C.M.D: Been a while since I wrote another chapter to this. And... uh... I'll say right now, it ain't going to be a pleasant ride. Uncensored version on Archive.
"Don't you have work to return to?"
Soundwave glanced down at the mech held securely at his side as they walked along the estate corridor, mild concern vanishing at the sight of those cerulean optics glittering up at him in mirth. "Importance: here," he replied, squeezing the servo wrapped around his larger forearm.
Tracks chuckled softly, tapping the lily he held in the other servo against the councilor's battle mask. "I think you're just being lazy," he teased kindly.
The Decepticon couldn't deny that a part of him was perhaps was being a little tarry, but who could blame him? Reports and accounting were dull things when held in comparison to Tracks. And oh, was the multi-coloured mech a sight to witness. He paused in their stride, carefully unwinding the questioning Autobot from his arm and spinning him in place slowly for his optics to feast upon. "Status: watching labourers till craggy ground is a blight when I may spend the afternoon watching you," he announced.
White wings fluttered at the statement, scattering pearls of light about as it reflected off the inlaid diamonds on the golden thread decorating his plating. "But my Lord," he began coyly, twirling once more of his own volition, "You have already spent the morning studying my every move."
The lily was brushing under his chin this time, bringing a rumble forth from the blue mech. He could hear the unspoken words of affection and lust echoing in the other's helm; thoughts that mimicked his own. He moved forward and at once, Tracks danced away, facing Soundwave with a playful look. How his hips swayed from side to side, flaring his white and gold skirts, pedesteps soft and flower covering his smirking mouth painted an image of the telepath chasing down his own nymph. Alas, Soundwave corrected in amusement as he bounded forward suddenly, spinning the slave towards one of the window pillars, true nymphs were a lot harder to catch.
Backstruts braced against the marble column, Tracks looked up from between his master's arms, optics dimming sultrily as servos were laid on the taller mech's chassis. "Caught me again," he purred, enticing the Decepticon closer.
"Tracks: a magnet for my spark," Soundwave replied, leaning in as the Autobot laughed. He was just about to bury his face into the open neck when his optics noticed movement in the garden on the other side of the window; a servant freezing in place at the sight of the two entwined, before the other mech turned and scurried away. As the councilor contemplated withdrawing from his siren, he sensed the surrounding staff moving further away from the pair, granting the telepath and the slave absolute privacy. Not a soul remained in the hallway or any other adjacent to it.
Soundwave shuttered his optics in astonishment at the directive taken upon themselves by his staff, finding his face gently pulled around to meet Tracks after an astrosecond. "Is everything alright, Soundwave?," the multi-coloured mech asked, the flirtatious gleam gone from his optics, replaced with one of concern instead.
He had been lost in thought too long, the Decepticon realized. He pressed his face firmly into the servos cupping his cheekvents, venting gently in contrite. "Apologies: Was worried about Tracks' honour. Status: Did not wish to proceed unless we were truly alone."
The Autobot stiffened at the unexpected response, one palm pulling the blue mech closer while the other slid around the councilor's bending neck. "I'm afraid I don't have much chastity left for you to fret over," the sensual vocalizer was saying, blue optics deepening as a spell was cast for his willing victim, "But let's not debate that, my love. Pray tell, what is the status of our audience?"
Soundwave found himself pressing the winged slave into the pillar again, their frames melded everywhere but at the mouth. A travesty that he aimed to correct, as he clipped his mask free and slid it awkwardly into his slash with one servo. "Audience: absent," he replied, before diving and colliding with soft lip components eagerly.
It felt as though his spark would burn itself through his own chestplates, lust roiling through his energon lines as the temptress' slender frame pushed ever closer, teasing nips drawing the other's glossa out to twine with his own while servos grasped and slid over satin and cotton. For a klik, he allowed Tracks to direct where the touches went or how hard they pressed, before the telepath decided to yank the reins out from his beautiful succubus' fingers. He tore away as the kiss weakened momentarily, drawing the flat of his glossa over a white wing, his denta wrapping around its delicate edge astroseconds after. The Autobot cried out in pleasure, his stalling intakes just more incentive for Soundwave. He followed the line of the wing down to his lover's chassis, biting a trail across the exposed neck cables to the wing on the other side, where he picked up his former assault. In the meantime, he used this distraction to hike Tracks' skirts upwards and as soon as he heard that tell-tale click from the writhing slave, the councilor dove... down and under the robe that he had lifted in the first place.
"S-soundwave, what-?!," was all Tracks managed to get out.
"W-wait, please, my Lord is under prepared to-" The servant's loud pleading was cut off by a strange gurgling, Megatron's bellow echoing through the estate.
"Soundwave! Where-"
"How foul!," Starscream's vocalizer shrieked out as the Emperor and his entourage turned into the corridor just then, Soundwave scrambling onto his pedes at once, his mask hastily snapped into place. "Digging your glossa into-"
"That's enough, Starscream," Megatron growled out, sending the commander a glare.
Soundwave would have made his own animosity known to the magenta mech, if he was not currently overwhelmed by crippling nausea. To be found in an intimate embrace... by anyone, but especially his warlord... The councilor wanted nothing more than to curl up in the deepest, darkest hole available on the planet. He noted that Tracks still stood beside himself -skirts smoothed back into place, helm lowered and turned partially away from the sudden crowd- and with a low flick of his servo, Soundwave released the slave from staying. He did not mind when the Autobot quickly exited from the way they had originally come, merely wished he could join him in his escape.
"I see you're still making plenty use of that one even during his gravidity," Megatron began again, his faceplates neutral as he studied the smaller Decepticon. "Shockwave apologizes for the mess in the other room. Your servant -though I suppose well-intended- was still... mouthy."
"Hm. Yes. Sorry about him," Shockwave piped in dully, at a sweep of the grey mech's servo. It did not escape Soundwave's notice how he was sliding an energon-streaked dagger back out of sight.
"I can't believe you're all just standing here, gossiping like courtesans, while the mute still has that mess on his chin," Starscream complained nasally, a servo held loosely over his mouth as he mock-retched. "I think I just might purge!"
"Green is really not a good colour on you, Starscream," the cyclops remarked off-handedly.
The winged Decepticon whirled around to face the assassin, face contorted in rage and clawed fingers flexed in warning. "How dare you insinuate-?!"
"I said enough!," Megatron barked, turning to face his two subordinates. Starscream had the decency to take a flinching step back from the warlord, his usually arrogant expression traded for one of fear, while Shockwave bowed his helm in deference to his Emperor. A black servo grasping the large broadsword strapped to his back, the grey mech directed his next words to the telepath, all while his attention remained glued to his other servants. "Soundwave, we have much to discuss but I grant you this klik to clean yourself up from your affair. Be assured I will find you after to begin this conversation; any attempts to postpone and the punishment will be most severe. I am not one to be denied."
Soundwave reset his vocalizer, managing a servile "Yes, my Master," through clenching neck cables before he spun about and hurried out of the hallway next. His legs wanted to keep carrying him faster and faster out of the villa and miles away from the city -instead, he got as far as his berthroom, slamming the door shut before hunching over the nearest table, racked with trembles.
"...i-is he gone? Are you hurt?," Tracks spoke up.
The councilor was ashamed to admit that he nearly knocked the table over in his fright, awkwardly resetting it before meeting the Autobot half-way. Crushing the smaller mech to his frame, Soundwave was loathe to release Tracks, but did so as worry grew in the other's processor. "Answer: Negative," the telepath vented out, nuzzling into the palms as they flitted across his face again. "Status: Emperor sent away temporarily to clean up."
The slender fingers flinched in remembrance, a look of disgust and shame washing over the slave. "...I-i... To think he s-saw us that way...," Tracks swallowed sharply, seeming as though he would purge his tanks. He cycled a shaky intake, managing to overcome his revulsion as he turned away to collect a wash basin; all the same, Soundwave knew that the image of Megatron, staring him down with his piercing optics, hung like a ghoul in the back of the winged mech's mind.
"Did he say why he'd come?," the Autobot asked, removing the blue mech's mask as he returned to his side.
Soundwave shook his helm shortly, holding still so that Tracks could wipe at his exposed face. "Status: Was unaware he had even returned from his trip," he replied, watching as the slave hurried to scrub the battle mask next. Towelling it dry against his own robes, Tracks was just returning it to the Decepticon's servos when there came an unnatural snarl from outside the room.
"Ravage!," the slave gasped, running for the lounge before Soundwave could stop him.
Spark whirling in a panic, the councilor threw his mask back on and rushed for the doorway, pausing as he saw the broadsword bite into the tiled floor- inches away from Tracks' exposed leg. Trembling vividly, the slave did his best to keep his gaze lowered from the warlord looming over him as he bodily held the hissing Ravage at bay; his terrified optics kept sliding back to the broadsword instead, a swathe of white silk in tatters around the blade's buried edge.
Megatron shuttered his optics coolly at the kneeling slave, bypassing the spitting beast struggling to lunge for the grey mech and gazing towards Soundwave, halted in the doorway to his quarters uncertainly. "Another exotic specimen, Soundwave? I never took you for such a collector," he smirked, humoured by the whole event. With a snap of his fingers, a huffy Starscream collected his broadsword.
True to form, the commander attempted to kick at the still-kneeling Tracks and jumped back with a yelp as Ravage nearly sunk its fangs into his heel. Megatron laughed lowly as Starscream hurried back to his left side, Tracks hugging the feline tightly as it became further enraged. "How very wild of it," he remarked in humor. "It'll make a fine guard beast once broken in."
"Emperor: correct," Soundwave agreed, bowing as he crossed the room and pulled Tracks to his pedes. One of the slave's servos remained on Ravage's collar all the same; the beast sending a quick glare in the councilor's direction but acting no further. It seemed intent on wanting to sink its claws into Megatron alone. "Apologies: Will send the creature away at once for my L-"
"No," Megatron interrupted, the smirk still on his face but the amusement gone from his optics. "Let it stay. The slave as well. After all, they are no threat to me."
The telepath nearly hesitated, covering it up quickly by giving Tracks a gentle nudge to move. The Autobot did so without contest; pulling Ravage along all the way to the feline's low-hanging berth against the lounge wall, where he clambered into the padded frame with the beast, pressing its head into his lap and trying to stroke it into calmness once more. The black creature did not wish to be soothed. Its narrowed optics glared at the Emperor and his entourage as they moved further into the room, growling out lowly from the cage of the slave's arms.
"Absolutely beautiful," the warlord commented, sinking into a cushy sofa while servants filtered into the room, arms laden with food and drink. Soundwave tried to distract himself with his staff, ensuring that a few of the femmes brought their trays directly to the grey mech first, yet he could not erase the knowledge that Megatron was currently leering at Tracks and his pet as he spoke.
"The Autobot is dutiful in protecting your property, Soundwave. Your quaint beast would be decor if he hadn't saw fit to stand in its way," Megatron said, taking the goblet of wine from the serfs, never once taking his attention away from the pair, "What do you think of this development, Shockwave?"
The cyclops rolled his optical sensor in disdain as Starscream shoved a bowing servant aside, sending food and drink to clatter all over the floor with a soft cackle. Side-stepping the mess (and the pitiful serf who tried to clean it up with the magenta mech sabotaging his efforts along the way) the assassin moved across the room, twisting Tracks' helm upwards suddenly. Ravage gave a shrieking roar -gurgling as his leap was unsuccessful. The Autobot had his fingers twisted tightly into the ornate collar, his arms solider than stone to keep the feline trapped to the berth. Soundwave watched, spark pulsating erratically with his trepidation, as Shockwave made a show of leaning into the blank slave's face. Turning his helm slowly left and right with his claws, studying both the creature and its dull-opticed soother.
"...I'd say it knows its' place," the purple Decepticon began, thankfully releasing the winged mech and stepping away. He shooed off a servant as he joined Megatron's side from behind the sofa, arms crossing behind his backstruts in boredom. "He's assuredly terrified of your presence, milord, yet places a fair investment of concern in his master's belongings. Enough to keep his lord's property in place but not contest your will. A... workable balance, I suppose. If it's a sincere trait of character, of course."
The last bit was said with a sly helm tilt toward the telepath, Shockwave's one optic half-shuttered cruelly. The cyclops was testing him, Soundwave noted, forcing his frame to be still as he seethed internally. He no doubt had an inkling that this whole presentation was a farce; the purple mech was fiercest in destroying those that opposed Megatron in any capacity. It would bring delight to Shockwave's spark to see his fellow associate and villa fall to the Warlord's great rage.
Megatron hummed as he mused over his assassin's words for a moment, setting his goblet back onto a timid femme's tray and standing to his pedes. "Release it, Autobot," he called out to Tracks neutrally, unclipping his cloak and laying it over one arm.
There was a swell of fear from the slave... but Tracks did as ordered instantly and, though it was barely any comfort, Soundwave was grateful that he had. Ravage snarled, rising to his own paws at the same time as the grey mech had. When he gave another experimental tug and discovered that this time, the Autobot's servos had fallen away from his frame, the feline glanced for half an astrosecond at the multi-coloured mech before bounding across the room with a ferocious howl. If one had shuttered their optics, they might have missed the wadded cloak that sailed from Megatron's servo into the beast's open mouth as it leapt for the strike. Every single processor was privy to the way that the Warlord slammed the black creature to the floor with a mighty fist, something crunching loudly as it collided against the stone ground with a wet smack.
Ravage did not get back up.
"Seems it is the perfect specimen to start with," Megatron concluded, wiping his servo off on a nearby serf, his optics fixated on the silent Tracks. Soundwave found himself staring at the Autobot also. He'd heard the scream of grief that echoed out from the slave's inner being as poor Ravage was attacked, and yet Tracks had managed to remain visibly unaffected by the whole event. If you could call sitting rigidly, with fingers trembling between the folds of his ruined robes and greying optics staring listlessly at the floor being unchanged.
"Seems so," Shockwave mumbled. Almost as if he was disappointed the Autobot hadn't tried to stop the ruthless display.
"Fantastic. You've sourced another breeder," Starscream spat, arms crossing over his chestplates irritably. "Can we go now? Or are we going to spend all afternoon breaking stupid, defenseless beasts."
The warlord vented heavily, rolling his shoulders slowly, as though he debated punching through the mouthy commander's chassis next. Which, he probably was. It was a small miracle that he decided to let Starscream's comments slide, walking back to the lounge's door; the other two Decepticons following shortly. "Yes, it is time to move on to our next destination. Soundwave, ready your carriage; I wish to show you something. Oh, and make the Autobot presentable. He is coming with us," he called back, not once breaking his stride.
Then he was gone.
Only once the matron had stepped into the room, did anyone else move following the Emperor's exit; Tracks being the first, rushing to Ravage's side with a gasping sob. "W-what's gone on here?," the matron asked, looking about the room fearfully as the servants all quaked and muffled cries themselves.
Soundwave could not spare the time to explain the cruelty they'd all been made to watch. "Order: Ready my carriage immediately," he said, grabbing the older femme and forcing her to look at him. "The Emperor requires my presence at once. Additional: Send handmaidens with new robes for Tracks. He has been summoned too."
"S-soundwave!," Tracks wheezed out in panic, "H-he's alive! P-please, he's bleeding!"
The blue mech ran around the side of the sofa, crouching alongside the Autobot. He had removed Megatron's cloak, revealing Ravage prone on cracked tile -energon glistening from its parted mouth and unfocused optics- yet still miraculously cycling shallow intakes. Tracks grabbed at Soundwave's tunic, coolant smearing his make-up into jagged lines as he cried.
"Pl-please, we need to h-help him!," he begged.
"Status: Tracks must get ready," the councilor defeatedly announced, pulling the winged mech to his pedes. "Emperor: wants us both to follow him into the city."
"N-no! NO!," Tracks shrieked, thrashing in Soundwave's hold. It hurt more than just his frame to pin the Autobot tight to his chassis as he wailed, disallowing him to escape. Tracks collapsing in his arms a few moments after, sobbing uncontrollably, was the dagger's torturous twist in his spark.
"Go, get him back to the room now," the matron urged, coming up to the pair, her face surprisingly wet as well. "The femmes will get lord Tracks straightened out; I've sent a couple younglings to the stables and market post-haste. We'll get this beast a healer." She shoved at the Decepticon and his lover impatiently, rolling her sleeves up and kneeling to replace Tracks at Ravage's side. "Off with ya! I'll watch over the creature meanwhile."
Soundwave nodded, pulling the weeping slave back towards his quarters, closing the door to the lounge when Tracks turned for it. "Plea: Tracks needs to ready to leave...," Soundwave argued, his vocalizer rife with its own sorrow. "Megatron: Will kill you here and now if you do not heed his command. Status: The matron will watch Ravage in our absence; has already sent for healers. Trust her, please."
For a frightening klik, the telepath thought the smaller mech would just shatter in his servos; fall to the floor in his grief, never to be recovered in a timely enough fashion to evade the warlord's impeding rage. Instead he felt Tracks' spark -his beautiful, glorious light and passion- fade away from his mental prying, sequestered under that horrible, black veil once more... Before him, the slave remained standing, tears drying and the shivers stilling all over his frame. A vision of what he had been when they'd first met. "As my Lord pleases," he croaked out lifelessly, pulling away from Soundwave's embrace and to the trio of handmaidens awkwardly waiting on the other side of the room.
The councilor cursed himself, his Emperor and all the beings in between. He could not undo the damage done to their relationship or bring back Ravage from the precipice of death, not while Megatron dangled their own execution over their helms should they step out of turn beneath his critical gaze. Holding back his own tears, Soundwave hurried to the next room across the hall; readying himself for whatever horrors the orn might still bring.
xxXxXxx
"Good afternoon, my Lord," Blitzwing greeted as the carriages rolled to a stop outside a series of staggered domiciles.
"How fares business?," Megatron returned, getting to the point as he dropped to the cobbled street. Starscream and Shockwave dismounted from the carriage behind him, lining up into their usual places behind the warlord.
Soundwave, climbing down from his own coach, attempted to pay attention to the conversation while he surveyed their surroundings. It seemed they were on any ordinary block among the traders, yet the nearby apartments were colourless and dingy, as though they had been vacated for decacycles. No spark of life remained, other than a stray turbo-rat poking its helm out here and there among the gutter filth. Perturbed, the councilor helped Tracks step down from the carriage, closing the door and directing them to take their spot at the back of Megatron's entourage, as they all followed Blitzwing into one of the nearest domicile's flaking doorways.
"It was a somewhat unorthodox affair to get things started," the censur was saying, waving at the posted guards by the entrance, "But Lady Strika was a blessing. And once the refuse was cleared out, the labourers were quick to get started on your esteemed Emperor's glorious renovations. It's perhaps a bit unsightly still, but the construction is complete and the floors divided as seen fit in this domicile, with the next few already underway in their restructuring."
The grey mech walked from room to room in the modified building, Blitzwing directing where they should head to next, but always letting Megatron lead. Where once apartments had provided segmented living arrangements for the merchant class, now walls and doorways had been knocked down, new partitions erected in the wide open spaces. The new divisions created held the barest look of bath halls, seating rooms and -as they walked into a small, square room with only a wooden contraption placed in its centre- places of torture, Soundwave was appalled to guess.
"The decor is lacking," Megatron remarked with a scowl, surveying the pale clay walls.
Blitzwing laughed uncomfortably, tucking his servos away in his sleeves. "Y-yes, it is. The artisans arrive tomorrow to give the new facilities the look his majesty believes it needs, but it seemed unwise to mar your path with paint this orn. Th-though," the tan mech hurried to add at the sight of the grey mech's displeasure, "It's d-deplorable appearance h-has not deterred investors. A g-group of Iacon's best spenders are currently upstairs with the guards, perusing the first batch. They all wish to place their names on a future order."
The warlord made a sound of acknowledgement at the news, pointing briefly at the odd contraption set in their current room. "And this is the device you reported on earlier?," he asked.
The censur nodded quickly. "Oh yes, yes. Simple design -almost crude, one might say- but very effective. If you'd like a demonstration-"
"Allow me," Shockwave interjected. Before Soundwave could understand what was happening, the cyclops was pulling Tracks away from his side, hauling the limp slave towards the wooden structure. It wasn't until the Decepticon had stretched the Autobot's servos across the beam, securing them in the shackles at the bottom of the T-like frame, that Soundwave realized what the purpose of its construction was for.
"Objection: You will damage him!," the blue mech snarled, taking a step forward only to be shoved back by a gleeful Starscream.
Shockwave glanced over at the councilor, pressing the slave's hips against the breeding brace harshly as he forced the smaller pedes into another set of shackles on the ground. "One can not lose a spark simply by being lain prostate over a surface," the cyclops dismissed readily. With a quick flip of his servo he had yanked Tracks' robes up and over his waist, showcasing his entire lower frame to the room. "Besides, it's merely demonstrative. For now."
It would be treason, but for a furious moment, Soundwave thought about ripping apart Shockwave's processor from where he stood. Alas, the assassin was not without his own mental fortifications and there was still the matter of Tracks, now locked into a device, exposed to some of the cruelest Decepticons in all of the Empire... Glaring at the smug Shockwave, the telepath had his attention drawn away as Megatron took a step forward into the room, slowly circling the vulnerable slave.
"Exquisite," he vented in a hush, black fingers petting down white helm, wings and along the middle of the imprisoned mech's backstruts with a faint touch. Tracks only pressed his face further into the wooden frame, wings held stiffly as they were once again stroked by unwanted servos.
"And how will you handle problems with unwilling or incapable stags?," the warlord asked, stopping his pacing beside the prostate slave and looking towards Shockwave.
"U-uh, if I may, milord," a meek vocalizer arose, startling those present, "I can answer that."
A short, reedy Decepticon peeled away from a corner of shadows, stepping into the middle of the room; half-hunched over in fealty and twisting his servos repetitively. Soundwave despised him the moment he saw the sycophant's grinning face. "This is Mindwipe, my liege," Shockwave introduced. The burgandy mech bowed thrice more. "He will be chief physician of these facilities."
"The quack shaman?!," Starscream cried out incredulously, mirroring the telepath's sentiments.
Mindwipe ignored the commander, shuffling across the floor and kneeling to kiss the ground at Megatron's pedes. The grey mech scowled, his fingers subconsciously tightening around Tracks' helm in annoyance. "Get up and speak, doctor," he snapped, "Before I lose my patience entirely."
Mindwipe clambered to his pedes, hurrying around to the Autobot's exposed side. "W-we, uh, have this wonderful brace here to e-ensure that our carriers will be cooperative. It will take many sessions, plus many partners, to produce new sets for the future market," he informed, laying his servos over the curve of Tracks' aft thoughtlessly, "B-but, with your E-emperor's conditions we h-have amassed a great deal of material. As for creators' performance, I have a terrific blend to m-make them more... uh, how to say... effective and agreeable."
"Each new breeder brought into the facility is thoroughly inspected to ensure that only slaves of high calibre are bred under his majesty's glorious name," Shockwave added. "If you would, Mindwipe?"
Soundwave stepped toward the cyclops with clenched servos, infuriated. "Demand: What is the meaning of doing this with my property?! Status: Is in delicate health- something you continue to jeopardize with your unfounded insinuations," he growled, pede to pede with the taller Decepticon.
The assassin leaned down into the councilor's masked face, his one optic bright as it narrowed in the other's visor. "Are they?," he hissed in question.
"Enough bickering," Megatron said to the pair distantly, one servo already pulling Tracks helm upwards so he could stare into his face. "You will open your panels, won't you, my bird? No squabbling or fidgeting about, yes?"
Any light that may have lingered in the Autobot's optics was snuffed out then; all emotion draining away, leaving nothing upon Tracks' visage to be seen. In the relative silence, the sound of sliding plating was thunderous. Soundwave lurched forward, finding his way barred once more -this time by the cyclops himself- his spark withering as it was flooded with shame and resentment. He knew exactly what nightmares he was being dragged back into and he remained powerless to stop them just like before.
"Just a lil' examination," Mindwipe chirped sickeningly.
"Well, doctor?," Megatron inquired, a touch of nuisance growing in his tone.
"A-ah, yes," the burgundy mech chuckled anxiously in remembrance. Soundwave thought he was going to be sick.
"Well, he could be a lot more wider," Mindwipe sighed, finally stepping back entirely to wash his servos. Neither he nor anyone else present bothered to cover the Autobot up. "He'll bear fine but large waistlines provide faster and more frequent protoformings, I find. It can be altered for the sake of production, but I'm afraid it's beauty will probably tarnish quickly after."
"So as long as it passes on its traits to each new slave, what becomes of it matters not," Megatron said dismissively. "It will not be leaving the confines of this facility once it has met my needs."
Mindwipe nodded and retreated to his darkened corner, Shockwave joining him at once. It was then that Blitwzing decided to speak up, clapping his servos together in false joviality. "Well then, shall we peruse the rest of your expanding enterprise, my liege?"
"Not yet," the grey mech replied, his gaze burning into Soundwave's backstruts as he stormed forward to unshackle the slave. Tracks did not respond and seemed almost unwilling to stand, even as the blue mech rushed to cover him back up again. Spark-broken, the telepath hurried the winged mech to the door. "Soundwave, where do you think you are going?"
"Status: Was returning the Autobot to my coach," Soundwave slowly answered, freezing inches away from the exit. "Apologies: Did not mean to overstep his Emperor's wishes. Health of sparkling my only concern."
"Starscream can escort your concubine back to the carriages. And Blitzwing can ensure that the commander behaves as he does so," Megatron ordered pointedly. Caught off-guard by the instructions, the two Decepticons hurried to bow, the censur marching Tracks out of the room while Starscream sullenly followed.
Those two were some of the last 'bots that the blue mech would ever wish to leave alone with Tracks, but he couldn't give chase without incurring the warlord's wrath and revealing too soon the lies that he had fed his mighty ruler with. He was delusional though if believed he could hope for a better future than the disastrous one that was etched out for them. As if to remind him of the dangerous thread the councilor precariously balanced on, Shockwave stepped up to the pair, his one optic flashing mercilessly as he said, "My Lord, I believe that Mindwipe has something to share with your great eminence."
Spark whirling chaotically, Soundwave turned to face the botched healer the same time as Megatron did; faintly entertaining the thought of running right then, in the far recesses of his processor. "W-well," Mindwipe smiled greasily, rapidly bowing twice before straightening up, "It seems the time frame of your servant's expected parturiency may have been exaggerated..."
A storm was beginning to brew on the warlord's face as he snapped toward the councilor, Shockwave's blank face appearing amused despite its lacking details.
"B-but that is perhaps due to the fact that his concubine is not bearing one, but two, sparks."
Three helms turned to Mindwipe in conjecture, each as equally stunned by the news.
"What?!," Shockwave hissed in ire. "You verified that the membrane over the reproduction tanks was thin."
Mindwipe squawked a bit as he was roughly turned about by the assassin's deadly claws, holding his own servos up pleadingly. "T-thin, yes, but still v-viscid as is expected in carriers! It is p-probably due to the nature of housing two f-fledging sparks that there are discrepancies b-between that of other gestations I've b-been privy of knowing, b-but I assure your lords t-that the slave w-will protoform young by summer's end!"
"Affronted you have no grounds to extort the Autobot from Soundwave's hold quicker?," Megatron chuckled cruelly, unmindful of when the cyclops threw the healer against the wall in his outrage. Mindwipe groaned pitifully where he lay, injured but not offline. Expression carefully culled into one of good nature, the grey mech faced his servant again, patting Soundwave's shoulder.
"Congratulations, my faithful friend," he said, a strange glow rising in his Emperor's optics. "I understand they are seen as bad omens, but twins will boost the legacy of your household in one orn alone. And by the end of the season..." Megatron vented deeply. "What good timing."
"Query: ...what does his Emperor mean?," Soundwave hesitantly asked.
The warlord only shuttered his optics, reveling in silence for a klik before he spoke again. "I had forgotten the roots of my own legacy," he mumbled out, a hungry smirk beginning to bloom across his face, "But chasing down peasant usurpers all winter... tearing the limbs from their fallen leader... spilling their energon across the lands..."
This time when Megatron cycled his intakes richly, Soundwave knew it was in pleasure.
"I have forgotten what the thrill of the hunt was like," Megatron continued, onlining his optics to show the lustful fervor that filled their depths. "This expansion -to breed our own slaves- will be a nice commodity for the future of this Empire, but until this entire district is swollen with potential stock, it is the widening of our borders that I am more interested in. There is so much land left unclaimed; tribes of unknown prey to clash against."
"For over a decade, the opulence of this Empire has grown and its people grow fatter and fatter in their complacency. My courts, my streets and districts are filled with hedonists and simpletons -all of them quaint with a life devoid of struggle or effort. It is a pestilence upon my name and my power that these parasites thrive off the paltry fortune this city holds," the warlord roared to the ceiling above, every mounting word imbued with electric passion. "They want for nothing more; care not to disturb their precious glass enclosure to see what still remains beyond. I for one am tired of these gilded halls and waxed phrases. I will topple these powdered sycophants from their crafted pedestals, destroy their wretched treasures. My armies will raze these remaining lands, strike down any opposition that dares stand in their way. The world itself will tremble in the thunder of my name and sword. This is the time for my Empire to be reborn. IT IS TIME FOR WAR!"
Silence, for a moment, then clapping arose, the cyclops applauding their ruler's heated bellow. "A most sage judgment," Shockwave agreed, sincerely supportive of the sudden declaration.
Megatron swelled in pride at his own words, staring the councilor down. "You, my loyal servant, will obviously join me. Every noble house will send its share to fill the armies' ranks. Your home will have its heirs, the slaves will be bred under Shockwave's careful monitoring, and you will ride by my side as we conquer untamed territories in my namesake," the warlord stated. "We begin our siege at winter's start."
There was no contesting the grey mech when he made a decision. Even if Soundwave could find something to protest. Numbly, he knelt to one knee, bowing his helm in fealty as he mumbled out half-sparked acquiescences to the demands. His processor was a jumbled mess, overwhelmed by the wave of recent information thrown at him. Autobot usurpers had been slain in the Emperor's absence from court. Megatron had rekindled his lust for war, with a voracity the likes the telepath had never seen before.
Tracks was actually sparked...
The future of the Empire was transforming before his optics, and Soundwave was very, very terrified of where it was leading.
C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?
