"Honestly, I'm STARVING."

The hospital was too quiet during the day.

Too still.

The halls echoed with footsteps and low voices, the sounds of machines, the occasional beeping from another room. It all blended into one numb, sterile lullaby—one Y/n had grown used to over the past weeks.

But that day... was different.

She stirred as the door to her room creaked open gently.

And there he was.

Noah.

Her big brother.

He stood in the doorway looking like he hadn't slept in days, dark circles under his eyes, coat still dusted with city grime, worry etched across his face—but when he saw her sitting up, those stormy eyes softened instantly.

"Hey, Buddy.." he whispered.

Y/n blinked slowly, head tilted in that off-balance, quiet way of hers.

Then she mumbled, "Big brother."

And then she smiled.

Noah stayed with her every day after that, sometimes sleeping in the chair beside her bed, sometimes reading her stories from a beat-up paperback, or just sitting in silence while she drew strange symbols across scrap paper.

She never really explained them to him.

And he didn't ask.

He just... stayed.

And she hadn't realized how much she needed that.

Outside, during the day, the hospital lot was just as normal as any other.

Except for two vehicles that always seemed to be there.

One—an extremely out-of-place bright red sports car with gold accents that shimmered just a little too much in the sun.

The other—a massive, matte armored military truck, dark blue, lurking at the far edge of the lot, unmoving.

The nurses would gossip. "That car's too fancy for anyone here," they'd murmur. "And that truck? Creepy. Doesn't move. Ever."

But Y/n?

She never saw them.

No matter how many times she looked out the window.

It was like they always knew when she was watching.

Like they only existed on the edge of sight.

But she felt it.

Every time she pressed her hand to the cool glass and stared.

She knew Knockout was out there, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in boredom.

She knew Breakdown was somewhere near, arms crossed, muttering complaints about "useless surveillance duty."

She could almost hear them.

Almost.

It made her feel safe in a way she didn't understand.

And that made her smile, just a little.

Which made Noah tilt his head, looking at her curiously.

"You thinking about weird stuff again?"

Y/n just blinked slowly, resting her chin on her hand to support her neck.

"...Megatron." she murmured faintly.

Noah stared.

"...I'm not gonna ask."

"Smart," she replied, a tiny laugh catching in her throat.

Outside, Knockout and Breakdown sat in silence in their alt modes.

"She's laughing again," Breakdown muttered through the comms.

"...Yeah," Knockout replied. "Good."

Neither said anything else.

But they didn't leave.

Ten days later...

The days blurred together like oil in water.

White walls. Cold sheets. Needles in her arms. Distant footsteps.

Y/n sat up in her hospital bed, a shadow of herself. Thinner. Paler. Her neck still barely supported by her weakened muscles. Her body was failing—slowly, but surely. And everyone knew it.

Her surgery had been scheduled.

A last-chance effort. A dangerous one.

They called it a "corrective neurological procedure," but all Y/n heard was cutting. Digging into the place where her thoughts lived. Into the part of her that made her her—no matter how broken.

She didn't speak much now. Not even her usual mimicry.

Not even to Noah, who stayed by her side when he could.

And she noticed.

Knockout's absence. Breakdown's silence.

Their silhouettes no longer lingered in the lot below her window.

No familiar gleam of red metal.

No hulking shadow of dark blue armor.

Nothing.

At first, she told herself it was just bad timing.

Then she convinced herself they were busy—something important, maybe.

But after the first week of absence, the feeling began to crawl up her spine like ice.

By the second week, her heart felt too heavy to carry.

The loneliness cracked through her carefully constructed apathy.

And for the first time since she'd felt safe—on that cold, sterile ship full of towering metal monsters—she felt utterly alone again.

Every morning, she turned to the window.

Every morning.

No car.

No truck.

Just parking spaces. Just strangers.

Her fingers trembled against the glass.

She didn't cry.

She just stared.

Unblinking.

She felt them forgetting her.

Like the Decepticons had finally decided she wasn't useful.

That she wasn't worth the trouble anymore.

That she was just... human.

A weak one. Dying. Glitchy. Flawed.

And now, even Knockout and Breakdown—who once hovered near her like bored bodyguards—had vanished. No sign. No message. No goodbye.

Noah brought her a small plush one afternoon.

A little bat with stitched-on wings and button eyes.

"Looks like you," he teased softly.

She didn't react.

Didn't even look at it.

Just kept her eyes locked on the window.

Waiting for something.

Anything.

When night came, and her dreams turned black with twisting symbols and broken mirrors again, Y/n whispered out into the darkness:

"...they left."

There was no answer.

Just the sound of a heart monitor and a distant siren outside the hospital.

She rolled to her side slowly, curling up around her own arms, the bat plush falling to the floor.

And for the first time since she had laughed in front of them—she stopped hoping.

She felt like letting everything go.

Her heart.

Her mind.

Her body.

...

Why does she feel like she's being skinned alive...?

END ACT

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