Rung tensed as he heard the bang of boards against the side of the building, light illuminating everything before a loud snap resounded and all the power was cut off, leaving him with just biolights. His hands shook as he moved slowly to a cabinet, looking for something more to give him light.
“It seems silly, it’s just light and sound outside and it can’t reach me.” Rung spoke softly, moving in closer to him like he could crawl inside Megatron’s armor for extra protection. Swallowing thickly, he shuddered as another rumble of thunder rolled through the air heavily. “I feel like I should tell you, about my alt mode. And about the Senate that used to control Cybertron.”
He felt sick just saying the words but they would need to come out eventually. It wasn’t fair to keep this hidden away as if he didn’t trust his secret with one of the mechs he loved. Bee already knew one small part of what he was so he’d have to explain it to him too. He just hated bringing up old wounds.
Rung’s words and actions didn’t match up, calmly explaining why he shouldn’t be scared while simultaneously attempting to hide in Megatron’s frame. He curled around the minibot as best he could, both arms solidly around him.
He felt the air pressure drop in a way that had little to do with the weather. What echoes of the old Senate could have lasted so long? An old flame stirred, and Megatron’s field became fierce and protective.
“What did they do?” he growled.
Taking a breath, Rung felt himself begin to honestly relax with the tension of arms around him, the fold of a much larger frame making him feel safe. He had his own claws and alternate spiked armor when he needed it to defend himself, he had a staff for more peaceful tactics but none of that could be used to chase off old memories. The Senate was nothing but ghosts now and couldn’t do anything, but old hurts always lingered.
“Here, once the Senate took over fully, they started to impliment a.. belief. Functionists. Your form determined what you could do. If you were a shuttle, you were expected to draw cargo or go into travel, not be a scientist even if you had the apptitude for it. If you were forged a tool, you stayed a tool. My form… I couldn’t… _Wouldnt_ tell them what it entails. So they took me away from my practice, created a story for those who might ask after me to cover for my absence. And they experimented, took me apart and tortured me to try to figure out how I worked, what I was.”
“I am familiar with Functionalism.” It was what had restricted him to the mines, what had dictated that alt-modes built for construction and hauling were somehow lesser than those that supported flight, or were geared towards scientific endeavors. It was what had relegated those with common frametypes like his vehicons to be treated as disposable drones. It was something he had tried his damnedest to kill.
But for all the atrocities he had known the Senate to be guilty of, Megatron hadn’t known them capable of such specific torture. Then again, he had never heard of someone in his own universe with an alt that wasn’t self-explanatory. The very existence of such a person would challenge the very foundation of those prejudicial beliefs.
“Enduring such torment and still holding to your sense of self. Your will is rare and inspiring. That you were put in such a position… if those who held you still function, I would gladly pay them in kind.” Another bolt struck close to the building, rattling the foundation before it faded.