Flash Fiction: The End (G1) - PG-13
Jan. 27th, 2011 01:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
casusfereTitle: The End
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Character death, angst
Characters: Vortex, Combaticons, unnamed Autobots.
Universe: G1
Summary: The war is over. Flash fic, one hour
The first time his world fell apart, Vortex had panicked, unable to believe that things had gone so wrong, that Onslaught couldn’t think his way out of it or that Swindle could talk himself free. He’d refused to accept it, even as he’d been strapped to a table under Shockwave’s unblinking optic, personality components stripped and locked away for millions of years.
The second time, he hadn’t been surprised. He’d seen the end coming, and this time he’d known that Onslaught couldn’t stop it. He’d lost faith, somewhere in the millennia of fighting and hiding and struggling to survive despite everything, in Onslaught, in the Combaticons’ ability to make it through, no matter what the odds.
And he would have to have been blind to not see the end coming for the Decepticons. The war had been over for centuries; they had just refused to admit it. The empire was gone, Megatron dead, Galvatron, dead, all those who had tried to step up after them, dead. Megatron wouldn’t even recognize the rag-tag guerrilla fighters left wearing his brand.
“Get up,” the Autobot guard growled. They weren’t the Autobots of millions of years ago, when Optimus Prime had strove for peace and freedom. They’d changed just as the Decepticons had, corrupted by their own power. He supposed that it could be considered their fault; after all, the best of the Autobots, the ones that had gained, well, if not his respect, then at least Onslaught’s, were dead at the weapons of the Decepticons.
He struggled to his feet, a prospect made difficult by the restraints, and moved forward with a minimum of prodding. These Autobots were nothing like the ones he remembered; they’d had millions of years to learn cruelty from the Decepticons and they’d learned it well, combining it with the totalitarian oppression that had sparked the Decepticon rebellion so long ago. They didn’t allow deviation from their laws or orders, especially not from a Decepticon prisoners.
“Hey, hey! Easy!”
A familiar voice made Vortex’s head turn, step slowing to watch Swindle stumble out of another transport, Blast Off behind him, Brawl being prodded out last. A glance to the other side showed Onslaught, back straight, somehow managing to keep an air of dignity despite the restraints.
His guard gave a yank on the lead connected to his own restraints, and a current made Vortex jump, in surprise more than pain. “Hurry up!” the guard barked.
Vortex looked down at him, but ambled forward obediently. He’d tried to break loose of the restraints already and failed. He’d wait for a better opportunity, then teach the upstart Autobot a thing or two about pain.
He was pushed down to his knees, his wrist restraints secured to a waiting snap on the floor. He looked up, past the Autobot on the podium, to an open ceiling. A blue sky. It reminded him of Earth, back when Megatron was still alive.
“Decepticon Vortex, you have been charged with and found guilty of war crimes including but not limited to-”
Vortex tuned him out, focusing on the soft clouds above. Not quite the same as Earth, but close enough. He hadn’t really minded the planet, for all the mud and organics. He hadn’t liked Megatron much, and he really hadn’t liked the loyalty programming, but he’d been to worse places, before and since. He wondered what it was like now.
“-As prospects of rehabilitation are non-existent-”
Rehabilitation? Ha. The word was slavery. He’d seen what they considered to be acceptable behavior for a ‘reformed Decepticon criminal,’ and he’d rather be dead, thanks.
“-this court renders the sentence of immediate deactivation.” At the edge of his vision, Vortex could see him motion to a guard, no, not a guard, an executioner, he realized. To either side, his gestaltmates raised voices in protest, then cried out in pain at the snap of the restraint currents.
Vortex stared into the barrel of the executioner’s gun, listened to Onslaught’s roar of rage and denial, and did the only thing he could.
He laughed.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Character death, angst
Characters: Vortex, Combaticons, unnamed Autobots.
Universe: G1
Summary: The war is over. Flash fic, one hour
The first time his world fell apart, Vortex had panicked, unable to believe that things had gone so wrong, that Onslaught couldn’t think his way out of it or that Swindle could talk himself free. He’d refused to accept it, even as he’d been strapped to a table under Shockwave’s unblinking optic, personality components stripped and locked away for millions of years.
The second time, he hadn’t been surprised. He’d seen the end coming, and this time he’d known that Onslaught couldn’t stop it. He’d lost faith, somewhere in the millennia of fighting and hiding and struggling to survive despite everything, in Onslaught, in the Combaticons’ ability to make it through, no matter what the odds.
And he would have to have been blind to not see the end coming for the Decepticons. The war had been over for centuries; they had just refused to admit it. The empire was gone, Megatron dead, Galvatron, dead, all those who had tried to step up after them, dead. Megatron wouldn’t even recognize the rag-tag guerrilla fighters left wearing his brand.
“Get up,” the Autobot guard growled. They weren’t the Autobots of millions of years ago, when Optimus Prime had strove for peace and freedom. They’d changed just as the Decepticons had, corrupted by their own power. He supposed that it could be considered their fault; after all, the best of the Autobots, the ones that had gained, well, if not his respect, then at least Onslaught’s, were dead at the weapons of the Decepticons.
He struggled to his feet, a prospect made difficult by the restraints, and moved forward with a minimum of prodding. These Autobots were nothing like the ones he remembered; they’d had millions of years to learn cruelty from the Decepticons and they’d learned it well, combining it with the totalitarian oppression that had sparked the Decepticon rebellion so long ago. They didn’t allow deviation from their laws or orders, especially not from a Decepticon prisoners.
“Hey, hey! Easy!”
A familiar voice made Vortex’s head turn, step slowing to watch Swindle stumble out of another transport, Blast Off behind him, Brawl being prodded out last. A glance to the other side showed Onslaught, back straight, somehow managing to keep an air of dignity despite the restraints.
His guard gave a yank on the lead connected to his own restraints, and a current made Vortex jump, in surprise more than pain. “Hurry up!” the guard barked.
Vortex looked down at him, but ambled forward obediently. He’d tried to break loose of the restraints already and failed. He’d wait for a better opportunity, then teach the upstart Autobot a thing or two about pain.
He was pushed down to his knees, his wrist restraints secured to a waiting snap on the floor. He looked up, past the Autobot on the podium, to an open ceiling. A blue sky. It reminded him of Earth, back when Megatron was still alive.
“Decepticon Vortex, you have been charged with and found guilty of war crimes including but not limited to-”
Vortex tuned him out, focusing on the soft clouds above. Not quite the same as Earth, but close enough. He hadn’t really minded the planet, for all the mud and organics. He hadn’t liked Megatron much, and he really hadn’t liked the loyalty programming, but he’d been to worse places, before and since. He wondered what it was like now.
“-As prospects of rehabilitation are non-existent-”
Rehabilitation? Ha. The word was slavery. He’d seen what they considered to be acceptable behavior for a ‘reformed Decepticon criminal,’ and he’d rather be dead, thanks.
“-this court renders the sentence of immediate deactivation.” At the edge of his vision, Vortex could see him motion to a guard, no, not a guard, an executioner, he realized. To either side, his gestaltmates raised voices in protest, then cried out in pain at the snap of the restraint currents.
Vortex stared into the barrel of the executioner’s gun, listened to Onslaught’s roar of rage and denial, and did the only thing he could.
He laughed.
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 09:13 pm (UTC)Damn, that was cool.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 09:20 pm (UTC)But, yes, completely and utterly Vortex.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 10:36 pm (UTC)And Vortex laughing in the face of death is incredibly appropriate.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 11:15 pm (UTC)Dammit, stop making me feel sorry for Vortex! ;)
no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 12:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-31 04:57 pm (UTC)You captured the feeling of Vortex so awesomely! 8D Psycho 'Copter ftw!