All Spark Signature, Part ii
Sam was laying on his back in one of the burnt out, twisted metal remains of what used to be a car, converted into a Deceptacon, then blasted apart. He wasn't even sure who exactly had blasted it, and to be honest - he didn't care.
The seat was lumpy, little metal springs working their way up through charred fabric to dig into his back, but it was quiet, since this particular car was buried under piles of other mostly demolished once-robots, its arms made from car doors still reaching upwards between an Oldsmobile and a refridgerator, creating the perfect little shaft that he could slip through to get here. He had a blanket, and a small stash of what passed for food in a robot world, and best of all, no one knew it was here.
This was as close to home as he got, these days.
Soft blue light from his ever-present robotical companion filled the blackened space, but he didn't need it.
He wasn't looking.
"Dear mom," he said aloud, eyes closed, picturing his mother's smiling face. Probably holding Mojo, cooing as she pet his head. Dressing him up all girly. Giving him a complex. "Sorry I yelled at you. And sorry I never actually got the nice girlfriend you always wanted me to have. Kinda... just never could. Sorry."
"Dear dad. Well. Sorry I didn't fix the lawn... sorry I let robots run across it in the first place. Don't expect there's actually much of a lawn left, anyway. Oh, and sorry I got mom and you arrested. Really didn't mean to do that."
Shifting a little, he frowned. "Dear Mojo... sorry mom dressed you up like that, and sorry I dropped the textbook on your foot."
"Dear Mikaela - I am not going to apologize to you." He smiled slightly. "I shouldn't have tried to convince you to come along and get in the car, I guess, but I did sorta save your life with that, and in the end, I don't think you really had to come along. So I'm sorry after all, I guess, that I got you in the mess, but you decided to fight, and I admire that about you. Actually, there was a lot I admired about you, and I'm really sorry you're gone, but..." he shrugged. "Just think, if I hadn't have been there at that lame party with my lame-o friends..."
"Lame-o friends..." he trailed off, then blinked. "Dear Jude. Wow, um... sorry? Guess I kinda forgot to call you after all that... crap... happened. Did you know my car was alive?" He faltered. "And dear Bumblebee... I wish you'd picked someone else to protect. Someone who could actually help. And dear Optimus..."
Sam sat up again, tugging at his necklace. It beeped furiously at him, but he just tugged harder. "I know you can hear me, you friggin little waste of scrap metal. Turn off, will you, so I can actually hear myself think here?"
It beeped angrily, but the blue glow actually faded to a single point in the centre of its 'eye', and it fell silent, without even the perpetual 'hum' it had, like a running refridgerator.
Closing his eyes again, Sam took a deep breath. "Optimus. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you. I should've been able to keep the cube away from him - it's what you wanted. Or even... even just been able to give you the death you chose, instead of the one Megatron inflicted. I wish..." He steeled his jaw. "I wish you'd just never come to Earth. I wish I'd just died. Let them have the cube."
Sam shook his head. "I'm done. You hear that, Megatron? Done. Go on. Do your worst. Everyone I ever cared about is dead and gone, and I'm all that's left. Can't possibly make things any worse than they are. I'm done. That's it. I'm finished."
A year ago, he might have been crying. Two years ago, he would have been sternly telling himself that he was tough, he was a man, and men did not cry. Three years ago, he would have been laughing at his own sappiness.
Now, he lay there in the dark, eyes focused on nothing, his only movement the steady rising and falling of his chest, and otherwise, dead to the world.
The machine around his neck beeped.
On the massive shoulder of Megatron, a small blue light lit up, and beeped.
Once, twice, then more rapidly, sounding much like the morse code that the Secretary of Defense had attempted to use to save the earth.
The fact that Megatron had had made a rather macabre set of wind chimes using the skulls of the President and his Chiefs of Staff was a grim testament to how well that plan had worked.
Megatron grinned, or would have if his face had been possible of creating that expression, and turned to look at the two Deceptacons working on repairing a third in the corner.
"Leave him," he snapped. "I want you to start working on it."
Return to Misellany.
Transformers belongs to some very rich people that are not me, and I didn't ask to use them.
