Ep.1 - Functional - Closed
Sept 23, 2012 13:50:54 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 23, 2012 13:50:54 GMT -5
Optimus watched Max, a sympathetic ache crossing into his own body just watching the other mech. The ex-warden put of tension like heat off an engine block, snarled frequencies of stress and anxiety, flattened and controlled but only barely. And what wasn’t in the EMF was in Max’s shoulders, in his face, his stare, in that ugly turn at the corner of his mouth. It felt strange, being so cautious around Fortress Maximus who had never been anything but prepared to do any and all matter of necessary things in the name of getting him, his Autobots, and whoever he was responsible for out alive. His ability to set aside everything and get the job done was legendary.
The fact that now he radiated hurt, an atmosphere of it so thick it curled wavelengths around Prime’s shoulders and ate at his plates like a corrosive chemical… it made him suspect that right now everything inside Max up to and including his soul was burning. A slow, fuse-like smolder and like a bomb technician unskilled with any by the most obvious explosives, Optimus was trying to find the right wire to cut, the right button to push and somehow turn it off.
And it was just not that simple.
“I think we all wish that,” said Optimus. “That everyone gets what they deserve, and sometimes it feels like the universe has a deficit in consequences for those who hurt others. There are monsters out there who deserve to die… but who among us has the authority to say who they are, and does that give us the right to kill them? This is war, we are rarely afforded time to ask these questions and so we just move forward and try to deserve to live by the end of it all.” Optimus looked down a moment, before lifting his optics again. “I do not think there is much more we can do.”
The fact that now he radiated hurt, an atmosphere of it so thick it curled wavelengths around Prime’s shoulders and ate at his plates like a corrosive chemical… it made him suspect that right now everything inside Max up to and including his soul was burning. A slow, fuse-like smolder and like a bomb technician unskilled with any by the most obvious explosives, Optimus was trying to find the right wire to cut, the right button to push and somehow turn it off.
And it was just not that simple.
“I think we all wish that,” said Optimus. “That everyone gets what they deserve, and sometimes it feels like the universe has a deficit in consequences for those who hurt others. There are monsters out there who deserve to die… but who among us has the authority to say who they are, and does that give us the right to kill them? This is war, we are rarely afforded time to ask these questions and so we just move forward and try to deserve to live by the end of it all.” Optimus looked down a moment, before lifting his optics again. “I do not think there is much more we can do.”