twisted in your head

*Galvatron rises from the floor of a train compartment, actually it's several compartments welded together to create a makeshift 'room', so to speak. He flexes a claw, watching it curl and uncurl. His new optic, an off-shade of red when compared to his other one, flickers as it adjusts to being used. Looking down, smoothes his other hand over his midsection, the gaping hole gone, but welds and patches still incorporating themselves into his system.

The human made metal feels strange. Weaker. Dirty. He growls quietly and hopes that the integration into his body wipes any traces of the organic created substance clean.

It's been a week since his repairs. Several since he was left for dead in the desert. His internal readings still protest much movement, his body stiff and jerky. But warnings are just that--warnings. He pays them little heed as he steps from the room and gazes about the fort.

Gutted trains and other stolen parts strewn everywhere. It's a mess.

At that moment, a stab of pain nearly topples him and he reaches out to clutch the door opening. His vents work, cycling a long hiss of air as the hurt passes. Anger rises up, his chest vibrating in a furious growl*

::MEGATRON!!!::

*Somewhere in the desert, there lies a heap of metal partially covered in sand. He managed to crawl his way to an alcove of rocks before his systems finally shut down completely. Loss of energy and the injuries he sustained far too great for even his strange and advanced repair systems to compensate for, he's virtually helpless in this state. He has no choice but to either wait until his body has repaired itself enough to send for...dare he say...help, or stay where he is and hope his half-witted helicopter has enough sense to search for him.

It's been three days... *

Well, it appears I need to up the ante, don’t I, Megatron? Does this capture your attention?

To all the remaining Decepticons, I ask you this. What is your purpose? It seems to me that most of you have forgotten what you truly are. Warriors. Combatants. Predators. The most feared and powerful force spanning from galaxy to galaxy. But look at yourselves now; it’s disgusting what you’ve become. Autobots. No, not even that. You are nameless nothings, stripped of your pride and the very essence of what you are. Your commander expects you to live like Autobots. He expects you to obey their rules and embrace their way of life to appease his nonsensical desire for a utopia that can never be. Do you honestly believe they’ll ever accept you? Open their arms and set aside the past?

The answer is no. There will never be a place for you among ‘them’. Because for all their rabbling about peace and equality, Autobots wave the banner of self-righteousness high and far and their prejudice runs deep and thick. With them, you’ll have to hang your head in shame while leading a second-class citizen existence for merely being who and what you are.

A Decepticon.

Do you remember what it is to be one? The thrill of the hunt, the feel of your enemy’s life being crushed beneath your hand, the excitement of battle and the satisfaction of winning? Our lives are often short and violent, but they are our lives and we’ve always lived them with pride and honor. We were meant to conquer, to fight, to scream our battle cry to the stars and watch our enemies flee in fear.

What would you say if I said I could offer you back what little pride you have left and raise the Decepticon cause from the rubble wrought by Megatron and his asinine ideals? Intriguing, is it not?

And if that doesn’t appeal to you, know that your misery will be short lived, but your disgrace will carry on forever.

Tick, tock, Megatron.

Megatron.

This has gone on long enough. Stop hiding from me.

*Off in the distance there is a shimmer of light, as if the sun is glinting off some reflective surface. Is it getting closer to base? Seems to be... Soon, the crack of sound splits the sky and a jet appears--heading full throttle at the base, and incidentally the barrier.

Impact in 10...9...8...7...

The interstellar ship smashes into the barrier. A flash of blinding greenish light is swiftly followed by an explosion, then a shockwave shakes the very walls of the base.

Outside, a smoking and sparking mech rises from the ground. He snarls and tilts his head back to scream, "WHERE IS IT!? WHERE?"*

( Snerk )

>)

Internal chronometer tells him it is morning, but where he is, it's still dark and cold. He prefers it that way, tucked into his corner of the converted power plant, away from Nemesis and that confounded creature he hears making a racket from time to time. Disgusting that he should have to live this way and every moment tries his very limited patience. It doesn't help that his processor insists on dwelling on the previous evening's conversation with that mech...what did Nemesis call him? Bonecrusher?

...follow the real leader to the Pit? Ha! Sentimental nonsense! A true ruler, one with strength and cunning, rises above the Pit itself, using the backs of the mechs who follow him if necessary. It's always been that way for them, for Decepticons. Strong survive while the weak are weeded out for the prosperity of the whole.

Which is why "Lord" Megatron must die.

He growls to himself, forcing systems to shut down as he prepares to return to recharge. A thought eases his temper and a slow smile shifts across his facial plates. Oh, he'll make good on his promise to Bonecrusher to see "Lord" Megatron's body skewered on a pike outside the base. For now, however, the other mech will just have to be satisfied with the little present he left beside the barrier.


( A gift for Bonecrusher  )