Cybershock was alone now – her pair of best friends having run off together to their own homes and families, in neighboring buildings, and leaving her to walk the rest of the to her own building, far closer to the edge of the city without them. The youngling didn't mind though – or at least she didn't mind all that much. And she brainstormed, now that she was walking all alone, over her many conflicting ideas for a fast upcoming end-of-term science project.
A solar system model? She dismissed the idea as soon as it had crossed her processor. Because it was simply too easy! Too... expected!
Perhaps she could build a fusion reactor – a small model of one, anyway... power it with a small power cell and let it run a working lightbulb! She toyed with the idea for a while as she walked, reasonably pleased and confident with that possibility
'Hmm...' she thought intently as she hurried her footsteps. 'Or maybe I could...'
The young bot stopped, both in mid-step and in mid-thought, when her optics fell on a strange footprint, of considerable size, pressed into the loose ground right next to the sidewalk.
She narrowed her optics, curious, leaning down to look closer at the print – alarmed and baffled at the odd thing, because it all too clearly belonged to a metal foot like none she'd ever seen before on any bot. It was clawed – that much was plainly obvious by the shape of the thing. And anything she recalled quickly about year's science class so far, told her the thing was something heavy-bodied, simply because of the depth of the print.
Cybershock grinned then, loving the mystery as she found another print – a second of the same creature's feet logically – close to the first. And there were more too – a pair of taloned feet that walked in long strides across the copper dust-covered ground at the edge of 'downtown's' eastern edge. The tracks left the area in a sharp change of course. And Cybershock transformed hurriedly into her vehicle mode, following the tracks with the benefit of her wheels, looking down as she drove on – her optics focused on the ground as she kept the trail perfectly, with billows of thin metallic dust blowing up from under her little tires as she went.
Up ahead, the ground became bumpy And the youngling bot slowed herself down just a little, as jarring vibrations through her undercarriage, caused by the terrain, warned her to be careful. Still, she found more tracks, and so she followed them – laughing loudly as her front end left the ground on one partially large lump of... something, left buried under the dust-covered landscape – and her car-form went flying, just short distance from the ground, to land with a jolt and with her engine revving high. It was there that she, quite abruptly, lost the trail entirely.
Cybershock looked around her then, realizing for the first time in her impromptu adventure just how far she had traveled away from the city. She could still see it – tall buildings against the bright sun somewhere far behind her. And she found relief in its still so visible presence, as she looked around again baffled by the vanishing tracks.
Beating wings, large and powerful, and high overhead, made her look up at once. And instantly she knew – to her shocked wonder - who it was she'd been following.
The Predacon – a small one, she understood quickly – rose still higher into the sky the moment she caught up to him. And for a good moment, she just sat there, still on the dusty ground in her vehicle-mode, admiring the strange and elusive beast as he dropped altitude a little – appearing to fly toward her, before turning to the east again and flying onward.
"Hey!" Cybershock called, shouting into the air around her, using her mirrors as she did so, to look again at the city behind her.
She shouldn't have been out there at all. She knew that entirely without anyone ever having thought to tell her that. And she'd ventured just a little further still – her wheels spinning without her even thinking about it, as she followed after the swooping beast overhead.
But Cybershock was a third-frame now! She reminded herself of that fact with a smirk, inside the SmartCar frame that was almost too small for her now. And surely, she reasoned with another hidden smile, that meant she was surely old enough to decide for herself... So she took off again, driving faster once more as the ground smoothed out.
"I just... wanna talk to you!" she called up to the Predacon, watching, laughing, and grinning as he dropped altitude again – swooping in closer to her for a second before taking off again with wing beats just strong enough that the young beast made her small form rock from side to side a little with the gust of wind he caused.
The Predacon flew on, and she followed him, driving fast with the city now just barely visible behind her.
A rubble pile – huge and spreading for possible miles across the dusty ground rose up ahead of her. And Cybershock braked hard but carefully, narrowly avoiding a massive metal..something – jagged and imposing, left half buried in the ground beside two more such things. Overhead, she could hear loud, and unexpected laughter. And she looked up quickly, to see the youngling Predacon flying low in wide and deliberate circles above her.
"Not funny," she called out, laughing too. "I could have blown a tire!"
Cybershock transformed then, back into her bot-mode – clambering carefully up onto the massive wreckage heap she knew she'd never hope to negotiate in car-form. But she was slower this way. And the shifting of the unstable pile didn't do a thing to help her either. The predacon youngling was getting away!
"Hey! Wait!" she called – catching herself quickly, in a clumsy half-kneeling position at the top of the precarious pile of what she'd decided might well have been a long-fallen building. She pulled herself to standing – carefully and cautiously on the pile, confidant in such dare-devil antics, even as her foot came alarmingly close to a jagged, sharpened piece of glass, left hanging in a twisted window frame.
Cybershock stumbled again – still just the slightest bit awkward in her larger body with its longer legs – just as soon as she'd gotten back up. And she forgot all about the predacon for a moment, with her efforts instead on finding a foothold, until he returned again – landing on the ground still in his beast-mode to watch her intently. The wreckage shifted then, first just the tiniest bit, and then far more – from the vibrations the little predacon's landing had sent through the ground beneath it. The pile churned and rattled. Metal bent and glass shattered, with cringe-inducing creaks and snaps and some horrible grinding noise – until finally, in the next moment, Cybershock was on the ground, sprawled on her back with her feet in the air and her arms waving helplessly.
"Oh, so not funny!" she said to the predacon. Because indeed, he'd begun to laugh again, and louder now than ever.
"Says you!" the little predacon said back. And without a second's warning, he shoved the bot youngling back onto her feet with a careful motion of his long and sweeping tail.
"Why were you chasing me?" he asked her, his question one of simple curiosity. And he turned his head toward the city, surprising Cybershock when she turned to follow his gaze, with just how far from home she'd actually gotten.
"I was... curious about you," the youngling bot admitted. "You don't go to our school. You don't shop in the marketplace or go to the playground, or the racetrack, or..." She stopped then, altering the conversation abruptly when she asked, "What were you doing so far from your mountain range?"
"I'm... curious about you too." The young predacon's voice was every bit as uncertain as Cybershock knew hers was. And he sighed, looking around again so clearly uneasy. "Your... your kind I mean. Cybertronians!"
"What do you mean?" Cybershock's reply was barely a question. "You... the Predacons, are Cybertronian too, you know?"
"Tell that to my creator," her fellow youngling huffed. He lay down on the metal ground still in his beast-mode. And his posture showed his unease beginning to lessen then. "Tell that to Predaking... and Skylynx, who'd believe that Cybertron was flat if his highness told him so!"
Cybershock laughed then – worried for just a second as soon as she let the noise escape that she'd offended him in doing so. But then he laughed too, before adding thoughtfully "They'd say... they'd say we're more... we're better and stronger... that the world should have stayed ours in the first place, if not for the extinction of our distant ancestors. And that's why we stay separate. But... I'm not so sure."
Hotwire sighed as the apartment door slid shut behind him. He locked it from inside, using the touchpad, just as he'd been taught well to do. And for a moment he just leaned against the energon dispenser – crammed into a corner of the cramped apartment – listening to the noises of giggles and shouts, from his many small siblings.
He found them all too easily – each one of them already part of the pile that had formed on and around their smiling carrier on the old and well-worn-out sofa in the cluttered living room. The twins chattered loudly – speaking in that odd way they always seemed to do, one beginning a sentence for the other to finish, in their endless excitement over recalling some story or other from their day. Each held loosely to one of their carrier's arms. And they tugged her gently back and forth between them in their boisterous chatter, while Tailfin giggled loudly in her lap. Kickstart was quieter – he often was, during the hours of the day that he wasn't screaming over one of several things. And now he just babbled – nonsense baby-babble, that their carrier smiled at, even while three others demanded her attention.
There was certainly space for Hotwire too. And he knew it entirely, as he stepped closer the chaos of his family pile-up on the old sofa. He watched Sparkplug fall backward, clumsy in her excited storytelling. And he watched their carrier grab her at once, righting her on the lumpy cushion, all with the youngest still balanced on one arm. He watched Headlight bounce, and he heard Tailfin squeal. And as he took another step closer to them all, Hotwire's foot landed right on someone's hard metal rattle. He took a turn at squealing now, hopping up and down in pain as his siblings all burst into laughter.
"Hotwire..."
His carrier said his name slowly, concerned and cheerful all at once as she held a hand in invitation with a smile on her faceplate.
And for a moment the youngling bot wanted to rush over – to snatch up one of his two smallest brothers as he'd done so many times before, to hold one of them himself as he clamored, laughing, into the midst of the pile of his family members. But he didn't – hesitating instead, and stepping backward slowly, huffing in frustration now as his foot fell on a second of his smallest sibling's toys.
"Scrap!" he exclaimed, with unusual annoyance as he kicked the thing across the floor. It slid much further than he'd wanted, stopping only when it bumped hard against a poorly stacked tower made of blocks in the furthest corner of the room, causing that to fall at once, with several little thuds and rattles.
"Hotwire?" his carrier wasn't angry – the youngling could count on one hand the number of times he'd ever seen her truly mad over anything. But she was certainly concerned then more than before. And for an instant, Hotwire felt bad for his annoyance over nothing. She invited him into the affectionate heap of his siblings again with an outstretched hand. And he just shook his head, sighing.
"I've got homework," he said, turning quickly toward the hallway.
He walked – his shoulders tense and his steps hurried – into the too-small and cramped room he shared with his twin siblings. And on entering, he only huffed again, louder at the mess of datapads and electronics strewn, in their usual mess, over the floor. He lay down on his recharge station – jammed against the room's farthest wall – pulling a datapad of his history homework from his storage compartment as he did so. And promptly he yelled out loud in his annoyance when he laid down right on a sharp-edged board game piece, left lying where it never should have been left, by one of the twins. He threw the thing at the wall, not caring anymore, when it bounced off the paint with a resounding clunk.
"Hotwire?"
That was his creator's voice now – calling from outside the frame of the door that the little bot hadn't bothered to close. Hotwire turned around on the recharge station, forcing his body into a posture of neutrality as he set the datapad back down on his pillows.
"Take a walk with me," his creator said. And he set down his own datapads that he'd been holding in his hands - medical texts probably - inside the recharge room to further add to the chaos.
Back down the hall, Kickstart's laughter had turned abruptly to screams. And Tailfin – as was clear from the ensuing noise – had re-engaged in his near-daily habit of beating on the side of the energon dispenser, just to shout over the sound it made. The Twins in turn had begun to converse loudly – something about their own homework – just to be heard over the little ones... and Hotwire got up from his place on the recharge station quickly, relived just for the chance to be out of the madness for awhile.
"Your carrier said you seemed upset," his creator said, once the pair of them had left the apartment, let the door close behind them, and were heading for the lift. It was a short ride down – just a few floors. And Hotwire stared at the tightly sealed door as it lowered, shrugging once then huffing as soon as he'd stepped out again into the lobby.
"I'm not upset," Hotwire said – lying before he'd even realized he was lying at all. He sighed again, walking outside of the high-rise with her creator closer beside him. "Well... maybe I am. But... I don't know why!"
"It's not about about your brothers and your sister is it?" The question made Hotwire pause for a moment. And he considered carefully as he listened to his creator finish speaking. "I guess, it is a lot to be oldest of five... and growing up, slowly becoming your own bot while they're all still little kids... I never got to have what you do. Never had siblings... barely even knew my creator and carrier... joined the Autobots as soon as I was barely old enough, and they became my family. I always dreamed of having the life you have now. And... I guess I need to keep in mind that the chaos it brings is not exactly something you ever asked for."
"It's... not that," Hotwire said quickly. Because he'd realized while his creator was speaking, that indeed it wasn't that at all. "I love them all as much as they all over each other. And the twins aren't that little. We still have stuff in common!"
He paused for a second, adding hopefully, "I do wish though own recharge station could be my space, and mine alone..."
He watched his creator consider for a moment, nodding and then smiling.
"I'll talk to the others tonight about that. Because you're absolutely right in wanting that," he said – is arm now tightly around his oldest youngling's small shoulder panel. "And that is a perfectly fair expectation for everyone to follow regarding everyone else's too."
"Thanks," Hotwire muttered, smiling for a second before he sighed again, idly kicking a small metal bolt left discarded on the sidewalk, as he walked beside her creator. He listened to the resounding little tinging noises as the bolt bounced twice, and then rolled for a short way before it stopped again.
"Creator..." the little bot said after a moment. The pair crossed the road when a light turned green. And he looked up while walking carefully, their optics meeting. "I think I've been doing something... questionable."
"Oh?" Hotwire saw his creator's optics narrow just a little in concern. But the older bot still smiled regardless, looking down at the smaller one, waiting to hear him explain.
"A popular game on the playground these days is Autobots versus Decepticons," the youngling said. He thought about the game played that very afternoon – one in which everything had gotten far too aggressive and boisterous, and resulted in Takedown cracking his headlight cover after falling from a climbing ladder. That wasn't what bothered him though – not really. Because that mishap was barely an injury worth even a report by their teachers, and the schoolmate in question was running around in seconds just as though it had never happened.
Hotwire sighed yet again, still looking up at his creator as they continued walking down the sidewalk. And it was to his relief and surprise that he saw him smile again where he'd expected annoyance... or worse.
"I usually join in too," Hotwire said hesitantly. "Always as an Autobot... same with Cybershock and Switch'. Someone needs to play the 'Cons though... and Takeoff and Runway do make pretty good seekers..."
"I can't say I understand the problem exactly," his creator said, his smile replaced by one of interest instead. "How is this so... questionable?"
"I dunno..." Hotwire considered for a long and silent moment as the pair simply walked aimlessly, passing the marketplace – busy at that time in the late afternoon, and then Firestorm's paint shop, which was about to close for the day.
"I guess... I guess, maybe none of us should be making games out of something so... devastating. Most of 'em now talk about a war we've never seen, just like it must have been 'cool,' with massive explosions and buildings falling over... They wanna be soldiers and heroes, and they think those are always the same thing... at least on the Autobot side."
They reached the outer edge of the city. And Hotwire stood, silently again beside his creator as they looked out together at the wreckage of what had once been civilization just across the newest of the now-repaired roadways. It was all fallen steel and dust there now – with jagged spires poking up into the sky amid shattered windows and the remains of what had once been so many families' meager belongings and furniture. Hotwire spotted a cupboard in the mess somewhere, - painted dull blue with its door half hanging off as it lay in the dust pile. And there was a recharge station – youngling-sized and broken beneath a fallen roof.
"You – the Autobots..." Hotwire mused. He looked again toward the broken recharge station. And he hoped with all of his young spark as he did, that the little bot who once recharged on it was alive somewhere – likely centuries old now – on board some ship somewhere.
"They... they called you the winners. And you were of course. But... I don't think there was a real winner."
Hotwire's creator shook his head, as his faceplate showed a sudden decidedly saddened expression. He pulled his youngling closer against him, hugging him to his side panel for a moment before he finally – and with obvious reluctance – let him go again.
"You're absolutely right, Hotwire," he said. "How can this..." he gestured out toward the ruins and then waved a hand to indicate things so much further out from there – a field of rubble and devastation that went on for as far as the youngling's optics could see while he focused hard on trying to. "...Have been a win for either side?"
He turned then away from the rubble and steered his son gently along with him to begin walking again back the other way. He smiled again now, even if only a little, and his steps were slower now.
"History happened, son," he said, wisely. "The war happened, and the fall of Cybertron certainly happened too. And never thinking about it again, or acknowledging that it was ever a thing won't change history. There's nothing wrong with playing a game, Hotwire. But remember that what you're doing is simply playing around – but that the real story was so much more, and that it was all completely serious."
"I guess... I want to remember that there were factions once, in more than just symbolism," Hotwire mused. He looked again at his creator – a legitimate war hero who'd lived a life the youngling bots of their world would never need to. "I... think it's important to never forget that. And I think the other younglings think that too..."
They came to the sweet shop then. And Hotwire grinned when his creator led him – wordlessly and grinning himself – in through the sliding door of the small place. They selected sweets – little bags each for himself as his siblings at home. And the youngling chatted happily for a moment with his grand-creator, who was happily at work behind the counter. Then they left again, smiling and waving as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk – laughing together as the youngling opened his own bag of sweets, and his creator promptly grabbed one himself, munching on it as they walked on.
"I don't think I wanna race anymore," Hotwire said, kicking another discarded bit of metal down the sidewalk as he considered again. He looked up at his creator, again expecting that perhaps he'd be mad – or at least disappointed. But once again he wasn't. And instead, he just stood, curious and listening.
"I'm... not very good at it," Hotwire said. He laughed a little, nervous. "Switch' does it because her friends do. She certainly has fun though, so that's great. Cybershock does it as much for the sake of her creator's dream as for her own I think. But it doesn't matter, because she's awesome at it! She'll race against you one day in the Masters' class. Not me. And I'm fine with that because I don't think it was ever my thing."
"What is your thing?" his creator asked him – smiling still where Hotwire knew all too well that some may not have.
"I... dunno yet," Hotwire answered. He considered again carefully, took another sweet from the bag, and kept on walking. "I know it's probably not a speedster like you are... or a medic either. Or an engineer like Carrier is..."
"You don't need to be what we are," his creator said, hugging him again against his side panels as they walked. "You aren't us. You're Hotwire... a youngling bot with a whole world waiting to see what he'll be! Life can surprise you sometimes with its unexpected plans. If someone had told me before the war that I'd go into medical school after it ended, I'd never have believed it!"
"Really?" Hotwire was shocked, and he let it show at once on his faceplate. Because for all of his young life, his creator had studied harder than anyone, and that was just who he was.
"Really," the older bot said. He laughed again, this smile brighter now than ever. "I always thought I'd be a police-bot – just like you used to talk so much about wanting to be..."
Switchgear walked slowly down the quiet sidewalk – alone now for the last bit of her walk home. She laughed to herself, recalling for the third time that afternoon, a ridiculous Earth joke that Hotwire had told her. And grinning, she made a mental note to recite said joke to Bulkhead – because he'd definitely find it just as funny, and she knew it.
She'd go to work with him tomorrow. She grinned brighter with excitement at the thought – excited to help him and his construction crew with the final detail work for the new apartment building 'seventeen' on a day without any classes. She wondered if she might one day be a construction-bot herself. She thought she certainly wouldn't mind it. She enjoyed the simple tasks she was able to do as the youngling bot she was.
Switch' hurried her pace then, nearly running as she neared the door of building three. And she was in the scanning field of the sliding door, when she heard the unexpected voice behind her.
"Switchblade!"
The youngling turned around slowly stepped sideways and out of scanner range with her spark pounding in an instant. She completed the turn – hesitant and trembling – to see a tall green bot who she just barely remembered but could also not quite forget looming over her with a grin across his faceplate.
"That's... not my name," the youngling said, instantly relieved when her voice sounded far bolder than she felt.
"Well, sure it is," the tall green bot countered. He stepped toward her, and Switch' instantly stepped back and away from him. "I should know. I named you!"
'And you did that just as badly as you did everything else,' Switchgear snapped inside her own head. But she lacked enough nerve to say that out loud, even if it was most definitely true.
"My name is Switchgear now," she said, instead. And she took another step backward when he took one forward. The green bot was angry now – and not at her exactly. She could tell that much from the baffled, irritated look in his optics – the same look Bulkhead usually got when a building site lacked enough bolts and it was obviously the fault of no one on the crew.
"Who in the slag pit saw fit to change your fragging name?" the bot muttered. And Switch' just smiled now – feigning boldness because what else could she do?
"I did," she said. "It was my choice. And... I like it better."
"Well, I don't like it much," the green bot grumbled. And Switch' just smiled a little, shyly and unsure – because she'd never asked him to like it exactly.
"When... did you get out of lock-up?" she asked because that was the first real question she could think of, the bot so obviously wasn't leaving, and she was not about to enter the building and allow him to follow her inside.
"Yesterday,'' he told her. And he smiled – a smile that reminded her nothing of anyone she knew. "Needless to say, I came looking for you... did some digging, some askin' around. Found you here. You've grown up... I've obviously missed so much... lost so much time. But we can get to know each other again. You look good, Switchblade... fully functional in that frame again when I never thought you could be."
"I don't want to get to know you," Switch's answer was firm and final – just the way Bulkhead had taught her to speak when she knew what she did or didn't want. "I have a creator. And... you aren't him."
"Ouch, Switchblade," the tall green bot mimicked offense,and badly so, right before he took another step forward before she could back up again – and he grabbed her roughly by the arm.
"You're still my youngling," he said. "And one too young to be speaking to me, of any bot, like that. I've made mistakes yes. And bad ones. But I think I have every right to..."
"Switchgear?"
Bulkhead's voice in the doorway of the building filled her with relief at once. And only then - as she looked up at him – did she realize just how hard her spark was pounding, or that she was on the verge of crying coolant tears.
"You!" Switch had never heard Bulk' nearly as angry as he was now. And she was every bit relieved that she was not the cause of his fury. She watched him advance toward the tall green bot – a few shards darker green than he was himself – and she felt said bot let go of the arm he'd been holding in a tightening grip.
"That is my daughter!" Bulkhead roared, surely as only a wrecker could do. His hands formed fists and his faceplate formed a snarl. "You touch her again, against her will, and I'll send you to the scrapyard!"
"I've got rights," the tall green bot snarled. He advanced toward Bulkhead, taking one badly executed swing, before the larger bot simply blocked like it was nothing. "You know I've got rights!"
"Rights you threw away when you turned your back on her," Bulk' said. And if it was possible to look any more furious than he did already, then he most definitely did so then. "You abandoned your badly injured youngling, while she lay in the hospital. Who in the pit does that? Not like Switch' ever called ya much of a loss."
"Ah, come'on,' the tall green bot said – and to Switchgear's immediate dread, he was looking right at him again as he spoke. "You don't feel that way... do you?"
Bulkhead's hand rested on her shoulder panel – gently and light despite the still-burning fury in his optics. And the youngling sighed in relief – freed from any need to answer the now-near stranger who'd once been her creator.
"Get outta here," Bulkhead said to the bot, firmly and seriously as he continued to glare at him. "I catch you here again, and I'm calling the police."
"Switch, I'm sorry." Bulk's words surprised the youngling bot, as she watched the visitor drive away – and badly – in his four-wheeled vehicle mode. He rolled backward first, before he'd gone anywhere – nearly striking a light post – then promptly he drove onto the edge of the sidewalk after swerving without any reason somewhere up the street.
"Wasted drunk on high grade," Bulkhead muttered of the offending bot, instead of continuing to explain himself.
Switchgear nodded because she understood – or at least she thought she did. She'd certainly seen her share of intoxicated bots before – even if it did seem early in the day for that sort of behavior in the street.
"Why are you sorry, Bulk'?" She questioned. She looked up at the big green Autobot, curious. She watched as he shook his head slowly, sighing under his intakes, and calming down quickly – looking now like he'd never been furious at all. He pushed her gently through the doors of the apartment building, before immediately following after her. And promptly the pair of them walked toward the lift.
"I knew that bot was due to be released some time ago," the Autobot said. "I knew it because Soundwave warned me. And, I never told you because..." he paused again, so clearly thinking hard, before he shook his head helplessly. "I don't know why exactly. Maybe I thought it was just better that way. And I never thought he'd actually come here, or find us so easily if he wanted to. I guess you have the right to know this stuff, regardless..."
The elevator stopped on their floor, and the two stepped out again walking toward, and then into their apartment door with Bulkhead making a decent point of locking it behind them, and then double-checking the lock.
"You're right, Bulk'" Switch' said. She watched him fill her fuel container, and smiled when she saw him reach for and then add her well-known favorite aluminum and copper flavor mix to it – and she smiled gratefully, despite being fully capable of doing that simple task herself. "I do kinda need to know these things... but I get why you didn't tell me, too."
"He wants to get to know you again," Bulkhead said. He leaned his heavy body on the edge of the doorway that led into the small living room, and sighed thoughtfully. But he said nothing more about it. And Switchgear knew he was waiting for her to speak instead – valuing her own opinion on the matter, because she had every right to have one, too.
"Scrapheap threw me away, just like I was a set of worn-out tires instead of a living spark he created," she said, suddenly angry. "Why shouldn't I throw him away, too?"
"Switch'..." Bulkhead sighed again, and for a moment he appeared to think, even harder than before. He smiled though, letting his youngling know at once - and with a certainty that made her smile – that he was anything but mad at her. He rested a familiar large, caring hand back on her small shoulder panel again. "I can't say I don't understand your anger. Scrap... I can't say that if I were you, I'd feel much different."
Notes/ Younglings! Yes, those little bots are becoming more important characters from here on as well. Or at least that's the current plan!