starscreamthefirst

It has been a while since I've had any dreams, although that's not abnormal for me. Last night however, or rather this morning, I have recalled something that rings of significance to me. It was short lived and has left me wondering about what words are lost to the dream...

In the dream I don't know where I was and it didn't seem familiar to me thinking about it now. It was somewhere with dim warm lighting and felt most likely underground. Not unlike the tunnels of Kaon, but without the moisture. It was dry. There were multiple hallways stretched out to different rooms or connecting to other hallways and otherwise empty of anything else.



I'm walking through these halls alone and come across Bumblebee. He's right in front of me, but keeps getting farther away every time I try to get closer. He's trying to tell me something and I can hear what he's saying but I can't make it out. I start waking up, disturbed by my partner who is in bed with me, and I tried to shirk him off and go back to the dream. Between dream and awake I can't manage to get back to Bumblebee to understand what he's trying to tell me. I wake up.

Wistful, brief moments caught within fragmented gaps in time continue to plague me. It is as if life were reflected back at me in a mirror, and once broken these trapped moments slip between the cracks. Eyes closed, black nothing turns to faded imagery, flickering in and out like a lightbulb ready to burst. Yet once these flashes cease, I'm left with nothing but the fleeting thoughts of something once there now gone. A feeling cold.

I've heard this sort of thing explained as a walk down memory lane, and honestly truer explanations couldn't be made. Each step slowly turning from concrete to rusted terraform, it's like stepping out of one crack in time and into another. Feet planted on Earth one second, and onto Cybertron in the next. Tall human cities become the last of the golden eras great structures, weathered by acid rain and cycles blasted with swarf. Though it is not always the same place or the same time I find myself lost in these memories, they are not unlike one another.

I could find myself back in the beginning, when it all was fresh and new to me. Then 'the first' was a marvel, a breakthrough. Weariness was more reserved of what would become of cold constructed mechs, swallowed by the celebration of a new process for creating life. Mutterings still went on behind closed doors about the risks, about the differences, about cold mechs being lesser. Words spoken with ice and malice, the same expressed in empty blue optics. The optics of those I'd come to hate looking at, to hate that frigid colour.

You see, I was the first mech created through the process of "cold construction". This invention a breakthrough for our dying worlds lack of new life as energy ran out from our planet and its moons. Forged mechs concerned with a lack of frames to do the work they needed however, would not treat us the same. Equality was never in question. It became increasingly aware to me as others were constructed from the same mold as I. More were made in my image. Carbon copies. No longer a unique existence, but the beginning of one that would rise alongside them all.

Branding these mechs with red optics, cold construction became a staple for creating mechs to fill positions the higher caste saw themselves too good for. I was made to be an energon seeker. Although I had gotten myself into the scientist caste it felt more like a front for the council to gloat over. To show that even cold constructs weren't all 'lower'. Just another part of the great deception. No freedom to choose, you are only but a cog in the machine. A cog that you are destined to be until you are no longer of use.

I made myself useful. Eventually this would lead me to becoming representative of Vos. Though.. it wasn't a city most if anyone would want. This was especially so whilst the conflict between my jurisdiction and Iacon were on the rise. Vos was location to some of the largest cold construction plants, and otherwise known well for its War Academy. Iacon in contrast was a place of intellectual academics, host to the Hall of Records and Nova Point. You can imagine the strain between ideals just knowing that. Still, Iacon always received the better end of the stick. Better was never enough.

That conflict eventually would result in civil disarray. An example would be made of Vos in direct aim towards the growing prejudice of cold constructed mechs. A raid in the lower sectors by the judicial forces of Praxis, much like previous raids that occurred in other cities. It wasn't out of the ordinary. In fact it wasn't just against us cold constructs, there were plenty of forged mechs in the lower less desirable caste that would also fall victim.

I recall meeting a mech in the bowels of Nyon who had experienced much of the same. I'll call him "Torque" for now, though this isn't his real name. He was forged, but due to his frame was not deemed useful enough for higher status. We both lost parts of our home, friends and acquaintances, and had dealt with discrimination first hand. He had scraped by as a delivery mech, which would become an asset to me in our relationship. I had made a business arrangement with him in my personal dealings. It would have been at the beginning of my underground arms exchange. Torque would run the parcels for me no questions asked.

Sometime after the rise of the Decepticons we would end up going our separate ways, though this wouldn't go without me trying to convince him to join. To no avail, I would end up seeing him brandished with an Autobot insignia later on. The hypocrisy seethed into me like a torch. He would be the last "friend" I gave any amount of trust to after that. I realized how much I truly could only rely on myself, that I was the only one I could trust in the end. I shouldn't have been surprised. He was 'forged' after all.

Torque would be part of a sea of blue optic lit mechs, my enemies, whilst at my back a sea of red. The segregation couldn't have been made more obvious. It was done purposefully of course. Forged mechs wouldn't have wanted us to be undistinguishable, created that way to mark us out easily. In solidarity, there were forged mechs who joined our cause that would have their optics artificially hued to red. A painful process. Most times this involved removing the original optics completely. Loyal but extreme Decepticonism became something we were known for. Our cause was a movement for change, one that fought for equality, and nothing showed that better in an individual than reformatting yourself.

As a cold constructed mech, reformation was an easier process. I went through enough frame changes to know that. The process wasn't done for the purpose of change, just one that I preferred. It was part of mandatory maintenance on a frame that was not forged by pure sentio metalico, but rather scraps derived from it. I had no quarrels for lack of a "true form" or some other nonsense. If my frame wasn't routinely updated it would quite literally fall apart. It was important to do this to maintain utmost protection surrounding the materials that were otherwise irreplaceable. The spark chamber and the cerebrum module. These were the most valuable components and delicate to survival. Without them, you were nothing but a crude construction of non-autonomous parts.

You were constantly reminded of there being a difference between you and them. Far before inklings of a civil war was in the works, it was a daily topic. The streets of Cybertron, no matter what city, were filled with these reminders. Restrictions, barriers, cold stares, uneasy em fields, the constant threat of violence.. etc. You had to be sure of knowing your place and not to overstep what was allowed. Something so much as speaking out could land you in a cell at best, a causality if you're lucky still, or subject to the institute if you really tread against the wrong crowd. I would manage to slip past the attention of big brother. Going unnoticed or being able to talk myself out of predicaments is a trait of mine I still hold very significant to my survival.

Having to rely on wit and ingenuity was something you needed to make it, lest you were destined to disappear and be forgotten. I intended to be sure I didn't.



End log 7
-Starscream the First

  

It's a thought that tugs at my mind. A secret perhaps we are not meant to know, one simply not remembered, or something that our collection of thoughts refuses to let surface. Every now and then that question comes to mind, about more than just life, but about death. By this I mean more than just knowing how I died, but what happened after. Theres some things I wish I knew about that and to what effect the life I lived had. Though maybe thats just selfishness on my part, but who am I to be perfect in that regard?

There was a dream I once had about dying. I can't forget it, however I did not ultimately meet my demise then. If I'm not mistaken in my hazy recall it had something to do with Unicron. If not then it was some other large opposing threat. Not a combiner or a titan.. and not an autobot or decepticon. That I am quite sure of. Regardless of what it was, there was a moment where I had 'died'. Yet it wasn't true death. More so what I could compare to some stories of humans having what you could call a life or death experience. That seems most accurate to what happened at that time.

In my collection of it, I was grasped in the servo of the towering foe, clinging on just barely. Yet as ever as I was stubborn and willing to grind my denta plates, I hung onto what strength I had left. Giving up just is and was never something in my nature. A trait of mine that went both ways to others seeing as a good or bad thing, but one I pride myself on. Even in this situation I stubbornly clung to life, but even stubbornness couldn't stop the pressure on my spark. And in a brief flicker it did give in.

That moment filled with a sharp striking pain. One from within myself, and another from a forlorn spark mine was bonded to. It was like no other feeling I had before, immense pain followed by emptiness. I felt hollow and lifeless before things suddenly jumped to third perspective. I looked down at myself, still clutched and crushed in my opponents servo, colors fading to gray. My attention in another snap dragged to a cry of anguish from not too far off. I'm not sure even now if I was just imagining it within that dream, or if it had truly come from the mech grasped within the foe's other servo.

My memory of it only starts to get fuzzier after this point. There is a totally blank moment missing between where I was at point A to the instantaneous jump to point B. I was suddenly returned to my body, the sensations coming back with color; almost identical to the feeling when bloodflow returns to your limb after going numb. My spark whirred to life with vigor. Intakes sputtered to life as they recovered from the brief stall. This was soon followed by another crying out, this time instead one of relief from the adjacent em field. It flooded my own without holding back, just barely with a smidgeon of anger. How typical.

Within my memories and dreams I haven't had anything like that since. This had been the only time I have had a dream to do with my death as such, the closest I have come to experiencing something like it. I doubt I'll have any knowing to come about how I truly did die to pass on here, ands that's quite alright. I am content with that aspect.


What I strive to know with sleepless nights is what happened after I died. I can't help but wonder what I left behind, the generations after my time, whether cybertronian civilization went on, or how my sparks lives went beyond my own. That is something I wish I knew above all else. I suppose its another one of those things not meant for me to know, or for anyone whose passed on. Perhaps the knowledge would be too much for the vessel to handle. If anyone did know, then I wouldn't be asking myself though, would I?

I could continue to prattle my thoughts on this, but some things are better left unsaid. There are certain things however long ago in another lifetime that are private to myself. After all, I never was the open book type. As much as I like to talk about little old me, there are a few personal tidings kept from others for the most part. Yes, even with a mouth as big as mine, I do keep quiet on certain topics.

Those thoughts aside, there is the ever asking question on why I was reborn in the first place. Was I owed a second chance at life, or am I punished based on how mine was lived before? It could go either way, or heck, maybe it's both. I can say this however with absolute certainty, and that is that the allspark is a bunch of hooey. Am I wrong? I hardly think so, knowing that mine and other cybertronian sparks ended up here. Not that I ever believed in such nonsense. I never saw a point in thinking of such things, but maybe being occupied with real life does that to you. Of course its not something your typical Primus worshipping autobot would know anything about. It must have been nice to have free time before the war.

Here now as human I have the free time to think about things like death. I have the free time to think back on the lives I once lived. At the cost of remembering though, comes with knowing what I once was and can no longer be. Trapped in knowing in another time I did die. Somewhere that moment lives and connects to my consciousness whether I remember it or not. That state of death is one I can never escape knowing.



End Log 6.
-Starscream

In response to a prompt: "In thought, memory, or feeling, what is or was your favourite place on Cybertron?"
 

What is my favourite place on Cybertron.. That’s a tough question to answer for myself, but honestly the answer really is smack in front of me. There is a place I often think of as my “retreat” or “getaway” within my headspace. I guess that I hadn’t really considered it such until now that I think about it.

It’s a high tower of strong Iaconian architecture. The gold rails rolling down in the unmistakable style of the era predating Cybertron’s civil war. I can only guess the tower would have also existed in Iacon’s upper city, but my memory of the place is fuzzy outside of its immediate perimeter. I can only imagine the significance of this place either coming from my early years spent in the illustrious city filled to the brim with Cybertron’s elite.. or of a time much later after those who forbid me the privilege of it were gone and dealt with.

Of course there was also Maccadam’s Old Oil House. I spent quite a bit of my free time there as well; another place to get away from it all and forget myself for how long I could. I had friends then. Or maybe just the one. A short red fella named Grid. We shared some good times there, and some bad ones. Mostly mediocre from what little shaninx we had to spend. This was after I had been moved to Vos, when I started to crave the sweet empty feeling high grade had to offer.

It’s difficult to settle my thoughts on one singular “favourite place” now. I really don’t have “one”, but a handful of meaningful locations that have stuck with me. Like the tunnels of Kaon, now those hold a special little crevice in my spark. They were secret of course, a labyrinth of haphazard structures built beneath the slum city-state. It made it so easy to get places unnoticed, to move and operate in the dark. It’s where I met Megatron and found the Decepticon cause.

I’ll stop myself there before I get too wisped away in thought. These places are my “top 3” favorites of Cybertron, and hold significantly to my life as cybertronian. If I could ever go back to them, I would in a spark rotation.

A painting my partner made for me.. it really invokes the idea of how large and displaced we felt in a world not our own.

I miss the



Wind ripping through my audio

Sky tearing past my plating

Air whirling within my intake



I miss the



Speeds at which I rose

Heights at which I climb

Barriers at which I broke



I miss what once was mine

This is something of a persistent memory I experienced in a dream.. oh 2 years ago at this point in time? I had meant to journal about it sooner, and I had attempted to. The original writing I began had been lost from a browser crash unfortunately. Pity. After that I let it go, focused on life, etc. I hate to reword something after already going through the task. And normally I wouldn't bring back up such a distant occurrence, I like to write things fresh. However, I think something new isn't bad to try, as like I said, its persistence has me doing so now.

It begins hazy, a planet with windswept deserts outstretching for miles on end. You can't see the horizon line as the sands are picked up and tossed about. There's structures, whats left of them ,scattered throughout this place. One of them stands out, under the slant of the sands sifting it further away beneath the surface. Time has truly claimed this place. That is obvious from what is seen, but also, that you know something else happened here to make it this way. The signs of life, civilization, remnants of an ancient culture that arrived at sudden decimation. This didn't happen overnight.

I walked through this place. Yes, walking by pede. There was a reason for it that's lost on me, but there we were, walking through this gritty, sand plagued place. I can feel the pull of it now, viciously tugging and dragging at my pedes through the horrendously shifty grounds. I hated it. Soundwave had been with me then as well. He seemed to be either faring better than myself, which I will not admit if he was, or he was just good at hiding it. I'm going to go with the latter.

I'm not sure how long it took us, how many mega-cycles we continued onward to what destination we were looking for. I know it wasn't a skip in the park, that's for certain. There was a secrecy about it. Our ship left in orbit, a reason we couldn't land. What was it? My thoughts are on the premises that being discreet was necessary, but also when I think of the structures sinking away in the dunes, I'm reminded another potential reason. I suppose its unwise to land a large vessel here, too much a risk that it wont be able to lift off again. Then again, I'm still left with the perplexing question.. why this planet? Of everywhere else we could have been meeting, why was it here? I'll continue to sit on that.

We had eventually arrived to what we were looking for, a large structure half sliding beneath the slope. It was reminiscent of a church-like or old place of worship and ascension. What rubbish. Inside the walls were hollowed out, the building broken apart like a massive wind tunnel. The sands had whittled away at the walls leaving it this way. I remember the sound of it, humming eerily throughout as we stepped within. The noise reverberated within my helm uncomfortably. That or it was the preemptive feeling of who exactly we were here to meet with.

It wasn't fear. That was not a word I'd use to describe anything, especially him. There was nothing about such an insignificant figure throughout the entirety of the decepticon threshold that would propose a sense of fear. I've heard the stories, I know all the rumors, but nothing of that sounded evidently grand to me. It sounded psychotic. Here we were though, wasting precious time, coming all the way out to this forsaken planet to meet him. Tarn.

He was there waiting for us. Oddly alone. It wasn't normal for him to be anywhere without the rest of the dececpticon justice division. I don't know if that made things better or more unsettling. It didn't matter. Arriving at the same time as Soundwave and I, Megatron and Skywarp stalked in from the polar entrance we had come from. Megatron didn't even send a glance my way, immediately addressing Tarn. Soundwave, Skywarp, and I remained silent throughout as much as I recall. This was to be a quick and easy exchange and then we were off again.

What was exchanged was unclear to me. Whether I simply don't remember, or I was merely uninformed of by our Lord I'm not certain of. The last thing was our separation afterwords as we returned through the sand again and back to our respective ships. That was it. I feel like it was important though, like something that happened that day I should remember.. Something changed in that moment. It was so long ago, before Earth, before.. well a lot of things.

That memory sticks with me, itching like those sands in the back of my mind. One day maybe more will come of it, but for now, that's all I'm left with. I'll continue to think about it, I can't stop. Only time will tell what becomes of it.



End log 4.
-Starscream

Its kind of funny, but also kind of.. well, not sad, but something else. I would generally put this down as a feeling of nostalgia, though that doesn't seem to quite cover the feeling I'm experiencing. Its an emptiness, a lack of something, a feeling that I should be doing something else even.

No, I'm not depressed, thats entirely different than this, this experience I don't quite have a word for regarding the... whatever it is that washes over me when memories surface from my life as Starscream. I suppose its a feeling not unlike the Portuguese word, "saudade". Yes.. perhaps that is the closest I will come to explaining it.

A feeling of longing for the absence of something one loves is what it means. Though love is not the sum of it I would particularly describe it as. Maybe I still lack an understanding of my own feelings as I always have. That's nothing new. Feelings and emotions have always been so foreign to me, even though I experience them daily. Or at least I believe myself to.

Regardless, I'm having one those days again. Its in the air, the atmosphere, that de ja vu feeling of times gone past. Not times from now, not times this human vessel has went through here, but ones that are inherently ones I find to be all from my time as Starscream. Yet the emotions are so human.. or at least that is all I can make of them in my current state.

Cybertronian emotions are not greatly different than that of a humans though I suppose, but again, I am not one who really understands anything of the sort. I feel now and I felt then, but paying attention to the subtleties of how I feel or felt, thats a whole other playing field to me. I'm not a psychologist. I take things very literally, and don't have as much of an abstract perception on the mind and thought.

It's time like this that I wish I knew what I felt most of the time, which makes me feel more like a machine ironically. Despite being a 'robot' cybertronians are not machines after all, which makes it so. We were people who felt, who loved, and who hated. Theres little distinction I can make from between us and humans when it comes to that psychology of our beings. I find it disturbing.

Our minds are not much different, no matter how much I regret to admit to this fact. The cognitive advance of Cybertronians is only due to our long lifespans and adept ability at recording information. Humans are only a couple of strides behind us, yet they are on the same track of destruction that we were.. but I'll stop myself there before I veer completely off topic.. This is about emotions, the human vs machine, if thats how you want to look at it. Though perhaps I am simply rambling on an unnecessary tangent. How human of me.

It makes me feel a bit better though, more grounded to who I am now. So then maybe this was necessary for my mental well being at the least. Even if I find myself processing things like a computer, its still something, I'm not an unfeeling slag of metal. I mean that with no offence of course, if there are those that function in that way. I'm only trying to make sense of myself here. Sometimes doing so at the expense of others comes without thought, which has been my unfortunate nature to deal with. A nature I try to keep under wraps.



"Saudade is deep yearning, a word which emphasizes the positive celebration more than the sadness we normally associate with what has gone."


I found this definition recently, and it seems to fit what I lack putting into words for myself, though has made it all the more easier for myself to do so. The yearning it describes for what is gone, the yearning that doesn't focus on an upset feeling of loss, but one of simple wanting. I miss what once was, but I don't feel sad over it, that's it essentially, and I'm content to know it that way. I think many of us here can associate with that; I know that I do. I guess the simple version would be to just refer to it as a homesickness, though I think saudade covers the feeling better than that, at least in my case.

I feel a saudade for the life I used to have, not in a way that I glorify it, but in one that I miss who I was and feel often that I should still be there. I guess this all started after waking up this morning and realizing that I wasn't Starscream; that I was fleshy, small, and delicate. Like the feeling when you wake from a dream and it still lingers, tugging at your heals and trying to pull you back in. That feeling.

Coping with that throughout the day, doing my best to keep it off my mind, that is what I find difficult. Things here seem so unimportant during these episodes. I know thats not the case though, and I wish my mind would keep up with that. Studying, working, drawing.. it gets so hazy and I'm distracted by it. Distracted until it passes, either by my persistent force of will or on its own.

This saudade grips me relentlessly every now and then. I've found that when it comes to it, there's not much I can do but let it run its course as I keep fighting to push it away. I won't let it disrupt my life anymore than it does, that I am sure of. I've always had my will on my side through everything, and thats what keeps me on my path. That I know will always burn strong for myself, its how I survive.


End Log 3.
-Starscream

There’s always been something familiarly unsettling about this planet we here as humans call home, something that eerily calls back to my past in a hauntingly unmistakable manner. The air, the landscape, the organic-ness of it all, is the only one tantamount to everything I never wanted anything to do with. The actuality of it all being connected more so to times wasted, and lost moments erased to nothing.

From my first time to this planet, to the plagued out existence I faced millions of years after, nothing as much as a good memory honestly comes to mind from those times. It only brings back the thought of my first exploration to it, one I wish had been my last and only visit to the planet. Yet fate had handed me back to it on a silver platter on multiple occasions since.

In my days as of now, its hard not be brought back to memories of my past here. From a mere change in the weather to the overall atmosphere of a location, it is in these simplicities often overlooked I’m caught remembering what I’ve felt before. Time and time again this occurs; an overwhelming nostalgia that anyone else would not be able to get a grasp to understand. The complexity of it is not always easy for myself to explain even.

It all derives from that time, the year 1984 in Earth terms, when I was secondly omitted to being present here. How ever fate had planned it, be that the cause, I ended up here along with the foremost of decepticon forces at that time. It had been while in pursuit of the autobot ship, the Ark, our convoy through space tailing them to this planet where we crashed. Our war had been going on for quite some time at this point, approximately 4 million years of what I would call a glorified deadlock.

This was just another planet like the rest, it would be all the same in perspective to the entirety of just how looped the war had come to pass as; if it were not Earth anyways. Out of all the planets, this one, for whatever reason, never stuck well on me. It may just be because of how often I’ve managed to get dragged here, or how long we were all trapped there from then. Regardless, the feeling is still all the same.

The crash left us immobilized for a great deal of time, leaving us to spend a few millennium in stasis lock. I would not be surprised if this also atones for the disquieting vibe I get from this planet, however, I know the majority of it comes from after we were put back online. Its those times, that almost make me wish we didn’t come back online after that.

We did though, and we survived; no one else but I having a recollection on which planet we had gotten ourselves stranded on. Although I would not speak up on this, keeping my own little secret to myself as not to beckon more questioning from our leader, or shall I say my conjunx. Not many knew, or they pretended not to, but there was more behind why exactly I was chosen as second in command. And that is all I will say for now on that matter.

After I and the seekers had laid out on reconnaissance, it had not taken us long to establish a base of operation, however mediocre it seemed. I noticed during this that life had progressed since my last visit, observing that these flesh creatures had begun developing civilization, humans I mean. They wouldn’t be much a problem though, seeing as they were in a state of practical infancy with their technology. Of course, we weren’t counting on the autobots to form a pact with them.

So much time was spent here on this planet, so much going back and forth between battles won and battles lost. Its tiring to even think about, that I can almost feel the aches springing back up into my struts. I’ll find myself often experience these memories here like this, as if traversing through a time capsule. Maybe its because I wish things ended differently from that point, maybe its because I know they could have.

I recall one battle in particular, a sure victory had we not been betrayed by one of our own. It was not only that though, but a personal betrayal from one of my own wingmates to add insult to injury. Alas, no one was more upset about it than Skywarp, and he was not short upon showing it. I never did see Thundercracker again after that, and I’m glad I didn’t. Loosing a wingmate would normally be seen as more tragic, but given the circumstance it wasn’t a great loss. Had I been the one to confront him, I would have been more precise with offlining him in the reality of it.

What I can’t fathom is why he did it, how he could so easily choose human lives over our cause, over our people. We had them. The humans were going to nuke their own city, the autobots with it along with their own citizens.. yet Thundercracker stood in to stop it. He chose the humans; the humans who were satisfied to destroy their own city with its people in order to win. How despicably ironic it was, just as what Iacon had allowed done to Vos. He should have known better; he should have seen the similarity. This continues to frustrate me to this day each time I’m reminded, because not only what he did, but because I know right then and there we would have won had he not defected.

Its memories like these that give me that feeling, that haunt me with these poignant vibes of this accursed planet. There’s so many more memories like this one, so many other times we were left utterly disappointed. What’s worse is knowing that I don’t believe I’ve even accounted for all of them, the fact being there could be hundreds more dormant memories that I have not yet accessed. Nevertheless, I attain my poise all the while, keeping in mind that it’s all over and done with.


End Log 1.
-Starscream

This will be my first entry here, so I'll say hello. I'm not sure what you are doing here, but welcome to my humble dreamwidth page.


A cube 'o energon for your trouble? Right.. we're all out. *Ahem* While I can not offer much for your stay, I hope that at the least you enjoy my writings, as that's all there will be here.


My entries here will be more or less an account of data logs based on memories and the like that I wish to record. If you too, are cybertronian, feel free to subscribe to my page, and I'll most likely subscribe back.