Megatron found himself unable to sleep despite having filmed something for an upcoming public announcement earlier. He looked over at Soundwave’s form, silent and unmoving as ever. Laserbeak slept docked in his chest, which rose and fell in incredibly minute intervals that may easily be missed if one didn’t stare. Nothing was improving, and if those readings were accurate, Singer was having to give him higher doses of medication. He would have to ask about that.
As it did often now, Megatron’s mind wandered. Perhaps something in his archived files would keep him occupied, some memory that would give insight into a solution here. Instead, a datapacket titled “Personal Guidelines, Subject: Atonement” sat unopened at the forefront of his archives, sent from Soundwave’s alternate. He thought he had deleted it… He may as well listen to what the defector had to say.
Most days, nothing beyond a certain level of unpleasantness happened in Soundwave’s territory without his knowledge. Fights which could not be resolved were mediated by Ravage, who had become known for being cold and impartial but fair. Repairs and medical issues were either seen to by those with the skill to perform them or outsourced to mechs from other settlements. Threats both non-sentient and otherwise were swiftly dealt with in whichever manner Soundwave considered most appropriate – typically by thoroughly convincing them that they were not the most dangerous creatures in the area.
But even he could be surprised from time to time.
A small part of Megatron took great pleasure in how uncomfortable Soundwave looked when he first appeared. How anxiety read so easily in the angles of his tensed and unsure frame.
The rest of him turns the reason that he’s able to read those cues so well into a distilled ball of bitter resentment. He sneers as if he can taste the feeling, wanting to spit it back into this other Soundwave’s mask. Instead, the only warning before he swings is the release for his sword to slide from its place in his arm. It’s not a move motivated by impulse alone; from experience, he knows that giving this opponent too much time to prepare is a deadly mistake.
“You’ve made that perfectly clear, old friend!! Fleeing somewhere I could not follow, throwing your lances from afar! All that I could tolerate, even if I couldn’t forgive your loss!”
Megatron's back up 