Title: Imperfections
Rating: T for violence and transformer language.
Note: This is an idea I've been tossing around for a while. It's about time I gave my other favorite Decepticon, Barricade, some spotlight time now that I've written Blackout's story. Also, my sincerest apologies for the really short prologue.
Lastly, I own nothing.
...xXx...
Prologue:
...xXx...
Months had passed since Megatron's fall. By now, time was measured only by the periods of light that followed periods of dark. He had lost count of the days as he wandered the streets of an unnamed city, his chronometer informing him with indifferent accuracy that this much time had passed long after the numbers ceased to mean anything. What had gone wrong? Megatron should not have fallen. The Autobots were outnumbered, Megatron was more powerful than Prime, the Decepticons had even arrived on this world first. How had they failed? Why had they failed?
Because the Autobots have something worth fighting for, the voice was soft, sleepy, distant. It was a voice he had thought would never trouble him again. And yet it stirred, here, now, in the wake of a battle where everything had been lost. Because they have something they would die for...I'm so sorry, Jazz...
The organic fleshbags watched him warily as he rolled by on their filthy streets. They feared him. Fear, authority, power, it was why he had chosen this form. Little good it did him now, but the small sense of familiarity managed to ease the burden weighing on his spark.
That's not the only reason why you chose this form, said the voice, still soft but somehow closer. You changed the words. You wrote 'To punish and enslave.' But at one time, you would not have changed a letter.
It was dark now, and he sped across an open, almost deserted stretch of highway with low, grassy hills illuminated by the moon and stars. Another unnamed city would be somewhere ahead. There was always another city. But it wasn't what he wanted to find.
'What do I want to find?'
Home? offered the voice. You had a home once. Don't you remember? Images flashed across his mind. Cybertron, a ship, faces, friends, partners, brothers. The visions glowed right behind his optics, and yet they felt so far away. How many vorns ago had he seen these things, or were they some trick concocted by the persistent, traitorous voice in his head? No trick. I don't need tricks to remind you of what you have forgotten, of who you have forgotten.
'Not my friends.'
Not your friends? asked the voice. There was a hint of dark amusement in its tone. Are these your friends then? More images appeared, this time of Shockwave and Megatron standing over him. He was strapped to a table as they did something to him...changed him. He saw himself screaming. You would fight for them, but only because they hold your puppet strings. This is not where you belong.
Belong. Where did he belong? Not here. Not on this world. Not with Megatron. He had known this for some time. He had even fled the battle for the Allspark because he knew that something about this whole thing just was not right. He wasn't supposed to be here doing these things. It was made clearest when, as he pursued the Autobots, the voice he had long since thought dead spoke to him once again. He had tried to suppress it, but he found that he could not. It was a part of him, a lost part, an old part.
Lost but not gone...
He knew that if he admitted the presence of the voice, he would be killed. But, then again, there was no one left to risk admitting it to. His infiltration programming might not have been as sophisticated as Soundwave's, but he had gathered more than enough information. Starscream had fled at the first opportunity, and Megatron, Devastator, Blackout, Bonecrusher, Scorpinok, and Frenzy had all been ripped apart and had their corpses thrown into the oceans, sunk down into a place called the Abyss, a place he could not reach. He was alone on this world. There was no reason for him to be here.
If there really was no reason, then you would be long gone by now, said the voice. You would be back on Cybertron fighting for power rather than driving around in circles and scaring up the local petty criminals. You know that there is something here for you. You just refuse to acknowledge it.
'And what use would acknowledging it be? Why would I care?'
Because, whether or not you want to admit it, you still want to come home, said the voice.
Home...home...
There were more images, more faces, more feelings. Home. He had thought that he had forgotten it.
You did forget it, said the voice. But I didn't. I could never forget. They're all right there. They're all waiting.
The images were beginning to cloud his mind.
'Not my home. No.'
This wasn't right. And yet...
He made a sharp U-turn and began speeding back the way he had come. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew that it wasn't to the east. No. He was looking for something he had run away from, something he had left behind. His spark seemed to grow warm as he finally gave in to its guidance.
I should remember to thank Bumblebee, said the voice. Even as it spoke, it grew stronger, closer. If he hadn't fried your circuits in that electrical generator,you might never have remembered that I am not dead. You might never have remembered what you are, who you are supposed to be.
Barricade saw the lights of Mission City glowing ahead, beaconing him onward.
Autobot Prowl.
..xXx...
Vorn: Cybertronian unit of time, roughly 83 years.
