The beasts of war feed only on the meats of war [SEMI-OPEN, IN-PROGRESS...]
WHO: Starscream, People listed here, civvies!
WHAT: Starscream tries to take over the world! He fails. ... yep.
WHEN: Noon on the 2nd of August.
WHERE: THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING
WARNINGS: Violence, character death, robots.
NOTES: here is a rough outline of how shit is going down. HERE IS AN EVEN SHORTER VERSION.Also tag your own selves in kthx ( Read more... )
WHAT: Starscream tries to take over the world! He fails. ... yep.
WHEN: Noon on the 2nd of August.
WHERE: THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING
WARNINGS: Violence, character death, robots.
NOTES: here is a rough outline of how shit is going down. HERE IS AN EVEN SHORTER VERSION.Also tag your own selves in kthx ( Read more... )
"No," he said more quietly, not letting go. "Aren't you tired of it? Don't you want to find some...some other goal? I did. I did it, I found something else other than the Space Corps and now I'm happy. Please, Starscream, please don't. Those bastards in spandex will stop you, those...those morally self-righteous smegheads! They'll kill you! Please, stop this now, while you're still alive. I'll...I'll help you find something else, something to really work for...something you can value aside from taking over the smegging world..."
He trailed off, practically seeing the words bouncing off that metal hide, seeing that he might as well be talking to a toaster oven for all the good it would do in the end. And his face twisted with grief and more frustration.
"You said once I was the first friend you ever had. Was that true? Or was that just so much bullshit to manipulate me?"
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What else is there? A slow, easy life where I grow old and rust and die - or, in my case, live forever? I would rather flare and gutter like a dying star. I would rather make a mark...
He hardened his spark, fell back into his old rhythms. Acceptable losses. Acceptable risk. Come now, put that cocky swagger back in your step...
But the last question gave him pause.
"The second. Technically. The second. That's what I said," he said. He thought. Maybe he'd misspoken. Rimmer was the second, though. The first, well, the first he'd fallen in love with. A mistake, perhaps. "But the first friend I had in this City, to be sure."
He shook his head, turning back slightly. "It was no lie. What would I have to gain from you? At least, here and now."
It was vicious, what he was saying, but in some ways it was a compliment. He meant it as one, anyway, and it was true. "There's nothing I can use you for! You don't have anything I want, not anymore, you don't give me any resources I need and you aren't in a position I covet. Yet I still enjoy your company, I still prefer your presence to the presence of others despite you giving me no logical advantage over anyone else. Which means that I must like you. You don't serve any purpose, yet I keep you in my sphere of influence."
He made a sort of clicking sound as he continued to climb the stairs.
"And yet I would still try to protect you! Even attempt to uplift you, even though logic states that you are dead weight."
He stopped, his shoulders slumping. What made him say it, what made him be honest, he did not know.
Perhaps it was that he knew Rimmer was right. Perhaps he could sense it, somehow. He'd failed so many times. Why wouldn't today be any different? Yet the play went on, and there was no turning back from what he'd done.
"But there it is. Indeed, I almost feel sorry for you. To be called the friend of a Seeker, oh, that's a dire thing indeed. Dangerous. No place for a human. Or a hologram. How would you humans put it? Like a rabbit befriending some vast, predatory bird. Oh, we'll protect you from foxes and cats, perhaps; but the fact remains that you're friends with a weapon. And you can't change instinct..."
He waved a hand. "This is over. Finished."
And then a pause.
"But it is true. You were, and will always remain, my friend. And I am very sorry for that fact."
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He was panting with the effort of staying this close to so much energy in the air, seemingly keeping his hard light drive going by sheer force of will. He couldn't sweat, but he was gritting his teeth, making the muscles along the side of his face knot up in tense little clusters.
"I would help you too, you know. Even though you've betrayed me before, even though you treat me like something scraped off your heel after a walk in a dog park. I'm trying to help you now! Fine, I'm dead weight. No change there, that's my life. But I'm trying not to be. And this if this is the most heroic thing I ever do in my life, then it'll be worth it!"
Another distant zap, and he stumbled backwards a bit, clutching at his chest. God, that hurt. Fucking alien energon smeg. Or maybe it was affecting him worse than it normally would because he'd had energon used in his light bee earlier this month...?
"It's not over. I'm not giving up. For the first time in my rotten life, I'm not giving up. And if you're going to force me to play the hero, then damn it, shut up and let me...rescue you. From yourself. You smeghead."
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Thoughtful, almost.
Rimmer was clearly not going to stop. Not unless he got himself killed, or disabled.
Well, then.
He stepped down, and, very gently, took Rimmer by the shoulders, before meeting his friend's eyes.
"I must say, I... appreciate that. The idea that you would play hero for me. It's quite flattering, really. And it is admirable for you to try."
"There is, however, one problem. I am not," he had to smirk a little here, at the sheer absurdity of the statement, "the princess. I am the villain."
He leaned forward, almost as though he were going to kiss Rimmer on the cheek, and whispered.
"Goodnight, my friend."
It was a very light charge, all things considered - a faint pulse from his own null-lasers, enough to shut off a desktop computer, perhaps. Calculated very carefully, of course. Hopefully, it would be enough combined with the ambient crackle of energon radiation to force Rimmer into a stasis lock. Not to kill him - oh, Primus, no - just a little unconsciousness. And hopefully no permanent damage.
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The second that null-pulse hit him, Rimmer's eyes went wide with betrayal, and pain, and regret. He had enough time to mouth a few words -
"...Oh, you bastard!"
- and then his hard light drive gave up the ghost. It was a hard reboot of his light bee, his emotions winking out like a twinkly Christmas light. And in the instant between him shutting down and his light bee dropping toward the ground, there was a puff of black smoke, and a delicate hand snaking out to catch him.
Pff. Gone. The black smoke gradually dissipated, signaling that Raven wasn't waiting around to see what else would happen. She was taking her husband, or what was left of him, home.
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He stood for a few long moments, looking in the space where his friend had once been.
Most Cybertronians cannot cry. It is not a way in which they express sorrow - a useless waste of fluid. Oh, a few Autobots had the capability, something their brethren always found strange, but Decepticons never could. Starscream was no exception to this.
He did, however, sit down on the stair, and put his head in his hands for a few moments.
No. What you are is a Decepticon. What you are is a weapon. And nothing - friendship, brotherhood, nothing - can stand in your way.
Standing slowly, he began to ascend the staircase.
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