Categories > Cartoons > Transformers
They say the world works in mysterious ways.
Yet what kind of world is this where a life passes away before it even begins? That's what I keep asking myself and, even after all these years, I can't find an answer. The only thing I know is that you aren't here, like you should have been. You aren't here, because a group of stupid 'Cons thought it was a good idea to bombard everything in sight, including the Autobot Protoform Facility in which you - and so many others - were housed.
I've got to hand it to you, though. You put up a good fight. There was a thread of life in you when I got you out of the ruins of the facility, and it was still there for days on end in spite of your damages.
Even so, it wasn't enough. Your spark became weak to the point that it couldn't function without artificial aid. Everyone saw it, everyone understood it. I did too, as I watched you lying in my repair-bay, attached to the life-support system my friend had built for you.
I still couldn't let you go. Not before my spark accepted what my logic had been screaming to me all along.
You would never make it. You would stay trapped in a shell, functioning eternally via a tube. Your spark would never have the power to activate your body on its own.
You were suffering.
So I ended it. I pulled the one cable that held you to a life that wasn't a life, hoping that, in fact, I was setting you free.
It still felt like I was tearing off a part of myself.
I was told it shouldn't be me to do that to you. The pain would be too much because I was your creator. However, I reminded them that it should be me for that very reason. It was the only way I would never forget you, when you didn't even get to have a name.
Because... I love you, whoever you would have been.
--------------------
Wheeljack sighed and placed the datapad back next to a hand that was still clinging weakly to a stylus. He knew he wasn't noticed. The empty cube of high-grade resting next to the figure sprawled on the desk was proof enough that Ratchet wouldn't be coming online anytime soon.
That was why he boldly patted the white shoulder in comfort. If his friend were awake, he would be glaring at him for showing him anything resembling pity.
I told you not to do it, Wheeljack thought sadly. At least now I understand why you didn't listen.
He didn't stay in the office. He exited as quietly as he had entered and locked the door on his way out. He wanted to be sure no one else could walk in on Ratchet in his current condition.
After all, Ratchet had 364 days every year at his disposal to be the tough medic who even performed miracles in order to save his comrades' lives.
He deserved to dedicate one day to the one whom he tried to save but couldn't.
The End.
Yet what kind of world is this where a life passes away before it even begins? That's what I keep asking myself and, even after all these years, I can't find an answer. The only thing I know is that you aren't here, like you should have been. You aren't here, because a group of stupid 'Cons thought it was a good idea to bombard everything in sight, including the Autobot Protoform Facility in which you - and so many others - were housed.
I've got to hand it to you, though. You put up a good fight. There was a thread of life in you when I got you out of the ruins of the facility, and it was still there for days on end in spite of your damages.
Even so, it wasn't enough. Your spark became weak to the point that it couldn't function without artificial aid. Everyone saw it, everyone understood it. I did too, as I watched you lying in my repair-bay, attached to the life-support system my friend had built for you.
I still couldn't let you go. Not before my spark accepted what my logic had been screaming to me all along.
You would never make it. You would stay trapped in a shell, functioning eternally via a tube. Your spark would never have the power to activate your body on its own.
You were suffering.
So I ended it. I pulled the one cable that held you to a life that wasn't a life, hoping that, in fact, I was setting you free.
It still felt like I was tearing off a part of myself.
I was told it shouldn't be me to do that to you. The pain would be too much because I was your creator. However, I reminded them that it should be me for that very reason. It was the only way I would never forget you, when you didn't even get to have a name.
Because... I love you, whoever you would have been.
--------------------
Wheeljack sighed and placed the datapad back next to a hand that was still clinging weakly to a stylus. He knew he wasn't noticed. The empty cube of high-grade resting next to the figure sprawled on the desk was proof enough that Ratchet wouldn't be coming online anytime soon.
That was why he boldly patted the white shoulder in comfort. If his friend were awake, he would be glaring at him for showing him anything resembling pity.
I told you not to do it, Wheeljack thought sadly. At least now I understand why you didn't listen.
He didn't stay in the office. He exited as quietly as he had entered and locked the door on his way out. He wanted to be sure no one else could walk in on Ratchet in his current condition.
After all, Ratchet had 364 days every year at his disposal to be the tough medic who even performed miracles in order to save his comrades' lives.
He deserved to dedicate one day to the one whom he tried to save but couldn't.
The End.
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