𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑷𝑺 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑩𝑼𝒁𝒁𝑬𝑺

16 || ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ

　　　　

　　　　

　　　LITTLE had occurred between the break up to this present moment. Sam had gradually come to accept his situation, focusing on studying and fully abusing his government grant.

Not after first dumping Wheelie on your doorstep, rushing through an explanation. What was it? No idea. It was too early for you to be coherent.

Something about 'Dating'?

Curtesy of a more than luxuries sum of funding from the American government (Hush money, obviously), splitting rent with a roommate was totally unnecessary. So, seeing as you otherwise lived alone, you couldn't offer much in terms of argument.

Three months spent cohabitation with an Alien yielded very little in terms of benefits. Typically interactions were exclusive to fighting for control over the TV, or enforcing boundaries.

Life had otherwise been relatively tame.

Your course had proven to be a challenge. Neighbours loud. Living purely off takeaway meals and energy drinks, usually half awake. Nothing I credibly exciting, surprising after how much your life had derailed.

Only standout thing being your arm. As a whole, fantastic! Couldn't ask for anything better! One complaint being how it had started to glow ominously at night for minutes before winking out, leaving you feeling fatigued.

Thinking back to the first conversation with Alchemist Prime, you slowly came to realise that you were now being upgraded. Starting with your Prosthetic.

Despite never doing without it; these days, was impossible to remove. You've tried. Fused to the skin in a seamless blend of organic flesh and non-organic material. Intertwined on an almost disturbing fashion, that in occasion staring at it turned your stomach something fierce.

Have you gone to Ratchet about it? Should've, but no. Not from lack of want, but due to your movements being restricted.

Wheelie hinted there were cameras hidden around, too. Only reason he knew was Sam had been irresponsible, forgetting to mention the unexpected transfer.

Simply put, you couldn't return to the Autobots even if you tried.

Plus, currently, at this very moment, you'd hit a couple of snags and couldn't exactly leave the building presently;

"ALCHEMIST!" crying out into the void, stood on an illusion of Cybertrons former glory. Unknown stars dotted around a vast sky, metal building towering reaching impossible heights and an uneasy stillness giving little comfort.

Spying a lone figure striding over at an alarming pace, materialising from complete nothingness. Process of existence escaping memory, as if they'd always been walking towards you instead of just arriving.

Wondering where the Prime went whilst you weren't talking to them, if they rejoined their fallen brethren. Didn't strike you to ask. Felt... invasive. If Alchemist ever wished to explain it, though, you wouldn't mind. It was rather interesting to learn about Alien culture.

"[y/n]," he greeted formally, "judging by the urgency, I assume you have done something terrible?"

Raising your Prosthetic, pointing, gesturing to how you no longer had a hand. Matching your current state identically, right down to the pajamas.

A singular silver cylinder protruded out your limb instead, panels you weren't previously aware of jutting outward in a flower-like way, a cooling vent underneath that hummed away in the physical world.