I lie awake on a long, dark night
I can't seem to tame my mind
Slings and arrows are killing me inside
Maybe I can't accept the life that's mine
No, I can't accept the life that's mine
-Creed, Weathered
Helplessness. Fear. Despair. They oozed within the autobot's spark, spreading, carving a tingling trail down limbs to numb servos and peds. Peds that were running, stumbling, and servos that grasped at charred rubble, slipping from the energon that seeped down his shoulder. Not just his energon, but also the energon from his comrades, his friends, who were slaughtered before him. He had run away as they fell. The guilt burned worse than his wounds, burning trails of liquid shame from his optics. And yet, he still ran.
The mech could hear it in the bleak darkness that was occasionally lit with the flames of war. That deep, rumbling laughter, sick in its amusement. The sound echoed ever closer, driving him forward, away. It fed the buzz that overtook his processor, fed the frantic movements to escape.
A booming blast shook the ground suddenly, catching the autobot by surprise. He was thrown forward with a cry, falling face first into something that squelched hideously as he landed. The flames from the explosion barely lit up the area around the autobot, but it was enough for him to look up and stare right into the dull and lifeless optics of the mech he had landed in.
He tried to scramble up and out of the mech's half-hollow chassis, but he could find no solid purchase in the energon-slick gore. The buzzing grew louder in his processor and, completely horrified and overwhelmed, the autobot purged his tanks all over the lifeless husk. Still, he managed to pull himself off of the grey corpse, crawling away and attempting to stand despite the slick puddles of energon.
Footsteps, rumbling the ground with each slow, purposeful step, caused the autobot to redouble his efforts to stand and run. Terror laced his systems, potent as any poison, clouding his thoughts and leaving him a slipping, shivering mess. The footsteps got closer and closer, and the mech had managed to pull himself to a dry place when they stopped, right behind him. He froze in his efforts, optics wide, as a chuckle sounded, right there, deep and malicious.
Slowly, the shivering autobot turned his head to look up at the towering figure who had slaughtered his regime. He felt his spark shrink in helpless terror as he met the other's optics. Red, bright and burning, almost shimmering with a sadistic sort of glee. A distant explosion lit the sky above them once more, casting a sickly-orange hue upon the dull silver of the mech's armor, drenched in fresh energon. The sharp, jagged teeth, set in an amused smirk, glinted.
The autobot whimpered, the buzz deafening. Please, no. Not like this. Not like this…!
He turned his body towards the towering mech, reaching out, pleading, with a shaking servo. His wide optics shed fresh tears as he was met face-to-face with the barrel of a charging fusion cannon. It whirred to life, the purple light growing brighter and burning his face with heat, evaporating the tears. The autobot sobbed, a wretched, high-pitched wail, as helpless terror shot through every inch of his being. His servo still reached out, desperate to be given mercy.
"Pl-please… Not like this! P-please! I-I d-don't want… I don't w-want to die!"
The towering mech didn't blink, didn't move. He made no signs of change, except for in his optics. They burned brighter, deeper, with an all consuming hatred.
"…You are pathetic."
The autobot wailed in terror as he saw the concentrated blast travel down the barrel, the deep whir and blast cutting the cry short.
There was a searing, unimaginable pain all through his face and head.
Then… nothing.
Megatron awoke with a start, as he always did. Coolant drenched his frame as phantom pains that were not his own slowly left his body, leaving a tingling feeling in their wake. He sat up and rubbed his helm, his whole head still throbbing from the… dream.
Unicron's torments still tortured Megatron, even after all this time. His time spent with the Destroyer of Worlds was still fresh in his mind, tingling at the edges of his processor. He could still hear the voice of his once-captor, taunting him with mild amusement:
'How interesting would it be if you were to suffer all that you had once inflicted upon others? Prepare to feel pain beyond anything you have ever known, mortal.'
Megatron smirked. Unicron wanted to intimidate him with the threat of pain, of torture, but he was no stranger to this game. He would not scare so easily, even when trapped in this helpless position.
'It is true, Unicron, that you have complete control over me, but do not think for a moment that I will cow over any level of pain. The strength of my will was forged in the lowest pits of Kaon; You will not break me!'
The words were snarled, piercing with an endless depth of rage, Megatron's own seemingly endless pool of power. His red optics crackled with tangible energy, a challenge ringing throughout the un-space between himself and Unicron. The Destroyer didn't even twitch.
'Foolish being. For your ignorance I, who feed from the very chaos of the cosmos, will gift you with a taste of eternity. An eternity of pain.'
Megatron readied himself, prepared to take anything Unicron could give. Pain had molded him in the beginning, had guided him. It had fueled his rage, his unbridled hatred of those who dared to belittle him. Unicron was no different from the others.
Then he felt it, a powerful explosion ripping through his spark. There was physical pain, unfathomable, impossible to escape, but it was nothing. Megatron could not feel it.
There was only the sinking terror, the biting grief, the helpless rage, the feeling of sinking into nothing, of disappearing forever. Of not doing enough, of leaving others behind, of being inadequate in every sense of the word- In but a matter of nano-klicks, Megatron had felt the combined emotions and thoughts of thousands of sparks being snuffed, at once. He experienced their last moments, in the most ultimately intimate of ways: through their very own sparks. Their deaths were now his own death, their screams indefinable from his own. The sound echoed through the un-space, the lines of his existence permanently blurred by the suffering he had caused.
And suddenly, Megatron was undone.
How foolish Megatron had been then, assuming he could endure any pain Unicron had suffered him under. In a way his assumption was correct, because the physical pain was still something he could handle, something he had always endured.
No, it was just the all-consuming feeling of total helplessness that Megatron could not endure. He felt it, experienced it, every time he closed his optics to recharge. Megatron saw from their optics and their sparks, in the last moments of their lives, a pair of hateful, unforgiving optics. His optics.
Megatron swung his legs over the berth and drew a clawed servo down his face, a deep sigh resonating in his chest. He didn't quite understand why he was still having these… experiences, because he was now beyond Unicron. But it had continued, and gave no indication of letting up. Perhaps it was his processor trying to purge the information Unicron had forced upon him. Every night it was a new mech, a new victim. A new memory. Megatron chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that lacked any humor.
This was his penance now, and he had no choice but to endure.
As the lingering emotions from his 'dream' finally subsided, Megatron went to check his energon reserves in the locker across the room. There were three cubes left and only a handful of energon crystals, just as he had left them the day before. His optics narrowed in thought. It was time to gather more energon, and perhaps a few supplies. Already Megatron felt his mood lighten; any excuse to move around and focus anywhere but inward was a welcome distraction. Self-pity did not suit him.
Needing little else, Megatron stashed the energon cubes in his subspace and un-locked the med-bay door. His current domain was an old autobot bunker, the med-bay being his living space. It had two doors, and easy access to the bunker exits. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps his space was too easily accessible, but Megatron seriously doubted anyone was tracking him, or would survive if they somehow found him. His new body seemed to be virtually indestructible.
He came up into the Cybertronian sun, the two moons pale against a silver-blue sky. In the distance was his destination, a destroyed city not yet salvaged by the Autobots. It sat between two barren mountains, and Megatron assumed from the large, toppled structures that it had once been quite a city to behold. Now it was simply a rusting relic of the past, another reminder to all Megatron had done.
The sun was almost at its peak, and Megatron dared not fly. He didn't want attention, he wanted to be alone. So he began his descent from the small mountain where the bunker resided, heading towards the destroyed city.
Something was following him, but it only served to pique his curiosity. Megatron had long since gotten what he came for, the energon crystals secure in a transporting gurney, along with a few other things of value. Now he was simply considering whether he should head back and see if it would stop following him or to get the creature to show itself.
From the scuffling noises it made he could tell it was small, and clumsy too, as it kept knocking over random debris. Megatron swore it chirped a few times, but the fallen city made many noises so he was not sure. After it somehow managed to knock down a large support beam he decided to lure it out, if only to get it to stop being so loud in its clumsiness.
Megatron was on the outskirts of the city furthest from his bunker, in the wreckage of what seemed to be a small, domed archive center. The sun was nearly set, casting long shadows with its pale orange glow. It made the rusty structure seem a brilliant hue of burgundy, the missing windows and ceiling making the contrast from dark to light all the more striking. The former-Decepticon stood in the center, the luminescent light radiating his armor and setting his optics aflame. He stood as still as a statue, staring down at a small shadow that flitted back and forth, almost nervously. Megatron could see it then: two golden optics, staring right back at him.
Slowly, deliberately, Megatron reached into his subspace and pulled out his last cube of energon. He knelt, just as slowly, to one knee, placing the cube on the floor. After sliding it towards the shadow, he withdrew his hand, and waited.
To his surprise, Megatron did not have to wait long. The little shadow snuffled forwards, hesitant but obviously wanting the energon. The gold optics watched him as it paused, waiting just inside the darkness. Then, with a small chirp, it shuffled forwards and into the light.
Megatron's eyebrows raised in surprise: It was a Predacon sparkling.
He didn't move as the tiny thing toddled forwards and stuck it's face into the cube, proceeding to noisily slurp up the contents. He studied it while it ate: the sparkling was a dragon type, similar to Predaking, but with a few differences. And it was indeed tiny; the little Predacon could easily curl up into the palm of his hand. Megatron tilted his head in interest.
"…Where did you come from, young one?"
Gingerly, he ran a digit over one of the folded wings, earning only a mere twitch as the sparkling hungrily licked the bottom of the now empty cube. It backed up, chirping and nudging at Megatron's servo in what seemed to be irritation. He raised an eyebrow, slightly amused as it began to nip at his digits.
"Greedy little thing, aren't you?"
Still, there was something amiss about the sparkling. It's gait was unsteady, as if it were injured. Swiftly, Megatron picked up the squirmy little thing, ignoring it's squawking protests to being man-handled. It didn't take long to find the piece of metal that jutted from it's side; the shape of the protrusion said it was undoubtedly shrapnel, suggesting along with the little nicks here and there that the sparkling had been caught in a blast.
"Intriguing. And here I thought your kind was near indestructible."
The sparkling was complaining very loudly now, clawing and biting Megatron's digits with a fiery fervor that mildly surprised him. Such a wound was not superficial, and energon was now freely flowing around the shrapnel due to the struggle of the tiny Predacon. Megatron chuckled. It would be a pity for such a feisty little thing to bleed out.
He stood with the sparkling still in hand and picked out a few crystals from the gurney, holding them up for the sparkling to inspect. It ceased it's struggle, sniffing the crystals before greedily snatching one up to ravenously crunch on. Unlike normal Cybertronians, a Predacon's systems could easily process raw energon. It seemed a perk to Megatron; processing energon could be time consuming without the proper equipment, a situation Megatron was now familiar with.
The sun was now gone, leaving streaks of gold across the darkening purple sky. Stars were now visible, spotting across the sky behind the two vibrant moons. Night was upon them, and while Megatron had virtually nothing to fear, it wouldn't do to simply loiter around. A decision had to be made concerning the sparkling.
He considered leaving it. The tiny thing was feisty, but Megatron held no illusions as to whether or not it would survive if left behind. It would bleed out soon without the proper treatment. Treatment that Megatron could provide, if he brought the tiny thing with him…
He looked down at it, the sparkling still crunching away in his hand, looking impossibly small and fragile against his large, battle scarred digits. There would be no real purpose in saving it's life. Megatron had no agendas, no need of such a creature to become indebted to him. If he was anything like how he used to be, he would just kill it and be done with the whole situation. Sparklings required a ridiculous amount of work and dedication, dedication Megatron previously never had the time or patience for. But he had time now, lots of it. As for patience… well, everyone had room for improvement. Megatron had always been aware of his shortcomings.
Again he was reminded of all he had ever given in his long life: Death. Destruction. Fear. And here… here was a chance to do something different, to do something completely unexpected of himself. To, perhaps, change the way he had molded himself after all these eons of war. After all, he really had nothing better to do at this point. The prospect of any kind of purpose was, he hesitated to admit, immensely appealing.
The tiny Predacon had stopped bleeding, and it was rather lethargic from all of the crystals Megatron had been feeding it while he contemplated. It blinked up at him with large, sleepy optics, chirping somewhat contentedly. It seemed to be waiting for something, staring up at him with what Megatron could only assume was an expectant expression. The sight was so peculiar, that such a tiny, helpless thing could hope to receive anything from one who could so easily destroy it that Megatron almost smiled. Almost.
"Rest now, young one. You will need to keep your strength for the journey back, however short it may be."
It blinked in response and made no move to run away as Megatron tucked it in next to some salvaged items on the transport gurney. It settled in and chirped sleepily, it's tiny optics fluttering closed after a few moments. Megatron watched it for a moment more before heading off with the gurney in tow, wondering about what exactly he had gotten himself into.
