TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:
ECHOES
He's been here before. He knows he has.
He ran a hand over the familiar walls, feeling their smooth sheen. The engines of the ship reverberated beneath his feet, making him feel at home.
"You all right, lad?"
Reverb blinked, snapping out of his reverie. Pivoting on his feet, he saw a grouchy old mech standing before him, a cy-gar hanging from the corner of his mouth.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Sergeant Kup grunted, planting his hands on his hips. "You aren't on anything, are you?"
Reverb shook his head. "No, sir. Not at all. Just... feeling a bit of... deja vu?"
"Yeah?" Kup's mouth twitched a little. "Same here. This is all reminding me of the time I fell into a nest of cyber-hawks that the 'Cons had reprogrammed to--"
"Sir," Reverb interjected, hoping he didn't come off as too rude. "If you don't mind me asking... what date is it?"
Kup regarded him carefully. "Seventh chord of Cycle 9205. Why?"
"No reason," Reverb said, fingering a laser scalpel attached to his hip. "Just curious."
* * *
"Smell that?"
The green Decepticon looked up at his partner, switching off his laser scalpel. "Smell what?"
"Victory," Gunbarrel replied, sticking out his chest proudly as he surveyed the war-torn battlefield of what had once been Garrus-5.
"Oh." Disinterested, Reverb returned to what he had been doing. Confused, Gunbarrel craned his head to look at his teammate.
"What are you... are you sketching on your arm?"
"No," Reverb snapped. "I'm just... marking something down."
"Oh, is it your kill count? I do that all the time." Gunbarrel chuckled as he brandished one of his back panels. "110 kills, baby. Best record I've had since we conquered Nix Terra. How 'bout you?"
Reverb's mind raced as he set down his scalpel. "Uh, nine."
"Nine? Aw, that blows. Probably because Onslaught kept you in the air for recon the whole time."
Reverb shrugged, straightening to his feet. "It's no big deal. There's always next time, I suppose."
Gunbarrel laughed. "Yeah! Next time, you won't show those Autobots any mercy."
Reverb grinned, eyeing the numbers 9/9207 etched onto his right arm. "You bet."
* * *
It crossed Reverb's mind that he was perhaps enjoying this a bit too much.
The Autobot had ceased moving, save for the odd involuntary twitch. He was still functioning though; Reverb could tell by the pulse of their spark within their torn chest.
Now was probably a good time to stop. He had gotten everything he could from the mech. There was no need to continue torturing him.
Yet somehow Reverb found himself shoving the branding iron into the Autobot's chest, drawing out a fresh new scream of agony.
"Sweet spark, Reverb, I think the poor 'bot's had enough."
Reverb snarled as he whirled around, glaring daggers at the two Decepticons that had just entered the room, sharing looks of shock.
"What was that, Tracer?" Reverb snarled, the two wheels on his back spinning wildly. "Did I just hear you express sympathy for an Autobot?"
Tracer raised her hands defensively. "Hey now. I hate them as much as the next 'Con, but... even I think this is overkill. Just throw him into the smelter and move on."
"Yeah," Dropshot said. "Bombshock's already mobilizing us to the Shimazu system. We don't need him anymore."
Reverb snarled, dropping the iron before plodding out the door. "Fine. Do what you will with him."
The two watched him leave before turning their attention to the Autobot. It was hard to tell in the dimly lit room, but the markings across his orange-plated body looked remarkably like the numbers 5/9209.
* * *
"These scans aren't looking good, Reverb."
The red-plated Autobot stared at Remedy from across the medlab. Somehow, her words didn't bother him in the slightest. "What do you mean?"
"Don't worry, it's not at all uncommon for thawed sparks to be low-yield," the doctor said. "It happens even to the best of bots and it's not something to fret over. What does worry me is this."
She showed him the scanner she had been holding. Reverb didn't know the first thing about deciphering charts so he simply pretended to understand it. "Okay..."
"Okay?" Remedy frowned at him. "Reverb... have you been spark-swapping?"
Reverb stared at her, his expression blank. "Why do you ask?"
"Well... I know that you hail from Tarn. Correct?"
"Yes...."
"Now, last time I checked -- and I admit, I've only been to Tarn a couple of times in my life -- but most body types built there tend to be more... all-terrain. Tanks, trucks, construction vehicles... not motorcycles."
Reverb simply stared at her, unsure on how to respond. Remedy was one of those doctors who could always garner the truth, no matter how many lies one spun. It would be useless for him to even try.
So might as well tell the truth.
"Have you ever wanted to be someone else, Remedy?" he asked her. "Just for one day?"
She blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"
"I have." He tapped his right arm. Engraved on it were the numbers 4/9211. "Many times."
Remedy frowned. "How long have you been doing this?"
The grin he gave her was no doubt unsettling. He didn't care anymore.
"Not long enough."
* * *
The Relinquishment Clinic had been deserted for quite some time. Most of them had been shut down by this point, save for the ones that were repurposed to deliver a different kind of relinquishment. But this wasn't one of them. Rather than caskets, the place was riddled with discarded body types, donated and never retrieved. Not a single one had an ounce of life left in them.
Save for one.
He had almost missed it at first. The optical sensors of the blue pickup were switched off, its mouth hanging open in silence. But, upon second glance, he could detect the telltale sign of a spark peeking from behind the bot's slightly parted chest plates. A trail of cables cascaded from the mech's spark chamber, terminating at some sort of machine.
At first he thought it to be a life support device, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was a type of simultronic. They were after his time, of course, but he nonetheless recognized them as a form of narcotic experience, something one could only get on the black market.
The machine was already switched off; it had probably lost power ages ago. Carefully, he disconnected the wires from the bot's chest. The blue truck shifted with a start.
"No...." the mech murmured.
"Relax," Censere whispered to him. "You're safe now."
"I don't want to go. I'm not ready."
Ignoring him, Censere reached for his arm... only to stop. Written on it were the numbers 2/9217. That was today.
He thought back to the other bodies he had traced to Reverb, only to find them deactivated. All of them had a number etched onto their arm. Had that all been his doing?
Was this bot even still Reverb?
The briefcase glowed in his hand. He didn't have much time to linger. Pulling the Autobot up, he threw his arm over his shoulder. Suddenly, Reverb began to laugh.
"That slagger. I hope he's having the time of his life in my body."
The briefcase flashed, and in an instant, the two were gone.
FIN
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