Becoming - Chapter 10
Disclaimer: do not own Transformers.
Becoming
10
Past
Blaster looked out into the darkness of Cybertron, hands pressed against the invisible force field that surrounded the spire upon which their home was built. Adjusting his optics, he could see the red veins of Cybertron’s molten blood glowing against the dark metal grounds down below. He hoped that Jingles was okay; the Allspark, it was rumoured, had been behaving oddly lately, and the whole of Cybertron was affected. The grounds were more unstable than ever, so that even mechs who lived on the highest towers could feel the tremors. Emergency workers were busier and were taking greater risks than ever in Cybertron’s long history.
Or so he was told. Blaster had only been sparked a few orns ago; many things were still a mystery to him.
Beautiful, is it not? a voice said, whispering in his processor.
“S-Soundwave,” he stammered, and upon his older co-creation’s disapproving silence, he switched to his frequencies. I didn’t know you were still awake.
He would never say it aloud, but Blaster far preferred the company of his other half co-creation. Jazz was an open and friendly mech, always ready with a joke or a smile, and was very good with the newly-sparked. Blaster never felt awkward around him. But Blaster was a technopath, and thus had to spend the majority of his time with his technopathic co-creation to better learn the art. That was Wavelength and Ultrasound’s reasoning, anyway. Jingles had been disapproving of that. There were many things that Wavelength and Ultrasound neglected to tell him when they undertook this joint project together, it seemed.
Soundwave, in contrast, was an aloof mech. Not outright cruel or condescending, but…Blaster always felt that Soundwave always had a sense of sardonic amusement about him, and Blaster couldn’t tell if his older co-creation was truly amused or was just having a little joke at everyone else’s expense.
Plus, he felt a nagging sense of inferiority when around him. Wavelength and Ultrasound weren’t helping much; it seemed that they wanted him to be a replicate of his older, “perfect” co-creation.
Just a few orns old, and he already despaired of ever gaining his primary creators’ love.
Obsidian was restless, Soundwave said in response to his statement. He bent down so that said cassette could jump out of his arms and onto the ground. Obsidian immediately went up to Blaster, rubbing against him. He picked her up, cradling her somewhat awkwardly.
It took a lot of energy and skill to be able to link to cassettes, and only the best of the best made such bonds. And Soundwave, even at such a young age (he was only a few vorns old) was the best of the best.
She likes you, Soundwave said, and Blaster found a little bit of himself delighted at the recognition.
You’re really good, Blaster said almost enviously, stroking a half-recharging Obsidian behind her audios. How do you do it?
Soundwave regarded his days-old co-creation, and then said, I cannot tell you, little one. It is something that every technopath must find for himself.
Soundwave had seemed so kind during his early orns of life. Blaster would realize later what a blind little fool he had been.
He should have noticed the signs. How Soundwave was particularly interested in technopathic beings from other planets. How Soundwave was obsessed more about the nature of the body casing and the processor than of the spark. How Soundwave was disapproving of anything his cassettes did that was not related to a mission or purpose. How Soundwave seemed to…to gloat whenever others commented in concern how unnecessarily armed Obsidian was, as though having himself a private joke.
It yet it wasn’t until Soundwave attempted to reformat Steeljaw did Blaster realize just how depraved his co-creation was.
After he and Soundwave went their separate ways, Blaster realized that he and Soundwave didn’t have the same answer to that question he asked so long ago, because the answer that Blaster found was to love his cassettes, completely and unconditionally.
Soundwave just loved his cassettes’ functionality.
Present
Blaster knew that something had gone wrong almost immediately after Sam awoke. Some of the frequencies gained a more lively rhythm, while others remained at a steady, slow tune, indicating that the boy was somewhat conscious but still mostly asleep.
And yet…they did not change. His frequencies did not change.
Granted, he had never met Sam as a full human, so he would not recognize Sam’s original frequencies even if they hit him at full volume. But still…his frequencies were still those of the superficial Sonar persona.
Fear clenched at his spark. Were they too late? The longer the younglings stayed reprogrammed, the higher was the chance that they would never be able to cure them. The stunned youngling frequencies would grow into the superficial persona, and though the superficial programming would one day fade away, the youngling would have then embraced the reprogrammed being, their frequencies would have moulded and solidified to that of the superficial persona-they would have become someone they were not. Sam was just over a vorn old-he should still be young enough to be cured…
But noting the sheer joy in Bumblebee and Mikaela’s frequencies assured him, even for that one moment, that things were going to go right.
The agony that reverberated in their frequencies less than a breem later all but confirmed his suspicions.
He half-rose in his seat, his body in the Autobot base but his mind with Bumblebee and Mikaela…and Sam. Concerned, his cassettes gathered about him.
The poor thing was so afraid.
He felt extremely guilty as Sam’s frequencies futilely and desperately clawed at the barrier that the halo placed around his mind. The young one was petrified, searching for what he thought to be his creator. But what could Blaster have done? If the halo were not there, Sam would have mistakenly alerted Soundwave, all but eliminating any chance at rescue.
He waited until Sam’s frequencies were calm enough to allow him to approach, and then his frequencies slowly began to envelope Sam’s, tentatively so as to not panic him. He just wanted him to know that he didn’t mean to hurt him…that he was a friend.
The youngling responded so strongly that at first Blaster thought he was pushing him away. He was surprised by the force with which the youngling clung to him. He cradled him somewhat awkwardly, unused to these strange frequencies. Sam said something then, and Blaster realized that he was probably looking for Soundwave. He motioned his cassettes back, and they kept their frequencies in check. He could probably stall Sam long enough, but his cassettes’ frequencies were too different from those of Soundwave’s cassettes.
Blaster remained silent, hoping to distract Sam long enough for Bumblebee and Mikaela to find him and calm him down. But it seemed to eventually dawn on the youngling that whoever was holding him was not Soundwave.
Then his frequencies went ballistic.
They began to thrash violently, and Blaster was forced to release him. He could feel the youngling once again try and break the barrier, and he could only stand back, waiting until he was too exhausted to fight anymore.
Why did doing the right thing have to feel so wrong?
Blaster felt useless there, in the control room of the Ark.
“Blaster? What’s happening?” Rewind asked, and he attempted to poke at Sam’s strange frequencies with his own, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Blaster pulled him away gently, and they all looked up at him. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t joking; he wasn’t even answering. Ramhorn pawed the ground nervously; Steeljaw began growling. Rewind and Eject looked at each other uneasily.
“Time to play hero?” Steeljaw asked grimly.
Blaster nodded. “Time to play hero.”
Unbeknownst to them, Prowl watched as they quietly geared up and left, his optics dim and his faceplate expressionless.
Past
All he wanted was for Prowl to love him.
For as long as he could remember, it was just him and Prowl, with a little Jazz on the side. Their creators, like many creators of glitched younglings, had abandoned them, leaving them in the mid-spires, just a step higher than the volatile grounds.
Prowl was his guardian, his protector, his healer…his brother.
When he had been taken by the Decepticons, he had been so afraid. They had taken many things from him-they had rebuilt his form, changed his programming, deleted many of his memories…but his memories of Prowl still remained. It took a lot to dig them out, but he was strong enough to do it. He was in a different form, with different programming, and imperfect memories…but he was still Prowl’s brother, wasn’t he?
He had tricked the Decepticons then. He had worked so hard to gain their trust, so that he could see the outside world. But then…he realized then that being taken was the best thing that had happened to him. His old programming was stunting him, blinding him, forcing him to be someone that he wasn’t. Forcing him to be weak. His spark felt comfortable in these new metal and wires. He was more of himself than he ever was before.
He wanted his brother to see him, to be proud of him…to join him. He wanted to free his brother, too, because he loved him that much.
But then the Autobot had to look down at him, his optics bright with grief and incredulity, and told him, “You’re not my brother.”
He tried to get him to see; he tried to get him to love him. But each and every time, Prowl had told him: “You’re not my brother.”
After awhile, he began to believe it.
He threw himself to his work, dedicated himself to the Decepticons, started rising in the ranks. So what if Prowl hated him? He didn’t care; Prowl was nothing to him. Just to prove it, he even went out of his way to hurt those that Prowl loved, to mock him, to be everything that his precious little brother would never be.
Because he meant nothing to Prowl. Because Prowl’s precious younger co-creation was gone, gone, gone, and they were both trying their hardest to prove it.
But no matter what, he still wanted Prowl to love him.
And Barricade hated him for it.
Present
He was shaking. His frequencies were trembling, his whole body was shaking, and none of Ravage’s tricks helped him to be still. Someone had almost grabbed him. He’d escaped, but he could still feel whoever it was. He was trapped with him, on this side of the glass wall, and he was just waiting for him to be too exhausted to fight back.
He was in the deep end of the psychic pond now, and he still didn’t quite know how to swim. The song was still gone, but as if the quiet was not bad enough, thoughts not his own…or maybe thoughts that were his own but he couldn’t remember ever thinking them…thoughts and whispers and the screams-oh, the screams-began to drown him, and he stopped many times, trying to sort them out as best he could before he lost his sense of self.
Who am I?
Of course, it could have been too late. Above the noise, the two names repeated over and over in his head, a pervasive whisper that somehow were louder than any of the alien thoughts. They blended with each other, until they became the same, until they were both meaningless.
Who am I?
Mikaela and Bumblebee…they were his soul mates, weren’t they? Not one complete without the others, whatever they had inside them reverberating with one another in harmony.
But Ravage and Ratbat and Rewind and Eject and Lazerbeak…they were his pack-mates, weren’t they? Made from the same spark-stuff that sparks were made of.
Optimus Prime…he was his leader, wasn’t he? Leader, father-figure, friend. He’d follow Prime to the ends of the earth and beyond because the leader was so kind, compassionate, courageous, and just plain awesome.
But that couldn’t be right, because he had never even seen the mech who was such a subject of fear amongst the New-cons. Soundwave had been his first sight in this strange world; it was Soundwave who was his creator, his teacher, his protector.
He was an honourary Autobot, but that couldn’t be right, because he was just shy of earning his Decepticon symbol.
He couldn’t understand it. Sonar and Sam; Sam and Sonar.
I am.
I am not.
I am.
I am not.
I am who I am not.
Who am I?
He stumbled along, unsure of where he was going, but feeling a pressing need to be somewhere…anywhere but here. He needed to be away. Away from the Autobots, away from the Decepticons, away from his soul mates and his pack-mates and his friends and his enemies though the line was swiftly blurring between them, and like his name the designations of “friend” and “enemy” were swiftly eluding him.
Whispers and screams beckoned to him, pulling him along like an unwilling puppet.
X x X
They were returning to base with a bittersweet victory.
When there was luxury to, Ravage checked up on her sibling. Sonar still seemed fine. She sent a pulse out, telling him that they were returning.
Strange; his frequencies made no change. It was as though he hadn’t heard her. He couldn't communicate technopathically, but he could still pick up emotions and respond to them likewise. There should be no reason as to why he wasn't reacting.
She tried again. Still the same.
Concerned, but not yet alarmed, she checked his location.
He was still in the exact same place he was last time.
That was not right. Not right at all.
She looked up at Soundwave, could feel him trying to contact his youngest.
Nothing happened. There was no answering voice, no babble of apology…his frequencies didn’t even change.
“Soundwave? What’s happening?” Ratbat asked, attempting to poke at Sonar’s strangely behaving frequencies with his own. Concern deepened into just short of horror when the cassettes realized that they couldn’t make a connection.
Soundwave pulled him away gently, and they all looked up at him. He didn’t look anxious, didn’t look afraid, didn’t know like he knew what was going on, and that scared them. He wasn’t even answering. Lazerbeak and Ratbat shifted from foot to foot nervously; Ravage began growling; Frenzy and Rumble looked at each other uneasily.
They began to quicken their pace.
Stockade, Soundwave said, tapping into the frequencies of one of the more advanced New-cons. It was an open channel; the New-cons shared a communication line established by their connection to Sonar, their frequencies still too underdeveloped.
Yes, Soundwave?
Report location of Sonar.
I don’t know, was the surprised answer. The last time I saw him, he was still inside the base.
A high-pitched giggle reverberated down the line.
Do you have something to contribute, Candy? Soundwave asked.
I saw Sonar outside, was the answer, said in a sing-song voice. Soundwave momentarily cut the line from his cassettes before they could snap at the tiny New-con.
Patience, he told them firmly as they made sounds of general discontent. He turned his attention back to Candy. Really?
He was within borders, Candy assured them, almost guiltily. All the New-cons knew where Sonar was and was not allowed to go. Soundwave sent a pulse of assurance down the line.
You’re not getting him into trouble, he said. We just need to know where he is.
He was heading east, Candy said, still using the human terms for direction. Then guilt gave way to amusement. He was with a femme.
Which femme?
Dunno. We thought she was new. She was all white, smaller than Strika, bigger than Duel. Candy sent them a snippet of memory, and they took a look at the mystery femme, barely seen through the snow. Candy gave another giggle. Sonar seemed to be having a good time.
Ravage’s optics narrowed. No New-con or Decepticon matched the description, and yet…
It hit them at the same time: they had seen that femme before, on the battlefield…fighting on the side of the Autobots.
The New-cons caught onto their mounting emotions. Choruses of why and what’s happening and is something wrong became a white noise to them. Soundwave gave the New-cons absent reassurances that they doubtless did not believe before dropping the line.
Ravage, he said, and she nodded, already surging ahead.
She swore, if any Autobot made a single scratch on him, she would tear them apart!
~ 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 ~
Becoming
10
Past
Blaster looked out into the darkness of Cybertron, hands pressed against the invisible force field that surrounded the spire upon which their home was built. Adjusting his optics, he could see the red veins of Cybertron’s molten blood glowing against the dark metal grounds down below. He hoped that Jingles was okay; the Allspark, it was rumoured, had been behaving oddly lately, and the whole of Cybertron was affected. The grounds were more unstable than ever, so that even mechs who lived on the highest towers could feel the tremors. Emergency workers were busier and were taking greater risks than ever in Cybertron’s long history.
Or so he was told. Blaster had only been sparked a few orns ago; many things were still a mystery to him.
Beautiful, is it not? a voice said, whispering in his processor.
“S-Soundwave,” he stammered, and upon his older co-creation’s disapproving silence, he switched to his frequencies. I didn’t know you were still awake.
He would never say it aloud, but Blaster far preferred the company of his other half co-creation. Jazz was an open and friendly mech, always ready with a joke or a smile, and was very good with the newly-sparked. Blaster never felt awkward around him. But Blaster was a technopath, and thus had to spend the majority of his time with his technopathic co-creation to better learn the art. That was Wavelength and Ultrasound’s reasoning, anyway. Jingles had been disapproving of that. There were many things that Wavelength and Ultrasound neglected to tell him when they undertook this joint project together, it seemed.
Soundwave, in contrast, was an aloof mech. Not outright cruel or condescending, but…Blaster always felt that Soundwave always had a sense of sardonic amusement about him, and Blaster couldn’t tell if his older co-creation was truly amused or was just having a little joke at everyone else’s expense.
Plus, he felt a nagging sense of inferiority when around him. Wavelength and Ultrasound weren’t helping much; it seemed that they wanted him to be a replicate of his older, “perfect” co-creation.
Just a few orns old, and he already despaired of ever gaining his primary creators’ love.
Obsidian was restless, Soundwave said in response to his statement. He bent down so that said cassette could jump out of his arms and onto the ground. Obsidian immediately went up to Blaster, rubbing against him. He picked her up, cradling her somewhat awkwardly.
It took a lot of energy and skill to be able to link to cassettes, and only the best of the best made such bonds. And Soundwave, even at such a young age (he was only a few vorns old) was the best of the best.
She likes you, Soundwave said, and Blaster found a little bit of himself delighted at the recognition.
You’re really good, Blaster said almost enviously, stroking a half-recharging Obsidian behind her audios. How do you do it?
Soundwave regarded his days-old co-creation, and then said, I cannot tell you, little one. It is something that every technopath must find for himself.
Soundwave had seemed so kind during his early orns of life. Blaster would realize later what a blind little fool he had been.
He should have noticed the signs. How Soundwave was particularly interested in technopathic beings from other planets. How Soundwave was obsessed more about the nature of the body casing and the processor than of the spark. How Soundwave was disapproving of anything his cassettes did that was not related to a mission or purpose. How Soundwave seemed to…to gloat whenever others commented in concern how unnecessarily armed Obsidian was, as though having himself a private joke.
It yet it wasn’t until Soundwave attempted to reformat Steeljaw did Blaster realize just how depraved his co-creation was.
After he and Soundwave went their separate ways, Blaster realized that he and Soundwave didn’t have the same answer to that question he asked so long ago, because the answer that Blaster found was to love his cassettes, completely and unconditionally.
Soundwave just loved his cassettes’ functionality.
Present
Blaster knew that something had gone wrong almost immediately after Sam awoke. Some of the frequencies gained a more lively rhythm, while others remained at a steady, slow tune, indicating that the boy was somewhat conscious but still mostly asleep.
And yet…they did not change. His frequencies did not change.
Granted, he had never met Sam as a full human, so he would not recognize Sam’s original frequencies even if they hit him at full volume. But still…his frequencies were still those of the superficial Sonar persona.
Fear clenched at his spark. Were they too late? The longer the younglings stayed reprogrammed, the higher was the chance that they would never be able to cure them. The stunned youngling frequencies would grow into the superficial persona, and though the superficial programming would one day fade away, the youngling would have then embraced the reprogrammed being, their frequencies would have moulded and solidified to that of the superficial persona-they would have become someone they were not. Sam was just over a vorn old-he should still be young enough to be cured…
But noting the sheer joy in Bumblebee and Mikaela’s frequencies assured him, even for that one moment, that things were going to go right.
The agony that reverberated in their frequencies less than a breem later all but confirmed his suspicions.
He half-rose in his seat, his body in the Autobot base but his mind with Bumblebee and Mikaela…and Sam. Concerned, his cassettes gathered about him.
The poor thing was so afraid.
He felt extremely guilty as Sam’s frequencies futilely and desperately clawed at the barrier that the halo placed around his mind. The young one was petrified, searching for what he thought to be his creator. But what could Blaster have done? If the halo were not there, Sam would have mistakenly alerted Soundwave, all but eliminating any chance at rescue.
He waited until Sam’s frequencies were calm enough to allow him to approach, and then his frequencies slowly began to envelope Sam’s, tentatively so as to not panic him. He just wanted him to know that he didn’t mean to hurt him…that he was a friend.
The youngling responded so strongly that at first Blaster thought he was pushing him away. He was surprised by the force with which the youngling clung to him. He cradled him somewhat awkwardly, unused to these strange frequencies. Sam said something then, and Blaster realized that he was probably looking for Soundwave. He motioned his cassettes back, and they kept their frequencies in check. He could probably stall Sam long enough, but his cassettes’ frequencies were too different from those of Soundwave’s cassettes.
Blaster remained silent, hoping to distract Sam long enough for Bumblebee and Mikaela to find him and calm him down. But it seemed to eventually dawn on the youngling that whoever was holding him was not Soundwave.
Then his frequencies went ballistic.
They began to thrash violently, and Blaster was forced to release him. He could feel the youngling once again try and break the barrier, and he could only stand back, waiting until he was too exhausted to fight anymore.
Why did doing the right thing have to feel so wrong?
Blaster felt useless there, in the control room of the Ark.
“Blaster? What’s happening?” Rewind asked, and he attempted to poke at Sam’s strange frequencies with his own, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Blaster pulled him away gently, and they all looked up at him. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t joking; he wasn’t even answering. Ramhorn pawed the ground nervously; Steeljaw began growling. Rewind and Eject looked at each other uneasily.
“Time to play hero?” Steeljaw asked grimly.
Blaster nodded. “Time to play hero.”
Unbeknownst to them, Prowl watched as they quietly geared up and left, his optics dim and his faceplate expressionless.
Past
All he wanted was for Prowl to love him.
For as long as he could remember, it was just him and Prowl, with a little Jazz on the side. Their creators, like many creators of glitched younglings, had abandoned them, leaving them in the mid-spires, just a step higher than the volatile grounds.
Prowl was his guardian, his protector, his healer…his brother.
When he had been taken by the Decepticons, he had been so afraid. They had taken many things from him-they had rebuilt his form, changed his programming, deleted many of his memories…but his memories of Prowl still remained. It took a lot to dig them out, but he was strong enough to do it. He was in a different form, with different programming, and imperfect memories…but he was still Prowl’s brother, wasn’t he?
He had tricked the Decepticons then. He had worked so hard to gain their trust, so that he could see the outside world. But then…he realized then that being taken was the best thing that had happened to him. His old programming was stunting him, blinding him, forcing him to be someone that he wasn’t. Forcing him to be weak. His spark felt comfortable in these new metal and wires. He was more of himself than he ever was before.
He wanted his brother to see him, to be proud of him…to join him. He wanted to free his brother, too, because he loved him that much.
But then the Autobot had to look down at him, his optics bright with grief and incredulity, and told him, “You’re not my brother.”
He tried to get him to see; he tried to get him to love him. But each and every time, Prowl had told him: “You’re not my brother.”
After awhile, he began to believe it.
He threw himself to his work, dedicated himself to the Decepticons, started rising in the ranks. So what if Prowl hated him? He didn’t care; Prowl was nothing to him. Just to prove it, he even went out of his way to hurt those that Prowl loved, to mock him, to be everything that his precious little brother would never be.
Because he meant nothing to Prowl. Because Prowl’s precious younger co-creation was gone, gone, gone, and they were both trying their hardest to prove it.
But no matter what, he still wanted Prowl to love him.
And Barricade hated him for it.
Present
He was shaking. His frequencies were trembling, his whole body was shaking, and none of Ravage’s tricks helped him to be still. Someone had almost grabbed him. He’d escaped, but he could still feel whoever it was. He was trapped with him, on this side of the glass wall, and he was just waiting for him to be too exhausted to fight back.
He was in the deep end of the psychic pond now, and he still didn’t quite know how to swim. The song was still gone, but as if the quiet was not bad enough, thoughts not his own…or maybe thoughts that were his own but he couldn’t remember ever thinking them…thoughts and whispers and the screams-oh, the screams-began to drown him, and he stopped many times, trying to sort them out as best he could before he lost his sense of self.
Who am I?
Of course, it could have been too late. Above the noise, the two names repeated over and over in his head, a pervasive whisper that somehow were louder than any of the alien thoughts. They blended with each other, until they became the same, until they were both meaningless.
Who am I?
Mikaela and Bumblebee…they were his soul mates, weren’t they? Not one complete without the others, whatever they had inside them reverberating with one another in harmony.
But Ravage and Ratbat and Rewind and Eject and Lazerbeak…they were his pack-mates, weren’t they? Made from the same spark-stuff that sparks were made of.
Optimus Prime…he was his leader, wasn’t he? Leader, father-figure, friend. He’d follow Prime to the ends of the earth and beyond because the leader was so kind, compassionate, courageous, and just plain awesome.
But that couldn’t be right, because he had never even seen the mech who was such a subject of fear amongst the New-cons. Soundwave had been his first sight in this strange world; it was Soundwave who was his creator, his teacher, his protector.
He was an honourary Autobot, but that couldn’t be right, because he was just shy of earning his Decepticon symbol.
He couldn’t understand it. Sonar and Sam; Sam and Sonar.
I am.
I am not.
I am.
I am not.
I am who I am not.
Who am I?
He stumbled along, unsure of where he was going, but feeling a pressing need to be somewhere…anywhere but here. He needed to be away. Away from the Autobots, away from the Decepticons, away from his soul mates and his pack-mates and his friends and his enemies though the line was swiftly blurring between them, and like his name the designations of “friend” and “enemy” were swiftly eluding him.
Whispers and screams beckoned to him, pulling him along like an unwilling puppet.
X x X
They were returning to base with a bittersweet victory.
When there was luxury to, Ravage checked up on her sibling. Sonar still seemed fine. She sent a pulse out, telling him that they were returning.
Strange; his frequencies made no change. It was as though he hadn’t heard her. He couldn't communicate technopathically, but he could still pick up emotions and respond to them likewise. There should be no reason as to why he wasn't reacting.
She tried again. Still the same.
Concerned, but not yet alarmed, she checked his location.
He was still in the exact same place he was last time.
That was not right. Not right at all.
She looked up at Soundwave, could feel him trying to contact his youngest.
Nothing happened. There was no answering voice, no babble of apology…his frequencies didn’t even change.
“Soundwave? What’s happening?” Ratbat asked, attempting to poke at Sonar’s strangely behaving frequencies with his own. Concern deepened into just short of horror when the cassettes realized that they couldn’t make a connection.
Soundwave pulled him away gently, and they all looked up at him. He didn’t look anxious, didn’t look afraid, didn’t know like he knew what was going on, and that scared them. He wasn’t even answering. Lazerbeak and Ratbat shifted from foot to foot nervously; Ravage began growling; Frenzy and Rumble looked at each other uneasily.
They began to quicken their pace.
Stockade, Soundwave said, tapping into the frequencies of one of the more advanced New-cons. It was an open channel; the New-cons shared a communication line established by their connection to Sonar, their frequencies still too underdeveloped.
Yes, Soundwave?
Report location of Sonar.
I don’t know, was the surprised answer. The last time I saw him, he was still inside the base.
A high-pitched giggle reverberated down the line.
Do you have something to contribute, Candy? Soundwave asked.
I saw Sonar outside, was the answer, said in a sing-song voice. Soundwave momentarily cut the line from his cassettes before they could snap at the tiny New-con.
Patience, he told them firmly as they made sounds of general discontent. He turned his attention back to Candy. Really?
He was within borders, Candy assured them, almost guiltily. All the New-cons knew where Sonar was and was not allowed to go. Soundwave sent a pulse of assurance down the line.
You’re not getting him into trouble, he said. We just need to know where he is.
He was heading east, Candy said, still using the human terms for direction. Then guilt gave way to amusement. He was with a femme.
Which femme?
Dunno. We thought she was new. She was all white, smaller than Strika, bigger than Duel. Candy sent them a snippet of memory, and they took a look at the mystery femme, barely seen through the snow. Candy gave another giggle. Sonar seemed to be having a good time.
Ravage’s optics narrowed. No New-con or Decepticon matched the description, and yet…
It hit them at the same time: they had seen that femme before, on the battlefield…fighting on the side of the Autobots.
The New-cons caught onto their mounting emotions. Choruses of why and what’s happening and is something wrong became a white noise to them. Soundwave gave the New-cons absent reassurances that they doubtless did not believe before dropping the line.
Ravage, he said, and she nodded, already surging ahead.
She swore, if any Autobot made a single scratch on him, she would tear them apart!
~ 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 ~