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fandomweekly2021-01-27 06:50 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2021-01-27 06:50 pm
Entry tags:
[#041] We Were Gods Once (Transformers Bayverse)
Theme Prompt: 041 - Resurrection
Title: We Were Gods Once
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse (mid-DOTM)
Rating/Warnings: PG / None
Bonus: No
Word Count: 999
Summary: Sentinel Prime is less than impressed with the world his resurrection has brought him to.
Once, it was a near-universally acknowledged fact that Cybertronians were impossible to kill.
It wasn't true, of course, in the strictest sense of the word. Any Cybertronian could be killed, with the right tactics, and many of them had been. The Quintesson Wars had wiped out nearly a third of the planet's population, and it had taken centuries for Cybertron to recover. But since the Quintessons had lost the war, no one had been around to debunk the rumors that had immediately begun swirling through the galaxy, and Cybertronians had taken on a near-mythical status. Even after the civil war had torn the planet apart and proven once and for all that Cybertronians died just like anyone else, the wider galaxy had still been under the impression that they were essentially immortal. At the time, the Prime and the Council had wondered about the ethical implications of allowing the rumor to continue. It did give interplanetary negotiations a certain undertone that, while convenient, had the potential to skew the negotiations in unintended directions.
However, after slightly less than twenty-four local hours on a planet that had never heard of Cybertronians, let alone any rumors about their mortality or lack thereof, Sentinel Prime was more than willing to reestablish the rumor as undisputed local fact.
This planet had barely been acknowledged on maps prior to the Ark's crash. Its people had yet to develop more than rudimentary spaceflight, and the less said about their planetary technology, the better. Their understanding of Cybertronians had barely scratched the surface. They were tiny, vulnerable creatures, absorbed in dozens of tiny wars of their own, unaware that parts of their own solar system even existed.
And yet they dared to give orders to him, a Prime who had led Cybertron through two wars and the Golden Age?
Sentinel placed a hand on one of the fragile pieces of scaffolding. It creaked ominously under his weight. This was the best they could build? Small organics scuttled here and there, giving him a wide berth - as they should, he thought, with a certain amount of satisfaction. He meant them no harm, but they should fear beings who on other planets had been worshipped as immortal deities.
And yet, for the most part, they did not. He had watched them order around Optimus Prime, who had been respected across the universe, as if he were one of their common soldiers - no, worse than that, as if he were one of their war machines - and Optimus had allowed it. They had tried to do the same to him the moment he woke up, demanding answers to questions they had no right to ask.
The scaffolding creaked again, and Sentinel looked down to see that he had crushed the top of it by closing one hand into a fist. He let it go, frowning at the delicate piece of metal.
Much had changed since the Ark's crash and his own death.
Perhaps that was the problem. These organics already knew that Cybertronians could die. They had no concept of the sheer power it took to kill a Cybertronian and keep them that way.
One would think that having two resurrected Primes walking around in the pathetic warehouse that passed for a command center would have given them some idea, Sentinel thought wryly. But even in the few hours he had been conscious, he had seen enough to conclude that critical thinking was not humanity's strong suit.
His spine prickled with an old awareness that he had not had to use in centuries. Someone was watching him.
Sentinel turned and saw Optimus's medic watching him from the entrance to the main space. He inclined his head in an acknowledging nod and spoke in standard Iaconian. "Can I help you, Ratchet?"
Ratchet glanced at the humans on the nearest walkway, who had turned to stare up at Sentinel, and responded in the same dialect. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. The Matrix may have restarted your spark, but you spent a long time in stasis, and there's been a lot to adjust to."
"When you say a lot, are you referring to the fact that Cybertron is now dead and her children scattered across the universe?" Sentinel asked dryly. "Or are you referring to the fact that Autobot Command is now based on an organic planet whose inhabitants consider them little better than drone cannons?"
Ratchet paused, glancing around the room before answering. "You don't care for the humans, do you?"
"I have no quarrel with their species," Sentinel said. It wasn't entirely true, but he could acknowledge that some of that was likely due to his own biases rather than anything inherent to their actions. "I object to their control of Autobot forces. They have no right to take our technology and claim it as their own."
"You're right," Ratchet said, unexpectedly. Sentinel reset his audials to make sure he had heard correctly. He had expected all of Optimus's remaining followers to be as blindly loyal to the organics as Optimus seemed. "We originally denied them Cybertronian technology, and since then their government has taken every opportunity to work around that refusal."
Sentinel considered that for a moment. "The solution to that problem would once have been straightforward."
"A lot has changed since you were...lost." Ratchet seemed to be considering his words before continuing. "So far you've only seen one human government in action. Give yourself some time to adjust to this world and to...everything else."
Sentinel suspected that everything else had originally been being alive again, but let it pass. "Thank you. I will take your advice into account."
It was a clear dismissal. Once Ratchet was gone, Sentinel turned back to watching the humans. Organic expressions were hard to read, but he thought that they looked unsettled.
As, perhaps, they should.
Sentinel opened a private comm line to the satellite that had been watching him, unobserved by the Autobots, since his resurrection.
Title: We Were Gods Once
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse (mid-DOTM)
Rating/Warnings: PG / None
Bonus: No
Word Count: 999
Summary: Sentinel Prime is less than impressed with the world his resurrection has brought him to.
Once, it was a near-universally acknowledged fact that Cybertronians were impossible to kill.
It wasn't true, of course, in the strictest sense of the word. Any Cybertronian could be killed, with the right tactics, and many of them had been. The Quintesson Wars had wiped out nearly a third of the planet's population, and it had taken centuries for Cybertron to recover. But since the Quintessons had lost the war, no one had been around to debunk the rumors that had immediately begun swirling through the galaxy, and Cybertronians had taken on a near-mythical status. Even after the civil war had torn the planet apart and proven once and for all that Cybertronians died just like anyone else, the wider galaxy had still been under the impression that they were essentially immortal. At the time, the Prime and the Council had wondered about the ethical implications of allowing the rumor to continue. It did give interplanetary negotiations a certain undertone that, while convenient, had the potential to skew the negotiations in unintended directions.
However, after slightly less than twenty-four local hours on a planet that had never heard of Cybertronians, let alone any rumors about their mortality or lack thereof, Sentinel Prime was more than willing to reestablish the rumor as undisputed local fact.
This planet had barely been acknowledged on maps prior to the Ark's crash. Its people had yet to develop more than rudimentary spaceflight, and the less said about their planetary technology, the better. Their understanding of Cybertronians had barely scratched the surface. They were tiny, vulnerable creatures, absorbed in dozens of tiny wars of their own, unaware that parts of their own solar system even existed.
And yet they dared to give orders to him, a Prime who had led Cybertron through two wars and the Golden Age?
Sentinel placed a hand on one of the fragile pieces of scaffolding. It creaked ominously under his weight. This was the best they could build? Small organics scuttled here and there, giving him a wide berth - as they should, he thought, with a certain amount of satisfaction. He meant them no harm, but they should fear beings who on other planets had been worshipped as immortal deities.
And yet, for the most part, they did not. He had watched them order around Optimus Prime, who had been respected across the universe, as if he were one of their common soldiers - no, worse than that, as if he were one of their war machines - and Optimus had allowed it. They had tried to do the same to him the moment he woke up, demanding answers to questions they had no right to ask.
The scaffolding creaked again, and Sentinel looked down to see that he had crushed the top of it by closing one hand into a fist. He let it go, frowning at the delicate piece of metal.
Much had changed since the Ark's crash and his own death.
Perhaps that was the problem. These organics already knew that Cybertronians could die. They had no concept of the sheer power it took to kill a Cybertronian and keep them that way.
One would think that having two resurrected Primes walking around in the pathetic warehouse that passed for a command center would have given them some idea, Sentinel thought wryly. But even in the few hours he had been conscious, he had seen enough to conclude that critical thinking was not humanity's strong suit.
His spine prickled with an old awareness that he had not had to use in centuries. Someone was watching him.
Sentinel turned and saw Optimus's medic watching him from the entrance to the main space. He inclined his head in an acknowledging nod and spoke in standard Iaconian. "Can I help you, Ratchet?"
Ratchet glanced at the humans on the nearest walkway, who had turned to stare up at Sentinel, and responded in the same dialect. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. The Matrix may have restarted your spark, but you spent a long time in stasis, and there's been a lot to adjust to."
"When you say a lot, are you referring to the fact that Cybertron is now dead and her children scattered across the universe?" Sentinel asked dryly. "Or are you referring to the fact that Autobot Command is now based on an organic planet whose inhabitants consider them little better than drone cannons?"
Ratchet paused, glancing around the room before answering. "You don't care for the humans, do you?"
"I have no quarrel with their species," Sentinel said. It wasn't entirely true, but he could acknowledge that some of that was likely due to his own biases rather than anything inherent to their actions. "I object to their control of Autobot forces. They have no right to take our technology and claim it as their own."
"You're right," Ratchet said, unexpectedly. Sentinel reset his audials to make sure he had heard correctly. He had expected all of Optimus's remaining followers to be as blindly loyal to the organics as Optimus seemed. "We originally denied them Cybertronian technology, and since then their government has taken every opportunity to work around that refusal."
Sentinel considered that for a moment. "The solution to that problem would once have been straightforward."
"A lot has changed since you were...lost." Ratchet seemed to be considering his words before continuing. "So far you've only seen one human government in action. Give yourself some time to adjust to this world and to...everything else."
Sentinel suspected that everything else had originally been being alive again, but let it pass. "Thank you. I will take your advice into account."
It was a clear dismissal. Once Ratchet was gone, Sentinel turned back to watching the humans. Organic expressions were hard to read, but he thought that they looked unsettled.
As, perhaps, they should.
Sentinel opened a private comm line to the satellite that had been watching him, unobserved by the Autobots, since his resurrection.