Rung was grateful that Megatron didn’t even question his secondary armor. But then, if what Rung was guessing was correct, the larger mech had many more concerns than one old mech that was a relic of a bygone era. He smiled softly and did his best to keep Tacitus from skittering too far ahead of them, ever keeping an eye on their surroundings as he updated his HUD about the place he’d just raided; what he’d taken; what he’d seen was still in there that he might get back to; and the various Empties that had come down on them and from which directions. Rung was nothing if not serious about his attention to detail. It was really too bad his collection of model ships never made it from his original home to his last safe house. It would have been nice to have just one to hold onto.
He didn’t realize that he was lost in thought until he heard the seering tone and caught sight of the weapon being pointed at Megatron. Since the bigger mech wasn’t treating it as a serious threat he thought perhaps it was just a joke at first, but the comments lent it more of a cruel air than even dark humor could expect. And of course this was when his suspicions were solidified and Rung stood to the side to simply watch the play by play. Leaning on his staff, he looked up at Megatron, his gaze soft with compassion. This poor mech had to deal with this disease as well as his ‘friend’ taking an eager interest in offlining him. The orange bot frowned faintly when he was questioned and reached out to Tacitus, able to feel the ragged EM field that the Insecticon had, knowing without looking that the bug didn’t like Starscream at all.
““I would assume by your words that you intend to make his touch seem as though it’s some vicious thing, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Simply touching an Empty or an infected isn’t enough to spread the disease from one to another. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you have no medical training that you wouldn’t know this. Otherwise why would you say such a thing. Except perhaps to seek to wound a mech that’s suffering. To try to revile him when he’s been nothing but noble. You have a mech here that can do wonders to protect you, can carry heaps of supplies to you when you’re in need, a mech that obviously has a healthy amount of patience and your behavior towards him is – to say the least – unacceptable. Perhaps you’re simply too young to understand such civilities, although in my experience such matters are taught within the first orn of a younglings life. You should reflect upon your actions and I would hope that once you realize how detrimental you are being not just to the group you’re with but to yourself as a being, you will come to apologize for your behavior.”
Turning towards Megatron, Rung took Tactitus’ claws in his own and smiled gently. “I have some medication stashed away in case of emergencies, it should aid you for a little while yet. And the next time you need some, I’ll go out with you. If you’ll have me, and Tacitus at your side once more.”
Starscream’s expression shifted from sneering, to offended, to downright shocked, wings high and flared in indignation. He began to speak several times before managing a coherent sentence, optics burning in his barely-concealed rage. Megatron, however, seemed about to laugh.
“How dare you,” Starscream finally spat, pointing a talon in Rung’s face. “I only have the best interests of this clan at spark, and to have an infected still in charge of it is more of a danger to us all than any benefit he carries while sane! Our dear leader may seem civil and heroic now, but there is only so much of that solution in the world, and the moment he misses a dose he’d have no trouble tearing the lot of us apart!!” The entire encampment had paused to stare in the seeker’s direction, his voice echoing inside the walls of the hollowed-out ship. Starscream looked between the minibot and his growling Insecticon, then to Megatron, and finding none of them swayed, straightened his back and scoffed. “Fine! But don’t expect my help once he turns as savage as his con-” Megatron’s cannon whirring to life cut him off as he took aim.
“Mind who you call savage, Starscream. Leave us.” There was no mirth left in his face, only a deathly glare. The seeker flinched and backed away before attempting to regain his dignified stature. He scurried off with a final sneer in their general direction.
Only when he was out of sight did Megatron relax again, disarming himself to return to his guests’ side. “I find myself caught between the need to apologize for his behavior, and commending you for taking him to task.” The seeker’s digs at his sanity and ability had become so numerous they had become background noise, he would tune it out. It took Rung’s defense of him to remind the warrior that his value was in fact still worth defending. Megatron smiled. “Thank you for that, and for your offer. Perhaps after some rest.”
It wasn’t difficult to find a vacant lodging area. New arrivals never seemed to overbalance those who were lost when they ventured outside the hull. Megatron ensured the space was large enough for them both before he felt a twinge in his lines. He’d been losing track of time. Taking a seat, Megatron removed two of the pilfered injections from his subspace, but didn’t trust his claws not to break the delicate syringes. He’d cut it too close this time, and tried to remain calm. “Rung.. have you administered this before? I cannot seem to at the moment.”
There had been an unregistered ground bridge opened on the ship, but the signal’s origin was familiar. He took a moment to tidy his office, wiping a few errant smudges from his armor. Rung seemed as if he would hardly mind if he wasn’t immaculate, but Megatron couldn’t help the impulse. It was a strange sensation, but not unwelcome.
Opening the door, the warlord raised an optic ridge at a nervous mech much larger than the one he’d been expecting. The bartender, former Decepticon… Perhaps the holidays had warmed him back up to seeing his former lord without outright cowering.
“Attrition? I can’t recall arranging a meeting with you, but I do have some time. Come.” The warlord turned, arms folded behind his back as he walked back into his quarters. The primary room was large, consisting mainly of a desk and a few shelves, decorated with blankets and other various gifts. Colored rocks, drawings, antique datpads. Leaning against the wall was the Dark Star Saber, glowing gently in the low light. The door closed both of them inside.
“Were you sent here, or do you come of your own free will?”
The great grey mech could say that they were similar, but it would always fluster Attrition in a pleasant way. He absently rubbed at one leg, fingers gingerly pressing on ruined treads like there was an old ache there.
“Oh gosh, I don’t actually have a city state of my own! I’m an MTO. Made to order. When the war revved up, sparks were stockpiled, put on ice more or less and then shoved in a frame as needed.” He raised a hand in a somewhat casual salute. “Attrition of Operation: Darkened Horizon.”
Megatron’s optics narrowed. He wondered if there were many more then who looked as Attrition did. He stared at the bereft treads, at the lines and wear on his frame and face.
“I’ve heard many similar tales, of mechs built to supply the war efforts. Treated as stock…” Though he had almost done the very same to the Predacons. He pushed that thought aside, focusing on Attrition. “Regardless of how you were made, or why, you are a living mech, with a spark from Cybertron’s ores, and deserving of more than a mission’s title. Tarn welcomed all those with unconventional or unfortunate upbringings. If you were to claim it as yours, we would be proud to have you.” Megatron mocked his own salute, before offering his servo to shake.
There had been an unregistered ground bridge opened on the ship, but the signal’s origin was familiar. He took a moment to tidy his office, wiping a few errant smudges from his armor. Rung seemed as if he would hardly mind if he wasn’t immaculate, but Megatron couldn’t help the impulse. It was a strange sensation, but not unwelcome.
Opening the door, the warlord raised an optic ridge at a nervous mech much larger than the one he’d been expecting. The bartender, former Decepticon… Perhaps the holidays had warmed him back up to seeing his former lord without outright cowering.
“Attrition? I can’t recall arranging a meeting with you, but I do have some time. Come.” The warlord turned, arms folded behind his back as he walked back into his quarters. The primary room was large, consisting mainly of a desk and a few shelves, decorated with blankets and other various gifts. Colored rocks, drawings, antique datpads. Leaning against the wall was the Dark Star Saber, glowing gently in the low light. The door closed both of them inside.
“Were you sent here, or do you come of your own free will?”
Megatron was glad he’d decided to lock the empty Matrix away. Before now, it had laid on his desk as well.
“Really, now?” The warlord turned to face Attrition again, regarding him with his usual analytic eye. Remembering that this often came across as a glare, Megatron made the conscious effort to ease the tense set of his shoulders. The effort was made simpler with the promise of high grade, relaxing him enough to lean back against the edge of his desk, and extend a servo to offer the tank his chair.
“Very well. Assumptions or not, I understand your misgivings. My reputation does tend to precede me.” Reaching back the top drawer of his desk, Megatron retrieved a pair of rough-hewn glasses for them. “Let me begin then by saying that the war is over. I wouldn’t intend on bringing you in for desertion even if you were of this universe.”
“The war is over for us as well, and deserters are slowly starting to come back since Starscream is enforcing that no one be brought up for charges regarding the deserting at least.” He started to slowly relax, a faint fond smile crossing his face when he mentioned the Prince of Vos. He swallowed and brought a hand up, rubbing his neck. “And if you want to get technical, the Decepticons are disbanded, but the Justice Division don’t really care about any of that. But I’m guessing that the DJD don’t exist here? Where you born in Kaon?”
That in some universes, Starscream is in a position of independent power never ceases to confound Megatron. Although, when he wasn’t focusing on his personal vendetta, even his own seeker could be a competent enough impromptu leader, despite his planet-sized ego.
“I can’t speak for those from your universe, but I have used my name to sway others before. There was once a Tarn from somewhere else who swore allegiance to me as he had to his own Megatron, but I never formed a Justice Division here. Such extremism would have only served to perpetuate a fear of the Decepticons, even from within our own ranks.” Megatron poured the two of them some energon from his gift, smirking as he swirled his glass.
“I fought in Kaon. It was the site of my uprising and my home for a long while, but Tarn is where I was forged, or at least deep beneath it. I was raised in the mines there, a tank like you.” He raised his glass in a toast towards Attrition, before taking a sip. “And what of you, then? Were you also built for excavation? Or better yet, if you ended up leaving later in the war, why did you join the Decepticons?”
There is no such place. There is only Unicron. And if I am doomed to be with him when I am gone, I will at least endeavor to make him regret keeping me.
Ironically, Megatron hadn’t been expecting this rage. He agreed, Livewire probably wanted the planet for himself. He hadn’t thought the neutral was associated with the cult but now that Bee brought it up, it was a possibility…
And suddenly, he gets to see himself in a mirror. Immediately, Megatron leans over, supporting his friend’s back, reaching out with his field and finding panic in Bee’s as his optics lose focus. He seems to be having trouble ventilating, too…
“Calm yourself, focus internally, on your systems regulating…” It was hard to explain the method he always used for this, but that did work for him. “…I don’t approve of his methods either, but unfortunately they are successful ones. Whatever I do must be proportionate. That is where my stress lies. Nothing can be done about what he’s already said.”
(Bee focuses. Field. Feet. The ground. The air. He’s okay. Breathe. He grips Megatron’s fingers. Breathe.)
But he’s lying. He’s lying, and it’s you, and there’s so many people that would prefer a pretty lie about you than the truth…
(He gasps and smacks Megatron’s hand in a frenzy of joy!) Like BigBee! LIKE BIG BUMBLEBEE he KILLED you and he was there seeing you try to save people! If he vouches for you, bots will listen!
Only when Bee starts talking again does he relax. He still doesn’t pull his servo away, startled only slightly when Bee hits his plating.
“That… actually may be the best course of action short-term. I fear they wouldn’t listen to Smokescreen, or even you. Even though you’re Autobots, you’ve been seen working with me too often to seem objective. Your alternate however, hates me with a passion, and I have evidence to support it on my chassis.” Megatron shook his helm.
“But even so, no proverbial testimony will smooth this over entirely. I will… likely have to follow through, and hold the election he calls for. At least if we can prove I wasn’t aligned with the cult, I’d be a viable candidate.”
That’s CRAZY! Was he THERE?! Does he know how those melted under the weight of their own struts?! And he thinks you PLANNED IT?! That liar! That MONSTER!!! And he’s willing to drag YOUR name through the slag! I bet HE wants the planet! I-I bet HE’S part of that planet-fucking cult and the whole thing’s just a setup to feed the REST of Cybertron to that- tha-hhh-
(His energon races, clouds his vision, and where his sight dims at the edges it turns yellow and viscous and burning hot where it seeps into his metal and eats and eats-)
(He gasps for breath again, this time choked on his own panic and anger. His sight clicks back into place, but color comes in pixel by pixel.)
Ironically, Megatron hadn’t been expecting this rage. He agreed, Livewire probably wanted the planet for himself. He hadn’t thought the neutral was associated with the cult but now that Bee brought it up, it was a possibility…
And suddenly, he gets to see himself in a mirror. Immediately, Megatron leans over, supporting his friend’s back, reaching out with his field and finding panic in Bee’s as his optics lose focus. He seems to be having trouble ventilating, too…
“Calm yourself, focus internally, on your systems regulating…” It was hard to explain the method he always used for this, but that did work for him. “…I don’t approve of his methods either, but unfortunately they are successful ones. Whatever I do must be proportionate. That is where my stress lies. Nothing can be done about what he’s already said.”
Megatron's back up 