Title: Object Rating: K Continuity: G1 Characters: Wheeljack Disclaimer: Don't own. Prompt: 3. Task: tell a story from the perspective of a nonsentient object (a datapad, a gun, etc)
The object, for that was what it was – even it had a hard time identifying itself, had a very short existence. It had been pieced together by confident, gray hands, every wire and fragment lovingly attached.
It resided on a tabletop. Accompanying it were various bits of wire, metal, tubes, and other miscellaneous scraps, as well as multiple tools and devices, many of which had been put into use in making the object.
Hat it been able to think and know and understand, it, perhaps, would have been frightened for its continued existence. For this object, whatever it was, had been built, was being built, by a certain Autobot inventor and engineer.
But it was unable to think, unable to know, unable to understand. And it was unable to feel, to fear, so it did not fear its death. It did not even know what ending was. What it would be, what it would mean.
So, a few moments later, when a wire was welded on and Wheeljack muttered, "Oh, slag," it did not fear.
Barely a klik later, the object did not exist any longer. All that remained was a blackened spot on the table, the smallest fragments of shrapnel, and a the sharp tang of smoke hovering on the air.