A brief note: "Who Are You?" makes reference to Small Things, but it's
nothing major. You don't have to read one to understand the other.
Who are you?
Have you ever said "I hate my life?"
I do - all the time. It's hard NOT to bear a grudge against existence when you've single-handedly discovered four million different ways of suffering grevious bodily harm that were previously unknown to science.
You don't recognise me, do you? What if Wazzpinator talk like thizz?
The wonders of interstellar communication...You can't tell what an idiot I sound like.
I know. You automatically assumed that because I can't speak properly - and it IS can't, not WON'T - I must be stupid too. Sometimes I wish I was. If I was stupid, I wouldn't know I was getting used as cannon fodder. If I was stupid, I wouldn't be aware of the goings on at this base that might get me killed. If I was stupid, I wouldn't be ON this Primus-forsaken planet in the first place. You know what they say, "Ignorance is bliss."
But I'm not stupid. I'm not going to win the Cybertronian award for genius anytime soon, true, but...
My problem is my speech impediment. It's something I came online with. We're not all perfect, we Transformers. Computers can have glitches in the system, so can we. Organics are never perfect either. My flaw...if I remember correctly, there's a short circuit between my core processor and my voice synthesizer. So no matter what form I take - I've been a small aircraft, a mammal called a Marazoa from Hacernon (quadraped, wings capable of flying short distances only, long slender face and a forked tail), and my current form, a wasp...there's been about seven forms in total - there's some kind of abnormality in the way I talk.
The speech in this form is by far the most annoying.
Yes, the Cybertronian medics ARE geniuses, and no, we Transformers don't have the vast and varied amount of chemical reactions sustaining our lives as organics do, but it's not quite as simple to patch up our circuitry as you might think. Faults present when a spark first boots up are always more difficult to mend than those acquired during battle. And let's face it - medics have better things to do than correct a harmless flaw. Cybertronians venture all over the galaxy, get into all sorts of fights, catch all sorts of viruses (yes, there are other technological lifeforms in the galaxy that we can catch any number of maladies from) and are in constant need of medics. Your average doctor is stressed beyond belief, gets around four hours recharge a night before he (or she) is called out to an emergency and quite honestly has no time for any cases less than critical. There are the "elites," of course - surgeons from more privelaged backgrounds that will work for the highest bidder - but I never had the credits to hire one. Moreover, I felt there was something not quite right about that particular system. Something mercenary about it.
Great Primus, I hear you cry, a Predacon with meaningless scruples.
There IS a class system on Cybertron, though it's not particularly formal. Where there's currency, there are the rich. I'm not particularly bothered about whether having credits to burn is morally wrong, but I did have a problem with those surgeons. There were never enough regular medics to cope - why didn't they put their skills to better use?
Still... It would have been nice to speak normally. Not important, but nice. As an aircraft, I had a choked voice and a tendency to sputter. As a Marazoa, I stammered in a high pitched voice (worse than Terrorsaur, if you can imagine that). Now I speak in third person with a manner of pronouncing words that hurts even my ears.
I'm not like a wasp. I like to sit and watch the world go by. I like pretty things, and nice music, and peace. Wasps are nasty creatures. Whatever you say about me...I'm not malicious.
I can't help but feel conned into being here...Megatron talked me around into joining his crew. He was the superior officer on our outpost at Hacernon. Oh, he's eloquent all right...he may be a psychopath, but he's a silver tongued devil. Went on about how oppressed the Predacons were (I have to admit, I hadn't really noticed - or cared.), about liberation, about glory - and I fell for it.
Let that be a lesson to you, if you want to avoid ending up like me. Think for yourself, and don't be led around like sheep by your "superiors."
But...well... there's something else that resulted in my being here, in my falling for Megatron's "vision". There's another problem with me. A psychological one.
Something no-one can fix.
Transformers change shape all the time, you know that much. We change abilities, shapes, sometimes voices...and names. We're able to cope with this constant metamorphosis because we evolved to do so. Names mean very little to Cybertronians - an odd concept for you humans, for whom your name is WHO you are. If someone took away your name, you'd be lost. You have odd names too - they never said much about you, unless you looked up a meaning. They just sounded pretty, and over time your name became associated with YOU.
It's the other way around for us. When we change drastically, so do our names.
And I couldn't cope.
The result was scrambled identity circuits, a nervous nature, and "blank outs." Those moments I just freeze in battle, when it's a REALLY bad time to do so? I'm not being dumb, (well, sometimes I am, but...) I literally cannot think. I'm only shocked back to my senses when something travelling at abnormally high speeds collides with my head (which, come to think of it, appears in a matter of seconds.).
I don't think of myself as Waspinator. For some reason, my identity problem worsened my speech defect. I speak as if I'm reassuring myself of who I am - hence the third person. I am, and always will be, Sarojax. Sadly, circumstance takes no notice of my own views, and changes me regardless.
So I'm stuck. Everyone thinks I'm stupid, when really I only see the world in a different light. I'm locked in my own head, with none of the benefits of being an idiot.
But I'm not evil. I'm not insane or calculating or power mad or treacherous. I didn't tell Megatron about Blackarachnia and Silverbolt - she had her chance to get out and be happy, why SHOULDN'T she take it? I have SOME form of independent thought, unlike Inferno, for all I'm easily manipulated. And I do have some respect for life, so I'm no Rampage.
I...I considered asking the Maximals if I could have joined them. But they would have laughed. And I'm tired of being laughed at. Who'd want a malfunctioning bug on their team?
I just hope, live or die, I'm not judged for my defects, or my stupidity, or the faction I was born into. Maybe - and it's a slim hope - maybe you'll get this, and you'll see who Waspinator really was, is, and always will be.
End transmission.
Who are you?
Have you ever said "I hate my life?"
I do - all the time. It's hard NOT to bear a grudge against existence when you've single-handedly discovered four million different ways of suffering grevious bodily harm that were previously unknown to science.
You don't recognise me, do you? What if Wazzpinator talk like thizz?
The wonders of interstellar communication...You can't tell what an idiot I sound like.
I know. You automatically assumed that because I can't speak properly - and it IS can't, not WON'T - I must be stupid too. Sometimes I wish I was. If I was stupid, I wouldn't know I was getting used as cannon fodder. If I was stupid, I wouldn't be aware of the goings on at this base that might get me killed. If I was stupid, I wouldn't be ON this Primus-forsaken planet in the first place. You know what they say, "Ignorance is bliss."
But I'm not stupid. I'm not going to win the Cybertronian award for genius anytime soon, true, but...
My problem is my speech impediment. It's something I came online with. We're not all perfect, we Transformers. Computers can have glitches in the system, so can we. Organics are never perfect either. My flaw...if I remember correctly, there's a short circuit between my core processor and my voice synthesizer. So no matter what form I take - I've been a small aircraft, a mammal called a Marazoa from Hacernon (quadraped, wings capable of flying short distances only, long slender face and a forked tail), and my current form, a wasp...there's been about seven forms in total - there's some kind of abnormality in the way I talk.
The speech in this form is by far the most annoying.
Yes, the Cybertronian medics ARE geniuses, and no, we Transformers don't have the vast and varied amount of chemical reactions sustaining our lives as organics do, but it's not quite as simple to patch up our circuitry as you might think. Faults present when a spark first boots up are always more difficult to mend than those acquired during battle. And let's face it - medics have better things to do than correct a harmless flaw. Cybertronians venture all over the galaxy, get into all sorts of fights, catch all sorts of viruses (yes, there are other technological lifeforms in the galaxy that we can catch any number of maladies from) and are in constant need of medics. Your average doctor is stressed beyond belief, gets around four hours recharge a night before he (or she) is called out to an emergency and quite honestly has no time for any cases less than critical. There are the "elites," of course - surgeons from more privelaged backgrounds that will work for the highest bidder - but I never had the credits to hire one. Moreover, I felt there was something not quite right about that particular system. Something mercenary about it.
Great Primus, I hear you cry, a Predacon with meaningless scruples.
There IS a class system on Cybertron, though it's not particularly formal. Where there's currency, there are the rich. I'm not particularly bothered about whether having credits to burn is morally wrong, but I did have a problem with those surgeons. There were never enough regular medics to cope - why didn't they put their skills to better use?
Still... It would have been nice to speak normally. Not important, but nice. As an aircraft, I had a choked voice and a tendency to sputter. As a Marazoa, I stammered in a high pitched voice (worse than Terrorsaur, if you can imagine that). Now I speak in third person with a manner of pronouncing words that hurts even my ears.
I'm not like a wasp. I like to sit and watch the world go by. I like pretty things, and nice music, and peace. Wasps are nasty creatures. Whatever you say about me...I'm not malicious.
I can't help but feel conned into being here...Megatron talked me around into joining his crew. He was the superior officer on our outpost at Hacernon. Oh, he's eloquent all right...he may be a psychopath, but he's a silver tongued devil. Went on about how oppressed the Predacons were (I have to admit, I hadn't really noticed - or cared.), about liberation, about glory - and I fell for it.
Let that be a lesson to you, if you want to avoid ending up like me. Think for yourself, and don't be led around like sheep by your "superiors."
But...well... there's something else that resulted in my being here, in my falling for Megatron's "vision". There's another problem with me. A psychological one.
Something no-one can fix.
Transformers change shape all the time, you know that much. We change abilities, shapes, sometimes voices...and names. We're able to cope with this constant metamorphosis because we evolved to do so. Names mean very little to Cybertronians - an odd concept for you humans, for whom your name is WHO you are. If someone took away your name, you'd be lost. You have odd names too - they never said much about you, unless you looked up a meaning. They just sounded pretty, and over time your name became associated with YOU.
It's the other way around for us. When we change drastically, so do our names.
And I couldn't cope.
The result was scrambled identity circuits, a nervous nature, and "blank outs." Those moments I just freeze in battle, when it's a REALLY bad time to do so? I'm not being dumb, (well, sometimes I am, but...) I literally cannot think. I'm only shocked back to my senses when something travelling at abnormally high speeds collides with my head (which, come to think of it, appears in a matter of seconds.).
I don't think of myself as Waspinator. For some reason, my identity problem worsened my speech defect. I speak as if I'm reassuring myself of who I am - hence the third person. I am, and always will be, Sarojax. Sadly, circumstance takes no notice of my own views, and changes me regardless.
So I'm stuck. Everyone thinks I'm stupid, when really I only see the world in a different light. I'm locked in my own head, with none of the benefits of being an idiot.
But I'm not evil. I'm not insane or calculating or power mad or treacherous. I didn't tell Megatron about Blackarachnia and Silverbolt - she had her chance to get out and be happy, why SHOULDN'T she take it? I have SOME form of independent thought, unlike Inferno, for all I'm easily manipulated. And I do have some respect for life, so I'm no Rampage.
I...I considered asking the Maximals if I could have joined them. But they would have laughed. And I'm tired of being laughed at. Who'd want a malfunctioning bug on their team?
I just hope, live or die, I'm not judged for my defects, or my stupidity, or the faction I was born into. Maybe - and it's a slim hope - maybe you'll get this, and you'll see who Waspinator really was, is, and always will be.
End transmission.