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Title: Unforeseen Affliction	By : Chaosdreamer Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 1353 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Transformers and all recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I am making no profit writing these stories.

Chapter List
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Title: Unforeseen Affliction (2/?)

Author: dreamerchaos

Fandom: G1.

Rating: Mature. Slash hints.

Pairing: Shockwave/Perceptor.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro.

Summary: This fic deals with a significant deal of psychological extremes: obsession, paranoia, rage, and wrath; mainly Shockwave’s out of norm behavior resolving around one of his earliest creations, and the loss of his creation. Some readers may be a little bit uncomfortable with Shockwave’s behavior, mainly his mounting obsession and, shall we say, developing insanity…

Warning for this chapter: Gore.

Millions upon millions of stellar cycles weigh the Guardian. Vigilant even while in repose, Shockwave’s attention never strays too far from the communication terminal.

Loyally awaiting his master to summon for him.

When the time arrives, and Lord Megatron beckons, Shockwave immediately complies. Glad for the distraction from his exile, the Autobot rats that continue to scavenge Cybertron and nip at his attention, and the far more…draining memory files that continue to plague him during the night cycles.

The Space Bridge is an invaluable tool between the Earth and Cybertron. Energon finally a frequent supply, enough that Shockwave and the remaining Decepticons need not salvage what they can from the scavenged carcasses of other Autobots and few Decepticon fatalities.

Still, Shockwave forces his hand. Rationing the energon, and properly securing the storage facilities.

He would enjoy watching the Autobots just try and break into the units. Let them find out for themselves the clever traps he has laid for them.

Shockwave trusts that his leader will continue whatever he can to constantly supply Shockwave with energon, but the Guardian also knows that his Lord must deal with the Autobot scourge.

While his master fights, Shockwave plans. Studying the many solar systems and proper planetary systems. Devising which orbiting planets will be suitable for harvesting energon. Even better, which planets that he may lay the seeds of his research, where in many vorns a flux of replenishing energon will be at Decepticon disposal.

But those plans will take many orns before they come into fruition.

Nevertheless, as Shockwave has always proven, he is forever patient. Silently waiting his opportunity, watching as his plans slowly develop until it is time to act.

In the back of his processor, he is running over several theses while he watches the recordings from Soundwave’s Cassettes, the recent Autobot activity on Earth requiring Shockwave’s input on how to respond and organize a counterstrike.

Shockwave adds his assessment to a list of data that is streaming live to Lord Megatron. His opinion surrounding Optimus Prime’s fighting style is not so different from his Lord’s. Prime is confident, but not overly arrogant, which is a pity since it would save the Decepticon forces if the Autobot leader was an incompetent buffoon. He showed great skills, a good fighter, but also negative aspects such as his wariness to keep his opponents from getting too close, as close combat grappling was not his greatest battle strength.

The Guardian adds further comments about Prime’s second and third in commands, countering Lord Megatron’s input by warning Lord Megatron that the greatest weapon in the Autobot arsenal was the Autobot loyalty to their comrades. Frequently Prime’s commanding officers would intercept an underhanded strike to the semi-truck’s back strut, usually using their own frames a shield to defend their glorified leader. Even the Autobot medic was recorded striking Thundercracker before the Seeker could draw too close, sending the Decepticon crashing head over pedes with a well executed jump front kick straight to his cockpit!

What the Decepticons lacked in great measure, in comparison to their foes, was loyalty among all subordinates, especially in deference to their commanding leader. The rifts that divided the Decepticons were painfully obvious. Teams isolating themselves willingly from one another…The Seekers were isolated from the Stunticons and Combaticons. The Coneheads abhorred Starscream’s trine. On a bi-weekly basis Starscream attempts to overthrow Lord Megatron. The list went on and on.

In Optimus Prime’s group, besides the skirmishes and bickering that naturally occurred due to forced occupation within one ship and close quarters, the soldiers still remained loyal to their leader. Further noted, they stanchly stood firm at each other’s back. A handful of Decepticons could say the same about their brethren.

Shockwave shares his concerns with Lord Megatron, while keeping his optic on the smaller viewing window minimized on the monitor screen as he converses with his Lord, both mechs watching the same video feed while they share their opinions.

A flash of red and cobalt paint causes Shockwave to hesitate momentarily during his speech.

Another flicker, this time the image far more pronounced that Shockwave quickly freezes the image.

“Shockwave?” Lord Megatron pauses, noting the Guardian’s averted attention, “I am not boring you, am I?”

“No, Lord Megatron.” Shockwave raises his hands in subservience to sooth his Lord’s spark of ire, “Something…Has Merely Grasped My Attention On The Recording.”

Megatron’s attention flickers to the stilled image. Observing the picture of the red and cobalt figure stumbling backwards, away from one of the Constructicons during the last battle.

“The scientist?” Megatron scowls, “What of him?”

“…Nothing.” Shockwave finally answers. “He…Looks Familiar.”

The Guardian knows that his answer proves less than successful in assuring his master, but Megatron deigns to ignore Shockwave’s error.

They finalize their assessment, and Megatron is immediately the first to shut down the communication link once the meeting is concluded.

Shockwave waits a long while, to ascertain that his Lord will not require him within the near future, while he compiles a terse message and data streams his commands, ordering the maintenance and security drones to leave him in peace unless there is a dire reason to consult the Guardian.

Left to his own devices, Shockwave maximizes the window, the frozen image filling the entirety of the wide screen.

Shakily, Shockwave raises his hand. Capturing the stilled face underneath his hands, as if to cage the familiar dark face. Hissing in alarm at the unfamiliar optical glass color, the familiar ginger optics seared away instead by a repulsive, indistinguishable blue marking the mech of Autobot loyalties…

And yet regardless of the azure color masking the ginger color that had adorned the mech’s optics so many vorns ago, the face will never lie, those dark features tugging at his memory files that he locked away tight in a massive vault lieges deep within his processor.

“Perceptor.” His vents breathe the designation, the ache pooling within his chassis once after after settling dormant ¯ resting in frigid slumber ¯ for so many vorns.

^^^^^

Soundwave’s battle mask does not adequately contain his guilt, no matter how stiffly the technopath tries to conceal his reaction whilst he stands in front of the video screen.

“You Knew.” Shockwave paces in front of the monitor, whipping around to glare a baleful golden optic at his fellow Decepticon, “You Didn’t Bother To Inform Me That My Creation is Online. And Far Beneath You To Admit That You And He Reside On The Same Planet!”

“Ravage: Divulged Identity.” The Decepticon slowly admits, “Olfactory Sensors Do Not Lie. He Is Perceptor. And Yet…Not As We Once Knew.”

“The Autobots,” Shockwave hisses, helm shaking left and right, as if to search for the threat of his enemy, wildly surveying the wall of monitor screens that surround him, each filled with large and small windows of his creation, various frozen images of Perceptor during battle. An art gallery spread before him, taunting the Guardian with the presence of his creation, yet keeping him so far beyond his reach, “A Memory Wipe? I Watched Perceptor Fall From A Shot To The Back. Perhaps The Damage Resulted In Corruption Of His Memory Files?”

“Your Insinuation: A Possibility.” Soundwave agrees.

“What Am I To Do?” Shockwave ponders. Hand drumming atop the table as he contemplates his possible actions in regards to this revelation, “I Must Have Him Back. I Will Not Accept That He Remains With The Autobots.”

“What Can Be Done?” Soundwave inquires, “Perceptor: Not A Soldier. However, Disappearance Or Capture Would Be Noted. Transportation To Cybertron: Less Success Than The Chance Of Acquiring Your Creation.”

“Do You Have The Coordinates For The Next Appearance Of The Space Bridge?”

“Destination: Confirmed.”

“Then Ascertain That My Creation Will Appear On The Battle Field At The Time You Have Prepared The Energon Shipment.” Shockwave coolly instructs his fellow Decepticon, “I Will Take Care Of The Rest.”

“This…” Soundwave halts before he continues, but once again bold enough to speak, “This Is Very Unwise, Whatever You Are Planning.”

“I Am Confident In My Abilities.”

Soundwave’s optical band shines as he stares for a long, silent moment at the Guardian, before answering, “Confidence Is Lacking: Not On Your Skills. Your Control: More Concerning. You Are Restless. Agitated. He Is Not The Same Mech You Created. What Will You Do When He Fails To Respond In Such A Manner?”

“Worry About Your End,” Shockwave curtly severs the technopath’s concerns with the swift slice of his hand through the air. He did not have the endurance it would take to quiet the Decepticon’s apprehension, nor does he wish to make the time to ease them either, “Everything Will Prove Successful.”

“For Your Sake, You Should Hope.” Soundwave warns forebodingly, “Should Lord Megatron Stumble Across Your Intent, You May Have More To Concern Yourself With Than The Wellbeing And Acquisition Of Your Creation.”

Shockwave cuts off the video image by stabbing the power button, shutting down the communication like a slap to the technopath’s face, the Guardian unapologetic about his reaction, after he is already tiring of the direction of their conversation.

Regardless of the other Autobot’s opinions, Soundwave will undoubtedly trust in Shockwave’s judgment. All the Guardian can do now is place his trust in Soundwave’s servos and hope that the mech does not lose his focus when the opportunity was ripe.

^^^^^

The battlefield was utter chaos. Perceptor ducked his helm as a Decepticon flew above, twisting into bipedal form and pouncing upon one of the Dinobots, the large Autobot roaring and hurling the smaller opponent over his shoulder.

“They’re prepping the shipment for the Bridge!” Ironhide shouts, pointing the barrel of his blaster in the direction of the Constructicons loading the last of the energon cubes.

“Too late!” The visored black and white officer warns, catching the roar of the shuttle as its engines fire, preparing to fly into the Space Bridge’s open terminal and deliver the precious cargo to the Decepticon Guardian. Jazz is swiftly and suddenly yanked aside by his bondmate, Prowl guarding his back and immediately pulling the saboteur out of range of a cheap attack just as Blast Off tries to punch a hole through the distracted black and white mech’s chassis. “Thanks!” Jazz grins, before smashing the butt of his rifle across the Combaticon’s face, earning a roar from the angry mech.

Perceptor also notes that the shuttle powers on, the Decepticons hurrying away as the energon carrier races towards the Space Bridge. The shuttle screeches to a halt within the safe perimeter of the Bridge’s terminal, successfully managing to reach the haven of the ring, the pillar of light and spiraling rocks signaling the transfer of the energon cubes to Cybertron.

“Another batch of energon sent straight to the ‘Cons and old Shockwave.” Ironhide growls in disgust.

Perceptor shivers at the odd cold shudder that tickles up his back strut at the mention of the Decepticon Guardian.

Suddenly there is the warning of “Back up! Everyone back up!” as Trailbreaker and Hound race away from the Stunticons, the Decepticon team beginning the transformation sequence to form Menasor while Autobot and Decepticon scatter to flee the massive metal beast as he roars, throwing his helm back to bellow up towards the clouded sky, hands raised above his head and cleaving through the air as if to split apart the heavens above before the behemoth smashes back onto the ground, flexing like a large panther, snarling at the small Cybertronian mechs that run circles around his larger form, Menasor growling in rage at their milling around like insects.

Perceptor is quick to follow the other Autobots’ lead to make a hasty retreat before Menasor’s unevenly welded, savaged processor ¯ the Stunticons' systems compatible but their confused, unsynchronized processors battling brother against brother as they try to work together and harness control over their large alternate form¯ turns its attention towards its directive of destroying the Autobots.

But before he manages to make it across the field, still unsettlingly close to the Space Bridge and the hulking Decepticon combiner team, the scientist is screeching to a running halt when Ravage and her brothers cut across his path.

“Please step aside!” Perceptor sidesteps, but Rumble and Frenzy pounce in response. The microscope instinctively jerking back, not wishing for the smaller Decepticons to get too close, especially Rumble with his pile drivers bared menacingly.

“Sorry about this, big guy!” Frenzy and Rumble suddenly alter their course, backpedaling.

Perceptor stutters to a halt, not realizing who is looming behind him.

Soundwave curls his hand around Perceptor’s wrist, swinging the defenseless mech around, spinning him away from the retreating Autobots and in the direction of the silent Space Bridge.

“Perceptor!” Wheeljack alerts the other soldiers by yelling the microscope’s designation, the engineer batting at the lunging Laserbeak, covering his optics while he tries desperately to reach the separated mech.

Perceptor is hastily backing away as the technopath steps towards him. The scientist’s blaster shaking between his curled hands, before the Decepticon casually bats the weapon away.

“Do Not Bother Wielding A Weapon That You Will Not Fire.” The cassette player warns.

The microscope shudders, backing up another step, optics never leaving the danger slowly moving towards him, the Decepticon blocking his escape and preventing him from returning to his comrades.

Soundwave’s visor band lifts minutely, suddenly looking over the Autobot’s scope. “You? You Dare…What Are You Doing Here?” He demands, glaring at the sudden intrusion, red gaze locking onto the interloper.

Perceptor does not have a chance to verbally respond. His posture stiffening when Soundwave’s helm raises ever so slightly, optical band focusing on another shadow lurking behind the microscope, the large figure stepping out of the reactivated Space Bridge while the battle field upturned as Autobots and Decepticons fled from the roaring Menasor and his opponent Superion. Wheeljack still screaming for Perceptor, his companions trying to circle the massive combatants and make their way towards their hapless friend.

Perceptor balks as a thick arm surrounds him, pinning his arms against his torso. He shouts in fear, pedes kicking in midair as he is lifted. Twisting and jerking his helm around, his fuel tank drops when he recognizes the massive lavender mech holding him prisoner.

Shockwave.

But how…why!? Wasn’t the Guardian on Cybertron acting as overseer for Megatron’s empire? How could he possibly be here?

He flails and cries out as Shockwave begins to drag him back towards the Space Bridge. The microscope swiftly detecting the other’s intent, immediately screaming for his Autobot commander in panic, “Optimus!”

Optimus Prime rears away from Megatron, kicking out with one leg to land a solid blow against the large silver mech’s stomach plating. Helm whipping in the direction of the desperate cry.

“Stop him! Someone stop him!” Ratchet and Wheeljack are drive piled by the Constructicons as they try and beat a path through the throng of roiling Decepticons, “Perceptor!”

Perceptor pleads and cries out in misery, kicking and twisting his bound arms, his Decepticon captor finally managing to heave his struggling package into the center of the Bridge’s terminal ring, while Perceptor watching in terror as the wide doors of the Space Bridge slam shut, cutting off his friends from his sight.

“No!!”

Weightless as the warping sequence commences once more, Perceptor curls in tight against his captor as wind and rubble begin to tornado around them. With a deep wrenching tug, as if the winds were trying to yank his fuel tank out of his chassis, the Space Bridge transports its passengers, lighting their path with a pillar of light, spearing the rolling clouds above them, and lightning racing ahead as an arrow to guide their trajectory.

^^^^^

Perceptor drops onto his hands and knees as he stumbles out of the Space Bridge terminal on Cybertron deep inside the Guardian’s tower, wincing as his fuel tank struggles to retain its regular settings, the harsh travel a sharp assault on his systems.

Awkwardly he crawls forward, scrabbling away as the other mech’s footsteps draw close, the doors to the Space Bridge terminal sealing and locking tight.

The microscope digs his fingers into the hand that encircles around the back of his neck, lifting him onto his knees. Stuttering and crying out to be released from the Decepticon’s grip.

“Do Not Struggle Further.” Shockwave directs the kicking and scratching mech. “Cease This Ridiculous Behavior, Perceptor.”

His creation amazes him with his audacity, screaming and flailing wildly no matter how carefully the Guardian manhandles the smaller mech, trying to lessen the chances of bruising his plating or harming him.

He had several plans in mind that held an eighty six percent chance of causing psychological damage to his creation’s processor, and he did not wish to escalate the percentage by unintentionally harming the microscope before the first procedure can begin.

But, oh…how hard it is to remain stern but silent, while the changes upon his creation are so glaringly obvious: The red faction symbol…those damning, vile blue optics that haunt him while his creation looks upon him in confusion, horror…and unwavering revulsion. Never for a moment recognizing the creator who locks him within the embrace of thicker arms and unwavering resolve as he drags his resisting creation down the long halls and towards the Medical Bay where he will begin to repair the damage that the Autobots have dared to enact upon his creation.

“R-Release me!” Perceptor violently thrashes, scratching the paint of the Decepticon’s wrist as Shockwave lifts him onto a berth. The microscope attempts to throw himself off the metal bed, but thick silver bands snap around his waist and knees, the elastic coils binding his wrists and holding them flat against the berth surface.

“Such Distasteful Conduct.” Shockwave disapproves his creation’s thrashing about, pushing the Autobot’s chassis down as the microscope jerks and thrusts his bulk against the constricting bands that tie him down onto the berth, “I Am Very Unhappy With Your Behavior, Perceptor.”

“S-Stop!”

But Shockwave continues to trace his hands up and down the heaving chassis. Fingers twitching as they outline the stenciled red symbol upon the microscope’s plating.

“Autobot.” The Guardian hisses, fingertips curling, drawing a mournful pained cry when strips of curling paint snag jagged ribbons between the Decepticon’s fingers, “You Allowed Them To Brand You. To Mar Your Dermal Layers.”

“It was my choice…” Perceptor shivered, “a-and why should you care about what has been done to my paintwork?”

Shockwave ignores the prisoner’s demands to answer. Instead continuing to catalogue the changes that have occurred to his oblivious creation. A trembling quake of anger spiking, illogically scrambling his processor as he finally admits to the greatest of all terrible changes, “Your Optics…” Hands trapping Perceptor’s twisting helm, fingers outlining the wide, unfamiliar Easter egg blue, “What. Have. You. Done?”

His creation wilts beneath his hands, trying to twist his face from underneath the harsh curled fingers.

Shockwave can not allow this. The tips of his fingers scratch down the hated optical glass as he cringes in disgust, cutting jagged, raised rough scars across the even blue windows. Perceptor jolting, bucking helplessly as the pain lances across the sensitive receptor circuits nudging the surface of the optical glass.

The Guardian paws fitfully at the stubborn glass, resolutely ignoring the microscope’s whimpers and cries, undeterred from his quest to rid himself of the sight of that disgusting blue stained glass. Marring Perceptor’s dark facial features with streak of lavender from his scratched paint as he painstakingly claws with frightful patience at the stubborn fixtures.

A hot gush of magma-intense pain erupts when one optical glass panel finally pops free with a low screech of snapping metal, a few stray wires stretching and tearing as Shockwave tears the optical glass away. Perceptor shrieking in agony, a flood of clear lubricant and beads of oil from his damaged circuits spilling forth from the gapping socket, while the pearl and silver optical orb rolling skyward, awash by the pools of fluids filling the cavern of the torn socket.

Shockwave murmurs for his creation to shush, petting and nuzzling the sobbing mech, smearing the dark fluid of oil up Perceptor’s helm and neck whilst he massages the cringing mech’s taut cables and tossing head. “Try To Bear It A Little Longer.” He follows his assurance with the gesture of popping the other optical glass panel free of its mounting; delicately wiping away the thick was of lubricant and oil that follows. Lifting the gore slicked remains, glaring at the innocuous plates, curling his hand and crushing the opaque blue plates within his fist, the crumbled dust spilling to dress the floor.

The continuous pulsing throb of his gapping sockets overrules all of his senses. Perceptor numb to anything else that transpires, even while Shockwave scours the ruby symbol stenciled upon his chassis, the Guardian perseveres with scrapping away the red layers. “Disgusting,” The Decepticon sneers, glaring at the red paint that insists in coating his fingers, “Filthy, Wretched Disgusting Thing,” Distastefully he drags his fingers along the gray edge of the berth, scrapping away the offending paint.

Perceptor’s vocoder garbles a wash of static, mouth spread in a silent scream, head lolling, arching as his neural receptors flare wide in agony, torn sockets and scratched optical balls leaving him technically blind except for the rare slice of the image of the ceiling looming above him, or the outline of the Decepticon Guardian leaning over him.

The Guardian approves of the fresh changes, though not completely enough to satisfy him for the moment, it has successfully cooled his rage. The Decepticon drawing a measurable deal of pleasure at removing the offending colors, one further step to reaffirming Perceptor returning to his creator once more.

“Well Done, Perceptor.” Shockwave congratulates his creation’s success in lasting the procedure ¯ The Guardian having a sparse moment of regret that he did not anticipate nor deem to acquire anesthesia in order to ensure the microscope greater ease through the procedure ¯ but instead he focuses on ceasing the mech’s low, weak cries, Perceptor’s blind gaze instinctively tilting away from the invasive energy field marking the large presence of the Decepticon as he leans over the strapped down Autobot, “I Am So Very Proud Of You.”

Perceptor shudders at the endearment, lubricants trickling from the dark maw of his optical sockets, helm twisted away, trying to ignore the patient, coaxing whispers and the lengthy strokes of the mech’s hand as the Decepticon pets the shivering Autobot.

The Guardian traces his hand up the mech’s arched throat, probing the hidden seam, “Relax.” He soothes, thrusting two fingers forward and flicking the barely discernable switch nestled beneath the thick cables.

The flick of the switch prompts the microscope to stiffen like a board, before then dropping back limp upon the medical berth.

“Rest While I Continue With Repairs.” Shockwave’s final command follows the microscope as he plummets into stasis, the corners of his processor folding in upon itself until…

STASIS IMMINENT.

the pain is nothing, and there is no fear, and then¯

STASIS LOCK ENGAGED.

And then¯

To Be Continued
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Title: Unforeseen Affliction