A conversation with Sunstreaker
Addendum to Dark Storm Rising Chapter 11

You know, I remember being happy. I miss Earth and the summer time. I miss the winding roads up and down Interstate 5, the Intermountain Pass between Fort Max and Central City. I even miss Highway 1/101 in California. I miss everything. Except the bugs. Sometimes I think I should have just stayed on Cybertron.

I keep talking and arguing with myself. Now days it’s all that’s in my head. I’ve been reduced from the epitome of Autobot pulchritude to this... abomination First Aid must have dredged up from someone’s trash compactor. I can’t stand to think about it and I can’t stand to look at myself anymore.

I used to be so much more than this.

Now we’re floating in some asteroid belt in some unknown quadrant in space. We’ve been reduced from heros and warriors to cringing cowards. We’ve run off to this pocket in space, licking our wounds.

It’s shameful. I’m ashamed.

I’m not going to bother asking when we’ll return to Earth. Chances are, we won’t. Not that I care, at this point. I don’t think I care about anything.

That’s not entirely true. I care that I look like the walking aftermath of a demolition derby. I care that I don’t view things like I used to. I care that my brother annoys me and creeps me out when he looks at me. I don’t need his fragging pity. Don’t tell him I said that. He’ll just annoy me further by trying to cheer me up. I don’t need to be cheered up. I need things to be the way they were before we left Earth. I need...

I need to figure out where I am inside. I know nothing about all that psychology slag. I don’t care to. I’m sure if Optimus knew about it, he’d drag me aft-first into his office and make me talk.

Well, the Optimus that I used to know. He’s different now. He’s been different since, you know, since 2005. Everything changed that year.

(Pause)

I know that First Aid is doing everything he can to save me. But like this, I don’t want to live. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. I used to be the rebel-rouser; me and Sides. It’s like all the light inside me has burnt out. I’m tired. I’m really, really tired. But I dread shutdown.

Oh, not mentioned that before, have I? Yeah. I’ve been having serious doozy-dreams. I mean, dreams that... dreams I can’t even describe. Usually they start out, like okay, you know? They start out simple, like maybe I’m walking around somewhere on Cybertron. It’s all good. Nice day, no traffic congestion, no emergency alerts. And then the roads turn creepy.

No, I don’t mean as in story-time creepy where there’s dark trees and the road gets slippery. No, I mean, creepy as in driving down the road and you see things on the surface. Or the road moves and you’re still on it. Or I’ll be driving along and suddenly, I’m driving over body parts. And all the body parts come together and form this... shape. And it opens its mouth and bites off my front axle. And always, at some point, it bites off my right headlight.

I don’t know. I don’t know what to think of it. I don’t tell anyone cuz who’d believe me?

(Pause)

Them days a-rollin

over and over and over... and over...

Don’t ever tell anyone about the keening noises I’m making. I can’t help it. I feel like I don’t want to keep going. Nothing really matters in the end of all things, does it? You come to life, you do a few things and you pass on. What is the use of it all? Where does it lead to? And why?

I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know. I’m sure everyone who’s seen me is repulsed. I used to be... I used to be.

(Pause)

There’s this... tarp of darkness. It drapes behind my optics. Sometimes I can see through it, see the world around me in shades of diminished light and shadows where things move. I can’t say that I see it with my optics. I mean, it isn’t really in front of me. But it’s there. Always there. I see other people’s faces through it, as though I’m walking with a veil in front of me. It’s hard to read things with it, you know? I can’t say we’re scared, honestly. In fact, it’s sort of comforting, as if we can hide behind the veil like a pair of sunglasses; hide my optics so no one sees what we’re thinking.

We don’t like it when someone asks. We never know what to say, not really. We’re here. And we see. And we feed. It doesn’t need to be complicating. We see the world and its faces.

And we wait.

Them days a-rollin

... a-rollin’...

To Be Continued in DSR chapter 11