Game Over

Chapter 8 - Depression

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rodimus sighed from his vantage point over the factory floor, watching his sire come up the stairs. His memories still had not returned, but in the past three days he had at least figured out what he was supposed to be doing here... even if it was nothing but wall to wall spark-crushing dullness. Build parts. Make sure the crew was building parts. Count the parts. Store the parts. Package the parts. Ship the parts. Go home. Watch holovids. Recharge. Get up the next morning and start the whole dreary process again.

The only time he really felt alive was when the crew asked about his time at Leisure World International, and what it had been like to play the game. And he'd regale them with stories of the crew's adventures and misadventures. And they'd all hang on his every word, listening as if he really were Rodimus Prime. And for a while he'd start to think of himself as being Rodimus Prime again.

But then the whistle would blow and he'd give the command of "Autobots, roll out!" and everyone would shuffle back to their stations. He'd toss his half-finished cube of fuel back into his locker, a locker easily identified by the large sticker of Infinitus Prime and Captain Starbolt decorating its door, and he would go back to the unending treadmill of middle management.

At least Overhead seemed to be happy with him. Just yesterday his sire had patted him on the shoulder and told him "Good job. Glad you're back," with a lukewarm enthusiasm before trudging off to the factory office.

After thinking about it, Rodimus had just wanted to cry. And he'd stared at that sticker of Infinitus Prime and Captain Starbolt. Yeah, they were just two actors portraying two great mechs. He'd actually gotten up the courage to watch some of "The Stars Await," and in both the captain and the prime he recognized so much of himself. They were everything he'd expected, and everything that Shunt of Port Iacon wasn't.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Chromedome sat at the open-air riverside cafe having a drink. His table was next to the sidewalk where he could gaze at the passers by. On the opposite side of the aisle he could watch the the cargo boats chug upstream and the pleasure craft glide gracefully downstream. A table for one. A single glass on the table.

The thing that struck him most since muddling out who Hardline was, was the continual loneliness of Hardline's existence.

The waiter came by and he ordered another drink... something a bit stronger this time. And when the waiter stepped away and opened the view of the sidewalk again, he jolted in surprise.

There, just on the other side of the low barrier, was Rewind.

The tiny mech was walking along, hand-in-hand with a standard-sized mech, the two laughing about something together.

Chromedome stood and called before he could stop himself. "Rewind!"

The two mechs both looked over at him, and Chromedome suddenly felt embarrassed as they stared.

"Lost Light, right?" asked the taller of the pair, a blue mech with some sort of rotary alt-mode. He grinned.

Chromedome floundered. "Uh, um, yes."

The two came right up to the divider, a double rail between the tables and the sidewalk. "Were you a Chromedome too?" asked the minibot.

Flustered, Chromedome admitted to it. And he hoped his staring at the minibot wasn't coming off as creepy. Now, having had a longer look, he could see some small differences in the appearance of the minibot from his own Rewind, but the resemblance was uncanny.