Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In an act of aggression previously unseen from the Autobots, Megatron found himself held at gunpoint within his own throne room. Never once in the entirety of the war had the Autobots managed to push so deeply into Kaon, what it was that had changed this time, Megatron couldn’t say. He suspected foul play, and would have to execute the traitors responsible at the earliest opportunity. For the moment however, he needed a plan to escape his current predicament, as staring down the business end of Optimus Prime’s blaster was not exactly how he wished to spend his evening, especially not when his rival seemed so ridiculously distracted. Here he was, caught unawares and at an extreme disadvantage for it, and Optimus Prime couldn’t even afford the decency to look properly smug about it. This may very well be the most important step in the dance they have been doing since the war began and instead of focusing solely on Megatron like he should, Optimus’ optics kept flicking up towards the ceiling as if he was expecting a secret Decepticon force to suddenly descend upon him. Which could be useful, Megatron could certainly come up with a convincing bluff to spook him off, or use Optimus Prime’s split focus to outright attack, yet Megatron was struggling to think through the specifics of his plan as every flicker of Optimus Prime’s optics was sparking nothing but anger within him. He should be the only mechanism worthy of the Prime’s attention. It was them who the war molded itself around. Optimus was unraveling the very nature of their relationship with his uncharacteristically fleeting attention. How dare Optimus be so unfocused during what may very well be their magnum opus!

“Order your forces to step down, Megatron, help me end this pointless war for the sake of Cybertron and all of its remaining mechanisms.” Optimus Prime commands, although he barely manages to finish speaking before his optics flick back up the ceiling, one long antenna twitching with the action.

Megatron scowls, his raised hand clenching into a fist, making the Autobots beside Optimus jump. “It is you who have kept this war fueled, Optimus Prime, if you’d simply bow to your Emperor, we could’ve ended this farce long ago.”

That brings Optimus’ attention back to Megatron. Good. That is how it should be. “If you had your way, you’d have all of Cybertron crushed beneath your heel, I cannot condone such an energon soaked path.”

“Yet a trail of energon follows you regardless.” Megatron snarls back, a grin curling against his fangs, which falls just as quickly when Optimus’ optics return to the ceiling. “Admit it, Prime, your hands are no cleaner than mine! Save yourself the embarrassment and embrace your true nature, your true power. I have seen how you hold yourself back, you’d need no such restraint under my leadership. Join me and together we can unite Cybertron as it has always meant to be.”

“The Decepticons have been defeated, Megatron.” Optimus replies, although his optics are still scanning the ceiling, his antenna twitching more aggressively. “You have lost, now help me end this. Help bring peace back to our planet.”

“Do not be so certain that my simple capture will extinguish the inferno I have lit with My Cause!” Megatron scoffs, taking a single step forward, causing several Autobots to align their weapons with his chassis. “Decepticons do not lose. My Cause will remain eternal! We shall fight until I am crowned the rightful ruler of the planet!”

Optimus’ gaze refocuses on Megatron only briefly. “Cybertron will never bow to a war-mongering dictator like you,” he says sharply, Megatron can imagine the Prime is scowling under that mask of his before his optics once again drift away. Focusing and refocusing as they stare at nothing, when Megatron is right in front of him! When they are meant to be locked in combat on every level!

“Oh really?” Megatron barks out a laugh, sounding far more forced than usual as the anger bubbling in his lines begins to boil over. “Well if Cybertron will not bow by itself, I will be happy to provide them with a little assistance.”

Megatron swings his fusion cannon towards Optimus’ chassis at the exact moment when the ceiling explodes. Optimus, who has always had mind-bogglingly fast reflexes, is already in the process of pushing the Autobots closest to him away from the crumbling ceiling. However, even his supernatural skill has its limits, and his choice to prioritize his troops over the cannon firing at him is a costly one. The little time Optimus had to escape passes in an instant and he takes Megatron’s cannon fire nearly at point blank. Everything feels to slow down around Megatron as he watches the charged round hit. He hadn’t managed to strike Optimus directly in his chest, his aim off kilter from the unexpected cave in of the ceiling, yet his fusion cannon's fire still successfully cleaves through Optimus’ middle. The raw energy slices cleanly through the Prime with an oddly stunning display of sparks, Optimus’ energon bursts into iridescent flames, alighting mini explosions within the wound and down his front due to energon’s naturally volatile nature.

Several anguished cries from Autobot soldiers ring out between all of the chaos and collapsing roof. Optimus stumbles back only slightly, another excellent testimony to his unmatched strength. He regards his burning wound with a sort of shell-shocked awe; his own blaster had been abandoned in favor of protecting his troops, leaving his hands free to press against the fire leaking from his own body, scorching all of the plating it touches as it pours from his internals. Somehow, Optimus manages to look back up at Megatron, his optics so wide Megatron can practically see his own shocked expression reflected in their golden light. Optimus takes a single, shaky, step forwards and Megatron is almost convinced the mech before him is immortal, but then Optimus falls. Collapsing onto his knees and then crumbling to the floor. Before Megatron can react at all, Optimus is then crushed by a sudden onslaught of ceiling debris.

Megatron gasps, ignoring the static nature of the noise as he stumbles back himself. Right. The ceiling was collapsing. He should take cover unless he wished to suffer the same unfortunate end as his esteemed rival. Yet Megatron cannot seem to find the strength within himself to move. He feels paralyzed, optics frozen on the rubble before him, on the rubble Optimus is now buried under. Primus. Megatron had just- Optimus had just-

It is then that Megatron can feel something bellowing. His helm snaps up to the now gaping hole in the ceiling, some sort of disgusting techno-organic beast stares down at him. It’s large, with a long snout and thick limbs, dripping disgusting organic goo, the worst of it pouring from between its metal fangs. It clings to the roof with metal tipped claws, which shine in the few shuddering lights valiantly trying to stay on amidst the destruction. The sky above the beast has been blocked out completely by a ship of some kind, the likes of which Megatron has never seen before.

Megatron snarls, aims his fusion cannon up at the beast, and fires. It hits, exploding against the beast’s face, causing it to whip back with an audial piercing squeal. It thrashes wildly, making Megatron struggle to line up a second shot. Within the next klik, a seemingly endless amount of lights awaken on the ship above them, almost mimicking the starry night sky it was covering. Megatron momentarily freezes when the ship suddenly opens several ports and begins to dump thousands of objects from its hull. At first, Megatron fears that they’re bombs, but the objects unroll mid-flight into vaguely bipedal creatures. They’re too far away for Megatron to identify properly but they’re approaching fast and Megatron decides to shoot up at them instead of the beast still squealing on his roof.

He is not the only mechanism who chooses to fire up at the invaders, Megatron can catch the tail ends of lasers zipping past him, however he has no time to take stock of the room around him before the beast above them all bellows. It drops into Megatron’s throne room gracelessly, its lower half flopping behind it as it clangs against the floor far below its perch. It hardly seems affected by the jump, just like it hardly seems affected by the new hole in its head. Wires spark and organic material sizzles, bleeding everywhere, but the beast doesn’t seem to care. It growls at Megatron, its low set legs scrabbling against the rubble, talons digging new gouges into the already ruined floor as it snaps at him. Megatron growls and fires at it once more, the shot bounces off the plating on the beast’s shoulder as the thing launches itself at him.

Megatron goes down with an angry shout, pinned between the beast’s claws but luckily unpunctured. A talon slices through Megatron’s armor like a hot knife through oil cake as he hefts the beast’s foot to get a proper shot at its underbelly. Two more shots of his fusion cannon cut the beast’s ugly screaming short. It gurgles as it collapses to its side, its charred and bloodied flesh oozing everywhere, making the ground beneath Megatron slick.

It’s a struggle to stand, but Megatron can hear more creatures thunking against the roof, and he cannot afford to stay where he is vulnerable to attack. He flicks the worst of the mess from his hands as he regards the remainder of the ceiling and the new beasts now huddling around it. They’re large spherical beings with wide set legs and massive jaws stuffed full of razor sharp teeth with protruding tusks to boot. Unlike the half-organic beast, these creatures seem entirely metallic. They stare down at Megatron with blank rounded optics, which glow like the ship above them.

One of the creatures then decides to make the jump, when it successfully lands not three mechameters from Megatron, another decides to join it. Megatron shoots the first creature straight in its mouth, which doesn’t seem to phase any of its companions. Another joins them before the first can even finish falling, it screeches pure static before seemingly deactivating. Megatron shoots the second creature in the same fashion as two more jump down. He shoots the third as four more appear. They’re not strong, but their increasing number may make them a problem. Megatron saw first hand how many of these very creatures the ship above his city had dropped. Fighting that many, alone no less, would not be wise… Megatron begins to back away from the increasing number of seemingly mindless drones before him, nearly slipping on the dead beast behind him as he does so. Distantly, Megatron can feel the rumbles of another techno-organic monster, and he curses internally as he watches the rounded creatures pour into the room.

He’s being invaded, in the middle of his greatest victory no less! What fools these attempted usurpers are! Clearly they did not realize who it was they had just attacked, whose wrath they just successively invoked. They shall live just long enough to rue the day they even considered touching his planet and not a klik longer! Megatron shoots into the growing crowd before him, growling as he slips behind some rubble which had collapsed before one of the many entrances to his throne room. Luckily, the door hasn’t been completely blocked off, giving Megatron a tactical escape. He blocks the entrance once he's through, hopefully buying him at least a decent amount of time to regroup and strategize against these audacious invaders.

“Soundwave, report,” Megatron snarls into his commlink as he takes off down the hall, the chaos of the throne room barely fades as he moves, replaced almost instantly by the sounds of other battles ringing out through his fortress.

“We have received distress calls from Tarn, Polyhex, and Vos. They all seem to be under attack by starships similar to the one hovering above Kaon.” Soundwave replies dutifully, even with the screeches echoing both around Megatron and distantly within the commlink. “The bug on the Autobot communications line confirms a ship over Iacon and Praxus as well.”

Megatron scoffs, quickening his pace when an especially loud bang sounds behind him. “What sort of army could possibly have enough resources for an assault of this scale on that many cities at once?!”

“The Victory has yet to find a genetic match for these creatures,” Soundwave responds, which may just be the closest Megatron has ever heard him get to admitting he doesn’t know something.

“Scrap.” Megatron grunts, glaring at nothing in particular as he thinks the situation over. “Scrap.”

If Soundwave replies, Megatron doesn’t hear it, distracted by the sudden blur of pink charging across the intersecting hallway ahead of him, four of the spherical creatures in hot pursuit. Megatron fires at them before he can really think the action through. Downing them all in quick succession as he ignores the way the fusion cannon has begun to warm against his plating. He attempts to round the corner to check on the runaway when it finally catches up to him that pink plating was an Autobot thing to do and sure enough Megatron finds himself facing the tip of Elita One’s saber.

“You,” she growls, sounding breathless, but her arms don’t shake as they hold her blade steady against Megatron’s neck.

“Now now,” Megatron grumbles, knocking the back of his hand against her blade, “this is hardly the time for petty rivalries.”

“You shot him!” Elita One snaps back, her voice cracking slightly even as she keeps her blade firm. “He offered you a peace you did not deserve and you killed him!”

Megatron means to defend himself, his mouth opens to give some sort of dismissive response, to attempt to waive away any responsibility; he’s rather surprised when he can’t find a single thing to say. He did shoot Optimus, of course he shot Optimus. That was part of Megatron’s role to fill in the grand play they performed. It was Optimus who had failed his part. He was supposed to dodge, valiantly roll away at the last second, escape with nothing but a new nick or slight burn that could be easily smoothed away. He wasn’t meant to… He shouldn’t have… Megatron finds himself blinking away brilliant sparking colors, his optics flashing with the ghosts of iridescent flames.

“I did nothing that he wouldn’t have done in my place.” Megatron eventually manages, suppressing a shiver that’s crawling up his spinal column.

“Liar!” Elita One barks back before she attempts to slit his throat. Megatron is saved only by the activation of the hidden blade in his arm, managing to knock Elita One’s sword just far enough away as to graze him instead of gut him.

Yes, Megatron is a liar, and he is well aware that was one of his flimsier excuses, because he knows in his spark that Optimus Prime would never stoop to the lows Megatron did on a daily basis. It simply wasn’t in his nature, despite how often Megatron attempted to coax it out of him. Optimus Prime was all of the best Cybertron could possibly offer, he was perfection in the midst of rust and ruin, and Megatron was… also perfect obviously, which was why it was unfortunate that Megatron had to snuff out Optimus Prime’s sparklight. It was no easy feat to find a mechanism that could match Megatron’s golden standard, and Optimus’ only truly glaring flaw was the Autobot symbol branded on his pauldrons.

“What of it?” Megatron growls back, suddenly finding himself furious despite the fact that he should be focusing on disarming Elita One of her much larger, and glaringly unaffixed, blade. “Tell me why it matters that I am just one more deceiver in a world full of liars?”

“Who’s fault is that in the first place, Decepticon?”

Their argument is cut abruptly short by another techno-organic beast bursting through the walls, its metallic jaw snapping over the remains of something as it snarls and scrambles across the floor. Elita One instantly pivots on her heel and sets her sword ablaze. She charges the beast, making Megatron hiss, his hand just barely missing Elita One’s plating as he fails to stop her. Why he had tried to do so in the first place, he doesn’t attempt to waste the time processing, as the snapping monster before him is a much larger concern.

Elita One manages to slide right under the beast’s maw, lodging her sword into its flesh as she skids across the floor beneath it. The beast tears, screeches just as horribly as Elita One does against the ground. Megatron steadies his cannon and blasts the damned thing. Once. Twice. Its head slams against the ground with a fiery explosion, iridescent flames lick up its sides as Elita One rolls out from underneath it, covered in a mix of blood, oil, and other entrails. She springs back up to embed her sword into its side, it gurgles and twitches but makes no move to rise.

Megatron watches slick chunks of flesh drip from Elita One’s helm as she huffs, leaning heavily against her blade as she attempts to recollect herself. Something wild sparks excitedly deep in Megatron’s chassis, threatening to light a fire in his lines. It had been far too long since he’s fought alongside Elita One, and here she was, proving to still be that same warrior he had once admired so deeply. Still admired, if he would be so foolish as to acknowledge that terrible fondness he still held for his should be enemy. Damn him.

“Magnificent,” Megatron breathes, unfortunately not as quietly as he had thought, as Elita One is quick to shoot him a glare.

“Don’t talk to me,” she grunts as she drags a hand across her face in an attempt to clear the worst of the beast’s innards from her plating.

“We still make a very good pair,” Megatron ventures, daring to take a step forward.

Elita One draws her blade from the beast and points it back at Megatron. “I said don’t talk to me. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Nothing at all?” Megatron tilts his head with a raise of an optic ridge. “There was a time when you were rather fond of my company.”

“I can’t believe you. After everything you’ve done, just within the day, not even the entire war, and you still expect me to, what? Talk to you? Rejoice in your presence? Kiss the very ground you stand upon?” Elita One scoffs, her optics hardened and cold. “Go fragment yourself, Megatron. Or better yet, do the world a favor and go walk into the maw of one of these overgrown alloygators. Maybe then I’ll be happy to see you.”

Megatron scowls, but is once again interrupted before he can form any sort of coherent defense, this time by a cacophony of scrambling soldiers.

“Elita!” An Autobot calls as she raises her gun to point directly at Megatron’s face, her companions quick to follow once they recognize him.

“Stay back!” Elita One orders as she steps between her troops and Megatron, as if she expects him to waste his precious energy on mere infantry, as if she would fare any better against his full wrath than Optimus would.

Had.

Damnit.

“I suppose that’s my cue to leave.”

“Not a step,” Elita One hisses, liquid fire drips off her blade as she levels it with Megatron’s optics. “If you think I’m letting you go anywhere, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Megatron laughs, the sound harsh and grating. “It’s charming that you think you can keep me here.”

“Lord Megatron!” Jetfire calls from further down the hall. Several guns whine through their warm up sequence but none fire without Elita One’s command.

“What is it?” Megatron replies, barely turning his head to acknowledge his loyal Air Commander, Megatron doesn’t dare to look back, his optics solely focused on Elita One’s flaming blade.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” Jetfire says as he joins Megatron at his side, only sparing the Autobots before them a glance, “but I must insist that you allow me to call for a full retreat.”

“What?” Megatron and Elita One snap simultaneously.

“The starship is equipped with a kind of homing weapon, with how close it is to the city, only a fifth of our Seekers can stay airborne. We’re losing a full flight for every one of their own avian units.” Jetfire explains, his voice tight as his optics flick back towards the Autobots. “Forgive my impudence, but it would be suicide to continue on like this. We do not have the firepower to push through their forces, we need to retreat.”

Retreat to where? Megatron does not ask. Soundwave’s earlier report rings near deafening in his head. None of Megatron’s greatest cities would be faring any better than Kaon if they too were truly under attack. Not even the Autobots had a safe haven to return to if the Iacon report was to be trusted. Whoever these usurpers were, they had somehow perfectly planned for a full scale planetary assault. Megatron was losing to an opponent he had never even met. No. No. He couldn’t go out like this! Not now! Not when he had-

“My Lord?” Jetfire asks warily.

Megatron looks Elita One dead in the optics, sees the uneasiness he feels reflected perfectly in her own expression. She was no doubt coming to the same conclusion as he, regardless of how little she knew about the full extent of this invasion. There was no denying it, not in the face of such a report. It would seem they would both be damned to die here, their causes meaningless, their destinies pointless, their dreams hopeless… unless… Unless… Ah damn it all.

“I surrender,” Megatron proclaims through clenched teeth, ripping the words from his own throat with a hiss before he can let his pride doom him.

“My Lord?!” Jetfire practically jumps out of his plating, his hands hovering awkwardly at Megatron’s sluggishly bleeding shoulder. “I know the situation is dire, but please consider the-“

“You surrender?” Elita One interrupts, her optics cycling wide even as she keeps her sword steady.

“I’ll surrender under one condition.” Megatron pushes onwards, knocking Jetfire away as he takes a rather bold step towards Elita One. “You must join forces with me and aid me in my mission to wipe these damn invaders off the face of our planet. Only then will I submit to your Autobot authority and end this war once and for all.”

“You-” Elita One takes a half a step back as Megatron continues to stalk forward. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am. Fighting a war on two fronts would be foolish. Surely you know as well as I that our forces combined stand a much better chance against these creatures than we do alone.” Megatron gestures with his helm to the smoking corpse of the techno-organic beast laid beside them. “Join me.”

Elita One’s optics flick towards the beast and then back towards Megatron, who’s now a mere breath's width away from her blade. The heat of it licks against his chest, promising to burn him to his very core if the inferno already whirling around his spark doesn’t do him in first. Something untamed and unknown has begun to form within him, call it desperation, call it mania, Megatron doesn’t truly care. He will not die here today. No matter what it takes, he will not lose.

Elita One shifts her stance, as if preparing to run Megatron through. Megatron grins in return, a feral thing, all sharp fangs and electric optics. He calls her bluff, takes that single step forward, lets her blade burn into the Decepticon symbol on his chassis. Megatron’s grin only grows as he watches the fire in Elita One’s optics go out. He watches that burning hatred melt away into delicious defeat. Elita One douses the flame of her blade and pulls away with a twisted, angry, noise.

“Scrap,” she seethes, her plating audibly rattling as she glares up at Megatron. “Scrap. I hate you. I hate you.”

“Do we have a deal?” Megatron asks, nearly purring, Elita One looks about ready to tear him apart with her teeth.

“Deal,” she spits out, still shaking. “Tell your troops to scatter themselves as far as they possibly can, we can’t afford a single mechanism being followed. When things calm down, I’ll give you a list of Autobot bases for your troops to retreat to.”

“Elita-” one of the Autobots attempts to protest before Elita One silences it with a raised hand.

“Make sure they know they’re not allowed to harm a single Autobot or I’ll gut you,” Elita One growls as she jabs a finger directly into the burn wound now adorning Megatron’s chest.

Megatron grits his teeth and fights back the urge to wince. “I’d expect nothing less, but can I be certain my Decepticons will be safe from your troops?”

“They’ll have no reason to attack if the Decepticons won’t,” Elita One replies smoothly before pulling away from him. Megatron tries not to dwell on the organic matter still flaking from her plating.

“Then it would seem we have ourselves an alliance.”

“Seems like it.” Elita One regards Megatron with a suspicious squint of her optics. Whatever she finds, she deems him safe enough to carefully turn her head to address her soldiers. “We’ll be heading back to headquarters as soon as we can. Spread the word.”

“Iacon will be no safer than Kaon,” Megatron warns, hopefully being obscure enough to not alert the Autobots to their bugged communications.

Elita One raises an optic ridge as she folds her arms. “Well good thing the headquarters aren’t in Iacon.”

“This is a terrible idea,” an Autobot complains.

Jetfire remains dutifully silent, but Megatron can practically feel the judgment oozing off of him. No matter. The Decepticons would listen to Megatron’s commands or be left to fend for themselves against these usurpers. What was important was destroying the invaders who had dared to attack Megatron’s empire and interrupt what should have been his greatest victory. How dare they muddle what should’ve been such a shining moment in Megatron’s illustrious career. They would pay for their crimes and then Megatron would raze the Autobots to the ground alongside them! Only then could Megatron properly relish in the defeat of Optimus Prime. Although he would always remain furious at the sour note left on his claim by these attempted conquerors, there was simply no other explanation for the hollow feeling curling up in the depths of his spark to die.

Chapter Text

Megatron is forced to watch his city burn from a distance like a coward, half hidden amongst the jagged landscape which surrounds Kaon alongside a handful of Autobots and even fewer Decepticons. Shockwave had managed to join Megatron in the escape and Soundwave promised to follow once he had reunited himself with Ravage. Megatron hoped for his friend’s sake that the minibot was still alive.

The calculated numbers from Shockwave and Jetfire were rather devastating. The Decepticons had never faced such a total defeat in all of their functioning, and only now is Megatron realizing the true mercy the Autobots had been showing him all this time. The Autobots fought defensively, desperately striving for peace amidst war; these invaders fought to annihilate, cleaning out whatever stood in their way without care. Megatron’s fusion cannon had long since overheated, it burned much like Kaon, but he refused to disengage it. Better to suffer through plate scorching than be without his greatest weapon if they should find themselves at the mercy of these invaders.

Eventually, Elita One calls him away from his vantage point, drawing him deeper into the shadows. “I’m leaving a scout here to make sure we aren’t followed, but it looks calm enough for us to leave if we use the tunnels.”

Megatron nods in return but says nothing, his processor too busy turning through the day's events. The fires of Kaon feel burned into his very optics and his logic center has seemingly gotten stuck in a rut, looping the spray of sparks he had witnessed pouring from Optimus’ chassis. As if the Prime’s destruction was his biggest loss today. As if the Prime’s death could be considered a loss to him at all when Optimus was his greatest enemy! Megatron silently scolds himself for his weakness, he had no time to think about the Prime, he had an army to rebuild and The Cause to reignite. He should be focused on mapping out the path the Autobots lead him down, they were showing him all of their deepest secrets and he could hardly get himself to care! Preposterous!

Megatron knew quite well how valuable the maps of Cybertron’s vast interior would be, especially when the Autobots’ mastery of their traversal was one of the few advantages they held on the Decepticons. Yet his mind could not find any sort of center to properly absorb anything around him. As far as his processor was concerned, he was still deep within the inferno of Kaon watching his enemies collapse around him. Megatron grits his teeth and accepts that he’ll need to rely on Shockwave or Jetfire for a proper layout of the path to Autobot headquarters.

They travel for quite a while beneath Cybertron’s surface, picking their way through tunnel after tunnel, scurrying in the dark like a bunch of retrorats. Megatron had never found the use in an internal chronometer and therefore hadn’t the faintest idea how long they had been down here, but it was long enough for his fusion cannon to grow cool and the plating beneath it to go from a searing pain to a throbbing one. Yet the Autobots have no plans to stop and Megatron will not show any more weakness than he already has, so he carries on. There will be time to tend to wounds later, for now he needs to appear strong yet amenable to his wary new allies. As powerful as he is, he will be at a severe disadvantage within the Autobot headquarters if he chooses to make enemies of them now. This would have to be a long game if he wished to benefit from these fools before he inevitably destroyed them.

Elita One stops their party at a large T-shaped cross section in what seems to be in the underbelly of a fumarole field. Gasses and vapors heat the very air around them, coiling around plating and joints and leaving stickiness in their wake. A nearby vent steams heavily, obscuring Megatron’s vision. Something rumbles in the distance, low and steady, making the ground shake beneath them. Megatron has his fusion cannon ready before he can even wonder if it's the result of nearby volcanic activity.

His unasked question gets an answer with the sudden discharge of the steam around them. Where there was once a solid wall, now stands a large open door, with roaring fans that push the worst of the vapor away from the group. Many Autobots wait on the other side of the door, but Megatron does not let himself hesitate for a moment, dutifully following after Elita One and her soldiers. It’s no surprise that guns are raised at Megatron and his measly collection of Decepticons within their next few steps, not even a hand signal from Elita One can get them to stand down. Megatron huffs and glares at the gathered mass before him, his annoyance growing at the faces he recognizes. His optics eventually land upon his old mentor, Alpha Trion, who looks just as displeased to see Megatron as Megatron is to see him.

“What is he doing here?” Alpha Trion asks coldly, his voice loud in the terse silence that had formed between their factions.

“Megatron has agreed to aid us in the fight against the invaders.” Elita One explains as she spares Megatron a glance, the vapors in the air have reactivated some of the dried blood on her plating, streaking it with the evidence of their battle. “He’s promised to surrender his forces and end the war in exchange for their defeat.”

“Invaders?” Alpha Trion questions with a growing frown. “What invaders? Where’s Optimus?”

The silence seems to grow even heavier. Elita One clenches her fist at her side, keeping her head high as she stares down her soldiers and friends. “He’s dead.”

Those simple, half choked, words ignite a fire under the Autobots. It sends a ripple through their mass, consisting of several cries and the clattering of dropped weapons. The cacophony is quickly followed by a chorus of fervent mummerings, no doubt filled with denials and laments alike in the face of their dear leader’s death. Megatron almost wishes Soundwave had managed to join them by now so he could hear exactly what Optimus' forces were saying about Optimus now that he was gone. Megatron had often envisioned the terrible hopelessness Optimus’ death would spark among his Autobots, and here he was to witness it first hand, yet he could hardly relish in it. He blamed the noise of the industrial fans and steaming vents around them, they were far too loud and distracting.

“No,” Alpha Trion gasps, taking a half step forward, as if saving himself from falling. “How?”

“Megatron shot him right before we were all attacked by a surprise attack force,” Elita One manages, her voice surprisingly steady despite the static threaded through each word.

Suddenly every optic finds its way to Megatron, burning into him in a way neither Elita One’s sword nor his own fusion cannon ever could. Megatron prepares himself for an address, only to falter at the very words that had managed to enter his processor. He would like to say that Optimus Prime had fought well, that he had received a death worthy of a warrior like himself, but the truth of the matter was… he hadn’t. Megatron had fought Optimus many, many times, and had reveled in each battle, each clash, each grapple. Optimus Prime was truly the only opponent Megatron had ever faced that could be considered worthy of his time and effort, of all of the strength Megatron had to offer, yet he had died without facing any of it. The one battle that should have been truly glorious, the only battle which should have worn Megatron down to his last wire, and nothing had come of it. Megatron had gained nothing from it. These damned invaders had destroyed his greatest victory before he had even achieved it. If it hadn’t been for them, if Optimus Prime hadn’t been so oddly aware of their incoming attack, hadn’t had his focus split between Megatron and an opponent Megatron hadn’t known was coming. Then, then, they could have had a triumphant battle worthy of them both. Then Optimus Prime could have been given the death he had deserved, the proper warrior’s send off someone like him should receive. Yet he hadn’t. He hadn’t.

“It’s war,” Megatron finds himself defending, or perhaps convincing, he’s not sure, unable to meet the optics of even the sniveling Autobots. “In war you either kill or you die. The Prime made his choice. I made mine.”

That sets off another wave of anguish through the Autobots.

“Elita, you can’t expect us to allow Megatron in here!” Alpha Trion begins, sounding more angry than devastated. “Not after everything he’s done!”

“Even the Decepticons were struggling to fend off the invaders.” Elita One sighs, her voice finally shaking. “We need Megatron to keep his army organized and agreeable or we all risk annihilation.”

The protests hardly die down, but no one fires at Megatron or his Decepticons as they follow Elita One and her soldiers into the base. Megatron stands tall while the door rumbles close behind him, trapping him in what very well could be his tomb. Alpha Trion takes off, disappearing down a hallway with a flourish of his cape, a gaggle of Autobots trailing after him. Besides that, the rest of the Autobots seem frozen, their optics brimming with ill concealed hatred as they track Megatron across the room. One brave Autobot medic dares to approach their party, she glances warily at Megatron, but she doesn’t slow until she reaches Elita One’s side.

“Let me look you over,” she whispers, Megatron only catching the sound due to his proximity to Elita One. “I don’t like the way your hip is moving.”

“Later,” Elita One mutters back. Megatron hadn’t noticed she’d been injured, but he hardly gets the chance to check her over before she’s turning around to face him. “There’s a locker down that way, I’m going to have to ask you and your soldiers to stay there until we can clear out a depot for a Decepticon barrack. While you’re waiting, Lifeline here will provide medical assistance to anyone who needs it.”

Elita One gestures to the medic, who looks Megatron up and down, her optics focusing on his fusion cannon. Megatron believes it to be nerves at first, until he realizes there’s a not insignificant crack in the plating right along his cannon mount. Ah, but of course, it would be foolish to think a medic could be anything but a medic. Although this Autobot medic was certainly brave to be staring down Megatron like that.

“How kind,” Megatron drawls, pointedly folding his hands behind his back as he stares down the medic. “However, my forces are more than capable of tending to themselves as long as they are provided the proper supplies.”

“Humor me,” the Autobot medic dares to say. “I don’t see a single medic among your troops and an assisted tune up has never hurt anyone.”

Megatron raises an optic ridge and crosses his arms over his chest, which unfortunately brings his attention back to the burn wound still emblazoned on his metal. “Fine. I suppose we are meant to be allies after all.”

Elita One vents heavily before she brings a hand up to whistle. “Grimlock! Ready up and get your bots down to Locker Eco!”

Now that was a name Megatron could recognize, although they had never met, Megatron had received many reports on Grimlock and his infamous strike squad. Said reports were often filled with nothing but destruction and carnage, the likes of which weren’t usually seen among Autobot forces. Out of all of the Autobot rank, Grimlock was certainly one of the few which had continually stood out to Megatron, and he had occasionally wondered what it would be like to fight against the self proclaimed King of the Autobots himself. After all, Megatron couldn’t have his own throne called into question, especially not by an Autobot of all mecha.

“Locker Eco wouldn’t happen to be our locker, now would it?” Megatron hums, leaning towards Elita One with an almost gleeful expression.

“Call it insurance,” Elita One grunts back as she throws Megatron a very judgmental look. “I’ll get a draft prepared for the truce announcement. Once that’s finished I’ll call you up for a look over, and the codes for Decepticon communications lines. We’ll need your personal identification for the sign off too. After that I’ll get a broadcast out on the Autobot base locations for your remaining forces.”

“What of security measures?” Megatron questions with a tilt of his head. “How can I be certain your communication lines won’t be intercepted by these invaders?”

“There’s always a risk, but we have no reason to believe they even understand our language. Between that and the encryption protocols, we should be okay, at least for the moment, so the quicker we get to work the better.” Elita One assures as she turns back around, gesturing for Megatron to follow. “Besides, Autobot communications are harder to intercept than Decepticon ones.”

Megatron snorts. “Hardly.”

“Trust me, they are.”

The bug on the Autobot lines would continue to be useful, regardless of if the truce held through the invasion, so Megatron chooses to be quiet. It’s not an argument lost so much as it’s an argument on hold. The day will come when Megatron can properly gloat in his superiority, but the current situation did not call for it, so he wouldn’t reveal his hand just yet. Elita One also seems content to leave their conversation at that, no doubt assuming Megatron’s silence was him conceding to her argument. Ha, if only she knew the truth.

Elita One leads the Decepticons down to Locker Eco, her little Autobot medic trailing behind them. It’s a simple hangar, large and seemingly underutilized given how empty it is. Between that and its single entrance, Megatron could easily understand why it was chosen for their temporary residence. Although quietly he couldn’t help but think how this was already leagues above the resting place he would have given any Autobots seeking refuge in his base of operations, especially if they had offlined someone as important as Optimus Prime. Megatron can’t quite stop himself from huffing, what a bunch of soft sparked fools.

Elita One shoots him a glare for his troubles but she doesn’t get the chance to speak before several thunderous steps ring out from the hallway. A mechanism that simply has to be Grimlock himself comes into view of the door, flanked by a handful of other large and powerful looking mecha. Grimlock, of course, stands the tallest, looking a good head and shoulders taller than even Megatron himself. His strike squad are barely any smaller, between the five of them present, Elita One almost looks small standing before them. Although she certainly doesn’t act it in the slightest as she walks right up to Grimlock to give him her orders.

“You’re all on guard duty,” she states as she rests a hand on her hip, Megatron wonders if that was the damaged one. “Not a single Decepticon leaves this room without my clear permission, understand?”

“We’re all on guard duty?” One of the other bots complains with a dour rumble of their powerful engine.

“That’s not nearly enough Decepticons for a five mech job,” Grimlock grumbles as he crosses his arms over his chest, nodding towards the sparse gathering of Decepticon soldiers.

“I don’t care. This is an order, not a request.” Elita One replies, glaring up at Grimlock as she places her other hand on her hips.

The two stare each other down as silently as one can when there are several large and grumpy engines revving in the background. Megatron briefly wonders if this will devolve into a physical fight; he's never seen such open resistance from an Autobot soldier before. If there really is such tension between Grimlock and Elita… Megatron’s processor has already begun spinning through what he could possibly say to recruit Grimlock to his own cause, ready to snap up any possible advantage he could get while within the Autobot headquarters. However, much to Megatron’s surprise, Grimlock’s fortitude cracks first. He lets his head drop backwards with a long-suffering sounding sigh before he then gestures ahead of himself with two fingers.

“Swoop.” Grimlock grunts simply, and instantly one of his soldiers breaks away into a jog down the hall. Grimlock then gestures behind himself. “Snarl.” Again, a bot breaks away to follow whatever command it is he had given them. Grimlock then points at the door. “Slag. Sludge, on me.”

There’s still a fair bit of grumbling from the bots, even as they hastily depart on Grimlock’s orders, but they still follow without any further question or protest. Rather impressive for mechanisms rowdy enough to question Elita One’s own commands. Clearly Grimlock had a rather iron grip on his strike squadron, which he could make a rather formidable ally if Megatron played his cards right. Grimlock and who is apparently Sludge join them within the locker, taking point on either side of the door. Elita One looks between them for only a klik before she glances back at Megatron.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she promises before turning away and disappearing beyond the door.

The Autobot medic, Lifeline if Megatron recalls, draws attention back to herself with a tap against the datapad in her hands. “Alright, I’ll need a full and honest report on any injuries received and all damage taken, no matter how small the scratch. We’ll just go down the line unless anyone has something more serious they need addressed.”

With no grievances raised, the medic begins to attend to the Decepticons closest to her. Most of Megatron’s Decepticons look rather wary to have an Autobot medic attend to them, but the medic herself seems surprisingly professional. Megatron would have expected more poorly hidden contempt, much like the forces that had greeted them at the door, yet no such disdain crosses Lifeline’s face. Either she’s far better at hiding her distaste for Decepticons or she genuinely doesn’t mind helping. The former seems far more realistic in Megatron’s opinion, he doubts there are many among the Autobots who are neutral about the current arrangement, let alone positive. Especially given that Optimus Prime was now… gone, by a Decepticon’s hand no less.

Megatron tries to mentally shake away the creeping feeling at the back of his processor. It was better this way, he told himself, better for Optimus to die at the hands of a Decepticon than to fall to an invader. Megatron does not think about how Optimus could have very well survived the invasion force if not for himself. He does not think about how he could have stood beside Optimus in this very moment if not for himself. He does not think about how he could have finally fought with Optimus instead of against him, just like he had always wanted, if not for himself. No, such thoughts were foolish things not worth Megatron’s attention. Optimus Prime’s death was meant to be a victorious event, a glorious celebration of Decepticon superiority. There was no room for silly things like grief, and Megatron certainly held none for his fallen rival. No, none at all.

It is Shockwave’s careful hand upon his pauldron that finally shakes Megatron from his silent spiral. “My Lord, if you would rather prefer a Decepticon medic, I can attend to your injuries myself.”

Megatron frowns and glances at the gathered crowd. “Perhaps when we have less of an audience.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Shockwave agrees easily before stepping between Megatron and the slowly approaching Autobot medic. She was still far too busy with Megatron’s soldiers to begin pestering him, but Shockwave’s assistance would be appreciated when the medic would dare to approach him.

Megatron’s optics eventually make their way over to Grimlock, who seems to be staring at Megatron as he settles against the wall with crossed arms. Or perhaps Megatron is simply in his line of sight. It was hard to say where those with visors were truly looking, but Megatron could swear he felt a burn against his armor, as if a pair of heavy optics were upon him, and who else would dare to watch Megatron so boldly beyond Grimlock?

“How is it that such a supposedly powerful Autobot has found himself reduced to mere watchhound?” Megatron asks, aiming for a light and conversational tone, although he sounds just the faintest bit smug to his own audials. It’s not at all surprising that it catches Grimlock’s attention quite thoroughly. His engine rumbles moodily as he looks down at Megatron.

“I am powerful, there’s no ‘supposedly’ about it.” Grimlock growls as he leans forward, pointing down at Megatron. “And I’m here to take you out if you try anything, because apparently no one else can.”

Megatron laughs with all of the bravado he’s built himself upon. “You may try, Autobot, but there’s not a single mechanism on this planet that can stand against me. Your Prime was the closest anyone has come and even he fell to my might.”

“Optimus Prime is weak,” Grimlock scoffs, shifting his weight to lean back against the wall. “I’m far stronger than he ever was, so if you fight me, I won’t lose.”

Megatron does not gawk, but it takes more effort to abort the action than he’d care to admit. Grimlock would dare to say such nonsense? What did this single measly Autobot know about Optimus Prime’s true strength?! Megatron’s own engine rumbles, his gaze darkening as he glares back at Grimlock.

“And what do you know of strength? I have never once seen you on a battlefield, fighting alongside your leader, I doubt you have ever witnessed Optimus Prime at the pinnacle of his power.” Megatron growls as he gestures to himself. “I have. I have fought the Prime at his best and come out victorious! Can you say the same?”

“I’ve fought Optimus Prime, and I beat him, ” Grimlock replies moodily with a shrug of his shoulder, “easy.”

“I severely doubt Optimus has the spark to ever face one of his own at his full power.” Megatron huffs back, squinting at the larger mech in open suspicion. “It’s not in his nature.”

“That’s why he’s weak. Won’t fight like he should. But he didn’t hold back when we fought,” Grimlock grunts as he slams his fist against his own chest, “I made sure of it.”

“While the validity of your claim is questionable at best,” Megatron begins with a raised optic ridge, “if there’s any truth to your words, you may just be an adversary worthy of my attention.”

Grimlock snarls and leans forward in some sort of vain attempt to loom over Megatron. “If you don’t believe me I can prove it to you right now.”

Before Megatron can reply, a gruff voice cuts through their growing scuffle. “Grimlock if you get into another fight I’m gonna have First Aid remove yer T-cog.”

Grimlock instantly backs off, but he does so with a loud exhale; always the one to get in the last word, it would seem. “First Aid doesn’t have the bearings.”

“He just might if I got ‘im at the business end of my ol’ musket laser the entire time,” replies Kup with a chuckle as he pats the gun kept on his hip. As Kup glances over at Megatron, all the amusement in his expression drains away, although he does nod at Megatron nonetheless. “Howdy.”

Megatron returns the greeting with his own nod, straightening up ever slightly under Kup’s steady gaze; some things, unfortunately, never change. “I’m surprised to see you here, Kup.”

Kup’s gaze finally flicks out over the gathered troops. He brings a hand up to rub against his chin. “I’m just here to check up on things, make sure everyone’s playin’ nice with the medic.”

“Your worry is ill placed,” Megatron huffs as he looks down at Kup. “My Decepticons may be strong, but they’re not brutes. No harm shall come to your medic, especially not while she tends to my soldiers.”

“Yeahuh.” Kup replies rather distractedly before he shrugs. “I’m not too worried about ‘er, but ya might wanna warn yer mecha. Lifeline’s the main docbot for the Wreckers, y’see, so they get a bit persnickety about this sorta thing. One accidental scuff they don’t like and they’ll be on yer aft in a klik, and well, let’s just say what the Wreckers are packin’ ain’t exactly street legal.”

Shockwave’s head swings around to focus on Kup. “What a fascinating way to describe weapons that are in a direct violation of the laws of armed conflict.”

Kup snorts and gestures at Shockwave’s left arm. “Look who’s talkin’.”

Shockwave looks down at his own arm and the cannon that’s been integrated with it, his optic refocuses twice before he looks back up at Kup. “I suppose I can concede to that.”

“You seem far less hostile about this arrangement than I would have expected you to be, Kup.” Megatron comments, examining the other mech with carefully indifferent optics. Kup sighs and shakes his head.

“I’m tired and I’m old. I’ve been fightin’ in wars  longer than any of you have been alive. If it takes an alien invasion… and Optimus Prime’s… death to get this planet on the track to peace and quiet, fine, so be it.” Kup regards Megatron silently, his expression guarded and displeased.

Not a full minute later the light of his optics spark with both bitterness and anger. “But I will say, out of all of the low-down scum suckin’ things you’ve ever done, Megatron, killin’ Optimus Prime is without a doubt the worst. And it’s definitely not gonna do ya any good here, not when Optimus was always quickest to defend Decepticons, to defend you. He did it quicker than anyone else who’s ever known ya… but maybe that’s just the thing, he didn’t know you like the rest of us do. Maybe if he did, maybe if he hadn’t been so… good, he’d still be here right now… and Primus… ain’t that somethin’ to keep me up at night?”

Megatron does not flinch, but he can feel a twinge in his wires, some sort of suppressed emotion threatening to bubble up. He cannot think of a reply, and really, what could he say? There was nothing to be done about it, not now. So Megatron simply watches the fire in Kup’s optics slowly goes out, and resists the urge to turn his head away.

“Not that it matters to someone like you, right? Ya got whatcha wanted.” Kup grumbles before turning his head, he rubs at his optics tiredly. “Keep an optic on ‘em, Grimlock, and if I find out yer gettin’ into trouble you’ll end up with a visit to First Aid. Got it?”

Grimlock huffs back, tightening his arms over his chest. “Whatever you say, old mech.”

“Attabot.” Kup pats Grimlock on the arm and turns on his heel, leaving just as quickly as he arrived, no doubt on his way to settle the twitchy nerves of the Wreckers.

There’s a chill that seems to engulf Megatron with Kup’s fleeting form. He wills himself to ignore it, shoving it as far away from himself as he can any of the other pains that seem determined to plague him. He has no time for such nonsense. There is a duty before him that he cannot shirk, plans that need to be made if he was to successfully rid the planet of these invaders and conquer the Autobots once and for all. There was no time for this… inane feeling that continued to creep into his very core like the frigid void of space. Not now and not ever. Megatron was a master of his own mind and body, and he would not be thwarted by such a foolish thing like regret. Megatron regretted nothing that he had done in his life and he never would. He wouldn’t survive if he did, and there was no place in his Cause for weakness like that. He had no time for pain. For suffering. For agony. He was Megatron, future Emperor of Cybertron and Master of the Universe, he did not regret. He did not lament. He could not afford to. There was nothing more to say about it. Nothing more to say about him. It was as simple as that.

Chapter Text

The integration of Autobot and Decepticon forces was a slow and arduous process. Reports on the successful arrivals and tentative acceptance of Decepticons in scattered Autobot bases were few and far between, but every report so far was successful, and that was what truly mattered. Some of Megatron’s Decepticons had been found and returned to Autobot headquarters by their scouts. The most important of these soldiers being Soundwave, who had arrived cradling a very damaged Ravage, trailed by a slightly less injured Starscream. According to the Autobot medics, Ravage was expected to make a full recovery, which was excellent news; between him and Soundwave, keeping tabs on their Autobot allies would be a breeze. Megatron had certainly felt a fair bit of paranoia before Soundwave’s arrival, as while the Autobot troops were courteous up to a point, they were also rather secretive and kept most of their information to themselves. With Soundwave now returned to his proper position, it would be much harder for the Autobots to hide anything valuable from Megatron.

Today, however, Megatron had been summoned to participate in an Autobot briefing discussing the latest news from their scouts. He stalked the halls of The Ark with every ounce of superiority he could muster, Autobot conversations died as he walked by, replaced with looks of open animosity that no Deception would ever dare to send him. What the Autobots thought of Megatron hardly mattered, however, there would come a day when they would either submit to his will or be terminated. In the meantime, he would tolerate the indignity for the sake of the extra firepower he apparently needed to pad his army’s numbers. Damn aliens.

Grimlock followed Megatron like a particularly lurid shadow. In concept, Megatron was allowed to traverse the base as he saw fit, so long as he behaved himself and made no effort to antagonize or threaten Autobots. In practice, Grimlock or any one of his strikers would follow Megatron at a distance, as if such behemoths could ever truly be subtle. Megatron took little offense to their presence, it was good to know the Autobots respected Megatron as the threat he was. The Autobot berserkers' continued shadowing also came with the added benefit of seeing firsthand their relationship with their fellow soldiers. Any crack in their loyalty to their cause and Megatron would be there to swoop in and further the gap. He was near certain he could convince Grimlock and his troops to join the Decepticons, it was just a matter of waiting for the perfect moment to strike. A task that would have to wait for another day, for now Megatron needed to prepare for a counterattack against his attempted usurpers.

The door to the briefing room stutters open, making Megatron scoff ever slightly. The Autobot Ark was an impressively large base of operations and a cleverly hidden headquarters, but it was also in desperate need of repairs, leaving much to be desired. Clearly the Autobots were not as well off as the Decepticons, which had hardly been a problem for Megatron until he had to rely on them for safety. Perhaps he would sign off on repairs for The Ark once the invasion had been successfully defeated and the Autobots had been swiftly conquered. It could serve as a museum detailing his conquest of the Autobots in his future empire.

After a quick glance around the room Megatron takes a seat at the head of the room’s large table, Grimlock enters not a moment later, choosing to settle against the wall beside him. Alpha Trion is seated directly across from the both of them, looking none too pleased by Megatron’s presence. Elita One stands near the table’s middle, fiddling with the device built into its center, no doubt preparing for the debrief. She hardly spares Megatron a glance, attempting to stay professionally distant where most Autobots would be trying to kill Megatron with a look. Megatron briefly entertains the thought that Elita One’s careful distance means something, that perhaps she does not hate him as much as she would like everyone to believe. He doesn’t get the chance to think too deeply about it, however, as the device in the table flickers to life and quiets the low mummering that had been flitting through the gathered Autobots.

“I would assume that you Autobots are aware of my High Command, and the mecha among them which currently reside at this very base,” Megatron says with a raised optic ridge before the meeting can truly start. “How is it then, that I was the only Decepticon requested to attend while a majority of your own command has been granted a seat?”

Elita One shoots Alpha Trion a rather pointed look.

“You are more than capable of relaying this information to your own soldiers,” Alpha Trion replies cooly as he steeples his hands on the table. “You may proceed, Elita.”

Elita One rolls her optics but dutifully flips a switch in the table, causing the embedded device to project various images of the starships still orbiting in their planet’s upper atmosphere.

“Cross referencing the data collected by our scouts with what we already know thanks to Alpha Trion confirms our worst fears, this invasion force is none other than the Quintessons, the very beings who were responsible for the enslavement of Cybertron more than one thousand cycles ago.” Elita One reports as she flips through several more projections.

“If only someone had been wise enough to wipe them out the first time,” Megatron rumbles, glaring at Alpha Trion all the while. “A mistake I can assure you that I will not be allowing to repeat.”

Alpha Trion slams his hand against the table. “You have no right!”

“The Quintessons waived their right to live the moment they decided to attack my planet!” Megatron fires back with a snarl.

“Can it, both of you,” Elita One snaps before pinching the bridge of her nose. “Whether the Quintessons have been planning another invasion since their first banishment or not doesn’t matter. What matters is stopping them from taking over the planet again. We won’t be able to accomplish that by fighting each other, especially given the fact that we’re already at a disadvantage thanks to the damage we’ve inflicted on our own resources and forces before they arrived.”

“We know the Quintessons’ main weaknesses already,” Beta chimes in, rising from her seat beside Alpha Trion and gesturing at the projections, “so exploiting them will be simple. Our biggest disadvantage comes from the fact that they have already compensated for their known weak points while we have had no such time to prepare or protect our own.”

“Right,” Elita One agrees with a quick nod. “As some of you may already know, the Quintessons manufacture their forces aboard their ships. That’s also where they control a majority of their troops from, as most of their soldiers are non-sentient drones. If we’re able to successfully board these ships and destroy their computers, that’ll take out a vast majority of their troops as quick as flipping a switch. The problem is, they’ve learned from the past, and their new ships are equipped with a lot of anti-aircraft weaponry. Which means it won’t be easy to get up there.”

Megatron frowns, fingers tapping idly against the table as he mulls the report over. He’s already lost far too many Seekers to what’s apparently the latest Quintesson technology, but there’s no doubt that the Autobots will be relying heavily on his superior air force to counterattack. Jetfire should have been granted attendance, Shockwave too, the two of them could have already been brainstorming a solution to this conundrum if they had been allowed into this meeting. The Autobot fools were shooting themselves in the foot for not granting Megatron’s forces more trust.

“Have you begun producing a countermeasure to the anti-aircraft devices?” Megatron asks, optics flicking up towards Elita One. Elita One herself turns towards an Autobot Megatron surprisingly realizes he recognizes, although he doesn’t know his name.

“Um,” said Autobot begins eloquently, his head fins flashing colorfully with the sound. “I’ve got a couple different starts, but I’m gonna need more data on their weapons before I can piece together something that’ll work for sure.”

“Jetfire could possibly have the data you need,” Megatron replies before scowling at Alpha Trion. “If only he had been granted permission to attend this little meeting, we could have already had an answer that may very well be invaluable to our cause.”

Alpha Trion scowls back but does not rise to the bait. The Autobot scientist looks carefully between Elita One and Alpha Trion, head fins flashing dully.

“Shockwave could also be a big help…” he adds cautiously, optics flicking back towards Megatron, seemingly less nervous than when he looked at his own commanders.

“I refuse to allow any Decepticon into our laboratory, the risk alone-” Alpha Trion begins before he’s interrupted by Megatron’s rumbling engine.

“What advantage could I possibly gain from ordering an attack on the very building I am residing in?” Megatron scoffs with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can assure you I am no fonder of this arrangement than you are, but your wariness is unnecessary and misplaced. As Elita One said, we need each other if we are to survive this endeavor.”

“Megatron… did agree to a surrender in exchange for our help,” Elita One reminds, sounding stilted as she looks Megatron over.

“As if a Decepticon’s word could ever be taken to spark,” Alpha Trion huffs back.

“You’re going to be the death of us all , you rusted old fool!” Megatron bites back, knocking his chair over as he surges to his feet.

“If it’s really that big of a deal, we’ll just set up a guard post in the lab,” Grimlock grunts, making Megatron pause, he had nearly forgotten Grimlock was there. “Not that hard.”

The Autobot scientist gestures at Grimlock, head fins glimmering brightly. “There we go! Easy!”

“We do need the extra help,” Elita One sighs and drags a hand over her face. “We don’t exactly have any updated countermeasures, our current equipment and information is only going to do so much considering how prepared the Quintessons were for this attack.”

“We’re not completely defenseless,” Alpha Trion argues. “There were many things that we had learned about the Quintessons that were never properly utilized before their original desertion of our planet. We can still turn this into an advantage.”

“Further still with the help of our… new allies,” Beta pauses as she glances at Megatron, briefly locking optics with him. “I agree with Elita. Grimlock’s squadron is more than enough assurance if you feel it is necessary for Autobot safety, but the help the Decepticons can supply us with outweighs the risk.”

“Good to see at least some of the Autobot Command have processing power,” Megatron sneers, getting an equally nasty look from Alpha Trion in return.

“Alright that’s enough,” Elita One cuts in before another argument can start up. “We have way too many points to get through to keep up this attitude. Shockwave can have access to the lab as long as both an Autobot scientist and a member of Grimlock’s strikeforce are also present. Now if we could please move onto the next point?”

She looks at Alpha Trion and Megatron alike with open annoyance. Neither mech moves to argue with her, so she nods to another Autobot sat in attendance.

“Moonracer,” Elita One prompts, the Autobot nods in return and stands up.

Megatron hardly had the patience for this, but for the sake of his future as Emperor of Cybertron, he supposes that he has no choice but to bear the indignity of these Autobot fools regardless.

Chapter Text

Between his own forces and the unsubtle Autobot strikers that often trailed after his shadow, Megatron hardly had a moment to himself. It mattered very little to him, in all honesty, he had dealt with far worse than a hectic schedule that left little time for himself. Such were the demands of leadership, and Megatron was not one to run from his purpose. There would come a day in which he would have plenty of time for leisure; for the moment, it was far more important that he collaborated with the Autobots, to forge a successful counterattack which would wipe out the Quintesson forces, and eventually restore himself as the planet’s true leader.

Although, at this exact moment, there wasn’t much for Megatron to do. The night shift was approaching, meaning that Megatron would soon be considered free of his duty for the day. His current Autobot shadow, Slag, had already given up on watching him, disappearing to go do something or other. It was probably a lapse in security that Megatron should be taking full advantage of, but in truth he had little reason to. He had yet to begin forming any sort of plan that would successfully bury his claws so deep into the Autobots that they would be helpless to do anything as he tore them to shreds. He had been kept far too busy by reports of his scattered Decepticons and building trust in his allyship with the Autobots. In theory he could go wander about places the Autobots would rather he be kept from, but in practice he had no idea where those areas would be, nor what exactly he could even acquire from them. As secretive as the Autobots were, they hardly kept him from anywhere, or if they had , he had somehow gone without noticing, which was just impressive enough to gain Megatron’s respect instead of his ire.

All that to say, Megatron was finding himself wandering The Ark’s wide halls with little purpose or reason. He decided that he could count it as familiarizing himself with the Autobot headquarters, carefully mapping out each passageway on the off chance they could ever become useful. Given the quiet of the halls, Megatron was unlikely to be questioned, however if anyone would be so bold as to interrogate him, they would no doubt be able to tell that Megatron was doing a rather terrible job at his alleged reconnaissance. He found little interest in the drab hallways around him, and even less interest in the boring rooms they all seem to connect to. With every uninteresting hall Megatron walked, even fewer Autobots passed him by, officially signifying the switch from the day to night crew, and not a single bot which passed by was interesting enough to grab Megatron’s attention.

Just before Megatron could decide he had had enough of wandering the hallways, and return to the Decepticon barracks to receive his evening debrief from Soundwave, he finds himself coming face to face with Alpha Trion. The mech stands on the opposite side of the hall like a statue, as if he had been waiting for Megatron to turn this very corner and face him. How he had known Megatron was going to be here, Megatron didn’t know, it was one of those annoying little things Alpha Trion had always been capable of.

“Alpha Trion!” Megatron greets with obviously false cheer, he walks towards the other mech without breaking his stride, refusing to be intimidated. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Alpha Trion clenches his fist, his gaze colder than ice, as Megatron slowly stalks closer. Megatron almost believes that Alpha Trion plans to say nothing, as though he was attempting to scare Megatron off through nothing but pure silence; as if he believed Megatron was in need of a reminder that he would always be watched while inside The Ark. Megatron was already well aware of that, just as he was certain that the Autobots knew they were being watched in turn since Soundwave’s arrival. There was hardly any reason for either of them to participate in this sad excuse for intimidation.

“How did you do it?” Alpha Trion eventually asks, there’s a mild screech of metal as he digs his fingers into his own palm.

“How did I do what?” Megatron questions, tilting his head up just slightly to look down his nose at the other mech.

“How did you kill him?” Alpha Trion grounds out, keeping his optics in a steady lock with Megatron’s. “How did you kill Optimus?”

Megatron pauses mid-step, stopping right there in the middle of the hallway, suddenly feeling stiff. His arm begins to burn unexpectedly, heating right against the cannon mount fused to it, as if he had somehow managed to overuse his own weaponry without realizing it. He stares at Alpha Trion silently, who doesn’t look away for even a moment, his optics burning into Megatron nearly as harshly as the fire now tearing through his arm.

“I shot him,” Megatron states simply, the words sound dull as they fall from his mouth.

“How?” Alpha Trion presses, optics flicking around Megatron’s face as if searching for a lie.

“I shot him,” Megatron repeats, suddenly feeling angry, even as the words feel numb on his tongue. “I shot him with my fusion cannon. The fool didn’t even have time to dodge.”

He would have, if it hadn’t been for the Quintessons, Megatron does not say.

“Where?” Alpha Trion takes a step forward. “How many times?”

“Once. Once is more than enough for any mecha foolish enough to stand in my way.” Megatron seethes, angrier still by the inane desire to back away from Alpha Trion. “I shot him straight through his center, his core , I’m surprised he had any functioning left in his legs.”

“He stood through it?”

“Yes. Yes. No one else could have possibly withstood such an attack, but Optimus did, of course he did, Primus, it was…” Energon turned liquid fire burns through Megatron’s vision. He shuts his optics tight and turns his head toward the floor, sick of the heat. “ He was glorious.”

Alpha Trion lets out a breath, long and slow. Megatron collects himself enough to look back at him, refusing to bow to whatever this was for a moment longer. Alpha Trion is staring at him with that damned solemn look that Megatron has always hated him for.

“Did he… say anything? Before he…” Alpha Trion trails off, sounding distant, almost muffled.

Megatron’s spark twists like a knife in his chest. “He had no time to. He… The Quintessons arrived, they broke right through my fortress. The debris… crushed him.”

Alpha Trion makes a choked noise, caught somewhere between a suppressed gasp and stifled cry. He breathes through it, and Megatron listens to the rattling noise of it quietly. With every passing moment the fire in Megatron’s lines only seems to grow, engulfing him in a phantom inferno. Electric sparks dance at the edge of his vision, mockingly bright and colorful, sparks Megatron knows aren’t really there; nothing more than extra ghosts coming to haunt him.

“Alright,” Alpha Trion eventually manages. “Alright.”

If he means to say anything more, he doesn’t, and Megatron isn’t entirely convinced he would have even heard it if he did. Alpha Trion leaves, turning with a quiet swish of his cape, abandoning Megatron there in the hallway. There’s a noise ringing in Megatron’s audials, sounding simultaneously distant and terribly close. It is the near deafening silence that comes after the final turn of a spark burning itself out.

Chapter Text

The Autobots spoke far too much for Megatron’s taste. They argued and debated and talked in meeting after meeting, carefully planning step after tiny step, creeping ever slowly along. No wonder they hadn’t managed to overthrow the Decepticons; a High Command so out of sync may as well have been completely useless! Although, now that it was on Megatron’s mind, perhaps there had been a time when the Autobots had not been so overly cautious and disorganized. Megatron led his Decepticons with a confident iron fist, had Optimus Prime once done the same with his Autobots? Was Megatron witnessing the Autobots as they had truly always been or was he watching their active dissolution with the passing of their beloved leader? The uncertainty that such musings carried sat poorly with Megatron. The downfall of the Autobots was something he had strived towards for years , but he could not have them collapsing in on themselves right now . Not when so many Autobot soldiers hated him with every fiber of their being, not when he needed them kept in line to annihilate the Quintessons! If only Optimus hadn’t been such a soft sparked fool . If only he had known to be selfish and prioritize himself as the important mechanism he was. If only Megatron hadn’t- No. No, damnit! He could not call himself into question! He would not be pulled apart by his own self doubt like some sniveling Autobot! He was Megatron! Master of his own mind! Master of Cybertron itself! He would not fall to such foolishness!

But try as he might, Megatron seemed to be losing the battle against his own traitorous processor, as he could not seem to get himself to recharge. Iridescent flames danced behind his closed optics, each light framed by a downpour of sparks as they twisted and scattered over plating Megatron did not dare to name. It angered him more than anything. How could he consider himself master of anything when his own damned processor wouldn’t stop running through memory files he didn’t ask to recall?! He was meant to be above such inane stray thoughts. The fact that his own mind dared to conjure such nonsense was nothing short of insulting! He could find but one explanation for this folly; he had been cooped up in the Autobot headquarters for far too long, kept on too short of a leash due to the mind numbingly cautious advance of the Autobots when he should be tearing Quintessons and their footsoldiers to pieces. He was a warrior, not a coward, and warriors were meant to fight .

Megatron’s engine growls as he pulls himself from his bed. He needed to hit something before he lost his mind. If he was lucky, perhaps he could find Grimlock and goad him into a fight. Although given the hour, the base should be running on the smallest night crew, meaning that Grimlock was no doubt off recharging somewhere. Perhaps when the Autobots running security noticed Megatron’s absence from his quarters, they would send Grimlock after him regardless of the hour. Megatron couldn’t truly say he knew what would happen upon leaving his room, he had never bothered to leave during the night shift before, never out of respect for the Autobots’ wishes of course, but simply because there never seemed to be anything for him to do.

Surely the Autobots had a training room or shooting range somewhere in their sad excuse for a headquarters in which Megatron could release at least a fraction of his pent up aggression. Finding such a place certainly felt more enticing than watching flames dance in the recesses of his own mind for any longer. And if Megatron truly could not find such a place on his own, he could always demand its location from whatever security could possibly be sent after him. So Megatron does not bother to hide his exit from the Decepticon sectioned quarters, and he makes even less effort to quiet his presence in the empty halls of The Ark. In fact, Megatron walks right up to the first Autobot unfortunate enough to run into him, as he doubts any one of those fools would dare to stop him. As expected, the Autobot is not aggressive in the face of Megatron’s stormy approach, but she does shrink away once Megatron is close enough to truly loom over her.

“You,” Megatron snarls, withering the Autobot further. “Where is it that Autobots sharpen their combat skills?”

“You… aren’t allowed near the armory…” the Autobot replies slowly, taking a step back as she does so. “Not even for training…”

Megatron raises an optic ridge, entirely unamused. “I hardly need your pathetic excuse for weapons. Now where is it you train?”

The Autobot looks to the side, as if searching for some sort of escape or backup, of which there is none. “I am so screwed…”

“Indeed,” Megatron agrees with a predatory grin as he leans ever closer. “Now, where did you say your training room was?”

“Um…" the Autobot seems to debate with herself silently before coming to the wise conclusion to cooperate. She gestures behind herself before turning stiffly on her heel. "It's this way."

Satisfied, Megatron follows without a complaint, making sure to memorize the path as ghosts of flames continue to lick through his still scattered thoughts. Unsurprisingly, he’s led quite a bit away from the Decepticon barracks, although surprisingly they don’t run into a single other bot on their trek. Megatron wasn’t certain if he was being purposefully led around other mecha or if there were simply very few who worked the late night shift. Either way, it was hardly something to note, if Megatron did ever decide to order an attack on his wary allies, they’d hardly stand a chance regardless of their numbers, or lack thereof as it may seem. Eventually the Autobot stops at the pinnacle of a hallway and gestures to the large double doors on the left.

“Well, that’s the, uh, training room,” the Autobot explains, Megatron’s optics flick briefly to the doors on the right, which must lead to the armory given the Autobot’s original wariness to bring him here. “If you break anything you’re, um, supposed to fill out a damage report form… So we can either fix or replace whatever’s broken… the forms are in the box to the right of the doors…”

“Excellent. You are dismissed,” Megatron replies smoothly as he gestures back towards the way they had come.

The Autobot gives him an odd look before she turns back to the empty hall. “Uhuh… Bye? I guess?”

Megatron doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead he simply watches her until she begins to shuffle past him and disappears down the hall. With her absence, Megatron is content to approach the training room in peace. While he would certainly keep in mind the location of the Autobots’ armory, he hardly had a use for it at the moment. Not when there were an as of yet undetermined amount of training drones in need of total destruction by his hand. Megatron then pulls one of the doors back only to freeze right there in the hallway. The training room is already in a state of complete disarray, and sitting in the middle of the chaos is none other than Elita One herself.

If she had noticed Megatron opening the door, she doesn’t acknowledge him in any way, instead she remains hunched over on the floor, a plethora of demolished drones scorched and scattered around her. Well… that… is an unexpected roadbump in Megatron’s evening plans.

If he were a different mech, he would perhaps leave her be, but Megatron was hardly the type to let a single mech stand between himself and his goal. It hardly mattered to him that it was Elita One who stood in his way as opposed to, well, anyone else. He had set his optics on burning through some of the Autobots’ training gear, and that was what he was going to do. Perhaps he could even get a proper spar out of this if he was able to pass whatever standard Elita One held for a sparring partner. Megatron mentally shakes himself free of his temporary shock and enters the room. He clears his vocal box gently to signify his presence to the as yet undisturbed commander. Elita One is quick to wipe at her face before she looks up; her optics narrow harshly when she realizes it is Megatron standing before her.

“Go away,” she grunts, her voice hoarse; the clearing of her own vocal box does not go unnoticed in the following silence.

“Last I checked, this was a public space,” Megatron starts, although in reality he hadn’t the faintest idea if that were true, “and you seem like you’re in dire need of a proper spar.”

“Leave me alone,” Elita One replies, turning away from Megatron in an attempt to hide her face as she wipes at her optics again. “I’m not in the mood.”

Megatron frowns, mostly due to the terribly unbecoming feeling that tries to tug at his spark. He mentally shakes the feeling off and walks further into the room. “Regardless of what you decide, I had planned on sharpening my battle prowess-”

Elita One snorts. “At this hour?”

“I could say the same to you,” Megatron fires back tersely, stopping not a full step away from the halo of destruction Elita One continues to sit in.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she confesses with a shaky exhale. “You?”

Megatron sets his jaw. “A true warrior takes every opportunity to fine tune his skills.”

“Right.” Elita One pushes herself to her feet, brushing the remains of destroyed drones from her plating as she does so. She then turns to face Megatron and looks… tired. “And who could possibly be a better warrior than you?”

She sounds rather bitter as she says it.

Megatron hadn’t seen or heard from Elita One at all during the last shift rotation, which was rather odd. He had always gotten something from her throughout the day, it was only natural given their roles as active commanders for their respective forces, yet she had gone completely silent over their latest shift. Megatron hadn’t thought much of it during the day, things were painfully slow, and they all struggled to adjust both to teamwork and the ever present Quintesson forces looming above them. Now, however, Megatron couldn’t help but believe that her silence had meant something more. Something that he had clearly missed. Something important. Megatron tilts his head and looks Elita One over as if he could somehow find the answer hidden in her physical appearance alone. Elita One barely shifts under his gaze, but she does move, switching her weight to favor one leg over the other. Perhaps the remains of her injury from the battle at Kaon?

“Are you…” Megatron begins slowly, processor at a loss for what he could possibly say next. “Are you done for the night then?”

Elita One looks down at the broken drones between them. “I guess so.”

“You may not be in need of a partner, but I certainly wouldn’t mind having someone to spar with,” Megatron adds, entirely unnecessarily. He should just let Elita One slink away and leave it at that.

Elita One’s optics flick back up to Megatron's own, hers are cold and guarded as she stares him down. “I’m not going to spar with you.”

“Killjoy,” Megatron prods with a smirk he hardly feels. There’s a fire in the corner of his processor that he doesn’t feel like acknowledging, if Elita One would just fight him then he wouldn’t have to.

“Idiot,” Elita One grumbles back, not nearly as harshly as she would have during the day. Here, in the dimmed glow of the night she seems far more subdued. However, Megatron can tell that it’s not only the night which douses Elita One’s usual fiery spark, but why should he care about whatever seems to haunt her in the late hour?

“Hmm, we seem to be sparring just fine to me,” Megatron states with the lazy roll of his head, trying to reignite the fire he knew was always resting just beneath the surface of Elita One.

Elita One shoots him a venomous look. “Frag off.”

“There we go,” Megatron’s grin widens into something a bit more genuine. “That’s the fighting spark I like to see. Come now, Commander, what harm could a single match do?”

Elita One gives her answer in the form of her fist connecting with Megatron’s jaw. Off kilter from the unexpected attack, Megatron can find no balance before Elita One is sweeping his legs out from under him, sending him crashing backwards. Megatron shouts in surprise as he hits the ground, blindly scrambling to right himself before his logic center can even kick in.

“Think your soldiers would buy you dying to unfortunate spar related injuries?” Elita One questions hopefully as she sifts through the wreckage around her and picks up a particularly sharp piece of torn metal.

Megatron laughs, propping himself up on one hand as he rubs the other against his dented jaw. “If they did, they would deserve whatever punishment you’d inflict on them next.”

Elita One shrugs before throwing her makeshift weapon straight at Megatron’s chest, the metal shard scratching against his back as he rolls out of the way. He hardly gets anywhere before there’s an arm looping around his throat, and legs around his hips, pulling him to the ground in a headlock. Megatron merely grins, another breathless laugh on his lips, his smile only growing as the scrap of metal then presses into his side, just managing to wriggle into a seam due to the angle he’s held at, making a terrible scraping sound as it does so.

“I should kill you, you know,” Elita One growls softly against his helm, her hold tightening as she twists her makeshift blade deeper. “For everything you’ve ever done, you deserve it, I’d be doing the world a favor .”

“Then do it,” Megatron challenges, nearly sounding giddy, much to his own surprise. “ Kill me. Watch this pathetic excuse for a truce crumble in my absence. You know that you need me.”

“Like I need rust,” Elita One spits back, nicking something in his chassis as she does so.

Megatron can’t quite suppress the involuntary flinch it causes, which only gets something else caught on the edge of the metal. He can feel energon begin to drip through his plates, slicking Elita One’s blade enough for her to drive it even deeper. Megatron hisses and grabs at her wrist, stopping the metal scrap from digging any further. The faint noise of Elita One’s vents hitching catches Megatron’s attention, even as his own throat is further restricted by her powerful hold.

“Elita…” Megatron tries to snarl but it almost sounds like a question to his own audio receptors.

Elita One’s helm falls to Megatron's shoulder with a resounding thunk, her grip around his neck loosening just ever slightly. She’s quiet for what feels like an eternity but couldn’t possibly be more than a handful of kliks. The hitching of her uneven vents grates on Megatron’s sp- processor, digging through him much like her knife. 

“Tell me you hate me,” Elita One chokes out before Megatron can remind himself to take advantage of this opening.

Megatron pauses; did he hate her? He would hardly call her a friend as he once had a very long time ago, but did Megatron hate her? Could it be that there was some small part of him that still desired her company? Her approval? Or had the war torn them too far apart for such nonsense? Elita One’s patience seems to run out before Megatron can think of a proper answer, her engine revs, moody and disapproving.

“Megatron,” she snarls, her threat clear as she twists the metal scrap deeper into his side.

Megatron grunts, his body jerking from the pain despite his efforts to steel himself. Still, he doesn’t dare attempt to loosen the hold kept around him.

“I hate what you’ve become,” Megatron decides as he reaches up to grab hold of the arm Elita has around his neck, “but I don’t hate you.”

“Liar,” Elita breathes quietly against his shoulder.

Megatron sits there and listens to her breath for just a moment, staring at nothing in particular as energon drips uncomfortably down his side. “I’m afraid it’s the truth.”

“Since when have you ever cared about the truth?” Elita half laughs, it’s a bitter sound.

“Please,” Megatron scoffs as he begins to pull Elita’s arm away from his neck, more than a little surprised that Elita lets him, “everyone knows a good lie is built on a half truth.”

“So which half of your lie is the truth?” Elita demands, her thumb digging into the cracked and bleeding seam of Megatron's side.

Megatron winces, although not from the pain.

“Does it matter?” He mutters between clenched teeth, optics still firmly fixed on the far wall.

Elita is silent for a moment, thinking, and then she releases Megatron, pulling back quickly, letting him fall to the ground. She stands, grasping at her own arms, seemingly uncaring at the energon she’s now smearing against her own plating. Megatron watches Elita hold herself as she mulls over his words silently. He stays perfectly still, as if he was afraid even the slightest movement would break whatever spell had seemingly fallen over Elita. From here on the ground, she looks so much younger, Megatron can almost imagine he’s regarding his friend from so long ago instead of his rival commander.

“…No,” Elita eventually concedes, voice small. “No, it doesn’t matter at all.”

Megatron carefully sits himself up, mindful of the metal now lodged in his side. He looks it over with a sullen sort of acceptance; he would need Shockwave’s assistance to remove it without further injury, and he’d no doubt remain bleeding the entire way to the Decepticon barracks.

“I hate you,” Elita confesses to Megatron's back.

Megatron remains seated, perhaps still stuck under a spell of his own. He turns his head ever slightly, glancing at Elita over his shoulder for just a moment before he casts his optics back to the floor. “And that is something I have learned to live with.”

“I really hate you,” Elita replies, vents hitching again as she storms past him to escape the room.

Megatron stares at the open door for longer than he’d care to keep track of. False sparks flash in the corners of his vision as long dead flames continue to burn within his mind. Damn it all to the smelting pits. What a terrible fool he was.