Game Over

Chapter 9 - Misery Loves Company

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A deca-orn later the five mechs sat at a table in an upstairs room of a quiet oilhouse on the outskirts of Iacon. And so far it had all been a session of commiseration with each other. None of their memories had returned, and not a one of them was enjoying what they'd come home to. Currently Whirl was complaining.

"My conjunx... every day... same thing. Wake up. Let's merge. Okay done. Let's go shopping. Let's go hunting. And then as soon as we're done with that, let's merge again. I know she wants me to spark her and my sister wants me to spark her and my father wants me to spark her and the mech who rakes the sand on the estate wants me to spark her, but seriously. It's two or three times a day. I'm amazed that the effort hasn't off-lined either of us yet. I'm exhausted. But I've got three sisters. Why can't one of them try to provide a heir for the House of Boeotia!?"

"It can't be that bad, can it, Whirl?" Rodimus asked. "I mean, my job's not exactly thrilling. Far from it actually. But middle management at a factory isn't quite the same as commanding a spaceship. Isn't that why we all decided to play Lost Light in the first place; isn't it? For an escape."

"Trust me. It is as boring as whatever life you're leading, plus some," Whirl huffed.

"How can it be?" Rodimus queried, unconvinced. "You've got shanix and energon and status and that amazing estate."

"And a bondmate," Chromedome interjected, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"If you've got money, why don't you just spend some on something distracting then?" Swerve continued.

Whirl glared, one optic slanting in the way that the Lost Light's Whirl always slanted his single optic. "I have more money in my accounts right now than ever passed through Whirl's hands... well, pincers... in his life. And then there's the real estate. You have no idea how much land is out there in my name. But it's not that simple..."

"And at least you have someone," interrupted Chromedome. Being alone had seemed worse ever since meeting that blue rotary mech and Fake-Rewind.

"Yeah, someone gorgeous," interjected Rodimus. "We all saw her. And your elder sister is pretty hot too, you know, even if she is your sister.

"Chromedome... or Hardline... or whoever you are, get over it. Rewind might have been wonderful, but he wasn't real," Swerve snapped at Chromedome. Today Swerve wore Hound's color scheme.

"Hey, easy there, Swerve," Rodimus jumped in. "Play nice."

Chromedome fixed Swerve with an intent stare, drawing himself up. "Not real? Rewind was as real to me as you all are right now. He's in my memories. Memories that are just as real whether they were created in some fantasy world, or in what we are currently referring to as 'real.' What's the difference? Ask yourself that."

Swerve glared up at Rodimus angrily. "Play nice? Play nice?" He laughed bitterly. "I'm not supposed to play nice here. Quite the opposite actually." He'd not told the others about himself yet out of fear, but now it all seemed to break loose. "Hey Minimus," he called to the other minibot. "Hold up that glass. Let me show you all something."

"Which one?" Minimus slurred. "I've had a few." There were five empties in front of him and one half-full one in his hand. "I've gotten into some bad habits since coming here."

"I've noticed," mumbled Whirl.

Swerve motioned. "The one with the handle."

Minimus grabbed the empty mug and lifted it. "This one?"