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ante_luceWelp. First post on my shiny new LJ. Something that's been bugging me for a while (Help me, it's incomplete, yet spawned a sequel bunny as well). Perhaps this'll exorcise it (or at least appease it until RL stops being a pain). I now understand why fic writers complain of bunnies. I need sleep and the ability to sit at a word processing program without typing non-stuff-that-has-a-deadline.
(working) Title: Hunter Green
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cuss words that probably make no sense out of the fandom. Written to hold off a bunny. Writer with no beta, sleep deprivation and little knowledge of said fandom outside of fanfiction read, the munky series (when my age was in the single digit zone) and one viewing of the 2007 movie quite a while ago, when it was in theatres. Which, considering where I chose to set this story, probably doesn't help much.
Two armies waited on either side of a large empty plain, both groups tense, awaiting the unspoken signal to unleash mayhem and destruction on their enemies. For one side, those bearing red sigils, the tension was especially palpable. One of their own, presumed taken prisoner and then killed nearly a year ago, had reappeared, and on the other side. The other side of this situation were, by contrast, relatively more confident.
Both leaders faced each other as they had done so often before, one with a grim look in his optics, the other smug and superior. This situation was different, this time. Where once two black and white figures stood, a constant presence by one commander’s side, only one remained, the other’s place occupied by another; said other now flanked the commander coloured gun metal grey. The surrealness of this situation had his opponents disconcerted, hesitant and unsure.
“Will you surrender, Optimus?”
“You should know the answer to that, Megatron.”
“Fool. I have watched your forces. They are weak, disorganised, scared. You relied too heavily on your tactician, believed that he would never betray you. And here he stands, by my side, not yours. Surrender now, and make the same wise choice.”
“I do not know what you have done to Prowl, but I know he would never join you.”
“Oh? Prowl, come forward and disabuse your former commander of his delusions.”
“Yes sir.” The mech’s voice was quiet, clear and precise as it had always been. It made it hurt more, to hear him address Megatron in such a manner. The Autobots watched, anger mingled with sadness as their, no, not theirs any longer, the tactician moved forward to stand beside Megatron.
“Please allow me to clarify this situation.” With absolute calm, the speaker lifted his weapon as the mechs surrounding Optimus did the same. Coolly running digits over the barrel of his blaster, the mech continued.
“I have realised my place.” Optics, a cruel red, lifted to gaze directly into the pained ones of the Prime. “And it is not with you.” And with that, he pivoted sharply and fired point blank at a stunned Megatron. As both armies took precious seconds to process this apparent twist, the mech’s optics flickered back into a familiar and much welcomed blue, as an uncharacteristic smirk flashed across his faceplates. As Megatron hit the ground, offline, and his assailant turned back to fire at the still frozen Decepticons, targeting those who could possibly replace Megatron on the battlefield as commander, Optimus finally reacted, raising an arm in command.
“Autobots, attack!”
And with wild war cries, attack they did.
========================================
It was a rout. The Autobots charged their surprised enemies, who, with their leader and most of their command element out of the fight, were unable to put up a coherent defence. Further complicating the Decepticon’s fight was the now blue opticked tactician, barking out directions to an army gleefully agreeable to obeying them. Finally, the ‘Cons fled, taking their fallen with them. The ‘Bots let them leave, watching the retreat with satisfied expressions.
“We should return home.” Came the quiet recommendation. Reluctantly, most of the Autobots started the journey back to the Ark, too overjoyed with the return of Prowl to disagree with him as yet.
Their returned mech hung back, as if unsure of his place with the group. Optimus, accompanied by Ironhide and Jazz, neared the mech, who skittered back nervously. The three halted in surprise, and Optimus reached out to the black and white. “Welcome back, old friend. We have missed you.”
The mech’s only response was to flinch, wide opticked as he backed further away.
“What in the Pit is wrong with you?” Came the demand from their least patient section, who was quickly shoved back by the other black and white and told to hush it. Jazz inched forward, noting that the nervous mech did not move away as he did so.
“Hey Prowler, s’just us. We’re glad you’re back. Really. No one’s gonna hurt you or anything.”
“Yeah. We’re not gonna shoot at you just ‘cos you were with the ‘Cons a year. You took down Megatron, and for a good long while I should hope, with that shot.”
“Prowl?”
The mech just started to unsubspace items, mostly weapons, and each was placed carefully on the ground between them and him. The number surprised them, they had no idea Prowl carried this much firepower. When the mech stopped, appearing to be completely disarmed, he backed away further before answering.
“What’s wrong with me, is that I’m not Prowl.”
========================================
Shocked exclamations met his announcement, and a quickly charged up cannon was immediately pointed at his head. White hands rose into the universal surrender position, and his expression did not waver.
“You wanna explain what you meant by that?”
“Well, ya sure look like him, and sound like him, and frag, you gave orders on the field just like him.”
“Regardless, I am not him, just his chassis.”
“Prowler, perhaps we should head back to the Ark. You need to see Ratchet.”
“My processors are not damaged, to the best of my ability to determine.”
“Prowl, regardless of what the Decepticons did to you, there is nothing we won’t do to help you heal.”
“It’s not a mental issue Prime. I really am not Prowl.”
“Then who the frag are you?”
“Not who. What. I’m… a program. An A.I. designed to utilise the body and processors of your tactician. I have no name.”
“That can’t be true. Reprogramming doesn’t take. Not for long, and wiped bots aren’t any more functional than drones.”
“Explain. Now.”
“The Decepticons wished to use Prowl’s tactical experience and programming for their benefit. Prowl did not agree, and triggered a program to send his processors into cascade failure, which would have wiped his CPU completely of any useful data as well as terminate his systems maintenance programs.”
Grim looks. Such an action would have been tantamount to suicide.
“The ‘Cons managed to realise what he’d done, put him into stasis before the program got to critical, and terminated it. Then, to keep the situation from reoccurring, they created a program to take over his body and CPU. Theoretically, I would have been a drone, but one capable of using every bit of programming Prowl had. And for a short time after coming online, I was.”
Even grimmer looks as the three realised how precarious a situation that would have left the Autobots in.
“Evidently, the theory did not match the eventual outcome. What happened?” Optimus interjected gently.
“I… don’t know sir. Starscream and Soundwave had no explanation for my eventual ‘awareness’, though they thought it had something to do with the presence of a Spark within this chassis when I was uploaded into it.” The mech confessed, looking confused.
“Then why, if you’re a ‘Con program, did you just help us give them the hiding of their lives? Shouldn’t you be a ‘Con as well?” Ironhide’s cannon had not deviated from its position. The mech’s expression turned bittersweet.
“I wasn’t programmed with an allegiance, since they thought I would be a drone. But I couldn’t come online as a Decepticon even if I wanted to. And,” he added as Ironhide growled and the cannon inched closer, “I suspect that had I a choice, I wouldn’t have.”
“And why would that be so?”
“Prowl is an Autobot sir. It’s etched into every facet of his programming, Spark-deep. And… part of my program’s directives was to sift through his memory files for useful data. From the files I went through before… becoming ‘aware’, so to speak, I’ve seen how the Autobots act, what drives them and motivates them. They are so different from the Decepticons. I don’t know if having Prowl’s Spark has anything to do with it, but I found myself unable to accept the ‘Con’s philosophy.”
“A likely story. Tell me why I shouldn’t just terminate you right now?”
“Go ahead. I honestly mean the Autobots no harm. I’ve achieved my objectives, to escape the ‘Cons and return Prowl’s body to his friends. Termination is not an issue for me. However, Prowl still exists within this CPU. Think carefully before you fire.”
“What?”
“He is… blocked. A mind in stasis, though his body isn’t. The ‘Cons were not gentle with him, and his last act of defiance probably caused his mind to retreat in a final subconscious effort at preserving itself. Perhaps he would have returned to consciousness when they stopped his program, but when they put him into stasis and uploaded me, they suppressed his personality programming so that he could not interfere.”
“… Is there a chance Prowl will come back?”
“… I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Any knowledge I have of what happened before I onlined comes from what I’ve gone through of Prowl’s memories and the Decepticon databanks. And he offlined once he triggered his program.”
“So you don’t know any more regarding the time between him going into stasis, and you coming online?”
“Right now, no. There is data I’ve downloaded and not examined yet. Perhaps it may be of some help?”
“… Perhaps. We need to discuss this with Ratchet.”
“Welp, that means we need to get back to the Ark. Ol’ Ratch’ and Red are probably throwing seven different fits at the amount of time we’re taking to wander home.”
“Knowing the two, that’s rather likely. C’mon you,” Here the cannon in the mech’s face twitched in the direction of the Ark. “Time to go.”
Obediently, the mech transformed into his automotive form, sitting quietly as the three gathered his discarded weapons before transforming as well. They set off, their nameless bot flanked by Jazz and Ironhide, while Optimus brought up the rear.
========================================
“Y’know, we can’t really call you Prowl, but calling you ‘hey you’ isn’t much better. You got a name preference?”
“… Not really.” The mech sounded surprised. “I hadn’t thought too much about it. Megatron preferred I answer to your tactician’s name.”
“That slagger would. Can I name you?”
“If you like.”
Overhearing this, Ironhide contacted the Special Ops mech on a private channel. “Don’t get too attached Jazz. That’s technically a ‘Con drone, and once we get Prowl back, it’s getting deleted.” He cautioned.
“Aw, c’mon ‘Hide. He did his best to bring Prowl back to us. Least we could do is treat him like a sapient being. Besides, he’s too aware to be a drone.” Came the protest. Ironhide grumbled, but let the issue rest for the time being.
“Fine. But he so much as twitches wrong, and he’ll wish he’d stayed with the ‘Cons.”
The rest of the drive back was silent, with Optimus mulling over the situation, Ironhide considering what security measures they would have to implement, and Jazz searching his databanks for a suitable name.
Unsure as to how to address their new and yet not new companion, he settled for a generic, “Uh, hey.”
“Yes Jazz?” Thankfully, the mech seem to realise he was being spoken to.
“I think I have a name for you.”
“Alright.”
“It’s kinda related to Prowl’s name, since you’re sorta him right now but not really and I thought it would be fitting and… Primus I sound like Bluestreak.”
A quiet laugh answered him, and Jazz felt his fuel tanks mutter oddly at the sound. He’d never heard it coming from the tactician before, no one had, and the crew of the Ark had been together for a very, very long time. Lost in this strange sensation, he belatedly realised the mech was trying to call his attention.
“Jazz? Jazz!”
“Ah, sorry. Spaced out a bit.”
“It’s alright. You mentioned a name?” More oddness. Prowl had never been so forgiving of such distraction. More proof that the familiar form housed an unfamiliar being.
“Yeah. How do you like the sound of ‘Hunter’?” There was a pause as the mech considered the moniker.
“It will suffice.” It was very disconcerting, the way glimmers of the tactician peeked through the mech's behaviour.
“Great.”
There was more silence then, before the newly christened Hunter spoke again. “Jazz?”
“Yup?”
“How will the rest of the crew react to me not being Prowl?”
“Ohhh… Slag.”
“That’s gonna be an issue.”
“I’ve contacted Ratchet and Red Alert. We’ll be housing ‘Prowl’ in an isolated room until further notice, citing security risk from possible Decepticon sleeper programs.”
“Primus, didn’t think of that either.”
“Neither did I, perhaps I should be brought in offline?”
“I think we can manage to restrain you should anything happen.”
“Prowl’s tactical programs are fully functional. You may not get the chance.”
“Fine.” Ironhide skidded to a stop and transformed, prompting the others to do the same. “We’ll put you offline, and Prime can lug your chassis back to the Ark.”
“Yes sir.”
(working) Title: Hunter Green
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cuss words that probably make no sense out of the fandom. Written to hold off a bunny. Writer with no beta, sleep deprivation and little knowledge of said fandom outside of fanfiction read, the munky series (when my age was in the single digit zone) and one viewing of the 2007 movie quite a while ago, when it was in theatres. Which, considering where I chose to set this story, probably doesn't help much.
Two armies waited on either side of a large empty plain, both groups tense, awaiting the unspoken signal to unleash mayhem and destruction on their enemies. For one side, those bearing red sigils, the tension was especially palpable. One of their own, presumed taken prisoner and then killed nearly a year ago, had reappeared, and on the other side. The other side of this situation were, by contrast, relatively more confident.
Both leaders faced each other as they had done so often before, one with a grim look in his optics, the other smug and superior. This situation was different, this time. Where once two black and white figures stood, a constant presence by one commander’s side, only one remained, the other’s place occupied by another; said other now flanked the commander coloured gun metal grey. The surrealness of this situation had his opponents disconcerted, hesitant and unsure.
“Will you surrender, Optimus?”
“You should know the answer to that, Megatron.”
“Fool. I have watched your forces. They are weak, disorganised, scared. You relied too heavily on your tactician, believed that he would never betray you. And here he stands, by my side, not yours. Surrender now, and make the same wise choice.”
“I do not know what you have done to Prowl, but I know he would never join you.”
“Oh? Prowl, come forward and disabuse your former commander of his delusions.”
“Yes sir.” The mech’s voice was quiet, clear and precise as it had always been. It made it hurt more, to hear him address Megatron in such a manner. The Autobots watched, anger mingled with sadness as their, no, not theirs any longer, the tactician moved forward to stand beside Megatron.
“Please allow me to clarify this situation.” With absolute calm, the speaker lifted his weapon as the mechs surrounding Optimus did the same. Coolly running digits over the barrel of his blaster, the mech continued.
“I have realised my place.” Optics, a cruel red, lifted to gaze directly into the pained ones of the Prime. “And it is not with you.” And with that, he pivoted sharply and fired point blank at a stunned Megatron. As both armies took precious seconds to process this apparent twist, the mech’s optics flickered back into a familiar and much welcomed blue, as an uncharacteristic smirk flashed across his faceplates. As Megatron hit the ground, offline, and his assailant turned back to fire at the still frozen Decepticons, targeting those who could possibly replace Megatron on the battlefield as commander, Optimus finally reacted, raising an arm in command.
“Autobots, attack!”
And with wild war cries, attack they did.
It was a rout. The Autobots charged their surprised enemies, who, with their leader and most of their command element out of the fight, were unable to put up a coherent defence. Further complicating the Decepticon’s fight was the now blue opticked tactician, barking out directions to an army gleefully agreeable to obeying them. Finally, the ‘Cons fled, taking their fallen with them. The ‘Bots let them leave, watching the retreat with satisfied expressions.
“We should return home.” Came the quiet recommendation. Reluctantly, most of the Autobots started the journey back to the Ark, too overjoyed with the return of Prowl to disagree with him as yet.
Their returned mech hung back, as if unsure of his place with the group. Optimus, accompanied by Ironhide and Jazz, neared the mech, who skittered back nervously. The three halted in surprise, and Optimus reached out to the black and white. “Welcome back, old friend. We have missed you.”
The mech’s only response was to flinch, wide opticked as he backed further away.
“What in the Pit is wrong with you?” Came the demand from their least patient section, who was quickly shoved back by the other black and white and told to hush it. Jazz inched forward, noting that the nervous mech did not move away as he did so.
“Hey Prowler, s’just us. We’re glad you’re back. Really. No one’s gonna hurt you or anything.”
“Yeah. We’re not gonna shoot at you just ‘cos you were with the ‘Cons a year. You took down Megatron, and for a good long while I should hope, with that shot.”
“Prowl?”
The mech just started to unsubspace items, mostly weapons, and each was placed carefully on the ground between them and him. The number surprised them, they had no idea Prowl carried this much firepower. When the mech stopped, appearing to be completely disarmed, he backed away further before answering.
“What’s wrong with me, is that I’m not Prowl.”
Shocked exclamations met his announcement, and a quickly charged up cannon was immediately pointed at his head. White hands rose into the universal surrender position, and his expression did not waver.
“You wanna explain what you meant by that?”
“Well, ya sure look like him, and sound like him, and frag, you gave orders on the field just like him.”
“Regardless, I am not him, just his chassis.”
“Prowler, perhaps we should head back to the Ark. You need to see Ratchet.”
“My processors are not damaged, to the best of my ability to determine.”
“Prowl, regardless of what the Decepticons did to you, there is nothing we won’t do to help you heal.”
“It’s not a mental issue Prime. I really am not Prowl.”
“Then who the frag are you?”
“Not who. What. I’m… a program. An A.I. designed to utilise the body and processors of your tactician. I have no name.”
“That can’t be true. Reprogramming doesn’t take. Not for long, and wiped bots aren’t any more functional than drones.”
“Explain. Now.”
“The Decepticons wished to use Prowl’s tactical experience and programming for their benefit. Prowl did not agree, and triggered a program to send his processors into cascade failure, which would have wiped his CPU completely of any useful data as well as terminate his systems maintenance programs.”
Grim looks. Such an action would have been tantamount to suicide.
“The ‘Cons managed to realise what he’d done, put him into stasis before the program got to critical, and terminated it. Then, to keep the situation from reoccurring, they created a program to take over his body and CPU. Theoretically, I would have been a drone, but one capable of using every bit of programming Prowl had. And for a short time after coming online, I was.”
Even grimmer looks as the three realised how precarious a situation that would have left the Autobots in.
“Evidently, the theory did not match the eventual outcome. What happened?” Optimus interjected gently.
“I… don’t know sir. Starscream and Soundwave had no explanation for my eventual ‘awareness’, though they thought it had something to do with the presence of a Spark within this chassis when I was uploaded into it.” The mech confessed, looking confused.
“Then why, if you’re a ‘Con program, did you just help us give them the hiding of their lives? Shouldn’t you be a ‘Con as well?” Ironhide’s cannon had not deviated from its position. The mech’s expression turned bittersweet.
“I wasn’t programmed with an allegiance, since they thought I would be a drone. But I couldn’t come online as a Decepticon even if I wanted to. And,” he added as Ironhide growled and the cannon inched closer, “I suspect that had I a choice, I wouldn’t have.”
“And why would that be so?”
“Prowl is an Autobot sir. It’s etched into every facet of his programming, Spark-deep. And… part of my program’s directives was to sift through his memory files for useful data. From the files I went through before… becoming ‘aware’, so to speak, I’ve seen how the Autobots act, what drives them and motivates them. They are so different from the Decepticons. I don’t know if having Prowl’s Spark has anything to do with it, but I found myself unable to accept the ‘Con’s philosophy.”
“A likely story. Tell me why I shouldn’t just terminate you right now?”
“Go ahead. I honestly mean the Autobots no harm. I’ve achieved my objectives, to escape the ‘Cons and return Prowl’s body to his friends. Termination is not an issue for me. However, Prowl still exists within this CPU. Think carefully before you fire.”
“What?”
“He is… blocked. A mind in stasis, though his body isn’t. The ‘Cons were not gentle with him, and his last act of defiance probably caused his mind to retreat in a final subconscious effort at preserving itself. Perhaps he would have returned to consciousness when they stopped his program, but when they put him into stasis and uploaded me, they suppressed his personality programming so that he could not interfere.”
“… Is there a chance Prowl will come back?”
“… I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Any knowledge I have of what happened before I onlined comes from what I’ve gone through of Prowl’s memories and the Decepticon databanks. And he offlined once he triggered his program.”
“So you don’t know any more regarding the time between him going into stasis, and you coming online?”
“Right now, no. There is data I’ve downloaded and not examined yet. Perhaps it may be of some help?”
“… Perhaps. We need to discuss this with Ratchet.”
“Welp, that means we need to get back to the Ark. Ol’ Ratch’ and Red are probably throwing seven different fits at the amount of time we’re taking to wander home.”
“Knowing the two, that’s rather likely. C’mon you,” Here the cannon in the mech’s face twitched in the direction of the Ark. “Time to go.”
Obediently, the mech transformed into his automotive form, sitting quietly as the three gathered his discarded weapons before transforming as well. They set off, their nameless bot flanked by Jazz and Ironhide, while Optimus brought up the rear.
“Y’know, we can’t really call you Prowl, but calling you ‘hey you’ isn’t much better. You got a name preference?”
“… Not really.” The mech sounded surprised. “I hadn’t thought too much about it. Megatron preferred I answer to your tactician’s name.”
“That slagger would. Can I name you?”
“If you like.”
Overhearing this, Ironhide contacted the Special Ops mech on a private channel. “Don’t get too attached Jazz. That’s technically a ‘Con drone, and once we get Prowl back, it’s getting deleted.” He cautioned.
“Aw, c’mon ‘Hide. He did his best to bring Prowl back to us. Least we could do is treat him like a sapient being. Besides, he’s too aware to be a drone.” Came the protest. Ironhide grumbled, but let the issue rest for the time being.
“Fine. But he so much as twitches wrong, and he’ll wish he’d stayed with the ‘Cons.”
The rest of the drive back was silent, with Optimus mulling over the situation, Ironhide considering what security measures they would have to implement, and Jazz searching his databanks for a suitable name.
Unsure as to how to address their new and yet not new companion, he settled for a generic, “Uh, hey.”
“Yes Jazz?” Thankfully, the mech seem to realise he was being spoken to.
“I think I have a name for you.”
“Alright.”
“It’s kinda related to Prowl’s name, since you’re sorta him right now but not really and I thought it would be fitting and… Primus I sound like Bluestreak.”
A quiet laugh answered him, and Jazz felt his fuel tanks mutter oddly at the sound. He’d never heard it coming from the tactician before, no one had, and the crew of the Ark had been together for a very, very long time. Lost in this strange sensation, he belatedly realised the mech was trying to call his attention.
“Jazz? Jazz!”
“Ah, sorry. Spaced out a bit.”
“It’s alright. You mentioned a name?” More oddness. Prowl had never been so forgiving of such distraction. More proof that the familiar form housed an unfamiliar being.
“Yeah. How do you like the sound of ‘Hunter’?” There was a pause as the mech considered the moniker.
“It will suffice.” It was very disconcerting, the way glimmers of the tactician peeked through the mech's behaviour.
“Great.”
There was more silence then, before the newly christened Hunter spoke again. “Jazz?”
“Yup?”
“How will the rest of the crew react to me not being Prowl?”
“Ohhh… Slag.”
“That’s gonna be an issue.”
“I’ve contacted Ratchet and Red Alert. We’ll be housing ‘Prowl’ in an isolated room until further notice, citing security risk from possible Decepticon sleeper programs.”
“Primus, didn’t think of that either.”
“Neither did I, perhaps I should be brought in offline?”
“I think we can manage to restrain you should anything happen.”
“Prowl’s tactical programs are fully functional. You may not get the chance.”
“Fine.” Ironhide skidded to a stop and transformed, prompting the others to do the same. “We’ll put you offline, and Prime can lug your chassis back to the Ark.”
“Yes sir.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-28 07:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-29 04:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-29 04:48 pm (UTC)Still, would love very much to see more of this, and indeed, more of you around the comms.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-30 03:03 am (UTC)Still, the late nights at the lab are remarkably conducive for writing. If only the writing were of the sort I can hand in. Thankfully, the bunnies seem appeased for now. *waits for Murphy's Law to deal out hurt*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-02 04:25 pm (UTC)Oh yeah. Staying up all night to study always somehow ends in ficcage. Now, if I was writing the theory on slash that I plan to do later then I might not mind them holding my head hostage so much! XD
*waits with you*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-03 03:56 am (UTC)*resists urge to make new pages presentable for posting*
...
*fails*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-03 04:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-03 12:37 pm (UTC)Definitely with the finishing and I completely get the incomplete bunnies spawning sequels, happens to me far too regularly.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-03 12:49 pm (UTC)*tries to shoo sequel!bunny*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-03 02:15 pm (UTC)I wouldn't want my bunnies getting ideas now! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-03 06:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-10-04 04:14 am (UTC)