File Recovery - Chapter Eleven
EDIT : I fixed it now. Sorry about that, I really don't remember putting the friend's-lock on. Tis fixed for viewing now.
NEW EDIT : Damn, wow...not entirely certain how my LJ went from Public to Friend's Only when I didn't even touch anything. I think it may be fixed now, but just in case I posted the chapter here.
Story Title : File Recovery
Chapter Title : Refraction
Overall Rating : 'NC-17'
Chapter Rating : 'PG'
Characters in this Chapter : Megatron, and references to two femme OCs, Brushfire and Snapside.
Summary : He didn't want to know.He didn't want to remember. He didn't want it fixed
Note : Wow, this chapter totally ended up being something other than what I originally intended it to be. In a good way, though, methinks. Bit of introspection...yeah. Well, anyways, Happy Holidays in advance, in case I don't manage to crank out the next chapter before Christmas. I shall try, I shall try.
Credits : In this story I will be referencing Bumblebee's origins as developed by Karategal
in her stories, as well as the destruction of the Youth Sectors, coined as 'Floatila' by Lady Tecuma
in 'Sparks and Plasma'. I will also be using the concept of 'carrying' as developed by Litahatchee
in her story 'Night Fire', as well as referencing her depiction of the Floatilla Massacre. These ideas are used with permission. If you wish to use them, do not ask me. You must obtain permission from these authors. That said, I reccommend that you read each and every story mentioned here, especially if you're a fan of Ironhide/Chromia, sparklings in general, or Bumblebee.
The wall had not changed in the long expanse of time he had spent looking at it. For the past several joors it had remained the same expanse of blank white paint that it had the very first time he'd actually gotten a good look at the room. There were no minor scuff marks or partial imperfections that might have tricked weary visual sensors into seeing something that wasn't really there. Even the shadows cast by the tables and the berth did little to lend it any descriptivity.
It was as clean as it could possibly be.
Clean like the upper tiers of Iacon, though those towers were made of metal rather than a hardened mixture of granite and sand with cohesive properties. Somewhere around the second joor he had decided to actually scan the wall itself only to be surprised that its make-up was not exactly ideal. The internal framework was metal, certainly, but the fill in material was not something his processor normally associated with the words 'structurally sound'. He had quickly reached the conclusion that the planet they were situated on did not have the over abundance of metal that Cybertron itself was composed of. In fact, its lack of it had forced whatever native species had developed to use something as crude and boring as stone for a building structure.
His optics began to wander, first upwards at the ceiling though this did little to hold his attention. It was only slightly more interesting than the wall, though it adhered to the same color scheme. Mounted directly in the middle was a round and altogether nondescript light fixture, currently turned on as the medic had taken away the operating lamps sometime earlier.
He hadn't noted the exact time, just the change in light quality. That the room had a permanent light source had been a mild surprise.
The cameras, on the other hand, he'd been expecting.
They were in the corners, staring down at the room below in an almost unobtrusive sort of way. He almost hadn't noticed them, at first thinking that the little reflective domes containing them were something integral to the medical bay. However, his systems had repaired themselves enough that his proximity sensors were able to pick up on the devices themselves. He had to admit, hiding security cameras behind a convex mirror was a rather clever idea, though he hadn't stared at them for long. His reflection, even distorted in that curved surface, caused an uncomfortable feeling itching through his chassis.
He glanced at the door, but it was only for a moment. Even if it did open, he did not want nor expect anything good to come out of any further visits from the medic or his brother. Speaking with the former was decidedly one-sided, despite the fact that he was the one doing what little talking there was. The reflective green mech had an intangible aura of grouchiness that seemed to deflect conversation prior to there actually being one.
As for the latter option, Optimus had yet to return after their last discussion and while he did not know exactly how long ago that was, he sensed that it was more than an orn or two.
He wasn't entirely certain if he wanted his brother to even come back.
There was a cube of energon on the table next to him. It had been sitting there for a while, but though his tank was sending complaints every few breems, he refused to even touch it. He knew that it would go to waste should he ingest it, for every so often his thoughts would stray away from his pointed attempts at distraction and his processor would cycle through the internal questioning he had been attempting to avoid.
They flowed freely now, aided by the scattered lines of thought brought on by exhaustion and lack of fuel. He had forced himself to stay awake, refusing to recharge though his systems demands for it increased and increased until now the warnings were merely a few breems apart from each other. He knew that eventually he would crash, that his systems would shut down anyways, as one could only go so long without running their defragmentation routines. In his damaged state, those programs that only ran whilst in recharge would be supplemented by his repair systems, working away to fix the damage within his memory core.
He didn't want it fixed.
He didn't want to remember.
He didn't want to know, would rather his CPU be rendered unsalvageable, than to recall exactly what he had done to render every connection inside his spark broken save for his brother's. For the first time in what he could accurately recall, he felt afraid of himself, afraid of regressing into whatever it was he had become.
Yet there was indecisiveness at the back of his processor, a small desire for a certain set of data to be reintegrated.
He wanted it fixed.
He wanted to remember.
He wanted to know, to have some inkling of what she was like.
When he had first taken office there had been a multitude of ceremonies and official parties that had occupied his time until he managed to figure out that attendance was not mandatory. These frivolous political gatherings, set up by the senators and the guild leaders, had merely been the first set of their ploys to get in his favor. He had fallen for it, mainly because he was young and like any typical mech thought more with his connection cables than his processor.
His first real foray into the realm of intimacy had gone by the name of Brushfire. Her sire had been the representative from Praxus for several vorns at that time, but had fallen out of favor with the rest of the senate due to some minor disagreements over inter-sector transit. So in true political fashion, she had been sicced on him, and for a short while he had been ensnared. She was delectable to look at, but as it turned out her looks were the only positive attribute that could be accurately labeled.
He had discovered, after the first initial drunken romp, that she was fairly lightweight between the audial sensors. It had been a learning experience for him, to realize that every femme he met on political grounds would trade themselves for the mere promise of a favor.
Snapside had been different, in that she had completely ignored him at first. It had been such a shock after so many of the others flocking about him, after going so long at being able to get practically any femme he wanted into his berth without much effort, that he had made it his mission to go after her. In the process of pursuing her, he had become overly smitten, nearly convincing himself that it was more than infatuation.
They had been exclusive for nearly two vorns when he'd discovered that she was sharing her berth with someone other than him.
As far as his memory currently stretched, those had been the only two major relationships he could recall and neither of them seemed to be likely candidates. There had been others, certainly, but none of them had left as much of an impact. Far more likely that he had met someone else within the span of time he was missing from his memory core.
He shuttered his optics, attempting to imagine a face he couldn't recall. Unwillingly, images less pleasant bled through, that pleading, screaming, weeping blue femme, a jolting reminder of why he didn't truly wish to remember. He wasn't sure if the armor his claws had torn through had belonged to his spark mate, or if the frightened sparkling he had ripped from her was his own.
He didn't want to know.
He didn't want to remember.
He didn't want it fixed.
NEW EDIT : Damn, wow...not entirely certain how my LJ went from Public to Friend's Only when I didn't even touch anything. I think it may be fixed now, but just in case I posted the chapter here.
Story Title : File Recovery
Chapter Title : Refraction
Overall Rating : 'NC-17'
Chapter Rating : 'PG'
Characters in this Chapter : Megatron, and references to two femme OCs, Brushfire and Snapside.
Summary : He didn't want to know.He didn't want to remember. He didn't want it fixed
Note : Wow, this chapter totally ended up being something other than what I originally intended it to be. In a good way, though, methinks. Bit of introspection...yeah. Well, anyways, Happy Holidays in advance, in case I don't manage to crank out the next chapter before Christmas. I shall try, I shall try.
Credits : In this story I will be referencing Bumblebee's origins as developed by Karategal
in her stories, as well as the destruction of the Youth Sectors, coined as 'Floatila' by Lady Tecuma
in 'Sparks and Plasma'. I will also be using the concept of 'carrying' as developed by Litahatchee
in her story 'Night Fire', as well as referencing her depiction of the Floatilla Massacre. These ideas are used with permission. If you wish to use them, do not ask me. You must obtain permission from these authors. That said, I reccommend that you read each and every story mentioned here, especially if you're a fan of Ironhide/Chromia, sparklings in general, or Bumblebee.
The wall had not changed in the long expanse of time he had spent looking at it. For the past several joors it had remained the same expanse of blank white paint that it had the very first time he'd actually gotten a good look at the room. There were no minor scuff marks or partial imperfections that might have tricked weary visual sensors into seeing something that wasn't really there. Even the shadows cast by the tables and the berth did little to lend it any descriptivity.
It was as clean as it could possibly be.
Clean like the upper tiers of Iacon, though those towers were made of metal rather than a hardened mixture of granite and sand with cohesive properties. Somewhere around the second joor he had decided to actually scan the wall itself only to be surprised that its make-up was not exactly ideal. The internal framework was metal, certainly, but the fill in material was not something his processor normally associated with the words 'structurally sound'. He had quickly reached the conclusion that the planet they were situated on did not have the over abundance of metal that Cybertron itself was composed of. In fact, its lack of it had forced whatever native species had developed to use something as crude and boring as stone for a building structure.
His optics began to wander, first upwards at the ceiling though this did little to hold his attention. It was only slightly more interesting than the wall, though it adhered to the same color scheme. Mounted directly in the middle was a round and altogether nondescript light fixture, currently turned on as the medic had taken away the operating lamps sometime earlier.
He hadn't noted the exact time, just the change in light quality. That the room had a permanent light source had been a mild surprise.
The cameras, on the other hand, he'd been expecting.
They were in the corners, staring down at the room below in an almost unobtrusive sort of way. He almost hadn't noticed them, at first thinking that the little reflective domes containing them were something integral to the medical bay. However, his systems had repaired themselves enough that his proximity sensors were able to pick up on the devices themselves. He had to admit, hiding security cameras behind a convex mirror was a rather clever idea, though he hadn't stared at them for long. His reflection, even distorted in that curved surface, caused an uncomfortable feeling itching through his chassis.
He glanced at the door, but it was only for a moment. Even if it did open, he did not want nor expect anything good to come out of any further visits from the medic or his brother. Speaking with the former was decidedly one-sided, despite the fact that he was the one doing what little talking there was. The reflective green mech had an intangible aura of grouchiness that seemed to deflect conversation prior to there actually being one.
As for the latter option, Optimus had yet to return after their last discussion and while he did not know exactly how long ago that was, he sensed that it was more than an orn or two.
He wasn't entirely certain if he wanted his brother to even come back.
There was a cube of energon on the table next to him. It had been sitting there for a while, but though his tank was sending complaints every few breems, he refused to even touch it. He knew that it would go to waste should he ingest it, for every so often his thoughts would stray away from his pointed attempts at distraction and his processor would cycle through the internal questioning he had been attempting to avoid.
They flowed freely now, aided by the scattered lines of thought brought on by exhaustion and lack of fuel. He had forced himself to stay awake, refusing to recharge though his systems demands for it increased and increased until now the warnings were merely a few breems apart from each other. He knew that eventually he would crash, that his systems would shut down anyways, as one could only go so long without running their defragmentation routines. In his damaged state, those programs that only ran whilst in recharge would be supplemented by his repair systems, working away to fix the damage within his memory core.
He didn't want it fixed.
He didn't want to remember.
He didn't want to know, would rather his CPU be rendered unsalvageable, than to recall exactly what he had done to render every connection inside his spark broken save for his brother's. For the first time in what he could accurately recall, he felt afraid of himself, afraid of regressing into whatever it was he had become.
Yet there was indecisiveness at the back of his processor, a small desire for a certain set of data to be reintegrated.
He wanted it fixed.
He wanted to remember.
He wanted to know, to have some inkling of what she was like.
When he had first taken office there had been a multitude of ceremonies and official parties that had occupied his time until he managed to figure out that attendance was not mandatory. These frivolous political gatherings, set up by the senators and the guild leaders, had merely been the first set of their ploys to get in his favor. He had fallen for it, mainly because he was young and like any typical mech thought more with his connection cables than his processor.
His first real foray into the realm of intimacy had gone by the name of Brushfire. Her sire had been the representative from Praxus for several vorns at that time, but had fallen out of favor with the rest of the senate due to some minor disagreements over inter-sector transit. So in true political fashion, she had been sicced on him, and for a short while he had been ensnared. She was delectable to look at, but as it turned out her looks were the only positive attribute that could be accurately labeled.
He had discovered, after the first initial drunken romp, that she was fairly lightweight between the audial sensors. It had been a learning experience for him, to realize that every femme he met on political grounds would trade themselves for the mere promise of a favor.
Snapside had been different, in that she had completely ignored him at first. It had been such a shock after so many of the others flocking about him, after going so long at being able to get practically any femme he wanted into his berth without much effort, that he had made it his mission to go after her. In the process of pursuing her, he had become overly smitten, nearly convincing himself that it was more than infatuation.
They had been exclusive for nearly two vorns when he'd discovered that she was sharing her berth with someone other than him.
As far as his memory currently stretched, those had been the only two major relationships he could recall and neither of them seemed to be likely candidates. There had been others, certainly, but none of them had left as much of an impact. Far more likely that he had met someone else within the span of time he was missing from his memory core.
He shuttered his optics, attempting to imagine a face he couldn't recall. Unwillingly, images less pleasant bled through, that pleading, screaming, weeping blue femme, a jolting reminder of why he didn't truly wish to remember. He wasn't sure if the armor his claws had torn through had belonged to his spark mate, or if the frightened sparkling he had ripped from her was his own.
He didn't want to know.
He didn't want to remember.
He didn't want it fixed.