The moment he woke up, he knew something was wrong.

He wasn't sure what it was exactly. He was in good shape. Better shape than he'd been in quite a while, actually. He could tell that much. But everything else… nothing. Not even a blur of things. He knew something had happened before. Something bad. Something heart-breaking. Perhaps even literally. But he couldn't tell what. His mind was racing, trying to find something to think about, something he knew, a memory or an idea. But really, it was just a feeling. He didn't really know that anything happened before this very specific moment in time. And he couldn't go on a feeling.

He heard a voice… A rough, angry voice. It wasn't happy at all, by the tone he heard. Whatever was going on, it must have been bad. Did he have amnesia? Was he in a war scene and gotten hit by the enemy, losing his memories? Was he the enemy? He didn't know. He tried to put himself into that area. Was he really in a war scene?

No. No, this place smelled sterile and clean. There was no wind, no telltale sign of fighting. No smell of Energon or oil or hydraulic fluid. No atmosphere of anger, no side feeling of being in danger of death. No sound of gunfire, no sound of 'bots running out and throwing their bodies into the fire.

Only one, angry voice yelling at him. For a while, he couldn't understand what he was saying. Then another voice sounded. Calling it a voice was a bit of a stretch, since it sounded as though an inanimate object had suddenly created intricate enough sound-patterns to speak in a comprehensible language. Though what kind of inanimate object could manage such complex sounds?

Computer. Computer was the first word that entered his head. What was a computer? A computer. Also called processor. An electronic device designed to accept data, perform prescribed mathematical and logical operations at high speed, and display the results of these operations. Inanimate save for being manipulated by a higher being. What kind of higher being? Where did this definition even come from?

His processor. He had a processor; he had a computer for a brain. It had hidden files inside of it of the basics of whatever he needed to know. It was how he knew how to speak.



The voices outside of his vision stopped. He suddenly realized that his optics were online. He finally received and made sense of the images scanned and placed within his processor. Within his computer. Within his shell, filled with things that didn't concern the dominant portion of his thoughts at current. What was controlling his thoughts? So many questions. He wasn't sure if his computer could answer them all on his own. It seemed so out of place within his head.

The angry voice responded first, only speaking a bit softer and smoother now. He still couldn't comprehend what the voice was saying, or what he had said, for that matter. All he knew was that he was starting to get a better grasp of what was happening around him.

He was in a laboratory. He knew what a laboratory was, in the subconscious realms of his computer, so he decided to stop asking himself questions. They wouldn't satisfy his true meaning.

He sat up, and was immediately scolded by a third voice. This one was strong, but much smoother. Much more kind, and accepting. Friendly. Friend. The voice belonged to a friend. How did he know that?

Because his spark told him.

"You alright Blurr? Can you understand me yet?"

"…Blurr?" Who was Blurr?

His computer answered him.

Blurr is a bot of action. And words. A lot of words. A lot of words said at high speed.

An intelligence agent in the Cybertron Elite Guard, Blurr tends to barrel ahead with whatever he's doing and simply expects everyone else to keep pace... be it on a mission or in simple conversation. His motor-mouth and penchant for tangents tend to leave others in the dust, forcing them to ask him to repeat things.

Then another answer came to his computer.

He was Blurr.

He was the intelligence agent. He was the blue-clad, speed-hungry Intelligence Agent who was rude and ran head-first into things without thinking them through. No. No, he did think things through. He was just ten times faster than anyone else. Everything about him was fast. To him, he was going at a slow a pace as he possibly could, and even then he was much too fast for everyone else.

That's when he realized; He had all of these things go through his head in 23 seconds.

"You're joking, right?" There was the rough voice again. This time it sounded… different. Not attacking. Not completely overwhelmed by anger or frustration or impatience. Or maybe all three. He wasn't sure why. Why was the voice suddenly so solemn, so much smoother, and so… kind? Was he important to the voice? No, he was not important to the voice itself. Voices were just automated, created to fit the personality the Autobot in question chose to have. Personalities were chosen during the initial schooling, before boot camp, which would only last about 3 solar-cycles. But at least then, they had time to make their decision on who they were, what they would be like, and how they would react to situations.

Blurr had none.

"What's going on? Where am I? Why do I not know what is going on, because clearly everything else seems to make perfect sense inside my head, but I cannot comprehend it all correctly, why is that? Why am I so confused by everything? Why do I already have a personality, a voice, a sense of mannerism and behavior and life, and yet am completely new to this world? Why am I so fully-rounded out and defined, and yet this is my first activation?"

He had to ask all of his questions at once. It was the only way he could get them answered. He was tired of having unanswered questions within his computer, the ones that it couldn't just replay as preconceived data wired into every other 'bot's computer. He waited for his answer.

"…What the slag are you talking about?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, because I just asked every of my questions in as slow a pace I could, and you are not making this any easier on me by avoiding my questions. So please, whoever you are supposed to be, do not talk to me in such a rude and casual manner, because I am frankly not in the mood to put up with attitude or rudeness of any kind. So please, at least answer my most important question. Why have I been denied my chance to create my own person? Why must I be Blurr?"

"…But, you are Blurr!"

"I tried to tell you!!"

"Tell me what? That you completely wiped his MEMORIES!?"


The voice stopped. He had it. He couldn't stand just staying on this berth and unable to see any of the 'bots connected to the voices who were now fighting over something he didn't understand. Memories? What memories. His Memory Core was completely new. He was the pinnacle of a recently protoformed Autobot, everything was brand new. New body, new wheels, new designs, new voice modulator, new processor.

He sat up, and finally he could see the people who were in the laboratory with him. He saw a squat, red Autobot who apparently had a very bad temper. He had horns on his head and everything about his anatomy was focused on being pointed and rounded at the same time. It was as though he wasn't to be approached, though at the same time he was still supposed to be just like many others. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he had seen his body-type before, somewhere…

There was another 'bot in front of him. He was arguing with him. The first thing he managed to register was that he was much larger than the red 'bot. At least twice his size. He was white with green accents and wing-shaped accents on his back. He had a wide, strong frame (which he had just now realized the red 'bot shared) and many packs attached to his thighs. He looked as though he could crush anyone up if he so chose… but… there was also a sense of friendliness. As though he could never be willing to hurt anyone, perhaps in the way he held himself. He resolved that the biggest mistake anyone would make in their life would be not making friends with this 'bot.

Then there was a third one, clad in red like the other 'bot, only less predominantly. He had brown and cyan parts to his armor colorization as well. He had a large yellow-button on his head, and another large cannon propped up on his left shoulder. He also had many other large accessories rather compensating for his thin, rather harmless frame. He must have been stronger than he looked, what with being able to carry all of that extra weight. If her deduced the weight of the accented parts of his anatomy, he thought that, if the 'bot so chose, he could pick up the small red 'bot with ease. Though with the way he held himself, so rigid and straight, with almost lifeless movements, he thought that he had about as much personality as an asteroid.

Asteroid. Something took a pang at his spark. Asteroid. Bad memories. Annoyance. Blue. Purple. Black. Running. Spark pulsating at a faster pace than any sentient being could possibly survive at. Faster. Faster. Ever faster his spark had pulsed, on and on and on and on, in a state of extreme threat. And then… He tried to go back to the feeling. To his processor. What happened to him? What made his spark pulsate at such a fast pace? What? WHAT!?


"What's going on!?"

The people in the room with him stopped their argument. The red 'bot immediately flashed a look on his face. A look of… sadness. Despair. Disappointment.



"WILL YOU Just… stop… talking… for one nano-klik!? I…" The small red 'bot snapped at the white 'bot, though in a manner that made him know that he really didn't want to be angry. But he didn't look like he could help it. That was is immediate response. Anger. He had learned that much from his mannerisms, his posture, and his tone of voice. The red 'bot started again.

"Blurr…" He didn't want to be called that. He wasn't Blurr. Whoever this 'bot was referring to, he was not it. He was not the Blurr that the 'bot wanted. He was not his result. He was not the answer to his question. He was not Blurr.

"I am not Blurr. I may be him in body and perhaps in terms of pre-ordained data within my processor, but that is where it ends. Everything else is not the same. The 'bot you want to talk to does not exist.

"I am not Blurr."