Reconnaissance work had been her forte at the height of the war, her size and speed giving her all the best tools to slip in and out of places unnoticed. She had later used the skills she'd honed to act as an undercover operative, though her success had quickly become a detriment. After the capture of several Decepticon operations, the tyrant's spymasters had worked tirelessly to identify the recurring element between them all – said element being her – thus her time in the field had been short lived. Yet even now, several millennia later, she could still remember all she'd been taught, all she'd learned during her brief tenure.

Slipping the mask back into place came with an odd mixture of nostalgia and bitterness, the irony of the task not lost on her. Deceiving a Decepticon... it had once brought her a thrill, a sense of pride to walk among them and play a part... now it only felt dirty. But, she reminded herself, it was part of the craft, and to perfect this skill one needed to separate themselves from their feelings. All that mattered was the end goal, and whatever steps needed to be taken to reach said goal were necessary. Did it make them less detestable? No. However it did serve as a reminder that what she was doing was ultimately for the greater good... or in this case, reprieve from this wretched prison.

She played the part well, allowing only minute resistance that was quick to be quashed with a sharp word, and even that small shred of stubbornness she made sure to steadily taper off until it was nonexistent. Resistance was replaced with fearful, tentative responses and gestures.

Though, her guilty conscience was quick to remind her that the fear wasn't an act. It was genuine, deep rooted and ever present. The whole reason she was taking this route and not continuing to rail against his every command was because of that fear. She could try to tell herself it was the most effective way out, and while that may have been true, it still went against everything she'd once stood for as a proud Autobot. She was a coward, not fit to continue to fight alongside her remaining comrades... she deserved the end she knew was coming. She wanted it. And that... that was the thought that continued to fuel her. She wanted oblivion. No more shadows of the past haunting her. No more living with her shame. No more anything. She was just... too tired.

And time slipped on meaninglessly around her, every placating gesture and simpering nod bringing her one step closer to the end. The warmonger told her often how pleased he was with her 'progress', reminding her that this was her 'place'.

'My place...' she thought bitterly. Some sad little trophy of war, a prize he could flash to remind everyone around him of his victory. She had always been viewed as one of the coldest of the Autobot faction, it was no secret to her. She'd heard the whispers from all sides... 'Team Prime's ray of sunshine'. The war had not been kind to anyone, it was true, but she had once been so different, so open and welcoming... and then she started losing them... anyone who got too close. After awhile... she'd simply grown tired of letting them in... letting them get close. Every time she did it cost her another piece of her spark. So she put up walls... her warm nature wilting, leaving her cold and aloof. It had earned her a bit of a reputation, though not the most flattering one. She hadn't cared. It had served as her shield for so long... made her seem fearless and unshakable. Clearly this was untrue. And he viewed this as an accomplishment. He had succeeded in breaking through that impassible shell, reducing her to this shameful, shivering husk of her former battle hardened glory. The dauntless soldier was gone, and all that was left was a frightened little femme that he toted around like a Primus-be-damned accessory.

'It doesn't matter,' she reminded herself. 'None of it will matter when it's all said and done. Let him think he's won... and take a small sliver of contentment in knowing you'll have taken that satisfaction from him in the end.'

Their chief medic had kept her in peak condition at Megatron's command, and he was quick to remind her that it could all change in an instant should she revert back to her old ways. She knew the old Arcee would laugh and spit in his face... but all she could do was nod and remind herself that it would serve her ultimate purpose. She would need to be in the best possible shape to potentially evade capture when it came time to make her final stand. Maybe she could even take a few of them out with her... she didn't need her blasters to kill a Con. That thought almost made her smile... almost. She was careful to hide it though. She had no reason to smile, and doing so might make those around her suspicious. She couldn't have that.

So she came when he called her. Nodded or shook her helm when he spoke to her. Reciprocated when he touched her, letting herself imagine she was scouring his massively armoured frame for weaknesses, thin seams where she could slip a blade up and into the pliant mesh beneath and into fuel lines and circuitry. The notion of watching him drain out gave her this sick little measure of happiness... though it was fleeting, for she knew it was a fantasy.

Megatron was addressing her again, she realized, pulling herself from her musings. He had her braced against his chassis, her digits tracing the outline of the insignia mounted at the center of his cuirass.

"You've been doing so well... come, I have something for you."

She paused her ministrations, dread filling her at the promise. She never knew what to expect when he 'gifted' her with something. Additional energon rations... or the severed helm of another friend? She could never be sure.

She could only brace herself as he rose, spark hammering as he placed her on her pedes. A servo larger than her own but far smaller than his gripped her by the collar and ushered her forward. She obliged without issue, following the sound of Megatron's unmistakable gait. The tyrants steps were thunderous, but his pace was unhurried as they traversed the passageways throughout his fortress. She could hear the approach of others, though their conversation ended abruptly when they caught sight of their Lord, and she could envision the way they would remove themselves from his path. When Knockout's smooth greeting reached her audio processor and other, distinct sounds became apparent, she knew she was back at the med bay.

"How might I serve, my liege?"

There was a pause, and her tanks churned as she wondered what was happening around her. The only thing she knew for certain was that he was looking at her, she could feel his gaze, felt nearly crushed beneath the weight of it.

"Reconnect her optical circuitry. It's been long enough."

The words filled her with hope and fear. Her shock must have shown on her features, as he knelt and placed a talon under her chin, tilting her helm up.

"Am I not generous?"

She was glad her optics were not yet online, lest he catch her rolling them. Instead she forced herself to nod once, limbs shaking with anticipation as he stepped away and she was guided up and onto the berth. One step closer.

Writing Megatron in this is so interesting. Here I am, clacking away, thinking to myself 'wow this guy is a massive, terrible narcissist', and its just an odd all around experience because its fascinating to get into that headspace, but also awful. And thinking about how there are people who actually behave this way in real life... *brain kersplodes*