The Right Thing
by Wavelength
Author Note: See if you can guess who's first in the alley after "War Dawn" before I come out and tell you.
Disclaimer: Everyone in this tale may belong to Hasbro and the usual suspects, but a person's thoughts by dawn's first light are his own.
Smoke rose from the city, mingling with the early morning mist that was the scant water in Cybertron's atmosphere. All in all, Iacon had weathered the attack well. It would survive.
Some of its people, however, would not. The figure reflected pale in the dawn light as he looked at the crumpled bodies. He would have to be brief, it wouldn't do to have anyone see him here.
There. That one. He recognized the chassis, though the individual touches were gone. There was a chance it wasn't him. But odds were, it was. He remembered the blue youth. Saw him in his mind's optic, screaming from the front row of Iacon Grand stadium. He was the type who never missed a match if he could help it, especially when Megatron of Tarn was in town. But that was vorns ago. Megatron had stopped touring, though he hadn't stopped fighting. Now, he said he fought for the rights of individuals such as these, scattered on the ground outside Alpha Trion's workshop. Their destiny of supremacy, their right to power over this world and the universe. Surely, with their superior technology and advanced culture, all life would benefit from Cybertron's influence.
Surely, he was doing the right thing.
He bent closer to the body, remembering the three young robots he had shot by the canal banks. The flat planes of his head caught the home star's rays one by one. Perhaps there had been two mechs of this model in Iacon. One, the young warrior who attended gladiator matches religiously, the other a weak dock worker or accountant or something. The second one, the weak one, would have died. Soon, if he stayed near Iacon, he would meet the first, and thank him for cheering. Maybe he would ask him to join his army, if he liked him. And the young one would join him for power and glory, and because it was the right thing to do.
With that, Megatron of Tarn left the alley of weak and broken things, to be picked up by other weak things. He had an army to rejoin before the home star cast full light upon the city.
* * *
Not long after his enemy left, the mech recently known as Orion Pax came in search of his friend. He saw the scuffs in the new-laid dust, but thought little of it. Someone else had doubtless been there earlier to claim their dead.
It was not long until Optimus Prime found Dion, and for the second time that dawn, the sad remains were scrutinized by a powerful warrior. He lifted it up, finding Dion's mortal self surprisingly light. "It's a good thing you didn't see what hit us. This would be even harder if you knew. I couldn't handle it. Megatron of Tarn. I suppose he went on to bigger and better things," he told the corpse ruefully. "It wasn't enough just to kill other gladiators in the top matches." An organic creature would have wept. "He had to kill his biggest fan, too."
Optimus Prime carried his friend from the alley. "You were my best friend, Dion. I don't care if it's lawful, or even what you would have wanted done. Because of him, I can't ask you. But for me, I must do this. You will be avenged. I will stop Megatron. Justice for the murderer. It is the right thing."
* * *
And so, the commander of the Autobot Army bore his friend away for interment.
One death can change a life, a world, forever. He walked all the way to the tombs convinced, in his young bravado, that causing one more death would be the right thing, that it would make everything go back to as it had been. The morning wore on, and he steeled himself against another, equally convinced he was doing the right thing.
But no number of brave acts and right things would ever make life on their world the same again.
The End
by Wavelength
Author Note: See if you can guess who's first in the alley after "War Dawn" before I come out and tell you.
Disclaimer: Everyone in this tale may belong to Hasbro and the usual suspects, but a person's thoughts by dawn's first light are his own.
Smoke rose from the city, mingling with the early morning mist that was the scant water in Cybertron's atmosphere. All in all, Iacon had weathered the attack well. It would survive.
Some of its people, however, would not. The figure reflected pale in the dawn light as he looked at the crumpled bodies. He would have to be brief, it wouldn't do to have anyone see him here.
There. That one. He recognized the chassis, though the individual touches were gone. There was a chance it wasn't him. But odds were, it was. He remembered the blue youth. Saw him in his mind's optic, screaming from the front row of Iacon Grand stadium. He was the type who never missed a match if he could help it, especially when Megatron of Tarn was in town. But that was vorns ago. Megatron had stopped touring, though he hadn't stopped fighting. Now, he said he fought for the rights of individuals such as these, scattered on the ground outside Alpha Trion's workshop. Their destiny of supremacy, their right to power over this world and the universe. Surely, with their superior technology and advanced culture, all life would benefit from Cybertron's influence.
Surely, he was doing the right thing.
He bent closer to the body, remembering the three young robots he had shot by the canal banks. The flat planes of his head caught the home star's rays one by one. Perhaps there had been two mechs of this model in Iacon. One, the young warrior who attended gladiator matches religiously, the other a weak dock worker or accountant or something. The second one, the weak one, would have died. Soon, if he stayed near Iacon, he would meet the first, and thank him for cheering. Maybe he would ask him to join his army, if he liked him. And the young one would join him for power and glory, and because it was the right thing to do.
With that, Megatron of Tarn left the alley of weak and broken things, to be picked up by other weak things. He had an army to rejoin before the home star cast full light upon the city.
* * *
Not long after his enemy left, the mech recently known as Orion Pax came in search of his friend. He saw the scuffs in the new-laid dust, but thought little of it. Someone else had doubtless been there earlier to claim their dead.
It was not long until Optimus Prime found Dion, and for the second time that dawn, the sad remains were scrutinized by a powerful warrior. He lifted it up, finding Dion's mortal self surprisingly light. "It's a good thing you didn't see what hit us. This would be even harder if you knew. I couldn't handle it. Megatron of Tarn. I suppose he went on to bigger and better things," he told the corpse ruefully. "It wasn't enough just to kill other gladiators in the top matches." An organic creature would have wept. "He had to kill his biggest fan, too."
Optimus Prime carried his friend from the alley. "You were my best friend, Dion. I don't care if it's lawful, or even what you would have wanted done. Because of him, I can't ask you. But for me, I must do this. You will be avenged. I will stop Megatron. Justice for the murderer. It is the right thing."
* * *
And so, the commander of the Autobot Army bore his friend away for interment.
One death can change a life, a world, forever. He walked all the way to the tombs convinced, in his young bravado, that causing one more death would be the right thing, that it would make everything go back to as it had been. The morning wore on, and he steeled himself against another, equally convinced he was doing the right thing.
But no number of brave acts and right things would ever make life on their world the same again.
The End