"We are the cosmos made conscious and life is the means by which the universe understands itself."

~ Brian Cox

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Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!

Her body writhed and a screech erupted from her vocalizers as pain radiated from her chest, threating to rip her apart and kill her. It felt as if an explosion occured within her spark, a fireball swallowing it whole and radiating through the rest of her body. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could sense shoving herself against a wall and twisting around, thrashing in an attempt to escape.

Something foreign pressed itself against her at the ventral base of her helm, shoving her to the floor and keeping her still, wrapping around her neck and squeezing with discomforting force. She fought against it and the pain, panic bubbling in her mind whilst she tried to understand. With each passing second the pain started to fade, and in response her body eventually stilled and relaxed against the ground. The pressure at her neck ceased and muffled tones filtered into her audio receptors, starting to become clearer while her thoughts remained somewhat muddled, attempting to sort out exactly what happened.

It's dark. Why is there darkness?

A fleeting thought of her once knowing light passed through her processor and disappeared, leaving her even more confused. She reached out, attempted to snatch it, but the idea was gone, all that was left was the concept of light; the opposing force to what surrounded her now.

Have I always known darkness? What is this light?

Finally she became aware of her optics, onlining them and hissing as light blinded her, searing her sensors. A part of her recognized the sensation, shuttering them again as pain made her processor ache. Moving her helm her orientation systems began to read external information, finding that she was, currently, belly-up. Shifting her bulk and rolling onto her clawed pedes, her armor rippled and affixed itself to her hide. Her very first ventilation came and went for several seconds, her optics flickering back on with a shake of her helm.

The room she occupied was clautsrophobically small, the presence of two others not making things any better. Gazing upon them her optics trailed from one to the next, taking in their odd and otherworldly appearances. They resided on two legs - odd - and stood tall, like . . . buildings. 

What are buildings? The question remained unanswered within her processor, yet the femme knew she should understand what a "building" was. It bothered her that there was no clear answer, her attention to this detail eventually disrupted by her environment.

She felt trapped, unable to find an escape within this tiny enclosure, however she found there was nothing threatening about the situation. The femme was easily one and a half times as big, if not a little more, than the largest of the two creatures. Should they attack, even as one, she could easily overpower them.

Shaking her bulk she fixed her partially skewed armor pieces - courtesy of her rolling on the floor - and took in the details of the room. Her gaze fell on the bright screens first, watching as lines scrawled across them in an odd fashion. They were not connected lines, but symbols, dancing across the screens. How she was aware of what a screen was or the purpose of this technology escaped her. She was unused to this, yet knew exactly what it was.

Language.

"She is exhibiting high levels of intelligence," the voice of one of the others brought her attention back to them, the femme slinking around the room so she could better assess them, taking in their sizes and analyzing the weaponry they carried. To put their canons on open display was foolish, as it immediately demonstrated their greatest strengths - and weaknesses. "Her mannerisms suggest understanding, and not mere curiosity."

Though her audio receptors picked up on the strange words she could not quite put them together. They were recognizable, as if she had known of the language before, yet her mind could not attach definitions or syntax rules to the vocals.

"What would be the best test for her memory?" The silver titan questioned, looking toward his smaller companion.

"Humans and Cybertronians have high affinities for their names. I would expect she recognize it, or at the very least express familiarity with it, should the repressors function correctly. Most of her memory functions should be turned off - leaving no choice but for her mind to delete the unecessary data - but because memory is not exclusive to one area of the human cerebral cortex, she may retain some sensations."

The Predacon femme tilted her helm, optics focused on the other that was speaking. Her mind attempted to latch on to a sound, a word, and make sense of it, but the language remained elusive, seeming to dance mockingly past her. Curiously she shifted again, extending her neck slowly toward them. When she noticed the largest of the two bristle his armor in warning she paused, sinking a little lower and trying to remain unintimidating. Her sensitive olfactory sensors picked up on the odd scents of the others, unsure how to interpret them.

They were strange creatures, yet she recognized them, distinguish their faces and body types without much effort despite the fact she was aware they were completely different species. Various sparks of fleeting information ignited in her processor, small "ah-ha" moments which proved shallow and disuseful. She did not know these creatures' names, where they came from, who they were, only that she knew she knew them.

The biggest other slowly lowered his armor and extended a servo. "June," he beckoned.

Her helm perked ever so slightly, the noise sounding very familiar to her.

Me. My designation is June.

Her tail undulated, swishing back and forth between curled and uncurled, carefully approaching the other that called to her, recognizing his servo as unfriendly. But his expression and posture suggested that of a friend, a master, a kind superior who treated her with the respect she deserved. 

"Fascinating," the other other noted as her helm slowly ducked under the waiting servo of her master, a soft purr rumbling in her chest as the careful digits of a killer ran down her armor pieces, traveling down the side of her helm and tracing the underwiring there before settling underneath her chin. "The supressors have kept her from remembering her organic form, yet she is not, as the humans would refer to it, tablua rasa. The instincts of her Predacon shell have remained."

June shuttered her optics, enjoying the personal attention despite the cramped space. Every word went straight over her helm, though she could sense that the others were interested in her. Their scents were noticeably foreign, alien even. The large one was most certainly the commander, waves of superiority rolling off of his frame with even the most minute of movements. The other, she felt, was of some importance, given he was able to stand so close to the large other without intimidation or punishment. His scent . . . gave off no emotional readings, no indications of his feelings or even personal thoughts. To her, that was unnatural, and spoke of untold dangers.

"There is something I want to test first, before we attempt to introduce her to the other Predacon," Shockwave spoke to Megatron, noticing how her audio receptor fins twitched slightly in response to the species name. "A measure of self-awareness that is incredibly simplistic."

His master nodded, servo lightly scraping beneath June's chin before returning to his side. "Proceed," he commanded, red optics never leaving that of the new Predacon's. She seemed unintimidated by him, but she clearly knew he was command. That was most satisfactory, and true to her original human character. While he would have preferred she kept her mannerisms and personality, it was simply too dangerous to allow her to be fully aware of her previous life while in such a large form. And it would have been a waste to put down such a beautiful creature mere moments after her creation.

Shockwave carefully stepped around the Predacon, though she only twitched slightly in response, his servo briefly caressing her hide in quiet self-exultation. Wisely, she slipped past Megatron and reoriented herself so both Cybertronians remained in her line of sight, the warlord not minding as she circled around him. It was satisfactory to find that she could easily be his protector, and he rewarded her by gently rubbing the top of her helm.

His scientist carefully, and slowly, opened a compartment and pulled out a mirror, ensuring his digits did not accidentally scratch the surface as he set it on the nearest wall. June watched him curiously, wondering what he was doing.

"June," the scientist called much like Megatron did. "Come to me." 

The Predacon paused only briefly before she approached the Decepticon, Megatron watching with some amusement as her tail scraped by him, taking the opportunity to observe the sharp and deadly end. It mirrored Predaking's to an extent, though the design was more splayed out, surprisingly out of place with the rest of her lithe body.

Shockwave stepped aside so that June could see herself within the mirror, preparing himself should she prove unawares and attempt to attack her own reflection.

Instead, she stopped and stared, tilting her helm to the left and right, observing her body the best she could within the limited mirror space. It was not out of vanity or typical femme reasons, this was the first time she had seen herself. A part of her knew it was natural to see herself in this manner, aware that it was almost ritualistic to see oneself on occasion. Her optics were blue, though occasional sickly yellow tinges flared around her pupils, though it was painless and she paid it no heed. Her body was an interesting green color, very much like . . .

Lizard.

The word came and went faster than she could fully comprehend, though it seemed natural to just allow it to linger, and then quietly slip away. Instead of dwelling on it, she spread the wings she realized she had, though they could not go very far, as one was close to hitting the other and the second the wall. The frame was a slightly deeper green, the stretched wing membrane creme-colored and untorn, having yet to be exposed to the ravages of the wind.

Dragon.

"She seems very self aware," Shockwave noted, his one eye looking towards Megatron, though her bulk concealed most of the warlord. "She is taking inventory of her physical state."

"Excellent," Megatron was extremely pleased with this result. "Ensure she does not require energon, and then we will see how she reacts to our resident Predacon. I will instruct Starscream to prepare the beast."

"As you wish, my liege," the Decepticon scientist dared to reach out and touch her snout, only slightly surprised she did not react by attempting to bite his servo off. Her temperament was calm and tender, not incredibly hunter-like. He supposed he only had himself to blame; the Predacon clone he had chosen for her was renowned for her maternal instincts, what he thought was fitting for this particular human. She would serve well as a companion, if not a fellow Autobot hunter, to Predaking.