Drifting.
For vorns, that was all he'd done. Not quite here, not quite there. Somwtimes he had a body, other times he was spread across the space in between, or was nothing more than a spirit.
At first his mind had gone. The fact that he was neither dead or alive was impossible to comprehend. He'd gone mad, one of the few times he'd ever posessed anything seemingly emotional.
He was gone. And yet...he was not. Perhaps that accursed god really was looking after his children, for something held him, kept him from slipping into the brink. It was only a thread-but it was enough.
Time passed. He regained what dignity his limbo-held corpse retained. He began to think. And he began to plot. There were moments of solidification, where he was able to reach from te space into the worlds beyond.
He was like an angel...or perhaps a demon. He traveled the space in between, veiwing the various dimensions at his lesure. He saw his comrades, whatever passing as his blood in the place boiling as he veiwed that bumbling idiot of a Seeker bluster and swan about in a position that he couldn't have- shouldn't have- gained in a thousand vorns.
And occasionally, he looked down at his foes. He watched in disbelief as, despite their small number, the Autobots managed to keep their nemies at bay. And for what? A pathetic little planet.
It had been a wonderous moment when that loud mouthed, big horned Autobot had finally been tossed into the scrapheap to rust. He'd watched in delight as the Autobots expressed their displeasure, their dismay at being forced by their mighty leader to defend a bunch of organics smaller than the size of their pedes.
And then, in a single moment everything had changed.
The Autobots became victorous, powerful. The Decepticon forces began to ever so slightly dwindle, and Vechicon troopers began to fear gong on missions for the first time in vorns.
The Autobot swam in their victory. But so they would drown.
He searched for the key, the trigger that enabled them to begin to gain for the upper hand. And now, finally, he had it. He'd dismissed it before, not beliving it could be relevant. A mistake he would never have allowed himself before.
The Autobot's victories had begun with a single moment, a time spanning no more than five minutes.
And he intended to change it.
There was a chance, of course, that the timeline could repair itself onced tweaked. But he intended to insure that that would not happen.
After all, with two catalysts, how could he fail?
I am sorry to say that I am giving up on Change of Hands. I tried to plot out a possible route for the story, but could not. It was stale and tasteless, and didn't have much thought process besides, "Jack gets powers". I might decide to countinue it later, but the possibility is slim.
So now in the place of "Change of Hands", I give you "Severed Time".
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