The room was tattered and broken all over, there were holes in the walls, and parts of the wall it self were ripped away. Two chairs were smashed and thrown about the room. A mirror door had one large smash in it's center, causing splits and warped reflections all across it. Other doors were ripped from their holdings, a side table snapped in half and all that was on it smashed and broken on the floor. Scorch marks on the walls from laser blasts fit well with the other damages to the room. What one robot in particular would call a bed, was ripped from the wall, and thrown out a then unscathed window, crashing to the street below. The tinkle of glass particles followed soon after. The low lights on the walls were still attached, but crushed by powerful hands. The lights in the ceiling flickered, some fast, some sparked, some did nothing but stay dark. A large red and blue robot sat on the floor next to a broken desk as such, against a ripped up wall, his head leaning against it. And eyes staring straight ahead. His legs out stretched infront of him. Arms slumped by his sides. Blue wings out stretched from this robot's back, and a number of dual turrets lined his body. And there he sat. For hours. Still, quiet, no emotion in his face. If he eyes weren't still glowing a light blue, any other robot would think him dead. The only sounds to be heard were the occassional passer by in the streets outside the hotel, and muffled music from the under surface nightclub across the street. He was alone. Again. For so long he had been alone. For a short few days he thought he could fit in. Thought he could be one of the crowd, feel like 'one of the boys'. He scorned himself for a fool.

Life. Why has that word lost it's meaning? He was still alive...so what was different about it? Maybe it was a different type of lifestyle, not so much the living meaning of life. Staring ahead of him at a charred wall, many thoughts were thought. Many questions asked, but no answers came. He was alone. A small group whom would call him friend, but can he call them friends? Do they matter that much to him that he would call them friends? Maybe. What could they do for him though? Same as everyone else. Nothing. No one can do anything for him. No one can help him.

If he were like he used to be, like the way dreamed he was, he'd be happy. He'd be home, family, friends...life. How he wanted...no, yearned, -felt- for it. It was possible. The mind process was reversable. But what good would it do? It would solve only a fraction of his problems. He still wouldn't be who he really was. He never would be again.

He didn't bother looking for an answer to an age old question. One he had asked countless times now. For the first time in hours, his eyes focused on something other than the wall. The eyes slowly swept the room. This was his. This recklessness, this damage. This was his. This emptiness he felt, this rage that filled the emptiness. This was his. And nothing would ever change that. He pulled himself to his feet, still leaning against the ravaged wall behind him. He felt drained of energy to the point of shut down. Like he did ever time he lost control of the burning rage he held inside. And yet, it never ran out, it burned on and on, and so it would forever.

~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~

The streets were busier in this close to the neutral sector affectionatly named Stakeholder's Keep's border. Well, at least it was neutral a few hours ago. Before a new Autobot Decepticon war broke out. The sector was under Decepticon influence until a large force of Autobots arrived and gained control. Now Stakeholder's Keep was under Autobot rule. This didn't effect the red and blue robot in the slightest. It was an attempt made by the Decepticons to seize the Neutral Ground, a small bar in the non aligned sector. That's where it happened a few hours ago. That's where he lost control of it all, of his clear thinking, of his rage. He had ripped apart a young female. What others call a tetrajet, but he preferred calling them pyramid fighters. In any case she was dead. He literally ripped her into dozens of pieces. He'd done a reference check on her when he returned to his hotel room. Acidica was her name, specialist in chemicals and acids. She was young, created by the Decepticons, mentality of a sixteen year old human. Now she was nothing. A casualty of war. Another number in another statistic.

He stops dead in his tracks.

He dropped to his knees. If he could still shed tears they would flow down his face.

An Autobot, about half the size of the red and blue robot, knelt beside him,

"Hey buddy, you ok?"

"No. Just...leave me be." He tried not to speak as calmly as he could.

"Uhh, sure buddy, whatever you say." The Autobot walked off, looking back at him a few times. Arising to his feet, he sturdied himself, and blasted of into the air. Transforming into his space fighter mode. He rocketed towards the Neutral Ground.

~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~

Waitstate spun around from serving yet another Autobot in the crowded bar, he jumped slightly upon seeing Admiral Lilwall standing behind him. Admiral Lilwall was a medium to large robot, with blue wings on his back. His body lined with a number of dual turrets. The glowing light blue eys of Admiral Lilwall were emotionless tonight.

"Uhh...Lil, listen about earlier.."

"Give me the strongest stuff have Waitstate. Lots of it." Admiral said in a flat voice, interrupting Waitstate, who shot a somewhat worried look.

"Lil, just two drinks of that stuff will knock you unconscience before you even hit the floor. I don't think you shou..."

"NOW!" Admiral slammed his fist down on the bar, a number of the crowd went silent and looked at the large red robot standing at the bar. Waitstate motioned his hands at Admiral Lilwall as if to say 'coming right up'. A few moments later Waitstate returned with a bottle of very high grade energon. Admiral more or less snatched the bottle from Waitstate and made his way to an empty table at the back of the bar.

Admiral paused for a moment, with his bottle of drink held above a mug of sorts, about to pour...

He poured the mug full and threw the drink down his mouth. It made him ill, but he didn't care, he filled the mug again and took it down just as fast as the first.

Artifice casually strode through the door and took a seat at the bar,

"What's with you?" He asked Waitstate, whose gaze was fixed on Admiral Lilwall.

"Nothing, it's what's with him that's bothers me." He motioned to Lil. Artifice saw what Admrial was drinking, and how fast he was doing it.

"By the...you actually gave him that stuff?"

"The way he must be feeling? I don't think he'd have given me another chance."