Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape, or form, own the Transformers© franchise or the characters it contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Hasbro, and the respective artists/writers/et cetera. No infringement intended.
Continuity: 2007 Movie-verse, influenced by prequel comics and novelization.
Characters: Blackout, Scorponok, Starscream, Barricade, Frenzy, Brawl ("Devastator"), Bonecrusher, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ironhide.
Warnings: Some violence
Author's Note: Criticism encouraged, technical points preferable.
--
Optimus did not pretend to understand all that it was to be a Guardian.
In many ways, the sect was a mystery to all Autobots; their lives were split apart upon Sparking, their primal natures wildly dissimilar even in their most basic programming. Simple concepts of art or creation seemed beyond the destructive, individualistic warriors of the Guardian caste. They fought, even where there were no enemies. They skirmished amongst themselves, to establish order and, conversely, camaraderie. It was always the strongest among their number that led; the one who so completely annihilated all his challengers. Dominion through destruction; peace through tyranny. Such was their motto, their perverse creed.
The democratic Autobots often found this practice of advancement in poor taste, but did little to nothing about it. What their Guardians did in their secretive bunkers was no true concern of theirs – so long as the warriors rose to battle when summoned, they could do as they pleased.
As long as they didn't have to bear witness to it, such things did not exist to the gentle city-bots.
Though he had often attempted to find common ground between the factions, Optimus had long ago realized the proud Guardians preferred the distinction between themselves and the peaceful denizens of the cities they safeguarded.
It was a bizarre sort of professionalism, this divergence in morals, and a sort of preservation instinct, after a fashion. The Autobot ways of thinking, in a typical Guardian's opinion, seemed a poisonous weakness, on the brink of madness. Compassion and mercy were vulnerabilities, and – amongst the warriors themselves and the myriad of enemies made in Cybertron's name – such was unacceptable – by principle, if not necessity.
This much he understood, and not much beyond it. But, then, he was not meant to understand them, nor their obtuse reckonings.
The Autobot paused to consider the wall immediately before him, decorated with the distinct, long gouges of scything claws and the burns of close-range weapons fire. Beneath the signs of age and hard use rested an ancient star chart; one long out of commission, but yet, still etched as it had been for as long as the Dome had stood. It said something of Guardian mentality, he was certain. Something strange and alien and yet so curiously familiar in its very peculiarity.
Prime, with the utmost caution, reached out, and, spreading his blunt fingers, stretched out to rest the digits within a particularly deep set of grooves. The Guardians had a more expansive span of hand than he, of course. A wider spread of claws to better reach fleeing enemies, he supposed, after a moment of speculation. Visual tactics to further instill horror within their enemies. And who would not fear such rending, biting talons, reaching for their most vital components?
The thought sent a ripple of unease through him; memories of foreign ships disappearing in faint flares of light and fire racing through his mind. Sorrow pulled at him, and remorse; who was to say what their intentions had been? Who were they to condemn outsiders for so small a trespass?
"Prime!" The thunderous voice rumbled through the chamber like cannon fire, filling the cavernous hollow that was the central Dome. "Brother."
It was a voice all too easily recognizable; no other would be so brash upon entry.
Optimus allowed the flicker of a smile to cross his face, and turned about. "Lord Protector. It has been some time."
The firm, confident tread of Megatron's approach echoed against the arched walls with resonating reports, a great clatter and clank to announce the colossal Guardian's presence to the considerably less-attuned Autobot. His greeting still faintly ricocheted through the compound, telling any and all with an auditory unit of his visitor.
And, perhaps, thought Optimus, to warn off less friendly others that might have lurked nearby.
The massive warrior strode boldly to where the Prime stood, every move the calculated flex of an apex predator. His optics swept up and down and all about, never resting for long on any one spot, and, for all intents and purposes, he seemed planning on walking straight through the waiting Autobot. But, he slowed and stopped ere he got too close for comfort, allowing a buffer of distance for their mutual comfort. With one last, succinct perusal of Optimus's person, he at last allowed his gaze to hook upon the smaller Cybertronian's, evidently at ease for the fact that their solitude had been confirmed. "What has brought you here? What news of the Towers?" His booming voice lowered its output for the sake of their proximity, and his head tilted in a general gesture of respect.
Optimus returned the gesticulation. A wry smile quirked up the edges of his lips, and he bowed just a bit deeper, in a Tower-born greeting. "Can I not simply come to see an old friend?" He stalled, hoping to avoid the nastiness to come.
Amused but not fooled, Megatron snorted. "No Autobot comes here purely for the sake of our company. Even you, Prime. Is the Council not pleased by my campaign? The organic invaders have been repelled." His red gaze flickered, his inflection dancing between wry disdain for the opinions of sheltered relics and pride for his successful venture into a hostile fray, only recently returned from.
Even now, Optimus could see the telltale scorch marks and warping from weapons fire on his chest, and the subtle dents of a collision along his flank armor. Such were both badges and warnings; a way to display the warrior's individual prowess for having survived a hostile encounter. Look what I have survived, it said. Dare you try to do better?
"Well?" Megatron prompted, gruffly. "Speak."
Nothing for it now; he had cut to the quick of the matter, with or without Optimus's approval. Taking a moment to resolve himself, Optimus squared his stance to a more authoritative posture, falling back to the role of Prime. It was a jarring transition. "No." He said, calmly. "They are not pleased. Far from it."
"No," Megatron repeated, as if tasting the word for himself, testing its texture. "Our enemies have been destroyed. Their ships have been dismantled, and their lives lost to the Void." His words fell somewhere between a rationalization for his actions and a statement of fact, plainly striving to make sense with terms that an Autobot would understand. Optimus took it as a good sign; Megatron had not become confrontational, yet. There was still a chance of making him understand the grievous wrong he had committed, be it with the most noble of intentions.
"That strike was preemptive," Optimus began, struggling to think past his own core programming, as a Guardian might view it. "They had not moved upon us."
Megatron's body language shifted, a sign of his rising agitation as his actions were called into question. His hand flicked out out in a move that would have shorn Optimus's head from his shoulders, had the Autobot stood much closer, and snarled. "They entered our sky space. Their ships were armed. It was reason enough for a offensive course to be taken."
"Simple armaments are not a clear justification for such an assault."
"No, I suppose their long range cannons were not a sufficient enough excuse. Nor their swarm of hostile drones." Megatron snorted, displeased by the unwelcome opposition. "Or those pesky air-to-ground rockets."
"It's a dangerous universe," Optimus responded plainly, feeling his opportunity for reasoning with the commander slipping away.
"I know. I made it that way." Megatron drawled, cold to the very Spark of him. Catching himself, he shook his head, and slipped back to more formal tones, for the sake of his guest. "The outside threat was eliminated. This should not displease the exalted Council members."
Optimus frowned stubbornly, determined to get through the patently obstinate intransigence. "We cannot afford to make enemies without cause. Perhaps they had only strayed. Perhaps they were passive life forms." Optimus felt a moment of distaste, recalling the utter eradication of the alien vessels. He had seen the monitors, witnessed the explosions far out in space. It was senseless violence, he had thought, this sending of their forces so early to intercept the fragile organics ere they had a chance to correct their course. It was so without validation, without cause; brutality for brutality's sake. And so like the Guardians, in all its callousness.
"They were sentient beings." He elucidated impulsively, when it was clear his point was lost by the blank stare he had received. "Creatures capable of and displaying technological advancement."
Megatron alit upon the hastily spoken words, twisting it back into a statement he could readily understand. "Sentient beings? Advanced? Oh, yes. Sentient enough to fire upon us as we drew into their range. Advanced enough to generate electromagnetic pulses, and drones by the fleet. That's as clear a threat as any I've ever seen."
"You were flying directly at them, weapons at the ready, with a full compliment at your back. I think I'd fire as well, were I in such a situation." The Prime allowed a wry note to enter his voice, striving to reduce the sudden tension in the chamber. It was a razor's edge he walked with Megatron, all sharpness and danger, and such a long, dark drop to either side.
It did not work as he had hoped. The Lord Protector began to pace back and forth, keeping his gaze locked with Optimus's as he went. "Would you rather I had idled here until they got into range to fire upon your Council? Stand about waiting until they had invaded your cities and decimated the populace, just to be certain of their intentions? Should I have asked them politely if they intended to enslave the lot of us, or simply decimate all they happen upon? Perhaps I should have. Yes. If only to let your ilk feel the sting of enemy fire; let the most wise and venerable ones watch their precious Towers burn to the very foundations. That would remind all of Cybertron of your need for us, small-minded fools. How easily you forget such things. I-" His optics flickered, once, and he subsided abruptly, jerking to a halt. Turning to face Optimus head on, he swept a second, appraising look over the shorter Autobot, and stated with deliberate, clipped enunciation: "This is not the Council's argument. This is your angle, Prime."
Optimus shifted uncomfortably, and immediately chastised himself for the slip in demeanor. It was as much an admission of guilt as anything he could have otherwise said. Thoroughly found out, he reluctantly grunted, "They were more… upset by the fact that they were not informed of your hostile intentions, or your deployment."
Megatron waved a hand again, dismissive, his posture becoming more relaxed. This was where he and the Council usually contended, and the familiarity of an old quarrel soothed him. "Protocol was met. I saw a threat, and it was removed. It was not a battle fleet that we intercepted; only but a few simple scouting vessels, filled with scurrying organics. Such did not merit alerting the distinguished members of the Council."
"A scout party?" A new fear entered the Prime's mind. Processors racing to assess all the possible threats, he quickly began, "If you've drawn the attention of a larger force—"
"It will be dealt with if it arises," Flippantly, Megatron turned away, arrogant within his confidence, heading for the arced doorway. "They were of minimal threat, and little consequence. Easily disposed of. I have great doubt that they will ever become an issue again."
Optimus let his shoulders slump in resignation, and he followed, taking longer strides to better keep up with the Lord Protector's gait. To fill the lack of voices – a quietude so unlike Optimus's home city – he asked with honest concern, "Were any lost in the assault?" ready to offer condolences.
"Three," Megatron replied tonelessly, as one would speak of missing spare parts or dust on their freshly polished armor. "Fools all. Two by blunders a Sparkling could have seen through, and one by challenge."
It took but a few moments for the last to register fully within his processors, for the sheer insanity of the suggestion. "By…? You killed your own? While engaging an enemy?" Optimus gasped, aghast by the very notion.
"I did not. I have no need to," Megatron corrected lightly, completely unconcerned. "One of my elite questioned an order. A challenge was made. The officer lost." Megatron tilted his head again, flicking his fingers vaguely, as if to pluck from the very air the words to explain the act of depravity. "It was for the better. Disaster was averted, and the stronger, better of the two has gained privilege."
Optimus faltered, revolted by the very concept. "That's… that's lunacy."
Seeing that he had not made himself clear, the Lord Protector paused, fighting for the proper explanation. How was he to speak of such a simple, ingrained concept without getting caught up with social particulars? "It is… it is as your cities. A section was weakened; a strut that has grown rusted and broken with age. A newer, better-alloyed support would be used to reinforce the structure, and the contamination would be removed. It is for the better. Surely you can see this."
It was a poor choice of metaphor to use, thought Optimus. "Structures are not the same as Sparks." Greatly disturbed, Optimus glanced aside at his unperturbed Brother, horror pulling at his very Spark. Such cold ways they had! Could these hard, unsympathetic beings truly be kin with his own fellows? Putting aside his personal, softer sentiments as best he could, Optimus continued. "It is unwise to destroy your own kind in the midst of combat. Could they not have simply elected that the officer was to be removed from his post, if he was so incompetent, and deal with hierarchy after?"
Megatron gave him a look so full of befuddled incredulity that it took a supreme amount of will not to break out in a fit of hysterical laughter. "Why do that when his weakness can be purged?"
"It's…" Optimus hesitated, still upset, and considered his next words carefully, glancing again to Megatron. No, he thought, resigned. The Lord Protector would not understand the difference, the sanctity of life. Reconciling himself again to failure, Optimus flicked out his hand in a mimicry of the dismissive gesture unique to the Guardian sect.
Megatron allowed an approving nod to this learned use body language, smiling as he thought he and the Prime had reached an understanding. "Good," He said simply, and then inclined his head to inquire, "I trust you will be staying for a time? It is a long journey to 'Pax, and farther to Iacon." By courtesy, though it was obvious enough what Optimus's answer would have been, the sharp-angled warrior framed the statement as a question, allowing Prime the illusion of choice. One simply did not take cycle trips to stroll the Domes of the Guardians.
Optimus nodded, acquiescing to the offer-demand.
"Excellent," Intoned the titanic mechanism, and he drew to a halt, coming to stand before the only closed doors housed deep within the central bunker. "I am pleased. It is always good to host such an old friend," he said brusquely, arranging his jagged features into an expression almost reminiscent of an Autobot's smile. "It has been too long since we have spoken simply for the sake of conversation."
Optimus nodded absently, not particularly paying attention to Megatron's words, watching the doors with the corners of his optics. These barriers alone lacked the scars and lacerations of the surrounding walls, possessing within their incongruous flawlessness a singular brand of sanctification. A holy perfection, if such a concept ever existed within the minds of the Guardians. They had always fascinated him, from the very moment he had laid optics upon them. What lay beyond? he wondered. What secrets do my cousins hold so sacred?
"You know my personal comm link," Megatron said by way of a polite farewell, taking great strides to be as civil as possible.
Optimus knew a dismissal when he heard one, though it rankled him to acknowledge it. More than rankled. He was the Prime, not some idiot subordinate, to be entertained at Megatron's leisure and discarded at will.
Defiantly, he stood his ground, as if he did not recognize the statement for what it was intended to be. Thrusting up his chin, he bluntly continued their conversation. "You do realize that the Council wishes an appearance for you to explain your actions?"
"They may go on wishing as they like. It does not make me any more inclined to heed them," Megatron snorted, a sliver of old bitterness deepening his voice into a low growl.
Doggedly, Optimus refused to budge. "If you would but speak with them, surely you could reach an understanding—"
"An understanding? With such outdated relics as those most distinguished Council members? Never," His claws again slashed down at his side, adding substance to his affirmation. "I deal not with Tower-politics, nor petty underlings."
"I find that hypocritical, considering present company," Prime rumbled in return, opening a palm and sweeping down with it, presenting himself in opposite to the earlier slice of claws. "You forget at whose voice I came calling at."
A whuff of laughter escaped the sizeable warrior before he could catch himself. "You are no underling. The Prime does not answer to the Council."
"They could fool me," Optimus sighed, snappishness forgotten.
"Assert dominance," Megatron said simply, placing one palm flat against the door, swinging the heavy slab just wide enough to reveal a thick darkness beyond the reach of the recessed lights of the hall. "It would be a blessing to us all if they learned their place."
"True," Optimus replied, again not paying particular attention to the Lord Protector. Though he knew it would be considered a great affront and personal intrusion to Megatron, Optimus was nonetheless sorely tempted to adjust his optics to view what was so secret and hidden, to find what lay beyond the restraints placed upon intruders. Just a peek, a quick glimpse, to sate his curiosity. Surely that could not hurt anything so very badly.
If only he were so bold.
Before Optimus could completely firm his faltering resolve to look away, Megatron loomed up before the slender line of blackness, conspicuously obscuring whatever lay behind him from immediate sight. "If you will excuse me." He did not wait for an answer, as the query was a mere formality; he simply slipped through the narrow gap, and the door slid silently shut after him.
Optimus waited in silence for but a few moments, thwarted, and reluctantly turned away, tracing his way back to what little familiar ground he knew from his infrequent visitations. The walls of the central Dome loomed up to either side, every plate scored by the telling signs of millennia upon millennia of abuse.
Almost timidly, he reached out a hand again, and traced the progress of one long, sleek line, graceful and rippling with an anger long forgotten, worn smooth around the edges by time. His fingers spread to their fullest, straining, but did not reach quite far enough, falling just short of fitting within the ancient marking.
There were just some things he did not understand.
--
Left without recourse to his solitude, Optimus had peacefully ruminated whilst he wandered the central Dome, the largest of the many buildings that composed the hub of the Guardian cityscape.
The other structures that made up the metropolis, however, were as much a mystery to him as an organic life form's processing system. They were seen only from afar, caught in stolen glances while he was inevitably ushered into the centermost Dome, where all business to do with Autobots seemed to take place. The city, unnamed and rarely, if ever, spoken of, was not at all pleasing to his capital-forged aesthetic senses. The Domes were great lumps in the landscape – squat and ugly – designed with the intention to be able to withstand massive pressure and firepower. Never had the thought of beauty entered it's blueprints.
Each seperate Dome was scored deeply by eons of constant squabbling, the crosshatched wounds showing as black slashes within the reflected light of the lonesome, distant star that Cybertron revolved around.
The sprawling expanse of murky, grey-brown Domes was absolutely hideous, he had always thought. It was a far cry from the graceful, slender Towers of Vos, or even the plebian skyline and jutting, hard angles of Kalis. It appealed to no Autobot who beheld it, and was often whispered of as an eyesore, even by those who had not witnessed the sight for themselves. But the structures served their purpose well enough, he supposed. The Guardians seemed contented with their lumpy home, and had made no appeal for repairs or changes. Which was just as well; Optimus greatly doubted any reputable engineer would deign to even consider venturing to the Guardians' home city. Who would be mad enough to dare the bustling heart of the warrior subculture, and risk the perilous unknown?
Well. Perhaps 'bustling' was not an appropriate term.
Only once had he ever espied a Guardian within the central Dome, the only one of the 'city' he was permitted to wander. It had been a brief glimpse; the telltale flash of light on metal in a gap between pillars, the suggestion of a ruby optic locked with his own, and no more beyond. Though he had moved with all haste to the other side of the twisted columns – perhaps Guardian-styled sculpture? – by the time he had made his way around, there was no sign that there had ever been any other mechanism present. And perhaps there hadn't been.
Still, the ephemeral sighting had been enough to awaken an insatiable curiosity, which he always made a point of indulging when on one of his visitations.
Long ago, he had come to the conclusion that there were other, well-guarded sections to the warriors' sunken bunkers; a hidden city, of sorts. Some place where the warriors lived, beyond their perpetual warring – where they did not affect airs of callous monstrosity, in the name of their home planet.
Though he tried with every means at his disposal to find such evidence of life beyond simple duty, he had yet to find any indication of personal dwellings inside what little of the compounds he had seen. Nor was any sign of Sparks that might exist within the bunker to be discovered.
Logically speaking, he had very little doubt that he was observed every moment he spent within the Guardians' home terrain. It was only by prudence, aversion, or perhaps the will of the commander that they kept their distance, leaving him in peace to wander their hallowed grounds, unchallenged. It was a maddening cycle. To be so watched, so suspiciously kept under surveillance, and yet be unable to catch his observers in the act.
Sometimes, in his bolder moments, he would loiter before the closed, unmarred doors, or some other noticeably sacrosanct area, and wait to see if any would come near to drive him off. But his isolation would always remain unbroken, and he would eventually wander away to continue his mindless travels along the sprawling halls.
In truth, despite having stayed within the compound many times before, he had witnessed little beyond this tiny sliver of their society. What he knew of them was only snatches; tantalizing peeks gifted at Megatron's more generous moments, rare as they were. There was never a sign of existence beyond the silence of the compound: no maintenance drones patrolled the halls; no words echoed through the corridors, other than his own. As long as the Lord Protector was gone, he was utterly alone, left to his own devices.
Which was why it was so surprising to have a Guardian standing before him now.
Even more so when he took in the rather threatening weapon held steady before the exact center of his face, and the coldly hostile optics beyond the unwavering barrel.
Optimus's mouth opened and clicked shut once, devoid of words, and his optical lenses expanded as a sudden, dizzying rush of mortal terror flashed through him. This was death he had locked gazes with; polished smooth, meticulously cared for termination, daunting and glossy and poised.
The mechanism behind the weapon was just as much an extension of the gun; a being composed all harsh, sharp angles, half his features caught in ambient light, the other cast in shadow save for where carmine optics glowed.
Some detached part of his mind registered how handsome that symmetrical body was, sleek and well-maintained as it was. This was cybernetic perfection; a seamless blend of ruthless functionality and grace; the Guardian ideal incarnate.
Those were segmented wings jutting from the sides and shoulders; Optimus had always been fond of wings.
"You have intruded," Said the horrifically placid mechanism, breaking his reverie. Not even the barest hint of sentiment colored voice, and that chilled Optimus more than the weapon held before him. It was not a threat, or a warning, or even a question; it was a statement of fact, pure and simple. This was a creature long accustomed to dealing out death, to the point of it becoming an unmoving experience.
"I—" Prime managed to rasp, caught so utterly off guard that his systems all but shut down. One moment he had been quite alone, contemplating an expansive chart of dead planets. The next, he had turned to find this standing behind him, still and silent as the turret guns that graced the outer walls, and just as obvious in its intent.
"Execution is required."
The gun clicked, something deep within shifting to begin the firing sequence.
Optimus had time enough only to think, far too late, that it was unfortunate that he had not already started to move, as he probably should have the moment the click even began to register.
"Starscream!"
There was a blur of motion and the dull, painful sound of heavy bodies colliding at great velocity, and he found himself staring stupidly out at the expanse of the hallway, his gaze quite absent of weapons and Guardians. Twisting about, Optimus whipped his head aside, gaze following from where the sounds had issued from—
Just in time to see Megatron, literally, drive the winged mechanism into a wall.
Without missing a beat, the commander lunged, seizing the dazed seeker by his chest plates before he could so much as gasp in alarm, let alone bring his artillery to bear. With a callous disdain, the Lord Protector whirled and lifted the unfortunate up and away, sending him careening across the hall.
But the seeker – Starscream, he had been called – was a lithe creature. His body seemed to contort and coil about itself, and he landed on his double-jointed legs but a moment before critical impact, backsliding across the smooth floor. Sparks flew up from his feet as momentum was slowed by friction, leaving long furrows in the metal flooring, and his arms spread wide to compensate for balance.
He drew to a halt, tottering unsteadily.
"Wretch!" Roared the Lord Protector, advancing with murder written in every line and angle of him.
Starscream's head jerked aside, flinching from the reverberating thunder of Megatron's voice, and he dropped down to kneel in surrender ere the commander had even taken three strides in his direction. His head dropped subserviently, exposing a minute weak point in his plating, housed at the back of his throat, and thus placing himself in a position of extreme vulnerability. "Apologies, Lord Megatron," he said quickly, a deferential meekness replacing the calm authority he had previously utilized. Then, hesitantly, "I have erred?"
Megatron snorted, striding purposefully to the bowed seeker. He grabbed the back of the exposed throat – and Optimus flinched in sympathy at the sound of strained metal and crumpling circuitry as his hand closed tight – and hauled the suddenly docile warrior's head upright, to stare into his optics. "I tolerate neither fools nor theatrics. In this you have done both, and insulted my hospitality besides. I should crush the Spark within your chest for such brazen idiocy."
He squeezed, and Starscream almost writhed, pain flitting across his face.
Optimus gawped in utter shock between the two of them. Megatron surely realized what severe damage he could do, not only to the Guardian's vocalizer, but also to a great many important components that
connected directly to the mechanism's central processor. With a powerful enough flex of his fingers, he could incapacitate the warrior utterly; possibly even do immense harm to his internal network.
But Starscream seemed entirely unperturbed, now, as if this were a daily occurrence.
"The error is understood," replied the mechanism in the commander's ungentle clasp, arms hanging limply at his sides. How harmless he seemed, caught in Megatron's hands. Diminished, as it were. "Apologies are offered."
"Then I shall never repeat myself of this exercise again," Huffed the Lord Protector, releasing his pitiless hold.
The contrite warrior fell heavily to one knee, and, though it was all too transitory, relief flickered through his expression. But he schooled himself back to the calmness displayed before outsiders, and with a conscientious slowness, he again rose, pointedly keeping his gaze away from Optimus. He suddenly seemed determined to dismiss the Autobot's existence entirely, bizarrely ignoring him.
Optimus continued to gape, quite at a loss.
"What do you want?" Rumbled Megatron, menace still heavy in his voice.
Eerily unruffled, the seeker snapped his primary weapon back into its inactive position, as unassuming as any drone, before replying. "You wanted the damage reports, Lord. From the... skirmish."
"So I did," Equally composed, Megatron nodded absently. "Extensive?"
"To a degree," Starscream answered ambiguously, voice all bland disinterest. "It would be a poor choice to hedge them for the sake of time constraints."
"Mmph. Indeed."
Optimus had the uncomfortably abstracted sensation that he was being discussed, be it over private communication or through body language, and shifted his weight uneasily, still rather thrown by the whole ordeal. Some distant, disturbingly calm part of his mind railed against their calmness, affronted by the lack of reaction. It was not every day, after all, that a gun was shoved into his face. Starscream's optics began to drift over to his, attracted by the movement, before dragging to a sudden halt, fixated on something vaguely to the left of his head. In that strange tableau they stood for several unnerving, tense moments, held between locking gazes and turning away.
"Later, then. Dismissed," Megatron interrupted, louder than what was required, shrugging unnecessarily to draw his subordinate's gaze back over to where it belonged.
Starscream hesitated, curious despite himself, but bowed out regardless, pivoting resolutely away and disappearing around a secondary corridor.
Optimus waited politely until he was reasonably certain the seeker was out of audio-shot, and turned sharply to Megatron, raising an optic ridge. "Starscream?" He asked without preamble, feeling elaboration would be superfluous.
"My new third. Before that, one of my elite guard," Said the commander absently, whilst he stared down at his hand, optics dimming contemplatively. "Useful enough. A budding tactician; ruthless, cunning, manipulative – impulsive." The last was tinged with something of a complimentary distaste – despite the strangeness of such a phrase – lilting oddly. "I expect he'll be second, soon enough."
Optimus frowned, straining his memory banks. He remembered something of the seeker, now that he had had a moment lacking in impending doom to think of it. A nameless body that sometimes loomed behind Megatron's back, one of the many in the Lord Protector's retinue. He had never thought of any such guards as anything worth noting. He would take better care next time – one never knew when a name might come in handy in averting such a perilous situation.
Speaking of.
"He was going to shoot me."
"Impulsive," Megatron repeated monotonously, though by way of answering or musing was anyone's guess.
Optimus felt it merited some measure of surprise, given the severity of the confrontation. He had almost been killed, for Iacon's sake. 'Executed', to put it in the evidently 'impulsive' Starscream's context. It deserved something more than the casually abstract, 'whoops, sorry'. A hint of concern – perhaps a questioning after his well-being at the very least – would have been pleasant; some indication that he was at least worth noting.
With these thoughts in mind, he began. "I don't—"
But Megatron had already set aside the matter, his processor elsewhere. "There was a hint of enemy vessels at the edge of our airspace." He interrupted tactlessly, flexing his fingers once more before locking his gaze again with Optimus's.
Prime's optics flickered, all thoughts of near-death experiences set aside for the sake of duty. "What? When? Are they—?" He broke off, unwilling to lend words to the new horror rising in him.
"Too brief for our scanners to confirm it's identity," Megatron said with distinct nonchalance. "I thought you'd want to alert your precious Council of my intentions, as I do so worry them while I am away." The commander snarled, whirling away to stride purposefully after the path his third had taken.
"Then do you think they are a direct threat? Is that why?" Optimus pressed, rushing to keep up with his longer strides, determined to wrest a definitive reasoning behind the genocidal act brewing in Megatron's processors. "Do you know from where they come? From what background? What armaments they bear?"
"I do not know, nor do I care. They intrude upon our planet's holdings. That is transgression enough to warrant their collective terminations."
"So you would slaughter them all?" Optimus followed, retorting back with equal harshness. "Even if it is full of offspring, of noncombatants? Over a simple miscalculation?"
"Of course. It matters not what they are, nor who – only what they have done," Unmoved, Megatron continued on his way, disdainfully waving over one shoulder. "Peace, Autobot. You do not—"
"Yet you spare one of your own, though he would have fired upon the Prime," Optimus leapt upon the slight opening, stubbornly resolved to spare the encroaching ship from a horrific fate.
At this, the Lord Protector halted, frame stiffening with outrage. "It was an error. The situation was rectified. No further punishment has been earned."
"It is a transgression of more merit than this. Drawing weaponry upon a state official is punishable by immediate execution," Prime replied, in as cold a voice as he could muster, pulling upon eons of Tower politics to lend weight to his pretense. "Should I demand you Extinguish his Spark this moment? I would be fully justified, according to your conduct, and the laws of old."
"It is unnecessary," Megatron rumbled, incredulous. Thoroughly befuddled, he pivoted about slowly, taken aback at the disturbing change. "This is not like you, Prime. Death has never been your way."
"Such a demand is well within my rights, if I believe your sense has been compromised by personal affections," Optimus raised a hand to forestall further argument, fearing Megatron would call his bluff if given his leave to speak. "And your conduct does hint of sentimentality. It should have been a far harsher chastisement given, not this picking and choosing you seem to have developed among your favorites—"
"Do not presume yourself able to tell me how to command my own!" Megatron, incensed, roared with a rage to shake even the sturdiest of Sparks, and lunged forward in a flash of hooked talons.
Optimus, in a moment of prowess he had not previously thought himself capable of, caught the scything hands ere they had opportunity to connect, holding them – trembling – at bay. He strained against the overwhelmingly strong mechanism before him, grunting with effort. His feet slid back, screeching against the unyielding floor as he was steadily pressed back. The claws, barely held in check as they were, drove inexorably toward him, their slender, fiendishly keen tips brushing against the top of his head as Megatron, slowly but surely, overpowered him.
Perhaps, he thought, in a perverse moment of clarity, I have pushed a touch too far.
In desperation, he ground out, "Brother!" and heaved upward with all his might, falling pitifully short of shoving the larger mechanism off.
Megatron reared back, shocked by his own reaction, but Prime did not release his hold, keeping his grip as firm as he had seen upon Starscream, determined to press the temporary advantage. "You would exterminate them for a navigational error when you only reprimanded one of your own for a worse offense? Where is the reason in that?"
"It is not—" Megatron hesitated, off balance, and, for the first – and perhaps only – time, looked unsure of himself. With a considerably less intimidating voice, he continued, shaking his head disparagingly, "It is not the same. You do not understand."
"I understand hypocrisy. Quite well. You accuse the Council of it, the Tower politics – and yet here you do the same as they. These are lives we speak of, Brother. Lives." Optimus released his grasp, stepping back to allow Megatron his distance. He would not push his luck and established liberties too far again. He was not certain if he could fend off a second attack with as much success as he had had.
The commander, silent, stared hard at Optimus, clearly troubled. His optics wavered, drifted, and he nodded once, stiffly, and spun away, again heading off to realms unknown. "Very well. Have your mercy, to whatever ends it brings you."
"Thank you," Optimus shakily replied, giddy with relief. The innocents had been spared. Horror had been averted. "You've done the right thing."
Megatron turned back, once, on the edge of shadow, and with a ferocity never before shown to his Brother, spat, "Be this a mistake, it is on your head, Prime. Remember that. Always, remember that."
And Optimus was alone once again.