#comet eater

—

Sunrazor carefully watched the shivering form of Cometeater, the feeble creature she had been partnered with. They were far up north on some recon mission—Sunrazor didn’t really care, it was a mission that Jazz had sent Comet out on but she had been forced to follow along for—and the freezing temperatures seemed to be getting at the small green form. The coat and layer of downy fluff did little against the unforgiving temperature around them.

It was the coldest part of the year and they had still sent the organic to one of the most frigid regions of their planet. It was cold enough that frost would settle on plating, the stark difference between their body heat and the frozen world around them would cause the condensation that formed to freeze. Smaller mechs that had small sparks would need to be cautious of having their frames get locked in a cold induced stasis when nightfall came.

The golden mech wouldn’t need to worry about such trivial things. Her spark was strong and resilient enough to power all of her systems, to keep her large frame in motion with little difficulty. She had always run hot anyway, when stuck in the searing heat of the day during a battle she would need to watch her internal temperatures.

They had told her it was because of the augmentations, that it was to be expected and was a sign that everything was doing what it should. Her spark had to send more energy throughout her body and it caused there to be more heat.

When Ratchet finally got a look at it he had grumbled and informed her it was from stress—it wasn’t good and it was going to cause long term issues. Which was stupid. She ran just fine.

She never listened to Ratchet, anyway.

Sunrazor didn’t mind the way the cold, dry air clung to her. It was nice, she could shut off her fans for once and let the air cool her body down.

But Cometeater was an organic who couldn’t regulate his body temperature the same way Cybertronians could. A faulty design in her opinion. Something weak and pathetic, evolution had been cruel to allow such a fault to form. A Cybertronian’s body would shut down and fall into stasis when it got too cold, and when it warmed up enough they would wake back up.

The organic would simply die.

It was hard to believe that such a weak being had been able to avoid her for so long, that she had struggled to hunt him down and capture him. How she had not bested him was beyond her. Comet had somehow done it though, despite his small frame and pathetic design, he had survived. He had managed to escape her merciless grasp and even managed to damage her on several occasions—more often than she would admit.

Sunrazor narrowed her eyes at the rigid form that lay across from her. It was obvious that he wasn’t sleeping, but he was trying to appear like he was. His body shook with each small gust of wind that managed to sweep into the temporary shelter they had found. The wind whistled and echoed through the ruins of a city where they were currently positioned, the dark air of the night was quickly becoming colder and colder.

She huffed, hot air puffing from her mouth and vents as she shifted to lay on her side. She faced Comet directly now, red eyes flicking between his trembling frame and the shadows around them. The golden mech let her mind wander as she scanned the terrain for any threats.

She had been hunting Cometeater for so long, most of the war, but then he had offered to let her join him with the Autobots. Sunrazor didn’t know why she considered it, nor why she accepted the offer in the first place.

The golden mech had never been particularly attached to either cause, she fought for the Decepticons because it was what she was told to do. Because They made her. Perhaps that was why, either way she got to do what she was good at—destroying and killing—but the Autobots had promised that she didn’t need any more “fixes.” They weren’t with the Autobots.

At first, the only downside had been how strict they were with her behavior, and that they made her follow the small pest around.

Nothing ever stayed that simple though, not when the Autobot high command knew how little control they had over her. They were desperate to keep her from going back to the Decepticons, but they wanted to comply with their ideals. When she had been injured badly enough in an airstrike, Ratchet had finally been given the chance to look more closely at her programming and design. When the high command found out about her semi-active slave codes Prowl had been quick to push for reactivating them and adjusting the list of masters.

Now she had to follow what they said. She had only traded one set of masters for a new one.

Sunrazor growled at the thought, her gaze wandering from a particularly dark corner of the ruins back to Comet. Her jaw tightened, expression twitching as she fought the urge to snarl. She should have known better than to trust the word of someone just as monstrous as she was.

The thought made her pause.

Cometeater was a monster, there was no doubt about it. The creature was a spark eater, a predator by nature—just like she was. But he was small and weak, much more fragile than she ever could be. And then there were the twins, the people who Comet cared for more than anything. They were his brothers not by blood, but something else. Something deeper and stronger.

That was something a monster couldn’t have.

Yet, Cometeater had offered her a place with the Autobots. He would crawl up her frame like a feral turbo fox and perch on her shoulder despite her sharp words accusing him of being nothing but a parasite and pathetic worm. The naive mech would sit and tell her about worlds full of green and life, the world that he had come from. Comet had even saved her own hide more than once—though she would never admit it.

Another powerful gust of wind swept through the gaping holes in their structure and Cometeater’s form shook. Sunrazor’s plating pressed into herself to preserve heat and keep it from getting swept away with the breeze. She let herself shift ever so slightly, adjusting her place on the ground as she quickly let her scanners run over Comet. They weren’t built like a medics, but she could use her heat sensors to effectively conclude that Comet was no longer able to stabilize his own body heat.

The green mech would freeze by the time morning finally came.

Sunrazor let out a disgruntled huff, brows furrowing as she processed the knowledge. She didn’t care if he lived or died. He was just another Autobot, he had gotten her into this mess. But she also knew that if he was gone she would be forced to follow one of the mechs from high command around—then it would be the Decepticons all over.

And maybe… just maybe she wanted to hear more about the green world of his youth. Sunrazor felt her engine stall for a moment and she quickly buried the thought.

She could not care, she was built to destroy.

Weapons like her didn’t get to choose, they didn’t get to get attached. Her clawed hands were not built to hold someone gently, her large frame was not designed to cradle something small.

Sunrazor reached for Cometeater anyway.

She easily scooped up his small tremoring frame as though it was nothing—really, it wasn’t, he was always far too thin. The creature’s let out a small, weak, and startled chirp, eyes flying open and limbs scrambling for a moment. Comet looked at her, eyes wide as he fell still in her grasp. Sunrazor didn’t bother to try and read his expression, instead she only grumbled, “You're of no use to me if you freeze, slim.”

The golden mech growled as she pulled him to rest against her chest. She still lay on her side, she curled a leg up to effectively wrap herself around the quivering form more, just to shield him from the elements as much as possible.

Her voice remained low and detached as Sunrazor went back to looking around for threats, “Don’t try and convince yourself this is anything more than me acting out of necessity. Having a superior die while I was on watch would be a failure on my part.”

She didn’t know if she was trying to convince herself or Comet more, but she didn’t care. Sunrazor let the playing around her chest loosen and flare so the heat she had retained could wash over the other. The large mech could feel the smaller burrow closer to the warmth, pressing greedily against it.

The act sparked something deep inside her as her gaze moved across their environment, her scanners activated and relaying information back to her. It was small, almost nonexistent, but the fragment of code still flickered for just a moment beneath the weight of her oppressive programming. It was achingly familiar, her hands twitched as she fought the urge to clamp them into fists—that would surely crush Comet.

It was quickly ripped away from her though, aggressive codes shunning it before it got to take hold. But it echoed deep in her spark.

—

Dropmix is just having a real good time with the little toy while he sits on the ground, alright? Let him live laugh love in his own world in peace.

—

Jeopardy was at a loss.

They were supposed to get on a call soon, but Dropmix wasn’t in any condition to have a conversation with anyone. Not right now at least.

Dropmix was still having a delirium episode, the confusion, dissociation, and apparent memory loss all pointed to it.

It had taken some coaxing, but Jeopardy had managed to calm the gladiator and moved to the living room. Which was where Jeopardy found himself experiencing his dilemma, the call was supposed to be in ten minutes now. It was last minute to call it off—the kids would be even more heartbroken if he did—but Dropmix was still stuck in his confused state.

The old mech was sitting on the ground fiddling with a small trinket that Jeopardy had picked up during his travels. He would occasionally grunt in frustration or ask a question, but otherwise he was quiet, zoning in and out of different levels of awareness and understanding.

Jeopardy hovered to the side of the room, next to where they had set up the broadcaster. He had packed himself up, welding together the injury from where Dropmix had bit him and indented the plating. It still hurt—it probably would for awhile—but it wasn’t as bad. Hopefully, if he did call, no one would notice the bite shaped mark on his hand or the dents in his shoulder.

The medic huffed and watched as Dropmix turned the small brass trinket around in his hands like it somehow held the answer to some ancient puzzle. It was almost absurdly small in his hold—something meant for a much smaller species—but he was handling it with care. He was carefully reinspecting bits and pieces of it like it hadn’t been sitting on their shelf for years now.

Jeopardy decided that he hated this.

He despised having to watch his mentor’s usually sharp and analytical mind stumble over a simple puzzle made for sparklings. Asking questions like what it was, when Theremin would be back, what he was doing. Sometimes he would slip into other languages when he asked questions and Jeopardy couldn’t answer them—Dropmix would get more confused before giving up and going back to the trinket.

They had been jumping through the same routine for half an hour now. Jeopardy didn’t mind waiting it out, but he really didn’t want to disappoint the kids. If he canceled the call then they would probably worry that things had taken a turn for the worst. But if the kids saw Dropmix like this, Jeopardy wasn’t sure who would be more crushed—Dropmix or the triplets.

“Hey, Dropmix?” The medic spoke softly, his voice unsure and wavering, “The call is in a few minutes.”

Dropmix didn’t look up, instead he turned the brass object over again and huffed, “This isn’t mine.”

“No, it’s not,” Jeopardy said, walking over to the older bot. As soon as he was close enough he crouched slowly—keeping his tone light, gentle, like one might speak to a frightened youngling. “You’re right. It’s mine. But you can hold it.”

Dropmix’s optics flickered, a jittery pulse across his vision that Jeopardy recognized now as the telltale sign of a processor misfire. He blinked, slow and confused, before his eyes narrowed. He looked at the toy, disappointed and frustrated, “It’s broken.”

Jeopardy followed his gaze down to the puzzle toy. One of the little latches had come loose, hanging off its hinge at an awkward angle. He hadn’t even known it could break. He wasn’t upset, he could get a new one, but Dropmix seemed to be upset about it. Jeopardy nodded, forcing himself to look solemnly down at the toy like it actually mattered “Yeah… Yeah, it is. That must be frustrating.”

Validating feelings was important, helping Dropmix figure out how he was feeling so he didn’t get even more confused and worked up. It was the same kind of thing he would do for a sparkling when they got overwhelmed.

“I don’t—” Dropmix began before cutting himself off with a disgruntled huff. He turned the piece over, inspecting the damage more. A growl escaped him as he glared at it. After a few more seconds he finished his thought, “I don’t want it to be broken.”

Jeopardy looked down at the toy again, nodding along. He let his shoulders sag for just a moment, his voice getting quieter, “That’s alright. It still works. Here, let me show you.”

He offered his hand out for the toy, Dropmix looked at it for a moment before hesitantly placing the trinket in it. Jeopardy shifted so Dropmix would be able to watch easily. He hummed softly as he turned the piece carefully, moving slowly so Dropmix can easily follow his movements. He repeated the same motion a few times before the gladiator reached out and grabbed it from him. Jeopardy let him take it.

“You just have to be careful. That’s all.” Jeopardy declared softly. He gently tapped a soothing rhythm onto Dropmix’s hand before standing up again.

Dropmix didn’t respond or react. He stopped moving the toy around in his hands, staring at it almost perplexed. He didn’t seem to notice what the medic had said, his focus shifting to just the trinket again.

Jeopardy sighed and took a step back, giving him room. “I’ll be right over there,” he added, gesturing toward the broadcaster.

He didn’t expect any response.

The young mech turned away before he could second guess himself, fingers twitching with hesitation as he adjusted the settings on the Communicator. The screen blinked on, casting pale blue light across the room as it initialized, and a soft chime confirmed the signal had reached Earth.

Four minutes left.

He should really cancel the call. Dropmix wasn’t going to suddenly get better, not that quickly.

The soft hum of the communicator filled the room, a low, pulsing reminder that time was still moving forward, even when Dropmix wasn’t. Jeopardy glanced back. The old mech was still sitting there, optics dimmed, fingers curled around the broken brass puzzle. It didn’t look like he’d moved at all.

Three minutes.

He could lie. Tell the kids the transmitter had glitched, or the signal didn’t reach. It wouldn’t be the first time long-distance tech failed them. They’d understand—or at least, their parents would. The triplets might cry, but maybe that was better than seeing Dropmix like this. Better than watching who they believed to be invincible lay on the ground as he struggled to form coherent thoughts.

But they already knew he wasn’t invincible, not anymore. They had been told that he was dying, that his spark wasn’t able to keep up with the taxing demand of creating energy. There was no point in trying to hide this, they knew it was happening.

It didn’t mean that Jeopardy didn’t want to shelter them from the reality of it. He didn’t want them to carry that weight—not yet. He wanted them to remember Dropmix as a fortress, as the intellect and resilient mech he was. Not as someone who blinked slowly at the walls like they were speaking in tongues. But that wasn’t his call to make.

Two minutes now.

Jeopardy’s spark flickered uneasily as he stared at the countdown, the screen cycling through soft colors while it waited. His reflection warped in the curve of the lens—a blur of tension and hesitation.

Behind him, there was a sound.

A shift of weight. Metal scraping gently against the floor. A faint creak in a shoulder joint. The medic turned.

Dropmix was staring at the screen intently, the brass toy discarded on the ground next to him. He watched the countdown that Jeopardy had set up for himself. A few seconds ticked by before he did anything beyond watching, but there was a flicker of recognition, “We have a call.”

Jeopardy reigned in his own excitement, smiling softly and nodding once, “We do have a call. The triplets are calling to see you.”

There was a pause before Dropmix narrowed his eyes at the screen. His vocalizer clicked a familiar rhythm. His expression twitched as he watched the clock. But other than that he didn’t respond.

That was all he had to say apparently.

Jeopardy looked back at the screen in time to see the incoming transmission message flash. Without thinking he adjusted his posture, moving himself in front of the camera to cover Dropmix as much as he could without making it obvious.

The screen came to life with a soft flicker and a burst of digital static, quickly resolving into familiar faces. Lyre leaned closest to the camera, his expression bright despite the strain around his eyes.

“Jep, We weren’t sure if the signal would go through,” the young pretender proclaimed, eyes darting around the screen—no doubt looking for Dropmix already. He reluctantly moved back so his brothers could be in view.

Behind him, Virgo offered a nod, his expression a little more measured. Too measured, Jeopardy realized, like he was straining himself to remain in control. Libra was sitting on the other side of him, looking a lot more worried than his brothers were trying to appear. Coo was sitting next to Libra, staring intently at the screen and Comet loomed in the back, frowning. The call was intended for the children—the adults planned on calling later—but the couple had obviously chosen to remain as support for their boys.

Jeopardy gave them a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re coming through just fine. Strong signal. I’m glad you’re here.”

The triplets nodded in near unison, but their focus wasn’t on him. All of their eyes moved across the screen, searching for the mech that they had called for. The two adults's eyes lingered on Jeopardy though. Comet carefully examined his face while Coo’s gaze immediately locked on Jeopardy’s hand, eyeing the fresh welds.

“Where’s Dropmix?” Virgo asked sharply, masking his own worry with a harsh tone. Lyre nodded along with his brother, “Is he there?”

Coo hissed something quietly at them, pulling Lyre to sit down again after he had stood up and moved too close to the screen.

Jeopardy hesitated for a moment, watching the faces of the family flicker with concern. He could feel the weight of the room pressing down on him, the reality of the situation hanging in the air like a thick fog. He glanced back at Dropmix, who had barely moved since the call began, his attention had shifted back to the puzzle. He grumbled to himself as he fidgeted with it.

Jeopardy took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain composed. "He's here," he said quietly. "But it's... um.. been a bit of a rough day."

There was a pause.

Libra was the first to speak, his voice quiet, though the sharp edge of worry was clear. "Can we see him?" He glanced back at his brothers, then back at the screen, his gaze searching for any sign of reassurance.

The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the faint hum of the communicator. Jeopardy had to make a choice. Dropmix was still there, somewhere, but he was so far removed from the mech the triplets knew. The thought of them seeing him like this—confused, disoriented, unable to connect the dots of his own thoughts—was almost unbearable. Yet, he couldn’t deny them the chance to see him, to talk to him.

He turned back to the older mech. Dropmix was still hunched over, eyes glazed, his large hands working aimlessly with the broken brass trinket. Completely unaware that the call had begun. Or perhaps he did know, but had gotten himself distracted again.

They deserved to see him. Even if it was like this. It was only fair.

Without another word, Jeopardy moved slightly to the side, shifting the camera angle so that Dropmix’s form was framed more clearly. He didn’t expect the older mech to respond—Dropmix had barely acknowledged the call—but the triplets needed to see him. They needed to know he was still here, even if it wasn’t the way they remembered him.

The change in their expressions was immediate and painful. Lyre’s bright eyes dimmed just a bit, like someone had turned down the lights behind them. Libra leaned forward instinctively, mouth parting like he was going to speak but couldn’t find the words. Virgo didn’t move, but his jaw tightened, a flicker of something—helplessness, grief—passing over his face so quickly it was almost easy to miss.

Cometeater leaned forward, expression straining as he examined the form of the gladiator. His hand gently rested on Virgo’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Coo shifted in her seat, eyes narrowing and jaw clenching tightly. One hand went to run smooth circles on Libra’s back. Jeopardy almost missed the way her other hand reached out to Comet’s, carefully intertwining their fingers.

Dropmix was still hunched over, clutching the trinket. His eyes were dull, his posture slumped, and he seemed entirely unaware of the screen before him.

Lyre’s voice wavered slightly as he leaned closer, “Dropmix?”

The dark mech didn’t bother to look up at the screen, he only paused his movements for a moment. He reassessed the puzzle toy. Then started trying to solve it again, differently this time.

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” Libra asked timidly, sucking in a shaky breath.

Jeopardy looked back at the screen apologetically. He took another deep breath, his fingers tapping a calming rhythm into his own plating for just a moment. He didn’t really know what to say. He was supposed to be good at this, he was a medic, this is what he did. But he could hear his voice falter as he spoke, “He’s just… confused right now.”

Libra leaned closer to the camera again. “But he’s not talking. He’s not doing anything.” His voice cracked at the end, just slightly, and he quickly rubbed his face like that would hide the sound of it. “That’s not—he’s supposed to—”

“He looks broken,” Lyre whispered almost bitterly.

“Don’t say that!” Virgo snapped immediately, sharper than intended, his teeth bared in a desperate snarl. His eyes were locked on Dropmix like he could will him back to how he was—fierce, composed, certain. “He’s not. He’s just… tired.”

Everyone was silent again. The triplets watched as Dropmix fidgeted with the small object, occasionally zoning out before resuming his efforts to solve it. Coo’s attention flickered between the screen and her boys. Cometeater looked almost lost as he stared at Dropmix.

Coo looked at Jeopardy, glancing at his hand before looking up at his face. “Would it be better if we called later?”

Jeopardy looked at her—at all of them—silent. The weight of the question hung in the space between them, like it was demanding an answer he didn’t have.

‘Would it be better if we called later?’

He wanted to say yes. To protect them from this. To protect Dropmix from this.

But the call was already in motion. They were already here, he knew they would be able to call later—they probably would—but they were here now. And some selfish part of Jeopardy didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to wait in silence until Dropmix was back.

“No,” Jeopardy said at last. His voice was quieter now, hoarse around the edges. “No, I think this is okay.”

The words hung there for a moment, like they needed time to settle before anyone could respond.

Lyre blinked hard. He nodded, but his expression had gone distant, his gaze unfocused even as he stared at the screen. Virgo wasn’t looking at the screen at all anymore—his eyes were somewhere off to the side, like if he didn’t look at Dropmix, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Libra curled into himself a little more, knees pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped tight around them.

Coo nodded knowingly, pulling Libra a bit closer, her gaze softening as she looked down at her son. Cometeater stared at Dropmix, a storm of emotions behind his eyes, his firm grip still on Virgo’s shoulder.

Jeopardy felt his shoulders sag, a shaking breath escaping him, his playing trembled and pressed against himself tightly. Just a bit longer. He needed to remain in control for a little longer, until Dropmix was back. Then he could curl up and break down.

The silence was almost suffocating.

And then—Dropmix finally moved. His eyes flickered, and he mumbled something under his breath—half a phrase, clipped and slurred. His fingers stilled. He stared at the brass puzzle in his hands for a moment longer before letting it fall to the floor.

“I did it.”

Immediately all the pretenders perked up at the sound of Dropmix’s voice. All of their eyes immediately shifting to Dropmix. Lyre let out a soft, broken noise—something between a gasp and a laugh, shaky and wet with relief. “You did?”

Dropmix looked up and blinked slowly. His eyes weren’t focused on the screen yet, but they were clearer—no longer as trapped in the haze of wandering thoughts. His gaze drifted toward the trinket on the floor like it was the end of a long equation he’d finally solved. He nodded and chuffed to himself, plating flaring a bit.

“I did it,” he repeated, quieter now. More certain.

Jeopardy looked at him, smiling softly. It was such a small thing for him to be proud of, to have achieved. But it was something. Despite the way his spark clenched he nodded along, walking slowly over to him and sitting next to him. He gently picked up the puzzle. Dropmix had in fact solved it, finally getting the trinket to open up the small compartment inside.

He smiled and looked back at Dropmix. He kept his tone soft and reassuring. “You did. Good job.”

Jeopardy turned the small puzzle over in his hands again, checking the latch, then gently placed it back in Dropmix’s palm. The old mech’s fingers curled around it slowly, with a kind of quiet reverence, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the validation—or maybe he didn’t know how he’d gotten there in the first place.

Dropmix stared down at the open compartment again. Then, very softly, like someone remembering a song halfway through the chorus, he whispered, “Can I show Theremin?”

Jeopardy flinched.

Theremin had been Dropmix’s Conjunx, Jeopardy had only been told about him recently. He had died when the Pits had fallen. The triplets didn’t need to know that Dropmix was asking for a long dead Conjunx, though. He doubted that Comet or Coo knew, though he wasn’t sure.

The medic forced himself to smile, it was grim and unsure, not meeting his eyes. “Theremin can’t see it, I’m sorry, I know it’s disappointing. But the triplets can, let’s show them instead.”

Dropmix paused, expression flickering between perplexed and surprised. It took a few seconds longer than it should have, but he did speak, “The triplets are here?”

Jeopardy didn’t turn to look at the screen. He didn’t want to see their hurt expressions. He could hear Libra’s small choke, Lyre shuffling, and Virgo’s unnatural stillness. The medic swallowed the tightness in his throat and nodded. “Yeah, they called.”

He reached out and gently guided Dropmix’s shoulder, adjusting the angle just enough for the older mech to face the screen. The triplets were all still there—waiting, wide-eyed and tense, their faces suspended in anxious hope, their parents watching just as eagerly.

The older mech’s eyes tracked slowly across the pale glow, expression slack with uncertainty. He blinked, once. Then again. His lips moved, mouthing something that didn’t quite make it through his vocalizer. A low, static-filled murmur buzzed faintly from him, words chewed up by a processor that couldn’t seem to follow through. His brows furrowed, a frustrated grunt escaping him as his plates flared.

He tried again, more focused on getting the words to work right. Dropmix looked down at his hands, the puzzle sitting innocently in his palm. His fingers twitched, “It’s still broken.”

Jeopardy sucked in a breath. The toy. He was still talking about the toy. His voice strained, “They would still like to see it.”

Almost immediately Lyre chipped in, his voice thick with emotion but he pressed it to sound excited. He nodded, “Yeah, I’d like to see it.”

“Me too,” Virgo quickly caught on and while Libra nodded.

Dropmix looked down at the brass puzzle again, still trying to make sense of the broken latch for a moment. His fingers moved as though they were on autopilot, not entirely in sync with the rest of his mind. He looked back at the screen, then at the toy, then back to the screen again, his expression wavering between frustration and confusion.

“The… the triplets?” he muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to Jeopardy.

Jeopardy, trying to maintain the gentle composure he’d been holding onto for what felt like an eternity, nodded reassuringly. “Yes, Dropmix. They’re here. You can show them the puzzle. They’d really like to see it.” He offered a small, encouraging smile, hoping to nudge the older mech in the right direction.

There was a long pause. Dropmix didn’t react immediately, his optics scanning the screen in an almost mechanical fashion. Then, as though something in his processor clicked—just for a moment—he moved. The gladiator pushed himself off of the ground to stand, Jeopardy helping him rise, careful to keep the other steady.

The old mech faltered for a moment, taking a moment to balance himself before walking over to the screen and camera. His steps were heavier than normal, more unsure, but Jeopardy helped guide him until he sat in the chair they had previously set up next to the device. Jeopardy took the seat next to him, carefully watching him.

All three triplets managed to brighten, leaning closer to the screen to try and get a better look at Dropmix now that he was closer. Lyre smiled bitterly while Virgo kept his grim expression—determined to mask their worry. Libra watched with almost a numb expression, concern evident.

Dropmix paused for a moment, looking around him as though confused. He looked down at the puddle in his palm and it seemed to remind him of his current task. He lifted the puzzle toy from his palm and turned it in front of the screen. His fingers twitched, and he let out a soft growl of frustration as he fumbled with it again. He pulled it closer to himself again.

“I can’t fix it,” he said, a strange vulnerability in his voice that Jeopardy hadn’t heard in years. He was frustrated, maybe a bit embarrassed, but definitely upset.

Lyre leaned forward eagerly, trying to mask the hurt that clung to his tone. “It’s okay, Dropmix! We don’t care if it’s fixed. We just want to see you.” His voice trembled slightly, but he forced a smile.

Dropmix blinked at the screen, startled by the words—by the sound of Lyre’s voice. The triplets all shifted, watching his reaction intently, something almost desperate behind their eyes. The gladiator stared for a moment too long, like his processor was buffering, trying to match what he was seeing to the name and emotion behind it.

Dropmix blinked down at the puzzle again, turning it once more in his hands like he wasn’t sure when he’d stopped. The brass piece glinted dully in the glow from the screen. His fingers fumbled over the latch—still bent, still broken.

“I can’t fix it,” he said again, barely louder than the soft hum of the transmitter. The words came like a reflex, dulled at the edges, shaped by more than just the trinket in his hand.

Libra spoke this time, voice hollow but steady, “I still like it,” his gaze lingered on the puzzle for a moment longer before looking at Dropmix, who had looked at the screen again.

There was a flicker of something across Dropmix’s face. Not quite recognition. A beat behind it. His optics darted briefly toward Jeopardy, then back to the screen. He tilted his head, thoughtful, like trying to finish a sentence someone else started, his voice clicked a few times.

“Hello,” he said as if only now realizing they were here.

The triplets collectively flinched back. Virgo’s hands twitched in his lap. Lyre’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. It was Libra who answered first, voice wobbling despite how hard he was trying to keep it even.

“Hi,” he said, quiet but clear. “We’ve missed you.”

Dropmix stared at the three of them quietly before looking back down at the puzzle. He set the toy down slowly on the table between him and Jeopardy, fingers curling inward as he pulled his hand away. His eyes lingered on it.

He didn't say anything else. He didn’t need to.

The triplets were all still watching, their expressions soft, uncertain. No one moved to fill the silence this time. They let it settle between them, not heavy—just real.

Eventually, Dropmix shifted again. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “They can see it?”

Jeopardy nudged the trinket a little closer to the screen. “They can.”

Dropmix looked down at it again. He didn’t pick it up this time, but his hand stayed close.

There was a pause. A long one.

Then Dropmix spoke again, his voice thin, like it wasn’t sure if it was allowed, “I think I did it right.”

The triplets didn’t speak right away. None of them did. They only watched, as if by doing so they could hold this fragile moment in place just a little longer—Dropmix sitting beside Jeopardy, the broken puzzle between them.

And for now, that was enough.

The silence wasn’t as painful as before. It was still sad, but not sharp. It didn’t press down the way it had earlier. It felt more like a lull—like an exhale after a long breath held far too tight.

The screen glowed softly as Lyre whispered something only the mic could catch—something like “Good job,” echoed by a nod from Libra and a barely-there smile from Virgo.

Dropmix didn’t respond, but his optics lingered on the toy.

Jeopardy leaned back in his chair, his frame aching, but for the first time in hours, his hands were steady.

They were still here. All of them.