How you act depends on who's watching.

Oh, I suppose that I could actually act like that. I could laugh along with Rattrap’s bawdy jokes and stop saluting Optimus if it would help, but would it benefit me at all? No. In fact, if I acted any differently I would fade into the shadows cast by them. They don’t even realize that those shadows are there, but I do. I realized it when I met Megatron for the first time. I was in the presence of a Character, and compared to him I was just a background figure. In history, when this war is finished one way or another, that’s exactly how I would be portrayed…if I ‘loosened up.’

I wonder if the others see it, or if they care. Even today, nobody talks much about the people who fade into the background. Airazor and Tigatron are hardly spoken of anymore; they were barely paid more attention when they were still alive. They faded into the background, behind Optimus Primal’s leadership and Megatron’s plots. Rhinox? He might be mentioned in history with perhaps a reference to a computer genius. Nothing more, really. Scorpinok, the dead second-in-command of the Predacons, is a vague scientist figure. I think he was loyal to Megatron, but I don’t really know. If he’s this unheard of now, what will it be like when we return to Cybertron?

History doesn’t remember the typical soldier. It remembers the bumbling Waspinator, scheming Tarantulas, childish Cheetor. It remembers the insane Rampage, obsessed Depth Charge, and Inferno, with his faulty programming. It doesn’t remember Rhinox, Airazor, Tigatron, or Scorpinok. It remembers Quickstrike’s strange speech patterns and Dinobot the Martyr. Will history remember the Transmetal 2 version of Dinobot? Perhaps his identity as a clone will make him more than a drone in the eyes of the future.

My point is that only those who stand out will be remembered. If the Predacons win this war, they will remember Rattrap’s wisecracks. If the Maximals win, we will remember how Terrorsaur back-stabbed Megatron at every turn. History is written by the victors, and those who fade into the background will be forgotten, even by their allies. If I ‘loosen up,’ giving up my nobility, my naiveté, I’ll become a nobody. Forgotten tomorrow because I’m hardly noticed today.

Is it such a bad thing to want to be remembered? I want to be in Cybertron’s history. I want to be unique in some way; a strange way, maybe, but different than the typical soldier. And is this character I play such a terrible thing? Just because I may not quite be how I act, does it make how I act somehow less than before? Who knows; the others here on this planet with me may all be the same, deep down in themselves. Megatron may just act a tyrant; Cheetor, irresponsible; Dinobot, a drone; Inferno, a loyalist. I could be the only one who admits that it really is an act to myself.

Ah, but what does it matter? It makes you happy to see me as the noble warrior. All of you, Maximal or Predacon. I am your foil, your comparison, both for good and evil. If that’s what you want to see, then I will be the fast and noble Maximal for you.

Especially for you. I’ll let you think that you have me trapped in this character, that you’ll know what I like and dislike, how I’ll react, what I’ll say. I’m content in that role, and not only because I love you. I’m not saying that I don’t—why else would I be here?—but it’s more than that.

You remembered me. I stuck out enough, treated you differently enough, that you remembered me. Your memory is a kind of history, a specific kind of history, but in its own way that’s special to me. You have no idea how much it matters to me how you see me. If you looked at me and decided I wasn’t different enough, or I was too different…then I would have to choose. Is the history written by the winners a prize I’m willing to give up for your notice? I think that when we first met, I was playing the character in love, because romance is the stuff of myths and legends. Now, though…now…

Her optics lit up, her body already coiling defensively, but in the dim light of her quarters she only saw the silhouette of her watcher. It was enough, though, and she relaxed as quickly as she had tensed. There was a gleam of white teeth when her observer saw that she was awake, and a hand brushed along the side of her face tenderly as he propped himself up on one elbow to look down at her.

She smiled back slyly, out of habit. “Like what you see?”

“Always,” he replied promptly. “My lady, I could look at you forever and never grow tired of what I saw.”

That provoked a laugh from her. “Don’t ever change, Bowser,” she chuckled. “I could listen to you flatter me for just as long!” Still snickering to herself, Blackarachnia settled back and dimmed her optics again, leaving Silverbolt to watch over her in the darkness. Just another night, the nights that never make it into history.

But he was smiling.

But, Blackarachnia…remember me.