No More Radio Silence
The silver teardrop of a mech knew time had passed when the strangest music filtered into his badly battered sensors when heâd finally come into range of Earth.
Who is this Billie Eilish, and why does she sound like a bird?

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@garbagemechcometh
No More Radio Silence
The silver teardrop of a mech knew time had passed when the strangest music filtered into his badly battered sensors when heâd finally come into range of Earth.
Who is this Billie Eilish, and why does she sound like a bird?

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Icefield Parkways Mily Way
Š CathsimardÂ
Hello, Beautiful.
Return to the Familiar
One doesnât expect to leave home sometimes. One doesnât expect to be stranded light years from the familiar, from the family left behind, from the world and those he loved, but...what a strange feeling?
To see the sun of the solar system he never really expected to see again. To feel the warmth on his plating as the Familiar flashes before his optics.Â
Strange, but good. Definitely good.
Âť Happy Creators Day Reuse! And I hope that you are doing well wherever you may be ÂŤ
Wheatbee will eventually get back an emote of a heart, and a little song blurt, lyrics that plink out softly, âIâm coming homeâŚIâm coming homeâŚIâm on my wayâŚâ ââŚbaby mineâŚâ ââŚIâm coming homeâŚâ
<3
Reuse?
A very staticy blurt of sound would come over the comms, a surprisingly raspy voice scratching through the airwaves, ::BâŚBee?::
the-scrappy-stinger:
garbagemechcometh:
Reuse hums softly in his vocalizer, optics twitching in the low lighting of the little room, glancing once more at the various funeral goods sitting here and there, gingerly picking up a delicate piece of parchment with what looks like prayers for a gentle trip to the Other Realms, or something that translates similarly. Heâd spent the last two weeks scanning and cataloging everything that had writing, trying to figure out the local species language.
He is slow to answer, hesitant as he tries to figure everything out. So far, heâs found no seam or exit to the cave itself.
::Iâm sorry for worrying you, Bee. Iâm okay, my universe is still whole, I think. I donât know what planet Iâm on, only that I crashedâŚandâŚits taken this long for my frame to repair enough to come out of stasis.::Â
Reuse vents deeply, one slender hand coming up to rub his helm, ::Whatever species is the dominant one on this planet interred me. Clearly they thought I was deceased. Iâm in my own crypt. IâŚremember 2016, but I guess it isâŚ2018 now?::
:: I-it is! It is! ::Â
(Bee canât keep the quiver out of his voice.) :: Youâre okay! I-Iâll find you! Do you have a built-in distress beacon? Turn it on! Iâll come find you and bring you- um- home? My universe! I-Iâll keep you safe! I just need to find you! ::
The slender mech leans back on the slab, blinking rapidly at the very swift response, a shaky smile making its way onto his faceplates at the emotion in Beebeeâs voice.Â
::Its okay, Bee, but I donât have a beacon. I guess I never really needed one before.:: He pauses, humming softly, ::I was very, very far out when I crashed, I remember that. If I can get out of this cave, then I can compare the database of star charts I have with the local sky...I donât know what hit me, but it couldnât have thrown me too far off course::
Affection fills his voice, and he tries out a soothing croon that comes across a little rusty, ::As soon as I get out, Iâll comm you again with what I can find, okay?::Â

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::ppppffftttttt::
Reuse takes a moment to be COMPLETELY startled at the noise suddenly coming into his processor through his comm, looking more than a little comically taken aback.
A moment to contemplate.
Reuse answers with a prerecorded fart noise.Â
There.Â
There are roughly 146 messages in queue from Wheatbee dating back for almost 2 and a half years, the final one seeming to have been sent about 6 months ago ::How do I fix an error message on the computer terminals?::
Reuseâs optics flicker at the messages, digits twitching a little at the sheer volume as he sits hesitantly upon his own funeral slab, trying to page through them all, his processor ache not at all helping.Â
A heavy sigh escapes him, slender hands coming to cup his own helm, voice soft as he speaks to himself, âPrimus, Weebs. Iâm going to owe you a very detailed apology and explanation for this.â
Still, as yellow optics flicker upwards, and he scans the seemingly seamless interior of the cave, he knows he needs to figure out how to get home.Â
Reuse?
A very staticy blurt of sound would come over the comms, a surprisingly raspy voice scratching through the airwaves, ::BâŚBee?::
!!!
:: R- REUSE! I-I thought youâd un-attuned- I thought your universe got cut off! Where are you?? Are you okay? Can you tell me what year it is? ::
Reuse hums softly in his vocalizer, optics twitching in the low lighting of the little room, glancing once more at the various funeral goods sitting here and there, gingerly picking up a delicate piece of parchment with what looks like prayers for a gentle trip to the Other Realms, or something that translates similarly. Heâd spent the last two weeks scanning and cataloging everything that had writing, trying to figure out the local species language.
He is slow to answer, hesitant as he tries to figure everything out. So far, heâs found no seam or exit to the cave itself.
::Iâm sorry for worrying you, Bee. Iâm okay, my universe is still whole, I think. I donât know what planet Iâm on, only that I crashed...and...its taken this long for my frame to repair enough to come out of stasis.::Â
Reuse vents deeply, one slender hand coming up to rub his helm, ::Whatever species is the dominant one on this planet interred me. Clearly they thought I was deceased. Iâm in my own crypt. I...remember 2016, but I guess it is...2018 now?::
Reuse?
A very staticy blurt of sound would come over the comms, a surprisingly raspy voice scratching through the airwaves, ::BâŚBee?::
Silence reigns in the tiny cave, not even the stir of air moves the dust upon the frame laid instate upon a solid metal berth. Golden meshes are draped liberally over him, a scattering of coins, jewelry and vellum books covered in alien script are laid reverently upon and around the body.
Time had passed. The multiverse had trundled on.
Bright golden optics hidden behind a dusty visor slowly flicker on, and a soft sigh stutters through nearly clogged vents.
A slow stretch. A huff.Â
...memory files begin to collate, speaking of a hard crash, and lengthy repairs...
A rough vocalizer bzzzzes softly. Stuttering.Â
âWhere am I?â

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Thankfully where Reuse settled was on the opposite end of where the shadow was currently hidden, so there was no crushing involved, but there might have been a little bit of shifting to get away from sinking fabric due to weight above. Â Â
Oh now THAT was a dirty little trick! One that had the shadowy silently letting out a huff. Yes, they needed real fuel, but they were not going to be tempted to vacate their hiding spot until they were absolutely 100% SURE that the silver mech was truly in recharge and not just dosing. Besides, they were trying to save energy in the first place, so staying put until they noticed a change in electrical fields that would indicate that the current âguardâ was out like a light instead of keeping an optic open in the metaphorical sense.
Enjoy your nap, you surely need it!
Despite his best attempt, Reuse does indeed start to slip away into a deeper level recharge, helm drooping...luckily, just the action of wilting a bit drives him back from recharge his optics fluttering open in a series of blinks. The huff of his vents that would pass for a organic yawn whines softly into the silence of the room. Shifting on the berth, he sighs, stretching sleepily...maybe this wasnât the best idea.Â
He does honestly want to know who his little visitor is, and just WHY they are here, but...it doesnât seem like that is going to happen. He could just set up the surveillance cameras to record whoever it is...hrm...that might be the best bet in this situation, since he is very aware that his frame is very very close to shutting itself down despite all his efforts. It wasnât like he was lacking energon, but sheer exhaustion was wearing him down.
Another gusty sigh/yawn makes him shift on the couch, and he gives in, sending a ping to the security system to record the living room and the rest of the base before he drops off. Squirming onto his side, he hums softly, before his chin drops to his chest, his systems cycling down.
Maybe this was just what he needed to finally recharge? Some excitement before berth time might finally do the trick.
Emergency Call
Ignoring the incessant blinking of the indicators that seemed to dislike being written off by trying to be MORE annoying, the little monochrome bot tried to focused more on sounds around him since his visual feed was currently nonexistent; Yes, he had given up trying to get his optics to unshutter in favor of listening. Â
What he heard was distorted and muffled as if he were behind a wall, but at least one of the voices were slightly recognizable; the other was the strange voice that had given him pause to question just where he might currently be. He may have even gotten his head to turn towards the sounds, but he uttered a groan as it just added another three mysterious indicators to pop up and two to disappear.Â
It would have been nice to know just what it was those indicators were trying to, well, indicate, but he lacked the knowledge in his still spotty memory database. Also, Reuse had never seemed to have- Â
Wait⌠the muffled voice sounded vaguely like Reuseâs the longer he listened, but if that were the case, was he in the base then? Maybe that really WAS the silver mech just outside of a door speaking to someone else. Did that mean he perhaps just had fallen into an unconscious state? But what would have caused the sudden corrupted data and unconsciousness?
Trying to speak was met with nothing more than a series of clicks, which in turn added yet another indicator to activate in his already overcrowded field of âvisionâ behind his shuttered optics. Well, he assumed that indicator meant something was wrong with whatever served as a vocal emitter in this frame, but he didnât know how to fix that or âresetâ it somehow.
Maybe he should have inquired long before now if there happened to be a written documentation or diagrams that he could investigate that explained everything about this frame. If he could find Reuse and whatever was going on currently with his frame was settled, perhaps that would be the best course of action to prevent the current confusion he was experiencing.Â
Reuseâs optics crinkle slightly in a smile as the medic outlines his general issues, nodding along as he confirms that these things do indeed happen, âErm, given how long Iâve left it, Iâm surprised I havenât had more problems. I have to admit my own knowledge is somewhat lacking about my own frame, beyond what Iâve discovered myself beyond my original function.â
His attention flicks to Weebs after a moment, optics searching quickly over the tiny frame before he realizes that the bitty mech is simply just slowly waking up, and perhaps encountering a few errors in the process. Poor little bitty. He will have to do something nice for him after this is done, after heâs in working order and can choose for himself for once...
With a faint groan, Reuse hauls himself up onto the berth as directed, nodding at the medic as the large mech turns away to gather up the necessary supplies. Everything he brings over is looked at with interest, bright golden optics wide and intrigued. He canât QUITE help it, and queries with a chirp, âWhat is that? It looks very similar to the microdermal welder I used to use on my drones, but its a slightly different shape...?â
His speech lags only a second as the little scanner is plugged into the back of his helm, startling a few wide opticed blinks from the slender silver mech. It isnât an invasive program or scan, and was distinctively non-painful, simply skimming through his vastly outdated firewalls and updates. Primus knows its probably been a couple thousand vorn since heâd even seen a real medic, let alone gotten any sort of reliable update. âInteresting feeling.â
He hums softly at Redâs comment, watching him avidly as he moves to stand before him, offering his large servo and asking for his own, âI could offer my own medical knowledge from my universe? Erm, it isnât very complete, as I was never intended to be a medic, but it may be useful? I did collect a number of files, and I can package it for you.â
Obligingly, Reuse extends one of his own small silver servos, shaking as always, to gently place on Redâs own. âErm, sorry about the shaking...It seems to be a long term issue.â
WHY are these wings itchy?
Wheatbee had had his head leaning against bent knees, wing arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to block, well, everything at the moment. The little bot really did not want to deal with anything right then, and he had started to nod off when the thunder started to roll in. It was subtle at first, just barely audible and served more as background noise than as a warning. Thankfully the alcove he had tucked himself into was pretty sheltered thanks to the low hanging ceiling of rock, so the winds outside didnât do much more than ruffle a few feathers; the worst of it tugging at tree branches and the like just outside.Â
It wasnât until the thunder grew louder and the fall of rain became a heavy downpour that finally dragged the little monochrome bot from his lul and very quickly changed the situation from one of just wanting a little time to himself to try and comprehend the current situation with his arms, to one of quickly rising panic. Panic at the fact that he was currently staring at a wall of water covering the opening to the alcove, whiting out everything beyond; Not to mention the deafening noise of the thunder that seemed to shake everything around him and magnify the noise level tenfold due to his location.Â
What the little bot failed to notice as he remained huddled and actually shaking against the wall watching the currently watery bars trapping him in the alcove, was a small trickle of water snaking its way along the opposite wall and starting to slowly pool in the more sandy than soil floor.
Reuse is not having quite as peaceful a time as the little hidden bot in the cave, getting thrown about by the buffeting winds, every stray blast catching under his damned feathered wings and tossing him back short distances, the grass too wet and slick to find purchase. At one point, he gains enough air to lift off entirely, his voice careening into a scream as he finds himself perhaps twenty feet above the ground, the wind strong enough to tear feathers right off.
A close blast of lightning, and Reuse instinctively flinches, drawing in the wings and sending himself plummeting hard to the ground with a SQUELCH of mud and water...and seemingly, feathers. A veritable pile of feathers are scattered over the ground, quickly being torn away by the wind. Groaning, the slender silver mech cracks his optics open, flinching at a runnel of mud that careens past his nasal ridge. Whatever magic had been keeping his arms as wings has abandoned his frame, and he finds himself back to normal...though, all this does is force him to wonder where his tiny ward is and how HE is, and to put even more effort into his search.
âWHEATBEE?â He bellows into the storm as he hauls himself up, cranking the volume on his vocalizer to almost painful levels. Half closing his optics, he breaks into a trot, hunched against the lightning. The little mech couldnât have gone THAT far...venting again, he huffs.Â
âWHEATBEE! WHERE ARE YOU!?â
He strains to hear through the storm, hoping against hope the tiny mech is close enough to catch at least one of his yells.
WHY are these wings itchy?
There was a slight falter in Wheatbeeâs steps at the mention of liquids;Â There may have also been a pulling in of arms tightly before continuing on his path towards the entrance and disappearing from Reuseâs sight-line. No, he did NOT want to end up in any of the watery depths that surrounded the island, and would make sure he stayed FAR away from any bodies of liquid.
Once he had passed the overly large entrance that actually had a smaller doorway built in to allow for someone of his size to enter and exit without opening the entire entryway, the little monochrome bot stepped out into what was an overcast day with low gray clouds that allowed very little sunlight to peek through. If Wheatbee would have been in more of an observant mood, he might have rethought his plan of seeking a place of solace when it looked as though it might rain at any moment. BUT, his mood was dampened and he was on a mission to find somewhere he could hole away for a little while.Â
Footfalls led Wheatbee to a sheltered alcove tucked away in the side of a hill a fair distance away from the underground base. Thankfully it wasnât much of a climb and he could easily traverse the rocky ground without having to worry about the lack of hands or digits with which to grab. Feathery arms were about as useful as his normal ones for a trek such as this, and he was quickly finding that while he had no current hands, he could still crawl using them to support himself.Â
Using said feathery arms to crawl into his own little hiding spot, he sat with his back against a rocky wall near the entrance and looked down at what were now rather dirty feathers, trying his best to mentally will them away and his arms to return to normal.
Reuse hasnât intended to drift off to recharge. It was likely the warmth of the blanket and his fluffy wings that did it, but he wakes with a start, the blanket falling to the floor. This honestly wasnât the best time to be napping...specially since he now has no idea where his little ward is.
Sighing, wings floofing as he stands, he shakes a few stray feathers off of his lap. He really needs to just go look and see if he can track down Wheatbeeâs path, and maybe find where the bitty mech had gone to. The island isnât always the safest place, if just referring to the very curious bunches of tourists that will steal anything not nailed down. Idly, he pings the weather report for the area and pauses. That was definitely not a positive sign. Torrential rain, lightning, possibly small areas of flooding. Lovely.
Huffing against the probability of getting extremely wet just from going outside, he shakes his wings up with a shiver of feathers, and strides determinedly to the large doors leading to the surface...only to stagger back in the gale that seems to have invaded his small island in the time heâd fallen to recharge.
Still, he ducks his helm, and strides out into it, peering through the driving rain with an annoyed huff...only to realize he had no idea where Wheatbee could be hiding...there were simply too many different possibilities.
One wing comes up to swipe water off his cheeks as he pauses, only to call out loudly, âWheatbee!? Where are you? Call out if you can hear me!â
The slender silver mech continues his trek, pedes sinking into the rapidly soaking grass and dirt, churning up more than a bit of mud as he walks. âWeebs!? We need to get into shelter before...â
...And as he says the words, a massive strike of lightning blasts into a dead tree not thirty yards from where Reuse stands, his audials glitching from the volume of sound as the sodden wood bursts and smokes liberally, chunks strewn about the grass.
âBEFORE MORE OF THAT HAPPENS!â He YELPS out, huddling close to the ground as he tries to continue his search, his sensors and tracker on Weebs not at all helped by the interference from the storm.Â
As yet more rain cascades down, the wind blowing detached leaves and whatever else form the island onto his frame, he yowls out to the skies, âI hate weather!â
Oh such fibs, and the shadow knew this sort of ploy well since they had past experience with those who liked to employ such measures. Being that they were also observant prior to this whole cornering type of failed escape, the shadow knew that the silver mech was clearly not on running on a full charge and would likely be easily waited out for however long it took.
And true, real fuel instead of rations would be much more welcome and would help to boost their energy levels, but they were making due for the time being until they had the chance to escape this slightly tight pickle of a situation. Making due ALSO meant powering down other non-vital functions to help not only conserve energy, but to allow for the little rations to do their job and increase their now slowly dipping power levels.
Poor Reuse. After about ten minutes, he starts to thoroughly regret boasting that he would be staying up the entire night just to find out who is in his couch.
Fifteen minutes after that, and the silvery mech is drooping noticeably.Â
With a grunt, Reuse determinedly hauls himself to his pedes, forcing himself to wake up by pacing for a few moments, before giving in to the urge to draw himself a cube of energon. May as well. His levels were acceptable, but on the low side...and as the liquid energy is dispensed, he hums softly to himself. If the creature in his couch was a human, it might need water and food and warmth...but if its a mechanism, like himself, it might need fuel.
Pursing his lips, he tries a different tactic, and makes a loud show of enjoying his energon, âMmmm, so good! This is the best solar energon Iâve ever had.âÂ
He pauses, theatrically SIGHING, âToo bad I canât finish the whole cube... well... Iâll just leave it here for now, and nap on the couch.â
He sets the cube gently on the floor, and settles himself gingerly on the couch, forcing himself into a low level recharge while his sensor suite kicks up, actively scanning for the TINIEST movement in the room. Of course, he is exhausted, and has to force himself not to just outright go into deep recharge while pretending.
He is COMPLETELY determined to find out all he can about this tiny invader, and by Primus, he will!

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Emergency Call
 While the two rather larger mechs were busy âconversatingâ, Wheatbee was slowly coming round now that his system had calmed down from the rather violent expulsion of the fluid mixture. Of course the first thing to greet him was not a visual sight, but odd alerts and strange blinking indicators that he had no clue what they meant. Instead of focusing on those and trying to figure them out, the little monochrome bot elected instead to try and open his shuttered optics and figure out where he was. To the outside observer, it may have looked like his optics were fighting with themselves, barely peeking open and then shuttering closed just as quickly.Â
After a few attempts, Wheatbee let out a small, soft groan; Okay, apparently visual feeds were not operational at the moment. This meant he couldnât exactly assess his current state or environment that he was in, although he could make out sounds and possibly voices. One of them was not familiar at all, which made Wheatbee pause and wonder just where he was; and more importantly it gave him pause as he tried to recall what had happened before the moments leading up to the now.
Why were his memories full of fuzzy, half-formed data? What had happened? Why were his optics apparently offline? Or the very least why couldnât he unshutter them?Â
And the most important question of all: WHY wouldnât those indicators stop trying to get his attention?
The startled look on Reuseâs faceplates shows just how shocked he is that the medic called him out on his own overreaction, his optics flicking down to glance at this own servos, noting the tiny flecks of missing paint for the first time. An awkward little laugh escapes him, and he self consciously hides them behind his back, âIts fine, really...Iâve just never been able to really deal with being purged on. Erm...from the time I first onlined, even if I purged on myself, it was pure panic.â
His cheeks pinken at remembered embarrassment, and he resets his vocalizer with a nod, âErm, right...hopefully heâll come around soon, and maybe be able to explain a little better as to how he feels, or what he thinks may have happened.â
Tentatively, he reaches out to stroke the tiny helm of Weebs, his attention drawn once more to Red as he absently leaves his servo there. âErm... technically my entire frame is just...â He hums softly, tilting his helm as he considers, before his slender servos entreatingly spread before him. âMore than old, I guess youâd say? Without having had my frame replaced, I likely would have passed into the Well before the Golden Age within my universe had ended. Or not...â
He blinks, and shrugs, âWhere I come from, when I come from, the spark lasts as long as the will of the mech continues...so, I imagine everything on me needs a tuneup...but nothing is specifically nagging. I would think Iâm in quite good shape, actually. My hips and spinal strut tend to give me grief when I first come out of recharge, and Iâm quite sure my antivirus and the like is vastly out of date...Iâm surprised I havenât picked up anything from the human internet actually.â
He chortles before turning bright golden optics up to the much larger and heavier mech with a beaming smile, a helpless little shrug lifting his shoulders, âI guess the term little old mech is accurate in this situation? Its not a matter of one thing needing tweaking, its just a matter of where to start and how much is able to be done without going past what my frame can handle. To start though, I do believe, erm, that the fine motor control in my servos could use a look at.â
Good luck with those tiny, tiny digits, Red, youâre going to need it.
WHY are these wings itchy?
Normally Wheatbee would be more than happy to see what it was that humans were trying to create, and possibly trying to do it himself depending upon what it was, but it was Reuseâs response that completely derailed his thought processes and caused his expression to become one of concern âA m-month or t-two?â
Both antennas lowered and swiveled backwards until they were touching his head, his discontentment with the current predicament easily read across both his features and body language as his shoulders drooped to match his now crestfallen mood.Â
âUm n-no⌠I think Iâm g-going to go outside f-for a bit if t-thatâs okayâŚâ Not that the little monochrome bot was really giving Reuse much time to tell him no, already turning to head in the direction of the doors that led topside, wing tips dragging along the floor.Â
Reuse deflates as the tiny mech starts to head away from where he sits, the sheer desolation and sadness in the way Weebs slouches strikes deep into his spark. So cute...So sad! Augh!Â
It is everything he can do not to just chase after Wheatbee, clutch him tightly to his chest, and croon soft nothings while trying to make him feel better. His wings fluffle at the thought, a soft huff escaping him...âYeah, thatâs fine. Just erm, stay away from any high places, of the windy side of the island, okay?â
Reuse canât quite help the little giggle that escapes him, âIâd rather not have to come catch you if you fly away...or get lifted up by the winds. Just keep your wings tightly tucked...erm...since it IS an island, that would just end up with you in the water.â
That threat alone should be enough to stop Weebs from trying anything dangerous...the fear of the deep shores around the island should be enough to ensure caution. âIf you erm, need me, Iâll be here.â
That said, Reuse snugs the blanket heâd snagged earlier around himself, the added warmth making his odd organic wings far more comfortable than they had been. He had no idea his little underground retreat tended towards the cool side.