Councillor Ratchet was currently sitting on the floor of a nursery, surrounded by the latest wave of sparklings that had be produced by the Well of Allsparks. They were old enough to be crawling around and producing base-sounds, and several had worked their way onto sections of his armor and magnetized themselves to him so they would not fall off. Two were in one of his smooth hands, a third in his other. The former two were napping, while the third was beeping as his thumb rubbed its back, pleased with the attention.
Ratchet appeared quite content. This was, in fact, a form of stress relief for him.













