I'm a bad, bad person. I have absolutely no patience. I was gonna wait to post this, maybe till Monday cause I won't be able to update for a little while, but I just couldn't. So here ya go, a couple days early.

There are only about eight million different personifications of Megatron out there and picking which one I wanted to write was tricky, especially since in the '07 movie he didn't really havea personality. (side note: no, folks, 'evil' is not an accurate descriptor, as there are multiple varieties of evilness.) This makes Megatron either the easiest or hardest character to write, depending on how you view it. For me it turned out to be immensely difficult and yet extremely fun. The hardest part actually was trying to gauge how much human terminology he would know, as he is not a culture-loving, adaptable mech like Jazz.

Disclaimer: Me no own, me no wanna get sued, you no sue. Okie? Good.

--

This was not actually humiliating. He had decided upon that within moments of awakening.

No, humiliating had been having the Allspark within his reach and losing it because he'd underestimated one little planet's atmospheric temper tantrums. Humiliating had been being trapped and helpless and at the mercy of some of the weakest creatures he had ever seen, organic or otherwise. Humiliating had been dying at the hands of one of those creatures.

This was not humiliating. This was a universe beyond that.

Megatron kicked his foot out, trying to shake off the odd sensation of something being buried in the appendage without having to touch any of it. He was leaking organic fluid from more places than he could count and the pain was a never-ending assault on his processor, or whatever it was organics had instead. His armor in this state was nonexistent, he had no way to protect himself, and he was probably ridiculously easy to track. All things considered, he would have preferred to remain dead. But there was a balance to be maintained, he had been informed by that laughable excuse for a deity, and he was one of weights that was maintaining it. And laughable or not, that being could fold Megatron into a speck of space dust, so the Decepticon really had no choice in the matter.

All of this, he thought darkly, because he had been arrogant. He had foolishly assumed that because he could actually see the Allspark, it was his. And then he had assumed that he could easily defeat Prime and his band of weaklings. He also hadn't bothered to download any information about this pathetic planet and its inhabitants during the short flight to the fight that cost him his life. Instead, he mocked Starscream for having abandoned his more graceful Cybertronian jet form for the clunky Earth version- an important thing, keeping the seeker in his place, but he was regretting it now. He had been arrogant, almost as much so as that insufferable Starscream, and he had paid the price. Not only had he been destroyed by an insignificant fleshling, he had then become one.

This was just plain insulting.

The pain became suddenly too much and he had to stop, sneering at his weak organic body as he did so. He rested one hand against a nearby plant… thing… and picked up the offending foot. A long needle-like piece of plant matter was buried in the flesh, that oddly-colored red fluid sluggishly leaking out from around it. With a grunt Megatron picked it out- if there was one good thing that could be said about his new form it was that he was far more agile and maneuverable than he had ever been before, although he would never admit as much to even himself. If he had still been a mech removing such an annoyance would have taken more effort than it was truly worth.

From his left came the abrupt noise of organic chatter. His head snapped in that direction and he stared, trying to see through the screen of plant matter without actually having to move. He had been lost in this Pit-slagging plant tangle ever since onlining and he now had no intention of losing track of his one way out.

The noise was growing fainter, forcing him to follow. His foot ached with each step but he ignored it. This pain was nothing compared to what he would do to those fleshlings when he found them. True, they were in no way responsible for his situation, but he had never been the sort to make such distinctions.

Besides, he just needed to hurt something.

He finally found them along a rough stone roadway. There were two of them, leaning against the side of an earthen vehicle and talking with each other. The smaller one noticed him first and poked the second with its arm. They both proceeded to stare at him.

Megatron, for his part, was studying them. The bigger one was a real threat; the Decepticon had no idea how organic creatures were meant to handle themselves in a fight but he was confident that bigger meant stronger. Thus that one needed to die first, although he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. Somehow simply stepping on them didn't seem as viable an option anymore.

"Dude… where's your clothes?" The bigger one was talking to him now, and the other one was giggling. Megatron sent it a look that silenced it immediately. It was good to know that, even without his true form, he still commanded a proper amount of respect.

"Clothes?" He studied the two fleshlings. Their bodies were covered with some sort of woven materials while his was not. Maybe that was their form of armor.

"Is he a druggie or something? Look at his eyes!" The smaller one leaned over to whisper to its companion but Megatron caught everything it said.

"Yeah, clothes. And you're, like, bleeding everywhere. Even your eyes are red- are you all right?"

Megatron looked down at his hands. So leaking this red fluid was called 'bleeding'… and what exactly were his eyes? He looked back up and gave them a predatory smile.

"Well, since I don't have any clothes, give me yours." He needed something to protect this fragile body. The smaller one groaned at his words.

"Oh gawd, it's the Terminator."

They both burst out laughing at that and Megatron instantly felt his temper explode. He may be stuck in this pitiful form, he may be nothing more than another insect to his fellow Decepticons, but he was not going to be laughed at. Not by these creatures. He crossed the ground between them in three large strides and, following some unknown urge, wrapped one hand around the bigger organic's neck. The other he used to catch the smaller fleshling as it gave an audio-piercing shriek and tried to run away.

The bigger organic tried to hit him, actually managing to hurt him when its clenched fist found one of his numerous wounds. The pain only doubled Megatron's fury and he lifted the creature until its feet were dangling uselessly.

Then the smaller fleshling, the one he had foolishly dismissed, brought its leg up and kicked him.

The world exploded in a dazzling display of color and pain and Megatron was down even before he knew it, kneeling and curled close to protect the affronted area. The little organic was screeching at the other one and they were running- staggering in the bigger one's case- and he simply couldn't move-

"Ohmygod ohmygod OHMYGOD! Are you all right? Did he hurt you? Hurry up! Get the keys get in the car ohmygod he tried to kill us-- Jimmy look out!"

But 'Jimmy', the bigger organic, was too slow and Megatron caught it by surprise. One hand snagged it by the back of its neck and he slammed it forward, its face making contact with the side of the vehicle. Something gave a satisfactory crack and the fleshling went limp, slipping out of Megatron's grasp and falling to the ground where it began 'bleeding' from a wound over one of its closed optics. The Decepticon saw with a slight hint of disappointment that the cracking noise had come from the vehicle itself, where a large jagged line ran along one of its viewports.

The smaller organic screamed again and bolted, heading back into the plant maze. It was fast and fueled by fear but Megatron had a rage that proved faster; despite his wounds and his late start he caught up with the fleshling before losing sight of the vehicle. He grabbed a fistful of the odd organic fibers sprouting from its head and yanked the creature around, snarling with irritation as it screamed again and began babbling nonsense. It clawed at his hand with the surprisingly sharp tips of its fingers; he seized its wrists with his free hand and hauled it back to the vehicle.

The Jimmy was moving and making a low moaning sound. Megatron couldn't decide if he was pleased or annoyed that it still lived. The other one had stopped fighting him and instead was giving a muffled gasping sound, some form of organic fluid leaking from its optics. He frowned at that; it wasn't bleeding, for the fluid was clear and flowed too fast. Exactly how many types of secretions did organics produce? Then he shrugged it off; he had more important issues to worry about.

Balance.

If Megatron had been brought back to balance out something, then it stood to reason that another mech had been revived as well. That it had happened now, to him, implied that the other mech had died around the same time as Megatron himself. He could only think of one that fit both the timeframe and the need for balance.

He seized the smaller organic's head growth again and wrenched it around, slamming its back against the vehicle. It started to scream but he had long since tired of that game- he wrapped his hand around its neck and simply waited until it was gasping for air. The necessity of circulating oxygen had become readily apparent to him within moments of finding himself trapped in this miserable body; clearly organics could not go long without it. He had to force himself to let go, for it had been this fleshling that had actually hurt him, but he couldn't afford to kill it. He had too many questions, not to mention a possible opportunity. Samuel Witwicky, the one organic Megatron would dearly like to get his hands on, would be guarded at all times. The Autobots probably wouldn't expect an attack from a fellow fleshling, but Megatron simply couldn't take the risk. For now, the boy would live.

"Now, I am going to ask you some questions," he informed the creature. It was back to making those gasping noises, which irritated him. He shook his fist, thumping its head gently against the vehicle a few times, until it shut up. "The more you answer, the longer you live. Understand?"

It bobbed its head up and down. Megatron scowled at that and, realizing the problem, the organic sniffled and murmured an agreement.

"What are you?" He decided to start simple. The organic frowned in confusion.

"I'm… my name is Clarice."

"Not your name, idiot, your race."

"Oh, uh… hu- human."

"Human." That sounded right. He considered this for a moment, calling upon the information Barricade had managed to pass to him during his short glimpse of freedom. "How far are we from Los Angeles, human?"

"Los Angeles is on the west coast," it provided after a moment of gaping at him.

"And we are…?" This was getting annoying.

"In Vermont. Uh, near the east coast. We're almost twenty-five hundred miles from Los Angeles."

He had no idea how long a mile was, but it seemed fairly impressive to a human at least.

"Very well. Now, you are going to operate this vehicle and take me to Los Angeles, understand?"

The creature was no longer leaking optical fluid. The thought of surviving had calmed it down.

"Why?"

"Because there will be someone else going there. Someone I want to see dead, again. And once we get there you are going to help me find him."

"Dead again? But how-"

He shook the human's head again, hitting it harder this time. It whimpered in apology, and he was momentarily struck by the similarity between this pitiful specimen and Starscream.

"Never mind how," he barked sharply. "All you need to know is that if he does not die, you do."

It stared past him for several long moments before fixing a hollow gaze on him. "Who?"

"His name is Jazz."

--

Sam couldn't sleep.

This wasn't unusual. In fact, for the past month he'd been surviving on Starbucks and energy drinks. Bumblebee had commented on this more than once, in his stuttery voice that he was almost allowed to use. Sam was thus obligated to point out that, as often as his insomnia was caused by closing his eyes and seeing Megatron, there were plenty of occasions where his sleep was interrupted by a blaring stereo or honking horn.

At these accusations Bumblebee would play his why-are-you-blaming-me-I'm-just-a-lifeless-car routine.

Still, it was terrifying to try to sleep and hear that voice, sadistically offering him to keep him as a pet. And he couldn't count the times he'd shouted himself awake after a nightmare. Like if Optimus hadn't gotten there in time to catch him, or if Starscream had bothered to look down and see him cowering behind that car in the street…

But Megatron was dead and the Autobots' ship, the Ark, had reported a Decepticon signal- almost certainly Starscream- rapidly leaving Earth's atmosphere. There were only three Decepticons unaccounted for: the cop car Barricade, the spastic Polly Pocket-sized monster Frenzy, and a heavily-damaged-possibly-dead Scorponok somewhere in a Middle Eastern desert. As none of them had flying forms all three were trapped on-planet, Ironhide had informed them. Then Bee had added that Frenzy might be leaving Earth, as his erratic behavior was new and still irritating enough that Barricade would probably end up drop-kicking the little mutant back to Mars.

The unfortunate side to this was that everyone knew something had happened to him, but due to the government clamping down on all rumors about anything alien-like, no one actually knew what that something was. And it wasn't like he could go to a therapist and explain that he was having trouble adjusting to the fact that he'd destroyed an alien race's only hope for the future. Granted he had done it to prevent the living personification of the word 'evil' from getting his hands on it, but still. The only people he could talk to who had any hope of understanding him were few and far between. Army Rangers Lennox and Epps were nice enough but were still Army and, as such, were under strict orders to not talk about any of it. Maggie Madsen, whom he had met for approximately ten minutes and spoken to twice since. Her 'advisor' Glen he knew even less. His own parents didn't even know that the kick-ass Camaro sitting in their driveway was actually a fifteen-foot-tall robot. The only real human he had to talk to was Mikaela.

Sam felt himself give the same goofy little grin he always got when he thought about Mikaela. She liked him, liked him liked him, a dream come true fresh from a Disney movie. He still felt giddy just thinking about it.

Bright bars of light suddenly sliced across the far wall. Sam froze, his mind instantly going to the worst-case scenario. Then he forced himself to relax. All of the Decepticons on Earth were either dead or getting as far away from the Autobots as possible. Barricade, the only one big enough to have a car form, was certainly not stupid enough to be pulling into Sam's driveway.

A second later his cell phone started buzzing, indicating a text message. The teen snatched it off the table before it fell and stared at the screen. After a moment he stood up and padded his way over to the window.

"It's three in the morning, I can't just take off!" Sam hissed down at his guardian. Bumblebee didn't respond verbally, but he did send another text. The human scowled at the phone. "I don't care if Prime requested me, I have school tomorrow. I just- what?"

The interruption came from a third message and Sam now stared down at it device in his hand. His next words sounded distracted.

"New guy?" Pause. "Guys? How many are there? Where are they? And can this wait just twelve hours?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Sam almost jumped out the window. He certainly came close, banging his knee against the window frame. After a second of just breathing, he turned to face his would-be killer.

"Dad… a little warning would have been nice!"

"You're awful jumpy these days." Ron stepped past his son and looked out the window. Not surprisingly he didn't see anyone. "Are you talking to that car again? You know you worry your mother when you do that."

"It's okay, Dad," Sam responded. His cell phone started buzzing again; he put a hand behind his back, towards the window, and made slicing motions.

"It's not okay," Ron muttered. "You won't even tell us where you got that car or why it keeps doing weird stuff…" In the driveway Bumblebee honked his horn. "There, like that! Why does it do that?"

By now Sam was trying to usher his father out of the room, giving a spiel of apologies and excuses and basically trying to remove the adult from the vicinity so he could yell at his car and go back to bed. There was no way he could go hunting down newcomers with Bee, not with his normally overprotective parents doing double-duty and with finals looming just around the corner. Finally he shut the door, officially ending his father's half-lecture, and groaned in relief.

"Why'd you text me with my dad standing right there?" he demanded as soon as he was back at the window. Bumblebee answered verbally.

"It wasn't me."

Sam frowned at that and flipped his phone open again. Sure enough, instead of the long string of zeroes produced when a 'bot hacked his phone, the caller ID had an actual number: 077-4687.

As he read the message he felt a slight chill chase itself down his spine. He swallowed heavily and leaned back out the window.

"Can you trace the text? See who sent it?"

There was silence, then Bee answered aloud again.

"There's no trace of it."

"No trace… like the phone number is off line or what?"

Bee sent the answer in a text, no doubt trying to relieve the strain on his vocaliser.

Your phone has no history of receiving a text from anyone except me. The message just doesn't exist.

"Well, I can see it here. I'll save it and show it to you tomorrow." Sam stepped back and closed his window, his hand wrapped tight around his cell phone. This was how it started last time, one little unexplainable weirdness. Followed shortly by giant alien robots and Cubes and an intergalactic war, yes, but it had started so small.

Because he had a feeling the message was going to disappear between now and at whatever point a 'bot saw it, Sam wrote both it and the number down. He then stared at the paper, still feeling tiny and helpless.

Beware Barricade, for he is the harbinger. And know that your greatest enemy is now your kin.

Wonderful. A riddle. Just what he needed right as his life was finally settling back down. Sam gnawed on the pencil eraser as he tried to figure it out. As the strongest surviving Decepticon, Barricade was his greatest enemy… but could he be that and harbinger? And what did harbinger even mean?

"Ah, I give up," he muttered. He carefully tucked the paper into his backpack and went back to bed.

But he didn't sleep.