"Or... you write fanfiction for the RP. Yeah, you know you want to. Just give in."
...so if it wasn't clear before: I'm addicted. I wrote fic. Drabble. Very dark, going into possibly one of the worst times of my muse's life before the war. WOW I R TEH EMO-B FOR WRITIN' THUS HUH?
...who cares i've said it before i will use this place to improve my writing as i see fit. :3
---
He doesn't know how long he's been here, but it feels like eternity. They removed his chronometer long ago, and other systems as well - or are they only deactivated? He doesn't know. He's tried to access them many times, but it's like they never existed in the first place. The very paths and routes that are second nature are not so much destroyed as gone. And he only wishes he was in the Pit.
The Pit is cold. The Pit is silent. This...this is not the Pit. Hundreds of lightyears away, a molten mass of rock will one day develop a species that will form a religion with a location that could very well describe where Optimus Prime is located now.
He is in Hell.
His processor drifts off to how he got here. Called up before the Council of Ancients, a mission that they asked - ordered? - him to go on. Investigate an abnormality in a remote sector. He was so young...so barely used to his position as Prime...and in a way, still so intimidated by them all...he accepted. He figured it wouldn't take too long, and didn't say much to Megatron other than he'd be going away for a little bit, and would be back soon. Oh, Primus, he would do anything to change that decision now. Anything.
But he has nothing. Not even the Matrix is here to protect him. Once they found out that he wasn't holding it (he can't remember why, just that he didn't bring it with him out here - and he honestly doesn't know where it is, whether it's in the hands of the Ancients or otherwise), they began to play with him. But their play is his torture.
And who /are/ they? They call themselves his creators, his /fathers/, but he knows deep down in his Spark that no such being could be so cruel. They are no fathers. They are five faces of darkness that he woke up to seeing, and was promptly bombarded with questions. Answers they did not like - or ones he would not give - were met with pain. Lots of it. He managed to get through it at first, but he was - is only metal and steel.
Even metal and steel can break.
He lies here, hunched in the corner of his cell, unable to keep his processor from running on its own. It once more goes back to earlier days...his earliest memories. The ones when he was just Orion, working on the docks with his friends. It was hard, but it was satisfying. Ariel, his girlfriend, though that was her way of putting it. To him, there was a space between girl and friend, and even with Dion saying he was a lucky guy and that Ariel would do /anything/ for him, somehow he had no urge to even ask. He was happy with the way things were. Primus, he'd hardly even /thought/ about her in that particular way, and those thoughts didn't really interest him. He guessed she just wasn't 'the one', as some people said.
Things...changed. Suddenly he was brought up before the Council of Ancients, a boy surprised to hear that the Matrix had chosen /him/ as the next Prime. How could it? He wasn't anyone special, hardly any Sentinel, and they hadn't even found out who had /killed/ Sentinel yet and they were making /him/ Prime? There must have been some mistake!...but then suddenly he wasn't a boy anymore, he wasn't even Orion anymore.
He was Optimus. And breaking from tradition, there was another to rule with him. Where there was before just a Lord, now there was a Lord and Lord Protector...Megatron.
Somehow...Megatron drew him. Like a moth to a flame, he was fascinated with the mech - the Decepticon. It was apparently a ploy by the Ancients to try and unite the growing drift between the two halves of the race, and it seemed to work. Rather well, one might have said - anyone looking at them would have said they were, indeed, one species. Not so much Autobots or Decepticons, but Cybertronians. Optimus had to admit he liked it. And when he finally got up the nerve to speak with Megatron outside of their duties, he had to admit that he liked what followed as well.
They grew close. Megatron made him feel a way he'd never felt with Ariel, and he was happy to think about him in that way (to say the least). Together, they made a golden age on Cybertron...and he tried to work up the courage to ask him to take their relationship a step further. But before he could - the Council. And he /hated/ to not tell him the whole truth, but didn't want to make him worry; it would be just a simple mission. He'd be back before Megatron knew it.
Oh, how wrong he was.
He shudders in spite of himself. With his sensors dulled in his cometary protoform, he wasn't able to realize what was going on until it was too late. And then he woke up here. With them. And Hell began. He's not Optimus Prime anymore (how can he be a prime without a matrix), or even Orion Pax (orion is dead). He's...
He's nothing.
He wants to die. He wants it to end. He's already tried to claw out his own Spark chamber from desperation...it didn't work. They stopped him before he could, and hurt him for it. He's tried begging for death, or any sort of end, but they don't care...
...and what hurts most of all is that he can feel himself losing the ability to, as well. It's funny...because the less he cares...the less it hurts.
He doesn't want to die here. But he knows he's going to. It chills him to the spark, but he's going to die here and there's nothing he can do about it. Why bother? Why keep fighting? This isn't a battle he can win. He /can't/ win. He's going to die and he won't even be able to tell Megatron how he really feels...
The door opens, and he flinches, body conditioned to expect nothing good from it. He used to be able to get up and try to fight back, but he was always - /always/ defeated. Sometimes humilatingly so. Now he doesn't even get up, despite the command. His body tries to move, /he/ tries to move, but the weight of his despair is just too heavy.
Just kill me. Primus, kill me already.
And that thought makes a thin tendril of something he thought had already been killed run through him. He siezes upon it for strength, even as he's hauled out.
Damn you for ignoring me. I hate you! I HATE YOU!
He doesn't realize he's screaming it out loud.
----
He's cold.
So very, very cold.
It's stopped hurting. All he has left is his hatred, and it keeps him alive through the coldness and the apathy. It's cold in itself, but it's something to hold on to, and he floats in a dark abyss with it as his lifeline. Days, weeks, months, Vorns he could be here, and he couldn't tell the difference. He hears nothing. Sees nothing. Touches nothing.
He is nothing.
It's so dark. If he had anything left, he'd wish that there was some light in here, somewhere. His is long gone - extinguished by the merciless faces. Oh, his Spark is still in his chest, but if they gave him the chance, he would rip it out. If there was ANY way for him to get out of here, he would take it...
...if he still had the ability to care.
"Optimus...?"
A voice he doesn't recognize. One he doesn't care about. Damn them anyway. Damn them all.
"Optimus...!"
How could you just ABANDON me? I begged for you, I cried for you, YOU IGNORED ME! I HATE YOU!
"Optimus, wake up!"
Something is touching him. He flinches away, curling deeper into himself and away from the pain. But there are arms - arms? The Quintessons don't have arms - around him, cradling his ripped and broken (and now trembling) chassis. Someone is speaking, whispering words of concern...and reassurance. Somehow, they reach through the void and touch a part of him he also thought was dead.
"Optimus, you're all right now. Can you hear me? It's me, Alpha Trion. Optimus, say something!"
What isn't yet broken shatters - including his lifeline - and his own useless arms are suddenly grabbing onto the other as every ounce of his pain escapes in broken sobs.
Oh, Primus, why does it still hurt so much...?
...who cares i've said it before i will use this place to improve my writing as i see fit. :3
---
He doesn't know how long he's been here, but it feels like eternity. They removed his chronometer long ago, and other systems as well - or are they only deactivated? He doesn't know. He's tried to access them many times, but it's like they never existed in the first place. The very paths and routes that are second nature are not so much destroyed as gone. And he only wishes he was in the Pit.
The Pit is cold. The Pit is silent. This...this is not the Pit. Hundreds of lightyears away, a molten mass of rock will one day develop a species that will form a religion with a location that could very well describe where Optimus Prime is located now.
He is in Hell.
His processor drifts off to how he got here. Called up before the Council of Ancients, a mission that they asked - ordered? - him to go on. Investigate an abnormality in a remote sector. He was so young...so barely used to his position as Prime...and in a way, still so intimidated by them all...he accepted. He figured it wouldn't take too long, and didn't say much to Megatron other than he'd be going away for a little bit, and would be back soon. Oh, Primus, he would do anything to change that decision now. Anything.
But he has nothing. Not even the Matrix is here to protect him. Once they found out that he wasn't holding it (he can't remember why, just that he didn't bring it with him out here - and he honestly doesn't know where it is, whether it's in the hands of the Ancients or otherwise), they began to play with him. But their play is his torture.
And who /are/ they? They call themselves his creators, his /fathers/, but he knows deep down in his Spark that no such being could be so cruel. They are no fathers. They are five faces of darkness that he woke up to seeing, and was promptly bombarded with questions. Answers they did not like - or ones he would not give - were met with pain. Lots of it. He managed to get through it at first, but he was - is only metal and steel.
Even metal and steel can break.
He lies here, hunched in the corner of his cell, unable to keep his processor from running on its own. It once more goes back to earlier days...his earliest memories. The ones when he was just Orion, working on the docks with his friends. It was hard, but it was satisfying. Ariel, his girlfriend, though that was her way of putting it. To him, there was a space between girl and friend, and even with Dion saying he was a lucky guy and that Ariel would do /anything/ for him, somehow he had no urge to even ask. He was happy with the way things were. Primus, he'd hardly even /thought/ about her in that particular way, and those thoughts didn't really interest him. He guessed she just wasn't 'the one', as some people said.
Things...changed. Suddenly he was brought up before the Council of Ancients, a boy surprised to hear that the Matrix had chosen /him/ as the next Prime. How could it? He wasn't anyone special, hardly any Sentinel, and they hadn't even found out who had /killed/ Sentinel yet and they were making /him/ Prime? There must have been some mistake!...but then suddenly he wasn't a boy anymore, he wasn't even Orion anymore.
He was Optimus. And breaking from tradition, there was another to rule with him. Where there was before just a Lord, now there was a Lord and Lord Protector...Megatron.
Somehow...Megatron drew him. Like a moth to a flame, he was fascinated with the mech - the Decepticon. It was apparently a ploy by the Ancients to try and unite the growing drift between the two halves of the race, and it seemed to work. Rather well, one might have said - anyone looking at them would have said they were, indeed, one species. Not so much Autobots or Decepticons, but Cybertronians. Optimus had to admit he liked it. And when he finally got up the nerve to speak with Megatron outside of their duties, he had to admit that he liked what followed as well.
They grew close. Megatron made him feel a way he'd never felt with Ariel, and he was happy to think about him in that way (to say the least). Together, they made a golden age on Cybertron...and he tried to work up the courage to ask him to take their relationship a step further. But before he could - the Council. And he /hated/ to not tell him the whole truth, but didn't want to make him worry; it would be just a simple mission. He'd be back before Megatron knew it.
Oh, how wrong he was.
He shudders in spite of himself. With his sensors dulled in his cometary protoform, he wasn't able to realize what was going on until it was too late. And then he woke up here. With them. And Hell began. He's not Optimus Prime anymore (how can he be a prime without a matrix), or even Orion Pax (orion is dead). He's...
He's nothing.
He wants to die. He wants it to end. He's already tried to claw out his own Spark chamber from desperation...it didn't work. They stopped him before he could, and hurt him for it. He's tried begging for death, or any sort of end, but they don't care...
...and what hurts most of all is that he can feel himself losing the ability to, as well. It's funny...because the less he cares...the less it hurts.
He doesn't want to die here. But he knows he's going to. It chills him to the spark, but he's going to die here and there's nothing he can do about it. Why bother? Why keep fighting? This isn't a battle he can win. He /can't/ win. He's going to die and he won't even be able to tell Megatron how he really feels...
The door opens, and he flinches, body conditioned to expect nothing good from it. He used to be able to get up and try to fight back, but he was always - /always/ defeated. Sometimes humilatingly so. Now he doesn't even get up, despite the command. His body tries to move, /he/ tries to move, but the weight of his despair is just too heavy.
Just kill me. Primus, kill me already.
And that thought makes a thin tendril of something he thought had already been killed run through him. He siezes upon it for strength, even as he's hauled out.
Damn you for ignoring me. I hate you! I HATE YOU!
He doesn't realize he's screaming it out loud.
----
He's cold.
So very, very cold.
It's stopped hurting. All he has left is his hatred, and it keeps him alive through the coldness and the apathy. It's cold in itself, but it's something to hold on to, and he floats in a dark abyss with it as his lifeline. Days, weeks, months, Vorns he could be here, and he couldn't tell the difference. He hears nothing. Sees nothing. Touches nothing.
He is nothing.
It's so dark. If he had anything left, he'd wish that there was some light in here, somewhere. His is long gone - extinguished by the merciless faces. Oh, his Spark is still in his chest, but if they gave him the chance, he would rip it out. If there was ANY way for him to get out of here, he would take it...
...if he still had the ability to care.
"Optimus...?"
A voice he doesn't recognize. One he doesn't care about. Damn them anyway. Damn them all.
"Optimus...!"
How could you just ABANDON me? I begged for you, I cried for you, YOU IGNORED ME! I HATE YOU!
"Optimus, wake up!"
Something is touching him. He flinches away, curling deeper into himself and away from the pain. But there are arms - arms? The Quintessons don't have arms - around him, cradling his ripped and broken (and now trembling) chassis. Someone is speaking, whispering words of concern...and reassurance. Somehow, they reach through the void and touch a part of him he also thought was dead.
"Optimus, you're all right now. Can you hear me? It's me, Alpha Trion. Optimus, say something!"
What isn't yet broken shatters - including his lifeline - and his own useless arms are suddenly grabbing onto the other as every ounce of his pain escapes in broken sobs.
Oh, Primus, why does it still hurt so much...?