Chapter One: The Solitary Sciences
Cybertronian labs were a quite eventful place to be set to work. As many things as there were to do, analyze, create, tweak, and finalize, there wasn't a spark around to talk to. Not that Shockwave needed any help with his work. All his orders were perfectly clear from Megatron, and despite the faith placed in him to carry out these orders flawlessly, as he could, the purple con grew tired of the incessant commands shouted heartlessly at him with no rewards or even recognition for completing entire projects single handed that any other con would take eons to finish. Shockwave, not one to complain and quite used to the estranged treatment, never sought out attention or affection. Nobody had ever quite cared for him or asked how he was feeling for any reason whatsoever.
It was only recently, however, that he ceased to receive any treatment at all, good or bad. Despite any treatment that could be considered anything above polite, Megatron at least used to reprimand him when he did not do his job. Now he received nothing more than a grunt when the scientist failed at his task. He had tried going above the requirements and reaching for the stars, so to speak, in an attempt to gain even a sliver of attention from his leader, whom he had strongly believed in and even admired for his prosperity and leadership skills, and how he had once made every bot feel useful and of some value, but he had since realized that the crushing reality was that the Decepticon's leader was cold and cruel to his own bots, not just on the battlefield, and had grown to act against their own cause without regret or reason.
It was then that his work began to falter. He had always loved what he did, and his love for science hadn't budged a bit, but without a cause to lend his dark contraptions to work towards, his motivation ebbed. At first failure was in no way a plea for someone to notice everything that he contributed nor a hope to draw attention to the lack of work the others attended to, but when he did not receive any further tasks as he gave up his passion, taking instead to carving nicks in his own armor, he grew concerned. Not for his previously endeared Megatron, but for the rest of the high command of Decepticons under the direct supervision of their leader.
Perhaps all of this was why he had hesitated when he received a communication of the highest priority several megacycles later summoning him. Awakened from stasis by a blip on his HUD, he jerked his helm and his limbs spasmed from entering recharge in such an odd position, hunched over an active panel. He had only been incapacitated for several decacycles, Shockwave noted to himself based on the state of the specimen in front of him. What seemed like eons alone pushed the con to do something, so he strove to meaninglessly reactivate some of his old personal experiments from his Academy days, back when Cybertron was flourishing with life. Merely to kill his boredom and also with nobody to dismay, they tended to be rather crude in both technique and content, ranging from simple surgical procedures to malintent done simply from curiosity of a circuit that was taboo or never encountered before in his field or simple not done in society. Clearly, being considered socially or morally acceptable couldn't stop his processes, as this was off the record anyways. Not that Megatron would have minded, Shockwave had thought to himself, as he had heard not a word in forever.
That seemed to change that cycle, however. Upon stretching his digits and completing a quick systems check, he abandoned his lifeless, cut open Scraplet sprawled on his poorly constructed operating table, the opened the file. An unamused chuckle escaped his voice box upon seeing an intelligence officer had composed and sent the file.
"Megatron couldn't even be bothered to contact me himself, I presume." He hissed sarcastically. One might think his voice crackly from disuse, but being alone for so long, he had taken to talking to himself. Sure he could play back data files of his old comrades, but he was a con of logic. They were dead now anyways, fallen long ago on the battlefield. Besides, the thought that they had all died for the Megatron who now seemed to lead a corrupt army for a withered cause made his tanks churn.
The message was brief and concise. "Shockwave. The Decepticons have found refuge on an energon rich planet, Earth. You are to come to immediately. Coordinates are imbedded."
Shockwave wasn't going to ignore the fact that he had practically been abandoned among other things, but no matter how hard he tried to convince himself not to respond, his spark ached for some companionship and he craved answers despite claiming not to care. He was a scientist to the core and curiosity plagued him like a disease. In addition, he had no other options, and if his physical and mental conditions were anything to go by, he could use a bit of change. Anything could be better than this boredom. Shockwave would give his left servo to even be an Autobot captive or to be stricken for his disloyalty to the Decepticon order, to the Pit with sounding an undesirable situation. The experiments were great, to conduct science without supervision, but it was all empty, soulless work. He was still passionate for the cause, no matter how little of it probably stood tall on this Earth planet. At the very least he could respect that.
He gathered his necessary supplies and useful inventions, stored his lab equipment and awry experiments in his personal storage, and booted up a spacebridge. He'd be fragged if he hadn't repaired at least one in all this time. He may have been useless, but he wasn't stupid or without emergency measures. Inputting the coordinated, he transformed briskly and headed to Earth, displacing thoughts of doom and demise and thinking only of how nice it must be compared to his now previous solace.