Soundwave has already visited Smokescreen tonight. There’s one, however, who may well be the reason the shields were dropped in the first place, and Soundwave has a borrowed mission to complete. The warmonger must be made to stay on his planet, afraid to expand.

The walking phobia shield joins his holomatter double in roaming the ship, if from the opposite end, scraping at what he can sense of Megatron’s mind, whispering to it, taunting it.

Megatron is old and weak now. His frame crumbles. His spark flickers. The war has taken its toll on him, draining the life from him, just as he has drained the life from all who have ever surrounded him. From the planet itself. From his so-called friends, and those he wanted to rule. From his beloved. Hasn’t he? And it’s so tiring.

His statues will weather. His name will fall off other mech’s lips, forgotten. His works will crumble and be built over, replaced with newer, shinier things by a mech he’s never met. These things are not important. The people are, and one by one, he has failed them. One by one, he has broken them all, and still the fires of hatred burn in his spark.

Soon, he will be alone. The few who are left will find out what he did and leave him, unable to trust him. So many have already abandoned him. So many cannot be called back. Much longer and he won’t even have the chance to try anymore. He’ll fade from silver to grey with no one there to remember him as he was, or might have been, or wanted to be. All the time he might have spent reconciling and creating will have been wasted on these petty grudges and furies, these pointless, endless battles.

It’s too little, and for both of them, much too late. Isn’t it, Megatron? Isn’t it?

These are no foreign thoughts to him. In the years since Cybertron’s fall, there have always been those who, rightfully so, have blamed him for everything. When he was laying broken in an Earthen stream, he had already felt forgotten, a relic of a bygone era, having failed from the very beginning.

These thoughts are no longer his own. He may not be immortal, perhaps his age and the constant beat of battles against his plating have worn him down, but he is still here, and he is not finished. So long as he functions, Megatron will fight to leave behind a world better than the one he was forged into. To have these thoughts crop up so suddenly and clash so harshly with his own mindset curls his intake into a snarl. The other Soundwave had infiltrated his ship. And here he thought things had been going so well.

Leaving his room, Megatron stalks the halls, on the hunt for that damned alternate. He projects the thorniest thoughts he can, about how lucky he has it all from the decision to run away.

Turning a corner, he nearly crashes into a familiar lanky frame and steps back to unsheath his sword, only to find his own Soundwave, unmasked and glaring daggers up at him. His irritation vanishes, replaced by immense relief and confusion to see his conjunx up and walking. He reaches out with his hand and with his field, but there is nothing to greet either as Soundwave backs away. He hasn’t looked this angry in eons, but his typical telepathy is completely absent. Shocking Megatron further, he begins to speak, in the beautiful singsong voice he’s missed so much.

“How dare you!” The backs of thin digits crack across the warlord’s face, the tips leaving faint scratches. Megatron can’t comprehend what’s happening, only able to stare in horror.

“He’s gone!” Soundwave continued, wailing in fury. “Megatron: took Unicron away, I can not feel him… You can not replace him. You are no god!!” He went to strike Megatron again but he caught the slim arm this time, finally able to gather his words despite the sinking feeling in his spark.

“Stop this! If he were not put to an end, not only me but our entire-”

“I WOULD RATHER HAVE HIM! I don’t want to be yours!!”

The cry echoed through the halls, leaving only silence in its wake. Megatron’s mind raced. All of this was wrong, and he could do nothing… but also felt nothing.

Soundwave’s fury was never silent. He should be able to hear and feel the rage and despair rolling off of him in telepathic waves, but his mind was unplauged. All of this was wrong…

“This… isn’t you, is it?” It was more of a statement than a question. Someone was playing at this… It had to be. Even so, Megatron still had to fight to maintain his composure. He couldn’t bare this if it were true, surely it couldn’t be. Drawing his sword, Megatron began to advance, not quite sure if he was making a mistake. “You aren’t real. You wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do this…”

Right?

M!A: Phobia Shield! On Halloween, a Phobia Shield will be dropped in your muse’s vicinity. They might not notice its presence, but they probably WILL notice its effects: your muse’s greatest fear will be brought to life! (As a holomatter simulation, at least.) The effects will last as long as it takes for the Phobia Shield to be found and destroyed. Happy haunting and happy hunting! #phobiashield

Megatron is no stranger to fear, and has fought his fair share of demons both literal and figurative. A giant monster or agile assassin would be a nuisance, but cause little terror. However, in the bowels of the Nemesis, Soundwave’s double appears, very much awake, and angrily seeking out his beloved conjunx.

Sludge dissolving in his servos, Megatron smiles, offering the cleaner one to his friend.

the-scrappy-stinger:

(Bee climbs into it vacantly, taking his time.)

… place and time.

That could either be a saying or a question. Lifting Bee, he turns right around and starts heading back down the much brighter street towards Bumblebee’s front door. He replies as if it is the latter.

“Moments from home, for a much needed rest.”

Drift had been doing some exploring, traveling to universes he hadn’t visited in some time. He hadn’t seen this Megatron in some time, and had been friends at one time. ::Drift hailing the nemesis. Requesting landing.::

driftsetadrift:

mightymegatron:

driftsetadrift:

mightymegatron:

Megatron himself doesn’t answer, but he overhears the transmission and clears the ship with a smirk. By the time the foreign ship lands, the former warlord has made his way down to the flight deck.

“A voice I haven’t heard in some time. Why the sudden visit?” It may sound like an interrogation, but he’s yet to drop the smile.

Drift steps out, the halls of the nemesis are not completely foreign to him, but still a bit strange.

“Its too easy to lose contact with your friends and damage relationships, and I’m afraid I’ve neglected this one terribly.” Megatron looked different, good, maybe a bit tired, but it was good to see him.

Standing with his arms crossed behind his back, Megatron looks over the well-worn ship, and the equally worn plating of the former Decepticon. That little qualifier would have been cause for death only a few years ago, but now was simply a fact. He hardly cared about the red markings now.

“Admittedly, it is difficult to maintain such things over faction lines. Luckily we needn’t worry about such things now. We’re far more concerned with rebuilding- and in your case, building a family.” He grins again, motioning for Drift to follow him towards the edge of the deck. “How is the little one doing?”

A genuine smile as he followed Megatron, standing to his side.

“Fast Track is growing fast, at the rate shes decided to grow at I bet she could be in her adult frame in just a couple years. Her brother however, hes growing a bit slower. He was uh… an unexpected addition. Greys delivered him to us the day he was born, something happened to his birth parents, so now he’s our child.” Looking somewhat sad for just a moment. “We love him just the same but uh, taking care of two growing sparklings at the same time is… hectic.”

His optics widened, shaking his helm. “Two… I could hardly handle two fully grown minicons in my youth, I can’t imagine.” They reach the edge of the ship, the sun gleaming off the freshly built towers of New Iacon below. Megatron takes a moment to breathe it in, letting his field relax just enough to let Drift feel his ease.

“However, things are relatively calm here. If you required aid, that’s something I would be able to offer.”

( There is little of Bumblebee in these movements. The inky monster is driving him, forcing him to attack Megatron by smashing his fists into Megatron’s leg. )

the-scrappy-stinger:

mightymegatron:

The cave tent collapses before his optics, along with his shambling animatronic double. Everything converges upon one point, and as the color fades, Megatron catches the yellow trapped within the muck. He starts to charge forward but stops as it uses Bumblebee’s limbs to run towards him, too. Hearing his friend whimper and sob as he was forced to attack hurts infinitely more than the tiny fists against his armor.

Megatron knelt down, opening himself to more of the creature’s attacks. They sting, each blow leaving scratches and scuffs, but he lets it all happen so long as Bee is close to him. He braces the minibot’s back with one servo, closing the other around the throat of the oily thing controlling him.

“You said it was too late, but he’s still alive, and so am I.” Megatron yanked hard on the slippery thing, attempting to rend the mass from Bee with his claws. “As long as that is true, it will never be too late!!”

(The foul snapping noises are horrendous. They from from the inky black monstrosity inside of Bumblebee, however, not from the little yellow form held tight in his hand. It holds fast as he pulls, and it and Bumblebee both scream. Bumblebee, out of fear. The monstrous darkness, out of agony. Its vapid smiling mouth gnashes its teeth against Megatron’s armored finger.)

The creature’s fanged struggling is painful, even drawing energon, but it only makes Megatron grin. It wouldn’t be fighting like this if he wasn’t on to something. He twists his claws, tearing shreds of gunk from Bee’s frame by force.

“If you can hear me, trust me. This pain won’t last forever, and I’m not going to leave you here to fall to this parasite.” The next piece he tears away he flicks hard to the ground, always keeping one hand on the writhing minibot. There was no indication that he was heard, only more screaming. Megatron continued anyway, voice much calmer than when he was speaking to the monster. “Do you know how many times you’ve lifted my own darkness? The least I can do is act in kind…”

( There is little of Bumblebee in these movements. The inky monster is driving him, forcing him to attack Megatron by smashing his fists into Megatron’s leg. )

The cave tent collapses before his optics, along with his shambling animatronic double. Everything converges upon one point, and as the color fades, Megatron catches the yellow trapped within the muck. He starts to charge forward but stops as it uses Bumblebee’s limbs to run towards him, too. Hearing his friend whimper and sob as he was forced to attack hurts infinitely more than the tiny fists against his armor.

Megatron knelt down, opening himself to more of the creature’s attacks. They sting, each blow leaving scratches and scuffs, but he lets it all happen so long as Bee is close to him. He braces the minibot’s back with one servo, closing the other around the throat of the oily thing controlling him.

“You said it was too late, but he’s still alive, and so am I.” Megatron yanked hard on the slippery thing, attempting to rend the mass from Bee with his claws. “As long as that is true, it will never be too late!!”

(The carnival crushes its victims.)

the-scrappy-stinger:

mightymegatron:

the-scrappy-stinger:

(Everyone it takes in, it makes small. Small is easier to swallow, to break down into its components, to ingest, to digest. Bumblebee had been shrunk like every human had been shrunk, to make him feel small, to crack his defenses, to make it easier to work him into its systems.)

(But when Megatron stepped through, it sensed something different. Something that could not be crushed, shrunken, or broken away.)

(It came to a decision quicky.)

(He would be crushed physically.)

“You are too late.”

The dirt is packed firm from hundreds of feet treading the ground, but Megatron’s heavy pedes still leave tracks. It’s quiet but never silent, broken music struggling through the air from every game and ride, mixing with hollow laughter. No part of this is amusing.

The little robots are of no interest to him as they skitter underfoot. Threat or not, they aren’t Bumblebee. He keeps the channel open, the frightened voice of his friend becoming clearer with every step until he can hear it in person. There, inside that gaping maw of a cave-

Stands a cheap knockoff. He unsheaths his sword and keeps walking forward.

“Move.”

(It attacks first. It swings slow and down on Megatron’s shoulder, its parts crumbling into slivering sharp pieces against his armor.)

“He is ours.”

The hulking conglomeration of metal jerks as it moves, the hidden hydraulics of dozens of animatronics squealing as it strikes. He turns the hit into a glancing blow, unable to dodge like he used to but still faster than this pale imitation. Slashing to remove the offending arm despite fresh energon running down his own, Megatron’s red filters slide over his optics. This is worth the color of war.

“Yours… Devour him whole and he’ll still never be yours!”

Fangs flashing, the former warlord wears his old mantle, tearing into the clanking lie’s chest with his claws to try and toss it aside.

“But I am his Lord!!”

(The carnival crushes its victims.)

the-scrappy-stinger:

(Everyone it takes in, it makes small. Small is easier to swallow, to break down into its components, to ingest, to digest. Bumblebee had been shrunk like every human had been shrunk, to make him feel small, to crack his defenses, to make it easier to work him into its systems.)

(But when Megatron stepped through, it sensed something different. Something that could not be crushed, shrunken, or broken away.)

(It came to a decision quicky.)

(He would be crushed physically.)

“You are too late.”

The dirt is packed firm from hundreds of feet treading the ground, but Megatron’s heavy pedes still leave tracks. It’s quiet but never silent, broken music struggling through the air from every game and ride, mixing with hollow laughter. No part of this is amusing.

The little robots are of no interest to him as they skitter underfoot. Threat or not, they aren’t Bumblebee. He keeps the channel open, the frightened voice of his friend becoming clearer with every step until he can hear it in person. There, inside that gaping maw of a cave-

Stands a cheap knockoff. He unsheaths his sword and keeps walking forward.

“Move.”

::Megs- Megatron, Megs- are you doing okay? How are you feeling? You’re online, right? How’s your energon reserves?:: He hasn’t been worrying, not one bit. ::… Should I give you an update about the different bots that have been arriving on Cybertron?::

ask-smokescreen:

mightymegatron:

ask-smokescreen:

mightymegatron:

Ah, there’s one. His shoulders relax a tad.

::I am online, calm yourself. My reconstruction put me offline for longer than anticipated, but everything seems to be in its proper place now. Have there been many new arrivals?::

::Your reconstruction? So- so, wait, are you back to normal? LIke- your old frame, or-? Can I visit you?:: Smokescreen’s already driving over! He’s pretty excited to hear from him, he is able to get past the idea of driving alone for just a short trip, to check on his friend.

::Well, yeah! I think more and more groups come each time, and it’s really good to see. I’ve been organizing some of the housing while you were out, and I tried sending in a request for more temporary housing to be made? But- but there’s still more Decepticons coming in compared to Autobots, and the Autobots that do come here are happy to see me, but seem kind of… Anxious, I guess? I’m doing my best to make things relaxing for them, since I understand their feelings, but- I’m not sure what to do to make it better, you know?::

::As ‘normal’ as I can be, but a visit would be welcome.:: Anyone who isn’t his medic, who is all but glued to his side running diagnostic tests. He’s nearly knocked the mech over several times just in turning slightly, and none of it is doing anything to jog the last few hours of his memory before surgery. He is grateful for the distraction.

::I can’t say I’m surprised. If I were them, I wouldn’t trust the opposing faction’s leader, either. They may refuse to be convinced that I’m not out to hunt them down.::

There’s a few minutes with no reply, until Smokescreen’s running in to sit near Megatron, waving to the medic before staring at Megatron, starting to look over him.

“You’re, uh- looking good! I can’t say I’m too surprised, either. But I really hope that over time, Autobots will be able to come here without worrying about that. I guess that’ll come with time, right?” Smokescreen’s scooting closer, still looking over Megatron, “So- you’ve been here for the past few weeks, right? You wanna hear about all the stuff that’s gone on in the multiverse since then?”

Singer waves back without looking over, distracted by his work. Startled by the sudden appearance, Megatron stares right back at Smokescreen for a moment before moving over to give him room to sit. This proves fruitless, as Smokescreen simply moves even closer. Megatron rolls his optics.

“That is the hope, yes. One that your efforts will help. Stop that, I’m stabilized and sturdy.” Whether this is true he has yet to care to discover, as he doesn’t see Singer nervously shrug. “Please. What is it that I’ve missed?”

Drift had been doing some exploring, traveling to universes he hadn’t visited in some time. He hadn’t seen this Megatron in some time, and had been friends at one time. ::Drift hailing the nemesis. Requesting landing.::

driftsetadrift:

mightymegatron:

Megatron himself doesn’t answer, but he overhears the transmission and clears the ship with a smirk. By the time the foreign ship lands, the former warlord has made his way down to the flight deck.

“A voice I haven’t heard in some time. Why the sudden visit?” It may sound like an interrogation, but he’s yet to drop the smile.

Drift steps out, the halls of the nemesis are not completely foreign to him, but still a bit strange.

“Its too easy to lose contact with your friends and damage relationships, and I’m afraid I’ve neglected this one terribly.” Megatron looked different, good, maybe a bit tired, but it was good to see him.

Standing with his arms crossed behind his back, Megatron looks over the well-worn ship, and the equally worn plating of the former Decepticon. That little qualifier would have been cause for death only a few years ago, but now was simply a fact. He hardly cared about the red markings now.

“Admittedly, it is difficult to maintain such things over faction lines. Luckily we needn’t worry about such things now. We’re far more concerned with rebuilding- and in your case, building a family.” He grins again, motioning for Drift to follow him towards the edge of the deck. “How is the little one doing?”