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The world blazed into focus with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.  Consciousness occurred all at once, floundering in the sudden sea of sensation, mind grasping after ... something.  Whatever it had been, it evaded him with quicksilver deftness, evaporating without a trace.  Shattered by a simple sound; nothing more or less than a nearby footstep.  Propelled to his feet by an unknown force, he darted down the alley toward a half-remembered sense of safety.  His life, up until he had come online moments before, was gone.  He was alone.

The mech paused, catching sight of his reflection in a discarded bit of polished metal propped against the side of a building.  Yes, his processor told him, this's me.  Whoever I am.

He was smallish, which pleased him.  His hands were oil black, matching his shoulders and helm.  His helm had two communication horns and a slightly protruding central processing sync, which melded smoothly into the back.  Everything else was varying levels of gray, easily hidden in the metal of the city around him.  The only flashes of true color around his form were an intensely blue visor covering his optics and the silver of his intrigued expression.  His alternate mode seemed to be a flat-ground racer, the contours of his armor suggesting high speed and maneuverability.  Slim build meant no one would conscript him for hard labor in the few energon mines which still existed.  Ordinary, all of it, nothing to stand out or be noticed.

He could work with this.  The small mech might not have known where he came from or what his designation was, but he knew where he was: Low Town Tyrest.  Folk in this part of Cybertron didn't trust a mech with a shining clean paint job and a perfect coat of wax.  It made them think such a mech wanted something.  That he didn't belong.

Abandoning the reflective surface, he slipped toward the street, analyzing his prospects.  Get the more obvious levels of grime cleaned off and finding some work were his first priorities.  It never occurred to him to question why he knew what he did but didn't know what most would consider to be the more important details of life.  At the moment, having enough energon to keep–

"Hey!"

The call came just as the small mech stepped out onto the street.  It startled him enough that he instantly jerked his foot from the smoother surface and wheeled to face the voice, processor flicking between flight or fight.  He met the gaze of a much larger gray mech who was standing in the side door of the nearest building, wearing an impatient expression.  The young mech turned a thumb toward his own chest, silently asking if the much taller mech had shouted at him.

"Yes, you!  Primus below."  An impatient gesture drew the small mech closer by a step.  "Lookin' for some work, scraplet?  Of course you are, everyone is.  I'll give you some energon if you take a message to Midway.  You know where Midway is?  Of course you do, everyone does.  Have t'be a' idiot not t'know where Midway is."

The small gray and black mech found himself nodding, accepting the pad shoved into his hands just before the larger mech seized one of his wrists.  A brief jerk confirmed the hold wouldn't be escaped from without damage to the limb, so the small mech allowed himself to be hauled close enough to the larger mech that he could smell the high-grade on his breath.  The youngster suppressed a grimace of distaste.

"You've gotta honest face," the large mech rumbled, "so I'll just say this once.  Get th' pad t' 547-17-3 Midway an' there'll be good energon in it for ya.  Maybe creds, get it done fast enough.  Give it t'the mech, there, see the picture?  Good.  He'll know who it's from.  Come back here an' tap the door when you're done.  Three, like this," the mech rapped a grimy knuckle on the door frame three times.

Moments later, the small gray mech had been unceremoniously shoved into the street, the door slamming shut behind him.  Right place, right time, the youngster thought, giving the traffic a passing glance to familiarize himself with its patterns before slipping into a graceful transform.  He wove through the city with ease, taking two shortcuts which occurred to him no sooner than when he saw the street signs and arriving at his destination a few clicks later.

Inside was a flurry of movement, most of the occupants appearing to be waiting for the lift.  The lure of the promised energon making his tanks grind in hunger, the small mech darted for the stairs, using his sleek racing form to make quick work of the seventeen levels.

At sharp contrast to the first floor, the seventeenth was at first glance an uninviting seclusion.  Another look revealed the busy kind of quiet, doors on either side of the corridor snugly fit into their frames, windows dark, or open portals to lit offices.  The third door was one of the open ones, light tumbling out into the darker hallway in almost a gleeful yellow.  The youngster followed the nudge his processor gave him just the same, warily peeking in before making any move to enter, wanting to make sure he had the right place.

"Looking for someone?"

The graveled voice was behind him.  He jerked around to set the hallway at his back, taking several steps to get a comfortable distance between himself and the cream colored mech he was now facing.  Silver trim glinting slightly in the uneven light, the mech of middling height and an amused cast to his expression watched this process without moving.  A quick look from the small gray mech confirmed this was whom he was looking for and he offered the cream mech the pad with a slight bow.

"For me?"  The older mech questioned, accepting the pad and walking a few steps toward the open door of the office.  The youngster saw his chance and darted back toward the stairs, only to be stopped by the cream mech's hand on his shoulder.  He instantly spun out from under it, using the momentum of the move to get him closer to his escape route.  The only thing that stopped him was the sadness in the larger mech's expression.

"I didn't mean to startle you, youngmech," he was told.  The mech had a gentle way of speaking which did ease the tension in his shoulders.  "Wait just a nano.  I have a pad for you to return, if it isn't too much trouble."

The cream mech disappeared into the lit office.  He reappeared within a click, offering not only a pad, but a small container of low-grade energon and a credit stick.  The youngster stared at the two offerings, balanced carefully as they were on the pad, then flashed the larger mech a brilliant smile of thanks, prompting a chuckle.

"You're welcome.  You'd better get going."

Nodding, the small gray mech slipped all three items into his pocket and dove into a transform, sliding down the seventeen flights of stairs.  He arrived back at the door he had originally departed from less than ten clicks after he had been sent on his way, returning to his bipedal form to lay the three taps on the door.  It burst open, sending him dancing back to avoid being hit, the mech on the other side scowling sharply at him until he produced the pad the cream mech had given him.  The large gray mech's optic ridges shot upward into his helm and he straightened to his full height, one hand rubbing his own lower back.

"That quickly?"  He asked, surprise smoothing his voice from the harsh growl it had been earlier.  The youngster nodded, offering a slight smile.  "C'mon, mechlet," the large gray mech sighed finally, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter the building.  "Smart," he commented, when the youngster hesitated, "but y'don't need t'worry.  I'm not gonna scrap ya for parts're anythin'.  Y'did good.  You deserve a place t'sit for a while, if ya want it."

The gray and black youngster watched him for a few more moments, then made his way inside, looking around with interest after perching on the nearest stool.  It was the back of a bar, the energon along the walls throwing a cascade of colors over the floor and the only two mechs in the room.

"My name's Highgate," the gray mech said, pulling down what turned out to be a bottle of low-grade and pouring the young mech out a measure.  "You've proved you can listen an' at least be trusted with small things, so listen now.  I need a mech who'll be willing t'work hard for room an' energon.  Work'd be cleaning this place, running messages, maybe more.  I'm fair; more jobs means more pay."

The youngster sipped his energon and looked around again, noting the shabby corners but generally well-kept appearance of the room and bar.  The one thing which concerned him he nodded to: two splashes of a mech's inner fluids on the floor nearby.  Highgate's dim optics flickered to the spot and he grimaced.

"Got rougher'n I'd like in here last night.  The mech you're replacin' took a dislike to a customer, so I threw 'em both out.  Same'll happen to you, if you start picking fights."

The quality of the low-grade energon was good, by taste and how it sang in his systems.   The mug he was sipping from was clean, too.  He saw now, in proper lighting, that Highgate was not painted the dirty gray of his first impression.  The large mech simply hadn't had time to get to a washrack recently.  The mech himself was in good repair as well, which decided the youngster.   He offered a nod to seal the agreement.

"I'll need somethin' t'call ya," Highgate grunted, frowning when the youngster only shrugged.   "You're not a chatterbox like the rest of the young sparks I've ever met, so I guess I'll just call ya what you are.  C'mon, Silent, I'll show you where you'll be rechargin'."