Tag: ic status?

Finally, the conversation Singer had referred to when he awoke began to play in his mind.

“I’m sorry, sir… h-he’s only getting worse. Nothing I can do for him is helping, the… fragment you gave him wasn’t enough. It’s not giving off enough energy to sustain-”

“And if I give him some of mine?” A few moments of hesitant laughter preceded stunned silence, before Singer replied cautiously.

“That’s… Lord Megatron that would be insane.”

“Answer the question!”

“I don’t- Sir, I can’t let you! That body of yours is already straining your energy levels with its size, letting him drain you on purpose would kill you, too!”

“Then proceed with my surgery at once! Restore my frame to its original form and the moment I am stable-”

Megatron was out of the room and racing towards his suite before the thought could finish. Singer stared in confusion after him, before realizing where he was going in such a hurry. “No- No no, sir! Stop!!” he cried, scrambling after his Lord as fast as he could, transforming when he realized he wasn’t going to catch up this way.

Megatron stepped freely outside of the medbay for the first time in ages, and nearly tripped over a collection of decorated energon cubes. 

Each one was different, etched with words of hope and well-wishes and names of so many of his soldiers… He’s very nearly taken aback. All of them left with little to no explanation of his absence and rather than move on or claim abandonment, such concern… Yet in all the time he’s been gone, not a word from those who are always checking in.

Something is wrong.

Megatron stands on the bridge to watch a publicly broadcast transmission.

This was all footage of the carnage he had seen firsthand. Yellow
slime burning the pedes of mechs trying to run through it, a building being
slowly crushed by some invisible force. A lightly accented voice spoke over the images of
fleeing neutrals.

“Dropchain. Nova Minor. Vander. Just a few names of mechs
who were lost to us at Tyger Pax, despite our Lord High Protector’s vow not to
have anymore energon spilt on this ‘peaceful’ planet.” Megatron glared, hearing
the quotation marks in the narrator’s words. “Each one of them an innocent
bystander, both of this seemingly unprovoked attack, and of the war that took
millions more. Like most of us, they survived those millenia on the fringes of
the galaxy, forced out of their homes, persecuted by the Galactic Council for the
actions of our species’ extremists. Finally, they were able to return, told
that they were safe.”

The screen cut to a close-up of an outstretched hand on the
ground, vibrant orange paint fading to grey. “Of course, no one mech can save
every life. To put each death on an entire planet squarely on one mech’s
shoulders would be unreasonable, but should someone who has been the cause of
it at all be protecting us? Megatron has given himself absolute power,
something that is called for during a war, when there is a perceived enemy to
rally against. But in times of peace, those agendas come to light in more
sinister ways.”

“::Lord Megatron, you must return! There’s an S.O.S. signal
from neutral colony 7B, they… they’re not making sense! They’re under attack, but no
one can say from what!::”

That voice. Megatron knew what this was before his own voice
played in response.

“::Give me a bridge to Metroplex.::” The present-day Megatron growled.

“::But sir, it’s at Tyger-::”

“::Metroplex, NOW!!!::” The mech from before continued, over
surveillance footage of the old dormitory, decaying over time.

“Our Lord High Protector knew of the attack on Tyger Pax and delayed
his intervention until people had been killed. There is even evidence to support
that he knew of this brewing catastrophe long before it occurred.” The
time-lapse froze on a silver flier heading towards the building, its blurred
lines the general telltale shape of Megatron’s alt-mode.

“Despite his visit to this site, the Nemesis released a quarantine
on the basis of ‘weakened structural integrity.’ Megatron’s priorities clearly do
not include honesty, or the safety of his unaligned citizens. We should have a
leader who even if they cannot save us all, at least values each of us as
equally as he claims. Do not sit back and allow this to be forgotten. The time for
a military dictator is over. If Cybertron is truly free, then we must prove it
so, by choosing someone to lead who knows how to be something other than a
warlord. The conflict between Autobots and Decepticons is at its end, both sides
reduced to ashes in the process, leaving those of us who chose not to fight to
clean up what they left behind.” A navy speedster came on screen, his stance
firm, yellow visor a solid line of determination. In the last few months, Megatron had come to recognize him as Livewire, head of one of the neutral colonies.

“Lord Megatron, I say this to you. If there is any part of you who
remembers your promises before all of this began, if you truly believe every
mech is equal, step down, and give us a choice to live our lives as we see fit,
to be led by someone we have elected to lead. If you refuse, then you are no
different than the council you slaughtered in freedom’s name.” 

The video ended,
leaving Megatron glaring at the screen. That footage was on a secure channel.
That recording only could have been revealed by someone who had access to the
Nemesis’ computer. There was dissension, even on his own ship. Fury boiled just
below the surface of his plating. Every instinct told him to find this mech and
rip him apart, but that would only prove his Pit-damned point.

The video had
gone live an hour ago. He had to respond.

Megatron can’t stop smiling. He’s sure that his troops will notice, but he can’t be bothered to care. Not even news of a riot on the outskirts of what was once Tyger Pax spoil his mood.

He’s going. …Once he figures out how.

Hm.

It would seem my chosen has attempted to contain war itself within this jail… Ha ha! Such daring! Foolish, but fire all the same.

With a flash of white light from his chest, the god’s form dissipates, reappearing in the barracks at a small alter constructed in his name. Several vehicons stumble back in awe, some drawing their weapons in surprise, others dropping to their knees. It stokes Bellator’s flame. “M-my Lord, you’re…”

Rise, soldiers. Your fight is valiant, your offerings many. My blade drinks deep from you. Your gladiator resides within me, and he shall be returned upon my departure from this realm. But now!

His sword is thrust into the air with a wild grin. 

Your victory is hard-won! Bellator has smiled upon you! His sword glows, and so do the visors and optics of all the vehicons in the room as his blessing takes hold. They cheer and praise his name, punching and wrestling each other playfully, finding hidden cubes of high-grade to break out. They’ve already celebrated taking back Cybertron, but the god’s presence just makes it feel so good to have been strong enough to be alive now. Bellator’s flame flares brightly as he’s offered fuel and the play-fighting intensifies as new victors are decided and celebrated.

Ah… Bask, warriors.

The dunkleosteus are named Sever, Oxide and Bruce.

Sever occasionally rams into the glass and always first to the food, Oxide stays near the bottom and rarely moves, and Bruce follows mine and Rex’s motions around the room. Soundwave has taken a liking to Oxide, because he only seems to come up from the bottom when he is the one feeding them.

In his old base at Kaon, the walls shimmer and shift. Optimus Prime appears before him, as he has so many times. Megatron draws his sword, ready for their familiar clash. Optimus does not ready himself, or call upon any of his own weapons. Instead he turns, walking away from the warlord to reach towards some bookshelves, until his arms are full with datapads. He does not look like Orion. His armor is reinforced and worn, scarred by war. His optics are dull and listless when he turns back around. The Autobot leader ignores Megatron’s taunts, ignores the sword pointed towards his face. The ground around them shakes. Megatron retracts his sword to steady himself and looks back to Optimus, who sits at the other end of a long, empty bar. He looks so weary. Optimus stands to leave, patting Megatron’s shoulder as he passes. The warlord raises himself to follow, and finds that there is no door. The Prime is no where to be found, but their pair of high-grade cubes remain. He reaches for the other’s cube.

Megatron awakes on the floor of his quarters, among the wreckage of his desk. He can’t count all of the warning messages in his HUD and clears them all away without reading one. He knows he’s dangerously overheated, he knows that his spark feels like it’s been run through yet again, he doesn’t need the warnings to tell him that. Every movement has his vision swimming and he swears several times, taking a full ten kliks to stand. It takes him another ten, vents blasting full, before he can take the few steps to his chair without collapsing. He uses it to brace himself rather than sitting in it, knowing that if he does, he won’t get back up. He’s got a few messages waiting for him: a welcome distraction.