HOME | DD

Description
Log: Solar cycle. . .

Shockwave froze in the middle of his typing. It was impossible to know how much time had passed since he had been incapacitated.

Log: Solar cycle 1, since memory restoration.
There were many cracks and spots in his vision. The spots would appear and disappear, taking shape in some other region of his sight when he wasn't paying attention. He did not remember ever repairing his optic- a blaster blow from an Autobot of that caliber would have surely rendered him blind. It was logical to assume he himself had done so, since the ruins of his lab were undisturbed from the collapse. And the gaps in his memory meant that he must have sustained a severe head injury.
A quick systems diagnostic revealed that, most importantly, his logic processors were still fully functional. The program he had written in case of severe injuries such as this had paid off- stress and pain had been diverted away from his comparatively fragile processor, and onto his body. The result was a strong ache in his frame, but that was easy to ignore.
He quickly typed the diagnostics into the log. It made logical sense to track his systems and recovery, in order to gauge how heavily he had been injured, since he could not remember.
The wounds he could see on his frame while looking down looked old and mostly sealed. That gave him some clue to how long he had been buried in the rubble: long enough that the initial small injuries he received in his brawl with the Autobots had healed. The aching and occasional energon from his backside told him that the wounds that he received from the rubble crushing down on him were still fresh. That was a clue that he had dug himself out of the ruins.
Decepticon search parties would have dug him out long before this, if there were any on the planet. The computer systems of the lab were designed to send out a distress signal if no contact was made with Decepticon high command in one solar cycle.
Shockwave recalled that, although The Nemesis had departed for the alien planet called "Earth", the ship would have been in range to turn around, or at least send a capable long-range squadron at the first sign of distress at the lab.
He quickly wrote down this thought process into the log, before pausing to think of a reason as to why the Nemesis had not heard the call.
The distress call beacon could not have been crushed by the rubble. There were three backup systems for the electronics, and the actual beacon was off-site in case of emergencies where the lab itself was compromised. Shockwave had designed the system himself. It was nearly impossible for it to fail.
If that had not failed, it left another option- that the Nemesis's receiver had been compromised during its voyage. An Autobot attack on the ship as it left Cybertron's atmosphere was much more likely. However, by the time the distress call would have been sent, the ship would have been in deep space, safe from any Autobot atmosphere patrol, and the odds of encountering an armed Autobot space vessel capable of challenging the Nemesis were slim to none. If the Nemesis was in deep space, the crew would have been able to make repairs to the receiver and receive the distress call.
That left only one logical option: he had been intentionally left here on Cybertron.
Shockwave jotted down this line of reasoning. In his typing he made several errors. The speed at which he was typing was not logical or sustainable.
He forced himself to slow down. His hand was shaking. He pressed it against his leg in order to stop the illogical tic. He knew that, in his current condition, lapses of efficiency would be common, but that didn't mean that he would encourage his body to do such things. Shaking hands was a sign of agitation- it was not logical to be agitated in a time where it was critical to be focused.
But the fact still remained. He was left to die here. He let the words ring in his processor for a few seconds, before deleting them. Such knowledge wouldn't be useful right now, and he had written down the idea in his log, where he could access it in the future if needed.
Shockwave closed the log and turned away from the barely-functioning computer. The area around him was a small alcove- a critical support pillar had fallen over this place, shielding it from the rubble, and leaving this monitor functional, but just barely. Few systems were online.
His vision bubbled over with black, before clearing some. The change in focus made his helm hurt. He quickly nulled the pain and ran diagnostics on his processor again. Functionality had been slightly worsened. He did not, however, see this as a continuing trend.
After limited thought, he decided that rest would be the best course of option so that his processor may heal. He quickly found a flat spot that was underneath the most sturdy part of the pillar (just in case), and laid down. He then powered his body down. His processor followed soon after.
~~~~~~
Everything was black.
Shockwave felt himself laying against the ground. He was awake, he felt, but everything was in darkness. He attempted to pull up his diagnostics, but a jolt of pain shot through his helm that made him go still.
  His spark beat was elevated to a level that was far higher than normal, despite the fact that he was not engaging in any physical activity. The hand shaking had returned. This time, though, he did not do anything to stop it. That was the last thing on his list of priorities.
He sat there, frozen. His body slowly drifted out of mind, and his feeling of being on the ground ebbed. It was as if his consciousness melted away from his processor. . .
He jolted upright in an instant, which sent pain once more shooting through his helm. The ground beneath his frame returned at once. His audials picked up the faint dripping of fluid, somewhere within the ruins. He moved his digits, feeling the sensation of the joints in his servo.
He was awake. That was certain. But the blackness still remained.
He reached up to his helm, and gently dragged his digits over his optic. There were cracks and pockets, some large enough to catch his smallest digit in. However, his optic had been cracked like this before in similar combat. The minor infractions to the glass were not responsible for the darkness he was surrounded by.
He brought his servo down and connected it with the floor once more. Slowly, he raised himself onto his pedes. His balance was unstable. He reached his servo around, but all it caught was empty air.
He didn't remember exactly where in the alcove he had laid down to recharge. It was near to the computer, but which direction was the most efficient path to reach it he did not remember. It was against a wall, and the alcove was enclosed, so he could try walking until he reached a side of the wall, and following it until he came across the monitor. But, the area was not clear of debris. Bits of rubble littered the ground, many of them big enough to trip on. If he fell. . .
He lowered himself back down onto the ground, his limbs shaking. A fog entered his processor, sending shapes swirling in his darkness. For the first time in a long time, he lost his line of thinking.
Shockwave did not know how much time had passed before his processor became clear enough to think rationally again. He was sitting in the same position he had been before. It took some searching, but he found what he had been thinking about before his period of quasi-unconsciousness.
If he couldn't walk to the monitor without risk of tripping, then he could crawl. The solution was so simple. Why was he unable to come to that conclusion earlier? Later, he would have to see if he could retrieve the diagnostic data for this time.
He focused again. It was time to move. He rolled himself over and onto his knees. He leaned his gun flat against the ground, and on his other arm he leaned on his elbow. He scooted himself forward against the ground, using his servo to scan for loose debris in front of him.
His servo eventually hit a chunk of twisted metal that was taller than he could reach. It had to be the wall. He pulled himself parallel to it, then began crawling along its perimeter.
He reached an oddly shaped formation in the wall. It felt smooth, compared to the rest of the ruins. He reached his servo up as far as he could, and felt a flat surface on top. Scanning back and forth, he felt the glimpse of a key. It was the monitor. Grabbing onto the flat edge, he lifted himself up onto his pedes.
By instinct he found the keypad. He pressed the power button, and heard the startup sound, then a sharp ping. It was asking for his password.
"Switch to voice command." He said. His voice was thin and wavering, most logically with disuse.
There was silence. He could not calculate the probability of the microphone working in his current state, but he could make an educated guess that the chance was slim.
Suddenly, the automated voice hissed to life. "V-voice rec- bzzt -recognized."
"Search database: medical treatment, head injury resulting in blindness." He commanded.
Another pause. The thought of the probability of the system still being functional came up again.
"Results- bzzt -results pending." The system eventually replied. "Please list furth- bzzt -further symptoms."
Shockwave paused, then replied. "Pain in general helm area. Unable to access internal diagnostics. Periods of acute mental numbness."
For a moment he almost said "blindness" again, but he quickly caught the error before it could leave his voice box. Repetition was unnecessary and slowed the computer system down.
"Treatment- bzzt -advisory: seek nearest med- bzzt -medical treatment."
"Unavailable." His voice wavered again. He quickly corrected the mistake. "Self treatment only."
There was a short pause before the instructions commenced. "Begin by clearing optic of any loose debris. . ."

Log: Solar cycle 9, since memory restoration.
His vision had slowly returned following his self-treatment. Today it was clear enough that, he deemed, he could begin writing in the log again, but only for short periods, to avoid optic strain that might compromise his recovery.
The treatment was strenuous. It required that he connect his optic sensors to the damaged camera that was on the computer. Finding the port on his own helm was easy, but finding the port on the computer took him quite some time. He had to kneel down, facing away from the computer so that the wire could reach from the computer to the back of his helm where the visual cortex was.
The vision of the computer camera was riddled with even more holes and cracks than his original vision the day he had first awakened, but it was better than his current state. Using the camera's vision, he was able to complete a small neural operation, one of many that was to come. The wires of his processors were delicate, and all of his bodily functions recoiled at the sight of his own mind in his servo. But, such reactions were easily shut down and redirected elsewhere. He completed the operation quickly, sealing the wound back up with a hot wire from the computer.
After the first operation, he could begin to see shadows of the world around him, but no color and depth. For the rest of that day he stayed still, sitting next to the computer and letting his body recuperate. It would not be wise to do all the operations in one day. His servo was shaking again due to the agitation.
The rest of the operations he did over the following days, shortly after he came out of recharge. Yesterday was the last of the operations he was capable of doing without further professional medical care. His vision had slowly improved for the rest of the day, and the trend continued overnight and throughout this morning. His visual cortex functionality would never reach 100%, but 80% was a prime possibility.
During the healing times he had also hypothesized why his sense of sight had suddenly disappeared after the writing of his first log. It occurred to him that attempting to sleep the injury off was perhaps the worst possible course of action he could have taken is such a critical time. In fact, he had likely made a lot of incorrect decisions that day. That must have been the result of the head injury.
Shockwave typed this down before closing the document. He turned around, surveying the alcove he had taken residence in. Most of the rubble that had been strewn across the floor he had moved, piling the debris up in an unused corner. He had cleared a spot by the computer large enough for him to lie down in without trouble, near enough to the monitor that if his condition were to worsen, the microphone would be able to pick up his voice commands and assist him.
Other than that, the alcove was no better off than in the condition he had found it in when he had pulled himself from the rubble. There were cracks and gaps in the wall of debris from the collapse that surrounded him; however, visual inspection showed that these paths would not lead anywhere if he tried to dig them out.
Another concern had arisen during this time- Energon consumption. The lab used to be filled with Energon to power the space bridge, but most of it, he suspected, had exploded when the Autobots set off the collapse. He was long overdue for a refuel, though his limited activity helped to delay the pangs his body felt for the substance.
He needed to leave this alcove. That was imperative.

Log: Solar cycle 45, since memory restoration.
Shockwave was not disappointed that he had failed to keep the log up to date. It would be illogical to be disappointed. He had gotten much done in the days that passed, being busy from sunrise to sunset. Much had happened. A quick summary was necessary before he was to report today's activities.
He was now able to tell the passage of days was through his exit hole in the ceiling of rubble. He had presumed several weeks ago that, when the Autobots had caused the lab to collapse, the roof had not only fallen in, but shattered. He made that conclusion based on the shapes he had observed in the debris surrounding his alcove.
If the roof was shattered, then that was to be his way out. All he had to do was remove some of the precariously balanced rubble from above the alcove and let gravity do the rest of the work. After testing and calculating for days, he had finally chosen a spot to do a controlled collapse. The operation went well; the result was a way out of the lab.
The surface of Cybertron was abandoned. It was obvious that there had been no Cybertronian prescence, Autobot or Decepticon, for quite some time, further confirming that he was alone on the planet. He was able to find Energon in a small abandoned storage unit, enough Energon to last him some time without trouble.
More notes: he had cleared up the alcove of debris significantly since he had found a way out of the lab. He had also found. . .
Shockwave looked away from the monitor he was typing on, and looked back to the large cloning pod that was standing behind him, against the opposite wall. It was slowly filling up with cyberniotic fluid.
He had found the unit almost untouched in a less-collapsed part of the lab. It had taken some time, but he had brought it back here to the alcove to sync it with the monitor.
The idea of successfully cloning a Predacon in these conditions was lofty at best. The endeavor to continue his work would be time-consuming and resource-costly. The benefits were few, but they were plentiful in comparison with doing nothing at all. What would be the purpose of his continued existence if he didn't continue his work?
The pod hissed, releasing air as it filled with the fluid in which a new Predacon would be birthed. Seeing the pod operating again in the ruins of what the Autobots tried to destroy stirred something not within Shockwave's processor, but within his very spark. He did not try and block the feeling- it was not affecting processor efficiency, and it was not a distraction, since he was not currently working on anything of significance.
To label the feeling, it was something akin to pride.

Log: Solar cycle 65, since memory restoration.
The glowing yellow cyberniotic fluid cast the shadow of the growing Predacon embryo on the floor of the alcove. Each day, Shockwave noted that the shadow grew slightly bigger.
He had time to notice such things now. Now he was simply waiting. His Energon supply was stable, and so was the Energon supply to the clone. The alcove's structure remained stable and sheltered. Simply put, there was no logical reason to explore the surface more. Moving any sort of vast distance in hopes of finding anything in the barrens that surrounded the lab was foolish and a waste of Energon. Energon that was better well-spent tending to his Predacon-
No. It wasn't a Predacon. Not yet. And it certainly wasn't his. It was simply an embryo. He had to remind himself of this far too often.
Perhaps he should try and distance himself from the pod. Spending too much time around one experiment often led to an unintended emotional attachment to its outcome. That was why, before this lab collapsed, he used to always have several experiments running at once; even then, the test subjects were traded out every few weeks unless they showed significant results. Here, however, he did not possess the resources required to start another project.
Shockwave stopped typing. He looked back to the pod and the Predacon embryo, then to the shadow it cast. It seemed larger than before.

Log: Solar Cycle 85, since memory restoration.
The day of the birthing was coming soon. That was certain. His Predacon filled up almost the entirety of the pod.
Shockwave noted that the agitation in his servo had returned. It was not shaking, as before in the times of high stress, but rather, it would get. . . distracted. He found himself absentmindedly drumming his digits against whatever was nearby during his waiting. Sometimes it took him minutes to notice he was doing it.
He also noted that it was difficult to look away from the pod for any length of time. Even now, while typing, it was difficult to resist the urge to turn around and gaze upon it. Any time now he would hear a faint hiss, and the fluid would empty, and his Predacon would intake air for the first time. Shortly after, it would take its first steps. Then, it would meet its creator. He could only imagine what the meeting would be like. Each Predacon had a different voice. He wondered if it would be afraid of him, coming out of the pod screaming; or, if it would emerge, frightened, but knowing of its creator. Perhaps it would come to his arms, cooing warmly and-
Shockwave froze. In an instant he forcefully expelled the emotion from his processor. The drastic change caused his spark to twinge, upsetting his internal systems. He lowered himself to the ground, with his back against the monitor.
After a several-minute stabilization period, he ran diagnostics on his processor. One of his psychological containment protocols had clearly failed, to allow such intense emotions to control his thoughts for so long. He would need to find it and fix it.
He touched the side of his helm. It was beginning to ache from the sudden upset. He decided to desist from any further action to modify his processor. He needed to be in optimal condition when his Predacon was born, after all.
~~~~~~
A small hiss of air brought Shockwave out of recharge. Shortly after, he felt a faint trickle of liquid past his arm. He sat up and brushed the yellow fluid off. The cyberniotic fluid streamed past him. The hiss persisted. It was coming from the pod.
He stood up, drifting towards it. He placed his steps between the streams of fluid on the ground. The Predacon squirmed in its casing. Shockwave stopped. He could hear its faint cooing through the glass. A warm feeling ran through his spark. He did not think to delete it.
The creature opened its optics. It blinked slowly, gazing around the room, before finally settling on Shockwave's frame. It gaze seemed to then soften, its lids closing slightly.
Shockwave began to approach again. The Predacon moved its limbs feebly. He came up to the pod, so close to the glass that his helm almost touched it. He pressed the button the lower the glass.
He stepped away. A faint sound of motors filled the room. The Predacon struggled, but only enough to gently tap the remaining glass. The Predacon pushed itself away from the opening, sitting on its tail.
  Bit by bit, the glass disappeared. Quarterway. Halfway. But with more passing time, the motions of the Predacon became less pronounced. Shockwave came forward again. Predacons were usually a bit more eager to leave their birthing pods.
The last shred of glass disappeared. The Predacon's optics shot open, and it screeched as its frame began to lean forward. Shockwave flinched and reached out.
The Predacon's body fainted over, landing limp and heavy into his arms. Its head hit his chest and rolled over on its side. Its optic stared blankly upwards. It gave a raspy wheeze.
He knelt down to the ground, cradling his creation with shaking arms.
The Predacon's entire backplate was missing. Blue Energon, its precious lifeblood, was pouring from the wound and onto his arms. Its internal organs lay strung out behind it, hanging from a piece of debris behind the pod.
The Predacon wheezed again, this time spitting out chunks of clotted Energon onto his chest. Its optic, for a single moment, regained its focus and looked directly into his own. It cooed quietly. Its biolights slowly faded, and its optic went dark.
No. No. No. Shockwave gently stroked the creature's neck, smearing its own lifeblood onto its helm. It did not respond.
He continued to pet his creation. All he could hear was his pulse ringing through his audials. All other sensation faded.

Log: Solar Cycle 89
The alcove was finally clean again. The failed project and all of its strewn-out cyberbiological components had been safely disposed of outside of the lab in a nearby crevasse in the landscape. He had removed the many stains of its Energon, including on himself. He had also disinfected the pod.
As for his diagnostics: he had awoken with the body on top of him, implying that he had suddenly and acutely lost consciousness. The systems diagnostics retrieved from that time show that his pulse had dropped dramatically, though there was no physical reason as to why it had done so.
That meant that the reason was psychological.
  Emotion had incapacitated him.
Since that realization he had been hastily patching his basic containment protocols. Clearly, in the years leading up to now he had grown complacent during his time working day-to-day in the lab. He had been cushioned from even the most minor stressful or agitating event. Now, now that many such events had happened in rapid succession, the holes in his protocols were obvious.
The patches were not perfect. It was mentally exhausting to work on them for any long stretch of time. But every implement helped to purge the emotional shock from his systems.
Today, the shock had lessened enough to allow his logic processors to work near maximum efficiency. Today, he would conclude why he had failed.
Physical evidence from the body- mostly from memory, as he was too distracted by cumbersome emotions at the time to take detailed notes- showed that a portion of the clone's body had not developed fully. Specifically, the backplate of the clone was missing. This resulted in its organs being exposed to open air when the cyberniotic fluid had emptied from the pod. When the glass had lowered, the clone had leaned backwards, hooking one of its vital fuel lines against the debris wall that the pod had been up against.
The image of the Predacon's organs strung out, like a rope hung with lanterns, flashed through his processor, interrupting his typing. However, the image and the associated metaphor quickly disappeared and the emotion was purged. Good. His protocols were working again. He continued typing.
Clearly, such physical malformations were the result of an improper sequencing of the fossilized Cybernucleic Acid. A simple error. One change of a nucleotide that had created a catastrophic chain of frameshift mutations that had ruined the viability of the embryo.
Why he hadn't noticed the the clear physical mutation when the embryo was developing was because he had put the cloning pod against the wall of the alcove, where he was unable to view the clone in full. It was a simple shortsighted placement. It had cost him hundreds of hours and many, many resources.
And, in order to try again, he would have to find another sample of Predacon CNA. He had several samples in other labs across Cybertron. The nearest lab was several thousand miles away. The risks were numerous. Scraplets. Plague. Rust. The chances of mis-sequencing the CNA again were also worth noting.
Perhaps restarting the project was not logical. After all, the costs to his mental stability-
No. There was no cost in that regard. One failure had simply revealed another, this time within his own systems. Such thinking of avoidance was a further symptom that the emotion problem still remained. Giving in to inaction would be highly illogical.
He would be ready to leave the lab tomorrow. For the rest of today he would focus on moving the cloning pod to the center of the alcove.

Log: Solar Cycle 139
The journey was overall successful. It was a net gain in resources, and, most importantly, he had found a prime sample of Predacon CNA.
The fact that he was covered in thousands of microscopic wounds was only a minor detractor. Thankfully, the Scraplets had not cut deep, as the swarm was clearly weakened from years of Energon shortage.
His method to deal with Scraplets: tossing one of his cubes of Energon as far as he was able. The Scraplets bolted away from him and followed it, allowing him to flee. Such method needed further testing, for there were many other variables in play as well. It was unlikely, though, that he could advance this hypothesis further.
He abandoned that train of thought quickly. the Scraplets did not matter now. What mattered was the project. The only thing that mattered now was continuing on with the project. The trip across Cybertron's surface only emphasized the fact that, if he was unable to work on the project, there would be no reason for him to be alive.
Not that he would consider ending his own life should the project fail. That would be illogical. His scientific expertise was invaluable, irreplaceable. It was likely that the Decepticons were searching for him right now.
Shockwave paused. Something about the previous statement did not seem right.
He flipped through his previous logs. Memories flashed through his processor that corresponded with the glimpses of words he saw as he scanned. He quickly dismissed them, until he reached the first log he had written since he had awakened on Cybertron. Surely, this one would contain the answer to the empty question in his processor.
He began scanning over the log, retracing his previous lines of logic. The typing was flawed, filled with punctuation errors and even misspellings. He resisted the urge to correct it- as changing any previous logs would certainly lead to more factual error -as he reached the final sentence. He read over it, then read over it again.
The conclusion he had reached on Solar Cycle 1 was a drastic one, with many long-lasting implications about his relationship with the Decepticons. On the day he had written the log, he was suffering from symptoms of a massive head injury. His processor was impaired. His conclusion may have been flawed.
Yet, the more he thought through it again, retracing the line of thinking, the more it seemed logical. The reasoning was sound, and no empirical evidence disproved the idea. All theoretical evidence pointed in favor of it as well.
  The Decepticons aboard the Nemesis had left him here on Cybertron intentionally. Not only that, but they had left his lab. They had left the only known functioning Spacebridge ever built in modern times. They had left the thousands of terrabytes of scientific data behind. It did not make any logical sense. While not every Cybertronian ran on strict logic protocols (much to their disadvantage,) most had some semblance of rational thinking. Simply put, any Cybertronian with a functioning processor would have returned to Cybertron to come to his aid, or at least pillage the lab for what remained.
But Shockwave knew of someone who operated seemingly opposite to any rationality at all. A same someone with enough authority to order an entire ship to ignore a distress call from the lab.
Starscream.
It had to have been. No one else would have been unintelligent enough to do such a thing as leave the Decepticon's top scientist to die.
The conclusion sent a wave of emotion spiraling erratically through his processor. Shockwave let the feeling burn in his spark, and clenched his servo into a fist, before quickly deleting the feeling entirely. His servo relaxed back down to his side.
The conclusion, however, stayed, though less viscerally infuriating than before. He ruminated over it, turning off his optic for just a moment to fully visualize in his mind what actual meaning the string of thoughts had, free from the influence of deceiving emotions.
Perhaps Starscream simply. . . forgot about him. It would not be beyond the flyer's simpleton processor to simply not notice or not respond to an urgent distress call. Perhaps the small-minded seeker was overloaded with other duties at the time-
No. If it was an instance of incompetency (which happened often) on Starscream's part, then the much more competent Soundwave would have picked up on the signal and acted upon it.
Soundwave was a reliable ally, and intellectually superior to most, but he had one flaw: an inability to act on his own accord to do what was most logical if it disobeyed orders from higher up on the chain of command.
And for a reason Shockwave had yet to decipher, Starscream was above Soundwave on the chain of command.
Starscream had never been an ally. That was obvious even when the seeker first clawed his way up the Decepticon power structure. But now, he was an outright enemy. It was clear that Starscream had knowingly ordered that Shockwave and his work be left behind.
Silly, foolish, prideful Starscream. For him to think that by removing Lord Megatron's most trusted subordinates, he would somehow gain the warlord's favor was complete folly. A mere second of logical contemplation would show the flaws in his strategy.
But such basic function seemed beyond the flyer's capabilities.
Shockwave felt the burning feeling again before his protocols deleted the emotion once more. He was not wary of its reoccurrence, however, as in this scenario, anger was completely logical and justified. He would not, however, let the emotion linger or occur again. He had delicate processes ahead that needed his utmost attention and care.

Log: Solar Cycle 146
The sequencing of the Predacon CNA had concluded a few hours ago. Shockwave had worked continuously from dawn to dusk the previous few days since his return, taking breaks every thirty minutes to ensure that he was cautious and careful during the sequencing. He would not make the same mistake. He couldn't afford to. The next nearest adequate sample of Predacon CNA was nearly halfway across the planet. Such a journey would be nigh impossible with his current methods of navigation.
After another careful scan through the sequence, it was clear that the a new embryo was able to be cloned. This one would be larger and stronger than the last one. Shockwave also noted that its processor casing would also be larger in size. Whether this was denotative of any actual increase of intelligence was unknown, but once the Predacon was actually cloned and birthed, he could begin testing.
For a fraction of a second, he felt a burst of excitement, before the distracting feeling was quickly deleted. If such an emotion was in his systems, it could cause him to err.
What if that emotion had been present in his processor when he was sequencing? His psychological containment protocols were not flawless; such flaws might have enabled the emotion linger undetected and uncontested. After all, he was not paying attention to his processor while working.
  Such a thought would normally be a waste of processing power, and a symptom of blatant paranoia. . . but now there was no way of knowing if the dangerous emotion was in his psyche while he was sequencing.
There was only one way to make that his sequencing was correct. The only solution was to recheck the millions of lines of nucleotides. He could have potentially erred in any part of it.
It was a small price to pay to ensure that there would be no more illogical mistakes.

Log: Solar Cycle 156
Sequencing of Predacon CNA was complete. The Predacon embryo had been inserted into the cloning pod a few hours ago.
That was all. Any further remarks would be frivolous and could invoke dangerous emotion. Shockwave had come to realize that even the very writing of his logs had given emotion a place to fester. It would be best not to put much of his personal thoughts in them now.
  After all, thoughts and reasoning were not evidence and facts, and therefore illogical, no matter how rational they seemed.

Log: Solar Cycle 170
The Predacon embryo was rapidly growing in size. Outside observation (from every angle) concluded that the specimen was healthy and developing properly. The specimen appeared to be developing wings along with a draconic form.
That was all. Any further remarks would be frivolous and could invoke dangerous emotion.

Log: Solar Cycle 200
After a longer period of development, the Predacon was ready to be birthed. Perhaps tonight.
That was all. Any further remarks would be frivolous and could invoke dangerous emotion.

Log: Solar Cycle 201
The Predacon had been birthed successfully. All signs pointed to a stable condition. Further monitoring would be necessary, but the Predacon was strong and healthy. It had come out of the pod screaming, to greet him and-
THAT WAS ALL. Any further remarks would be frivolous and could invoke further dangerous emotion.

Log: Solar Cycle 216
The Predacon was healthy and following the expected growth rates. It had shown early uses of its breath weapon, resulting in some scorch marks on the wall of the alcove and on his own frame.
That was all. Any further remarks would be frivolous and could invoke dangerous emotion.

Log: Solar Cycle 231
  The Predacon was healthy and following the expected growth rates. Flight training had begun. The Predacon had been hesitant to begin, but was now fully capable of short jaunts in the air.
That was all. Any further remarks would be frivolous and could invoke dangerous emotion.

Log: Solar Cycle 246
  The Predacon was healthy and following the expected growth rates. Combat training had begun. It was worthy of note that it had showed a talent for tracking based on Energon scent.
That was all. Any further remarks would be frivolous and could invoke dangerous emotion.

Log: Solar Cycle 261:
Energon supplies were running low. It would be necessary to gather more. There had also been an unusual signal not far from the lab, perhaps a sign of a rebuilt space bridge. It was. . . worth investigation, but hypothesizing early would only lead to incorrect assumptions. Gathering Energon was a more important priority. Perhaps on the way back he would stop by.

End Log.