It was unnerving, that he could be staring right at you, yet not realize that you exist.

You never knew if he was aware of your existence at all unless he was actually talking to you. It was even more unnerving when you realized that even when he was talking to you, he still wasn't completely sure whether you were really there. Most people who had encountered this with him left and never came back, like his odd, detached nature was contagious or something. Because of this, very, very few people ever got close enough to him to get to know him. After all, there was a reason he was so detached.

It all started when he began the now defunct Organics Classes in the Autobot Academy. That was where he had found his original calling; he would be a geographer. That was enough to throw anyone off-guard—becoming a geographer after going to an Organics Class? But back then he was clever, back then he was rather wriggly and very sly with his words and actions. It often took a while for people to realize what he really wanted to do when he set out to do something.

You see, by becoming a geographer, he would be called upon on expeditions. He would be selected by adventurers and fellow geographers to go to alien planets—Organic planets. He would be able to commune with the flora, the fauna, the fungi, the bacteria, every single living, breathing, reproducing, and organic organism in the universe. He would be free to see, hear, smell, and feel the world he had decided he loved, and even taste it if he was so inclined. He had spent his years in the academy, training for the day he would graduate and move on to become a professional geographer. Every dream he had until then was centered on seeing all of the beautiful organic marvels he had learned about second-hand in his classes.

But then Bombshell came with his mind-control device, a small mechanism called a cerebro-shell. During the time when the cerebro-shell had been embedded in his head, he could barely think for himself; the only thing he could do was see what he was doing. The small fragments of his processor still under his control were appalled at his actions. It came in pieces, but it still wasn't very pretty. Assassinating fellow academy goers, attempting to immobilize Elite Guardsmen, and even going as far as to try and steal the Magnus Hammer. Around the time Bombshell had realized that he had gone too far and stopped sending signals to the mechanism, a medic had tackled him and ripped it out of his processor.

That's when he went to Cloud Cuckoo Land.

Everything that he could have ever dreamed of left him. He lost everything, couldn't think straight, could barely think at all. It was a miracle he was even functioning properly with a clearly broken processor such as his. Ever since, his thoughts were small, slow, few, and far between. However, he was still somehow capable of making commitments. This became apparent first when he still wanted to be surrounded by organics. Being a geographer, however, was out of the question, seeing as how the Academy had booted him out the second he was revealed as the assassin of their best students. So he hitchhiked.

It was a good thing that his one and only guide was not a written document, but rather a collection of fun and memorable videos with a voice that shortened everything down to a very understandable definition. If it weren't for it, he would have never made it to all of the organic planets that he had been to. And he had been to a great very many organic planets; so many, that if anyone actually knew how many in this day and age on Cybertron, he would have been avoided and quarantined as a walking virus.

The paranoia for organics was strongest with the Autobots, so much so that Beachcomber was actively disowned by them for that reason alone. And yet, he never bothered to take off his sticker, mostly because he had completely forgotten it was there. He would occasionally run in to fellow Autobots, but they would inevitably get as far away from him as possible almost as quickly as he had begun to jabber aimlessly in their direction. But he was never disgruntled when they left; after all, with his processor rendered significantly inferior to those of others, he rarely remembered ever speaking to anyone at all.

However, he did speak with the organics much more often. His special power was always in his processor, and so deep and heavily guarded within it that it would be impossible to remove it. It was the ability to learn and recognize languages instantaneously merely by being provoked into a conversation. He had spoken with many creatures, and they all had names. SF-A2, a mammalian huntress, FAT, an apple-like flying mammal, Jake, a bluebird, the list went on and on. However, these conversations were rare, and even then they were just as forgotten as the rest of his conversations. Overall, he lived the majority of his life in silence and serenity, merely watching the scenery and landscapes change as he hiked through them. Organics, for a time, were the only things he could ever focus on.

At least, until Cosmos came into the picture. But that's another story.