Back in the beginning, I was utterly unsure of what I was doing.
See, being an Autobot made a lot of sense, at the time. They needed every able-bodied robot available, even the scientist-types. I volunteered to help, reasoning that once this recently-declared war was out of the way, there would be plenty of opportunities for me to get back to my beloved hobby. Science, you see, was my life. A few thousand years later, it became clear to me that I was going to be waiting for a very, very long time. Getting away from Cybertron, even for a short while, was a more than welcome alternative, so I took off on the first exploration opportunity that presented itself. I found myself in orbit above a strangely appealing little blue-green planet. Stupidly, I underestimated the weather conditions (and, in all fairness, my partner actually had warned me about this) and I was dragged helplessly into the freezing inner atmosphere. Would you believe my jet rockets refused to fire? It was an irony of such magnitude that I ended up changing my name over the incident. At least, I did after being trapped there for over nine million years, give or take the odd century. With the sub-zero temperature slowly degrading my body and mind, I had no choice but to shut myself down. Hey, waiting goes more quickly when you're not awake to endure it.
In a delightful bit of serendipity, my old partner had come back to the very same planet during another mission, and this time he had some friends with him. They found me, dug me out of the ice, tampered with my cranial unit long enough to bring me back online, and offered me a place where I could feel welcome. Well, it couldn't be worse than living with the Autobots. Bunch of hypocrites. Arm me with a powerful weapon but warn me never to use it? Promise me that the only way to achieve peace is to fight against war? Give me a break. Waging war is the only way to end it, and all I was really interested was getting back to my little hobby.
Except, of course, things have a way of coming full circle. My partner had embraced precisely those ideals, and in doing so he'd completely forgotten the reason we were fighting this war to begin with... indeed, had probably forgotten who he even was. The Starscream I remembered would never have ordered me to kill an alien creature just for the fun of it. He could have at least given me the chance to dissect them or something. Ahh, but that's all in the past, now.
More recently, I was given the chance to prove myself to the Autobots, many of which had never fully trusted me due to my brief stint as a Decepticon. You'd think that getting myself blown up during a previous raid on the Quintessons would have proven my good faith, but apparently not. Truth be told, I think they were looking for an expendable volunteer. I agreed to undergo the procedure to incorporate organic tissue into my configuration, becoming a Cyberjet, which enabled me, along with a pair of fellow aerial warriors, to endure immersion in a super-hot plasma fire long enough to retrieve the energy source that promised to end the Autobot-Decepticon war once and for all. It was a lethal risk, and I'm not sure I came back entirely unscathed, but I was willing to do it to prove my sincerity. The mission was a success, but it had such disastrous repercussions that we were all dismissed from the force. The Decepticons were only too glad to have me back, half-fried circuits and all. I remained until the Decepticon army itself was no more.
The Predacon army developed every bit as much of an obsession with planet Earth as their predecessors had, and before long I found myself on that planet once again. I became part of a new Decepticon force--though, truth be told, I suspect the name was an attempt to capitalize off the fear and terror that the name had once evoked. (What else would you expect from yet another warlord calling himself Megatron?) Our leader made no attempt to hide who his favorite troops were, however--while the big guns logged plenty of combat time, troops like Wind Sheer and me were left at the base, polishing our wings. Despite this, I developed what I felt was a healthy fanaticism about the Decepticon cause; after all, they were the ones waging the war, which meant they would be the ones to win it. With victory would come power and freedom, and I could finally do all those things I'd been meaning to get back to one day.
Funny, how things work out, sometimes. The Autobots finally beat the Predacon army, but I don't think they actually knew how many troops Megatron had under his command. They locked up Megatron and most of the others, but they forgot all about a few of us, including me. Needless to say, this left us in a decidedly untenable position. Five of us, leaderless, against the whole blasted Autobot army? Surrender seemed as good a choice as any. Perhaps most surprising of all, they took us in with open arms--even me, despite my past record. Different Optimus Prime, you see. The slate may as well have been wiped completely clean, which worked out nicely since I was having trouble remembering a good chunk of my early life to begin with. So, I decided it was time to take another new name.
With no Decepticon or Predacons to worry about, light duty as an Autobot on Earth means I finally have the freedom to do pretty much whatever I want. More often than not, I spend my time soaring through the skies, keeping well clear from the polar wind storms for reasons I'm not entirely clear on. Flying, you see, is my life. I know there was something else I'd been meaning to get around to doing, but... well, it couldn't have been that important, or I would have done it a long time ago.
I'm feeling much more sure about myself these days, though, so that's got to count for something.
This Page Completed 8/21/2002
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