I believe in nothing

Not the end and not the start

I believe in nothing

Not the Earth and not the stars

I believe in nothing

Not the day and not the dark

I believe in nothing

But the beating of our hearts

-30 Seconds to Mars, '100 Suns'

Megatron awoke, distant screams still ringing in his audials. For a moment he was disoriented; something was knocking on his helm, irritatingly. There seemed to be a light hovering over him. Two lights, actually… gold, and shaped almost like optics...

He snapped up, immediately awake and prepared to take down this mysterious intruder. A loud screech made Megatron do a double-take, then he blinked.

Oh yes. The Predacon Sparkling.

The sparkling was chirping angrily, making it's way back onto Megatron's berth, having been thrown off. It was previously sitting on his chassis no doubt, staring right into the mech's faceplate and tapping on his helm. Megatron huffed a sigh at the squawking creature, which was now pawing him urgently. He growled.

"What do you want? Tell me, now."

It chirped once and snapped it's jaws a few times, pausing to stare at Megatron expectantly. For a moment they just stared at one another, until Megatron narrowed his eyes in livid realization.

"You awoke me, from recharge… to feed you?"

The little Predacon chirped and snapped it's jaws again, faster this time, before jumping from the berth and toddling to the locker across the room. It looked back and waited. Expectantly.

Megatron was sorely tempted to just shove the obnoxious little creature inside the locker. At least until he was finished recharging. Gritting his teeth and attempting to reason as to why he should refrain from such an action, Megatron stiffly made his way across the room.

Ensuring the sparkling had a good sized crystal, Megatron scooped up the little creature to return it to it's make-shift nest. The Predacon crunched noisily, wings and tail flicking happily, so secure in the giant servos that had once crushed sparks. Cynical amusement wormed through Megatron's chassis to see such a fragile creature sitting oblivious in the disturbing truth. How falsely comforting for the sparkling, to be so ignorant.

A few solar-cycles had passed since Megatron had found the Predacon sparkling, injured and alone. Fixing up the feisty little creature had been a hassle since it would not sit still, even for a nano-klick. Still, the recovery the little sparkling made was nothing short of impressive. Already there was but a jagged scar on the side injured from the shrapnel, and the creature's lively nature more than indicated it would make a full recovery.

How the Predacon Sparkling had been caught in a blast and how it came to end up in the city's ruins was beyond Megatron. All he knew was that once the sparkling made a complete recovery, they would be relocating to another place of residence. The whole situation was suspicious, and Megatron did not want to be around when the sparkling became missed. Chances were it wasn't; the sparkling would most likely be presumed dead, as it would have been if not for Megatron.

After plopping the wiggly bundle into the nest Megatron promptly resettled in his own berth, fully intending to finish recharging. The sparkling would be satisfied for a little while, at least. Megatron dimmed his optics, removing any thoughts from his processor while listening to the tiny crunching noises in the background. The room dimmed with the onset of recharge, the warlord becoming neither awake nor offline. It was the only time he was truly untroubled, this miniscule time between unconsciousness and wakefulness.

Slowly, the black took him. He could feel the heat of flames, the cries of the wounded, the smell of charred metal… A flood of grief that pulsed from his spark and weighed down upon every inch of his frame…

…But something pulled him back to wakefulness. It was a rapid pulse, small and almost intangible, settling over where his own spark was. Megatron on-lined his optics to see the Predacon sparkling curled up on his chassis, exactly over his spark chamber, peacefully asleep. He could feel the sparkling's own spark, fluttering and tiny, blissfully carefree. It seemed almost a bittersweet contrast, this airy spark resting atop his weathered one.

Megatron considered putting the youngling back in it's own nest, knowing he should break this potential recharge habit before it came to be. He considered closing his optics, leaving the sparkling where it was. But, to Megatron's mild surprise, he did not feel compelled to do either. He wanted stayed in the limbo of indecision, of choosing not to choose. So he watched the sparkling recharge, feeling the impossibly tiny spark turn, thinking of nothing.

The travel had been easy enough. A few cycles had passed from the time they came to the ruins of a rather small mining city, located on top of a rather small energon mine. Small enough to remain unnoticed by others, for a while at least. There was an old training facility on the outskirts, made at the start of the war, serving as their new home. The place was decent enough for being abandoned so long, but still required much maintenance. Most of the useful materials and mechanisms were taken when the inhabitants fled, but the halls were spacious, reminiscent of the Nemesis.

Megatron idly wondered if the facility used to be Decepticon as he walked through the halls, the sparkling galloping and toddling alongside him. There was something he was looking for, something he had seen when they had first come here. The sparkling was much less interested in searching and more for discovering, investigating with curious optics every dark cranny and doorway the duo passed, oftentimes lagging behind or straying off.

Finally, the warlord found it: the door to a take-off deck, a perfect vantage point for surveying the remains.

Lazy rays of pale light trickled in through the partially closed doors, illuminating centuries of dust. The Predacon wiggled excitedly, making to jump through the small opening only to back away at the sight of stern, red optics glaring down. Megatron braced his servos on both doors, pushing against the heavy, aged metal. It slid back slowly, resisting with audial splitting creaks and groans that reverberated through the hollow halls, like screams of defiance.

It soon gave, sliding into the wall with a final screech. The sparkling, who had been trying to hide from the hideous sounds, bounced forwards into the gentle glow of first light; Megatron followed, virtually unaffected.

The two were grey silhouettes on the modest take-off deck, one still and silent as a distant mountain, the other a careening ball of energy. It was the start of a new cycle, the Cybertronian sun a white glow peaking just over the horizon. Condensation from the mines lingered in the air as a slight mist, chilled from the cold night-cycle. It touched down on silver plating as the warlord walked forwards to view the city, whose arches were now kissed by the white glow of sunrise. What was once just a dull heap of scrap illuminated into a speckled light-show, the rays cascading upwards in delicate spectrum to greet the sky.

Megatron watched with a partial attitude; It was nostalgic, the scene conjuring memories he chose to give little acknowledgement.

The sparkling skittered around the deck, occasionally chirping excitedly as he romped around. He would jump up into the air a few feet and glide back down, squawking excitedly and flapping his wings, enjoying the open space. It wasn't long before Megatron took to watching the sparkling instead. He never was one for sight-seeing.

"…You need a designation."

The sparkling chirped at the sound of Megatron's voice, but made no move to come to him. The Predacon was now completely enthralled with some sort of rod, rolling it experimentally back and forth between his claws. Megatron watched, somewhat amused by the simple curiosity of the sparkling. The tiny Predacon was interested in everything, as sparklings usually were, but there was something to the explorations of this one that was different. The sparkling seemed not just wanting to play, but to actually understand what he was playing with.

Feisty. Curious. Mischievous. Headstrong, definitely the opinionated type. Megatron supposed the sparkling's name should resemble his personality, at least in sound or feel. Something was niggling at Megatron, though, that he was missing something, some important piece of information. He did not understand what could be missing; sparklings were fairly simple. Perhaps if the sparkling could transform…

"Come here, little one."

The sparkling must have heard the difference in tone, because this time he reluctantly left his new find to toddle towards Megatron. The warlord was a bit unsure how to get the Predacon to transform, but he was pretty certain teaching through example would work. It could take a while, what with both of them being completely new to the situation, but anything could be done with a bit of diligence.

"You will learn how to transform, perhaps not today, but in time. Watch closely, young Predacon."

The sun was still rising, already reaching out to the facility. Even so, he wouldn't attract attention in even the brightest light of mid-cycle, for the area was quite deserted. The giant mech sauntered assuredly towards the edge of the take-off deck, listening to the little clicks indicating the Predacon's curiosity towards Megatron's intentions. Good, it wouldn't do for a lesson to be wasted by simple distraction.

Megatron propelled himself forwards suddenly, careening off the edge and into the open air. He registered the Predacon's squeal of alarm before he transformed mid-fall and blasted off, thrusters roaring powerfully, splitting the morning air with sound. Quickly Megatron doubled back to make sure the sparkling hadn't jumped after him, and was satisfied to see the shape of the little dragon still on the take-off deck. It jumped around as Megatron circled the deck from a distance, and he could just barely hear it chirping excitedly.

Pleased that he had the sparkling's interest for the moment, Megatron allowed himself to do a few simple maneuvers, if only just for show. The jet swooped low, breaking the sound barrier in a burst of power. He pulled up, barreling skywards, feeling the sun glint off his plating. Clouds parted for him, the air whistling below the thrum of his engines. It was almost euphoric; it was almost unbearable. Flying had always been that way for the warlord, only a means to an end. Just like with everything else, like how it used to be.

He wondered if he could actually try enjoying it, now.

Megatron dove down to the deck, circling before transforming and landing with a loud thud. The Predacon sparkling was squawking with delight, prancing forwards to jump around Megatron's peds, obviously taken with the performance. The giant mech gave a short chuckle despite himself, crouching down to pick up the excited sparkling, holding him in both servos.

The Predacon stared up at Megatron, the bright, golden optics almost burning with eagerness. He batted his wings and chirped determinably, turning in circles occasionally as they made their way back into the facility. If Megatron didn't know any better, he would think the Predacon was already attempting to fly. The sparkling could glide, yes, but true flight would not come for a while. Not exactly what he had intended for the sparkling to come away with, but it was enough for now.

"You will be able to fly in time, little one. For now, we must focus on other things. There is much to do before this place can truly become livable."

The Predacon settled down slightly, but Megatron could almost see the small processor working, a simple yet sharp intelligence shining through the small, golden optics.

The Predacon sparkling was still feeding at least twice through the night-cycle, so it was no surprise to Megatron when he was pulled from recharge by an insistent thumping on his chassis and two golden optics. It was a routine he was growing accustomed to, even if he always had the urge to stuff the little Predacon into some cage for the rest of the night-cycle after.

He flinched, slightly, pain radiating through his shoulders and chassis. Having been awoken from getting his 'arms' sawed off, the agonizing pain, terror, and helplessness was still present. Even though Megatron was aware of himself, it seemed the effects of interrupted 'dreams' lingered longer than those of completed ones. He gritted his denta and willed the pain and foreign emotions away, terror evaporating into a simmering rage, Megatron's small, twisted comfort.

The clunking on his chassis started up again, and he hadn't realized it ever stopped. Normally the sparkling would continue until Megatron sat up, trying the warlord's patience to terrifying degrees.

He peered through dimmed optics, realizing that something was off. The golden optics were higher up, as if the sparkling were taller…

A small, high-pitched voice brought Megatron out of his post-recharge stupor completely.

"Feed."

Megatron blinked at the sight before him. It was still the sparkling sitting on his chassis, he knew, but in bipedal mode. Two golden optics peered down from under a horned helm, illuminating a small faceplate. The sparkling furrowed an eyebrow impatiently, and a tiny servo began to smack against Megatron's chassis again. He just stared as the sparkling spoke again.

"Feed. Feed!"

Suddenly Megatron realized what it was that had been niggling at the back of his processor, the certain aspect to the Predacon that had been missing. In the beginning Megatron had referred to the sparkling as an 'it', then later as a mech, a 'he'. The Predacon wasn't a 'he' at all, but a she. The Predacon sparkling was a femme. And she was not happy about Megatron's lack of movement, if the furrowing-pout and fist banging were any indication.

"Feed, feed, feed, feed, feed, feed…!"

Megatron growled and removed the agitated sparkling from his chassis, sitting up and moving to retrieve an energon crystal for the impatient little thing. He set her down on a desk, and the sparkling scooted forwards to dangle her little pedes off the side. She made a happy noise when Megatron handed her an energon crystal, wasting no time in chomping off a large piece, crunching loudly. Her pedes kicked happily as she ate, her big optics glowing as she stared up at Megatron.

The sparkling had figured out how to transform. Something welled up behind his chassis; warm, akin to pride. The warlord frowned. It was impressive that the little femme had learned to transform so fast, but he needed to stay detached. Megatron wanted to stay detached. Yet the warmth persisted, an itch behind his chassis, unable to be forced away. It was concerning.

He pushed it from his mind and pulled a box in front of her, sitting down and watching as she finished the crystal. Megatron replaced it with another before she could start chanting 'feed' again, observing her with growing interest. Genders had been deemed obsolete eons upon eons ago; Femmes were a genetic leftover, the remnants of a time when frames were forged within gestation chambers.

Although femmes still existed, they did not have the ability to pro-create as their ancestors did. This femme, a clone created from an impossibly archaic era on Cybertron, a time when gestation was the only option for new life…

No doubt she was one of many, designed by Shockwave to be perfect hosts for the new Predacon army Predaking so badly wanted. If so, Megatron could only conclude…

…That this femme had been faulty, and was promptly, although ineffectively, discarded.

The thought came unbidden, and the warlord pushed it away. Megatron doubted Predaking would send any Predacon to it's destruction, much less a helpless sparkling.

Curiously enough, the thought of this sparkling being thrown away made him slightly upset, a string of whispered emotions the warlord refused to encourage. In the end it didn't really matter where the sparkling had come from or why. The warlord deemed it best to stay in the present, and presently the sparkling was falling into recharge on her fifth piece of crystal.

The sparkling was still munching, but she kept nodding off, her optics dimming and body slumping before she caught herself and started all over again. Megatron took the crystal from her servos, ignoring the half-hearted attempts to stop him. The sparkling stopped struggling when he picked her up, simply choosing to curl up in the giant servos. Megatron paused, looking down at the warm bundle he was holding. Instead of feeling amused at how at ease the sparkling was in his giant, battle worn servos, he was starting to feel almost… awed.

Megatron grimaced, shaking the feeling off. Since taking in the sparkling the warlord had been fighting these feelings of fondness. Such emotions were useless to him, even now. While his vivid experiences taken from the sparks of the deceased had awoken his conscious, it had only affirmed his notions that any emotion akin to affection was a debilitating weakness. The excruciating pain of loss held no equal in all of the dark memories he inherited from the dead.

The mechs who died trying to save another, to preserve a bond… Those mechs had the strongest and most agonizing emotions. Megatron wanted nothing to do with such weakening emotions, be it from shared memories or otherwise. To ever experience that agony personally… He chose not to.

There was no merit in feeling attached, of feeling affection, of feeling pride for no logical reason…

But then again, there also had been no point in saving the sparkling, all those cycles ago.

The warlord grimaced and took the sparkling to his berth, settling her on his chassis, her regular spot. He refrained from rubbing her wings, another frustrating habit, but could not contain the tinge of growing affection, gently spreading like a mounting illness through his spark. Megatron sighed. There was just no stopping it, he couldn't force himself back to the comfortable detachment, and the thought wore him down to his protoform. He was in too deep.

Frustration welled with the rising internal struggle. Megatron had always known who he was, confident even when under the most crushing pressure. Even Unicron had not had the pleasure of seeing the warlord truly crack. Detachment had been one of Megatron's ultimate advantages. There was nothing for him to lose, the closest thing to invincibility, and now…

The little femme whimpered, drawing the warlord from his thoughts with a frown. Her peds and servos twitched, scratching at Megatron's chassis in jerky movements. For a moment he did nothing, confused. Then, like a shot to the helm, he realized the sparkling was no doubt experiencing a nightmare. It jarred him, striking close to home. She shouldn't have nightmares. Megatron was the haunted one, the one to recharge in discontent, not her.

Without a second thought the warlord tenderly traced her wings with a digit, and hummed an old tune softly. It was a song he hadn't heard or even thought of in eons, since before his time in the pits. Yet the melody rolled through his chassis, deep and resonant, as if he never forgot it.

He wanted to stop.

He didn't.

Even after the sparkling had settled, recharging peacefully once more, Megatron continued. It was both comforting and unsettling to hear the song again in the pitch darkness, the gentle sound resonating off the walls. The warlord had forgotten this, how at ease he could be in the closed-in blackness, a simple melody the only evidence of life.

Old memories resurfaced. He let them pass; considering, humming, rubbing tiny circles on even tinier wing joints. He was something before a gladiator, a revolutionary, a warmonger. Never did he think he would look back, never had he wanted to, not even now.

It was a time before he cut ties, a time before detachment. A time when he was still connected. Megatron wasn't ready to go back just yet, but the memories struck a chord of inspiration. The warlord's dimmed optics glowed to life as he gazed down at the sparkling, a content smile curling her liplates. It left as a hoarse whisper, a fierce pause from the rumbling melody.

"Your designation is Ustrina Deia."

She did not hear. He did not mind. No real thoughts came to his processor, a welcome state nowadays. The warlord hummed the tune again, melodic vibrations now more comforting than not. They lay there, unlikely as ever; a misplaced sparkling recharging soundly on the chassis of a weary warlord, both lulled by the echoes of an ancient mining song. Megatron smirked humorlessly.

Oh, how the mighty fall.