To say that Megatron was shocked would be an understatement. Normally, someone’s reaction to the Kingpin of Kaon threatening them wasn’t glee. Much less did his cannon in their face ever inspire joyous, thankful rambling. The proper response should have been begging, or at least panic. This was… new.
Soundwave was similarly flabbergasted, though it was impossible to tell apart from a small tilt to his helm. He looked from the minibot to his Boss, but that didn’t help matters; Megatron was staring too. Soundwave took a step forward, images flashing on his screen, of Blindside and the footprints he’d found. The mech had just plainly admitted to being the one who’d been tracking them, clearly he needed to be disposed of… Megatron, however,
broke into a laugh, hearty and loud over the absurdity of it all.
“You… Haha, you’re somethin’ else!” His cannon powered down as he used that hand to brace himself against the wall, continuing to laugh. Soundwave kept staring. This was a serious matter, but he also hadn’t heard the Boss laugh like that in years. Finally, he began to calm down, straightening his tie before straightening up again. “Somethin’ else… You know I have kept every cyberhound-nosed cop an’ conspiracy theorist off my tracks for ages, and the one to find me is the Primus-slaggin’ minibot newsy?! Give this mini a medal…” Soundwave had no medals, and was still not laughing.
“Look, I can answer your questions sure, but I’ve gotta protect myself an’ my business here, so you’re gonna have to answer a few’a mine first. Did you really only follow me all this way to thank me?” His optics returned to Soundwave for a moment, his lieutenant verifying the mini had no recording equipment on him. “You know you could be slagged at any given moment, and you still came out here? Why?”
Well, ‘cause…
(His hands flex in front of him as he struggles with the words.) I dunno. I dunno, just, here you is, some stranger walkin’ up in the dead of night blasting holes in the bridge and pushin’ a wad of shanix into the hands of a lowly little newsmech. I ask questions sometimes, but I didn’t have the energy to follow through ‘til I ate!
(Bee points.) And you’s the mech what fed me! You! Here’s my employer tryin’ to take down your whole empire and whackin’ me in the head when I don’t sell it right, while you’re the Most Wanted Mech in Kaon and you’re bein’ nice to me!
Me!
You know I almost went to Blindside with what I knew? I wanted him to look at me and tell me I knew somethin’, that I was right just for a little bit and you know what he does? He runs me out of the room! Who else in the world was gonna appreciate all the hard work I did just to look you in the optic again?
… (Bee’s appropriately cowed when the answer finally came out.) I supposed you was the only mech who would.
Megatron’s optics never left the mini, studying him as he spoke. He remembered what it was like to have no one care where you got your next refueling, for no one to listen. To be hit until he figured out that he could hit back. It wasn’t all that long ago, all things considered. Wasn’t that what had led him to treat the poor mech in the first place?
Reaching into his jacket, Megatron pulled out a cygar and lit it on the end of his cannon. He drew a deep cycle of the thick smoke before letting it out in a deep sigh. He grinned as the tendrils framed his helm. Behind their guest, Soundwave nodded once, and turned to leave them. “Alright, then. In order.”
“That filthy ring was rigged. I fought to win, finally made a name and decent livin’ and then they told me to take a dive, an’ a hike while I was at it. That night there was an unfortunate ‘gas leak’, an’ I decided to start my own business, instead.” He took another drag from the cygar, leaning back against the wall.
“Soundwave didn’t go nowhere. He’s the one who dragged you in here, came with me after the fire. The mech who owned the ring suggested that I crawl back underground where I belonged, so I suggested he take a field trip downstairs, himself.” With another smirk, Megatron tapped the barrel of his cannon. “This was his. Confiscated from some titan tryin’ to smuggle it into a fight an’ always bragged about it. Gotta admit, he had good taste.”
“I didn’t wreck the place myself, you can’t be doin’ that with a recognizable mug like mine. But, it does my spark good to piss off that nosy sleaze. Seems like you didn’t lose any sleep over it either, huh? So that brings it to you.” Another vent of smoke. He took a few steps towards the newsy, towering over him. “A minibot who sniffed out my trail better than mechs whose job it is to sniff, all to find a mech who might hear you.” Megatron lowered himself to one knee, offering his servo.
“Congratulations, I’m all audials. How’d you like to work for me, ‘stead of that fragged excuse for a paper?”
Megatron writing poetry based on his love for Soundwave
Megatron sees what has been done to Smokescreen. There is a knot in his tank. Can they stoop any lower? He sends a message to Astrotrain, leaning back in his chair. He closes his optics, servo covering his face.
::Let him rest for now, but get him talking when he wakes. If there is anything we can provide, let me know.::
(Bee can’t speak for torturously long. He has to heave and sputter and strain to get the water out of his systems. It leaves a disgusting aftertaste in his mouth and a film over his optics. The world shifts under him, but without his feet on the ground, he can’t tell how. He can just feel the sway of his feet and the pull on his shoulder.)
(That being said, finally getting them clear and seeing that he was being dangled like a Christmas goose weren’t a welcome sight either. This mech is nothing he’s ever seen before, bent all in the wrong ways and faceless and holding him up with a peripheral he hadn’t even seen in movies before. Bee cowers at the sight of him, and the growl, and tries to speak.) H-hey now! Don’t get mad! I wadn’t doing anything bad by ya, I-I just wanted to see the ships! You can put me down! I can’t go anywhere like this anyway! Come on, mech, be a friend? Please?
(He babbles until his hat is dry, he pleads as he sees mechs shuffling past him with massive crates. He finally gets quiet as Fishhook steals him away to a quiet, darkened room and tosses him down to the floor. He only has a split second to fear for his life before he hears it; that cannon that’s been burned into his memory like it’s burned into the bridge. He gasps and scrambles to his feet, and low and behold in the dim light, framed in shadow like before, is him.)
(Bee can’t contain his joy, and it all flows out like water the more he speaks.) I FOUND YOU! I was RIGHT! Do you know how much I had to go through to see you again?! I found your old papers at the ring! I tracked you all the way from the street where you shot that cop! WOW! Megatronus the mighty! Undefeated! Did you burn the ring down? I gotta know- I-I got all these questions! Where did that Soundwave guy get to? What did that guy do to make you bust the whole building down? Where did the gun come from?! Was you the guy who busted all of Blindside’s stuff? Jeezum Prime, he was MAD! He nearly busted my head open when I didn’t have papers to bring back, but look at me now! I did something he WISHES he could do! The Boss Megatron himself!
I-
(What does he do now? That cannon is still pointed at his face, and the joy is wearing off little by little as he remembers, oh yeah, this mech’s killed people much bigger than him and he’s just a little wet mini in a damp hat. He laughs and rubs at his neck.) Heh, I… just wanted to thank you, for the tip. Best meal I had in days, like.
To say that Megatron was shocked would be an understatement. Normally, someone’s reaction to the Kingpin of Kaon threatening them wasn’t glee. Much less did his cannon in their face ever inspire joyous, thankful rambling. The proper response should have been begging, or at least panic. This was… new.
Soundwave was similarly flabbergasted, though it was impossible to tell apart from a small tilt to his helm. He looked from the minibot to his Boss, but that didn’t help matters; Megatron was staring too. Soundwave took a step forward, images flashing on his screen, of Blindside and the footprints he’d found. The mech had just plainly admitted to being the one who’d been tracking them, clearly he needed to be disposed of… Megatron, however,
broke into a laugh, hearty and loud over the absurdity of it all.
“You… Haha, you’re somethin’ else!” His cannon powered down as he used that hand to brace himself against the wall, continuing to laugh. Soundwave kept staring. This was a serious matter, but he also hadn’t heard the Boss laugh like that in years. Finally, he began to calm down, straightening his tie before straightening up again. “Somethin’ else… You know I have kept every cyberhound-nosed cop an’ conspiracy theorist off my tracks for ages, and the one to find me is the Primus-slaggin’ minibot newsy?! Give this mini a medal…” Soundwave had no medals, and was still not laughing.
“Look, I can answer your questions sure, but I’ve gotta protect myself an’ my business here, so you’re gonna have to answer a few’a mine first. Did you really only follow me all this way to thank me?” His optics returned to Soundwave for a moment, his lieutenant verifying the mini had no recording equipment on him. “You know you could be slagged at any given moment, and you still came out here? Why?”
If you are anything like me then this very man changed your life.
To most people he is just a simple voice actor, but to us (the TF fans) he is so much more.
Peter showed me, through Optimus Prime, what it meant to be a hero. He showed me that you should always stand up for what we believe in. That you should never turn your backs on your family, and to always fight the good fight.
He saved my life in more ways then not, and he showed me that you should never, ever, ever, give up. No matter what.
So today is not just a simple birthday, but a celebration for all the amazing things we, the fans, have been shown by the amazing Peter Cullen.
We love you Peter and wish you a very Happy Birthday and many more!
Tacitus was busy with ripping out the wings of one of the ones that was getting too close to Rung. In addition to the audial breaking sounds that the undead made, Tacitus was making snarling and snapping sounds. There was an odd cheer to his tone, the occasional coo interspersing churring and angry growls.
Seeing that Megatron had trouble at his back (or rather, on it), Rung hurried to pull it off. He had no idea, of course, that the damage was already done and Megatron had the virus in him from the start. So when he saw claws pushing past plating the little mech grit his dentae and let minor transformations start along his frame. Agile fingers shifted at the tips, blunt edges folding aside to make way for claws that he shoved in where sensitive wiring met and then twisted and yanked backwards, pulling the flier with him and shoving to the side to get him out of the way.
“Megatron? Are you alright?” He looked down, offering a hand, aware that there were starting to be small changes across his frame. Small spikes and hooks at his elbows, shoulders and knees.
Ok, this was still alright, he could… Megatron wrenched his arm over his helm, firing backwards, but the creature was too close to his broad back, focusing on peeling his thick armor plates apart. Energon began to well from the wound, its color an unnatural violet. The warrior thrashed once more, ready to fire again before it dug deeper-
He had nearly forgotten that he wasn’t on his own anymore. The shriek and sudden absence of a weight on his back was a surprise that took Megatron a moment to react to. He looked up to Rung, such surprise evident on his face, both at the small mech’s strength, and at his… changes. His optics flicked from the jagged edges of Rung’s frame to his optics. It would seem that they’d both been laid bare. Somehow, it set Megatron at ease, and it was with confidence that he took the delicate claws in his own, pulling himself upright again.
“I can still fight. That’s what matters.” The flier that had been on him twitched, trying to crawl toward them again. It didn’t get far after Megatron’s sword relieved it of its helm. “…Thank you for saving me. Help your friend, then head to the downed shuttle at the end of the road, that’s the entrance!”
(This was it! The connection he’d been looking for! The last twenty building purchases were all done under the names of Megatronus’s boxing buddies! The latest one, Impactor, was right on the waterfront where the river met the industrial canal. Prime real estate indeed! It was the perfect place to park the shopping ships! Bee stuffed the papers back into the drawer and nearly hollered in joy! He was right! He’d found him! He’d look that mech right in the face and say “I know who you are!”, and Blindside would have to suck up the fact that Bee was about to do what he WISHED he could! He wound find Megatron!)
“UM- Sir?!”
(Bee leaps off the drawers and slams into the little clerk, glowing with pride.) I got it figured out, mac! This’ll be perfect!
(He takes out two shanix of his remaining four and presses it into the clerk’s hands, just like Megatron- Megatronus! As if no one had made the connection before?!- had done for him.) Thank you!
(With that he dashes out to the stationery store nearest the waterfront, buying up cardboard boxes and duct tape and one cheap knife. He spends hours on a dock, stripping pieces and taping them together into a little raft just big enough for him to kneel on. He uses the tape down to the spool watersealing it, stuffing it with empty cygarette boxes he finds in the trash for extra bouyancy. By the time he starts paddling out with a broken plate, it’s nearly night. Lights are shutting off all over the city. He’s left to watch the horizon out in the middle of the canal, then out again until the shore’s just a little line in his vision.)
(It’s absolutely terrifying. He didn’t think it would be THIS bad. He doesn’t realize he forgot to refuel until his tank starts to hurt, but he had to pay the probate guy for his trouble. It just seemed right at the time…)
(But his hunger disappears when he hears a low engine rumble. Not a low pitch. The engine was the high wail of a turbine stripped from an airship. No, that rumble was low to the water instead of up in the air where it should have been.)
(The ships appear in a blink! The floatilla! Bee stands up on his little raft, shouting and hollering and pumping his arms!) I was right! I WAS-
(The first ship wails past him, and Bee is nearly whipped off his raft in the slipstream. His feet nearly give out under him as the wake catches him up its pitch. Another one passes like lightning on his other side. The noise pounds his ears, and he can’t see for the assault of the waves against his face and the raft leaping up from under him. A shock of terror goes through him as his foot hits the water, and one last ship knocks him off the little boat completely, and he’s surrounded by dark, murky foam from the boat passing overhead like he wasn’t even there. He sinks, screaming for help and only hearing bubbles pouring out from his vents, his only indicator that he’s sinking down.)
Soundwave smoothed out his lapels as his ship crossed the bay, comforting his deployer. All trails leading from Blindside’s office had either gone cold as their target shifted into his alt-mode or had led directly to the journalist himself, who was not the focus of their mission tonight. It wasn’t Laserbeak’s fault that the mech kept poor records of who worked for him. Whoever this mech was, (a minibot, judging by the size of the tracks) he would show himself again eventually. For now, the Boss had need of him on the flotilla.
Just as he was about to enter the cabin, he heard something out on the water. A voice? Soundwave walked to the railing and looked down just in time to see a swell of bubbles, just beside a bit of cardboard… no. A raft? Quickly, the slender mech unspooled a data cable, and plunged one into the water.
The powerful jaws of his cable clamped around what felt like a wheel well. The minibot was plucked from the drink by his shoulder, lifted high into the air until his faceplate was reflected back at him in a shiny black screen. With the brim of his hat tilted down over the screen, it might give the impression of a sharp glare. There came the growl of static again. The little mech remained firmly in his grasp until the cargo ship docked, dangling as Soundwave walked aboard the floating depot. The Boss would know what to do with him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Megatron grinned as the ethanol was unloaded from his cargo shuttle. The last of the crates disembarked, Octane transformed with a groan, rubbing at his side. “Not meant to carry that much at once… Hope you’re happy, ‘cause I ain’t doin that again.”
“Don’t get soft on me. This is more than enough for the next two weeks, but you an’ your associates are gonna be delivering me this amount from now on. Of course, you’ll be compensated for the strain, but if you got anymore complaints, you’ll be taking ’em up with…”
Perfect timing as always, Soundwave tossed his catch to the floor, so that he would land at Megatron’s feet. Megatron raised an optic ridge, looking from Soundwave to their new arrival, but his partner remained ever stoic. “And who might to be? Council spy, Beureau of Importation? Come on… you look familiar, I never forget a face.” His cannon whirred to life. “Indulge me.”
Optic filters shutter back, flicking red away from blue (a hint of violet there in the inbetween, laced so deep in his very being like the true horror of repetition), and his spark twists.
This is hardly a surprise. The few videos he has of Megatron prior to the War depict the mechanical with the blue optics common to Priman Cybertronians, a match to the shade of energon typically found in those days. But, like many other things about Megatron, the sight is unreasonably aching.
His audials flick back at the (immense, but much less intimidating) frame joining him. Nervous energy bunches and bounces around in his EM Field, optics dim as his Energon shifts around and pulls itself in tight around his Spark. A courtesy, perhaps, one meant to match his overbright frame to the plainer one of a unadorned Miner.
He is not afraid (tho’ his optics stray towards that fusion cannon, and the sharpened edges of a mechanical built to survive), but he is… uneased.
“I don’t understand.“ he says, in that honest manner of the old Prime and the innocent Archivist. “I cannot possibly begin to understand what you and your fellow Decepticons went through. Not in any true manner, at least; research is helpful, yes, but it adds a comforting distance.“
History is written by those who survive, and those who survive long enough to write it down rarely know of the struggles that fueled the creation of a War.
“But,” he says, with a sigh heavier than need be (something inside aching, feeling regretful). “I have not quite heard this side of the story before, and that does make more sense than the current running theory. And if I have not heard of it, then very, very few have.”
He thinks, briefly, of all the Decepticon ‘drones’ that ‘helped’ construct most of Iacon, and begins to feel vaguely nauseous.
“The War started as an attempt to equalize others, and yet it ended as a massive scramble to gather energon and deal with… other such dangers.” Like over-obsessive Gods who somehow managed to get to Cybertron, and the beginning conflict caused by the rising Predaking Empire. “What changed?”
If Megatron had heard his soldiers referred to as drones in such a context, he would take great offense. Their frametype was one that was mass-produced, but each had his own spark, his own personality and thoughts, and each had chosen on his own to serve the Decepticon cause. They deserved more than to be relegated to the same social standing and menial tasks that would have been asked of them had the war never began.
“In a way, it’s precisely as you described. Two beings so at odds with one another that we tore the world apart. But to simplify it as such would be an injustice to those who gave their lives.” The problem wasn’t that it shouldn’t be put into such terms, but that it was exactly that. It had been an injustice, and too many had paid the price for something far different than they had begun fighting for.
Megatron turned slightly, watching Orion. His optic ridges furrowed a bit for a moment before he continued, as if something were making it difficult.
“When we met with the council, I came to the realization that nothing we said could make a difference. No argument that didn’t somehow benefit the upper castes had any sway, what did our discontent matter so long as they remained safe and in power? I was willing to do anything, to force change if I had to, so I threatened their safety, I threatened their power, their lives, as ours were threatened every day, they heard me then! …And then HE stepped in.” Megatron wrenched his gaze away from the little phantom of his memories. He didn’t want to slip, and refer to this Orion as the one who had betrayed him.
“He tried to placate them, reassuring that a solution could be reached peacefully… the naive fool. Because of him, they knew they had an easy way out. They wouldn’t have to answer for the atrocities committed every day beneath their pedes because here was a mech who thought me too extreme, someone willing to see their side.” He winced, servos tensing into fists. “It disgusted me, infuriated me. We had worked so hard together, only to be undercut by one I considered a Brother, in favor of catering to the elite who had done this to us! And he was the one who received the Matrix-!!”
Sharp, hot pain lanced through his chest. He couldn’t conceal it this time from his field or from his reaction, leaning forward and clamping a servo over his chest. Everything hurt, a strut-deep ache as the self-inflicted poison reacted to his weakness. Too much anger. He opened all of his vents, effectively panting to cool his systems, focusing on the physical instead of the past. The solidity of the bench and the ground at his pedes, the subtle breeze through the crystal garden. Violet pulsed in his optics for a moment before it faded, as he was slowly able to calm himself. His gaze flicked to Orion as he straightened in the seat again. Since when was talking so draining?
“…The war would have happened regardless of our personal conflict… but it colored everything that followed. It changed us. He became a Prime in reaction to my revolution, and I became… ‘Lord Megatron,’ bent on destroying all trace of the old system… including him.”
Megatron's back up 