[When the feed turns on, it's shaking violently and rhythmically. Kevin's communicator is sticking out of the pocket of his cargo shorts, capturing the landscape of the Badlands as
he makes a break for the Haven.
It's not until he's safe inside its walls a few minutes later that he takes out his phone and lets the feed broadcast his face. He's surprised to see it's already recording, but from the look of him, he's got more important things to worry about.
Kevin's got cuts and bruises all over his arms and face. Most of them are superficial, but a few on his upper arms look deep and caked with dried blood. More than that, though, he looks so much more unkept. His hair's matted and longer, and the clothes that once hung loose around his skinny frame are now taut and ill-fitted. Even a Cybertronian might be able to tell that they look uncomfrotable.
He's a lot calmer now than he had been the "first" time he'd been on the Network. Back then, he'd been angry and confused. Now, he's just... exhausted. And maybe, if you're good at reading human expressions, you can see a little fear in his eyes as he speaks.]
How long was I goone this time?
[Wow, what was that, a glitch in his voice box?]
Does anyone remember me?
[The feed opens up with static and a shaky video at first -- looks like someone's communicator fell and activated upon impact. It's night at the junk pile, and someone is desperately clawing through the rummage searching for... something. Who it is, it's hard to tell. Only his arms are visible, and a disturbing mish-mash of metal, circuitry and flesh.
The hands yank something out of the pile and grab hold of it. Instantly the item sparks with electricity, the bright bolts crackling as they climb up his arms offscreen. This goes on for a few seconds, before the sparks die down and flicker out. With a snarl, the figure throws the electronic item away.]
It's not enough... never enough. I need more!
[The figure drops to his hands and knees, his face finally visible onscreen. It's just as gross and twisted as his arms, with metal and circuitry criss-crossed along his face. It almost looks like it grew out of his skin.]
[The feed is mostly Kevin's face, but if anyone cared to look harder, they might recognize Megatronus' temple as the backdrop. Kevin eyes the camera lazily before he speaks.]
Anyone wanna go to the junkpile and break stuff?
'Course, it doesn't have to be the junkpile. Whatever.
[Camera's on Kevin, scrawny and lanky eleven year old boy, and behind him is the backdrop of the Wastelands. He talks into the communicator as he walks toward the Haven, his face caught between anger and shell shock. He's having trouble hiding how unnerved he is right now.]
What happened? What day is it?
...Anyway, nobody better have touched my stuff.