Title: The Return Policy
Author: Red Wasabi
Disclaimer: If it were mine—alas it's not. Oh well.
Notes: Alright, I have no idea where this one came from. It just popped out of no where and begged me to make it corporal. So I did. You should probably read this very slowly.
Rated: PG
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The eerily blinding light seemed to pierce straight through the mech's tightly shuttered optics and stab directly at his sensitive optic nerves deep with in his cranial unit. Oddly enough, that was the only sensation that the mech could feel at the moment. The loud groan that tumbled from the mech's vocalizer fizzled down to a quiet mewl as the mech finally opened his optics and stared awestruck at the brightness that surrounded him.
He supposed that maybe he should be wondering where he was; how he had gotten to this place of infinite perfection—but he didn't—couldn't. A thick haze had settled in his processors, numbing the pain that had awoken him, as well as his natural curiosity.
The great blinding perfection that he found himself immersed in seemed to blot out everything else. The mech was sure that if he remembered where had been prior to this very moment, what he had been doing, or even who he was; it wouldn't have mattered at anymore. Not here, not in this place of peace.
The mech vaguely noticed that the brightness around him was beginning to change and take shape. As the fuzzy outline of a gigantic room was slowly formed, the mech could only nod his head approvingly. The feelings of euphoria and good will were to strong for him to be really concerned; and besides he was sure that whatever was going on was supposed to be going on. He just wasn't sure how he knew, and to be honest he really didn't care.
For the first time since arriving the mech noted that there seemed to be others beside him waiting in the room along with him. Dully the mech tried to look at the others but found it nearly impossible. Their shadowy faces were like puddles of oil in the rain, constantly shifting and indiscernible.
Hesitantly the mech reached out a timid digit to grab at the shoulder of one of the passing specters; he needed to see their faces. The apparition let out delicate shudder that ran though it's shadowy form and up into the mech's arms. Slowly it turned it's dark face to look the mech in the eye. The mech gasped in horror at the sight of the mangled face that turned to look out at him from two hollow eyes. For the first time since awakening in this strange place he felt terror.
The gnarled face leered scornfully up at the shocked mech; seemingly mocking his revulsion. "War sure is ugly isn't it?" the dissolving figure hissed as it melted back in to the slew of moving figures around them. The mech stared blankly at where the repulsive face had once been; what did he know about war?
The wraithlike crowd swelled and surged around the room like the sea as the striking of a gavel broke through the peaceful atmosphere destroying it completely. "Order, order, in the court," aloud voice cried out above the murmuring din. The mech felt a strange sense of trepidation as the crowd became silent focusing all of their attentions on something behind him.
"Will you please turn around?" The voice that had called for order seemed to whisper directly into his audios. The voice was like ice down the mech spinal wires; it reminded him of places he was sure he'd never been and deeds he'd never done. Slowly the mech turned around to face the platform of beings behind him.
"Megatron," the judge seated in the highest chair began. "You stand here on trial for the entirety of your life. Do you understand?"
The mech stared blankly up at the entity above him. Megatron, the name rolled through his processors like sticky molasses. Was that his name? Desperately the mech tired to pull up a memory file—any memory file, but none came. However he was certain that Megatron was his name; it invoked a kind of a bitter familiarity within his spark. Yes, he was Megatron.
Megatron reluctantly nodded up at the judges; why was he on trial for his life, had he done something? Megatron glanced behind him and was startled to see that all the previously faceless wraiths were now gathered behind him. All of their hideous visage now clearly visible to his optics.
Quickly Megatron turned back to face the judges; he had no desire to see such carnage. The judges looked down at him; Megatron could feel the heat from all of their eyes glaring down upon him. He was clearly on trial for something serious, and though he couldn't recall what had lead up to this moment he would stand ready to fight for his innocence. "I am ready." He uttered resolutely.
Megatron could not believe what he was hearing. Frightful specter after frightful specter had proceeded up to the front of the room to proclaim his evil intentions to an, in his opinion, over eager crowd. If he didn't know any better, and he really didn't, he'd say that these monsters actually wanted to condemn him.
Megatron glared hatefully at the spirit currently talking. She was obviously lair, another conspirator in the long line of 'witnesses' who had testified against him. Honestly if he had destroyed her entire world and left her to die amongst the rubble, don't you think he'd have some recollection of it.
He admitted that some of the things that the specters had mentioned sounded familiar. Some of the events that they had alleged to have taken place had even brought forth a few scattered and confused memories; but he simply couldn't have done what these specters were accusing him of. He just couldn't.
Megatron looked past the lying ghost and up at the row of solemn judges, surely they could see past this fiend's tales. They would see that he was innocent—they had too—he'd only done it too--.
Megatron's fuel pump shuddered painfully in realization; he recognized the mangled face crying in front of him. He'd done it—he'd done everything. Panicked he glanced up at the faces of the stern judges above him; would they show him mercy? Megatron frowned as he looked at the faces of his judges; none of them held any kind of warmth of comfort for him—except for the last the judge.
The final judge's face was young, but his optics held the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes. Megatron felt an odd sense of familiarity with the last judge. His youthful but worn frame spoke of bearing the weight of too much responsibility for one so young. As far as Megatron could tell this judge was the only being the entire room that wasn't looking at him with hatred—just sadness.
Megatron could feel some of his familiar confidence rearing up within him; this was the key judge. His years of working with in Cybertron's ridiculous political system had taught him to spot the weakest official and exploit that knowledge. He would win them over, and he would start with this one.
Megatron shrewdly observed the rhythm of movement and words pouring forth from the current witness. He had to be able to replicate them exactly if his plan was to work correctly. If the judges were moved by spark wrenching tales, and tears, then he would convince them. Unicron as his witness! His voice had once moved and inspired an entire revolution! If those judges were going to be moved by words then let them be moved by his!
"I object!" All eyes in the ethereal courtroom turned their gazes upon the yelling defendant. Megatron smiled internally, he would have them eating out of his digits. "I may not be innocent of the crimes that these victims have accused me of; but still I attest to my innocence. I was not a heinous and thoughtless destroyer of worlds. My crimes were not committed in the name of aimless destruction, but for the continued prosperity of my race. I'm sorry that their races were hurt in the process of survival, but which among them wouldn't have done the same had it been their race facing annihilation? " As Megatron finished his speech he swung around towards the crowd, ignoring their maimed features, and pointed dramatically at them.
His words sent a flurry of whispers racing around the room. Megatron fought the urge to smirk at the buzzing crowd. He had them exactly where he wanted them. Swiftly he whipped around to face the judges, "I ask you then to not judge me harshly. I did everything I did not for myself, but the greater good of my kind."
"Megatron, those are not your judges." Megatron's confident feeling wavered as he heard the voice of the final judge speaking softly to him. The delicate and refined tenors of the mech's vocalizer seemed strangely comforting—almost familiar. Megatron's optics narrowed in concentration as he looked the mech over carefully. There was something, something about the mech face—or his mannerisms that just screamed out to him—but from where he couldn't recall. "Only you can pass judgments on yourself," Megatron's optics lit up when the mech said that.
"Then I judge myself to be innocent!" Megatron stated loudly, trying not to let his satisfied smirk show across his face. What fools these men were of course he'd absolve himself. When given the choice what mech wouldn't?
"I'm afraid it doesn't quite work like that." The final judge stood up, and for the first time Megatron could see the mech's impressive size and build.
"I thought you said—" Megatron was interrupted by a chorus of laughter echoing from the mouths of all the beings that surrounded him. Megatron glared at the specters laughing, and at the judges before him. How dare they make light of him, he was a War-God! He had brought entire worlds to their knees!
The final judge waved his digits in front of him and suddenly the room and it's beings were no more. Megatron stared intensely at the regal figure making it's way down to the floor where he stood. He had read this mech wrong, but maybe if he played his hand right he could still get off with a light sentence.
"You see Megatron," Megatron could feel some behind those first few words, a kind of power. One that made him want to listen, that froze the thoughts with in his processors.
"The moment you chose to sell your spark to Unicron for a chance at glory during your life time your fate was sealed. You could go no where else but the Pits, you are guilty."
"How would you know?" Megatron demanded angrily, afraid at what the mech was getting at. "You yourself said that only we can truly be our judges. I judge myself to be innocent!"
The mech in front of him let out a low and bitter laugh, "You still do not recognize me do you?" Megatron's optics narrowed in concentration, the mech looked so familiar, like he was from some long forgotten dream, or time. He looked almost like—Megatron's optics widened in realization.
"You understand now?" The mech questioned quietly. Megatron's response was cut off by a pair of dark clamps shooting out of the floor and cinching around him. The clamps strangled and clawed at his frame; desperately he tried to grab out at the mech who was slowly evaporating before his rapidly dimming optics.
"No…"Megatron managed to rasp out as the chains pulled him down into a place he knew he should fear above all other things.
The mech in front of him let out a low, harsh sounding laughing. "Yes. You sold me to the devil because you had no use for me while you lived—Now that you're here we're trading places. You see, I have no use for you now that you're dead."
AN: So didja like it, love it, or hate it's guts? Tell me all about it in a review!