Work Text:
It’s a bit upsetting when you hear it, but not unusual. After all, people have called you your name your whole life. What is a surprise is hearing it coming from behind you, from a robot as tall as a building, with really bulky shoulders and a gaze so cold he could solve climate change with one look.
That’s Ultra Magnus alright. And, to be fair, he is still somewhat intimidating.
“Yes?” You reply, turning to look at him from your spot on the table. Magnus takes another look at his datapad, as if checking he’s gotten the pronunciation right or something, and then repeats it.
“That’s your name, correct?”
“Yes?” You say with the same exact intonation, just with a bit of a more raised brow, mentally trying to think if you did something really bad. Or really anything bad. Anything vaguely not ordinary.
“If that is so, I noticed nobody on this ship addresses you by it.” He continues, tone shifting to polite. When you take a glance to study him, he seems more apologetic than anything, honestly; even if you’re not sure how he can achieve such a look. You do suppose he’s just trying to do his job as the third in command, keeping this ship from falling apart with an unyielding sense of order and discipline. “I can take disciplinary action to correct this.”
“Ah, no, it’s really…” You trail off, pushing your hands in front of yourself. “It’s really not a problem. I like the other name better.”
Ultra Magnus stills, confused, as if trying to grasp a hidden meaning behind your words. For a moment you feel like maybe trying to explain to an alien why your name comes bearing a curse called ‘gender assigned at birth’. But you can’t even explain it to humans, so maybe it’s not the greatest idea.
Yet the two different names… they do something to you.
It’s not to say the first name makes you feel wrong. Well, maybe a little? But it’s also the name people have called you your whole life, so it has a convoluted sense of familiarity, even if it feels like that great aunt when she hugs you in a suffocating embrace at family gatherings and asks the usual two questions, so not all pleasant.
It’s the one everyone has ever called you, from childhood friends to employers, so it’s obviously there, but it’s like a trophy you look at, won when you were in third grade, that’s now gaining dust on a shelf.
And on the other hand you have the other name, the one people have actually started to call you, the one you chose, the one you’ve started using when you introduce yourself to new people. The one you’ve introduced yourself to the crew with, to anyone who asked, yet somehow Ultra Magnus found out that’s not your real, or better legal, name. To be honest, you’d think an order freak like him would already be asking thousands of questions as for why you did it, even if that would be Red Alert’s turf, and also one of your worst nightmares.
Still, too much time has passed and Magnus does not look convinced.
“It’s like… a nickname, maybe? If it’s more understandable?” You try again, scrambling for an excuse. “My full name feels a bit stiff and overly formal… while the other is more informal?”
Magnus takes one more glance at his datapad, from it to you.
“Would you rather change it to the one you currently use, then?”
That one catches you off, and your heart skips a beat in a mixture of all-powerful euphoria and agonizing dread.
Nobody has ever asked, but it’s like… the thought has been at the back of your brain for some time, but it’s not that easy. Sure, taking an appointment to change your name can’t be that difficult, but you would have to endure the gazes of the people working in said office, many certain that you’re wasting their time with something so inconsequential: people will call you by your previous name regardless for a while. And then, even after that’s done, how do you explain to all the elderly people around you why you’re not called like that anymore? Would they even understand it?
Would they accept it? Accept you?
Or would they, most likely, ignore you or turn around in disgust and never look at you the same way again?
So it’s been a thought; nothing more than that. And now, that people apparently already know you have that other name, won’t they question you too? Your head is spinning just thinking about all the gossip Swerve will spread about why you chose another name.
Luckily you find something to say that will save you from explaining this complex hurricane of emotions.
“I… I don’t think it’s that easy, sir. While I’m on the Lost Light, I can’t legally change my ‘earthly’ name, can I?”
“Earth, indeed, goes beyond my legislation.” Magnus comments after a moment. Crisis averted. “However, I could update your Lost Light profile.”
You whip your head right back to him, caught off guard.
“M-my what, sorry?”
“Every member of the Lost Light has an open profile accessible to anyone on the ship. Perceptor is working on a compatible version for your ‘phone’ as we speak.” He explains, gesturing vaguely in your direction, probably to the smartphone in your pocket. “Just by seeing people, you can look them up and gather information like name or place of birth. I do this to keep things tidy.”
Which, knowing him, makes a whole ton of sense, but it’s also not… look, the problem stays the same. People will question you if you change your name, and you’re afraid of how they might react to it regardless.
“I don’t know…” You end up saying. “Changing my name is… kind of a big deal. I…” would have to tell everyone about my identity and- “I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”
“Really?” Magnus asks, before you can think what more to say that won’t give him all the insight about your emotions. You focus on his confused expression.
“Really what?”
“Is changing your designation- apologies, name, something that important?”
“Uhm, yes? At least… where I’m from?”
His gaze gets softer, that very thin veil of an apologetic expression covering him again.
“I see. However, you must understand we view things quite differently. We have serial codes who define who we are. We are born with them. So, changing one’s designation isn’t as ‘big of a deal’ as it is for a human. All you would need to do, is write a different name on your security document. In this case, your Lost Light profile.”
“As… easy as that?” You ask, because it sounds too good to be true. This is the ‘legal’ version of it, anyway. Who knows what might happen on the social side?
Regardless, Mangus nods.
“Yes. Currently, nobody has changed their name while on this ship, but various members of the crew have changed it at least once.”
“Some have done it more than once? Who?” You question, curiosity giving you a perfect escape to not think about what you might be oh so tempted to do.
“It is not my information to disclose. You must understand, some might change their designation because they are not proud of the things they did while under another name.” He continues, as emotionless as one can be, making you deflate. Despite his height, he seems to know what to look for in a human, as if he’s already worked with some, because he keeps going soon enough: “However, calling one by a name they are no longer responding to is frowned upon. One possesses their own name. It’s their choice what others call them, and it must be respected.”
“Oh.” Is everything you work your mind into saying.
“Cybetronians choose their names when they exit the well, or when they are constructed.” He continues. “Many start to live already knowing who they are. If they’re indecisive, some other people can bestow a name upon them. Obviously, the one who holds it can change it.”
Rather different from human society, you think. Someone gives you your name, and that’s yours, but not yours to change. Sometimes.
“I… I see. We view things differently.” You reply. “And… if I can ask, how many people have changed their name here, more or less?”
“That is another question I will not be able to answer for privacy reasons. However, since you are an outside trying to integrate, I will give you this information hoping it will help you understand our society better.” You can feel a slight breath of relief escaping your mouth, and hope he hasn’t noticed. The mechs on the Lost Light rarely notice the changes in your breathing, although Magnus is different. You’re not blind to the way he moves around you. “At least five percent of the people present on this ship have changed their name at some point. Some who do not hide it are Nautica and Velocity, who changed their designation during their stay on Carminus.”
Ah, yes. That would make sense, Nautica has told the story enough times you kind of wonder how you even forgot it. Thinking about it, she may be one of the few who might understand you. Huh.
“Brainstorm too.” You murmur. “Although I don’t remember what it used to be.”
Despite Ultra Magnus having a booming voice, one that can very easily overpower yours, he listens and patiently waits for you to finish your thought.
“Other members of the crew have as well, after the war. Plenty wished to start a new life.” He nods. Then waits for a moment, as if evaluating something. He ends up speaking anyway. “Although not for this reason, all of the people who are part of the command chain of this ship have changed their name at some point in their lives.”
That gets you out of your thoughts pretty quickly. You scramble to get your head back on track and examine thoroughly everything he’s just told you. Everyone who can command this ship – no, the whole chain of command has changed names at some point. Which means both co-captains, Ultra Magnus, and maybe Drift himself (since he is the official-unofficial fourth in command, he actually bought the ship or something) have all changed their name.
It… well, if you take a moment to think about it, it doesn’t sound too impossible.
Rodimus feels like a weird name. And he’s theoretically half a prime (and that’s everything you could gather from his hours-long rambling) so he should have changed name. Even Optimus changed his name, you realize, he was not Optimus Prime before receiving the Matrix of Leadership, and so Rodimus probably was not ‘Rodimus’ before receiving his piece of the Matrix either.
And the same applies to Megatron. Before becoming the leader of a faction which carried out a war for millions of year, people told you he was a miner. Not a nameless miner but a faceless one for sure. Actually, maybe nameless as well. He had a code, a letter and a number to individuate him among thousands who lived just like him.
When thinking about it, doesn’t ‘Megatron’ sound like too much of a pompous name for one to be born with? Yes, then, he must have changed his name, and it’s… it’s so obvious when you think about it for a minute.
Ultra Magnus too, apparently. Although you have no insight on him, and he probably won’t be explaining his choices to you, such a name does sound a bit too much. Perhaps he was not born like this. Perhaps it was bestowed upon him by Optimus Prime himself when he became part of the Autobot faction, when he was made a commander or something. It would make sense. You have half a mind to ask him but it’s probably not polite. Frowned upon, you remember.
Drift, then? You haven’t heard much about him. Everyone has always called him Drift, or maybe Magnus didn’t mean him too when he said the chain of command. Even if he’s very theoretically part of it, and Magnus strives off of mere theory.
“Ah. I see.” It’s everything you can push out, after a moment which was probably much longer than it is acceptable. “Do I have to do it right now? Or can I wait some time?”
“If you ever feel like you want to change your name, notify one of us in the chain of command, and we will do it for you.”
Which, translated form Mangus Talk, means to tell him, because Rodimus will probably forget about it, you’re not really sure you’d have the guts to tell it to Megatron’s face, and Drift is as slippery as a snake in a wet jungle unless you can find him close to the medbay. You nod.
“Alright. See you later, then, sir.”
Your day goes on as usual, the tension evaporates from your body as you spend some time with your favorite members, watch them take a sip at Swerve’s to get your mind off of things, and drink from your water synthesizer. It goes on until someone steps in, Ten goes crazy but happy and together they sit on the counter and order something to drink, with Swerve muttering something you’re too far away to catch.
The newcomer is small, a minibot, mainly green and white, showing off a great black mustache and a pair of red eyes that completely ignore you, actually, but for some reason you can’t help but think you’ve already met them.
Ten and the mysterious figure get their drinks, start chatting even if you can only imagine how a conversation with Ten could go, so you focus on their movement instead, while your crew of friends start chatting away as if nothing’s happening.
The minibot settles their drink on the same exact place on the counter every time, rotating it so they’re always facing the same side. They sit perfectly straight, and tidy what they can reach behind the counter while Swerve is busy serving another costumer and that’s when it clicks.
“Minimus Ambus.” You hear someone say behind you.
Or, Ultra Magnus.
Someone who changed name, possibly even his body. You turn back around before he can turn to look at you.
Perceptor manages to update your phone within the day, and you immediately start scrolling through all of the profiles. There’s people you know and some you’ve barely even met, along with a whole list of people you didn’t even know existed up until this morning. Ultra Magnus has two profiles, actually, one for the armor, apparently, and one for himself inside. It gets confusing quickly, but you’re pretty sure Ultra Magnus is the name given to the one who wears the armor, but who is inside does not have to give up their identity, so Minimus Ambus still exists, and somehow drags around all that weight. You don't have any idea how but it's far from the most surprising thing about him.
You sleep it off with the new information, twisting and turning in the gigantic bed you have, debating arguments and information and really wondering how to go about this. In the end you drift asleep, hoping for the night to give you some good advice.
When you wake back up, the yearning in your heart has simply intensified.
This is it, then. Breath in, breath out, and you open the door.
You walk to the main bridge, which luckily isn’t really far otherwise you’d have to pack some lunch or ask someone for a lift, and find the green minibot working at a different desk than the one he uses when he’s in the armor.
The similarities are still all around. The smaller desk is just like the big one, but with smaller pens and datapads all in the same order. His gaze is just as cold as it is while he’s inside the armor and yet he seems to smile at you. He gives you a respectful nod, acknowledging your entrance. He addresses you by your name. Your chosen name.
“Can I help you?”
You take another breath, squeezing your fists. Then, with the courage you’ve gathered, you offer your heart with your words.
“Y… Yes, sir. I wish to officially change my name.”