Prompt six!
Dreadwing looked down at the Seeker’s hand, bursting through his chassis, the talons drenched in his energon, his spark chamber punctured by the long talons. Agony.
No. This was…not how it was supposed to end. This wasn’t even how it was supposed to start. So long, so long shunted aside, useless, unworthy. Overlooked. Not good enough. Not worthy enough. A traitor’s death, they’ll call it. A traitor. I am…not.
In spite of all I’ve done. In spite of what I am. In spite of the hundred ways I have twisted, torn myself to earn my position. The deaths I have seen, the deaths I have felt through my drones, each a measure of pain, each a step up in rank. Each a toll paid toward my advancement.
But it was not enough. I have died, through my drones, a thousand times, a hundred thousand. I know more forms of death than the most skilled warrior, know them deeply, intimately, darkly. I have felt the sundering tear of a concussion blast, have felt the sudden cold rip of a sabot’s speed punching a hole through armor in the cold of space. I have felt the high keening agony of atomic melting. I have felt the slow, grinding ache of energon starvation. If there is death, I have felt it. I have died it. But I pushed, through those deaths, through those agonies, through those disposable, discardable frames, for the greater purpose. For my own purpose.
And now this death-not only of my spark, but of my dreams. And of everything I tried to do.
And just when I held Kaon-I held it, the way one can hold an orb-against the Autobot insurgents, against the forces of entropy that threatened from within, he came back. Starscream, in all his bronze gold arrogance.
Even then, I followed, because being a second to greatness was better than being first in nothing. I did not betray him. I did not deserve…this. Sabotage? No. But when he had proved himself weak, when he had proved himself nothing but rhetoric and waste, I had no choice. The…the resources he used, commandeered, would have kept my Kaon going for ages. He wasted them on a foolish vision. In rage I lashed out. In righteous fury I sought to punish him for the slow death he was inflicting upon us, stealing our futures as well as our energy. He stole my dominion. And I abided it until he proved himself unworthy.
What choice did I have at that point? He had ruined us, RUINED us with his arrogance and hubris. And we had all fallen under the spell of the vision he spun out for us. None questioned why he returned…alone. None considered what he would do if his reconstructed Allspark worked. We all believed what we wanted to believe-a rise of halcyon.
And now…I am...dying, and yet he lives. Cybertron will die that much faster because of him, and yet…he lives. And he gloats over my fading optics, jaw gritted in grim satisfaction. And I am nothing.
A traitor’s death? Do…I…deserve…?
No. This was…not how it was supposed to end. This wasn’t even how it was supposed to start. So long, so long shunted aside, useless, unworthy. Overlooked. Not good enough. Not worthy enough. A traitor’s death, they’ll call it. A traitor. I am…not.
In spite of all I’ve done. In spite of what I am. In spite of the hundred ways I have twisted, torn myself to earn my position. The deaths I have seen, the deaths I have felt through my drones, each a measure of pain, each a step up in rank. Each a toll paid toward my advancement.
But it was not enough. I have died, through my drones, a thousand times, a hundred thousand. I know more forms of death than the most skilled warrior, know them deeply, intimately, darkly. I have felt the sundering tear of a concussion blast, have felt the sudden cold rip of a sabot’s speed punching a hole through armor in the cold of space. I have felt the high keening agony of atomic melting. I have felt the slow, grinding ache of energon starvation. If there is death, I have felt it. I have died it. But I pushed, through those deaths, through those agonies, through those disposable, discardable frames, for the greater purpose. For my own purpose.
And now this death-not only of my spark, but of my dreams. And of everything I tried to do.
And just when I held Kaon-I held it, the way one can hold an orb-against the Autobot insurgents, against the forces of entropy that threatened from within, he came back. Starscream, in all his bronze gold arrogance.
Even then, I followed, because being a second to greatness was better than being first in nothing. I did not betray him. I did not deserve…this. Sabotage? No. But when he had proved himself weak, when he had proved himself nothing but rhetoric and waste, I had no choice. The…the resources he used, commandeered, would have kept my Kaon going for ages. He wasted them on a foolish vision. In rage I lashed out. In righteous fury I sought to punish him for the slow death he was inflicting upon us, stealing our futures as well as our energy. He stole my dominion. And I abided it until he proved himself unworthy.
What choice did I have at that point? He had ruined us, RUINED us with his arrogance and hubris. And we had all fallen under the spell of the vision he spun out for us. None questioned why he returned…alone. None considered what he would do if his reconstructed Allspark worked. We all believed what we wanted to believe-a rise of halcyon.
And now…I am...dying, and yet he lives. Cybertron will die that much faster because of him, and yet…he lives. And he gloats over my fading optics, jaw gritted in grim satisfaction. And I am nothing.
A traitor’s death? Do…I…deserve…?