This is a continuation of the chapter "Grayscale", in which Hot Shot begs for Soundwave's release from the Shadowzone with unexpected consequences.

as usual, I own only my imagination.


Parole

"Why did you do that?" Hot Shot demanded, "They trusted me! And I trusted you!" Long servos tenderly lifted the young Autobot's helm. "You are far too trusting, little one," Soundwave croaked. He touched a hand to his neck as if his vocoder pained him, and flicked his helm briefly. It occurred to Hot Shot that he was in a very dangerous position. He had allowed himself to get attached to a mech he really knew next to nothing about-save for dire rumors of wartime activities-and that mech, half crazed by confinement, had spirited him away to some jungle a continent away from the Autobots. How could he possibly have any idea what to expect? The young one trembled slightly and edged back along the rocky wall. Soundwave simply shifted in place and pulled him back from the ledge, motioning dispassionately to the steep drop.

Glyphs and images flashed rapidly across the shining visor in rapid succession. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. The taciturn Decepticon pushed his captive into a sitting position and regarded him silently, arms crossed over his tank. "No-Face," Hot Shot tried to speak without a trembling voice, "You have to let me go." He expected no answer, but was somewhat relieved to receive one all the same. Soundwave bowed his helm as if thinking, then raised it again with a single word printed across the glass: "No." It was not the answer Hot Shot wanted, but it was better than nothing. "Why?" he demanded, hopping to his feet.

In a rare display, Soundwave's servos tightened into fists and shook slightly. The symbol for safety appeared on the visor, followed by a negator. "Not safe?" Hot Shot was confused. "What's not safe?" He was shown a memory file: a photograph of three young humans. "Jack an' Miko an' Raf? They're not safe?" He stood again, determined to get off the ledge. "If they're in some kind of trouble, I'm going to help them, No-Face. I'm an Autobot, like." Soundwave shook his helm emphatically and grasped the younglings shoulders, willing him to understand. 'Not safe.' he repeated. Smooth faceplates, yet unmarred by the War, crinkled. "What, you mean I'm not safe? Not safe with you, ya mean."

He turned to find a way down the cliff and was bodily lifted from the edge. He dangled, scowling, from Soundwave's tentacles. "The leakin' hack of ya!" he burst out, glad that Vicar Allan couldn't hear him, "You're moon, you are!" Ignoring the pain of a half-rusted vocoder, the Decepticon spy snarled, "Protecting you! Half-cracked muppet!" The young one stilled. "Protecting me? From what?" The tentacles retracted, pulling him closer to the spy. Again, Soundwave displayed the picture of the humans, followed by the glyph for mistrust. "Oh." Hot Shot wasn't quite sure what to say after that. For a time there was no other sound but the birds of the jungle until he quietly asked Soundwave to put him down.

He caught the impression of sternness as the half-mad escapee displayed a picture of a "no running" sign by a pool. "Soundwave, please!" Hot Shot begged, "I have to go home! The Unit will be worried; Father Allan will be worried!" Gently, he was lowered to the ground, but not released. Filthy humans. What right did they have to walk alongside Cybertronians after what they'd done? They couldn't protect the youngling: the youngling didn't need them. He would understand one day, when he had grown. When he led the remnants of his predecessor's army to being a people again, he would understand why Soundwave had to keep him away from the others. Until then, it was simply a matter of protecting the poor, confused little thing until he no longer tried to run away.

The sun began to set, and the creatures of the night could be heard beginning to hunt in the trees below. The young Wrecker assessed his situation. Even if he were to break free and escape into the jungle, there was no guarantee that he'd be able to contact the base before Soundwave caught him again. 'You've done it now, my lad,' he told himself, 'You and your soft spark! Now you've loosed a moon mech on the world!' But a small, quiet voice in his processor whispered, 'But he isn't in the Shadowzone anymore. I refuse to regret that, be he 'Bot or 'Con.' The little bot heaved a heavy exvent, catching a curious look from the spy. "It's night," Hot Shot said. Soundwave nodded, not seeming to understand. "Um, back home, in Ireland, I mean," the Autobot gulped, "Night is when I recharge." He recharged that often? No wonder he had so much energy! Soundwave placed Hot Shot down next to the cliff wall and crouched beside him with a suspicious tilt of his helm. "I'm not runnin'," Hot Shot promised. "Where would I go?"

Satisfied, Soundwave nodded and settled a bit. He watched curiously as the little yellow and blue mech went through a strange set of motions. He shifted to kneel on the stone, helm tipped back, face to the stars. His small, squared servos were interlocked in a stance of supplication. "Well, I made it through another day, no thanks to me," he whispered, and it took Soundwave a few minutes to realize who he was talking to. "I was just trying to do the right thing, I guess. Treatin folks the way I'd want to be treated. Didn't quite work out, did it?" Hot Shot tilted his helm down and shut his optics. "Anyway, I guess since No-Face is out of the Shadowzone, he can talk to You again. Well, I don't know if he talked to You before, he's not much of a talker. But You knew that already." He sighed again. "Frank honesty here, I'm pretty scared. Could You tell me what I'm s'posed ta do? Or show me?" He waited a moment. "Well, alright then. The Chief's up there with You and the other Autobots right now. Maybe You could tell him I went and got myself in a scrape. Um, right, so...goodnight then."

He opened his optics to find Soundwave staring at him. "Earth's a long way from Cyberton," he said by way of explanation, "the Mckennas taught me to talk to my maker so I wouldn't be lonely." 'Does He answer?' Even though the response was text, Hot Shot knew the older mech was being sarcastic. "Sometimes," he answered innocently. "He's very nice, you know. He told me you were lonely when I met ya in the woods." Hot Shot stood and stretched. "Goodnight, No-Face." He retreated to a wider space on the ledge and transformed, parking and shutting down all unnecessary functions. Lazerbeak detached himself from his master without so much as a by-your-leave and flew to roost atop the little car's roof with a happy trill.

Soundwave didn't sleep. Even before the spark-crushing emptiness of the Shadowzone, he had not truly recharged in a very long time. Of all his past charges, Megatron had required the most vigilance, and so he had neglected the raveling up of cares in favor of keeping his sole friend alive. Now, after the cold, the dark, he did not dare to power down his systems for fear that when he opened his optics again he would be back in that forsaken realm, watching the humans and Autobots, severed from every reason to live. Armor flared suddenly, aggressively, as he remembered being trapped, for once wishing to cry out and yet going unheard as the Scout-wicked child! O wicked child!-plunged the Star Saber through Megatron's spark. Soundwave didn't sleep.

He had failed once. This was a chance to redeem himself! He inched closer to the peacefully recharging youngling and examined him closely. Well, in the year he'd been locked away, Hot Shot didn't seem to have come to any harm among the Meath-people. It was a shame, really. He'd almost begun to trust the little neighborhood. He'd known, of course, the kinds of things humans were capable of, but somehow they almost made him forget. By now he was sure they'd joined forces with the Autobots' humans and were trying to track them down. Well they could do what they liked. He would die before going back to the Shadowzone.

Emitting a soft burst of static, the spy tilted his visor up to the myriad stars. He drank in the sensation of the moist jungle air, the variability of the land, the ever-present field connecting his spark to his species, no matter how far away they were. Strange how he'd always taken that feeling for granted, he mused. Soundwave stole a glance at the sleeping Hot Shot and coldly quashed the tiny whisper of guilt rising from the back of his processor. He knew what he was doing. It would take time, decades, perhaps, but under his guidance the child would become a leader. He would ensure it. What remained of the Decepticons would follow him out of their diaspora, and they would rise to greatness again. Cybertron had been restored: he had listened to enough of the humans' conversations to know. Why should one small band of Autobots dominate it? Cybertron was big enough for more than one culture, of this he was sure. It was a pity that Megatron had never seen things that way.

The guilty feeling returned, stronger this time, as the kindly face of Vicar Allan suddenly floated to his mind. The old man had advocated for his release alongside Hot Shot, and in Meath he had been the one who counseled Hot Shot to show him kindness. While not overfond of the man, Soundwave grudgingly accepted that he owed his freedom, in part, to the Vicar. Soundwave never left a debt unsettled. Sensing his master's indecision, Lazerbeak left his perch and attached himself to Soundwave's armor again, sending comforting pulses from his spark. Absently, the thin mech ran long servos over the deployer, calling out to Ravage over their bond. For the first time in a year, the cat answered. Through the disorienting mess of emotions-consisting chiefly of joy and a recurring desire to play chase-Soundwave gathered that Ravage had been living under the Vicar's house with Barnabas the old tabby.

And there was another debt owed to the humans. Soundwave retreated from the bonds in a black mood. Why were the organics so contradictory? Now he had to repay them another kindness. Well, he thought suddenly, humans are short-lived. Their time upon their little sphere is but a moment of sound and fury. I suppose the youngling might remain among them a while longer. I am patient. I will wait, and watch. The heavy field about his spark casing, absent for so long, warmed and seemed to buoy up his spirit. Soundwave stilled. It had been long, so very long indeed since he had felt any such approval in his spark. Then let it be so, he decided. Soundwave stood and gently shook the small vehicle beside him. Systems powered up and the youngling stretched and yawned-behavior learned from his human companions.

Soundwave pulled him to his pedes and opened a Ground Bridge. "I have been ungrateful," the deep and musical tones grated over roughened gears in the voicebox. "Return to your people." Hot Shot tapped his audial receivers several times to be sure he'd heard correctly. "You're letting me go? What made you change your mind all of a sudden, eh No-Face?" He was lightly shoved towards the portal as the once-silent spy cryptically answered, "Patience." Pulling his goggles down over his optics, Hot Shot turned with a frown. "You've still got to answer to them, y'know. We've got laws and the like for a reason. Hiding from it just makes it worse, I think." He smiled a little as the older mech clipped together the harsh tones of a well-known fictional superhero to say, "Not hiding: waiting." followed by, "Watchful guardian." The youngling shrugged. "Well if you want to play at Dark Knight, that's your affair, but you'd better let Unit E know." Arms akimbo, he faced Soundwave sternly. "Just cooperate with them, No-Face! They're good people, they're just protecting their world!"

Soundwave did not answer, other than to push Hot Shot through the portal and stalk through after him. They were back in Outpost Omega again. All the shielding on Earth couldn't keep Soundwave from getting in and out, once he'd been there. Miko spotted them first and raised the alarm, bringing the others running with a smattering of soldiers. The spy stood in a relaxed enough pose, sharp servos poised delicately over a main energon line in Hot Shot's neck. It wouldn't do for them to think he wasn't a hostage, after all. "Aidan! Are you alright?" Vicar Allan called, fear and relief combined in his aged features. "I think so, Father Allan," the youngling gulped, slightly confused. Raf glared up at the Decepticon. "Let him go!" he cried, "He never did anything to you!" Soundwave casually tightened his grip. "He...um, he doesn't trust you," Hot Shot translated, "He thinks you'll put him back in the Shadowzone, like." Agent Fowler shook his head. "No, we've reviewed that with our government, and it's been decided that the Shadowzone counts as a form of torture."

Soundwave relaxed a little more, but made an accusing gesture towards the teens. June stepped up. "You know perfectly well what would have happened to our world if they hadn't trapped you. Look, I'm sorry you experienced what they say you did in there. Really, I am. But you can't blame the kids for something your cause brought on you." Anger began to flood the spy's systems again, but any action he might've taken was interrupted by a wrinkled hand on his pede. "Soundwave, let Hot Shot go. Just come back to Meath with us: we'll talk." The vicar had convinced Unit E to grant him custody of the belligerent spy master, though it had been a hard-won fight. Slowly, Soundwave let go of the yellow and blue Autobot and stepped back. He tilted his helm curiously at the old man, who nodded. "They need time to look things over so you can have a proper trial, lad. Until then, you're on a kind of temporary parole in Meath." Turning, Soundwave glared back at Rafael and played a sound clip. "It means you get your yellow ticket of leave-"

The small boy raised his chin defiantly. "You're a war criminal, Soundwave. Step out of line and I won't hesitate to take you on. If that makes me Javert, then so be it. I'm not afraid of you." In another life, he would have been impressed by the child's fortitude. But he looked into wide brown eyes and could see nothing but an old rival, determined to have the last word. Well, he couldn't allow that, now could he. Leaning close so that only Rafael could hear him, Soundwave rasped, "Devil take the hindmost." Then he turned to follow Allan and Hot Shot through the Ground Bridge back to Ireland, smiling beneath his visor. This was another youngling with potential to become something great; to Soundwave's mind he presented the possibility of a worthy opponent. The boy was unlikely to forgive him for all he had done.

And in a way, Soundwave was glad of it.