A/N: This was written for the tf_speedwriting prompt "Undead" over on LJ. Oh, I'm so clever with titles. *bricked* But really, this is my one of my first Transformers fanfics, and the first one I've posted, so concrit is appreciated. Also, as the "speedwriting" part implies, this was written very quickly, so pointing out any grammatical or spelling mistakes would be highly appreciated. Thank you!
Disclaimer: Transformers is not mine, in any way, shape or form.
Undead
They are in pain as soon as they wake up. It hits them, as sudden and unstoppable as the hail of bombs that killed them to begin with, and yet it is distant to their bodies and to their purpose.
They know their purpose. And that it what drives them on, drives them on as their limbs crack and metal gives, old injures that spilled their life's energon. They must find Megatron. And they must obey him.
When they lived, their sparks would have rebelled at such total, encompassing loyalty, loyalty that directs their limbs and devours their minds with its single, beating purpose. Serve.
They stagger across Cybertron, across old battlefields and slaughtergrounds, across their graves. With every one of them that falls, hissing and struggling to drag itself onwards to the siren song of its master, ten more pull themselves from their final slumber, from under the broken roofs of their old homes and off of the pikes of their enemies, and from the midst of heaps of corpses rising high above the wastelands of the south.
It is all they can do to keep moving, yet it never – can never – cross their minds to stop. They break apart, and they move forwards, forwards to their final fight, to the war they could never escape in life or death.
They cast out into space, flowing forward with the pull of the space bridge, flowing forward to their master, to their purpose, to everything they exist for, to the mech to whom they will gladly give their second death.
They reach him, and they extend a hand. Ready, they say, in the moaning of empty sparkchambers that is the only language they know, We are ready to serve. Their lord and master smiles, hard and wild and strong, strong enough to share with them a purpose, a false soul for the true one they now lack. He reaches back.
And then the world rips apart.