Trying to escape the past
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro, and not me.
Beta: none
Rating: G
Character: Soundwave
Note: I think this was a tf_speedwriting response which I didn't upload then...
Words: 261
Summary: He was trying to escape his past, trying to forget. But one can't forget themselves.
Trying to escape the past
He had reformatted himself entirely. Changed his designation. Manipulated all and every file that existed of him. Learned another accent and another profession. Created himself a new life.
All of it just so, that he would be able to escape.
It was only fitting irony then, that he woke every recharge cycle shaking with fear, because his memory banks had remained the same. He still remembered.
Remembered that once he had been the overseer of the Quintesson slaves, the most trusted, most powerful of all Cybertronians - but in the end also just a slave. Yet, as more and more mechs chafed against their shackles and dreamed of freedom, they only trusted him enough to gift him with a special talent - telepathy.
The ensuing massacres were all on his orders. Mech after mech was shot into the spark or vanished in the laboratories. Mech after mech condemned he to death, without ever stopping to ask why. The orders of his masters were explanation enough.
He had been loyal. As he would always be, his spark wasn't made to be anything other than a servant. He would serve, until he died.
His masters died before him. So did his chosen replacement. And the one after.
Yet, he lived, walking through the ages, tasting their thoughts and wishes, watching as they became more and more. Immortality. Did his former masters gift him with his continued survival?
He didn't know.
He still missed his true masters. But he told himself he wouldn't serve them again.
Beta: none
Rating: G
Character: Soundwave
Note: I think this was a tf_speedwriting response which I didn't upload then...
Words: 261
Summary: He was trying to escape his past, trying to forget. But one can't forget themselves.
Trying to escape the past
He had reformatted himself entirely. Changed his designation. Manipulated all and every file that existed of him. Learned another accent and another profession. Created himself a new life.
All of it just so, that he would be able to escape.
It was only fitting irony then, that he woke every recharge cycle shaking with fear, because his memory banks had remained the same. He still remembered.
Remembered that once he had been the overseer of the Quintesson slaves, the most trusted, most powerful of all Cybertronians - but in the end also just a slave. Yet, as more and more mechs chafed against their shackles and dreamed of freedom, they only trusted him enough to gift him with a special talent - telepathy.
The ensuing massacres were all on his orders. Mech after mech was shot into the spark or vanished in the laboratories. Mech after mech condemned he to death, without ever stopping to ask why. The orders of his masters were explanation enough.
He had been loyal. As he would always be, his spark wasn't made to be anything other than a servant. He would serve, until he died.
His masters died before him. So did his chosen replacement. And the one after.
Yet, he lived, walking through the ages, tasting their thoughts and wishes, watching as they became more and more. Immortality. Did his former masters gift him with his continued survival?
He didn't know.
He still missed his true masters. But he told himself he wouldn't serve them again.