Chapter Text
Origami demands precision—an art of efficiency, of careful, deliberate movements. Each fold, each crease, a thoughtful addition, tucking edges away, drawing elements out, and transforming a simple sheet of paper into something entirely new. This transformation, executed with optimization, inspired engineers to study and replicate its intricate beauty. The Miura fold featured in solar panels. Surgical technology. Satellites. There was something wonderfully elegant about efficient design. Humans noticed it; Cybertronians lived it.
Cynthia Monroe spent the greater part of her childhood folding paper cranes and stars. Staving off the worst of her recurring nightmares — memories — with mindless tasks. Folding became a ritual of meditation. Her family had not known what to do with her — a young, clearly traumatized child, without any reason to be afraid. She’d wake the entire house with screams and gasps for air. She’d shriek and claw and bite when put into a car seat.
Poor, poor, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe…
A young married couple — completely and wholly in love with one another. A child was to be expected. Their first child — their only child — defective and broken from the start. They tried everything to fix her. To make sense of the problem they’d been given. Years of her life spent folding paper in a room with white walls; the face of her doctor changing every time. Time, money, and tears spent trying to find a solution, straining a once-perfect marriage. A puzzle to be solved. Something to be fixed. They tried their best. Sometimes, Cynthia played their games — always with a resignation they could never understand.
Poor little Cynthia. Crazy little Cynthia. Whispering and humming as she folds and folds and folds .
Clever and sweet. Alien and defective. A stranger of their own flesh and blood.
I’m sorry I’m so broken.
It would be a lie to say that the Monroes did not resent their circumstances at times. But hearing their child —their small, fragile seven-year-old daughter— apologize for being what she was broke something in their hearts. The words clicked.
You’re not broken, Mrs. Monroe had said, finally beginning to understand. You’re perfect .
They stopped treating her like a problem, and she was better for it.
No. Not better. Happier .
(But was there really a difference?)
Some people were born happy; many struggled to achieve it. There were others who never found happiness at all. Mrs. Monroe did not know what to do with her daughter. For years she did what she thought was best — did what she thought would make Cynthia happy. Then Cynthia left, and Mrs. Monroe was left wondering if she had done enough.
If you ask Mr. and Mrs. Monroe of Griffin Rock, they will tell you that they have a daughter — a strange, beautiful genius of a daughter they did not raise. They would insist that she raised herself. She loves origami stars and cranes, music, and listening to Shakespeare. She melts into the sensation of Asian silk and the smell of mothballs. She taught herself Korean. The taste of homemade kimchi makes her cry. She carries hidden scars in her heart and doesn’t trust easily.
Cynthia Monroe is relentless and hardworking.
They love her as much as they can. As much as one could love something they did not understand. Completely. Both the seen and the unseen. She wouldn’t believe them when they told her that, but one day she might. It takes time to heal. She wasn’t ready yet, and that was fine with them.
She was a detective now—searching for something they could not comprehend. One day, she would find whatever it was she was searching for. When she did, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe could only hope that, in the process, she would find herself.
The Monroes did not ask for Cynthia. But someone had decided that Cynthia Monroe would be theirs anyway, and they were bound to her, whether they understood her or not.
“My daughter is a detective,” Mr. Monroe told Chief Burns as Mrs. Monroe poured them tea — a blend of honey and ginger that Cynthia loved. “The best in the world. Have you seen the newspaper? That ‘revival’ thing? That’s her. She did it herself. I have an entire wall of clippings. I think Cody would like her. I’ll see if I can get her here sometime.”
“You sound proud,” remarked the Chief, briefly glancing through the opened window to where he’d parked his vehicle. The police car sat innocuously nearby, close enough that a passenger might’ve been able to enjoy eavesdropping on their conversation. “I have a friend who enjoys detective stories… Homicide, fortunately, has never been an issue in Griffin Rock.”
“Yes, it’s one of the reasons why we chose to retire here. Your family has made this place so safe. Rescue is important,” Mrs. Monroe hummed, “we appreciate what your family does. But… our Cynthia always understood the importance of recovery. Finding someone isn’t always a happy thing, but it’s a necessary one. Bringing a family closure is sometimes the first step towards healing.”
Cynthia Monroe was their daughter. Resilient and kind – fiercely devoted to doing what was right. By simply existing, by being what and who she was, she was already changing the world.
“She sounds remarkable.”
“She is. We are incredibly proud. We hope she realizes that some day.”
::
Laserbeak was beautiful .
Cynthia could not help but feel nostalgic at the sight of the minicon flying above them. The sleek, efficient design of the winged Cybertronian evoked memories of paper cranes and origami butterflies. Hours of folding paper by a window, watching as snowflakes drifted onto the pavement outside. Listening to stories as Soojin’s clumsy fingers attempted to mimic Halmeoni’s movements. Good stories, painful stories, childhood memories and trauma released with a crease of patterned paper. The Japanese occupation had left a painful scar. A kind of grief and bitterness that persisted beyond the occupation itself – entire generations of trauma. Halmeoni could not let go; she would not forgive.
Never forget what they did to us , she’d told Soojin. Never forgive them. Do not forget what those monsters have done. They do not regret. They do not want to remember. They want the world to forget. You must never forget; you must never forgive.
Even the wise can be foolish. These words came from a place of pain, rather than wisdom. A grief inherited through generations of their family. A disconnect between what was and what is. An inability to let go. Soojin found it ironic that the same tongue used to curse a people could also teach her their art. The duality of man; people were complex beings, capable of both creation and destruction in equal measure. How anyone could reconcile that difference was beyond her.
For a while, Kim Soojin believed that she could rise above that kind of hatred. To forgive. The distance of time made it easier, the sting of trauma dulled by a generational disconnect. She did not understand her grandmother’s hatred. Not truly. But her murder had transformed that optimism into something jagged and sharp, twisting a piece of her into something ugly and cruel. She understood what it meant to hate. Of course, she would remember. She could never forget what had been taken from her. Her murderer did not deserve her forgiveness – he deserved nothing more than pain. A kind of pain that did not exist outside of her own heart.
If only Kim had the power to inflict that same suffering on him. If only she could take his entire world – everyone he’d ever loved, everyone who’s ever loved him – and permanently sever that connection. To devastate him completely and watch the expression in his eyes as his entire world burned. It’s what he deserved. She hated him. She wanted him to hurt. To understand the severity of his actions – what he did to her – what he’d taken. Everything and everyone she had loved, and who had loved her in return. Her life. Her world. Her future. Everything she could have done and could have been. She was going to be a doctor; she was going to change someone’s life for the better. And he’d taken that in a single, selfish moment of rage.
Oh, how easy it would be to give in to the urge—to lash out like a wounded animal. It was what he had done when she hurt him, as unintentional as that pain had been. Rejection stung, but it was still her right.
There were so many people like him in the world.
That awful snarling thing inside her craved to be fed. It demanded its pound of flesh, urging her to meet cruelty with cruelty. She could match any viciousness that was raised against her – and triple it. The feeling never disappeared. She was always so fucking angry. But Cynthia Monroe – Kim Soojin – still had her mind. Her brilliant, clever mind. And with it, the ability to choose.
This is not the person I want to be.
Origami, an art of transformation, had been a constant between her two lives. A reminder that happiness could be found even in the darkest of times. Sand can be smelted into glass and shaped into something beautiful. Humans can choose to be kind. A blank canvas — paper — becoming something exceptional.
To paraphrase Megatron himself: she understood the true meaning of suffering, and thus chose not to inflict it.
Every day she had to make that choice. To confront that ugly thing living inside of her and ignore it. Cynthia Monroe wasn’t kind. She was ruthless, vengeful. Goodness didn’t come naturally to her the same way it did for Kim Soojin. But she chose justice instead of revenge. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
What caused Soundwave to abandon the Decepticons? What could drive him to make a choice so utterly different from almost every—if not every—version of himself across countless realities? Perhaps it was as simple as having the ability to make that choice. To choose differently. Quantum physics dictated that anything that could happen, would happen given a non-zero probability. It may not happen within an observed-reality, but in the infinite multiverse of probability? That choice, however unlikely, was still theirs to make.
Jason Noble’s life was not guaranteed. His condition was unknown — Schrödinger’s cat; both alive and dead. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain by adding his uncertainty to the table. Eventually, she would have to tell Soundwave something useful. To make sure that Megatron didn’t get the Iacon relics. Eventually, he would call and she’d have to show her hand. Why not take the initiative while there was still something to be gained? It would be a risk. A gambit. But if it did pay off — if it could pay off — that could be priceless. A chance, however minute it might be, that Soundwave could become a true ally.
The best case scenario .
Consider: out of all the timelines she could’ve found herself in, she happened to find the one with a defected Soundwave. What were the chances? Close to zero — almost zero, itself — but evidently not zero.
Truly remarkable.
Ignoring everything else, Cynthia allowed herself a moment of pure indulgence: a sequence of events, a statistical improbability, miraculously unfolding such that Soundwave not only defected but was also willing to cooperate with her. Imagine that? Genuine trust with a competent partner she could rely on. The things they could do. The amount of good they could achieve.
Cynthia was not opposed to it.
But she had to be realistic. She could neither rely on nor dismiss the possibility. Soundwave deserved the chance to make that choice—a genuine opportunity to pass her test and earn her trust. She could exercise caution, but to achieve something meaningful, she would need to be bold.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Realistically, she could do nothing alone. She was only human. A single, traumatized, young woman with fading memories of future events. She needed Soundwave’s power — at least until she managed to find a way to get to the Autobots. If she could get to them. Cynthia knew that escaping Soundwave would be a Herculean task. She could not risk exposing the location of the Autobot base in her unwitting attempts to relay her information. After all, what help would the Autobots be if they were all dead?
Soundwave may not be a Decepticon, but he was no friend to the Autobots either. She could not bet their lives on Soundwave’s willingness to behave amicably. Being the enemy of his enemy did not guarantee friendship when there were past grievances to work through.
No. She could not rely on the off-chance she could make contact with Team Prime. She had to continue acting under the assumption that no help would be coming. Even if she did manage to make contact, there was no guarantee they’d be able to properly use her advantage. There were too few Autobots on-planet and with Megatron carefully watching their every move, there was little chance that she could discreetly get them to find every relic without his notice. The act of searching itself might clue Megatron in that there was something valuable worth searching for. In a competition of resources and range, the Decepticons would win. The Autobots could not hope to properly compete. They had an army fully equipped and ready to be mobilized; Team Prime could not afford to lose a single member.
Cliffjumper. Cynthia hadn’t known about the Transformers then. She couldn’t have done anything to save him. Cognitively, she knew that. But had she known sooner, something deep in her heart told her she would've tried .
Team Prime was in no place to be sending reinforcements. She would not stretch them any thinner.
Soundwave’s new appearance was unknown to both sides. For now, he was her best bet at retrieving the relics and staying under the radar. Megatron would not be expecting the betrayal. She wondered if Soundwave himself had anticipated his own betrayal with the way he described his hasty departure from the Nemesis. The fact that Soundwave hadn’t downloaded and stolen the Iacon database before leaving told her enough. It was almost… sloppy. Oh, she was certain that Soundwave had covered his tracks thoroughly. He would’ve known to disable any tracking devices or indicators of his departure. But that was all elementary.
The nature of his departure seemed too reactive, rather than proactive. In his place, Cynthia would’ve done more damage before leaving. She would have taken the Iacon database and left a multitude of hidden traps and triggers. By the time Megatron realized what was happening, the Nemesis itself would’ve been inoperable. The playing field would have been leveled, creating some semblance of fairness. She’d take full advantage of the chaos. The fact Soundwave had not capitalized on the opportunity was a major indicator of his mental state. Or perhaps, of his intention.
If he intended to return to the Nemesis, he would want to leave an opportunity to slip back in. Cynthia didn’t know whether Soundwave ever intended to return to Megatron’s side. She didn’t think so… but…
Again. She couldn’t make assumptions without data. People could change. They do change. Soundwave had evidently changed, but the dilemma was whether he would change back. How many times did Starscream ‘quit’ only to show up to work the next day with a couple of extra dents and scratches? Too many times. There existed a notably toxic — if oddly fascinating — dynamic between Megatron and his least favourite Seeker. Much like many unfortunate cases of abuse she’d seen, Starscream always went back. It never ended well. Cynthia did not like Starscream, she would not trust him any further than she could physically throw him, but there was something to pity about his constant need for Megatron’s approval.
But Soundwave wasn’t Starscream.
He’d chosen to help her find Jason Noble.
She made it clear that their truce would continue regardless. Earth was still facing an alien invasion whether Jason lived or died. Her test had been an impulsive one — a desperate last ditch attempt to claw back some sort of gain from a hopeless situation. To determine whether Soundwave was capable of helping her without some form of incentive.
He passed.
Perhaps it was a ploy to gain her trust. In all likelihood, it probably was. But there was a part of her that still wanted to try trusting him. She would not be guided by this voice. Trusting Soundwave fully would be an immensely stupid thing to do. However, she could take it into consideration. Maybe, just maybe, they could build on this little test of trust.
Trust.
Soundwave would have to earn that; Cynthia would have to be fair. She was a naturally suspicious person, but she sensed that they were in agreement: for this to work, they had to trust each other. Nothing could be done if they were wasting time trying to determine whether or not the other was secretly trying to undermine them. The answer to that would be ‘ yes obviously ’, but it didn’t have to be.
She knew better than to trust Soundwave, but she also knew they had to have some level of it to make this work.
Laserbeak returned from his surveillance, swooping downwards with a high-pitched trill. Soundwave — still a van — shifted his wheels from behind her. To avoid discovery, he had not transformed in a while. Cynthia wondered if he felt uncomfortable.
“ Introduction: This is Laserbeak. ”
Cynthia glanced at Laserbeak, a complicated mix of emotions swirling behind her blue eyes. She’d seen him before, flying high above them scanning for threats. Now, he was helping her find Jason. She was immensely grateful. But she was also wary of what the little Cybertronian could do. Laserbeak, the smaller of many Cybertronians, still dwarfed her — could easily kill her. She tried not to dwell on that.
Another part of her wondered what it would feel like to stand next to Metroplex.
Sensing her hesitation, the drone hovered for a moment, suspended above her, before slowly lowering to the ground. Laserbeak’s main wings creased, neatly folding to occupy less space. Then, he wiggled slightly, chirping. It was an obvious attempt to appear less threatening. The sounds made were intentionally designed to sound disarming. Despite herself, Cynthia’s expression softened into a wonder she hadn't felt in ages.
"Hello, Cynthia," Laserbeak said, using an unmistakable 'AI' voice that Cynthia associated with virtual assistants. “It is nice to meet you.”
“Hello, Laserbeak,” Cynthia greeted. This was definitely preferable over being slammed against a road. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a piece of art?”
“Like a piece of art?” Laserbeak echoed, his second pair of wings twitching.
Cynthia was already scrolling through her phone. After a moment, she found a suitable picture of an origami butterfly and held the screen up for the curious minicon to see.
“Origami,” Cynthia explained, “an art characterized by folding paper into intricate shapes without any cuts or glue. A sequence of precise, intentional folds and creases to create something elegant. I’ve always admired the beauty of its efficiency. Human engineers use some of its techniques…”
She trailed off, sensing Soundwave’s gaze.
“Nevermind,” she sighed. “Did you find Jason?”
“I did,” said Laserbeak after a moment but added nothing further.
Cynthia waited for the two Cybertronians to finish their silent conversation.
“What are you not telling me?” She asked when the silence stretched beyond an acceptable length. “Is he alright?”
“He appears to be healthy,” Laserbeak offered. “He does not seem to be held unwillingly.”
What?
Cynthia tried to process that. To understand. That… that couldn’t be right. Jason had been kidnapped. Taken. He was supposed to be the victim.
He was there willingly.
Her thoughts raced at the possibilities, rushing to account for this unexpected revelation: Jason hadn’t been taken, he’d left . An intentional choice to leave her stranded in a van which resulted in her being left at the mercy of a rogue Decepticon. Again: Jason couldn’t have known that. But Kim still felt entitled to do a little throttling.
Was he trying to kill her?
No.
Jason had many opportunities to do so if that’s what he’d wanted. More likely, Jason was trying to protect her from something. He thought leaving her behind was the safer of two options. Kim couldn’t even be mad; she’d taught him how to deceive her — her pathological need to be the one driving. The hitchhiking. Jason knew she wouldn’t get into a car driven by a stranger. Not to mention, he’d been in charge of filling up their gas and he’d ‘forgotten .’
But.
She had to do this right. No conjecture.
“Thank you, Laserbeak.” Cynthia said, making her way back to Soundwave’s driver’s seat and reaching into her purse. She pulled out Jason’s broken phone.
Why did you leave this behind? What are you trying to tell me?
What did she know about Jason Noble?
She knew he liked her. Maybe even loved her. They were supposed to attend a funeral together in Jasper. He was a cop once. Now, he worked in National Security. He did not share the exact details of his job, but he’d mentioned things — tried to entice her into joining. There wasn’t much information to work with.
The facts. She had to start with the facts. The knowns. Isolate the variables, rearrange the equation — solve for the unknown. Jason Noble worked for the government. A unique assignment. Something bigger than anything he’d done before. He wanted her to join the project, but she didn't have the clearance to know what that project was. Still, he persistently tried to recruit her. A funeral. The whole reason she’d been dragged into the middle of nowhere. Jason needed her to come with him to Jasper for a funeral. He’d given her a name. An important name. Not of a person, but a place. A graveyard, a cemetery .
Did he expect her to attend the funeral without him? That felt inappropriate somehow. She didn’t even know the name of the deceased.
Kim glared balefully at Jason’s cell phone.
Damn you, she seethed, peeling off the broken case, I have a world to save and you’re no help at all.
A plastic card slipped from the case into the palm of her hand. An ID card of some sort. Jason’s face, his name, and a logo. A black shield. A white spade. A skull, two stars, and a pair of lightning bolts. She was struck with a sense of recognition. An aching familiarity. She knew this emblem. From where? She couldn’t recall.
She didn’t have time for Jason’s games.
“ Soundwave: requesting status update. ”
“I’m thinking,” she replied, rubbing circles into his steering wheel with her thumb. A nervous tick. Then — “Have you ever heard of a place called Cemetery Wind?”