This is just an exercise for me to work on while my brain ponders "Conceptions of the Self". As such, updates shall be erratic at best, and poor quality at worse.
A follow up on "The frumious Bandersnatch", so it would behoove you to read that first. I have ... no freaking clue where this is going. 8D

The Manxome Foe He Sought
By: C

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

-- Lewis Carroll, "Jabberwocky"


-- Lusus Naturae --

Descendant was ... singular. The only one of his kind -- pretending to be a robot on the outside, and -- and who knew what was going on inside?

Because he was not like the other mechs (never left this planet) and he was once something else (but not any longer -- or maybe he was, it was hard to tell, sometimes), and he had not chosen to be of their ranks (but he had been chosen). So Descendant was a singular being, and everything from his optics that shone the same shade of his world's sun to his name marked him as different (though no one really needed such blatant signifiers, since everyone knew that he was the result of turning a maggot into a machine).

(Everyone knew him -- or knew of him instead and what did it matter.)

He was assigned a berth in the barracks with all of the other (useless cannon fodder) grunts, and he couldn't decide the intent or the reality (if a lamb was being thrown to the wolves or if the weasel had gotten in the chicken pen). It would be hard (hard to sleep, hard to live) to coexist in the middle of so many other living things. He'd never had to share before (not his room, not The Room). Just out of habit, he narrowed his visual field to the mid-wavelengths and took in the sight of dozens of piercing red glows peering out of the shadow-darkness-black at him.

(They were like little blinking glaring red stars in the night sky.) Fascinating.

The thought came to him again, that he wanted to have the Earth Culture again (he wanted to store it in his memories) but when came the realization that the Decepticons had an entire base ... and well, he didn't figure there was probably much of humanity left. He didn't know enough about the planet that birthed him to satisfy, but it was very possible that the aliens that had hooked him (unwillingly) into their grasps had destroyed it all. There would be no new learning ... he would never know for certain if he was remembering correctly (or if it was fractured knowledge broken and distorted by the echoes created by his hollow metal shell and silent screams and pleas for mercy that never formed anywhere but in meat under bone).

Singular. (alone lonely only unusual aberrant abhorrent freak.)

He had no use for hatred (no use hating the creators that built him or the creatures who brought him into this mess or his own meat-flesh ancestor who found it in the first place to the leader who thought to fling something sought after out into space) but he had all the time in the world for apathy.

(He hears them running-living-expressing-talking all around him and doesn't care that he himself is silent)

Does it matter that he was metal now? There was no one to blame but himself (for being outstanding enough to gain Megatron's attention).

Descendant was singular, but he always had been (a least a little). (Flesh or metal or choice or fate he was alone only abnormal irregular malformed-inside-where-no-one-could-see.)

Everyone knew it.


Lusus naturæ - n. L., fr. lusus sport + naturae, gen. of natura nature.
Sport or freak of nature; a deformed or unnatural production.