On the Fields of Freedoms Edge - Chapter 3
AN: Thank you everyone for all your awesome reviews, it's been a genuine pleasure reading them.
As always this has not been beta read so any and all errors are mine.
Enjoy :D
Megatron stared down at the tiny mechling in his hand and nearly dropped it.
He had never felt such a deep and all consuming loathing for a living creature in all his life. Not even Prime elicited such a visceral hate as this tiny little creature who was staring up at him with wide white optics.
He put the creature down, stepped out of the shelter and walked away, not once turning back.
He left the woods entirely, continuing on across the entirety of The Pit, only stopping once he reached the other end and was unable to continue forward. Megatron was shaking with rage, his frame rattling with the force of his contained anger. He glared out at the ocean, watching the seagulls twist and turn in midair, fighting against the powerful ocean winds.
For a long moment the mech watched the birds in their dance as they were tossed about and flapped their wings in motions that, to a non-flyer, would seem chaotic and harsh. Megatron knew differently. He knew the feeling of being buffeted by the winds, playing with the unpredictable flow of air, allowing it to push and pull before finding his way through the twisting wind currents and making a graceful landing, completely in control.
The wind was an old friend of his.
Without a moment’s hesitation Megatron took a step forward into the wide open expanse of nothingness.
He fell, watching the ocean coming close with calm, unafraid optics.
At the last moment he triggered his transformation, feeling the shift twist his frame into his flyer alt mode.
His thrusters activated moments before impact, the heat of them turning water to steam and scorching rock as he jettisoned upwards, reaching speeds few living creatures could ever experience within moments of taking off.
He had no destination, no intentions of escape. All he wanted was the illusion of freedom, even if only for a moment.
The slave coding, perhaps reading no disobedience in his actions, didn’t activate and Megatron took full advantage, flying up and up. He pushed himself to his limits, up past the clouds, towards the warm sun, reaching the upper parts of the planets atmosphere within a few kliks. As the sky began to change from blue to black the slave coding forced him back.
He cut his thrusters, hanging in midair for a precarious second, neither flying nor falling. Gravity took over from there and he fell. The decent was slower than his ascent. He found the fall almost relaxing, the wind singing over the aerodynamic lines of his alt mode was a music all flyers danced to and he let himself go, slowly rotating around in a dizzying dance as the plummet brought him into the planets cloud cover.
When the island came into view he turned himself vertical, nose pointing towards the sky and powering up his thrusters, timing it so he slowed his decent and managed to transform a mere few feet above the ground, touching down and barely leaving a dent to show.
He hadn’t lost his touch.
The only flyer who had ever been able to surpass him in speed and dexterity in the air was Starscream, a fact that irked him more than he cared to admit. Even so, his skills in the air were formidable and he was pleased to see that despite several orbital cycles of being grounded his skills hadn’t degraded.
The flight had been somewhat therapeutic, if unwise. His frame felt fragile and brittle after being overexerted in both the ill advised strain of the flight and the birthing process. He reveled in the pain. It was hard won and served to sharpen his mind, giving him some much needed focus.
He had given birth. To a mechling. Mere orbital cycles after Prime had taken it upon himself to relieve Megatron of his seal.
Though there was no doubt as to who was responsible for his current situation Megatron was certain this was an unexpected event. He knew Prime well enough to know the mech would never subject an innocent mechling to Megatron or exile on an alien island.
This reeked of incompetence. The new Creator Protocol coding, something he had never heard of, was no doubt a direct result of the slave coding.
It was the incompetence that rankled him more than anything in this situation. For the fabled Prime, leader of the Autobots, Optimus really was one of the most rock, stupid mechs he had ever met. It probably never occurred to the Prime to test the new coding before implementing it. Megatron had been around enough scientists and performed enough illegal coding in his lifetime to know that introducing new coding without the proper beta testing and failsafes would often enough result in offshoot codes. Codes that reacted with the mechs or femmes own coding, releasing long dormant codes, corrupting code that was once perfectly functional, even creating entirely new strains of code.
Naturally Prime and Ratchet wouldn’t have known that. Scientists they were not.
His first instinct was to call Prime on his private comm., demand that he pick up his spawn and take it as far away from Megatron as he could. Another part of him just wanted to ignore the situation. He could wait and let nature take its course, the body could be disposed of in the ocean and not a single soul would have to know.
He wished he could but the infernal Creator Protocols seemed to take offense at Megatrons considering terminating his spawn.
Megatron snarled in frustration. He had no idea what Creator Protocols were but as far as he was concerned they were simply another form of slave coding, taking away his free will and binding him with rules and restrictions contrary to his true nature.
So he did the only thing that was in his power to do. He went to the transport container and downed a cube of energon, wishing all the while that he had some high grade.
Afterwards he wandered. He didn’t go too far or too fast as his body was weary and felt battered both inside and outside. His valve felt like it had been violated with a tree branch thanks to that creature.
First Prime, then his spawn, both using him for their own purposes. Both taking away his freedom, taking away his choice in the matter.
He felt sick.
He was tired, not just physically but mentally. The isolation was wearing on him, the forced inaction and lack of challenge at odds with his nature. He wanted to fight but he doubted he could take even Bumblebee in this state. He wanted to talk to somebody. He wanted Soundwave, the spy's steady presence and lack of judgment would suit Megatrons current mood just fine.
Megatron was so lost in his thoughts he failed to realize his pedes had taken him back to the forest.
Not just to the forest but right to the crude shelter he had erected.
He stared at the shelter as though his gaze could burn it to the ground.
It didn’t burn to his disappointment and Megatron finally worked up the nerve to poke his head inside.
The large white optics of the mechling instantly focused on him and a happy gurgle erupted from the creature.
He immediately pulled away, taking a step back, leaving the shelter.
The gurgling continued and little chirps reached his audials.
The damned thing sounded far too happy.
Megatron inhaled deeply and crawled back into the shelter. The mechling moved its tiny limbs in excitement.
He picked the small, dirty thing up in his claws. It was small. No bigger than a human. Its optics were the white of a newborn mechling and its limbs were powerful for one so young and new to the world. The mechling didn’t cry and seemed quite aware of its surroundings. Megatron didn’t know anything about mechlings but he supposed this seemed as fine a specimen as any.
And of course it would be. This was his own creation and Megatron felt a fierce burst of pride in himself.
Against all odds, as shackled and isolated as he was he had still managed to defeat Prime in a small way. He had created new life. This wasn’t the creation of the all-spark, this wasn’t a creation of Autobot making, this was a pure Decepticon creation and it was his.
The Creator Protocols hummed happily in the back of his processor.
“Little one,” he said in a voice hoarse from screaming and disuse. “I am your creator, Megatron, leader of the Decepticon army, former Gladiator in the Pits of Kaon, future ruler of Cybertron. I welcome you, my heir.”
The little mechling flailed its uncoordinated limbs about.
For the first time since his captivity Megatron felt something like hope.
***
The next day he made the trip to the only freshwater source on the island with a rag on one hand and a mechling in the other.
The little thing was still dirty, covered in birthing fluids that had long since dried and dirt that had become so thick it was impossible to tell what colour the little thing was. He wasn’t sure if using solvents was safe on one so young so he would have to make do with plain water.
The mechling seemed intrigued by the running water when they came upon it. It was barely more than a large puddle created by a small river of water but it would serve for something the size of a mechling. Megatron dumped the creature in the pond unceremoniously and began vigorously scrubbing the soft plating. The mechling thrashed around but didn’t seem overly bothered by the clumsy treatment. The tiny fish darting out of the rapidly spreading cloud of dirt seemed to intrigue the mechling and the process of washing the small frame became slightly more tedious as the little mech tried to catch the fish, making the already small and slippery frame that much harder to hold on to.
Megatron mostly ignored the mechlings curious flailing, more intent on scrubbing away the dirt and finding out the colouring underneath. If the mechling was white, red or blue he was going to kill something.
As the dirt sloughed away Megatron was pleased to find his mechling was neither of those colours. Rather, upon liberating the mechling from the water, he was revealed to be an uncommon shade of pearl grey with faint purple accents. Megatron was pleased; his mechling was an attractive little ‘bot, and, he couldn’t help but think, strong and well behaved for one so new to the world. However, he couldn’t help but notice the mechlings frame had a very Autobot look to it. The small frame being a near exact replica of Primes own frame right down to the distinctive antenna and the tiny retracted battlemask.
He grimaced slightly. Somewhere in the universe Primus was laughing at him.
He dunked the mechling in the stream again, scrubbing at its little helm while the mechling ogled at him through the water, appearing terribly fascinated by the underwater perspective.
When he was done, he hefted the creature up onto his shoulder where it instinctively held on to his shoulder spikes.
The air and the sun would dry the mechling. He could distantly feel the creature creating a hardline connection between them and feeding as he walked. If the little parasite wasn’t his offspring he would have killed it for that, hardline connections were something he loathed. Megatron was a ‘bot who rarely even indulging in interfacing as he despised having such intimate connections with other ‘bots. Already this mechling had completely torn apart all physical boundaries he preferred to keep between himself and other mechs and femmes. That the little fragger decided to set up his own hardline connection without Megatrons say so now seemed like a minor bother where once Megatron would have been half mad with rage over the perceived disrespect.
The Pit had softened him.
Ah well, the creature needed to feed and it’s not like it could process normal energon without Megatrons systems to filter out potentially life threatening impurities.
“You should be glad you belong to me, spawn.” Megatron addressed the sparkling. “You have taken liberties that would have seen other mechs long since deactivated.”
The mechling chirped at him.
“Don’t take that tone with me.”
The mechling stayed silent.
Megatron was satisfied with that.
His mind now strayed to other thoughts. He needed to get off this island and he needed to do it without Prime learning about the mechling. But how?
Primes direct orders seemed too thorough to allow for an escape or even the possibility of an escape. Megatron had tried countless times only to be rendered useless by the slave codes crippling punishment for disobeying orders.
He had even tried using the human’s networks to send a message to his Decepticons and that had proved a terrific failure. Prime was clearly monitoring his usage of the human’s network and had terminated his connection the first time Megatron had tried to connect with the outside world. It hadn’t been restored since which was unfortunate as the human network had offered some rather amusing distractions at times.
It seemed that despite his renewed urgency to escape he was in the same position he had been since coming to The Pit.
Trapped.
***
The rain was something Megatron absolutely loathed about this human planet. It struck his armour uncomfortably, creating a strange resonation that echoed throughout his entire frame. What it did to the ground beneath his pedes was even worse, turning already unstable materials into a soupy mixture seemingly designed to catch between his plating and make walking difficult if not impossible.
The only reprieve seemed to be either hiding in the caves or taking to the water.
Megatron choose neither. As much as he hated the rain he was not to be defeated by the chaotic nature of the humans planet and so he stayed, his pedes sinking into the sand as the waves washed past them, rain striking a melody against his armour and a mechling at his feet playing in the surf while he stared out at the horizon in contemplation.
Lightning flashed above them.
Soon after the true power of the planet made itself known as thunder began roaring overhead and lightning split the sky in a magnificent display of power that left even him in awe.
He had seen this light show only twice since coming to The Pit and every time he was mesmerized by it. The planet almost seemed to have a life of its own at times, a consciousness that was determined not to let the inhabitants of Earth feel too safe or too powerful. With every fork of lightning and every rumble of thunder the waves grew bigger and bigger. He picked his mechling up, placing it safely on his shoulder before turning his optics back to the electric storm.
The planet seemed to be speaking to Megatron. He could read a story in the winds and the lightning. A story of the planets birth. Chaotic and violent, unpredictable and harsh, there was little room on this planet at the beginning for creatures that were soft. Only the strong survived, created in the forge of trial and difficulty. And yet, he thought, as time went on the planet became less violent, providing a safe haven to the creatures that inhabited the planet. Yes it was chaotic, often cruel and unpredictable but it could also be a paradise. The planet was not merely an engine of destruction but also a keeper and creator of life.
His optics glowed bright in the dark.
He couldn’t help but feel he had a kinship with this planet. They were perhaps more alike than he had imagined.
The waves rose high, battering against his chest plates, whirling a dangerous dance around him. He held his ground against the maelstrom, not giving an inch. The mechling on his shoulder was as silent as he was, showing no fear. Its Creator was powerful; it had no cause to fear the planets wrath.
Megatron took satisfaction in his mechlings lack of fear.
It was a long while before the storm calmed and the sun began to shine again.
When Megatron left the beach it was with a renewed sense of confidence and purpose.
His goals, once unclear even to his own mind, were realigned. Cybertron was dead, his race on the brink of extinction, the remainder of their race in a mad scramble for energon deposits and relics of a golden era long since passed.
Destruction, once his only goal, was now secondary.
What was destruction without creation?
That lack of duality had nearly led to the extinction of their species. Even now, realizing his error, it may be too late to bring them back from the brink of extinction.
He needed both. Destruction and creation. Decepticon and Autobot. Death and life.
They had been too long with one and not the other.
He could change that.
If only he had the chance.
***
“You need a name, my Creation.”
The mechling clicked up at him from his position on the floor. He was up sitting by himself now, a feat that Megatron personally considered to be a worthy achievement of one so young.
“Have I ever told you of how I got my name?” The little mechs optics flickered and his helm cocked to the side. Primus but he was looking more like his Sire, a fact Megatron had made peace with the moment it became clear the mechling favored his Sires body structure. “I was not always called Megatron. That is a designation I choose for myself in rebellion of the caste system I had been born into. My original designation was D-16, I was a slave and a Gladiator, and our designations were nothing more than a convenience for our Masters. As you can see from my current situation, history tends to repeat itself in some form or another.”
He frown briefly as the memories of his past came back to him, every injury, every moment of injustice, every humiliation. It was a dark time.
“I was born a laborer in a small settlement in Kaon, I don’t remember the designations of my Caretakers, for you see, in those days there were no Creators or Sires, young mechs were given life by way of the all-spark. I was taken very young and made to work in the mines. It was grueling work and I didn’t see the sun for many stellar cycles while in the mines.” He remembered those days. Dark days. Days without end and without hope. “Even at such a young age I was ambitious. As ambitious as a young slave could be, I suppose. I had ideas about freedom and a life outside of my caste. I never shared these ideas aloud with my fellow slaves but I spent many long stellar cycles thinking and planning.”
The mechlings attention was fixed firmly on his Creator and Megatron could almost believe the little ‘bot could understand him. He reached down a picked the mechling up, placing it on his knee.
“I began to build a reputation in the mines as a mech not to be trifled with and eventually my reputation caught the interests of my second master, a femme who owned Gladiators and pitted them together in illegal combat. It was my appearance that convinced her to purchase me. I was a mech seemingly made for combat. I was good at it, very good. I rose in rank and reputation until I was the champion of the Pits. It was only then that I had my audience and the means to make them listen to me.”
His mechling patted his chest plate playfully.
“I was not a mech to sit idly by while my own kind were being subjugated and killed for sport. I longed for freedom and a world of equality where a mech such as you, born to a lowly Gladiator, would not be forced to share in the fate of their Caretaker simply by being born into the wrong family. So I began to speak out. I gave the people of Kaon and elsewhere a voice. The words I spoke were, at the time, revolutionary and the slaves and lower castes were moved by words of a world where no mech or femme would be bound into slavery or labour and subjected to the abuse of the corrupt higher classes. It was during this time I changed my name to something more appropriate for a leader of the cause, the Decepticon cause as I named it. I took my name from Megatronus, one of the original Thirteen transformers, one whose name I felt held the sort of power and command I wished to embody.”
He was walking now, going nowhere in particular but feeling the need to move, feeling restless.
“It was during this period in my life that I met Orion Pax. He was the first mech I ever called friend and brother. Such a pair you had never seen, little one. I, a former Gladiator, and he, a simple librarian. Most did not understand our friendship, even I couldn’t fathom it, we were from different worlds but I was intrigued and charmed by him. You simply did not meet people like Orion in Kaon. He was a soft, pampered thing, I hated him when we first met but he had a good spirit and I let myself be taken in by his naïve viewpoints. We were of one mind but our approach differed too much for us to reconcile once our friendship dissolved. He desired peace, I desired war. You must understand, little mechling, I believe no change comes without bloodshed. The changes I was proposing were radical and violently opposed by the privileged few. The peaceful changes Orion Pax proposed were a pretty fantasy. I knew the ruling class would never willingly hand over power to the mechs they had enslaved and stood upon for so long. We needed revolution. We needed war. Orion … did not share my views.”
He was at the edge of The Pit now, staring out at the vast and seemingly endless ocean.
“The rest, as the humans say, is history. We went to war, Cybertron fell and our race was scattered. Orion Pax became Optimus Prime, a mech as far removed from his original cause as I have become. A mech who is the cause of my current enslavement and exile … and your Sire.”
The mechlings helm was nuzzling against his neck cables and Megatron wasn’t even sure if he was awake anymore.
“The least you could do is stay awake during the story of Cybertrons fall. Very few mechs have ever heard my account of these events, you should be honored.”
The mechling raised its helm and seemed to realize they were in a different location, chirping excitedly at the ocean.
“I should give you the designation Pit Spawn but even I am not that cruel. No, I wish to give you a designation that embodies the best parts of my past and what I hope for the future. You are the first of a new generation; you need not be tied down by my mistakes and old feuds that should have been put to rest ages ago. So I will give you the designation of the most good hearted, idealistic fool I have ever known: Orion Pax.”
Serious white optics stared at him and a tiny battle mask slid into place.
Megatron threw back his helm and laughed.
AN: Next chapter will probably be a bit longer coming out than previous chapters, I'm trying to flesh out the skeleton of a chapter I've written and I'm a very slow writer. D:
Next Chapter
As always this has not been beta read so any and all errors are mine.
Enjoy :D
Megatron stared down at the tiny mechling in his hand and nearly dropped it.
He had never felt such a deep and all consuming loathing for a living creature in all his life. Not even Prime elicited such a visceral hate as this tiny little creature who was staring up at him with wide white optics.
He put the creature down, stepped out of the shelter and walked away, not once turning back.
He left the woods entirely, continuing on across the entirety of The Pit, only stopping once he reached the other end and was unable to continue forward. Megatron was shaking with rage, his frame rattling with the force of his contained anger. He glared out at the ocean, watching the seagulls twist and turn in midair, fighting against the powerful ocean winds.
For a long moment the mech watched the birds in their dance as they were tossed about and flapped their wings in motions that, to a non-flyer, would seem chaotic and harsh. Megatron knew differently. He knew the feeling of being buffeted by the winds, playing with the unpredictable flow of air, allowing it to push and pull before finding his way through the twisting wind currents and making a graceful landing, completely in control.
The wind was an old friend of his.
Without a moment’s hesitation Megatron took a step forward into the wide open expanse of nothingness.
He fell, watching the ocean coming close with calm, unafraid optics.
At the last moment he triggered his transformation, feeling the shift twist his frame into his flyer alt mode.
His thrusters activated moments before impact, the heat of them turning water to steam and scorching rock as he jettisoned upwards, reaching speeds few living creatures could ever experience within moments of taking off.
He had no destination, no intentions of escape. All he wanted was the illusion of freedom, even if only for a moment.
The slave coding, perhaps reading no disobedience in his actions, didn’t activate and Megatron took full advantage, flying up and up. He pushed himself to his limits, up past the clouds, towards the warm sun, reaching the upper parts of the planets atmosphere within a few kliks. As the sky began to change from blue to black the slave coding forced him back.
He cut his thrusters, hanging in midair for a precarious second, neither flying nor falling. Gravity took over from there and he fell. The decent was slower than his ascent. He found the fall almost relaxing, the wind singing over the aerodynamic lines of his alt mode was a music all flyers danced to and he let himself go, slowly rotating around in a dizzying dance as the plummet brought him into the planets cloud cover.
When the island came into view he turned himself vertical, nose pointing towards the sky and powering up his thrusters, timing it so he slowed his decent and managed to transform a mere few feet above the ground, touching down and barely leaving a dent to show.
He hadn’t lost his touch.
The only flyer who had ever been able to surpass him in speed and dexterity in the air was Starscream, a fact that irked him more than he cared to admit. Even so, his skills in the air were formidable and he was pleased to see that despite several orbital cycles of being grounded his skills hadn’t degraded.
The flight had been somewhat therapeutic, if unwise. His frame felt fragile and brittle after being overexerted in both the ill advised strain of the flight and the birthing process. He reveled in the pain. It was hard won and served to sharpen his mind, giving him some much needed focus.
He had given birth. To a mechling. Mere orbital cycles after Prime had taken it upon himself to relieve Megatron of his seal.
Though there was no doubt as to who was responsible for his current situation Megatron was certain this was an unexpected event. He knew Prime well enough to know the mech would never subject an innocent mechling to Megatron or exile on an alien island.
This reeked of incompetence. The new Creator Protocol coding, something he had never heard of, was no doubt a direct result of the slave coding.
It was the incompetence that rankled him more than anything in this situation. For the fabled Prime, leader of the Autobots, Optimus really was one of the most rock, stupid mechs he had ever met. It probably never occurred to the Prime to test the new coding before implementing it. Megatron had been around enough scientists and performed enough illegal coding in his lifetime to know that introducing new coding without the proper beta testing and failsafes would often enough result in offshoot codes. Codes that reacted with the mechs or femmes own coding, releasing long dormant codes, corrupting code that was once perfectly functional, even creating entirely new strains of code.
Naturally Prime and Ratchet wouldn’t have known that. Scientists they were not.
His first instinct was to call Prime on his private comm., demand that he pick up his spawn and take it as far away from Megatron as he could. Another part of him just wanted to ignore the situation. He could wait and let nature take its course, the body could be disposed of in the ocean and not a single soul would have to know.
He wished he could but the infernal Creator Protocols seemed to take offense at Megatrons considering terminating his spawn.
Megatron snarled in frustration. He had no idea what Creator Protocols were but as far as he was concerned they were simply another form of slave coding, taking away his free will and binding him with rules and restrictions contrary to his true nature.
So he did the only thing that was in his power to do. He went to the transport container and downed a cube of energon, wishing all the while that he had some high grade.
Afterwards he wandered. He didn’t go too far or too fast as his body was weary and felt battered both inside and outside. His valve felt like it had been violated with a tree branch thanks to that creature.
First Prime, then his spawn, both using him for their own purposes. Both taking away his freedom, taking away his choice in the matter.
He felt sick.
He was tired, not just physically but mentally. The isolation was wearing on him, the forced inaction and lack of challenge at odds with his nature. He wanted to fight but he doubted he could take even Bumblebee in this state. He wanted to talk to somebody. He wanted Soundwave, the spy's steady presence and lack of judgment would suit Megatrons current mood just fine.
Megatron was so lost in his thoughts he failed to realize his pedes had taken him back to the forest.
Not just to the forest but right to the crude shelter he had erected.
He stared at the shelter as though his gaze could burn it to the ground.
It didn’t burn to his disappointment and Megatron finally worked up the nerve to poke his head inside.
The large white optics of the mechling instantly focused on him and a happy gurgle erupted from the creature.
He immediately pulled away, taking a step back, leaving the shelter.
The gurgling continued and little chirps reached his audials.
The damned thing sounded far too happy.
Megatron inhaled deeply and crawled back into the shelter. The mechling moved its tiny limbs in excitement.
He picked the small, dirty thing up in his claws. It was small. No bigger than a human. Its optics were the white of a newborn mechling and its limbs were powerful for one so young and new to the world. The mechling didn’t cry and seemed quite aware of its surroundings. Megatron didn’t know anything about mechlings but he supposed this seemed as fine a specimen as any.
And of course it would be. This was his own creation and Megatron felt a fierce burst of pride in himself.
Against all odds, as shackled and isolated as he was he had still managed to defeat Prime in a small way. He had created new life. This wasn’t the creation of the all-spark, this wasn’t a creation of Autobot making, this was a pure Decepticon creation and it was his.
The Creator Protocols hummed happily in the back of his processor.
“Little one,” he said in a voice hoarse from screaming and disuse. “I am your creator, Megatron, leader of the Decepticon army, former Gladiator in the Pits of Kaon, future ruler of Cybertron. I welcome you, my heir.”
The little mechling flailed its uncoordinated limbs about.
For the first time since his captivity Megatron felt something like hope.
***
The next day he made the trip to the only freshwater source on the island with a rag on one hand and a mechling in the other.
The little thing was still dirty, covered in birthing fluids that had long since dried and dirt that had become so thick it was impossible to tell what colour the little thing was. He wasn’t sure if using solvents was safe on one so young so he would have to make do with plain water.
The mechling seemed intrigued by the running water when they came upon it. It was barely more than a large puddle created by a small river of water but it would serve for something the size of a mechling. Megatron dumped the creature in the pond unceremoniously and began vigorously scrubbing the soft plating. The mechling thrashed around but didn’t seem overly bothered by the clumsy treatment. The tiny fish darting out of the rapidly spreading cloud of dirt seemed to intrigue the mechling and the process of washing the small frame became slightly more tedious as the little mech tried to catch the fish, making the already small and slippery frame that much harder to hold on to.
Megatron mostly ignored the mechlings curious flailing, more intent on scrubbing away the dirt and finding out the colouring underneath. If the mechling was white, red or blue he was going to kill something.
As the dirt sloughed away Megatron was pleased to find his mechling was neither of those colours. Rather, upon liberating the mechling from the water, he was revealed to be an uncommon shade of pearl grey with faint purple accents. Megatron was pleased; his mechling was an attractive little ‘bot, and, he couldn’t help but think, strong and well behaved for one so new to the world. However, he couldn’t help but notice the mechlings frame had a very Autobot look to it. The small frame being a near exact replica of Primes own frame right down to the distinctive antenna and the tiny retracted battlemask.
He grimaced slightly. Somewhere in the universe Primus was laughing at him.
He dunked the mechling in the stream again, scrubbing at its little helm while the mechling ogled at him through the water, appearing terribly fascinated by the underwater perspective.
When he was done, he hefted the creature up onto his shoulder where it instinctively held on to his shoulder spikes.
The air and the sun would dry the mechling. He could distantly feel the creature creating a hardline connection between them and feeding as he walked. If the little parasite wasn’t his offspring he would have killed it for that, hardline connections were something he loathed. Megatron was a ‘bot who rarely even indulging in interfacing as he despised having such intimate connections with other ‘bots. Already this mechling had completely torn apart all physical boundaries he preferred to keep between himself and other mechs and femmes. That the little fragger decided to set up his own hardline connection without Megatrons say so now seemed like a minor bother where once Megatron would have been half mad with rage over the perceived disrespect.
The Pit had softened him.
Ah well, the creature needed to feed and it’s not like it could process normal energon without Megatrons systems to filter out potentially life threatening impurities.
“You should be glad you belong to me, spawn.” Megatron addressed the sparkling. “You have taken liberties that would have seen other mechs long since deactivated.”
The mechling chirped at him.
“Don’t take that tone with me.”
The mechling stayed silent.
Megatron was satisfied with that.
His mind now strayed to other thoughts. He needed to get off this island and he needed to do it without Prime learning about the mechling. But how?
Primes direct orders seemed too thorough to allow for an escape or even the possibility of an escape. Megatron had tried countless times only to be rendered useless by the slave codes crippling punishment for disobeying orders.
He had even tried using the human’s networks to send a message to his Decepticons and that had proved a terrific failure. Prime was clearly monitoring his usage of the human’s network and had terminated his connection the first time Megatron had tried to connect with the outside world. It hadn’t been restored since which was unfortunate as the human network had offered some rather amusing distractions at times.
It seemed that despite his renewed urgency to escape he was in the same position he had been since coming to The Pit.
Trapped.
***
The rain was something Megatron absolutely loathed about this human planet. It struck his armour uncomfortably, creating a strange resonation that echoed throughout his entire frame. What it did to the ground beneath his pedes was even worse, turning already unstable materials into a soupy mixture seemingly designed to catch between his plating and make walking difficult if not impossible.
The only reprieve seemed to be either hiding in the caves or taking to the water.
Megatron choose neither. As much as he hated the rain he was not to be defeated by the chaotic nature of the humans planet and so he stayed, his pedes sinking into the sand as the waves washed past them, rain striking a melody against his armour and a mechling at his feet playing in the surf while he stared out at the horizon in contemplation.
Lightning flashed above them.
Soon after the true power of the planet made itself known as thunder began roaring overhead and lightning split the sky in a magnificent display of power that left even him in awe.
He had seen this light show only twice since coming to The Pit and every time he was mesmerized by it. The planet almost seemed to have a life of its own at times, a consciousness that was determined not to let the inhabitants of Earth feel too safe or too powerful. With every fork of lightning and every rumble of thunder the waves grew bigger and bigger. He picked his mechling up, placing it safely on his shoulder before turning his optics back to the electric storm.
The planet seemed to be speaking to Megatron. He could read a story in the winds and the lightning. A story of the planets birth. Chaotic and violent, unpredictable and harsh, there was little room on this planet at the beginning for creatures that were soft. Only the strong survived, created in the forge of trial and difficulty. And yet, he thought, as time went on the planet became less violent, providing a safe haven to the creatures that inhabited the planet. Yes it was chaotic, often cruel and unpredictable but it could also be a paradise. The planet was not merely an engine of destruction but also a keeper and creator of life.
His optics glowed bright in the dark.
He couldn’t help but feel he had a kinship with this planet. They were perhaps more alike than he had imagined.
The waves rose high, battering against his chest plates, whirling a dangerous dance around him. He held his ground against the maelstrom, not giving an inch. The mechling on his shoulder was as silent as he was, showing no fear. Its Creator was powerful; it had no cause to fear the planets wrath.
Megatron took satisfaction in his mechlings lack of fear.
It was a long while before the storm calmed and the sun began to shine again.
When Megatron left the beach it was with a renewed sense of confidence and purpose.
His goals, once unclear even to his own mind, were realigned. Cybertron was dead, his race on the brink of extinction, the remainder of their race in a mad scramble for energon deposits and relics of a golden era long since passed.
Destruction, once his only goal, was now secondary.
What was destruction without creation?
That lack of duality had nearly led to the extinction of their species. Even now, realizing his error, it may be too late to bring them back from the brink of extinction.
He needed both. Destruction and creation. Decepticon and Autobot. Death and life.
They had been too long with one and not the other.
He could change that.
If only he had the chance.
***
“You need a name, my Creation.”
The mechling clicked up at him from his position on the floor. He was up sitting by himself now, a feat that Megatron personally considered to be a worthy achievement of one so young.
“Have I ever told you of how I got my name?” The little mechs optics flickered and his helm cocked to the side. Primus but he was looking more like his Sire, a fact Megatron had made peace with the moment it became clear the mechling favored his Sires body structure. “I was not always called Megatron. That is a designation I choose for myself in rebellion of the caste system I had been born into. My original designation was D-16, I was a slave and a Gladiator, and our designations were nothing more than a convenience for our Masters. As you can see from my current situation, history tends to repeat itself in some form or another.”
He frown briefly as the memories of his past came back to him, every injury, every moment of injustice, every humiliation. It was a dark time.
“I was born a laborer in a small settlement in Kaon, I don’t remember the designations of my Caretakers, for you see, in those days there were no Creators or Sires, young mechs were given life by way of the all-spark. I was taken very young and made to work in the mines. It was grueling work and I didn’t see the sun for many stellar cycles while in the mines.” He remembered those days. Dark days. Days without end and without hope. “Even at such a young age I was ambitious. As ambitious as a young slave could be, I suppose. I had ideas about freedom and a life outside of my caste. I never shared these ideas aloud with my fellow slaves but I spent many long stellar cycles thinking and planning.”
The mechlings attention was fixed firmly on his Creator and Megatron could almost believe the little ‘bot could understand him. He reached down a picked the mechling up, placing it on his knee.
“I began to build a reputation in the mines as a mech not to be trifled with and eventually my reputation caught the interests of my second master, a femme who owned Gladiators and pitted them together in illegal combat. It was my appearance that convinced her to purchase me. I was a mech seemingly made for combat. I was good at it, very good. I rose in rank and reputation until I was the champion of the Pits. It was only then that I had my audience and the means to make them listen to me.”
His mechling patted his chest plate playfully.
“I was not a mech to sit idly by while my own kind were being subjugated and killed for sport. I longed for freedom and a world of equality where a mech such as you, born to a lowly Gladiator, would not be forced to share in the fate of their Caretaker simply by being born into the wrong family. So I began to speak out. I gave the people of Kaon and elsewhere a voice. The words I spoke were, at the time, revolutionary and the slaves and lower castes were moved by words of a world where no mech or femme would be bound into slavery or labour and subjected to the abuse of the corrupt higher classes. It was during this time I changed my name to something more appropriate for a leader of the cause, the Decepticon cause as I named it. I took my name from Megatronus, one of the original Thirteen transformers, one whose name I felt held the sort of power and command I wished to embody.”
He was walking now, going nowhere in particular but feeling the need to move, feeling restless.
“It was during this period in my life that I met Orion Pax. He was the first mech I ever called friend and brother. Such a pair you had never seen, little one. I, a former Gladiator, and he, a simple librarian. Most did not understand our friendship, even I couldn’t fathom it, we were from different worlds but I was intrigued and charmed by him. You simply did not meet people like Orion in Kaon. He was a soft, pampered thing, I hated him when we first met but he had a good spirit and I let myself be taken in by his naïve viewpoints. We were of one mind but our approach differed too much for us to reconcile once our friendship dissolved. He desired peace, I desired war. You must understand, little mechling, I believe no change comes without bloodshed. The changes I was proposing were radical and violently opposed by the privileged few. The peaceful changes Orion Pax proposed were a pretty fantasy. I knew the ruling class would never willingly hand over power to the mechs they had enslaved and stood upon for so long. We needed revolution. We needed war. Orion … did not share my views.”
He was at the edge of The Pit now, staring out at the vast and seemingly endless ocean.
“The rest, as the humans say, is history. We went to war, Cybertron fell and our race was scattered. Orion Pax became Optimus Prime, a mech as far removed from his original cause as I have become. A mech who is the cause of my current enslavement and exile … and your Sire.”
The mechlings helm was nuzzling against his neck cables and Megatron wasn’t even sure if he was awake anymore.
“The least you could do is stay awake during the story of Cybertrons fall. Very few mechs have ever heard my account of these events, you should be honored.”
The mechling raised its helm and seemed to realize they were in a different location, chirping excitedly at the ocean.
“I should give you the designation Pit Spawn but even I am not that cruel. No, I wish to give you a designation that embodies the best parts of my past and what I hope for the future. You are the first of a new generation; you need not be tied down by my mistakes and old feuds that should have been put to rest ages ago. So I will give you the designation of the most good hearted, idealistic fool I have ever known: Orion Pax.”
Serious white optics stared at him and a tiny battle mask slid into place.
Megatron threw back his helm and laughed.
AN: Next chapter will probably be a bit longer coming out than previous chapters, I'm trying to flesh out the skeleton of a chapter I've written and I'm a very slow writer. D:
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