So it had come to this.
Slowly, one by one, systems began to fail, their almost melodic electronic warnings the only comfort Arcee had to cling to. Those beeps and pings that measured her life, the only companion left to her, the only indication of how close she was to beginning her journey to becoming one with the Allspark.
Click, click, click.
Arcee lifted her head, squinting into the blackness beyond, fearfully daring to hope. Bee?
Click, click, beep, click.
A macabre countenance loomed out of the gloom at the same moment Arcee realized it had been another system failure alert. Reality had become a fluid entity, ebbing and flowing, intermixing with the pain that caressed her delicate frame. There was not the bright, blue eyed Bee before her but a twisted, fanged smile, sharply feminine narrowed slits of magenta eyes accompanied yet another searing kiss of venom. Bright, jewel green acid drops carved trails in Arcee's armor. There was the whisper of silver flashes, needle thin, the sharp dance of eight limbs slicing, cutting, biting.
This is where her journey ended?
In the waiting darkness her battered servos spasmed, making her shiver with pain in the still air. This pain was her only guiding light left to her now and as Airachnid carved her way towards Arcee's spark, it blossomed as brilliant star of agony, guiding Arcee, holding her firm and true. She would not break, would not give in, would not, would not...
"...Will not..." a sigh of defiance.
Airachnid's smile was sickly sweet, her low voice was warm and thick with cruelty, " Oh Arcee, my dear Arcee, I had hoped you would say that..."
Eight dagger tipped legs rose in the air, flashing talons of silver quivering in anticipation of the kill. Already stained with the Autobot's energon they hungered for more, more, more...
"Airachnid."
It was a command, a command to stop: a thunderous booming inflection, each syllable reverberating with malice, molten and raw. That voice promised violence. More violence than even Airachnid could ever aspire to.
Peering through her pain Arcee looked on as the impossible scene unfolded before her. Like a Titan snapping kindling, Megatron surged forward, a metal tidal wave of energy and anger, anger at not Arcee, but at Airachnid. Slate gray fists closed around the sleek Con's frame, Arcee could hear the crunch of delicate limbs grating and grinding together as he twisted, turning, wringing out the smaller frame in the vice of his grasp.
Above the roar of his voice, Arcee picked up a higher pitched frequency, one shrieking with pain and confusion. It hit Arcee then: now it was Airachnid who screamed.
"Fool! Waste of scrap metal! I cannot think of a reason not to turn you into metal shavings!"
"Mercy—My Lord—I—most t-trusted—most—s-skilled—valueab-"
"Worthless wretch! You think only of yourself!" With another metal squeal he flung her against the wall, a limp, broken form, "Does the great Decepticon cause mean so little to you!"
Airachnid lay, sprawled and trembling in a heap, her proud collection of spider-like limbs withering in a tangle, "But she, she is the enemy! Just think, My Lord! Let me break her and you will have so many Autobot secrets at your fingertips! Just let me—"
In but two strides, Megatron loomed over her, a mighty ped rising, crashing, falling upon her battered frame. From her suspended state, Arcee heard another crunch, another wail.
"Do it, Airachnid, do it"—it was a challenge, a dare—"and I will bleed you dry of energon and toss you into the ship's reactor to be melted down into the useless lump of scrap that you are."
"You cannot mean that—"
Megatron danced away from her then, surprisingly lithe for a mech of his stature and Airachnid shuddered again at the sudden absence of that crushing weight upon her. Daintily he waived a clawed hand at Arcee, "Please," the harsh grate of his voice becoming suddenly silky, "please try and scrap her spark, try…and then prepare yourself to witness first hand the taste of my anger."
Like any sane mech, Airachnid didn't move a piston.
"No?" the question was light, airy even. But in the next spark-beat it became as thick and deep as the darkest abyss, "Then get out."
Wounded as she was, Arcee had never seen Airachnid move so fast.
A growl of frustration rose from Megatron as he watched Airachnid flee and as soon as the door slid shut behind her, he turned toward Arcee, optics burning deep and bright in the throes of anger not yet sated. Arcee could feel the vibration of his approaching steps, it rattled the chains that encased her arms, and she shuttered her optics, waiting, waiting for the pain to resume.
A light touch, gentle and questioning upon her arm, turning her, shifting her as he inspected the damage that had been done. Surprised Arcee onlined her optics to find his countenance inches from hers, his blooded gaze flitting from wound to wound.
"If you're going to kill me, be done with it already." Her voice still rang with determination though she felt so weary, so beaten. In that moment her spark yearned for that deep peace, that unbroken rest of being one with the Allspark. She could be with Cliffjumper again…would see Tailgate…
"Foolish Autobot," he rasped, though somehow his deep basso lacked the rumbling growl, the powerful threat that it usually claimed. So close to the Decepticon Lord she could sense that same spark-deep weariness within him, "If I had wanted you scrapped I would have let Airachnid remain…she yearns to offline you, she wants to tear out your spark for herself…" As he continued to examine the damage, checking to see that her auto-repair sequences had time to engage, he seemed to talk more to himself than to Arcee, "…I have never seen her hunger for revenge in this way…never seen her become so blinded by it…"
His hand lifted, the tips of his keenly sharp fingertips perching beneath her chin, not to threaten but to ensure that she looked at him, the gesture brutal in its gentility, "Stop taunting her, do not challenge her, at least not now…"
"Why do you care? Why stop her?"
"Can you not see? Do you not realize?" His gaze searched hers, "I need you alive…"
"I won't become a bargaining chip, I won't be held for ransom. Ratchet would never give in to your demands!" Fear coiled around her spark, "I won't be used against the Autobots!"
He let go of her then, stepped back, "Against the Autobots?" he shrugged, "Perhaps…perhaps not. I don't really care what they do…so long as they return Orion to me."
"I won't be used in this way, Megatron! I'll get Airachnid to offline me first!"
"I believe you, Arcee…I do…" it was blunt, uncalculated honesty, "You've dedicated your entire spark, your whole being to the Autobots and to their ideals…and you've shown that torture and threat of destruction cannot break your faith…" He loomed over her then, all harsh and hard angles, an tried and tested warlord, "But even you and your single minded devotion to your Autobots will not stop me—I will return Orion to his rightful place."
"Optimus belongs with us!"
"Orion belongs at my side! You and your cursed Autobots robbed me of him! You and your foolish council slaughtered him, murdered my own brother, before my optics!" He thundered, raged at her now, "But now he has been restored and I will do whatever I must to return my brother to his rightful place!" Megatron's optics became distant, far seeing, and Arcee knew he was becoming lost within the fever of his dreams, " And together…together we will restore Cybertron…and we will usher in a new era for the universe…as brothers…"
"Is that what you believe will happen?" Arcee was aghast, "Even without his memories, Optimus would never side with you, would never help you conquer the universe!"
"I grow weary of this conversation, Arcee." And weary he did look; in that moment it was as if she could discern the weight of the all of the eons pressing upon his frame, upon his shoulders. All that time…all of that loneliness…was this how Optimus felt too, when he was left alone with the silence of his thoughts, of his memories? Arcee's spark shuddered at the thought.
"Whether you will it or not, you will be the key that returns Orion to me, you will help me Arcee." With that looming promise he left her then, hesitating only long enough to command the guards without to forbid Airachnid from having any contact or access to their Autobot captive. Though he knew that his threat to the revenge driven spider-bot would prove more than enough motivation to keep her away—at least for now.
He turned down the twisting hallways of the Nemesis, feeling the weight of the echo of his footsteps. It rang out of his loneliness. Megatron ached for the days of eons past, of when he was still the brash gladiator from the pits, when he and Orion had been united, brothers in arms, brothers in spark, fighting for the freedom of Cybertron from the tyranny of the council. So much time lost…
No more.
No more wasted moments or minutes. Resolve swelled within Megatron as he gained his private chambers, sealing the door behind him. It was time, time to bring Orion home. Gathering up the fraying edges of his anger, draping that black emotion about him like a cloak, a royal vestment, Megatron approached the command console that decorated the far wall. It hummed to life at his lightest of touches, his dagger like digits dancing across the access panel, keying in coordinates, tapping into communication lines, summoning the Autobot base.
"I would speak with Ratchet." Though softly spoken, there was no denying that it was anything other than a demand.
"No. Go scrap yourself, Megatron!" Bulkhead's rude countenance loomed into view.
Megatron merely waited, would not be baited into bantering with lesser bots.
"Bulkhead, move your aft!" There was no mistaking the doc bot's voice as he barked out the command. A bitter smile turned up the corner of Megatron's mouth, so…it would seem that Ratchet had already accepted, already settled into his new mantle of leadership. Megatron could hear the shuffle of steps, flashes of the other bots as they moved out of the way, allowing Ratchet to step up to the screen. He could tell from the medic's features, the stiff set of his facial plates that the older Autobot had anticipated Megatron's call, had been waiting for it.
"What is it Megatron?" The question was flat, uninterested.
"You have something of mine—"
"—Optimus is a person, not a thing! And he doesn't belong to you!—" Raf's voice rose, amplified by his anger.
"—There is no one here for you, Megatron." Ratchet echoed Raf's sentiment, clearly eager to end the conversation.
Patient, Megatron began again, "You have something of mine…as I have something of yours." The Decepticon leader took satisfaction as shock rippled through Ratchet's expression.
"That's impossible, you don't—"
"My, Ratchet it doesn't seem as if everybot is in attendance this evening…missing a cyclebot are we?"
"Arcee…"Jack's strained whisper still reached Megatron over the communication, and he drank in the sorrow and pain that flowed within Jack's voice like a fine tankful of refined energon.
"Now that we understand one another, let us keep this simple. The Warlord Ratchet, leader of the Autobots—"
"—I am no such thing!—" Ratchet's frame rattled ominously with suppressed rage.
"—will return Orion to the Nemesis…his home, via groundbridge. If he does not—" Megatron loomed forward on the screen, reveling in a dramatic flair, "Then I will let Airachnid play with Arcee and scatter whatever is left of her across the desert." Megatron watched as the hope drained away from Ratchet's frame, watched as his shoulders sagged under the weight of his new burden.
"Do we understand one another?"
Ratchet shuttered his optics, wanting to will everything away, will it all back to normal. How he wished that it was Optimus' reassuring presence at his back instead of Bulkhead, who practically growled with anger. He ached with the wish that Optimus would appear again, would step forward, murmuring in his velvet tones that this was not Ratchet's burden to bear, that he would shoulder this responsibility, the weight of Arcee's spark that now hung in the balance. But when Ratchet opened his optics, stared back at Megatron's cruel face, there was no Optimus to ease his fears. No, Ratchet was completely and irrevocably alone.
"When, Megatron?" Immediately a chorus of protests rose up around him, but Ratchet ignored them all. He wanted to save Arcee as much as he wanted Optimus back, as he wanted for Orion to realize who he was, to become who he was meant to be. But what he needed at the moment, was time.
Now it was Megatron who paused; of course he had expected the Autobots to cave, to give in to his demands, but he hadn't anticipated Ratchet to not put up any kind of fight, to give in so completely, so quickly. But before he could reply, Ratchet spoke up, "Three days…you will return Arcee to us, unharmed, in three days…"
Megatron nodded once in agreement, he had been without Orion for eons, what was three days more? "Three days…and you will return my brother to me…"
He cut the communication then, wanting as little to do with the Autobots as they wanted with him. Turning from the console, he dreamt of years long gone, letting that false veil of anger that had lent him the intimidating façade, evaporate. The ache for his brother pushed upon him, drove him to kneel, where he remained, letting the unyielding metal floor bite at his knees. He was so close now, so close to achieving so much…Having made the first move in this chess game of emotions, he prepared to make the next. His message delivered to the Autobots, now there was only one other who needed to be told…to be told that soon, so soon he would be coming home. Megatron opened up a private communication channel, signaling the one link that he had left, the one remaining being that connected him to the past, to his long sought after goal.
Answer me… hear me, my brother, my Orion…
Across the airwaves, through the miles, beneath the confines of the Autobot base, Megatron was heard. Even as Orion still cupped Miko so carefully within his palm, Orion heard him, heard him and answered.
Megatronus…
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Please R & R!