Loss of the Faithful
It annoyed Megatron, in retrospect, that he had been wrong.
The Golden Disks rotated slowly before him, held suspended in columns of light that both protected and displayed them. One Disk had guided him here on his quest to conquer Cybertron, spreading the Predacons' glory wherever he went and becoming the tyrant he could only dream of equaling. A descendant of the Decepticons fulfilling the original Megatron's desire; it was something he had barely dared wish during his time on Cybertron. He had studied the silver Decepticon, or at least what information was available about him, but he hadn't risked an open devotion to the dead leader. That would have attracted too much attention to him. The Maximal High Council's security forces had apparently decided that his assumption of the ancient Cybertronian's name was a tribute to history, not a dedication to a dream. More fools they to let him continue his clandestine studying of his namesake. Of course, if he had been able to do it openly, the entire unpleasant episode with Starscream wouldn't have happened. Some things were only available for viewing in supervised locations, however well-concealed those doing the watching were. The guards had been much more blatant around the Golden Disk. Those idiots on the High Council refused to see what was right in front of their faces! A precious artifact from the past? Ha! It was a precious artifact for the present, and he had been the other one with the brains to grab the chance for the Predacons' future.
That future had changed. This other Golden Disk had made sure of that. Where once he had seen himself on the throne of power, now he saw himself as one cog in the wheel of time. He could break or bend, and the wheel would keep going. Or...he could lean back, jam up the works, and hopefully open up a new possibility in the direction of the turning. Always before he had dreamed, strong dreams, about and for himself. It was the Predacon way, was it not? Self-centered, arrogant, and as self-sufficient as he was capable, the ideal Predacon would backstab anyone for the smallest advantage.
But in the last few months, Megatron had realized that he was not the ideal Predacon. Somewhere between the awkward silences that used to be companionable and the hidden surveillance cameras, he had looked into optics that reflected what he really was, and that mirrored 'bot wasn't who he had wanted to be. He had seen how he'd fallen short; this Golden Disk showed him why. It wasn't his fate to rule Cybertron. It wasn't his fate to be remembered as the greatest. It was his fate--no, his destiny, that goal he could strive to reach for--that he was only a cog in the wheel, but he was a cog that would rewind the wheel and set it on a different path.
Now, standing here looking at the Golden Disks that had led him across time and space on a mission to change both, it annoyed him that he had been wrong. He had labeled the mirror a traitor for reflecting what he didn't want to see, but in the end he couldn't help but understand that the reflection had been true.
Too late, he wished Scorpinok could see him believing in a greater dream.
.
What did Megatron's loyal follower think of his change of plans? They'll never know.