Ep 1.5 Visiting Hours (Closed)

[Deleted]

Beginning of week 1

Wheeljack didn't think all that much about it when Ratchet's call came through on his comms. He'd been down to the medbay before on plenty of errands. Oh Ratchet needed this part and that, could you come take a look at this broken strut? Now go and make me the same strut, except not broken? Oh and a new bio scanner, you do know how to make one of those, don't you? On one memorable occasion, he's been called in to help subdue a pair of patients who shall forever remain nameless.

So, the Wrecker calmly abandoned his work on melting down the last scraps of the convicts' shuttle and casually strode down to the medbay without a second thought. The medic was always a good target for some verbal sparring and Wheeljack always derived a bit of joy from needling Ratchet. He took a couple of steps into the medbay before locating the red and white mech.

"Alright doc, who's the patient?" he drawled, confident that he could handle whatever Ratchet could throw at him.

[Deleted]

"Ha!"

Ratchet crowed at the sight of the Wrecker strolling through the medbay doors. He banged his cup down and pointed to the mech seated across from him. "I told you he'd come."

"You did," the mech said. "Huh. I thought he'd be cagier. You realise I have nothing to pay you with."

"There's no need. The satisfaction gained in tricking a Wrecker to walk into my medical bay willingly and under his own power is payment enough."

The two sat at a medical berth, which had been reclined to a prone position in order to serve as a table. Two cups sat on top of it, behind which sat the Autobot Chief Medical Officer, as well as his guest. Fortress Maximus' brow was drawn and the big mech wore a frowning, distracted air about himself, but it swiftly turned to amusement as he watched Wheeljack step inside.

Ratchet jabbed a finger into the berth. His steely optics were fixed upon the Wrecker.

"You," he said. "Long overdue medical fitness evaluation. Park it. Now."

[Deleted]

Okay, so not what he was expecting at all. Wheeljack resisted the urge to perform an immediate U-turn and walk right out because something told him the doors were locked right now and all he'd do was look stupid if he walked into them. Instead, his processor set to work on calculating which wall he could blow without bringing half the base down upon them.

He shot Fort Max a bemused look, with a slight trace of betrayal mixed in. So the big mech wasn't the problem here, like Wheeljack had initially assumed when he walked in. By the casual looks of things going on in the med-bay, Fort Max was firmly entrenched on Ratchet's team and the Wrecker could not count on him to help him out of this situation. Primus, they'd even taken bets on it. In fact, Wheeljack had the nasty suspicion that Fort Max was there to provide the muscle in case Ratchet needed it.

It was a trap that he'd walked right into and he had no one to blame but himself. Wheeljack shot Ratchet a droll look. "Well," he drawled, folding his arms. "Taking advantage of my kind and caring nature, doc? That just shuffled round my priorities for the next couple of cycles. All medbay supplies have been put on low and whatever the slag this request Thunder put in, it's now sitting on top. Sure hope you won't need those replacement helicopter and jet parts any time soon, Ratchet."

Wheeljack's initial instinct to blow a hole in the wall probably was the correct response to this situation. Instead, he was sticking around and digging himself into a deeper hole because Wreckers tended to run forward and embrace danger instead of retreating.

"Now, seriously, the joke's over. Tell me you called me down here for some energon and I won't be forced to build what suspiciously looks like a nucleon cannon."

[Deleted]

"Tsk tsk," said Ratchet calmly. "Threats will only increase the number of probes I use in the examination."

Across from him, Maximus quietly sipped his drink. When he caught sight of the Wrecker's baleful gaze he only let one shoulder rise and fall in an affable shrug. Sorry, the gesture seemed to say. You're on your own for this one.

Ratchet heaved up to his feet and stepped over to a nearby workbench.

"Now, seriously, sit down on that berth," he said, his back to the room. "This truly is a medical evaluation. I appreciate the fact that your... outskirter status effectively means that you are not technically a full member of Team Prime, and thus I cannot order you to park your aft down and submit yourself to an exam. But I'm telling you... this is an order to park your aft down and submit to the exam. I cannot allow you to fight alongside my Autobots and be mutually responsible for their welfare if you are not considered medically fit."

The medic turned away from the table, a thin tool in one hand and a pen-light in the other.

"As for the subject of mental fitness, that is something I'm willing to waive judgement on," he added in a deadpan.

[Deleted]

Electric blue optics narrowed as Wheeljack solidly parked himselfagainst the medbay's wall and not a step closer. "Sorry doc," he replied calmly, voice steady. "'m Wrecker and an engineer. I can take care of myself."

The smallest spikes of alarm had started to build in Wheeljack's systems. It had been...it had been vorns since he'd last seen a medic. Just before the Exodus. When he'd taken off a finger of the attending physician for trying to repair a hole in his armour and had accidentally brushed against an excision scar carved into his protoform. Wheeljack couldn't remember the act of attacking the medic himself but he'd seen the aftermath, a scalpel he didn't remember grabbing clutched in his own servos and bright blue energon dripping on the white floor. The medic had gotten off lucky, that Wheeljack had resorted to a knife instead of his own inbuilt weapons. That had been when he was seeing a psychologist and trying to come to terms with the vorns of missing memories that had to belong to the time he probably spent in Shockwave's lab.

The Wrecker determinedly pushed down his rising anxiety. That was an episode he'd moved on from, a part of his life that he'd conquered and would not let control him. And yet, all the same, the thought of handing his frame into another mech's care...no. Not even for an astrosecond. Not even for a fellow Autobot or for an Autobot medic.

"'frame's fine. So's my head," Wheeljack's tone brooked no argument and he levelled a glare at Ratchet that made it clear the medic would be risking himself if he came any closer. "Besides, since when did I need your permission to join a fight?"

[Deleted]

Ratchet held up the pen light like a stern finger.

“First of all, the roles of ’medic’ and ’engineer’ are not interchangeable,” he said testily. “I don’t build ships or bridges, you don’t perform major surgery. Let’s get that straight right now. I don’t appreciate it when my hard–earned skills are brushed off as something that any wrench–jockey can perform. I’m sure that Dusk would say likewise. And secondly...”

The medic snorted. “I can’t force you to submit to an examination. But honestly. I would have not pegged you as such a coward as to fear what essentially amounts to a mere scan.”

“I did the evaluation when I arrived,” said Maximus. He shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

[Deleted]

Wheeljack tended to find his engineering skills doubled quite well as medical skills but maybe that was just him. The theory might be different but he found the underlying basic techniques quite similar and he was all about the practical anyway. All Wreckers did a crash course in first aid because really, the missions they went on quite simply necessitated as such. They often were stuck behind enemy lines, in the thick of the fighting where medical aid could never reach them in time. He was about to bring this up when-

Had Ratchet just called him a coward? In front of Fort Max, no less? Wheeljack's optics widened as his field flared in indignation. The thin metal blades on the Wrecker's back quivered, then stiffened. How dare that-

"Coward? I-"

“I did the evaluation when I arrived,” said Maximus. He shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

Oh, now Max was in on it too? Wheeljack might not care all that much about what Ratchet thought but the Wrecker held Fort Max's opinion in much higher regard. And he couldn't bear the thought of looking weak in front of him. This conflicted with the fear -and yes, it was fear but Wheeljack determinedly did not acknowledge it as such or that he was feeling it at all or even where it was coming from- and the two opposing impulses chased each other around for a bit inside his processor. Wheeljack's steady resolve weakened, Ratchet and Fort Max had hit him right in the weak spot.

The dig at his character and desire to remain strong in Fort Max's regard eventually won out over the fear. In a way, the big mech's presence here was a reassurance. Wheeljack trusted him to watch his back in a fight and it was that trust that unconsciously weighed in on favour of his indignation.

"Fine," he growled in defeat. "Don't know why you're so eager to waste both our time when I'm in perfect health. You'll be eating those words, Ratchet."

The Wrecker's field had gone flat, though tumultuous emotion still roiled away inside him. He straightened up, the thin metal pieces on his back were still. He hadn't realised it but his battle mask had slid forward at some point to cover his lower face. A few basic combat protocols, meant only for the battlefield or when dealing with a visible threat, had began to activate inside his processor.

Unconsciously, Wheeljack felt cornered, stressed and trapped. Wheeljack liked to think that he'd gotten over it, that he'd handled his trauma. But really, all he'd done was do what he normally did whenever he was faced with a problem he didn't like and couldn't stab, which was to ignore it and bury it deep inside, hoping it would go away and resolve itself. His frame might be in excellent condition, barring the permanent scars left upon it but his mind...it was his processor that Ratchet really should be more worried about. The Wrecker wasn't even aware of his own body language or that his systems had began to react to an imaginary threat. He was too preoccupied and fuming over being called a coward by Ratchet, of all mecha.

Coward, his aft. Ain't no way he was going to let the medic get away with that one.

[Deleted]

"I'm sure I will be," said Ratchet drily.

He turned to the berth and made a shooing motion at Maximus. The big mech obediently stood up and stepped back, taking both of their drinks with them. He gave another affable shrug as he edged past Wheeljack to find another seat on the other side of the room.

After brushing a speck dust from the top of the berth, Ratchet set the thin tool upon it and pulled a jury-rigged light in closer. He patted the berth.

"Sit here, please," he said. "Have you ever even submitted to a military medical evaluation once in your life before? I won't leap out of my frame in shock if you say no. Basically, it conforms to two sections: a physical scan, and a neural scan. If anything in either scan strikes me as being amiss I'll investigate closer. Scan results will not be disclosed to anyone but you and I, if you wish for that confidentiality to be enforced. Which means I wouldn't make myself too comfortable if I were you, Max."

Too big to sit on anything else in the room, Maximus had leaned against the far wall. He nodded.

"That's fine," he said. "I'll be on my way shortly anyway."

Ratchet turned back to Wheeljack and raised a brow. "Satisfied?"

[Deleted]

Wheeljack rolled his optics as Ratchet began to outline the procedures he was about to do. The Wrecker knew how things worked and it was irritating to be talked down upon like some green rookie.

"Tell me something I don't know, doc," he commented dryly.

The talk of the processor scan alarmed him though. Wheeljack had kept his little memory problem a closely guarded secret. Pits, even Bulkhead didn't know and they were Amica Endura, the closest of friends. There simply hadn't been any opportunity to. Wheeljack had not seen Bulk for vorns after waking up in Crystal City with a hole in his memories and a scrambled memory core and by the time the two had caught up, Wheeljack had adjusted to his new lease on life and had no desire to relive or bring up the dark experience. He'd moved on, he'd told himself. He'd dealt with it and gotten better.

Ratchet had struck well when he'd targeted Wheeljack's pride. He'd challenged the Wrecker's self perception of himself, the carefully constructed belief that he was over it. Wheeljack's dignity was now at stake, he had no desire to be seen as weak in his comrades optics nor in his own. Turning back now after saying he could do it? Not happening. It'd feel a lot like running away to Wheeljack and if there's one thing he hated doing, it was retreating. He told himself that he was fine. He'd been telling himself that for a long time. Ain't no way Ratchet could bring his composure down with a couple of sentences or a simple routine maintenance check. And he'd prove it, not to them but for himself.

Wheeljack unsheathed his blades and then carefully lowered them to the floor. He didn't quite trust himself with them right now. He made his way to the med berth and hopped up, gingerly seating himself at the edge.

Scan results will not be disclosed to anyone but you and I, if you wish for that confidentiality to be enforced. Which means I wouldn't make myself too comfortable if I were you, Max."

"I don't care," Wheeljack drawled, his tone deliberately kept casual. Nothing to be afraid of here, no secrets. He was perfectly fine and Ratchet was going to prove it. The two other Autobots probably couldn’t care less about Wheeljack's wounded pride and were more concerned about his health but the Wrecker had a large amount of ego and had convinced himself it was all about his image. Because if there was one thing Wheeljack did well, it was redirect and avoid thinking about his true problems. "If it's just me and the doc though, I'm probably going to fall into recharge in boredom."

(Wheeljack didn’t want to admit but it was probably for the best that Fort Max did stick around, in case he did flip out. And because it made it easier to remember he was in Ratchet's medbay and his battle protocols knew he could rely upon the big mech to watch his back. But admitting that would be admitting weakness in himself so he flat-out refused to think about these considerations.)

"Satisfied?"

"Wasting time here, Ratchet."

Wheeljack exvented deeply then forced himself to relax.

He could do this.

[Deleted]

Though Ratchet arched a brow when Wheeljack voluntarily laid down his swords, he did not comment on it. Instead he merely stood back and waited for the Wrecker to claim his seat on the berth.

As far as scans went, it was a simple one.

“Hm,” said Ratchet as he ran his wrist–mounted scanner down the last of Wheeljack’s legs. He kept one optic on the wall bracket of green monitors mounted above the head of the berth. “Physical scan is showing some unusual sub–scarring, though nothing critical. We all bear scars of some form or another, that’s not unusual. Physically you appear to be operating within satisfactory tolerences. That’s good. I’m fifty percent appeased. Let’s swap to a basic neural scan and see what crops up outside of Wrecker standards for mental health, harumph. Stand by.“

Ratchet hummed absently to himself as he tapped his scanner. The broad green beam swept outwards and he carefully directed it at Wheeljack’s optics before slowly waving it downwards. “Hold still. And think sane thoughts.”

This scan took much longer. By the end of it Ratchet was frowning.

“That’s–” he said, and shook his head.

He turned to consult one of the monitors. Another minute passed as he paged through screens, scrolling through lines of tiny glyphs with a touch of his finger.

His frown deepened.

“This method of scanning for code irregularities is not very precise,” he said. He waved the forearm the scan beam had emitted from. “It’s really just a means to detect them by picking up on the fluxes, the ’hitches’ they subsequently generate in the electromagnetic field. Field variation is a fascinating branch of neuroscience that I won’t bore you with by expanding upon now. What I mean to ask is this: will you submit to a link–up with my equipment so that I might examine your field code in a little more depth? I’m picking up on a, a... a hitch that I would like a better look at.”

[Deleted]

Unusual sub-scarring his aft. Wheeljack knew what those were. They hadn't been acquired as a consequence of battle damage. Those were excision cuts, where someone had deliberately sliced through his protoform for reasons best not to think too hard about. He'd never been able to figure out whether they were signs that parts had been taken out of him...or signs that something else had been grafted in. Those were the kinds of thoughts that sometimes kept him from sinking into recharge. The possibilities when it came to Shockwave were endless and each was a worst case scenario in itself.

"Told you I know what I'm doing," he grumbled as Ratchet finished off the physical evaluation. He kept still as the medic moved on to the next bit of the medical examination, rolling his optics at the sane thoughts comment. "I assure you doc, that's the only type of thoughts I have. It's your standards that need adjusting."

He waited, somewhat impatiently for Ratchet to finish up. The second scan was taking a bit longer than it normally should and Wheeljack's mood soured as he took in the frown on the medic's face. There was no snarky reply assuring him that all was in order. Not that Wheeljack believed that, he knew part of his head was fragged. He'd just been...telling himself that it was okay.

The Wrecker watched silently as Ratchet turned away, analysing the results. Then came the scant explanation and the Question.

A 'hitch' that gave Ratchet cause for concern.

Would he like to submit to an in depth code evaluation?

Wheeljack didn't answer. His blue optics stared sightlessly up at the ceiling as thoughts whirled inside his processor. His immediate reaction, the one that came directly from his spark?

Frag no.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Never.

The Wrecker lurched forward to his pedes, his gaze blank and servos clenched hard. He stepped away, putting some distance between him, the med-berth and the rest of the room's occupants. Wheeljack held up a servo to silence any questions, he needed time and space to think about this properly. Because as much as he wanted to flat-out reject Ratchet's proposal straight off the bat, that was a reaction born out of fright and Wheeljack refused to be ruled by fear.

It was a dark place that those emotions were coming from, a place Wheeljack had no desire to revisit and that Ratchet risked stirring up by going on ahead with this evaluation. He needed to think clearly about it, weighing up all the costs and benefits.

On the one servo, he could refuse. Go on as he always had been. Aware that there's a problem in his processor but doing the best he could to bury that knowledge deep down and ignoring it. Let the problem fester and hope that it wouldn't come and bite him in the aft down the line.

On the other...

Wheeljack was no med-bot, his skills with manual maintenance not withstanding. He could fix a frame to a rather high degree...but not a processor. Ratchet was one of the greatest medics Cybertron had ever seen, certainly better than the medics who had examined him initially. If there was even the slightest chance that Ratchet could do something for damage in his processor, wasn't it worth it? The medic could catch things that Wheeljack himself was not aware of. The Wrecker reminded himself that the vorns he spent in Shockwave's care were completely gone from his memory. There could be hidden triggers, programs left inside his processor meant to disable him should he ever get close to taking the Decepticon down. He'd never be able to know but Ratchet would have a far better chance of picking them up. It was unacceptable for him to come so far only to fail.

Right now, he was almost there. His goal wasn't all that far off from sight. Before, revenge on Shockwave had been a nebulous thing, an idea he was always working towards but hadn't really been certain where to start. Shockwave was elusive and not so easy to find and here on Earth was the closest Wheeljack had been to him since waking up in Crystal City. To risk even the slightest chance of him getting away...every inch of Wheeljack rebelled against the idea but ultimately he needed to know. He needed that reassurance that when he faced Shockwave, he was at his best.

The metal pieces on Wheeljack's back quivered as he worked through the mental debate but stilled once he came to terms with his decision. It wasn't just letting the scan happen, it also meant giving Ratchet something to work with. Something to direct his attention to specifically.

It meant talking about Shockwave and letting someone know what had happened to him.

Wheeljack turned round and seated himself again without a word after kliks of internal turmoil. He kept his gaze carefully averted from both Ratchet and Fort Max because he wasn't certain he'd be able to keep his composure as he dug down through all the walls he'd built up on this particular topic. Dully, he stared at the ceiling. His shoulders were drawn up and his field was wrapped tight around himself. Wheeljack suddenly felt terribly tired, as if the full extent of the weight of keeping this hidden for so long was finally taking its toll.

"Yeah," he said roughly. "I'll take the scan. About this hitch...would it help if I told you I once took a good few hundred vorns long vacation in Shockwave's lab? A trip that I still can't remember a single detail about?"

[Deleted]

Ratchet had taken a step back, startled by the Wrecker’s unexpected reaction to the scan. But now he scowled.

“Would it help?” he said. “Would it help to know that our resident lone wolf once spent a significant amount of unaccountable time in the laboratory of a Decepticon science officer known for his work in the field of biomechanical manipulation? Primus up a tree!”

The medic rolled his optics and threw up his hands in rising ire.

“Of course it would have helped! I could have saved on the basic neural scan and cut straight to something more specific. I could have insisted to Optimus and Red Alert that you not be allowed in the base in the first place, not until your code had been submitted to a deep scan! For all I know you could be a repository of neatly hidden subversive commands and sub–routines and tracking bugs. But why inform your allies of a potential security disaster like that when you can save it all up for a suitably dramatic reveal instead!”

Now alarmed, Maximus pushed off the wall.

“Ratchet –” he began.

Ratchet raised a hand in his direction.

“No, Fortress, I will deal with this,” he said. His angry gaze remained fixed upon the Wrecker. “Wheeljack. I tolerate much for the sake of treading carefully around shaky psychological ground around here. I respect that not everyone wants to be frank about their past. I understand that, and to a degree I can sympathize with the desire to hold tightly to one’s privacy. But to not disclose something as serious as what I am going to assume was a forced confinement within the labs of someone like Shockwave was not just negligent, but dismissive of the security of every other Autobot – and human – around you.”

The medic spoke a little more calmly now, but his manner was firm. ”If you submit to this scan and I find no threat, then I will gladly forget this conversation ever happened. I will repair whatever needs to be repaired and I will enforce strict confidentiality in the matter. But if you take offence and balk now, then I will take this issue straight to Optimus Prime. I genuinely don't want to lecture you and it’s not my place to villainize anyone but Shockwave for what I’m sure was a terrible experience. But I cannot allow it to put any of our Autobots in danger either. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

[Deleted]

And there was the other reason why he'd keep his mouth shut about the whole thing. Suspicion. He didn't appreciate the medic's explosion at him but he could understand where Ratchet was coming from. All his concerns and more were the same concerns Wheeljack harbored about himself.

"I get you. Doc, you think I wasn't aware of what being in Shockwave's lab meant for me?" Wheeljack's tone was tired. Flat. Exhausted. Defeated. "That I walked back straight back into the war without a second thought? First thing I did once I figured out what had happened, I went looking for help. The thing is it was during the lead-up the Exodus. Everyone was busy trying to get off planet, there wasn't exactly a lot of help left to find. But I did, eventually, I saw a few medics and a shrink and the best they could tell me was that everything in my processor seemed to be in place except the damage to my memory core and the hole in it. And they checked, then they double checked and triple checked and so on and so forth and I kept coming up clean. The hole was the only discrepancy and they could never agree if that was something done to me or if my processor did that to itself to preserve itself."

"Even after all that, it wasn't good enough for me. But eventually I had to make a decision, accept that that was the best I was going to get and move on. If I'd allowed myself to be controlled by the endless possibilities...I would have never left Cybertron during the Exodus. I could listen to what the doctors were telling me or stay paranoid, unable to trust myself with anything, least of all myself. Even after I left Cybertron, took precautions when I could. Didn't join up with any Autobot platoons and I spent most of my time in deep space," he gave a harsh laugh here. Self imposed exile. Just what he'd always wanted, right? All the solitude a mech could need. Except it hadn't exactly been a choice but a decision borne out of mistrust for himself.

"Didn't come back to Earth because the Omega base was here. I have some unfinished business that’s a few thousand vorns overdue. Would have been content to stay the frag outta your way except the ships started falling from the sky and I couldn't ignore all the parts going to waste." Wheeljack paused and gave a self-depreciating shrug. "Maybe I should have said something." It wasn't exactly an apology but it was the closest they were going to get. Breaking a habit of a lifetime wasn't exactly something easy to do without the right motivation especially when Wheeljack had denial down as a fine art.

The Wrecker finally raised his optics to meet Ratchet's gaze, his resolve hardening inside him. When he spoke next, his voice had regained its usual strength. "Go ahead with the scan doc. I'm just as interested as you are to see if anything new comes up. Can't promise I'll keep still, last medic I saw lost a finger when he treated me and that was just from accidentally touching that 'unusual sub-scarring.' Might want to keep your scalpels hidden."

Grimly, Wheeljack's optics flicked over his swords by the wall.

[Deleted]

Ratchet snorted.

"Wonderful," he said.

But his optics cut to the swords as well, and when he spoke again his manner was grim rather than scathing. "Very well. I'll accept that you were at least wise enough to seek out a medical assessment upon realising what had been done to you. If those medics felt confident that nothing dangerous had been left inside your brain module or you code, then I will respect their diagnosis. However, that does not mean I will not do a thorough investigation myself - for my own reassurance, if nothing else."

The medic heaved a pent-up exhalation and stepped back from the berth again. He motioned to it. "Lie back, please. Maximus, will you take those swords and step outside? I don't like weapons in my medbay. Purely for philosophical reasons, I assure you."

Maximus nodded. He cast an unreadable glance at Wheeljack before turning and clasping both swords in one big fist. Without a word he strode from the medical bay.

Ratchet turned and tapped one of the monitors.

"I'll hook you up once you lie down," he said to the Wrecker. His voice was low. "In the meantime, perhaps you can tell me the full story behind this hole in your memory core. For just how long a period does it encompass? What do you remember before it? After it?"

[Deleted]

Something unpleasant slithered in Wheeljack's spark when Fort Max's picked up his swords.

The Wrecker tracked Fort Max's path out of the room with them, feeling stricken but determined not to let it show on his face or field. He was safe, Wheeljack told himself. He didn't needs his swords or Fort Max to get through this. Sure, the big bot was a good one to have at his back. And it never felt right to part for his blades for any amount of time. But this was just Ratchet. This would finally lay to rest concerns he'd harboured for vorns. The nagging worry had always been there, buried deep. That something had come up but he was so removed from medical assistance that there was no one there to catch it.

"Wouldn't put too much stock in their judgement," Wheeljack admitted with a wince as he lay back. "Their equipment was scrap and they didn't exactly have the best training. They made do with what they could but well," the Wrecker gave a helpless shrug. "You remember what it was like, back when everyone was preparing to scramble. Part of the reason we checked so many times."

Wheeljack stared up at the ceiling as he went digging through his memory core to get things in order. Out of the corner of his optics, he kept track of the medic's actions. He started to adjust his firewalls in preparation of the processor scan that was incoming.

"Last place I remember, Polyhex," the Wrecker replied. Polyhex, after abandoning the Wreckers. Striking out on his own, launching raids on scattered Cons forces. Getting into the swing of things of being his own agent. Good cycles. Freedom and no Ultra Magnus telling him what to do. Then just...nothing. His memory cut off in the middle of a routine patrol, no enemies, no attack. Just nothing at all until the confused haze he'd woken up in Crystal City with shackles welded to his wrists.

"Next thing I know, waking up in Crystal City with my memory core shredded. Hallucinating something fierce. Took forever to get the memory files re-indexed. Lost a lot of stuff," Wheeljack grimaced. "When I was done, that gap was there, close to around 100 vorns gone. The files never recoverable, was like they had never existed."

His life stolen from him and the purple Con responsible more a whisper in the wind than anything solid. Digging up info on Shockwave was hard, the mech was elusive and covered his tracks well. The Wrecker had spent vorns trying to track and hunt down the Decepticon to no avail. But here on Earth, he finally had a shot at it.

Wheeljack couldn't wait to catch up with him and pay him back, in triplicate.