Chapter Text
A/N: So this is the story that started my fan fiction writing “career,” such that it is. For those of you who read this on FF.net, you will find that this version has been changed. It is now being beta'd by the ever faithful Khalthar from the very beginning, some scenes have been added and/or expanded to better help the story flow. The original version, which was started years ago, is still on FF.net, but I do have to warn you that the technique and skill has vastly improved, both throughout the original publication and (hopefully,) this version as well. Special note: if there are any style changes, i.e. depicting a change in POV or a flashback or different language or means of communication, it will be noted in a legend at the beginning of each chapter.
Disclaimer: Transformers is the property of Hasbro and whomever they sold the rights to. The Transformers movies are the property of Paramount, Dreamworks and their associated agencies. The vision of the Transformers movies is the intellectual property of Michael Bay. No infringement was implied nor intended. No financial gain has been made by the author. All original characters and/or plot is the intellectual property of the author. Use of either without the permission and/or acknowledgment of the author is forbidden. This disclaimer encompasses the entirety of this work.
LEGEND:
VVVVVBREAKVVVVV = Change in POV/time skip
PROLOGUE:
2004
The surface of the sample seemed to be alive with electromagnetic activity. Similar, he would say, to the electric currents present in the brain.
The knob clicked the microscope to an even greater magnification. After scanning the surface for any unusual activity, Dr. Alistair Carlisle happened on something he never expected to see in a technological sample; the units, cellular in design, appeared to be destroying an apparently damaged unit, and replacing it with four smaller units.
This was extraordinary! If this could be replicated, it would be the end of cancer, or it could revolutionize amputations and paralysis. Maybe this could help him walk again.
The sounds of the phone ringing in the front of the lab and the soft murmurs of his assistant faded to white noise. Likewise, he ignored the sounds of the servos grinding as the other technicians built, tested, rebuilt and re-tested their various artificial body parts.
This was amazing! He had to get this latest discovery recorded. The voice activated recorder clicked on with his first words.
“Findings indicate that these chips harvested from NBE1, although decidedly technological in origin, appear to have remarkable regenerative tendencies. Further analysis is needed to determine if these tendencies can be transferred into biological cells, or combined with damaged cells to replace or repair them.
“Next step in this research will be to introduce living biological cells into the environment with these harvested technological units to determine how they will interact.”
“Dr. Carlisle!” his assistant finally interrupted.
“What is it Alicia?” he asked, quite annoyed.
The look on her face was one of utter shock and woe. If he wasn't so interested in the activity happening under his microscope, he might have noticed she was fighting tears.
“It's your sister and niece.
“There's been an accident. You need to get to the hospital to act as next of kin.”
That brought him up short, next of kin? They would only need him for that if Mary was unable to. This had to be really bad.
For the first time since he was assigned to this project, he lost his focus on work.
He backed his wheelchair out from under the desk he was working at and maneuvered it around to face Alicia. “Call my car,” he said. “Please make sure to log my last observations for me. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
“Yes sir, and Dr. Carlisle?”
He stopped his chair on his way to the door. He didn't bother to turn around.
“I'll pray for your sister and niece.”
Alistair Carlisle didn't respond. He maneuvered the joystick to continue his progress toward the garage, and his only remaining family. God seemed disinterested in him or his family from his point of view.
VVVVVBREAKVVVVV
He had learned the planets' multitude of languages, including distinct dialects and accents, solar orbits ago. Years, he corrected himself. These human creatures called them years. If anything, Soundwave thought, he was good at his job, and his job was to learn all about the inhabitants on this wretched rock so that he was better able to spy on them.
He was hanging in space doing little more than monitoring the planets' conversations through the satellite he was plugged into when it hit him; pain. His legs were crushed, his left arm was pinned and there was a burning sensation running into his left optic and audial. The pain was not his own, he realized, but rather that from a spark connection. Alarmed, he located each of his symbiotes through his link with them and determined that they were not suffering any damages. So, what was this?
He attempted to access the memory files of the other that had connected with him and became confused; there were no data files. Desperate now, he explored what he could of the other's mind and was shocked by what he found; it was a human.
How was this even possible? He had no hypothesis, so he delved further into the other's mind and was able to access enough memories to determine he was in the processors of a youngling femme.
Who was she? How had they connected? He was determined that he would find out, so he allowed himself to sink further into her mind and just experience what was happening to her now.
The burning sensation; he analyzed it and realized it was cold when it first touched her face, only to begin burning as it sat. Acid. She had to be having acid dripped on her. What did she see? It was useless, nothing but blurs and smears of color. It was probably from a combination of both the damage to her optic and the liquid humans expelled from them when in pain; tears.
What did she hear? Wailing. She was crying, which he expected given her apparent age and current pain level, but what else? A voice; “Yes?
“As far as I can see there are two people trapped in the car. It looks like a mother and baby.
“No, the mother is dead. The baby . . . Oh God! The baby is crying! She's still alive! Hurry! The tanker truck has a corrosive sticker on it and something is leaking through the roof onto her. Please hurry!
“No! I can't pull her out! Her legs, oh shit! They're crushed between the back of the seat and her car seat. I can't get the seatbelt off!”
He hacked into the emergency response phone conversations in America and Canada,
given the caller's language and accent, and searched for any references to car accidents involving tanker trucks transporting corrosive materials and entrapment. Fortunately, there was only one at that particular moment, so he flagged the information in his processors and compared the part of the conversation the femme youngling was able to hear with the nine-one-one operator's questions. They matched.
He further accessed the call log to determine which emergency response unit was deployed and was able to extrapolate what hospital they would most likely transport her to. Acknowledging that he could do no more for the youngling from where he was, and couldn't get to her in a timely enough fashion to actually help, he focused on strengthening the connection between them and trying to take the brunt of the pain onto himself.
Soundwave refused to examine his motives right then. Later, he would assign his actions to his role as a creator of his symbiotes. It was hardwired into every creator to protect their spawn, so that was what he was trying to do; protect a youngling that had some sort of spark connection with him.
He watched through her optics as a blur moved in front of her line of sight and heard it make soothing sounds, placing something malleable around her pinned arm and over her face to stop the acid from causing further damage.
“We can't lift the tanker off! Can you get the car seat out?” he heard someone ask the blur in front of her.
“No. Even if I could, both her legs are crushed and her arm is pinned,” the blur replied.
“Got the call from the doc; amputate,” another voice ordered.
“What?” the blur asked in horror.
“If you don't we're going to lose her! We've got gas leaking and an explosion imminent. Do it now!” the authority's voice ordered.
He felt the youngling's hand grab on to the blur in fear as he leaned away from her for a second. “Don't go!” she cried.
Soundwave felt his very spark break in sympathy at the utter terror in that voice.
“Shh baby. I'm not going anywhere,” the blur soothed as he pulled something apart in front of her.
“Now, this is going to make you sleepy,” he warned as he pricked her with a sharp implement.
Soundwave felt the cold sensation invade the young femme's lines through their link and heard her cry out. Then, the unmistakable sound of a high powered blade cycling up preceded the breeze it generated as it approached her left arm.
“Primus no!” the spymaster mouthed in the silence of space. He couldn't let her endure that, so he reached through their link and sent her into a deep recharge just as the blade touched her arm.
As the youngling slipped into her unconscious state, the link between them severed and left him alone again in space. He refused to dwell on that and focused instead on following the femme's progress throughout her ordeal. He needed to make certain she would be safe. The records indicating she would be placed in the care of her carrier's mech sibling eased his spark. After all, it was hardwired into all mechs to care for the younglings of kin.
VVVVVBREAKVVVVV
He was trapped. There was something painfully hot dripping onto his face plate and slowly leaking into his left audial and optic. He couldn’t see or hear out of them and he couldn’t move to get out from under the drip.
His right optic was blurry and he heard a strange sound that reminded him of the wails of newly spawned hatchlings. Desperately, he tried to move and screamed out when his struggles were met with pain. His legs were pinned somehow, crushed, and so was his left arm. He could move the hand and elbow, but it was securely caught by the upper arm.
Finally, he saw the blurry shape of a head before him. The rescuer was making soothing sounds in a language he never heard before. The limbs attached to the head moved to put something soft and malleable around his shoulder and over the damaged side of his face. He felt a piercing sensation in his upper arm that soon began to numb it. Suddenly, he heard a sound he came to identify as Ratchet’s saw, and then felt the searing pain as it was applied to his upper arm above where it was pinned.
He screamed out in his own pain and heard the strange wailing sound match it.
Jerking upright, the image went black and the pain disappeared. He looked around in confusion and saw the worried faces of Optimus, Jazz and Ratchet looking down at him. He was lying on the floor of the recreation area; several others paused in their activities to look at him in concern.
“Is he alright Ratchet?” Optimus asked worriedly.
“I don’t know,” he answered in confusion. “These readings are odd; his central processors are showing damage to both legs, left arm, optic and audial, but direct scans of them indicate full functionality.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was caught in a total cybernetic lock with someone who was experiencing those injuries.”
“How is that possible?” Jazz asked in confusion. “As far as I know, he isn’t a twin nor is he unified, unless he has been holding out on us.
“So, did you go out and get unified before you left the planet and not tell anyone Bumblebee?”
Bumblebee looked down at his legs and ran a diagnostic. They were completely functional, so he tried to move them. When they responded to his commands, he felt relieved and searched for his left arm. It, his optic and audial all appeared to be fine, so he climbed to his feet. He swayed dangerously until Ratchet and Optimus caught him and held him steady.
“No,” he was finally able to answer Jazz. “No twin or unified.”
“Did you have an offspring before you left?” Ratchet asked
“No . . .” he started to answer before his vocal processor went out again.
“This is just too bizarre, let’s get him to the med bay so I can run more diagnostics,” Ratchet ordered.
Slowly, they helped the wobbly mech through the hatch and into the corridor. Without understanding why, he broke free and grabbed at the ledge of the window to look at the stars. Inextricably, his gaze was pulled toward a specific arm of an unfamiliar spiral galaxy.
I will find you, he swore from his spark. Primus help me, I will find you and you will never know that kind of pain again.