I'm sorry to those that are waiting for the next chapter of Turned Upside Down, but I'm in a stump with that story. (big surprise there) Plus this story has bee stuck in my head for some time. It's sorta a background look to one of my new OCs that I'm creating. There's going to be more chapters, but I won't really upload them unless people are interested in this. So yeah, enjoy I suppose. Note that this takes place before the Great War started, or at least before it reached Praxus.
Time measurements used:
Vorns: 83 years
Meta-cycle: 13 months
Astrosecond: 0.498 seconds
Breem: 8.3 minutes
Two vorns. He'd been in this too small of a cell for two vorns. It was a wonder how he was still sane. Night had fallen over the prison located on the outskirts of Praxus, though it was sometimes difficult to get a decent recharge when you could hear the distant shots of those that had long lost their processors while being confined to this slagging pit. But he'd been here long enough to ignore it, for the most part. He often would stare at the eerie glow that came off of the energy bars that kept him from leaving the small cell, like he did now. It was strangely calming, the quiet hum that seemed to almost drown out the noises from the insane mechs here. He turned to stare up at the metal ceiling, only vaguely registering the mech in the neighboring cell clanking around noisily.
Obviously it was a rare occasion for silence here.
Most transformers never fully understand what being locked up did to one's processor. You start to hallucinate; see things that aren't really there, hear whispers that don't exist. Like a constant nightmare.
He hated this place with a strong passion. He absolutely loathed every part of its foundation, and the ones that built it.
Sometimes there was someone who'd be taken here who had been falsely accused, or framed for an act they had no part in. Did that happen to him? The answer to that was both yes and no.
The first time had been a complete accident. It happened about a meta-cycle before he was condemned to rot away here. He had simply been walking down the streets of Nova Cronum after he finished his shift at preparing to construct a new building, its design so complex that he would often need to double check everything to make sure the building wouldn't fall apart once it was done.
He was looking over a data pad that held a list of items their team would need to get the job started when he had been hit by a faded blue hover-car in the side, which quickly transformed to a stumbling mech. Though warnings started to appear on his screen, he was able to make out that the mech must've had one too many high grade, for his optics were glazed over. What made this drunken fool mad, he wasn't sure, and didn't have time to think about it when the mech charged at him. He was in no way skilled at fighting and fled down an alley with the mech close on his heels.
He wasn't entirely sure what was thrown at him, but the next astrosecond the mech had him pinned down to the ground and hitting him repeatedly in the back. He had become desperate; he needed a way to escape. An object caught his attention that he grabbed, noting with relief to see it was a large pipe. It wasn't the best weapon, but he didn't feel too picky.
He swung it behind him at the mech and felt the weight removed from his back, quickly standing up to see his attacker holding a shattered optic. That was the last thing his processor registered before he hit him again, and again, and again; over and over until his optics dimmed, and the color faded from his armor. His processor was blank for practically a breem until he realized what he did, and dropped his weapon to look at his energon-covered hands. He didn't know what shocked him more at that instant: That he actually killed a mech, or that he felt no regret for what he had done.
It had been the start of a new obsession for him. He stopped caring about work, and made it a top priority to train and be stronger. Even lying here, he could remember the sound of his weapon making contact with metal, the pained-filled screams from his victims, and the enchanting color of energon that would paint the walls.
He still wasn't sure how he was found out, but one day his home had been infiltrated by armed transformers and put stasis cuffs on his wrists. His sentence for the seven lives he had taken was eighteen vorns in prison, and found himself ungracefully tossed into this very cell.
He rolled over with a sigh. Those memories then brought up a question that's plagued his processor. 'If I could go back in time, would I have made the same mistake?' Time and time again he asked himself this, always pointed out how his life would be different if he hadn't succumbed to that burning desire to shed innocent energon.
Lethargy forced his optics to offline and his systems to shut down one by one.
No matter how many times he thought of that question, no matter how many times he imagined his life differently, the answer was always the same.
'Yes, I would'
And every time he came to this decision, he hated himself that much more.