#kuniwrites

Miko flicked a pencil to the edge of her desk, then back again, staring off into the distance. In front of her, one kid was passed out and snoring, and another two were trying to have a conversation made entirely of discrete (not really) gestures and facial expressions. The elderly teacher overseeing them was hidden behind a huge newspaper, and Miko wondered if, after this past half hour, he was even awake anymore. 

Bulkhead’s like, apparently too busy to come get me, so…I’m stuck here. 

The multiple calls she tried to make behind her physics textbook had all gone to voicemail, so she could only guess he was out on a mission or something at the moment. She sighed and abruptly swiped up the pencil, switching to tapping its point on the desk as she let her mind drift to other things. 

Like how boring detention already was, and how it was somehow even worse when she actually sat the full duration of it. 

It’s not fair! It’s not like I committed a crime–I even did the damn vocab test! What else do they want?!  

Another huff and she folded her arms, leaving the pencil alone on the desk. 

She could guess the teacher probably hadn’t appreciated her artistic endeavors on the back. Sure, it was a unflattering depiction of half the teacher in the school in unfortunate situations, but it was still funny, quite well-drawn, and deserved! 

A loud snore and the sound of folding paper sounded from the teacher’s desk. 

Is he…? 

Miko looked up at the teacher’s desk to see their overseer was in fact, dead to the world at present. His paper hung limply from his hand, jaw open just a little. 

Who wouldn’t be bored in a place like this? 

The other kids seemed not to notice or care, only one briefly blinking up at Miko, then putting their head down again. It didn’t matter if they shouted anyway, cause Miko made her way out quick. Grinning, backpack strap in hand, she slipped out into the hallways, and promptly bolted. 

As she jogged down the front stairs and into the sidewalk, she was glad to find no one in sight. With a triumphant laugh, she nodded to herself and resolved to simply hang around town until someone returned her calls. 

It couldn’t be too long, right? 

That meant her only job now was to keep busy until then. No biggie! She knew the town, had a couple dollars. 

It was about dinner time, anyway. 

Maybe Jack’s working his shift at that K.O. Burger place! I’ll go bother him while I get dinner, she thought, smirking. 

She turned and practically skipped down the sidewalk. 

///

‘The number you have dialed is not currently in–’

Miko jammed the ‘end call’ button with her thumb, swallowing. 

The sky was no longer a pinkish blue hued with orangey glow, but now a thick tarp of navy and black. The moon was not out tonight, and everything was closed. 

As she exhaled, Miko's breath formed soft white shapes in front of her face, before delicately drifting up and fading.

“Eighth time,” she muttered, huffing sharply. “Pick up, dammit.”

It was something of a mix of both frustration and apprehension stiffening her motion. She felt her heart pounding louder and louder with every passing moment, her mind just barely keeping itself at bay. 

Deep breaths. Breathe in, breathe out, in, out, in…..

He’s not coming. He’s not picking up. Bulkhead forgot. He…

No, he couldn’t. That was irrational. 

She started to shift weight from one side to the other, staring at her phone, then the open road in front of her. Miko opened her phone again, thumb hovering over the keypad for a moment before her hand fell to her side and she thrust her gaze to the barren sky above. She tried again to breathe deeply. 

He’s busy. They’re busy.  

She slid it into her coat pocket, but kept her hand in the pocket, gripping the device. Somehow, that seemed to calm her nerves a small amount. The jitters making her movements so sudden seemed to lift, only by a little. Uneasiness still hovered its fingers around her, as if to strike again when she least expected it.

It’s only 2 am. I can manage. Why do I care?

The sound of a voice shouting in the distance followed by a loud clang gave uneasiness its chance almost instantly. 

With a groan, Miko felt her bones ache with fear and her breath grew so short her stomach started to hurt. Dreading the loss of her cheap but delicious dinner, she backed away from the road and leaned against the brick wall of some antique shop before sinking to a crouch. 

She found herself trying to keep a relatively flat look on her face, as if aiming to maintain some composure. 

But she was alone. Why did it matter how she looked? 

Her situation wasn’t impossible—probably a lack of communication on different accounts; Jack hadn’t been at the burger place, so he was probably busy somewhere. She was supposed to go home with her host family after detention, but…well, that was the past. And now, no one would pick up, not even let her leave a message. 

What if something had happened? And then, what would it be? 

Calm down, Miko. You can’t act like this. You’ve seen zombie-cons and the guts—cables?—pulled right outta guys Bulkhead fought. You’ve almost been killed, crushed…you’ve been in the dark, you’ve been alone before! 

But perhaps that was it, she realized, dropping her head and clenching her fist methodically—open and closed, open and closed—sucking in shaky breaths, trying to calm down. Trying to steady it all out, while her mind seemed to bump up the speed to the max. 

Maybe it was too much all the time, all at once, disregarding the part of her that had already had enough when Miko thought to push on. Put on a laughing face, brush it off like it didn’t matter—nothing mattered. 

That was what she always did, right? Wasn’t consistency important? Was she a liar for being so scared? It wasn’t exactly being alone in the dark that scared her. Not even being in this sketchy part of town by herself…

Where are they? Where is everyone? 

Maybe it was also the suddenness of this fear, the seeming culmination of so much she hadn’t quite considered as deeply—every single thread of thought demanding her attention and her body simply ceasing proper coordination and control. Something she hadn’t anticipated because it was always there in the background, but kept tightly under lock and key. 

Where was the lock and key? Why was this happening? The questions only darkened the feelings bounding about inside like sparks of electricity. 

The darkness and emptiness of the town seemed to press at her, tightening her nerves and causing her arms and legs to feel like jelly all at the same time. She was shaking. 

And regardless of how much her sensible, conscious mind reminded her that if she was alone, it meant alone, her subconscious breathed over and over, over and over….

Someone’s there. Someone’s coming. Someone…no control…you have no control of what’s coming for you…no one remembered you, did they? 

Then, as if fate’s answer to the question, she heard a horn honk down the road. 

At first, her heart skipped a beat—sudden noises in the silence when she was having a low moment weren’t so helpful—but her mind registered instantly. 

And as quickly as it had overtaken her, the fear left, and she felt the shaking in her body intensify—probably out of muscle exhaustion this time. 

Suddenly, the cold ache left her, replaced with a trickling warmth. Maybe it was relief, or something else…Miko wasn’t sure. She watched the semi draw closer, letting her mind go blank for a bit. 

The vehicle rolled down the road rather quietly, coming to a gentle stop across from her, letting off a little hiss as the lights dimmed a bit. Miko could make out that it was indeed, the Autobot leader himself, even though something in the back of her mind had already let her know it was him.  

Optimus…what’s he doing out here? 

She could barely stand, swallowing again before pushing off the ground and unevenly making her way across the road and to the door to the passenger’s seat. She felt like she couldn't control her coordination as well as she’d like, but wasn’t too worries as much as glad to have a warm seat to sit in for now. 

“Miko….”

Optimus rumbled softly, gently, her name. He sounded as if he was going to say something, so she plopped down in the blue seat, waiting quietly. But he seemed to choose silence for the moment. 

After a moment, the headlights brightened and Miko felt the start of the engines. They began down the road, and looking out the window, Miko could see they were headed home—not her house, but home. 

She smiled, letting her body go limp in the seat, eyes wide open and trained on the outside view as it flitted by. Letting herself lie there as the hum of the truck filled the air, she dared not move or else she’d start shaking again. 

Drowsiness lurked in the background somewhere, but before that, she was curious. 

“Ne, Optimus,” she murmured, shifting her gaze to the front window. There was not a soul on the road, only Optimus’s headlight illuminating the navy dark surrounding them. “You were gonna say something, right?”

A pause. 

“I was.” 

“What was it?”

“Well…” Optimus seemed to be searching for words, then spoke again. “You were alone tonight.” 

“Yeah…no one would pick up. Did you get my calls?”

“No,” the mech responded. “But I did realize your absence. Rafael and Jack were having a…schoolwork review session–”

Study session.

“—and the others are scouting a mine in another country.”

That’s why he didn’t pick up. Something funky with phone regions, I bet. 

“Ratchet was otherwise engaged. I asked the boys what had happened to you that you were not there, and they mentioned you were in…detainment again.”

“Yea, detention,” Miko sighed. “Ditched it early though.”

Optimus was silent again, so this time, Miko thought to fill the silence. 

“Hey, Optimus? I’m…sorry if I made you worry,” she murmured, dropping her gaze a little. “I was doing alright…woulda found a way home or something.”

“Miko,” his voice sounded serious. “Are you certain of that?”

The teen thought to answer, then pressed her lips together, unable to respond again. What would she have done if he hadn’t come by? 

“I sense you are troubled,” Optimus continued more softly. “Are you alright?”

Miko felt a flash of indignance, so she masked it with a scoff. “Are you kidding? I’m always good!” But her tone wavered a bit, and she felt herself grow smaller in her seat. But she continued. “What makes you ask?”

“Miko…” 

“Yeah?”

“To answer your initial question, we Autobots are always worried for you three. We realize you are individuals, and that you have time and again proven strong in the face of terrifying circumstances. You especially show much strength.”

There was something else to that, so Miko waited, quietly. 

“You show so much strength that…I feel as if perhaps you carry too much inside.”

Miko swallowed, feeling emotion well up inside her. Not fear, not apprehension…something stronger, deeper…raw. 

“Miko, you were alone tonight. We were unaware of what you needed. For that, I am deeply sorry.”

“N-nah, it’s not…”

“It is. Did anything happen to you?”

“No, I just…” she found herself speaking without thinking. “Seemed like…everyone forgot about me. I’m used to being alone though, I guess…”

“You are not alone, Miko.” Optimus spoke with firm gentleness that seemed to level out the feelings threatening to bubble over the brim. She quickly looked out the window to her side again. “I respect what you wish to tell or not tell me. But something tells me, you were afraid tonight.”

She bit her lip. 

Someone noticed. Someone saw. 

But it was a relieved voice that whispered in her mind. She remained quiet, biting her lip harder. 

“Are you alright, Miko?”

She knew what the question really meant. 

“I was…scared, like…” she swallowed, steadying her breathing as best as she could. A tear slid down her cheek, which she quickly rubbed away. “...I dunno, something…I didn’t know what was happening, it was so…strong. So…bad…”

“I know well the emotions you speak of.”

“R-really?”

“Yes. I know it well even now. Especially now.” 

He deals with so much too…but he’s so…well, I guess we all put up some face. I laugh, Optimus shuts down…whatever keeps the monster at bay. 

“Don’t be scared, Miko,” he finally said gently and simply—yet with so much intent. “You are never alone.”

Miko inhaled sharply, as if debating to control it or let it happen…but only for a moment. She exhaled heavily, her face twisting as she started to cry quietly. But even as she sobbed, a smile peaked through, shimmering in her eyes. 

She needed to cry, she realized. Not light tears of stress, but also the tears that she had pent up every time her heart had pounded so hard her bones hurt. The tears she pent up when she did cry and then bite her tongue to swallow them up. And it was alright. 

It was freeing. 

And as if reading her mind, Optimus remained quiet. But she felt his presence–more than simply knowing he was there. They didn’t really need to say much more, and spent the last of the ride to HQ in silence. 

Because even if Optimus wasn’t using the same words she’d use, she knew what he meant. She always knew what the others meant to say. Robot or human, alien or not, Miko could feel it. 

She knew that he wasn’t ordering her to can it, like she knew she ordered herself to. 

‘Don’t be scared,’ or rather…‘it will not win. You will.’ 

I will. 

“Ratchet.”

“Don’t.”

“But the team wants to–”

“Well they’ll have to do whatever it is another time–I’m too busy!!” the shorter mech snapped, cutting him off. He quickly reached into his toolbox and fumbled to grab something. Optimus took a step closer, trying to peer over his shoulder, curious.

“What are you working on?”

“A–uhm–this set of some…very difficult formulas!” The medic stammered, not yet turned to face him. “I-I need time, some quiet…I…I’m simply far too busy to do anything right now!” 

He finally set his grip on an object, looking over his shoulder at Optimus as he brandished a wrench and waved it demonstratively. But as he held the wrench, Optimus noticed the tip of the object quivering in Ratchet’s grip. 

After another sharp huff, he turned his back to Optimus again, leaning over the table, which was covered in rust and dirt. He set the wrench down quietly and stood still. 

Optimus wondered if he was going to explain the wrench at all, or…

“...Alright, I’m…” Another sigh and pause. Optimus waited patiently. “I’m…not exactly busy with…formulas, I’m just…well, it’s just–I…I don’t…”

“You’re…nervous?”

Ratchet made a sound that seemed to agree. 

Optimus fought the urge to giggle at how this was kind of cute–he didn’t want the medic to feel any more embarrassed than he probably already did. Instead, he strode closer to him, resting a gentle servo on his shoulder. 

“I understand. You may take as long as you need before you go out and meet them,” he said quietly. 

Ratchet ducked his head. 

“But I feel bad about…” 

Optimus shook his head, looking down at him with gentle regard. 

“There is nothing to feel bad about, Ratchet. It would cause you discomfort if you went to meet everyone now, and I know neither you nor I would enjoy that. And, they are your new team as of now, so they will be around for quite a while.”

Ratchet finally looked back at Optimus, seeming less bothered than he had been–just a little more relaxed. Optimus was glad, smiling back at him. 

“Well then…” Ratchet murmured, moving to return to looking at the table. “I do have some work to do…”

He jumped right into it, and Optimus simply watched, leaning against the table. He eyed a light flicker above them briefly, then let his gaze wander to the faded papers tacked to the walls. It wasn’t really a medical room, but it was the best available to them in their situation. 

Squinting, he could see even more that these posters must not have been Ratchet’s–being advertisements for a shop of some kind, or pictures of a musical artist he was sure neither of them knew… 

“You know…” Ratchet said quietly, breaking the silence, “...I do want to meet the team. I’ll need to get to know them in the event of injuries and such, anyway…”

Optimus tilted his head, still looking at the contents of the room. 

“There are many of us in this unit. Is it that there are too many at once?”

“...that would be it.”

“I suppose I never saw you with big groups unless you knew everybot or were giving presentations back on Cybertron,” Optimus remarked. “Are you…always this shy?”

“Well it's not exactly shyness, but I believe you know what I mean as…” Ratchet chuckled little. He put down his tools again and looked up to find Optimus staring back at him. He remembered the eyes that looked back at him when they were in Ratchet’s old dorm at university, as he worked on a project for class, and Orion came just to watch…to keep him company. 

Those same eyes that still looked to him with interest and curiosity. 

Oh Orion…some things never change. 

“...you were too, once,” he said finally, looking back to his desk and attempting to focus and get back to work. But he stopped at a touch on his hand, staring back up at his friend. Optimus had a somewhat melancholy look pooled in the back of his gaze. 

“And I still am. But as a leader…I have to…work around it.” 

Ratchet leaned forward and into Optimus, who wrapped his arms around him in a gentle embrace. 

“I know, Optimus,” he whispered. 

He silently resolved to go see the others later that very night. If Optimus could do it, well…then he wanted to as well.

Thank you, Optimus.

no, this is not 110% accurate to Masterforce canon, tho I tried my darndest. Part of the reason is lack of clear answers about certain questions I have or limited access to sources that would help me figure out details of their pasts more accurately. The other reason is that I'm also actively choosing not to adhere to some details because I was ultimately writing for fun and experimenting with tone and how I perceive these characters so...do not lecture me about something I screwed up, I am literally just vibing ok

This is still set in Masterforce canon, however. This has nothing (I repeat, nothing) to do with any of the marvel stuff/American comic stuff that involved these characters. It's my understanding that the versions of these characters in Masterforce are their own separate entity to the comic stuff, I am trying to stick only to the anime and stuff connected to that. so....yea

It is my headcanon that I will absolutely keep that the Pretenders have in their files/any technical stuff their "full names" (e.g: "Cloudburst"), but refer to each other with their nicknames (going back to that example, "Phoenix"). It's like, they use both names whenever and don't mind either way. Hence......that.

I wanted to write something about Landmine, literally that was it. I guess overall I'd call it semi-Landmine-centric....Idk but I enjoyed it, he's a cool dude 👀

this is in fact, where i finally reveal myself as a person who also Lowkey ships Lander/Diver and also the idea that they have this...very complicated relationship with each other, which is why they've never really gotten together....I hc that they actually do finally get together at some point during the events of Masterforce (which I also, really want to write). Yes, this is very similar to them in my AU except it's not as complicated as the one in canon. If that makes sense 😳 Also, before you come for my head, it is a healthy relationship in the sense that there has never been any malice between them, and no instances of causing the other serious pain in any way. They like each other a lot, but both don't really know...how to go about it. Idk y'all but ykw I know what I mean. 

I tried so hard with terminology here but my dumb ass doesn't know anything about tech or aircrafts or whatever so...deal with it but don't point it out I'll evaporate--

Upon much consideration, I decided to end it somewhere like, before events of masterforce. I'd say a couple years maybe?? Like 15?? (So tha puts us at 2005, which as I'm writing this omg that's my birth year oop--) So just. assume stuff happened and...following will be the other canon stuff....i guess o//o

So...yea, that should be everything I wanted to mention!

Enjoy (? Or don't? ;w;)....I wrote this for fun & I kinda liked it I guess, so here I am sharing it...lmk what you think if you want, please keep it positive, I get so extremely nervous sharing my writing sdjdsjsdj 😳

...um...so...t-thanks 🥰

That’s what Landmine had been told the first day of Cybertronian Military Academy. 

///

Above all else, a good spark stands for justice, protects all life, and does what’s right. 

It was a phrase taught and repeated every day without fail, quickly memorized well before the end of first semester in that first year.

And when he’d entered Autobot ranks within mere weeks of his graduation amidst the start of the war, it was a phrase shouted to his unit by their commanding officer, only slightly altered this time. 

“Above all else, a good Autobot stands for justice, protects all life, and does what’s right.”

Yes, that was it. Just a slight change. 

But he always wondered if it meant to subconsciously induce very particular thoughts.

‘And if we Autobots do good, then the ones who aren’t us must be doing evil.’ 

To name a few of the supposed many, that was the Decepticons, the rogues, and the subspecies of the planet who didn’t feel inclined to participate in such a “selfish conflict,” as one commentator had put it during a newscast. They were the evil ones, preached the drill sergeants and captains.

The logical conclusion, as it could be surmised. No one said anything about moral. 

As for Landmine himself, he had no problem with “standing for justice,” however vague that was. Considering the lack of any attention, it seemed he was in line with that value, not standing out from the rest and all. 

The case was the same with “protecting all life.” After all, that was a clearer command, and obviously, the noble thing to do. Landmine liked his friends, nature, animals. Of course he’d stand to protect them. 

But for the last one, in the in-betweens to his drills and assignments, throughout all the years of his schooling and the time spent in the trenches of battles, he often wondered what it meant. To “do what’s right.” 

What was a…‘good Autobot’ anyway? 

He could recall the answers he’d received. 

“It means you follow orders,” one older bot spat, laughing. He had then put the ratty cigar back in his mouth and turned away. Clearly, the conversation was over. 

“A good Autobot?” Echoed a solemn youth, shining his shotgun. “Well its in the words you’ve just said! A good Autobot stands for justice, and they protect all–” 

…you get the idea.

“There are none,” was all a small-framed purple bot croaked, taking another sip from his oil can. He’d died on the field, screaming in agony, about one week later. 

And there were more answers, and Landmine still couldn’t figure out his own. But there were more pressing matters in his mind. Firstly, the matter of leaving this dull, doomed unit. 

See, he was a bot who enjoyed adventure, thought himself particularly good in battle. He was known for good one-liners, for his looks, and his sharp shots. This wasn’t the place for him. At the risk of being prideful and conceited, he often thought to himself, that this was no place for him to die. 

It was ugly, style-less, depressing, cold, damp…boring. 

For years, he hoped for more, and finally one day, he got it. 

“Hey!” 

…

“Oh yeah? Well you can take your attitude, and shove it up your tailpipe, Xy.” 

“‘Hey’ yourself, you're not part of this, so butt out you aft–” 

“Aft? Excuse me? I’ve a good mind to report you for that kind of slander and harassment!”

“What?! I didn’t slander you!! I'm not even harassing you, I just insulted you, but--but that's subjective, a-and I didn’t say –”

“Shut up, you two! There’s someone knocking.”

Landmine lifted his gaze from the book he was reading when he heard Klint shout for everyone to quiet down. 

As usual, it was another night in his section base–of the hot-head rookie Cinderflame being aggressive towards “two-word” Xy, and then somehow, getting into an argument with the self-important, self-declared “rulebook” of their subunit, Max. 

But the knocking at their door continued, louder this time. Cinderflame started to protest, and was quickly silenced a quick cuff to the back of his head by Max. 

Landmine closed his book very slowly and sat up in his bunk, watching as Klint quietly got up and headed to the door, activating his gun. Meanwhile, everyone else began to tense up, including Landmine. 

It wasn’t unheard of for mutinies to happen, for somebot to snap and go on a killing rampage, or for the enemy to have infiltrated and quietly taken command of a base. Any number of things could be behind the door, as it wasn’t normal to get a knock on the door at this hour of the night. 

But to their relief, the entity behind the door identified itself. 

“14-E, I order you–open up! Right now!”

Klint lowered his gun and sighed, more an annoyed sigh than a relieved one. They all knew who’s voice that was, and Landmine wanted–and was sure he had–no part in whatever was happening. 

‘Racker,’ mouthed Cinderflame in Xy’s direction, who rolled his optics and went back to organizing bullet shells. 

The other “rulebook” bot, except Racker was official, not self-declared. 

“I’ll mark you all for infractions!” He shouted in an attempt at an assertive tone, pounding unceasingly at the door. 

“I’ll mark you with my fist,” muttered Klint, trudging over. As he did so, Cinderflame snickered, then looked to Max, who was trying his best to keep a serious expression. Even he had no respect for the elected section head, but didn’t want to admit that. 

Well, I’m out, thought Landmine as he fell against his berth and opened his book again, hoping to get back to the story, detaching from the group.

He had no such luck, of course. 

The door opened at last with a high-pitched squeal of old metal, and the section head marched in, shouting for them to stand at attention. Below, Cinderflame gave the beginning of a groan, but it was cut short with the sound of someone elbowing him. 

 See, there was no such procedure in the rulebook, Landmine had discovered a while ago. But, there was also no point in raising that argument now. Begrudgingly, the group all followed the order and lined up at the door. 

Marching in stiffly, the grey-plated bot looked them up and down, a sharp look in his eyes. Then, he stated his business. 

Landmine was wanted in the unit Commander’s quarters.

For a moment, he considered it was some sort of elaborate prank, but that thought was quite fleeting. Jokes of that kind weren’t common around this sector, if at all. 

And if Racker was involved, well…

Doubt he knows what a joke is. 

“Well don’t stand there, move your metal hide!”

“Yes, sir!”

He felt side-eyed gazes of pity on him as he left the line. He felt them follow him as he walked out the door closely behind Racker, and into the barren, darkened clearing. But he was far more curious than worried. He could have easily run ahead to those quarters himself. 

Leaving Racker in the dust was quite easy, anyway. 

…

Racker, expression solemn and blank as ever, stopped at the white door and jerked his helm in the direction of the entrance, then folded his arms and turned forward, as if Landmine was no longer there. 

Go in. Alright. 

Landmine smirked to himself, then reached over and pushed the door open. 

Well. If I’m court-martialed or something, at least I’ll finally be put out of my misery. 

“Good evening, sir,” Landmine said, striding into the room. “You asked for me?” 

He’d never been in a commander’s quarters, and just taking one look at the state of it, he could infer why.

Something to do with the cleanliness of it, the quality of the tools in it…lower-ranking officers certainly had no place here, he could guess.

We belong in our cramped spaces, eating stale oil in our shared, low-rank misery. 

And finally, his optics had fallen on the commander himself, Swipecatch. 

Come to think of it, Landmine was sure he’d only seen the bot once. Or maybe he had a new paintjob? 

I’d like a new paintjob. 

He saluted and straightened his posture before the silver-blue-plated bot finally looked up from a manila-colored folder with messy scrawling and red stamps. It looked like it was important. 

It also looked like a processor-ache to decipher. 

“I did. You’re Landmine, right?” The commander spoke a medium tone, reaching for another paper on the side of the desk and picking up a slim, red pen.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re a Pretender, are you not?”

"Alright," he murmured, beginning to write something, before glancing back up at the younger bot. “At ease,” he finally added, and Landmine was glad for it.

His gaze was immediately back on the paper as he started to write something into the blank lines. Some more silence followed, broken only by the sound of the pen against the paper, and Landmine watched as he swiftly filled out every blank space, signed his name, then looked back up again. 

“I am told I have such capabilities, sir.” 

“And have you been to training for it?”

“Only at a minimum level, as per my curriculum at the academy, sir.”

“Have you yet attained your third form?”

“I have not been provided any such opportunity up to this point, sir.” 

“Uh-huh…”

Swipecatch nodded, seeming to come to some kind of internal conclusion and writing something in the corner of the paper, before stamping the paper and folding it in half. Landmine began to wonder if he was being disciplined. 

“Soldier, you have been requested to join a special dispatch team made only of three other Pretenders like yourself.” 

Or…this. 

“Now, I can’t imagine you love this place enough to do this, but you do have the option to decline and remain at your post here, as it will be a very dangerous, long-term assignment, far from Cybertron and even this very sector.

“You four will only be provided one ship and instructions to report to us when asked, as we are not able to provide further resources. You will be sent into space to track Decepticon ships anywhere deemed fit to assign your team.”

He eyed Landmine up and down, who stood motionless, staring unwaveringly at his commander as he waited for him to continue. So he did.  

“Your...commander will be a recent academy graduate, Metalhawk. I am not at liberty to share anything more about him than this.” 

He shifted back in his chair, tapping his pen against the table.

“Since I take your…silence…to be an acceptance of this offer…” he said slowly, holding out the folded paper and letting Landmine take it. “I am giving you this now, so that you may board the next transport ship that comes in tomorrow, at first light.”

Landmine unfolded the paper a bit, catching sight of the orders written in fine print above the uneven writing of his commander. 

Previous commander, actually. 

“This is not a promotion, merely a new assignment that my higher-ups feel you are equipped for. There will also be a training period with your peers starting the moment you are all gathered at your launch site. Do you understand?”

“Fully, sir!”

“Alright, then. Dismissed.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

 He vaguely wondered if the sound the commander made after that was a laugh or a scoff. 

 Landmine saluted again, and left the room, clutching the paper in his digits, which had begun to vibrate with excitement. 

Suddenly, all the years of stale oil and bleak death around him, putting up with various groupings that never seemed to work out–with this doomed unit–seemed worth it. They’d been part of some plan, something Landmine had to go through for a while before this, before…

 Destiny. It has finally called my name. 

…

“Mighty lucky, aren’t you?” Klint remarked, leaning against the wall and watching Landmine stacking a couple books. 

Landmine simply looked up and grinned.

 “Stay alive,” Xy mumbled from his bunk, not even shifting position to look at the team as they gathered in the center of the space. 

 His inspirational capacities truly sway the spark. 

“Thank you, Xy. I’ll do my best.”

The mech raised a thumbs-up, making no further comment. 

“This is favoritism!”

“It is not. It’s the will of our higher command.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s unfair?”

“Shut your trap!” Max made a fist and took a step towards Cinderflame. “Questioning high command could be treason!”

“Oh shove off, you annoying glitch.”

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Yeah, I said it!" 

Klint groaned, facepalming slowly. Xy, in his bunk, put on some headphones and inched closer to the wall.

As usual, not even an hour after wakeup calls, and the two were at it again. But while Landmine conceded he wouldn't miss the unwarranted noise, he knew he would miss being able to laugh internally at their stupidity. 

Cinderflame kicked at the ground and glared at Landmine, who was closing his bag and picking it up. 

“We have to stay in the scrap," he muttered, "but he gets to be special! He gets to–”  

Knocking at the door quieted the room. 

In the brief silence, Landmine wondered how pompous he'd sound telling Cinderflame that he was, in fact, a special bot. 

He decided it wasn't worth the breath.

"It's time to go!" Came the voice from behind the steel.

Landmine stood tall, strapping the bag to his back and heading outside, without a second look to his scrappy unit, who no doubt would forget his existence quite soon. 

“Landmine?” The gruff, unfamiliar mech asked, looking at the Pretender. 

“That’s me.” Landmine then noticed the markings on the sides of his Autobot insignia, certifying him as a higher-ranking officer. “That’s me, sir,” he revised evenly.  

The officer narrowed his yellow-green optics, almost skeptically. Then he spoke again. “We’re driving a while, two hours at longest. You fueled yet?”

Landmine nodded, feeling his excitement start to build. 

Naturally, the place where any transports or supply ships landed would be miles and miles from any camp, for security reasons. Only superior officers would know supply drop-off locations. One could imagine such things were carefully coordinated long before a ship's arrival.

It was then that Landmine recalled he’d never once been on a supply run.

And, he guessed, he'd never find out what it was like. But he was cool with that.

“Right. Let’s move out, then. And stay close to me.”

That won’t be a problem, sir, Landmine thought, excited for the opportunity to spin his wheels. 

He also thought himself quite proficient in the art of speeding in style.

They both transformed, then sped to the entrance of the barracks. The drive took about an hour, quickly clearing miles of dry, uneven land, until at last, coming upon a ridge, the tip of a large, grey mass could be seen.

He could feel the vibrations of anticipation–of excitement!–growing as the mass became more and more like the shape of a transport ship–his ticket out of this forsaken place. 

Briefly, he began to wonder what the new team was like, what the ship and its resources provided would be, where they'd be assigned first…

Will I see my new commander’s face more than once or twice, whoever it is? 

And at last, they rolled down the sandy-brown rocks and onto the clearing, below the massive overhang of the ship. Landmine could hardly contain himself, and transformed as soon as his wheels came to a smooth halt. 

His superior officer also transformed, drawing up next to him, folding his arms again.

"Well. Off you go." 

He offered a brisk pat on the shoulder pad before trudging off to the left and calling out to one of the smaller mechs in the distance. Landmine reached into the bag strapped to him and fished out the paper before marching up the boarding plate. 

Landmine made it through the security check easily, papers identified, baggage approved, and he found the area in the cargo hold where he was to remain for the duration of the ride. 

“You will not leave this area until we have reached the designated location. We will use force if you cause any trouble. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, sir.”

A cargo hold… 

Well…it was a free ship ride during a war.

Landmine waited for the guard to leave, then walked over and sat down against the wall, well within the space he’d been told to occupy. He held his bag close to his chestplates, wondered if a full power-off would be a good idea, or if the ride would be too short for that. 

It seemed they weren’t going to allow him that information, either. 

 Ah, well, they’ll just have to wake me, then. Who knows if I’ll get a moment’s rest where we’re going anyway? 

 And with a quiet whirring, his systems slowed and he leaned his helm against the wall, slipping into a peaceful powerdown. 

…

It seemed the guard wouldn’t have to come and wake Landmine after all, as the ship came to a halt at its destination with a large thump that shook the ship down to the nails in the wallplates. 

Landmine was instantly ripped from his powerdown, jolted awake as he was thrown forward and then smacked back against the wall again when the vehicle finally halted. Rubbing his helm rather drowsily, he gave a small pout. 

Whoever’s driving should have their piloting license revoked. 

But he immediately recalled where he was and what he was doing, and the excitement returned, grasping his entire body in its hold. Quickly, he grabbed his bag and scrambled to his feet, waiting for someone to come and let him out. 

Be cool, be calm, you’re acting like a giddy sparkling. 

 Right. Steady motions, smooth words. Just as usual. 

And finally, someone did come. Actually, Landmine realized upon listening closer, there were…two sets of footfalls. He wondered if they were maintenance bots, or maybe a pair of workers come to unload the cargo hold, not permit Landmine to leave yet. 

But he remained still, listening to the footsteps, coming closer and closer until–

“He’s in here. You’re…assuming responsibility before he reaches the camp, sir?” 

It was the same guard from before. But then, the other bot with him spoke. 

 “Of course. You know higher-ups don’t give information about assignments, leading to accidents and the like.”

Odd. Was it one of his new teammates? 

He must be higher-ranking than me to have that guard call him “sir.” Or maybe I’m being moved up a few–no, wait. Swipecatch said this isn’t a promotion. But then, why–

Suddenly, the door opened with a weighty hissing noise, and the yellow light from the halls fell upon Landmine, who’d been getting used to the blue shadows of this cargo area. He immediately turned and saluted, watching as the guard walked in first, looked around, then stepped aside. 

In walked a yellow-plated bot, who took one look around, then put a servo on the shoulder pad of the guard. 

“You can go if you like. I gather you’ve more important things to get to, and I know the way off the ship.”

With a small smile and a salute, the guard turned and headed out the door. 

Landmine watched, somewhat amused, as the yellow mech leaned his head out the doorway, calling a thanks to the guard before turning back to Landmine with an awkward kind of smile. 

He actually thanked that guard. How interesting. 

Landmine returned the smile, a little more confidently. 

“Right. Um,” the bot took a deep breath and walked up to Landmine, offering his servo for a handshake. 

“My name is Metalhawk. I will be your new commander. Your other teammates are already aboard the ship.”

 Optics flitting from the outstretched servo to the earnest, blue optics staring back at him, Landmine was beginning to realize something. 

“I understand any previous commanders you’ve served under might have made a point on formalities, but I’m more interested in forming a good team than being addressed as ‘sir’ and the like. So, if you don’t mind, I hope we’ll get to know one another better with time.”

And that realization, was that this had been the right decision indeed, accepting this mission.

To be fair, anything would have been better than staying to fight in the scrapheap of a place he’d previously been.

With that…team of characters to live or die beside.

But Metalhawk seemed to be normal, perhaps even kind.

Plus, if his intuition wasn’t off, most captains, generals, and commanders were on the older side, but this bot…

He must be good to be a commander this young. 

Landmine took his servo and shook it firmly. 

“Glad to be serving with you, Hawk. I’m Landmine.” 

 At the nickname, Metalhawk gave a little grin, seeming to like it. 

 “Alright then, follow me.”

With a friendly chuckle, he headed for the door and immediately started to describe the other two bots Landmine was soon to meet. As they headed down the halls and out of the ship, he quickly learned that an he'd be in the company of two fliers–including his commander–and one sea-faring bot.

An interesting and even balance of alt-modes.

 “...and this is our ship.”

They stopped, and Landmine found himself before a huge mass of shining, silver and white metal. The daylight bounced off it gorgeously, edging the ship in glittery light. The green-blue windows looked as jewels, without a weathering mark or scratch in sight. 

The softer-toned blue highlights on the side plating of the vessel led his eye to the elegantly-painted Autobot symbol on the front hood. 

They might have been given the one ship only, but by Primus, was it a beauty.

Perhaps those old generals weren't all so selfish. 

It could have been some old prison ship with extra canons strapped to it, after all. 

This guy's lucky to be commander and score a ship like this. Something tells me Swipecatch wouldn't know what this is like, and he's been in the game longer.

He almost chuckled aloud before remembering where he was. 

A platform began to lower from the ship’s underside, which hung a little higher than their helms. Standing on it was a familiar face, and Landmine couldn’t help but perk up and exclaim–

“Diver!” 

“Lander!!” 

He felt a warmth surge through him. At last, he was seeing a familiar face again.

Someone he'd really thought, he'd never see again.

“‘Lander’?” Metalhawk echoed, taking a step up to the platform. 

The machinery gave a smooth whirring noise and the platform began to rise off the ground and back into the ship. Landmine could only laugh, letting Waverider answer for him. 

“We were arguing once,” the dark-plated mech said, leaning closer to Landmine. He spoke as if telling a weighty secret. “So I started calling him ‘Lander,’ like for his land-based vehicle mode. He retaliated, calling me ‘Diver.’”

“Because you have a water-based alt.”

“Exactly!”

“‘Diver’ is infinitely more creative, you have to give me that,” Landmine cut in.

“But ‘Lander’ is more direct!” Waverider protested. 

“It’s the most obvious kind of name!”

The three of them shared a laugh. 

That was most of the story, anyway. 

As the three headed down the dimly-lit hallway, Waverider kept talking. He started to tell their commander about their shared academy days, about the classes they took, the things they trained for. 

After a point, he couldn’t quite hear what the mech was talking about, as his mind began to wander.

Landmine recalled in flashes of memory, the moments he'd left out of the story...the days following that ‘argument,’ when they’d made up, and both their ‘insult names’ became somewhat like…pet names.

Calling in the hallways, covertly shifting places during inspections or exercises to stand with one another, sneaking into each other’s dorms, speaking in hushed tones as heat rushed through their systems, as if finally realizing all these feelings which had been for so long already there…

His spark skipped a beat as he gazed at the back of Waverider’s helm.

You never apologized for the way you left.

He tried to push those thoughts away. This wasn’t the time to stir that up. 

But it never matters what the mind wants, the heart will always have its way. Guilt, too. Such a persistent thing, guilt–bent on collection of time spent contemplating the past. 

Sharp like a knife, hidden in shadows of daily happenings, its steely glint appearing every now and then, its blade cutting deep into a wound time has slowly tried to mend. 

Tried to mend. 

But I tried…

Landmine began to wonder again about the truest meaning of “do what’s right” was. If it meant for the other bot or for oneself. If being a “good autobot” carried over into matters of the mind and spark, hidden from the public eye, intimate and…

This is not the time. 

Right. Not the time. 

Rounding the bend, Landmine was surprised to find how quickly they’d made their way to the command center. Considering the direction they’d been going, he guessed it was somewhere near the center of the ship.

Landmine watched as Metalhawk stepped in front of Waverider and reached out to a smooth, blue panel next to the door. 

“In addition to the defaults being set up–which I need to fix–I’m the only one scanned for access right now,” Hawk said with a little smile. The door hissed and started to open. “But by tonight you’ll be scanned to the system as well.”

“And the door will open in seconds, not hours!” 

“Yes, Waverider, it will,” Hawk said, rolling his optics.

Landmine watched as the door finally slid to the side, revealing a polished room with pristine, white floors and walls. Along the sides were blocks of machinery he could only guess was what higher-ups meant when they referred to something as ‘state-of-the-art.’

Except this stuff is state-of-the-art. 

The front of the room had grooves that shaped a large window, wrapping around about half the side walls. Landmine guessed they were retractable for direct visibility during flight. 

We don’t even need the windows open to fly the ship. Magnificent. 

“During your pre-mission training together, you’ll be introduced on a basic level to all the machinery aboard this ship, and I will designate you to certain roles when the need arises.”

Everything sparkled in its modern, symmetrical beauty. It was all new, untouched, and would ideally provide the team with advantages in conflicts to come. At least, far greater than the shabby resources given to camps like the one from which Landmine had just departed. 

Far less could die…

“Yo!” 

Three helms turned as a red-plated mech rose from behind one of the monitor stations near the back of the room. He clapped his servos together to dust them off and stepped out from the station, waving. 

“That was quick,” Metalhawk commented, looking the walls up and down. It was hard to tell what was manually modified and what had been unchanged, but Landmine decided it was best to simply trust that all the devices in the room would preform well when they were needed.

“Well...this is Cloudburst,” he said, gesturing at the mech. 

Cloudburst gave a big grin. 

“He’s just fixed our door problem, and most of the settings on the ship’s machinery,” the commander continued, looking somewhat pleased. 

"He did!!" Waverider called from the open door. He'd immediately run back to test it out.

A mechanic of sorts, Landmine surmised.

And, after a few minutes of talking passed, he found his hypothesis correct. 

Cloudburst had gone to university for a bit, before the war, but it was cut short. He was lucky enough to be selected for a special team of machinery developers, but then, unfortunate to have been placed in a camp that was quickly overpowered by Decepticon forces.

“And I made my escape before my section was done in,” he said. “In the days following, I made my way to…”

As he was talking, Waverider leaned over to Landmine. 

“Phoenix,” he whispered behind a servo.  

Immediately, he caught on, smirking. 

“Flier?” 

He watched with some satisfaction through his peripheral as Waverider nodded. 

“Well, I guess it isn’t that exciting, but…that’s about it from me!” Cloudburst finished with a huff and another smile. “So what about you?” 

Landmine felt put on the spot for a moment, then he shrugged. 

“It’s not much compared to your novel of a tale,” he remarked. The others gave a chuckle. He looked to Metalhawk. 

“But first…any chance we have drinks aboard?”

…

Landmine was incredibly amused to discover the lack of tolerance to high-grade his commander had. 

Of course, he’d never been drinking with a commander before, but he’d expected himself to get drunk first. 

Or…am I drunk, too? 

Truth be told, he was feeling a bit sleepy…and warm. 

Music played faintly from a speaker near the ceiling. Some song from a couple centuries back, the tune registering itself in subconscious memory. He knew the tune, but didn’t know the song. 

As it was, with many things. 

Yawning, Landmine tilted his helm, which was resting in the palm of his hand, and looked to his holopad. It was laid at the edge of the table, screen open with a striking, blue light.  

The sudden blue glow against the dim, pinkish lighting of the room hurt his optics a bit, so he looked away again. 

 Drunk or sober, I think I’m gonna fall over. 

 “Commander?” He gently poked the yellow mech. Metalhawk had his head down at the flat, white tabletop. 

Landmine guessed he was asleep. He took another sip of his drink, then put it down, giggling. 

Perhaps this’ll rouse him…

 “Hawk! Report status, soldier!” He deepened his voice to resemble the barking of a drill sergeant, tapping the yellow-plated mech as he spoke. 

Metalhawk gave a short jolt. 

“Whaz’t?” He slurred, raising his helm sharply, looking around a bit. He seemed to realize Landmine was talking to him and turned his gaze to him, squinting. 

“Hawk, I was wondering–”

“Comman’er here,” he murmured suddenly, yet still quietly, cutting Landmine off. He gave what looked like the very definition of an ‘improper salute’ as he spoke. 

“Yes, soldier?” He deepened his voice again, smirking. Hawk seemed partially unaware it was Landmine speaking to him, as if he was only half-awake.

“I report…I’m reporting for…my absence reports…I’ll go to class t’morrow, sir!!” 

Oh jeez. He’s so out of it– 

Landmine tightened his jaw, trying not to burst into laughter.

He promptly failed after a couple seconds more, but Metalhawk didn’t seem to really notice. And of course, this just made it funnier.

He watched as Metalhawk shook his head, looking rather drowsily at the empty cup sitting in front of him, then back at Landmine. Was he aware enough to want another drink? 

Perhaps he’d suddenly have some of that energy from a couple hours ago if he had that other drink.

The image of his Commander stumbling around and laughing in a mildly uncharacteristic manner returned to his thoughts. Landmine waited in anticipation as Hawk continued to stare at the cup. 

But then, he gave a long exhale and put his head back down, mumbling something else. 

 Landmine concluded with a small chuckle to himself that, Hawk was probably down for the night–for good this time. 

 “We come bearing–”

“Shush! He’ll know we’re here!!”

“He already does, you nut–” 

 He looked to the door as made a hissing noise and opened to reveal Cloudburst and Waverider, having a mild argument. 

 “Oh, you’re back,” He said, raising his glass with a small grin. Waverider set the crate down. “I definitely didn’t hear you coming down the hall.” 

He watched Waverider snap around and issue a light whack to Cloudburst. It was likely in place of a triumphant ‘I told you so.’  

This time, Landmine didn’t let himself laugh out loud. He did allow a quiet chuckle. 

Cloudburst walked over and grabbed a bottle, popping it open and taking a drink.

“You and the boss’re still around, I see!” 

Landmine nodded, moving to take another sip, but he found his cup empty. 

“I’d stay, but I’m so drunk right now, I can’t stand up straight,” he said, taking another swig. Landmine nodded again, reaching over and sliding a bottle of his own out of its slot. 

“Oh you’re drunk,” Waverider agreed shoving him playfully. 

And so are you, Landmine thought. So am I, probably. 

Pouring the bottle’s contents into his cup, he found his gaze fixating on the liquid as it sparkled mid-air. He liked the small sound it made as it refilled the cup. 

He did not wish to heed how many drinks he’d already had, or was giving himself. 

 “Well then, begone with you,” Waverider said. With a smirk, he suddenly reached over and swiped the open bottle from Cloudburst and took a sip. The mech didn’t seem to mind, just watching him with an amused grin.

“See you, Phoenix,” Landmine said, taking his eyes off his glass for a moment. He set his now-half-empty bottle next to Metalhawk’s sleeping figure. 

That was definitely too many drinks, considering the size of his cup.

  “I’ll be here for a while, I think.”

 Cloudburst nodded acknowledgement and made what Landmine classified as: an improper salute: exhibit B. 

“Then–until the morning shines!” He said, almost a little too loudly. “Cloudburst, signing off my duty–I mean–for my duty! I will bring you–”

“Shut up, you lugnut!” Waverider shoved him out of the room, laughing so hard he lost his footing a bit. The two toppled over, landing outside of the room. 

Landmine just watched, sipping at his cup. The door hissed shut on the sight of the two drunken mechs trying to unentangle themselves and stand up again, amidst their giddy, tipsy laughter. 

“Until the morning shines,” he echoed to himself absentmindedly, shifting his cup from side to side. 

The bubbly feeling he’d been harboring the whole evening was, inevitably and suddenly, starting to fade.

There was something starting to well up inside. Something another couple glasses wouldn’t fix, even though he had as much left in the bottle he’d just taken. 

Something rather cold and dark. 

To think I was among the dying in some forsaken frontlines camp. Now, here I am, drunk, with drunken fools. Look at me, one of them. 

He wasn’t feeling so warm anymore. 

Excitement awaits, or is it crueler death? 

Another sip, and he felt a twinge of unease. Or was it nausea? His fuel tanks remained in slight discomfort, but not enough that he’d be inclined to obey its silent will. 

So, he tilted his helm upwards to finish off the glass. Now he was ready to go.

Landmine rose unsteadily, swaying a bit, gripped the tableside. He felt his fuel tanks lurch with the movement, and took a second to breathe slowly.

He glanced at Hawk, still sleeping in his spot. He wondered when Waverider had planned to come back in, looking to the door. But everything had gone quiet. 

Probably went back to his quarters with Phoenix. 

Ah, well. It was about time he stopped drinking for the night, anyway. With a huff, he hauled himself upright and started towards the door. 

Don’t know where mine is…

He figured he’d just go back to the command center. Perhaps no one would mind if he passed out there. 

…

Three weeks later, the team was almost through with their pre-mission training requirements, with only days to go before they were certified to move out. 

It hadn’t been easy, but Landmine found himself feeling more confident in the mission to come, and in his Pretender abilities, which had until this point, meant next to nothing to him. 

 It was funny to think how the higher-ups had tried to convince every bot that their only purpose was a soldier, who should hold their gun and shoot–the only exception being if they were elite by caste or class, or simply higher-ranked. 

Day after day of military academy–especially after the war really got started–Landmine knew he was no elite. He was trained in how to use his gun, how to survive without proper resources for periods of time, to be a strategist–with the all the smarts a bot might need but would forget when a blade shoved itself against their throat. 

Yet still, only twice had he ever been spoken to about being a Pretender. About fighting as a Pretender and not as simply another Autobot soldier.

Perhaps it was trivial in the bigger picture–after all, dead is dead. 

 4-edge, 3-edge, length sticks, no not those…

Landmine’s optics flicked to the different boxes lined up in the shelf. Some of them had labels, some of those labels had faded to white. 

He’d gone to fetch some repair supplies for Cloudburst. And as usual, the silence invited the chatter of his own thoughts. 

How many were there like himself, with unacknowledged potential–who would likely die in battle, the intricate stories of their lives forced shut in an anticlimactic conclusion. No adventure, no life lived before their time? 

And how odd, he remarked internally, to still have the fortunate and the unfortunate, in the midst of a war–one being fought namely for the end of the class divide in Cybertronian society. 

Will we accomplish anything when we end this, other than the destruction of cities and lives? Be it violent tyranny and oppression, or the will of corrupt and almighty governmental bodies–who below them would come away with anything other than what has always been? 

Head down, staring at the contents of the open box, Landmine felt a familiar ache, a sinking feeling of dread and despair. 

Our lives lie in the hands of others. If we like it or not, if we wage a war for it or not. How fair is that? 

“Lander! Where are you, buddy? We’re doing another simulation soon, but Hawk wants us in the main hall first!” 

Waverider. 

He looked up, staring at the wall outside the open door. He felt guilty as silence followed, likely for his own lack of response. But he couldn’t say anything back right now. He gripped the box more tightly and started down the hall. 

Memories began to awaken. Things he wanted to remember that made his chest hurt, reminding him why he also…didn’t want to remember. 

I'm just as bad a spark, aren't I?

He wondered…how fair it was to break someone’s heart, and then, act like nothing had happened at all. 

…

On the day for liftoff–when training was complete and all certifications to move out had been met–Landmine found himself exiting powerdown before daylight had emerged in the sky. He was not a late-riser by any means, but not usually quite so early either. 

He stared at the faint rays of daylight, reaching through his window and lighting the edge of his room walls.

He thought about the vacuum of space ahead. Something like a smile played at the corners of his mouth. 

I’ll remember this for a while, won’t I? 

The mech paced his room a couple times, rolling his shoulder joints and stretching a little. He'd found many benefits to morning exercises.

Optics ticking to an empty glass bottle lying near the window, his mind drifted back to the evening before. 

To the impromptu speech Metalhawk had made last night over some drinks in the bar room. 

The dimly-lit room carried a quiet murmuring, a laugh here and there. Landmine had come a bit late, taking his seat while Waverider waved a hello and handed him a glass. Cloudburst was, of course, talking. 

After a little while, Landmine glanced over the table and saw that Metalhawk had a distant sort of smile on his faceplate. 

He ran a finger against his rounded glass, gently. Then, as if deciding something, he flicked the edge softly. 

The soft cling caught the attention of their group, quieting them. And, without moving his optics from the sight of the rippling liquid in his cup, he’d begun to speak. 

“As we prepare to liftoff tomorrow, I wanted to…say a few things.” 

He looked now, to each one of them. 

“I…cannot guarantee we will make it back to Cybertron, that we will always have what we need, or that we will…survive this. I don’t know if we’ll succeed or fail in our mission, end up as prisoners of war on some Decepticon ship or not, or die as just a handful more nameless, faceless faction of the Autobot army. But, there is one thing of which, I do ask you to be certain.” 

He smiled a smile that no longer seemed distant, but very much real. Present. 

A look shimmered in his optics that Landmine knew well, yet not of his own experience. 

It was a look that belonged only to those who had somehow, not been tainted at their very core–who had somehow learned to love all things as they were, and to always love. 

Someone, he mused the thought, who had perhaps, not yet learned to hate from the pits of his being. Or maybe…

Made a choice, he'd thought.

“I am your commander in name only. More importantly, however, know I am your teammate, and I will not abandon you at any cost. Our destinies are uncertain–I only hope for many good centuries together. Not as mere soldiers of the Autobot faction, but instead as warriors of Cybertron, and of justice. Though imperfect as all beings are, we have, and always will have, a duty to protect life, and to strive to do good. And that mission, above all others, I do believe we can accomplish.”

Landmine gave a shout of approval and raised his glass high in the air. Nodding, the others raised theirs. They gazed back at Metalhawk, who gave a small chuckle, then raised his own glass. 

“For peace!” He offered the toast. Clinking of glass and overlapping shouts followed.

“For Cybertron!!”

“Let’s get ‘em!!”

“YEAA!!!”

Landmine blinked again, realizing he’d begun to stare at that bottle a little too long. 

The memory left him in the silence of his room in the early hours of day. 

Today’s the day. 

He slipped his new blaster to its holster and cast one more look at his room, then headed down to the main room to start course-planning, as a favor for the others on the ship, of course. 

…

Many years had passed since the Pretenders’ liftoff. Missions had been carried out, ships tracked and ambushed, prisoners transported to warships that arrived quickly after battles. The three weeks of training hadn’t done much to show them what they’d learn firsthand on every mission. 

Many hours were spent behind piles of mission reports and other writeups for record-keeping. No one had been seriously wounded up till this point, just some scratches here and there. 

When it was time to close in on their target, there’d be tense silence in the command room, darkened save for the computer display of what lay outside their ship’s windows. It was the unspoken group decision that pursuing targets would mean windows were closed, for maximum stealth effect in addition to the cloaking technology their ship possessed.

The panel walls were littered with an array of maps and charts (digital or tacked on rather hastily) that either had to do with their ship or the one the team was chasing. All optics and servos were locked to their task, relaying commands and requests between stations, ready for almost anything. 

 And at present, that was kind of the team’s situation…with one slight change. 

 “Phoenix, give me the numbers on our bottom left central thruster. Will it hold?”

 Having tracked their target to a very distant quadrant, the computer didn’t have much information about the area or its conditions. 

 “Ah…we’re at 42% power and dropping. The damage report indicates the shielding was torn off and it’s leaking fuel. The secondary power source cables are damaged as well, so once all the power’s gone, that’s it.” 

“Are the damage control systems online?”

“Negative. We have to go manual,” He pulled up the video feed of their rear camera to show the damage. “We are traveling at full speed in space, so manual repairs are not doable–”

“–without the cost of a life, alright. And if we continue pursuit as we are?” 

“Without repair? The…system says about 20 minutes until it starts sucking power from the other ones, and then we’ll enter float stage, pre-free-fall.”

 So…they were trapped. 

Landmine watched as he ducked his head, dealing a restrained punch to the wall next to him before returning to his command station and furiously typing away at the controls. He cast his eyes back to his own task, repeating to himself that he must stay focused.

“I’m going to try to reroute the power from the damaged thruster to the functional ones and shut off its power. We need to land now, or we’ll be forced to land,” he said quickly, not looking up. 

The tremor in his voice was audible, ambiguously a tone of either urgency or fear. 

 Landmine looked up from his station, where he had been managing their travel course since no one was piloting manually. 

 “Should I analyze the properties of our current sector and any stable landforms?” He offered, already pulling up another screen. 

“Yes, make sure–”

 Suddenly, the vessel jolted downwards and shook with such force that everyone was knocked to their feet. A blaring alarm sounded as the ship shook again, an automated voice announcing in smooth Cybertronian that their back two thrusters were out of power. 

The lights shut off for a second, while the ship swayed unevenly before a loud whirring started up and it moved back up again. 

When it returned to a somewhat stable position, the lights remained flickering, and everyone remained gripping their stations tightly so as to not fall over. 

 Metalhawk straightened and immediately dashed to the front of the ship, smacking a panel on the front computer and grabbing the steering wheel. As he twisted it, he turned back around for a moment. 

 “Lander–something within the current firing range of this ship–we need a landing place now!!”

“We’re abandoning target pursuit?” 

 He felt a small spark of hope as Metalhawk, gave a silent nod in response. He had the feeling most other commanders would have sacrificed themselves and their ship, preaching the nobility of dying for this cause without abandoning the mission.

 “With any luck, one of our last stray shots hit their ship too–which was already on its last leg from the looks of it,” Waverider piped up. “So they won’t be too far ahead, I’ll bet.” 

 “Okay, then,” Landmine switched off his station’s input to the course control and focused his efforts on scanning the nearby planets. “I’ll get something.” 

The ship was vibrating now, but not with its usual even-toned hum. 

It was the kind of uneven vibrating a machine made before it finally gave out and powered down for good.

Meanwhile, all the planets in their current sector weren’t looking too appealing. 

Not many with life or long-term livable conditions…Hm…

“Balance function is starting to–”

As if on cue, the ship began to tilt downwards again, the metallic whirring noise growing louder and louder. A small explosion could be heard before the lights shut off for good and the alarm system abruptly stopped. Everyone was tossed violently to the ground. 

The automated voice struggled to tell the room–

“We lost the third one!!” Cloudburst called over the halting monotone speech from the ship’s speakers. He shook his head picked himself off the ground, then rushed for the door. 

“I’ll shut off the power transfer so it doesn’t fry the rest of the ship and us in it!” The door hissed open and he disappeared down the hall. 

 Then, the sound of…something blowing out, sounded in the room. 

“Oh, sweet fraggin–” Waverider muttered the beginnings of a swear before whipping his gaze to the side to watch as the left half of the ship went completely dark, the computer panels clearly destroyed past functioning point. 

He slammed his station with a balled first. 

“We’re blind on the left side!”

Metalhawk made a noise of frustration and worry, just barely audible above the roaring engine as it struggled to stay active. He was grappling with the somewhat functional manual steering system, trying to keep the ship at a steady angle. 

 “Can we open the–ngh!!” 

He was cut off as the ship as the ship lost control again, throwing him off the wheel and slamming him against the wall and then the floor. As he stumbled to his feet and back to the steering wheel, he gasped as he saw the other side of the ship’s display panels begin to flicker ominously. 

Landmine swallowed, doing his best to quickly surf through all the information presented. 

“We’re almost out of power–we can’t deactivate the panels!”

It was now or never, they needed a place to–

'Sol System Entry 7625 - Life: detected.’ 

Landmine blinked twice at the screen in front of him. He scrolled back to the planet that had read the one positive result among the sea of negative ones. 

It that…?

With a quick tap, the image of a blue orb with wispy, white clouds tracing its edge, floating gently in its place, appeared on his display screen. His optics flicked to the planetary report, intrigued to find that this place had even been previously logged into Autobot travel records. 

‘Atmospheric makeup: Non-toxic. Resource profile: Varied, Non-toxic. Cycle End Date: Undetected. Motion Cycle: Rotation.’ 

He checking one last thing, anticipation building–

Landing conditions: Optimal; follow procedure 41F-52.’

That was it.

“We need to prepare the ship to enter foreign atmosphere!!”

Waverider and Metalhawk snapped their gazes in his direction.

“Yes, I found us a landing spot, you can thank me later. The profiles of the surrounding planets are virtually uninhabitable–this is our only option right now!” 

Waverider exchanged looks with their commander, who gave him a sharp nod. Then, he ran over to Landmine’s screen. After a moment, he chuckled a little. 

When he turned to look at Landmine, a smile had cracked onto his face through the solemn, controlled panic that had been previously. The soft, turquoise light from the only control panels still working in the room bounced off the curves of his face, shimmering off his blue visor. 

 And even though there was such a high chance they’d die in the next few minutes, Landmine found himself frozen, simply staring back.

 No. We can’t die today. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. 

“Hey! Um, a little help here–did we find something?!”

Landmine let out a little laugh and slid back into his seat as Waverider seemed to snap back to seriousness and leaned over to speak for him.

“Hawk, it also checks out as habitable to carbon-based life forms!” He called, gripping the his station as the ship jerked to the side again. “We’ll be fine as long as we land safely!” 

Just then, Cloudburst came rushing into the room. 

“The core engine isn’t looking good, guys! We need to get the ship out of full thrust mode or we’ll overheat, and our power sources will mix and explode!!” 

Oh. Wonderful. 

So, the options had been expanded beyond: 1.) drifting aimlessly, trapped inside a non-functioning ship until energon-depletion or some other cause killed them, or 2.) losing power completely and burning up upon entry to the nearest atmosphere.

Now, they had a third option: sitting and waiting for their ship to simply overheat and explode. 

The reddish mech ran up next to Metalhawk and started pushing buttons on the control panel. 

“Someone needs to prepare the stasis pods and program them to ejection mode, I’ll set an altitude point!” 

“Got it!” Waverider called, jumping up and sprinting out of the room. Landmine started inputting the coordinates of destination to the navigation system–one of the only undamaged things thus far–and deprogramming the space travel controls. 

A couple minutes of silence passed before he flashed a thumb-up in the air.

“We’re ready for atmospheric entry in approximately 40 seconds and counting!” 

“Brace for a drop, everyone!” Metalhawk shouted, planting his feet and gripping the wheel with all the force he could give. 

“Stasis pods are ready to go!” Waverider reentered the room, sliding back into his station.

“Engines to 15%!”

“Roger!”

“Everyone get down!!”

There was a loud noise from the engine, then an abrupt silence as it cut down to about 15% power, and then the ship dipped so far downwards that Landmine felt himself grimace. 

Part of him even wondered if this was really procedure, and that they weren’t all about to die now. 

As if we weren’t before, he scoffed at himself. 

He dug his digits into the side of his seat and shut his optics as the ship began to pick up speed. 

The eerie silence endured for what felt like an eternity before the ship moved again, this time to right itself and return to a normal angle. At least, normal enough that Landmine opened his eyes to look around and see that the others were slowly standing up. 

 Metalhawk let out a shuddering breath and pressed a couple buttons with shaking digits before stepping back and regarding his crew. He’d probably switched the ship back to autopilot, so that they could all–

“Everyone to the stasis pods,” he ordered solemnly, quietly. 

No one else spoke a word, ducking their helms and filing out of the room and into the hall. 

Landmine walked out last. 

He cast one last look at the nearly pitch-black command room, catching sight of the last couple working display panels struggling to function before the door hissed shut behind him. 

He felt a twinge of sadness at the idea that they were saying goodbye to this ship so soon. Admittedly, it had been one nice vessel, with a gorgeous design and plenty of capabilities.

Then, there was the stark realization that once they entered stasis, they might not make it back out alive. 

We can’t die today. We won’t.

Since the ship was barely working, the lighting in the halls was…nonexistent. However, they knew exactly where they were going, and walked quietly in the darkness until they reached their destination. 

With a quiet whirring noise, the door slid open. The darkness was abruptly luminated with a soft, greenish glow, emanating from the center of each stasis pod lying in its place. 

There were six of them, more than enough for every member on this team. 

Landmine had been there to help Cloudburst put in the other three.

He walked in and watched as Metalhawk entered his verification to the panel on the wall, deactivating the locks on each one so they hissed and snapped open simultaneously. The greenish glow faded to a blue, as if softening, to invite them in. 

“Whatever the outcome, remember what I said to you all on our liftoff day,” Metalhawk said as evenly as he could, turning and regarding each mech slowly, kindly. He had that smile on his face again, which seemed to ease the tension in the room. 

“If we make it out alive or if this is the day on which Primus welcomes us home, I am honored to have had such a good team of friends. I am honored to die, not for this cause, but surrounded by you.”

"And we're honored to remain with you in this moment, sir."

"It was an honor indeed."

"Frag yeah."

Their commander nodded, then swiveled to gaze down at the stasis pods.

“Then…until we meet again,” he said, soft enough that he almost wasn't audible.

He then walked to the back of the room and took a step into the pod. Cloudburst followed, taking the one next to him.

Landmine stepped towards his pod, then stopped, frozen in place again. 

It wasn’t quite hesitation or fear, but something was stopping him from going forward. He could feel the quaking beneath him, as the ship was no doubt somewhat falling apart, reaching closer and closer to the ground. 

He heard the doors to the other pods seal themselves shut, administering the stasis lock. 

But something was…

“Hey.” 

He looked to his side and found himself millimeters away from Waverider. His spark skipped a beat. But, he wasn’t afraid. 

He found himself reaching out and gripping Waverider’s servos, firmly, yet gently. He traced his thumb along the palm of his hand, smiling with a deep emotion he couldn’t quite place. 

Waverider’s visor glittered, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth upwards. He let his helm fall against Landmine’s.

He spoke so softly, so gently, in his easy-going way that almost made it seem like he didn't even fear death itself. 

“I want to see you again.”

“Me too.”

“Then see me again!” 

“Alright, I will,” Landmine chuckled, letting go of one hand and bringing it up to caress Waverider’s face for a moment. “I won’t leave you again.” 

“Oh, Lander…”

“I’m sorry for everything, I’m sorry for the things I said back in Academy, I'm sorry for never contacting you, I’m sorry for–”

“Shh…” 

 The black-plated mech drew away, his hand sliding slowly out of Landmine’s grip. He gave a soft smile and climbed into his pod, still watching him.

Landmine found himself to be shaking, unable to speak as he watched Waverider lean back and close his optics. He didn’t know how to describe this feeling, that seemed to break his facade, to suddenly force him to realize of the gravity of everything happening in this moment. 

The possibility of the unwanted outcome, which no one would mourn, and no one would remember, until long after the war was over. Or perhaps, not even then.  

He watched, motionless, as the glass panel slid over his body, the blue shining off it in wavy lines.

He mouthed something just before the glass fogged over and he could no longer be seen. 

Until we meet again. 

He could still felt the touch on his hand, the weight against his forehead, heard the softly-whispered utterances ringing in the recesses of his mind as he finally forced himself to move. 

Stepping into his own pod, he felt a strange relief wash over him. Perhaps it was closer to sudden resignation, but he wanted to believe it was relief.

A sheet of clear glass moved over his body, another, thicker one sliding over from the side.

It was a very small space, this container. 

He found himself smiling.

Maybe now he could finally say he’d been a good Autobot. 

Had the past been fixed? Had he done anything right or...just? Had he truly strove for the protection of all life, as Hawk had put it? 

Perhaps. Or not. But maybe I did my best. And maybe…that’s good enough. 

And then, the nothingness of stasis wrapped its grip around him, and everything went dark. 

…

“No, you need a new tie–where’s your sense of style?!” Landmine took a long drink from his glass before shaking his head. “Oh, wait I forgot–you don’t have one.”

“Says the guy in the ugliest jacket I have ever laid eyes on–”

“That's my favorite one, shut up!” 

“You!!”

“You!!!”

But the both of them were laughing.

Though tipsy, they hadn’t thought to call it a night yet, especially not on their drinks. So they remained, sitting near the window of a high-rise, fancy restaurant in the middle Manhattan.

It had so happened, Waverider was in the city for a bit, so Landmine decided to take him to one of his favorite restaurants.

It was times like this he was happy to be not just a human, but one with a very decent salary.

The lights of the city twinkled like a sea of stars tied to the ground, canceling out the vast number of stars that both of them knew hung high in the sky…out in space…

“It’s been too long for you, hasn’t it?” 

 Landmine jolted a bit a he heard Waverider’s voice, gaze snapping back to him and away from the city below. He watched him reach out and pick up his glass, tracing the edge of it with a finger. 

“Me too, Lander,” Waverider said, so quietly it could have been to himself, “Me too.” 

Yes, he agreed, internally, looking back out the window.  

It’d been quite literally ages since they’d been able to resume their missions, flying around the galaxy…they’d been in human bodies for so many years, it almost felt like a distant memory–the war, or that they belonged to a whole other world. 

Considering how long they'd been forced to remain on earth so far–as their superiors felt it best to just station the team on earth rather than provide or allow them a means to come back to Cybertron–he was fairly open to that notion. Perhaps it was better it all remained a vague memory, put behind him for good.

Life on earth wasn't perfect, but it had a lot of its own good moments. In some ways, it was better than Cybertron, he'd concluded.

And despite what he knew many of his kind would think, he didn't feel guilty at all for feeling that way.

He remembered the day their stasis pods reactivated, opening his optics to a bright light floating in a crystal blue sky, and realizing he was unharmed, and still alive. 

The flood of hope like no other, that had caused him to remain motionless for quite a while before he finally left his pod. 

But what had felt like such a distant memory wasn’t just the war itself. 

 “Hey,” he said taking another sip of the sparkling white liquid in his glass. “I’ve missed talking to you like this. Just sitting together...”

He watched Waverider lean back to down the rest of his glass before responding. 

“You said it.”

“We should…get together more often,” he found himself saying. The music playing faintly on the speakers stopped for a moment as he spoke. 

He watched Waverider smile, but felt his heart tighten as it registered what kind of smile it was. This was familiar. Quite familiar. 

Another song started to play overhead. Something about romance. 

“I’d…be open to that,” he said at last, looking out the window. Even amidst the medium-level noise of the restaurant, his sudden silence seemed to shout at Landmine. 

Should I not have...?

Landmine sighed and reached out a hand, letting his fingers rest on his friend’s. 

The warm, semi-dim lighting of the restaurant painted the strangers at the tables behind them in orange shadows. The yellow of the overhead lighting shimmered faintly in the depths of Waverider's soft blue eyes. 

He looked out the window again, too, eyes caught by the sight of a skyscraper flashing a bright yellow light in some practiced sequence. 

He found it wonderful and intriguing that even after all these years watching civilization build itself into the modern day, there were still some things he’d never know about daily life. 

Or it might be a broken light. 

Another memory suddenly greeted him. 

The one where he went to check Waverider’s pod first, instinctively, and moment he realized how afraid he’d been when Waverider finally opened his eyes, the glass sliding away immediately, letting him sit up.

 “We’re up first! How wild is that?” He’d said, dropping down to a kneeling position to be eye-level with him. Waverider blinked once, twice, then chuckled. 

“Pretty wild.” He leaned forward and touched foreheads with Landmine. “So, hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m seeing you again. I told you we’d see each other soon…”

“I know…”

Suddenly, the hand beneath his shifted to grip back, pulling him from his memory and into the present again. The smile that he saw across the table was different again, looking happier than before. 

I just don’t know how to tell you...

 “Can I come to your office tomorrow, then?” 

 Landmine smirked, feeling his own playful nature return in full. 

 “Only if you let me pick out your outfit–and you throw out that awful tie!” 

“By the Primes, Lander–”

“No, I'll even buy the stuff for you. It’ll be my treat,” He insisted, starting to laugh. “The people at my office will kick you out if you walk in with that uncoordinated kind of style!” 

“Oh, then you must have experience in that field,” Waverider joked back, motioning at Landmine’s signature burgundy jacket. 

He had the most smug grin on his face.

“My good sir, I’ll have you know that–” 

But he didn’t finish his sentence.

He’d broken off abruptly, just staring at Waverider for a moment. The clamor of people around them seemed to fade out.

Unsure as to whether it was the wine he'd been drinking or something else entirely, he felt like something was...pulling at him, and he found himself leaning closer and closer until…

Another memory flashed through his mind’s eye. It was of his first experience with a kiss. 

Landmine was sitting in his office, typing away at his laptop. He'd been working at a paper company while he looked for a better job, having set his sights on moving to New York.

He was filling out his application for a position as head of sales at an automotive dealer when he felt a tap on the shoulder.

In the reflection of his computer screen, he could see Waverider's figure before he felt him lean over and rest his head on his shoulder.

"Hey," he murmured, grinning. "Shouldn't you be in a meeting?"

His partner didn't respond, instead leaning over and pressing his lips gently against Landmine's cheek. The blonde froze, obviously startled by the gesture.

Then at last, he cleared his throat, looking up at Waverider, who still had a large smile on his face. He was sure he was flushed, but tried to play it cool.

"And you did that…why?”

“It’s a human custom,” Waverider explained, laughing. “Its called kissing. Saw someone in my office do it with their partner, and I've seen it hundreds of times before that, but didn't know what it was."

"And that is?" He watched Waverider draw back a bit, tapping his chin in thought.

"How do I say...well, it's like...it means affection, or that you care for someone.”

"Alright..." Landmine was still confused, however. “But, I mean...is it platonic or romantic?”

Waverider shrugged. Then, leaned over to kiss Landmine's cheek again.

"That's...up to us, I guess..."

Whatever you wanted it to be, a kiss was. 

Well, he didn't know what this kiss was, but...he knew it felt right. It was better than any word he could speak, or gesture he could make.

And after a moment, he and Waverider leaned back, sat back down, quiet again. But, not an uncomfortable silence. 

He watched his companion smile, start to blush. The dimples in his face showed themselves as he smiled back at him. He ruffled his brownish-blonde hair with one hand, starting to giggle a little. 

Landmine knew it wasn’t going to be long before Waverider would have to return to his job, leaving New York again. They’d be lonely again, even if they called and messaged…

But maybe what they had...didn't need some kind of label, or name. A commitment or a friendship or...something deeper than that...whatever this was.

This still felt alright. As it always had. Something told him Waverider felt that, too. 

He and Waverider had since had many long talks about their academy days. Everything had been laid out, brought up, acknowledged and forgiven.

They had come to understand one another so deeply in all their years since coming to Earth, but especially now, as humans in this current time of peace. 

“No matter what you do, or who you’re with," Waverider murmured, beaming, "I’ll always be here for you. I know I've said that before, but...eh, it's worth saying again.” 

"I know."

"I'm glad!" He laughed again.

He was certainly a little drunk, sure but, he was always like this, Landmine thought.

Waverider had always been a relaxed and fun-loving soul.

“Connected sparks...always find their way back together no matter what, don’t they?” Landmine remarked, flicking a fingertip against his plate.

He felt warm, all the way inside himself, not from the meal or the heater, but...from something else.

Waverider blinked in some surprise for a moment, seeming to take in the words, processing them, before the smile returned to his features.

“Yeah...they really do.”

And, suddenly Landmine took notice of the speaker overhead, as it had started playing something else while they spoke. 

It was a song about humanity–something he and the other Pretenders had learned slowly but surely, was quite relative to what they’d known all their lives.

The truth of existence, which Landmine had found and continued to find with every passing day. 

That it's alright, to be as one is–imperfect, yet persevering.

Bringing what one can to the table of life, giving, speaking, loving and experiencing it all. 

That in that imperfection, life itself was good–contrary of course, to what he’d learned in the Cybertronian Military Academy, which had been wrong about many other things as well. 

Life in many forms, which seeks friendships and connections between others, in its funny, social nature.

Nothing quite in idealistic purity, and often happy in that manner of existing.

That, which altogether, made it truly beautiful to be alive, especially on this Earth.

///

“But—but I can cook!”

“You…can cook?”

“Yeah!”

“You can…cook?” Hawk repeated, as if this was impossible to believe.

“I—yeah? Well, I'm not all good at it, but it's food, right? It's edible…” Hawk raised an eyebrow at this as Ginrai pursed his lips and looked away, flushing slightly.

Suddenly, the kitchen seemed to fill again with the distinctive smell of burning chicken.

The image of large, misshapen chunks of it rather…creatively charred to ashy black and stuck to a Teflon pan.

Ginrai waving the smoke frantically, and then grabbing his cup of drinking water splashing it over the smoky meat, rendering it more inedible than it had already been….it was an amusing, yet depressing sight.

Hawk also recalled the price of the new pan he’d gone and ordered online an hour after.

He wasn’t joking when he told me it was dangerous to leave him alone in the kitchen. Was he aware it was burning before the smoke started up?

“Ok, ok…so I’m no world-famous chef...” Ginrai admitted hotly. He started to play with a stray fork from the newly-cleaned load.

Hawk stifled laughter and shook his head wordlessly.  Ducking below the counter to organize the lids of pots and pans, his lips played at a smile.  

“Yeah, that poor pan might have to agree with you—”

“But I would....like to…try again. Maybe, with some guidance this time,” he added more quietly.

“So that you don’t burn the food?”

“Pretty much,” Ginrai agreed, watching Hawk turn on the sink, continuing to unload the dishwasher.

Absentmindedly, he let his eyes follow the trail of water as it ran from the faucet next to him, freely touching on the items piled in the sink. From the upside-down bowl, down the slim, blue plates, pooling in another bowl, or heading further down to fill an empty red container….

“And…would you be aiming for somewhat of an edible meal this time around?” Hawk asked innocently.

“'Somewhat'—”

A sparkle flashed in the trucker’s gaze, and he reached forward to flick the running water at Hawk, who ducked to the side.  The water hit him anyway, but he didn’t mind.

Meanwhile, Ginrai attempted to defend himself.

Hawk began loading the dishes now.

“In my defense, I’ve only made chicken twice in my life, and that fiasco last week doesn’t count!!”

“Well, neither do the other two times, since those were microwaveable chicken dinners—”

“Shut up!”

But they were both laughing.

Hawk got to thinking all the same.

As it was, there weren’t many people left in HQ at the moment, and fewer who could actually cook. Ordering out was not an option since their budget for the month declared they were already $126 over that spending limit.

So, all that considered, the duty of cooking fell upon Hawk once again.

Well…I have paperwork to start on, but as long as nothing else comes up, cooking shouldn't be a problem.

A quick knock on the side of the kitchen’s entrance grabbed the attention of the pair, and they looked up to see Cloudburst standing on the wooden threshold, holding some papers.

Ginrai had no idea what they were, but from the look on Hawk’s face, one could guess he did.

“Oh—hey, Clouds,” Ginrai waved, grinning.

The man waved back a little sheepishly. It didn’t look like he was here to hang around for fun.

He quickly looked to Hawk, and before he could say anything, the Pretender commander straightened and closed the dishwasher, entering the settings for the load.  

“You…need those investigative patrol reports done, I presume?” He asked, not looking up. As the machine whirred into action, he moved to the sink and started to clean it.

The silence that followed seemed to suffice for an answer. 

And suddenly, Ginrai noticed, Hawk looked tired. Very tired.

After all, Ginrai remembered, it was Hawk who ended up doing most of the paperwork associated with their team. He was supposed to review them, too…

“I take it you forgot to do these, and they’re part of what’s due tomorrow?”

Cloudburst was beginning to look a little embarrassed, and he started to play with the edges of the papers for a moment before stepping into the kitchen and setting them down on the marbled counter.

Finally, he spoke.

“I—well, yes. And I was going to do them tonight, but my office called and, um, they’ve sort of—they’ve got a lot of guys out. Naturally, there need to be people at the desks doing stuff, but also someone to sit watch on the communications station, and I don’t know if my boss would be too happy to have me call in to let him know I can’t…go either…”

Cloudburst broke off abruptly as he watched Hawk slipped his apron off and turned to face him, a polite look tying his features to a mild, calm expression. He leaned over and rifled through the papers for a moment, then spoke again.

“Don’t worry about it, go and do your job.”  

“R-really? And…you’re ok with it?”

Hawk nodded. “This kind of thing can’t be helped.”

Ginrai made a slight face. He wasn't so sure about that one.

“I’m just glad you told me now rather than five hours from now. Remember to let me know immediately if anything important comes through the communications room tonight.”

Cloudburst smiled, saluted. “Yes, sir!”

He then gave a ‘goodbye’ nod to Ginrai, and quickly left the room.

Just a little curious, Ginrai leaned over the counter to take a look at the papers himself, then winced at the sight of nearly-illegible text scrawled in different places on the page, in different shapes, shorthand—

So….this is what they look like before they’re done. This is what he’s got to work with.

The young Autobot commander started to feel bad about the fact that clearly, he’d never even done the record-keeping part of reports, let alone the actual filing of them. In his opinion, they were a little pointless, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t get stuck with them anyway.

Yes, it technically wasn’t his duty as the leader of the team, but…he still felt guilty.

It looked like a lot of work, after all.

Hawk really did a lot for the team, Ginrai was always fully aware, just…he wondered if anyone else seemed to realize that. Like, really realize.

If they did, maybe they’d be more careful about their own paperwork stuff, instead of dumping it on Hawk all the time, who’s too nice to say no.

Next to him, Hawk was already starting to read the papers over. Ginrai vaguely recalled the list of projects the man was already swamped with, and came to a new resolve.

Ok, next team meeting, I’ll ask them all to start doing their own reports. I am their leader now, I can do that sort of thing.

Feeling good about this, he put an arm around Hawk, leaning over and giving him a soft kiss on his head. With a soft exhale, Hawk seemed to accept the gesture, letting his weight fall more limply on Ginrai. The smile on his features was a tired one, but it read of soft gratitude.

Neither said a word for a few heartbeats, letting the silence embrace them. No one needed to say anything, no one wanted to.

Outside, the autumn sky had begun to darken, making it seem much further into the night than it likely was. It was as if there was not a living soul in that base save for them.

Then, Hawk shifted and Ginrai stepped to the side to let him stretch.

“Do you need me to do anything?” He offered. The grin from earlier seemed to return.

“Well, Supreme Commander,” Hawk said, giving him a decidedly more sultry look.

“Well, my lovely subordinate?” Ginrai prompted, blushing lightly. 

“I’m going to need some help getting dinner done if I want to have time to file those reports before the deadline…”

Ginrai’s eyes sparkled. He knew where this was going.

“…you said you wanted to try cooking again?”

“Hell yeah!”

///

“Alright, now that we have our water…” Hawk motioned to the pot sitting in the sink, then the stove. “It’s got to heat up.”

Ginrai nodded, still rubbing his newly bandaged hand.

Minutes ago, the two had thought to prepare the vegetables going into the pasta before starting on anything else, just to get it out of the way.

Hawk had begun cutting things up while Ginrai watched, then after a few minutes, handed Ginrai the knife to give him a go at it.

Not a minute went by before the man decided to speed up the cutting pace, drop the knife, and well…the band-aid could speak for itself.

It was quickly decided that Hawk would handle all the other parts of this dish, and Ginrai would be on the pasta, and only the pasta.

What could go wrong there, after all?

“Um…you wanted the fire on high?”

“Yes.”

“So, I turn the knob this way?”

“Other way.”

“Oh, yes, right.”

“Alright."

Hawk quickly added, a little nervously, “And please, try not to burn yourself.”

Ginrai gave a thumbs up, then moved to operate the stove. He frowned at its lack of fire after turning the knob. After a moment or two of trying, he looked to Hawk again. He’d forgotten to push the knob inwards to get the fire going, but clearly wasn’t aware of that.

“Is…is this thing on?”

Hawk fought the urge to start laughing. It would be light-hearted, but he didn’t want to hurt Ginrai’s feelings, so he bit his tongue instead.

He must not be joking when he says everything he eats is store-bought and microwaved. 

What made this especially funny was how he did this wearing an apron Hawk remembered receiving as a Christmas gift from Waverider.

The front side read “Master Chef, Move Along” in English, written with big, red letters.

The irony of it was almost too much for Hawk. However, he composed himself and walked over to the stove.

“Push it first, hold,” as he did this, a rhythmic crackling noise sprang from the stove, “and then, you’ve got a fire. So now, turn it where you need.” He stepped back and watched as Ginrai tentatively held the knob, then nodded to himself.

“Alright, fire on high, here we come,” he murmured.  And with a gentle twist, the fire popped up under the smoky grates at what seemed to be the ‘high’ setting.

At last, they were getting somewhere!

A half hour had gone by, but perhaps the next one would make up for the lost time. And, thankfully, Ginrai hadn’t burnt himself on anything—or burnt anything—yet. The pot was carefully placed atop the fire with no troubles.

Now, it was time to for Hawk to focus on finishing the rest of the meal. Dumping the tomatoes into the bowl and beginning to crush them, Hawk called to Ginrai to add the pasta to the water if it seemed to be boiling.

“And…how do I tell it’s boiling?”

“Bubbles,” Hawk responded more quietly, seeming very focused on smashing the tomatoes in his bowl.  

“Got it!”

The trucker glanced at the pot and saw a couple bubbles. Two, he counted, probably from when he’d filled the pot with water.

Did he mean a lot of bubbles or a little?

Guess there was only one way to know.

He then looked to the unopened box of pasta lying near the edge of the counter. Quickly, Ginrai opened it and plopped it into the water, jumping back as it splashed out a little.

From where he was standing, Hawk called out to him.

“Could you grab the two bowls near the window? The water will need some salt, and this paste will need some flavoring.”

“Roger!”

Hawk thought about going to check the bowls, but his present task seemed to have all his concentration. He only hoped Ginrai knew the difference between the two ingredients.

And once again, Ginrai proved he could not be left to do anything alone in the kitchen.

He played a short game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe to decide on which bowl was going to the pasta, and which was going to Hawk. Then, feeling satisfied with his decision, he flipped one of the small bowls upside down, dumping the entirety of its contents into the pasta.

No, he had no idea which was salt, and which was the flavoring. He'd instead opted to hope it was salt he’d just added to the pasta.

As the water started to bubble more vigorously, the trucker stood and stared at it, thinking.

Huh. I didn’t know you put that much salt in pasta. Maybe that’s why they say it’s bad for your cholesterol or…something.

“Hey, before you bring the flavoring here, you might want to make sure the pasta fits the pot! It’ll be easier to work with if its been cut down to fit.” Hawk called over again, seeming to still be working on the tomato paste.

Ohh…well, that makes sense. How do I get that out of the pot to cut it, though?

Ginrai tapped his chin in thought, still staring at the murky, white water as it bubbled—viciously, now—and the pasta as it started to bounce and move.

I wonder if—

He reached in to pick up the pasta with his bare hands, then snapped back, hissing in quiet pain.

Obviously, it was hot by this point, and so it had burned him. But what really hurt was when the heat felt like it had seared through his band-aid and touched his cut from earlier.

Was cooking supposed to be this painful?

Calm down, you're just resizing it.

He exhaled slowly and carefully putting the pasta back in the pot so he could contemplate plan B.

Which was…well........those scissors near the knives looked pretty good.

Because maybe, he didn’t even need to take the pasta out of the pot?

Shaking out a hand to get rid of the burning sensation, he reached over with the other to take the scissors, and without a second thought, began to cut the tops of the noodles so they didn’t stick out so much.

“When you’re ready, I need that flavoring!”

Ginrai nodded and dropped the scissors on the counter, grabbing the unused bowl and heading to where Hawk was working.

He didn’t quite notice all the extra pieces of cut pasta had rolled all over the floor, the counter, and…into the grates below the pot. Right next to the fire.

“Here you are,” Ginrai said, grinning, brandishing the bowl and getting ready to pour it in. Hawk looked up to thank him, and was glad he did.

“Oh, that’s the salt, what I need for this should be in the blue one. Though, you can add some salt if we need it.”

Ginrai felt the heat rise to his face.

Oh no.

Hawk tilted his head at him, looking a little concerned.

“Did you put the flavoring in the pasta?”

Meekly, Ginrai nodded. He was sure his face was red by now. But Hawk just smiled.

“That’s alright. Pasta can have flavoring of its own,” he resumed stirring the tomatoes as he continued. “But I’ll need both for this, then. Just add as much of the salt in here as what you put in the pot over there, okay? Hold on, I need something from the fridge.”

It’s…okay. Alright. Ok.

As Hawk put the bowl down and headed for the fridge, Ginrai swallowed, staring at the salt sitting on the counter.

He was no cook, but…he wasn’t sure there should be that much salt added to tomato sauce?

But Hawk is a cook, maybe he has his own reasons. He said same as with the pot.

So, Ginrai lifted the bowl, and turned it upside down, same as before. Then, seeing nothing else to do, he started to mix.

Meanwhile, Hawk returned, but didn’t say anything for a moment as he noticed the empty bowl of salt. For a moment, he stood there, visibly piecing together a couple things.

Then it seemed to hit him all at once as he slowly looked from the bowl to Ginrai, eyes wide.

“Um. When I said 'the same as the pot'…”

“…yes?” Ginrai slowly stopped mixing and put the bowl down. He heard the slight uneasiness in Hawk's voice.

“Exactly...how much did you put in the pot?”

“Er….all of it?” He answered slowly.

“I see…so, I assume…there’s no more of the flavoring?”

“Um...and…no more salt, either,” Ginrai finished his train of thought for him.

"I...see...."

Ginrai touched the back of his head awkwardly, feeling the heat return to his cheeks.

Hawk stared at the bowl again, trying to figure out how to salvage this.

Perhaps if we start over, and I handle the pasta. He could crush up the tomatoes.

“Um, Hawk.”

But first there would have to be—

"Hawk."

Ginrai poked him timidly. Finally, he looked up, then followed his gaze to the other side of the kitchen. And promptly regretted taking those extra seconds of thought.

Oh, Primus, please tell me I’m hallucinating.

The deity seemed to answer through the pasta itself.

From under the grate, there was a violent crackling noise and a pop of light. And just as suddenly, smoke started to rise from the floor, the counter, under the grate.

All the while, the milky-white water in the pot seethed with bubbly rage, beginning to overflow and spill over, jostling the uneven pieces of pasta sticking out with such force that a few fell to the floor.

“It's burning!” Ginrai exclaimed, audibly starting to panic. Hawk blinked at it, somewhat amazed at the spectacle.

Yes, it was. It was definitely burning.

“Is—is it supposed to do that?”

No, it wasn’t.

Without responding, Hawk darted towards the stove and reached out to turn it off, but pulled back sharply with an utterance of pain.

The fire had burned him.

Judging by the pieces of pasta everywhere, he must have…literally cut the pasta off to resize it.

After a second try, he was able to switch the stove's fire off, and the two of them quickly stamped out the little flames started on all the pieces of burning pasta.

Then, Hawk ran over to the pantry to get the oven mitts, so he could get the pot into the sink.

But the smoke hazing their visions wasn’t hanging around for decoration. And Hawk realized that a little too late.

He looked over from the sink to see Ginrai carrying the bowl of tomato paste to the garbage and called to him.

“Um—Ginrai, my hands are full, could you open the window so the smoke doesn’t set off the—”

Before he could finish, the piercing, high-pitched sound of their fire alarm went off, startling Ginrai enough that he dropped the bowl he was holding. With yet another loud noise, the ceramic shattered, and the tomato paste went all over the floor.

But, rather than worry about that, he knew Hawk had been trying to ask him for something.

“The what?!”

“The window! Please!” He repeated, his voice rising.

"Open it?"

"Yes!!!"

The window was opened. And thankfully, the noise stopped after a couple beats.

Quietly, the two watched as smoke drifted out of the kitchen and into the night air. Then, they began to clean in silence.

Hawk began to think.

Pasta had been, in his opinion, the easiest option for a guided intro to cooking next to a literal salad, but at this point, he wasn’t even sure if that salad would have been a good idea.

“Hey, um…"

Ginrai’s tentative tone caused Hawk to stop what he was doing and he turned to see the 19-year-old fiddling with the cleaning rag, standing by the counter.

“I feel like an apology isn’t gonna cut it here, but…I wanted to apologize anyway…” he continued, looking to the floor, ashamed.

He was still wearing the apron with words that created such irony to the whole situation that Hawk couldn’t help but smile a little.

“I’m really, really—”

“It’s alright, Ginrai,” Hawk responded, setting the clumps of rubbery pasta back down in the pot and walking over to him.

He looked quite surprised, so Hawk elaborated. “We’re good at different things, and you tried here tonight. Plus, with practice, you’ll get it right someday.”

He then placed a hand on Ginrai’s arm, and squeezed lightly.

The young commander gave a flustered smile and blushed again.

"Well....at the very least, I'm glad we got to spend some time together, you know?" he murmured, still smiling.

“Absolutely. I’ve got a long night of paperwork ahead of me, which I’m dreading, so this was nice. As chaotic as it was, you know I’m glad for the time we spend like this…not fighting battles with Decepticons, not sitting through conferences for battle plans and upgrades…I’m...really happy right now, Ginrai…”

He hugged Ginrai suddenly, trailing off. And after a moment, Ginrai smiled and hugged him back.

“I’ll ask more questions next time,” he murmured.

“I’ll be clearer as well. I was at fault here, too.”

"No way..."

"I was. So don't be too harsh on yourself for it."

“I love you,” Ginrai whispered finally, squeezing Hawk lightly.

“I love you, too…”

And I’m glad both of us come away with only mild cuts and burns, nothing more.

After a period of silent affection, Hawk drew back gently and gave a slight smirk.

“I’ll always love you,” he repeated, “even if you can’t cook to save your life.”

And they started laughing again.

Standing in a messy kitchen with the window open and wearing aprons that read silly things in English. Hawk, with a small burn on his hand, and Ginrai with bandages on his.

The pair laughed about the whole fiasco.

Sure, they’d go into something like $200 over their “ordering food” spending limit after tonight. If there was nothing left to eat from their cooking attempt, then ordering was their only Plan B.

But…tonight was a night to remember, like many others.

And, Hawk would be going into yet another paperwork session feeling less stressed than before.

For that, he was also glad.           

Who knew the good that could be accomplished by, well, setting pasta on fire?

///

All good things come to an end. It’s just a truth of life--however sad it may be. But honestly speaking, aren’t all of them? These truths.

...

Megatron growled, optics glistening with such contempt that Orion felt his insides sqirm. He had a tendency to do that, and it served its intended purpose well, that glare did.

“I was a fool to hope fate could smile in my path,” he spat.

“Megatronus--”

“Don’t call me that!” He cut into Orion’s plea. “I am my own self, my own mech now. I chose myself name. I am Megatron. You know that already.”

Orion felt guilty. He’d forgotten in the hours passed.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured solemnly, bowing his head.

“You’re….sorry?” Megatron’s tone dripped of disbelief. As if that was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to hear, and Orion had said just that. 

Something bad was coming. 

If only Orion had known what to say, but for once, he wasn’t knowledgeable in the field of speech...or de-escalation. 

And in a moment he’d needed it most.

If only he could have saved their friendship, and none of what followed would have come to be.

“This--this unattainable reality that all but grazed my fingertips,” his eyes were daggars that swiped and cut. 

He lunged forward, seemingly an impulsive act, and grabbed the smaller mech by the throat.

Orion let out a small noise of surprise before he cut it short.

“And you stole it!”

“M-Megatron, I’d do no such--”

“You stole it!” He barked, his voice rising. “You played with me, Orion!”

Orion pawed at the hands around his throat, fighting the urge to cry out. Resentment began to bubble up inside him.

Did Megatron truly have so little trust in others--in Orion--to instantly assume he’d planned all this? 

Planned asking to become a leader--a Prime, no less--when he’d rather study alone in his room? 

Plan to steal his friend’s greatest dream?

He bared his teeth. That resentment was beginning to seep into his bloodstream.

I did no such thing, Megatron. I’d never betray you. How dare you even think that.

But out came none of those words.

Instead, he held his gaze as unwaveringly harsh as he could manage, training it on his friend. Megatron, meanwhile, hardened his own glare, like lava solidifying itself to ashy rock.

Obstinate, inconvincible rock.

He wouldn’t stand for this.

Being picked up and threatened like this was not what Orion expected from his friend. From anyone, really, but least of all Megatron. 

“Let go of me!! Or are you such an animal like the beasts you fight?!” 

He snapped his words like a whip, yanking with sudden force at Megatron’s grip. Force he’d learned in their self-defense training sessions together. 

The silver mech’s optics widened. It was like he realized something, and jolted back to something like control again. 

He released his hold and Orion felt the ground beneath his feet again.

But the apprehension didn’t lift quite yet. Megatron took one step back, as if disgusted to be near Orion. 

As if pressed by that unseen pressure of tension.

He looked the smaller mech up and down, vibrating with negative emotions Orion was sure he could feel.

Or was it...his own fear? But, why would he be afraid?

I did no wrong...I did...I didn’t do anything, right?

“You,” Megatron growled in a low tone, one that withered the fire of anger Orion was feeling.

“Brother--”

“We are not brothers, scholar!” He cut Orion off, purposefully using the impersonal term. “Not anymore...”

The look in his eyes was one Orion realized he had only ever seen directed elsewhere, never one he thought he’d be staring into himself. One he was sure the monstrosities of Kaon’s pits had seen after striking the gladiator and his pride a little too hard. 

One they saw before they died. 

There was a bitterness swimming up to the surface, yet a sadness pooled at its base, far below. He was clearly trying to stay in control of the situation, to seem as if his anger, and not his unstable emotions, was the driving force of it all.

But he’s like a wounded beast. He’s hurt.

Orion didn’t like that look. But he didn’t like this, either.

He uncomfortably looked to a tree in the distance.

I didn’t hurt you. I didn’t.

For a moment, Orion considered trying once more--as his gentle, naive, forgiving nature was wont to do. At least, as others said he was. 

He opened his mouth to speak.

But when he refocused his gaze, Orion felt his own frustration close his mouth.

No, he realized. 

Nothing he could say would sway Megatron. 

It was just like when they first fought. Except this time, they wouldn’t be making up. 

Orion felt a deep ache in his spark upon realizing that he’d never see the burgundy-silver mech on friendly terms again.

They’d never sit in a park and speak of philosophy and art again.

They’d never share a meal and laugh over each other’s idiosyncrasies again.

There would be no fondness between them again.

He had lost his only brother, even though their sparks had never touched in creation. Because Megatron had felt more to him than even family ever could. 

I didn’t want this, I truly didn’t want this. I said what was in my spark, and you said what was in yours. I didn’t want them to hear, I didn’t to leave my place in the spectators, I....didn’t want to even leave my study...

“Never look to me that way again, scholar.”  

I came....to help you....

“You are a traitor.” 

I...am not the Council.

Orion watched wordlessly as Megatron bowed his helm and turned. Its rims glimmered for a fleeting moment with the golden light from a setting sun, somewhere in the distance.

Gaze hardened with resignation, the newly-named Prime stood still. His eyes had remained on the broken, angry mech as he trudge slowly down the street, washed in golden hues of the sunset.

And then the shadows, the further he ventured from Orion. 

For once, Orion hated the sight of the golden skies. 

Because under them he’d been given memories, and under them, they’d been ripped away as if unimportant in the first place. 

///

Air whistled past a lone figure at the tip of the Nemesis.

Above him was the seemingly endless expanse of earth’s night sky, but beyond that, Soundwave knew, there lay space. The galaxy. The universe…

Most of it all sat—dead and alone, void of life and sound….but waiting.

Waiting for someone to come and inhabit it.

Soundwave heard the hum of the ship—or rather, felt it to the core of his body.

With every wave of energy that passed through the ship, his body shook, and his audio receptors took in the sound which reverberated in his skull. 

Yet it was that shaking that propelled the ship forward. 

To all those occupied with their activities, safe inside the walls of the aircraft, the noise was imperceptible.

 But Soundwave was not busy, and he did not care too much to block it out.  

Such a sound was a necessity, after all.

And the Decepticon intelligence officer was no stranger to necessity.

 So, Soundwave stood still like the universe hanging above him, little passing through his processor.

He thought about his mind. Soundwave was fully aware he could not truly remember most of his past.

In the name of loyalty and necessity, he’d wiped his own mind clean to store data, information…at the cost of his own thoughts and feelings.

But there was no resentment, no sadness, no frustration…there was nothing.

He had no reason to feel any of that, because he’d never be able to forget his past. 

 Because it was all stored coldly and distant from his own processor, all stored in an unfeeling, unbiased manner, ready to be told back to him at a moment’s notice.

 It lay for all to see on public records and files, like a book in a library. His life and goals remained as dead words on a screen that he had only read once or twice; an intelligence officer must have a good memory, right?

 Soundwave took a calm step forward, seeing more clearly over the edge of the ship. Blankly, he watched the wisps of clouds float by, not remotely interested in how they tore apart as the Nemesis passed through them.

All that remained--though against his will--were the days in the gladiatorial ring. Carnal instinct to kill and live another day, to hear the resounding roars of bloodthirsty crowds.

That crowd filled with those that loved death but did not desire it. 

Soundwave remembered well their faces. Young and old, mechs of all ages but only a few statuses populated the seating. They felt not fear or adrenaline, but excitement at a spectacle-to-be.

Soundwave remembered his own anger, his own resentment, his own sadness. The things he felt to the people.

 The purple mech took another unwavering step, nearly at the edge of the metal, and still feeling nothing. Only thinking.

Only processing.

 These were cold memories. 

Soundwave couldn’t feel them anymore. He just knew that they were there.

He remembered the face of a young mech that sat in the front row one day. He’d  been dodging the many arms of a snake-like beast and had fallen against the edge of the arena, dangerously close to the crowd. For anyone else, it would have raised excitement.

 But Soundwave was Soundwave, a gladiator near nameless.

The crowd wanted his fight to end.

They wanted to see Megatronus.

 At that point, Soundwave considered remaining there as the monster regained itself. 

He wondered how it would feel to have its poisonous teeth rip into his armor until it reached his spark. 

He remembered his desire to know what nothing felt like--the irreversible sensation of ceasing to be. 

He remembered a feeling of despair so deep he almost removed his protective visor—the one thing that gave him some distinction for the horde of other nameless gladiators that lived in this city.

 That visor was a device that made it seem as if he had no face.

How funny it would be to have no face, Soundwave had often thought.

 But then, there was the little mech. 

He held in his small hands a half-eaten cube, the remnants of the first half smeared over the corner of his mouth. His eyes sparkled with wonder as they met with Soundwave’s.

They shared no moment of significance, and the mech said or did nothing of importance. A split second later, Soundwave slid to the side just before an arm of the monster could impale him.

 The earth below Soundwave was a dark, murky ocean.

 Oddly enough, he could not put the young mech out of his mind. Nor did he feel any inclination to question it. And yet it remained in his processor…as did the memories.

The cold, blank, memories.

The ones that felt like he’d lived another person’s life, and then remembered it was his own.

 A life he had no wish to go back to, because he was fine with things now. Not happy, not annoyed with, simply….

 “Soundwave, we are ready to begin the meeting.”

 Ah, then again, to think like this was just a waste of time.

There were tasks to be completed.

 Soundwave turned on his heel and marched back to the door of the ship.

 He knew the universe would wait, and for centuries and till the end of time, he knew it would sit and wait. What else could it do?

 But Megatronus will not.