PART 16
#Sparkbroken
Another morning came to the land of Cybertron, reviving everything with a new wave of life and vivification. The sun started its daily orbit around the planet, shining fresh glimmers of sunray upon anything in its wake. Light flooded the atmosphere, brightened the sky, reflected off metallic shine and mirror surfaces of buildings and skycrappers, filling the city in its enlightened warmth and comfort. Mecha began to resume their habitual work, either it be industrial mass-production or medical healthcare, military law enforcement or official pollitical matters, each individual attended to their own life, none inteferring with the other. It was just another peaceful cycle on the planet of Cybertron, no more extraordinary than any other.
Except that the specific cycle would go down in history as the historical cycle when everything changed for the Cybertronians, forever cursed not to be the same ever again, from the most simple of fundaments to the deepest consequential influences. Mere words didn't describe to the full potential of its value: the conjunction of monumental eras, the very date when the planet splitted sides and every mech was required to make a selection, the moment the core element of survival shifted, whence seperating the forces of oppositional power for millenias and even more, forging the eon-old hatred and sparking the fury flame of war that remained furious for centuries to come. It was the day that the Great War was born, raised and blossomed into being, and though most mecha didn't know it at the moment, by the end of the cycle, their fate would forever be set in stone.
From the borderline of Iacon stood Megatron, a mech with great ambition and the will to change the ways of the world. Underneath him laid an army – an entire ocean of mecha, belligerent and with a commensurate ammount of ammunition, more than enthusiastic to make their voice heard through the use of whatever means necessary, whether it be verbal or violent. Together, the Decepticons marched towards the highest tower of Cybertron - home to the Councilboard and Senate, the disseminating nascency of the corruption itself - determined to see it fall, to trample past and leave nothing behind but a trail of destruction to atone to their sins. They advanced forwards, layers and layers of mecha following each other in perfect sync, impeccably so much they would diminish the definition of the word unison itself: an indomitable riot of the civilians, of the lower stratifications standing up to regain justice and freedom of their own, to protect what were theirs to had come to know and love dearly. They would eradicate the system, once and for all.
Though the cycle saw not only one, but two great factions of the Great War, and from the suburban area a fortified line of Autobot defense stood their ground. The mecha there were untrained and inexperienced, non-combatant frametypes, with minuscule size and modest-matching weaponries, though they remained unshifting in the face of the incoming armada. The offensive kept drawing closer until their distance were reduced to simple fields of mechano yards in length and area, and soon it all boiled down into a battle of the pure strength of will. With neither of the factions budging an inch, both leaders were inclined to take position and began negotiation before the rising tension escalated into an active warzone. As Megatron stepped up the rows of Decepticons, he was flabbergasted, yet somehow unsurprised, when his equivalent from Autobots was none other than Orion Pax himself.
Stuffing all the hot fury down his exhaust pipe for diplomacy's sake, he broke the awkward staring contest with a haunty taunt. "Well, well, well. Isn't it a ghost from a distant past whom I owe the privilage of speaking to?"
But the other mech was still completely frozen up in place, presenting indications of a nasty processor malfunction, as he kept still only to stare at Megatron's optics, unbelief radiated off his facelate in tangible waves. It took nearly a klick to coax any response out of him, and even that was just the battle mask disengaging to reveal his vent port, open widely aghast. "Me… Megatron? You're… alive? HOW?"
In complete sincerity, Megatron would have to admit to feeling a slight confusion at Orion's overemphasis of a reaction himself. "Well, my spark is pulsing, my vents are cycling air, my Energon is being pumped through my veins, my processor is… well, processing, inputs and calculating outputs… So, yeah, you got the general impression." He decided that silent awkwardness wasn't what he had been expecting for, and it did put him in a position of extemporaneity which Megatron found himself not favouring so much, so he diverted the atmosphere with a skeptical sarcastic retort, though it hardly provoked the anticipated results. "OR, you can ask that brilliant medic of yours, who seemed to have occupied my position of strategic adviser pretty well since my absence." He gestured at the white and red CMO standing unnaturally rigid by Orion's right, who – if Megatron was any good at reading frame language – showed signs of… remorse?
"But… I thought you were deactivated! I saw you coming to pieces with my own optics!" Orion exclaimed, still not thoroughly believed in his optical sensors yet.
Taking a deep vent to calm himself, Megatron continued. "Well then, a certain someone I know, correction - knew, seemed not too dissatisfied with that." He glared daggers at the medic, who – if even possible – was curling within himself even smaller. "I even recall the same course of events occuring that same cycle as you, Orion, and how such versatile an actor you were that cycle, completely fooled me, by the way. Oh, you've still got it, then. I see all that acting skills still haven't dulled through time since the last we met, huh? You totally nailed that passionately-in-love classic, I've got to give you credit for that." He stretched the ending syllable out to place emphasis on his abhorrence for dishonesty, the message comprehended loud and clear judging by the look on Orion's exposed faceplate. Behind their backs, their respective armies began whispering in hushed tones about the complication taking place, some just out of nosiness or curiosity, some even as bold as raising doubt at their dedication to their cause. He recognized one of them from the Autobot's ranks, one that went by the designation Straxus.
"I see traitorous had been a trait of specific requirement prerequisite for the application of the Autobot's cause as of late? You certainly harbour plenty underneath that polished cover of yours. Not so startling, however, taken into consideration their actual leader is one with very convincing acting abilities." Megatron smirked, satisfied at the shocked expression displayed on Orion's faceplate upon hearing his words.
That stupefied state was short-lived and quickly replaced by one of anger and agony, though. "Who are you and what have you done to Megatron? You impersonate his frame and steal his voice, but you can never replicate his spark. The Megatron I knew was never this ruthless or brutal, he had the kindest spark I'd ever had the fortune to know and love. You are nothing but a cheap copy!" Orion accused, his bright blue optics bristling with unadulterated aggravation foreign to a mech with such stoic patience like himself.
Cackling maniacally, the gladiator replied. "Oh, but is it truly? Surely you would've remembered this!" He then tore open his own chestplate armor to reveal his glowing sparkchamber's cover, the soft protoform casing carved with the initials of their entertwined designations, the curvy "M" circumfenced inside the sloppy "O", both seared black as a distinctive signature of the medical-grade laser scapel. "Or perhaps you didn't remember at all, considering how many lives you were leading at the moment… Yet, I still remember everything you said to me – as the foolishly-in-love idiot that I was, totally wrapped up in your servos without realizing the true extent of your deceit. You manipulated me into grafting this ridiculous display of affection – weakness – onto my spark casing, which needless for me to remind you, hurt like pit." Megatron paused suddenly to gaze into Orion's optics and let the gravity of his confession settle down before continued speaking.
"But I tolerated, for your so-called "love". Not only did I allow you to inscribe that huge shameful circle on it, but I was also encouraged, with your lies and promises, to inscribe a symbol of my own as well. So you held up a mirror for me to look at the reflection of my own spark casing, just so I could torture myself through the pit again writing that "M" meticulously inside the circle you sloppily drew. Now that I think of it, why didn't I realize your true malice just through that lack of commitment?" Megatron paused again, but this time to avoid Orion's optics, which was already leaking coolant at the mention of their shared fragment of memory. "Oh, right, I can still repeat word for word what nonsense you fed my naïve younger self that particular off-cycle: 'Let this symbol be the sacred representation of our love, so that-
-it may bring our bond to the ethereal realm as we reunite in the Well of Allsparks.' Orion interrupted, his optics now teary as coolant flushed out in a steady stream. Clearly taken aback by this revelance, Megatron instantly continued.
'Let our ties render us inseparable, for each could never be complete once again without the other, for our love-
-to be reincarnated, materialized and concretized to the frequency of our every synchronized sparkpulse.' Even Megatron's optics were glimmering with coolant by this time. Determined not to display any signs of weakness to his entire army, he quickly resumed.
'Let the countless stars littering the dark sky bear evidence to our religious ceremony-
-as we merge from two beings into one entity only, of pure and utter consentment.' Orion had already been sprinting over the fields to close the rest of their distance, and though Megatron remained unmoving, it wasn't because of his hatred for the mech holding him back, but rather the fear and uncertainty, that perhaps, there was even but a slightest chance, that everything they had was true, and that Orion really loved him. As much as he did the mech.
'Let my love for you, and your love for me, shine the way on our path-
-and interconnect it forever.' The mech was standing frozen in front of him by now, their proximity close enough that all it took was an extended servo and they would finally touch, again. It was the fear of rejection that imprisoned Orion from taking that last step, and for Megatron it was the confirmation about the validity of their relationship, one he had always dreaded, ever since his cycles in the gladiator; one that would uproot any of the accumulating anger for Orion, threaten the burning flame that pursued him on his pathway to liberty, to survival from the deadly battles, then to stay on track through out their entire trip across the planet. Megatron was that close, and yet still too further away from reuniting with his mech.
Orion knew he was close to breaking through to his lover, so he recalled every bit and pieces of memory in his logs that were still intact. "It was the vows we exchanged when we were performing the sparkbond ritual. The night you told me about your insecurities, about your emotions for me, when you knew about Shockwave-
Megatron grabbed hold of his helm and crashed his own liplates into Orion's own, their glossa entwining and sharing the heat between short burst of ventilation system overloading. For a fraction of a nanoklick, Megatron – his Megatron – was back, real, tender and sweet, caring and loving, holding on to him and never letting go like both of them had sworn to. The kiss they shared was brief, but displayed every evidence Orion had needed to confirm that, yes, the one and only mech for him was back, together, with him, the way they were always supposed to be. It was like Orion's very own sanctuary of peace and happiness, ever since the destiny cycle, all he had ever wished for was that exact same moment, and nothing – not even leading the rebelion, overtaking cities, gaining reign or restoring justice could even outmatch his one burning desire. He'd thought he had lost Megatron forever before he even got the chance to cherish the most valuable treasure of his life, and this one opportunity to reconcile with him, to tell him how sorry he was for everything, how badly, how desperately he just wanted Megatron back, how depravedly he had needed Megatron in his life – it all just sounded too good to be true, that Orion had trouble believing in himself, convincing himself that, no, this wasn't another one of his late off-cycle fantasy and yes, Megatron was freakily somehow alive, real, and here with him, to make his whole world better again.
Yet, his intuition never fails him, not later as a Prime and not even before as Orion Pax. So when it told him something was wrong, he knew there was problem. Looking upwards, he felt droplets of coolant landing on his cheeks everytime their liplates made contact, and another inspection at Megatron showed the mech crying – something he had never done, not even back in the time they were together – Orion couldn't tell what its purpose was, but even without the sparkbond sharing emotions he knew those weren't tears of consentment. So he grabbed Megatron's faceplate and stop the mech, despite how sparkbreaking the action of severing their short moment of reunion was to him, to look at his sparkmate in the optics. The same ruby red optics that had always been expressive from the start back in that holding cell, always filled with unmentionable affection for him. Those optics were deep, soulful, and filled with hope, yet struggling and laborous, as if Megatron was… fighting over something. For something, conjunctively for dominance or power of some sort.
"Megatron?"
The mech didn't respond, though he did smile at Orion – not the previous taunting one, but a true, sincere smirk, brandished with Megatron's own trademark infamous smirk – and locked optics with his for a moment, where the two did nothing but stare at one another, to his utter and complete bewilderent. He felt Megatron's servos on his helm trembling and the mech's pedstand wavering, so he tried to bend down and offer support, but Megatron's shaking servos kept his helm in position, at optic level with Megatron's own. Before he even insisted anything, Megatron's liplates started to quiver as it tried to pronounce a coherent word, despite his rigorous effort at battling whatever was clearly overtaking his frame and consciousness altogether. Orion strained his own audio receptors configuration to catch a faint semblance of a broken syllable: "…ooo…
"Megatron? 'Ooo'? What's 'ooo'?"
"…ooo…ay…
"What? Love, please tell me, we can deal with this, whatever it is, together."
"…ooo…kkktt…ay…fffzz…
"Yes? C'mon, tell me! What is it?"
"Sss…ooo… Arghhhh!"
Before Orion even got the chance to process whatever message Megatron was trying to communicate with him, he was hit with a suckle punch by the same strong gladiator's servo that sent him rolling rounds downhill the valley they were standing atop of. The sound of gunshot ringing out in his audio receptors were the only indication of what was happening next as Orion kept rolling down the slope which seemed to last forever, his equilibrium a total wreck with the fall's turbulence rendering him incapacitated to aid his comrades from afar as they rushed into battle. Stuffing away all concerns for his army, he set focus back to the task at hand, as the Megatron-imposer closed in on his position, a servo-attached Fusion canon powering to life in a crackling surge of energy, blurring his cracked optics and blinded him temporarily, vulnerable to the enemy's assault.
He knew whatever small part of his lover that he managed to reach was already gone, and now in the place of his one and only betrothed stood a monster, ready to separate a mech and his bondmate, and to use that very frame of his bondmate to wage war and dishonour the mech he had come to know and love.
Orion charged up his own unsubspaced rifle and primed the battle axe with the other servo. He could certainly use a target to vent his frustration upon, and the being impersonating his beloved was itching for a lesson not to mess with him ever again.
