Broken Ties (Chapter One, Part One)
Okay, this is my first time posting something on livejournal so sorry if I messed something up. (Looking at the preview page, it looks like some of the text isn't visible unless you highlight it, so watch out for that.) I'm dividing it into four parts because I was told that the story by itself was too long a post.
Summary: A simple question leads to Perceptor recalling his childhood and a dark past that he will never be able to reveal to the Autobots.
Warning: Child Abuse.
This is a the first chapter of the story Broken Ties, my beta was Dreaming of Everything from fanfiction.net (by the way, I owe her a lot so give her a round of applause), I got this plotbunny from a conversation I had with a friend so if you want to read the logic behind it ask me for the link, and I (sort of) stole the name 'Finehold' from Sir Thursday by Garth Nix, so credit is given where credit is due.
------
Light. Bright light.
“Arise, my creation.”
A raspy voice. It sounded hard. Hurtful.
But he didn’t have anything to compare it with, did he?
“He will have more trouble adapting to your military schedule than the average drone. He is much more complex; you have to treat him with more care than you would normally.”
“That is fine. I will raise my child to be the perfect weapon. Our enemy will never know what’s coming.”
He onlined his optics, wanting to see who was talking. They were calling him their child. So that would make the ones talking his creators. His parents.
He wanted to see his parents.
Colors swam before his optics, only to sharpen dramatically. Look at all the dimensions of light! Look how tiny particles seemed to zip through the air! What was this gas he was cycling through his filters? He wanted to know.
But he looked up to first see his creators. There were four alien-looking things, things he knew instinctively weren’t like him. They had five masks to serve as faces. They looked upon him with no love, merely satisfaction and accomplishment.
He looked around, wanting to see the creators that loved him. He was met with two pairs of red optics. These were the ones like him, but they didn’t love him. He knew their names. It was ingrained in him before they had even spoken to him.
“Welcome to the land of the living, Perceptor,” Megatron chuckled.
“Perceptor? Perceptor, are you there?”
Perceptor was snapped out of his daze by Jazz’s insistent voice. “I apologize; I seem to have drifted away for the moment.”
“We asked you about where you came from before you joined the Autobots,” Wheeljack supplied helpfully.
“I know. I do not remember very well; I believe I was created in Trinox and taken away by the Decepticons when they attacked my city. I was rather young at the time,” Perceptor said vaguely, waving his hand a little.
Jazz, Tracks, and Wheeljack seemed satisfied by his answer. Perceptor simply dipped his head and took a sip of energon, making himself unnoticeable.
“Trinox? I lived in Morin,” Jazz said. “That means we probably lived pretty close. I barely remember the battle at Trinox; it’s mostly a mess of distant smoke and my creator shouting. I joined up with the Autobots a couple hundred years later, when I was able to fight properly.”
“I lived in Iacon my whole life. I was made by Autobot Steelfist to be a fighter and inventor, Primus rest his spark.”
Perceptor nodded and listened to his comrades’ stories quietly, knowing that they didn’t have to lie about their past.
“Father?”
Soundwave looked down at the small blue and black Decepticon sparkling. The child had a data disk clutched to his chest, as others his age clutched their toys.
“Term to identify me: unsatisfactory. Reason: too soft and familiar. Designation: Soundwave.”
The small child winced at his creator’s metallic tone. “My apologies, Fa… Soundwave.”
Soundwave looked at the sparkling at his feet with no discernable expression. The sparkling had a black helm with a silver face and a black color scheme, painted blue only at the dips that made his waist. His ruby optics were fixed on his creator’s feet, waiting to be acknowledged.
Soundwave seemed to soften a little, if that were at all possible. “Reason for approaching me, Perceptor?”
Perceptor bit his lower lip lightly, shifting his weight a little. Soundwave wasn’t very affectionate, but he was a big improvement on the other Decepticons. The other Decepticons thought of him as a wimp for being so timid, but he knew in his spark he could do things none of them ever dreamed of.
“I found this data disk. It was talking about a group called ‘Autobots.’ What are Autobots?”
Soundwave seemed surprised, but it was hard to tell. Irritability, surprise, contentment… it all looked basically the same on Soundwave.
“You are… abnormally intelligent. Only online for three hundred years, and you already have been scouring the data banks.”
Perceptor’s optics flashed in surprise when Soundwave deviated from his normal speech patterns, but the moment passed. “I want to learn everything there is to know,” Perceptor said earnestly.
“Yes, that is admirable. It is a useful tool. You are ready to learn of the Autobots.” Soundwave picked up the small sparkling, letting Perceptor loop his arms around the cassette player’s neck and resting his head against the blue Decepticon’s chest. It was a small, subtle, tender gesture that Soundwave didn’t tell him to let go or to act like a full grown mech. Soundwave was much more affectionate than Perceptor’s other creator, though that really wasn’t saying much.
“Perceptor, what we have not told you for the sake of the development of your mind is the fact that the Decepticons are at war. The Autobots have run a corrupt regime in Cybertron, a dictatorship, that the Decepticons wish to overturn.”
“A dictatorship? What did they do?” Perceptor asked, looking up with bright, curious optics.
“The Autobot hierarchy depends on an artifact called the Matrix of Leadership. The Matrix is said to be a fragment of Primus’s spark. The Matrix chooses an Autobot to lead all of Cybertron every time the last leader has passed on. The Matrix, however, is not a part of Primus’s spark. It is an Autobot hoax that uses Primus’s name to elect one of their own as the leader, and they oppress the Decepticons into small areas without voices of their own. Because of this, Megatron and the Decepticons are at war with the Autobots, to liberate Cybertron from their tyranny. When we win, Megatron shall rule Cybertron.”
Perceptor couldn’t stop the chill that crawled down his back at the thought of his other creator. Cold, harsh, disapproving Megatron. It was hard to think of him as a liberator, but if Soundwave said it, it had to be true.
The little Decepticon sparkling rested a hand on the insignia painted on the center of his chest. He looked up at Soundwave quietly. “Well, if the Autobots are like that, we will win, won’t we? We are in the right, and they will see that. In every war, there must be sacrifices. You are either an ally or an enemy, and you cannot spare thought to those that stand against you, can you? The Decepticons can crush the corrupt Autobots, and I will help them,” he said, his eyes burning. He slammed a fist against his chest, a low humming coming from his light cannon, warming it up in readiness.
“Attitude: appropriate. Pledges: honorable. The Decepticons are proud to have you.”
Perceptor’s spark glowed in light of Soundwave’s approval, and he rested his head against his creator’s chest again.
“Whoa, will you look at the time!” Jazz exclaimed, taking note of his internal chronometer.
“It’s past eleven. I truly must get to Prowl for my shift!” Tracks said, immediately standing out and striding out the door.
“By Primus, you’d think that the universe would end if Prowl didn’t get the patrollers exactly on time,” Jazz said, amused. “By the way, ‘Jack, I think we’ve lost Perce.”
Wheeljack looked to his friend, noticing how he was studying the dregs of his energon blankly, like they held all the secrets whispered from the mouths of gods into divine ears. There was something… off about his expression. Wheeljack wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was… fear? Anger? Sorrow? Well, he didn’t think he had ever actually seen the scientist angry. He’d never seen him show fear, either. For lack of a better term, Perceptor looked upset. It was so subtle that Wheeljack was probably the only one who picked up on it, and even then it was probably only because he was a close friend.
“Hey, Percy? It’s time to recharge,” Wheeljack said, gently nudging the scientist. Perceptor snapped out of his daze immediately, and he made a reflexive jerking motion with his hand, like he was trying to deflect a blow to his face, but he swiftly forced his hand down.
“You okay, Perce? You drifted off for a minute there,” Jazz said, flashing an easy smile.
“I am perfectly alright. I apologize. I was merely… lost in thought.” Perceptor’s mouth curled into a smile of his own, but his smiles were always sweeter, kinder… gentler, than Jazz’s. They were also more subtle, something that didn’t make you star-struck with the sheer charm of it, but rather something that warmed your spark to see. Wheeljack, however, noticed how this one seemed a little… forced.
Jazz shrugged a little. “Whatever you say, Perce. See you tomorrow.” He punched Perceptor lightly in the shoulder and walked out the door.
Wheeljack stood up and regarded his friend. Perceptor still had a somewhat distant expression on his face.
“Hey, are you sure you’re alright? You look upset,” Wheeljack said, invoking the only word he could think of to describe his friend’s perceived mood.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Are you sure? You’ve been a little out of it since Jazz asked about where you came from. Did we pry too much? Were you thinking about Trinox or something?”
“I’m fine, Wheeljack.”
Wheeljack winced at the scientist’s tone. Perceptor immediately softened, a hand resting on the engineer’s shoulder, light as a feather.
“I apologize, old friend. That came out harsher than I meant it. But I am fine. There is no need for you to worry,” he said in a much gentler tone. He was lying, but Wheeljack didn’t try to point it out. “Come, we should go back to the med bay to recharge to prevent Ratchet becoming furious at us.”
Wheeljack nodded once and followed his friend to the med bay. It wasn’t long until Perceptor was lost in thought again.
Wheeljack sighed, not bothering to try to awaken the mech again, and gently led him to the med bay.
“What do I have to do Fa… Soundwave?” the sparkling asked. Two Decepticons, Starscream and Thundercracker, came into the round room, dragging a beaten-up looking mech in-between them.
Perceptor’s optics brightened in interest. This mech wasn’t like the ones he knew. He looked like he changed into a car of some sort, and he had a purple and black paintjob with bits of red on his side, and white on his face. There was a red sigil at his chest, right where the Decepticon sigil usually was. He had never seen this kind of mech before.
“That is an Autobot,” Soundwave said. Oh. An Autobot.
Perceptor’s optics immediately darkened in disgust, but the interest still remained. “Soundwave, may I keep him? I have never met an Autobot before, think of what I could learn…”
“Negative. Perhaps when we capture a smaller one.”
Perceptor’s disappointment was gone before it even started. There was no room for such petty feelings in him, if he ever wanted his creators to feel that he was worth the effort put into his construction.
The seekers threw the Autobot to the ground. Perceptor’s optics picked out the black accents to the Autobot’s paint.
The Autobot’s? That’s right. He was solely defined by his faction.
The Autobot struggled to support himself on his arms. He grimaced in pain and looked up defiantly to face Soundwave, but his expression turned to one of horror.
“What are you doing with a sparkling? He can’t even have been online for a half a thousand years yet! Don’t tell me you’ve actually stooped to using sparklings as tools for war!”
“Silence, Autobot! In war, there must be sacrifices. If I become a sacrifice it does not matter. As long as I have died for the greater good, it does not matter!” Perceptor said harshly, but his words had the mechanical undertone of recital.
“Good job, Perceptor.”
The sparkling, the Autobot, and the cassette player all looked up at the owner of the voice. Perceptor’s optics brightened in happiness and nervousness at seeing his other creator.
“What a noble statement. I see you are willing to do anything for our cause,” Megatron said, optics gleaming blood red.
“Yes, Megatron. Anything,” Perceptor said honestly, bowing his head.
“Then I want you to test out your other form for me. Hook has told me that you are still underdeveloped, but I think you have enough firepower to do some harm. I want you to use your other form on that Autobot.”
Perceptor looked at the Autobot expressionlessly.
“Autobots have no spark. Their lives are nothing,” Soundwave said harshly.
“I wasn’t pondering morals. I was pondering the best place to hit.”
The Autobot’s optics widened and the seekers quickly jumped out of the way. “Little one, you do not know what you are doing. They have brainwashed you. Please, you have to know what is right, in your spark…”
“This is my function. This is the only thing that can be right for me.” And his creators would never approve of him if he wasn’t strong enough to help them fight.
Perceptor folded in on himself, straining to take the shape he innately knew how to take, yet which he had never used before. He ground his dental plates and grimaced in pain as his legs twisted in a foreign way, turning into treads, and his microscope barrel became larger and more powerful.
“Make him stop! He is too young to try to take a form like this, he could seriously damage himself!” the Autobot shouted.
“Silence, Autobot! He is designed to take this form, he cannot hurt himself!” Megatron shouted.
Perceptor felt something tearing internally and he bit back a cry of pain. His own words echoed in his audios. All for the greater good. Sacrifices must be made. It does not matter if I am a sacrifice. That was the mantra that had been ingrained in his processor his entire life, spoken by countless Decepticons, his creators included. He had to please them.
He only realized that he had completed his task a couple seconds after it had happened. Where a sparkling had once stood, there now was a sleek black tank. He aimed his great light cannon at the Autobot.
He fired.
Summary: A simple question leads to Perceptor recalling his childhood and a dark past that he will never be able to reveal to the Autobots.
Warning: Child Abuse.
This is a the first chapter of the story Broken Ties, my beta was Dreaming of Everything from fanfiction.net (by the way, I owe her a lot so give her a round of applause), I got this plotbunny from a conversation I had with a friend so if you want to read the logic behind it ask me for the link, and I (sort of) stole the name 'Finehold' from Sir Thursday by Garth Nix, so credit is given where credit is due.
------
Light. Bright light.
“Arise, my creation.”
A raspy voice. It sounded hard. Hurtful.
But he didn’t have anything to compare it with, did he?
“He will have more trouble adapting to your military schedule than the average drone. He is much more complex; you have to treat him with more care than you would normally.”
“That is fine. I will raise my child to be the perfect weapon. Our enemy will never know what’s coming.”
He onlined his optics, wanting to see who was talking. They were calling him their child. So that would make the ones talking his creators. His parents.
He wanted to see his parents.
Colors swam before his optics, only to sharpen dramatically. Look at all the dimensions of light! Look how tiny particles seemed to zip through the air! What was this gas he was cycling through his filters? He wanted to know.
But he looked up to first see his creators. There were four alien-looking things, things he knew instinctively weren’t like him. They had five masks to serve as faces. They looked upon him with no love, merely satisfaction and accomplishment.
He looked around, wanting to see the creators that loved him. He was met with two pairs of red optics. These were the ones like him, but they didn’t love him. He knew their names. It was ingrained in him before they had even spoken to him.
“Welcome to the land of the living, Perceptor,” Megatron chuckled.
“Perceptor? Perceptor, are you there?”
Perceptor was snapped out of his daze by Jazz’s insistent voice. “I apologize; I seem to have drifted away for the moment.”
“We asked you about where you came from before you joined the Autobots,” Wheeljack supplied helpfully.
“I know. I do not remember very well; I believe I was created in Trinox and taken away by the Decepticons when they attacked my city. I was rather young at the time,” Perceptor said vaguely, waving his hand a little.
Jazz, Tracks, and Wheeljack seemed satisfied by his answer. Perceptor simply dipped his head and took a sip of energon, making himself unnoticeable.
“Trinox? I lived in Morin,” Jazz said. “That means we probably lived pretty close. I barely remember the battle at Trinox; it’s mostly a mess of distant smoke and my creator shouting. I joined up with the Autobots a couple hundred years later, when I was able to fight properly.”
“I lived in Iacon my whole life. I was made by Autobot Steelfist to be a fighter and inventor, Primus rest his spark.”
Perceptor nodded and listened to his comrades’ stories quietly, knowing that they didn’t have to lie about their past.
“Father?”
Soundwave looked down at the small blue and black Decepticon sparkling. The child had a data disk clutched to his chest, as others his age clutched their toys.
“Term to identify me: unsatisfactory. Reason: too soft and familiar. Designation: Soundwave.”
The small child winced at his creator’s metallic tone. “My apologies, Fa… Soundwave.”
Soundwave looked at the sparkling at his feet with no discernable expression. The sparkling had a black helm with a silver face and a black color scheme, painted blue only at the dips that made his waist. His ruby optics were fixed on his creator’s feet, waiting to be acknowledged.
Soundwave seemed to soften a little, if that were at all possible. “Reason for approaching me, Perceptor?”
Perceptor bit his lower lip lightly, shifting his weight a little. Soundwave wasn’t very affectionate, but he was a big improvement on the other Decepticons. The other Decepticons thought of him as a wimp for being so timid, but he knew in his spark he could do things none of them ever dreamed of.
“I found this data disk. It was talking about a group called ‘Autobots.’ What are Autobots?”
Soundwave seemed surprised, but it was hard to tell. Irritability, surprise, contentment… it all looked basically the same on Soundwave.
“You are… abnormally intelligent. Only online for three hundred years, and you already have been scouring the data banks.”
Perceptor’s optics flashed in surprise when Soundwave deviated from his normal speech patterns, but the moment passed. “I want to learn everything there is to know,” Perceptor said earnestly.
“Yes, that is admirable. It is a useful tool. You are ready to learn of the Autobots.” Soundwave picked up the small sparkling, letting Perceptor loop his arms around the cassette player’s neck and resting his head against the blue Decepticon’s chest. It was a small, subtle, tender gesture that Soundwave didn’t tell him to let go or to act like a full grown mech. Soundwave was much more affectionate than Perceptor’s other creator, though that really wasn’t saying much.
“Perceptor, what we have not told you for the sake of the development of your mind is the fact that the Decepticons are at war. The Autobots have run a corrupt regime in Cybertron, a dictatorship, that the Decepticons wish to overturn.”
“A dictatorship? What did they do?” Perceptor asked, looking up with bright, curious optics.
“The Autobot hierarchy depends on an artifact called the Matrix of Leadership. The Matrix is said to be a fragment of Primus’s spark. The Matrix chooses an Autobot to lead all of Cybertron every time the last leader has passed on. The Matrix, however, is not a part of Primus’s spark. It is an Autobot hoax that uses Primus’s name to elect one of their own as the leader, and they oppress the Decepticons into small areas without voices of their own. Because of this, Megatron and the Decepticons are at war with the Autobots, to liberate Cybertron from their tyranny. When we win, Megatron shall rule Cybertron.”
Perceptor couldn’t stop the chill that crawled down his back at the thought of his other creator. Cold, harsh, disapproving Megatron. It was hard to think of him as a liberator, but if Soundwave said it, it had to be true.
The little Decepticon sparkling rested a hand on the insignia painted on the center of his chest. He looked up at Soundwave quietly. “Well, if the Autobots are like that, we will win, won’t we? We are in the right, and they will see that. In every war, there must be sacrifices. You are either an ally or an enemy, and you cannot spare thought to those that stand against you, can you? The Decepticons can crush the corrupt Autobots, and I will help them,” he said, his eyes burning. He slammed a fist against his chest, a low humming coming from his light cannon, warming it up in readiness.
“Attitude: appropriate. Pledges: honorable. The Decepticons are proud to have you.”
Perceptor’s spark glowed in light of Soundwave’s approval, and he rested his head against his creator’s chest again.
“Whoa, will you look at the time!” Jazz exclaimed, taking note of his internal chronometer.
“It’s past eleven. I truly must get to Prowl for my shift!” Tracks said, immediately standing out and striding out the door.
“By Primus, you’d think that the universe would end if Prowl didn’t get the patrollers exactly on time,” Jazz said, amused. “By the way, ‘Jack, I think we’ve lost Perce.”
Wheeljack looked to his friend, noticing how he was studying the dregs of his energon blankly, like they held all the secrets whispered from the mouths of gods into divine ears. There was something… off about his expression. Wheeljack wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was… fear? Anger? Sorrow? Well, he didn’t think he had ever actually seen the scientist angry. He’d never seen him show fear, either. For lack of a better term, Perceptor looked upset. It was so subtle that Wheeljack was probably the only one who picked up on it, and even then it was probably only because he was a close friend.
“Hey, Percy? It’s time to recharge,” Wheeljack said, gently nudging the scientist. Perceptor snapped out of his daze immediately, and he made a reflexive jerking motion with his hand, like he was trying to deflect a blow to his face, but he swiftly forced his hand down.
“You okay, Perce? You drifted off for a minute there,” Jazz said, flashing an easy smile.
“I am perfectly alright. I apologize. I was merely… lost in thought.” Perceptor’s mouth curled into a smile of his own, but his smiles were always sweeter, kinder… gentler, than Jazz’s. They were also more subtle, something that didn’t make you star-struck with the sheer charm of it, but rather something that warmed your spark to see. Wheeljack, however, noticed how this one seemed a little… forced.
Jazz shrugged a little. “Whatever you say, Perce. See you tomorrow.” He punched Perceptor lightly in the shoulder and walked out the door.
Wheeljack stood up and regarded his friend. Perceptor still had a somewhat distant expression on his face.
“Hey, are you sure you’re alright? You look upset,” Wheeljack said, invoking the only word he could think of to describe his friend’s perceived mood.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Are you sure? You’ve been a little out of it since Jazz asked about where you came from. Did we pry too much? Were you thinking about Trinox or something?”
“I’m fine, Wheeljack.”
Wheeljack winced at the scientist’s tone. Perceptor immediately softened, a hand resting on the engineer’s shoulder, light as a feather.
“I apologize, old friend. That came out harsher than I meant it. But I am fine. There is no need for you to worry,” he said in a much gentler tone. He was lying, but Wheeljack didn’t try to point it out. “Come, we should go back to the med bay to recharge to prevent Ratchet becoming furious at us.”
Wheeljack nodded once and followed his friend to the med bay. It wasn’t long until Perceptor was lost in thought again.
Wheeljack sighed, not bothering to try to awaken the mech again, and gently led him to the med bay.
“What do I have to do Fa… Soundwave?” the sparkling asked. Two Decepticons, Starscream and Thundercracker, came into the round room, dragging a beaten-up looking mech in-between them.
Perceptor’s optics brightened in interest. This mech wasn’t like the ones he knew. He looked like he changed into a car of some sort, and he had a purple and black paintjob with bits of red on his side, and white on his face. There was a red sigil at his chest, right where the Decepticon sigil usually was. He had never seen this kind of mech before.
“That is an Autobot,” Soundwave said. Oh. An Autobot.
Perceptor’s optics immediately darkened in disgust, but the interest still remained. “Soundwave, may I keep him? I have never met an Autobot before, think of what I could learn…”
“Negative. Perhaps when we capture a smaller one.”
Perceptor’s disappointment was gone before it even started. There was no room for such petty feelings in him, if he ever wanted his creators to feel that he was worth the effort put into his construction.
The seekers threw the Autobot to the ground. Perceptor’s optics picked out the black accents to the Autobot’s paint.
The Autobot’s? That’s right. He was solely defined by his faction.
The Autobot struggled to support himself on his arms. He grimaced in pain and looked up defiantly to face Soundwave, but his expression turned to one of horror.
“What are you doing with a sparkling? He can’t even have been online for a half a thousand years yet! Don’t tell me you’ve actually stooped to using sparklings as tools for war!”
“Silence, Autobot! In war, there must be sacrifices. If I become a sacrifice it does not matter. As long as I have died for the greater good, it does not matter!” Perceptor said harshly, but his words had the mechanical undertone of recital.
“Good job, Perceptor.”
The sparkling, the Autobot, and the cassette player all looked up at the owner of the voice. Perceptor’s optics brightened in happiness and nervousness at seeing his other creator.
“What a noble statement. I see you are willing to do anything for our cause,” Megatron said, optics gleaming blood red.
“Yes, Megatron. Anything,” Perceptor said honestly, bowing his head.
“Then I want you to test out your other form for me. Hook has told me that you are still underdeveloped, but I think you have enough firepower to do some harm. I want you to use your other form on that Autobot.”
Perceptor looked at the Autobot expressionlessly.
“Autobots have no spark. Their lives are nothing,” Soundwave said harshly.
“I wasn’t pondering morals. I was pondering the best place to hit.”
The Autobot’s optics widened and the seekers quickly jumped out of the way. “Little one, you do not know what you are doing. They have brainwashed you. Please, you have to know what is right, in your spark…”
“This is my function. This is the only thing that can be right for me.” And his creators would never approve of him if he wasn’t strong enough to help them fight.
Perceptor folded in on himself, straining to take the shape he innately knew how to take, yet which he had never used before. He ground his dental plates and grimaced in pain as his legs twisted in a foreign way, turning into treads, and his microscope barrel became larger and more powerful.
“Make him stop! He is too young to try to take a form like this, he could seriously damage himself!” the Autobot shouted.
“Silence, Autobot! He is designed to take this form, he cannot hurt himself!” Megatron shouted.
Perceptor felt something tearing internally and he bit back a cry of pain. His own words echoed in his audios. All for the greater good. Sacrifices must be made. It does not matter if I am a sacrifice. That was the mantra that had been ingrained in his processor his entire life, spoken by countless Decepticons, his creators included. He had to please them.
He only realized that he had completed his task a couple seconds after it had happened. Where a sparkling had once stood, there now was a sleek black tank. He aimed his great light cannon at the Autobot.
He fired.