Stigmata Martyr

Prologue: New Black Day

Iacon. What a beautiful sight. None of them had ever expected, in the long months they had spent living on what had turned out to be a prehistoric version of Earth, that they would ever actually see home again. Rattrap in particular was overjoyed, stretching as he grinned brightly with a light, happy chuckle. "I'm tellin' ya, spots... this'll be great. Comin' home to a hero's welcome. And y'know, this explains why all th' source material back at the academy stated the Ark didn't have any escape pods on it, despite crashing with one still in its bay..."

It was both a joyous and a bittersweet return home. They had gained allies, lost enemies... lost friends. That thought rang deep with many of them as Dinobot's dying words still hung in their audials, and the most to Rattrap, who still – grudgingly – considered the raptor his closest friend outside of Rhinox. He had originally wanted to keep Dinobot's body to be interred on Cybertron, but with foreseeable route home at that point in time, it was instead decided to give him a ceremony on Earth. It was probably what he would've wanted anyway.

Rattrap couldn't help but smile a little to himself. He had let his own chatter die out some time ago as they started to land on an ancient tarmac once intended only for the Autobots themselves, many of whom would have been far too large to land on any of the strips the Maximals used. Something told him Dinobot wouldn't have wanted to come back anyway. He was more suited to a wild life, away from the hustle and bustle, and away from the hero's welcome he could already see from where he sat. He never considered himself a hero... just a soldier doing his duty.

The walk down that platform was one of the longest in his life. Already soldiers were descending on the ship to restrain Megatron and lead him to the holding chambers in stasis cuffs, orders being barked here and there, and there at the bottom he could say the light, sleek figure of the Prime's adviser: a sweet-faced, candy apple red femme named Scarlet. She was smiling cheerfully as Optimus Primal approached, getting down on one knee so he could face the small femme a bit better even as she craned her neck to get a good look at him. "Congratulations, Optimus, and welcome home. Safeguard couldn't be here to greet you, but he assures you that he is eternally grateful for your help. Our ancestors – and, for some of us, our families – would be and are extremely proud."

"Well, the Prime is a busy mech, Scarlet... we shouldn't trouble him with things this minor." Optimus had one of those calm, casual looks on his face that absolutely drove Rattrap nuts, and he was pleased to see both of Scarlet's brow ridges shoot straight up in response. "...really, Scarlet. It's nothing serious at all."

Scarlet just giggled, shaking her head. "Nothing serious at all, he says. You, Optimus Primal, are something of a celebrity right now. You've brought in one of the most violent criminals of our time. No one could've possibly seen this coming... and here you are, a skeleton crew of mechs never intended to fight, who brought him to justice! Safeguard is looking toward giving you all medals of honor."

Rattrap could see the slightly embarrassed look on Optimus's face as the big mech shifted a little bit. He wasn't really one for praise either... a good young mech, always more than willing to do everything he could for the people that worked under him. Frustrating... but a redeeming quality, none the less. As for him? He preferred to avoid the fanfare altogether, slipping past the small femme as she turned to blink after him. "Rattrap?"

"Not tonight, honey," he chimed back, not really caring for her rank or position. "Ol' Rattrap's got a date with Macaddam's and plenty'a mugs of good ol' fashioned grade A oil."

With a flicked wave of his hand, he bade farewell to the crew he had spent so long dealing with in close quarters and slipped off into the ruckus of an excited Iaconian night.

The days passed far too slowly. The trial was still orn away, and try as he might, Rattrap hadn't been able to avoid the award ceremony Safeguard Prime had all but ordered. Oh, he'd caught the wry smile the boy had given him, too. For the likes of Safeguard, Scarlet, Stripe, the twins Silver and Streak, Masquerade, Voltage, and Wingblade? He wasn't just some miner-turned-soldier. He was a much... deeper person than all that. He'd shaken more hands than he'd cared to, talked to dignitaries and soldiers alike... and finally, sick of the attention, he slipped out.

Honestly, he had no idea where he was heading. He had no particular destination in mind, and nothing in particular he wanted to do other than toss back a few flasks of oil, get drunk with the boys, and talk about the good old days. So why was it, then, that his feet were taking him toward the holding facility where Megatron sat in stasis cuffs, unable to do more than sit in his cell and glare, never once saying a word to those who passed him.

Perhaps it was just curiosity, to see what had driven him. Maybe it was a sense not unlike humans who enjoyed reading about and viewing pictures of notorious criminals finally brought to justice. Whatever the reason, it wasn't long before he found himself standing quietly in front of the cell, staring at the once mighty despot, still powerful even without his minions and the stench of death all around him. Megatron stared back, and after several moments, he finally smiled.

"So," he began, tone low and calm, "come to stare at me like a beast in a cage, have we? How quite like you, rodent. Tell me. Why are you here?"

Rattrap straightened slightly, and for a moment, he had no answer. Even he didn't know why he was here. Finally, though, he threw on the best smile he could and some winning sarcasm. "Why else? T'watch you sweat, ugly. Not so scary now locked in a cage in some high security prison."

The tyrant only sneered in response, chuckling darkly. "I am surprised you dare to still speak with me in such a tone. To be honest, however... you have surprised me in many more ways than this. I now know why you showed me no fear, and yet, you would avoid going near the residents of the Ark as often as possible." When Rattrap's smile faded, Megatron began to laugh. "Yes, I thought so. You've only confirmed my assumptions. I know now who you are. It is not I who you fear, but the name I stole. Yes... yes, I see. A tragedy, really, that such a known war veteran would fall so low."

The saboteur hissed a bit through his buck teeth, shaking his head. "You're crazy. Havin' old' bucket head's spark shoved in your chest just made you crazier'n you ever were before. You're imaginin' things."

"Am I?" Megatron grinned. It was a nasty expression, and the strange lighting of the cell made it look even more sinister. "Or are you just hiding from a past that will catch up with you someday? I suppose... we truly will see."

A chill ran up Rattrap's spinal relay at that. It was an unpleasant prospect... Megatron knowing anything about his history. But then, having had the original Megatron's spark inside of him at one point, anything was truly possible, wasn't it?

But he didn't like leaving anything to chance. He scowled and flicked his hand dismissively, turning to stalk away. "You ain't worth the argument."

The last sound he heard as he walked away was Megatron's mad laughter, echoing down the hall he'd left behind.

The next morning, Rattrap was woken up rather rudely not by the twin suns glaring in through the window of his temporary housing, but by two young soldiers bursting in, shouting orders at him. He groaned as he stirred from recharge, staring up at the two as he tried to match names to faces. One of them was simple... Wingblade, a young Predacon, whose parents had been Decepticons granted amnesty after the war. The other was not familiar to him, but his face was hard and cold.

"What the slaggin'..." he groaned as he sat up, making a startled sound when the unfamiliar soldier jerked him off the berth, slapping stasis cuffs on his wrists. "What gives? What the fraggin' pit is goin' on here?"

Wingblade just watched, expression torn between anger and disbelief. "I'm afraid you're under arrest, Rattrap."

Rattrap stared back at the youth. "Under... under /arrest/? For /what/?"

The second soldier scowled and turned, giving Rattrap a shove toward the door as Wingblade glanced away. "For the attempted assassination," he growled, "of Safeguard Prime."

To Be Continued...