Beeps and Buzzes

🦕 ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9

　　

Prosthetic cradled close against your chest, making it crystal clear you had no intentions of speaking for the time being.

Shane, shuffled into Bees alt mode separated from Tessa (Cade's doing), spared you looks of unease whenever he thought you weren't looking. You weren't, naturally. But Bee was and always quick to give the man a raincheck via tightening of the seatbelt.

Casting a long shadow, an alien spaceship had moored itself in a train yard. Assuming all your companions were inside, proven correct upon Bee turning a corner and seeing all the others waiting patiently at the foot of a ramp.

Last one to exit, feebly trying to align the two halves together in a vain hope it would knit back together paying no kind to what was going on around you. Pushing both halves together, turning to bashing, ringing metal and an ongoing sense of disconnection harming your pride.

This couldn't be happening!

"What's up with halfa over there?" Cross merely gestured at your helpless self, cocksure smile turning limp after colliding against Optimus disapproval.

Hound crouched - so much as he could - barring your route towards nowhere specific. Cigar snubbed out on gravel, scratching his faceplate with one large digit "oh, that ain't pretty. Are you gonna be able to mend that?"

Your response to his concern? A strained laugh that peetered out into a dismal sigh.

Sweeping past, keeping at bay a tidal wave of insecurity. Blinking rapidly to stop those swelling tears, slumping haphazardly against a stack of dead tyres.

Bending the digits inward, twisting your wrist, trying to reconcile with the fact it was past repair. Eying up every single makeshift fix, each tiny imperfection, eyeballing the rust congregating around every joint - it wasn't a pretty sight at all. Partly a fault of your irresponsibility, partly to do with never having access to the necessary equipment to keep everything orderly.

In tandem with your grievance, Cade and Optimus were hosting a fiery debate on the best action to take regarding... everything.

"- What?!" exclaimed the tiny human, arms flying outwards in exasperation "what is it now? What are you talking about! I'm doing stuff way out of my league here!"

You scoffed. Having heard this exact conversation years before with Bumblebee and Sam. There was probably a lot more screaming and angst in those days - scratch that, there was definitely a lot of ego way back when. Nobody knew any better than anyone else what to do, a problem that followed this war all the way till now.

"You don't see who's controlling who," voice thick with a grave seriousness, pacing in one spot before a hill of coal "within that man made prototype I fought, I sensed the presence of Megatron."

Hand partially obscuring your face as a sigh of resignation tumbled from your lips, unsure whether you feeling unsurprised by this sudden development was a bad sign. Fingers gliding up to comb through your tangled locks, gazing wearily towards Cade who'd begun to speak.

"You mean the Decepticon who started the Chicago war?"

Instead of the deep tones synonymous with Prime, a scratchy voice box bitted in "How do you think KSI knew how to build those Bots in the first place, hm?" Brains - how the hell was he still alive?! - sassed "they had a whole mess of dead Decepticons heads and downloading their minds! And I was in charge of Autopsy duty. No union, no benefits, nothin'.