When he awoke, he was lying in a hall of metal shrouded in darkness, dust on the floor and a strange ringing in his audios. The beamed, bracketed braces of heavy strips of iron crisscrossed the ceiling above, forming sturdy supports that kept the world from above from falling below.
It was hard. Cold. Cruel.
He knew nothing else.
Slowly, he rolled to his side, and found that he could move. He only allowed himself a second, staring down at the gleaming, twisted metal mass that stretched down from him - seeing his body, for the first time- before turning away and pushing himself, with a strong arm, off the ground.
There was strength in that movement. Something coursing through him that he could feel, a warm sort of pounding in twisted wires beneath plated skin. Joints bent. Something worked. And he reveled in that power- the first thing he ever felt. He took shelter in it. Admired it. Glorified it. It was different from all the grey darkness around him…it was more.
"Not much impresses you, huh, sparky?" asked a grating voice.
His head snapped up; he felt something in his optics narrow, dilate, and an animalistic urge to attack the new thing, this sound- voice- coursed through him.
A thing was sitting on an ancient, dented crate, watching him from the shadows. One single pale blue light gleamed in the darkness; the outline was large, sturdy, and not too unlike his own. The thing leaned forward- only one optic, and some part of him found that disgusting- and a twisted sneer on that faceplate.
"Most of the new ones spend hours gawking at their body. Have you even really looked at yourself yet?"
His mouth instinctively opened as sound rumbled through his vocalizer. He began to push himself up, legs bending. "New ones-?"
His vision flashed violent green, and he fell back on his knee, landing hard, a hand reaching up to clasp his cranium. The other braced itself against the ground; steady, strong, safe…
Coding. Programming. Operations. Software downloaded, commencing download, lines running across in glyphs…
He suddenly knew.
Primary survival characteristics.
Cybertron.
Life.
He was alive.
He blinked slowly, as the last lines of code began to disappear. He was Cybertronian. A mechanical organism. He knew his body, he knew that pounding in his circuitry was energon, he knew…
"Yeah, the downloads are scrap. Everyone has to go through them. Don't let it scramble your processor."
He blinked. Slowly, and then he looked up at the mech.
Blue, green, and so many scuffs and scratches he looked grey. One glaring, pale optic, more silver than blue.
"Who are you?"
The mech snorted and flicked a bit of rust off his arm- his wore heavy body armor. "Don't matter much, does it?" he asked. "You're the one the crowds are all going to be screaming for."
"Crowds?" he growled, slowly rising to his feet. Power. He felt pure power- in that movement, even more so than the last. He was taller than the sitting mech now, though still slimmer, with scrap body armor and twisted metal plates with patchy coverage. Exposed. Beginning.
Half-naked in creation, and though far from fresh and perfect, that single fact alone- that he was new, that he was alive, just a minute old- made him flawless. He was aware of only that- the strength of his prime flooding through him. He felt it. He knew it.
And that awakening of raw power in new life, in that twisted form alive with young spark, was terrible to see.
The older mech fell silent, his lone optic and faceplate tilting up to watch his rise with a wary expression on his face. The new young warrior noticed the mech's fingers twitch, and a sparkle beneath the torn plating- a sword, just waiting to be unleashed. As if he were not the first to be threatening when awakened.
"I've never seen one of you stand up so fast," the mech said quietly. Upon noticing the sparkling's eyes follow his movements, as if analyzing them, he seemed to grow even more wary.
"What…am I?" he asked, turning his optics away from the tensed arm, back to that single optic.
The mech gave a grating laugh- dark and knowing. "I am Switchblade, the Keeper or all you damned sparks in Kaon Arena. And you, my young gladiator…you are whoever you want to be."
Optics narrowed. A processor- sharper than Switchblade or any of them could have known- whirled, and servos clenched into fists.
A week later, they would stand outside the temple of Simfur, dedicated to the Great Primes and housing the Allspark. And the young gladiator would stand as he never had before, in awe of the grace and power of those primeval heroes- blinded and intoxicated by their glory.
The mechs and femmes in bright colors that hurt his eyes and made him suppress snarls gave them a wide berth, noting Switchblade's single glaring optic and scarred arms. And it was there, captivated as he had never been before, in that swirling sea of senseless color, that the silver warrior first set his optics on an ancient name engraved above the door, along with several others, but it was that one name he remembered. He took it, re-shaped it, made it his own, for none that came before him, or after him, would ever be as great as he. He wanted an echo of that power- the power of the Primes- within himself. But he wanted something even greater.
'You, my young gladiator…you are whoever you want to be.'
The silver mech turned away from the temple, standing on those temple steps like a conqueror stands on the corpse of a fallen king. His shadow fell across the ancient metal; the first darkness he would bring to that unfortunate world.
"I am Megatron."
Switchblade uncrossed his arms, watching this young mech with the far-away, burning look in his eyes, and felt something strangle crawl along his plating,. Every instinct inside him ached to unleash battle protocols.
Megatron. He had warped a Prime's name and taken it for his own.
Megatron. By the Allspark…
What have we unleashed?
A/N; Not saying Megatron was made the way he was- don't flame! Other than that, not very good, and not much of a point, but there you have it :) I figured all you wonderful readers deserved something after me going on haitus for God knows how many months, and while it's not the next chapter in Messenger, it's all that I had finished. Sorry, and don't give up on me!
Let me know what you think!
This is probably set in Transformers; Prime. Switchblade is my OC. Just an idea bout Megatron's first moments in life. Why? No idea, but the Muse has spoken. Let it speak :P