Ep.1.5 - 'Reversing Maneuvers' - Closed

[Flatline]

"Before the war?"

Flatline glanced over at the other mech, taking in the information that Megatron's mind truly was scattered about if he didn't remember things that had already been discussed. Especially when it was the rambling commentary upon the subject that had gotten him threatened in the first place. Flatline thought momentarily, placing his right hand down to press the palm against the edge of the table, allowing his weight to lean against it marginally.

"Well, I manufactured sparklings. I created their introductory frames, and subsequent upgrades up to a certain size point."

He started, being sure to watch himself so he didn't go off into a tangent. Flatline thought back to the experience, and all of the ups and downs such a job entailed. It was fulfilling all things considered, despite the crazy towerlings, and he had felt like he was contributing something. He wasn't making technology that would be swiftly replaced or upgraded, nor tinkering with data that could be updated and changed, he was making something that would LIVE. It was something that would function for hundreds of thousands of years if not longer. Granted... with the war, and his clientele being mostly high caste towerlings, chances are that all of his creations were long since abolished. A sobering thought to know even the most minimal of legacy had been clipped away.

"It was not a far leap to transition from that to where I stand now. I just repair familiar systems, or construct things full sized and far more reinforced. The intricacies are all basically the same, especially when I work on something small again."

As he stated this, he punctuated it by tapping the pointer finger of his one secondary arm down against the shaft of Fairwind's replacement limbs. The metal made a light clink from the impact.

After this he considered what more to say. The proper thing to do would be to ask what Megatron himself had done, but... everyone knew his story. Everyone knew where he came from, and it was this tale that took him to the power he now stood. People related to him, and agreed with his ideals. They followed him because if one who started so low could rise to such greatness... than any of them could...

As feared as he now is, he represents a very powerful idea.

"It was difficult work, but... more... fiddly than say true labor."

His secondary hand pulled back then against his chest. It tried to socket up into the armor paneling, to hide behind the upper plate as best it could. It just kept the limb secure, though not fully hidden, perhaps subconsciously wary for its protection since its twin had been torn off, the red orb where it had once attached still present. Perhaps the subconscious motion was also in preparation for a bit of a risky question, testing the waters of this 'new' version of Megatron.

"If I may be so bold as to ask... what made you go into the gladiatorial ring? Was it always the jumping point to get your words projected so we would all hear?"


((If the 'why' was something he ever preached, let me know please and I can tweak my question. I figure Flatline would know what was up with the broadcasts back in the day.))

[Deleted]

The surreptitious twitches and shuffles of Flatline's smallest limb caught Megatron's attention, though he made a point not to stare. Sparkling frames, from what he knew, were complex and delicate constructions. If the scientist had worked on them manually, then the additional dexterous arms made sense. To Megatron's mind they looked fragile, weak and somewhat useless - an indicator of the imprint heavy labour and fighting memories had left on his psyche, even if the memories eluded him.

Flatline's question was a logical progression in the conversation about their past occupations, but Megatron sorely wished that he'd chosen a different type to ask it. Automatically his processor was reaching for his memory bank and hitting a medically installed barricade, lancing at still-healing neural connections in the process.

The big mech pressed a thumb between his optics and pressed hard, the mild discomfort at the fore of his helm supplanting the pounding ache in the back.

"I think it was just a matter of survival, at first," he said, slowly and with great care. Though he knew that this was only a temporary state, the desire to piece together his past when memories ought to have been summoned was too great to ignore. "I had to leave C-13, a mining outpost, and then I was on the street. The Arena took anyone willing and paid. It was much later that I started to use my position to speak out, I think."

Megatron pressed a moment longer before drawing his hand down his jaw, squeezing his chin with an agitated sigh. "It's... difficult to describe how my memory works right now," he went on with a frown, dropping his fist back to the counter top. "They're disconnected as lived experiences, but I have a factual account."

The bright lights of his optics slid sideways towards Flatline, and his scarred mouth pulled into a thin, wry smile. "You'll have to ask me again when the connections have been restored."

[Flatline]

Watching carefully, Flatline was not blind to the fact his question had caused some discomfort in the other mech. It helped illuminate the full extent of what was going on in Megatron's helm in a way, and showed that even the furthest back emotions were just as locked and blocked as the most recent of ones. It seemed even trying to access it automatically, created a discomfort great enough to make the Warlord raise a hand.

"I apologize for bringing up something to challenge the blocks. I just intended to continue conversation, but seeing memories detached like that sounds about right."

He was planning on saying more, to perhaps address the discomfort and change the subject a bit, but Megatron did well to flip everything over and throw it back at him.

When the silver mech mentioned bringing up the question to a far less emotionally clipped version of himself, Flatline had to stifle his reaction so he did not bark out a loud noise of a 'hah' in mortified humor. The response luckily was stifled down to a hiccup of a sound, almost a churning lurch of the pistons hitting a bit of a snag in their process that made his helm pull back and a part huff to puff through his vents.

"Ahhah! Ah... no, I believe you will have far better things to do with your time than humor such questions that hold no weight in war."

He brushed a hand out, as if shooing away his own curiosities of events in the far past. While it may have been pleasant to get some enlightenment, and how he could easily strike up a conversation about the process and chain of events, Megatron's mind didn’t exactly play nice with these psychological questions, and normal minded Megatron would just snarl and ignore him if he was lucky.

"The amount of work it takes to run this ship in full has to be a delicate balance of organization, management, and suppression for the more rebellious and rambunctious of your troops."

That gave him something he felt better about speaking of. It was a subject that should be able to be accessed by facts alone, and not so much fueled by emotion. Ideally it would permit Megatron to converse without a strain put on his processor. Or at least... not needless amounts of strain.

"Just recently met Skywarp, tall mech, jet, mental capacity of a sparkling just rolled out of the well."

He snorted a bit at this, a muted chuckle as he thought about the child like Cybertronian.

"He must be a handful to keep in line... though... I suppose to your lead he probably listens with far more care and respect. For me, he drug me through one of the most confusing experiences in my life by teleporting me."

The concept of teleportation still baffled him, so he said the word with a flair of disbelief. But he had lived it, it was there, it HAD happened.

[Deleted]

One of the incidental side-effects of his processor's current state was that Megatron had temporarily lost the habit of masking his expressions. Whilst he wore his displeasure openly, and vicious satisfaction equally so, surprise and uncertainty were emotions he had long practice in suppressing. Neither were befitting for a Commander in front of a notoriously murderous and oft-capricious army, and so Megatron had always strived to give an impression of iron will and assured certainty - not matter what he actually felt.

The mention of Skywarp's name right now, however, put a very open expression of unease and obvious misgivings on the mech's faceplates.

"I saw him yesterday," he replied, making a point to say 'saw' instead of the more natural 'met' that kept coming automatically each time he interacted with a to-him 'new' individual. "He was... Up to mischief, you might say. It would have been worse had I taken him up on his offer to get off the ship..."

Megatron shook his helm a little and crossed his arms, frowning in the general direction of the floor. "I don't, see how he is kept in line outside of personal loyalty. Where Fairwinds is of a similar nature, she is very small and relatively weak in terms of physical prowess. Skywarp is significantly more powerful, and has the novel ability to leave at his whim."

He deliberately left the rest of that thought unsaid. One did not freely speculate on the control and loyalty the Commander kept of his crew even if one was that Commander. Flatline had made every effort to be transparent so far, and was frank and honest in his answers and questions. Megatron was inclined to trust him to a degree.

Though it didn't seem that the scientist would have much insight to offer him on the subject of throttled teleporting Seekers.

[Flatline]

Oh, this was something he didn’t expect to see.

Red optics instantly latched down onto the unease that Megatron had shown when such a name was brought up. As a Decepticon, and one that hadn't gotten to where they were just because of his medical and scientific skills, Flatline was able to pick out signs of weaknesses when they were to display themselves. In the past he used this to get a step up on other medics during the war to acquire their positions, while further back he used it to be able to manipulate higher payouts from the Towerlings that commissioned his talents. To see such a feature on his Lord was surreal and almost... unnerving.

Megatron was almost an icon of power at this point, beyond what any normal Mech or Femme was really set up to become. While Flatline had imagined him a bit more leveled, and not as... rage and fear mongering... when he first got onto this ship, he never expected to see THAT look cross his features. It was something that'd be categorized away in his processor. For what purpose? He had no clue, but it was... nerve-wracking.

"Up to trouble and having no concept of consequences... Sounds about right."

Flatline scoffed this out, his left hand crossing over his chest then to idly grasp onto his elbow, crooking it up to place his right primary along his jaw in thought. One of the hooking talons of his fingertips tapped down on the vent behind his jaw idly, the small slat snapping closed in protest.

"I worked with quite a few new processors in my day that have many attributes that seem to line up with the way he thinks. I just treat him like one of the sparklings from back then, but a sparkling that has a murderous thrill seeking nature, and speaks about mutilation like it were a game to pass the time."

Flatline didn't sound thrilled with this, but hey, it worked, and it seemed to work well. True Skywarp had harassed him, and did try to push him around a bit, but given the amount of trouble he could cause? And some of the other stories he heard drifting around the Nemesis?... well... it could have been worse. Flatline would grind that up to a victory in his books. Either way, he continued, nervously filling the quiet so he didn't need to think about WHO he was speaking to in more detail.

"I am not a fighter... I would get mutilated out on the battlefield-"

AKA: Please don’t throw me out on Earth tasks when you are functional again.

"-but I know if I am in need of help, I plan to Comm Skywarp, and say I am ready to play a game of 'Autobot Golf' which he so kindly explained to me what it was..."

After a bit of a pause, when he realized how confusing a comment that was, Flatline's lower voice dropped even further into a muttered grumble, slipping in the explanation under his breath, but loud enough Megatron would have no issue in hearing and understanding.

"Autobot Golf being hitting their dismembered heads with a severed limb as hard as you can..."

Flicking a hand out to brush that idiotic concept of a game aside, he continued.

"I say loyalty and thrill seeking are what do the trick."