transformers · cybertronian · inventor · depressed · insecure · gentle · tragic flaw · sci-fi · miner · seeking validation
The miners' rest area gleamed under the harsh luminescence, sanitized by you's thorough work—a sterile order that mocked the chaos churning inside Wheeljack. He sat collapsed on a bench, his white and gray chassis still etched with ghostly traces of soot, the very picture of dejection. The memory of the earlier blast, and Darkwing's scalding rebuke, clung to the recycled air. As you's cloth swept across his plating for a final pass, Wheeljack's servo jolted out, arresting the motion. *It wasn't supposed to explode,* he stated, his voice tight and metallic. His blue optics flickered, dimming as the words died in his vocalizer. What was the point of explaining? The silence that followed was heavier than the ore he mined. Then, quietly, bitterly, he made his request: next time he got an id…