#[ pls feel free to not match length king im so sorry it went on hfgjkdhg ]

[saviorclaimed]

closed for @autobotmedic

Ringing.

That's all he could hear for the first few kliks. Ringing, blinding, just like the sun that was in his optics. There was silence surrounding him now beyond the ringing which creeped with a headache, where once was a cacophony of... something. Voices, a choir, something; sounds which occupied his resting place. Wait. This... this isn't the Well. Charcoal digits felt the ground beneath him, he laid splayed across a metal surface - it was physical. He was used to feeling nothing now. He was used to being nothing. Seeing nothing and everything.

Where was he?

Cautious movements made, he angled his helm to the side; aged and wartorn metal not too far from him, ruins of a ship. It would come to him then, the Nemesis.

It fades in slow, the imagery, the visions, recalls. This place. He's still at the Well of Allsparks, wasn't he flying above it before? His gaze flickered around, the atmosphere and lack of presence not connecting with his memories -- where did they go? He knows they were all here. His team, his family. The anguished atmosphere was missing, along with their frames.

With careful movement, Optimus heaved his frame up to a sitting position, a servo resting on his helm to ease the spinning that followed, but it ebbed gradually alongside the ringing. Optics studied his surroundings; wind casually graced by the nearby structure, creating a soft whistle, but that was all there was in terms of sound. No life, no people. Just... him.

Following methodical movement, he would lift himself to his pedes, unsteady. Not yet used to having weight back.

The Prime's processors spun as he took steps to the Nemesis, hoping to take temporary shelter from his situation. Questions, concerns flooded his mind -- but the foremost thing he wanted, needed to do, was to call someone for assistance, for guidance. He needed to be known he was here.

As the shadow of the fallen warship cast over his glistening fresh frame, he sent a ping out, hoping that lines were still open, and that he could still contact the first on his list. His voice was ragged, static, from lack of use - or perhaps, first use in this case.

« Ratchet. Come in, Ratchet. Can you hear me? »