A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the late posting! I had a lot of running around to do this morning X)
To thepheonixqueen: I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! ^_^ Thanks for letting me know, it's always great to hear how readers are feeling about my work! ^_^_^_^ Thank you for the compliments, too! X3
To Vivienne Grainger: ooh yay I'm glad you liked the chase scene, I actually kept revising and adding more to it until I was satisfied, and I'm happy you were too! ^_^ Thank you for all your comments!
To SEZwho94: hehe, when I discovered Roulette and found out she was an Enforcer, I just thought it would only be natural for those two to become close :D hah, I know, I wish Silhouette's creators had been able to use her original name, but because of copyright issues they had to officially dub her as 'ShadowStriker' :/ not as cool sounding I think, and the rhyming thing was too perfect X) lol them 'Cons are indeed crazy, and I know that even in cannon works mechs have used the term 'darlin' (take Lockdown for example, he uses it with Blackarachnia) :D
Thank you to all of my supportive readers, commenters, and to those who have faved and put this story on alert! ^_^_^_^ All ya'll are awesome! Please Enjoy and Review!
I feel my senses slowly return to me. The dreamy, warm fog that I've been encased in—I'm assuming all thanks to the telepath mech—lifts from my neural circuitry, and the harsh cold of the air around me causes me to gasp, almost in pain. I'm lying flat on my back, on some kind of hard surface. I shutter my optics when they're assaulted by a blearing white light coming from above. I try to move my arms to block the source from my exposed optical sensors, but find that they—along with my legs—are locked down by metal cuffs onto the table.
What is this, an interrogation?
Something… feels odd. I can't quite put my servo on it, but something is out of place. I glance around to the side, searching for some kind of answer, whether it is in the form of another bot or—my upper processor housing sitting on a metal tray. Alright, so my processor's internals are exposed, that explains the bizarre sensations I'm feeling through my circuitry.
For any reason, this can't be good.
A large set of dark blue servos gently grasp the sides of my processor and turn it so that I'm once again looking up at that blasted light. Ignoring the blinding source, I do my best to look beyond it to find the owner of the servos. It's Soundwave, the telepath. I'm getting tired of this pattern of events. I wonder if he has any hard feelings for the whole spitting-the-Seeker's-digit-at-him event; I couldn't have helped myself, I was caught up in the moment and he was the closest target.
"Sparkling is aware. Scans indicate: Sparkling has re-attained full access to memory files." The volume of his vocalizer seems to grow hesitantly quiet at that last bit.
"Hn. So he managed to outmaneuver you at your own game, did he?" A deep, smooth chuckle comes from somewhere in the shadows.
I know that voice. It's the one I had heard at the Gladiator stadium. It's the one that had given Wilder permission to kill my—the… Emirate.
The Kaonian Gladiator, Megatron, steps into my view, his red optics somehow piercing through the bright white light above me. His massive frame looms over me. He has a small smile at the edges of his lip components, a very unsettling one at that; it's like he's observing a foreign creature rather than a fellow Cybertronian.
I sense Soundwave's chassis go tense as his servos slightly grip my processor; he thinks his boss is angry with him. Megatron speaks before his loyal minion can, "Well, you simply did not know just who you were dealing with. His father proved well enough that a crafty processor runs in the family. Isn't that right, Nightbeat?" He's trying to appear friendly, but I know better.
What does he mean when he says my 'father'? Does he mean the Emirate? Or did he know my real dad? An unintentional snarl crosses my faceplates as I look at him; if I had my visor on, it wouldn't be so apparent. The dark mech once more delights in a brief, quite bit of laughter. Why do these low-life bots always find so much amusement in my anger? Do I look like I'm about to blow a gasket or something?
"You seem quite young, Nightbeat. Younger than Wilder, I would say. I wonder: were you old enough to have even really known your father before he went offline?" His smile fades into a deceptive look of sympathy.
For whatever purpose, he's trying to get inside my mind, to trick me into trusting him.
Seeing that he's not getting a response from me, he continues with his little masquerade, "You know, Nightbeat, I knew your father. We met on quite a few occasions. A brilliant thinker, he was." He reaches a servo out and lifts my chin, "I can see so much of him in you, his only child. If only he was around to see what a fine creation he made. It's truly a misfortune for a boy to grow up without his father."
You son of a glitch.
"Although you may believe you know what your father was working towards in his career, your accessible memory files indicate that you don't know every aspect of the story. You're missing quite a few pieces."
Whatever he's about to say, I shouldn't believe it.
"You seem to be under false pretenses about our cause. Soundwave tells me that you believe us to be the enemies of the High Council and that we mean to do harm to the inhabitants of Cybertron. You're correct about one thing: we are indeed at odds with the Council. We Decepticons do not agree with this current system of castes and giving privileges to a select few while the rest of us rust and break under their servo until we are finally used to our fullest extent and deemed obsolete. What the High Council has done is abolish the right to be ambitious. As I'm sure you know, a bot cannot choose their own path, but rather is doomed to relive the same function as their creators, and their creators, and all of their ancestors leading back to the Golden Age."
The way he speaks, the power in his voice… he's so… awe-inspiring.
"This form of functioning has brought blight upon Cybertron; it has brought us to an age of stasis. It will not be long before we as a species will begin to decay, just as our Space Bridges in the stars above us have. We were once a breed of explorers, a breed of conquerors. We settled other planets in other star systems, and even began reaching out to other galaxies. Can you imagine the power that is to be gained—to be rightfully earned—out there, beyond our own star of Alpha Centauri?
"There are whole worlds awaiting us, but we cannot move towards rebuilding our lost Golden Age if we are prohibited our right to be ambitious, to choose for ourselves. This is the beginning of a new age, Nightbeat, an age where all Cybertronians shall rise up and take their rightful places amongst the stars, choosing to follow whatever path they so wish. It has already begun. Simply look at me if you do not believe. I was once a miner in the Energon Mines here in Kaon, a slave to the High Council's bidding. But I have taken the first step, I have risen above their power—I have taken control of my own destiny!" The Gladiator turns away and holds his fists into the air, as if the High Council itself lurked in the shadows he faces.
A chill runs up my spinal column.
"Your father." The warrior turns to face me, "He agreed with me. He shared my ideals, just as many others do."
I… I can't believe what he says. He's trying to trick me…
"We worked for our common goal—we did this together, Nightbeat. The reports he wrote, they were only a cover. We did not want the High Council or the Enforcers to catch on to our plans. You see, Nightbeat, they are the privileged, and they do not wish to lose their hold on us."
My vocalizer trembles as I try to firmly defend my father, "I—I don't believe you!"
The dark lord is quiet, as is the room. He observes my face with steady optics before turning the rest of his frame towards me. I feel my vocal cables tighten as he slowly steps towards me, his huge pedes somehow treading silently, making it seem like he's a large storm cloud moving in.
The tense silence is driving me insane, so I speak up once more to break it, "My father would never join you! You rob those who can't defend themselves, and you slay the innocent-!"
"'INNOCENT', child?" The massive mech nearly charges me and I try out of instinct to flee as his faceplates come much too close to my own, fury burning vigorously in those pools of red. "And who would you deem as 'innocent'? Cybertron and its inhabitants have lost their sparks! We live in a time ruled by mindless drones! The weak have no place in our future! They are a disease that only strengthens the rule of the powers that be! Only the strong shall survive!" Megatron bashes the metal tray table that my processor housing sits upon, sending both flying into an opposing wall. A look of feral insanity holds his faceplates, bearing his teeth and sending flaring flickers from his optics.
I unconsciously try once more to pull against the bonds holding my arms and legs down; I'm afraid. This mech, he's insane! I offline my optics and try to focus on anything else besides the sound of my quivering intakes in the room that is silent once more.
I hear him shift. A vent of air leaves his intakes. He begins walking—but away from me. Gathering the nerve to online my optics, I see that he's approaching my cast-off processor panel. He gingerly picks it up, turns, and approaches me. I can't control my chassis and flinch when he raises the protective housing and places it back on my processor. I watch his faceplates very closely, trying to find anything readable in his somber expression.
Megatron reaches a servo beneath the table I'm on and flicks a deactivation switch, releasing the bonds from my arms and legs. I stay still for a moment, unsure of whether or not making a move would incite an attack. I'm forced to sit up when Soundwave—I didn't know he was still here—lifts my processor off the table.
The Gladiator Champion nods to his telepathic follower and returns his attention to me, "You are living in a time of change. It is unfortunate that you must go through this period at such a young age, but hiding from the truth will not help you. You know I'm right, Nightbeat, and you know your father felt the same way. Whether you know it yourself, you too share our beliefs. You've grown up in Sector D-12, among bots whose lives have not been their own for as long as they've been online. It may be hard for you to believe that there could be any other way of life, but I'm here to show you that there is.
"You are strong, Nightbeat, just as your father was. You will survive this time, and you will reign in the coming age, alongside others who share the same strength. You can help us now, Nightbeat, you can join us and further progress our reach. While working together, your father and I had a very important goal, one that would be necessary to attain in order to overpower the High Council to take back Cybertron from their tyranny. There was something we were searching for, Nightbeat. An object that would give us the power to avoid a war altogether; one that would bring peace before the first shot was ever fired. Your father found this object, Nightbeat, but his life was taken before he could share with us its location."
"You—but, you killed him…" I cringe internally at how pathetic I sound. I can't help it. This is too much; my insides are twisting up in knots. My neural circuitry is burning.
Megatron grasps my shoulders firmly and looks me in the optics, "No, Nightbeat, that is only what you were told. That is what the High Council and their soldiers wanted you to believe. They meant to turn you against us before you could even begin to learn the truth for yourself. Your father was a brother to me, a brother to all Decepticons. He would have wished it that you help us finish what he could not."
I…I don't know what to do.
"Your father was smart, Nightbeat, there's no way he would have risked losing all that we had both worked for. He found what we had been searching for, and I know he left a clue of some kind behind. I believe he left it with you, Nightbeat, so that you would be able to finish his work, to solve the final puzzle. Try to think, Nightbeat, what did your father tell you the last time you saw him?"
How does he know my father saw me the cycle that he… that he was offlined? There's no way he could know that. If my father did give me some kind of clue to be stored in my subconscious memory banks, then that meant that he was trying to hide it. He was trying to keep it safe from somebot. The last time I saw him…
He looked very pale, like something very bad was coming to take him away. His optics were so dull. He hugged and kissed me like he knew it was the last time, and it was. He held my mother for a very, very long time. He said he loved us both very much. And he…he gave me…
My ray gun.
"Sparkling's thought process indicates: possible clue left behind by father: toy shaped into a weapon form." Soundwave's monotone voice sends energon rushing through my lines—no!
"Of course! I should have known! So simple yet so easily overlooked, as your father's tactics were usually laid out. Where is this toy, Nightbeat? Do you have it with you?" The dark mech smiles, looking like he's about to strike out like a serpent. He crouches over slightly to be optic-level with me, and reaches an expectant servo out, waiting for me to place the object of his desire in it.
"N-no!" Not a very convincing lie.
"Sparkling's placement of object: right-side subspace compartment on side of upper leg."
"If you would, Soundwave." He gestures for his lieutenant to seize my chassis and take the gun from me.
I fight as best as I can, thrashing my processor and appendages wildly about, making it difficult for the telepath to reach for my subspace compartment panel. I yell, "No! I won't let you! You're lying! He meant to hide it from you, not hand it over! I'll never let you!"
Megatron smiles contently as Soundwave finally manages to still me with a painfully tight embrace around my upper chassis, trapping my arms at my sides. I try hitting him in the faceplates with the back of my processor, but my attempts are in vain. Forcing the panel to my subspace compartment open, Soundwave is able to pull out the toy ray gun. The gun drags a piece of paper out of the compartment as well, and it flutters onto the ground.
Megatron curiously looks down at the flimsy piece of paper and picks it up. He chuckles, "Afraid you would forget your real name again?" He shreds the note from my mother and lets the pieces fall like bits of ember. He takes the gun from Soundwave, "Hn. Doesn't look like much, but I suppose that is how your father meant it to be." Without a moment's hesitation, Megatron rips the toy gun in half—the last gift from my father.
"No!" I try lunging forward but I'm held back by the blue mech behind me.
"You're helping us bring about a better world, Nightbeat; a simple toy has no worth in comparison to that." His chuckling ceases when he looks down at the crushed bits to find—nothing. He must have been expecting something to be hidden inside the toy. "Hn…" He prods the broken pieces around in his servo, but still looks dissatisfied, "This is… this should have been it! Soundwave, he must be hiding it somewhere in his inaccessible files! I know he left it with the child!"
The derailed mech looks as though he's about to leap across the table to attack his minion, but the now fearful telepath is only able to hold his servos up to indicate he can do no more. The moment Soundwave raises his servos, I'm bolting off the table and headed for the tall double doors at the other end of the dark, hall-like room. I should've known better, as the enraged Gladiator lord turns on me and latches his servo roughly onto my processor, lifting me off my pedes and bringing me face-to-face with him.
"WHERE IS THE TRANSFORMATION COG TO TRYPTICON STATION?"