A:
Well, this was unexpected.

The last thing Wing remembers is the fight outside New Crystal City, trying to keep an optic on Drift, the slaver, a sword-thrust--he'd felt it, hadn't he? He looks down at the front of his chassis, touching the barest hint of a scratch and still feeling the sick weight of inevitability pressing heavily on his tanks. But.

Not dead. And hale and whole, apparently, just... elsewhere.

He settles down by the crater and cycles his vents steadily, dimming his optics and trying to settle his mind, to let the awful certainty drain from him to make room for whatever this new future might bring.

---

B:
Meditation, such as it was, didn't take him very long, and once he's sufficiently centered he gets up, brushes the dust from his greaves, and settles off in the direction of the first populated area he sees. He wanders around the broken, empty city, watching intently--it tugs at him, because this place is most definitely an old, destroyed Cybertron, almost a sad parody of what once had been his home. But there's signs of new growth here, too--habitation and rebuilding. The thought makes him smile a little as he pokes around, waiting to bump into one of the new inhabitants and hoping whoever it is can answer at least some of his questions.