Rung tensed as he heard the bang of boards against the side of the building, light illuminating everything before a loud snap resounded and all the power was cut off, leaving him with just biolights. His hands shook as he moved slowly to a cabinet, looking for something more to give him light.
“I am familiar with Functionalism.” It was what had restricted him to the mines, what had dictated that alt-modes built for construction and hauling were somehow lesser than those that supported flight, or were geared towards scientific endeavors. It was what had relegated those with common frametypes like his vehicons to be treated as disposable drones. It was something he had tried his damnedest to kill.
But for all the atrocities he had known the Senate to be guilty of, Megatron hadn’t known them capable of such specific torture. Then again, he had never heard of someone in his own universe with an alt that wasn’t self-explanatory. The very existence of such a person would challenge the very foundation of those prejudicial beliefs.
“Enduring such torment and still holding to your sense of self. Your will is rare and inspiring. That you were put in such a position… if those who held you still function, I would gladly pay them in kind.” Another bolt struck close to the building, rattling the foundation before it faded.
The statement, along with that bolt, caused a shiver to roll up his spinal struts and Rung could swear that his spark actually fluxed in delight. “I don’t think any of them still function. And even if they did, I forgave them a long time ago.”
When he’d still been captive he’d said those words to bother the mechs who tormented him. They could never stand when he looked at them so calmly and quietly murmured that he forgave their actions. It unnerved them and allowed him to get inside their heads. But as the years passed and he had time to reflect, he actually found that it was true and he did forgive them. Some were simply doing as they were told, others honestly didn’t know better and were frightened of him (with good reason, ironically enough). He didn’t have to forgive them, but there was no benefit in holding onto hate so many years later.
Reaching up, he rested a hand on Megatron’s cheek, standing on the tips of his toes and still barely reaching as the warlord bent to him to envelope him with his protection.
“Sentinel Prime would often come by to witness, and to give… suggestions. He enjoyed using electricity, among other things. He would often come when there were storms because ‘there was nothing better for him to do’, so, I don’t like storms. …but I still love the rain. Is that funny?”
“We should visit an organic world, like Earth sometime. Being in the rain is more pleasant when it isn’t melting through your plating.”
Ah, Sentinel. He really was a horrible product of the old regime in any universe, wasn’t he? At least Megatron knew for a fact that his was dead. After all, he’d been the one to relieve him of his helm… and of something else. Covering the reaching servo with his own, the warlord held it to his cheek, before turning his helm just enough to be able to kiss Rung’s palm.
“It may entertain you to learn this, then. Certain relics from the past could only be used by those who had held the Matrix. I needed a way to use them for myself… so I found Sentinel’s grave and his arm, for a time, became my own.” Megatron smiled just enough that his dental plates glinted in the dim light.
“He always saw people as tools. I thought it rather fitting to reduce him to one in the end.”
Megatron's back up 