of his former self, and he never even got to know what he could've grown up to be if he had never met the insidious Decepticons.

He was only one of hundreds of thousands of victims, and they weren't even all drones. Breakdown could have been a good mech with a real future if he wasn't forced to fight in this war. Commander Starscream, egotistical as he was, could have been so much more if Megatron hadn't beaten him into scrap over and over again. SS-PLX-333...Oh scrap. That was Optimus' son. Gone. Did Megatron even know which one he was? Would it have mattered?

Bluestreak and his sire were the last survivors of Praxus. What happened to everything he ever knew? What were Prowl's final moments like? Were his friends Sideswipe and Sunstreaker still alive? Would they even remember him?

He finally knew who he was, and he had to give this gift to as many other Vehicons as possible. He had to wake up...

Ratchet continued to apply magnetic pressure to Bluestreak's spark, but it didn't seem to do anything. After 15 minutes he finally stopped. Bluestreak's vitals weren't offline yet, but he also wasn't responsive.

Ratchet sat down in a chair next to the berth and sighed as he rubbed between his optics. Finally after a long moment of silence he couldn't take it anymore, and he began to sob uncontrollably. He had failed his son. His sparkling needed him and he failed. The emotions finally overwhelmed him and he simply couldn't hide it anymore. Even the empty shell of a Vehicon was better than Bluestreak never waking up. He couldn't lose him again...

Suddenly there was a small sound in the room, like a grunt or a moan, and Ratchet stopped crying long enough to listen for it again. Another moan. Ratchet looked up to see if Bluestreak was really waking up or if he was just going crazy. He saw Bluestreak's gun arm move slightly, and saw that the Vehicon's visor was slowly coming online.

"Bluestreak!" Ratchet shouted joyously as he quickly got out of his chair and embraced Bluestreak in a tight hug.

"Sire..." Bluestreak croaked as his sire held on too tightly, and when Ratchet finally let go he declared, "I remember Sire, I remember who I am."

"You...you do? It worked? Ratchet asked; disbelieving for fear it was too good to be true.

"Yes Sire. I remember how I became a Vehicon, and I remember my experiences both as a sparkling as as Megatron's servant. I remember everything," Bluestreak proclaimed, but then he grew quieter as he said, "Sire, Hound is dead."

"What?" Ratchet asked; not understanding the seemingly random shift in topic.

"In my memories, there was a Vehicon that believed he was Hound," Bluestreak explained, "I realize now he was Hound. He started remembering who he was, so Megatron ordered his medic Hook to kill him. This was back when Hook was the medic back in Kaon on Cybertron. I used to talk to SS-PLX-33 all the time. That was Hound's serial number. He was real nice, and was really good at killing Autob-, uh, never mind. Optimus Prime would probably rather not know that."

"It's okay son, we know the Vehicons can't help it," Ratchet said softly as he stroked his creation's servo soothingly, "Do you remember anything else that might be important?"

"Yes, Sire," Bluestreak reluctantly replied, "I remember the process they used to take our sparks and processors. Sire, I would highly suggest you prepare any future Vehicon patients about this part of the memory retrieval operation. It was the worst experience of my life. They force their victims into a tiny room with grabby arms and pour acid on them before ripping away their melting frames. Then the machines take the spark and processor. There isn't even an actual mech in the room, so there's no one to ask to stop the procedure. It's completely automated, and it was terrifying. I know everyone else went through this too, so be careful when you recover anyone else's memories to let them know they will experience this."

"I...I will," Ratchet choked out; barely able to speak.

Ratchet felt like he was going to be sick. What kind of sociopath would condone forcing anyone, let alone sparklings, into a torture chamber that literally tore them apart? He could barely contain himself knowing his son had endured such treatment, and that Megatron had condoned it all. He knew Megatron was a monster, but this was beyond even what Ratchet thought Megatron was capable of. He had felt this way when he learned about the Vehicons being former civilians, but this just added another twisted layer to what was already an atrocity.

Bluestreak fell back into recharge, and Ratchet just sat there a moment longer and watched his son rest. No matter what happened from that point on, Ratchet vowed that he was going to free as many drones as possible. The Autobots could not allow Megatron to get away with this most heinous of war crimes. There were too many good sparks locked in a logic-wiped shell, and Ratchet swore they would work together and save them.