🅲🅾🅳🅴🆇 🅾🅵 🆀🆄🅸🆁🅺🆂 (TFOne Movie x Reader)

ೃ⁀➷[ 𝔽𝕀𝕃𝕋𝔼ℝ𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕋ℍ𝕆𝕌𝔾ℍ𝕋𝕊 ] || 𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳

Note: Even though we don't get much information about the other Autobots since TF!One evolves mostly around the main cast, I'll use the G1 canon that Jazz likes any kind of music.

~~~

(Y/Cyb/n) let out an exasperated huff as he furiously scribbled on his datapad, the sharp tip of his pen gliding against the surface with a barely contained frustration. His circuits buzzed with fatigue, his mind a whirlwind of ideas that felt tantalizingly close to the solution he sought for restoring the race of Codexes. Yet, with each spark of inspiration came a cascade of catastrophic outcomes. It was maddening for the newly appointed Algorithmic Prime, the very embodiment of potential and probabilities, tasked with birthing a new future.

"Why can't it be perfect...?" he muttered under his breath, the weight of the question pressing heavily on his chassis. With a defeated sigh, he let his face drop onto the cool expanse of his work desk, its surface cluttered with an assortment of datapads illuminating the dim room. The glow from his screen optics flickered in shades of purple and orange, casting morose upside-down triangles that mirrored his weary state—exhaustion, and stress etched into every line of his frame.

Around him, the air was thick with unused ideas, each datapad stacked precariously, all filled with theories and calculations aimed at restoring the Codexes. He had poured over the data for mega cycles—five, to be exact—until his processors felt fried, the relentless pace leaving him burned out and disheartened. Among the algorithms and flowcharts lay his personal thoughts about the future of Cybertron, a crumpled worry about D-16—or rather, Megatron—whose banishment from Iacon loomed like a dark cloud in his mind.

(Y/Cyb/n) shook his helm, trying to focus. He was almost there to find a perfect solution on how to bring back his kind to society. He has it in his servos! He has it right there!

Yet, as he began to feel slightly better, a low hum echoed in the depths of his processor. It sparked new thoughts, each one weaving another layer of complexity. Ideas of creating new Codexes flitted through his mind like fireflies in the dark.

Should he approach Prime about converting his soldiers? Or perhaps he could venture to where new Transformers were created and transform the newborns into his kind?

A frown crossed his faceplate, mirroring the turmoil stirring within. What if Optimus refused his request to convert the Autobots? What if he felt compelled to turn to Megatron, those dark thoughts whispering of power at a high cost? No! That would tarnish the name of his kind! His ancestor would surely be disappointed. What if he couldn't restore his species? Or worse—what if he had to sacrifice himself for their revival?

"DAMN IT ALL!" He screeched, his voice echoing off the metallic walls as he stood abruptly to his pedes, agitation radiating off him like a flare.

*BAM!*

In a moment of frustration, he activated his Quadirectional Keeper Algorithm, hurling the datapads into the air with a furious gesture. The devices soared upwards, crashing against the ceiling with a satisfying thud before embedding themselves into the concrete, their screens flickering weakly amidst the chaos.

"I just..." (Y/Cyb/n) slammed his servos onto the desk, the sound reverberating through the cramped quarters. "Need to..." His servos tensed, the digits digging deep into the cold, metallic surface, leaving small imprints in their wake. "Relax!" A shudder ran through him as one of his screen optics twitched uncontrollably.

A small, hysteric chuckle escaped his lips, an odd juxtaposition to the fury bubbling beneath the surface. His pupils transformed into chaotic white scribbles of insanity, glitching through frenzied patterns from four red-orange inward triangles converging on an orange square—each symbol a testament to his mounting stress.