Heavy steps echoed endlessly against the walls of the dark corridor, giving the plummeting silence around them extra weight.
Minimus had been especially quiet tonight, as they walked back from the briefest of sessions with the jury taking his case- the last installment of Megatron's trial. Admittedly, the former warlord hadn't expected his friend to be cheerful in the face of such events, but at least he had hoped the mech would find relief in the culmination of this affair- especially so after the arduous dozens of years it had taken to reach a proper verdict… paying attention to every last crime he had committed.
The accused certainly felt it that way.
Old and experienced in the matter, Megatron knew well how harmful silence could be. Courted by solitude, with only his thoughts to contrast the stagnant atmosphere... That's how the former miner had gotten to where he was right now. Ever since the seed of doubt- of truth - had begun to grow within his spark he had often wondered if the past four million years could have been avoided had he been surrounded by critics instead of followers, had he been faced with the reality laying behind the fortified walls of countless command rooms.
But no- this idea was mistaken still, since once again he was resting the weight of responsibility in others.
Hundreds of thousands of millions had been shouting their opposition from the very beginning, until the end. Like an armor of barbed wire, he had worn pain and hatred raw on his plating, on his very mind, to keep every last soul out of reach- to assure continuity, to secure the culmination of his entropic march over the universe. Only when it crumbled down to pieces was he able to listen beyond silence. Only then was he able to understand... When it was already too late.
Megatron was the only crafter of his fate: that was true way back then... and was true still today, for better or worse.
He deserved worse.
The soft ding of the elevator doors closing was enough to bring him back from his forlorn thoughts. The old warrior looked over at his friend, once again trying to find the turquoise optics- and what was happening behind them. For such a big target, Ultra Magnus' face was particularly evasive this midnight. Still, the warlord could almost feel the tension contained behind the thick metal of the blue-white armor- like a caged beast. As seconds turned into minutes, and silence threatened to eat his spark alive, Megatron made an attempt to open communications with his friend.
"...That went well." He commented, hands cuffed at the front of his body. He imagined the lack of a retort indicated his tone wasn't clear enough, so he continued. "I certainly wasn't expecting to be this lucky."
"..."
"...Of course, it's all thanks to you. Without your stellar performance as orator for my defense, I'm certain things wouldn't have gone even remotely as smoothly. But we got what we aimed for."
"..."
"Thank you, Minimus."
The massive knuckles of Ultra Magnus' fist cracked the elevator's display, stopping the lift in an instant. The sudden locking of all rails holding the metal box caused Megatron to stagger, holding himself on the mirroring doors as a silent alarm covered the room in flickering red. When he managed to look over, the blur of the mech's twisted expression was enough to shake his mind like a cut wire.
"Minimus? What's-"
The replicas of a memory flashed on his brain-module as the bot lunged forward. In a million years would Megatron have expected to find himself in this situation again, surrounded by those massive arms in a tight embrace. He found his own arms tried to tear the cuffs open, if only to return the gesture.
But as sudden as this move was, the madness had just started: when his dumbfolded frame creaked against the Magnus armor, and that white metal of the nearing face brushed against his... that was the moment Megatron sincerely wondered if he wasn't already dead, this being just a last wishful ripplet of his fading mind.
The desperate sadness on those light-blue optics as their lips met erased all suspicion of this being the case- along with his hesitation.
A part of his spark he had been denying in favor of some last days of peace flourished on the prisoner's very plating, pushing his arms up to hook his beloved close, breathing his scent to drown in it. Magnus clutched him, pushing against the wall as if he wanted to combine with the Decepticon leader. If it hadn't meant damnation for the former enforcer, Megatron would have wholeheartedly agreed.
In other circumstances - another time, another place - the old cybertronian might have considered this impulsive action as something proper of a younger mech- fitting for someone of less stature than that of the former Dully Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord Minimus Ambus. But stuck in the present and grounded by the abyssal itch of his spark, Megatron could do nothing but thank the universe for this instant of closeness- this imperfect moment of uneasy touch and personal, intimate need they shared.
For a second, at least, they managed to forget about everything: there was nothing but their trembling metal in this world, the warmth building between their hidden sparks as they desperately tried to reach each other- nothing but the intoxicating realization they were united at last.
No war, no factions, no sides.
No rules, no limits, no judgments.
No past…
…and no future.
Megatron was faced with a last impossible decision: constricted by the growing reality of the world, he had to use every last grain of determination he possibly had to push Ultra Magnus away.
"Minimus," he began at a palm's distance from the mech, as much as he had managed to breach, "I know there's no cameras in this elevators, but given the context this is still too risky for you to-"
"I can't do it, I can't…" Mumbled his friend, pressing his face on the prisoner's shoulder.
"Minimus…"
"I can't hand you over to them."
After all this time, the warlord was finally able to place the tremors shacking the Magnus armor as if it was made of paper. He allowed himself to press that sapphire helmet he knew every contour of closer to himself, before pulling the white face up.
"You have to."
There was reproach on those sad turquoise crystals that where Minimus' second eyes.
"This is not- It is not fair." Scrambled the mech, and his own face twisted at the senselessness of his argument.
"...It is not fair to you, I am certain of that." Continued the Decepticon leader, running an idle thumb on the bot's cheek. "After all your righteousness, that you shall suffer- but that was our mistake… My mistake. This was bound to happen. Don't you think it's fitting?"
The Magnus armor stirred back, holding on the wall. At least pain was residing a bit in favor of anger.
"Prowl is sitting there judging you, Megatron. Prowl."
"*Sigh* … I admit that is a little unsettling. But as I understand it, he was the one better fitted for the job- at least the one left. The present representative of Cybertron lacks the… background knowledge to precede my judgment, and the other person capable of carrying on with this affair is in charge of my defense, so…"
"Do you know what he's done? He should be judged if justice is what we're talking about."
"The process has been appropriate, you have seen to that. The end result is not less relevant only because he's the one stating my sentence out loud."
Magnus looked away, covering his mouth with a shaking hand. If anything, Megatron was concerned with the strange flicker on his optics.
"...Is this justice? Is this what I've been holding as a beacon all along? If this is justice then I don't believe in it anymore."
"Come now, Minimus. You're upset-"
"UPSET? Perhaps I'm just done. I have to stand to that criminal gloat from his high throne around the other races as if he's the embodiment of fairness, when he's never even regretted the horrors he's-"
"Regret does not change what we have done."
"Regret changes everything." Stated the blue-white mech, and for the first time in all night, his voice was unweaving. "You have changed. Whatever you were before, now you're a good man. When I think about all things you could accomplish now- You could give back to the universe, you could make it so much better-"
"After searing it forever." Interrupted Megatron, with a light, humorless smile. "I am one of the greatest genocides in existence... You can't simply undo that."
"You'd have an eternity to atone."
"Absolution…" This time around, the warlord couldn't help but draw an empathic expression on his face. "I've extinguished races. I've erased planets from existence. As long as I live, I could do it again."
"I don't believe that."
"Many others are certain of it."
"You're telling me you must die-"
"To kill the monster within, yes."
The red alarm faded in the crammed space, lights returning to normal. Magnus' face was clear as day this time around- defeated, hurt, and more than a little hopeless.
"And I have to be the one to deliver you, to submit you to those that loathe you. Even when they barely know you."
"They know what I've brought upon them. And I think that's fair enough."
"If… If at least this meant anything will be better… But nothing will. There's no point to this."
"You know that's not true, Minimus. Closure for billions is more than just a point."
"Blasted hell…"
Trying to show respect for the turmoil shacking the Magnus armor from its very core, Megatron turned his optics to the floor. For all the words he had learned to use and deploy, the poet couldn't think of a single one good enough to ease the storm on Minimus' spark. Still, he felt like he had to try, even with the crudest of retorts.
"Minimus…" He began, lightly, grabbing at the mech's shoulder. "…I tried to kill you. Do you remember?"
The whole thing seemed to have occurred in another life, another universe- but still every second was etched onto the warlord's brain-module, imprinted with the ever burning horror of what could have been of the present day if he had actually-
"…Yes. I do." Was the simple answer, as the bot moved a step closer. "We were at war. Opposite sides."
"I tried to kill you, Minimus. And the only reason I didn't succeed was because I wanted to use you as bait, leverage." Megatron took a second before continuing, closing his optics to wash away the picture. "If death is the only way to assure I'll never go back to be that person again, then I'll face it gladly."
Those white hands slowly reached for his arms, lightly pulling the prisoner close enough to rest the heavy helmet on his.
"You shot me back then…" murmured Minimus, quietly, through the distorting voice synthesizer, "…and now you embrace me. Does it really… mean nothing at all? In this world?"
Megatron closed his restrained hands on his beloved face, disengaging his optics as his spark rioted within his chest- threatening to sparkle out of his red lenses.
"…It means everything." He managed, a jarred whisper under the shadow of the one he loved.
But as soon as words begun their way out the warlord's mouth, Magnus' internal comms ringed with an external call. Unwilling but unable to scape it, the mech responded.
"Everything's alright…" He answered, voice devoid of emotion, heavy on the edges, "Just a little setback… Yes, he's secured still. Send the lift along."
The moment his handler was done with the call, the cage they were in shook to the sides and resumed its journey to the prison cell that would be his last home. This idea inevitably brought the Lost Light to Megatron's mind: how he wished he had not witnessed its destruction. The thought of it traversing the stars forever would have soothed his soul in the loneliest hours to wait until the end.
"…Promise me you won't do anything rash." Blurted the prisoner, looking forward to the door.
"I never do." Answered Ultra Magnus, voice stilled as the metal planks slid open.
"I know. I just had this feeling…"
But the warlord cut himself short this time around: they were back in the secured corridors, watched over by a dozen invisible eyes every step of the way. Even suggesting a possible unexpected reaction from his handler could get him in trouble. Sadly, the time for open, careless honestly had passed.
Once again, they walked down the hallway in deep silence, every step taking them closer to the small cell that had been Megatron's world the last dozens of years. As the atmosphere seemed to get darker, the prisoner found himself relieved once again, knowing that this was the last time he would return to such a place. Still, he would have sworn that their pace had steadily slowed down the closer they got to their destination.
After passing numerous locks and guards, the warlord was behind the well-known bars again. The sense of stagnation heavy over his shoulders.
"Listen, Minimus…" He began, as the mech detached the magnetic cuffs off his wrists, "…You don't have to be here, tomorrow. You've already done more than enough for me. I know this is-…"
Megatron took in a breath he didn't really need as a mechanical being.
"It is ok. It will be ok. And, in any case… I couldn't have imagined a better farewell than the one you gave me, even if I tried."
As the warlord sat down on his slab, Magnus rested a last hand on his shoulder.
"There's plenty to organize- but I'll be here, I promise." He answered, dryly, voice wavy on the sides. "Goodbye, my friend."
"Goodbye, Minimus…"
And then, in what felt like a blink of an eye - in what could never ever be long enough to satiate his lonely spark – the mech he loved, the person that he would live for, was gone.
The prisoner took a while to move, thoughts still ringing with urgency on his mind. "I love you" he had forgotten to say, even if he had drawn it with his lips during that embrace that seemed to have happened a million years ago- mere seconds ago. "I love you" he forgot to say a million times and more, because he should have said it, because there was no longer time and time and space where warping within his frame like a twisted multifaceted monster.
Megatron rested his helmet on the wall, relaxing his weary armature against the cold surface.
They had shared more than he had hoped they would in this ending world. He was grateful for it- but not to an invisible force or a higher being watching from above- not in the usual sense, at least. He was grateful to Minimus Ambus: grateful for his kindness, his fairness, his mere existence and the ultimate oasis he had provided to this wrecked, damned soul. He was forever grateful for his love, and that would remain with him right until the end.
There must have been something worth anything within him, if Minimus had loved him.
/
Megatron was an avid thinker. Over the course of his life, he had been faced with the fact that time and time again a simple thought - well considered, properly nurtured – could reshape the world.
You are being deceived.
Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.
Thoughts that moved the universe, constructing and destroying an entire race, over and over again.
He considered it was a nice change to be thinking of friends instead of the next five moves he could take.
He found himself thinking of Drift, the wise young bot that had been brave enough to open a path towards redemption. He thought about Ratchet, the mech he had tried to murder countless times, the one he had kidnapped a fair number, too… The same bot that patched him up over and over, without a flinch. He thought of Rodimus, his captain, that bashful and sometimes infuriatingly bright light he had almost extinguished once, that he had grown fond of; He thought of Ravage that guided his steps even now, of Soundwave and the words he never got to say to him, of Terminus and Orion and Impactor and even Starscream… A myriad of faces fitting on his little cell, people that had believed in him, that had followed him- that despised him, that had dedicated their lives to stopping him. Eons of stories, built in blood and hope and regret, all laying bare in front of his optics to see.
Time was a peculiar thing, he was used to it by now. Megatron felt he had waited forever for someone to come take him away- but the moment the voice echoed inside the enclosed room, that same eternity seemed to occur in the blink of an eye.
"It is time, prisoner."
The stocky guard turned off the laser bars, gave half a step inside and placed the cuffs on his wrists.
"Stand up now." He commanded, the usual callousness on his demeanor.
Megatron followed line without protest or resistance, walking behind the mech towards the main corridor.
This bot in particular used to be a Functionist soldier, therefore he had also been his enemy- although for once the warlord had been on the right side. Despite the time passed and the new world he had found himself in, however, this mech still kept a kind of grudge against the revolutionary. Regardless, in general the guard had been professional on his treatment, and the prisoner couldn't expect more.
At this point it was ridiculous that he would be surprised about it: but as the figure of Minimus Ambus made it into his field of view – the actual Minimus, no Magnus armor to be spoken of – Megatron couldn't help but draw a wide smile on his old face.
"Megatron." Said the smaller mech with a nod, his unfiltered voice a kind, tuned melody.
"Minimus." Answered the warlord, slowly stopping in front of him as to not alert the guard. "I wasn't expecting to properly see you before…"
"I told you I would be here, and I am." Continued the bot, walking next to him. "I like to keep true to my word."
"I know, my friend, I know. However, are you certain you won't have a problem with the jury over this?"
"If they have a problem then they'll have to deal with it." Commented the bot as they neared the elevator, with a very proper tone. "This is who they've been talking with all this time. This is me, for better or worse."
"For better. Always for better..."
Perhaps it was a little shameless, but Megatron traced every line of the green-white frame with his optics, memorizing each angle and reflection on Minimus' armature one more time. This way, if the final moments of his life proved to be as grim as he imagined, then perhaps he would be able to close his optics and picture this until there was no longer a brain to construct an image.
Through his careful observation, however, the Decepticon leader realized the weariness on his friend's factions. The usually smart optics had a dull light to them, and the perfect stance was a little crumbled on the shoulders.
"…I take it you didn't sleep." Commented the condemned as they stepped inside the lift, this time watched over by the persisting guard.
"There was much to do for such a thing." Was the quick, tired answer. "Still, I doubt I would have been able to shut down my brain even if every single thing had been dealt with before now. So I guess I'm grateful for the distractions provided."
"…I'm sorry to hear." He said, wishing for eleventh time the guard had taken a different elevator. "…It will be over soon."
"And I should be happy about that, isn't it?"
Minimus' lazed hands creaked for a moment, forced against their joints as the mech tried to keep composure. Megatron saw the smaller mech stir as if venting, closing his optics for a moment and crossing both palms in the back of his frame, sighing.
"Sorry. It's a dumb thing to say."
"It certainly is. But stop being sorry: they're getting what they want. Now you must leave your sorrows behind."
The guard changed footing, annoyed, but Megatron couldn't manage to get over his baffled self.
"You're turning into a rebel, Minimus." He found himself saying, for some reason amused to the core.
"Well, I was a Crusadercon. Wasn't transgression a bit of a norm back then?" Answered the bot, turning to him.
That smile. That smile was worth every inch of this universe.
"I…"
"Yes?"
"…I think so. Yes."
"..Me too, Megatron. Me too."
"We're here." Declared the third bot present, stating the obvious as the doors slid open. "Move along."
The prisoner cursed this meddlesome guard once again. Still, at least their optics could carry the message across.
With a mostly practical brain deeply coded with survivalist instincts, Megatron's mind had relegated certain information to the deepest back of his self- sparing him the madness this data would bestow upon him, at least until it turned too relevant to ignore. For instance, the warlord had not considered when was the last time he had stepped into an open space prior to this moment.
But as the intense cold of Cybertron's midnight grazed his plating like an old friend, and the awestrucking cosmos bathed its light over the astounded mech, the numbers flooded his brain-module in a bittersweet wave of unavoidable truth: eighty four years. Eighty four years he had been away from the stars.
And under the endless white-dotted blackness of the sky above, the coliseum greeted him- filled to the brim with a silent crucible of people from all over the universe. Half the grandstands were filled with mechanical beings – his brethren, for sure – but the rest of the attendants where a number of organic races he was ashamed he couldn't fully recognize. He managed to make out the nebulans, some frainyans, a considerable number of temptorians… and thousands of humans.
Megatron couldn't make out much hate on the far away faces, almost blurred with one another in the ocean of eyes- but the weight of their stares as he came into view was the heaviest force he'd ever faced. It was almost like the pressure of sheer acknowledgement held by the people united against him had increased the planet's gravity on the very spot he was standing on, almost throwing him to the ground.
Peace through tyranny.
Peace. Through. Tyranny.
How blind could you be?
How arrogant, how hungry?
How cruel?
"Are you alright?"
The tyrant managed to look down at his side, stunned. The crimson optics staring back where concerned, even when they betrayed the question with an obvious answer.
"It just struck me… how small I actually am, is all."
"Move it, prisoner. The execut-"
"QUIET." Interjected Minimus, even when his sharp glare alone would have silenced the guard- and any other mech fool enough to imitate him.
"It's fine, Minimus. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
In the center of the massive coliseum, representatives of the Galactic council that had acted as the jury for Megatron's prolonged trial had taken seat behind an extended lectern, awaiting for the nearing criminal in expectation, nervousness, and more than a little wearily. It made sense now for the warlord that some of the members had changed over the years: not many organic species possessed a life-spam long enough they could spend eighty years on their prime.
Before this select group was Prowl with a couple of guards, readying the machine.
It was very simple-looking, considering the contraptions Megatron had been hooked to over the years: a reclining gurney, very much like those used in clinics, with braces for wrists, helmet and legs- and a little table at the side with the rust container. A fleeting thought from a former self stirred inside the mech's mind: "You pretend to end me, this mighty beast, this relentless spirit, with that shameful syringe? I am no dog. I'll die fighting before you humiliate me like that."
Quite fitting, thought the former rebel, that what he felt as his feet got him closer to his demise was humility, not shame. Death reached us all, at the end, whatever you were made of.
"Seems like your Decepticons won't be coming to the rescue this time around." Commented Prowl as he stopped next to the machine, with only moderate satisfaction despite his words.
"They have long outgrown me…" Answered the prisoner, simply. "…but I'm not surprised you ignore it."
"Whatever you say."
With a gesture of the Autobot's hand, the guards closed on Megatron, almost ceremonially, to guide him onto the cold rest. The two massive mechs made sure to have his legs secured before taking off the cuffs locking his arms together- a commendable diligence the warlord found strangely hilarious.
His mind was anxious, there was no denying that. For all the calm on his features and the overall detachment of his thoughts, Megatron had the certainty that he was stunned, senses numbed in favor of control. He didn't want to think much about it – for the same reason, really – but the situation was certainly reminiscent of the time his brain-module had been tampered with, all those millennia ago, and he didn't want to allow a fit of violence right now.
If this where his last moments in this world, he wanted to leave at least with a hint of dignity.
"Megatron of Tarn, you have been found guilty of crimes against existence, including the eradication of species of sentient and non-sentient beings, planetary depletion, planetary destruction, system-wide colonization and purging, star harvesting, illegal genetic experimentation on unwilling subjects, tailored warfare, world-spread slavery…"
The list resited by Prowl went on and on- and having heard every last bit the past half-century or so, Megatron found himself temporally shutting down his aural receivers to contemplate. The condemned rolled his optics over the monitoring wires the guards were strapping to his chest, meant to show his vitals in the wide screens placed strategically above the arena's top ring, for everyone to check on his last beat. One little monitor even popped out from the machine at his side- probably with more technical information than the one presented to the crowd.
Unavoidably drawn to it, the warlord found himself turning to the side, meaning to behold his friend for a while longer. A ridiculously sharp fit of panic clutched his spark when he found nothing there, but a quick survey of his surroundings showed him a somewhat solemn-looking Minimus Ambus standing a couple of feet in front of him- arms crossed behind his frame, unweaving optics staring right at his.
A dozen new poems began to write on the prisoner's mind. How he regretted not portraying a single one in a pad- at least one of the many he already had memorized for this brave, sublime muse. Now more than ever, Minimus towered over him with his merciful soul.
"…Found guilty beyond doubt of the crimes listed above, the appointed jury condemns Megatron of Tarn to death by lethal injection. May Primus have mercy on your spark."
Once again, the prisoner felt the fleeting need to smile.
It was appropriate, perhaps, that this religious figure he had actively dismissed his whole life, which he had tried to distill from cybertronian history along with the Primes, would follow him even at his last moments.
The guards began to move around him as the whole place was swallowed by silence. Megatron looked up to one of the monitors, not really focusing in anything at all, as he felt the sting of the first needle on the back of his helmet. The precise, surgical incision was barely noticed by his lifelong-built pain threshold, and the solution they were injecting now was merely meant to ensure a quick flux of the actual corroder later on- a merciful measure, one could say. But as the long needle slid deeper and closer towards his brain-module, the sensation was so sickeningly similar to the one from that dark room at Messatine so long ago, that the warlord found his palms shaking. He tried to will the suddenly hectic rhythm of the lines showing his brain activity and spark-pulsing down, first focusing his optics on the spiking display far above in the screens, then curling down his digits as much as the restrains allowed.
Old fear was a nasty thing: senseless and much quicker to spread than the solution itching at his inner systems, it was quite hard to shake off once it had taken a hold of you. Of course, even now, the Decepticon leader wasn't sure why it was so important to control those lines that where his life signs. They were there to fade, where they not? To appease the masses, to satiate their hunger- to reassure them from their fears.
This was happening. Megatron had come to terms with it a long time ago. Then why did it matter?
The silence was deafening- he could hear it filling his aural receivers with static as the machine kept on slowly flooding his energon lines with the warm solution. It wasn't surprising then, that he took a while to realize about the voice. Once he caught the murmur however, and placed its source, his optics where quick to push down despite his frame's angle. As he focused on the voice he knew so well, the tone washed away the noise on his radials, allowing him to listen at Minimus' beaming speech as he recited…
…As he recited - without a trace of doubt on his register, with his back set straight – his favorite poem.
Megatron listened dumbfounded to his own words- the words of a young miner that was also a poet, filled with hopes despite his position, an eternity ago- his words rolling out of Minimus' baritone voice-box and echoing away against every wall in the stadium. The warlord couldn't help but look, his readings steadying in a deep beating at the indescribable feeling flooding him as his dear friend gave life to this moment.
The first verse gave way to the second, and the lone, brave voice became a chorus, as more voices joined in. The baffled prisoner turned his optics to the crowd and realized many Lostlighters looked over him from the grandstands: Rodimus was easily picked from the masses, his colors bright as he sang along- but many others were gathered around him, following the poem flawlessly. Tailgate and Cyclonus, Brainstorm, Chromedome and Rewind, Drift and Ratchet, Swerve, even Whirl- all reciting in a modulated, measured echo of the words this damned soul had once written down in the world.
And yet the chorus turned to a Hymn, and Megatron's optics opened wide to the sight of thousands of mechs singing along his deepest thoughts.
The Stadium was filled with Decepticons – former and present – but he would never have imagined, even in the wildest of dreams, that after all he had done they would still have such a gesture with their once-leader. Perhaps, yet again, he had underestimated the heart of his people.
But even beyond the walls encasing this myriad of friends and "foes", the voices of a million cybertronians once native to the Functionist Universe – those he had risked everything to save once and again – filled the night sky like cosmic thunder. Clicker was present among his beloved crew – more precisely, the assembly of both Lost Light's and Last Light's – but given this whole ceremony was meant for those wronged by the warlord, it wasn't surprising most of those who were thankful to him would be left outside. The fact they still made their voices heard moved him beyond belief.
And all this, he was certain, had been orchestrated by Minimus Ambus.
"You flare…"
Despite the looks it would grant him, despite the disapproval of a universe, Minimus stayed truth to his beliefs. This wasn't a protest, it wasn't a revolt- it wasn't even meant to be a derision to everyone harmed by the prisoner's influence, as was made clear on the face of those who joined the chorus.
It was facing Megatron- facing the world- with all of his deeds: everything wrong he'd ever inflicted upon others, everything good he'd ever done for his fellow sentient beings. The lives he had ruined and taken, the lives he had uplifted and saved- the people he had changed, for better or worse or both, all together here, all present at his end. He had committed atrocities, yes, but he had also saved worlds time and time again- in the other universe and in this one as well.
It was a gift.
It was a goodbye.
Minimus was perfection, a poem on himself.
"You flicker..."
Letting the voices fill his surroundings as he directed his optics to the firmament, Megatron didn't even feel the second infusion beginning its path down his systems. All his thoughts were with the fertile moon above him, life brighter than the stars themselves pulsing on the vast fields of its surface.
For what he'd heard, thousands had already been brought to term: Lunarians, they were being called. Perhaps some of them were taking part on this requiem- one could only hope, although stranger things had occurred this day. His actions had assisted in their existence, after all, to an extent, so perhaps it wasn't such a crazy idea to have newborns joining on his last moments.
Maybe, in the massive scale of the cosmos, this mech's good actions couldn't outweigh his wrongs- in fact, up to this moment, he hadn't had a doubt about it. But perhaps it was enough.
He had changed. He had let go of the senseless hate, the burning pain that had consumed him and the world around him, warping the universe. He had let go of all of it, and then filled the void with hope, with kindness, with love.
He had been far from perfect, but he had done his best and perhaps that was enough.
Perhaps loving was enough.
Perhaps love was all it ever took.
As the light dimmed on his optics, and many faces took shape in the soft shadows - with old friends and people he'd forgotten rising their arms to him in a welcoming embrace - Megatron allowed one last thought to spark on his soul, one last "I love you" echo through his stilling frame as he pictured his beloved friend one more time. And then…
"…You fade."
/
…Megatron was gone.
The whole auditorium went quiet.
Prowl walked to the monitor, checked the time- then signaled the guards to undo all restrains and take back the needles.
"Megatron of Tarn has ceased to function." He declared, with his usual objective tone.
Not a voice was heard on either side of the coliseum. Minimus looked back for a moment and saw profound relief on the victims of the Decepticon march upon the universe- those who had survived or the descendants of them- and he understood quite clearly their motives and emotions, what his friend had meant with this…
…Even as his spark was broken.
It wasn't that dramatic. After all, it had probably been this way since a long while ago, bleeding out in orderly-timed lapses of time – and some not so much – along the years. He had offered the last of his soul to the mech it had helplessly fallen for, and now he was… well, devoid wasn't perhaps the best word, but it seemed fitting.
Now all the loadbearer had to do was live on in a way that honored what Megatron – the unredeemable criminal, the justice-seeking poet, his dear friend – had seen in him.
Ambus had arranged the handling of the body accordingly, for the posterior funeral – something that had irritated more than a pair of high rankers of the Galactic Council with their own ideas of what to do once the tyrant was officially done - and now it was time to follow up with the next steps.
Rodimus jumped off the lowest ring of the stadium, walking closer as Prowl reassured the members of the jury: luckily, the rebellious reputation of the bot preceded him, enough so for the world-leaders to barely bat an eye at his nearing presence.
"Thanks, big guys…" He said to the guards, as they finished moving the inert frame into a simple coffin, "…but we'll take it from here."
The mechs gave a hesitant look to their superior in search of confirmation, as the rest of the Crusadercons present for the ceremony emerged from the nearest corridor. Prowl only nodded to them, moving his hand to call them closer. Rewind, Clicker, Tailgate and Swerve walked closer to Minimus as the rest – that sported more regular frames – pulled up the coffin.
"Who'd have thought the man weighted so much." Joked Brainstorm as they walked down the corridor.
"You kiddin'? The guy was built like a dreadnought." Continued Whirl, shaking his head "I would know: Even cuffed I couldn't beat him."
"You telling me: I couldn't either- and he wasn't even functioning at the time!"
"Closer anyone ever got was Rewind, I think." Commented Swerve, a bit quieter than usual.
"Ah~ yes." Let out the clockworker, with a loud sigh. "Almost forgot about that. Good times."
"Wait, that actually happened?"
"Right! You weren't with us at the time, Drift. Neither you or Ratchet." Explained Rewind, plainly.
"But yeah, Rewind shot at his spark." Added Chromedome.
"And I saved his life." Procured Whirl- proudly, but also slightly upset.
"…We went through a bunch together, didn't we…" Muttered Rodimus, unnaturally serious.
"Yes... That we did." Concluded Minimus, following the procession closely.
"He looked happy tho', didn't he?" Asked Whirl in a last, quiet utterance.
"I guess he finally made peace with himself." Hazarded Ratchet, calmly. "No doubt it's your doing, Minimus."
"Indeed. This whole ceremony you came up with…" Added Drift, sincerely. "I have no words for it. I can't imagine how much it meant to him."
"One can only hope."
"…Um, how are you holding up, Minimus?" Question Tailgate, a light hand reaching a moment for the loadbearer's armband.
"I'm alright, when I'm busy. And luckily, there's plenty of affairs keeping me that way, at the moment."
"The new generation?" inquired Clicker, curious and hopeful.
"Among other things, yes. Administrating Luna-1 is no easy task- not yet at least. But we'll reach the first milestone soon enough."
"That's good to hear. But, you know," Added Rewind, kindly, "Remember to take a break from time to time, ok? You're always welcome back home."
"And at Swerve's, don't even doubt it! Same rules as always- but drinks are free for all Crusadercons."
"Thanks, friends. I'll keep it in mind."
"Wait a second." Beckoned a voice from behind the entourage. "May I have a word with you, Minimus?"
Prowl walked closer in his regular march as the group halted, not sure if they should proceed or not.
"A private word would be best, if possible." Commented the mech as he reached the Loadbearer, giving a peculiar look to Rodimus and Rewind. Surely, he felt their glares trying to slap him away.
"…Very well, Prowl. Do bear in mind I have a funeral to attend."
"You sure, Minimus?" Asked Rewind, standing at his side. "Because if you want us to stay…"
"I appreciate the gesture, but it's quite alright. Make sure everything goes on properly, would you?"
"Of course, Minimus. Leave it to us."
The minibot quickly patted Minimus' armband and then walked away with the rest of the group. Rodimus gave a look back, but soon enough they had all gone.
"Always meddlesome, that one."
"What was it you wanted to discuss, Prowl?" Interjected the loadbearer, weary.
"I know you and I haven't seen eye to eye for a while, Minimus…" Started the strategist, optics looking to the roof for a moment. "….Primus know why, given both of us have been working to enact justice for once. I guess I was expecting you to be on my side on this one-"
"Prowl."
"But regardless of our differing opinions, I wanted to thank you." Continued Prowl, trying to keep his words in check. "If it hadn't been for your help with Megatron, I imagine a number of things could have gone wrong over the years it took to get to this pretty evident verdict. So even if you were tasked with his 'defense' I appreciate the reason you commanded on the process as well as the control you kept on the prisoner."
"Megatron made the choice to face his deeds. I had nothing to do with it."
"Whatever you say."
"And, as far as I understand it, you expected a different result out of this trial."
"Well he's finally made it to martyrdom- Although nowadays it doesn't mean the same as a couple of centuries ago, luckily. Still, I would much rather have him locked for eternity in some unfathomable corner of the universe, of course. That's not been a secret. I suppose the Council was too afraid of looking bad, but I'm fine with this outcome, regardless."
"I bet."
"You disapprove, of course."
"For a number of reasons."
"Why shouldn't Megatron of all people have such a punishment? By now you know very well all that he's done. If you think I'm ashamed to say I'd have liked him to suffer more, then-" Prowl took a figurative breath, then brushed the bridge of his nose, "Look. I am aware you had grown… fond of him over the course of your travels."
"…"
"Hell if I know how that happened. Ultra Magnus was precisely the one person I would never have thought would ever speak a word to him if not to lock him up or smite him down. That says quite a lot about how incredibly manipulative he actually was." Continued Prowl, following his words with gestures of his hands. "I don't blame you, by the way: That's all on Optimus'. Leave it to him to be so naïve as to let that tyrant roam freely on a spaceship."
"…"
"Still, even if I don't understand for the life of me why you cared, as I expected you ended up doing the right thing. And that matters. I just thought it was appropriate to let you know." The strategist looked down the corridor, turning his lips in a thoughtful gesture. "I suppose the members of the Lost Light suffered from the same affliction as you, hence this funeral thing. I didn't quite like the intrusion during the execution, but you've all been quite the rebels from the beginning, haven't you? Guess it's only fitting. However I imagine you have considered what will become of the body once everyone's got their little ceremony. I have a number of science teams that would be interested in-"
"I copied the drive."
A moment of silence.
"What drive?"
"You know which: The one with all the information from Aekitas. Even if I didn't check the information inside it, I thought it was important to keep it, just in case it magically disappeared." Said Minimus, looking at his hand. "The Magnus Armor had amazing technology. It was easy to replicate it without leaving a trace. I imagined you'd give it a couple thousand looks before throwing it to oblivion."
Prowl looked to the tiled floor, arms crossed.
"…I see." He commented, unsurprised. "I guess I underestimated how sly Ultra Magnus could be."
"Hm- No. That was me. You see, even after coping the drive, I had plenty of tasks to keep working on over the years, so I didn't really mind it much until a fair number of years later, when a dear friend of mine told me a number of things she had gone through thanks to your influence."
"I take it you're talking about Verity Carlo."
"Indeed. Then I checked the drive, but the data was encrypted- again, I should have seen it coming, especially from a system that had essentially been commissioned by you. But then a couple of decades back she sent me some interesting keys she had found in the signal array you left for Springer back on Earth, and then it was a matter of time to have all the data flowing."
"She's still alive? You went to bother an elderly human, Minimus? Really."
"She's doing quite well, actually: All thanks to your good friend Tarantulas. Or does Mesothulas sound better?"
"Can we cut to the chase?" Insisted Prowl, as if bored, switching footing. "What do you want?"
"Hm?"
"You clearly want something from me. What is it? What do you want?"
"I sent all the pertinent information to Windblade, as well as the Galactic Council and a series of trusted people. Last night, to be more precise."
Silence.
"That makes no sense."
"I'm hardly surprised by now that you don't understand this either."
"Why would you do such a thing? What would be the point?"
"The point, Prowl? The point is justice."
"Those crimes happened eons ago, during wartime. You can't possibly expect-"
"Most of the crimes committed are atrocious, even for a war- actions that break the rules of wars themselves. But again: you already know that."
"Fine. So you'll accuse me of holding information that could have broken the Autobot movement in such a way it would never have survived past the resettling of Cybertron. By all means."
"Humans have a saying: people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."
"What?"
"Autobot and Decepticon no longer exist, Prowl. Not in the way you depict them… And the Aekitas data-cluster is only a part of the reports I've sent."
"What do you mean?"
"You've done plenty of illegal things after and prior the war. In fact you were a fugitive up until Unicorn, weren't you?"
"You can't be serious."
"I'm afraid I am. From unregistered hoarding of illegal weaponry, to attacking civilians both in Cybertron, Caminus and Earth-"
"You mean when I was Devastator? Is that what you're talking about?"
"You were Devastator's head, yes. If they still functioned, the Constructicons would be judged as well, I assure you."
"This is a mistake- You're making a mistake, Minimus Ambus."
"That I'm not, Prowl." Began the loadbearer, as he walked away. "If I were you, I wouldn't try to leave New Cybertron in the next mega-cycle."
"He HAD to be PUNISHED! MEGATRON COULD NOT SCAPE HIS COMEUPPANCE!"
Minimus stopped a couple of steps down the hallway.
"…I know. He crossed a line with his actions that simply couldn't be balanced back, no matter how much good things he ever did… whatever my beliefs." Managed the loadbearer, quietly, turning his helmet to the side. "The people he wronged deserved justice… and so do yours. You, and everyone that's been moving with impunity up to this moment- because of the crises hitting our universe, because of your power, because of your knowledge- have to face the same."
"What do you know about my actions? It had to be done. Someone had to do those things so all you righteous characters could go to sleep at night thinking you still had the moral high-ground!"
"You're not past that threshold yet. You can still be redeemed. All you have to do is face judgment… and see the error of your ways."
"You're a very little man, Minimus."
"Lighten up a little, would you?" Continued the slender bot, as he turned in the corner. "Some of the charges are circumstantial I'm, sure. I wager you'll only go to prison a couple thousand years or so… But at least they will be two thousand years you won't have your dirty-clean hands pulling a single string of power: you'll be well away from my Luna-1 and New Cybertron."
"I did what had to be done, you hear me? IT HAD TO BE DONE!"
And the loadbearer could still hear Prowl's shouting as he walked towards the nearest exist.
Indeed, there was still much to be done.
/
It had only been five hours since Megatron's burial, and the place was already filled with tokens and light-rods. During the exchange Minimus had held with Clicker – the present representative of all cybertronians from the F.U – the bot had pointed out this park to be the preferred place for the burial. It was a small plaza with a free window of sky up above, a place that had served as refuge for residents during the times of the Functionist regime: it was relatively secluded, and the center – that had once held the statue of one of the councilors – now sported a simple platform reminiscent of those found in Necroworld. The dimly lit front showed a plaque with the pertinent information, and in front of this structure was the topping of the grave. Crowning its plain rectanglular cover where the shoulders of the Magnus armor, acting as a tombstone.
The entire area was illuminated by soft lights, and silent cybertronians kept coming in groups to lay their energon tokens and other items such as flowers and pictures. However, they all kept clear of the mech standing in front of Megatron's rest, out of respect.
"Minimus." Greeted the colorful mech, without looking back.
"Rodimus."
"…Do you want me to-?"
"It's all right." Answered the loadbearer, walking to stand next to his friend. "In fact, if you need more time…"
"No, no- I was just waiting for you, actually." Commented the bot, turning towards him, "I wanted to tell you we set the armor as you wanted: arms at the sides of the casket, breastplate and helmet atop the hatch."
"Thanks for that, Rodimus."
"Don't even mention it. We're all hitting Swerve's, by the way. Thought you might want to know, since we mentioned it while you were stuck with Prowl…"
"I see. Tell the crew I'll be arriving soon."
"Sure, no prob. Had any problem with that jackal?"
"Nothing I couldn't manage, don't worry."
"Hey, if someone knows how to handle this kind of types, that's definitely you."
Rodimus was about to leave, but Ambus stopped him by gently holding his armband.
"Wait, before you go…" Said the loadbearer, and before the mech's surprised optics, he pulled a worn, golden badge out of a compartment. "…Here, take this. He wanted you to have it."
The yellow hand hesitated, a light tremble running over it as the digits closed on the Rodimus' star. The former captain looked at the object in his hand, features crumbling for a moment into a poignant expression. Then his optics disengaged, and the usually bashful mech looked away, saving the badge close.
"…You know…" Began Rodimus, voice wavy on the edges, "…What Drift said was spot-on. This whole thing you pulled out… I mean I knew how things would go when we made it here, but you gave Megatron-…"
He paused, looking up to the stars, then staring back at Minimus, with a little smile under his sad optics.
"I know wherever he is, he's watching over us with one of those annoying grins of his." Finished the mech, finally, as steady as he managed.
"I think so too, captain."
The word, and the feeling it carried, was enough to take down the last of Rodimus' defenses.
"Take your time…" Mumbled the mech, patting the loadbearer's chest before turning tail. "…As long as you need. We'll be waiting for you."
The smaller mech watched as the young Autobot marched away, quickly making his way out of the open mausoleum.
"I almost feel like he was hoping for a miracle." Commented Minimus after a while, slowly turning to the grave. "This last years have been hard for him. After finally finding his place- I'll try to watch over him."
The slender bot let out a tired sigh, and went down on a kneecap, reaching for the echeloned burial ground.
"...It's done. I got rid of the armor, as we discussed. I don't know if you expected me to do it in this fashion, but I think you'd have found the gesture somehow poetic. At least I hope so… I wanted to tell you about another decision I've made. it turns out I still believe in justice: Prowl, the members of the Galactic Council that worked with Overlord, the war-criminals from Aekitas that still function, those who have broken the law- that have committed offences against others- I'll bring them to justice. Wherever I reach, I promise you I'll make sure those who wrong – whatever their faction, status, or origin – I'll make sure they face equity. No less… and no more."
Minimus stood up again, closing his optics.
"But not just for the sake of balance: I want my actions and efforts to save people, whether they're victims or aggressors- as many as I can. I will do my best to live accordingly to what you thought of me… what you thought I could be. There's still a lot to be done, both for Luna-1 and to cement this path I'll be undertaking. But wherever your spark wanders now, and wherever I go from now on, I hope you know a part of you is always with me."
The loadbearer procured a little bottle of energon and placed it over the plaque, along with a pad reading "Terms of Peace" at one side and "Afterlight" at the other.
"Till all are one, my dear friend. Till all are one."
Afterlight, part I - The end.
(Disclaimer?):
Hello there, hi! This is the first time I make public one of my writings. English is not my native language and, while I find this kind of activity entertaining and somewhat cathartic, I often doubt anyone else will get anything out of reading what I do.
In this case however, this story is actually meant for someone else- and whether it is passable or terrible, since the whole idea was born as a kind of "gift" or token, I find myself leaving it here.
If you enjoyed it: I'm glad! Hope it was worth your time.
If you didn't- What a shame! There's plenty of other stuff in this great site you might like, tho'. Better luck next time!
If there's any English horror the corrector didn't manage to process, and it is slowly killing you- I'm sorry about that. But I'm open to hearing about it, maybe I can correct it? Let me know.
Also I suck at internet and its wonders, such as tagging/labeling and stuff so I'm really sorry about that too.
Dedicated to J. N. Wiedle:
I met Transformers' comics because of you. Long story short, I was going through rough times and while browsing your twitter (that I reached through Helvetica) I found some snapshots from Lost Light and MTMTE. I imagined what you depicted in your tweets to be a non-cannon perspective (I think I saw the one where you talked about a ship of gay robots searching for love? xP) but the images where enough to pick my interest and see for myself, give it a try.
…And it was all true.
Jokes aside, even to this day I still can't believe such an amazing thing existed out there - escaping my grasp - and having read almost all of IDW Transformers' issues (I'm probably exagerating) I can't say anything but thank you. Thank you for being the portal to this amazing word, thank you for sharing your thoughts about Lost Light and the Wreckers and everyone and everything. Thanks for your art, thanks for being awesome.
I wrote this as a "thank you" for all that. I feel like it ended up a bit more angsty than I wanted- and at the same time I don't think It is that sad at all? I hope you like it! I'm also gonna write a little story about what happened in the "Quantum Universe" (one that is supposed to be much more light-hearted) but that's still to be seen. Anyway, once again: THANKS!