Hey guys! Love the response, I'm so glad the first chapter was a hit! Going over the next couple of chapters, I had forgotten how hard it was to keep the POV shifts down, hopefully a little more ambiguity will be worth the cut.
Finals kicked my ass, so I'm running behind. I usually like to finish the next chapter before posting the first to keep the plot lines connected, but leaving a single chapter up for so long made it look a little too abandoned, you know? So anyways, the chapter after this is only half-finished if anyone wants to send me some prompts or personal wishes.
Enjoy!
If one of Megatron's Decepticons ever asked him what it was like to be trapped in his own frozen frame for over a hundred vorns he would dent their chassis hard enough to incapacitate their alt ability, permanently.
If he had to answer, though, and that would never happen because there wasn't a spark in the galaxy that could force him to do anything, Megatron would say it was a lot like going into stasis at the end of a cycle. That is, if going into stasis included white-hot agony which slowly trickled into isolating numbness and an excruciating awareness of every passing nanoclick.
During his less hinged moments, Megatron could believe this experience was a torture session from Primus himself. Never before had Megatron considered methods such as these, to paralyze another cybertronian and abandon them on a backwater waste of a planet was brutal in ways mangling couldn't achieve.
Under extreme duress, Megatron might also admit it was an opportunity to reassess his strategy. The frantic firefights left cities burning and survivors reeling were chaotic and animalistic, and as a mech meticulously designed to be the perfect military leader this wasn't a problem. What was a problem was that there was very little else besides those savage battles that rattled stars.
Looking back now he could see this was the time to regroup.
After Prime had made that cowardly call to lose the Allspark to the empty grasp of galaxies, Megatron should've pulled his Decepticons in. He should've organized them into tight squadrons and kept in formation, catalogued supplies and soldiers to meet maximum efficiency. But he hadn't. Panicked and enraged, just like every other starving cybertronian, he had launched any responding fleet into the fray and began searching deep space.
It wasn't a complete mistake, of course. Megatron rarely made truly regrettable mistakes. He had found the Allspark. In fact, it was close enough to feel that nostalgic hum of constant power rush up his frame like it had when he was still Lord High Protector. Now it was just a waiting game. The sticky germs of this miserable planet would soon slip, they were doomed the moment he landed. And after he destroyed enough to drastically reduce the population, he would take the cube and finally gather the Decepticons. Their rise will be glorious, the Autobots won't stand a chance against-
A strange frequency reached his audio receptors, and tore him from his half-processed fantasies.
It wasn't like the primitive radio transmissions and weapon whines of the fleshy humans, too high and articulated. Megatron waited to hear it again, anything to escape the monotony of watching the insects scurry about.
The frequency rose once more, peaking into a shrill ring. It was bizarre, Megatron's programs blinked creakily, decoding the data at a crawl.
He mulled over what his mainframe had already repacked in the meantime, it sounded familiar. Like a song he'd heard so long ago all he had to remember it by were muddled emotions. Had one of the bastardized protoform drones the humans forced from the Allspark managed contact with him?
The frequency continued steadily, and finally, Megatron processed the audio transmission.
It was cybertronian, no doubt about it. Far too nuanced for a protoform, and yet it had no true intent. Just...aimless noise. An upset wailing, no message, only a simple distress signal.
It...itched too. Ancient, half-crumbled protocols were shifting and crashing under the feeble ability that still remained in his frozen processor. He wanted to do something, he wanted to approach whoever was crying underground with him. The call was high-pitched, panicked, and painfully intimate with something forgotten inside him.
The noise broke off into a keening warble, and Megatron came to a jolting halt.
It couldn't be.
The crying continued, ringing through his helm, scratching at him to move, to help. But he hadn't heard that sound in eons, newborn stars had aged and died just in the time he'd heard it while still on Cybertron. The youngest generation of cybertronians, what few remained, had never heard it and didn't expect to. That sound, for all intents and purposes, hadn't existed for an insurmountable time and might never again. And it was coming from only a short distance away, blocked by a few measly feet of concrete and reality itself.
There was no Primus-damned way he was hearing a sparkling.
Megatron was barely aware of the alerts flashing against his optics, purposefully recording the cry despite his own deep denial. His entire body leaned a miniscule fraction forward in the direction of the noise, like a tree unwillingly stretching toward the sun. He wanted to see, he needed to make sure. There was absolutely no way it was true, but he needed to see anyways. Where was it? Why couldn't he see it? Where could it-
His processor crashed in the next moment, wiping him clean in one brutal swipe. Megatron was left watching the ants scramble in a thoughtless haze. At least he lost perception of time while his programs were rebooting.
The item activated for a brief period of time, and the scientists were still rushing about collecting and interpreting data as quickly as their coffee could carry them.
It had established itself as the least weaponized of all the experiments thus far, as deeper scans had revealed nothing like the miniature machine guns and knives often created by the other robots. Just the sharp digits and natural hardiness that came with being a machine.
Besides the awful, but harmless noise it emitted, it was also the least aggressive so far. The only experiment on record to not attack the box. It had moved away from one of the agents, appearing agitated, only to deactivate soon after. If its behavior continued this precedent, it might remain unfrozen in favor of studying active interaction for some time to come.
Of course, security hadn't lessened. The ring of agents was being cycled out regularly and all anti-NBE weapons were on standby, but there was murmuring from management that wasn't as grim as it could be. A head scientist had even been appointed, with just the right amount of ruthless curiosity and silent obedience to unruffle a few feathers.
Her first act as head scientist, in charge of everyone onsite but the chief of security, had been to give the item a classification. She'd deemed it the NBEP-00, the Non-Biological Extraterrestrial Product, settling the confusion over its origin. It was similar to the NBE-01 but came directly from the cube, a product of aliens rather than one itself. What that actually meant had yet to be determined. Actually figuring out what had set the cube off in the first place wasn't their field.
An assistant stuck a clipboard to the bulletproof box and it was time for the assembled team to start a new observation session.
When Harry woke, he remembered perfectly why he had passed out in the first place. There was no way to forget how monstrous he was when his very thought was wrong, not even in those dozy first seconds. Warped and alien and completely inescapable. He curled tight, unable to squeeze his eyes shut but they weren't working anyways.
Despite his efforts to reject every inch of himself, it didn't take long for him to notice the shivering. His...moving chest was clicking loudly and his metal body was shaking uncontrollably. The plastic pressed against him was frigid and he was so so cold.
Harry pulled himself up on wobbly, metal hands. They trembled weakly, silver and inhumanly thin. Harry forced himself not to look when he...decided to see again, sitting up as another shiver wracked his freakish form. He felt nauseous too, absolutely sick with cold and terror.
It was like last Christmas again, when the Dursleys had locked him outside to enjoy his fully prepared Christmas feast. His lips had been blue by the time they remembered to bring him back in and he'd been sick for the next two weeks.
Would he get sick again? Why was the box so cold? Were the people with guns trying to freeze him to death? Could a robot die of the cold?
Could a robot die?
A flash of white snatched his attention, and he glanced up. There was a woman standing beside a black-suited man holding a gun. She had a long dark braid and glasses and was speaking in a quiet tone. He recognized her from the room next to the cube, she was one of the scientists. Did that mean he was still in the dam?
Neither appeared cold, oddly enough, not even a scarf when it felt like it should be snowing. They were both looking right at Harry, and he scooted clumsy away. There wasn't much room to move around and his back soon hit the other side of the box. There was a weird clink when he did so, it felt like his back was larger than it had been before, even though he was smaller from what he'd seen so far.
Harry glanced around and caught the flash of a metal plate before it vanished from sight behind him. He followed it, twisting to catch a look a glimpse.
It was fixed to his back, and it took him another three circles and a spill onto the freezing ground to make him remember he could see his reflection against the plastic. Harry stiffened, did he dare look? Did he want to see more after what he had witnessed already?
His face had been monstrous, not a speck of human boy in the angles and slates, and his chest left him feeling lightheaded. Was Harry ready to see what had become of his back after that?
Shaking still, now from both the cold and nerves, Harry swung his head to the wall, claws clenched. He had to know, though he couldn't think of anything scarier than his own appearance at that moment.
Even through his resolve, it took Harry a few moments- and he knew exactly how long he took down to the decimal, which only made it worse- to tear himself from the front. His...not eyes...automatically fixated on that star-thing emitting light from inside, and his knees wobbled...Harry yanked himself away, determined not to catch a glimpse of whatever was left of his face in the process.
Two vaguely triangular shapes sat high on his back, leading down to two complementary points. They looked like the wings of Dudley's toy jets. The ones he used to scrape his own name into the wooden floors of the hallway before blaming it on Harry.
For a moment, the horror abated somewhat. A speck of curiosity flared at what the protrusions might mean. Did Harry have wings? Could he fly now? He had dreamt countless times of flying away, it was one of his favorite fantasies.
Another harsh shiver struck through him, and now he noticed the wings on his back shook too. They were a part of him. Could he move them then?
The white coat brushed by the corner of his eyes. Harry wobbled away, the volume of his clicking chest almost as loud as the static squeal he let out when he spotted the black gun in the white-coated woman's hand.
Her expression didn't change, she was watching the oddly shaped, square gun. A man in a lab coat next to her was writing on a clipboard. Then she spoke, and it was loud enough that Harry could hear through the plastic box.
"The NBEP-00's temperature is still dropping, currently at 100.8 Fahrenheit. NBEP-00 is now showing signs of thermoregulatory distress. Initiating first attempt at intervention." Harry didn't have a clue what any of it meant, but one of the black-suited people breaking the circle to approach the box held his complete scrutiny.
In the man's hand was a normal gun pointed unwaveringly at Harry through the plastic, in the other was something folded into a square. Harry tumbled against the opposite side of the box, as far away as he could manage, His shivering was constant now, an irritating click against the plastic as his metal parts glanced against the sides. He hadn't realized how much silence had comforted him until his ruined body took it away.
For all that his attention was clearly on Harry's every movement, he didn't react to the retreat. Instead, the man tucked the square under one arm and reached up high to touch a small black box stuck to the side that he hadn't noticed before. Little black wires protruded from the box to the top of Harry's cage, and he realized he could spot hinges on the sides. It opened from the top, the man was opening the top.
The man typed a passcode, his eyes still trained on Harry, just as dark and dangerous as his gun. Harry pulled his arms over his head and pressed himself further into the cold plastic. He was so scared of the man. He didn't want to be shot, he didn't want to die alone in a box without even knowing why any of this had happened to him.
Harry flinched as the hinges let out a pressurized hiss, cracking open. In a fluid motion, the man dropped the square into Harry's box and slammed the top shut behind it. The box could only have been open for a scant three seconds.
The man sprinted back to his circle and Harry was left alone with whatever he dropped inside.
He was locked back inside with a dull click of finality, trapping him back in a display case for all these strangers to watch. He was numb now with the cold, and he peeled himself off the ground to rub his arms like he had as...a human…? What was Harry now? He wanted to be human.
The friction didn't do much, his hands were cold and his arms were cold and between them he couldn't warm up. The trembling was getting stronger now, affecting his already precarious balance.
Harry watched the square in an effort to distract himself from the painful freeze. Up close it looked soft, like a folded blanket. He couldn't see anything wrong with it, and softness sounded nice.
Creeping cautiously forward, alert for any signs of movement, he extended a long, fleshless limb and poked at it with his claws. It felt cottony and warm.
Without a thought, Harry snatched at it and pulled it apart to reveal a heated cloth. It was a blanket! It felt like a cloud compared to his old sheet at the Dursleys but it could've been a brick for all he cared when the blessed heat soaked in.
Harry cuddled into it, a birdlike chirp escaping his throat. It was large, wrapping around his jutting body twice over, and it felt like he thought a hug might feel like. Surrounding him from all sides with a warmth he craved.
The shivers died down, and the noises from all the gears and chips in his chest quieted to a tolerable level. He was so tired, he just let the contentment wash over him in seeping waves and turn him to ooze.
In his comfort, he almost didn't listen in time to hear the woman speak again, the square device tucked out of sight as she fixed a clipboard to the side of the box.
"The intervention was a success, the NBEP-00's temperature has risen to 107.2 and is no longer displaying distress symptoms. Further homeostasis experimentation pending."
"Do you think the NBEP-00 is endothermic? A heat lamp could be placed above the case during control." A man in a fellow lab coat approached from behind the small gun-dotted wall to peer at Harry. Harry watched him in return, trepidation warring with his sleepy appreciation of the heated blanket.
"Further testing will need to take place before anything is ruled out, but it is my belief that the subject merely has a higher core temperature than past experiments. Otherwise, its base temperature would resemble the intervention."
As Harry observed the two scientists discussing something in intense jargon, a strange bravery overtook him. Maybe it was because he felt safe cocooned in his blanket, maybe it was just seeing the two adults speak in non-threatening voices so close to him, maybe it was a mix of fatigue and hysteria. Nevertheless, Harry opened his mouth, even though he couldn't see it with the plate in the way, and spoke to them.
Or at least tried to speak to them, because what came out was a hapless, uncontrolled croon.
The two doctors stopped speaking abruptly and their eyes narrowed on him with ferocious intensity. Harry screwed up his courage and tried again.
Why am I here? He wanted to ask, Who are you?
Babbling, bird-like nonsense was what he supplied, soft and emotionally toned.
"Some experiments before the NBEP-00 exhibited vocal tendencies." The woman murmured, her eyes gleaming behind her glasses. "I wonder what the purpose is."
Seeing that he was getting nowhere, Harry resigned himself to charades. He wanted to know what was going on, why he was in a box and why he was a monster and what had happened-
But first, he needed this woman to speak to him.
Harry held up the smallest corner of his blanket, high enough that she looked at it for a moment before her eyes darting back to him. Then, tucking it firmly back in place, he pointed at the woman. The circle of suited people shifted behind their small border, many guns clicked warningly and Harry huddled further into his blanket.
Thank you, he tried to say clearly. But what rose through the air was another chittering croon.
The man in a white coat was scribbling absently onto a notepad he'd taken from a large pocket, neither of their eyes left his form. Neither responded either.
Maybe something simpler than a thank you. Harry tapped the plastic floor of his box and then gave an exaggerated shrug of confusion, complete with a tilted head. He'd never actually played charades before, he had only seen it at dinner parties if they forgot to send him to the cupboard before the guests arrived. He was probably awful, but scientists were supposed to be smart, right?
"...Is it-"
"These experiments aren't capable of purposeful communication.." The woman cut the man off is a bored tone. "A dog has more complex language processes. You've got to think outside the box with these things, it has to be something else." The man frowned and went back to writing on his clipboard.
"This isn't exactly like the other experiments, it would be careless to not consider all possibilities." He murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
The woman stared at Harry for a moment longer, a wrinkle between her brows. Harry stared back. "I suppose it is larger than the others," She hummed. "Perhaps it is capable of some basic language comprehension. I'll keep it in mind. Now get back to work."
She jotted a quick few words down before spinning on a flat-footed heel and stalking away.
Harry looked after her, small and uncertain. He didn't know what to do. What had that cube done to him? Why were these people mad at him? What had he done to get trapped in a clear box? Was it because he was a freak?
The man took a few more minutes to sort through his papers before leaving as well, he didn't look back.
Harry huddled deeper into his blanket, miserable and achy. He wanted to go back to the Dursleys, where he knew his place and he knew the rules. But even if he could go back now, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Uncle Vernon would kill him.
A mournful warble rose from his chest, and even though it was eerie enough to set his teeth on edge, the lonely sorrow in his own cry brought a throb to his chest. Could a robot cry? Harry felt like he was just a breadth away from sobbing.
No one else spoke or approached him, and Harry had nothing better to do than pull the blanket over his head and pretend he was somewhere else.
Megatron's cortex rebooted lethargically, and he wasn't sure how long it took for his higher processors and memory drive to reactivate. At least a cycle at past, the pests weren't nocturnal from what he could tell and so the bare minimum of useless bags of liquid managed the underground hut when their sun was turned away. As of his optics' activation, only six insects had scuttled past.
He lost what little interest he had in the behavioral patterns of pathetic worms when his memory banks debugged his last thoughts and he was landed right back into that muddled confusion.
The recording played clear through his helm, the perfect example of a sparkling distress signal. A signal he was spark-bound to receive and act upon as both Lord High Protector and cybertronian. But it was only a glitch, an error rebounding through his wires. There was no possible way what he heard had been real.
Maybe he had pulled up too many programs at once or the ice had crept a little closer to his mainframe. Either way, it was only a delusion, no matter what the recording said.
As if hearing his decision, the noise rose to taunt him in his icy prison once more.
The vibrations rattled over his facial plates, the frequency crept into his audio receptors and wouldn't leave. A sparkling's cries, this time a little more refined.
Beyond the primal distress was an intent, or what Megatron must imagine was intent. It rose and fell in tandem with the transmission, a plea for assistance. The phantom wasn't just frightened, it was alone and helpless and needed somebody to pick it up right in that instant.
Megatron knew it was an absolute lie in his own treacherous processors, but he could almost feel the groan of his pistons pressing against frost, his body practically moving without him to find the infant.
It was cruel, if Megatron could, he'd shut down his audio and terminate his programs to silence the false sparkling. He didn't want to hear what might never be again. He didn't want to be reminded of the dead rock of Cybertron, of craters holding the steel scraps that had once been bright, happy children.
Megatron certainly didn't want to hear one in fear and pain, and know with the utmost certainty that almost every sparkling since the war began died sobbing on the same pitch, starving and sick without enough energon to survive.
As if finally acquiescing to his wishes, the madness permeating his matrix gave a tentative, friendly burble. Megatron could almost picture the sparkling before him, tiny servos grasping in a silent demand to be comforted.
Primus, when was the last time he had touched a sparkling? Had he known it would be the last? He couldn't recall, and even with fully functional wiring he doubt he would.
Megatron wished he could growl, what did it matter now? His own hallucination was dredging up useless things, there wasn't a point to any of that reminiscing. He wished it would just shut up. He didn't need more reminders of things long since past, he didn't need to be regretful or nostalgic. Megatron had always looked forward, Autobots were the ones who turned back to the consolement of past comforts. His Decepticons were pledged to finding a future, not restoring an age long dead.
So what if sparklings were gone? Megatron would win, he would take the Allspark already in his grasp and he would make more. Nothing here mattered except for the Allspark. This auditory glitch meant nothing to him.
Megatron had almost managed to convince himself of that fact, proud and regaining confidence as a welcomed silence stretched all through the planet's lunar cycle.
At dawn, it was irrevocably shattered, when the humans wheeled out their greatest mistake to date.
Harry was jolted awake by the hiss of his box's hinges. He lifted the blanket off his head and peered up in time to see a pronged stick jab his shoulder and pinned him to the ground by three rubber-tipped points.
Harry let out a shocked scream, squirming like a worm against the weight of the prong. The black-suited man who wielded it watched impassively from outside the cell.
Harry recognized that look on Aunt Petunia often enough to know nothing he'd do would garner assistance, so Harry cast his eyes desperately over the ring of armed men. There, directly ahead of him stood the braided scientist from before and a scraggly old man with cold eyes and a dozen tiny badges on his uniform.
Two more people lifted the top clean off Harry's box and thrust pronged sticks inside. Harry was stuck, unable to do more than flop with the weight pressed to a near painful degree on his chest, as one prong dragged his warm blanket off and the other jammed his arm against the floor with enough weight to break human bone. Harry hitched a cry of pain, were they trying to kill him?
Harry twisted to use the claws of his metal hand to scratch and pull at the sticks, tugging and stabbing wildly with terror. The second prong caught his arm in a single lance, and it was stuck to the floor on the other side of his body, pinning him like a butterfly to the floor of his box. Harry kicked uselessly, his head was running at dizzying speeds- numbers and pressures and statuses, and somehow he knew if things kept escalating he would blow a fuse.
"Steady!" The old man growled, his voice a powerful reverberation that seemed to come from all sides. "Now!"
The box was suddenly made feeble, and the panels wobbled and fell away. There were no more borders, he was very clearly in the same room as all these people. Harry went limp, his eyes wide and whole body prickling and clicking in alarm.
The next person to approach wasn't wearing a suit or a white coat, instead it was a looming, armored monster. The man was covered head to toe with thick black padding, helmeted and breathing like an ox. He stepped past the long prongs, a rounded device in his gloved hands.
Harry didn't bother struggling, taut as a bow he shook and waited for the man to kill him.
He took a step right into Harry's space and he shut his eyes tight against what was going to happen next.
Click! Click!
Harry felt a weight enclose around his claws.
Startled, he craned his neck to see his hands encased in the contraption the armored man had held. The prongs weren't lifted, so Harry wasn't completely sure if they were meant to be constraints or not.
"Make sure to keep the intensity as low as possible. If you use the same levels as the NBE-01, it will freeze solid." The scientist lady piped, and Harry had just enough time to feel panic strike up his metal body before it started.
He saw the hoses last. First it was a loud funnel noise, a bit like a small vacuum. Then a piercing pain climbed up his limbs with the creeping slowness of spiders in his cupboard. And lastly, he saw the people in plastic bag suits holding hoses that spewed billowing clouds of biting chill wherever they pointed.
Harry trilled with fright, but he couldn't escape. Where the mist touched and burned, his limbs locked up. The plastic-clad people paid special attention to his hands and leg joints, and it hurt so badly. He could barely twitch, like a dying moth, all he could do was cry.
"Alright good, keep it right there." The scientist shouted above Harry, and he felt a sense of movement.
Half-blind with pain and disorientation, he only squirmed minutely and let out wheezing protest as the world seemed to swing around him, blurry and spinning.
The warehouse ceiling vanished into sleek grey panels. They had crammed him into a much smaller, opaque holding cell. He was half-curled and couldn't shift, every inch was pressed against a wall.
The cold mist kept coming though, trickling over him with the ferocity of boiling oil on his skin. Harry inched his head, and it felt like a chore when he could barely move or think past whatever they were doing to him.
A vent was pressed right against his head, barred and gated. He was in a dog crate, Harry recognized the small caged opening from Aunt Marge's visits.
"Ease up, the NBEP-00's core temperature hasn't stopped dropping yet."
Harry whimpered pitifully in the cage, no longer able to tell if the cage was moving or if his vision was swimming.
After some immeasurable time had passed, Harry came to a halt. The grate revealed a different part of the warehouse, dark and filled with scaffoldings and ladders. A gloved hand swam into view as it swiftly undid the locks and the gate swung open just in time for a pronged stick to loop under a limp arm and drag him out as if he were a stray dog.
Harry was briefly airborne for a nauseating moment, floating weightlessly, and then he dropped to a cold, cement floor, flopping with all the grace of a broken doll.
"Absolutely perfect." The woman hummed, voice quieted.
The spray wasn't hitting him anymore, in fact, he couldn't hear the evil things blowing either. Harry felt his fingers twitch, the numbness receding. They had removed the restraining contraption at some point because his claws were free.
The pain seeped out of him as slowly as it came, but it left the bitter ghost of cold in every component. He was shivering violently by the time the numbness had completely fallen away, every piece of him clacking far too loudly.
He needed to get warm. Harry hefted himself onto shaking arms and looked around his new plastic cell.
It was a little bigger than his other one, wider at least. It wasn't empty either. In one corner sat a cotton dog bed and a heating blanket identical to the one left behind. Harry crawled to it immediately, flopping onto his aching side to burrow himself in the wonderful blanket.
From his new vantage point, he could also see that the walls held far more hinges and locked parts, some round and others like mail slots on a door.
"You see? Perfectly safe, and now there are far more vantage points for security. I daresay eliminating it will be incredibly easy with all the equipment from the NBE-01 so close by." The woman murmured, and Harry huddled away from her. He throbbed viciously, but he still pressed himself against the wall opposite the scientist. When he did this in his cupboard, Uncle Vernon usually left him alone, as it was far too much trouble squeezing his huge body inside to grab him.
"The NBEP-00 will receive separate offensive and defensive equipment." The old man's voice grunted from further away, and the woman shrugged carelessly and left without another word. The ring of people hadn't followed Harry, for the first time since that cube had turned him into a horrible monster, he was truly alone.
This time, he prayed they would never return.
He buried himself in blankets, tucking his stiff limbs under the cover without removing his attention from outside of his box. He was still trembling, feeling wrung out and hyper all at once. As if sensing how overwhelmed he already was, something pinged inside his own head right then.
It was hard to describe, like a window in his thoughts, pristine and artificial. But that made it sound as if Harry wasn't a part of its creation, and it was clearly his head. It pinged again, conveying urgency and otherness all at once.
Harry activated something, he wasn't sure what. It all came blaring from his own mind. Harry had probably gone insane, succumbing to the 'bad breeding' of his parents as Aunt Marge had always predicted.
A noise filtered through his head, not from Harry, but not coming from any outlying source. It was an impossible deep rumble, thunderous and heavy. It was surprisingly pleasant, a bit like his heating blanket in that it covered him completely. Harry could sink back into his bed with that sound, sheltered and warm.
The low noise continued for a few minutes, never letting up or wavering from its one powerful note. Harry was fairly certain it was a scary sound, but he was dozing to it very easily. It felt a bit like the cube had, but not nearly so overpowering and ambiguous, instead buzzing serenely in his chest.
Sadly, right has Harry was deactivating his vision, the rumble tapered off. He squirmed in displeasure right up until whatever had given him the noise in the first place spoke directly into his head.
-State your designation and status.-
It echoed, but it wasn't his voice. It was like a lion's roar, powerful and edged in predatory impatience. Harry couldn't flinch, there was no escaping the demand.
-State your designation and status.- It repeated, male and loud.
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the gear-grinding nonsense that fell out didn't seem to be heard.
-State your designation and status.-
What was he supposed to do? The voice sounded so angry, and Harry already ached from punishment.
-Access your communication engine and pull up your active programming.-
Harry had never heard those long words strung together before, and he shouldn't have been able to understand them at only ten years old, but something inside him...recognized what the voice meant. He shifted his attention to the box in his thoughts that had brought the voice and this time he used it.
-H-hello?- It was scattered and clumsy, but actually intelligible language finally came to Harry.
There was a very long pause. Harry remained taut throughout, waiting with bated breath to see if the voice would respond.
-...C-correct. Now, are you able to state your designation and status?- It was a little softer now, perhaps Harry had been forgiven.
But he had already hit an obstacle again, he physically winced. These words...Harry didn't know them, not even his scary robot parts.
He pulled his wirebound knees up to his chest under the blanket. What could he do to not upset such a big voice?
-I...I don't k-know...sorry.-
-What did your creators call you? Where were you created? When were you created? Who are your creators? Why were you created? How were you- The voice cut out, leaving Harry reeling with so many odd questions.
-Listen carefully. Do you know what your creators called you?- This time, the voice was much slower and deliberate.
Harry mulled over the question. Did the voice mean his parents? -M-my name is Harry.-
-'Hae-ree'? What an idio-...odd designation. Who are your creators? Do you know where they are now?-
The voice said his name funny, emphasizing the wrong syllables. Not that Harry could talk, he still sounded tinny and warbly in his head, however he was speaking now.
-Um, James and Lily? But they're d-dead.- It seemed like Harry was in trouble with the voice as well. People only wanted to know who his parents were when he was doing something bad, like rifling through the garbage can at the park for food.
-...I see. What was their faction? Autobot or Decepticon?-
Autobot? Harry had never heard those words before, should he have? Had he messed up again? -Um, neither?-
-Hmph, neutrals then. Makes sense with those designations…- The voice trailed off for a moment but resumed before Harry could respond that those names weren't alien but rather common.
-That doesn't matter now! Slag it. What's your status? What have these gormless cosmoleeches done to you and for how long? Are you injured?-
What have they done? Was he referring to the people under Hoover Dam? Harry honestly wasn't sure what they'd done to him. He was completely lost, just a ball of hurts and scientific horror.
-I don't know...I woke up in a b-box, and it was so cold. Then I had a heated blanket for a little while. Then they p-pinned me down. I don't know why, I swear I wasn't trying to cause trouble. A-and they froze me and p-put me in this box instead. I d-don't want it to happen again, w-what did I do wrong?-
-Are you still cold? Was anything damaged? What are your energy levels?-
Harry wished the voice would answer some his own questions, but he didn't dare push. -No. I have another blanket, it's okay. Nothing hurts too badly.-
-Stay under the blanket. This putrid hut is far from optimal heating and you appear too young to regulate yourself correctly.- Harry had no intention of coming out of the fleecey dog bed and blanket, but it was a little nice for someone else to confirm that he was doing the right thing. Wait, did he just say appear?
-Y-you can see me?-
-Affirmative. You have been placed closer to my proximity, I am to your left.-
Harry stiffened, he hadn't noticed anyone so close to him! He peeked his head out and turned to peer to the left of the box. There was no one there, just more machinery.
-I-I don't see you-
-You're looking right at me, are your optics fully functional? I am the mech currently being coated with liquid nitrogen. I'm the biggest object in your scope of vision-
The...mech? Harry tilted his head up to the colossal tower of dark gunmetal a few hundred feet away, the biggest thing that he could see. At first, he was confused. He didn't spot anyone on top of it, and the thing was too oddly proportioned to be a vehicle, but then he really focused on the shape. Two powerful legs, two jagged arms, and at the very top of the giant was a scowling beast of a face.
Harry let out a squeak, was that thing talking to him?
-What's wrong? Have you seen me?- The growling voice fit the titan perfectly, cruel death in every fitted component.
-Y-y-you're the r-r-r-robot?-
-Negative. I am far greater than any primitive human tool. I am a Decepticon, more magnificent than anything else that has ever laid eyes on this planet.-
Harry was once more clueless to what the creature meant, but there was no getting around what he looked like. A giant robot stuck under the dam with Harry, being sprayed with that white stuff that hurt so much, Harry shuddered.
-D-doesn't that hurt?-
There was a pause.
-There...was pain initially, but nothing on this planet is even close to my strength. Now I am merely delayed, I will escape soon.-
Harry watched sympathetically, empathy unfurling inside of him at the sight of this other robot hurting like he was hurt. After just a taste of immobilization in his arms and legs, he couldn't imagine how it felt to be completely frozen.
Huh, that's right. This other monster was a robot too. Maybe he wasn't so alone? Had he done something freakish too? -Um, are you...like me then?-
-Explain.-
-Like, n-not human? Made of metal?-
-Of course. We are cybertronians. What in Primus' name did those parental units teach you? Am I the only other you've met?-
Cybertronian...Is that what he was? Was it some sort of advanced robot? Like one of Dudley's newest game systems?
-I've never seen anyone like you.- He answered truthfully.
-Of course you've never seen anyone like me, I am the strongest of our kind, a lord among lords.-
Harry could certainly believe him, he had never seen something so big before.
-What's your name?- He blurted, excited that such an important person was speaking with him, that they were the same.
-...Primus. I am Lord Megatron, leader of the Decepticons and rightful ruler of Cybertron.-
And Megatron has entered the building! After all these years I think I just like him even more, he's so crazy.
But Megatron is so hard to write! He's so awkward when he's not being a dictator. When I'm writing him I try to picture how someone who's gone thousands of years living with only soldiers would interact with a child and I came up with kind of an authoritarian, but uncertain tone.
What do you think? Any writing tips? He's gonna get better at this, we're only at square one- but I would love some input to make their conversations more believable.
On another note, the scientists are less unreasonably bloodthirsty, and more moronic- which I think is closer to the movies. It's actually kind of hard to keep them moving, I feel like if this actually played out in the Bayverse, they would just stick Harry in a cell and forget about him. Even the wiki page snarks about how aimless their organization is.
Okay, onto questions-
Someone asked what I used for Harry's base design. They related it to Megatron, which I noticed is kind of true. It wasn't on purpose but he does resemble a skinny Megatron in some of his incarnations. I'm actually basing it a bit on my old design, which was based heavily on the I Robot movie design. The updated version is more transformer-y, so think of it as an amalgamation of a lot of different things, but not on any particular character.
Someone also mentioned that they hoped I would explain why Harry never tried to communicate nonverbally to the scientists- which was hilarious because I got that review immediately after writing about his attempts to do just that. I swear I never noticed the plot hole in my other version, I was just fleshing the setting out a bit and ended up addressing a problem I didn't know about haha! He won't give up immediately, don't worry.
Alright that's it! Feel free to review or PM me for suggestions or questions any time!