[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Strange Reflections [Ratchet]
Aug 5, 2022 18:29:49 GMT -5
Post by Ratchet on Aug 5, 2022 18:29:49 GMT -5
To say Ratchet was surprised at the answer would be an understatement. He had been expecting there to be more to the story; an invasion by another race, with some betraying their own kind for power or goods. Or even something foolish and unthinkable – some sort of strange disease that corrupted the mind, or even possessed a being, changing how they thought and acted.
At first, Ratchet had been only too glad to just try to rest in his quarters and forget what had happened not that long ago – the chase, the attack, all of it. It had only been a few hours after that did he realize that they – all of them - were wearing a symbol on their frames. The location was different on each of them, but the image was always the same. And upon asking someone just what they were, he had been met with a strange, incredulous look, and the answer, “What, the Autobot sigil?”
Which of course meant if there were people who were “Autobots”, there were people who weren’t.
And upon more investigation, more casual questions asked here and there, he had learned they were at war with a group known as “Decepticons”. And then, upon being able to access his datapad and start reading the million messages, texts, memos, and information blurbs, he had discovered that Decepticons were none other than other Cybertronians.
His mind set, from that moment forward, wasn’t the best.
He spoke to Optimus, choosing his words carefully, speaking a little slowly, to be certain he was clear in his question.
“Are you saying, that we went to war, over idealogical differences? That we’re killing each other over disagreements about how to govern ourselves?”
There was a hint of the ire and sarcasm that were trademarks of the older Ratchet, the Ratchet that had seen too much, lived too much, had experienced too much war and death and destruction to be able to deal with petty foolishness.
“That because some high-ranking, stuffed-frame decided that whatever form you took, you had to follow a certain lifestyle and career, as if there was nothing above the neck but a back-up storage system!?”
A stronger flash - the old Ratchet that could coat the simplest statement in enough venom and acid to wilt the strongest-willed zealot.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but suddenly he flinched, hand quickly raising to his helm, as a spark of pain lanced it’s way from one temple to the other. He quickly spoke, holding his head lightly, “Sorry, I…it’s just hard to grasp that such a horrific thing like war could stem from such….foolish origins.”
Lowering his hand, looking up to meet Optimus’ gaze again, he spoke, “This Megatronus….why did he suddenly change gears? You said you both worked together to change things for the better, but that doesn’t explain why war started. It’s one thing to have disagreements about how things are done, but he ended up going against his own views, didn’t he? Free will? There’s not much of that in war.”
At first, Ratchet had been only too glad to just try to rest in his quarters and forget what had happened not that long ago – the chase, the attack, all of it. It had only been a few hours after that did he realize that they – all of them - were wearing a symbol on their frames. The location was different on each of them, but the image was always the same. And upon asking someone just what they were, he had been met with a strange, incredulous look, and the answer, “What, the Autobot sigil?”
Which of course meant if there were people who were “Autobots”, there were people who weren’t.
And upon more investigation, more casual questions asked here and there, he had learned they were at war with a group known as “Decepticons”. And then, upon being able to access his datapad and start reading the million messages, texts, memos, and information blurbs, he had discovered that Decepticons were none other than other Cybertronians.
His mind set, from that moment forward, wasn’t the best.
He spoke to Optimus, choosing his words carefully, speaking a little slowly, to be certain he was clear in his question.
“Are you saying, that we went to war, over idealogical differences? That we’re killing each other over disagreements about how to govern ourselves?”
There was a hint of the ire and sarcasm that were trademarks of the older Ratchet, the Ratchet that had seen too much, lived too much, had experienced too much war and death and destruction to be able to deal with petty foolishness.
“That because some high-ranking, stuffed-frame decided that whatever form you took, you had to follow a certain lifestyle and career, as if there was nothing above the neck but a back-up storage system!?”
A stronger flash - the old Ratchet that could coat the simplest statement in enough venom and acid to wilt the strongest-willed zealot.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but suddenly he flinched, hand quickly raising to his helm, as a spark of pain lanced it’s way from one temple to the other. He quickly spoke, holding his head lightly, “Sorry, I…it’s just hard to grasp that such a horrific thing like war could stem from such….foolish origins.”
Lowering his hand, looking up to meet Optimus’ gaze again, he spoke, “This Megatronus….why did he suddenly change gears? You said you both worked together to change things for the better, but that doesn’t explain why war started. It’s one thing to have disagreements about how things are done, but he ended up going against his own views, didn’t he? Free will? There’s not much of that in war.”