A/N: So... Even though I know it's been worn to pieces, I've always really wanted to make a human pet story in Transformers. So, here it is! Again, I'm new to this, so reviews are appreciated. I will continue this based upon feedback. Also... If you've seen my other stories, you should start getting the sense that I'm a bit of a Megatron fan girl. :3

WARNINGS: brief nudity, cursing, dark themes.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Transformers franchise, sadly, only my OCs and original plots.

We begin our story as High Lord Megatron walked through the streets of Iacon, following the newly risen morning sun. Earth was directly behind him, a metallic, cresent outline in the sky next to the mirroring moon.

The High Lord of Cybertron and Earth would, usually, be taking a flight aboard the *Bastion* to Earth, or making a trip to Decepticon Headquarters to prevent Starscream from making attempts at usurping him. It had only sated the seeker and his air forces some when he gave him the title of Supreme Air Commander over both Earth and Cybertron. And that calm state did not take long to flee the wings the ambitious seeker.

But today, he had informed Soundwave - perhaps on late notice, but he could improvise - that he would be taking the day away from the tiring politics and boisterous squabbling of his shaky dictatorship. He would admit that; the government over Earth and Cybertron, having a slow start and barely a few vorns old, was having trouble.

Resources, both for the human labor on Earth and the slowly growing population of Cybertron, were in such high demands that they were not being properly met. The cyberformation of Earth had been partially successful. Only a little over thirty percent of the surface, which included most of North America and a touch of the North Atlantic, had been successfully cyberformed. By then, the Autobots had intervened by destroying the Omega Lock. Megatron had always believed he would later rebuild the Lock, but, had discovered interesting facts about the organic race that inhabited the planet after he rose to the throne.

When the Autobot's cause had finally been scraped from the face of the galaxy and Cybertron restored, Megatron only had one matter left to take care of before turning to rebuilding his planet. The humans.

He had little knowledge of the race, besides their obvious similarities to them and his dealings with the irritating younglings the Autobot's had kept. So as he addressed Earth's rulers, he had little foreknowledge of what their reaction would be to his claim on their planet. He was a almost a little curious of what the group of pudgy, elderly men would do in the face of his narrative of their options. He made sure to point to the decimation of the United States, the reigning world power, after the attempted cyberformation. Would they surrender? Negotiate? Fight as Optimums had for 'the right of sentient beings?'

He was not dissapointed. Earth, or at least it's representatives, were cowardly. They begged for mercy.

It did not take long for a labor force to be set up; society on Earth was easily subjugated under pressures from a vastly superior race. And so, major cities on Cybertron were quickly rebuilt. Crops on Earth were quick to make a comeback from the shock of the Omega Lock's attack. Energon was flowing from the newly restored resevoirs. Well, it *was* flowing.

A vorn, maybe two, passed before the wells of Cybertron began to dry up. They shriveled, furrows in the surface like squinted eyes, their streams of energy waning, turned to pained weeping. Riots began, smalls bands in the streets growing and becoming rivers of displeased pioneers of the New Cybertron. They all flowed towards Decepticon Command Headquarters in Iacon. Megatron's carefully weaved propaganda of his successful crusade to rid Cybertron of the corrupt Senate was slowly coming apart.

The riots did calm, though, with some well-placed bombings throughout the country side and in the suburbs, and a revamp of the labor force on Earth. Renewed vigor was put into the effort of mining Energon. Still to the day Megatron walked towards the sun on one of Iacon's streets, it still was the dominant import from Earth, claiming ninety percent of the declared goods. The rest was mostly luxuries, including but not excluding polishing products, rare edible minerals, jewels, and humans.

The human population was carefully monitored and grown, almost exclusively used for the mining operations and the research of artificial production of Energon. But a small portion of the population was legally pulled from the workforce for other uses - many were bought as slaves for specialty uses for various companies on Cybertron, as some of the remaining Autobots had been. But, the remaining group was often kept by the upper class as pets.

Megatron had given a hard look towards the first human pet he had seen. Skywarp, one of Starscream's, had toted the handicapped organic - having lost an arm to one of the bigger machines in the energon mines - into the meeting chambers one morning sometime after the Energon shortage riots. Needless to say, due to the fresh memory of the backlash of Energon shortages, a heated discussion dominated the morning and late into the day of whether they would allow the legal keeping and raising of humans for recreational purposes. Megatron listened mostly to Shockwave and Starscream hash it out throughout the debate, but he eventually grew tired. Skywarp got to keep what was in Megatron's mind a useless rodent, and if human pets became a fad, then they would set up precautions to regulate the new industry.

It did not take long at all for Megatron to gain a major headache over the decision. It did catch on, and soon every mech and femme of the wealth to afford accommodations for the creatures owned a human. Thankfully, though, after a few Earth months proper regulations were set as to not have a repeat of the uprising.

In fact, it was so popular, that it was what Megatron was doing today. Buying a human. Two factors led to this decision. First, it was that humans had become as much as a status symbol as the Decepticon insignia on his chest. The small creatures' accommodations simply to keep them alive outside Earth's atmosphere was not inexpensive, and many wealthy business owners and politicians had them preform tricks and shows at parties for their guests. Starscream had prodded him frequently on the subject, and even Soundwave had acquired a small male. Second, he was actually curious as to why the small things were so praised by even the Decepticon command. What made them so special? Everything he knew about humans only told him two things: they made messes, and could be supremely stubborn.

But, he had broken down after he had discovered that Soundwave's small human had begun to learn to read Cybertronian and now helped him with his surveillance of the empire. He was going to buy a human.

Megatron knew that he couldn't go buy an inferior specimen, as that would result in silent - or perhaps not so silent, in the case of Starscream - scoff and scorn from the masses. He knew where the rest of his Decepticon's bought supplies and stock for their pets, and that was were he was going.

It was an unusual sight to see the High Lord walk down one of Iacon's busiest streets without an entourage, as he was not known for making idle walks. But, for this task, he had decided it was simple enough for him to travel on pede to the merchant. It was a beautiful morning, either way, and it was good for the civilians to sometimes see the Savior of their beloved home in the flesh from time to time. And it obviously was working, for as he parted through the traffic of the congested street all mechs within just a few feet paused to kneel, scurrying to the side to watch him pass with wide optics.

He turned down an alley that seemed not so fitting for an official of Cybertron to be visiting, but he did not give the thought more than a moment. He stopped in front of a shop, paneled windows letting natural light filter through to the front. He entered, pausing in front to observe the business.

It was quiet, chirps from a pair of turbo foxes somewhere deeper in the store the only real disturbance. There were a few isles in the moderate room, but to the far wall was glass containers with small bipedal forms crouched in the corner or standing to look at him. A thought occurred to him then: he wanted a human that stood to greet him when he approached.

Some bustling green figure emerged from the back, brushing himself off. "Hello, what can I do for-"

Megatron turned, and the shopkeeper backpedalled. He dove from behind the counter and dropped to his knees, stiff as a board. "High Lord Megatron! What an honor to receive you in my humble establishment! Forgive me, I do not have the pleasure of-"

"I'm looking for a human." Megatron did not like preamble when he had business to do.

"A- A- Wha'?" The shopkeeper's head shot up. "Oh of course! Let me just-" Then he looked into Megatron's eyes once more, and his face made a *smack* when it hit the floor. "F-forgive me, m'lord! I'm just so-"

"You may rise." Megatron rolled his optics, tone thoroughly impatient.

"Thank you, m'lord!" He bolted to his pedes, hands wringing. "Um, yes, this way, m'lord!"

He turned and began walking to the back, but Megatron did not follow. "But what of these humans?" He gestured to the glass tanks. "Are they not your stock?"

The green mech paused, turning. "Oh, um, yes, of course. But they are not what I present to the Decepticon command, no, abosulutely not! I have just received a new shipment from a supplier in the Middle East, and the new humans are being held in the back, waiting for sorting. But I've already selected the best individuals, and these up here compare poorly to the new! So, yes, this way, m'lord."

He again turned once Megatron began following, and he led him through the back. He had to duck underneath the door he passed through, and sideways at that. It only made the small shopkeeper more nervous as he blubbered out an apology that was partly to fast for Megatron to understand. Megatron, though irritated, had come expect it. Not many buildings were designed for bots of his size.

The shopkeeper nervously shuffled towards the large cages and crates holding the new shipment. He immediately began praddling on about the quality of some of the specimens, and asked him to excuse their shyness as many humans are a bit shell-shocked after their interstellar journey. He was right - none came forward to see Megatron as he approached as some in the front had, and he was almost tempted to see the others first. But he did admit that for what little he knew about humans these appeared to be better quality. They had better weights, brighter optics, and the females even appeared attractive by Cybertronian standards.

"Now, most these here are from the British Isles, or England, but we have a few Africans, Iranians, and even a couple of Koreans in the back here," - he pointed towards a cage where the humans had light olive skin - "But for the most part, you'll be speaking English to this group. No need to download new language packs then!"

Megatron paused purusing the humans, looking back to him with his hands clasped behind his back. "They still speak English?"

"O-on Earth?" The shopkeeper questioned. "Oh, yes, they most certainly do. It's slowly becoming mandatory, actually - breaking down the language barriers in the production facilities has improved output. But most of these here were bred in farms specifically for producing pets, so most of them do speak their countries mother tongue, as they say."

Megatron decided it was hard to assess the humans when they were so disoriented, most asleep, the others gazing off into space or giving him cold, scared stares. "How long will they stay like this?" his tone was displeased.

"Not long!" He rushed to amend. "Most acclimate within two to three Earth days, though some can take a week. But they should be back to their active selves in just a few hours, I'm guessing."

"Your guessing." Megatron muttered, just loud enough for the shopkeeper to hear. He did not respond, and Megatron looked at the other crates that had yet to be unloaded. Though, one was opened, off to the side. He took a step towards it, and the mech jumped into a flurry.

"O-oh that one's quaranteened - probably had something before it got loaded, I'm going to have the rest of the bunch checked before I let them mingle with the rest up front."

"What's wrong with it?" Megatron peered into the cage, seeing a tiny figure hiding in the shadows of the box.

"Something upper resipatory, and severe. She's not going to make it. I'm going to have a word with my supplier for sending me unhealthy stock."

In the dark corner of the cage, Megatron could see a clearly naked and trembling female. The smallest noise came out of her - a rattling wheeze, with each exhalation. She looked up from the long fur on her head, straight in his eyes, and held them for a moment.

Her bare feet not making a noise on the grates of the bottom of her cage, she stood, inching her way closer. Eyes shone with intelligence - fearful, but that fear was quenched. She walked closer, trying to cover herself and stay in the shadows. Her face looked pale in the light as she crept into it, eyes bloodshot and lips trembling. Megatron was slightly surprised - of all things he thought he would find in here, he did not expect a naked human to hold his gaze and look so *angry* of all things.

And he liked it.

"Prepare her for travel." His voice commanded, walking towards the front of the shop.

"W-what?" the shopkeeper was floored. "But, m'lord, if I may, I cannot insure her health, a-at-at *all.*" He followed Megatron's imposing figure until he turned back to him, smouldering red eyes hard. The shopkeeper gulped, but continued. "She is horrendously sick, and she also has preexisting conditions! She'll need medication for the rest of her life, including treatment for the infection, a-and females are always harder to care for. Plus, she's an illegal! Wasn't raised in a farm, nor registered in the workforce. Personality wise, after all that running about it in the badlands, she will be a *handful,* no doubt. And that's not even factoring in her age! The young adults are always feisty..." He gave the human a glance, and expected to turn back to a Megatron who might be reconsidering. But the same hard expression stared right back.

"I will be needing all the supplies to care for her that are immediately necessary. Also, a human doctor reference, and all of her current health records that you have. You may bill to my offices at Decepticon Headquarters."

He turned to leave for the front again, and the green mech was stunned. "B-b-but-"

Megatron turned around again, eyes more sinister, his voice lowering to something more threatening. "Will I be needing to take my business elsewhere, citizen?"

"N-no, sir! M'lord!" He bowed low, eyes darting around the floor. "She will be ready to leave in a few minutes!"

Megatron barely acknowledge him, ducking through the doorway again and headed towards the front. He sat in a bench by the door way, waiting.

The mech returned with a cage and a small sack, as promised. Megatron heard the wheezing even inside the crate.

"Yes, here you are, m'lord. Ive included a weeks worth of food - be advised, she is sensitive to sugar cane, dairy, and highly allergic to gluten. I *emplore* you, do not feed her wheat, barely, or rye, or any derivates of them. She will be heading straight to the nearest hospital."

He handed Megatron the crate and the sack, bowing, as Megatron held the small crate in one hand as he subspaced the supplies. "If there is anyway else I can be of service to our High Lord, please, do not hesitate to contact me." He paused, then leaned in. "And if she becomes too much, don't worry about bringing her back. Just off her and flush her down the latrine, if you would. Make it quick and painless."

Megatron gave the shopkeeper a squint, but nodded. "If it would be best, then I will. But I highly doubt she will become 'too much.'"

At that he turned on his heel, leaving the shopkeeper beaming but slightly confused.

Megatron returned to Decepticon Command relatively late in the day, as planned, far after Starscream and his posse left. He had made a quick trip to the recommended veterinarian after noticing his human was out cold, only to be assured that she was merely sedated. And after a quick examination of the unconscious female, was given medications to help with a severe lung infection. He made an appointment for an in-house visit later that week for a more thorough evaluation, as he was growing tired of the stares sent his way by the common rabble. He was beginning to believe he had a desperate need to make more public appearances if simply his visage across the street had full-grown mechs cowering in fear.

But, even though he arrived at Command in the after hours of the work week, he knew to expect one mech still attending to his duties.

He knocked twice, firmly, on Soundwave's office door, though he knew he probably already had seen the warlord on the security cameras. The door swished open for him, and he found his Security Director where he always knew he could - sitting in the glow of a console as he examined footage of all the empire.

He never ceased to impress Megatron; Soundeave's abilities were always first-rate, but when he made the jump from surveilling one planet to *two,* still nothing slipped past him. He even knew of the sedition before the riots weeks in advance.

"Soundwave." Megatron greeted, a genuine smile on his face. "I would reprimand you for not getting rest, but at this point, we both know it's pointless."

Soundwave's mask held no emotion, but his voice sounded like he was smiling. "Yes, we both do. I apologize, Master, but the work is never done."

Megatron's smile slowly slid off his face, replaced by tiredness. "No, it is not. Yes, it makes me think, back to the day we stood on a new Cybertron as Optimus lay dead before me. Ironic, how the ground thrummed to life underneath his grayed body. Your first words in hundreds of vorns, and you chose to say, 'Now, look at all the work we have to do.'"

This time, Megatron swore he could see the grin through Soundwave's mask. "It was true, and it still is." He looked at the crate. "Don't tell me you did."

Megatron sighed as the TIC came forward and held out his hand, asking for her. Megatron gave him the container, and the slender mech's fingers took it gently, setting it on his desk. He opened the door and pulled the small form out, still unconscious.

He seemed taken aback. "You purchased *this?*" He was flabbergasted.

Megatron was quick to defend himself. "Yes, it had spirit. Looked me right in the eye; the rest didn't dare." He paused. "But... Is it... That bad?"

"No, forgive me, Master," Soundwave sounded apprehensive. "It's not... Bad. Just unexpected." He reached behind his desk and pulled a thick, soft cloth from a drawer. Megatron's gaze following his hand, he just now noticed Soundwave's human, Darren, standing attentive on the desk. Soundwave wrapped the cloth around the female's form, and it bothered Megatron that Darren's eyes lingered so long on her bare skin.

Soundwave leaned in and listened closely to her chest, hearing the heavy rattling. "Did you take her to a physician?"

"Yes, and they said it would take a while, but she would recover. They prescribed medication for the infection."

Megatron had not seen Soundwave's face but twice in his life. Once, partially, when his mask cracked severely in battle the first time they met. He remembers his bloodied lips pulled in a thin line well. The second, when they were in interstellar space, traveling to Earth, just before Megatron left on his three year journey in the cosmos. Because of seeing his face so little, he had become very, very good at assessing Soundwave's body language. He had it, contrary to the rumors that flitted about the Decepticon - and now civilian - ranks. And right now, Soundwave had a parental concern wafting off of him that Megatron only witnessed when he was with with his own sybiotes, and recently, Darren.

"Do you think that's all?" Megatron asked.

Soundwave paused, but shook his head. "No."

He carefully removed the cloth over her midsection. She was laying on her side, and Soundwave carefully ran his digits over her ribs. He stopped on faint pink, puffy scars, jagged and gruesome. Megatron had scars like that, and they had hurt when he earned them.

"She was injured, and I believe she was never healed properly. This is just an after affect. It's surprising she has made it this far without medical treatment. She's an illegal, is she not?"

"Yes, that's what I was told."

"Breakdown's pet was an illegal, and you know how long it took and how many mishaps he went through before the rat was ready for the public. Are you sure about this?"

Megatron's eyes were hard as he turned to his TIC. "Of course!" He snapped.

Soundwave averted his gaze to the floor. "Of course, Master. You understand the commitment."

He put the female back in her cage, careful to bundle her up. "I hope you acquired clothes for her."

"What?"

"Their outer coverings. She's going to need some to keep warm. I know you like it cold."

Megatron thought for a moment, then huffed. "She can make due with polishing cloths."

Soundwave smiled. "Prepare to do a lot of improvising. Especially when she begins to menstruate."

"*What?*"

Darren coughed; both mechs turned to him, but he had his arms crossed and was looking wide eyed off into the distance, refusing to acknowledge them.

Megatron turned back to Soundwave, suspicious of this English word. "What do you mean, 'menstu-'"

"We're going to have plenty of opportunities to discuss her care, Master. It's getting late. The best thing for her right now is to get settled in."

Soundwave reached down and scooped up Darren. The dark haired boy bowed to Megatron as Soundwave did. "Goodnight, Master."

"A good rest to you as well, Soundwave." Megatron nodded, clapping him on the shoulder as he left for his home.

Megatron looked at the crate on the desk and silently sighed. He might as well prepare her for bed.

When Megatron was choosing his abode during the rebuilding of the planet, he decided that it needed to be close to Command Headquarters, wherever that was going to be. He spent some time trying to plan layouts with the existing structures remaining after the war, until he came up with a novel idea: instead of make his home near or next to Command, why not make his home *in* Command? Or better yet, make Command in his home?

So, behind the forefront of offices and meeting rooms of Headquarters, connected by a long, tall, wide hallway, was Megatron's castle. Yes, it was a castle. He loved his castle. He loved his castle almost as much as his title. It's christening of 'Darkmount,' after his fallen fortress, held a close second for his favorite memory, right after the death of Optimus Prime.

He walked through the long hallway quickly - he could tell the human was waking up by the groans and irregular breathing. He walked through the great room and past the guest bedrooms. His servants had all left for the day, as part of him still liked to recharge knowing he was alone, so he would need to settle her in on his own.

He took the elevator up over the stairs as not to jostle her, and walked across the hall to his berthroom. He went straight to the bathroom, drawing hot water in the sink. He remembered once, Soundwave said Darren liked hot baths. He would see if his human liked them as well.

He set the crate down, grabbing towels and a gentle cleaning solution he liked to used on his cuts and scrapes. He took the supplies given to him by the trader out of his subspace, and went through them. He had a strange substance advertised as a human food substitute, though he had never seen anything like it. It was reddish-brown, canned, and mushy. He wondered if the human would even eat it. He decided that he would ask Soundwave what he fed Darren, but the canned food would do for now.

He actually did have some clothes - what looked like two pairs, simple sheaths. He set those aside along with the records, what looked like medical and known history. He was too curious not to thumb through the criminal records, and saw something about theft, but that was about the time he heard her squeak.

He looked at the cage, setting the holopad down. The rags inside were being rustled, movement visible in the grates on the sides of the cage.

He got up, slow and careful as he remembered Soundwave once said that humans were always skittish when you first take them home. He kneeled next to the cage, looking inside. She was standing, wrapped in her blankets, hair matted. She stared back at him when he said nothing, silent, still as a statue.

He was very unsure of what to do next, but knew that whatever he did, it would be a lasting impression. He resolved to open the crate, hand quietly reaching forward to unlatch the clasp.

He blinked, and she was pressed up against the other end of the crate, arms held against the back wall behind her, chest wheezing rapidly. Her sleepy eyes had turned wild in an instant.

"Easy," came out of his mouth too quick to catch, and for once, he cursed his rough, gravelly voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. You want out of this cage, don't you?"

When she didn't respond, staring uncomprehendingly at him, he remembered that he was still speaking Cybertronian. He cursed, shaking his head. "It's okay," he tried, gently, but he swore English just made his Koanite rasp all the more hard. "Come here. I'm not going to hurt you. I've got medication for you, and a warm bath drawn. I have no intention to harm you."

She paused, thinking, a dozen emotions flashing across her face so rapidly Megatron had a hard time seeing them all in the dark of the back of the crate. She calmed, though, arms still held at her side, expression skeptical. "Your him, aren't you?"

He paused, not expecting her question. All he could come out with was a dumb, "What?"

"Your him." She still panted, then coughed, coughed this horrible cough, and Megatron then understood the human expression 'hack up a lung.' When she recovered, she countinued, "Your him. Megatron. The eyes, the shoulders, the voice. Your him."

He didn't quite know what the correct response to that would be, so settled on a firm, "Yes."

She sighed. "Well then," she steadied herself, gathering a deep breath. It seemed like she was trying to inhale the world in that breath. "Then you can go *frag* yourself!"

She dove under the blankets, tossing him a middle finger, and then stayed under there.

He stayed in front of that cage until the water in the sink started overflowing.

As he stood in the warm puddle in front of the imported marble countertop, staring at the crate, he worked himself into a serious wroth over the whole ordeal. He now understood why everyone cautioned him so much over the female.

He felt the smallest sense of dread settling in.