Authorís Note: this takes place round the later part of chapter 11. No spoilers. But if you need to be oriented as to whatís going on, Sunny was seriously damaged during the battle against a new breed of Decepticons in chapter 9 and his emotional state has fallen from bad to worse. First Aid fixed Sunny up with a temporary body that cannot transform and thereís nothing more the medic can do until the Autobots get to Yolthanis III. This is merely an account of whatís going on inside Sunstreakerís head.

 

A Streak of Sun

A conversation with Sunstreaker
Addendum to Dark Storm Rising Chapter 11

You know, I remember being happy. I miss Earth and the summer time. I miss the winding roads up and down Interstate 5, the Intermountain Pass between Fort Max and Central City. I even miss Highway 1/101 in California. I miss everything. Except the bugs. Sometimes I think I should have just stayed on Cybertron.

I keep talking and arguing with myself. Now days itís all thatís in my head. Iíve been reduced from the epitome of Autobot pulchritude to this... abomination First Aid must have dredged up from someoneís trash compactor. I canít stand to think about it and I canít stand to look at myself anymore.

I used to be so much more than this.

Now weíre floating in some asteroid belt in some unknown quadrant in space. Weíve been reduced from heros and warriors to cringing cowards. Weíve run off to this pocket in space, licking our wounds.

Itís shameful. Iím ashamed.

Iím not going to bother asking when weíll return to Earth. Chances are, we wonít. Not that I care, at this point. I donít think I care about anything.

Thatís not entirely true. I care that I look like the walking aftermath of a demolition derby. I care that I donít view things like I used to. I care that my brother annoys me and creeps me out when he looks at me. I donít need his fragging pity. Donít tell him I said that. Heíll just annoy me further by trying to cheer me up. I donít need to be cheered up. I need things to be the way they were before we left Earth. I need...

I need to figure out where I am inside. I know nothing about all that psychology slag. I donít care to. Iím sure if Optimus knew about it, heíd drag me aft-first into his office and make me talk.

Well, the Optimus that I used to know. Heís different now. Heís been different since, you know, since 2005. Everything changed that year.

(Pause)

I know that First Aid is doing everything he can to save me. But like this, I donít want to live. I donít want anyone to see me like this. I used to be the rebel-rouser; me and Sides. Itís like all the light inside me has burnt out. Iím tired. Iím really, really tired. But I dread shutdown.

Oh, not mentioned that before, have I? Yeah. Iíve been having serious doozy-dreams. I mean, dreams that... dreams I canít even describe. Usually they start out, like okay, you know? They start out simple, like maybe Iím walking around somewhere on Cybertron. Itís all good. Nice day, no traffic congestion, no emergency alerts. And then the roads turn creepy.

No, I donít mean as in story-time creepy where thereís dark trees and the road gets slippery. No, I mean, creepy as in driving down the road and you see things on the surface. Or the road moves and youíre still on it. Or Iíll be driving along and suddenly, Iím driving over body parts. And all the body parts come together and form this... shape. And it opens its mouth and bites off my front axle. And always, at some point, it bites off my right headlight.

I donít know. I donít know what to think of it. I donít tell anyone cuz whoíd believe me?

(Pause)

Them days a-rollin

my insides a-boiliní

Over and over.

Clickiní clackiní

Workiní, packiní

over and over.

Slaviní up and lyiní down.

Gassiní up and flyiní round

aní round, an round.

Them days a-rollin

... a-rolliní

over and over and over... and over...

Donít ever tell anyone about the keening noises Iím making. I canít help it. I feel like I donít want to keep going. Nothing really matters in the end of all things, does it? You come to life, you do a few things and you pass on. What is the use of it all? Where does it lead to? And why?

I donít know. I donít think I want to know. Iím sure everyone whoís seen me is repulsed. I used to be... I used to be.

(Pause)

Thereís this... tarp of darkness. It drapes behind my optics. Sometimes I can see through it, see the world around me in shades of diminished light and shadows where things move. I canít say that I see it with my optics. I mean, it isnít really in front of me. But itís there. Always there. I see other peopleís faces through it, as though Iím walking with a veil in front of me. Itís hard to read things with it, you know? I canít say weíre scared, honestly. In fact, itís sort of comforting, as if we can hide behind the veil like a pair of sunglasses; hide my optics so no one sees what weíre thinking.

We donít like it when someone asks. We never know what to say, not really. Weíre here. And we see. And we feed. It doesnít need to be complicating. We see the world and its faces.

And we wait.

Them days a-rollin

my insides a-boiliní

Over and over.

Clickiní clackiní

Workiní, packiní

over and over.

Slaviní up and lyiní down.

Gassiní up and flyiní round

aní round, an round.

Them days a-rollin

... a-rolliní...

To Be Continued in DSR chapter 11