Eject has been rather quiet as of late.
The minibot has, over the course of the past few weeks, settled into a state of grey numbness. Rewind’s unresponsiveness seems to have flipped a switch in Eject, and he’s spent an overwhelming amount of time working. His routine has consisted of resting, refueling, and assuming his duties. He’s spent most of his time plugged directly into the Lost Light, alternating between obsessively monitoring the hallways and scanning the multiverse’s many-layered communication channels. In some ways, it’s reminded him of his early life.
Eject had been on his way to the mess hall, ready to down half a cube and make his way to the bridge. Maybe he’d find someone there, like Rotorstorm or Rodimus. Maybe he’d stop by the med bay to check in on Rewind before he settled into work, or to remind Brainstorm to get some sleep, once in a while. He hadn’t been in much of a mood to talk, but it would be curiously nice just to be near someone, to feel the frequency of another EM field just beyond the reach of his own—
—the loss hits him in the middle of that half-formed thought.
It’s like a hammer-blow directly to the spark, and it sends the small mech reeling, stumbling, one hand splayed along the hallway wall for support, the other grasping desperately, disbelievingly, at his own chest. He can feel it, feel the startled silence where once there had been a myriad of frequencies that had been so familiar to them he hadn’t even thought of them as anything but his own. He can feel the change in his spark’s own dynamic, feel the wrongness in its balance, in its burn, and he knows without having to think a moment longer that Rewind is dead.
He makes a soft sound, once, very much like a sob.
Then he steps forward.
It’s a losing battle, but Eject has never backed down in the face of a fight he thought he could win before, not from anyone or anything. His body is shot through with a curious cold tingling, but he pushes on, visor burning with determination, willing his limbs to move by sheer spite. He has to get to Rewind. It doesn’t matter that his brother is lost. In the churning confusion of his thoughts, he can only think that he should be there, should be wherever Rewind is, and his shuddering, stubborn frame carries him yet another step. He almost falls, but he grips at the wall, his fingertips scoring the metal and leaving shallow scratches.
The numbness spreads. It has only been a few moments since Rewind’s spark snuffed out, but Eject feels like he’s been struggling for hours. There’s no energy left in his limbs, and his mind feels suddenly very… distant, detached, from his increasingly-unresponsive body. A surge of rage and frustration unexpectedly rise in his dying spark. No, speech is beyond him, but his thoughts burn with a clarity lent by anger, I didn’t live through millions of years of war for this. There’s too much left I have to do, too much for me to leave behind. I haven’t made it this far to die like this, and I won’t. I am not going to die here, alone, in this hallway.
He dies anyway, of course.
Eject’s last act as a living mech is to take a last step forward, and then finally collapse, his vents giving one last shuddering sigh. The glow behind his visor fades, and he goes still. His first act as a dead mech is to immediately shift, his body entering rigor morphis and changing into its preferred form: his alt mode.
That’s where he will be found, still and limp on the floor like a piece of discarded equipment.