He’s talking far more these last few days than he has in the last century. The questions keep being a surprise, but they’re nice all the same.
“That certainly is a lot, but I’ll do my best. Ahem.”
“The statues represent all of the mechs who were alive when I first began building here. If the base is empty, it means they’ve passed on. As for how you can get home… how did you get here, anyway? Bumblebee said it was some kind of portal, could you open it from here?”
“As for if he can’t be put back… His spark is weak, but perhaps you could see what a medic could do to supplement him. If he gets strong enough again, another body could be built for him, with a blank brainpan to imprint. He might lose some memories, but at least he would be able to walk again if something happens to his original frame.”
Wait- wait, so your Megatron is- your Megatron’s offlined, then? … Do you have any statues for bots from other universes? Do you have anything for Alpha Trion?
I don’t know if we could- Bee used this book, and somehow it got us here! We were gonna use a rope so I could pull Bee out, but we accidentally kept holding hands.
… Okay- so, so he could be okay, right? That’s good- do you think things will be okay on our Cybertron when we get back? I mean- I don’t know what Unicron could be doing, and I’m worried that nobody’s able to stop him- do you think it’ll be okay?
“Ah, no he isn’t, that’s the strange thing. Normally, I’m the one who shuts down the projectors when a mech dies, but I noticed that Megatron’s had gone out despite him being on the Lost Light, alive and… perhaps not well, but alive. When I went to go and repair it, I found your Megatron’s crystal atop his base.”
Oh goodness so many questions! Censere quite enjoyed having company who wanted to learn rather than take. “You’re the first mechs I’ve ever known from other universes; I don’t have any statues for you apart from your alternates, but our Alpha Trion’s is about three miles to the east of here. He too is very much alive.” He frowned a bit to hear that their method of travel seemed to have been left behind, and spent the rest of his time watching the faintly glowing spark crystal.
“The war against Unicron was before even my time, Smokescreen. There are many, most in fact, who doubt that he even exists at all. To us, he is the embodiment of chaos and malice, whether he is just a story or not. But if he is real in your world… even Primus needed the assistance of the Guiding Hand.” His plating bristled, causing the galaxies in his cape to swirl. “Ah… But he is using your Megatron as an avatar. He lacks the strength of his full form, that at least is in your favor.”
He’s talking far more these last few days than he has in the last century. The questions keep being a surprise, but they’re nice all the same.
“That certainly is a lot, but I’ll do my best. Ahem.”
“The statues represent all of the mechs who were alive when I first began building here. If the base is empty, it means they’ve passed on. As for how you can get home… how did you get here, anyway? Bumblebee said it was some kind of portal, could you open it from here?”
“As for if he can’t be put back… His spark is weak, but perhaps you could see what a medic could do to supplement him. If he gets strong enough again, another body could be built for him, with a blank brainpan to imprint. He might lose some memories, but at least he would be able to walk again if something happens to his original frame.”
Censere notices Bee’s absence and goes to look for him, concerned that he’s actually the thief he believed the pair to be… only to find him pacing amid his Lost. He enters the room slowly, watching him carefully.
“…There seems to be much on your mind, Bumblebee.”
(He gives a long, pained breath.)
(He didn’t usually see reminders of it. Even the documentaries he knew about were more his dramatic, weirdly playful rivalry with Prime and a few Starscream punches than… then real death. Real actual death, spelled out in little blue flowers, made and planted one by one and sprawled out all over a field, so many that he and Smokescreen probably trampled a few without thinking about it.)
(Without ever thinking that they- … that he?- was saving a warlord and a murderer. Maybe Smokescreen knew more than him, and he was just that good that he was doing it anyway. He was the one that wasn’t thinking.)
… I don’t know your Megatron. … sometimes I wonder how well I know this one.
… but I love him, and I want him alive, and happy… does that mean I’m bad? For liking a mech like him?
Bumblebee’s concerns were not unfounded. Megatron was an infamous name throughout the multiverse, he had caused so much destruction and death and everyone knew it. But lately, Megatron had been acquiring no new flowers. He wore an Autobot brand, claimed from… well, their Bumblebee. This was all he knew of his own Megatron’s current life, but compared to what it had been, it was peaceful.
“…And I know even less than you.” Censere joined Bee on the floor, taking a knee. “But here is what I can see. The two of you are Autobots. Presumably, you fought against him, or his faction, but now that time is over. You both are so determined to get him back that you’ve traveled all this way to a strange world. You were reassuring his spark…” Censere puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Any mech who has earned such devotion must have done something to deserve it, and wishing someone peace and happiness is never wrong.”
(Bee subtly leans into his shoulder.) I know but… is it really my place to judge? Either direction? Just because he’s been good to me, and Smokescreen, and… and his universe’s Bee, and he’s doing the best for Cybertron now… Sometimes the stuff he did before I met him blindsides me. Would I be so forgiving it he hadn’t been that nice to me?
But he’s been MORE than nice to me. He’s saved my life, over and over. The mech I know is good…
I guess all we really are is the mech we are in the moment, but does that undo the past?
He thinks a moment, never breaking contact.
“…I think that if this planet is testament to anything, it is that the past cannot be undone. We all must live with the consequences of our actions, no matter what they may be. At most, we can only reflect on the past, and change our actions if we do not like what we see.” He smiles again, giving the little shoulder a squeeze.
“I live in a world governed by statistics. I know so much information about all of these mechs, where they were born, their jobs, where they were assigned, what they did in the war and what they’ve done after. What I’ve learned from my work is that our current Prime was correct in saying that everyone possesses the ability to change. I’ve seen innocent students of science become dangerous spies, dead-end addicts turned to spiritualists, all because they looked back at what they’d done and were dissatisfied.”
“From the sounds of things, in both of our universes, Megatron didn’t like that sea of blue behind him.”
Censere notices Bee’s absence and goes to look for him, concerned that he’s actually the thief he believed the pair to be… only to find him pacing amid his Lost. He enters the room slowly, watching him carefully.
“…There seems to be much on your mind, Bumblebee.”
(He gives a long, pained breath.)
(He didn’t usually see reminders of it. Even the documentaries he knew about were more his dramatic, weirdly playful rivalry with Prime and a few Starscream punches than… then real death. Real actual death, spelled out in little blue flowers, made and planted one by one and sprawled out all over a field, so many that he and Smokescreen probably trampled a few without thinking about it.)
(Without ever thinking that they- … that he?- was saving a warlord and a murderer. Maybe Smokescreen knew more than him, and he was just that good that he was doing it anyway. He was the one that wasn’t thinking.)
… I don’t know your Megatron. … sometimes I wonder how well I know this one.
… but I love him, and I want him alive, and happy… does that mean I’m bad? For liking a mech like him?
Bumblebee’s concerns were not unfounded. Megatron was an infamous name throughout the multiverse, he had caused so much destruction and death and everyone knew it. But lately, Megatron had been acquiring no new flowers. He wore an Autobot brand, claimed from… well, their Bumblebee. This was all he knew of his own Megatron’s current life, but compared to what it had been, it was peaceful.
“…And I know even less than you.” Censere joined Bee on the floor, taking a knee. “But here is what I can see. The two of you are Autobots. Presumably, you fought against him, or his faction, but now that time is over. You both are so determined to get him back that you’ve traveled all this way to a strange world. You were reassuring his spark…” Censere puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Any mech who has earned such devotion must have done something to deserve it, and wishing someone peace and happiness is never wrong.”
Censere notices Bee’s absence and goes to look for him, concerned that he’s actually the thief he believed the pair to be… only to find him pacing amid his Lost. He enters the room slowly, watching him carefully.
“…There seems to be much on your mind, Bumblebee.”
Censere looks out the window at his fields, smiling peacefully. Life was a precious thing, and this was the way he had found to honor it. It could be a lonely life, and lots of work, but worth it to have this record left behind.
“Grave? Oh, the pedestal. Every Cybertronian who was alive when I began this was given a statue. If their statue still stands, they are still alive somewhere out there. If they have died, the projector turns off, and I retrieve their signature.”
“The night that your Megatron arrived, I had gone out to investigate, because his projector had shut down without my deactivation. As you saw, our Megatron is still very much alive. In the place of his statue was the crystal.”
But why is he surrounded by death flowers? Why make a mark of every death you can find and then plant them at his feet?
(Saying it out loud spells it out for him, and Bee sits hard on the floor.)
It’s his kill count, isn’t it?
He blinks slowly, giving Bee a moment before answering.
“It is. With how long-lived we are, there is no such thing as natural death. There is always something external to blame, or more likely as the war went on, someone external.”
“Megatron has been the cause of more than any other, though some do rival him.”
Censere notices Bee’s absence and goes to look for him, concerned that he’s actually the thief he believed the pair to be… only to find him pacing amid his Lost. He enters the room slowly, watching him carefully.
“…There seems to be much on your mind, Bumblebee.”
“By placing it over the spark chamber, it absorbs the naturally radiant energy that comes off of every mech.” He demonstrates, placing the one in his hand over the window of his chest. It fills with color.
“This works for both the living, and those who have recently passed. My planet is a record, a memorial. Each of these flowers contains a hint of all Cybertronians who have fallen, at least, as close to all of them as I can gather.”
“After the second war, Cybertron stopped producing new sparks, and every known hotspot went cold. With no forseen possibility for new life, I began cataloging all who had been lost.”
So every one of those flowers… is a little piece of six other dead Cybertronians.
(Bee swallows hard. Every single one- Censere must have been old. Must have been very old. Must have had a way off the planet, but he had nowhere to go yet. Couldn’t think of where, not when he mentally retraced his steps and counted, in a blur, all of the dead.)
… why does Megatron have a grave out in the field?
Censere looks out the window at his fields, smiling peacefully. Life was a precious thing, and this was the way he had found to honor it. It could be a lonely life, and lots of work, but worth it to have this record left behind.
“Grave? Oh, the pedestal. Every Cybertronian who was alive when I began this was given a statue. If their statue still stands, they are still alive somewhere out there. If they have died, the projector turns off, and I retrieve their signature.”
“The night that your Megatron arrived, I had gone out to investigate, because his projector had shut down without my deactivation. As you saw, our Megatron is still very much alive. In the place of his statue was the crystal.”
Censere notices Bee’s absence and goes to look for him, concerned that he’s actually the thief he believed the pair to be… only to find him pacing amid his Lost. He enters the room slowly, watching him carefully.
“…There seems to be much on your mind, Bumblebee.”
“Every one.” The tall mech takes a moment to check on Smokescreen’s whereabouts before leading Bee out of the stasis suite and across the hall, into some sort of workroom. There is a bench beset with long and thin tools, like those one might use for watchmaking. Along one wall there is a large windowbox with several blue flowers, but none of them glow like the ones outside seem to. Some of them are small and aren’t even blue at all.
“I make them here. They are techno-organic, as near-immortal as we are, yet they are flexible, take root, and even grow to an extent.” Several lone petals sit on the desk, thin and clear, like the ones on the smallest flowers in the box.
You graft them. Kinda. (He stands on tiptoe to see the pieces, and the windowbox where they grow.) What makes the ones outside blue?
“Spark signatures.”
He picks up one of the petals, considering it. “Not whole sparks, not like your Megatron. More like the echos left behind. Each petal contains enough memory for one; each flower for six. When they are full, they begin to glow.”
So six people per flower…
(They’d passed a lot of flowers… Bee’s lines start to go cold.) How do you get a spark signature? Exactly?
“By placing it over the spark chamber, it absorbs the naturally radiant energy that comes off of every mech.” He demonstrates, placing the one in his hand over the window of his chest. It fills with color.
“This works for both the living, and those who have recently passed. My planet is a record, a memorial. Each of these flowers contains a hint of all Cybertronians who have fallen, at least, as close to all of them as I can gather.”
“After the second war, Cybertron stopped producing new sparks, and every known hotspot went cold. With no forseen possibility for new life, I began cataloging all who had been lost.”
Censere notices Bee’s absence and goes to look for him, concerned that he’s actually the thief he believed the pair to be… only to find him pacing amid his Lost. He enters the room slowly, watching him carefully.
“…There seems to be much on your mind, Bumblebee.”
“Every one.” The tall mech takes a moment to check on Smokescreen’s whereabouts before leading Bee out of the stasis suite and across the hall, into some sort of workroom. There is a bench beset with long and thin tools, like those one might use for watchmaking. Along one wall there is a large windowbox with several blue flowers, but none of them glow like the ones outside seem to. Some of them are small and aren’t even blue at all.
“I make them here. They are techno-organic, as near-immortal as we are, yet they are flexible, take root, and even grow to an extent.” Several lone petals sit on the desk, thin and clear, like the ones on the smallest flowers in the box.
You graft them. Kinda. (He stands on tiptoe to see the pieces, and the windowbox where they grow.) What makes the ones outside blue?
“Spark signatures.”
He picks up one of the petals, considering it. “Not whole sparks, not like your Megatron. More like the echos left behind. Each petal contains enough memory for one; each flower for six. When they are full, they begin to glow.”
Censere notices Bee’s absence and goes to look for him, concerned that he’s actually the thief he believed the pair to be… only to find him pacing amid his Lost. He enters the room slowly, watching him carefully.
“…There seems to be much on your mind, Bumblebee.”
Spark Extractor… Censere’s optics go wide. “That… was a Decepticon weapon, developed for mass destruction. If your universe has the same thing, there’s no guarantee that it won’t also drain the life out anyone else near him. If you could focus it, perhaps?”
He looked back over the rows of stasis pods, shaking his helm. “No, all of these are whole mechs that I was able to find and repair for myself. They’re… waiting.”
“I do however have a few shards of the same kind of crystal that spark is housed in. Empty for now, but that is what my flowers are comprised of. Would you like to see?”
… your flowers?
(Bee perks up.) You planted those flowers? I garden a little, too. Yeah, I’d like to see.
(He stops pacing and takes his place by Censere’s feet.)
“Every one.” The tall mech takes a moment to check on Smokescreen’s whereabouts before leading Bee out of the stasis suite and across the hall, into some sort of workroom. There is a bench beset with long and thin tools, like those one might use for watchmaking. Along one wall there is a large windowbox with several blue flowers, but none of them glow like the ones outside seem to. Some of them are small and aren’t even blue at all.
“I make them here. They are techno-organic, as near-immortal as we are, yet they are flexible, take root, and even grow to an extent.” Several lone petals sit on the desk, thin and clear, like the ones on the smallest flowers in the box.
Megatron's back up 