Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The voices used to be pretty quiet. It was hard to hear them over the conveyor belt. And they were never consistent; just at random, B would hear a whisper out of a nonexistent mouth. He can’t remember when he started hearing them. He’s pretty sure he got Steve’s name from one of them, a tiny whisper of a word during a quiet moment. He expected the hallucinations to stop after he’d been reintegrated into society. They didn’t. Actually, they got louder. He hears them all the time now. Okay, not all the time, they usually shut up when he’s talking to other bots. They never talk when Or-Optimus or Elita is talking, which is nice. It’s pretty easy to ignore them when he’s around other bots. When he’s alone, though, it’s kinda hard not to listen to them. They seem almost… sentient.

What kind of war crimes d’you think he’s pulling right now?

Big, not every Megatron’s like yours, you know.

A week of player one privileges says he’s doing some weird cloning shit.

Buzz, no-

I’ll bet he’s experimenting with some weird energon stuff. Up it to two weeks and it’s on.

Bet Big-boy, shake on it.

B imagines the two voices, the ones the others call “Big” and “Buzz”, shake each other’s non-existent servos, somehow, the logistics of that is making his processor hurt. Another voice pops in.

I don’t want in on the bet, but he’s probably trying to dig up some old energy source.

That I would believe, I’ve seen my fair share of energy schemes.

They don’t have an energon problem yet though. 

True. I’ve got no idea.

Jet, you want in on this?

I don’t make deals with dirty cheaters.

A few of the voices snicker. The voice called “Jet” hasn’t “played” (whatever that means , how do voices play?) in over a week, ever since that big shouting match. Something about ‘cutting him off’ and ‘not playing fair’ and ‘giving him the bad controller’. Look, B doesn’t get it either; he was in the middle of a meeting when it started, and he had to try to tune it out the whole time, so the details were lost on him.

Aww, come on Jet, don’t be a sore loser.

I’m not being a sore loser, I’m just following my moral code, unlike some bots in here.

You, of all bots, are not allowed to pull the ‘moral code’ line.

And which one of us is a Prime? Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s me.

And which one of us-

Nope! Shut your face! You’re not allowed to bring that up! Prime’s orders, it’s illegal now! Argument over!

The other voices are laughing pretty hard at this point, and “Cube”, as that voice is called, tries to speak through its laughter.

That’s- that’s not how- that’s-

Nope! By the power of Primus or junk, whatever I say is now law, no backsies.

You don’t even have a Primus!

Doesn’t matter, I call upon the power of your primus’s primely power to make sure no one brings up the thing that shall not be named!

The other voices laugh loudly before “Jet” joins in as well, annoyance forgotten.

“Hey B, you good? You’ve been staring at the floor like a data-pad bittlet.”

B shakes his helm and refocuses his optics on Cliffjumper’s face. Cliff was a newer addition to B’s circle of companions, a racer turned autobot who quickly jumped up in the ranks with his skill of talking to other bots and experience as a courier. He and B had hit it off quite quickly, bonding over their shared plight of smaller frames and mutual enjoyment of Maccadam’s zinc-chromium energon mix.

“Sorry, got lost in my processor for a bit,” B lightly knocked the side of his helm with his servo, “still getting used to these meetings.”

“Nah, I get it, just worried you were getting stuck up there.” Cliff pats his arm and leans back against the wall the two stood next to. The meeting wasn’t the most interesting; it was mostly negotiations between some companies and the autobots about protections and contracts and blah blah blaaaah . B stopped paying attention like 2 cycles ago, the voices in his helm much more interesting than procurement dates . B and Cliff weren’t really needed in these meetings, it was more of a formality than anything, but they couldn’t find a good enough excuse to leave. So here they stand, bored as all get out. 

Cliffjumper drags his servo down his faceplate as he groans under his breath. “Primus, how long have we been in here? I feel like I’ve aged like 20 vorns.”

B glances at his chronometer. “3 cycles, give or take a klik.” He refreshes his text comms for the 8 th time, no new messages. No easy excuse to leave. B sighs heavily and looks over at Optimus and Elita, sitting (or standing in Elita’s case) at the head of the table in the meeting room. Elita is leading most of the conversation with the engineers, her experience with leading mining teams lending her confidence in negotiations. Optimus interjects periodically, his kinda-entourage: Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, all much more invested and qualified to negotiate in these kinds of meetings, adding input wherever they can. They don’t need us here, they’ll be fine.

B leans over into Cliff’s helm, “They don’t need us, let’s get out of here.”

“Finally.” Cliff pushes off the wall and makes his way towards the door. B catches Jazz’s attention as he leaves, tapping the side of his helm, signaling someone commed for us as he slips through the door . Jazz nods once and turns back to the meeting.

Cliff groans loudly as he stretches his arm struts above his helm. “Slaaag, that was boring,” his servos drop back down by his side as he turns towards B, “I think I might have scrapped myself if I had to stay in there a tick longer.”

B starts walking down the hall, draping his arm across Cliff’s shoulder struts, “Good thing I got us out of there when I did. So what do you want to do with our free time? I’ve got 4 cycles before I’m due for scout patrol.”

Cliff’s optic ridges raise in question, “I thought someone commed you for something,” their peds fall in sync as they walk, “isn’t that what you meant to signal to Jazz?”

B’s smile turns into a smirk. “You see, I used an advanced technique called lying, because I was actually going crazy in there.”

“Ha!” Cliff throws his own arm around B’s shoulder struts, “Let’s get your crazy aft to Maccadams then, can’t have my favourite short bot loose his processor on me.”

“Too late for that! I lost my processor a long time ago! Lost to the depths of Cybertron’s underbelly, stolen by this guy named A-A-tron.”

Cliff tosses his helm back and laughs heartily, “This A-A-tron sounds like a real aft.”

“What do you think the ‘A’s stand for?”

Cliff’s and B’s laughter fills the air as they walk out onto the public roads, all plights of their world forgotten for a moment.

Chapter Text

If you're a ground-based alt, Cybertron’s surface is a difficult-to-navigate maze of constantly moving spikes and large stationary mountain ranges. It’s a real slagging pain to navigate. Flyers can shove their opinions up their intake, B does not want to hear about how easy your patrol was. The constantly changing terrain of the “Horn Fields”, as they’ve been dubbed, proves a difficult challenge for any stupid enough to travel straight through, especially after a quake. Guess what B is doing.

A huge metal spike slams against B, sending him hurtling to the side. His tires slam back onto the ground, sending jolts up his suspension. His tires skid loudly as he tries to get moving again, not wanting to get slammed by another spike. Primus, this is the worst.

Damn, that one looked like it hurt.

An accurate assumption from the “One” voice, B’s side hurt like a glitch, but he had to keep moving.

That Cybertron looks like a huge pain in the aft to travel on.

The “Two” voice pipes up with its own astute observations. The voices in B’s head are very perceptive today.

No kidding.

A spike bursts out beside B, sending him swerving to avoid it. Frag , he should not be paying attention to the voices right now, B has to get through this “Spike Attack” in one piece. The voices in his helm are not in such a predicament, so they keep talking.

I can’t figure out what the tell is for the spikes coming out of the ground for the life of me.

What do you mean?

Yes, please enlighten us, o’ non-existent disembodied voice in B’s head, what have you figured out that every scout and geologist and scientist in Iacon hasn’t been able to figure out. As far as they can tell, the spikes are entirely unpredictable; the only thing the guys back home have figured out is that they form around the edges of tectonic masses, and tectonic movement causes them to shoot up. There is no actual way to track when and where they shoot out from in the field. Primus why did the cons have to slap their base here of all places. It didn’t even get good energon flow, why are they here?

Well, you can see the edges, yeah? Where the metal fractures?

Edges? B tries to look closely at the ground as he swerves around the end of a broken metal peak. He almost slams into the side of a new spike in his attempted study. Frag! Stop listening and focus, B!

I don’t follow. What am I looking for?

Around the spikes as they come out, they kinda punch through the solid layer of metal on top, and it fractures and falls apart.

A spike breaks through the ground right in front of B, and he has to swerve hard, nearly flipping as he narrowly avoids another crash.

Ooohh, I see it, yeah. Kinda looks like the ice on earth.

Well, I’m guessing this whole place is kinda like an energon cube, but full of that cyber stuff that Big had.

The stuff he fell into?

Yeah, that. The stuff that could form new metal. I think there’s a layer of hardened metal on top, but when the more liquidy stuff under it gets agitated, it just shoots up and hardens.

A spike bursts out of the ground right in B’s path. He doesn’t have the time or space to swerve around it, as more spikes start to crowd around B. In a snap decision, B slams his accelerator as far as it will go, and starts speeding up the still-extending metal. The spikes start to close in behind him, quickly crowding his rear bumper.

Oh, that makes good sense. You think the catalyst would be heat or something? Like the thing that starts the whole reaction?

B’s engine roars as he soars off the tip of the spike into open air.

That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I can’t use infrared or any other wavelength to check from here, so I have no way to know.

His momentum sends him flying into a spin, forcing him into his root mode to try and control it. He needs a place to land. B’s optics catch some foliage breaking through the chrome surface beneath him. A soft(er) landing.

Yeah, if you were there, you could probably feel the heat on the metal. Or see the heat travelling up to the surface.

B twists mid air, angling his quick descent to try and land correctly. Remember your training in the mines.

If Cybertron had more of an atmosphere, we could probably see some steam; that’d be an easy way to check from here.

Land on both peds. He extends his leg struts, pointing at the ground.

Hopefully their guys figure it out. Seeing Cybertron beat the scrud out of them isn’t fun.

Let your momentum carry you down. B lets his joints bend with his weight.

Some pre-emptive revenge.

Follow through and roll. B throws his shoulder down, clumsily rolling through the plants. He abruptly stopped, lying on his back, staring up at the slowing tips of the spikes. Looks like he got out in one piece.

Ha. That’s a bad joke, we don’t even know if they’re gonna kill it this time around.

You never know.  

Primus, why are the “One” and “Two” voices so morbid, they sound like Ratchet and Elita. B lets his helm fall back on the ground and sighs. Maybe he’s hanging around Ratchet and Elita too much, and their pessimism is starting to rub off on him. His vents suck in large gulps of air as his fans try to cool his engine. Everything is quiet for a moment, even the voices fall silent for a bit, just letting the silence take over.

I’ve never seen a Cybertron with so much plant life, now that I think about it.

Yeah, it’s not super common. I think mine developed some at some point, though I died before anything substantial took hold.

As confusing as the voices are, B does appreciate never being left in complete silence. Thank you, processor, for hallucinating random voices so B doesn’t have to sabotage his scouting missions by broadcasting his exact location because talking is the only way to keep the cold, dead silence at bay.

B sits up and does a quick visual scan of his surroundings. The new mountain looms above him, thankfully still after its rampage. B stares at it for a moment, before getting to his peds and walking over. He remembers something the “One” voice said: “ You could probably feel the heat on the metal.” B steps right up to the mound. He squints his optics and places a servo on the shiny surface. It’s warm, barely. B stands there for a tick before he shakes his helm and steps back. Where his processor got that information, he doesn’t know, but if the voices know it, then he must have read it somewhere. Maybe he read something about the surface before he was assigned trash duty.

B turns and transforms into his alt and speeds off, leaving the spikes in the dust. He’s got a con base to find.