::Decidedly not.::
::I am Unicron, and that insect is no more.::
When Astrotrain arrives, Megatron’s altered frame awaits, standing before the swirling portal. He’s larger now than he used to be, a horn-like crest rising from the twisted embellishments on his helm. There is no spark here, only the sickening throb of dark energon as it pulses beneath the glowing star on his chest. He regards the triple-changer with a cold, violet glare.
“You know me, mortal.” His voice echoes in the dark tunnel, a borrowed version of Megatron’s own. “Is it power that you seek?”
The frame is freshly mutated, no obvious rust or rot – this is a new development. Dead or mentally unseated no longer than a month, maybe. A bit of guilt lifted from his shoulders.
He hardly noticed, focused on trying to keep his processors sharp despite the spark’s yearning. Forcing himself to keep his distance, pedes planted firmly where they landed on the other side of the bridge. Resisting that sickening pull. Staring the void directly in the optics. Reminding himself that this one wasn’t his. Couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be.
“Closure,” said his spark, but “I don’t know,” is what his mouth said. His EMF pulled away from its place tightly bound to his frame to add in its own confusing cocktail of opinion. Static on the outside, hurt desire guilt love betrayal on the inside.
“You shouldn’t be here.” He added in a very unconvincing croak.
Unicron considers this one. There is something strange about him, conflicted and distant, despite his fixation. He closes the distance between himself and the mortal. With how he’s mangled Megatron’s frame to suit his own desires, they are nearly the same height.
“I am, as has always been inevitable. Will you try and stop my advance? Or will you give yourself over to me, accepting your fate?” He holds out his palm, and from the center rises a shard of dark energon. “This illusion of choice is yours. You may answer, but it has already been decided.”
Megatron's back up 