Chapter Text
Shockwave flittered in and out of consciousness, though he doubted his captors knew or cared. When he gave himself up, he knew he wouldn’t be handled as a Senator. Perhaps he wouldn’t be treated as a Senator for the remainder of his life—however short of a time that may be.
As he came online, he strained his audials to hear through the ringing. He knew he was conscious before, but what did he hear then?
Institute.
His captors spoke of the Institute. The name instilled fear of experimentation and torture. Orion Pax spoke of the Institute to him, he was sure—but what did he say? The ringing wouldn’t stop. It would be painful, if he was aware enough to process pain.
Whispers poked through the ringing.
Relinquishment Clinic—that’s right. Orion Pax found the Institute underneath a Relinquishment Clinic, which meant that Orion Pax knew where the Institute was located. Shockwave wouldn’t allow himself to count on being rescued, but the hope did offer a bit of comfort. The ringing died down and some of the whispers made it through.
Shadowplay.
Shockwave’s spark quivered at the word. Shadowplay. State-sponsored brainwashing. Implanting memories, taking old ones out, and twisting the ones that were left until the mech was a shadow of their former self. Molded to be whatever their captors wished them to be, completely unaware that anything was wrong.
The guards carrying him stopped, a door hissed open, and Shockwave was dropped carelessly onto a hard surface. Before he could even attempt to move, his limbs were shackled at every joint. With nothing else left that he could do, Shockwave powered on his optics. A bright light shined directly into them, forcing Shockwave to cycle them multiple times. Even so, he was barely able to make out three figures standing beside his berth.
“The patient is still awake,” one of the figures said.
“Good,” said another. “I was worried the guards took too much liberty in damaging him. Shadowplay is useless without the spark intact. Otherwise we’d just be making a drone.”
Shockwave gasped in shock as someone breached the plug on the back of his neck. He was immediately hit with a wave of apathy, calling to him, willing him to give up and give in. Shockwave grunted and gritted his dentae—he had to keep his wits about him. He had to fight the anesthesia until Orion Pax came for him.
It was only a matter of time, now.
Orion Pax, he told himself. Wait for Orion. He’s coming for me. He knows where I am. He knows where the Institue is and he’s coming for me.
One of the figures laughed. “This one’s a talker. Are we still going to use the Filter?”
“Yes. It’s prepped and ready for insertion.”
Shockwave screamed as his chest plating was ripped open. The anesthesia called to him, lulling him to give in.
Don’t you want the pain to stop? It seemed to say. Let me help.
“He’s coming,” Shockwave yelled, going against all his base protocols and holding on to the pain. The pain was real. It was tangible and it meant being awake. Awake so Orion could find him. “He’s coming to the Institute, he’s coming—“
One of the figures shoved a plug into another socket somewhere on his body and he felt anesthesia wash over him once more. It wasn’t the apathy of before—no, instead it felt like the promise of Orion’s warm presence at their safehouse after a long, long time apart. Shockwave told himself he couldn’t give in, but the anesthesia kept flowing and his will just wasn’t strong enough to fight it anymore.
“He’s—coming,” Shockwave mumbled, struggling to keep his optics from going offline.
The last thing he heard was one of the figures chuckling and saying, “He thinks there’s only one Institute.”
…
Shockwave wasn’t gone.
When he succumbed to the anesthesia, he thought it would be like a dreamless recharge.
Instead, he felt as though his spark was wandering in an empty space. He wondered if this was what death was. No Pit, no Allspark—just a black void and his own consciousness for company. If this was death, he was disappointed. An eternal afterlife in nothingness would be incredibly boring if nobody else was around. Sure, he could keep himself entertained for a little while, but not forever. Maybe this was his own personal Pit.
Shockwave heard—no, heard isn’t the right word, he didn’t think this form had audials. Whatever this form was. He sensed…something happening far away. Something that felt like…light? He willed himself to move toward it, or maybe willed it to come closer, and it gained momentum and he realized too late that he couldn’t stop the something from consuming him.
…
Shockwave was awake, but everything was wrong.
He didn’t mean to online his optics, but they opened anyway—or at least, one did. He saw bright white everywhere, so he reasoned he must be in a medical facility of some kind. The berth underneath his body felt wrong, as though there was a thick layer of mesh preventing his sensors from fully comprehending it.
Someone was talking. It sounded as though they were speaking to him over an intercom, but when his head moved—his head moved and he didn’t move it—he saw a mech sitting next to his berth.
“Who are you?” The mech asked.
“Alpha Trion,” Shockwave said sarcastically. Or, he tried to, anyway.
His lips, dentae, and glossa didn’t move, but his vocalizer worked on its own.
“I am Senator Shockwave,” his body said.
The mech nodded and wrote something down on a datapad. “How did you arrive at the Institute?”
“Battered, bruised, and barely conscious,” Shockwave tried, to no avail.
Shockwave’s body took over. “I surrendered myself to the care of brutes who ensured I knew their ire.”
The mech once again wrote on his datapad. “Now,” he said, “Who is Orion Pax?”
“Who wants to know?” Shockwave tried to ask.
“Why is he of any concern?” His body said instead.
Jolts of pain spread throughout Shockwave’s body, causing both him and his body to cry out in tandem.
“I am the one answering questions,” the mech said, taking on a stern tone. “Now, who is Orion Pax?”
“Bite me,” Shockwave’s consciousness spat.
“A cop,” his traitorous body said.
“Why did you answer just now?”
“I tried not to,” Shockwave protested.
“It would be illogical not to,” his body said.
“One final question,” The mech in front of him said, leaning over his body and completely doing away with the datapad. “What is your relationship to Orion Pax?”
Shockwave couldn’t take it anymore. He was sick and tired of his body answering for him. He hoped if he was honest, he could actually speak. “He’s my friend, my sparkmate, the one mech I can trust other than myself.”
Despite his honesty, Shockwave’s body still changed his words.
“I cared for him once. However, it would be illogical to continue associating myself with him.”
The mech smiled and opened an outside comm channel. “The Filter Treatment was a success. The Senator is ready for the next step.”
…
Shockwave learned a few things about his situation over the next few weeks.
Firstly, it wasn’t just Shadowplay that he was subjected to, but also Empurata. Only one of his optics was functional after the procedure because he only had one optic.
Shockwave had heard vague whispers of “Filter Treatment” during his time at the Institute. Though those around him were keeping hush-hush about it, some information still slipped through. Shockwave gathered that it was an experimental form of Shadowplay—and the reason his body moved and spoke on its own. The real Shockwave, the real him—his spark, or his consciousness, or whatever he felt like calling it at the time—was being used as a basis for the body—the Filter’s—processor.
The Filter wasn’t a drone. It was still Shockwave, but a version of Shockwave without emotion, without empathy. It was Shockwave’s memories, intelligence, and processing power without being constrained by morality.
Anything Shockwave tried to say, the Filter would—well—filter through and change anything that was “illogical.” It didn’t just say the opposite of what Shockwave tried to say, though. He tried using reverse psychology on the Filter, but because the Filter was him, it understood Shockwave’s intentions. It didn’t always go against his intentions, but it often corrupted them.
Despite the futility of fighting the Filter, it took immense amounts of energy just to make an attempt. Each time Shockwave tried to speak against the Filter, he felt himself melt into the background, as though he was drifting off to recharge while his body remained awake. When he regained enough of his spark, Shockwave would try to speak up again, and he would lose himself, and the cycle would continue.
Eventually, after careful surveillance, lots of note-taking, and even more threats about what would happen should he reveal them, the Institute let Shockwave leave.
The Filter arranged for transport to his apartment. Shockwave wanted to go off-course, to call Orion, to just see his face—but the Filter didn’t find that sequence of events to be logical at all. Instead, it locked the doors, consumed energon, and spent the night digging through Shockwave’s old plans and modifying them. Most of end goals remained the same, of course, as the Filter was still him, but the path to get there would be paved in spilled energon.
The next Senate meeting, the New Shockwave made his debut.
The Filter felt nothing about lying to the Senate. He voted based on the eventual end result, no matter what costs it would take to get there. Every action he took would only benefit himself in the end. And, of course, this meant he was no longer out of place in the Senate.
The Filter agreed to meet with a rising terrorist. He bargained with Megatron and secured a laboratory for his projects.
Then the day came that Shockwave was truly unprepared for.
…
“Senator!”
The Filter hardly reacted but Shockwave’s consciousness was shocked back into being. A red-and-blue truck alt-mode drove up beside him and transformed.
For once, Shockwave and the Filter spoke in sync.
“Orion Pax.”
“I waited for you,” Orion told him, venting heavily. “At the Ark-1 Monument. Day after day. When you didn’t show up, I—“
Shockwave wanted to reach out, to tell Orion that he wanted to show up, he wanted so very much to see him, to tell him how he felt. But Shockwave was powerless to do anything.
“I was worried,” Orion continued. “You haven’t tried to—to talk to me. Dai Atlas—he can barely stand a cop like me, but he sought me out—“
“You should give up on me, Orion Pax,” the Filter interrupted. “I am not he who befriended you.” It wouldn’t be logical to give Orion false hope, after all. To have someone chasing after a version of him that might as well not be real anymore. Someone who would get in the way of his plans. Shockwave, despite how much it stung to see the hurt in Orion’s optics and know that he had been the one to cause it, knew that it was a kindness. It may have been the logical decision, but it also happened to be the kind one.
Of course, Orion Pax wouldn’t be the mech Shockwave loved if he took that at face value.
“I know that’s not true, Senator,” Orion told him, his optics glaring as though he was trying to stare through Shockwave’s singular optic to find the real him. “You said there was a war coming—that we had to choose sides.” Orion made a short vent and balled his fists. “Well, our side needs you. The real you—the one that I can feel is still in there!”
Shockwave’s consciousness nearly dissipated from sheer delight at Orion’s words and that terrified him. He couldn’t lose focus. He summoned all the strength that he had been saving for the past few months to call out to Orion.
“I am here,” Shockwave said. “I’m here, Orion please, I love you.”
When Shockwave’s vocalizer didn’t speak his words, he prepared himself to hear his own voice say the opposite, that he hated Orion. He wasn’t prepared for the Filter to say something so much worse.
“I feel nothing, Orion Pax,” The Filter said instead. “Give Dai Atlas my regrets, but my time is occupied elsewhere.”
“No, NO!” Shockwave tried to shout, but the Filter only turned and began to walk away. Shockwave felt his consciousness start to drift once more, weak from the exertion, but he heard Orion’s voice and willed himself to stay, just to hear him one last time.
“This isn’t you, Shockwave! I know the real you—you can overcome what they did!”
“Orion—“ Shockwave could hardly muster a whisper even just to himself.
“I believe in you.”
Shockwave slipped into the background processing of the Filter.
…
Shockwave and the Filter had been one for eons.
It was pointless to resist; after the first decade, Shockwave had stopped any attempts at preventing the Filter’s complete and total use of his body and processor. Once every millennia or so his consciousness would rise in response to something from his old life, but it would float back into nothingness soon after.
The war waged on. Shockwave’s experiments failed. He learned from them. They failed again. Then, success. He seeded planets. He assisted Megatron. He built weapons. He provided battle plans. He interrogated spies. He served his patron.
Then the war ended.
He did not run. He retreated. His plans did not necessitate the war’s continuance. He resumed them.
He bid his time.
The seeds grew.
He was patient.
He watched.
He waited.
…
The time was right.
…
Optimus Prime stood in front of Shockwave, threatening to pull the plug on all of his plans.
Shockwave didn’t look up from his calculations. Optimus Prime was sentimental and predictable. He would not attack immediately; instead, he would monologue. Try to reason with him. Make a futile attempt to instill guilt. Request a surrender. It was this mech’s standard procedure. Shockwave listened passively as he ran calculations.
“What happened to the Senator I once knew?” Optimus Prime asked.
Shockwave’s calculations halted for a nanosecond in surprise. A deviation from the Prime’s norm. He partitioned a slightly larger portion of his processor to pay attention.
“His last words to me were to remember him as he was.” Shockwave heard the sound of Optimus Prime’s energon axe activating. “That mech would have been disgusted with what you turned into.”
“He is.”
Silence followed his words.
It was a decidedly illogical pair of words. Shockwave ran diagnostics to try to find the reason for his erroneous statement.
It had been true, once. Before Shockwave and the Filter had become one, the tiny spark of the Idealistic Senator had done everything in his minuscule power to rebel, to voice his complaints. This was before that spark had fizzled out. Even so, it would not be logical for Shockwave to disclose this information to the Prime.
So why had Shockwave used present tense?
ILLOGICAL PROCESS DETECTED
RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS
SCANNING…
SCANNING…
ERROR FOUND: ANOMALY DETECTED
FILTER NOT FULLY ASSIM-
Shockwave’s proximity scanners shocked himself out of the program just in time to react to Optimus Prime’s axe swinging at his head. Instincts kicked in and he launched backward, but the axe’s swing still slashed his torso. The wound wouldn’t be fatal, though it was surprising.
Shockwave hadn’t been surprised in eons.
Shockwave moved quickly—time was of the essence. In his main control room, he had ample access to means of egress as well as weapons systems. And weapons. He rushed toward a console that hid the detonator for a restraining bomb and as he reached it, Optimus Prime’s thrown axe had destroyed it beyond quick repair. Frustration bubbled up in Shockwave’s processor as the energon dissipated.
“You said ‘is.’ Why did you say ‘is?’” Optimus Prime demanded.
Shockwave raised his gun arm and shot at the Prime. It did not strike true, but it did not need to—it was only meant as a distraction for Shockwave to move to another console. “Illogical statement. Error found and purged.” The Prime would have no way of knowing it was a lie.
It was a lie.
It was a lie .
Shockwave and the Filter had become separate once again.
The Filter searched and found the reason. It seemed assimilation had not properly occurred; Shockwave had only been biding his time, spending eons gathering his strength to rebel in a way that was more than just voicing discontent.
The Filter was distracted by this process.
A shot rang off the back of Shockwave’s shoulder plating.
Shockwave stumbled.
Optimus Prime was close.
Shockwave turned in time to raise his limbs and block the axe from connecting with his head.
Shockwave’s arm weapon was separated from his body. He let out a wail of agony—an illogical action in itself. Expressing pain did nothing to deter-
Shockwave had stolen control from the Filter.
The Filter demanded they run, but Shockwave had just enough control that the order given to the body wasn’t immediate.
In the hesitation, Shockwave’s remaining arm was lost.
The Filter wrangled control of the body back and it scrambled backward. Egress was still possible—just unlikely. Escape meant survival. Escape was priority number one.
Optimus Prime swung his axe once more and Shockwave was missing his legs. The Prime stood above Shockwave and this time, the blow to the chest would surely be fatal.
Shockwave’s body was already beginning to shut down.
No access to weapons.
No access to egress.
No access to—
“I’m sorry, old friend.”
Optimus Prime readied his axe for the final blow.
The Filter was malfunctioning.
The true Shockwave was in complete control of what remained of his body.
“Or-rRRRrr-rryyYyIIIiinnnnNN-thhhhHHHh nnkkKkkkk yYYu-uUuu-UUu”
In his final moments, Shockwave saw recognition in Optimus Prime’s optics, but the Prime was too late to stop the momentum. Shockwave shut his optic off and felt a sharp pain in his spark casing before—