Megatron of Tarn.

Watching the city of Kaon burn, he remembered the reason why he had ended up here in the first place.

He wanted to create a new world. A new world where everything was better than this. A golden age, where nobody suffered, nobody had to leave the ones they loved to scrape even the tiniest bit of energon to survive another day.

No, even if he had to burn down the whole world, he would build a new one on the smoldering corpse of the old regime.

The work in the mine was just a way to survive. And then they would take it away from him! Fill them all with empty promises of relocation, new jobs that would never be.

He hadn't meant to kill that first time. It had just happened. At first he had been horrified. Killing someone had been a mistake. Prison, a mistake. It had escalated so much. Almost as if someone had guided his hand. Shoved him down a predetermined path.

At first the plan had been to hide out for a while. When the ruckus had died down he could return to Tarn and find her, take her away from that wretched planet, build a new home and raise her, find the other half-spark to complete her.

He had started to fight in the lesser gladiatorial battles. The weak stuff. Then he'd heard about the slaughter in Tarn and Vos. The senate had done nothing. Nothing! Just sat on their tailpipes, shrugged with a forgiving mine, hoping the two cities would find it out between themselves. But the whole thing had escalated like so many things on Cybertron tended to do. The cities had wiped each other out. Only a few thousand survivors had been left. All the upper class mechs who had gotten a heads up before the attacks started.

He'd tried to contact her guardian. Even knowing he could get caught if he got in touch with the wrong person. No… Weeping femmes had cried brave tears in the announcements. They had no warning, no way out.

He'd seen their quarters, all the buildings in that quadrant, demolished.

He'd joined the fights in the real gladiatorial battles that night.

Oh, he hadn't really intended to win. He had been looking for a fast way out.

But the nerve of that mech. Taunted him, he'd been defenseless, his weapon had been of no use.

He could always become a weapon. He charged, tackled, won… Till all are one! The crowd had been rabid, demanded a kill.

He remembered the same horrible feeling of the first kill on his hands. The oil he felt he could never wash off… He thought about it for a moment. Maybe he could never wash off the blood on his hands. But he could thin it with the blood of others. For her, he would fight, kill and maim until he could reshape this world into something that would have been worthy for her to grow up in.

He swung the weapon that was tossed to him, once and for all killing the last piece of what was left of his old self.

The cheers were muted as he removed his helmet, looking into the light above him. He could see her small optics on him. He would never see her again, but he would create a world anew, just for her. As he put his helmet back, the jubilant screams of the onlookers became loud again, and he was no longer Megatron of Tarn, father, miner... nobody. He was Megatron, the Decepticon ruler!


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