Beeps and Buzzes

🌒 ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 17

　　　　

[ one year later ]
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Nobody seemed to give a toss that you smelt bad, arrived in rugged clothing, appearing as though you were ready to face death at a seconds notice.

Feasting in the furthermost corner of a low quality Americana Diner, huddled away in a corner, Brains present in alt mode as Wheelie kept Bee company.

Normally by now, some kid would've commented on 'that strange lady' in a way only a child could ask. Gaining a parents scrutinising gaze, judging you as unapproachable, steering clear.

Or complaining, getting you removed.

Thankfully there was just a handful of greasy looking bikers present this late in the day. Drinking coke, eating burgers, splitting two portions of fries between them. Probably doing other things, wasn't as if you were paying attention to them.

One weary looking waitress obliged to a request of background noise, dropping a mangy looking piece of clothe on the countertop. Picking up a broom, handle prodding at a TV looming ahead of all diners till finally jabbing its on button.

On came a local news report. Some overly tanned news reporter droning on about sports, gradually transitioning to international news. Presented more interest for you, enough to momentarily pause your dining experience.

Autobots were the only interest at the moment. Car sales had decreased, reminders to check suspicious vehicles for the signature Emblem of your teammates, to report any sightings to local authorities and to always be vigilant.

Rumour suggested that kids were being taught how to spot an Autobot.

This fear showed no signs of regressing, even if enough time passed. Autobots were regarded as invaders, numbers dwindling each month. Lockdowns conjoined efforts with Attinger proved to be a devastating combination.

Beyond their keen investment in slaughter; Bee had grown increasingly agitated, upsetting your paranoia tenfold.

Often (when he afforded a moment to stop) sheltering out in the countryside or in abandoned structures tall enough to house him. Bee often times wound up cradling you, making little attempt to strike up conversation, instead letting the radio hum.

Then there was you.

Beyond breaking away from the others, missing everybody, a large quantity of time had been solely dedicated to mastering your inorganic limb and supporting your little clan as best as feasibly possible.

Alchemist exceeded expectations during those training sessions, cramming as much information as you could process on any one occasion. Tutoring you thoroughly, sparring or otherwise. Sometimes going over things you couldn't grasp... Transmutation being one of them.

Straddled the line between science any mysticism. You'd call it barmy, if you weren't quite literally being trained by an equivalent of a Demi-God.

You'd become adept at the more medical branch; Figuring out how to infuse Energon into another, sacrificing use of prosthetic during the process being a prime example. Performing patch-jobs another that you'd deployed recently during an untimely skirmish between Bee and law enforcement.