we all have a debt to pay.

Did it ever get old? Waking up in an unfamiliar room, head splitting as Prowl tried to guess just which old friend/enemy had it in for him today? Maybe one day he would be able to take it in stride, lose that kidnap-panic and really mean the sardonic smile he prepared for whoever was watching him. He onlined his optic sensors–no, that’s not quite right. He opened his eyes, confused, and sat up in a… nest?

Prowl squinted in the dim room, realizing that what he was sitting in was a form of human sleeping accommodation, a soft mattress covered in feather-stuffed pillows and sheets and a heavy comforter. A million thoughts raced through his mind even as he climbed out of bed and took stock of his surroundings. Clearly, he was using a holomatter avatar; otherwise he wouldn’t even fit in this strange little room. But when had he activated it? Why couldn’t he seem to access his normal body? Where was he, and who had brought him there? Questions without answers, for the time being. Distantly, Prowl became aware of a comm ping in the din of his pounding head. Thankful that at least he was still in possession of his facilities, if not the hardware, he opened the comm.

Perceptor? Admittedly, on the list of ‘bots that Prowl had on his mind for this particular incident-in-the-making, Perceptor did not make even the top fifty. But then the comm message seemed to accuse Prowl of having orchestrated this. More than that, as Prowl quickly scanned for other comm frequencies in range, he found that the two of them seemed to be the only Cybertronians for miles.

Tamping down the rising fear and, admittedly, annoyance, Prowl answered the comm. “As convenient as I’m sure you think it is to blame every problem in the known universe on me, I’m kind of dealing with my own situation right now. In fact, I’m not sure this has anything to do with me at all, so save it. Where are you?”

Even as he was messaging Perceptor, Prowl was sweeping the place manually for any kind of surveillance or traps. He found none, but still, when he found the door to the room unlocked, he threw it open and hurried out. The holophone on the bedside table was hardly spared a second glance; no way Prowl was going to willingly hold on to a tracking device.

Perceptor is somewhat surprised by how quickly Prowl replies. How interesting, to receive an immediate response from only bot he’s ever known to be busier than Perceptor himself.

“Oh, believe me,” he mutters grimly, eyes focused on the box of cy-gars sitting atop his dresser.  “It’s not convenient in the slightest. Merely statistically the most likely.”

He decided to keep his suppositions regarding Aequitas to himself. If this was some sort of punishment for failing to retrieve and submit the data, he had no desire to hear what Prowl was going to say about it. And if it wasn’t.....well, he wasn’t fond of letting on about the failure to retrieve the data.

Perceptor didn’t want to tell Prowl about his whereabouts. He found it enthralling, knowing something the other didn’t. It did make him wonder, though. Was he the type to withhold information from his superiors now? The type to lie to his superiors?

Was Prowl still his superior, here? 

He didn’t know the answers to any of these things.

“I cannot say where I am,” he replies, flatly. Technically true. From the tone of Prowl’s voice, and the allusion to “a situation”, Perceptor assumes the other Autobot is as thoroughly confused as he is. Perhaps he is stuck in a holomatter avatar, as well. He experiences some schadenfreude imagining this.

His glance wanders over to the screen of the datapad.

“Well,” GLaDOS says, delighted to have gotten an equal response, “Since we’re speaking, I might as well tell you now that you’re not going to like whatever you find up there.” She’s turned around to inspect the details of Perceptor’s avatar - they’re very well made. Funny that humans will go to such lengths to look robotic.

“I’m not sure why all of you love to process your emotional trauma in public. It’s the same thing every time.” 

Perceptor stops partway into the elevator, glancing backwards. So there is something to find on the surface. “Is that so?”

He turns in the elevator doorway, tucking both arms behind his back, hands clutching the datapad. “It’s fortunate, then, that I care little about liking what I find, merely that I find it.”

A beat.

“Nor do I care about what you presume is going on in my head,” he mutters, lips curling into a sardonic parody of a polite smile. “Thank you.”

He considers stepping away, leaving behind this strange woman with her cruel eyes. But, it’s been a long day. She’s the only sign of life he’s witnessed thus far—which, if he’s being honest, isn’t that special when he’s been holed up in his room for what he can only assume was “all day”—and somehow, her acerbity was welcome. He wouldn’t know what to do if he’d had an encounter with someone normal.

Perceptor sighs, and steps back out of the elevator.

Why did it have to be Prowl?

Of all people to be stuck with on this infernal “Ark”.

Prowl.

Perceptor mulled this over, pacing his room. He felt as if his skin were aflame.

After everything he’d just endured in that hell that was Garrus-9. The shell of Fortress Maximus, barely clinging to life, Perceptor’s own hands digging into the poor bot’s head. So much blood energon—both friend and foe—splattered around him, on him. Shattered red optics above a leering, unfeeling grin.

All for Aequitas, no doubt.

Perceptor came to a stop in front of his mirror, meeting his avatar’s chilly gaze. His thoughts raced through his head faster than he could process them. 

He avoided the deluge of his own unvoiced questions by averting his gaze, returning it to the datapad in his hands. Held his anger, resentment, guilt—all of it—close. He would adapt, as he always does. He would solve this problem, no matter the cost. 

It’s not like he had anything to lose, now, anyways.

With that, he decided to contact Prowl. If he felt condemned by that decision....well, he had to maintain some sort of control over himself, the situation. He had to pursue all routes of information and if that meant pulling information from Prowl—anger, resentment, guilt—then that’s what he would do.

Perceptor’s thumb hovered over Prowl’s name on the datapad for a moment. He considered this, and put the tablet down. He opened his comm-link and pulled up Prowl’s ID.

Odd, that. He tries to remember what had happened the night before as he monitors his booting systems. At first, nothing. He notes unusual activity in systems that shouldn’t be consuming these types of resources — then, a vague, distorted image of Overlord’s face, one optic shattered and leaking fluid. An enormous, white arm swatting Perceptor aside  like an insect, and —

(Oh, no, no —)

Panic doesn’t creep into his gut, it strikes, like blaster fire straight to his spark. Perceptor tries to force it down, but it’s too late stop it taking hold of his body and making his lines run cold. He vents, shaky, and waits until the trembling settles down. It’s not the first time he’s awoken in a panic, after all.

He powers on his optics, except....he can’t. Instead, he opens eyes and blinks, frowning.

What?

This is somewhere new. Somewhere….small, quiet. Some sort of habitation room. Certainly not Garrus-9. Certainly not the Wreckers’ medbay. Perceptor’s hands instinctively flash to his hips, expecting the grips of pistols to comfort him. They don’t. In fact, they’re not even there. Instead, he finds himself groping...a pair of fleshy thighs? He glances down to see his own hands—also flesh—gripping his own(?!) thighs.

Ah. Well. Perceptor was not one to jump to immediate value judgments, but in his professional and very reasonable opinion….given his last known location, this could be very, very, very bad. He didn’t allow himself to entertain the possibilities that might lie in wait for him. Instead, he opts to find out what they are. He closes his eyes to focus on sifting through his mind. He may be in a fleshy body, but he still has access to his own body’s internal systems.

It seems clear that the form he is currently occupying is that of a holomatter avatar. This bothered Perceptor, considering he hadn’t used a holomatter avatar in hundreds of years. He had no reason to. Why would he be using one now? Why can’t he remove his consciousness from it and return to his own body? Where is the generator projecting his avatar?

He accesses his communications systems, hoping to see a friendly name. He finds...one name. One he wouldn’t necessarily consider amicable. One that he suspects may have something to do with this new situation. 

He’ll save Prowl for later.

Perceptor sighs and wills himself to search the room. No rifle. No pistols. His lens-cleaning paraphernalia, slides, and slide covers remained untouched, to Perceptor’s…withering relief. They’re also...disproportionately large, in comparison to his avatar. Useless for now. He’s not sure if he’s relieved that Kup’s cy-gars also remain untouched.

It’s not all losses, however. Among his own belongings, he finds a thick, plastic card inscribed “Ark Transit”, as well as a small device resembling a datapad. He powers it on and narrows his eyes at the message on the screen.