As he stared up into the night sky, Perceptor found himself wondering just which of the many objects illuminated against the darkness of distant space could possibly be the long lost mausoleum that housed the remains of those who had fallen in that fateful attack upon Autobot City. Had it truly been three years already? It did not seem right for time to have passed so swiftly. For Cybertron to be slowly renewing itself without those fallen comrades. For life to go on.
He missed them. Each and every day that he rose from defragmentation and returned to work in his laboratory, he missed them. Prime's strength and compassion. Ironhide's eager enthusiasm. Prowl's calm competence. Even Brawn's rough protectiveness.
Ratchet's dry wit. Wheeljack's boisterous humor.
He missed them. As he sat there staring up into that star-spangled sky, he lifted a cube in tribute, and wished yet again that he had been more vocal in his protests regarding the mausoleum. A tribute had been needed, but why had they chosen to send that tribute, to send the remains themselves, off into the deepest reaches of space? Unguarded, unguided, without even so much as a simple beackon to point the lonely way to their lost shells. Perceptor had never seen the sence in such a notion, but he supposed that each mechanism must find their own manner in which to mourn.
For him, it was to continue. To go on. To continue the work he and they had loved so much in life, and to remember and lift a cube now and then in the lonely darkness of the deep night. To look after their Dinobots, and help them to grow and to learn. To protect them from those who would exploit their innocence and gulibility, though with Rodimus Prime's favor, there were few now who would risk such a thing.
Most of all, though, he would live, and he would learn, so that one day, when the time came for Perceptor to join those who had gone before, he could bring his vast, collected knowledge and share it with his friends. Everything that they had not yet had the opportunity to do or to see or to learn, he would.
"Until all are one, my friends," he murmured softly, taking one last sip from his cube before walking the short distance to the small memorial and adding the remaining contents to the Eternal Flame housed there. "And when All Are One, I promise to even use laymen's terms."
As he stared up into the night sky, Perceptor found himself wondering just which of the many objects illuminated against the darkness of distant space could possibly be the long lost mausoleum that housed the remains of those who had fallen in that fateful attack upon Autobot City. Had it truly been three years already? It did not seem right for time to have passed so swiftly. For Cybertron to be slowly renewing itself without those fallen comrades. For life to go on.
He missed them. Each and every day that he rose from defragmentation and returned to work in his laboratory, he missed them. Prime's strength and compassion. Ironhide's eager enthusiasm. Prowl's calm competence. Even Brawn's rough protectiveness.
Ratchet's dry wit. Wheeljack's boisterous humor.
He missed them. As he sat there staring up into that star-spangled sky, he lifted a cube in tribute, and wished yet again that he had been more vocal in his protests regarding the mausoleum. A tribute had been needed, but why had they chosen to send that tribute, to send the remains themselves, off into the deepest reaches of space? Unguarded, unguided, without even so much as a simple beackon to point the lonely way to their lost shells. Perceptor had never seen the sence in such a notion, but he supposed that each mechanism must find their own manner in which to mourn.
For him, it was to continue. To go on. To continue the work he and they had loved so much in life, and to remember and lift a cube now and then in the lonely darkness of the deep night. To look after their Dinobots, and help them to grow and to learn. To protect them from those who would exploit their innocence and gulibility, though with Rodimus Prime's favor, there were few now who would risk such a thing.
Most of all, though, he would live, and he would learn, so that one day, when the time came for Perceptor to join those who had gone before, he could bring his vast, collected knowledge and share it with his friends. Everything that they had not yet had the opportunity to do or to see or to learn, he would.
"Until all are one, my friends," he murmured softly, taking one last sip from his cube before walking the short distance to the small memorial and adding the remaining contents to the Eternal Flame housed there. "And when All Are One, I promise to even use laymen's terms."
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