Past
Unlike most new mechs on the base who were more or less indifferent merely through ignorance, Prowl actually did respect Samuel James Witwicky. He knew what he had meant to the original mechs who had made planet-fall, and he knew what he meant to the New-bots. More importantly, though, he respected him as the heroic human he had been.
It was a respect that he held even after this “Sonar” had been sighted, and that respect made Prowl even more adamant in his argument. Sonar was not Sam. To say otherwise would be to sully his memory.
It had been a few orns since the new Decepticon’s sighting, and things were just getting worse.
Mikaela and Bumblebee had been coming out of their quarters again, which would have been a good sign, except that Mikaela had been getting persistent about “Sam’s” rescue, and now had Bumblebee asking with her-Bumblebee, who knew very well what reprogramming did to a mech, but who had apparently lost himself to his desperation.
To make matters worse, though Optimus did not heed to their request, neither did he vehemently deny it. Prowl knew why-the Autobot leader had grown fond of the boy, and the decision which he knew to be the right one was hard to make, increasingly so because it seemed that Mikaela and Bumblebee’s very sanity was depending on Optimus giving into their request.
But it would be a futile rescue. Prowl knew-experienced-first-hand the effects of reprogramming on those left behind. He knew about the hope, and he knew what it would do to one’s spark when the inevitable betrayal came. And if Optimus would not deny them, then he would have to. And if he had to play the part of tyrant in what most mechs disdainfully and caustically called a story of forbidden love and woe, then so be it. It would all be worth it, if he could spare just one creature his pain.
Prowl knew that it was bad for morale, for their leader and for their second-in-command to be at such odds, albeit silent odds, but he could not take any other position of argument. Sam, Mikaela, and Bumblebee deserved no less.
It didn’t make him very popular amongst the New-bots, who had included Sam in their numbers though he had apparently been unchanged where they had not. But Prowl was used to that. What was right was not always popular, and what was popular was not always right. And though Prowl did have his share of supporters, especially amongst the newly-landed Autobots, he was surprised to see that even some of the senior officers were less vocal about the younglings’ foolishness than they should have been.
“Why do you not tell them, Jazz?” Prowl asked curiously one day. “You know what the right decision is-it’s illogical that we are even entertaining this thought of ‘rescue’ at all.”
Jazz just looked at him helplessly. “They love him, Prowl.”
“Their love is blinding them to the truth.”
“There’s no use tellin’ ‘em, Prowl. I think it’s one of those things that they have to learn by themselves.”
Prowl looked upon his friend. “That’s the very thing that I’m trying to prevent. That lesson could very well be their last.”
Present
Mikaela and Bumblebee stepped out of Blaster’s workroom, equipment carefully stowed in subspace. Mikaela vaguely felt that she had just come out of a bad spy movie-Blaster had ushered them into the room, presenting to them “gadgets” and detailing to them exactly what each gadget was for.
The most useful were three so-called “halos.” Each would mask their frequencies from Soundwave, who would be preoccupied in battle at the time. Sam’s halo would also prevent the misguided human from contacting Soundwave and alerting him to the ruse out of panic. These were essential tools for such a high-risk rescue, considering that they would have to be going into the Decepticon base, and, really, one of the main things that they had going for them was that Soundwave didn’t think that they cared enough about Sam to perform such a feat.
They had only so long until the deception would be found, though. Time was of the essence.
On their way out, they bumped into-of all mechs-Prowl, who was in charge of the base (“holding down the fort”) until Optimus returned.
“Where are you going?” he asked them evenly.
“Training room,” Bumblebee said simply. It was the easiest explanation-they were going somewhere, armed to the plates, and they were going in that general direction.
They didn’t like lying to Prowl…but given their “misunderstandings,” they had no choice.
Prowl looked at them for a long time, and then-they must have been mistaken-his gaze seemed to soften a bit, and looked…looked almost saddened. “Good luck,” he said finally.
“Th-Thanks,” they stammered, taken aback by the totally inappropriate statement. But before she could say anything else, Prowl was already gone.
X x X
Past
Sonar woke up one orn in the crook of Soundwave’s arm as the mech worked on something. He stretched his frequencies out under Soundwave’s gaze, whose own frequencies became more watchful as he felt his youngest stir.
Sonar shifted somewhat, trying to get a better view of Soundwave’s new project, and winced when a throbbing pain came from his arm. He looked, and blinked in confusion when he saw teeth marks deeply embedded in the armour there.
He looked questioningly up at Soundwave, who answered only with a single word: “Virus.”
He thought back to when he last was with Ravage, and realized in dismay that he had no memory of what occurred in the past quarter-orn. He had probably tried to run again, obligating Ravage to chase him down and drag him back to Soundwave for yet another virus cleanse. He groaned, thinking of all the teasing that awaited him later, and mourned a little for his lost memories. Each virus purge came with a price: a little bit of his memories. Usually they were “memories” that he would have had while virus-ridden, but they were his memories all the same. He yearned for the day that this virus would just be gone so that he wouldn’t be confused all the time.
Soundwave’s frequencies gave a feeling of amusement at his creation’s childish frustration, and he ran his thumb gently under Sonar’s chin, from cheek to cheek, and it comforted him, and he let himself stop worrying about that virus. Soundwave knew how to comfort each of his creations; knew that Lazerbeak liked being stroked on the left wing while Ratbat preferred the right; knew that Rumble just wanted a pat on the head while Frenzy wanted to be cuddled and held; and he knew that Ravage, though she would never admit it, actually liked being stroked behind her audios.
Sonar amused himself with playing with some of Soundwave’s tendrils of thought-somewhat akin to a parent allowing an inquisitive child to manipulate and play with her fingers. (Although, come to think of it…how would he know what that even felt like…?)
At that self-directed question, something showed up in that big psychic pond, beckoning him to go deeper into the water, telling him that it would tell him exactly why if he’d just go closer. He was curious to what it was, and would have gone after it, except that Soundwave’s firewalls rose up, quickly and unexpectedly, giving him the distinct impression of an inquisitive hand slapped away from a dangerous object.
And he looked up, startled. The only outward sign of disapproval that Soundwave gave was the barest shake of the head, and he flushed, knowing that he had almost let his abilities control him…again. There were parts of the big psychic pond that he wasn’t supposed to play in, or else he’d drown in other people’s thoughts. He went immediately back to Soundwave’s frequencies, becoming appropriately wary of the deeper parts of that pond.
Soundwave finished what he was doing, and set the project upon the table. Sonar looked at it with curiosity, that anomaly already forgotten. The thing was almost as big as he was and was of an aerial design, a winged quadruped, inferior to Lazerbeak’s and Ratbat’s designs, but still formidable, given the talons that adorned it.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Classification: drone. Class: Raven.”
Sonar felt Soundwave’s frequencies change just a bit, hooking onto and activating the drone’s programming. Gently, he guided Sonar’s frequencies, directing them towards the drone’s programming. It was difficult, at first, but he finally got the thing aloft for just a few clicks, before his frequencies slipped and it crashed out of the air.
Soundwave, already anticipating this, caught it, and handed it to Sonar for inspection. Though his widening eyes were hidden by his mask, Soundwave still felt his amazement, and was amused, his frequencies enveloping Sonar’s comfortingly.
Present
Sonar had been making good progress. He had already taken out two pre-programmed drones, and was stalking a third, when his frequencies picked up something…and then proceeded to stretch out of his reach.
Oh, please no. Not now. He couldn’t be hit by a virus now.
He stayed very still, his drones trembling. Presently, the feeling passed.
He paused, reorganizing his frequencies, secure in the knowledge that his telepathic slip wouldn’t distract Soundwave or his co-creations in the least. After so many times already, they trusted that he would be able to deal with minor virus attempts.
He continued on, absently wondering what had caused his near-relapse.
And somewhere on the outskirts of the Decepticon base borders, two Autobots approached.
~
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 ~