How to be a Wrecker (I)

Wheeljack hadn't realized the true depth of the problem until the headmaster had hinted he could be offlined for this little... prank. At the time it had seemed like a fantastic idea; with only joors left until "graduation"* it made sense to go out with a "bang." It wouldn't have been the first time he'd mixed combustible ingredients together during Chemistry to produce a small explosion.... Relatively harmless actually; the worst of the damages were a few scorch marks on his lab partner's paint job. The problem was this time he hadn't managed to convince the faculty it was an accident; they were on to the fact that these displays were very much intentional.

After coming to study in Crystal City, Wheeljack had quickly become renowned as a troublemaker. Ever since emerging from the Well of Allsparks, he had dreamed of living a life of thrills. He'd been convinced he was destined for the warrior's life. It just felt right in his spark. He was fierce and skilled, smart and dedicated. On the day he received his caste assignment, he watched with empty optics as his companions were given their stations. Factory worker, miner, smelter, artisan, factory worker, factory worker, factory worker, miner. He ignored the desperation in his fellow mechs' optics as they were doomed to the living hell that was Kaon. All that mattered was that he got the position he knew he deserved.

Scientist.

Everyone turned to stare at him. A shudder ran up his frame; all the sudden he felt exposed, unable to escape the accusing glares of his brethern. "Congratulations," the overseer said.

The servo of a mech who had just been assigned factory worker clenched. An angry murmur arose from the milling Cybertronians across the room, the ones awaiting transportation to Kaon. The overseer merely ignored them, patting Wheeljack on the shoulder and giving him a small smile before moving on to the next mech in line.

Factory worker.

He was "lucky." No one dared admit such things aloud but.... The overseers used grandiose words to attempt and make the mechs assigned to the less glamorous castes feel important. They were "pivotal cogs in the great machine of Cyberton," not simply fodder for the ravenous, bloodthirsty industrial giants. They were "the greatest of Cybertronians, risking themselves for the betterment of their race," not lost causes doomed to die within vorns of their arrival in Kaon.

But he was going to live for a long time to come. Most scientists weren't a part of the elite, but the job was steady and comfortable. They hadn't given him a guaranteed expiration date. So why didn't he feel lucky?! Because, scientist felt wrong. All of his expectations for his future had been shattered in a moment. A soldier's life was more dangerous and less-valued than a scientist's perhaps, but the spark wasn't always a logical thing. For the first time, he understood why the mechs that'd been assigned to the factories chafed under the ideals of the caste system. Turning his helm, he soaked in his companions  glares and murmured curses. A brief frown crossed his faceplates, but he didn't respond to them otherwise. Instead, he listened and opened his spark to their words.

That's how he began to transform from an eager and foolish protoform to a hardened and bitter young mech. The memory of his companions' burning resentment still weighed him down; how many of them were even still alive? Not many he guessed.

So, he rebelled in minor ways against the system that had done this to him, to THEM. Still young and untested, he wasn't at the point he was willing to risk his spark for the sake of the cause, but he found whatever ways he could to be difficult. Apparently this last little rebellion had been too much for them however.

Wheeljack's servos covered his faceplates; a soft moan escaped him. He wasn't ready to die. His life had barely begun. Now he REALLY understood how those factory workers felt. It wouldn't have been any easier if they'd been pointing a gun right at his helm. However, the reality of the situation was that he was still very much expendable. Only a student, not even among the ranks of the scientists yet. If he disappeared, he'd just be one more "faulty" protoform that had been disposed of.

Now he was just waiting on their verdict. They'd left him alone in the headmaster's office to "reflect on his actions." That'd been groons ago; how morbid was it that they were rubbing his impending demise right in his faceplates? Just get it over with....

The sound of the door whooshing open shocked him from his dismal reflections. Wheeljack spun around to face it, venting rapidly, optics wide. Some small part of him still hoped that they'd let him live, but he knew it was unlikely. The powers that be had the ability to sweep any potentially troublesome individuals under the rug as if they were nothing more than slag. And he even had to admit to himself he was "potentially troublesome."

"Who are you?" Wheeljack sputtered out. That wasn't the headmaster or any professor that he recognized.

The strange mech closed the door and frowned down at him, not saying a word in response to his question. The stranger was unlike anyone Wheeljack had ever encountered. Ugly, puckered weld marks covered his frame. His deep blue paint job was chipping, something rarely seen in the more affluent castes Wheeljack was surrounded by.  Wheeljack couldn't even begin to put words to the mech's strange frame. It wasn't reminiscent of any alt mode he'd ever encountered. There was no sign of wheels, so he was no grounder like him. However, he also lacked the telltale wings or rotors of a flier.

Although the mech was short by most standards, his presence was imposing and forceful. He met Wheeljack's optics coolly and confidently, seemingly unmoved by this whole situation. Whatever metal this mech's spark was made of, it was the toughest material Wheeljack had ever encountered. A slight flicker of jealousy ran through Wheeljack's processors; whoever this mech was, he was a fighter. If he'd been placed properly, one joor he could have been where the mech was standing instead of sitting in this seat awaiting judgment. It wouldn't surprise him if this mech was his executioner; he certainly had that look about him. Too terrified to say anything, Wheeljack merely watched wordlessly as the mech strode over and sat behind the headmaster's desk.

"I hear you're in deep water, kid," he said.

How was he supposed to respond to that? A slight nod of acknowledgement, then silence as he waited for the mech to continue. He noted that the mech's vocalizer sounded... off, but it was unwise to ask at this point in time. There were more important topics that needed broached. His helm was on the line and he didn't want to destroy any hope there might be left with a careless word.

"You're not stupid, or you wouldn't be here. So... tell me why?" the mech asked.

Wheeljack's lip components moved as he searched for words. They were already aware the incident wasn't accidental thanks to a loudmouth classmate, but he had to stick to his story. What other hope did he have? "It was an accident," Wheeljack repeated for the millionth time.

"I just said you weren't stupid. That's not the real reason and we both know it, but at least you aren't stupid enough to go yapping your secrets just because you're under a bit of pressure. You're strong willed..." the mech replied. "I like that." The strange mech leaned forward in his seat and gave Wheeljack a friendly smile, something that seemed oddly off putting on his scarred faceplates.

Was that... a compliment? The odd comment was enough to push the already stressed Wheeljack off the edge. "What in the slag is wrong with you?! "  Wheeljack covered his mouth with his servo, but it was already too late. The words had already left his vocalizer. However, he wasn't completely regretful of his actions. If he was going to die anyways, it was some small relief to know it wouldn't be without rocking the boat a tiny bit. If the mech was going to mock him, he'd fight back in whatever way he could. Painting him in the guise of a scientist didn't kill his inner warrior.

The mech laughed, drawing attention to the odd glitch in his vocalizer. It almost sounded like... burbling? Primus, was he laughing at his consternation? Sparkless.... "Don't worry, kid. The name's Seaspray: off-world aquatic research. The headmaster here wanted to expel you; you'd've been doomed to the factories then for sure... or worse. But I pulled a few strings. You'll be allowed to graduate... on one condition."

"Condition?" Wheeljack's optics narrowed. That didn't sound good. Maybe it would be better to just allow himself to go offline.... Who knew what they were capable of doing to him?

He didn't trust this Seaspray, not in the least. He claimed to be researcher, but he didn't look remotely like any Wheeljack had ever encountered before. This must be some sort of trick; they were just pulling his strings, as they had since the moment he was first sparked.

"You'll be assigned as my intern after your graduation," Seaspray said, allowing another grin to flash across his faceplates.

Wheeljack waited for the catch. Nothing. "What's the catch?" he demanded.

Seaspray laughed again.... Such an odd laugh. He wasn't sure what to think about it. "We're kindred sparks, kid. I've been looking for someone like you for a long time."

Seaspray leaned back in the chair; Wheeljack vented and glanced at the wall behind the mech. Seapsray was using a lot of pretty words, but he knew how this worked. The overseers had done the same to newly emerged protoforms from the Well. The best way to crush a mech was to build him up and then push him off his tower. Primus knew he wouldn't allow himself to be manipulated in such a way again.

"You see.... You're not the only one in deep slag with the people on high. I'm lucky enough I'm in a position they haven't offlined me yet, but I'm sure this little stunt of mine will be one of the last straws. But I really don't care. I need someone to take over my post when I'm gone, and you're the kind of mech I need. You're not like the rest of the students here. You, unlike the others, actually think, kid. The rest are just mindless pawns, ready to do as they're told. Sure, they can work out fancy equations and slag like that but their spark isn't it. But you... you have more spark than you know what to do with," Seaspray said, chuckling again.

Now his curiosity was perked. Those weren't grandiose words at all. Actually, Seaspray was daring to voice things that could get him in deep slag. Wheeljack's inner fighter flared up eagerly at the words. Distrust started to give way to barely contained eagerness and curiosity. "What's wrong with your vocalizer?" he blurted out before he could organize his thoughts.

Seaspray's optics widened in surprise; a moment later his chuckling turned to riotous laughter. "I did right choosing you, kid. It's battle damage."

"Battle damage? But you're in the scientist caste, not the soldier..." Wheeljack blurted out. But the words only excited him even more. Battle. Just the thought of it caused his fuel pump to speed up in anticipation. Perhaps this "internship" was worth pursuing.

Seaspray was a paradox, unlike anyone he had ever met before. They really were kindred sparks, not quite fitting into the rules of their society. Squares trying to fit in round holes.

"My job is dangerous, kid. Out there, beyond Cybertron.... That's why I'm dangerous to them. I've seen beyond the caste system. I've experienced more than this perpetual stasis, just like you will when you take my place. I know what it's like to have freedom, possibility, choice. But they need me, at least for now. So, what do you say? Will you take my offer?"

Wheeljack didn't hesitate even for a moment. "Yessir." For the first time, his optics brightened at the thought of real possibility.