#megatronprime

starter for @megatron-prime

a contrapuntal composition in which a short melody or phrase (the subject) is introduced by one part and successively taken up by others and developed by interweaving the parts.

loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment

Everything had happened so quickly.

One moment he was in the Archives, then he was on the cold ground of some mysterious chamber in a frame that felt too big, looking up at Megatronus through blurry optics.

“Megatronus...?”

And then there was the sound of gunfire and Megatronus was shouting at him to run.

So he did.

The place he ended up in was no less mysterious - or foreboding. Even the presence of Megatronus at his side did little to lift his confusion.

They were on the Nemesis, Megatronus’ - Megatron’s - ship. They were in a war. An immense amount of time had passed where Orion was in stasis, held by their enemies, the... Autobots.

“What happened?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It was disconcerting to know so little. He didn’t even know the date. What happened to me? What happened to Cybertron? What is this war?

Megatronus - Megatron - walked ahead of him, oddly silent. He looked almost the same as ever, save for the ragged scars that crawled down his face and something else... something imperceptible. It was in the way he walked. The way he spoke. Even the way he carried himself, closed off and looming over everything else around him.

About you not having sired…

give soundwife more smoochies *Squealing* TuT

@megatron-prime

i was gonna sleep but

megs

what is this weak pussy shit

How dared he?

Tarn’s outrage was slow to build as he turned the contents of the speech over and over in his mind, trying to understand what his lord could have meant. Soundwave suddenly paled in importance -- he confirmed that he did not know, and that was where his significance ended.

Tarn surged up from the divan, frame tense. 

Our conflict with the Autobots has ceased to be of importance.

Megatron had told him that the war was no longer important, but for them to cease? Was that it, then? Four million years down the drain for nothing? How could he? Why would he do this? Even after the Reapers were gone, it did not mean that the Autobots could rest easy. What did this mean?!

“We must go. Now.” Tarn stormed out of the room with a crash, abandoning Soundwave in his single-minded drive to find his lord and draw an explanation out of him. He was almost running, in the end, when he burst into the throneroom with a resounding crash.

@megatron-prime

::This isn’t how I pictured things to end. Between you and I, I envisioned…something more glorious. A fight to the death, one shall stand, one shall fall. But there is no more time for that. No more time for our petty civil war. Can we even still call it that? It felt more like a race for energon for thousands of years now. When was the last time you even lost a soldier? It doesn’t matter. I’m digressing. Maybe I’m even procrastinating. The point that needs to be made is this, Prime; our war is over. I have no more interest or time for the Autobots. The mines are yours, Earth is yours. Enjoy your filthy organic pets while you can, because there are enemies out there that are not as kind-sparked as I have been. 

You’ve been a worthy adversary, old friend. Ultimately, I wish you could have strayed from your morals for me. For what we used to have. On the other hand, I wouldn’t expect you to compromise your integrity, even if it is placed on the wrong side. I always did admire your strength of will. May we meet again within the Allspark, Orion.::

Optimus had never been much of a prophet, no matter what the religious sectors of the Autobots wanted to believe about him. Religion and Primus had its time and place, and while war had a way of bringing faith to the forefront, it’d always been a secondary concern to Optimus’ priorities - his people and his enemies. Optimus talked about peace extensively, because the hope for it was always nurtured in his spark, but... well...

How do you just stop with someone you’ve shared four million years of mutual loathing and love?

The message sounded something like defeat, and it was so foreign to Optimus that he had to read another five times to grasp what the cold letters meant. At first, he wondered if this was a new manner of tactic. An ambush? An armistice? Our war is over... how long had Optimus begged that they cease the senseless slaughter of their planet and their species, and how long had Megatron denied him?

The last few sentences sent a chord of sentiment through him, but Optimus was too well-versed with Megatron’s school of thought to let it cloud his judgment. Their clash was as immortal as Megatron himself proved to be. They were mecha of ideals; too stubborn and too visionary to settle for anything less. So why?

He followed the comm channel that the message came through on, and felt something acrid weigh in his tanks when it rang familiar. For a moment, he could almost remember standing between the shelves in the archive, sneaking glances at his comm, when he should’ve been working, for a new reply...

::Megatron, what is the meaning of this? What have you done?::