FINALE: the duel

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WHO: Soundwave & Trowa Barton
WHERE: An abandoned opera house.
WHEN: 3:00 PM
WARNINGS: Violence. Angst. More violence. More angst.
SUMMARY: Soundwave invited Trowa to their meeting -- a duel to the death. That's the intention, anyway.
FORMAT: Prose.



Prelude

There is the part of him that is infuriated and loathing of the humans. As a Decepticon, that comes naturally; he'd always figured that they were inferior and therefore deserved to die. Nothing was redeeming about them. True, he began to enjoy their sense of music, but otherwise

Then it came to pass that he amongst others of Cybertronians became human, at least physically. Ever since then, he's been gradually broken down to a feeling, emotional creature, and it's immensely disturbing to him. He's felt loneliness, fear, uncontrollable anger, grief, regret, and several other things that's never been much of a sensation to his systems before. He's done things he would never normally do. All this change in him too fast is frightening and annoying.

Along the way, there was a boy with no name who went by Nanashi -- then informed Soundwave he also went by Trowa. The boy deceived them, and yet he chose to keep it a secret. Because--

Because he felt it was necessary. Felt closeness with that boy. When Trowa's life was in danger, Soundwave chose to brainwash him for his sake, even if it meant earning Trowa's hatred.

And that, he's certain, was one of his most major selfless actions in his entire existence. It gave him nothing to feel proud over.

The weaknesses continued. Shockwave was killed, and for the first time in this human body, he felt something called tears leak from his eyes. That is not something he can admit to Shockwave, either. Emotion is perceived as illogical, therefore unwanted. That had almost always been true to Soundwave as well, yet he cannot control those feelings well at all. Learning Quatre was responsible caused him such rage and a sense of twisted betrayal. It was Quatre's fault for being so naive with war machines -- that was Soundwave's perception.

So Quatre paid for his actions.

Soundwave knew how Trowa would respond. He blamed that boy too.

Eventually began the Major's intentions, a call for war and bloody battle. Eager to fulfill his Decepticon nature of destroying the inferior, Soundwave agreed to help the Major. He killed many, and did not regret the deaths of the inferior.

He could have protected the bomb in D.C. from Juston. However, it was Juston's point that broke through to him.

That he had people he cared about in the City. Shockwave, who he could not bear to see die again. Ravage, who he still cared about although he's certain he's caused the boy enough emotional harm to make himself be hated. Alastair, one of his few human friends. Others and--

And belatedly, Trowa.

Soundwave let the bomb be undone. He was ashamed of his own weakness. Megatron would have been disappointed. Angry with him.

And he keeps this truth to himself.

Now, desperately, he needs to prove to himself of the Decepticon he is. And he will do so by killing Trowa.



Finale

Soundwave waits on the stage. It's old, dusty, and rotting inside of the opera house.

There, he is seated on a simple wooden chair. Slowly playing the violin.

To make that boy angry and hateful.

So he hopes.

Comments

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"NEGATIVE," Soundwave hisses out, knowing that Trowa can't hear him. That it's impossible.

But he expects the boy is probably talented enough to read lips.

"I AM ONLY WHAT I WAS PROGRAMMED TO BE."

And yet, he's become something more than simply the Decepticon known as Soundwave -- the communications officer. Before even that, he'd simply been the servant of the Senate. His programming dictated loyalty. Loyalty first to the Senate, then to the Decepticon cause.

However. Where did that cause go? When did he become this way?

He wants to go back the way he was. Becoming a pure android is the only way it can happen.

Right now, right now he cannot--

Cannot. Kill him. Even if Trowa was strapped down to a table and on his last breath, Soundwave could not do it. Cannot bring himself to do it.

There's a wail of despair and Soundwave whips around, kicking one of the chairs against the wall. He called him here to his grave. What once had been a simple thing became so complicated.

It's only been a year, nothing but a breath to a Cybertronian, yet so long in this aging body. So much has changed and he's becoming human.

[unnamed-nothing.livejournal.com]

He is that talented, yes. One doesn't learn to infiltrate and spy without the help of a few necessary skills. Disappointing, in a way, to see that Soundwave still clings to the issue of his programming. Trowa realizes with a mild look of surprise that he is still alive, though, and actually forgets to catch the flute; it clatters to the ground with a series of metallic clangs. The confusion changes to annoyance, and he bends to pick it up, sliding it back into the case it had come from.

The display of anger and frustration at being lost going on in the background doesn't bother him; he's vented his own the same way almost every day on his wild runs. This place belongs to no man.

Trowa gingerly sets down the rest of the weaponry, even going so far as to drop the knives to the ground atop the firearms, and removes the things blocking out the sounds around him, dropping them as well.

In silence, he moves to stand next to the communications officer, relaxing with his hands rest half in the pockets of his OZ uniform, and looks at where the chair had been.

"...Hey."

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"WHAT."

It'd be easier if he had someone to blame. Primus, really, he wishes he could place some of it on Trowa for infiltrating his life. For causing some of this change. For becoming something he should not be in Soundwave.

But it's hardly Trowa's fault. It was Soundwave's choice to keep him alive. His choice to try to protect him in his own way.

It was Soundwave's decision to do those things while attempting to follow his programming, because he cannot deny that either.

Perhaps because he does not know what benefits the Decepticons now.

"I WILL KILL YOU."

To most anyone, it is a flatly spoken line. Most know to take it seriously.

However, at this point, Soundwave knows it is an empty threat. No, he won't. He can't. It's pathetic, but he can't kill him.

whoops /fixes html

[unnamed-nothing.livejournal.com]

The threat slips in through one ear and back out the other--Soundwave had never yet physically carried it out, and it rings bells in his head that calls to mind a certain other soldier who generally also says it and then changes his mind on a regular basis.

And so it is that he happens to have nothing to say to it at first but a thoughtful 'mm', acknowledging the comment but not the content.

Trowa spends a great deal of time locked in his head, however, thinking busily away, and it is not very much longer before he decides that he has the need to remark upon it after all.

"You already did," he begins, in much the same casual manner as one might normally use to mention the need to check the mailbox or to let someone know that their shoes look very nice. It seems odd to remain standing this way, standing shoulder-to-shoulder almost, but unnecessary movement might give the wrong impression; he continues without changing position.

"He doesn't trust me anymore," Trowa adds, the blank lack of tone meant to cover up any pain the truth has caused. "I can't talk with him. Or be around. And I'm not allowed to see."

He makes an odd gesture at this with one hand, somewhere between dismissal and a half-assed one-armed shrug.

"I don't even know if the incisions Shockwave made have healed."

There's a pause during which nothing happens, awkward and heavy. It's such a bizarre thing to be talking about something so personal with a being who might still turn around and attack; who probably doesn't care. But he's going somewhere with it--trying to make a point, not looking for sympathy--and because of that, he keeps speaking.

"He won't let me touch him anymore. For anything. Just panics. Gets angry. Attacks me."

One short beat, Trowa's eyes flicking to the Decepticon, watching him; for a split-second it looks as though a spark of hatred is finally going to flare up behind them, but it's gone again just as quickly as if it had never been there at all, leaving behind an empty look and a mirthless smirk at just how funny everything isn't.

"...Thinks I'm you, actually."

Another calm breath, and Trowa tilts his head back to stare at the intricate but filthy and cracking painting covering the ceiling.

"So now I'm nothing. I'm not Arsenal. Or Rumble, Nanashi, or Trowa. They're dead. I'm just you, borrowing someone else's body."

The boy drifts for a moment into the back of his own mind to listen to the Deep Voice--the bloodthirsty piece of the war form's consciousness that stays with him even when he's human--and hears it try to press him into changing, calling for him to turn in rage at the destruction of his fragile little patchwork construction of identity and splinter Soundwave's skull between his jaws.

For a minor eternity, he considers finally giving in.

As he thinks of it, Shockwave hurt Quatre and Quatre hurt him in return, only to be tortured himself. So it should be the communication officer's turn to feel pain... but he already had, when the other Cybertronian died. The blood had long stood repaid, then, and his own life had been spared several times over the better part of the last year by Soundwave.

In the end, he simply continues to stand there.