Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)

A/N - You can now see Prisma on my DeviantART account displayed on my FF profile page. c:

~Enjoy

Ch. 10 'Nuke'

Tarn - Decepticon Base

Even as she boarded the drop ship the sky was this distant and a murky shade of gray, the sounds of panic wailed into the air and pillars of blackened smoke were nothing but the signs of catastrophe as fire melted everything that'd earlier collapsed. Shockwave had departed from Tarn after the fourth bomb, also the instant any of his personal and important research had been transported out of the city as well. Yet she was told to remain in her position, ordered, actually. To wipe the mainframe, clear every console and throw anything worth it into the surrounding conflagration.

Done. Finished without a molecule of evidence left in her wake. She made sure of it. But as consequence, and Shockwave had known this, she and her team were the last to leave. Left with a meager drop ship, barely capable of speed.

The hatch closed behind the jet and her belongings, a small window providing enough of a visual feed. Her wings set themselves flat against her back, the purple lines of light that adorned her body dimming with pretense.

The ground ruptured as their base, seeming a million miles below the actual surface of Tarn, began to fall into itself by the walls. The balconies, that'd reminded her so much of the ones she'd spent her days learning on with Soundwave, crumbled and cascaded further to the final floors of Cybertron. Beacon watched the larger pieces catch into the loose wires, that the lower regions left unmaintained, and several smashed into the endless herd of civilians below. Their factions were unknown, but at this point she assumed that they shared her symbol of deception.

Bodies fell from higher levels of ground, some having been shoved, many stumbling due to the quakes of rocking planet, others attempting to flee by transforming and flying out of the lower levels; the pressure of going so fast and so high crushing their frames entirely.

Beacon sobbed out of her vocals, digits curling around the few possessions she could find and optics flickering in abhorrence. The jet stumbled as another missile set itself to the East, the wave of its collision into Tarn nearly snapping their struggling drop ship in half. She thanked Primus it hadn't, her intake manifolds tightening with the anxious pains of fear.

She rushed to the ship's communicator, nodding to Sailrip as he continued pulling the damn thing upward.

She stumbled with the communication board, keypad barely able to read the press of her finger components. Sailrip turned, glancing at his two other passengers before slamming a fisted servo into the wall out of pent-up rage and the realization that they were done for.

"Laserbeac, Haul, brace yourselves...we've got a wide-range phroton missile on the radar. Stasis beam cleared out any Decepticon defense and its headed towards this quadrant." The coarse bite of his vocals was not a comforting tone, not in the least. Certainly not a voice she'd wanted to explain her demise. He rubbed the tan of his paint off a bit; the old color was dulling and chipping, mostly due to the heat that'd burned its edges black.

"So this is it?" She muttered, glancing upwards out the window. Even if they had a chance to make it to the surface level, there'd be no way to make it out of Tarn in time. Passed its walls...out of range.

"We can call for a space bridge?" Haul set himself on the floor, one arm ripped from his chassis and set idle in his lap.

"No, we're nowhere near the required elevation. The vortex would snap immediately due to low altitude." Beacon brittled it out, understandably distraught.

"Need to make a call?" Sail tapped the comm, screen prehistoric as it fuzzed with a signal.

"Do you?" She frowned.

"Pilot offlined inside...No one else I'd call." Her frown deepened. An explanation as to why his entire chassis was covered in energon.

"Sorry..." A dense air of quite, the only sound being the bellowing thrusters of their little drop ship and the panicked wails of the dying. She hadn't known the two were bonded, though it did explain their relationship. "...for your loss, I mean."

Still terrible with apologies. But Pilot had been her companion as well.

"Haul?" He chuckled, waving his dismantled arm out with his good one as if to dismiss the comment.

"Offlined at the start of this fragging mess." The war, he meant. She recalled his tragic story. Everbot had one.

"S-...sorry." She mumbled, and tapped at the metal bars of her forearms. "We're missing Frisk, Suntracer and Classic."

She continued to mumble.

"Would it fragging matter?" Haul tossed his arm to the side, leaning back and watching the endless shadows pass row by row as they ascended further out of the ground. A metallic chuckle left his vocals, and he seemed to daze off.

"Don't you have a call to make, Beac?" Sailrip punched another wall, processor aching with regret. Pilot didn't deserve that. None of them did.

It was all usual, all familiar as spindly digits hit every key with precision, the monitor expelling a faded purple of light. But he was not content, nor curious, nor annoyed. Even as an emergency transmission reached his personal systems he did not panic, instead answered it and watched the visual feed as she came into view.

Two vorns. Two vorns without communication and somehow it made coping to his current lifestyle so much harder. She hadn't changed, not physically, appearing as though they'd just spoken yesterday.

-Soundwave...- He noticed the multiple lacerations and scorch marks from blasters crawling up her arm panels and adorning her downturned wings. Some of her was charred, the glow of her lights prominent in the dim and continuously moving lighting. A bit of dried energon caked itself over her plates, and he could see another wounded mech sitting in the back, glancing hesitantly at the comm.

"I've missed you." A warm expression on her faceplate, leaving him without any significant response. His visor reflected the light of the screen, a glow of that consistent intimidation she'd always been fond of reminding her of their time during the newly titled 'golden age'. The jet had lost her wits for a moment, sharpened finger components curling into the broken remains of a keypad as the loud vibrations of something detrimental echoed.

"Incoming!" A voice from behind her, cracking as a wave of pressure knocked them back and forth in their small shuttle. Prisma stumbled a bit, taking hold on the control panel before tensing against the aftershock of a previously landed bomb. The nuke was minutes away.

"I've already sent you the prints and structural information for everything. Including the Vehicons both flyers and grounders." She smiled, an action he'd never taken advantage of even when he was physically capable. She was speaking quick nonsense, a simple space bridge could see her dilemma. "Shockwave has them memorized, but I still want them provided to another engineer in case of-"

"-Space bridge: Optional. Request: Unnecessary. " He turned to leave, his intentions oddly set on sending a bridge and meeting her halfway.

"No, very necessary. We're nowhere near the surface. The lack of altitude will cause the vortex to snap. So...stay here..." She managed an ironic chuckle. Her servo touched the screen, a seemingly meaningless action until he slowly raised his own to mimic the gesture. Out of sympathy, perhaps. He did not care for her anymore, she recalled. He did not feel. He was no longer a he...he was an it. And that stung her delight in seeing him, because for so long he had been her only worthwhile companion and since she'd begun to learn he'd been beside her assisting. Since her creators had hired him to come to the Towers and since she'd met him in the Iacon hall...all of these memories stung...a chaste and faulty feel of coarse wires pulling at her spark.

He had been there when the towers in Iacon fell and he'd been there when all of her siblings were reported offlined due to raids. He'd been there for every promotion, every achievement and yet, now, none of that meant a damn thing.

She vented, digits curling into the metal of her palms. A regretful form of anxiety she supposed.

"Do you remember when we met? I would always read out loud in the record hall?" He nodded, watching as her grin widened at the memory and her bleary optics narrowed at the crushed keypad of her monitor as she spoke.

"I always read aloud because...I thought you couldn't read at all." A faint chucked slowly turned into a full laugh. The fact that she used her servo to cover it caused a mild tweak of abnormal annoyance. She looked afraid; terrified in such a cornered situation even with the company behind her. The mech behind passed out, offlining momentarily from the significant loss of energon. Small cracks began spreading through the windows behind her, the bolts shaking in the walls as the pressure grew tight and heavy around them. Their elevation was increasing, they were nearly to the surface.

He ignored her environment and nodded a second time, setting his servo against the glass of the monitor again, firm. She did the same, their connections illogical and far yet still in tact. He wouldn't allow her to risk dying alone, because in all reality, despite having his emotional circuits removed, what was left of him, anything normal, would perish with her. He watched pensively as a larger crack snapped across the glass almost violently, the small a high-pitched whistle of air it created making the femme wince. A small and continuous beep barely seemed audible passed the screech of wind through the crack, but she appeared to panic at that more than the failing ship.

"Shockwave offlined everyone in the lab to ensure nothing would be exposed. He left me to double check all system reboots and clear all the monitors. Inform Megatron that there's nothing here that the Autobots could use."

"..."

"Beacon, we've got less than a breem*..." Sail came up beside her, glancing at the fuzzy monitor before looking back at his last conscious companion.

"Soundwave, I-..." She paused. Such a confession of her personal emotions would be worthless, especially as repetitive as it would sound. She'd told him once...he had no verbal reply nor visual response. She had to find something else to say...but it was hard. "...I hope my efforts make a difference."

And she crumpled their connection with the simple crush of a button.

He hadn't even had the chance...there was no opportunity for a rescue. All was done accordingly and Tarn was falling to a city led by Neutrals. What was he to feel? Knowing that she was undoubtedly offlined or, in higher hopes, fatally wounded? That his only legitimate companion of countless vorns was being eradicated from the face of Cybertron?

Nothing. Soundwave simply found it ironic that she was going to be killed with the weapons she'd once helped developed.

Kaon - Five Solar Cycles

Providing a sparkling with a name was difficult, he found. A gifted creation even more so. 'Prisma' would have been perfect had this fluttering information seeker been of feminine structure, and had Soundwave been religious enough to name him such. Unfortunately it did not fit...it didn't make sense.

This is where he recognized how much logic had altered his own personality...where despite how important something had once seemed, his CPU wouldn't allow it. All because...it didn't make sense?

He watched him glide a bit around his personal quarters, the teetering of the ship for once stable enough to allow constant movement without the fear of injury. This creation...it made his spark ache. Not as it had in previous time...no, with the lack of emotion it was just a pure, painful, throbbing ache. A burn...an injury.

He questioned himself on his previous decision cycle to cycle. With Prisma offlined he found it harder to cope without emotional function than it would have been with it. How ironic. The main reason it was removed throbbed and haunted him, and became a physical pain against his chassis rather than a pain capable of healing over.

She had been so young. He always found himself forgetful on how much of an age difference there'd truly been.

"...Previous analogies: unimportant." He spoke, and the smaller extremity perked at the noise as he landed atop the higher edge of the berth; lower panels spreading flat to balance on the slanted surface.

What would he name it...what could he possible title such a creature? Something legitimate, with or without meaning it mattered not. It fidgeted...it's beak-like point tapping at the surface of the wall in curiosity.

Ah, a hint within his observations. He would call him Laserbeak.

~End Chapter Ten

*Breem - a Cybertronian minute (5.2 Earth minutes)

You guys, THERE'S ONE MORE CHAPTER. Swear on it. Have it written out and everything. So, Happy Easter and April Fools Day; good luck you gullible bastards. c;

Also, Tarn was destroyed during a serious bombing held between themselves and Vos. They pretty much blasted each other into oblivion. Survivors were recruited into the Decepticon ranks due to Megatron putting the blame on Iacon, an Autobot ruled city.

Shoutout to Stolen-Wings and MidnasEspeon~

Please Review!