Awakening of a heroic character
(OOC: Open thread.)
BW Silverbolt
Around him, inside him, the time storm rages and all he can think of is Blackarachnia.
Is she safe inside the ship? Will Megatron murder her now that she opened the doors of the Ark for him? Will saving his, Silverbolt’s, life by giving Megatron what he wants, forfeit her own? If Megatron succeeds, will she come into existence at all? She is a Maximal protoform!
You sacrificed too much, my lady, my life is not worth the loss of time itself, is his last coherent thought before Silverbolt loses himself in the time storm.
After rebooting, the first thing he becomes aware of is a soft chirping noise, not of a familiar mechanic origin, yet he knows that he knows it, he just can’t remember.
Why aren’t I hurting? He frowns deeply at the stray thought. Everything should hurt, he is quite certain of that, yet he can’t say why.
A moment later, his long-storage memory catches up to his sensory inputs and he wishes he couldn’t remember.
The time storm… feeling like he was being torn apart and remoulded by time itself… being unmade… Silverbolt has always prided himself in knowing no fear, yet the memory makes his spark clench in trepidation. He’ll never run from a foe, but how can you fight something that has no body, no mind, no mercy? Something that simply is. They can travel time, they can even change it, but you can’t charge at time with a weapon and challenge it to a duel. He smiles slightly. Well, Blackarachnia would try anyway…
Blackarachnia!
He onlines his optics to a place that definitely isn’t the volcano.
It is a world full of bright and vivid colors, the likes of which he’s only seen in recordings of earth before the alien weapon scorched it and rare sanctuaries such as the valley of the protohumans.
Silverbolt stands up and takes in the place. The material he awoke on is grass, he realizes. The tall structures in the distance are trees. He catches sight of a small winged creature hopping around on the grass, picking at the ground, and realizes the odd chirping is birdsong.
It’s beautiful and overwhelming, but Silverbolt can’t appreciate it. Not now, with Blackarachnia nowhere in sight, the Ark gone and him… somewhere else. Not the metallic world of Cybertron he only knows from recordings and the tales of his comrades, but not the earth he awoke on, either. Nor has he gone back in time further, for his sensors don’t register dangerous levels of unstable energon radiation.
That foreign and already despised sensation of fear grips Silverbolt’s spark once more.
Is this earth… as Megatron has changed it? It strikes him as wrong to the core of his spark that Megatron wiping out their Autobot ancestors would remake earth a pristine paradise, but it’s the only explanation he has.
He activates his comm. unit to call for his comrades, but at the last moment, another worrisome realization hits him and he hunches his wings in dismay. If this is the universe Megatron created… it’ll be a hostile place, ruled by the iron fists of Decepticons or Predacons.
No, he can’t use the comm. until he knows more about where he is, when and most importantly, who else is here. He is here, unchanged, so logic dictates the others must be, too. Blackarachnia must be here… somewhere…
He just has to find them!
His spark emboldened by the new task and the prospect of being reunited with his comrades and beloved, Silverbolt prepares to take off.
BW Silverbolt
Around him, inside him, the time storm rages and all he can think of is Blackarachnia.
Is she safe inside the ship? Will Megatron murder her now that she opened the doors of the Ark for him? Will saving his, Silverbolt’s, life by giving Megatron what he wants, forfeit her own? If Megatron succeeds, will she come into existence at all? She is a Maximal protoform!
You sacrificed too much, my lady, my life is not worth the loss of time itself, is his last coherent thought before Silverbolt loses himself in the time storm.
After rebooting, the first thing he becomes aware of is a soft chirping noise, not of a familiar mechanic origin, yet he knows that he knows it, he just can’t remember.
Why aren’t I hurting? He frowns deeply at the stray thought. Everything should hurt, he is quite certain of that, yet he can’t say why.
A moment later, his long-storage memory catches up to his sensory inputs and he wishes he couldn’t remember.
The time storm… feeling like he was being torn apart and remoulded by time itself… being unmade… Silverbolt has always prided himself in knowing no fear, yet the memory makes his spark clench in trepidation. He’ll never run from a foe, but how can you fight something that has no body, no mind, no mercy? Something that simply is. They can travel time, they can even change it, but you can’t charge at time with a weapon and challenge it to a duel. He smiles slightly. Well, Blackarachnia would try anyway…
Blackarachnia!
He onlines his optics to a place that definitely isn’t the volcano.
It is a world full of bright and vivid colors, the likes of which he’s only seen in recordings of earth before the alien weapon scorched it and rare sanctuaries such as the valley of the protohumans.
Silverbolt stands up and takes in the place. The material he awoke on is grass, he realizes. The tall structures in the distance are trees. He catches sight of a small winged creature hopping around on the grass, picking at the ground, and realizes the odd chirping is birdsong.
It’s beautiful and overwhelming, but Silverbolt can’t appreciate it. Not now, with Blackarachnia nowhere in sight, the Ark gone and him… somewhere else. Not the metallic world of Cybertron he only knows from recordings and the tales of his comrades, but not the earth he awoke on, either. Nor has he gone back in time further, for his sensors don’t register dangerous levels of unstable energon radiation.
That foreign and already despised sensation of fear grips Silverbolt’s spark once more.
Is this earth… as Megatron has changed it? It strikes him as wrong to the core of his spark that Megatron wiping out their Autobot ancestors would remake earth a pristine paradise, but it’s the only explanation he has.
He activates his comm. unit to call for his comrades, but at the last moment, another worrisome realization hits him and he hunches his wings in dismay. If this is the universe Megatron created… it’ll be a hostile place, ruled by the iron fists of Decepticons or Predacons.
No, he can’t use the comm. until he knows more about where he is, when and most importantly, who else is here. He is here, unchanged, so logic dictates the others must be, too. Blackarachnia must be here… somewhere…
He just has to find them!
His spark emboldened by the new task and the prospect of being reunited with his comrades and beloved, Silverbolt prepares to take off.