Hyia! This is actually a revised version of an story that I had to do for my CP English 9 class. It was originally about a made-up part centering around the parachuter in the book "Lord of the Flies." We had to read it sooooo, yeah here it is! Try to guess who is in the story….This is un-betaed (Is that even a word?)
By the way, if you want the original story, I will be happy to DocX Message it to you….
This is rated T because of character deaths…Tissues may be needed.
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or anything else for that matter…if I did there would be more screen time for the poor 'Bots.
Time Units via Transwiki:
Solarcycle: 1 day
Astrosecond: .498 seconds
Breem: 8.3 seconds
Decacycle: 10 days
Groon: 1 hour
Joor: 6 hours
Klik: 1.2 minutes
Megacycle: 2.6 hours
Nano-cycle: 1 second
Orn: 1 day
Stellarcycle: 1 year
Vorn: 83 years
Cycle: 1 week
Italicized text denotes flashbacks.
'Bond Speak'
o0o0o0o0o
It was dark and cold. The last thing that he remembered was fighting those pernicious 'Cons, more so Megatron their leader, who he had been fighting in the human place named Mission City; then…nothing.
He wished he could move, but it was so onerous just thinking about it, and he was weary. He wanted to move so badly, to feel something, anything other than the cold; or to see something other than the tenebrous dark.
No. Recharge that is what he wanted, to recharge, to drift away into the darkness, to recha-NO! Move, feel, move, move, move, feel, feel, SOMETHING! He wanted to cry out as well, but he was unable to divulge in even that small mercy.
Straining, he put all his willpower and the last wisps of his faltering strength into moving his littlest digit. Almost…..almost….almost… There! He did it; he moved! If he had been able to move and smile, he would have out shone the humans sun-star thingie itself. He was not willing to stop for a break, lest he lose the determination to move and let himself be lost in the darkness; so he continued on in his self-proclaimed mission.
After what could have been five minutes or an eternity, there was no sense of time wherever he was, he had freed his right servo up to where it connected to his arm, what humans called a "wrist" and his right stabilizing servo up to where it connected to his hip. The rest of his frame was still unresponsive.
It was an unnatural feeling. He could feel the cold creeping through his systems, but in a sense, he couldn't feel anything. Even the parts of him that he could move he couldn't feel, so to process. More like an ethereal sense of knowing that he could move those parts of himself.
Internally grunting with the effort, he moved his working stabilizing servo towards his still frozen one. The purpose was to see, well feel, if he was actually solid, not just a figment of his over-imaginative processor or himself trapped within his own processor while his outside frame was stuck in stasis.
His stabilizing servo curled down and sideways, toward its unresponsive twin. Nothing. Desperately, he moved it around, trying to feel his other stabilizing servo. There was nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing; he was surrounded by nothing, he was nothing; nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, and nothing. Not even there, not ever there.
His left servo clenched and unclenched uselessly. Clenched and unclenched, clenched and unclenched, clenched and un-what was that?
Slowly he wriggled his pede. There, he just might be feeling his other stabilizing servo, but it was hard to tell because of the fact that he had no actual sense of feeling.
He paused. Something was creeping its way up both of his un-paralyzed limbs. Starting at the very tips of his digits and pedes and working its way up; it was like a case of the human "pins-and-needles," but this was slightly more than then just "uncomfortable." At least that is what he thought that he could compare it to, based on what he had read on the internet about the descriptions of various humans on the subject. He still didn't understand why the feeling was called "pins and needles" if no pins or needles were being used when the feeling came. They were a very interesting race, he had come to find.
The prickly sensation was rapidly approaching where his working limbs were attached to their un-working counterparts, but it didn't stop. The needles pricked their way through his frame. The feeling, while it was nice to actually feel anything, was becoming extremely uncomfortable, borderline pain. The prickles of painful daggers had now consumed his entire frame and were sweeping through it, throbbing, pulsing to an erratic beat, uneven and rippling torrents of pain. As the beat grew in tempo, like the human music that he had grown to favor (much to his comrades dismay), the pain grew also. He almost wished that he did not even try to move in the first place. But that was him, determined and painfully stubborn. It was the reason that he was the head of Special Ops.
The agonizing waves wracked his prone frame. He wanted to cry out or curl up into a ball or at least move what parts of him that he had freed, but he found himself immobile once again. All at once the feeling intensified. He was breaking into a million pieces, shattering like what the humans called "glass." This is the end, he knew, not whatever had happened before this. He wanted to offline already, just if only to escape the torturous pain.
He exploded.
His optic covers opened. A blue sky with storm clouds on the horizon is what greeted him. Not Primus, the Cybertronian God; not the rumored horrors of the Pit. A blue sky with clouds; which something that was entirely too normal for this most defiantly not normal situation and what he was last expecting. What was going on?
He sat up; his frame felt normal. At least as normal as it could with the faint, sickly prickles crawling underneath his silver armor. Still, he rolled his shoulders and reveled in the feeling of movement and something other than the cold.
He glanced down. His frame glanced back up at him. He was a short mech, but his new altmode of a human vehicle called a Pontiac Solstice GXP had made him slightly taller. Not by much though, he was still shorter than his bond mate.
His bondmate…oh how he missed his mate! He missed how he only let his emotions loose when he was around, and how he never missed a chance to tell him how much he loved him and their-now grown-sparkling. He hasn't seen him for
He was on a hill; one that overlooked a human city, he wasn't sure which one because his internal GPS was out, as were all of his other systems, such as his weapons and comm. link. Being without of any of his defense systems and such working made him feel like he was in his protoform in Decepticon territory. Hopefully he was not now in enemy though because the only place that they would help him to was either their brig and certain offlinement, or worse, torturing before Primus finally took him.
The saboteur stood, then froze. If he was on Earth and he last remembers fighting Megatron in Mission City, then how had he gotton here?
He spun around. Maybe he had been in his landing pod but-what was that? It was then that a lingering stench of spilled energon and burnt metal registered within his olfactory sensors and with his processor. It was coming from in front of him, from that thing. What was it? The silver saboteur had seen much carnage in his throughout his life cycle, it was hard not to when in war, from burnt out frames of innocent sparklings, to adults with circuitry spilling out, to lovers in their last bitter embrace; but this was unlike anything he had ever seen before though. The frame was kinda' short and lithe, much like himself, and he was completely torn in half.
Morbid curiosity overtook him; he sought out the faceplates, to see if he recognized the poor mech, and then began to back up in horror and shock.
The silver frame. The dark visor. That thing was him.
Him, the mech that was second in command to Optimus Prime himself, who was head of Special Ops, who had a black and white bond mate who was third in command under the same mech! There was no way that it was him! But even as he thought this to himself, he could in every way how it was.
There was the one scar from that time when his visor was ripped clean off by Starscream. That hadn't been fun at all. And there was the one from when he had found out that his mate was carrying a spark. That had been embarrassing.
o0o0o0o0o
"Anything that you want to add Ironhide?" Their great leader, Optimus Prime, asked. They were in the nearing the end of a meeting concerning the recent Decepticon attacks and a raid that they were going to be executing the next solarcycle.
The mech that he was addressing, Ironhide, jerked himself up from where he has his helm propped up on his servo with a snort. "No Prime. Though I do want to know who is going to be coming on the raid. I know that I will be coming, because my cannons need the exercise, but I haven't heard who else is coming."
He snorted. He knew that wasn't true, along with every other Cybertronian in the room, judging by the various other ill-concealed snorts and guffaws around him.
Ironhide just glared. With his facemask down to hide his smile, though the mask down was a give-away, he replied, "Yes, Ironhide you are on the list to go, as are Jazz, Mirage, Prowl, Bumblebee, Hound, Ratchet, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and myself. Is that satisfactory?" He looked around at the gathered mechs, looking all on the ones that he had named in the optics, his own included, as if he could see into their sparks and tell if there was any hesitation or unwillingness about the upcoming raid.
He found none. All of the Autobots were loyal to the cause, and they would do anything, even give their own spark if it came down to it. This was why they were Autobots, because they cared and would do anything for any of their comrades, even if they seemed callous, like Ironhide towards 'Sunny and 'Sides.
Ironhide did care for them, somewhere deep, deep, deep down in his spark. At least he hoped that he cared for them; if he didn't then the twins were in deep trouble the next time they played a prank on him. As long as they didn't give away the fact that he himself had probably played a part in the prank then he was fine with them.
"So if none of you have a problem with that then we all need to meet at the South entrance of the base battle ready," He looked at the twins, "And no, that does not mean ready to practice your 'Jet Judo' on the flying members of the 'Cons, should we need to fight. It means that you should be ready in case there is a fight. This is a mostly stealth mission."
I looked at him incredulously, "Then why are dey even comin'? Everybot knows dat dey can't stay quiet ta save their life cycle, ya kno' das ah'm right!"
The twins, who had looked downcast upon hearing that they couldn't do their Jet Judo, immediately looked up in indignation and protested, "No we can to stay quiet! How else do you think that we were able to sneak into both Ironhides and Ratchets highgrade stash?"
That not-so-bright comment had come from the silver Sideswipe. Sometimes he made Jazz wonder, because while he was smart when it came to pranks, he was 'not the brightest bot in the bunch' the rest of the time.
Prowl interrupted before a riot could break out, "As it may be, you need to have level heads for tomorrows raid. Twins, when you get back you will be doing time in the brig." Ironhide and Ratchet still looked pissed off but that seemed to calm them down. For now at least. He looked at the two gloating mechs, "And you two will be on monitor duty for having a cache of no doubt illegal high grade."
As the two spluttered the rest of us sniggered.
"You said 'you' Prowl, as in us and not you going on the raid. Did you not hear me when I said that you will be coming?" Prime interrupted us as we continued to enjoy ourselves at the misfortune of our two comrades.
I stopped short. Poking Prowl over our bond, I tried to see if what he said was an honest mistake or he had a motive for it. My Prowler was never wrong in his sentence structure though. Never ever ever!
He carefully blocked his side of the bond, "No, Prime I heard you correctly, but I am removing myself from the raiding party because it is too dangerous for me to go in my current…condition."
The room immediately erupted in chaos. Red Alert began to spew out conspiracy theories about him being a 'Con and fritzed. The rest either thought that he thought he was too good to be in the raiding party or that he had a virus. He even heard a stray comment on how the new spark would be in danger if the Decepticons found out about it.
He probed even harder at the barrier, frantic to see what was wrong with him. 'Don't fret, I am fine.' The words trickled through the bond along with a feeling of excitement, love, and fondness before it was softly but firmly shut. Ratchet scanned him before laughing. Not a snicker, not even a giggle but full out laughing! My Prowlie could be dying and he was laughing about it! The circuitry of that mech! Maybe he really was a 'Con in disguise…
The room went deadly quiet. They only sound was of Ratchet still hysterically laughing, now on his hands and knees, and of his cooling systems kicking on to try and cool his overheating insides.
"Ratchet?" Prime was almost afraid to ask. Almost.
"Congrats Jazz," He ignored Prime, "You're going to be a sire."
Kudos flowed in from all sides, but he paid them no attention. Prowl was sparked. He was going to be a sire. A sire. Prowl sparked. He was going to be a sire of Prowls and his ne…He fell over, smoke pouring out of his helm.
"That went better than I expected it too." Prowl mused.
Later Jazz had found out that when he had glitched he had his left audio horn had hit the table and floor, causing it to crack. Ouch. Ratchet was in a good mood though because of the new spark so he got extra pain nanobots.
The little spark was born not long later, and he was named Bluestreak.
o0o0o0o0o
He wanted to purge, but nothing would come from his churning tanks. Impossible. He was looking at himself but he was also himself. Two places at once. He was…what? Offline? Online? That torn thing? The one who wanted nothing but to purge? Which one…or all but alive? Slowly the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle came together. That thing was him, his solid body, but the one whose optics he was seeing out of was his specter, a ghost. He was offline. This was confusing. If he was offline then why could he feel now? The confusion, pain, anger, sadness; they were overwhelming him. He might be in a Cybertronian shape but he himself was not Cybertronian.
All at once he was furious. He struck out at an unsuspecting boulder, but his silver pede went straight through it. Why here? There was nothing here on this overlook that he needed, he had never seen it before. So why was he still here? Was this his own personal Pit? The Pit that he would have expected was screaming and writhing in agony for the rest of eternity. Not this grassy overlook.
He wanted to be home, wanted to be home with his Prowler and his youngling. He did not want to be on this overlook at all. Even if he was online he could not even have that. His mate and youngling were both back on Cybertron.
He offlined. He remembered now, he was torn in half by Megatron. His family were both probably in the most extreme of pain from the spark shock. Primus, he should've been stronger, have fought back harder; maybe then he wouldn't have offlined. Not the heroic offlinement that he had always envisioned; no, this was so much more gruesome, so real.
The sky darkened, no stars in sight as the clouds overtook the sky; rain was certain. There was a multitude of lights from the city. The wind blew harshly but it did not affect him. Urgency growing by the astrosecond, he reached out and touched the cadaver. As soon as his digits brushed against the worn metal, things began to slow down and speed up, both at once. The wind blew fiercely. The sky began to cry, sobbing in torrents.
He backed up with a whispery sigh that was lost within the winds and turned around.
A black and white mech clasped his left servo, while a blue youngling was holding his right; their armor visible in the near dark of the storm. A pure figure, a mech of light was beckoning them towards him. They were leading him away from his inert frame, away from the distant city.
With a burst of warmth and light, they knew no more.
o0o0o0o0o
Told you that you might need tissues! Believe me now? This used to be eleven pages, but it is now a whole whopping sixteen! That's a lot! For me anyway…Drop a review on your way out, and check out my other story, as well as my poll!
Posted: 4-20-12
*~Till all are one~* TransFanFreak101