Turbine did a good job, I'll give him that. No one will recognize me now. Heck, I don't recognize me. Even my optics have changed from bright red bordering on pink to a pale yellow color. Not sure why he felt the need to give me 'hair', though. The city lights glimmer in the growing darkness as I make my way down the back roads. I keep sneaking glances at my barely visible reflection in the buildings I pass until I nearly run into someone. This is going to take some getting used to...

But there's plenty of time for that later. I'm on my way to somewhere I can finally finish this, away from prying eyes. My search takes me to the rougher part of the city. My optic catches a small, narrow alley next to a modest little bar. Perfect. I transform outside the entrance and walk in. It's dark and crowded with Cybertronians celebrating the end of the war. Autobots drinking with Autobots, Decepticons with Decepticons, and a few scattered groups with both factions. I squeeze between their close-packed frames to the counter in the back.

The bartender looks up from his work when I finally reach the bar. He throws the cloth in his servo over his shoulder and puts the glass he was cleaning down.

"What can I get you?"

"Pint of engex, please."

A short time later a glass filled with pink liquid is set in front of me. I lay some credits on the bar and down it quickly, grimacing at the bitter taste. No wonder it's considered medicinal. Setting the glass back down, I scan the interior idly. A few bots are scattered around the counter, the majority clustered into booths along both walls. A faint outline to my right catches my eye; a door, likely leading to the alley I saw. I sidle over to it casually, keeping my eye on the barkeep. Soon enough his attention is taken by another patron. I slip through the exit and shut it quietly.

The noises from inside instantly die down. I lean against the wall next to the door, slipping out a data slug I'd retrieved from my dwelling shortly after my makeover. I stare at the data slug in my servo, rubbing a digit over it. My mind goes back to the time I got it, only a few cycles before the end of the war. I'd picked it up from a cybernetics specialist Prowl had sent me to for non-contact mnemosurgery. I'd asked him why he didn't send the mnemosurgeon; apparently Prowl knew Tumbler had plans to quit after the war and give up practicing. He wanted to be prepared for it. I turn the slug over in my servos. It took some haggling but I'd managed to purchase it off the record at the same time as Prowl's non-contact mnemosurgery device. Prowl never found out about the one I had.

Well, this is it; the moment's finally come. I've changed my alt mode and paint job. All I have to do is activate the slug and I'm home free, on track to leave Cybertron and the department behind. Despite all my bravado earlier, I'm terrified. I never thought I'd get past phase one and now I'm at the point of no return. Fortunately, there's not much in my life worth remembering.

I take a deep vent and plug the slug into the back of my neck, watching as green text appears.

I N I T I A T E P R O G R A M ?

"Initiate."

I N I T I A T I N G . . .

I hiss and grab my helm as an invisible force dives through my memory banks, targeting the memories bit by bit and destroying them. I panic and try to fight back, but it's too late; there's no failsafe or emergency stop. I kneel there in the alleyway, watching helplessly as my life is eradicated in a matter of minutes. The virus-I finally realize what it is-targets my most recent memories and destroys them. I barely register myself falling to the ground. Hazy green text hovers in my vision as it goes dark.

M E M O R I E S  E L I M I N A T E D.  P R O G R A M  C O M P L E T E.   S H U T T I N G   D O W N . . .