Becoming - Chapter 4
Past
The Autobots had known that the Decepticons had somehow gained a new weapon. New-cons, the escaped Decepticons that Sector Seven made, gathered at the Decepticon base quickly, too quickly for the Autobots to save them. Something was calling them there, and unlike Starscream’s constant orders or Optimus’ broadcasted pleas, it was something that they obeyed without question.
They had not known the nature of this new tool. How could they have known?
The death of Samuel James Witwicky, detailed to them by a monotonous, emotionless Soundwave, (which they had later found out to be mostly a deception) had affected the leader much more than he let on. Sam was not just a human ally, he was…was a friend. And though he mourned for the boy too, he allowed himself to feel much more for Mikaela and Bumblebee than he allowed himself to feel for himself.
Though neither a Cybertronian nor a New-bot, Sam was Mikaela’s bonded, and was Bumblebee’s spark-brother. The latter had been near catatonic after what Soundwave revealed to them, and the former consumed with bloody rage. All three beings had been painfully aware of Sam’s human lifespan, a butterfly’s season in comparison to Bumblebee’s and now Mikaela’s lifespan. It had been the cruelest thing in the world that even that short time was taken away from them.
But they had all had to move on, and as the years passed and as one battle blurred with the next, Bumblebee and Mikaela had started to get better. Optimistic mechs said, in unintended callousness, that perhaps they would find peace in each other. But Optimus knew better. Bumblebee and Mikaela were spark-siblings, and would not be anything different. Could not be. But it was good, after watching both spiral down so far and so quickly, to see them smile again.
Needless to say, the incident, where they found out that Sam was not only alive but was now on the opposing side, had been a terrible shock, a strange combination of both grief and joy.
It had been a few orns since the incident which would be remembered later by the majority of the mechs as the incident where Ravage escaped, and by a small, shocked minority as the sighting of a dear, dead companion. Mikaela and Bumblebee had isolated themselves in their respective quarters ever since their return to the Autobot base, coming out only to refuel, and even that activity they did with vague disinterest.
Blaster was already in Optimus’ office, ready with his report. He saluted his commander, and Optimus nodded in reply. “Did you make contact?” he asked.
Blaster shook his head. “No. Soundwave’s firewalls are incredibly enforced around him. I don’t risk going any farther, or else Soundwave will figure out what I’m up to and then there’ll be no chance of getting contact at all.”
“What has he become capable of?”
“Some basics of technopathy, but what worries me is that, as he has already shown, he has become rather efficient in puppetry,” Blaster said grimly, and Optimus felt a tremor go up his armour, remembering the finer details of Ravage’s escape, how their circuitry went haywire, how the very base seemed to come alive…It was lucky that Blaster pinpointed the source of the puppetry, and was able to shield the base, but not soon enough to keep Ravage from escaping in the mayhem.
“What is Sam to him?” he asked after a pause. “What was the purpose?” Almost every mech on the Autobot side had a rivalry…had an insight with his counterpart on the Decepticon side. As Optimus knew Megatron, Blaster knew Soundwave. “Was it revenge for Megatron?”
“No. Whatever Soundwave does, he has a purpose. He doesn’t do things merely for revenge or hatred, although those are added bonuses. He thinks it beneath him. If taking Sam and…converting him was not significantly useful and was merely for sport or amusement, he would not have done it. It would have been time-consuming and a waste of precious resources. Sam is useful; able to contact the New-cons, able to perform puppetry…to Soundwave, Sam is a precious tool, nothing more, nothing less.”
“How has this become possible?” Optimus asked. “Ratchet performed numerous tests-all indicated that Sam was immune from the Allspark’s radiation.”
“I can’t tell you, boss-mech,” Blaster answered. “My guess? Contact with the Allspark at the time of its destruction did give him immunity, but he was also indirectly in contact with Megatron’s spark at the time, and the spark-energy must have transferred with the Allspark acting as a conduit.”
“So I suppose that is why…?”
“Why he’s a living beacon for the rest of the ‘Cons that Sector Seven made? Why he has those abilities? My guess would be yes. But why he looks so…so strange? That is Soundwave’s doing.”
Blaster shook his head, and Optimus was suddenly struck by how much the mech had changed. Though still headstrong and cheerful at times, Blaster nevertheless gained sadness over the vorns-pressure, perhaps, from constantly fighting off his own co-creation, and the haunting death of one of his creations had taken its toll. Optimus could sympathize with both counts.
“I suppose that,” Blaster continued, “if you look at it a certain, creepy way, Sam is the creation of Megatron, and all those New-cons are the co-creations. All the technology on earth was reverse-engineered from King ‘Con.”
“Did Soundwave think of him that way?”
“Maybe. It would have encouraged him to do what he did. If he thought that we had Megatron’s creation…yes, he’d go to any lengths to reclaim him, and to…cleanse him of any of our influences.”
“Then he has been reprogrammed.”
“It would appear so…although I’m not sure if it works the same for organics, and even though it looks like its been pummeled and put through who knows what, Sam’s body is still his own, unlike-“
Blaster didn’t finish the sentence. Optimus looked outside the base window, watching as some of the New-bots trained with Hound.
“But caution must be taken…and we will have to treat him as any other reprogrammed comrade,” Optimus said softly, so softly that you could barely hear the tiredness, the reluctance…and the regret.
Present
The Autobots plowed through the snow, going to stop the Decepticons from completely decimating yet another power plant. Snow fell softly around them, soft and white against the slate grey skies.
Optimus watched his troops carefully, and especially the newest additions. Of those who had accompanied them, he could see only two clearly. The others were too far behind, shielded from him by the rest of their hastily-called upon rescue force. Will, who was just behind him with Ironhide, and Epps with Jazz on his other side. Though their respective partners would look at them with grim determination, Optimus looked on with more than a little bit of sadness.
For mechs who had been created during the war, like Bumblebee, it never crossed their processors that the New-bots would not join their cause. To them, it was not only right, but natural for them to support their brothers-in-arms. The mechs couldn’t be blamed; when one was sparked in such a world, one did not grow up questioning things like these.
But Optimus was an older mech; one who had had the privilege of knowing what peace actually looked like, what it felt like. Perhaps it was because of this that he knew that it was wrong. This was not their world; this was not their war, and yet they had been thrust into it without a choice.
He did have to admit that, in the grand scheme of things, many of the Autobots and indeed the entire human race had no choice either. Ironically, it was either war, or extinction. But even so, choosing to fight was a choice in and of itself. These New-bots didn’t even have that. From the moment the Allspark had left its last legacy, the choices had been made for them.
If it was up to him, he would tell these newborns to flee. Flee from this carnage that enslaved their entire race. But where would they go? The last of the Neutrals were wiped out vorns ago, and as younglings, the New-bots were tempting victims for reprogramming, not only from Decepticons but also from the radical groups who dared to call themselves “Autobots.” And it wasn’t like they could go back to their human lives; they weren’t human anymore. Not exactly. And they couldn’t keep them in the Autobot base; the isolation would drive them insane.
Like them, Optimus had no choice either.
He was a leader, and in this strange new world these twenty-six lost, frightened souls looked to him as a father, though he would lead them down this dark road.
And that was his burden to bear.
X x X
Past
When Sonar was first activated, Soundwave had him restricted him to the Decepticon base. It was a precaution, of course, not only due to lapses in the reprogramming, but also simply due to his youth. Many things befell younglings during the early part of their first vorns - flawed programming, weak firewalls, etc. - so much so that when Cybertron had been at peace, the highest mortality rate had been among the newly sparked. Better that he be in friendly territory, where Soundwave or one of the cassettes could get to him quickly, should the need arise. But Sonar seemed to thrive well, despite the occasional, expected virus attacks that became few and far in between as time went on.
Soundwave had declared Sonar ready for outside combat the orn that Ravage was caught.
They had gone to recover her immediately, leaving Sonar behind, not realizing that, upon Soundwave’s declaration, they had just given the young technopath permission to follow them…and not realizing that he did not understand that he shouldn’t have had.
When Soundwave meant outside combat, he didn’t mean a full-blown battle.
To his credit, Sonar was just a bit brighter than the average Decepticon youngling, and did not wade in the midst of the battle. Instead, he hung in the background, and used what training Soundwave had given him concerning puppetry to shut down the Autobot base’s security precautions and to release Ravage. A couple of Autobots had found him, however, and Ravage would later tell them a curious thing - that upon knocking off Sonar’s battle mask, one had hesitated with the final blow, and the other had frozen in place. Still, it was only because Ravage showed up in time to rescue the rescuer that Sonar was not captured or killed.
Preoccupied with battling the Autobots, and in particular the traitor, they did not meet back with either Ravage or Sonar until they were retreating to the Decepticon base.
Ravage looked no worse for wear, but Sonar was pale and listless, draped across her shoulders, and his frequencies felt worse.
He was not trained for such an extensive use of puppetry, and now the excessive use of power was taking its toll.
Sonar’s frequencies were always a bit unreachable to them, able to convey and receive only emotion, not words, but even with that weakness, they could tell that something was wrong with his very processor. His frequencies behaved erratically, spiking into panic before quickly going into a catatonic state and then panicking again. When they tried reaching for him he forcefully pushed them away, his feeble firewalls rising, and the cassettes did not dare push farther lest they break him. Only Soundwave had the skill to keep a firm hold on his youngest creation’s fragile mind, of his last shreds of sanity, grimly holding onto the thrashing frequencies that were as violent as hurt, cornered drones.
And then the sounds. Sonar would writhe and scream, fall into hysterical laughter, quickly dissolve into sobs, before going completely still and eerily quiet, mumbling in that ugly human language - one of the impending signs of that stubborn virus.
“Is Sonar going to deactivate?” Ratbat asked worriedly one orn. Frenzy promptly thwacked his sibling, dislodging him from his perch.
“Of course not! Don’t be silly!” he snapped as Ratbat scrambled to his feet.
Soundwave had never lost a creation, at least during Frenzy’s lifetime. There had been Obsidian, the quadruped cassette that had been Soundwave’s first creation, killed during the early times of the war, and would have supposedly been Ravage’s partner. But that was such a long time ago - even before Ravage’s creation - so Frenzy usually didn’t count her among their ranks.
They did not leave the technopath - they didn’t even recharge - until Sonar was in the clear, and even after they were sure that Sonar was not going to deactivate, one of them would always be with him, watching just in case the virus took over his entire system. And there had been many close calls.
Sonar had been in stasis for a long time. So long, in fact, that the youngest cassettes thought that he might not wake up. But he did wake up, eventually, and Frenzy was there, so that he wasn’t alone.
Frenzy’s optics widened as the figure opened his eyes, battle mask removed and placed on the ground beside the berth. Sonar looked at him blankly, as if he didn’t recognize him, and Frenzy felt his spark give a strange pulse.
Then Sonar blinked, and the look was gone. “Frenzy?” he asked slowly. He looked down at himself then, strapped down to the recharge berth so that he wouldn’t hurt himself, and then looked back at Frenzy. “Did I do something wrong? Where’s Soundwave? Is he angry?”
Frenzy clicked in relief, and placed a hand atop his brother’s head. Sonar, while still confused, seemed comforted by the gesture, and his frequencies became less agitated. “Glad to see you back, glitch,” Frenzy said fondly, and then contacted Soundwave.
All in all, it had been a rather bad time, save for Ravage’s freedom, which they would have accomplished anyway without Sonar’s deterioration. The experience had left Sonar severely weakened and somewhat disoriented, and it might be another full vorn before he completely recovered. Needless to say, his quarantine inside the Decepticon base had been prolonged until further notice.
Present
Soundwave and his co-creations were gone now, off to gather more energon and to fight the Autobots that would stop them. Usually, Sonar would be disappointed in being left behind, but now he had a training session to distract him.
He wasn’t usually able to train with the others. Most were built for direct combat, some for repairs, and others for espionage, like himself, and their training sessions reflected this. However, there were times when all the New-cons were able to fight in a free-for-all.
A few more clicks, and the pre-programmed drones would be released. The New-cons were scattered around the base, weapons at the ready. Sonar did one final check of them, touching lightly upon the frequencies and confirming their locations, before placing on his halo. It was a small, metal object, and went around his head from temple to temple. Instantly he felt disoriented as his technopathy was limited to all but a certain radius. He staggered a bit, reoriented himself, and then adjusted his frequencies to these new boundaries.
It was a suppression of his abilities, but a necessary suppression. Physically weaker than many of the New-cons (even if he was at his optimal health), Sonar had only two things going for him: exceptional agility, and, of course, his drones. This limitation was reflective of a realistic scenario, in which his technopathy would be limited by a stronger enemy technopath.
The object of the training was simple; take out as many pre-programmed drone “Autobots” as you could without hitting your own comrades. The pre-programmed drones had their weapons set to drive one to a temporary stasis, and becoming locked in such a state meant either death or capture. The entire base was their training ground as they fought to the last mech standing.
A signal sounded, and he knew that the others were already on the hunt. He didn’t hesitate before heading into the vents.
Above Barricade’s quarters, he saw a silhouette around the corner, and a quick frequency check revealed it to be one of the pre-programmed drones. Sonar grinned underneath his mask, and around him his ten drones shifted from foot to foot, and then took to the air, sharp claws at the ready, reflecting his excited frequencies.
This was going to be fun.
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