Primary Analysis - Upswing Trend
Title: Primary Analysis - Upswing Trend
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: The Fallen, Jetfire
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A sharp spike in the data is a clear indicator of dramatic change. The Fallen plots
Warnings: Human abuse.
Notes: I was always kind of surprised how... personal the Fallen took the battle against the humans. Also, my mind interprets Jetfire's interesting speech patterns as more a function of starting to fall apart than as an affected quirk, so they're left out for now.
o o o
He contemplated the creature in his hand with disgust and curiosity. It was built almost as their standard frame, with a head, four limbs, and a central torso. But it was soft. Pliable. Easily damaged. It screamed up at him, wriggling to get away. He held it easily, the pad of one digit pressed to its midsection to keep it in his palm.
Jetfire watched him stonily, without comment. The black Seeker was the youngest, the most powerful, and the most dangerous of his children. And Jetfire felt as he did, that life such as the creature in his palm was not worth the destruction of their kind.
"How many?" he asked, rotating the creature upside down to watch its face redden. "How many stars did we pass, foregoing fuel for the sake of creatures like this?"
"Too many," Jetfire rumbled, the thrusters in his thighs whirling briefly in agitation. So young, compared to the rest of them, so very ancient compared to those still on Cybertron.
He flipped the creature back upright. "How many will die?" he continued. "Starved without the fuel we could have send back? How many more stars will we pass, before we find one where life has not infected? How long until Cybertron is refueled?"
Jetfire said nothing, watching him watch the creature. His brothers had professed worry for him, subtle hints that they thought he courted madness. He knew better. His mind was clear, his path laid out. He fixed his optics on Jetfire. "The other Primes know of this life?" he asked sharply.
Jetfire nodded, flickering gloom on his fringed face. "Fluores is making the report now," he stated, flat and dull.
"Hm. She will starve before the vorn is over, and yet she follows their laws. How brave of her." He paused, contemplative and ignoring Jetfire's flinch at his words. "How many follow us?"
"Brightwork," Jetfire answered. "Ransack. Dervish. Others will convert once they see us move."
"And the drones?"
Jetfire's smile was grim. "They will follow the strongest order they are given."
"Good." He was stronger than his brothers, both in body and in will. The Matrix responded best to his spark. And the strongest of their children stood with him. "Bring them here," he ordered. "Start construction of the Harvester. I will deal with my brothers, and bring the Matrix."
Jetfire's optics flickered briefly at the creature tiring itself out against his fingers, then he turned and left, powerful thrusters searing the creature's outer layer as he flew off.
He tightened his hand slowly, listening to the change in the creature's screams as internal struts broke and internal components burst. His thumb broke through the burnt outer membrane, spilling red fluid over his plating, and he tossed aside the disgusting thing. Cybertron would not die due to the pathetic, barely sentient things that infested this planet. He would see to it.
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: The Fallen, Jetfire
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A sharp spike in the data is a clear indicator of dramatic change. The Fallen plots
Warnings: Human abuse.
Notes: I was always kind of surprised how... personal the Fallen took the battle against the humans. Also, my mind interprets Jetfire's interesting speech patterns as more a function of starting to fall apart than as an affected quirk, so they're left out for now.
o o o
He contemplated the creature in his hand with disgust and curiosity. It was built almost as their standard frame, with a head, four limbs, and a central torso. But it was soft. Pliable. Easily damaged. It screamed up at him, wriggling to get away. He held it easily, the pad of one digit pressed to its midsection to keep it in his palm.
Jetfire watched him stonily, without comment. The black Seeker was the youngest, the most powerful, and the most dangerous of his children. And Jetfire felt as he did, that life such as the creature in his palm was not worth the destruction of their kind.
"How many?" he asked, rotating the creature upside down to watch its face redden. "How many stars did we pass, foregoing fuel for the sake of creatures like this?"
"Too many," Jetfire rumbled, the thrusters in his thighs whirling briefly in agitation. So young, compared to the rest of them, so very ancient compared to those still on Cybertron.
He flipped the creature back upright. "How many will die?" he continued. "Starved without the fuel we could have send back? How many more stars will we pass, before we find one where life has not infected? How long until Cybertron is refueled?"
Jetfire said nothing, watching him watch the creature. His brothers had professed worry for him, subtle hints that they thought he courted madness. He knew better. His mind was clear, his path laid out. He fixed his optics on Jetfire. "The other Primes know of this life?" he asked sharply.
Jetfire nodded, flickering gloom on his fringed face. "Fluores is making the report now," he stated, flat and dull.
"Hm. She will starve before the vorn is over, and yet she follows their laws. How brave of her." He paused, contemplative and ignoring Jetfire's flinch at his words. "How many follow us?"
"Brightwork," Jetfire answered. "Ransack. Dervish. Others will convert once they see us move."
"And the drones?"
Jetfire's smile was grim. "They will follow the strongest order they are given."
"Good." He was stronger than his brothers, both in body and in will. The Matrix responded best to his spark. And the strongest of their children stood with him. "Bring them here," he ordered. "Start construction of the Harvester. I will deal with my brothers, and bring the Matrix."
Jetfire's optics flickered briefly at the creature tiring itself out against his fingers, then he turned and left, powerful thrusters searing the creature's outer layer as he flew off.
He tightened his hand slowly, listening to the change in the creature's screams as internal struts broke and internal components burst. His thumb broke through the burnt outer membrane, spilling red fluid over his plating, and he tossed aside the disgusting thing. Cybertron would not die due to the pathetic, barely sentient things that infested this planet. He would see to it.