The following was written in its entirety by my sister, Beri, who has no account. I merely provided fixing of the autocorrects. (Autocorrect does not seem like such a very useful thing to have. It always tries to make things more absurd than they need to be. For instance, every time I try to type "disapproving looks" on my iPod, it changes it to "disapproving looms".)
Anyway. This took shape after Beri (an amazing artist, if I might be allowed to shamelessly brag on her a moment) drew a picture of a very severe looking femme with one optic. She was not given a name-not at first-and some time later, Beri wrote the following, inspired by the stern warrior.
Tarnished Glory
The sun bleeds red and orange across the sky, dripping across the sickly landscape that is Kaon. Its light holds only the promise if another day of back-breaking work for all those deemed unsuitable to the higher castes of Cybertron, but at least they can take in its warmth.
There is no sun in the Pits.
D-16 has counted every moment since his overseers made him a gladiator. Every moment of stolen silence, absorbing all the knowledge he can. Every moment of rage at the indignities of a system that determines the fate of a mech before he is sparked. Every moment of battle, of vicious joy for being the strongest, for surviving again. As he holds his fists triumphantly in the air he resolves that he shall be nameless no longer. And why settle for less than the name of a Prime?
"I am Megatronus!"
-::-::-::-
Soundwave remembers everything.
He knows he was a judge of Cybertron. He remembers speaking out against the caste system; he knows in his spark he is meant to protect, and the caste system hinders him. He recalls the jeers and derision of a council who refused to reform, and his subsequent vow of silence. He shouldn't remember the hands that came in the night and struck him, dragging him to the Pits, but he does. Now he sees this defiant gladiator, this visionary, rising against the world. Soundwave was meant to protect someone.
Could this Megatron be the one?
-::-::-::-
Spartan D-9 recognizes only strength.
She sometimes thinks she was a Seeker, back in the rusty haze of Before, but overseers have tampered with her memory too many times to believe it. She recognizes her slim position as a gladiatrix, bound to kill for the amusement of the populace only so long as she is in vogue. She wins another fight and strikes a pose, knowing it is empty vanities. She will survive.
Three remain strong in the Pits, waking dead slowly corroding in their anger. The breaking point will come soon, but for now three gladiators can only stare at each other behind overseers' backs and nod with the silent language all warriors know. "I see you, brother. I see you, sister. You are strong."
And they will not forget.
And they will not forgive.
