"Laserblast will have our hides for this!"
No response.
"Megatron, are you listening to me?!" Still no response. Slash hissed in frustration, struggling to keep up with the greyish purple mech, currently rushing through the slummy streets of Darkmount. The temporary red mark on their shoulders - three connected circles - marked them as students of Laserblast's School of the Warrior Arts; the school for all high-ranking Predacons - such as Megatron - or exceptional prodigies - such as Slash, himself. This also automatically gave them slightly better status than that of the Predacons surrounding them, though not by much.
Megatron suddenly ground to a halt, seeming quite unconcerned when Slash nearly had to fall headfirst to the ground in order not to run in to him.
"What are you--?"
Megatron spun, hissing, "Be quiet! Or you'll attract unwanted attention..." He nodded over his shoulder, and Slash complied, turning his optics that way.
"Maximal peacekeepers," he growled distastefully, the gravely voice emanating from deep within his chest. "Why can't they just stay in Cybertropolis, where they belong?"
"Wouldn't want to risk another uprising, would they," murmured Megatron bitterly, not even bothering to tone it like a question. "Now shut up and follow, quietly!"
Slash breathed several things under his breath, but did as he was told; hesitantly. Slash was by no means a mindless follower, and should anyone dare to suggest it they would find a sword in an unpleasant place. He did, however, realise the importance of keeping his friend out of trouble. Megatron had a deeply annoying compulsion to cause trouble, due, in part, to his urge of proving himself to his name through various, inane actions; and, in part, to the fact that he simply liked it. Slash had asked for a reason once, and Megatron had answered, "I like the way it makes people react." Slash didn't understand it; but then, he hardly understood anything about Megatron. The slagging, egocentric, brattish little...
"In here!" Megatron grabbed Slash's arm and dragged him into an alley.
"You know, I would appreciate it if you would at least tell me where we going...?" The tan robot raised a curious optic-ridge at his companion.
Megatron smirked in reply. "What, and ruin the surprise? Nooo..." He shook his head, emphasising his strange speech-quirk. "You just have to be patient, my friend."
Slash growled and punched the metallic wall. "I am not a patient mech! Where are we going?!"
"Patience is a virtue...!" came the sing-song reply, as Megatron disappeared through a dark opening at the end of the alley.
"Megatron? Megatron!" Slash made a violent gesture, clearly expressing his current feelings for the other Predacon, but entered the shadowed opening as well. "This had better not be another of those insane ideas of yours..."
"I'm just showing you something! Try to be a little positive, Slash," drifted back at him from the darkness.
"Positive?" Slash snarled. "I don't want to be positive. We're missing classes!"
A pair of crimson optics shone flatly at him for a second. "Honestly, do you think we need Nebulonian Politics 3a? Honestly?"
"Hrrrr... Maybe not," Slash admitted. The optics disappeared with a clear sense of triumph. "But that doesn't mean we won't get punished for this." Slash knew it was falling on deaf receptors, and as such, hardly bothered to do more than mutter his small protest.
"Oh, balderdash!" came the cheerful reply. "You have to have some sense of adventure about life, Slash!"
"There is nothing adventurous about an angry Laserblast! Primus..." Slash waited, blinking curiously into the darkness. "Megatron?" No answer. Slash hissed, "For the Pit's sake. Megatron!" He stomped forward, squinting in an attempt to see. "Where did you go?"
Out of nowhere, hands grabbed him and yanked him back. "Be careful," came Megatron's patrician voice from behind him. "There's a pitfall right in front of you. Switch to infrared."
Slash frowned and complied, ordering his internal computer to configure his optics. Slowly, he could make out Megatron and the room around them. And, as his friend had said, in the middle of the room a large portion of floor was missing, the hole resembling a gaping maw. "Primus! That hole looks like it goes all the way to the Core!"
Megatron carefully stepped closer, leaning forward to look down. "It hardly reaches that far. But it reaches long enough, yeess..."
"Long enough for what? Megatron, I am tiring of your childish secrecy! Where are you taking me?"
Megatron grinned up at Slash, ignoring the impatient outburst. "I'm taking you down under."
Vaguely worried, knowing that that grin could only mean trouble, Slash backed a bit away. "'Down under'?"
A rope clicked into a shiny, and obviously new, metal holder on the grimy wall, and Megatron threw the other end down the hole. "Yes. To the lower levels."
Slash's optics widened. "Megatron, no."
"And once we get down there," Megatron continued, undisturbedly testing the rope and a pair of harness, "we catch a ride on the Cybertropolis express--"
"The Maximals-only Cybertropolis express?"
"Honestly, how many more are there? And once we get far enough, I'll guide you the rest of the way." The purplish Mech threw Slash a harness.
Slash hissed slowly in frustration, a low, rattling sound. "Where. Are. We. Going."
Megatron grinned at him, once again that disturbing grin. "We, my friend, are going to Old Vilnacron."
Some mechs are very nice people. Laserblast, it was generally agreed, was not. This wasn't meant to be rude, it was merely the truth. The Predacon in charge of the finest academy in Darkmount, not that that meant much, was proud to be cold, proud to be ruthless, and prouder yet of passing this on to his hand-picked students. And, being a devout Predacon, he had grand hopes for the young mech unfortunately, or vice versa, depending on your view, named Megatron.
Banned by the Maximal Elders, feared by the common Predacon, the history of the great Megatron, the Slag-maker was virtually unknown. But the fear and hatred of the name remained, branding Laserblast's young student until he changed his name. And the young Megatron, Laserblast knew, was far too narcissistic to do so. His teacher approved greatly. What Laserblast did not approve of, however, was Megatron's thrice-damned habit to disappear whenever he saw fit.
"Where is that slagging Maximal-spawn?!" roared the instructor, his deep voice reverberating through the halls of the academy.
Glitch, a small femme, nowhere near as delicate as she seemed, shrugged, appearantly untouched by her employer's fury. "No idea... Y'know how he is. Sees somethin' pretty, off he goes! Usually draggin' poor Slash with 'im..."
"Oh, no!" berated Laserblast. "No sympathy, for either of them! I swear, they are weight on my grave!"
"Loosin' your temper'll help no one," Glitch informed him helpfully. She didn't deign to respond to his glare.
"Hah! Megatron..." hissed old Slamfist, who was rumoured to've been part of the Great War's later days. "The real Megatron would never have shown such... lack of consideration!"
Glitch most politely held back a chortle, whilst Laserblast gave the old mech an exasperated look. "Do not start this 'real Megatron' trash with me again, Slamfist. Our Megatron is as real as the first one, perhaps even more..."
Ignoring the screech of, "Blasphemy!" from behind her, Glitch tapped her thigh, deep in thought. "Where could he've run off to, this time?" she wondered aloud.
"I don't know," Laserblast answered, disgruntled. "I don't understand the way that boy's mind works, and I'm not sure I want to."
"I doubt anyone would," Glitch responded, pursing her lips in thought. "Lessee, where would he go..."
"Nngh... What was his last class?" Slamfist asked, optics squinting at nothing. "Could that have been the cause?"
Laserblast frowned. "Perhaps... History has a tendency to put foolish notions in his head."
"Yes!" sputtered Slamfist messily, much to Glitch's disgust. "The child has obviously gone to cause trouble and vandalism at a historical sight!"
Glitch gave him a funny look, while Laserblast sneered. "Don't be ridiculous, old one. Megatron lacks respect for many things, but history is not one of them."
"And the same with Slash," Glitch pointed out, absently tapping her knee-guard.
"But that's not the issue at hand!" Laserblast abruptly snapped. "He's missing, and we need to find him! It's dangerous for him out there! Send out a few of the head-mechs, tell them to ask around." Laserblast sighed in frustration, a terse, drawn out hiss, as his helpers went off. "If only that boy knew how many want to see his head on a plate..."