Water dripped somewhere in the rubble, rousing the sparkling from its fitful recharge. He didn't remember how many times he'd recharged and woken since the building had collapsed. His wings were pinned in the rubble. He tried moving them, and silently cried out. He heard creaking and popping in the wing joints, sending pain into his shoulders. His faceplate was stained with fresh and old energon tears. He was hungry and feeling very weak. Without use of a vocal processor, he had no way of alerting anyone he was under the rubble. He was scared. He didn't want to die.

He slapped his servo against his watcher's chassis again. Ever since the building had collapsed, the elder mech hadn't moved or spoken a word. He couldn't have been asleep this long. Maybe he was hurt and needed help. Why doesn't he wake up and talk to me, the little seekerlet wondered.

"What a beautiful little seeker."

The little seeker uncurled from the ball he'd curled himself up into while in recharge. His large, gold optics blinked up at the speaker. A fuzzy image of a blue femme greeted his sleepy eyes. He had a knowing that it was his creator. He smiled up at her, his mouth open wide with a smile. He went to chirp, but nothing came out of his mouth. He closed it, looking confused. The others made noise when they opened their mouths.

The one he idenified as his creator looked stunned, and horrified.
"No, no," he heard her say. "This can't be. He can talk, I know he can. He's just....slow."

A rather scary looking face appeared in his vision, glaring down at him.
His creator shielded him with her chassis. Looking up at the glaring mech, she shook her head.
"He's fine, really he is. He's just excited and couldn't get anything out."
"Step aside," the harsh looking mech said, physcially pushing his creator out of the way. To another mech he couldn't see, the harsh mech said "Check his vocalizer. Perhaps it is just a case of stage fright, but if it's not, you know the will of Primus."

He did a silent whimper as a very scary looking mech with crosses painted on his shoulders bent down to look at him. He glared at the little one, poking and prodding him around his throat area. He struggled to get the probing digits away, but it just earned him a slight slap. His creator screamed, trying to push the mech with the crosses away.

"Don't hurt my sparkling!" she said, slapping at his servos.
"Be quiet, femme!" the first scary looking mech thundered. "It is the duty of the medics to see if the sparkling is whole. If not, it must be offlined, in accordence to the sayings of Primus."
"Not my sparkling," she cried. "Please, leave him be. I'll give a generous donation to the temple. Anything! Just leave him alone!"

The medic shook his head.
"No vocal processor," he said. "This one's defective."
"NO!" his creator screamed. "We tried so hard for a sparkling. You can't take him away!"

"Silence, femme," the first scary mech said. To the medic, the scary mech said "Give him the mark and send him to the off-lining chamber."
As an afterthought, he added. "And get something to shut up that hysterical femme."

The seekerlet cried at the memory, coming out of recharge again. He was still in the rubble, and the water was still dripping in the background. He still couldn't move his wings, but he could wiggle his peds a little more this time. His systems registered low fuel. He had to get out of here or he wasn't going to survive. He kept wiggling, trying to block out the pain. He managed to get one ped free. He wiggled his arms, trying to get his arms free.

He was being taken away, silently crying, holding out his servos for his creator who was also crying. He was in the medic's arms, being taken down a long corridor. Cries could be heard further down the corridor, loud, terrified cries. He squirmed to get away from the medic, but the harsh mech had a good hold on him. He didn't want to go down there. It sounded scary. A loud noise, then one of the cries would stop. More cries would start up again after it.

He cried silently, big energon tears rolling down his faceplate. The medic rounded a corner and took him into a room. There were other sparklings, many deformed and scary looking, all crying and holding their servos out to the medic. The medic ignored them and put him in a crib looking thing. Inside were several sparklings, all disfigured, looking back at him. One was missing an arm. One's helm was badly misshapen. And another one had no optics. He shrank away from them, scared they might hurt him. The one with the misshapen head crawled over to him, chirping quietly. He shrank back as the deformed one gently patted him on the helm. Gentle chirps assured him that the deformed one had no intention of harming him, but wanted to play instead. He watched as the deformed one rolled a round object towards him. He rolled it back, much to the deformed one's delight. They continued like this for awhile, until the medic came back. All three of his companions shrank back, but the medic was after him.

The medic roughly picked him up and took him away. He cried for the other three, they cried as he left, holding out servos to him. He was taken to a room where a very old mech sat writing.
"What have we here?" the old one asked the medic.
"No vocal processor," the medic said briskly.
"Such a shame. Seeker builds seem to almost always come out defective. I've only seen maybe ten come through her without some imperfection. Never mind then, have him branded and take him to the spark render."
The medic nodded and took him deeper into the building. He squirmed, trying to get away, but the medic had a vice like grip on him. The medic said nothing, but handed him over to another mech. His back was to the older mech, so he couldn't see what was going on. Then a searing pain on his right shoulder. If he'd had a vocal processor, he'd have screamed.

He was whisked away, brought back to the room he'd left. He was rudely tossed back into the crib with the three he'd seen before. Only the one without optics was missing. The other two were crying and clinging to each other. They embraced him when he was tossed in the crib. Worried chirps and clicks came from their vocal processors. The optic-less one had been taken and not returned. From what they heard, he would't be returning and they were worried for him.

He'd been scared, he remembered, as he continued to struggle with the rubble. He'd managed to free one ped and his arm. Now if he wiggled a little more, he might be able to get his other ped loose. Alarms rang as his tank emptied. He only had the reserve one left. He hoped he'd be able to get free before his reserve gave out. He was beginning to realize the older mech wasn't going to wake up. He was alone in the world, again.

They'd taken the others by the time it was his turn. He'd gotten to the point that he was so hungry he didn't care where they were taking him. He just wanted to leave. He hoped to see his friends again. Maybe they'd been taken to another room?

He held up his arms to the medic who came for him. The medic picked him up and took him to a strange room, full of strange, unpleasant smells. He saw his friends, lying on the floor. It looked like they were asleep. He waved, squirming around to get their attention. They didn't respond. Their eyes were blank, as if in sleep, but he got a scared feeling in his fuel tanks. They didn't look normal.

He didn't want to be here. This place scared him. He wanted to have some energon and leave. He struggled to get away, but to no avail.
"This one's feisty," he heard he medic tell another mech. "Watch him, he might bite."
He turned to see the face, or lack of, that would haunt his dreams to come. A hood covered the mech's face. The hooded one had the crosses of a medic, but the hood covered his whole face. The medic nodded to the hooded one, and the hooded one released the latch to his spark chamber. He'd never seen his spark chamber before. It was beautiful, a ball of bouncing light.

An alarm sounded, catching both medics' attention. The hooded medic closed up his spark chamber, picked him up and deposited him in a corner.
"You think that's a good idea?" the first medic asked the hooded medic.
"What does it matter," the hooded medic snarled. "He's going to die one way or another. What does it matter if he dies by our hand or by some accident. Do tell you one thing, I do NOT want to be late for another of Megatron's speeches. Got chewed out good by the boss and had to spend time in quarantine. Nasty place." And then they were gone.

He was on the floor. He could see his friends in the corner, still lying there. They hadn't moved. He slowly crawled over to them, patting them with his servos, trying to get their attention. None of them moved. Their eyes remained dark. Tears formed in his optics. He hugged each of them, snuggling up with the deformed sparkling who'd befriended him. He wrapped his arms around the silent body and curled up there.

He cried at the memory, ceasing his struggling with the rubble. He'd only known them for a short time, but they were the first friends he'd had. And he missed them terribly. He now understood they were dead, and he'd never see them again, at least not on this side. He hoped they were in a better place. He still didn't understand why others like him had to die, or who Primus was, but he hoped there was a place in the universe where good sparklings went.

He resumed struggling to get free of the rubble. He finally freed his other ped. He kicked at the rubble, trying to free the lower half of his body. Through the squirming and wiggling, he'd managed to free most of his body. Now it was just his wings that were pinned. He pushed and kicked at the rubble above him, wiggling himself free. He pulled hard, hearing his wing joints groan in protest. He cried, but kept pulling himself free. His wings finally broke free.

He was there a long time before he heard something. A scrabbling, moving noise. Out of nowhere a mech appeared, a shabby cloak covering his body. The mech scanned the room, then his gaze fell on him. He shied away from the other mech, thinking this one was going to hurt him, too. The mech said nothing, but opened his arms in a non-threatening way.
"It's ok, the cloaked mech said, soothingly. "I'm here to take you away from this awful place.
He was gently picked up and enveloped by the cloaked mech's strange smelling cloak. It was the first time he'd felt love since his creator had first snuggled him. He snuggled deeper into the stranger's cloak.
"I know I saw another live one," the cloaked mech muttered, looking over the mess.

A strange, staticky, almost wheezing honk noise sounded from beneath the pile. The pile moved and out popped the strangest sparkling he'd ever seen. It looked a bit older than the other sparklings and almost resembled a dog. It had a square shaped helm, with strange square jaw, almost like a steam shovel. Its optics were placed deep into its head, with heavy optic ridges. It's arms were longer than it's stumpy legs and had a stocky green body. Though it could't be that old, it had standard protoform grey showing through its green paint.

"There you are, little one," the cloaked stranger said. "You ready to get away from this nightmarish place?"
The little one let out a loud honk, which had the cloaked stranger shushing it.
"Shh, little one," the cloaked stranger said. "You don't want the medics coming back."
It cowed, looking scared and whimpered through static.

His life had changed that day. The cloaked stranger had taken him and the green sparkling in. The green sparkling had been dubbed "Honk" and he had been dubbed "Blue". There had been other sparklings the cloaked stranger had saved, all bearing the red, trident symbol of impending de-activation. They were all nervous at first, not sure of the cloaked stranger's intentions, but soon found life to be good with the cloaked stranger and his femmebot. Life had been pleasant with the cloaked stranger, he thought sadly, looking down at the lifeless form in front of him. He was all alone now. Megatron had already found the femme and the other sparklings. They were gone now.

He wormed his way out of the rubble. The sky was bright out and he could feel the wind on his faceplate. At least when he died, he'd be able to see the sun and feel the breeze.