Ep0.5 - Chambers/Control Room -'Sacrifice'- Closed
Feb 25, 2012 17:33:51 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2012 17:33:51 GMT -5
Unit 847 was cooling on the berth when Megatron departed into his chamber’s adjoining washrack. The drone had been as passive in death as it had in overload, loosing charge with the same optical flicker as it had absorbed the swollen crest of it. Its spark had been muted and insubstantial in Megatron’s hand despite the overload, and the warlord had watched the energy bleed out between his claws with idle interest when he’d crushed the chamber in his palm.
Killing a drone was always unsatisfying – even more hollow than coaxing their exposed spark to nova. It was only a concluding point to several hours of preoccupation, however, a window of distraction that made his spark ache a little less and his mind feel a little sharper. Megatron knew that he was unstable, had been deteriorating since Barricade’s attack, and strived to keep the details of his coping strategies from the crew lest they see it as a weakness. Dispatching one of the most inefficient drones every few days was hardly cause for alarm, particularly as Shockwave was taking specimens for his work from the same pool, and he’d ensured that nothing ever survived the night to spread what he bracketed recharge with.
Unthinking and unfeeling as they were, Megatron always made an effort to be gentle with them in the beginning. They were so fragile in comparison to his massively powerful frame, and came apart so easily. At some point during the twilight shift, he would succumb to recharge on his side with the wreckage gathered to his chassis, keeping it warm with the heat of his own systems. Afterwards, it was a simple matter to clean up and leave the deactivated frame outside Knockout’s lab on his way to the Command deck. Sated.
Today however, standing with his helm tipped back into the scorching spray of cleanser, Megatron was not feeling the usual cold calm he’d come to rely on these dalliances for. The raw ache persisted, his plates tight for it as if it were a physical injury running through his core. Barricade, mercifully, was silent now, at least. Megatron did not look at him when a drone was on his berth, trying to draw out that feeling of suspension at being with another spark, close but wildly different from the one he needed.
Abandoning the racks, Megatron dried his plating with a generated ramp of heat from his power plant whilst he gathered the drone together. Small parts that had come away were subspaced to put into the frame’s lap outside the repair bay, and it took minutes for his dry and heated form to step out into the corridor with the drone hoisted in one hand by the backstrut.
There was no traffic in this part of the Nemesis at this hour in the duty shift, a result of mindful diversions by the crew. Megatron encountered no one until after the drone had been abandoned and he’d ascended two levels of the Nemesis. His claws were restless at his sides, optics narrowed and vents tight. He needed to kill something.
Soundwave was already in position on the Command deck, integrated with his console within optical view of his master’s throne. The spybot seemed to sense that he’d been beckoned before Megatron had approached him, sensitive to the unsubtle spikes in the larger mech’s field.
“Soundwave, perform a scan of the surface,” Megatron rumbled, gaze fixed on the faceplate at the points where he knew large optics to be. “For Cybertronians not using their dampeners properly.”
Killing a drone was always unsatisfying – even more hollow than coaxing their exposed spark to nova. It was only a concluding point to several hours of preoccupation, however, a window of distraction that made his spark ache a little less and his mind feel a little sharper. Megatron knew that he was unstable, had been deteriorating since Barricade’s attack, and strived to keep the details of his coping strategies from the crew lest they see it as a weakness. Dispatching one of the most inefficient drones every few days was hardly cause for alarm, particularly as Shockwave was taking specimens for his work from the same pool, and he’d ensured that nothing ever survived the night to spread what he bracketed recharge with.
Unthinking and unfeeling as they were, Megatron always made an effort to be gentle with them in the beginning. They were so fragile in comparison to his massively powerful frame, and came apart so easily. At some point during the twilight shift, he would succumb to recharge on his side with the wreckage gathered to his chassis, keeping it warm with the heat of his own systems. Afterwards, it was a simple matter to clean up and leave the deactivated frame outside Knockout’s lab on his way to the Command deck. Sated.
Today however, standing with his helm tipped back into the scorching spray of cleanser, Megatron was not feeling the usual cold calm he’d come to rely on these dalliances for. The raw ache persisted, his plates tight for it as if it were a physical injury running through his core. Barricade, mercifully, was silent now, at least. Megatron did not look at him when a drone was on his berth, trying to draw out that feeling of suspension at being with another spark, close but wildly different from the one he needed.
Abandoning the racks, Megatron dried his plating with a generated ramp of heat from his power plant whilst he gathered the drone together. Small parts that had come away were subspaced to put into the frame’s lap outside the repair bay, and it took minutes for his dry and heated form to step out into the corridor with the drone hoisted in one hand by the backstrut.
There was no traffic in this part of the Nemesis at this hour in the duty shift, a result of mindful diversions by the crew. Megatron encountered no one until after the drone had been abandoned and he’d ascended two levels of the Nemesis. His claws were restless at his sides, optics narrowed and vents tight. He needed to kill something.
Soundwave was already in position on the Command deck, integrated with his console within optical view of his master’s throne. The spybot seemed to sense that he’d been beckoned before Megatron had approached him, sensitive to the unsubtle spikes in the larger mech’s field.
“Soundwave, perform a scan of the surface,” Megatron rumbled, gaze fixed on the faceplate at the points where he knew large optics to be. “For Cybertronians not using their dampeners properly.”