Spark of Darkness - My first TF fanfic...

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by Mr. Jiggles, Jun 28, 2006.

  1. Mr. Jiggles

    Mr. Jiggles loves your mother.

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    WARNING: This story is not your typical bang-bang big robot brawl. If that's what you're looking for, there are plenty of those types of stories on this board, a lot of 'em killer. This is a dark, twisted, psychological tale. At least, that's how it's shaping up. If you hate it, feel free to say so. Applying this type of story to characters like Transformers is a strange experiment, I'm just interested to see how people feel about it.


    So I'm busting my cherry with this one. Hope you like. Part two in a week or so. It's a little unorthodox, I'd say.



    He picked up the torch and stared into the flame, mesmerized. It was so bright, so hot. He briefly wondered what it would feel like if he put the torch to his face. What would it feel like as the scorching heat burned through his optic sensors, turning his head into mush? Would he have the nerve to see it through? To follow the path until it ended? Could he stand the pain through sheer force of will, as the world went brilliantly white, then black forever? The image of his face liquefying and dripping to the ground entered his mind. It was somehow comforting. He held on to the image, embracing it mentally before storing it away in the files of his memory. He knew it was an image he would come to again.
    “Do it,” came a voice. A familiar voice. His voice.
    “Ram that torch into your face. Turn it on full blast. It’ll all be over before you know it. Your spark will be free. Do it.”
    The world slowed. He looked down at his arm as it slowly began to bring the torch to his face. Nearer. Nearer. It was if he was in a dream. The thought briefly crossed his mind that he should stop it, but then it was gone. Let be what will be. Till all are one.
    He could feel the heat now and fought against the involuntary reactions of his body. His head tried to snap back. He wouldn’t let it. It would all be over soon. The heat was closer.
    Then his arm stopped. And locked in place.
    “No,” he cried. “I just want it to be over.”
    “It’ll never be over,” his voice replied. “You know what you have to do.”
    Yes. He knew.
    His arm unlocked and slowly lowered itself back to his side. He turned and faced the inevitable. His destiny. His victim.
    Across the room ,his victim hung from the rafters by thick titanium chains. A transport passed outside and it’s headlights briefly lit up the room, illuminating the traditional red symbol emblazoned on the small mechanoid’s chest. It was a symbol as old as the ages. He briefly reflected on the symbol, the red standing out in such stark contrast to the purple on his own chest.
    The victim briefly stirred. He moved to the victim, slowly turning the nozzle, the flame growing in intensity. The hiss filled the room. The victim raised his head and stared through his one remaining optic sensor. The other had been fused into the grotesque mass that was once the left side of his face. Comprehension dawned across the victim’s face and he began to struggle against his constraints. He screamed. He wept. He called on the name of Primus for mercy.
    “Primus cannot help you, now.” he heard himself say.
    “Please. Let me go. I don’t understand. What did I do to you? Please.” the victim wailed.
    “It must be done.” he heard himself say.
    “No! We are at peace.”
    He chuckled at this. “This has nothing to do with war. Be brave, little soldier. It will all be over soon. What is your name.”
    The victim lost consciousness. A torch to the gut brought him back to life.
    He momentarily felt guilty for disabling the victim’s stasis lock systems.
    “Your name. Now.”
    Through sobs, the Autobot spat it out. “Wheelie.”
    “Know then, Wheelie, that you will not be forgotten.
    “Please.” It was the last word the victim would ever speak as the word itself transformed into a loud series of screams as the torch began to eat into what was left of his face.
    He felt - aroused - as the molten metal of the victim’s face dripped onto his forearm. He enjoyed this, but, why did he feel the urge to turn the torch on himself? No time to think about it. He must finish.
    The victim’s screams were now sick liquid gurgles. He laughed at the pain. Then collapsed from his own as the missile careened into his back and exploded, taking a large portion of his armor with it. He dropped the torch and fell to the ground as light filled the room.
    “Take him down!” yelled a new voice. Artillery flooded every inch of his body with pain. He welcomed the pain. He loved it. Maybe his time was close at hand.
    “Cease fire!” commanded the voice. A dark shape cast it’s shadow over his as it passed.
    “Primus help us. It’s Wheelie. Somebody cut him down.” came the voice.
    “Yes, sir.” said another shape.
    He waited. For death. For life. He waited for his spark to rise from his chest and depart. A third shape appeared and bent over him, a data pad in hand. A light flickered and he was briefly bathed in a glow.
    The first shape, the leader (Demon? Angel?) appeared and stooped to look over the figure with the data pad. “Sir, he’s pretty banged up, but I think we’ve got him identified. He’s a Decepticon. He-”
    “Oh, no.” the leader interrupted. The picture went blurry. A command prompt filled his vision. STASIS LOCK IN 5...4...3...2...
    He surrendered to the oblivion.

    * * * * * * * *

    Prowl spoke in to the comlink on his arm in hushed tones, so that his lieutenants couldn’t hear. They noticed, but said nothing. They caught a glimpse of the figure on the small screen. Their pumps sped up as they caught the brief image of Optimus Prime. Prowl nodded, then turned as the comlink slid shut.
    “Call a scrap crew for Wheelie and a Medteam for the ‘Con. I want him in a CR chamber, pronto.”
    The lieutenants stood with jaws agape, incredulous. “You want to try to save the ‘Con, sir?” one muttered.
    “That’s an order.” Prowl snapped. He turned and contorted his body into a sleek police car and sped off.
    “I don’t get it,” the first lieutenant said. They made their way to the nearly annihilated body of the Decepticon and stared down at it in disgust. “I’ve never seen anything so brutal in my life. They should let him rot, then throw his spark into the Inferno.”

    ‘Yeah, it’s sick,” the other lieutenant agreed. “Poor Wheelie. Nobody liked him, but, damn. What a way to go.”

    A wisp of smoke escaped from one of the Decepticon’s joints, followed by a hiss. The Autobots fought not the jump from the surprise. “So who is he, anyways?”

    “Some nobody. I’ve never even heard of him. His name ---” He looked down at the data pad and adjusted his optics to read the small print.

    “Is Counterpunch.”


    END PART ONE
     
  2. Mr. Jiggles

    Mr. Jiggles loves your mother.

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    Oh, my fragile ego...
     
  3. Kickback

    Kickback Proud father Administrator Super Mod News Staff

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    Welcome to the biz of Fan Fic writing ;)  Just keep updating and writing, eventually people WILL respond. Interesting concept, the whole idea of Punch/Counterpunch was always something I wanted to write about, but alas, the G1 world is so stale after all it's incarnations.

    I'll watch for this though, looks promising.
     
  4. KA

    KA PENIS GOES WHERE?!!

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    writing like art, when you put something out, you hope for adulation at the risk criticism or worse neglect.

    welcome to the real world, neo.
     
  5. Mr. Jiggles

    Mr. Jiggles loves your mother.

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    Thanks, fellas. It is a nice ego check, tho.
     
  6. KA

    KA PENIS GOES WHERE?!!

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    cool use of punch/counterpunch.

    starting your gig by killing wheelie? jerk.

    he didnt even ryhme. :( 
     

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