Once

by SpenName

Oneshot. Post-TLK. Megatron assists Barricade in recovering a lost piece of Decepticon hardware and finds something shocking.

The yellow cretin latched onto Megatron's back, just as he was clicking another clip of ammunition into place. He let out a grunt of exasperation. This one had always been a pest, and it was to Megatron's regret that he had yet to be extinguished after all these millennia. He had eliminated many, if not all of Prime's lieutenants, either directly or indirectly in the past, and yet seemingly through sheer luck, this one had remained alive. He would correct this misstep. Megatron writhed, grappled, and thrashed as the Autobot took hold. Yet no matter how violently he struggled, the pest remained determined to impede him. His mind raced for this one's name. He was certain he had heard it shouted by the Witwicky boy before-though he had admittedly paid little mind to that insect's squealing during those times of conflict. Megatron was a product of war, and when operating in his element, he rarely allowed minor, residual voices to distract him from his targets. And though his former teacher Sentinel would have loathed the analogy, he thought himself a machine on the battle-field, catalyzing his anger into a single determined force of willpower. And at this moment in time, his anger was focused on the yellow guardian. As much as he loathed Prime for his newfound anti-Cybertron sentiments, and his continued chain of successes in spite of this, he at least held a grudging respect for his nemesis. His disappointment in him was true, as his evolution into Nemesis Prime briefly rekindled old hope Megatron had long-since abandoned. This one simply annoyed him. To think that Machiavellian pragmatists such as Starscream, and ancient physicians like Sentinel, could have been outlived by this simple foot-soldier. It ignited a fire in his spark that kindled in his chest, rose through his vents and concentrated in his forehead. No, he would kill this one. Nothing would stop him from this.

Just as he had thought to have remembered the Autobot's name, the voice of his Goddess beckoned him: "Megatron—kill her!"

While Quintessa's words may have derided his attention earlier, it had barely registered to the Decepticon Leader now as his fury took control. Just as the Autobot misfired a shot intended for his head, Megatron reached up, grabbed him by his collar, and ripped the insect off his back. He hurled him onto the ground where he stumbled; wide-eyed and disoriented. It was clear from his expression that the Autobot had come to the same conclusion Megatron had: that he was wide open, and he was going to die. Snarling, Megatron lined the tip of the fusion cannon's barrel with the center of the Autobot's skull-like face, forming the mental-command in his head to fire. But before he could have the satisfaction, a blade cut neatly through his right bicep, severing his arm and leaving a trail of green viscera from where it exited the wound. He knew it was Prime before his systems had even registered the shock of the lost limb. Granted he had lost many before, and by the same mech. To think they were still doing this. To think Megatron was still—no matter what body, or upgrade he wore, being torn apart by his nemesis for what might have been the millionth time. He parried Prime's follow up strike with his remaining servo, wrapping his digits around the legendary blade. Hate drowned pain as the edges dug into his palm. He smashed his head against Prime's jaw, and though his mask protected him, Prime was nonetheless forced backwards from the shock. Megatron planted a foot on the Prime's chest and pressed the blade against his throat. He was so close. So close to severing Prime's head. And yet he knew it would not come to pass. He had been in this state before. Leaking Energon. Lacking a limb. Even before he had a chance to see the human girl reach the staff, he knew they had failed. Nitro Zeus had done a horrendous job at keeping the other Autobots off him, and he knew that outnumbered as they were, it would only be a matter of time before Quintessa would be overwhelmed, and the cycle of failure would continue once more. He had come so close this time. So close to achieving his dream of reviving Cybertron. He retracted his battle-mask, staring with a look of seeming disbelief at Optimus as he struggled beneath him. And for the first time in a millennium, he said that. That, which they both knew, but neither, as far as Megatron knew, chose to speak of. A fact they hid from themselves as much as they had from others. Later he would rationalize that he only said it to throw off the endlessly sentimental Optimus Prime, and give himself the upper hand. And after millennia of hiding under his own strict sense of ruthless protocol, Megatron cast open the doors to his keep, speaking what had gone unsaid for too long to remember.

"We were brothers once."

Prime stared at Megatron. Not in surprise, pity, confusion, shock, sadness, fear, or any sense of sentimentality the Decepticon would have expected from him. He just stared at Megatron in a dull recognition. A moment of apathy Prime had long since rightfully justified for himself. "Once."

Megatron's optics widened. Recognizing the look of pause his response put in him, Optimus kicked the Decepticon leader off his chest, roll onto his feet, and delivered a second sideways kick to his mid-section. Megatron fell backwards, tearing through the ignition chamber's walls and out into the open sky. The word pounded in his skull. Once. How was it possible? Had Megatron—ruthless, cunning, manipulative, tyrannical Megatron, been more idealistic than Optimus? Had he thought that in some way, the two would be able to reconcile their differences? And had Optimus never hoped for such a thing? He wasn't naïve. Optimus had killed him practically twice already. He knew Optimus saw his death as necessary to fulfill his own goals, and had cleverly saw through his false plea for a truce in an exchange for power years ago. But for him to have displayed such indifference to Megatron's reminder—to Megatron's confession of himself, filled him with dread. Not over the fact his former brother-in-arms hadn't shown any care over their shared past, but over the fact that, in that moment, Megatron had. He would kill this moment of weakness. He would black it out with large splotches of ink. He would devastate it thoroughly. He would crush its bones and flay its skin, and in a frenzy, barricade it from the rest of his mind. He would make this weakness scream.

But first.

In a cacophony of screaming metal, Megatron transformed into his Cybertronian Jet Mode and blasted into the sky. He would kill Optimus Prime. But as he got close, a chunk of Cybertron's crust crashed into the ignition chamber, severing it from the rest of the planet. Shards of the chamber rained down upon the Decepticon Leader, ricocheting off his wings and sending him into a slow, chaotic spiral. Much as he was loathed to admit it, Megatron was still relearning flight. Due to his previously deteriorating condition, he hadn't properly flown since Africa. Only recently had he regained the ability, and it had quickly become apparent how mediocre he had become over time. He plummeted several feet before straightening himself out and returning to his ascent. Even still, Megatron found himself forced to bank this way and that from the falling debris, until finally he recognized a large section of the debris to be the ignition chamber itself. A sudden realization of folly washed over Megatron, and soon he found himself circling away from the chunk of falling metal, and tearing off into the opposite direction. He would not be able to rejoin Quintessa inside and—when he soon thought about it, perhaps Quintessa was an unneeded element in the restoration of Cybertron anyway. He watched as the ignition chamber crashed against the earthen landscape below. Was that it? Was it over? Of course not. In moments, he witnessed Prime and his team driving unharmed from the wreckage of the chamber. He would have been more surprised if they hadn't.

Already, Megatron needed a new plan. He soon turned to his internal diagnostics to find he had been receiving a Decepticon encrypted distress signal for the past hour. Growling, he tracked the location and marked it. Thrusters igniting, Megatron tore through the sky back to the wide field where he had made his stand at Stonehenge.

What he saw discouraged him.

Below, he watched as Barricade drove circles around nine human army buggies, each firing upon the Decepticon with high velocity sabot rounds from their turret emplacements. His paint was chipped, and his earthen enforcement vehicle was covered in warps and dents. Megatron was aware that Barricade had sustained heavy wounds by the human soldiers of NEST during the battle of Chicago: having been blinded, crippled, and forced to play possum before slinking away to live another day. The idea that his second in command may in some way have developed a fear of human soldiers disgusted him. It seemed pointless to assist him now. Barricade was his spy and scout. And though useful initially, this lack of ability to escape his human pursuers simply demanded more of him. He was still initially one of Starscream's hand-picked crewmembers. Receiving his rank not from skill, but from the expiration of Megatron's head lieutenants, as well as being the last of Starscream's Elite. He was tenacious, at least, though it was best to leave him to his fate. After all, an example had to be made to—

To whom?

Megatron transformed, landing among the cluster of buggies and crushing two beneath his heels. He let out a raspy battle-cry. The remaining buggies were quick to realize their odds, and swiftly drove off to the rest of their quarry. Megatron turned to Barricade, who weakly, began to transform. Coming to full height, the scout bowed his head to his leader. "Thank you, Lord Megatron. The humans hounded me as soon as you had taken your leave with—,"

Megatron snarled, "Never mind that." He gazed at the sky above. To his surprise, Cybertron appeared… healed. Partially—no, mostly intact. How had he not noticed this sooner? For a brief moment he had to question whether Quintessa had indeed succeeded or not. He was simply spellbound by the sight. Cybertron hung suspended in the sky like a glitsening silver chandelier. The planet remained partially fractured, and a droplet of sorrow leaked from his spark for it, but the crust of the planet itself appeared vibrant. Alive. He witnessed the Autobot ship ascend, moving slowly towards the planet. The ancient Dragonstorm soaring alongside it. The two shapes shrank into the distance before disappearing entirely. He envied them, somewhat.

"Lord Megatron,' Barricade said, interrupting his reverie, "While being chased by the human soldiers, I managed to pick up on a piece of encrypted Autobot code."

"What does that matter?" Megatron said, eyes locked on the planet above.

Barricade cleared his throat. "It's, uh, a message from Optimus, sir."

Slowly, Megatron turned his head to the scout. "Play it for me."

Barricade nodded, and pressed down on a keypad on his wrist. A message played. "At the heart of every legend, there is truth."

Megatron lurched his head back in revulsion. "What in the pit is this?"

"A few brave souls unite to save the world. We can be heroes in our own lives, every one of us, if we only have the courage to try. Our fates were always intertwined, but now our worlds are joined as one. We need to repair our planets, work together, if we wish to survive. A dangerous secret is buried deep inside the Earth. There is more to this planet than meets the eye. I am Optimus Prime, calling all Autobots... It is time to come home."

Megatron stared thoughtfully at his lieutenant's wrist. Then it was true. Quintessa had absorbed just enough of the planet's energy to revive Cybertron—or at least enough of it—, so that it could be habitable once more. And if Optimus intended to repair the rest of Cybertron…

"I realize," Barricade started, "that Prime's speech-giving ability has… deteriorated over time, but I believe the point of this transmission is to—"

"I am aware of the transmission's point, Barricade." Megatron then turned, and began to stride across the field. After several paces, he stopped; stared at Cybertron once more, and gently asked: "There isn't anything on this planet you wouldn't want to leave behind, is there?"

Barricade's four optics blinked in unison; he was taken aback, "My Lord?" And after a moment of consideration, began to speak. "I… suppose there may be something I—"

"That was a rhetorical question. There isn't. We are leaving for Cybertron immediately. Is the Orbital Assault Carrier you commandeered for continental travel still intact?"

"Unfortunately, the humans managed to find and dispose of it during our defensive on Stonehenge. Hence why I've been here all this time. On the ground." He shrugged. "With the humans."

Megatron snorted, "Then I have rescued you from these insects for nothing."

Barricade paused, and in a mildly distressed voice apologized to his Commander.

Nonplussed, Megatron prepared to transform and take off only to quickly remember himself. The Lord of the Decepticons let out a sigh, turned himself around to face Barricade once more, and spoke. "I can give you a ride, if you want."

Barricade flinched at Megatron's sudden casual vernacular. It was clear he had never heard his leader speak in such a way before. "If—if that is okay with you, then I… uh, accept."

Megatron slowly lumbered into his Cybertronian jet mode, and beckoned Barricade to him. Fortunately, Barricade was much smaller than the Decepticon leader, and thus the trip was far less awkward than it could have been. Despite Megatron's speed in, the trip to Cybertron would take some time. Not that Megatron minded so much. It was a sweet, serene pleasure to simply stare upon Cybertron in its beauty.

"Lord Megatron, if I may be so bold."

Megatron snarled. It felt demeaning to speak to Barricade while the enforcer had been gripping so tightly to his nosecone. "Speak."

"I take it Nitro Zeus did not survive the battle?"

Though he hadn't been there to witness it, Megatron was almost certain of the jet's death. He was not present among the Autobots who had escaped the ignition chamber, and it was unlikely he had been spared. "No, he did not."

"That's unfortunate," Barricade said, bitterly, and after a pause. "It seems our negotiations with the TRF have proven to be fruitless, what with all the others dead."

"Perhaps," Megatron rasped.

"Though I suppose we should have expected this outcome by now—all things considered."

Megatron frowned within his jet-form. He contemplated this for a moment, then realized what Barricade's words connoted. "I hope you realize that from this height, the drop will almost certainly be fatal for you."

"I am aware," he nodded.

"Do not take me for an imbecil, Barricade." Megatron snapped. "Do you presume that a moment passes when I do not think of them? That it has gone unnoticed that every assault I've led since awakening from my icy slumber has resulted in near total casualties on our side? I realize I have led them to their deaths, Barricade. I know what that entails."

Barricade stared down into the darkness of Megatron's cockpit in silence. "I apologize, my liege. I did not mean to put your leadership into question."

"On the contrary, please do. In fact, I would be overjoyed to see what leadership you speak of. For as far as I can tell, the only thing I hold any power over anymore is you."

Barricade went silent.

After some time, Megatron groaned. This was, in fact, the last remaining soldier under his command. "What was it that you said you wished to preserve from earth?"

Surprised, Barricade gazed back into Megatron's cockpit. "Would you be willing to turn back if I told you?"

"Barricade, the only reason I remained on that planet for as long as I had was to gather the materials I needed to kill it. I would be positively delighted if I never set foot on that wretched hellscape ever again."

"I see."

It was true. Megatron's first decision following the destruction of his drone army and failure to procure the Seed was to scan a new form and get as far away from the planet as possible. While he thought himself a master of the form the humans had so haphazardly constructed, their programming had still greatly influenced his thought. The mind-transfer was already a risky process, but it still surprised him how little control he had over the human creation. He would catch himself thinking of the KSI drones as fellow Decepticons, or even brothers, despite their lack of sentience. He would, without thinking, refer to himself as his body's production name, rather than his own. And though he was thankful for his clean rebirth, the human scent proved difficult to wash off. The insect's software nearly drove him mad, forcing him to constantly question whether he was in control of himself, or merely a slave to the vile humans' programming. Whether he was Megatron, the Decepticon Lord High Protector, or Galvatron, the human-made drone. Until finally, he decided he needed to leave Earth and rid himself of any connection to the planet. Optimus could wait, this infection could not. He scanned an F-22 raptor jet -having admired the alternate form's deadly charm before- and took off into space. His first stop was the Nemesis—located on one of Saturn's moons. It was a husk. Littered with dead hatchlings and cosmic mold. He was unsure what he was looking for—perhaps hoping some fellow Decepticons may have hidden aboard the ship in refuge.

There was not a soul aboard the craft.

A quick shock to the system's battery activated the ship's scans long enough to receive a report that Cybertron had appeared just outside the solar system. Megatron was baffled by his home-planet's presence, having watched it disintegrate in the space-bridge portal during the battle of Chicago. How it had gotten to where it was then had been another mystery for him to solve. He was at first disgusted by what he saw. The planet was many times smaller, and loosely held together by thin wires leading into a rotting core. What remained of Cybertron had been salvaged, strung together, and reformed. He soon landed and confronted Quintessa, who agreed to create a new form for him and purge all traces of the human infection from his system. That is, so long as he agreed to serve her and her goals. He consented at first, allowing the goddess to perform the surgery and transfer. He admitted to being impressed by his new form. Similar in design to the fabled Guardian Knights Quintessa claimed to have created in the past, while also sporting a certain ferocity that he felt surpassed their ancient molds. And though his new jet-mode possessed some design elements similar to the earthen F-22, such as an unneeded cockpit, it felt good to wear something truly Cybertronian again. He would have slayed Quintessa then and there, as he swore never to be servant to anyone since hearing the words a deceptively intelligent human female had once muttered to him. However, as soon as he shifted his faceplate into place and prepared to kill the goddess for even suggesting her power over him—she touched his face, and explained everything to him, and it all made sense. Thinking back to it, Megatron was unsure why he hadn't gone through with killing her. Surely, he could have accomplished what she had without lowering himself the way he did. It was possible he had fallen under one of her fabled "spells", much like the one she used on Optimus.

"But that depends," Megatron said, "would this object be of use to us? Or is this to be something of mere sentimental value?"

Barricade contemplated the question for a moment, then answered: "The hardware I'm thinking of may possess information that could, potentially, be extracted by Autobot, or TRF forces, should they get their hands on it before us."

"What kind of information?"

"Decepticon codes. Possibly outdated. But with the revival of Cybertron I feel they may prove relevant to our interests once more."

With a growl, Megatron did a U-turn, jetting with great ferocity back to the planet's surface. "Why had you not notified me of this before!?"

Hesitating, Barricade replied, "Again, I felt this information wouldn't be relevant what with Cybertron and her territories no longer sustainable as a battleground. For example, what would an Autobot need with security codes to an empty prison-complex on an uninhabitable planet? Now that the planet is habitable again—,"

"I see!" Megatron snapped. "Where is this hardware you speak of?"

"I have long since triangulated its location to Cuba in anticipation of our planet's revival. I would have retrieved it myself, but our mission had become a priority."

"Indeed," as Megatron set the co-ordinates, he gazed upon the planet below. Earth… Unicron. the ground zero of his endless miseries. He recalled feeling a certain sick sense relief upon learning of the planet's identity. Megatron had always considered earth his greatest adversary. To know earth and Unicron, Cybertron's opposite, were one and the same, well… it made him proud to know he had chosen his foes correctly.

"Lord Megatron, I must advise—we may encounter resistance below."

"Oh?" Megatron grunted, "In what form?"

-

The massive rubber ball bounced off the man's chest, knocking him over and sending him tumbling into the sand. Groaning, the man rolled onto his back, and massaged an are of his ribs where a red mark was sure to develop. "Why do I even consider playing this game with you hooligans?!" he moaned. "What have I always told you about using upscaled balls in our games?!"

The tall, blue Autobot raised his servos above his head in exasperation. "C'mon Simmons, you know I—,"

"Hush—zip it! Topspin. What do I always say?"

Topspin sighed, "Not to use the upscaled balls in games with humans."

"Right. And what do you do?"

He turned his head aside and mumbled, "Use an upscaled ball in our game."

Simmons lifted himself off the ground and began brushing the sand from his shorts. "Right! You deserve to feel very, very, poorly about yourself!"

"Aw, come on, amigo, you're always such a freak about this kind of thing."

Simmons gazed at him, smiling and nodding rapidly. "A freak? Really now? A freak! This coming from the bot who carved out his dead friend's head like a jack-o-lantern and is wearing it on his noggin' as we speak!"

Topspin jabbed an offended finger at the former agent, "Oye! This is a symbol of a respect where I come from! Leadfoot was a great muchacho, who's face struck fear into the optics of many Decepticons!" the Wrecker brought a fist to his chest, gazing off into the distance proudly, "And now, his face will continue to do so for millenia to come!"

"What Decepticons do you expect to find here, 'amigo'? Julio and Rodrigo?" he glanced over at the two snickering humans who had been acting as passive participants in the game. He jabbed an accusatory finger at them. "Don't think I've forgotten about you two, either! You're both just as guilty as he is! When he whipped that upscaled death-sphere at me, neither of you did anything to stop it! J'accuse!" A moment later, Simmons took notice of a commotion in the street lining the beach where they played. Autobots drove and jogged in a hurry from one side of the town to the next, and had been gathering at some mountain-top at the east-side. "Wait, where the hell are they all going? Are they late for robot tea time or what?"

"Probably answering the boss-bot's call," Topspin said, leaning over to pick up the discarded ball. "Apparently Cybertron's back. The big OP sent a beacon tellin' everyone it's time to go home and such and such and such."

"Oh." He placed his hands on his hips and gazed across the sea. He smiled, "Guess they really did it after all, huh?" After a moment of contemplation, he turned back to Topspin, who had been bouncing the oversized volleyball off his knees. Simmons grinned. "So why aren't you going with them, eh tough guy? Riddle me that."

"Well y'know, I'd love to go back to Cybertron and all, but then I wouldn't get to play volleyball with you guys. So yeah, but nah. Let them go, but I'm stayin'. I still gotta work on my serve."

Simmons nodded acceptably, "Nice." He looked around. Aside from a few humans and Autobots meandering around, the streets were nearly deserted. He had to admit, he was somewhat worried by the prospect of the Cuban Autobots leaving, but it was a relief to know Topspin, at the very least, would be sticking around.

"Besides, it's like you said, Simmons. There are fewer Decepticons hanging around in Cuba than in—,"

Topspin was interrupted as two massive forms dropped from the sky and landed on the Cuban beach, sending a plume of sand into the air. As the sand cleared, Megatron and Barricade emerged.

"Decepticons!" Topspin let out a battle-cry as he leapt at Megatron. The Decepticon Leader merely grabbed the Autobot by his forehead and hoisted him up off his feet, holding the smaller robot away from him at arm's length. The Wrecker thrashed and kicked the air, to little avail. "I'm gonna strike you down Megatron- I'm gonna serve you like a volleyball!"

While Julio and Rodrigo sprinted away before the Decepticons took notice. Simmons was not so lucky. Barricade dove at the human, knocking him onto his back with a flick of his wrist. Before Simmons could recuperate, Barricade pinned him to the ground with a single digit. He slammed his fist into the sand mere inches from the human's body, sinking his head forward until it was all Simmons would be able to see in his periphery. Megatron was pleased. Barricade's interrogation skills had not faltered.

"Are you Agent Seymour Rutherford Simmons, former Chief Field Agent of Sector Seven?!"

Simmons swallowed painfully. His forehead glistening with perspiration. "You trying to intimidate me, punk? I'll have you know I have gone toe-to-toe with the best of them. I am a survivor. I am a patriot. I am death on two legs. I have stared Megatron in the eyes without breaking a sweat. And you know who blinked first? Him!"

"I hadn't realized we've met." Megatron droned, looming over Barricade with Topspin in hand.

"Ah, Megatron!" Simmons greeted. "You've never looked so…" he stared at the space beneath the Decepticon leader's right shoulder. "…disarming."

Megatron snarled, then leaned over to Barricade. "Make this quick, then kill him."

Barricade bounded the ground once more. "Are you Agent Seymour Rutherford Simmons, former Chief Field Agent of Sector Seven?!"

"Yes! Yes. How did you guys manage to get here anyway- there should be a law against you guys sneaking in here or something.?"

"I am the law!" Barricade declared, fisting the ground and leaving a PUNISH imprint in the sand.

Simmons chuckled nervously, "Okay! Just tell me what you want."

"Where are the remains of Decepticon Espionage Agent Frenzy?!" Barricade snarled, "Where is his head?!"

Ah, Megatron realized, So, that is what this is about. Frenzy did in fact have Decepticon codes stored on his processor, though he was sure that was not the only reason Barricade had chosen to gather the remains of his partner.

Slowly, Simmons raised an index finger to the Decepticon, "Hush! I can get you exactly what you want, but I refuse to be spoken to in such a manner! You will treat me with respect, got it? Capiche?"

Barricade pressed his index-finger deeper into the former agent's chest and clenched his fist. "Give us the location of the head, or else I will eat you alive."

"Okay, I see, I get it. You're very persuasive. It's in my apartment, address number 309, top floor, bottom drawer of my nightstand. You know, your little crack-addict of a Decepticon was in pieces when I found him, right? I glued all the individual pieces of his head together and what thanks to I get?" He glared up at Megatron, "I did the same kindness to your buddy Starscream back at home. I'd tell you I did it to sap as much information from their thick skulls as I could, but honestly I think reconstructing robot heads is just my thing. I'm like the monet of robot head reconstruction. Anyway I can go get it myself, I'll just need you to—,"

Suddenly, three large, white, green and yellow robots dashed across the street and tackled Barricade. The tallest knocked him onto his back with a quick swing of his fist, while the others proceeded to beat the tar out of him while he was down.

Barricade grunted as he attempted to block their attacks. "Agh—Megatron—some help?"

With only one arm available, Megatron quickly turned to extinguish the thrashing Autobot in his grip, only to find he had been gripping the head, and nothing else. When he looked down, he found the Autobot's "head" was in fact a simple helmet, and the Autobot had managed to slip out when he wasn't paying attention. Megatron stared at the hollowed-out head of the deceased Autobot, dumbfounded. "Who in the pit would wear this nauseating desecration of the dead?"

Landing on his aft, Topspin quickly transformed into his blue, custom, NASCAR mode and drove over to Simmons, opening his passenger door for him to crawl inside. "Need a lift, amigo? I told you wearing Leadfoot's head would come in handy."

Simmons stumbled into the passenger seat and shut the door behind him. He pointed out to the nearest street corner and yelled, "Yeah, okay, whatever. I'll wear Rodrigo's skull when he dies. Vamanos!"

Megatron crushed the hollowed-out skull in his hand, and moved to stop them, only to quickly remember Barricade. It was growing irksome dragging his sole lieutenant out of danger once again, yet he had little reason not to, and at this point, little choice. The enforcer had been outnumbered, and outsized. So be it, he would allow the human to survive for now. Turning to the robots attacking Barricade, Megatron plucked one up by its head and tossed it across the street, sending it crashing into a parked car; caving it in, and setting it's alarm off. He focused on the largest next. Tearing it off Barricade and pinning it to the ground beneath his heel. The last of the three, Barricade handled himself, locking his brass-knuckles into place and delivering a series of rapid, vicious punches into the robot's chest, eventually knocking the mech onto its behind, where it attempted to scurry backwards helplessly. The words PUNISH, and ENSLAVE had been engraved into his chest from the force of the strikes. Barricade watched, somewhat disappointed, as Topspin drove off with Simmons in the distance, and quickly turned his attention to Megatron.

Megatron smiled at the largest of the three as he examined its face. "Well… if it isn't my old foot-soldier, Junkheap."

"You know this Autobot?" Barricade asked, approaching him.

"This is no Autobot, Barricade. These were KSI-built drones. They called this one Junkheap. A fitting moniker." He craned his head back to Barricade and tapped a digit into the main-unit's chest. "This drone was KSI's greatest failure. A glitch in this one's programming would cause it to recognize its own units as enemy soldiers, and thus cause it to fight itself more often than it would its targets. Even when placed under my control, these three would be the most infuriating models to command. Truly the least impressive imitation of our race the humans could offer." He grinned down at the largest Junkheap unit once more. "But this is interesting. A KSI drone that appears to have developed some semblance of sentience. Otherwise they wouldn't have acted against us the way they did. And to have found it's way here, among these Autobots… Can you speak to us, Junkheap? Can you tell us how you were able to accomplish this?"

Junkheap stared.

Despite his fascination with the Decepticon, Megatron was somewhat concerned by it's origins. How had it achieved sentience? Megatron had made no attempt to transfer his conscious to a unit besides Galvatron, so Junkheap couldn't possibly have been a sliver of himself. With KSI gone and his control over the drones severed, there shouldn't have been anyone left to control Junkheap. And even if there was, who would? Megatron gazed into Junkheap's optics. There was the essence of a spark inside of him, that he was certain of. But how? What could possibly have brought Junkheap to life? It was a conundrum.

Megatron released the smaller robot, and stepped back. Junkheap remained where he lay, unmoving, perhaps due to shock. Or perhaps he was smarter than he looked, and knew to back down. Megatron sighed, "Wherever your origins lie, Junkheap, I hope you enjoy your existence. For you are no longer a machine, now that you have your senti—,"

Megatron's jaw dropped. His optics widened. "No…" he said in disbelief.

"What is it?" Barricade asked.

"No…" he stared down at Junkheap. "You would—you didn't."

Silence.

Megatron howled with laughter. It had been the first time in what might have been a millennium since he allowed himself to let out a raspy, head-raising laugh. Barricade took a few steps back, scared by this new Megatron he didn't recognize.

"M-my Lord?"

Junkheap blinked up at him in confusion as Megatron grabbed the drone by the shoulder.

"You really did it! To think you had fallen into the same position I had! To have fallen into the same frame of mind. But look at you! To think out of all the drones- You hadn't seen nearly enough of this planet to understand the context of what you chose and yet—you realize now what you are, don't you? Do I even need to spell it out? You're a garbage truck! You transfer waste! I bet you thought the extra bodies would have worked to your advantage—that the alternate form was some powerful six-wheeler—and yet you became the most glitched, flawed, mistake of the batch! I thought my transfer went poorly, but I now see how worse it could have been. To think of all the trouble, you could have caused me had you chosen a more powerful form. But no. Now you get to live the rest of eternity as this. In this hideous mistake of a thing. And I can only hope a part of you—of the old you, deep down inside, is conscious of what's happening, and that you are suffering endlessly because of it. Your existence is so pathetic that I laughed, and you know what I think? I think that if Optimus had seen this, he would have laughed, too!"

Megatron turned back to Barricade, smiling still. "Come, let us recover Frenzy and make haste back to Cybertron. Unicron remains a threat to us, and the Autobots already have a head-start in rebuilding Cybertron in their image. There is much work to be done."

Barricade stared, then nodded quickly. "Affirmative." After a moment, he sighed. "I was looking forward to being instrumental in the destruction of Cybertron's greatest enemy."

Megatron continued to chuckle to himself as they left Junkheap. "And you will be. We shall set up a base of operations in New Kaon and transmit our own beacon. Once we have gathered enough Decepticons, we shall free our captive brothers and sisters from the TRF compound. In time, we will have our army up and running once again, and take back Cybertron in the name of the Decepticons!"

"I can't wait." Barricade grinned.

As they continued down the street to Seymour's apartment, they walked past a tall building with clear, dark windows. Megatron stared into them, and saw his reflection staring back. For the first time, he noticed that the red mark that had manifested on his face was gone. He snorted, dismissed the change, and continued to discuss plans with his remaining friend, Barricade.

Junkheap stared at the two Decepticons as they left, and felt nothing from them. He rose to his feet, turned, and gazed across the sea. Waves crashed against the tranquil shore and crawled back into the deep, leaving stumbling crabs and shellfish in its wake. His two smaller components joined him, and the three bodies stood together in a row, staring off across the sea like sentinels standing at attention before battle. In the distance, he could make out the thin outline of the planet Cybertron suspended in the sky.

It was hard for him to think, but...

When he was there,

He was a God once.

Once.