*pathetic beep noises*

———

“Hello, please tell me your serial number.” 

"W–E550, it’s–”

“You’re here to ask if your T-cog has been found, correct?” The optics of a mech before him finally raised, looking into his own orange ones making his intake instantly dry. 

“I– Yes, precisely.” A few datapads upon colliding made a clank sound on the desk. Something clicked and was shortly followed by another set of clicks, this time softer. 

It took exactly seven cycles before the mech with slightly scratched paint spoke to him again. 

“I’m sorry to inform you about it, but your T-cog still hasn’t been found.” Wheeljack gulped, his glossa suddenly having an unpleasant texture. He let it wander over his denta for a bit before replying. 

“Maybe– Maybe try looking again?” He tried, moving his arm closer to the window that was separating the two bots. “It’s W–E550, mistakes happen all the time, I get it, so if you could–”

“Sir, I’ll be honest with you, you’ve been here already at least ten times.” He stopped, letting the silence drag. 

Nervousness got the better of him, making him look frantically around. A long line of other bots waiting for their chance to approach a window was behind him, making the doors at his back unwillingly flutter. 

He slowly turned back to the mech. 

“Can… Can you still check?” He adjusted his hands, something feeling simply wrong in the way they were lying on the cold metal surface. 

“...Sir,”

“Please…?” 

Nothing for a moment. Some bot that must’ve been even further away from him coughed gathering the attention of many, their interest quickly being lost. 

A deep vent was heard in front of him before another set of clicking began. He waited another ten cycles in deafening silence to be informed that there wasn’t any T–cog registered with a serial number such as his. 

★

“Hard day, huh?” 

Wheeljack whipped his helm around, disorientation flowing through his processor. The fact that said words were addressed to him seemed to be received only when the mech sitting next to him smiled knowingly. 

“Coming back from the pit's gates, aren’t you?” 

It took him a while to register the meaning behind words. Only spoken jokingly and heard by pure chance between other workers in the mines. The mess left by Sentinel… Prime having its consequences backfire on them, civilians. 

“Yes,” His arms wandered to finally put the pressure on his tibulens, the pressure and position being oddly comforting. “Yes.” He finished, lacking any other words to say. 

The other bot must’ve found his reaction funny, although Wheeljack couldn’t bring himself to find joy in it. He didn’t think there was supposed to be any in the first place. 

“Cheer up, I’ve heard it takes months to get even the tiniest thing done in this place.” 

“...Month?” He let his body startle, posture filled with uncertainty and a tint of building-up dread. 

“Month s ! You forgot about the s!” Another laugh. 

Wheeljack couldn’t see any reason for such an emotion taking its place. 

His pede bounced nervously, letting the hollow sound of metal hitting metal echo in the mostly busy train. 

“My T-cog got demolished, y’know.”

“What?” He turned abruptly. 

His newfound interlocutor didn’t call out the rudity of his reaction. The other bots that also were sitting there with them were few and far from them to hear anything. Wheeljack being left with an unknown who just told him his life could as well be treated as wasted. 

“Yeah! I was like you, standing in the line with a smile on my face, by the way, these people who work there need some kind of positivity in their lives, can’t imagine sitting all day behind a desk and only clicking! And you know, I’m not an impolite mech, quite the opposite actually. So when they asked me for my serial number and after cycles and cycles replied with ‘Oh, we’re sorry! Your T-cog was actually the one that got demolished!’ I said thank you and left, ha!” The energy with which the mech was telling his story didn’t match the message it carried. 

It flew over Wheeljack’s processor a few times, the words still feeling alien to him the more he repeated it. 

The following silence was horrendous like every other he had to endure during the past few solar cycles. 

“You’re still waiting, right?” 

“Waiting?” In his distress, he turned his helm around while inside his spark ached for the conversation to end. 

“For any kind of information about your T-cog, are you?” 

His fingers proved to be a good distraction from the situation he was put in. Them hitting on his knuckles while he silently counted the numbers, solving some equations to busy himself with something. 

“Yeah, sure.” He finally replied, licking afterward his dry lower derma. 

“There’s still hope then!” This time he didn’t look up to face the other. 

“Don’t be so down, I’m telling the truth!” An irk was born which he successfully suppressed. Nervous tapping being followed by it increased together with the numbers he started to add. 

“No, I’m serious!” The bot sitting beside him moved, getting closer but not enough to invade his personal space. “They take much shorter to sort through the T-cogs that were dismantled, the femme that was serving me said so herself!” 

Wheeljack raised an unbelieving optical ridge, hoping the other would get the message he wasn’t any more interested in the conversation. He wasn’t in the first place but it was improper to voice that thought out loud. 

“She said she’ll write my number on the waiting list, so there’s still a chance I’ll maybe get my dream of riding on the streets.” A short laugh, different from the others that were heard during all this one-sided conversation. 

“And if not–” 

“And if not then what?” 

“Huh?” The mech let out a stifled surprise at Wheeljack’s sudden interest. 

“You– And if not then what?” 

The response wasn’t given immediately. Both miners on the cushions that never were pleasant to sit on. The voice of an unnaturally speaking mech spoken through the speaker before the doors closed. Everyone who wanted to leave the train left, leaving only them two waiting for the train to arrive at the last two stations. 

“I suppose I’ll have to move around like I usually did, on my pedes.” The other bot hummed as if giving such an answer was a justification for why he was delaying saying it. 

“And your dreams? You said so yourself, what about them?” Any kind of personal culture was left somewhere in the middle of their encounter. “What about riding, what about– Following the flow of the streets, are you going to just let it all go?” 

“You’re really poetical when you finally talk, has anyone ever said that to you?” The lack of response was everything the stranger had to know. Either way, he still let out a small snort. 

“I suppose,” The bot’s right servo moved around in the air for a bit before he spoke. “I’ll have to see.” 

“The frag’s here to see?” It went unsaid how Wheeljack’s vent was heard heavily ventilating. 

“Well, Sentinel’s not in command anymore. And this Optimus guy was apparently a miner himself,” The slight stop in Wheeljack’s movement was left unnoticed. “Word goes by that he’s trying to find a method of developing a functional T-cog laboratory,” He put one of his pedes on the seat they were taking. “So it’s not like I have much of a choice in this matter, I’ll just have to wait and see what’s going to happen next. It’s better than sitting and fuming over something that’s out of our new Prime’s control.” The bot gave him a slight smile, finishing his sentence. 

Wheeljack didn’t have a reply to that, not even willing to engage any further. 

He was left alone, soft humming of the other, putting his busy engines to a stop when a certain note was hit that made his processor follow it internally. He stopped it immediately after catching onto his actions, coming back with his thoughts to the more important matter. 

“It’s unfair.” He said. 

The stranger hummed. 

“We were treated unfairly,” A gulp, a stop for it to be soon continued. “Sentinel Prime made out of us his unconditional believers.” 

Wheeljack agreed with him but couldn’t bring himself to voice it out. Hearing it hurt as much as it did the first time. He dared to be the one to say it ached stronger and stronger the more it was repeated. 

“I don’t think I can bring myself to care about it, you know?” 

The robotic voice spoke again, informing them they were closer to their next station. 

“I mean, yeah! I am mad, man, furious even! But it’s not like I don’t have more important matters to worry about.” The bot let out a deep vent, changing for the nth time the position he was sitting in. His chin now resting on the inner side of his servo. “First there’s the matter of free time, I’ve never got so much of it and honestly I don’t know what to do with myself! I’m trying to pick up a few hobbies to keep myself busy but working previously for twenty mega-cycles without a break does things to your processor.” An ugly snort was let out, a humorless laugh at the absurdity of the conditions they were not so long ago forced to work in. Wheeljack doesn’t think they would bat an optic on them though if it wasn’t for the new Prime to tell them the ugly truth Sentinel was hiding. 

He closed his servos tighter, the digits digging in and giving the unnervingly comforting feeling of being present. 

“Then there’s my– Our job. They gave us an actual pay for that, can you imagine? Not just a few shanix, an actual pay! I don’t even know what to do with so much money and I’m sure I’m not the only one!” The joyous smile was speaking volumes, the mech’s next word following such a pattern. “There’s so much more I’m not bringing up right now because, to be honest, I forgot about it.” 

“But there’s just so much to think of I can do since we started being treated equally.” The mech faced him, nothing that was shown on his faceplates was forced. 

It felt surreal for Wheeljack to not think of what Sentinel did to them though. 

They were slaves in the shackles they wore willingly, foolishly believing in every word spoken through these golden lips of Sentinel’s. They were spewing lies.

But then all of them believed such lies to be the light of hope that could reunite them and bring them back to the surface. A utopian place where their predecessors lived. 

Where other Primes ruled before a betrayal left them reduced to memory and dust. 

“It’s unfair,” Wheeljack repeated. 

None of them declined his words, his persistence being the only one who screamed they were treated unfairly. They didn’t deserve it, none of it. 

None of the stress so many were going through, searching for this one part that’ll make them whole. 

“I’m Smokescreen, by the way.” Was what broke the silence.

Wheeljack didn’t respond. He didn’t nod, just sat there. 

His pede’s stopping at some point its movement, the tapping being less consistent. 

“Wheeljack.” He acknowledged the newly known Smokescreen at the last minute when the other was leaving the train. 

He ignored the baffled look pretending not to notice it, watching after the doors how they closed. Through the glass, an enthusiastic wave was sent his way. 

This he also ignored. 

“Tomorrow’s there’s also a day,” He muttered while hearing that they arrived at the final station. “And the day after,” Softly, he pushed the button that opened the train’s door and took a step outside. 

The air was cold, his quarter he shared with many to be seen in the distance. 

“And I’ll wait.” And see. There was no other possibility, his T-cog must be somewhere out there. 

———