CHAPTER TWO
XXX
Before I begin this chapter, I do want to point something out really quick.
Technically, the Cybertronian war lasted for millions of years - and humans have only existed for a few thousand. This is a timeline issue that I won't really address, because it cannot honestly be explained away in a satisfactory manner. Because of this, let us disregard this issue - this is a fanfiction, after all, so we could arguably disregard a lot of things haha. Don't stress about it too much, and thank you for reading!
XXX
What have I gotten myself into?
Jack already felt exhausted, having barely received any sleep last night. He had been anxious, tossing and turning about what everything had meant.
He had done some research on Amicus. Firstly, it was Latin for "friend," and an amicus curiae was a friend of the court. There were "Amicus" businesses, but nothing that indicated Amicus was a person. Though he did not know where to start, as Megatron had not shared where Amicus had come from - was he Greek, Roman? Maybe Middle Eastern? African was a bit of a stretch, though Jack could reasonably surmise that maybe his ancestors had immigrated to Europe, and from there developed a strong European lineage.
Still, he was unsure if he could ask Megatron anything about the human. Firstly, he did not want to give the impression that he was interested - it was weird enough the tyrant was even considering pursuing him as a replacement romantic interest. Secondly, he was unsure if such questioning would make Megatron angry, or somehow upset. He doubted the Decepticon would cry over it, but he did not want to create an even bigger mess for himself.
Even more frustrating, perhaps, was that he could not ask Arcee or any of the other Autobots about it. That would lead to questions on how he knew, and ultimately reveal the meeting and subsequent deal he had made with Megatron. And since this was technically day one, he did not want to screw it up so early.
Though if Megatron could be pushy, he could too. It was only fair.
However, perhaps he could ask someone else. His gaze moved up from his paper to his teacher.
After the bell rang he gathered his books, nervously making his way to the front of the class. His history teacher looked up at him and offered a smile.
"What can I help you with, Jack?"
The junior tried not to stutter too much, not wanting to sound stupid. "I, uh, heard about someone that's apparently from history. Amicus?" When his history teacher gave him a confused look he continued to stumble on. "I-I just heard about him in passing, and wasn't sure if he was real or not . . ."
"Well, it sounds Roman," the teacher furrowed his brow. "But really, the only thing I'm aware of is amicus curiae, friend of the court. Do you know what civilization he was referenced in?"
Jack blushed. Stupid. "No. I don't."
"That's odd," the teacher shrugged. "I would suggest checking in your history book's index to see if anything comes up, and look at other textbooks as well. Let me know what you find."
"I will," he promised emptily, moving on to his next class as the one minute warning bell rang. Shuffling out of class he sighed, just as lost in the dark as before.
I don't even know if Amicus is actually his name.
The rest of the day seemed to take forever, but he was okay with that. Every hour closer to night made him more anxious, and by the time the final bell rang his hands were shaking almost uncontrollably.
Much to his relief Arcee was outside, alone, waiting for him. Sliding onto her saddle he let her drive him out of the parking lot, not speaking until they were well away from other people.
"I gotta get home," he sighed. "KO Burgers calls."
"You're taking more hours than usual," she noted.
"Well, one of our guys just upped and left, so there's a lot of shifts left open. Luckily Jasper doesn't get a lot of traffic, so it's not really busy."
"Fair enough. You'll have to take your bike, I've got to start scouting again," she sighed. "We're scouring every corner of the Earth we can, but . . ."
"You're doing your best," the guilt which stabbed him in the heart was unexpected, but not a surprise. "Optimus would do the same for any one of you."
"We'll find him," she was confident. "Or we will find a way to get to Vector Sigma. Whichever comes first."
Jack nodded, gripping her handlebars a little tighter.
And here I am, expecting the enemy in my bedroom every night for the next three months.
What have I done?
XXX
He stank of burgers once he got home from his shift, his mother greeting him but then insisting he take a shower. He did so, changing into a pair of pajama pants and a shirt, deciding he was also going to put a sweater on.
"Are you feeling alright?" June questioned as he sat at the dinner table, her hands lightly touching his forehead. "You're wearing layers. Cold?"
"A little," not an exact lie. "Might be that I just took a shower."
"You don't feel warm," she agreed, setting a plate in front of him and kissing the top of his head. "Work again tonight. I'll be back tomorrow morning. I love you."
"Love you too," he watched her go while digging in, cringing just a little as he ate the tofu. It never sat well with him, but now he wondered what part of it was just straight nervousness.
He did not immediately go into his bedroom, doing homework even as the last rays of sun disappeared over the horizon - technically night. If Megatron did not like that, well, he could take it up with Jack.
Unfortunately, he did hear the Groundbridge opening in his room, the young man cringing. If his mom heard that, ever . . .
Deciding it was time, he reluctantly got up and trudged to the bedroom, opening it slowly. Sure enough Megatron sat on his bed, gazing around his habitat as he waited. When his optics settled on Jack he shivered, creeped out by the way he looked him up and down.
"I was wondering if you would keep your end of the deal," he rumbled.
"Didn't realize doing homework was a crime," Jack muttered, shooting him a look. He reluctantly took steps toward his bed, noting how violent red optics watched his every move. "If I want to keep up appearances, I need to keep my grades up."
Megatron said nothing as Jack took up residence on the far side of the bed, curling his legs in so he did not come even close to touching the tyrant. His visitor merely looked amused.
"You understand that for this to work, we must try," he noted.
Jack ignored the remark, instead going for a different route, distracting him.
"I tried to do some research on Amicus," he watched as the name piqued Megatron's interest. "But I couldn't find anything that referenced who he was, or where he came from."
"You are no Soundwave," Megatron agreed, not yet offended by the probing. "And it is of no fault of your own. He was not a prominent historical figure of your species, and perhaps existed before Earth's recorded time."
When he did not divulge any further, Jack realized he was going to have to pry for more answers. He was not sure if the tyrant was just trying to lure him in, or if he truly found it painful to talk about his former . . . companion.
"So, who was Amicus?" Jack pushed. "Was that even his real name?"
Megatron paused, recalling when he had first met the aformentioned organic. It had not been long ago in terms of Cybertronian time, towards the beginning of their malicious war . . .
XXX
Megatron strode through the doors of Sentinel Zeta Prime's palace, basking in his victory. Slaughtering the guards had been easy enough with Starscream's assistance, and with the Decepticons having already advanced through most of Iacon, he did not worry about the measly Autobot faction attempting a counter assault. The Decepticons were far too large in number, and very few truly had any sympathy for the Prime who turned his back on his people. Even the old fool Alpha Trion was at odds with Sentinel Zeta, which spoke volumes of his true integrity.
The elaborate halls were adorned with spiraling sculptures and glittering crystals, each of which enough on their own to buy the freedom of several gladiators in the Kaonic Underworld. The silver and golden patterns on the walls were highlights of Cybertron's golden age, beautiful murals easily hiding the truth outside of the palace walls. The caste system which the Prime had carelessly allowed to take hold did not even come close to touching him during his self-induced isolation in this accursed fortress.
Without many exchanges of words the Decepticon squad he had taken with him filtered in, clearing each room and bringing forth any living creature they could find for evaluation. Shockwave, ever the most logical of the bunch, was tasked with analyzing each Cybertronian servant or adviser and determining where they were best fit to serve - if they had any possible purpose at all outside of being a prisoner.
Starscream lead his new master up the grand staircase to the second floor, then to the third, taking lazy steps up each one. Being a grounder, Sentinel's place of residence was not open and spatial for the convenience of flying, though the Seeker hardly seemed perturbed. On the contrary, Starscream was thoroughly enjoying the Prime's fate. Unlike most, he had a front row seat to Sentinel's cowardice and corrupt practices, and he was just as eager as Megatron to usurp him.
"-and this is where we may find many capable hands," Starscream slunk in front of a set of doors, the set-up of which was quite odd for an indoor entrance. It was a set of ornate double doors, locked tightly with a security code and heavy bolts, that had pseudo-pillars on either side and a begrudgingly beautiful set of Cybertronian glyphs. However, what they said unnerved Megatron, his spark twisting ever so subtly with the suspicion of what might lie beyond the doors.
"And where two lovers meet, they do consume one another to feed their passion."
The Seeker's slim claws pressed the key code, Megatron's armor clamping down as he prepared for the sight which might be before him.
There had been many rumors as the Cybertronian's spread their colonies and widened their parameters that Sentinel Zeta Prime had ordered for . . . souvenirs to be brought back to Cybertron. In addition, some believed that he had his own collection of Cybertronians from which he derived physical pleasure, adding to the already tarnished reputation of the corrupt Prime and his cohorts. Indeed, many high-ranking political figures were said to be invited to the Prime's palace for "special" occasions and private parties; so private, in fact, that they would never be spoken about - outside of the occasional rumor. Senator Shockwave even confessed to partaking in a few, not for his own sake but to quench his curiosity as to whether sentient life truly did exist outside of Cyberton. Megatron never bothered to ask for details, though now he supposed he should have, in order to brace for what he might find.
A strange, filtered air greeted him, his chemical receptors assaulted by a strong scent of ozone and a change in the atmospheric molecular balance. Behind the ornate doors was a second holding area, and he felt the atmosphere further warp and change - his first indication that they were entering a specially enclosed space for organic species.
Several pairs of eyes greeted them in a lavishly expansive room, the area much larger than the Decepticon anticipated and clearly taking up the majority of the third floor. Starscream strode in with little hesitation, perhaps not as unfamiliar with the scene as the gladiator expected.
Cybertronians and various organic species alike either stood or lounged in the room, which was kept several degrees warmer than the rest of the palace. He suspected so they would have no excuse to not be wearing as few items of clothing as typically acceptable, multiple organics in particular covering up at the sight of Starscream and the newcomer unaccompanied by Sentinel Zeta.
"This, Lord Megatron, is Sentinel Zeta's personal . . . Court," Starscream introduced, standing in the middle of the rich red carpeting. Fabrics such as what adorned the entirety of the room and its furniture were rare on Cybertron, and extraordinarily expensive to make. Normally fabrics were the product of very thin metal threads, often made interlaced with gold for extra softness. This, however, was clearly organic in nature, making the Decepticon wonder just how much wealth the Prime was wasting on such disgusting pleasantries.
Most of it was rich red, which contrasted sharply with the deep greens and blues of the Cybertronians and the various skin tones of the organics. One mech in particular, adorned with glittering purple jewels across his green chassis, stepped forward with a bowed head.
"Megatron . . . I suspect you have not come here with noble intentions, should your reputation precede you," he said, his entire front half bowed forward in a graceful gesture of respect.
"Sentinel Zeta has been apprehended by my Decepticons," Megatron curled his lip in a distasteful sneer. "As such, you are under my jurisdiction. What is your name?"
"Jetstorm," the mech answered, daring to let his optics flicker up to meet the tyrant's gaze.
"Tell me, Jetstorm, are any of you capable of combat?" Megatron questioned, in particular gazing at the various mechs and femmes around the room. Some were clearly designed for lighter work or taken from their upper class homes, sold to the Prime as some sort of recompense. Others were much heavier builds, likely for much rougher activities when Sentinel so desired.
"Many are trainable, if that is what you are alluding to," he spoke carefully. "Myself included. The organics, however-"
"They are of no use to the Decepticon cause," Megatron bared his sharp denta. "And as such, I see no reason why their existence should continue."
"Ah, my liege," Starscream extended a single claw, not daring to flinch when Megatron's burning gaze settled on him. "There is but one I am sure you will find to be immensely helpful. Sentinel Zeta's personal favorite - a human."
Megatron almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but Jetstorm quietly stepped aside as Starscream gestured to the end of the room. There, another Cybertronian mech, black with golden and silver accents, various colored jewels adorning his armor, stood next to an elevated platform. On the platform were various pieces of furniture and fabrics of many different colors, on top of which rested an organic.
The human gazed back at Megatron with a casual look, evaluating the mech just as he took inventory of the small, irrelevant lifeform. Its hair curled around its delicate face and shoulders, adorned with various pieces of jewelry. Its hands too glittered, one raised to its chin as it watched lazily, prey that had no qualms about being observed by a predator. Its only piece of clothing was a long bottom half, the protoform otherwise exposed in a tasteless manner. Piercing blue eyes clashed oddly with its overall darker complexion, though Megatron could not say he had encountered many of the insects in his life.
This is the favorite of a Prime? Pathetic. Vile.
"And how is it of any use to me?" He asked, approaching the human.
The black Cybertronian stepped forward, and like Jetstorm kept his helm bowed low as a sign of respect. "Megatron, if I may . . . He is an advisor, confidant, and . . . Pleasure of Sentinel Zeta. He holds many secrets that the Prime has told him. Personal, political, military . . . All have been whispered in his ear."
The human opened his mouth and spoke in his strange tongue, Megatron almost recoiling at the sounds. They were unnatural from anything he had ever heard of, and it only made his spark twist with even more hatred for the strange beings. Organics were abhorrent creatures, and he found no reason to take any of their lives into account.
The Cybertronian paused for a moment after the human had finished speaking, optics trained on the floor.
"He wishes to add that his loyalties are not with Sentinel Zeta."
"Then, pray tell, where are such loyalties?" Megatron snapped a little, not in the mood to deal with a coy traitor. If the pet was not loyal to his master, then could the bug truly be trusted?
"Only with himself," the Cybertronian answered once the human finished. "And if you have truly gotten rid of Sentinel Zeta, then he feels that he owes a debt to you."
The Decepticon made to snip back again, but paused. He realized the Cybertronian before him had yet to speak the human's strange language, yet his questions were being answered without hesitation.
"He understands Cybertronian?"
He was rewarded with a nod. "Yes," the translator answered. "While he is capable of comprehending our language through verbal and written means, his organic vocals are not designed to reproduce the correct pitches and words to correctly speak Cybertronian. We are, however, more than capable of speaking his language."
Megatron was not interested in the last part. "How long has he been a part of this court?"
"Seven of his years," the Cybertronian answered. "According to his calendar. He is twenty-six of his own years as well, by definition a matured mech."
Organic lifespans were just blips on the radar of a Cybertronian's, thus Megatron could accurately conclude that while Sentinel Prime may have only had a short amount of time with this organic, it was long enough. And as much as it disgusted him, Megatron was not stupid. This human was useful, especially if he contained secrets.
"What is your name?" He asked the Cybertronian. "And what is the human's?"
"He refers to me as Bastet. I believe it is a form of endearment," the Cybertronian answered. "Otherwise . . . I have no name. Likewise, Sentinel has always referred to him as Amicus. It is the name he answers to."
Megatron gazed at the odd pair, deciding he would keep them for now. Amicus gazed back at him with an almost bored expression, the human lounging back in his chair. On the table before him was a partially-drank cup of energon, something Megatron had not taken into account. At the very least, it appeared that the care of this human would be convenient.
"Very well. Bastet, you will remain with him," Megatron ordered, looking around the room. "As for everyone else . . . Starscream, take those capable and enlist them into the Decepticon army. The others . . . Deal with as needed."
"Yes, my Lord," the Seeker bowed, barking orders as Megatron made his way out of the room, other things needed to be tended to.
Amicus gazed at his Cybertronian companion, his brown curls gracefully bouncing as he did so.
"This has been an interesting turn of events," he picked up his glass of energon, swirling the substance. "And here I thought the threat of Megatron was merely an empty promise."
"It appears that he should be taken more seriously than what the Council, and Sentinel Zeta, gave him credit for," Bastet agreed, his brow furrowing just slightly. "He may kill you once you run out of usefulness. It is very clear he does not like organics."
"Then I will become useful," Amicus assured him. "Surely I am clever enough to come up with something. And if the Prime has taught me anything, it's that everyone has a weakness, a sin, that can be exploited. I will just need to find his."
"Be careful," Bastet warned.
Amicus gave him a lazy grin.
"All I have left is death. And should Set decide to terminate me, then so be it. I have nothing more left to lose."
XXX
"Set?" Jack blinked. "As in, the Egyptian god of chaos?"
He was rewarded with a sharp grin. "A fitting name," the tyrant sounded proud of it, "and it did eventually become synonymous with a term of endearment. But it would be much longer before we would become accustomed to our presences."
The young man considered what he had been told, his gut twisting.
Sentinel-Zeta Prime. A Prime, taking in organics and Cybertronians and placing them inside a pleasure court. That was what he believed Megatron to be describing, feeling like he was going to be sick.
Optimus had mentioned many times that Cybertron had become corrupt, but he never mentioned how the Prime, a well-respected figure within Cybertronian society, kidnapped creatures from their homeworld and used them.
He could understand why Megatron had described Amicus as cynical and sardonic in his humor and manner of speech. After being reduced to nothing more than a warm body, life was . . . almost meaningless. A cruel joke to those who had nothing left.
There were so many more questions than answers now, but Jack noted how the time had flown from ten at night to almost one in the morning, cursing softly. He had to get up at six if he wanted to make it to school on time.
Megatron quirked an optic ridge at the profanity, his optics sliding towards the clock. "Ah, yes. You require your recharge."
"If we're going to keep doing this, we've gotta keep track of the time," Jack huffed, throwing back his covers and sliding beneath them. It was like a silent signal that he was finished, but Megatron did not move. "I can't start slacking on sleep, or work, or school. People will start getting suspicious."
"That is something you must continue to keep track of," Megatron said, as if attempting to displace all responsibility from himself. Jack shot him a look.
"It takes two to tango, Megatron," he hissed. Even still, he was intrigued by the story, now having multiple pieces of information he did not have before.
One, Amicus was likely Egyptian. And because he still heavily referenced the gods and deigned his own personal Cybertronian helper Bastet, a well-respected goddess of cats, he was ancient. Perhaps even royalty.
Two, his name was Latin. So, he likely lived during a time when the Romans and Egyptians intermingled - which was quite a while, but still a slice of history that he could use.
Three . . . he was drinking energon. A fun fact, he supposed. That meant it was harmless to consume, but perhaps Dark energon was not. That could be why Rafael was poisoned by the dark, and healed by the regular energon.
"Indeed," the dictator acquiesced, watching him.
Jack stared at him, the both of them silent for an uncomfortable few seconds.
"Are you going to leave?" He questioned.
"As we established, the night is my domain with you, Jack," Megatron answered, making his heart drop just a bit. He had been hoping the tyrant would leave once he realized he was going to sleep.
Going to watch me sleep . . . as if this could not get any creepier.
"Alright then, but you're going to be pretty bored," the human turned on his side so that his back was mostly to the Cybertronian, unable to help but snort to himself.
This was almost comedic. The universe's most dangerous creature, and he was going to sleep with his back to him while he watched. Yet he was simultaneously assured; as long as Megatron believed he was the best replacement for Amicus, he would be the safest human on Earth. Nothing would dare harm him while the dangerous presence hovered above him.
An empowering thought, however he knew it was all for nothing. He was keeping his friends safe for as long as he could, before Megatron realized this was going nowhere.
He cringed. How far was he willing to go to convince the tyrant that this might be real?
Not too far. Not too far.
