Starter for @logical-tactician
How long had it been?
Days? Months? Years? Definitely months. Maybe not years. Yet, either way the mostly black Polyhexian stealthily slinked through the mostly vacant halls of the base. Each step measured and nearly silent despite being constructed out of metal. Those who did see him paid no more mind to him than you would your own shadow.
The mech briefly stopped by a familiar room first. Sometime after entering he caught himself staring at the organized desk for a long moment. How long had he been standing here? Why was he here?
He wasn’t himself. There were accents of red and steel grey where they should have been blue and white on his frame. His optics were wrong and exposed. He felt tired and raw. On edge, and needy all the same. Sharp digit tops curled and uncurled by his side. He didn’t want to be seen yet. But he wanted him to know. To find him, and help him put the pieces back together.
Warmth. Calm. Caring.
Without any trace minus a single stylus on the desk being diagonal instead of straight the mech left for his quarters.
Prowl would know.