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I work in secret. I exist in shadow.
I do enjoy my job. I savor the fleeting moment when my sensors detect a fool believing he can sneak up on me in pure concealment. I immerse myself in obscurity when infiltrating enemy territory, whether for espionage or sabotage. I indulge in the pleasure of another successful undermining of our adversaries, with none but my superiors being the wiser.
And yet, some wonder how a Decepticon like me can be so competent, so efficient, so indispensable to our cause, when at first glance, I appear to have so little to offer? I won’t blame anyone for thinking that; they would not be the first to underrate my talents. Many others before have done the same. Unfortunately for them, they invariably pay for their error of judgment.
I am often underestimated, not only by my foes, but sometimes by my comrades. Because of my size. Of my form. Of my apparent inability to speak due to the unique robot mode that is my true identity. Very few realize that I can speak; I choose not to. If I do communicate through conventional language, I will only do so within the security of my guardian… if I feel it crucial.
It matters little. This preconceived lack of power belies my true skills, and only serves to enhance both my own true power and my value to the Decepticon cause. Every element of my being deceives all but the most insightful around me. It is no coincidence that “deceive” is the root word for “Decepticon.” Megatron is the champion and flag-bearer for our cause, through terror and charisma. But I am the symbol for the base origin of our allegiance’s name, made manifest through alloy and circuitry.
Some may be surprised to know that I am not offended when others perceive me savage or weak. They should not be. When I complete my covert missions with my silent, unmatched skill, the respect I gain tastes much, much sweeter because of it. Compare that to other Decepticons who openly brag about their supposed superiority – and perhaps enjoy the sound of their own voices too much – but have accomplished next to nothing to prove their boasts. There are several examples who match that description… but I won’t mention Starscream’s name. What matters is not perceptions, but results.
Others may wonder, if I am so confident in my ability, so proud of my contribution, so certain of my importance to the Decepticons, then why don’t I make my own bid for supreme command? The answer is simple: it is not my place. I was designed for a purpose to our cause, and I fulfill that purpose flawlessly… and within the framework of the great Decepticon war machine. And given the obvious limitations of my physical design, I would not be suited for leadership of the Decepticons, anyway. I feel a much greater honor to serve under Megatron’s command, organized in my guardian’s committee of communications, information gathering, and espionage. I enjoy the close-quarters nature of our work, even though the other personnel do not share the discipline that Soundwave and I exercise.
Rumble and Frenzy are surprisingly good warriors, and I share their frequent occasions of being underestimated because of their size, until they unleash their powers. But between them, they do not have a shred of the subtlety required for covert operations. Laserbeak makes for an excellent spy – almost as good as I am – and his flying avian form gives him an additional dimension to his reconnaissance. He is also a known coward, which gives him plenty of practice in ducking and hiding. One may question my criticism of Laserbeak’s hiding, when I do the same thing. The difference is I hide because it is my job requirement. He hides because he has no courage. At least our other avian, Buzzsaw, exhibits some bravery when ordered for a spy mission, and some pride in his destructive cruelty. But though I admire his artistic approach to his work, his air of sophistication bears the same substance… of air. His projected image of refinement evaporates when one of his planned masterpieces goes awry. Ratbat? Also a good scout. A fighter? Don’t make me laugh. I have never claimed to be the strongest soldier of the Decepticons, but even I have tackled the mighty Optimus Prime on more than one occasion.
Despite all our faults – even I will admit to a dislike for strong light – with Soundwave’s guidance, we work together smoothly and we get along just as well. We are trusted by Megatron to carry out our jobs and keep the Decepticon war machine operating, as we are required to answer directly to our leader. And a powerful military force cannot exist without the knowledge of the territory gained from thorough information.
Information is knowledge.
Knowledge is power.
Megatron is power.
Megatron is the Decepticon cause.
I am Decepticon.
* * * * * *
A single point of light flickers in my consciousness, spiking outward into a white line, before unfurling abruptly to indicate my vision is restored. Moments later, my other sensors pick up audio, olfactory, tactile, and electromagnetic stimuli around me.
I am online again. But I feel very different. I find myself in a new body, a bipedal version of my old feline robot mode. I mentally issue a command to my vocal synthesizer, expecting my usual snarling… and find that I can speak now. I ask the present technical staff why this was done… why one of the key elements that contributed to my entire being of deception – of being the Decepticon I have always been – has been taken away. They answer that I have been chosen for a new purpose, which requires me to communicate with my new comrades in a more conventional fashion. I protest that I have never needed to speak before. They inform me that times have changed.
Sadly, the technician speaks more truth than he knows. It is now three centuries since the end of the last Great Cybertronian War, when a terrifying force beyond our imaginations threatened to destroy and consume Cybertron, the center of the Decepticon Empire… and my home world. As unbelievable as it sounds, our concentrated efforts were helpless in repelling Unicron. Even more astonishing was that all it took was an adolescent Autobot brat with a mystic bauble to defeat the Chaos Bringer. Add to that the loss of our leader Megatron – or Galvatron, as he now called himself – our surrender to the Autobots and our subsequent ejection from Cybertron was even more humiliating. Even when Galvatron returned, more powerful yet more unbalanced than ever, our multiple rebel strikes to retake Cybertron were so feeble, that we were easily brushed aside. My sole comfort in this demoralizing experience was that Soundwave and my long-time allies still existed.
We eventually realized our efforts were wasteful and hopeless, and many of us crawled back to the Autobot government in disgrace, requesting retirement and even preparing to face eternal shutdown for war crimes. To our surprise, the Autobots granted amnesty to most of us, although those judged to be the worst offenders were subjected to the fate we were all expecting.
I did not expect to be among those fortunate to be pardoned. Although I believed my covert operations were undetectable during the prime of the Decepticon Empire, I had committed enough deeds for the Autobots to surmise my guilt. I could have been declared too dangerous as a latent threat to be set free. I even considered offering my services to the Autobots as a penance, but feared my plea would be rejected and my sentence carried out swiftly. And in my old body, regardless of the admiration I once gained from my fellow Decepticons for my accomplishments in spite of my relatively weaker form, the Autobots would have taken me less seriously than they would another Decepticon. If we were organics on Earth, the Autobots would have seen me as little more than a vicious wild animal to be put down.
Instead, my fears were put to rest upon the Autobots’ amnesty grant, only to be replaced with new concerns. I was free to live. However, I never heard from Soundwave or my former cohorts. I was never told of their fates or their whereabouts. Although I preferred to work alone, it would have been nice to reunite with my old comrades one more time. But even after countless attempts to find out, the Autobots refused to release any information on them, whether they were retired and still functional, or sealed into permanent stasis, never to live another solar cycle again.
Now in my new form, I realized what had just been taken away from me – my silence – was nothing compared to what I had lost when I had won my pardon. Knowing the fates of Soundwave and the others would have given me some closure, and a nominal sense of peace knowing their active status. But with the governing authorities sealing off all information on them, part of me could never rest. However, just as gaining my pardon was exchanged by losing Soundwave and my former comrades, losing my silence was exchanged by gaining something new… a chance at redemption.
Not only have times changed; everything has changed. Cybertron is now free from warfare, a state that I can barely ever remember in any moment of my former life. The population has been upgraded to Maximals and Predacons – I still recall the old Predacons from my past generation; brutish but fierce – with the citizens living in an uneasy state of peace. Even the new governments – the Maximal Imperium and the Predacon Alliance – have forged a Pax Cybertronia treaty, putting all past hostilities aside and working together for the betterment of Cybertron… or so it seems.
Tired of being treated as underclass citizens by these condescending Maximal Elders, the Predacon Alliance have been building their powers and resources in secret, waiting for the right opportunity to revolt, while wearing a mask of loyalty and subservience to the Imperium. And from what I understand, someone connected to a high-ranking officer in the Predacon Secret Police had personally requested my recruitment. Perhaps they had conducted extensive historical research on my past career, and felt my experience would be vital to their needs.
If duty dictates that I have a second chance at life, then regardless of circumstances, so be it.
* * * * * *
I take very little time in adapting to my new body. My old sensory abilities and stealth devices have been enhanced for the modern era. My side-mounted bomb launchers have been internalized, and I have been given twin laser-sighted blaster rifles. Even my alternate mode of a data cartridge – a “cassette”, if you will – has had its recording capabilities upgraded to current technology as well. And I must admit… although I only thought this of other Decepticons who were mostly talk and little action, I do like the sound of my new voice. I wonder if someone involved in my rebirth was inspired by the spy motion pictures produced on 20th-century Earth, and designed my voice accordingly. But unlike some of my former Decepticons, I am not so enamored by my new voice that I would jeopardize my missions by speaking at the wrong moment.
I am to be initiated into Predacon service immediately, which includes the branding of the insignia of their faction. As I stand before the assembled emissaries of various Predacon Councils, the Generals instruct their agents at the ceremony to present the badges which are to be branded on my shoulders. The insectoid style of the Predacon symbol is not to my preferred taste, but I keep my indifference silent as I accept it. With this new symbol, they say, I am now inducted into the Predacons’ clandestine services, bringing my immense wealth of knowledge as a boon to their cause, and a direct link to their Decepticon heritage.
Their Decepticon heritage.
I think.
I remember.
I raise a hand to pause the ceremony.
I make one request. If I am to wear the Predacon symbol, I wish to wear it on only one shoulder. To commemorate my old allegiance, which I had served for millions of years before my revival… I also wish to have the Decepticon symbol branded on my other shoulder.
The Generals are taken aback and look at each other. Had I said something wrong? Had I doomed myself to execution, for unwittingly committing no greater violation than honoring my own ancestors – my former comrades-at-arms – despite the inherent shame that the losing symbol of the Great Cybertronian War must represent to this generation?
The Generals look at me again… and grant my request.
Before I enter the first days of training for my new position within the Predacon Alliance’s covert agencies, I glance at the new symbols branded on my shoulders. Then I take another look at my Decepticon symbol. I think back to the era when I began working for the Decepticons… the memories I enjoyed and savored from working under Megatron, in concert with my old information committee. I briefly wonder what happened to Laserbeak, Rumble and the others… and put the thoughts aside, as duty now calls for the secret creation of a new order.
I stare at my Decepticon insignia for a little bit longer… and realize something I never noticed before. Although this is the second time I have received the brand of the Decepticon, the origins of the symbol has been lost to pre-history. But a closer look at this classic sigil, a stylized interpretation of an anonymous robotic face, brings to mind another old cornerstone from the memories of my past.
Soundwave.
The Decepticon symbol resembles an angular version of Soundwave’s old faceplate.
For a moment, it puzzles me. For the entire duration of my previous life, I’ve always known Megatron to be the icon and standard-bearer for the Decepticons. Why wouldn’t our insignia from that era be designed in Megatron’s likeness? Or perhaps I’m reading too much. No one ever knew the origins of the Decepticon symbol, or of the Autobot symbol, for that matter.
Even so, a symbol can signify what you want it to mean. For some, the Decepticon symbol can mean ultimate power… or ultimate shame. For others, it can mean a look to ancient history to learn from past mistakes, while looking forward to a new, stronger life.
For me, it means more… more symbols.
It means Megatron. The longest-reigning Decepticon leader in Cybertron history, whom I’m proud to say I served faithfully all my life. Even in his reincarnation as Galvatron, when our morale was at the lowest of nadirs, I remained in his service with little question.
It means myself. In my prideful days, I considered myself the embodiment of the deceit rooted in the name of my old allegiance. I have a chance to erase the shame of our surrender, slipping into my new job as easily as slipping into broken-in armor plating.
It means… Soundwave. Not in official records. Not to the general public on Cybertron, or any other planet. But the resemblance is strong enough to bear that significance to me. Although few of us openly professed to have friends among our fellow Decepticons, Soundwave was one who watched over me, Laserbeak and the others in our committee. Certainly, due to the nature of our alternate modes and our abilities, we were obliged to work together on an ongoing basis. Sometimes it felt like it was ongoing for too long. But among the chaos that often plagued our organization – some would place much of that blame on Starscream – Soundwave was not only my guardian, but one of the few centers of stability among the Decepticons. In a sense of the word, he was almost something like a best friend.
As I wear my Decepticon symbol of old, along with my contemporary Predacon symbol, I pledge to carry on the ideals of my former leaders, and make their memory proud as I aid the new generation to fulfill our past dreams. Although I may never know what happened to Soundwave, the symbol of our bygone era will constantly remind me, keep him with me, as though he is guiding me again in my duties as a Predacon covert agent.
Once again, I work in secret. Once again, I exist in shadow.
I am Predacon.
But I am also Decepticon.
I am Decepticon. Forever.
Thank you, Soundwave.