Unable to launch himself at the target of his anger, the bar takes some damage as Megatron’s fist slams down upon it.
“And what about my words do you find fault with, Optimus?! Tell me, so that I may amend my accusations properly!” Another wince, but this one is expected. His plating merely tightens against his protoform, wild optics never unlocking from the Prime.
“I thought you had nothing more to say to me,” he fired back coolly, glancing up from the fist that had connected with the table to the warlord’s glare. “You achieved what you wished of your display, what matter does it make if I disagree?”
Megatron wished he possessed the Predacon’s ability to spit fire. Maybe if he waited a few minutes, his temperature would climb high enough.
“You stand here before me, alive and well, with a bondmate and a functioning Cybertron to call your own, oh Primus has indeed granted my wish! What a perfect end for you-!” Not in front of Optimus. He suppresses a shudder, forcing himself to remain standing despite the stabbing torment in his chest.
Megatron could not remember the last time it had been so quiet. His life was so infused with sound; the cheers of his follower, the roar of the wind as he flew, the deafening ring of blaster fire and metal-on-metal. Even in the solitude of his quarters, the hum of the Nemesis’ engines was a constant. In the absence of it all… he felt exposed.
His digits clenched into tight fists. The sword contained in his arm wouldn’t release and his cannon wouldn’t ready itself. How he despised magic.
“As if I would have arranged this… I have nothing to say to you, Optimus.” He clenches his dentae, concealing a wince. How was he meant to calm himself now?
"I should think not,” he said. “There is hardly any more left to discuss with all your words bared to the Multiverse for judgement.”
The venom was barely concealed in his tone, expression steeled and distant as he turned away from the shadow he’d been staring at and instead examined the bar’s surface. Megatron was a loudmouth.
Unable to launch himself at the target of his anger, the bar takes some damage as Megatron’s fist slams down upon it.
“And what about my words do you find fault with, Optimus?! Tell me, so that I may amend my accusations properly!” Another wince, but this one is expected. His plating merely tightens against his protoform, wild optics never unlocking from the Prime.
The Anon’s magic dissolved the familiar halls of Iacon and Cybertron in favor of a flat, darker grey room that seemed endless. No walls, no ceiling – though a gradual fall off around them indicated that there was some light source above – and the strange human-built bar was far larger than it should have been. Clearly, it was made for mecha he and the Tyrant’s size, but it was hardly comforting.
It was quiet. Perhaps like the quiet that overcomes someone when they’re alone in someone elses’ home at night, trying to sleep. An uncomfortable, unfamiliar quiet only broken by the Prime’s steps as he took in the spartan surroundings. Two cubes of energon rested perfectly still on the counter top.
But his main concern was the acute angles that made up Megatron’s cast shadow. He kept his focus there, rather than meeting glare that was surely boring into him.
“This was not my doing,” Optimus rumbled quietly.
Megatron could not remember the last time it had been so quiet. His life was so infused with sound; the cheers of his follower, the roar of the wind as he flew, the deafening ring of blaster fire and metal-on-metal. Even in the solitude of his quarters, the hum of the Nemesis’ engines was a constant. In the absence of it all… he felt exposed.
His digits clenched into tight fists. The sword contained in his arm wouldn’t release and his cannon wouldn’t ready itself. How he despised magic.
“As if I would have arranged this… I have nothing to say to you, Optimus.” He clenches his dentae, concealing a wince. How was he meant to calm himself now?
Megatron closes the door to his shared quarters, the only light emanating from the two glowing objects in the room. The Dark Star Saber, leaning beside it’s purer predecessor, and the Matrix of Leadership, which sat on his desk, wan light overpowered by the violet sword. He supposed there was some kind of symbolism in that, but it only made him sneer.
Accursed vessel. Touching it boiled the fuel in his veins and weakened the Matrix alike, the blood of the two gods disagreeing with one another. It was never granted to him before, and now wielding it would be utterly impossible. Contact with his tainted spark would destroy both the artifact and himself if he tried.
//How can you call yourself a leader?//
The warlord’s canon stirs as he whirls around. “Reveal yourself, intruder.”
//I am no intruder. I was forged by your hand.// Icy optics drift to the glowing weapon. His sensors aren’t faulty, no one else is in the room. No one but he and Soundwave had access to this room. “That is impossible.”
//Your life that I have witnessed consists of proving the impossible. You made me to destroy the Star Saber, which could not be done, and I fulfilled your wish. You and I fell through the atmosphere, and survived because you willed it.//
“Then why insult me if you claim my feats to be great?” It said something about his life that arguing with a sword was not the most absurd thing he’d ever done.
//Because you have grown weak since your fall. You cannot be the leader your people deserve on your own.// Megatron scoffs, deactivating his cannon. “And I suppose you have something to offer me that will make that possible?”
//Only my service. I exist by your will; let me act on it, as your extension. I cannot realize my full potential without your guidance, and if it is your wish, I will never fail.// Such loyalty from an object that he had thought inanimate. //Wear me, an extension of your will, and Cybertron will be protected by the Lord it deserves, greater than any Prime.//
“How can I be so certain that Unicron is not simply speaking through his lifeblood to entice me into uniting with him once and for all?” The air around the sword shimmers, somehow managing to give the effect of resolve.
//I was a part of Unicron long ago. You gave me this form and granted me function and purpose! My power is yours alone to wield!//
((I was never into the Magical Girl stuff as a kid/teen myself, or most shoujo for that matter. And then two weeks ago I started watching Kill La Kill and got all sorts of inspiration. A picture will follow soon of badass Magical Megatron.))
The older gentleman stirs the ice in his depleted glass at the bar. Ever the picture of timing, a woman with long black hair sits beside him and slides him a replacement before typing on a stolen generously offered Blackberry. He gulps it down, hissing at the burn. “Is this really the best they have?” An apologetic smile and a tap to his chest is his only answer.
“Are you withholding the good stuff because of my health or because it’s my turn to drive? Either way it’s nonsense.” He growls and drinks the rest of it down. “Bastards… Have you found anything new?”
The woman turns the Blackberry towards him, displaying an article. For the first time since they’ve walked into the dive bar, the man smiles, a dark and predatory grin.
“I think we can risk heading back North, my dear.”
Occupation: CEO of Les Loups Arms Manufacturing presumed deceased after an undisclosed criminal organization kidnapped and shot the CEO, disposing of the body over a bridge. Body was never recovered by police. Assistant MIA as well, also presumed deceased.
Damnable stitches. They bothered Max nearly as much as the bullets themselves. This was likely an exaggeration, but the binding would not stop itching, even after medication had driven the majority of the pain away. He groaned while sitting up, only to be pushed back into the bed by a gentle pressure to his shoulders.
“…Aren’t I supposed to be the one telling you what to do? I’m alright, I just need to move, for Christ’s sake…” Cecilia smirked in the dim light and stood, allowing Max to stretch but watching that his stitches didn’t break. The former CEO takes her hand in his and kisses the back of it.
“I’m fine, thanks to you. Now quit hovering over me like I’m going to drop dead any second and let me get dressed. And I mean that in the most loving way possible.”
((Story time! A rival group exposed Max’s dealings to the police. On the same night that the company building was raided and shut down by the government, Max was gunned down and tossed from the Brooklyn Bridge. He survived because his assistant escaped her bonds and jumped in after him. Now he’s recovering in a safehouse, and the remaining loyal members of Les Loups have been regrouping, both to restart their underground business once more and get revenge.))
((I’ll be doing this AU AND keeping along with normal megs because I am quite behind on him. If you send me an ask, please specify whether it’s to Max or Megatron!))
Megatron's back up 