Orns of a tactician 8
Nov. 24th, 2012 02:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silberstreifDisclaimer: I don't own Transformers, Prowl or anything recognizable.
Beta: Starfire201
Warnings: torture, hacking, rape
Summary: Soundwave wants answers, has all the time in the world and no scruples at all how to get them.
Note: Took a bit longer, because I got squeamish about writing torture. I thought I could skip it - but no, I couldn't.
He was awake, every microchip within his processors was active and working, every sensor reported reliably what he was doing – and yet he couldn't control any of his movements. Prowl had heard of Soundwave's legendary skills in hacking, but to be overpowered this effortlessly was terrifying.
Soundwave hadn't used a normal blaster as Prowl had thought in the first moment of panic, but one of Starscream's signature weapons, a nullray. As a result, he was 'just' knocked out for less than half a breem and disoriented for several more. This small window of time had sufficed for Soundwave, to force himself into several ports of his victim and launch a viral attack which tore down the outmost firewalls ruthlessly.
Reflexively, Prowl drew back and protected his innermost parts, his core code, his data banks full of memories and informations about the Autobots, his codes to his sparkchamber... Though the Decepticon ignored all these, breaking through the flimsy protections of the vulnerable and now open codes of his motoric centre and overtook them with cold precision.
When Prowl realised that the Decepticon's goal wasn't to kill him, nor to demolish his firewalls with brutal force, driving him insane and then stealing the few bits of information that would survive the assault, it was already too late. He had become a puppet.
Furiously, he tried to work against Soundwave's viruses and codes, against the foreign presence within his body, while being all too aware to what ends he now could be used. He prayed to Primus and every deity that would listen, that please, please, let no Autobot be near – he didn't want to witness the dying of their sparks through his own guided hands just for the sick amusement of enemy soldiers.
When he saw the entire unit that should have protected him lying grey and dead on the ground, his spark constricted in sudden realisation. There were no Autobots but him left. They had all died because of him. Had given their lives for him, even though he had failed, recognized the plans of the Decepticons far too late and only led them all to their demise... Worse, he knew that all the corpses here were only a small percentage of today's dead, for which he was responsible.
“Mission: Completed,” said Soundwave. “Board the shuttles.”
Before the order had ended, Prowl's body was already moving. Inside the shuttle, they bound his hands, more a sign of his status than true worry that he would attack them and escape. They were all very well trained soldiers, professionals of the kind the Autobots had few of and against which a tactician never had a chance. As they took off, Prowl prepared himself mentally for a long flight into the heart of the Decepticon Empire, Darkmount.
But he was wrong, as he seemingly always was in these orns. What was his worth as a tactician if he couldn't predict the most simplest decisions anymore?
Before they landed, Soundwave had deactivated his optics and audios. Blind and deaf, his body marched a long time until it reached his cell. With practised movements the soldiers bound him so securely to the wall that he had to remain standing, hit him a few times in the face and laughed, then thankfully went to their other duties. As the door fell shut behind them, his control finally came back.
He couldn't move more than his hands and pedes. Instead the Praxian observed his hopeless situation with clinical detachment. The cell was grey, the walls obviously made from enhanced titanium alloy, and protected through an additional energy field. The door was integrated into the wall so seamlessly that he needed a bit to even find it at his right. Only an even thicker energy field, which hinted at further security measures inside the doorframe, had betrayed the location.
Prowl was in a high security cell, once used for the most dangerous murderers and traitors. On the whole of Cybertron there was only one such cell in each of the six biggest cities. Those cities were Iacon, Kaon, Vos, Tarn, Crystal City and Praxus. Was he in one of those cities? Or did the Decepticons really make the effort to recreate those cells?
Wherever it was, in the end it didn't matter for Prowl. No one had ever escaped from a high security cell. This was his new home – and probably the place were he would die, too.
~
Time passed, but thanks to the unpleasant surprise that Soundwave had erased several small programs for his less important systems among them his chronometer, he didn't know how much. When the door opened again, it was Soundwave who entered with an energon cube in hand. The tactician had known that his tank levels had been low, but with the energon only two armlengths from his face forced him to acknowlege his hunger.
"Soundwave," he greeted coldly.
"Head of the Tactical Department, Prowl," was the emotionless answer. "Autobot. Our demand: Surrender all data about the Autobot army. In exchange: Your life."
They both knew that there could only be one answer. This were only the first steps of a long dance. "No."
"Answer: Expected." Soundwave stepped forward. "Offer: A piece of information of your choice for the energon cube."
As if it would remain his choice for long. No, this was just a psychological trick to lower his inhibitions against giving Soundwave information of any kind and to establish a mockery of trust.
"No."
"This answer: Also expected."
Soundwave carelessly threw the cube against the wall, were it broke. Pink energon splashed through the cell, now undrinkable and useless. But the scent! It increased tenfold and Prowl's tank gave an comfortable lurch.
Without another word Soundwave turned and walked out. Prowl leant back against the wall, deactivated his optics and tried to ignore his hunger – and the knowledge that soon he would seriously starve.
Twice more Soundwave came with a cube and asked for information, twice more Prowl refused and watched how the very thing he needed was destroyed just a few metres in front of him. His survival codes screamed at him that he should just tell the Decepticon any information, that it wouldn't matter. But it would. He knew it and he refused to fail again. If he starved to death here, it was still a small consolation for those who had died on Typhern's battlefields for nought.
Besides that, he was aware that those psychological games were not the goal of Soundwave. The telepath was just waiting for the main event – the hacking – until Prowl was weak enough. The tactician tried to avoid thinking of his chances then, not wanting to know how truly helpless and weak he was.
The fourth time Soundwave came and asked, the game changed.
"No," said Prowl, forcing the word out while trying to shut down the dozens of harmless lines of information his battle computer provided. It was stupid, what he did, whispered his codes, he could survive much longer, wait for rescue, try to play a long game with information that was worthless for both sides...
"Answer: Expected." Again a cube shattered on the wall. But instead of turning around, Soundwave took a sharp, gleaming knife from subspace and knelt next to the bound Praxian. "Punishment: Necessary."
Prowl felt a sudden rise of fear. Deliberately moving slow the Decepticon set the knife on the sensitive doorwing and pushed down. There were few places a Praxian could feel more than on his wings, and a knife cutting through the layers and sensors and cables of it was excruciating. Prowl had to look away as his doorwing was mutilated.
He wouldn't scream, he wouldn't. Not for Soundwave!
The knife carved deeper, tore apart thin armour, reached the exoform with it's many thousand datapaths which bled so much pink energon, until it reached the silver and soft protoform, hidden and protected deep inside normally.
Prowl was trembling, trying to keep the static, the screams inside. Fearing what was to come, hoping, that Soundwave wouldn't... he wouldn't...
Soundwave did.
With brutal efficiency he stabbed the blade inside the tender protoform, sliced it apart and maimed it beyond repair. Prowl screamed, tried to get away, thrashed. Nothing helped.
Then, suddenly, with a sharp pain the knife was pulled out. From the blade dripped the pink energon and the silver protoform blood.
Soundwave stood without another word and walked out. Fearing the worst, Prowl looked at his right doorwing – and only saw one thin long gap through the whole wing, that was still seeping silver and pink. Nothing more.
A high keen escaped Prowl as he realised that far worse pain was to come.
The next few visits happened more frequently, or maybe the energon loss was just slowing down Prowl's time perception. Every time he now refused, Soundwave would punish him. Once he crushed the left outmost finger, once he destroyed the joint in the elbow, once he carved the right optic out slowly and with delight.
Prowl was now constantly in pain, half-blind, starving and getting more and more exhausted, even though he didn't move at all. He needed substance, but the price – information – was too high (Was it?). Everytime he said "No" it got harder to betray his own body. The uncertainty of how Soundwave would hurt him this time was enough to drive him mad.
The most obvious change was that he recharged more and more. Soon, he knew, his body wouldn't wake at all anymore, would fall into that kind of stasis his race could survive millennia in. The last two times Soundwave had come, he had been recharging and was woken up by the mech breaking another one of his fingers. His hands had slowly become barely recognizable. Since then, his recharge wasn't deep and restful anymore, as he expected Soundwave and more pain at any time.
Nightmares started to haunt him, full of Autobots accusing him of betrayal, of screaming "youngling-murderer", of killing them by the thousands and Soundwave torturing him.
Though, the worst nightmares were the ones were he had died and no one missed him, but Autobots and Decepticons alike cursed his name and celebrated his deactivation. These dreams left his sparks hurting as he couldn't stop thinking about how true they were. Was there anyone who would mourn him, a sparkless failure of tactician?
More and more he woke softly keening and with static coming out of his vocaliser, fearing what his own processor unit would torment him with next time. Still, he always helplessly fell back into recharge.
Though, this time, he wasn't woken up by pain. No, a strange feeling had scurried through his processor, as if something had just changed, had touched were no one was supposed to touch. The moment he became aware, Soundwave gave up every illusion of stealth and attacked the firewall with full force.
With horror he onlined his left optic, just to see Soundwave standing in front of him. Between them hung one single silver cable, connected to his port. Prowl's doorwings tried to flinch back without his consent, just to hit the wall painfully as panic surged through him. The wounds of the last orns, deca-orns, who knew, opened up again, but he ignored the pain for the horror in front of him. Inside him, the assault had slowed as Prowl hastily began to actively configure the firewall against the onslaught.
"Status: No negotiations. Consequence: Hacking necessary." For the first time, Prowl could discern an emotion in the Decepticon – satisfaction. This was what Soundwave had wanted all along.
He had never been hacked before and had barely learned more than the basic course of all tacticians. To learn how to defend against foreign invasion, you first had to let someone in.... Prowl had risen too fast in the ranks of the Autobots to allow experienced spies invade his processors that deeply. Later Prowl hadn't seen true need to force himself through that painful procedure. After all, Iacon was protected well. An the rare cases he left their capital, he had a bodyguard file comparable to Prime's. So why squander precious time and possibly give away high risk information?
The answer was now staring into his face.
"No," he said again, just to be defiant, just to prove that he wouldn't give up and tried to prepare himself.
Angst wormed itself into his spark when out of Soundwave's armour more thin, long silver cables crawled out and started to caress Prowl. Every touch was strange and simply wrong. Too tender, too dangerous, too false. Prowl trembled, but he didn't dare to lower his gaze, to let Soundwave out of his one remaining optic. The fear of pain, of further torture was sitting too deep.
The first cables pushed themselves through the panels which had been loosed during the first hacking and torture afterwards. Prowl sputtered static as the not-wanted cables touched his ports, invaded them, connected. It was painful, too fast, too much... but Soundwave didn't stop. Port after port was opened and overtaken.
Prowl had had lovers in the past, had played around with his ports, had let medics touch him... but no one had used more than four. They all had left him the control, control that he didn't even possess as an illusion here any more.
Twelve ports. Two for medics, four for data transfers with a computer, four for other mechs and two that had only been used by his creators. The last two were directly above his spark, sealed and had not been opened for a long, long time.
After ten ports were corrupted, he felt already full, so painfully pulled apart and vulnerable. Then the cables sneaked across his breastplate, across his spark. They found the armour that hid the two ports with which Prowl had always connected warmth and family and love. Which he would only have ever opened again for his own sparkling, spark by his spark. To imagine Soundwave touching there, was nearly more than he could bear.
“Please,” he begged. He knew that Soundwave wouldn't stop and yet, he had to try. “Please, don't... not those two ports. Leave them, please, if you have mercy...”
Soundwave wasn't interested in such sentiments. He opened them, tore the seals apart and brushed the overly sensitive metal in a mockery of care. Prowl pressed himself against the wall until his doorwings bent in agony just to get away, but it was to no avail.
Soundwave rammed into the sparkports and Prowl screamed and cried. It was too near to his spark, too near to his core code, this foreign, cold presence was too near to what Prowl was and sullied it all irreversible. Then data flooded him, firewalls were attacked and the cell vanished in the dark of his processor as every thread of energy was concentrated on stopping the Decepticon, on protecting the innermost.
Prowl fought. Primus himself could witness it. He fought for a long, long time.
He had lost his sensors first, and with them every feeling for his battered body. Somehow his energy never completely vanished and he supposed that someone had put him on an energon drip, just enough that he wouldn't break down because his body cannibalised itself. Soundwave didn't permit any escapes and breaks, not even into stasis.
Again and again he threw himself desperately against the merciless attacks; again and again, he rebuilt his defenses, just to see them demolished again. Piece by piece he lost programs and functions, was pushed back in his own processors.
Searching, the cold presence moved on and on. Like cold black ice Soundwave's very thoughts slid around the vulnerable core processes, freezed and pushed until the lines shattered. The tactician screamed and writhed in agony as every time his world, his very I died a bit more.
But Prowl kept on fighting despite the pain and the horror. He had to.
While Soundwave overtook more and more of his Self, Prowl excruciatingly put up new firewalls to defend the most important place: The knowledge about the Autobot army. He even went so far to hid the knowledge on the databanks behind his core code.
Though Soundwave came nearer. He left a field of pain and destruction, of cut up thoughts and dissected data banks. Prowl was disappearing...
Sooner or later, Soundwave would cut through his core code, destroying Prowl's personality completely and push forward into his deepest memories and knowledge. Plans, maps, strengths-weaknesses-analyses, secret bases, even just guessworks like about the identities of the SpecOps agents, it all would serve the enemy. Thousands of Autobots would be doomed to a violent death.
Because he had been too weak to defend himself in his own thoughts, his own processor with which he had always been better than anyone else.
Even here he was now failing.
What was he still worth, when he couldn't even fulfill the purpose anymore for which he had been built? When he had sent the soldiers that trusted him to death? When he, as long as he lived, was the key for the demise of the Autobots?
For the first time in his life Prowl wished, he could commit suicide.
But Soundwave had taken that option from him long ago.
~silber
Beta: Starfire201
Warnings: torture, hacking, rape
Summary: Soundwave wants answers, has all the time in the world and no scruples at all how to get them.
Note: Took a bit longer, because I got squeamish about writing torture. I thought I could skip it - but no, I couldn't.
8. Interrogation
He was awake, every microchip within his processors was active and working, every sensor reported reliably what he was doing – and yet he couldn't control any of his movements. Prowl had heard of Soundwave's legendary skills in hacking, but to be overpowered this effortlessly was terrifying.
Soundwave hadn't used a normal blaster as Prowl had thought in the first moment of panic, but one of Starscream's signature weapons, a nullray. As a result, he was 'just' knocked out for less than half a breem and disoriented for several more. This small window of time had sufficed for Soundwave, to force himself into several ports of his victim and launch a viral attack which tore down the outmost firewalls ruthlessly.
Reflexively, Prowl drew back and protected his innermost parts, his core code, his data banks full of memories and informations about the Autobots, his codes to his sparkchamber... Though the Decepticon ignored all these, breaking through the flimsy protections of the vulnerable and now open codes of his motoric centre and overtook them with cold precision.
When Prowl realised that the Decepticon's goal wasn't to kill him, nor to demolish his firewalls with brutal force, driving him insane and then stealing the few bits of information that would survive the assault, it was already too late. He had become a puppet.
Furiously, he tried to work against Soundwave's viruses and codes, against the foreign presence within his body, while being all too aware to what ends he now could be used. He prayed to Primus and every deity that would listen, that please, please, let no Autobot be near – he didn't want to witness the dying of their sparks through his own guided hands just for the sick amusement of enemy soldiers.
When he saw the entire unit that should have protected him lying grey and dead on the ground, his spark constricted in sudden realisation. There were no Autobots but him left. They had all died because of him. Had given their lives for him, even though he had failed, recognized the plans of the Decepticons far too late and only led them all to their demise... Worse, he knew that all the corpses here were only a small percentage of today's dead, for which he was responsible.
“Mission: Completed,” said Soundwave. “Board the shuttles.”
Before the order had ended, Prowl's body was already moving. Inside the shuttle, they bound his hands, more a sign of his status than true worry that he would attack them and escape. They were all very well trained soldiers, professionals of the kind the Autobots had few of and against which a tactician never had a chance. As they took off, Prowl prepared himself mentally for a long flight into the heart of the Decepticon Empire, Darkmount.
But he was wrong, as he seemingly always was in these orns. What was his worth as a tactician if he couldn't predict the most simplest decisions anymore?
Before they landed, Soundwave had deactivated his optics and audios. Blind and deaf, his body marched a long time until it reached his cell. With practised movements the soldiers bound him so securely to the wall that he had to remain standing, hit him a few times in the face and laughed, then thankfully went to their other duties. As the door fell shut behind them, his control finally came back.
He couldn't move more than his hands and pedes. Instead the Praxian observed his hopeless situation with clinical detachment. The cell was grey, the walls obviously made from enhanced titanium alloy, and protected through an additional energy field. The door was integrated into the wall so seamlessly that he needed a bit to even find it at his right. Only an even thicker energy field, which hinted at further security measures inside the doorframe, had betrayed the location.
Prowl was in a high security cell, once used for the most dangerous murderers and traitors. On the whole of Cybertron there was only one such cell in each of the six biggest cities. Those cities were Iacon, Kaon, Vos, Tarn, Crystal City and Praxus. Was he in one of those cities? Or did the Decepticons really make the effort to recreate those cells?
Wherever it was, in the end it didn't matter for Prowl. No one had ever escaped from a high security cell. This was his new home – and probably the place were he would die, too.
~
Time passed, but thanks to the unpleasant surprise that Soundwave had erased several small programs for his less important systems among them his chronometer, he didn't know how much. When the door opened again, it was Soundwave who entered with an energon cube in hand. The tactician had known that his tank levels had been low, but with the energon only two armlengths from his face forced him to acknowlege his hunger.
"Soundwave," he greeted coldly.
"Head of the Tactical Department, Prowl," was the emotionless answer. "Autobot. Our demand: Surrender all data about the Autobot army. In exchange: Your life."
They both knew that there could only be one answer. This were only the first steps of a long dance. "No."
"Answer: Expected." Soundwave stepped forward. "Offer: A piece of information of your choice for the energon cube."
As if it would remain his choice for long. No, this was just a psychological trick to lower his inhibitions against giving Soundwave information of any kind and to establish a mockery of trust.
"No."
"This answer: Also expected."
Soundwave carelessly threw the cube against the wall, were it broke. Pink energon splashed through the cell, now undrinkable and useless. But the scent! It increased tenfold and Prowl's tank gave an comfortable lurch.
Without another word Soundwave turned and walked out. Prowl leant back against the wall, deactivated his optics and tried to ignore his hunger – and the knowledge that soon he would seriously starve.
Twice more Soundwave came with a cube and asked for information, twice more Prowl refused and watched how the very thing he needed was destroyed just a few metres in front of him. His survival codes screamed at him that he should just tell the Decepticon any information, that it wouldn't matter. But it would. He knew it and he refused to fail again. If he starved to death here, it was still a small consolation for those who had died on Typhern's battlefields for nought.
Besides that, he was aware that those psychological games were not the goal of Soundwave. The telepath was just waiting for the main event – the hacking – until Prowl was weak enough. The tactician tried to avoid thinking of his chances then, not wanting to know how truly helpless and weak he was.
The fourth time Soundwave came and asked, the game changed.
"No," said Prowl, forcing the word out while trying to shut down the dozens of harmless lines of information his battle computer provided. It was stupid, what he did, whispered his codes, he could survive much longer, wait for rescue, try to play a long game with information that was worthless for both sides...
"Answer: Expected." Again a cube shattered on the wall. But instead of turning around, Soundwave took a sharp, gleaming knife from subspace and knelt next to the bound Praxian. "Punishment: Necessary."
Prowl felt a sudden rise of fear. Deliberately moving slow the Decepticon set the knife on the sensitive doorwing and pushed down. There were few places a Praxian could feel more than on his wings, and a knife cutting through the layers and sensors and cables of it was excruciating. Prowl had to look away as his doorwing was mutilated.
He wouldn't scream, he wouldn't. Not for Soundwave!
The knife carved deeper, tore apart thin armour, reached the exoform with it's many thousand datapaths which bled so much pink energon, until it reached the silver and soft protoform, hidden and protected deep inside normally.
Prowl was trembling, trying to keep the static, the screams inside. Fearing what was to come, hoping, that Soundwave wouldn't... he wouldn't...
Soundwave did.
With brutal efficiency he stabbed the blade inside the tender protoform, sliced it apart and maimed it beyond repair. Prowl screamed, tried to get away, thrashed. Nothing helped.
Then, suddenly, with a sharp pain the knife was pulled out. From the blade dripped the pink energon and the silver protoform blood.
Soundwave stood without another word and walked out. Fearing the worst, Prowl looked at his right doorwing – and only saw one thin long gap through the whole wing, that was still seeping silver and pink. Nothing more.
A high keen escaped Prowl as he realised that far worse pain was to come.
The next few visits happened more frequently, or maybe the energon loss was just slowing down Prowl's time perception. Every time he now refused, Soundwave would punish him. Once he crushed the left outmost finger, once he destroyed the joint in the elbow, once he carved the right optic out slowly and with delight.
Prowl was now constantly in pain, half-blind, starving and getting more and more exhausted, even though he didn't move at all. He needed substance, but the price – information – was too high (Was it?). Everytime he said "No" it got harder to betray his own body. The uncertainty of how Soundwave would hurt him this time was enough to drive him mad.
The most obvious change was that he recharged more and more. Soon, he knew, his body wouldn't wake at all anymore, would fall into that kind of stasis his race could survive millennia in. The last two times Soundwave had come, he had been recharging and was woken up by the mech breaking another one of his fingers. His hands had slowly become barely recognizable. Since then, his recharge wasn't deep and restful anymore, as he expected Soundwave and more pain at any time.
Nightmares started to haunt him, full of Autobots accusing him of betrayal, of screaming "youngling-murderer", of killing them by the thousands and Soundwave torturing him.
Though, the worst nightmares were the ones were he had died and no one missed him, but Autobots and Decepticons alike cursed his name and celebrated his deactivation. These dreams left his sparks hurting as he couldn't stop thinking about how true they were. Was there anyone who would mourn him, a sparkless failure of tactician?
More and more he woke softly keening and with static coming out of his vocaliser, fearing what his own processor unit would torment him with next time. Still, he always helplessly fell back into recharge.
Though, this time, he wasn't woken up by pain. No, a strange feeling had scurried through his processor, as if something had just changed, had touched were no one was supposed to touch. The moment he became aware, Soundwave gave up every illusion of stealth and attacked the firewall with full force.
With horror he onlined his left optic, just to see Soundwave standing in front of him. Between them hung one single silver cable, connected to his port. Prowl's doorwings tried to flinch back without his consent, just to hit the wall painfully as panic surged through him. The wounds of the last orns, deca-orns, who knew, opened up again, but he ignored the pain for the horror in front of him. Inside him, the assault had slowed as Prowl hastily began to actively configure the firewall against the onslaught.
"Status: No negotiations. Consequence: Hacking necessary." For the first time, Prowl could discern an emotion in the Decepticon – satisfaction. This was what Soundwave had wanted all along.
He had never been hacked before and had barely learned more than the basic course of all tacticians. To learn how to defend against foreign invasion, you first had to let someone in.... Prowl had risen too fast in the ranks of the Autobots to allow experienced spies invade his processors that deeply. Later Prowl hadn't seen true need to force himself through that painful procedure. After all, Iacon was protected well. An the rare cases he left their capital, he had a bodyguard file comparable to Prime's. So why squander precious time and possibly give away high risk information?
The answer was now staring into his face.
"No," he said again, just to be defiant, just to prove that he wouldn't give up and tried to prepare himself.
Angst wormed itself into his spark when out of Soundwave's armour more thin, long silver cables crawled out and started to caress Prowl. Every touch was strange and simply wrong. Too tender, too dangerous, too false. Prowl trembled, but he didn't dare to lower his gaze, to let Soundwave out of his one remaining optic. The fear of pain, of further torture was sitting too deep.
The first cables pushed themselves through the panels which had been loosed during the first hacking and torture afterwards. Prowl sputtered static as the not-wanted cables touched his ports, invaded them, connected. It was painful, too fast, too much... but Soundwave didn't stop. Port after port was opened and overtaken.
Prowl had had lovers in the past, had played around with his ports, had let medics touch him... but no one had used more than four. They all had left him the control, control that he didn't even possess as an illusion here any more.
Twelve ports. Two for medics, four for data transfers with a computer, four for other mechs and two that had only been used by his creators. The last two were directly above his spark, sealed and had not been opened for a long, long time.
After ten ports were corrupted, he felt already full, so painfully pulled apart and vulnerable. Then the cables sneaked across his breastplate, across his spark. They found the armour that hid the two ports with which Prowl had always connected warmth and family and love. Which he would only have ever opened again for his own sparkling, spark by his spark. To imagine Soundwave touching there, was nearly more than he could bear.
“Please,” he begged. He knew that Soundwave wouldn't stop and yet, he had to try. “Please, don't... not those two ports. Leave them, please, if you have mercy...”
Soundwave wasn't interested in such sentiments. He opened them, tore the seals apart and brushed the overly sensitive metal in a mockery of care. Prowl pressed himself against the wall until his doorwings bent in agony just to get away, but it was to no avail.
Soundwave rammed into the sparkports and Prowl screamed and cried. It was too near to his spark, too near to his core code, this foreign, cold presence was too near to what Prowl was and sullied it all irreversible. Then data flooded him, firewalls were attacked and the cell vanished in the dark of his processor as every thread of energy was concentrated on stopping the Decepticon, on protecting the innermost.
Prowl fought. Primus himself could witness it. He fought for a long, long time.
He had lost his sensors first, and with them every feeling for his battered body. Somehow his energy never completely vanished and he supposed that someone had put him on an energon drip, just enough that he wouldn't break down because his body cannibalised itself. Soundwave didn't permit any escapes and breaks, not even into stasis.
Again and again he threw himself desperately against the merciless attacks; again and again, he rebuilt his defenses, just to see them demolished again. Piece by piece he lost programs and functions, was pushed back in his own processors.
Searching, the cold presence moved on and on. Like cold black ice Soundwave's very thoughts slid around the vulnerable core processes, freezed and pushed until the lines shattered. The tactician screamed and writhed in agony as every time his world, his very I died a bit more.
But Prowl kept on fighting despite the pain and the horror. He had to.
While Soundwave overtook more and more of his Self, Prowl excruciatingly put up new firewalls to defend the most important place: The knowledge about the Autobot army. He even went so far to hid the knowledge on the databanks behind his core code.
Though Soundwave came nearer. He left a field of pain and destruction, of cut up thoughts and dissected data banks. Prowl was disappearing...
Sooner or later, Soundwave would cut through his core code, destroying Prowl's personality completely and push forward into his deepest memories and knowledge. Plans, maps, strengths-weaknesses-analyses, secret bases, even just guessworks like about the identities of the SpecOps agents, it all would serve the enemy. Thousands of Autobots would be doomed to a violent death.
Because he had been too weak to defend himself in his own thoughts, his own processor with which he had always been better than anyone else.
Even here he was now failing.
What was he still worth, when he couldn't even fulfill the purpose anymore for which he had been built? When he had sent the soldiers that trusted him to death? When he, as long as he lived, was the key for the demise of the Autobots?
For the first time in his life Prowl wished, he could commit suicide.
But Soundwave had taken that option from him long ago.
~silber
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-11-24 03:29 pm (UTC)Kudos!!!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-26 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-24 04:01 pm (UTC)Because he's a jerk. And I feel sad for Prowl. T^T
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Date: 2012-11-26 12:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-24 09:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-26 12:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-26 10:18 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-11-27 10:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-27 06:20 pm (UTC)*sigh* Competent villians are somehow always too complicated for those poor children that would have to think... right. At least the producers seem to think so. <.<
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Date: 2012-11-30 10:35 am (UTC)Yeah, and I'm pretty sure they think the viewers are very stupid, too. Better not challenge us with stuff we have to think about - even if are NO LONGER kids T-T
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Date: 2012-11-30 02:34 pm (UTC)That's another thing. Somehow they missed that their audience is growing up and has the money too. Not that I'm against children series, but they could be good children series without paying one cent more.
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Date: 2012-12-03 09:25 am (UTC)That's why I'm watching animes, though, granted, most of those don't really aim at children, they only look as if they do. Poor shock for many western parents, I imagine LOL
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Date: 2012-12-04 02:50 pm (UTC)*lol* When those parents *get* it. But most simply think "oh, it's robots and aliens - it has to be for kids." or "oh, it's a japanese cartoon - obviously kidfriendly."
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Date: 2012-12-04 04:16 pm (UTC)Well, according to TV Tropes, many parents got quite the shock when they took their kids to the cinema :D How was that, about the book and the cover and the judgment...?