Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Heatwave, a red mech, a well-known firetruck with a temper, was a busy bot, no doubt about that. Assigned to the Rescue Bots team, he had to face the disasters on Earth every day, just to help humans, who were not so thankful for it. Yet, Optimus Prime called it a "formality", so he had no choice but to follow blindly his orders. Second, he became a teacher at the RB Academy, where he taught young bots how to do his own job.

This annoyed the crimson bot, in a way. He did agree to the fact that his previous and current team had - kind of - grown on him, and starting this whole journey on Griffin Rock had left a mark on his spark. Imaginably, not everything was so pleasant. In fact, most of the things weren't. Ignoring all the annoying humor humans tended to have, as well as their opinions, ways of getting into trouble, and the whole danger Earth is itself, with its various elements, there was one, big spot, Heatwave was not able to ignore. It was the way Optimus treated his words, the way he treated the whole Rescue Bots in general. Now, at first, Heatwave tried to brush it off, since Optimus Prime, as the leader of Autobots and, obviously, a Prime, surely had much work to attend to, so no surprise in his lack of answers to Heatwave's calls. But even if that wasn't a shock, it was still a burden, being ignored like that, while having a team of rookies to train and lead.

With all of this information, he was truly lost, something he'd never call himself, at least not aloud.

The worst part is, he hadn't gotten better since. As he got into the Academy on the heroic mission of teaching young mechs, he started zoning out frequently, while his mechanical components were trying to process his own complicated thoughts. He wondered, why Hotshot, Medic, and all of the young mechs he trained have a great backstory of their life on Cybertron, while he, a grown transformer, doesn't recall any. No matter how ridiculous this may sound, it was reality. And it was suspicious, to say at least, even if he didn't want to get paranoid. 

For his further exasperation, his doubts started pressing on him way more often than he would've liked them to, causing him to waste time on such pathetic moments.

Today was no different.

Heatwave's silver servos gripped tightly on the metallic frame of the office's table, where he sat, watching his mentees train. Unnerving thoughts were like a plague, destroying his peace and concentration to the point of ashes, a Cliffjumper-type state. For Galaxies' sake, since when did he trail off the path of a fiery mech to a ridiculous philosopher?

"Primus," he sighed with indignation, standing on his heel struts. He moved himself away, as he knew, that he is in no state to teach young recruits. 

His servos gently poked the microphone, through which he commanded Blades to take care of the rookies. He had something more important to do, no matter how selfish that sounded.

***

Heatwave stood straight, angrily pressing on a red button in the Communication panel system. He swore that it was, no, it had to be the last time he contacted that a scrap of metal everyone called a leader. At this point, he didn't even get surprised by the fact that his signals were ignored, so the force he used on that poor button was a futile, useless use of strength. 

Ten minutes have passed, and nothing. Twenty, thirty... silence.

At this point, Heatwave was too fed up to continue his ministrations. He stood up and left, leaving the console be.

Just as the angry red mech was leaving the Academy, the leader of Autobots had lost a battle on the other side of Cybertron, immediately trying to respond to the communication tries he had missed. Sadly, he hadn't received any response ever again.

The red mech slowly left the spaceship, taking his steps around. He didn't have a plan, an idea; nothing. He was hot-headed and impulsive, and the fact that he got himself there, without any script or anything thought out, was simply out of his unique character traits.
Heatwave stopped his steps, rubbing his helmet, as if such actions could've gotten the sanity out of it. A motion he preformed quite often now, in fact.
His processors started buzzing, as he decided to force out his spark and components to «say» whatever they thought of in this topic. Oh, how he wished to have the patience of Chase, who's undivided attention always concentrated on books, or whatever he'd read at that moment, no matter how loud or messy the environment was.
He stod still, trying to recall anything, something. And when he was sure that he shall not remind nothing, his hot, flaming from buzzing processors finally took him down with scraps of informations he hadn't analyzed before.

In a moment, he felt his metal body get weak. The climatization in his impressive armour tried to keep up with his more and more warming-up components, while Heatwave was experiencing something he'd wish he never did.
His recordings were rustling, slowly playing pieces of informations, which's procession was a piece of work.

"Take it... take it with you."
"Nemesis..."
"Hide it..."
"Ocean..."
"Familiarity..."
"Fate..."

As soon as he was sane again, he felt baffled. What the fuck was that about? What should he take with him? What does have the Decepticon's ship to do with this? Ocean? Familiarity???
Yeah, it was settled — he was going crazy. What a shame, that he actually didn't mind acting like a total freak right now.

Nonetheless, he found himself traveling through Cybertron, just to reach those cheap, faking mechs who claim to be the «Yosei-Tachi» of the planet. Casually saying, they were handling out deals, with contained fortune telling, predicting the future. Primus, how desperate could he get...

Heatwave stepped on a platform, deciphering the fauna and flora around him. Metal, lots of metal indeed, but also a lot of LED Lighting, stacks of Energon in the back, fancy pillars holding signs in Cybertronian language, suggesting «Welcoming», and colorful plastic boxes building the unbridled huts, where the Yosei-Tachi settled.

His yellow optics roam around the place, as he finally finds the entrance he was looking for. He slides in one of the rainbow cots, just to be faced with nauseous light and a very, very... let's say unique-looking Quintesson.

It was dressed up in various, when comes to colors materials, elastic pieces of metal, as well with painted rocks and pipes, which reminded Heatwave of a replica of human hair. At this point, he culdn't not help himself and grunted in the ridicule he felt in this situation, which earned him a knowledgeable look from the other transformer.

"Welcome, welcome, my dear Autobot..." The Quintessons optics trail down Heatwave's helmet to check on his insignia. "I see there's something troubling you... Ans this is just the adequate place to solve your problems. Welcome, welcome, my friend..."

Heatwave couldn't spell out a thing. He mindlessly stared at the mech in front of him and wasn't able to turn his audio mics on at all, not even by forcing his components to do it. "Get yourself together!" He thought warily, but it didn't help either.

"Worry not, precious Autobot," The Quintesson reassured yet again. "A name is only thing I require..."

"It's Heatwave." The firetruck glanced at the other. "What's the payment?"

The confident and mysterious to that moment Quintesson seemed not only to be surprised, but also even fearful. This baffled the red mech to no end. Did he say something wrong? Maybe payments are a taboo topic? Was he too harsh? Maybe it was the grunt from earlier what riled the other specimen up?

The colorful individual finally spoke, slowly and deliberately.
"Oh, huh... I see..." It cleared its audio speakers, "Well, then... payment is not required, I suppose."
It shook its helmet, titled it and curiously asked; "So, why did you come here? What do you wish to hear?"

"Who am I, who was I..." Heatwave's audio broke down, but he masked it with another snarl.

"Ah?" The Quintesson's shock deepened, as it glanced at the other with a pondered expressionon its faceplate. "Your past? You don't recall it? Curious... very curious..."
It straightened its serpentine body, staring at the bot in front of it in oddity.
"Well then, I don't need a crystal ball to tell you that." The quaint quipped.

``The story began with four bots. Four bots, four planets, three meteorites.``

The Quintesson sang.

``Four bots, none of them respecting the majority of Transformers rights, have been starting and ending endless fights.

One, yellowish and mad, couldn't say no to the charm of flight, Second, as shiny blue as the starry nights, The third one is toxic-like from the color and personality, The fourth one, unsure of the right morality.

It was sure from the start that they would face the reality, the upcoming reality of unstoppable fatality.

The destruction turned into chaos, with the curse unyielding of aeons.

The bots faced the final judgment, the final wish of Primus's resentment.

For their brutality, they faced fatality. Then there comes one with growing apathy.

The red, the last, the fourth mech, left the upcoming future of becoming a wreck, fooling the seven Primes all by himself.

Abandoning his friends, planet, and sanity, He threw his reason of life into the sky, resulting in it falling deep down into the colorful, yet salty depths near humanity [EARTH].

Without the knowledge of who he is, He changed his...``

"Great. I haven't understood anything." Heatwave cut the Quintesson mid-sentence in frustration. "Can you talk in Cybertronian, buddy? Or we will be singing like we're in an opera all day?"

The other mechanic seemed hurt deeply by such ignorance and made sure the firetruck could acknowledge it by giving him a death stare. "Your third eye has yet to open, I see." Quintesson snarls at Heatwave's obvious anger. "That means, your personality... No, you have a fierce spirit, ha. If you are this impatient and not open to new things, you will never find the answer you're looking for. Just like the old times."

"Excuse me?" Heatwave couldn't help but hiss. Why, for Primus' sake, this moron was acting like it knew him? Have they met before? He hadn't recognized that scrap of metal at all, and by any means, he wasn't really into getting personal - or knowing that he was personal with it either. Nonetheless, the Quintesson shows clear signs of not being interested in explaining it further anymore. In fact, he was looking at the red mech and at the doors behind him. Great.

Without a word, Heatwave left that wrecked place. Instead of having his mind cleared, he was full of questions he couldn't answer. And that damned twat, acting like they're lost brothers. In frustration, he kicked one of the cubes on the unsteady, metallic road.

Everything pissed him off for a long time, and the environment around him, as if feeling his annoyance, decided to flare him up even more. What should he do? Where should he go? Hold on, what was that bastard on again? ``Abandoning his friends, planet, and sanity, He threw his reason of life into the sky, resulting in it falling deep down into the colorful, yet salty depths near humanity...`` Salty depths? That must have been the seas. Or oceans. But what did he throw there? Reason of life... As if he knew what that was.

Never in a million aeons did Heatwave think that he would get philosophical about his own self. Usually, he looked at things with a temper, never really cared about what was happening with him, or what things meant to him. He was all about getting the job done, and emotions only brought the image of someone weak, or Blades.

It was maddening, that he had to think about his own self. He had to think about what would be his reason for life — something, he'd never wonder about if he didn't have a gun put to his helmet. Nothing came to his processors. Until he came up with an idea.

***

"Let me get this straight," Ratchet coughed, as he saw the leader of the Rescue Bots team willingly putting himself on a hospital bed. "You want me to find what is missing in your body, without you even knowing what is missing?"

"Never had an appointment like this before?" The red mech cockily scoffed, glaring at the medic. "I thought you were ``experienced``."

"Of course I had," Ratchet sent him an icy look. "It's just, I thought a leader like you would be less... reckless."

The next minutes would be just a silent battle of their optics, if not the scanner's beeps, that were looking for any inaccuracies in Heatwave's armour.

Finally, the results came. In the same moment, Ratchet picked up the paper and the look on his face changed, Heatwave knew that this whole idea of his was the worst thing he had ever assigned up for. Even worse than the Sparks Day on Earth.

"Well...?" He asked, thinking that he had braced himself for the worst. He was already imagining that he had a hidden Decepticon replica in him, that spins around his metallic components; or, even better, that he is actually controlled by Dr. Morocco, that—

"Well, mate!" The medic waved the paper in front of Heatwave's eyes. "You are doomed. In fact, I have never seen a weaker, weirder spark in my life. You indeed lack your data processor from the left side of your helmet, but in your case, it's the last thing you should be worried about. You see, with such a feeble spark, you're an easy target for anyone. Not only does its fragileness consume a lot more energon even on the most languishing movements that normally, but it also can stop working - or, will start malfunctioning, - anytime you put a more energetic routine, or if you get into a spry clash."

For a moment, Heatwave just lay down and stared at Ratchet in silence. Finally, ignoring the 3/4 what the medician said, he spluttered in irony. "Sweet. Is there a way that can help me locate my missing components?"

"Perhaps, per chance..." Ratchet rubbed his forehead with his servos. "If that component of yours isn't rusty yet, it should be findable. Yer have a sonar?"

"Boulder..." Heatwave used his servo in a very human movement, scratching his faceplate. "My teammate has one."

"Well, take it, and look for that data processor." Ratchet shrugged his broad, metallic arms. "But honestly, if you don't know where you lost it, that may be quite hard, har, har. Alright, is that all?"

With a nod, the red mech left the Medical Facility, overwhelmed. 

What has he done to deserve such an agonistic present, and not doubtfully; future?

***

The fire truck made his way back to the Rescue Bots Academy, his tires worn out from the exceeded speed limits even Blurr hadn't reached. Well, let's just hope that Chase hadn't gotten access to the cameras yet.

Lucky enough, he ran into Boulder moving boxes there and here. Like a prey on a human BBC Earth TV, he jumped at him, immediately attacking the poor green bot with sentences that demanded an obvious answer.

"Greetings." Heatwave lurked over the boxes. "I need your sonar, right here, right now. You don't even have to go get them, I can do it for you."

"Well, hello there...!"  Boulder raised his eyebrows in a very confused smile. "Never thought I'd be seeing you in this state. Is something wrong? Did the sparklings lose something again?"

"Nothing of that sort." Heatwave shook his faceplate energetically. "I will explain everythin', just later. Not that I am short of time... I mean, maybe I am. Who knows, if that shit's rustin' or not..."

"Rusting..?"

"Boulder, I don't have the time to explain!" Heatwave shook his teammate's metallic shoulders.

"Ah..." The other mech hummed, completely baffled. He hadn't seen his leader acting up so strangely, ever.

Wondering what has gotten Heatwave so strange-acting, Boulder took the sonar from his bosom and handled it to the red mech.

"Thanks." 

Heatwave, running down the halls, finally reached the room he had in processors (the ones he had left, at least) - the Ground Bridge. Since the prophecy loathed about oceans/seas, going to Griffin Rock was a brilliant idea, as the island was surrounded by waters. Not only that, there was a persona, who could've helped him a lot. The fact, that the male was a grumpy sailor, who's personality asked a bit too much to ask for, wasn't really appealing, but in this situation, the red mech was not going to be picky.

The shore of Griffin Rock has remained just as Heatwave remembered it. It was one of the landscapes he saw, which he actually favored, even if they weren't from his beloved planet — Cybertron.

A shiny, clear surface of blue, foamy tides, hitting the golden sands in a calm, soothing motion. 

At dawn, there was little people here, so he wasn't disturbed by anyone unpleasant. After all, he still remembered the individuals, judging Autobots for the otherness, when it came to his and his team's orgins. As if they asked to be created that way. 

As soon as the waters reached Heatwave's metallic thighs, he transformed into a boat and drove off into a known for not so many location. 

The characteristic white-blue-red ship, that was quite too enormous to be created for a human (and that could be told by, for example, doors), finally appeared on the water's surface. 

That was just the beginning.

Heatwave slowly got out of the waters, transforming into his robot form. The ship was as neat as ever, probably thanks to Servo's hard work with a mop and a bucket. 

He scanned the surroundings, finding the man he was looking for - High Tide, in his glory, sitting in the vessel's recharge room, gaining energy for the day. 

As soon as High Tide heard the other bot approaching, his voice module activated, gruffly speaking.

"State who you are and what you want."

"Morning to you too." Heatwave snarled, walking in the room. He looked at the blue mech from helmet to pedal, with a sneering smile on his dermas. "I need your help."

High Tide raised an eyebrow. He immediately knew who the unexpected guest was without having to look back.

"And why d'you need me, exactly? What am I, your errand boy? I've got me own ship to run, ya know."

"Is that so?" Heatwave asked ironically. Without waiting for a reaction, he crossed his metallic arms and started being more clear in his words. "I need you to take me to a place. You see, I could've gone there myself, if not the fact that I need a good stack of energon, since I don't know for how much days I'll have to be there, and it surely won't fit in my alt mode." 

"And where to, pray tell, our great 'Wave is headin'?"

"Northern seas. Oceans. Waters in general."

"So, to get this straight, your brilliant plan is to hitch a ride with me, and if you fail, I'm going to fish you out with a rod?" He crossed his arms, annoyed by Heatwave's proposition. "Oh, and I'd have to be your supplier, too. Great. May I ask for what reason are we ever goin' there?"

"I've lost a part of me. And I set up my mindset that I need it back."

High Tide gave him a blank look.

"A... part of you? Are... you serious right now? You want me to sail across the bloody Pacific for a 'part of ya'? What kind of part? Your arm?"

"And do you see my arm's missin'?!" Heatwave waves both of his working servos in frustration.

"No, clearly not!" High Tide threw his hands up in the air exasperated. "So what is it, then? Your... your fuel pump? Your CPU?" He narrowed his optics. "Please tell me it's not something ridiculous like your audio receptors or something."

"Close." The firetruck tilted his helmet. "Data processor."

High Tide looked shocked. For a moment, he stared at the red mech as if this was some kind of a sick, unfunny joke. Sadly, Heatwave looked as serious as ever.

"Yer processor? Are you completely deranged? That's one of the most important components in a transformer! You honestly want me to risk my ship and my very sanity for a part that crucial? Have you lost your bloody mind, you moron?!"

"Exactly. Crucial."

"I think you've clearly lost what little marbles you had left, you absolute toss-bot. You're askin' me to go all the way across the Arctic, fight through currents and icebergs and who knows what else, for one of the most vital components of your entire being. How do you even lose such a blasted thing?!"

Shrug. A shrug, on which High Tide rolled his optics. He hated how illogical the mech in front of him was being.

"Forget the cold and the risk of losing ourselves in the depths that's the problem here. We have no idea where this processor of yours 'is' in the first place! The Oceans are vast and mostly unexplored. There's no guarantee we'll even find it. We could be sailing into a hopeless search and perish in the middle of nowhere, just because of your little obsession with finding your data processor. It's utterly ridiculous!"

"I've got a sonar." Heatwave grunted.

"Congratulations!" The blue sailor sneered with sarcasm. "Marvelous, truly. Buddy, even a map would be more useful in this situation, since that sonar of yours only will detect things when they're close enough to you. Oh, Primus... This is like looking for a needle in a haystack!"

"I know it is! But it may unravel many questions." Heatwave defended his point. "Don't you think that it is weird that I don't remember anything besides a short span in Cybertron and then this whole Griffin Rock adventure? You, on the other hand, remember your glory days even before the war on our homeland."

High Tide fell silent for a moment. He had to admit, that was rather unusual. He had never considered the fact that the red mech had such a limited memory, while he remembered his entire life and career in clear detail.

"Aye, I suppose it is a mystery worth unraveling... But is it worth risking our lives for?"

He paused, considering Heatwave's predicament for a moment.

"How long have you been without your processor?"

"From the start." He answered, while staring deadly right at him.

High Tide sighed loudly, still unsure if all of this is the reason of his malfunctioning components, because this conversation didn't feel real at all.

"You've... you've been without your processor for years... and you're just decidin' to do somethin' about it now?" He rubbed his brow tiredly. "Maybe that is the proof that you're clearly able to function without it. So why risk everything now?"

"Just get me there."

Oh, well. It seems that Heatwave's rationality was gone for good. At this point, even the blue mech was interested in the value of that processor under the seas, as it was this valuable to set the Rescue Bots leader so off edge. It wouldn't hurt to have a peek at the situation, no...?

Dawn had finally broken and the sun rose. High Tide was up, double-checking his ship's systems and ensuring everything was in order. He checked the weather forecast, the fuel supply, and the course they'd be taking. Eventually, he turned to look at the docks, waiting for the red mech to return with the energon. He didn't have to wait long; Heatwave came back quickly, while grumbling curses quietly, with the last pack full of blue, perfectly cut cubes and threw them on board. 

High Tide smirked as he saw the scene, clearly amused by the sight of the other robot being pissed off.

"Ah, there you are, ya slagger. I was beginning to think you'd gotten yourself lost." He walked over to him to help the red mech carry the energon. "You did get the good stuff, right? And not some cheap, watered-down scrap?"

"Who do you think I am?" Heatwave fumes. "I won't be consuming products with bad quality."

High Tide smirked at the scenery of a mad mech in front of him. Nothing seemed to amuse him more than the other's frustration.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Last chance to back out."

"I have to do it." He said confidently. Or more likely, stubbornly. But how to find out which is which?

High Tide rolled his optics. Typical him, being stubborn as a mule. But he respected his determination, even if it was borderline foolish.

"Stubborn as ever, I see," he said, with a hint of irritation in his voice. "Well, suit yourself. But don't come whinin' to me when you're frozen solid and beggin' to turn back."

"We'll set sail now. Get comfortable. It's going to be a long, cold journey."

Once Heatwave was onboard, High Tide gave one last glance around the docks, making sure everything was in order. He then turned back to the controls and started up the ship's engines. The engines roared to life, and the vessel began to slowly pull away from the Griffin Rock's waters, heading out into the open Ocean. 

"Hold onto somethin'," he said, his voice gruff. "The first few hours are always the choppiest."

Chapter Text

Their journey on unsteady waters was mostly silent. Neither of them spoke; maybe because they weren't exactly friends, and not the talkative type, either. 

Heatwave was seated by the ship's cargo, hiding in the shadows. Not that the blazing sun up their helmets bothered him in any way, no. It was rather because he looked for a steady, quiet spot to think. No matter how stubborn he was on remaining in tact on this adventure, he had to admit, that High Tide was right. This whole data processor search was a project of his own sudden, stubborn whines - with a sober eye, it was clear that in the terms of surviving, he did not need such a thing. After all, the years in Griffin Rock, plus the small spawn in the Rescue Bots' Academy, proved him, that he was functioning well without his long lost memories. 

Nonetheless, his... greed, because there's no other logical term to call it, was already clouding his better judgement, leaving him right where he was now — risking his teammate's and his own life in an unnecessary research. Has he turned into a replica of Dr. Gramm's traits over time? It could be possible. Such a long time along humans has brought him a lot of new knowledge and feelings he did not try to decipher just yet.

High Tide, on the other side of the boat, was standing by the wheel, unsure by what has gotten that red mech so out of personality. Or, was he always like that, just he hadn't shown it so well back then? 

The robotic sailor brushed the thought off, not even knowing how close to truth he actually was. 

Ultimately, he agreed to this whole thing, regretting it as soon as he allowed it. Although, he was not sure how does Heatwave want to find that scrap. They had ONE sonar and a dream. Honestly, even humans could've had a bigger chance of winning the war on Cybertron for Autobots than for them to find that data processor in the next few centuries.

Another thing was, for a bot pessimistic much, he found the firetruck very optimistic about that idea. Submitting his conclusions, Heatwave was acting weird, and weirder by the every inch they've gotten closer to that thing of his.

Furthermore, he claimed for it to be in the "northern waters". Great. Precise as ever, High Tide thought to himself as they were getting closer to the Hawaiian Ridge; a water reservoir very near the center of Pacific Ocean. If nothing found, they always could've moved north, straight into the Arctic Ocean, or they could've just moved around the blue surface, waiting for a miracle.

For two weeks, both of the bots were on the waters, waiting for something. Anything. While the blue mech was filling his components with annoyance and frustration, Heatwave's position remained unchanging, his optics deadly looking at the device in his servos. 

Finally, on a random Tuesday, the sonar achieved a small, short signal. It didn't even last two seconds, but it was certainly there. This made the red bot freeze in his track, but only for a short amount of time. As soon as possible, he told High Tide to halt, while he himself looked over the vessel's border.

"What? You seein' a bootled-up note with attached processor to it?" High Tide gruffly chuckled, his words dripping from sarcasm.

"I had a signal. Just for a while. But a clear one."

"Marvelous," The old Autobot sneered. "What now?" 

"I'm going down." 

And with that said, Heatwave dived into the deep, surprisingly beautiful environment. The deeper he'd gotten, the more interesting creatures he'd seen. First, jelly, pearly pink jellyfishes, floating in the corners of his optics. On the rocks, colorful coral reef carried a few starfishes, along with silly fishes hiding around it. 

On the final depth - ground, to which Heatwave got not so quickly, was endless sand, with variety of shells, in which crabs found a peaceful home. 

When the bottom of the ocean was reached, Heatwave looked around keenly. Nothing had caught his optics. There was no sight of the legendary ships that always drowned in the TV shows Cody watched with undivided attention. On his sonar, the signal was dead, too. Brilliant...

Without wasting time, he started circling around the area, checking the same spots under the reef, rocks, piles of plastics. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Just when he was about to dive out, he had realized that his ministrations caused the sand to move under his heavy steps. And in the middle of the area, covered by the sand, there was something stoney. 

Heatwave, curious, swam closer to it, his servo's moving the sands away a bit slower due to the water's disadvantages. At last, his yellow optics could unravel a huge, circle-shaped grey monument, with symbols carved into it, with two shadows falling at them. 

Hold on, two?

Heatwave immediately joked his faceplate back, just to find High Tide floating right behind him.

"Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!" 

High Tide couldn't help but smirk at red mech's reaction. Seeing him scream like a human girl was both hilarious and satisfying.

"I'm here to check up on you, you dope, that's what! You've been down here for hours with no sign of resurfacing! Did you seriously think I was just going to sit on the ship and twiddle my thumbs while you was gettin' eaten by a giant kraken?"

"There ain't no damn kraken! And even if there was, it doesn't eat metal, you imbecile!" Heatwave scoffed. "Anyway, I've found somethin', yes."

His silver servo pointed at the grey monument built in the ocean's bed.

High Tide let out a quiet snort.

"And you believe it can lead us to your processor, eh? Sure. And how the hell are we supposed to open this thing anyway? Ain't no handle or button that I can see."

"We have to think, you moron. Or maybe your processor is also lost?" He snarked ironically.

High Tide rolled his optics once again. He was starting to lose his patience with Heatwave and his attitude.

"Of course I can think, you pompous fool! I'm not the one who's been down here for Primus knows how long, searching the bottom of the ocean for a lost processor." He crossed his arms, his expression still skeptical. "But pray tell, oh wise one, how do you suppose we 'think' our way into opening this blasted thing?"

"That's the thing." He pondered, staring at the hieroglyphs carved into the stoney surface. 

***

After a long time, in which both of them tried to riddle out what to do with the monument, they gave up for today. After the solid 13 hours underwater, coming back to the ship was a pain, since they had already gotten used to their slow movement underwater. This caused a few quick and sharp ministrations, which were immediately halted by both of them. It felt good to function normally again.

By the time they had returned to the surface, High Tide was beyond annoyed with everything. The long hours of searching, the frustration of not finding anything, and Heatwave's constant stubbornness had taken a toll on his patience.

As they both climbed onboard, he grumbled under his breath.

"That was a complete waste of time..." 

He shot his teammate a quick, irritated look before heading towards the crates with energon.

While High Tide was mourning over the situation, Heatwave started analyzing the image of the monument he had saved in his database. The carved images and... some kind of, letters, were put in a circular motion all over it. Strange, yet strangely familiar. Concentrated on brightening, flipping, and editing the image, he forgot about the existence of other individual on board.

Om the other side, High Tide was so lost in his disgruntled musings that he barely noticed red mech's sudden interest in the monument's image. When he did, he groaned in exasperation. 

"What're you doin' now? Don't tell me you're goin' to start spendin' hours starin' at that stupid thing again."

"I'm trying to decipher the meaning of it."

Blue mech raised an eyebrow, his curiosity somewhat piqued.

"You actually think you're gonna crack the code on that thing? Those symbols and letters look like gibberish to me."

He leaned over Heatwave's armour, trying to get a better look at the image he was analyzing.

"Looks like some mumbo jumbo to me. You really think that we can find out what this nonsense means?"

"We have to." 

High Tide let out a small huff of frustration. He couldn't believe how stubborn he were being.

"Fine, do what ya like, spend all day and night starin' at those symbols, but don't start whinin' to me about how tired you are. You brought this on yourself, y'know." He crossed his arms, still not convinced that they were going to find anything useful in those symbols.

"Help me, imbecile." 

High Tide rolled his optics at the firetruck's insistence, but he couldn't help but be a bit amused by his stubbornness.

"Fine, fine, ya stubborn idiot, I'll help you. What do you want me to do, exactly?"

"...Help?" Heatwave stammered miserably.

"Yeah, help. As in, tell me what you need me to do, ya dummy. You're the one tryin' to crack this code, remember? So what do ya want me to do? Start guessin' at these symbols or somethin'?" He leaned back against the hull of the ship, waiting for your instructions.

"Yuh. You studied on Cybertron, no? Plus, you have the DATABASE of it." Heatwave reminded of his loss of it bitterly. "Maybe you can find something useful in your short-circuited components."

The blue mech couldn't help but scoff a little at his comment. He had a feeling this was going to be a long and frustrating endeavour.

"Very funny. And for the record, my components are not 'short-circuited', thank you very much. But fine, I'll have a crack at this. Lemme see the image." He held out his hand, waiting for the other to show him the image of the symbols again.

When Heatwave projected the image thanks to his holograms, High Tide started studying it closely, his expression focused and concentrated. He had to admit, some of the symbols and letters did look vaguely familiar.

"Alright, let's see here... Some of these symbols are similar to some old Cybertronian scripts, but it's not quite the same... Argh, this is goin' to be a long night." He grumbled, still scrutinizing the image for any signs of recognizable patterns.

Next hours passed as High Tide continued to study the image, poring over every detail and trying to find any clue or hint about the meaning of the symbols. He grumbled and muttered to himself, occasionally cursing under his breath as he struggled to decipher the mysterious text. 

After a moments of discussing and analyzing, an idea appeared.

"You said it's a Cybertronian script that features the ones who hated the Primes..." Heatwave ponders. "Maybe if we poured our... my energon down onto it, it would open? Such actions is not only an offering, but also a symbol. And this whole thing seems like a cult, so pouring our literal blood sounds like the best shot."

High Tide raised an eyebrow at that suggestion, his expression a little skeptical. He had to admit, the idea had a certain... logic to it, but he couldn't help feeling a little doubtful.

"Are you suggestin' we just pour energon on this thing and hope it does something? Seems a bit risky to me... and a waste of perfectly good energon, I might add."

Despite his reservations, he was starting to see the potential in such idea.

"I can pour the one from my pipes." Heatwave immediately offers himself.

As soon as he said it, the other's expression immediately turned serious. He had a bad feeling about where this was going.

"Hold on there, genius. You wanna use energon from your own body for this little experiment of yours? Ain't no way I'm gonna let you do that. Do I have to remind you that we're in the middle of the ocean with no proper medical supplies, and the nearest hospital palace is a long way off? What if you lose too much energon and go into stasis lock?"

"I won't be bleedin' forever. Just a few droplets won't turn me offline." Heatwave's components start to move, opening up his panels. His wires and metal elements hung open in the air, as he scanned his own self, looking for the right pipe to unscrew.

High Tide watched with growing concern as the red mech started opening up his panels. He could see the exposed wiring and energon flowing through the pipes, and it made him uneasy.

"You know, most normal bots wouldn't even consider doin' something this mad. You're insane, ya know that? Do you even know what you're doin'?"

He asked sternly, his irritation now mixed with hints of worry and concern.

"Mhm. You have a tube, a jar, or something where we can pour energon, so I can bring it down the monument?"

"Do. I got a small storage tube over there. Go use that. But I swear, if... er... you're going to break it, I'm gonna kick your tailpipe."

He grumbled, heading over to a nearby storage crate and retrieving a small metal tube for him. High Tide handed it to Heatwave, looking at him with a mix of concern and annoyance.

The leader of Rescue Bots took the jar into his servos, while gently opening his pipe. The Energon immediately started leaking from it, dripping down at the ship's floor. 

Without wasting the liquid, Heatwave stuck the glass item, filling it in mere seconds. The bot in front of him watched keenly this whole ministration, his wonders growing by the second. The sight of energon spilling out of his pipe was unsettling, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this was a terrible idea.

"You better hope this works," he muttered, his voice a mix of uncertainty and disbelief. "If we end up goin' through all this hassle for nothin', I swear I'm gonna throttle you. "

"If that happens, I'll help ya with that." Heatwave stucks up the jar, looking at the pure, crystal blue liquid. What a sight...

High Tide couldn't help but let out a snort at that comment. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he had to admit that he had an absurd sense of humor.

"I betcha would." He folded his arms across his chest, still keeping a watchful eye on his ship-mate. He wasn't about to let him take any unnecessary risks. Eh, but he wouldn't admit that, ever. Never. "Alright, let's get this over with. You ready to go test your little theory?"

"Yeh-eh."

Without wasting time, both of them have clashed with the clean water's surface, returning to the monument. The mech-sailor kept a close eye on Heatwave, making sure he didn't do anything else reckless.

"Just... be careful," he warned. "We don't know what's gonna happen with this. Could be somethin' good, could be somethin' bad. Just be on your guard." 

His concerns about the state of the red mech's energon levels started to rise, but he knew there was no stopping him at this point. All he had left to do was warching as the other prepared to pour the energon onto the monument. 

The seconds ticked by, the silence growing more and more uncomfortable. He cast a quick glance at Heatwave, as if to say, "Well, it didn't work. Surprise, surprise." But he bit his glossa in the right exact moment.

Abruptly, the ground started to shake, and the monument started to open slowly, unraveling... even deeper depths. Suddenly, the currents pulled them down, kidnapping them both into a whirl full of bubbles, that strongly hit their armour.

Heatwave, massaging his pedals, looked around the place. To his surprise, it wasn't covered in water. The ocean's liquid was only around because of huge waterfalls, which were connected to the caves, whose purpose of being was probably the same as the one they have just gotten through. 

In front of them, a way taller building than humans had was standing. It's materials looked pricey, as the marble and pearl additions decorated it, while a pallette of blue was the main shade of it.

Chapter Text

High Tide took a moment to process the sudden change in surroundings, his optics scanning the strange and elaborate structure before them. The absence of water was unexpected, but he wasn't complaining—it made things easier.