[Despite having found haven in the Solian temple, Wheeljack wasn't one to stick around in one place. It made him positively antsy, and to be honest, there wasn't much to do there. The longer he stayed, the longer Ratchet would mother-hen him into thinking something was wrong with his processor, or that a dent on his chassis meant irreparable damage.  As touching as that was, he decided to stretch his wheels. It's not like they could do anything or go anywhere, after all, so he headed towards the only place he knew of: the junk pile.

Not that he minded that. It was a good place to search for materials. Something to make a good grenade with. Because really, with two Starscreams and counting he had to make sure he had the perfect present for them if the time called for it. And he couldn't rely on the one latched to his hip permanently. It was bound to be used sooner or later.

Figuring he could use a bit of help in this area, he decided to switch on the communicator.]

So...anyone want to go on a treasure hunt?

[He could be seen digging through a pile, tossing out this and that.]

[Well... okay he's never seen anything like this before. Is it like a typewriter? Because he knows how to use a typewriter. Four doesn't really understand what a "network" is, but he's determined to find out. He's been told that this will help him communicate with others, and... as frightening as that is, he really, really, really wants to talk with people.

Even the robots, who he figures can't all be bad...

Right?

He plays around with it a little, and accidentally turns on the video function. Tiny optics blink out onto the network, and he continues fiddling around with it until he manages the texting function.]

areallofyoulostlikeiam?

[Wait, how do you do spaces? Give him a moment, he'll figure this out.]

My name is 4.

There are a lot of machines and living things here. I have never seen anything like you before.

can you answer some of my questions please?

[The feed opens to a reveal Wing, composed though a tad concerned.]

Greetings. I am Wing. I am searching for a certain medic who's name I regrettably did not get. Autobot, airframe, white red and cyan. Discernible by an unfortunately notable lack of hands.

[He'd leave that part out, because gosh, who needs to be treated to gory descriptions upon a first or even second communication with a stranger, but it really is the greatest identifying feature of the mech he's looking for.]

I met him in the Junk Pile and left him to seek aid, but when I returned he was gone.

Doctor, I hope you're out there and managed to make it to safety by other means. If so could you let me know? Or if anyone else has seen him and can share his whereabouts or condition I'd appreciate it.

Thank you.

((Mostly tying up loose ends here, but run where ever you want with this. ;) ))

[The video is only on for a few moments - long enough to show a purple bot with wide shoulders, a samurai helmet, and glowing yellow optics - before shutting off. After that is a burst of text.]

Many of you exceed WRB height restrictions. You also violate a number of other WRB regulations, including illegal use of weapons and possession non-standard upgrades.

I am not where I should be.

[He would just like to let you all know YOU ARE SO ILLEGAL. SO. ILLEGAL now down to a few extra messages-]

If anyone happens to see Charlie Kenton I would like to be informed. He is a human with short, dark hair and brown eyes. He also has a son, Max. I do not wish them to be alone with unfamiliar bots if they come here.

Gunmax. Thank you for the ride, when we arrived. It was kind of you.

To the bot with the fins on his head: My name is Noisy Boy. 'Soundwave' is a terrible name.

And there was a red and white bot. I apologize if I fightened you somehow.

[Dinobot felt in a philosophic mood. So much had transpired from the moment of his death. He was certain this was not the Pit or any afterlife. What afterlife would allow fleshlings? The Maximal had so much to question. If he had already saved history...why do the task of bringing him back again? Why at this point in time?

He decided the best method would be to reach out to the others, to see just what exactly these so-called Primes had brought to this world. Maybe then he could understand their vision...]

Is history a tale told by a fool, or something more? If fate does not write our history, does it matter who does the writing? Must free will be the absence of fate or must it be its tool?

That which I decide be mine or merely the shade of another's work? Does this story's beginning simply involve our resolution?

Oh that this too too solid metal would melt...