a transformers OC drabble
The dark ship was silent aside from the occasional creak and whine echoing through its battered walls. How many of the metallic groans came from the ship versus his own aching body, Astrumadeus could not tell.
Pain sensors were things he long learned to overlook, the dull alerts having been sent through his processors most of his existence. He couldn’t even recall the times when they didn’t blink constantly, the memory channels that far back lost over the many, brutal years. The only memories of youth he had left were loose, the small bits barely enough to bother trying to recall most days.
Astrumadeus knew he was named for the stars. His father always hoped he would have the chance to visit them, free of Quintesson control. It was that dream that convinced him to join the ranks of the secret soldiers, all years older than him, in the hopes of one day being free.
He quickly learned what it meant to fight for something and watched as bots he called brother and sister died fighting for that freedom. It was worth it though, because in the end they succeeded. They were free.
And what did they do with that freedom?
Astrumadeus optic unfocused and he muttered to himself, trying to open and close the shutters to force restart the visual program. It cleared up and he reached across the console to double check the ship was still on course.
He was, thankfully. Floating through the expanse of space, in an empty ship.
Briefly, Astrumadeus lived a life of well earned peace and the glory of his success. He was a decorated soldier and a time honored member of society. During this time, he was even blessed with his own son, a child raised free from the Quintessons grip.
It was only so cruel a fate for war to claim his son a soldier as well.
Astrumadeus reached for his gun, the large heavy weapon resting against his chair. He gripped the familiar handle slowly and forced his weight up, groaning as the joints in his knees struggled to recall how to bend.
He shuffled over to the empty secondary console beside him, waiting till he was positioned above the chair before dropping back down with a heavy sigh. He let his gun lean and used his only hand to flip the switches necessary to maintain the status alert being sent out from the vessel. Content it was being broadcasted appropriately, he leaned back in the chair, resting his aching hand atop his battered chest plate. Slowly, he rubbed his digits against the incision etched in his metal.
The decepticon symbol. A mark of pride he took in his youth, not daring to flinch as the acid bore into his young, previously unmarked casing. He wanted nothing more than to serve alongside his siblings. To do everything to fight for their freedom with raw, unfiltered honor.
He felt that same honor when his son painted the symbol across his arm. When he claimed he was continuing the fight in his name.
But the fight was over? The quintessons were gone.
Astrumadeus optic zoomed in on the cluster of unfamiliar stars to the right on the view monitor.
“Flare Hop, what are our coordinates set to?”
The question was met with silence and he scowled, looking over to demand an answer. The words died on his open mouth as he stared down the empty console seat.
Slowly, he leaned down for his gun, and wandered back over to it.
The war never ended. But at some point, he was no longer firing on alien captors. His hands were rusted from the energon they split, countless cybertronians slain in the decepticon name.
His father always wanted him to see the stars. Astrumadeus tried counting them, naming each constellation slowly. Recalling the practical information at times worked in his favor, his processors registering the proper time and location in response.
He was almost to them. In a day’s time, he should reach the Dirge. They can help him. He's sure of it.
“Could you imagine, there would be a day we worked with pirates? I bet ten gallons the moment we get there, you're going to make an ass of yourself, eh Bladestrike?”
Astrumadeus was still chuckling to himself as he glanced over to the other empty console. His laughter died off slowly, and he looked back out to the stars.
At least, in the end, his father got his wish.
