Flashback: Arrival to Earth (Closed)
Jul 17, 2014 21:07:19 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 17, 2014 21:07:19 GMT -5
Space, for all its infinite majesty, is rather boring.
The Jackhammer hangs in suspended orbit round Tharkoros VII. Another Autobot refugee saved from Decepticon attack and transported to a planet of their choosing. The tedium is starting to get to him, if Wheeljack is honest with himself. It's always good to reunite with another Autobot, if only for the reassurance that there still are Bots out there...but inevitably they move on. Wheeljack doesn't really have it in him to reach out to his rescuees, unless they're a Wrecker and can revel in their shared history together. But since Wreckers are frightfully few in number and typically weren't in need of rescuing, his encounters with them are extremely rare.
His plates itch with the urge to move and do something. The odd Con patrol is all well and good, but there's no challenge to them, nothing quite gets the energon pumping like scrapping through a battle with only one wrong step standing between you and defeat.
The option to return to Earth looms large above Wheeljack as he slumps against the pilot seat in boredom, playing with the grenade at his hip. He should go, he knows, go and rejoin the war. Bulkhead would be there and the most skilled of Decepticon warriors, the sort of battlefield that he's been seeking. But it also means falling into a chain of command again and Wheeljack doesn't want to serve under Optimus Prime. Prime had stolen Bulkhead away from the Wreckers and no matter how much Wheeljack tries telling himself that it was Bulkhead's choice to leave, the feeling of betrayal still lurks in the deepest part of his spark. Bulkhead is happy where he is and Wheeljack has no choice but to respect that, no matter how he might feel otherwise.
With a irritated huff, he climbs to his feet and leaves his seat. The Jackhammer is frustratingly small, there is no real space to pace or exercise to work out his aggravation. Wheeljack busies himself with weapon maintenance instead, pulling out his swords and checking the blades for chips and damage.
He should return. Wheeljack's focus turns inwards as his servos glide over the blade, there's a ribbon of guilt curling its way around his spark. He's gotten so good at running, leaving the people behind him who need him the most. He'd abandoned the Wreckers -his brothers- in a fit of pique simply because he chafed under Ultra Magnus's command and had been unwilling to contain himself and adapt. And now he'd left Bulkhead and Team Prime behind, five Autobots to hold down the front-line against the Decepticon army.
Since when did a Wrecker run?
Wheeljack doesn't know but it feels as if he has been running his entire life. Instead of standing his ground and trying harder, he had left Crystal City when it had refused to acknowledge the oncoming war. He knows, intellectually, that his presence there would have made little difference to the final outcome had he chosen to remain but it was the ease at which he'd walked away from his cohort that disturbs him. There were whispers, when he'd joined the Autobots and proven how adept he was at war and death, whispers that he hadn't been onlined for Crystal City at all, that someone had swapped an intended soldier spark into the frame commissioned for a scientist instead. Wheeljack had paid them no heed at the time but sometimes he did wonder if that was the reason why he'd traded everything important to him for a life on the battlefield.
Maybe it is time to stop running. Wreckers don't run after all and even if his records have the black stamp of dissertation on them, Wheeljack will always be one at spark. He contemplates the blade in front of him. It gleams with oil from its recent cleaning, the blade diamond sharp and promising to spill energon with the lightest touch. He actually hasn't had the chance to use it all that much recently, most of his battles now being fought from the Jackhammer instead. And whilst that's been fun, Wheeljack has spent way too many vorns cooped up inside it.
He's been hearing rumours too, about Earth. Autobots have started to flock there but so have the Cons. There's a name though, one that sends him deep into his darkest moods. It's not been confirmed, just a rumour-no, a whisper at this point.
Shockwave.
Before he can second guess himself or talk himself out of it, he's plotted a course back to a small, blue backwater planet out in the middle of nowhere. Wheeljack watches as Tharkoros VII gets smaller and smaller before the Jackhammer's screen is claimed by the big black. He sprawls against his seat, trying to ignore the voice in his processor that insists that this is a very stupid thing to do. He can do this.
Wreckers didn't run. They did the jobs that no one else could.
And they didn't fall into the normal chain of command.
He will do this.
The Jackhammer hangs in suspended orbit round Tharkoros VII. Another Autobot refugee saved from Decepticon attack and transported to a planet of their choosing. The tedium is starting to get to him, if Wheeljack is honest with himself. It's always good to reunite with another Autobot, if only for the reassurance that there still are Bots out there...but inevitably they move on. Wheeljack doesn't really have it in him to reach out to his rescuees, unless they're a Wrecker and can revel in their shared history together. But since Wreckers are frightfully few in number and typically weren't in need of rescuing, his encounters with them are extremely rare.
His plates itch with the urge to move and do something. The odd Con patrol is all well and good, but there's no challenge to them, nothing quite gets the energon pumping like scrapping through a battle with only one wrong step standing between you and defeat.
The option to return to Earth looms large above Wheeljack as he slumps against the pilot seat in boredom, playing with the grenade at his hip. He should go, he knows, go and rejoin the war. Bulkhead would be there and the most skilled of Decepticon warriors, the sort of battlefield that he's been seeking. But it also means falling into a chain of command again and Wheeljack doesn't want to serve under Optimus Prime. Prime had stolen Bulkhead away from the Wreckers and no matter how much Wheeljack tries telling himself that it was Bulkhead's choice to leave, the feeling of betrayal still lurks in the deepest part of his spark. Bulkhead is happy where he is and Wheeljack has no choice but to respect that, no matter how he might feel otherwise.
With a irritated huff, he climbs to his feet and leaves his seat. The Jackhammer is frustratingly small, there is no real space to pace or exercise to work out his aggravation. Wheeljack busies himself with weapon maintenance instead, pulling out his swords and checking the blades for chips and damage.
He should return. Wheeljack's focus turns inwards as his servos glide over the blade, there's a ribbon of guilt curling its way around his spark. He's gotten so good at running, leaving the people behind him who need him the most. He'd abandoned the Wreckers -his brothers- in a fit of pique simply because he chafed under Ultra Magnus's command and had been unwilling to contain himself and adapt. And now he'd left Bulkhead and Team Prime behind, five Autobots to hold down the front-line against the Decepticon army.
Since when did a Wrecker run?
Wheeljack doesn't know but it feels as if he has been running his entire life. Instead of standing his ground and trying harder, he had left Crystal City when it had refused to acknowledge the oncoming war. He knows, intellectually, that his presence there would have made little difference to the final outcome had he chosen to remain but it was the ease at which he'd walked away from his cohort that disturbs him. There were whispers, when he'd joined the Autobots and proven how adept he was at war and death, whispers that he hadn't been onlined for Crystal City at all, that someone had swapped an intended soldier spark into the frame commissioned for a scientist instead. Wheeljack had paid them no heed at the time but sometimes he did wonder if that was the reason why he'd traded everything important to him for a life on the battlefield.
Maybe it is time to stop running. Wreckers don't run after all and even if his records have the black stamp of dissertation on them, Wheeljack will always be one at spark. He contemplates the blade in front of him. It gleams with oil from its recent cleaning, the blade diamond sharp and promising to spill energon with the lightest touch. He actually hasn't had the chance to use it all that much recently, most of his battles now being fought from the Jackhammer instead. And whilst that's been fun, Wheeljack has spent way too many vorns cooped up inside it.
He's been hearing rumours too, about Earth. Autobots have started to flock there but so have the Cons. There's a name though, one that sends him deep into his darkest moods. It's not been confirmed, just a rumour-no, a whisper at this point.
Shockwave.
Before he can second guess himself or talk himself out of it, he's plotted a course back to a small, blue backwater planet out in the middle of nowhere. Wheeljack watches as Tharkoros VII gets smaller and smaller before the Jackhammer's screen is claimed by the big black. He sprawls against his seat, trying to ignore the voice in his processor that insists that this is a very stupid thing to do. He can do this.
Wreckers didn't run. They did the jobs that no one else could.
And they didn't fall into the normal chain of command.
He will do this.