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For once, the young mech wished he hadn’t stayed behind to help the free autobots. Lovely, mechs and femmes they all were but he was young and he missed certain bots in his life. More specifically, he missed a point in his life where he still got to act like a mechling that had a whole future ahead of him.
These walls aligned with holophotos, the cold temperature and organic webs along with rubble replacing the warmth it once held. He hadn’t been here ever since he graduated, ever since he became a scout and left behind his friends to fight on the frontlines. He was so sure he’d be fine, those mechs were the best, even handed him a combination of all their weapons— taser, staff, cannon, blade; turned into one destructive hammer.
They’ve been nothing but amazing to him but their sparks guided them to two separate paths.
B-127, now he called himself Bumblebee. Always walking into the proud building that used to nurture the next generation of mechs into respectable bots. Now with the war taking place, his Academy was nothing more than an abandoned autobot base. Left over parts, broken armor, useless weapons lying on the floor as he walked through the corridors that his audio processors used to hear never-ending laughter from. His frame was heavier than anything he’d ever felt, not even from the first time he tried high grade. His optics fogged over, Cybertron wasn't the same as it used to, his destroyed campus was what made him emotional.
He knew his way around the place, Bumblebee left this place with a map ingrained into his processor. If there were cons, he would be able to sneak past them easily, as long as he knew where they were. However, being an alumni meant his spark would be anything but joyous coming back here during a conflict. His quarters should be around somewhere, after that, he’ll get started on a time capsule.
It would be really different from what they used to do, what's the point of doing it the way the academy traditionally made it? His hand caressed the walls of his room, being the last batch… before the war finally escalated… His room wasn't given to another young bot, that young bot was probably deactivated now…
It was no use thinking about what could have happened now, the war ravaged their prosperous planet of cybertron. All good things that had ever existed were all gone. He remembers how his friends groaned about the amount of work and training they have to get through every solar cycle and throughout the entire stellar cycle; what he would give to just be a student in the academy again worrying about surprise tests he wasn't ready for.
Most of the important items he owned he managed to pack before leaving— or evacuating.
He knew how to make the lanterns, how could he forget? Even when he was young and in the slums, he watched them float toward the endless skies, wandering the metal planet of cybertron for stellar cycles on end. He saw how bright and different each and every other lantern was, wishing to craft one of his own— those lanterns carry the items of Cybertronians that wish to see a light of their past once more when they’re all grown up. It’s a little sad to realize that those trinkets were probably destroyed, or worse, the bot that set it off its merry way was already offline.
This wouldn’t be the first time he had visited the abandoned academy.
At times, Bee would be found by other autobots that used to attend or were previous alumni. They’d talk about the training, the written works, projects, the particular craft he was currently doing— how every bot wished for written exams to be over with already. Being all alone in this building, being the last generation of sparklings made by Primus himself— he doesn’t know why he was unused to the emptiness.
He was a scout.
He should’ve adapted to it by now.