A/N: This called out to me and pounded me into the dirt until I screamed uncle like a baby. I've seen the Mary Sue stories of being changed into a Transformer (why is it always a girl? And why is the girl always paired with a lone-wolf type and/or gives their friendship to only a trusted few? So if I'm going to do this let's do it but let's give it a good dose of human reality.

Warnings: Based on the G1 series but only until I take what is called 'artistic liberties' and smash the entire plotline to hell and back. Enjoy. Did this chapter while listening to Underwater March for the first PoC movie, scary.

Rating: M (for the later chapters)

Summary: Warrior, scholar, lover, prisoner, and slave. I am this. Traitor, teacher, friend, and demon. I am this as well. To stop the nightmares I will write this and hope...

Disclaimers: Transformers is the property of Hasbro and concept licensed through Takara Co. All original characters however are created by ciscogirl/ciscogoldengirl and protected by copyright laws. This work was created only for enjoyment, not with the goals of credit or monetary gain in any fashion.

Sententia-Thought

We employ the mind to rule, the body to serve.
-Sallust (86 BC-34 BC)

For those who bicker and say otherwise, let me lay down the arguments once and for all. I cannot remember my previous life. I cannot recall the touch of the wind through my hair, or the way I spoke for I know that my speech is considered quite formal by the standards of many.

And yet…I miss the feel of hair on my scalp. I miss the taste of food for I know beyond a doubt that I loved foods filled with heavy spices and items of varying degrees of sweetness. Even now should someone bake a rum cake I can almost feel my non existent stomach growl in anticipation. It is for this reason I have never truly lost myself in the debauchery of my new kin. How can I lose myself to the tastes of a race I know were not my own when I still long for the old foods and delicacies of my true people? Because of this, I suppose many consider me to be a 'spoilsport' in the avenues of celebration then.

I miss as well the touch of a woman in the dark. That much I know for I still feel pleasure at seeing a woman who is pleasing to look upon. I miss the feel of them, the wonderment of allowing myself completely at their mercy and feeling my heart beating in a rushed tempo in time with theirs.

Ah, but that is for later.

In the very beginning, all that I could discern was darkness. Or rather, the knowledge that something wasn't right. But it didn't matter whether or not something didn't feel right. What mattered at that moment was that something was happening all around me. I felt strange jolts shocking me out of my darkness and I could feel myself becoming anchored into a physical shell of perfection...

"He's coming online."

Of course I am. I've been online long enough. I feel strangely heavier, larger, and the feeling that something isn't right comes again, stronger this time.

"Lessen the energon feed. Slowly!"

That same voice, so strange, so cruel. Intriguing however. I suddenly become aware of something else, this shell can be controlled.

"Boot-up process thirty percent and rising."

"Shutting off assisted programming from Alpha to Delta. Starscream…"

"The router systems are already disabled, keep your relays in alignment."

Starscream. A descriptive title for this sound, creating this voice as a unique, individualistic being. The title to this voice is apt then. But it doesn't matter…not when I can do something and…there!...I have limbs which can be moved by my will. Amazing!

"How are the networking grids?"

"Again, fine. Nothing detrimental to the scrapling's startup network grids."

"Boot-up process eighty percent. Boot-up process complete."

Two limbs, two hands with ten digits to further manipulate the world, though everything is still dark. And I possess two more limbs, lower and less dexterous but solid and strong nonetheless. I can move upright and possibly lower myself onto these limbs…again my shell…me…is astounding. I am astounding. What was I thinking about not leaving that darkness, that time without being myself and not being able to move freely? I find another part of myself, and…

"What the slag? What's wrong with him?"

"His vocal connections are still wiring themselves. It's a bit uncommon but still normal. Give it a breem."

"My audio receptors are going to need repair! That scrap heap's wailing like a dying Nebula glider!"

"Silence!"

Even I grew quiet. This third voice…power. I need to find out more about this, this, whatever this is. Optics. Facial plating, lips. Move the lips and open the optics.

Not so quickly! This is certainly not the dark! This is light, the complete opposite and while it shocks me I like it better, it's much better than the dark.

Something is wrong. Something is starting to really not feel right. But this great figure is standing over me with bright red optics and a twist of his lips that makes me both happy and terrified at the same time.

But this isn't right. Something isn't right. What is it?

My networking grid is running smoothly and my processor is already stabilizing after its initial boot up. All of my minor programs are beginning to run smoothly, keeping my body online. But the rhythm of my body is all wrong.

"My…my name…is…"

"Your name, my ferocious warrior, is Apocalypse. And I am Megatron, your one true leader."

Apocalypse. That is my name, my designation. That should be putting my processor at ease but it is not. I send a tentative scan over my surface programs and then over the internal parameters.

He had said leader? Megatron? That name feels terrible and yet comfortable. A new program has kick-started with his name and with it, information; but it is coming a bit too fast, a bit too raw and I still feel wrong. But the program won't let me go, it makes me respond to Megatron, to obey his will.

Answer him. Answer him. The program bends me and forces me to ignore my own new found wonder at my body. It opens my mouth, and sends commands for me to talk.

"I am…Apocalypse…I am your warrior?" The word, 'warrior', a designation that makes me feel very similar to when I see Megatron, both terrible and comforting. It gives me purpose.

"You are indeed. In fact you are a part of one of the greatest forces in the universe! You are a Decepticon!" He gestures with a slate grey hand to a small symbol on his form. Aside from his optics it's the only true color and it feels natural and right to see it. But that's the programming within me urging me to feel comforted by that symbol. It is integrating into my core functions, into me. I don't want it to!

I wasn't always this…Megatron wasn't…the size is too wrong, the voices and senses too wrong…

Not right. Not right…clean the programming. That's the only way to end this infection that is already two layers into my processor. Purge the system. This is not right, this disgusting series of coding and programming lines will infect my entire processor and my central core memory, that can't be allowed to happen! I have to stop this program, I have to get Megatron to stop talking, to stop sending the program further keywords and phrases.

"...and you will obliterate any who are in you're…"

I used that same first sound to stop him from speaking only I make it louder, loud enough so that I won't be able to discern his words. I will not be ripped and reformed, no matter how simple and young and stupid I am. The program sends jolts up and down my nerve relay grid, punishing me for disobeying parameters. I never disobey Megatron. I never speak over him. I must always submit to him if no one else.

Oh such pain!

"Hold him down!"

"Decepticon core programming is being purged."

"What now, oh Mighty 'Leader'?"

I refuse to let this anomaly into my system any further but its parameters are set, its goal is complete infection. I push back with everything, I feel hands holding me down to the berth as I flail.

"Starscream if you don't shut up I'll rip…"

"He's building an anti-program."

"Well then delete it! I've used too much energy just to see him degrade into a walking scrap pile!"

The program, that vile thing, taints everything, every network from my legs up to my chassis and straight around my processor, sinking down to a third level. But my spark chamber is still clean.

Stop.

Submit. Decepticon core program initiated.

Stop…coding unknown.

I can feel it pressing against what few walls I make from own energy reserves, sacrificing surface programs to do so. It pushes harder and the message is clear. I won't win, I will be consumed and whatever is left will use my tainted systems and pretend it to be me and fufill whatever it is that it is striving for.

Decepticon...Decepticon...Megatron...Decep...

I want to live and find out more about this strange, strange world filled with light and this wrongness in me, something in the very depths of my spark wants to learn as well.

I make a deal. I will obey Megatron. I will become his warrior. I set those parameters even as I use everything within me to deleted the remains. But my enemy is stupid, lost in the fact that I have agreed to the core parameters, and settles into whatever systems it has already infected. Fine, stay in those places. But I am still here. I'm not in that darkness and I'm not gone completely. I have already changed, as young as I am but I have won.

"False alarm. His processor's accepting it."

If they wish to think I did then so be it. It is the only thing I shall hide from Megatron, this being who already holds me in his sway so completely with words alone. I hate him for that, but yet I will follow him to the ends of the light and rip open every barrier so he may walk through without a care.

I focus my optics again on Megatron, he's frowning and his optics are so terrible to look at but I cannot look away. Is that why he is frowning even more? The tainted areas of the processor whisper bits of data into my central core memory, telling it what to do to appease Megatron. The one named Starscream had said something out of hatred and distrust but that same word can be used for respect and loyalty. I use it now and do as the others have done, stringing sounds and words into an understandable line of physical communication meant to ease his anger.

"I am…your Decepticon…and you are…my…Leader…"

A/N: Questions and comments are welcome.