Secrets, Turn back time
(Closed to the denizens of the Nerdlab.)
Ironfist's lab within the Nerdlab was nearly complete. Nearly was good enough for the weapons engineer, and he'd begun to gather equipment for himself and upload his knowledge and schematics onto the computers there. As he was downloading the data on a particularly personal file, two more prompts lit up his screen.
"Secrets..." he murmured, letting the flashing images stop on a particularly sensitive one. "Everyone.. well, most bots think of secrets as harmful. Secrets hurt those they're being kept from. But... what about the secrets that protect our dignity without hurting anyone?" he asked no one in particular, optics fixed on the image on the screen, the tone of his voice overwhelmingly insecure and melancholy. "Is it wrong to want to be looked at the same, just be seen as a colleague and not a walking coffin?"
The panel zoomed in on part of the screen at his command, and measurements began to show. The measurements noted the distance between a bullet and the processor outlined in detail on the schematics. Next to the bullet, a notation indicated how much distance equated to how much time until it reached its target. It was moving slowly, but steadily.
"It's not wrong to want to be seen alive while you're still alive. I don't think so, at least. Secrets aren't always harmful. They've helped me so much thusfar."
He sat back, staring at the calculations of time. They were incomplete, or rather only approximate.
"If I could turn back time... I... Would I stop this from happening?" he fell silent, considering his own question. "It's sad, the opportunities that opened up for me jsut because of this. Prowl needed someone expendable. With my death imminent, I was expendable. But it got me on the Wreckers. I didn't end up being the sacrafice. So I've prolonged the inevitable, but I fulfilled a dream. So... would I trade a few hours of adventure for many more centuries of monotony?"
The screen flickered, and he zoomed out, looking at the whole picture of his head once more, the bullet still plainly marked in red against the blue outlines that were his helm and processor.
"... No. I don't think I would."
Ironfist's lab within the Nerdlab was nearly complete. Nearly was good enough for the weapons engineer, and he'd begun to gather equipment for himself and upload his knowledge and schematics onto the computers there. As he was downloading the data on a particularly personal file, two more prompts lit up his screen.
"Secrets..." he murmured, letting the flashing images stop on a particularly sensitive one. "Everyone.. well, most bots think of secrets as harmful. Secrets hurt those they're being kept from. But... what about the secrets that protect our dignity without hurting anyone?" he asked no one in particular, optics fixed on the image on the screen, the tone of his voice overwhelmingly insecure and melancholy. "Is it wrong to want to be looked at the same, just be seen as a colleague and not a walking coffin?"
The panel zoomed in on part of the screen at his command, and measurements began to show. The measurements noted the distance between a bullet and the processor outlined in detail on the schematics. Next to the bullet, a notation indicated how much distance equated to how much time until it reached its target. It was moving slowly, but steadily.
"It's not wrong to want to be seen alive while you're still alive. I don't think so, at least. Secrets aren't always harmful. They've helped me so much thusfar."
He sat back, staring at the calculations of time. They were incomplete, or rather only approximate.
"If I could turn back time... I... Would I stop this from happening?" he fell silent, considering his own question. "It's sad, the opportunities that opened up for me jsut because of this. Prowl needed someone expendable. With my death imminent, I was expendable. But it got me on the Wreckers. I didn't end up being the sacrafice. So I've prolonged the inevitable, but I fulfilled a dream. So... would I trade a few hours of adventure for many more centuries of monotony?"
The screen flickered, and he zoomed out, looking at the whole picture of his head once more, the bullet still plainly marked in red against the blue outlines that were his helm and processor.
"... No. I don't think I would."