|Recordings and Oaths
Author: Ithilas PM
Being a tactician means more than just knowing how to win a battle.Rated: Fiction T - English - Prowl - Words: 1,729 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 3 - Published: 02-13-11 - id: 6742734
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Recordings and Oaths
Summary: Being a tactician means more than just knowing how to win a battle.
A/N: This can definitely be considered an AU for G1.
My designation is Prowl, sub-Commander of the Autobot 1st Division under the direct command of Optimus Prime. In the event that this recording is found, my processor and frame health were verified by the Autobot Chief Medical Officer Ratchet four point three breems before this recording commenced.
His face is carefully composed with no hint of unease displayed as he stops the video recording. Door wings twitching he leans forward and with his hand on the directional pad, he presses play. Blue light dances across his face as his likeness is projected by the holo-vid. He watches the video twenty-seven times before he is convinced that there is no fault to be found in either his tone or body language. Optics dimming he begins the arduous process of embedding the video into the smallest line of coding that he has ever worked with. That done he attaches the line of code to a dummy file that he's created for his test and adjusts the level of security clearance needed for file access so that only a mech or femme with a command code can access it. He closes the file, takes an unnecessarily long intake of air before he runs a search for the file, and accesses it using the authorization code used by those of rank equal to the High Command. Door wings sag as his coding works and his holo-image appears as the file is retrieved and his lips twitch with a relieved smile.
File deleted his finger hovers above the command that will attach his coding to all files with a specific entry tag in the Autobot database. This will break him in so many ways if it ever comes to pass this his recording is necessary. He knows that his reputation will be in tatters and that if he should still live at the end he could be called out to lay his life down as a sacrifice to protect those under his command. He regulates his air intake and off-lines his optics for a brief moment before he on-line's them and presses down on the key that will seal his fate in a probability calculated by his battle computer. His shoulders shake as he presses his face into his hands. He is scared and if he wants to be brutally honest, he will admit to being terrified of what the future will hold but this is his choice. This is his choice because he remembers soft words that echo in a foggy memory of a mech taller than him who leans down to press a kiss to his still growing chevron and tells him that, "an officer is only as good as the sacrifices he is willing to make for those under his command." His breath hitches once before he straightens and with a deep sigh, his composure is regained.
I have willingly and with full knowledge of the consequences of my actions, concealed from my commander the true nature of the missions undertaken by the mechs that serve under the Special Operations Unit. As the sub-commander of Tactics for the Autobot Army, it is my singular duty to approve and reject missions based upon the needs of the Autobots.
He has only breems in which to do the work needed to imbed yet another file into his code created almost sixty vorns before. His fingers fly across the holo-screen as he accesses the needed files and with a soft hum, he begins work. In the bottom, left corner of his screen is a timer that blinks at him in flashing red digits reminding him of the time he has left. He squares his shoulders and pushes himself to work faster because the plan that he put into action so long ago is no longer just his project. His friend, pushy mech that he is, refusing to leave things well enough alone uncovered his code and discovered his plan well before he'd expected it to be discovered. A fond smile tugs at his lips as he switches through screens and makes the necessary adjustments before he imbeds the new folder into its hastily prepared place in the coding.
Accessing a dummy folder kept hidden in the database to act as a decoy for precious information he attaches his newly revised code and closes it again. With an expectant gaze, he accesses the file again and inputs the correct authorization. His air slides through his vents in a relieved sigh as his holo-image appears in front of him followed by a notification on his workstation of a file download. He clicks on the download and bows his head in relief when the correct documents appear. Glancing to the side, he takes note of the time still left to him in the system blind spot that his friend has left. Closing his screens, he begins the process of purging the records of his system access within the time he still has allotted to him for his clean up.
At this time, you will find that there has been a file download to your workstation. This file includes the only documented instance of acknowledgement by those of the Special Ops Unit in regards to the missions that would be given to them as well as the consequences that would be theirs should the mission be refused.
"Why are you doing this?" The voice is raised as the pitch sharpens in distress. "You could be executed for leaving something like this behind. Do you know what they would do to you if they found this?"
A calm voice responds. "The consequences are something that I have thought of and they have been deemed to be acceptable. We ask so much of them and in return, they receive so very little in terms of gratitude for the fact that they lay their very sparks on the line for our continued existence. My creator before he was lost in one of the first uprisings of the Stanix region told me that an officer was only as good as the sacrifices he was willing to make for those under his command." A sigh and the sounds of a stylus being laid atop a data pad is the only noise in the room for several long moments, as both mechs remain silent. "They do as the missions require and I will not see their names and honor tarnished by others who know nothing of the sacrifice that they make."
"You shouldn't have to do this! It's madness what you're doing and—and you'll be deactivated for war crimes like some Decepticon if you don't stop this now!"
"There are a lot of things that we shouldn't have to do but are required to do because the war dictates the morals and needs of every mech and femme unfortunate enough to have been snared in its grasp." Calm voice strained a desk chair creaks before the sounds of footfalls echo through the office. "Regardless of whether I live or not at the end of this war the fact remains that I will need your assistance in ensuring that they don't interfere."
"You're asking me to commit murder!"
"It is not murder if I am willing to allow for this to happen—."
"I don't give a frag whether you're willing." Hands slamming down onto a solid surface are followed by the sounds of ragged breathing. The voice is trembling with emotion as it echoes through the office, "you're my friend and you're asking me to help you commit suicide."
"It is because you are my friend that I ask for aid. I will not see them persecuted for this by others who are as far removed from the battles as they can be. The senate still holds power even in this war and you know they will pounce upon the first opportunity they are given to ensure they regain the full extent of their power once the war is over. Those in Special Ops will be seen as a threat and they will have no qualms in removing such a threat."
Everything that I have done has been in service to the Autobot cause and I have no regrets save one. I regret that I have been forced by these circumstances to lie to my commanding officer. There is no one that I respect more and while I regret it, I find that I would do so again if given the choice.
His frame is still sore and aching from the recent trauma of his revival when they come for him. He stands from his desk as the sounds of footsteps carry through the living unit he's been assigned. Before he is given the chance to do, much more than stand, he is grabbed in a rough manner and his hands are shackled with hands pushing against his back so insistently that he stumbles. He refuses to vocalize the discomfort thrumming through his body even as he is pulled upright by a tight grip on his door wings. Dragged through the hallways of the living complex for the Autobot veterans he holds his head high even as shocked whispers and stunned optics follow his passage to the outside. As he steps out into the sunshine of the outside, he allows a smirk to curve his lips at the knowledge that he has been successful.
Back in the emptiness of his quarters, the holo-screen on his desk flashes with the announcement of a file download. A window pops onto the screen with a pre-programmed command to begin download and transmission to certain comm. links. Around the complex that he has just left, a few confused bots sit before a holo-screen to accept the incoming transmission bearing his comm. code.
If this recording is playing then the war has ended and my actions have indeed become necessary to protect you. As Autobots, we swore an oath to protect the rights and freedoms of those that could not protect themselves. As an officer, I swore to protect those under my command.