Category: Uncategorized

(Kaon)

 the-scrappy-stinger:

(When Bumblebee opened his optics, it was to a mech so massive he blocked out the street light. Light shimmered off the back of his fine cloth suit so bright that his silouette shimmered at the edges, while his red optics glowed out from a core drenched in shadow. But he could hear it, that little ruffle of tightly packed money from under the mech’s thumb. He shook his head to wake himself, pulling his one little article of clothing- his newsmech hat- back onto his horns.) 

Paper’s a deci-shanix apiece, mac. What’re you gonna do with a whole stack of the one rag in town that don’t sell? It ain’t like the city’s beatin’ a path to the bridge. 

(Bee waved his one loose paper out in front of the mech. He shouldn’t be talking down his product, but after an entire day of no company and the rest of society puttin’ his paper down? He needed something to talk about, and a somebody to talk to.) My would-be customers keep sayin’ that the stories ain’t linin’ up. Blindside nearly writes this whole thing by himself, and what he says is goin’ on don’t match the other papers. And you want the whole stack?

You must keep a hell of a lot of pigeons, mac.

(But he won’t stop eyeing that money. That’s more than enough to buy him tomorrow’s bundle, as well as three square meals and maybe a hot shower at the Y. He might even treat the guys down at the paper depot. Who was this mech, flashin’ that kind of money at a night-newsie Mini at the aft-crack of midnight?) 

“Heh, somethin’ like that.”

“I know the price, an’ it’s not worth half that. This is for you, fer having to sell it.” Megatron pressed the shanix into the newsy’s hand, taking the free paper from his opposite one. He put it on top of the pile, stood straight and warmed up his cannon, aiming it at the stack. 

“You might wanna stand back.” In a bright blast of plasma, the entire stack of papers was incinerated, leaving a smoldering hole on the sidewalk. The cannon cycled down, and the suited mech tipped his hat to the newsy.

“Much obliged. Have a good night, mini.” Folding his arms behind his back, Megatron continued walking, enjoying the muggy night air and the fact that no one would be reading about his exploits tonight.

(Kaon)

 the-scrappy-stinger:

(Just about the turn of the millenium, a time of rough production and rough builds, and a scourge sweeping the planet. Ethanol, a low-cost fuel cutting chemical, had been outlawed on Cybertron. Bumblebee didn’t know much about why. He only just had the energy to sell the papers, much less casually read them. He usually only gave them a quick look-over so he could shout the headlines and get people to buy, and mechs weren’t buying.) 

(Even now, as a femme passed him on his turf, he mustered up enough for a yell.) Extra, extra! Investigation turns up traces of ethanol in suspected arson case! Police suspect connection to off-world ethanol smugglers-

(The femme brushes him off.) “Shut yer yap, kid, everymech knows the manager hit an energon vein tryin’ to bury his booze in the basement. Your story’s all wet.”

(Bee looks over the paper as she passes. That isn’t what the article says at all! But it isn’t the first time he’s been told his paper’s not accurate…) 

(But, Blindside pays, and so Bee keeps shillin’ the Sundays.)

image

Come buy a paper now, come buy a paper now. I told you once or twice to just pay me once and read it twice, come buy a paper now~

Ah, Kaon. The air in the rusty town smelled like drying fuel and exhaust and Megatron wouldn’t have it any other way. It smelled like a fight he was winning. 

All things considered, last night had gone remarkably well. Not for Swindle of course, but when Swindle wasn’t happy, it was almost always good news. That grubby dealer had been getting a little too comfortable in a city that didn’t belong to him. Outside business was fine, this was a free planet after all, if the council was to be believed. But when that business started taking away from his own business, it became personal.

Getting personal with Megatron usually meant much worse than a little fire. Swindle had gotten off easy; as far ass the underground king of Kaon was concerned, he’d done the mech a favor by letting him live with a warning. Swindle had graciously apologized, the police were investigating the wrong people. A good night, overall.

Megatron strutted down the street, dressed to the nines to celebrate. Normally, no one dared walk alone at night in this town, much less advertising their wealth, but the crime boss was a force of nature and a celebrity rolled in one. Low-lives loved him or owed him, police couldn’t touch him. He couldn’t be safer if he was in his own home. A little tune caught his audial, and he glanced down to the minibot selling his papers. Well, look at that, Blindside’s rag… 

Leaning down, Megatron squinted at the front page. Blindside needed to learn to mind his own damn business. “Hey, how many’a those you got?” He pulled out a thick wad of shanix, five times what the pile was worth.

“I want them all.”

[have a very soft ping]

 heligooddeals:

mightymegatron:

mightymegatron:

The ping is answered almost immediately.

::Blackguard, what’s happened?::

She wanted to say more, and he waited patiently for Blackguard to find the words. As painful as all of this was, it was strange to have someone to talk to about it, in a way that kept him from shutting down the connection. The question even made him chuckle.

::He cared enough about him to threaten me to stay away from him, as any parent would.:: Megatron’s was not exactly a trustworthy face, and though he seemed to have an odd rapport with younglings, their parents were a whole other story.

::He never spoke of him as the child of an alternate, but his own. Apart from that, I never saw them together. Optimus was very intent to keep me as far from him as possible, after all. …Rather ironic, all things considered.:: How recently had he planned on kidnapping the child, only to find himself concerned for the femme’s safety and well-being? Strange indeed. Children seemed to have this effect on him, and Megatron had yet to overcome this odd endearment. Projection, perhaps, he lamented.

She hums softly, satisfied but confused with Megatron’s reply. Optimus sounded as dedicated as any parent should be with their child, and yet he had been passive with her. Why give threats and draw lines with Megatron when he dares to get close (besides for the obvious reasons, of course) but stand back and simply observe her, a stranger, when she literally steals Rigel away?

Maybe he knew he was dying. Part of her muses. Couldn’t bring him back if he was just going to die on him. Couldn’t’ let him die too.

She quickly abolishes the thought. For all his talents and abilities, Optimus predicting his own untimely death was certainly not one of them.

But still, she wondered.

«Why would he let me take him then?» She asks the warlord softly, brokenly.

«He wanted him back and I refused to hand him over and he just– let it happen? He didn’t even argue or fight or threaten me, he just– let me have him and said he’d be watching. And I fucked up.» What little there was left of her composure quickly started to crumble. Shuddering breaths and sobs soon filled the spaces that would have otherwise been silence on her end of the comm.

«I was suppose to take care of him, ya know? Keep him safe, keep him alive, keep him around until he showed up to pick him up. And then he died, so then I just had to keep him, and I fucked it all up.»

It was a fair question, one that Megatron had an easy answer to, but he let her finish. He listened to her sob despite the uncomfortable twisting in his chest. That was what you were meant to do, wasn’t it? Blackguard was worlds away, but at least if he remained on his end of the comm, she wasn’t quite as alone. It wouldn’t be fair to subject her to that, when he felt just as responsible.

::You’re looking for punishment for what happened. You won’t find it here.:: His voice is deliberate and somber. ::Rigel is still alive somewhere. He has to be, and as long as that is the case, we haven’t… ‘fucked it all up’ just yet.:: The warlord reset his shoulders, telling himself this, too.

::Optimus didn’t trust him with me, he had no reason to. But who did Rigel turn to when he had the ability to go anywhere? He chose you, over an entire multiverse of possibilities. Obviously that meant something to Optimus, or he would have taken the child regardless of who you were.:: 

::So let that mean something.:: Megatron looked to the empty Matrix sitting on his desk. He went to shove it to the floor, as he had so many times, (it angered him to no end that the damn thing didn’t seem to ever dent) but instead he left it where it was. ::Don’t give in. Rigel will need you.::

Empties everywhere…

 willnotgogently:

mightymegatron:

“Think nothing of it. It’s honorable of him, and understandable to be so defensive.” He still wasn’t going to be disarming himself, at least not until they had returned to home base. “I don’t believe such a problem will arise within my group, but if it does, come to me. I will put an end to it, myself.” The only mech he could think that might cause trouble for the new arrivals was Starscream… but then, didn’t he cause trouble for everyone? The silver warrior grinned, a servo on the door. “It’s always inspiring to know that we aren’t alone.”

Time was ticking. He had to return. “Alright. Our holdout is to the east, about a mile. There is decent cover along the way, but leaving this block will be difficult if there are Swoopers. It will be a joy to fight alongside you, Rung. Tacitus. Stay close.” 

Megatron motioned for the two of them to stay quiet now as they moved, before pushing through the door. Fliers were something that he would rather avoid fighting if he could. They were fast, and hid atop their perches so that they couldn’t be seen unless swooping in to attack… like now. “Get down!” he bellowed, charging and leaping into the air to meet the incoming creature with his blade.

Rung wished that he had more time to use a gun but he usually needed to sit and focus if he was going to try to shoot something.  Decent for sniping but not so much for if they were going to be on the run.  Taking a deep vent, he let his hand drop to his side and took a cylindrical object from his thigh and gave it a shake to have it enlarge to a proper staff.

When the door opened, Rung swallowed and nodded, waiting to get a bit of room so he could start out.  The door was shut after them in hopes that it would keep the Empties out and they could come back to the store on another day and raid it for the supplies that were still left there.  Taking a deep breath, he followed Megatron, his nerves practically on fire.

When the Swoopers showed up, he braced himself, gritting his dentae.  With the pack on he wouldn’t be able to jump up like that, but once they got down to his level he could deal with them.  Tacitus let out a delighted shriek when he saw Megatron jump and his shell parted, wings buzzing underneath it as he lifted up off the ground and went to meet the Empties in the air.

There were four of the accursed creatures, former Seekers whose limbs and wings had twisted and grown into strange shapes, allowing them to flap and glide in root mode. It looked painful, and sounded even worse. Megatron hadn’t commented on Starscream’s screeching ever since he’d heard these scream. 

One such horrific shriek left the flier he made contact with as he wrenched his sword through its shoulder, cleaving off an arm and wing in one swing. He crashed with it to the ground, crushing it with his weight. Covered now in rust and grime, he stood up only to be tackled from behind by another.

Slagging creatures. Even if it bit him there was little chance anything would happen, but these things spread their disease accidentally. Their drive was to devour. Unfortunately, this one seemed to know exactly where to sit at his back to keep him down, out of reach of his sword and cannon. It began to crow triumphantly, claws digging into the thick armor of his back to get at the feast inside. Megatron snarled, trying and failing to roll and get it off of him on his own.

An Interview

 restitutiopax:

image

      That smile (sharp, intelligent, fierce) weighs strangely on his spark. 

He expects the anxious energy, the innate intimidation that eats away at his stance (which he would keep, as Megatron, terrible as he may be, cannot possibly be any worse than an entire decacycle of working in specialized, customer-service-specific retail without a break); to a point, he even expects the stare, that thing that broke down hundreds upon thousands of Autobots before him.

       His spark twists up with a strange, untenable sadness. 

       He sits as instructed (requested, maybe, in the only way that those forceful sorts know), feeling all the smaller for it. His optics drift from the focal point (Megatron’s kneepads, the metal dented and scratched from repeated use) to his faceplates, making careful note of every pit and scar he sees. He knows the origin of some, he thinks, from his holovids; others were lost to history, or made in the time of Destron Political Unrest that proceeded the Unicron Crisis. 

        Looking Megatron in the optic is easier than expected. He is nervous, yes, but he doesn’t not feel afraid. 

        Maybe his self-preservation programs finally shorted. The damned thing always was picky about choosing what he needed to worry about.

        “Everyone knows about the Great War,” he starts, initial disbelief (confusion) clogging his field. “It is the very foundation upon which our society is built, the prior-event that lead to the specificities of our culture.”

        He settles the Datapads on his lap, flicking a Stylus from his subspace. The weight is comforting. “Personally, sir, I was made soon after the War ended. I’ve seen our cities rebuild, watch the dead be smelted down and returned to the Allspark, reorganized the records of a War that nearly destroyed our species and half of a galaxy, and I’ve seen… a lack.”

        “The belief is that the War began because of an Inequality, exasperated by… unyielding forces.” His optics flick at the implication, digits curling into a loose fist. “Thus is what the remaining original Autobots say, and thus is what populates the historical texts. There are no original Decepticons left to give their side of the story, and thus our culture has taken an… biased approach to a War that cannot have been as simple as two stubborn mechanicals disagreeing about the decision of the Matrix.”

        There’s a weighted (regretful) pause, optics flickering before they return to meet the (once?) Warlord’s. “… is that alright?”

Prior event. Megatron’s optic sharpen in focus as he begins to understand that this version of his former friend is not from the distant past, but an alternate version of his own time, long after when he currently exists. The warlord stares down at Orion as he speaks, both absorbing his words and a deeper revelation. Suddenly, this is more than simply an interview, it’s an entirely new and dangerous possibility.

What if he could come back?

It takes Megatron a moment to respond, because he has to play back the latter part of Orion’s explanation to be able to focus on it. …Ah. The only way the Decepticons’ accounts could have been lost was if Orion was from one of those universes in which his alternate had perished or been exiled. He would never have allowed such a skew to take hold.

After Orion meets his gaze again, Megatron studies him a few more moments, and lets his red filters slide away, revealing exposed blue optics. He takes a step, turns, and sits beside the much younger mech.

“The war, in some shape and form, was inevitable. Perhaps it may not have been as costly without our initial conflict, but things could not have continued as they were. You speak of inequality as if that alone were not enough to cause it so I don’t believe you understand what life was like for those in the lower castes.” Megatron didn’t look at Orion now, instead glaring off into the distance.

“We were nothing more than tools. Slaves to our alt-modes and treated as disposable, especially in the labor caste. Some were forged and extinguished in the mines, without once seeing the sky. Never was it considered that we could be anything else, that we were worth more than that. With me at the helm, we rose up, demanding change, to be treated as equals.”

Megatron closed his optics wearily. “That is why it first began, what it was meant to be.”

[have a very soft ping]

heligooddeals:

mightymegatron:

mightymegatron:

The ping is answered almost immediately.

::Blackguard, what’s happened?::

Running on spite was 90% of Megatron’s existence. He knew all too well how toxic the practice was but had rarely had anything else to rely on. It was what he knew: dangerous, but at least familiar.

A fresh wash of solemnity tears at his coronal scar.

::Of course. After he has been returned, after he has had the chance to settle once more.:: He had no desire to force the youngling to come home to immediately re-confront his ‘father’s’ death, and Megatron was not in any rush to do the same. He had heard so many stories, witnessed so many reunions across the multiverse of those thought long-dead reuniting unscathed, or somehow reconstructed with their brethren. The traitorous Soundwave had reclaimed his deployers, Blackguard had rediscovered her conjunx. Even in his own universe, Shockwave had returned with his beasts after the space bridge had collapsed around him. A small part of him still believed that Optimus may do the same… but hope like that would only lead to more pain in the long run.

::…May it help us all.::

Technically speaking, the bondmate that had returned hadn’t done so from any impossible circumstances. She had just been willingly separated from him and not on speaking terms for a very long time. Still, her reunion with Redstrike was a self-made small miracle in and of itself, one she was still trying to adjust to and appreciate for what it was worth.

Blackguard fiddled with her digits, off and on intertwining them together as silence filled the comms. She should say something. She felt like she did anyway. The issue of what though was hanging her up, leaving her to sit awkwardly and feel pathetically stupid on her berthside.

«…Was Optimus–» She starts, only to quickly stop and deepen her frown. This was a bad subject and a terrible question. She shouldn’t ask it.

And yet–

«How… did Optimus feel about Rigel?»

  

She wanted to say more, and he waited patiently for Blackguard to find the words. As painful as all of this was, it was strange to have someone to talk to about it, in a way that kept him from shutting down the connection. The question even made him chuckle.

::He cared enough about him to threaten me to stay away from him, as any parent would.:: Megatron’s was not exactly a trustworthy face, and though he seemed to have an odd rapport with younglings, their parents were a whole other story.

::He never spoke of him as the child of an alternate, but his own. Apart from that, I never saw them together. Optimus was very intent to keep me as far from him as possible, after all. …Rather ironic, all things considered.:: How recently had he planned on kidnapping the child, only to find himself concerned for the femme’s safety and well-being? Strange indeed. Children seemed to have this effect on him, and Megatron had yet to overcome this odd endearment. Projection, perhaps, he lamented.

20. Rust Plague AU

Vaccines were getting harder and harder to come by. Megatron himself seemed resistant to this particular strain, his medics crediting it to the fact that he’d suffered through a similar condition in his youth and survived, (or more likely, the dark energon coursing through him. This, however, was not public knowledge.) Even so, he was warned against coming into direct contact with any of the victims. Most of them were going to die within the week anyway, there was no reason to visit them.

Of course, telling Megatron that something is a bad idea is pointless once he’s made up his mind. Perhaps not the entire fleet, but he made a point to check in on those who had fought with him in the arena. These were the strongest of his Decepticons, both in strength and devotion, and out of everyone they should have had the best chance at recovery. It was eerie to see all of them so still, downed by something so microscopic as unnatural oxidation. Blackout was a holdout, old and stubborn, approaching the 10-day mark that so few had reached. If he could just stay awake past then, the plague would run its course and he might survive. Warning or no, Megatron put a servo on his shoulder. 

“You will fight this. You will win. Is that understood?”

Zombie Apocalypse AU!!!

Finding the downed shuttle had been a stroke of luck. Megatron and his companions took shelter in its hull for a few days before realizing that the craft was in fact still alive, if incredibly low on fuel. Knock Out and Shockwave immediately began running tests on him, testing for the virus and lo and behold: as much damage as the large mech had suffered, his cloaking was still active. The undead could not detect his, or any life signals within his walls. He remained uninfected.

Shockwave is working bit by bit to restore enough of the mech’s CPU to allow him to speak. Most of the Decepticons voted against restoring sentience to their one place of refuge, but the Autobots wouldn’t hear of it, not if he was still alive in there. Megatron has a feeling that all getting him to speak will accomplish is having a screaming house on their hands.