Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

B-127 has been at war for a long, long time. At war with the Decepticons, with anyone who dared to spoil the sentient right to peace.

B-127 has been a scout for a very long time. Collecting information and hiding from those he stole it from.

B-127 has been a high ranking officer for a long time. Following protocol and making tough decisions.

B-127 has not had a moment of rest for a very long time. With people to protect, bases to defend.

B-127 has given his life to those who will come after him ever since he enlisted. Giving up his childhood, loosing parts that he knows he needs.

B-127 has not lived for himself in a long, long time. Awake for those he needs to protect, needs to save regardless of if they need saving.

ENTER> [ID:B-127]>
:STASIS LOCK:>
[CONDITIONS]-{SUITABLE}

ENERGON RESERVES>
[DEPLETED]-> 9%
STASIS LOCK IMMINENT
||OVERRIDE CODE: 00009||
ENERGY LEVELS>
[ADEQUATE]-> 67%
STASIS LOCK UNNECESSARY

VENT FUNCTIONS>
VENTS>
[FUNCTIONING WITHIN OPTIMAL PARAMETERS]
WARNING
OXYGEN DETECTED IN ATMOSPHERE
WARNING
FERROUS OXIDE REACTION IMMINENT
WARNING
||OVERRIDE CODE: 00010||
NANITE REPROGRAMING>
[INITIATE]
.
.
.
{SUCCESFUL}
.
FERROUS OXIDE REACTION RISK>
{.03%}
CONDITIONS>
OPTIMAL

WARNING
SYSTEM DAMAGE DETECTED
WARNING
RIGHT FRONTAL PROCESSOR DAMAGE DETECTED
WARNING
FRONT LOWER HELM DAMAGE DETECTED
WARNING
LEFT OPTIC DAMAGE DETECTED
WARNING
COLOR VISION DAMAGE DETECTED

WARNING

AUDIAL DAMAGE DETECTED

WARNING
CHASSIS DAMAGE DETECTED
WARNING
SPINAL STABILIZER DAMAGE DETECTED
.
.
.
SYSTEMS FUNCTIONAL
.
.
.
STASIS RETRIEVAL
{INITIATED}

Chapter Text

Normally, when bots come out of stasis, they online to a familiar environment or at least in a berth. As B-127 comes out of stasis, he finds that his systems are full of some Carbon-based substance and his frame feels like slag. He also notices that he is in fact, not in a berth.

Strange.

Rising slowly, B takes note of the plethora of warnings lighting up his HUD. Damage, damage, and more damage. Great. He glances over each one while the rest of his systems boot up.

His gyroscope seems to be working, he manages to sit up properly, but the act of standing up seems to prove an issue. His stabilizing servos won’t respond to him and his joints flare up when he jostles them.

Bad.

No matter. One ping that was noticeably absent from his HUD was the ambient danger warning, so he can probably remain grounded for a few kilcks longer. Though, he will need to move eventually.

Ignoring the lingering pain that is his frame is subjected to, he tries to survey his surroundings. Like a scout. A good scout should be able to assess a situation and determine a plan of action.

B-127, the renowned scout of the Prime himself, cannot help but feel dumbfounded at what he sees. The familiar shine of Cybertron is no where to be found.

Instead, there is a vast expanse of matte greys, dark greys, and light greys. Tall dark grey pillars with silver  ornamentation surround him. Almost everything around him is covered in a sheet of light grey. Scarily close in color to an older Autobot. The only thing around that doesn’t seem to be the same grey scale is the sky. It is an odd whitish color, unlike the orange skies of his home planet.

No planet he has ever seen before had blue skies. Green? Yes. Red? Yes. Orange, purple, pink, and yellow? Yes. White?

Never.

Satisfied with his findings, B runs another diagnostic. This time focusing on his lower half-specifically his stabilizing servos.

DIAGNOSIS REQUEST

{APPROVED}

[INITIATING]

.

.

.

WARNING

LOWER SPINAL STABILIZER DAMAGE DETECTED

WARNING

B-127’s helm aches as he tries to clear the wave of results flooding his processor. Lower spinal stabilizer damage. That would explain the lack of stimulus coming from his stabilizing servos and creaky joints. While it isn’t a good diagnosis, it is good to know that the injury exists. Without outside assistance, it would take solar cycles for his systems to repair.

He sends out a help ping on the open Autobot frequency. He also attempts to comm any of his fellow soldiers, however, he finds that the damage sustained to his frontal processor is interfering with his contacts. He can’t seem to remember any names.

Just which Prime does he serve? He tries to scrounge up a list of Primes and is horrified to learn that he cannot. Fellow soldiers? Nothing. Friends? Fuzzy face plates flash through his mind, but none stick.

This is bad. Very, very bad. With no way to contact his comrades, or move for that matter, B is a sitting protoform. His running programs tell him that the loss of memory files is also a serious issue. Scrap. He racks his mind for something-anything-that he can do to improve his situation.

All possible solutions are instantly ruled out by his lack of mobility or lack of memories.

Right before he starts to truly panic, an old sustainment protocol presents itself. Originating from his first upgrade, right at the start of the war when some still dreamed for peaceful colonization. Funny, how he can remember his history, but not the people who made it.

B-127 quickly eyes his surroundings once more. A program like this would require a more secure hiding place. The crater he’s in seems like a dead giveaway to his location. The pillars don’t seem to be very stable, if their constant swaying means anything, and the sheets of light gray won’t provide much coverage.

There!

Opposite of where he was originally facing, B can see a structure resembling a cave. It looks to be shallow, with more of that grey sheet covering parts of it. Perfect.

He painstakingly rolls onto his chassis. Big mistake. Warnings light up his HUD yet again as his cracked plating is crushed under his own weight. Scrambling, B-127 clutches something near him, blinded by the pain, and pulls. He feels his armor tear across the ground, but eventually ends up on his back.

He lays there for a moment, aching, trying to regain his bearings.

Thankfully, he yanked himself towards the outcropping in his fervor. He slowly shuffles closer and closer to it using his servos to drag himself along. Once he arrives, he settles himself down so that he can observe the outside of his hiding spot while staying mostly covered. He knows hiding with his paint job against the greys of this place is mostly a fruitless endeavor, but

His yellow paint job.

B-127 is a yellow Autobot scout. He is a YELLOW scout. The vibrancy of his paint shows how healthy he is-an act of defiance in itself. It is something B has prided himself on. Why, oh why then, are his servos grey?

He glances over the rest of his frame, ashamed he overlooked it earlier.

He is completely grey.

The shade changes throughout, but it still remains grey.

Some bots are grey. Protoforms and those who choose it are grey. Corpses are also grey.

B has never had a grey paint job.

Is he dead?

Unable to stand in some foreign grey land and grey himself?  B must have died in the war. That must be why he can’t remember anyone! He is dead. So, why is he here? Why is he not with the Allspark? Has he done something wrong? Is this judgement?

Maybe there is something he needs to do. A mission to complete. After all, he is the personal scout of a Prime, and Primes come from Primus, who forged the Allspark. Yes! That has to be it. He is being tested. B must solve this.

Spark alit with a new determination, B fires up the old sustainment protocol.

Now or never.

He falls limp.

PROTOCOL>OMP

->OBSERVE

—>MAINTAIN

—->PROTECT

FUNCTION 1>

[OBSERVE AND ADAPT TO LOCAL HABITS AND SURVIVAL]

PASSIVE OPERATION

{DISABLED}

.
ACTIVE OPERATION

{INITIATED}

.

PASSIVE REPAIRS

{INITIATED}

.

FUNCTION 2>

[MAINTAIN PROCESSOR FUNCTIONS AND SYSTEM PROCESSES]

{INITIATED}

.

B’s processor feels like it is tearing itself apart. Frag. His whole frame feels like it is being blown up and welded together again and again.

.

FUNCTION 3>

[PROTECT ANY AND ALL VALUABLE BEINGS]

{STANBY}

.

With a start, B realizes that he is not dead. Corpses, ghosts, don’t feel pain. What is going on?

.

ESTIMATED RUN TIME>

{100 VORNS}

.

.

.

Panic seizes his frame despite his physical torment. He has people who need him. He can’t stay away for long. He needs to protect them. Shield them. No no no. Wait! He remembers. He needs to go back-

.

.

.

{INITIATED}

Chapter Text

With no other reference, the agony seems short. Every pico-klick, klick, breem, Astro cycle, solar cycle, they all blend together. B-127 knows time is passing. He can feel the influx of information that Primus forsaken protocol is cramming into his processor. He can feel his plating moving, inner components shifting, spark pulsing in his chassis.

With nothing to stop him, he drifts. He screams into the pain. He convulses-he seizes. Nothing. His frame remains still. His spark races, his optics lubricate. No response. He floats between hurtshurtshurts and nothingnothingnothing. His comm. is, or at least was, broken.  He doesn’t know the name of his own leader. There would be no rescue. There is nothing for him to fight for. So he drifts. He lets the pain consume him.

He watches as the greyscale fluctuates and shifts as the stellar cycles pass. He knows precisely how long it takes for the greys to brighten and darken before repeating. He watches, distant, as strange little creatures scramble around, chasing and hiding all the same.

PROTOCOL>OMP

->OBSERVE

—>MAINTAIN

—->PROTECT

FUNCTION 1>

[OBSERVE AND ADAPT TO LOCAL HABITS AND SURVIVAL]

PASSIVE OPERATION

{ENABLED}

.
ACTIVE OPERATION

{COMPLETE}

.

PASSIVE REPAIRS

{ONGOING}

.

FUNCTION 2>

[MAINTAIN PROCESSOR FUNCTIONS AND SYSTEM PROCESSES]

{COMPLETED}

.

FUNCTION 3>

[PROTECT ANY AND ALL VALUABLE BEINGS]

{STANBY}

.

TIME ELAPSED

{5000 VORNS}

The pain does not leave him gradually. It is there, and then it isn’t. 100 switches off to 0, everything to nothing. B has to stop his processor from reeling at the sudden lack of pain, of overstimulation. His senses come back to him. They were always his, it was just that he had no choice in what they observed. The feeling of control over his own frame is intoxicating, and he barely stifles a laugh. His underused voice box creaks a little, and he stops to look over his HUD, maybe run a diagnostic.

5000 Vorns.

The program was only supposed to run for 100.

How the frag did it run for fifty times the expectation?

B-127 frantically combs through all of his backlogged files. Temperature warning. Energy warning. Damage report. Aha! Progress report.

From the latest report, he can trace back to all other reports originating from the OMP program. Most are trivial.

‘COMPLETION STATUS 23%

TIME ELAPSED: 25 VORNS’

Then, as he reaches a later one, the cause becomes apparent

TIME ELAPSED: 99 VORNS

WARNING

INFORMATION COLLECTED INADEQUATE

REQUESTING TIME EXTENSION

He must have approved the request unconsciously through the pain. So it is, in fact, his fault.

Great.

At least he’s not in half stasis anymore.

He scrolls through the rest of the reports, bookmarking any that he might be able to use later.

Before he sends it into the ‘check later’ folder, a report catches his attention, labeled ‘Memory File Repair Status’.

He selects it.

WARNING

MAIN PROCESSOR STORAGE FULL

COMPRESSING CORRUPTED FILES

.

.

FILES COMPRESSED

.

.

WARNING

OPENING OF FILES BEFORE INFORMATION

FLUSH

MAY LEAD TO UNWANTED CONSEQUENCES

WARNING

Oh. His processor ran out of room, so the protocol took his memories and just

Shoved them away

Compressed for another time.

He checks his status. The file size of OMP’s results is almost laughable. In that B wants to laugh at the absurdness. It takes up half of his processor function. Frag. He kind of needs those.

He vents a sigh of relief as he digs deeper. The files were all integrating then compressing themselves in his background operations. Which means that, eventually, they’ll clear out. Thank Primus.

Crisis averted, B-127 starts to read over the final repair report. Minor damage has been healed. His joints don’t creak anymore and his venting feels easier. He knows that parts of his frame are different. The report says something about habitat adaptations, which must just be about adjusting him to the local atmosphere. However, his lower spinal stabilizers and color vision had to be backlogged to, again, make space for OMP.

If B’s color vision is damaged, then maybe he isn’t dead. Maybe he is just lost somewhere. Maybe this place isn’t a vast land of grey. One can only hope, and hope B shall.

The lower spinal stabilizer damage will make everything difficult. It seems stabilized, so maybe if he doesn’t frag around too much, he’ll be fine? B tries to stand, gripping the walls around him. He completed his data collection and now, even though he knows it’s mostly the protocol talking, he feels he needs to get outside of this cave.

As expected, his legs provide no support. He grips the walls like a life line and lets himself fall out into the light.

Warmth.

His frame heats up, far from dangerous levels. His energy readings start to rise, and he can’t help but lay there. Just for a bit. His processor grows fuzzy, as if he had taken more high grade than he should’ve.

The warmth fades after a few joors, and B-127 has to resist the urge to whine in dissatisfaction. He scolds himself. What is he? A protoform? Slowly, he rises to a sit. His surroundings all seem more dull in comparison to when he emerged. The white sky has faded to a dark grey, with lighter specks he suspects are stars.

He knows that he has an orn before everything will lighten up again. This must be this place’s solar cycle. His home world doesn’t have a solar cycle like other planets B has visited. There are no nearby light sources to provide one. They don’t need one anyways, so it works out.

A sound, similar to that of a rocket whistle, comes from behind him. He flattens himself on the ground, waiting for a blast.

Nothing.

Slowly, the OMP files still clogging up his processor provide a file. Within it is information about a flying organic (Organic? Really?) that makes such a sound. Cool. At least these files are good for something.

With low visibility, B has little to do. So, he checks his energon levels. Which are at a stuttering 3%. He should be back in stasis right now! He quickly searches his HUD for a warning, a solution, anything.

Nothing.

He checks his energy levels. 97%. Something must be shifted in his processor. His energy should match his energon. It’s in the name!

He checks the OMP reports, which were slowly becoming his explanation for every strange thing that happens to him.

Pleaseworkpleaseworkpleasework

He scrolls down his bookmarks.

There!

A file labeled ‘energy rerouting and frame readjustment’.

That does not sound good.

He reads over it. He reads over it again. And again. And a fourth time. He knew his frame changed, but he thought that was for repairs only. According to the file, his inner systems were adjusted. They were altered to sustain life, his life, in the absence of his natural necessities. Without energon. What exactly the protocol changed? He doesn’t quite know, but B does know that where his energon lines once where is now a completely new, and different, system. Based on what this place can provide.

B-127 can feel his tanks trying to purge. Nothing. After all, there is no energon in his system to purge anyways. When his tanks convulse a second time, he grows worried. His systems should recognize the absence of matter and reset. He feels something crawl up his pipes. It doesn’t burn like how high grade would coming up. Instead, it comes smoothly, leaking into loose seams. His intake shoots open and strange, clear liquid shoots out.

What

In Primus’

Name

Is That?

He scrambles back as it hits the ground. Nothing clear should ever come out of a bot. Energon is matte, lubricant is shiny, and coolant is murky. Nothing that should come out is clear. The protocol was supposed to fix serious damage. Why is he leaking?

WARNING

COOLANT LEVELS LOW

WARNING

Oh great. Like B doesn’t have enough on his plate right now.

OMP PROTOCOL OVERRIDE

What?

WARNING

HYDROGEN DIOXIDE LEVELS LOW

WARNING

HYDROGEN DIOXIDE LEVELS LOW

WARNING

B stops his panic, a kind, grey and blue face passing through his mind.

“Alright kid, remember, you need to be aware of all ya’ facts. That doesn’t mean get overwhelmed. Pause sometimes. Regroup. It don’t help to stop the blaster if a bomb is dropping anyways.”

His spark fills with warmth.

Alright. Pause. Check.

Regroup. What does he know? He doesn’t run on energon anymore. Instead, he lives off of something’s found on this planet. He purged some clear liquid, and is now low on cooling fluid. He is also low on some Hydrogen Dioxide.

He runs on something from this planet.

He puked up something strange and then got low coolant warnings. Which were overrided by low Hydrogen Dioxide warnings.

What if Hydrogen Dioxide is something from this planet, that he needs to run in the place of cooling fluid?

That must be it!

The only way to prove it would be to identify that fluid.

He scrambles back over to his previous spot and runs a scan on the clear liquid, trying to reach it before it settles into the ground.

Hydrogen Dioxide! Score!

Now, he just needs to find some more to replenish his systems.

He glances around. The greys around him were lightening up, which means the next solar cycle is soon to begin, and if he wants to move around, he’ll need some help. He spots a knocked over pillar, probably thin and squat enough for him to use as a cane. Maybe.

He drags himself over, more carefully than when he ripped open his chassis, which is mangled out of recognition. At least OMP patched it up to be non life threatening. When he reaches the pillar, he grasps it and slams it into the ground with all the force he can muster. Which, currently, is not much. The pillar retains its form, and B deems it usable.

He props himself up and manually locks his stabilizing servo joints as he does. They should be able to support his weight, he just can’t control them. He, with the help of his cane and sheer will, hobbles over to the other side of the clearing, where another downed pillar lays. Lifting it, B gives it the same treatment as its other. Same result. B shuffles around so that each pillar can be held by one of his hands, used similarly to the metal rods given to crippled soldiers.

Move the rods forward with your arms and swing your legs to match them.

B glances back towards his cave, where he suffered for 5000 Vorns. It looks just as it did when he first saw it.

He pivots, struggling with the pillars a bit, and starts off into the field of pillars in search of this Hydrogen Dioxide. If he wants to do anything productive, he must search for a way to keep himself running.

OMP FILE COMPRESSION: 4% COMPLETE

OPEN PROCESSOR ROOM: 2%

Chapter Text

His files helpfully supply a profile for Hydrogen Dioxide. As its name suggests, it consists of one hydrogen and two oxygens per molecule. It’s usually in fluid form and occasionally falls from the sky. It is also apparently a catalyst for rust. However, his system is quick to notify him that countermeasures to rust have been activated and that he is in no danger. He’s glad. It wouldn’t be very nice to find that a substance he needs to live will also slowly kill him upon prolonged contact.

As he trudges along, B-127 reads the different OMP pop ups he gets. They inform him about different animals and plants he encounters. He can’t quite fathom how the protocol acquired this information, but he’s glad it did something during his 5000 Vorn stasis.

Eventually, long after his servos ache from using the rods, he hears it. It gets louder the closer he gets, and when he stumbles upon it, he is met with unbridled beauty. Yes, this is hydrogen dioxide, which he now needs to survive, but this is also something he never knew he needed. Not like this. It shines like crystal city as it rushes by, small organisms-fish, OMP provides-glide through, also shining. Water. This is water. It reflects light back onto everything around it, and though he would never have caught it without his enhanced vision, it lights up his spark all the same.

Entranced, B-127 slowly settles himself down, grabbing his stabilizing servos each and maneuvering them. Once balanced, he slowly leans foreword into the rush, trying to scoop some up with his servos. As soon as they touch the water, he gets a transformation request. Since it’s marked as an OMP related request, he approved it.

B almost falls into the rush when his hands open up and start to intake the water. He can feel it start to circulate his systems. The experience is unlike that of a regular coolant change. Where a coolant change is just another part of maintenance, this is something else completely. This is like eating energon candies but the flavor and happiness is everywhere all at once. B closes his eyes and relishes in the feeling.

A short-too short-amount of time later, his systems inform him that he has met his requirement for hydrogen dioxide. It almost saddens him to let his hands transform back and lean away from the water. B finds that his systems run smoother as he lumbers back to his stabilizing servos.

As he walks, he works on a further plan of action. He has satisfied his need for water, so now he should find somewhere to set up base camp. It’ll probably need to be relatively close to water, and he doesn’t know of any other sources, so he’ll need to stay somewhat close to the rush. (River, OMP corrects.) He wonders where the program got these names.

The OMP files condense faster when he actually encounters things that they tell him about. As he walks, he absently notices that the light solar cycle will end soon. He watches small „birds“ flutter about in the pillars, or „trees“ as OMP insists, above him. Light shines through „leaves“ in beautiful patterns above him. As the solar cycle nears completion, the world almost lights up in a middle toned light.

A few klicks after that, the lunar cycle begins. Usually, B recalls-which is very exciting, B would recharge over the mock lunar cycle on his home planet. However, his energy reserves are still high for some reason, so he decides to take advantage of it and travel through the lunar cycle.

He‘s looking for a clearing that is devoid of these trees, but is thickly surrounded by them if he can. He‘ll settle for any good hiding spot with visibility of the surrounding areas. He wanders farther and farther from the river as he comes across candidates.

He’s halfway through checking the integrity of a rock formation when he staggers. His hands lose control of his support trunks and he slams into the rocks. He scrambles back as soon as he can gain purchase. The rock formation starts to crumble in on itself, and stray pieces slam into him. He can’t feel the ones that dig into his stabilizers, but he can feel the ones that cut through his freshly repaired chassis. His servos ache from dragging him further and further back from the landslide trying to bury him. Nope. Definitely not stable.

He lays there long after the tumbling ends. His trunks were under the rock pile, and he can’t very well get around without them. Frazzled, he waits for his nanites to repair his trivial injuries as he stares at the sky, sprinkled with stars. Stars unfamiliar from his own.

When there is minimal change after a breem, he goes through his HUD reports. Behind his damage and minor laceration reports, there is an energy level warning. How did his energy drop so far so quickly when he was walking around perfectly fine all solar cycle?

His nonessential systems start to shut down in favor of rerouting energy to his nanites. His processor gets foggy as he starts to go into half stasis. It would be funny if this is how he ends. The last thing he notices before he goes into full stasis is that the world was starting to brighten up again. He hopes Primus will take him back even if he is this far, but if he doesn’t, this world is nice enough.

SYSTEM: REBOOTING
.
.
.
STASIS RETRIEVAL:
INITIATED
.
.
.
ENERGY LEVELS:
100%

B-127 wakes. He wakes and he laughs because he is still online. His spark still beats, and his mind still wonders. B-127 is still alive, and for that he is grateful. He sits up and goes through his logs to see why this has happened. He went into stasis right at the end of the lunar cycle and almost immediately after the start of the solar cycle, his energy levels began to rise.

He thinks he’s heard of this on other bots before. Solar energy. They received special panels in addition to their energon rations when they went to solar systems with low energon. It helped supplement their energy. This, however, does NOT seem supplemental. It‘s as if OMP completely changed his power source from energon to solar power. Maybe that’s exactly what it did.

Ignoring the sense of wrong bubbling up, B decides to focus on other problems. Like his lingering need for shelter. Or his lack of walking assistance. Desperate for anything to think of other than his changes, B crawls over to the rock pile. He digs his servos into the nearest crevice and pulls as hard as he can. He tugs and yanks rocks, trying to reach his walking sticks, trying to ignore the disgust reeling in his processor.

He tears at the rocks long into his solar cycle. The rocks tear into his servos long after he should have stopped. He finds his trunks eventually. Well, he finds their pieces. They lay shattered in front of him. How is he going to get around now?

B-127 sits in front of his broken trunks, servos aching and no way to move around. The solar cycle will be ending soon, so he‘ll need to recharge anyway if he doesn’t want to go back into stasis. Funny that he recharges out of recharge now.

He lays back and stares at the stars again. Here he is, broken, grounded, injured, with no memory or name other than his frame designation. Here he is, with longing lying flat in his spark. Here lies a soldier. A soldier he knows, with no army, no general, no people, and no war. He can feel the seams around his blasters shifting as “wind” floats past him.

His energy levels drop rapidly, as he has grown to expect. He closes his optic shutters and falls into recharge.

PROTOCOL>OMP
->OBSERVE
—>MAINTAIN
—->PROTECT
 
FUNCTION 1>
[OBSERVE AND ADAPT TO LOCAL HABITS AND SURVIVAL]
PASSIVE OPERATION
{ENABLED}
.
ACTIVE OPERATION
{COMPLETE}
.
PASSIVE REPAIRS
{ONGOING}
.
FUNCTION 2>
[MAINTAIN PROCESSOR FUNCTIONS AND SYSTEM PROCESSES]
{COMPLETED}
.
FUNCTION 3>
[PROTECT ANY AND ALL VALUABLE BEINGS]
{SEARCHING}
.
.
.
{SEARCHING}
.
.
.
PROGRAM>SCOUT CODING
v
>PROTOCOL>SAVIOR
.
-CRITERIA
>IMPAIRED FUNCTIONS
>WAR TIME SETTING
>OMP PROTOCOL ACTIVE
.
.
.
>AUTO INITIATION
{ACTIVE}

OMP FILE COMPRESSION: 8% COMPLETE

OPEN PROCESSOR ROOM: 6%

Chapter Text

Coming out of recharge to a burst of energy is always welcome. If he can shove down the curdling feeling it spawns, the solar panels seem pretty cool. Does he even have tanks anymore? Will he ever taste energon candies again? His memories of the flavor are foggy, but he knows that someone he loved, someone red, adored them.

He aches. From his new scratches and from the memory. It is painful to think he may never see that red bot again. If he does, will he even recognize him? B turns his head to the side. Grey, grey, and light grey meet his optics. No, he wouldn’t.

B sits up, his walking aides smashed at his side. His stabilizing servos are still numb to his prodding. Great. An awful burning feeling arises in his spark, and B grabs a splinter and throws it into the foliage.

Something squeals.

Suddenly, as if Primus himself grabbed him and cried, B started to fling himself to the source of the sound. He digs his servos into the ground and pulls. Wires and hinges crack as he desperately drags himself towards the sound. The injured creature. He needs to-

He needs to protect.

It’s unnatural, the sudden urge. Not in its nature, but in its intensity. B knows deep in his spark that he needs to protect, but he, as far as he knows, has never felt the urge quite this strongly.

He clears the nearby trees to find a fuzzy round turbo fox? It has round ears, a prominent snout, and is around the size of both his doorwings.

It growls as he approaches. His processor tells him to stop while the OMP protocol urges him to get closer. He drags himself once again. Keep going. The protocol has become recognizable with its tingle on his mind. Its thoughts don’t feel natural.

He reaches a servo out, resting on his chassis, to grab the stake protruding from its skin. It whimpers. A sound he is oh so familiar with.

Gruesome squelches sound out as a warm fluid rushes out of the creature. It crumpled down onto his hands, and the OMP protocol writhes. It smashes into everything else in his processor because how could this have happened? He was trying to protect the animal. He can feel its spark pulse-heartbeat, the protocol weakly supplies-slow. He holds it. He holds it and he knows that it is gone. He knows this even as the sky turns from light to dark and the moon passes overhead.

He spark aches as if it was his own that died. His own instead of this beautiful creature. Maybe that would have been better. A soldier who can’t defend. At least this creature had a purpose.

B can feel it cooling down as the star passes overhead. Gone and more gone. Its optics-eyes-dull, and B weeps. His vocalizer cries out in protest while he cries in the sake of this life. This life long gone. He cries, long after he needs to. Long after he should.

A low rumble, similar to that of which he is holding, resounds from his side. Lifting his helm to look, he finds a larger creature of the same breed. A beautiful creature, with glowing “fur” and beady eyes. It blends in subtly with the trees behind it, and B knows that this belonged to it. He killed its own.

He holds it out. The body of a great. The larger one lowers its snout to the smaller’s fur. Mourning, he supposes. The larger backs up. Is it not going to take the body? Honor it how it may?

The larger stands up, as a beastformer transforms to bipedal mode. Its lips raise, bearing sharp dentae-teeth-and growls again. At him. This was its act of mourning. It grieves its own by letting the corpse not be defiled. The cold, empty guilt floods over B-127 again as if he were dunked in the field of rust.

The creature-bear, OMP finally realizes-lunges at him and scratches his finial. The world grows fuzzy and full to his right.

B-
Can’t move
Can’t escape
Can’t fight back
Can’t think of a reason why he should.

It’s this bear’s right to avenge its own. B has no place to interfere. Except-

“Bee, please don’t go!”

The red bot, who looks exactly like B’s own reflection in the river.

The red bot, holding his hand like a lifeline, yet still prepared to let go.

The red bot, waiting.

Waiting.

B pushes the lump of teeth and claws and fur and oh god his Energon he only has so much left and blood.

He pushes it away again and again as it comes back to him. Eventually, realizing its defeat, the bear scampers away.

B lies back into the puddle of water, energon, and blood and floats away. He lazes until something small scurries past, and he realizes he hasn’t moved at all.

The solar cycle starts to end, and his energy fades.

Lowering his optical shutters, B lets the haze in his mind take him.
Cliff.

The red bot.

He calls the red bot Cliff.

The world comes to him.

PROTOCOL>OMP
->OBSERVE
—>MAINTAIN
—->PROTECT
 
FUNCTION 1>
[OBSERVE AND ADAPT TO LOCAL HABITS AND SURVIVAL]
PASSIVE OPERATION
{ENABLED}
.
ACTIVE OPERATION
{COMPLETE}
.
PASSIVE REPAIRS
{ONGOING}
.
FUNCTION 2>
[MAINTAIN PROCESSOR FUNCTIONS AND SYSTEM PROCESSES]
{COMPLETED}
.
FUNCTION 3>
[PROTECT ANY AND ALL VALUABLE BEINGS]
{-UNCOMPLETE-}

OMP FILE COMPRESSION: 13% COMPLETE

OPEN PROCESSOR ROOM: 15%

Chapter Text

They need him.

They NEED him.

He knows these bots.

They circle around him, smiling, in an orange room. Large monitors and working stations line two of the walls, and glass adorns the head. He peers out of the glass into an indecipherable inky mass. Endless. Empty. The bots around him laugh and one rests his servo on B’s shoulder.

Cliff is nowhere to be seen.

B tries to speak to the bots, but anything that comes out sounds of laughter. Where is he? This… ship feels familiar. He knows it has a purpose. A powerful purpose.

In the long void, a large boulder nears them.

At first, it seems small.

Then, it grows.

It takes much longer to hit them than he thought.

He shoves the servo off of him and stands up.

He needs to warn them.

Protect them.

He

B finds himself in a foreign metal place. Maybe it isn’t so foreign, he can’t help but think. His stabilizing servos know this metal, and his spark knows this field. His optics rest on it, lying upon familiarity and emptiness. None reside in the field except for a grey mass.

B blinks.

The mass is closer.

B blinks again.

The mass is two masses.

He looks down to see the lost. The lost innocence and the protector. The world itself shudders, as if weeping over this life, and B’s stabilizers leave him. He crumples over them, kneeling in front of these great beasts.

B blinks.

Looking up now, B sees Cliff. Cliff, who is the only light in this grey world, standing over him.

Standing over…?

B is on the ground.

He turns his head to see a tall bot. A tall red and blue bot who stands weeping over them.

DEFRAG COMPLETE

OMP FILE COMPRESSION: 24% COMPLETE

OPEN PROCESSOR ROOM: 18%

MEMORY FILE DECOMPRESSION:

{INITIATED}