“Lord Megatron, I do not want to go back to that place ever, ever again. I don’t know what they did to the place since then, but it reeks like death- i-it’s like organic rot and rust and energon and I couldn’t find any of it! Half of the building’s been walled off! And they’re- they’re covered with sores! They have these half-open wounds in their necks!” ( The scout comes back with no news of the source of the fire. He was obviously distracted. )

“Sores and wounds and no response… You’ve served well. Dismissed.”

Megatron sends no further messages to this location. Instead, he begins to comb through surveillance footage of the property. No mechs, apart from his scout, can be seen entering or leaving after their initial arrival. Flashes of light can sometimes be seen from the windows, the pillar of fire erupts… and over time, the building has begun to change.

Windows break, seemingly without cause. A cloud of scraplets emerges- no, flees from the premises. In the span of a few frames of stills, an entire section of wall crumbles as if from an internal explosion, but there are no flames or smoke. Every so often, it seems as if the entire structure shudders, the metal siding darkening and rusting before his optics day by day.

There is Something in the old dormitory.

( Out at the old dormitory, a pillar of orange flames suddenly erupts into the sky. It burns in a silent but raging column, a solid light in the cold night air. It snuffs unnaturally quickly, leaving the air around it still. )

Megatron didn’t see this himself, but the event didn’t escape citywide surveillance. Rumors are beginning to spread about the sect that inhabits the old building out on the edge of town. He attempts to contact the inhabitants, but doesn’t expect an answer. Plenty of residents on their newly-colonized world were quiet, but they remained shut up tight in the dormitory.

::Advanced weaponry will not be tolerated here. I’m sending my scout again and you will produce the source of the flame seen jetting from your roof to him if you intend to remain on-planet. You have been warned.::

m!a: have some feelers like soundwave’s! for like 4 days or whatever.

::Smokescreen, it would appear that you’re contagious.::

“So, uh, Master, I checked out the place the settlers, uh, settled in. They’re fine, there’s about twelve of them. They’ve got some of the windows shuttered up and sealed, and other than keeping the place a mess, it looks like they’re doing okay. Don’t even know where they got all those datapads. Wouldn’t let me read them.”

“Lord Megatron. Not Master.”

“You mean the group that claimed the dormitory outside of Tyger Pax? There is no record of that place containing any worthwhile materials, they must have brought them along. Check on this group regularly. If they still refuse to let you see them, inquire as to why. No readings are classified as illegal, so take one if you can. If it is inconsequential, they wouldn’t be hiding it.”

What is one thing you are justly proud of?

My skill in the arena; being able to read my opponents, on and off the battlefield.

Protector Megatron, I and mine have found a place we which to call our own. At these coordinates, away from the city, we have found a large dormitory that lies empty, and we wish to claim it.

::That area has not yet been claimed as structurally sound, but if you believe it is, you may inhabit it. A scout will be sent to document your location and numbers. Hide nothing from him.::

would you like to own a pokémon (through anon magic)?

Hm. Perhaps.

Do you have a place for us on Cybertron? We haven’t been back for a long time, since before the war. Knowing it’s safe for us again is very good news.

::This is Megatron, Lord High Protector of Cybertron. The war is over, and no matter your affiliation, all Cybertronians are invited to return and aid in rebuilding our planet. Intend no harm, and you are welcome here.::

Perhaps your glass is yet a mirror, echoing emotions back to you. Admiration is shared and curiosity is abounds as this old mech seeks answers. Your frame is like fire and I would willingly burn myself to cinders in your arms.

Megatron stares at the message for a long time, stock still. It’s a response he hadn’t expected, only hoped for, the echo of his own phrase warming him from within.

…What the hell does he do now?

Internally:

Externally:

12. Reincarnation AU w/ big-shoes-to-fill

It had been years since Megatron had finally laid down his sword for the last time. Soundwave had made good on his promise, dividing up the old mech’s frame so that he could not become Unicron’s eternal puppet.

Stories and theories were thrown around among religious mechs as to what became of the Lord High Protector’s spark after he passed. Some affirmed that the Allspark was the final resting place for all, no matter what. Others believed that he was forever barred from their creator, his spark doomed to fade into nothingness for his transgressions. Still others claimed that the rituals the foreigner performed were pointless, and that Megatron was with Unicron now, bound even in death by the dark energon.

A swell of newsparks came not long after, guided to the surface by a mech named Sabri. It was natural for newsparks to feel an attachment to the mech who first taught them, but a large one who came to call himself Dragline kept particularly close. When asked why he preferred Sabri’s company, he can’t explain it beyond “…Feels better.”