Unleash the Beast!

Chapter 7: The Grey Ghost

*I probably should jump back to FoY but dammit, I'm on a roll here. This is too much fun!
*Important note: I am going to stop after this chapter to get the rewrite finished. I'm already 4 chapters in and I'll be sure to post them all together once they're all done. I say this because after this point, I can't keep going until I have some important info placed into the rework. Otherwise, it won't make sense because it implies said info has already been found by the cast/presented to the reader, which it hasn't. Sorry! XD


It was almost...weird to be back home. Sentenza had grown so accustomed to dirt, grass, and pavement beneath her trods that walking along gleaming metal streets surrounded by fellow 'bots felt almost jarring. She had to reign in the now nearly instinctual urge to cloak to avoid being seen. There was no need to hide among her own people, for there was no "cover" to blow like on Earth. She had deeply missed being able to walk around at her leisure without worrying that some random human bystander might see her and post a picture of her online. Any surprised stares tossed her way weren't from the world-shattering realization of aliens being real; they were of her fellow Kaonians suddenly seeing her again after inexplicably going missing for a few months. Most were content to simply nod at her, but many others offered waves. A few even shouted good morning to her.

Sentenza relished it while it lasted. She'd be busy again in short order.

Upon reaching her old apartment, she went in and went to her console only to pause halfway to it with a smile. How she'd missed her little apartment. The dirty windows. The comfy furniture. All her evidence files completely untouched, lying exactly where she'd left them. And, per Camber's obsession, everything (except her desk and board, of course) in every room had been routinely cleaned and neatly organized. Camber had even left her little stuffed animal panther, Nivvy, propped up on her berth, and the ion lamp Counterforce had bought her as a gift sat on the adjacent nightstand.

Oh, she'd enjoy powering down on her own berth again after so long without one. But she would miss having someone next to her sharing that space. Sensing him through the bond just wouldn't be the same as him being there.

"Right. Better get to work," she muttered.

While the messages were still fresh in her mind, she got to work penning and sending them out to various contact who would then relay them to the 'bot in question. Her contact Script could deliver Backdraft's message to Hijinks. Mourncall at the Crystal City precinct could get a message to Windstorm's Guardian, Fine Tune, and his co-worker, Tweak. Over in Praxus, Half-Pint could get word to Aegis about Counterforce. But the rest of the messages were not typed up and sent; their recipients were in either Iacon or Kaon, so she would deliver those personally. And there was one in Praxus she'd deliver in person, as well. The information in that message she didn't feel comfortable entrusting even to a trusted contact.

"Miss?!" a voice gasped.

Sentenza turned, grinning. "Camber!"

"Where in the Allspark have ye been?!" her stocky landlady demanded breathlessly. "I know yer a detective and that means going incognito for a while sometimes, but for Primus' sake, ye can't just up and disappear like that without telling me!"

Sentenza didn't bother explaining. She flung her arms around Camber. Camber, momentarily stunned, soon returned the gesture.

"I'm 'appy to know yer online, at least," Camber admitted frankly after their embrace ended. "I was beginning to worry one o' those nasty types had finally done ye in."

"I'm harder to kill than that. Give me some credit," she smirked wryly.

Camber chortled, "True," but did notice the detective's good mood faltered somewhat over her own statement.

"I'd love to chat right now," Sentenza went on, "but I'm going to be a little busy, so I'll cut you a deal: once I've got that business wrapped up, I'll get some take-home cocktails from Mac's and I'll fill you in. I'll pay. My treat."

Camber smiled brightly. "I'll hold you to that, miss."

Sentenza gave Camber another half-hug before leaving. There was one message she could deliver right away, as she knew just about where the recipients were based. All she had to do was find one 'bot and follow them back, and finding one of those 'bots would be laughably easy according to Frostbite. She merely had to look for the rudest, most aggressive, most impatient driver she could find in Kaon. That, Frostbite had warned, would be his fellow rescue worker and team mate, Scuffs.

How Frostbite was able to tolerate and befriend Sideswipe made a lot more sense, knowing that.


The Seeker spent the better part of the day flying around Iacon and Kaon delivering her messages. By the time she'd gotten through half the list, most of the day had sped by, for the recipients weren't content to merely take the message without a flurry of questions. Perhaps a slightly saner person might have decided on a brief break, but Sentenza was nothing if not committed to delivering her friends' messages as quickly as possible. The sooner their friends and co-workers knew where those 'bots had gone, the better, and the quicker she could get her little break with Camber in before setting to work on another important assignment. But by the time she'd rammed through to the last two targets on the list, evening had arrived. Sentenza knew better than to risk faffing about in the dark, especially now that Counterforce wasn't there to help like usual.

So Sentenza made good on her deal: she stopped by Macadam's Old Oil House, purchased a few cubes of hers and Cambers favorite flavors, and huddled up inside her apartment for the night. She had quite a bit of catching up to do with her old landlady, and long stories were always best told over shared drinks. And she didn't bother to spare details. That would have been unfair to her. Camber was one of the best friends she had, alongside Elixar and Counterforce himself; the gossipy but sweet-sparked old femme been with her from the start of her career. She deserved to know – everything.

"My goodness," she gasped as she finished. Then came a chuckle, "I'd say ye have a knack for getting in well over yer head, but I've known that for years. And I'm glad about you-know-what with you-know-who," she winked. "I told ye ye'd wind up together! And both Relkana! Who'd have thought, aye?"

She laughed. Who'd have thought indeed.

"D'you wanna see it?" she asked.

"Your weapon? Mercy! May I?"

Sentenza drew the new weapon and let Camber hold it. The reverence in her old optics elicited a smile.

"Beautiful! Absolutely stunning," the old femme breathed. "That's a forge-femme's handiwork, that is. But what do those glyphs say?"

Sentenza would have blushed were she able to. She knew what they said: let the halves become whole again, so Perseverance may shine its fiercest. She had thought it meant the weapon at first, but now she was convinced it referred to Counterforce. Fitting, she thought, that she had a weapon made of two halves – not unlike herself.

Camber gingerly handed it back. "So what's yer next move, then? Go back to work as if nothing's changed?"

Sentenza hesitated. "I hope to eventually. But I've got an assignment that needs doing. I need to find the Grey Ghost."

The old femme's optics widened and brightened. "The Ghost? What do ye want with 'im?"

"Someone told me he could help."

"Well, unless yer a new-built sparking caught in a bad storm or about to be eaten by scraplets I'm not sure what help he could offer," hemmed Camber pensively.

"That's what I told him," she answered, dryly smirking. "But I've been told not to let appearances deceive with him. Trustworthy source."

"Hm. That's brushing aside the trouble of finding him." Camber leaned back in her seat to hem. "The Guard's been trying to for a long time and they can never quite pin him. All they really know for sure is he operates somewhere outside the Kaon/Iacon region. And I do mean somewhere, miss. He does seem to travel around quickly and often. He's been reported outside Altihex and Tyrex, too, I know, though that was years and years ago, mind ye."

Her landlady's words gave Sentenza an idea. If the Grey Ghost was only interested in helping the helpless out of a dangerous scenario, then she wouldn't need to go looking for him. She would use that impulse to bring him to her. She would need to first determine what city exactly he was lurking outside, and that could be answered by simply asking around. Her Network kept track of the Ghost's movements and activities the same as the Guard did, so if she could overlap coinciding sightings (or rumors) from both parties, she'd have him. Once she knew that, she could find appropriate bait.

Sentenza rose, rushed to her console, and set about sending inquiries. While waiting for responses, she could deliver the last message over in Praxus. Colchis wouldn't mind 'bridging her over, she hoped.

She asked Camber to watch her room (and her console for any replies) and quickly flew off to the Hydrax Plateau. Colchis had no problem quickly sending her over to Praxus, whereupon she made a bee line for the Praxian Colonial Embassy. There, at one of the front desks, she found a femme not too dissimilar in appearance from Counterforce: gold and silver, rather humble in appearance, but she lacked the bird-like aesthetic he had and looked more like a standard Pre-War model. So, awkwardly, Sentenza tapped on the desk to get her attention.

"Oh! Hello there," the femme greeted warmly. "Can I help you with something? You don't look like a colonial..."

"You're Evenstride, right? Counterforce's Guardian?"

"I am she. Is something the matter? I haven't heard from him in a while now."

Sentenza awkwardly looked around. "Is there someplace private we can talk?"

Evenstride gestured her towards her office behind the desk. She shut the door behind them both.

Evenstride took most of the news with the same thoughtful calm Counterforce always did, but on being told the more "private" news a smile bloomed.

"So you're Sentenza, then!" she exclaimed. "I was beginning to wonder when he'd introduce me, the way he went on and on about you. It's good to meet you finally."

"You don't have a problem adding me to your little list of relations?"

"Having Kaon's most respected detective as a relation by bond? Of course not!" the elder femme chuckled.

Sentenza nearly heaved a sigh of relief. She'd been so worried about what Counterforce's single Guardian might say to her, as a Kaonian with a...reputation for playing pretty fast and loose with the law, which didn't tend to be looked on favorably by Praxians. In hindsight, maybe she shouldn't have been so worried. Counterforce had to have learned his trademark open-minded patience from someone; who else but his Guardian? Commander Aegis had merely served as a sounding board for a trait he'd developed early on.

"I'd ask you out for a little walk about town, to get to know each other better, but I get the sense you're busy at the moment," she smiled.

Sentenza winced. "Am I that bad at hiding it?"

"Don't feel too bad," chuckled Evenstride. "Most Kaonians I've met are like that. Don't think of it as a fault. I find it refreshingly honest."

Sentenza meekly smiled.

[Miss! Ye've got some replies!]

"Already?" she answered into her comm. link. "That was faster than I thought."

"You're working a case?" guessed Evenstride whilst wearing that same, almost unnervingly knowing smile that Counterforce sometimes wore.

"Kind of. Is it alright if I call it here for now? This is kind of urgent."

"Of course. Don't let me slow you down. Here's my comm. frequency for when you have some spare time, and for if you ever need any assistance from me."

The black Seeker accepted, added the frequency, and sprinted back out of the building. One call to Colchis saw her back in Kaon, and eventually back at her apartment where Camber was busy parsing through the replies. There were over a dozen so far, with more pinging in even as she watched. When Camber heard her approach, she dutifully stepped aside to let her keep parsing. Sentenza put an algorithm in to sort through sightings or rumors that were too old to be accurate, which filtered out about half. From there, she sorted by hand to separate rumors from actual reported sightings. Once those were found and isolated, she jotted the information down and went and did the same process for the Guard reports Ultra Magnus had sent her.

"Anything?" wondered Camber curiously.

She stayed silent and kept working. In the end, she managed to pin down where the Ghost had most recently been sighted: outside her very city.

Counterforce might have termed that Fate. Sentenza was content to label it a happy stroke of luck.

"Got him," she smirked.

"Well, off ye go, then!" urged her landlady excitedly.

Sentenza rushed off to arrange the proper bait for the Ghost. She wouldn't dare endanger an actual new-build, but there were some slightly older sparklings in Kaon who would probably be thrilled to help her. To find them, she went to a Foundling Home near her residence and asked the 'bots in charge if one of their number would be alright with volunteering for a little gig she needed help with. As expected, when the 'bots in charged posed that question to their charges, well over a dozen hands eagerly shot up as the younglings begged her to "Pick me! Pick me!"

Out of the group, she selected a particularly tiny sparkling mech that she felt would be irresistible to the Ghost. After providing a solemn promise to keep the youngling out of any actual danger, the 'bots in charge allowed her to take him. Rather than carry him, she let him ride on her shoulder.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Brimstone!"

"Oh, a tough guy name. And a tough guy is exactly what I need for this," she winked.

Brimstone smiled jubilantly at her. "For what?"

"I need you to put on a little act for me, Brimstone. Can you do that?"

"Yeah!"

"Awesome! Because I need you to get the Grey Ghost's attention for me."

The sparkling's already large optics widened to positively owlish proportions. "Th' Ghost? Cool!"

She was secretly thankful he didn't barrage her with further questions. She didn't really have any answers. She didn't even know why Optimus had told her to find this mysterious mech in the first place, or why he had given her a code phrase to tell him – a code phrase that itself seemed rather mundane to her. It wasn't even that difficult to remember: Third floor, isle eight, room twelve. Entry code four-zero-sixteen-three. It sounded like just a room location and a code to open it; she used much more complicated code phrases among members of her own Network. But Optimus had said the phrase with such emphasis.

Once outside the building, she transformed and let the sparkling hop aboard, whereupon she launched into the air and headed out into the vast flat-lands outside her city. It took some searching to find something she could use: a narrow ravine, one of the many natural cracks in the planet that led down into the interior, if one followed them deeply enough. She flew down only a few hundred meters into it and let the sparkling hop off onto a narrow ledge.

"Now what?" Brimstone demanded eagerly.

"Okay, put your hands on that ledge and dangle yourself off it."

Brimstone quickly did as told.

"You've got a good grip?"

"Yeah!"

"Alright. Now, give me your best panicked shriek. One, two, three, go!"

She had to admit that Brimstone's panicked shriek was pretty convincing, and the acoustics of the ravine served to carry it up and out. Below, she thought she heard the planet's low chugging sounds intensify, or maybe it was just the ravine's acoustics making the otherwise quiet, innocuous sounds of the living planet louder.

"Keep it up! You're doing great!"

The sparkling paused briefly to giggle softly. "This is fun!" He thus returned to his little theater act.

She only hoped the Ghost was near enough to hear him. She wasn't too worried though. All the reports said he seemed to be able to find endangered sparklings no matter where they were or where he was in relation to them, almost like he was drawn to or could sense them somehow. She just hoped that reported ability still applied when the sparkling was faking their helplessness.

Far above, the roar of an engine caught her attention. A thud followed it. Sentenza barely had time to cloak before a great grey form as big as Optimus leaned over the ravine's edge to look. On spotting the "helpless" Brimstone dangling from the ledge, the figure transformed again into a bizarre, nightmarish spacecraft and flew down to help. He flew so close to her cloaked form that she saw the true oddity of him: he wasn't made purely of metal – what looked like stone was fused to his frame. She thought it perhaps an odd means of cloaking. Stone was fairly good at blocking energy readings, as she'd discovered on Earth. But the Ghost had never been on Earth. How would he know that?

"Here. Get on."

Brimstone made to jump to his new ride. His little head suddenly swiveled away towards the opposite canyon wall, having heard an unmistakable noise: whirring.

"Uh..."

Sentenza only then noticed a hole where he was looking, full of large lavender-colored eyes.

She nearly swore aloud.

Scraplets! She'd put him near a scraplet nest! Frack, she should've checked more closely first! His act must have agitated them!

"Help!" Brimstone shrieked.

Two dozen of the voracious pests flew out at him. Not knowing what else to do, Brimstone jumped at where he thought she was, but misjudged and plummeted deeper into the ravine, screaming.

The Grey Ghost reacted even faster than she did. He plunged after the sparkling like a stone dropped into a high-gravity well, streaking right past her position so fast the air currents he trailed made her wobble. He transformed, caught the terrified sparkling, and transformed again around him. Despite his size, he somehow managed to stop his own fall extremely quickly by firing his thrusters and spinning around like an acrobat before rocketing back up as if he'd been fired from a slingshot. Sentenza flew after him and the two dozen scraplets chasing him while she herself desperately wished her aircraft mode had built-in blasters.

On reaching the surface again, she was forced to transform, split her scythe in half, and start slicing. Close range was never ideal for killing scraplets, but it was all she currently had, it was more than enough. All it took was one well-aimed swing to cleave the little vermin in half, though her efforts seemed to trigger the scraplets to focus on her. One particularly greedy scraplet managed to chomp through some of her leg armor before she grabbed it, partially crushed it in her hand, and flung it back down into the ravine to rust.

She kept slicing through them. She wasn't the only one though – a crude mining pick impaled one scraplet that got a little too near to Brimstone. Another was swatted by a clawed hand so hard its rounded face was caved in.

"Protect the sparkling!" the Ghost barked.

Sentenza fell back to let Brimstone shelter behind her heelstrut. Oddly enough, the scraplets, while still aggressive, didn't act too interested in chowing down on the Ghost like they were with her. They merely attacked him. She wondered if that had to do with that bizarre stony armor of his; scraplets were only ever hungry for living metal, not minerals.

In a few minutes, the voracious swarm was slain. One that wasn't quite dead yet tried in a last ditch effort to crawl towards Brimstone, only to be smashed flat by one of the Ghost's hefty trods.

Sentenza fused the two halves of Cursebite back into one weapon.

"Are you alright, kid?" she asked him.

"That was awesome!" gawked Brimstone.

Sentenza knelt to give the little sparkling a high-five. "Thanks for the help. I'll call one of Predakings boys to take you home."

She put act to word, sending out a distress ping to any nearby Well Guardians. One, an unusual serpentine cat, came running from the east almost the instant the ping went out; he had to have been in the vicinity on patrol. He let Brimstone hop onto his back and took off back towards Kaon. He'd certainly have a tale to tell his friends back at the Home.

The black Seeker thusly found herself under the scrutiny of the towering Grey Ghost. Up close and in biped, he was even odder to behold. The rocky armor additions clashed strangely with the deep grey metal of his frame. A set of back-facing horns made of the same rocky armor plate swept back from his head. But there was something else odd about him too: on his chest was a strange, pulsing star burst symbol that unnervingly reminded her of the pulsing purple crest of the Corrupticons.

"What help?" the Ghost growled at her accusingly. "What did you put that sparkling up to?"

"I needed to get your attention, that's all. Maybe if you weren't such a hard guy to find we could have avoided that little mess."

"You willfully endangered a child simply to attract me here?" he snarled.

"No!" she protested. "The scraplet thing was an accident!"

The Ghost's growl became louder. He turned on his heelstruts and walked off. Sentenza trotted after him. He didn't take notice of her for a few breems.

"Why do you bother me?" he finally asked. "What do you want?"

She caught up to him and matched his stride. "I was told you could help me."

Red optics glanced back at her. "Who told you that absurdity?"

"Optimus Prime."

Hands whirled and gripped her throat so fast she barely registered the lunge preceding it. She was lifted off the ground, squirming.

"You think this a joke?" the great grey mech snarled. "What right do you have to mock the dead in my presence?!"

"I'm not mocking!" she gasped. "I'm telling the truth!"

His grip tightened, "Then I suggest you prove that quickly."

"Third floor, Isle eight, room twelve. Entry code four-zero-sixteen-three," she managed to squeeze out.

The great grey mech's red optics went round. His grip slackened so quickly that he dropped her. Sentenza knelt on the ground gasping and massaging her aching neck. Holy slag, and she had thought Breakline had the meanest vice grip on all of Cybertron. The Ghost's vice grip could have crushed a diamond visor. She counted herself lucky he hadn't snapped her head off.

"He...told you that? He spoke to you?" wondered the grey mech in a soft voice.

She nodded, "He told me to find you because he thinks you can help me."

He eyed her suspiciously, "Help you with what?"

She drew her weapon and held it out to him. The blue and white glyphs on the red blade hummed near him in an unpleasant way. Just like Camber, he was unable to read the glyphs. The Ghost, confused, looked at her for an explanation.

"I am atvyen ki relkan," she told him. "The new Blade of Perseverance. I humbly ask to become your student, to learn to control my powers."

"No," he said flatly, and turned to leave.

"Hey, nuh-uh! You don't get to turn your back on me!"

"I can and I will," he said, not even glancing back.

"He said you would help me!"

"He spoke falsely. Find someone else."

Infuriated, she dashed towards him, extended the scythe, and swung it. The blade came to rest right in front of his neck. He paused a split second before it could touch his throat.

"Teach me," she demanded.

He glanced back at her. For a second she thought she'd gone too far. There was a gleam in his red optics that made her uncomfortable.

"I know your reputation, detective. I know countless individuals respect and fear you in turn. But I am not one of them, and I will not teach you."

"Why?!" she hissed. "Because I made an honest mistake?!"

He spun back at her. "Because the last time I took an apprentice, a war broke out that left millions dead! And he was an ordinary individual until he was named Prime. You are Relkana, you say? Then you are gifted with power I cannot fully comprehend. I shudder to think of the consequences in your case. You are a terrible risk I am not willing to entertain. Now begone. Leave me be."

Her anger sputtered out. The scythe was lowered.

"I understand your concern," she said softly, "but please, you may be my only chance. He wouldn't have sent me to you if he didn't trust you not to repeat history."

"I said no. That is final."

He took off. She let him get a decent start and then took off after him cloaked.

They flew for some time out in the empty lands beyond and between the cities. Finally, near a small stream of Energon tucked into a shallow ravine, he spiraled down to the ground, transformed, and started to walk. She couldn't see anything from the air, but once on the ground with him she saw where he was headed: there was an entrance to the underground hidden away at the base of the ravine, natural but obviously artificially enlarged to accommodate his greater size.

She followed him in, surprised to find the place very bare-bones. The only light came from a storm lantern crudely hung from the ceiling. A berth had been set up in the corner, some storage units for Energon were carved into the walls, while some hooks on another well held mining picks. That was it. Aside from some tunnels that led deeper in there was nothing of note in the little lair. It made the salvage yard look downright luxurious.

It was then her turn to have a weapon, a mining pick, aimed at her neck.

"Drop your cloak," growled the Ghost.

She obeyed, crossed her arms, and stared him down through an imperious glare.

"You truly are persistent, aren't you?" he harrumphed, aggressively annoyed but perhaps somewhat impressed. "I already told you no. Why do you insist on bothering me still?"

Sentenza casually leaned onto one hip, and stared him down boldly.

"Most 'bots know better than to tell me 'No' and no one's ever been dumb enough to tell me that directly to my face," she warned him frankly. "Those who do regret it very quickly. You said you know who I am. You said you know my reputation. Then you also know what I can do to you. I have contacts. I can dredge up every dirty little secret about you. All I have to do is give the order and my helpers will start digging. Now, knowing that, do you wanna tell me 'No' again or actually be reasonable?"

His optics narrowed to glower at her. "Are you threatening me, detective?" he growled.

"It's not a threat. It's a promise. Either you take me in like he said you would or I ruin your life. What'll it be?"

He frowned, "I do not like your attitude, detective."

"Deal with it," she grunted back.

"An apprentice should at least show a modicum of respect for their teacher."

She blinked. "Wait. You'll...you're accepting?"

"I do not appear to have a choice in the matter," he answered dryly, shrugging.

She bowed. "Thank you."

"Better," he nodded. "Are you going to apologize for the threat, as well?"

"Nope," she smirked. "Consider that leverage for you to keep your end of the deal."

He frowned and turned away from her to put the pick in his hand back on a wall hook. He promptly took another mining tool off the wall, sat, and began to sharpen it.

She allowed her sight to wander around the painfully minimalist chamber. Everything in it appeared to have been made by hand and, while crude, she couldn't deny there was skill on display. He knew how to make do and survive with what he had better than she did. But the bare-bones, single-room chamber made her think more of a temporary shelter than any permanent dwelling. Yet, any usual indicators for transience weren't there. The hooks were welded firmly to the walls. The berth and wall shelves had been too carefully made. The mining equipment was almost tenderly cared for and free of rust and damages.

"This is...where you live?" she wondered, idly tapping the lantern above and letting it swing a little.

He did not look at her as he answered. "At one point in my life I would have been content with nothing short of a palace. Now..." he paused his task to look around, "this feels appropriate. I end where I began, somehow worse off than I was at the start. Optimus would appreciate the poetic irony, no doubt. It might even make him laugh. That would be a first."

"Poetic irony?"

He glanced over at her, surprised. "For someone as well-informed as you are, I am amazed at your ignorance."

"Hey, well-informed doesn't mean omniscient. I don't pry into someone unless I've got reason to. You never gave me or anyone else any problems, so," she shrugged, "I didn't bother prying into your past, only your activities. Your activities paint you as a decent enough person. I've met worse 'bots than you."

"...I am not certain whether to thank you for your discretion...or laugh at your naivety. Did he not tell you who I am? My hands are stained by the blood of millions. Any who survived the Great War remember my name in either deep-seated hatred or terror. My name will ever be synonymous with death, destruction, and war."

She did not offer an answer. Something in his tone even made the Nightdemon squirm, though not in fear or unease – more like bloodthirsty respect. Sentenza quickly offered it a psychic swat and told it to stay out of this. Hissing, the curse capitulated and retreated to the backwaters of her psyche.

The Grey Ghost rose and approached to tower over her. Red optics burned into her.

"I am Megatron."

"Oh, a fellow gigantic screw-up, then," she snarked wryly, holding a hand out. "Nice to meet you."

Megatron jolted at her response and stared at the offered limb in puzzled bewilderment. Eventually, almost hesitantly, he shook hands with her.

"So, what's your first lesson for me, teach?" she asked through a playful smile.

"A subject you clearly need a remedial course on: history."

"I'm perfectly up to date on history, thank you very much," she huffed. "If that's all you're going to do, I'll just go get a history datapad from the Hall of Records."

The look he gave her for her comment would have made Charity nervously squeak. Instead, Sentenza sighed and rolled her yellow optics. But she was intrigued nonetheless. Megatron was probably one of the oldest 'bots on the planet aside from Ratchet; he was around long before the War ever started. Maybe he knew stuff that the history texts didn't. Many historical records had been obliterated during the sacking of Iacon near the end of the War on Cybertron, destroyed by the very Decepticons he had commanded. But who was to say Megatron didn't remember any of what he'd wrecked? She had met some War Era Decepticons who had said he had a mind devious and cunning, quite unbefitting of a supposedly brutish gladiator.

"For one, you must know why he sent you to me. You will not find that in any historical records. I made the Autobots swear not to document that, to prevent others from making the same mistake I did."

Sentenza made herself comfy on his berth, folded her hands behind her head, and told him, "Oooh, classified intel, huh? Enlighten me, then."

"...Get off my berth, detective."

"You're not using it," she argued lightly. "I get the sense you're about to lecture me, so I might as well get comfy. It's not like you have any other place for me to sit in here, Mr. Minimalism."

Megatron gritted his denta, massaged his temples, and sighed. "This is your revenge on me, isn't it, Pax?" he mumbled. "Out of all the students you could possibly give me, you give me an insufferable little malapert..."

Sentenza grinned.


Megatron finished his little histoire grim-faced. Sentenza, by contrast, was open-mouthed and speechless.

"You...you're like me?" she gasped. "You're cursed too? I thought I was the only one..."

He frowned. "Not in the same way, I expect."

The grey mech took a pick and lightly punctured his wrist. Rather than blue, purple seeped out. Funny, he thought. He could not feel the injury. He couldn't feel most injuries, really, after Unicron had so forcibly warped his body. Whether that was simply part of his own curse or because his nervous system was so damaged from the reformatting he couldn't say.

Sentenza's hand went for her weapon. "...You're a Corrupticon."

"...A what?"

She explained.

"No. I am not one of them. Though perhaps I would be, if not for Optimus intervening. As a final act, he severed Unicron's tie to me, granting my autonomy back. A cruel twist of fate, then, that a life-saver should die and a life-ender should live. Not that I call this sorry state of being 'living' of course," he muttered. "Unicron is nothing if not violently petty. I would have liked to eventually see him again, to beg him to forgive me for my actions, but the Chaos-Bringer cursed me to never be able to join the Allspark again. The moment I fall offline, he will drag me into the dark, and I don't doubt he will gleefully torment me for daring to defy him not once but multiple times. And so I remain in exile. I help when I can while remaining in hiding, unable to live a normal life or die a normal death."

Sentenza winced. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't be. I frankly deserve such a miserable fate, after foolishly using Dark Energon for so long, and for committing countless foul atrocities against my own people. At least that fate would mean I would not have to face the millions of sparks I prematurely snuffed. Silver lining, I suppose."

"You thought using that stuff would give you an edge. All it did was screw you over in the end," she said.

"Indeed."

Sentenza, to his relief, changed the subject: "Okay, but...why the code phrase? Why was that proof Optimus had sent me to you? That seemed kind of, I dunno, arbitrary to me?"

His frown became a wry smirk. "Because he is the only one who knew both the room number and the pass-code to unlock the door. Other than me, of course."

"Door?"

"The door to the private study room in the Hall of Records where we met to discuss our society's failings, and how we might mend them."

Sentenza laughed. "That's almost adorable. You two had a secret meeting place to plot your little revolution."

For once in a long time, he managed a genuine smile. "I could tell you about it another time. I expect someone like you would enjoy knowing that an otherwise mild-mannered archivist had a rebellious streak in him. For now, you are my main concern. Tell me of your curse, detective. I know of the Relkana, but only insofar as the fragmentary legends they appeared in. I will endeavor to find some way to help you, as Optimus wants. I never did get the opportunity to repay his act before..."

"Thanks, Megs."

"Do not be so quick to thank me," he grunted. "I still think this is foolish of him. You had better be worth the trouble...and do not call me 'Megs' ever again, detective, are we clear?"

"Loud and clear, Ghostie," the detective casually saluted.

Megatron groaned again. "Insufferable little..."

Sentenza smirked.


So, again, I kinda have to leave Season 2 here until I have the rewrite finished. Don't worry. I'll still be updating FoY and some of the NotB mini-series.
Edit: Added a little more.