Ep0 - Megatron's Lab - A conversation - Closed
Nov 13, 2011 14:47:20 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Nov 13, 2011 14:47:20 GMT -5
((Megatron and Soundwave))
Megatron did not gather the equipment he needed to triage the significant damage to his arm before beginning to work. He was too incoherent with rage to make those kinds of logical preparations. Instead, he’d laid his arm on the medical berth and roughly cauterized the largest of the torn energon lines, twists of smoke rising and reflecting in the liquid already spreading into a large pool.
He’d had all manner of things said to him before in the kind of beating he’d inflicted on Sniper - mechs about to die and delirious with pain and fear were often at their most honest whilst bleeding out over his claws. Sniper had taken a particularly personal swipe, however, and compounded with Shockwave’s arrival and the fact that his memories were still being unwittingly displayed to the Autobot scout...
Going to the Repair Bay to have Knock Out tend to his mangled arm wasn’t an option in this mood. One glib comment from their doctor and he’d be dead, or wished he was - injury or no. He was perfectly capable of stabilising the wound, but the more energon he burned away and the more lines he found pierced with bent metal in addition to being nicked or simply severed, the more he saw how significant a repair the limb would require. And it only enraged him further.
Soundwave stalked from the bridge, frame still running hot from the ordeal with the green mech. He paused for a moment, the doors sliding shut behind him, taking time to recomposed himself. Some strange thrill tingled in his lines. He wasn't sure but he though tmaybe he could classify it as something like satisfaction, or excitement.
He crushed the feelings ruthlessly.
Irrelevant, a needless distraction at the moment. He needed to check in with his Master.
He followed the smear of mechblood and wild scratches in the floor back to the brig, pausing only for moment to ping a group of gawking Eradicons with orders to clean up the mess both inside and outside of the small room, before following a different trail of splatters down to the labs.
The security seals locking the door were just as complex and powerful as they had been when Megatron had shut himself away with the Panethite. And Soundwave opened them with the same determined ease as he had then, as well.
Soundwave entered the lab to the sight of his master leaning heavily over a mechblood splattered berth. Megatron had a soldering iron in hand, both the wrong tool and too large, pressing it into his arm. The wound still oozed globs of thick blue and smoked dangerously as the energon touched the heat element of the iron.
Mechblood wasn't the only thing Megatron oozed however. His anger was nearly palpable. Stepping forward into the room, Soundwave knew he'd be engaging in a very dangerous dance with his Lord.
The wounded mech did not respond to the sound of the door sliding open two rooms away until he’d identified the EM field, fixated on driving the soldering arc harder into torn lines to stop the energon escaping. Teeth bared, his voice was subsonic. “Get out.”
Soundwave didn’t back down, approaching his master with slow steps, his head lowered and his field pressed in close to his body.
Lord he sent the glyph full of reverence and humility Traitor: Finished
The closer he moved to Megatron, the more it felt as if he were stepping into the range of an armed warhead. Tense and alert, he slowly lowered himself to his knees next to the end of the berth, just beyond the warlord’s reach.
“Then your work is done,” Megatron snapped back, more snarled sound than words in their harmonics.
Some tenuous connection in his ruined arm sparked brightly, causing the whole limb to twitch with a grunt of pain, and Megatron abandoned the soldering iron for the fistful of clamps he’d dumped onto the berth. It didn’t help matters that it was his dominant hand that had been crippled, the insides obscured with burnt and bubbling energon, though he made the brutal field repairs regardless.
Everything of the last few months, since his regaining function after pupeting the Scout back to the Nemesis, felt as if it had finally come to a violent boil. The invasive patch, the impossibility of recharge, Shockwave’s arrival and prowling hunt for any weakness in his Lord, Barricade... Sniper had already moved down from the top of his list of grievances, in part because the mech had suffered until his last.
The lithe mech paused to watch his master struggle with his injury. A rather ridiculous sight really....not to mention dangerous. The iron, though an adequate tool for field repair, actually made more of a problem than it solved, melting plate and line and bits of shrapnel into the wound in a messy smear. The wound was going to be a nightmare to clean out, and it would need to be cleaned out before proper repairs could take place. And there was of course the issue of bleeding out. Megatron had managed to stem the flow some what, but it hadn’t stopped completely, which was a bit worrying.
Soundwave understood his master’s frustration in that he understood that it happened and why. Sympathy, however, was narrowly beyond his ability. True, there were times when Soundwave felt his own fleeting version of such emotions, but he also had the mastery to cut off such feelings when they became overly intrusive. Spending so much energy on something that so effortlessly skewed perception was counterproductive. His master needed to move on, heal his wounds and focus on more important tasks.
Keeping the edgy tyrant focused was just one of many self-appointed tasks he carried out for the Decepticons. Whatever his master needed to release frustration or return focus to the primary goal, Soundwave gave, if it was in the mech’s ability to give. Most of it was. If it wasn’t, he simply went around it.
The more he was unable to calm his Master’s bristling the more Soundwave felt the situation requiring such methods.
Trying again, Soundwave called his master softly, the silver mech’s name transmitted with accented of all the mech’s titles, victories and mastery. Something like flattery, something like an axiom, it was all true. He reached for his master’s shoulder, prickling the edges of his field enticingly, extruding an amicable calmness. The mech just needed his master to relent enough to allow his assistance. He allowed his cables to free however, just in case.
The wave of meaning, layered in earnestness and a desire to help for reasons more practical than simple ‘concern’, had before served as a balm to Megatron’s ire. However today, with everything that had been happening recently, they merely felt like another intrusion into his space. A violation of his autonomy.
He was the Decepticon Commander, eons aged and wise to treachery and betrayal, managing his army and cause from an island of strength and solitude. But his armour had, somehow, thinned recently, and suddenly things were getting in. Sniper had managed to fragging *bug* him, and more than that, he’d felt able to *dare* to do so. And he knew there were other murmuring bots onboard; had felt their optics trying to discern what was wrong. Seeking to exploit it. Shockwave was prowling for a weakness, as always, and had managed to time his arrival so that the Autobot Scout was still crawling around inside his helm, dragging his systems into exhaustion and compromising his entire cause.
And the fluxes... Megatron had clawed his way up from a very low level on Cybertron - he prided himself on that, on his sheer will to survive and to achieve better. The Decepticons had been borne from the example he’d set, aligned to follow him out of the deepest slag of their homeworld. He’d seen worse than he’d committed, endured what had killed many, and had fought for longer than civilizations had existed without encouragement or reassurance from anyone.
And never before had he felt so exposed, so rattled. His mind, the greatest weapon he had and the sanctity of which one of the few things he truly owned for himself, had been violated. Invaded. Once, he could accept. It was war - he’d done far worse, many times. But it had gone on, a lifetime of memories at perpetual risk of being exposed to The information-gatherer of Optimus Prime.
The war couldn’t end this way. Not because of something seen by a scout from his own optics whilst he was in recharge.
Barricade had even offered to take care of the problem ‘in his name’ for him when he’d found out. That it had even entered the mech’s mind that he might need assistance twisted his tanks with disgust. Barricade had offered because Megatron had allowed him to get close, though. Allowed him in. Just as some facet of his unconscious was allowing Bumblebee in.
Just like Soundwave was trying to do now. Enforce aid. Take control as if he couldn’t manage himself. Take his choice.
Said mech’s hand gently lighted on Megatron’s shoulder, scraping slightly at the edges of the overlapping plating in what was intended to be a subtly distracting touch . He leaned forward letting his claws scratch lightly down his master’s upper arm before turning his hand up as he had not that long ago, once again asking. Waiting. He idly swirled a claw of his other hand in a congealing blob of mechblood.
Enough!
The word rang through his field, his body, and Megatron’s voice in the same dark strike of frustrated anger. It had been centuries since he’d last felt a rage quite like this, so overwhelming that it turned self-destructive, but his instincts to lash out were no different. His claws slashed for Soundwave’s wrist, and he didn’t consciously know what his intentions were if he should succeed in grabbing his 3IC.
There were times when Soundwave actually allowed Megatron to strike him. In these instances the mech always felt the action appropriate, either as a method of discipline or simply as the easiest method of expressing the occasional buildup of directionless agitation. Such events were rare and generally not much more than an assertive backhand and--unlike the beatings Starscream often earned--seldom left more than stinging sensors as evidence. This however, was not such a time.
Soundwave sprang back, only just avoiding Megatron’s claws, at the same time as his cords shot forward, latching onto the warlord’s chest plates, He pulsed his EM field, slamming against his master’s own turbulent energy using the disorienting struggle of their energies as cover to initiate the second hack of Soundwave’s day.
The flare of the significantly powerful field, in such close proximity, blinded Megatron enough that his data ports were latched and hacked open before he could so much as bat away the powerful tendrils. The suddenness of the hack hardened his mental defences, but even now he knew that he stood little chance against Soundwave’s raised and focused attention.
The spymster forced himself forward, slipping though Megatron’s mind with the practiced ease of someone who’d clearly done it before. Unlike the earlier hack, he touching nothing, stayed to primary pathways. He stopped once along the way, to snag Megaton’s conciseness by the nape of his awareness, as if he knew exactly where he was going. He arrived at a memory and dumped Megatron into it as he himself entered.
The memory blossomed, The dimension of the scene folding over itself as Soundwave opened his own mind to Megatron, overlaying his own version of the same recollection on top of Megatron’s. Simultaneously Megatron was himself and Soundwave.
Watch The lithe mech ordered firmly, pulling Megatron from the disorientation of experiencing a single scene from two points of view at once, and turned the silver mech’s attention to what was actually happening in the memory.
**
Soundwave waiting in the darkness surrounding the makeshift arena, watching the side door for the accomplished warrior's exit.
That not so young upstart with his grand ideas and stubborn revolutionarism, unflinching no matter the adversary--metaphorical or physical. He was dangerous in all senses of the word--mind as sharp as the weapons he used to cut down his enemies in the arena. Powerful, commanding, innovative and forward thinking. Some were calling him an upstart, an insurgent; Soundwave thought he was perfect.
He'd known this, hoped it really, for some time, but this evenings battle had sealed it in his mind. He'd been watching this mech, newly titled 'Megatron', for some time, sponsoring him silently from the sidelines with the hope that with a little nurturing the mech would ripen into something much greater. He didn’t try to keep his patronage anonymous, but nether did he approach the mech straight forward. He knew the gladiator knew who he was, had met the silver mech’s calculating gaze after grizzly battles. But they had not spoken directly. Soundwave hadn’t anything to say to the other mech then, had wanted to be sure first before completely casting his lot. After tonight, there was no doubt in Soundwave's mind. He'd watched the silver mech battle his adversary, dispatch the other with his usual messy efficiency, only to turn to the crowd and lift his hands to them. They were ready for him, had nearly fallen from the stands in their eagerness for his attention, his words. And speak to them he did. He told them of his grand vision of the future, of modernization, equality and freedom, his words impressive and salient, animating the crowd as it if it were were a single living body. They'd held onto his every word, ate it, consumed it--a screaming, roaring, thundering mass of exhilarated exclamation. They'd been ready to jump into the arena with him to throw themselves at his feet and follow him into the smelters of the Pit its self.
This was a turning point, Soundwave knew it, something he'd been waiting for for some time. Cybertron had been at the end of an epoch for too long. He could see her disintegrating at the edges already; a page needing to be turned. Growth, evolution was needed for continued survival. Organic worlds knew this best, but even his own mechanically morphic race understood change. His people adapted easily to new environments, new cultures, actually wore the ability on their bodies, but even then their race was beginning to stagnate. Soundwave couldn't let that happen. Something bigger was needed, something more than mere survival. Evolution. And here it was.
Megatron would be the catalyst they needed, spurring their race forward as a whole.
And there he was, finally slipping from the exit, still running hot and splattered with the mechblood of that battle’s opponents. A wave of other mechs spilling from the exit behind him. He glanced around, searching for the benefactor the floormaster had said wished to speak with him. Soundwave was just stepping forward to reveal himself when....
A medic-bot, sleek and lithe, had jogged to block the warrior’s path even as he waved a dismissive hand at her.
Soundwave noticed her in the way one might notice the lighting posts that lined the highways and walkways; she wasn’t out of place. The warrior’s body held several good size wounds, all oozing mechblood, and a medic chasing after a heedless arena mech wasn’t out of the ordinary in the least. But then she....
Such interjections by the arena’s small medical staff were commonplace after a match, and particularly one this brutal, and Megatron slowed his pace enough to let her scan him.
Soundwave saw the blade flash but was too far away to stop the femme, not that the tiny weapon in her hand drew any large amount of from concerned him. He paused as-----
She’d forced the blade into an already-open wound in his side before he’d seen the knife, taking her head off in the same moment as he dislodged the weapon.
Megatron flicked his arm and both the blade and the medic’s body, head now separated from the rest of her, clattered to the ground. A pointless move on the little medic’s part, a wasted attempt...unless the medic had achieved her goal-----
It was a scratch compared to the rest of his injuries from today alone, and he continued towards the archway exit before the body had fallen still.
Soundwave cast an appraising glance at the decapitated body and glistening weapon as the warrior continued towards him, stalking forward as if nothing had happened. The crowed behind him closed around the body----
There was a rush around him, of his supporters and other medics descending on the decapitated body, but he passed through without making physical contact with anyone. It was if a hot aura swelled out of his frame. Though now pinpricks of cold were gathering in his side. Dirty blade, he dismissed, casting the feeling aside.
Soundwave shifted his attention back to the mech approaching him, turning to him directly. This would be their first time to actually face one another, their first time to square off at such a close distance. A rare thrill went through Soundwave as his future advanced on him....
Soundwave’s frame type, when it became clear in the dim light of the tunnel, looked as if it should have been awkward, but even standing still the mech possessed a natural sense of grace. A massive contrast to his own bleeding frame, now come to stand with an agitated hiss of parts still over-heated from the fight.
...Megatron was a large mech, Soundwave had always know this, had seen it with his own optics, but having the mech in front of him, towering over him, casing his shadow over him, bleeding energon at his feet, body emitting heat vapors that scorched the sensors along his plating....The warrior’s presence was nearly overwhelming...
The coldness in his side had spread further through his chassis now, dragging a tingling ache in its wake. His almost-empty tank churned at the feeling, but Megatron suppressed his awareness of the sensations to give this important mech his full attention. Auto-repair and numerous software defenses, all still running fast and strong from the fight, would take care of it soon enough.
Even with Megatron’s presence enveloping him, Soundwave could sense something wasn’t as it should have been. The warrior’s posture seemed to be faltering as he stood, an awkwardness taking root in his balance. His approach had been nothing but regal, the ground seeming to rise to his feet with each step, but now there was a strange waver in his left leg....the same side in which he’d been stabbed....
“At last,” Megatron greeted the lithe mech, optics bright. “It is a pleasure to finally set optics on you, Soundwave.”
The remaining fuel in his tank turned cold just before his left arm, the side he’d been stabbed on, turned completely numb.
“Likewise,” Soundwave intoned, his seldom used voice humming with harmonics. He increased the gain on his sensors, sweeping scanners over the mech in front of him, focusing on the wound on his side. The results of the sweep confirmed his suspicions to an unfortunate degree. “Note; Injury-Contaminated. Corruption: Entering lines. Implication: You have been poisoned.”
Megatron’s operational hand clamped against the wound, claws digging in to the already-battered mesh to see how much feeling was there. The numbness was spreading rapidly. “Not the first time,” he hissed, stepping sideways into the give of his faltering leg to rest his shoulder against the wall of the tunnel. He shuttered his optics, trying to drag a status report up, but all he encountered were steadily increasing cascading failures. “Frag... Give me a breem,” he went on in a murmur.
Soundwave could see it on his scanners, clearly, now that he was looking for it. He’d seen this trick before, though never in Kaon, never in the gladatorial pits. It was an expensive and sophisticated means of assassination, generally reserved for he upper echelons of the noble class and politicians. At its base was a complex nanite solution, usually slow moving so to not attract attention. Once introduced into the target system, it would take its time traveling though the physical body until it came into contact with a main neural line, whereupon it would download an on-board virus then quickly self destruct. Ironically enough, they called the agent Forfeit.
Someone was obviously making a statement.
Attempts on his life had been becoming common over the last few years, and Megatron had modified his body to withstand a great deal of punishment. Whatever this ‘poison’ was, however, was in a whole new league. It seemed someone very thorough had set out to kill him this time.
….The times the spymech had seen this trick used, the introducing agent usually consisted of energon, interface or corrupted data download. Never a slicked blade. That was generally too obtuse a method for the technique’s patrons. Neither had he seen a version of Forfeit take effect so quickly, though it was certainly an adaptation of the agent....
Megatron gritted his dentals in frustrated anger at the timing of this attack as much as at the sensation of his cooling system sputtering to a halt - disastrous so soon after a match. This meeting with Soundwave had been a long time coming, the result of months of careful orchestrations and its outcome promised even greater developments for the growing ‘Decepticon’ cause. To have the mech stand before him whilst a swift poison crippled him...
Whoever had arranged the assassination attempt hadn’t been taking any chances. The gladiator most certainly did not have long; Soundwave was watching him deteriorate before his very optics . However the assassins obviously hadn’t counted for Soundwave’s presence....
It was an abrupt realisation that this was not an attack his systems could fight off. Megatron’s internal diagnostics flashed errors and queries, now having run through all the patches and counter-software he possessed and coming up with naught. His optics flashed open again and set on Soundwave’s inscrutable face.
“It’s sophisticated,” he rasped, the numbness giving way to a dull but mounting pain, now. He pressed his weight harder into the wall to stay upright, attempting to force the defensive software to run again and almost retching at the agonising way the world tipped in response.
This could be it. And not in the political arena, assassinated publicly at a rally to be made a martyr for the cause; or in a blaze of energon-drenched glory in the gladitorial arena, felled in vicious, glorious combat. But in the exit tunnel, unwittnessed by anyone other than his main benefactor. No purpose.
He exvented a profanity before shaking his head. “I can’t...”
Soundwave moved forward, long claws curling against Megatron’s shoulder, head tilting as he watched the silver mech’s expression flash between pain, anger and….was that perhaps fear? Certainly not of death, no, Soundwave knew that. Megatron could not be restrained by the fear of death and still be the spectacular warrior he was. No, this was different. He could see the disappointment swilling around the anger. This was fear of hollow failure.
He might have found it funny had it not been so asinine. However, he couldn’t blame the warriormech for still not having a full grasp of the situation yet. Megatron didn’t know who he was…or who he himself was either.
“Death--Expected?” he asked curiously, pausing to take in the other mech’s pinched expression. He pulled the warrior into the shadows where he’d previously been waiting. A small alcove notched into the wall there giving them relative protection on three sides.
Soundwave engaged several data lines directly into the silver warrior, not bothering for permission.
“Comprehension—Still Not Grasped.”
He was inside Megatron in a flash. Firewalls were already down, decimated by the virus inside him The specialist saw the virus immediately, full grown, tearing though systems, the nanite that carried it already long dead. It hadn’t taken the time to search for vital neural areas, it was going for a total system ravaging, plundering through any and all of Megatron’s systems like a wildfire.
Do you know who you are? He asked directly into Megatron’s mind, even as he began pursuit of the malicious program Do you know how important you are?
The virus sensed a second presence and turned on him obviously having been programed with countermeasures against outside intervention. It pressing his own firewalls, but Soundwave was ready for it. He battered them away, tearing at the replicating program as it felt him for weakness. He flooded Megatron’s system with his own best anti-viruses, sending out a few counter viruses of his own as well. They were ineffectual; the virus focusing on and obliterating his efforts. Undaunted, he pressed forward, lashing out at the violent code as it struggled with him.
This wasn’t Forfeit, he realized belatedly, not at all, but it was too late to be overly concerned. This was something new. Something like he’d never seen before, something much stronger…But it wasn’t important. He would do what he needed to do regardless of what whatever he faced. He’d already committed earlier that day when he’d heard the gladator’s speech in the arena. There was no going back any more.
He felt it press him, assessing, pounding at him aggressively and he snapped back at it just as harshly. Warnings began to pop up in Soundwave’s HUD, stray code had somehow slipped into secondary systems. Full systems breach was eminent. Self-preservation dictated he withdraw and focus on his own integrity.
He didn‘t budge.
Someone who had put a lot of time and credits into extinguishing the silver mech had wanted him dead very, very badly. Strange that so much effort would be put into a simple “gladiator”…But then they must have known what he was just as much as Soundwave did. He was no “simple gladiator”.
He wavered slightly as the virus breached him, beginning its decent into his own frame, but still he didn’t pull away from his struggle inside the other mech. He couldn’t. He would not let them win this. He didn’t care if it killed him, he wouldn’t let HIM die. Wouldn’t let.....wouldn’t let....
Do you know who you are!? He cried out again, systems beginning to fail just as they were within the silver mech.
DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?
Soundwave echoed his memory self’s words, causing a mirror effect to rebound though out his master’s mind.
Finally! Finally, Soundwave managed to lock onto a bit of code in the virus, a potential flaw, something that might have been exploitable. He isolated it, sparing only half a thought to hope it wasn’t a lure. He didn’t have time. There was no time, not even to run a diagnostic on the small section he held. His systems continued disintegrating, locking up, cutting him off from much needed portions of his processor. More and more errors appeared on his HUD as he frantically worked around the failures cascading around him. He pushed it aside to focus as best he could. None of it mattered. Speculation was useless. Either it would work or they would both die.
He scrambled, splicing code into a rough shell, stringing bits of extra code together to shape it into what he hoped was a vaguely workable program. All the while he still battled in Megatron’s system, pressing back the virus the best he could as it ravaged his own.
Then it was done. He had it.
And even as his body begin to fail he pumped the new anti-virus into Megaton, snapping away his own connection after the upload, fearful of reinfecting the silver mech.
Only then did he turn to his own devastated systems. They were in much worse shape than he’d thought. He released the anti-virus into himself, nearly sagging in relief as it began counter acting the virus nearly as viciously as the virus had been attacking.
Running hot and venting loudly Soundwave wavered, gave up on attempting to stand and slowly lowered to his knees, relieved, injured and utterly spent.
He looked up at Megatron from his position on the floor. Too exhausted to speak he could only press the other mech with his silence.
Though the virus was gone and his software was already resorting and repairing itself, Megatron’s systems were still battered. He would not bow, though his complete reliance on the alcove to keep him upright wasn’t a much better position. Gripping the edge of the wall with enough force to sink his sharp fingers, Megatron extended his other hand to the kneeling mech to take his wrist. The gesture did more than words ever could to convey the significance of this moment.
At some point Megatron had grasped hold of Soundwave just as he had before -clinging to a suddenly-there life raft in the cascading darkness of his own mind. He recoiled with a hard exhale when he found his mind, his consciousness, back in the lab, and with only his body to feel.
Before him knelt Soundwave, having exited the memory more easily than Megatron. The slight mech bowed lowly, legs tuck, arms laid flat beside him, head lowered so that the crest of his helm nearly scraped the floor. A position of pure deference.
He had attacked his master after all, had forced his mind upon the Lord of Decepticons. One did not challenge the will of Megatron and come away unscathed. And so he waiting for his inevitable punishment, willingly submitted himself to his masters wrath.
The tearing pain in his arm burst into his awareness, an awful and strange respite from the strange duality he had just experienced, and Megatron took another step closer to the prostrate mech before him as he gripped the wound. A pause, and then he sent the glyphs for rise/satisfied/appeased through the silence.
“Tend me, Soundwave. As you always have.”
*
Megatron did not gather the equipment he needed to triage the significant damage to his arm before beginning to work. He was too incoherent with rage to make those kinds of logical preparations. Instead, he’d laid his arm on the medical berth and roughly cauterized the largest of the torn energon lines, twists of smoke rising and reflecting in the liquid already spreading into a large pool.
He’d had all manner of things said to him before in the kind of beating he’d inflicted on Sniper - mechs about to die and delirious with pain and fear were often at their most honest whilst bleeding out over his claws. Sniper had taken a particularly personal swipe, however, and compounded with Shockwave’s arrival and the fact that his memories were still being unwittingly displayed to the Autobot scout...
Going to the Repair Bay to have Knock Out tend to his mangled arm wasn’t an option in this mood. One glib comment from their doctor and he’d be dead, or wished he was - injury or no. He was perfectly capable of stabilising the wound, but the more energon he burned away and the more lines he found pierced with bent metal in addition to being nicked or simply severed, the more he saw how significant a repair the limb would require. And it only enraged him further.
Soundwave stalked from the bridge, frame still running hot from the ordeal with the green mech. He paused for a moment, the doors sliding shut behind him, taking time to recomposed himself. Some strange thrill tingled in his lines. He wasn't sure but he though tmaybe he could classify it as something like satisfaction, or excitement.
He crushed the feelings ruthlessly.
Irrelevant, a needless distraction at the moment. He needed to check in with his Master.
He followed the smear of mechblood and wild scratches in the floor back to the brig, pausing only for moment to ping a group of gawking Eradicons with orders to clean up the mess both inside and outside of the small room, before following a different trail of splatters down to the labs.
The security seals locking the door were just as complex and powerful as they had been when Megatron had shut himself away with the Panethite. And Soundwave opened them with the same determined ease as he had then, as well.
Soundwave entered the lab to the sight of his master leaning heavily over a mechblood splattered berth. Megatron had a soldering iron in hand, both the wrong tool and too large, pressing it into his arm. The wound still oozed globs of thick blue and smoked dangerously as the energon touched the heat element of the iron.
Mechblood wasn't the only thing Megatron oozed however. His anger was nearly palpable. Stepping forward into the room, Soundwave knew he'd be engaging in a very dangerous dance with his Lord.
The wounded mech did not respond to the sound of the door sliding open two rooms away until he’d identified the EM field, fixated on driving the soldering arc harder into torn lines to stop the energon escaping. Teeth bared, his voice was subsonic. “Get out.”
Soundwave didn’t back down, approaching his master with slow steps, his head lowered and his field pressed in close to his body.
Lord he sent the glyph full of reverence and humility Traitor: Finished
The closer he moved to Megatron, the more it felt as if he were stepping into the range of an armed warhead. Tense and alert, he slowly lowered himself to his knees next to the end of the berth, just beyond the warlord’s reach.
“Then your work is done,” Megatron snapped back, more snarled sound than words in their harmonics.
Some tenuous connection in his ruined arm sparked brightly, causing the whole limb to twitch with a grunt of pain, and Megatron abandoned the soldering iron for the fistful of clamps he’d dumped onto the berth. It didn’t help matters that it was his dominant hand that had been crippled, the insides obscured with burnt and bubbling energon, though he made the brutal field repairs regardless.
Everything of the last few months, since his regaining function after pupeting the Scout back to the Nemesis, felt as if it had finally come to a violent boil. The invasive patch, the impossibility of recharge, Shockwave’s arrival and prowling hunt for any weakness in his Lord, Barricade... Sniper had already moved down from the top of his list of grievances, in part because the mech had suffered until his last.
The lithe mech paused to watch his master struggle with his injury. A rather ridiculous sight really....not to mention dangerous. The iron, though an adequate tool for field repair, actually made more of a problem than it solved, melting plate and line and bits of shrapnel into the wound in a messy smear. The wound was going to be a nightmare to clean out, and it would need to be cleaned out before proper repairs could take place. And there was of course the issue of bleeding out. Megatron had managed to stem the flow some what, but it hadn’t stopped completely, which was a bit worrying.
Soundwave understood his master’s frustration in that he understood that it happened and why. Sympathy, however, was narrowly beyond his ability. True, there were times when Soundwave felt his own fleeting version of such emotions, but he also had the mastery to cut off such feelings when they became overly intrusive. Spending so much energy on something that so effortlessly skewed perception was counterproductive. His master needed to move on, heal his wounds and focus on more important tasks.
Keeping the edgy tyrant focused was just one of many self-appointed tasks he carried out for the Decepticons. Whatever his master needed to release frustration or return focus to the primary goal, Soundwave gave, if it was in the mech’s ability to give. Most of it was. If it wasn’t, he simply went around it.
The more he was unable to calm his Master’s bristling the more Soundwave felt the situation requiring such methods.
Trying again, Soundwave called his master softly, the silver mech’s name transmitted with accented of all the mech’s titles, victories and mastery. Something like flattery, something like an axiom, it was all true. He reached for his master’s shoulder, prickling the edges of his field enticingly, extruding an amicable calmness. The mech just needed his master to relent enough to allow his assistance. He allowed his cables to free however, just in case.
The wave of meaning, layered in earnestness and a desire to help for reasons more practical than simple ‘concern’, had before served as a balm to Megatron’s ire. However today, with everything that had been happening recently, they merely felt like another intrusion into his space. A violation of his autonomy.
He was the Decepticon Commander, eons aged and wise to treachery and betrayal, managing his army and cause from an island of strength and solitude. But his armour had, somehow, thinned recently, and suddenly things were getting in. Sniper had managed to fragging *bug* him, and more than that, he’d felt able to *dare* to do so. And he knew there were other murmuring bots onboard; had felt their optics trying to discern what was wrong. Seeking to exploit it. Shockwave was prowling for a weakness, as always, and had managed to time his arrival so that the Autobot Scout was still crawling around inside his helm, dragging his systems into exhaustion and compromising his entire cause.
And the fluxes... Megatron had clawed his way up from a very low level on Cybertron - he prided himself on that, on his sheer will to survive and to achieve better. The Decepticons had been borne from the example he’d set, aligned to follow him out of the deepest slag of their homeworld. He’d seen worse than he’d committed, endured what had killed many, and had fought for longer than civilizations had existed without encouragement or reassurance from anyone.
And never before had he felt so exposed, so rattled. His mind, the greatest weapon he had and the sanctity of which one of the few things he truly owned for himself, had been violated. Invaded. Once, he could accept. It was war - he’d done far worse, many times. But it had gone on, a lifetime of memories at perpetual risk of being exposed to The information-gatherer of Optimus Prime.
The war couldn’t end this way. Not because of something seen by a scout from his own optics whilst he was in recharge.
Barricade had even offered to take care of the problem ‘in his name’ for him when he’d found out. That it had even entered the mech’s mind that he might need assistance twisted his tanks with disgust. Barricade had offered because Megatron had allowed him to get close, though. Allowed him in. Just as some facet of his unconscious was allowing Bumblebee in.
Just like Soundwave was trying to do now. Enforce aid. Take control as if he couldn’t manage himself. Take his choice.
Said mech’s hand gently lighted on Megatron’s shoulder, scraping slightly at the edges of the overlapping plating in what was intended to be a subtly distracting touch . He leaned forward letting his claws scratch lightly down his master’s upper arm before turning his hand up as he had not that long ago, once again asking. Waiting. He idly swirled a claw of his other hand in a congealing blob of mechblood.
Enough!
The word rang through his field, his body, and Megatron’s voice in the same dark strike of frustrated anger. It had been centuries since he’d last felt a rage quite like this, so overwhelming that it turned self-destructive, but his instincts to lash out were no different. His claws slashed for Soundwave’s wrist, and he didn’t consciously know what his intentions were if he should succeed in grabbing his 3IC.
There were times when Soundwave actually allowed Megatron to strike him. In these instances the mech always felt the action appropriate, either as a method of discipline or simply as the easiest method of expressing the occasional buildup of directionless agitation. Such events were rare and generally not much more than an assertive backhand and--unlike the beatings Starscream often earned--seldom left more than stinging sensors as evidence. This however, was not such a time.
Soundwave sprang back, only just avoiding Megatron’s claws, at the same time as his cords shot forward, latching onto the warlord’s chest plates, He pulsed his EM field, slamming against his master’s own turbulent energy using the disorienting struggle of their energies as cover to initiate the second hack of Soundwave’s day.
The flare of the significantly powerful field, in such close proximity, blinded Megatron enough that his data ports were latched and hacked open before he could so much as bat away the powerful tendrils. The suddenness of the hack hardened his mental defences, but even now he knew that he stood little chance against Soundwave’s raised and focused attention.
The spymster forced himself forward, slipping though Megatron’s mind with the practiced ease of someone who’d clearly done it before. Unlike the earlier hack, he touching nothing, stayed to primary pathways. He stopped once along the way, to snag Megaton’s conciseness by the nape of his awareness, as if he knew exactly where he was going. He arrived at a memory and dumped Megatron into it as he himself entered.
The memory blossomed, The dimension of the scene folding over itself as Soundwave opened his own mind to Megatron, overlaying his own version of the same recollection on top of Megatron’s. Simultaneously Megatron was himself and Soundwave.
Watch The lithe mech ordered firmly, pulling Megatron from the disorientation of experiencing a single scene from two points of view at once, and turned the silver mech’s attention to what was actually happening in the memory.
**
Soundwave waiting in the darkness surrounding the makeshift arena, watching the side door for the accomplished warrior's exit.
That not so young upstart with his grand ideas and stubborn revolutionarism, unflinching no matter the adversary--metaphorical or physical. He was dangerous in all senses of the word--mind as sharp as the weapons he used to cut down his enemies in the arena. Powerful, commanding, innovative and forward thinking. Some were calling him an upstart, an insurgent; Soundwave thought he was perfect.
He'd known this, hoped it really, for some time, but this evenings battle had sealed it in his mind. He'd been watching this mech, newly titled 'Megatron', for some time, sponsoring him silently from the sidelines with the hope that with a little nurturing the mech would ripen into something much greater. He didn’t try to keep his patronage anonymous, but nether did he approach the mech straight forward. He knew the gladiator knew who he was, had met the silver mech’s calculating gaze after grizzly battles. But they had not spoken directly. Soundwave hadn’t anything to say to the other mech then, had wanted to be sure first before completely casting his lot. After tonight, there was no doubt in Soundwave's mind. He'd watched the silver mech battle his adversary, dispatch the other with his usual messy efficiency, only to turn to the crowd and lift his hands to them. They were ready for him, had nearly fallen from the stands in their eagerness for his attention, his words. And speak to them he did. He told them of his grand vision of the future, of modernization, equality and freedom, his words impressive and salient, animating the crowd as it if it were were a single living body. They'd held onto his every word, ate it, consumed it--a screaming, roaring, thundering mass of exhilarated exclamation. They'd been ready to jump into the arena with him to throw themselves at his feet and follow him into the smelters of the Pit its self.
This was a turning point, Soundwave knew it, something he'd been waiting for for some time. Cybertron had been at the end of an epoch for too long. He could see her disintegrating at the edges already; a page needing to be turned. Growth, evolution was needed for continued survival. Organic worlds knew this best, but even his own mechanically morphic race understood change. His people adapted easily to new environments, new cultures, actually wore the ability on their bodies, but even then their race was beginning to stagnate. Soundwave couldn't let that happen. Something bigger was needed, something more than mere survival. Evolution. And here it was.
Megatron would be the catalyst they needed, spurring their race forward as a whole.
And there he was, finally slipping from the exit, still running hot and splattered with the mechblood of that battle’s opponents. A wave of other mechs spilling from the exit behind him. He glanced around, searching for the benefactor the floormaster had said wished to speak with him. Soundwave was just stepping forward to reveal himself when....
A medic-bot, sleek and lithe, had jogged to block the warrior’s path even as he waved a dismissive hand at her.
Soundwave noticed her in the way one might notice the lighting posts that lined the highways and walkways; she wasn’t out of place. The warrior’s body held several good size wounds, all oozing mechblood, and a medic chasing after a heedless arena mech wasn’t out of the ordinary in the least. But then she....
Such interjections by the arena’s small medical staff were commonplace after a match, and particularly one this brutal, and Megatron slowed his pace enough to let her scan him.
Soundwave saw the blade flash but was too far away to stop the femme, not that the tiny weapon in her hand drew any large amount of from concerned him. He paused as-----
She’d forced the blade into an already-open wound in his side before he’d seen the knife, taking her head off in the same moment as he dislodged the weapon.
Megatron flicked his arm and both the blade and the medic’s body, head now separated from the rest of her, clattered to the ground. A pointless move on the little medic’s part, a wasted attempt...unless the medic had achieved her goal-----
It was a scratch compared to the rest of his injuries from today alone, and he continued towards the archway exit before the body had fallen still.
Soundwave cast an appraising glance at the decapitated body and glistening weapon as the warrior continued towards him, stalking forward as if nothing had happened. The crowed behind him closed around the body----
There was a rush around him, of his supporters and other medics descending on the decapitated body, but he passed through without making physical contact with anyone. It was if a hot aura swelled out of his frame. Though now pinpricks of cold were gathering in his side. Dirty blade, he dismissed, casting the feeling aside.
Soundwave shifted his attention back to the mech approaching him, turning to him directly. This would be their first time to actually face one another, their first time to square off at such a close distance. A rare thrill went through Soundwave as his future advanced on him....
Soundwave’s frame type, when it became clear in the dim light of the tunnel, looked as if it should have been awkward, but even standing still the mech possessed a natural sense of grace. A massive contrast to his own bleeding frame, now come to stand with an agitated hiss of parts still over-heated from the fight.
...Megatron was a large mech, Soundwave had always know this, had seen it with his own optics, but having the mech in front of him, towering over him, casing his shadow over him, bleeding energon at his feet, body emitting heat vapors that scorched the sensors along his plating....The warrior’s presence was nearly overwhelming...
The coldness in his side had spread further through his chassis now, dragging a tingling ache in its wake. His almost-empty tank churned at the feeling, but Megatron suppressed his awareness of the sensations to give this important mech his full attention. Auto-repair and numerous software defenses, all still running fast and strong from the fight, would take care of it soon enough.
Even with Megatron’s presence enveloping him, Soundwave could sense something wasn’t as it should have been. The warrior’s posture seemed to be faltering as he stood, an awkwardness taking root in his balance. His approach had been nothing but regal, the ground seeming to rise to his feet with each step, but now there was a strange waver in his left leg....the same side in which he’d been stabbed....
“At last,” Megatron greeted the lithe mech, optics bright. “It is a pleasure to finally set optics on you, Soundwave.”
The remaining fuel in his tank turned cold just before his left arm, the side he’d been stabbed on, turned completely numb.
“Likewise,” Soundwave intoned, his seldom used voice humming with harmonics. He increased the gain on his sensors, sweeping scanners over the mech in front of him, focusing on the wound on his side. The results of the sweep confirmed his suspicions to an unfortunate degree. “Note; Injury-Contaminated. Corruption: Entering lines. Implication: You have been poisoned.”
Megatron’s operational hand clamped against the wound, claws digging in to the already-battered mesh to see how much feeling was there. The numbness was spreading rapidly. “Not the first time,” he hissed, stepping sideways into the give of his faltering leg to rest his shoulder against the wall of the tunnel. He shuttered his optics, trying to drag a status report up, but all he encountered were steadily increasing cascading failures. “Frag... Give me a breem,” he went on in a murmur.
Soundwave could see it on his scanners, clearly, now that he was looking for it. He’d seen this trick before, though never in Kaon, never in the gladatorial pits. It was an expensive and sophisticated means of assassination, generally reserved for he upper echelons of the noble class and politicians. At its base was a complex nanite solution, usually slow moving so to not attract attention. Once introduced into the target system, it would take its time traveling though the physical body until it came into contact with a main neural line, whereupon it would download an on-board virus then quickly self destruct. Ironically enough, they called the agent Forfeit.
Someone was obviously making a statement.
Attempts on his life had been becoming common over the last few years, and Megatron had modified his body to withstand a great deal of punishment. Whatever this ‘poison’ was, however, was in a whole new league. It seemed someone very thorough had set out to kill him this time.
….The times the spymech had seen this trick used, the introducing agent usually consisted of energon, interface or corrupted data download. Never a slicked blade. That was generally too obtuse a method for the technique’s patrons. Neither had he seen a version of Forfeit take effect so quickly, though it was certainly an adaptation of the agent....
Megatron gritted his dentals in frustrated anger at the timing of this attack as much as at the sensation of his cooling system sputtering to a halt - disastrous so soon after a match. This meeting with Soundwave had been a long time coming, the result of months of careful orchestrations and its outcome promised even greater developments for the growing ‘Decepticon’ cause. To have the mech stand before him whilst a swift poison crippled him...
Whoever had arranged the assassination attempt hadn’t been taking any chances. The gladiator most certainly did not have long; Soundwave was watching him deteriorate before his very optics . However the assassins obviously hadn’t counted for Soundwave’s presence....
It was an abrupt realisation that this was not an attack his systems could fight off. Megatron’s internal diagnostics flashed errors and queries, now having run through all the patches and counter-software he possessed and coming up with naught. His optics flashed open again and set on Soundwave’s inscrutable face.
“It’s sophisticated,” he rasped, the numbness giving way to a dull but mounting pain, now. He pressed his weight harder into the wall to stay upright, attempting to force the defensive software to run again and almost retching at the agonising way the world tipped in response.
This could be it. And not in the political arena, assassinated publicly at a rally to be made a martyr for the cause; or in a blaze of energon-drenched glory in the gladitorial arena, felled in vicious, glorious combat. But in the exit tunnel, unwittnessed by anyone other than his main benefactor. No purpose.
He exvented a profanity before shaking his head. “I can’t...”
Soundwave moved forward, long claws curling against Megatron’s shoulder, head tilting as he watched the silver mech’s expression flash between pain, anger and….was that perhaps fear? Certainly not of death, no, Soundwave knew that. Megatron could not be restrained by the fear of death and still be the spectacular warrior he was. No, this was different. He could see the disappointment swilling around the anger. This was fear of hollow failure.
He might have found it funny had it not been so asinine. However, he couldn’t blame the warriormech for still not having a full grasp of the situation yet. Megatron didn’t know who he was…or who he himself was either.
“Death--Expected?” he asked curiously, pausing to take in the other mech’s pinched expression. He pulled the warrior into the shadows where he’d previously been waiting. A small alcove notched into the wall there giving them relative protection on three sides.
Soundwave engaged several data lines directly into the silver warrior, not bothering for permission.
“Comprehension—Still Not Grasped.”
He was inside Megatron in a flash. Firewalls were already down, decimated by the virus inside him The specialist saw the virus immediately, full grown, tearing though systems, the nanite that carried it already long dead. It hadn’t taken the time to search for vital neural areas, it was going for a total system ravaging, plundering through any and all of Megatron’s systems like a wildfire.
Do you know who you are? He asked directly into Megatron’s mind, even as he began pursuit of the malicious program Do you know how important you are?
The virus sensed a second presence and turned on him obviously having been programed with countermeasures against outside intervention. It pressing his own firewalls, but Soundwave was ready for it. He battered them away, tearing at the replicating program as it felt him for weakness. He flooded Megatron’s system with his own best anti-viruses, sending out a few counter viruses of his own as well. They were ineffectual; the virus focusing on and obliterating his efforts. Undaunted, he pressed forward, lashing out at the violent code as it struggled with him.
This wasn’t Forfeit, he realized belatedly, not at all, but it was too late to be overly concerned. This was something new. Something like he’d never seen before, something much stronger…But it wasn’t important. He would do what he needed to do regardless of what whatever he faced. He’d already committed earlier that day when he’d heard the gladator’s speech in the arena. There was no going back any more.
He felt it press him, assessing, pounding at him aggressively and he snapped back at it just as harshly. Warnings began to pop up in Soundwave’s HUD, stray code had somehow slipped into secondary systems. Full systems breach was eminent. Self-preservation dictated he withdraw and focus on his own integrity.
He didn‘t budge.
Someone who had put a lot of time and credits into extinguishing the silver mech had wanted him dead very, very badly. Strange that so much effort would be put into a simple “gladiator”…But then they must have known what he was just as much as Soundwave did. He was no “simple gladiator”.
He wavered slightly as the virus breached him, beginning its decent into his own frame, but still he didn’t pull away from his struggle inside the other mech. He couldn’t. He would not let them win this. He didn’t care if it killed him, he wouldn’t let HIM die. Wouldn’t let.....wouldn’t let....
Do you know who you are!? He cried out again, systems beginning to fail just as they were within the silver mech.
DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?
Soundwave echoed his memory self’s words, causing a mirror effect to rebound though out his master’s mind.
Finally! Finally, Soundwave managed to lock onto a bit of code in the virus, a potential flaw, something that might have been exploitable. He isolated it, sparing only half a thought to hope it wasn’t a lure. He didn’t have time. There was no time, not even to run a diagnostic on the small section he held. His systems continued disintegrating, locking up, cutting him off from much needed portions of his processor. More and more errors appeared on his HUD as he frantically worked around the failures cascading around him. He pushed it aside to focus as best he could. None of it mattered. Speculation was useless. Either it would work or they would both die.
He scrambled, splicing code into a rough shell, stringing bits of extra code together to shape it into what he hoped was a vaguely workable program. All the while he still battled in Megatron’s system, pressing back the virus the best he could as it ravaged his own.
Then it was done. He had it.
And even as his body begin to fail he pumped the new anti-virus into Megaton, snapping away his own connection after the upload, fearful of reinfecting the silver mech.
Only then did he turn to his own devastated systems. They were in much worse shape than he’d thought. He released the anti-virus into himself, nearly sagging in relief as it began counter acting the virus nearly as viciously as the virus had been attacking.
Running hot and venting loudly Soundwave wavered, gave up on attempting to stand and slowly lowered to his knees, relieved, injured and utterly spent.
He looked up at Megatron from his position on the floor. Too exhausted to speak he could only press the other mech with his silence.
Though the virus was gone and his software was already resorting and repairing itself, Megatron’s systems were still battered. He would not bow, though his complete reliance on the alcove to keep him upright wasn’t a much better position. Gripping the edge of the wall with enough force to sink his sharp fingers, Megatron extended his other hand to the kneeling mech to take his wrist. The gesture did more than words ever could to convey the significance of this moment.
At some point Megatron had grasped hold of Soundwave just as he had before -clinging to a suddenly-there life raft in the cascading darkness of his own mind. He recoiled with a hard exhale when he found his mind, his consciousness, back in the lab, and with only his body to feel.
Before him knelt Soundwave, having exited the memory more easily than Megatron. The slight mech bowed lowly, legs tuck, arms laid flat beside him, head lowered so that the crest of his helm nearly scraped the floor. A position of pure deference.
He had attacked his master after all, had forced his mind upon the Lord of Decepticons. One did not challenge the will of Megatron and come away unscathed. And so he waiting for his inevitable punishment, willingly submitted himself to his masters wrath.
The tearing pain in his arm burst into his awareness, an awful and strange respite from the strange duality he had just experienced, and Megatron took another step closer to the prostrate mech before him as he gripped the wound. A pause, and then he sent the glyphs for rise/satisfied/appeased through the silence.
“Tend me, Soundwave. As you always have.”
*