[TFA] ASD 18 - Decisions
a/n: Update time! Once again, safe for work. Self-beta'ed, too. Please enjoy!
Title: Decisions
Universe: TFA, post-S2 AU, The Art of Self Destruction
Character: Optimus, Blackarachnia, Megatron, Background Decepticons
Rating: K+
Warning: None really
Description: Optimus makes his choice and Megatron is more than a little pleased with himself.
For dellessa's Flash Fiction Friday prompt of Megatron/Optimus, decisions
He is less surprised with what Megatron wants from him than Optimus would have expected. It has been pretty clear that Megatron intends to turn him into a Decepticon. What was less clear is how.
Now Optimus knows. And he has a choice to make. Would he rather find himself a genuine prisoner in the Decepticon brig, reassured of his survival for the oncoming battle? Or would he rather take Megatron's offer and work alongside him?
Are the tattered remains of his Decepticon coding enough to warrant that betrayal? Does he deny his own loyalty because the Autobots had picked the rational course of action in leaving him to his fate? Is a Cybertron under the control of the Decepticons any better or worse?
Well, of course it's worse, Optimus scoffs to think. The Autobots aren't monsters. At worse he can accuse them of being too practical. Waste not, want not, yes?
The thought makes him a little ill. Optimus works his intake, hoping to quell the rolling nausea in his tanks.
It should not upset him as much as it does.
Practicality wins. The Decepticons stole Autobot protoforms. Why shouldn't the Autobots make use of the sparks and protoforms they had left?
Optimus returns to the observation deck to think. Blackarachnia is not around and perhaps it is better that way. He does not need anyone to influence his decision. He needs to make it for himself.
Even if he suspects he already knows what his answer we'll be.
He can't do anything from a prison cell. He doesn't want to be a Decepticon, but he wants to be a prisoner even less. He doesn't want to be executed. At least if he is by Megatron's side, he may perhaps be able to influence Megatron. Or sneak away to warn the Autobots. Or undermine the Decepticons from the inside out.
He could be useful. Effective. He doesn't have to be Megatron's mindless minion.
Optimus lowers himself to the bench and clasps his hands together, bracing his elbows on his knees. He stares at the floor, where someone has recently come in and scrubbed, perhaps a form of punishment detail. The scores and rust stains are gone.
He thinks about his team. He worries about the others, what's happened to them. Surely the Autobots didn't leave them on Earth without a leader. Maybe Bumblebee's been transferred to the Elite Guard. Maybe Ratchet got that retirement he wanted. Prowl probably went back to his dojo. Bulkhead would have followed wherever Bumblebee went.
The only way to protect them is to be in a position of power. Optimus can't do that in a cage. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of him. Ultra Magnus and Sentinel, they already believe the worst. Optimus has to do what's right for himself and for the Autobots. They might not see what he is attempting to do but he has to try.
Optimus cycles a ventilation and lays back, draping a hand over his optics. It's quiet here, under the stars, but it doesn't calm his thoughts. He doesn't want to return to his room, the false prison Megatron has made for him.
He recharges on the observation deck, surprisingly undisturbed. His dreams are filled with memories, Sentinel and Elita-One, Earth and Sari, Ultra Magnus' dismissal. It's all carefully crafted by his processor to remind him of the enormity of his decision and the weight of the future on his shoulders.
He has to do this. He has to take this risk. He has to find the courage because there is no one else. While Optimus believes fully in the capability of the Elite Guard and Ultra Magnus to protect Cybertron, Megatron has already proved to be a cunning and resourceful opponent. And the Autobots know not what forces march against them.
Optimus can't sit idly by while innocent sparks are in danger. He has to do whatever he can to protect Cybertron.
Even if it means betraying the Autobots.
He rises from his makeshift berth and stretches to ease the crimp in his cables. His systems ping him for energon so Optimus makes a brief stop at a nearby refueling station, curiously empty of the usual Decepticon gathering.
It is unsettling.
Optimus continues, expecting to find Megatron in his office, deep in conversation with one of his many generals about the upcoming attack on Cybertron. But there's no answer when Optimus presses the call button or when he knocks. The access panel gleams a baleful red which means Megatron either isn't inside or doesn't want visitors.
“He's on the bridge.”
Optimus' plating crawls. He turns to see Blackarachnia behind him, leaning casually against the wall, her arms crossed. He still doesn't like how easily she sneaks up on him.
“How do you know that?” Optimus asks.
She gives him a fanged smirk. “Maybe because I just came from there? I got my orders. I'm about to ship out.” Blackarachnia pushes herself off the wall and approaches him, something sly in her expression. “I wanted to stick around, find out what you have to say to Megatron, but duty calls. So why don't you do an old friend a favor and tell me, hmm?” The tip of one finger scratches at the underside of his jaw.
Optimus tilts his helm away and her talons slips free, leaving a minor score behind. Whether intentional or not, he doesn't know.
“We all have to make choices to survive, right?”
Blackarachnia hums a laugh. “Yes, we do.” She backs off, at least. “Like I said, Megatron's on the bridge.” She turns away and flicks her fingers over her shoulder in a parting wave. “Call me when you get your comm codes. We can chat. It'll be just like old times.”
A cold shiver drips own Optimus' backstrut. He can't even explain precisely why. It has nothing to do with her organic half, he knows. It is something else entirely.
Optimus shakes it off. He has to find Megatron and if Blackarachnia hadn't lied, he has to look on the bridge. The last time Optimus had been there, he'd been in chains, expecting to be executed at any moment.
This time will be quite different, so long as Megatron believes him.
The hallways are oddly deserted, Optimus notices, just as the refueling station had been. Usually he passes countless Decepticons and is forced to keep to his side of the hallway. It has become a challenge to prove that he is not intimidated by the fact they are armed and much larger than him.
Two Decepticons stand on either side of the bridge entrance. They are large airframes the likes of Lugnut and they stare at Optimus as he passes. Optimus feels as though he is running some kind of gauntlet even as he steps onto the bridge, doing his best to act as though he belongs there. He'll have to play the part soon enough.
Megatron stands near the command console, one hand behind his back as the other flicks through something on the screen. He looks deep in thought and terribly busy. Optimus suspects he won't mind this interruption, however. Or at least he hopes not.
Enacting a boldness he does not feel, Optimus strides directly toward Megatron. He notices Blitzwing and Lugnut nearby, both watching him. There are a dozen or so other Decepticons scattered around the bridge, most he does not recognize.
They notice him, one by one. They turn to watch, to stare. Silence sweeps through the bridge, all murmurs of conversation ceasing, to be replaced by whispers.
Optimus' plating crawls. His spark hammers in his chassis.
He draws to a halt just outside of Megatron's reach. Words jumble on his glossa but don't emerge. He doesn't know what to say. How does one go about announcing that he's defecting and seeks a new badge? Is there a formal language?
Megatron turns slowly, making his internal debate unnecessary. “I take it you have an answer for me,” he says, vocals carrying easily through the dead silence.
“I do.” Optimus cycles a ventilation and looks Megatron in the optic. Time to lie like he's never lied before.
“You're right,” Optimus says as his hands draw into slow fists at his side. “The Autobots have abandoned me. I will never be one of them. I don't want to be one of them. Not after what they did to me.” He pauses and steadies his ventilations. “I want to be a Decepticon.”
Megatron stares at him. He stares long enough that Optimus is not sure that Megatron believes him. The bridge is no longer silent. Low murmuring has spread through the gathered Decepticons and not all of it is pleased.
“Being a Decepticon is as much coding as it is a choice,” Megatron says at length. He looks down at Optimus. “Kneel.”
Optimus' spark throbs all the harder. He hopes his anxiety is not so readily obvious in his energy field. He lowers himself to one knee, praying that this does not mean Megatron intends to separate his helm from his shoulders. Or blast out his spark.
Megatron looms over him, his expression unreadable.
“Are you prepared, Optimus, to take up arms against those you considered allies?” Megatron asks, his deep vocals rumbling through the room. “Are you ready to do what is necessary to reclaim Cybertron in the name of the Decepticons?”
Optimus braces an arm over his knee. “I am.”
Megatron's lip curls, but it is so slight that no one further away could notice it. “Are you prepared to abandon the mark you bear, in order to take another, one that you might bear with pride rather than shame?”
Abandon. It is a harsh word. Optimus keeps all of his flinching internal.
“I am,” he says. Keep it simple. Keep it short. Let no one see the fear in your optics.
Is that not the Decepticon way?
“Are you ready to accept your new brethren and cast aside the old?” Megatron asks, and surely, he's dragging it now. Surely, they don't involve these ceremonies for every mech who has ever said he wants to become a Decepticon.
“Will you look upon the faces of the mechs who fight beside you and remember it is your duty to hold the line? To stand as readily defiant against the odds?”
Optimus works his intake. “I am.” He meets Megatron's gaze. He holds it. He does not flinch.
There was a time the very idea of Megatron chilled him to his core. He is still afraid, but he has stood against Megatron before. The sparkeater is only as terrifying as the fear you feed it.
Megatron's field ripples. There is approval in it.
“Then perhaps you understand the choice you are making,” Megatron says. “This unbreakable vow that is more than words.”
Megatron leans down and reaches. Optimus does his best not to flinch away, even as Megatron's much larger hand cups his jaw and tilts his helm further back, baring more of Optimus' intake. The touch is gentle and warm, but it opens Optimus to the entirety of Megatron's field and he can sense the appreciation and amusement hovering within it. More than that, it makes him undeniably vulnerable.
“Open your battle mask, Optimus,” Megatron says as he brushes the pad of his thumb over Optimus' covered mouth. “You are among allies now. You do not need it.”
Optimus fights off the kneejerk reaction to the request and obeys. Cold air ghosts against his bare faceplate, the chill of it chased away by the warm brush of Megatron's thumb on his chin.
Optimus looks up at Megatron as something akin to a smile pulls at the warlord's lips. The edges of his mouth curl up, large enough for others to see, no longer a secret shared between them. His optics are bright and approving.
“Better,” Megatron murmurs. The pad of his thumb sweeps a path over the curve of Optimus' jaw. “I accept your service, Optimus,” he adds with a purr and then abruptly lets go.
Megatron steps back and gestures to him with a single hand. “Now rise a Decepticon, Optimus. You are no longer Prime. You are now Commander, my right hand.”
His tanks do a little flip.
Optimus swallows down the upset and rises to his pedes. Megatron's hand settles on his shoulder, an irrationally heavy weight. He feels far too small standing next to Megatron. That he is barely taller than Megatron's hips has always been a point of contention. Especially given that he looks around and all of the Decepticons share the same greater mass.
“We will change your brands in a moment,” Megatron says as he turns Optimus toward the command console. “First, I would like you to see where we are.”
Optimus' gaze lifts to the central screen as Megatron presses a single button. There's a creak and a rattle before the shutters slide open. The intensity of the anticipation in the bridge doubles. Optimus' own ventilations stutter as he looks past everyone to the view looming in front of Megatron's warship.
It's Cybertron.
His optics cycle wide. Optimus takes a stumbling step forward. His ventilations come to him shallow. He barely registers the weight of Megatron's hand or the press of Megatron's field against his own.
Cybertron is right there in front of them. There's a ring of Elite Guard ships surrounding the planet, a surprisingly understaffed ring. The Autobot Defense Shield glistens in the background, a last line of defense against an invasion.
There's no way Megatron and his single ship can get past this.
But no. Optimus turns his helm and realizes Megatron is not alone. The other monitors show an armada of Decepticon warships, large and small, arranged beside Megatron's flagship. This has to be the entirety of the Decepticon force, gathered here for one final push on Cybertron.
“Do you not deserve a front row seat as we take back Cybertron?” Megatron asks.
Optimus sucks in a startled ventilation. “Even if you get past the Elite Guard, how do you expect to bypass the shield?”
Megatron rumbles amusement at him. “There is so very little you know, Optimus. For instance, the number of Primes it takes to deactivate the shield.”
A cold settles in Optimus' lines.
The communication screen on the command console beeps. Megatron looks down at it with nothing short of satisfaction.
“Right on schedule,” he murmurs as he accepts the call. “You have the codes?” he asks without further preamble.
And Longarm Prime appears on the screen. Optimus' optics cycle wider.
“Yes, Lord Megatron. I only await your orders to execute them,” the head of Autobot Intelligence replies.
“Excellent. Once the shield falls, feel free to join us in your true form,” Megatron all but purrs. “You have served me well, my faithful spy.”
Longarm dips his helm in a bow and the screen goes blank.
Megatron squeezes Optimus' shoulder one more time before letting his hand slide away. “You joined the winning team, Optimus,” he says as he folds his arms behind his back and turns his attention to the bridge at large.
“I have no speech, my Decepticons. I will save it instead for our victory.” Megatron's field blasts with pride, amping up the eager tension in the room. “Prepare for our assault on Cybertron. The time is now.”
“Decepticons,” Megatron's voice booms and Optimus realizes that means him as well now. The Autobrand on his shoulders start to itch. “Rise up!”
****
a/n: One, maybe two more chapters to go before what I'm calling part one/arc one is complete and then we move into arc two/part two where maybe we might finally see some MegaOp action. Hopefully. Either way, something happens! I'm still going back and revising these chapters from the start and I'll post them all when I finish. This one will be revised, too, because it reads very awkward to me and I want to fix that.
Teensy continuity note, I envision that this went AU halfway through the final episode of S2. So Optimus never got the reveal that Longarm was a spy. I do need to go back and address where Blurr is. That is something I will be fixing in my rewrites along with some other characters I've forgotten to address.
Anyway, one more flash fiction to go and July will be done. \o/
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/297466.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Decisions
Universe: TFA, post-S2 AU, The Art of Self Destruction
Character: Optimus, Blackarachnia, Megatron, Background Decepticons
Rating: K+
Warning: None really
Description: Optimus makes his choice and Megatron is more than a little pleased with himself.
For dellessa's Flash Fiction Friday prompt of Megatron/Optimus, decisions
He is less surprised with what Megatron wants from him than Optimus would have expected. It has been pretty clear that Megatron intends to turn him into a Decepticon. What was less clear is how.
Now Optimus knows. And he has a choice to make. Would he rather find himself a genuine prisoner in the Decepticon brig, reassured of his survival for the oncoming battle? Or would he rather take Megatron's offer and work alongside him?
Are the tattered remains of his Decepticon coding enough to warrant that betrayal? Does he deny his own loyalty because the Autobots had picked the rational course of action in leaving him to his fate? Is a Cybertron under the control of the Decepticons any better or worse?
Well, of course it's worse, Optimus scoffs to think. The Autobots aren't monsters. At worse he can accuse them of being too practical. Waste not, want not, yes?
The thought makes him a little ill. Optimus works his intake, hoping to quell the rolling nausea in his tanks.
It should not upset him as much as it does.
Practicality wins. The Decepticons stole Autobot protoforms. Why shouldn't the Autobots make use of the sparks and protoforms they had left?
Optimus returns to the observation deck to think. Blackarachnia is not around and perhaps it is better that way. He does not need anyone to influence his decision. He needs to make it for himself.
Even if he suspects he already knows what his answer we'll be.
He can't do anything from a prison cell. He doesn't want to be a Decepticon, but he wants to be a prisoner even less. He doesn't want to be executed. At least if he is by Megatron's side, he may perhaps be able to influence Megatron. Or sneak away to warn the Autobots. Or undermine the Decepticons from the inside out.
He could be useful. Effective. He doesn't have to be Megatron's mindless minion.
Optimus lowers himself to the bench and clasps his hands together, bracing his elbows on his knees. He stares at the floor, where someone has recently come in and scrubbed, perhaps a form of punishment detail. The scores and rust stains are gone.
He thinks about his team. He worries about the others, what's happened to them. Surely the Autobots didn't leave them on Earth without a leader. Maybe Bumblebee's been transferred to the Elite Guard. Maybe Ratchet got that retirement he wanted. Prowl probably went back to his dojo. Bulkhead would have followed wherever Bumblebee went.
The only way to protect them is to be in a position of power. Optimus can't do that in a cage. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of him. Ultra Magnus and Sentinel, they already believe the worst. Optimus has to do what's right for himself and for the Autobots. They might not see what he is attempting to do but he has to try.
Optimus cycles a ventilation and lays back, draping a hand over his optics. It's quiet here, under the stars, but it doesn't calm his thoughts. He doesn't want to return to his room, the false prison Megatron has made for him.
He recharges on the observation deck, surprisingly undisturbed. His dreams are filled with memories, Sentinel and Elita-One, Earth and Sari, Ultra Magnus' dismissal. It's all carefully crafted by his processor to remind him of the enormity of his decision and the weight of the future on his shoulders.
He has to do this. He has to take this risk. He has to find the courage because there is no one else. While Optimus believes fully in the capability of the Elite Guard and Ultra Magnus to protect Cybertron, Megatron has already proved to be a cunning and resourceful opponent. And the Autobots know not what forces march against them.
Optimus can't sit idly by while innocent sparks are in danger. He has to do whatever he can to protect Cybertron.
Even if it means betraying the Autobots.
He rises from his makeshift berth and stretches to ease the crimp in his cables. His systems ping him for energon so Optimus makes a brief stop at a nearby refueling station, curiously empty of the usual Decepticon gathering.
It is unsettling.
Optimus continues, expecting to find Megatron in his office, deep in conversation with one of his many generals about the upcoming attack on Cybertron. But there's no answer when Optimus presses the call button or when he knocks. The access panel gleams a baleful red which means Megatron either isn't inside or doesn't want visitors.
“He's on the bridge.”
Optimus' plating crawls. He turns to see Blackarachnia behind him, leaning casually against the wall, her arms crossed. He still doesn't like how easily she sneaks up on him.
“How do you know that?” Optimus asks.
She gives him a fanged smirk. “Maybe because I just came from there? I got my orders. I'm about to ship out.” Blackarachnia pushes herself off the wall and approaches him, something sly in her expression. “I wanted to stick around, find out what you have to say to Megatron, but duty calls. So why don't you do an old friend a favor and tell me, hmm?” The tip of one finger scratches at the underside of his jaw.
Optimus tilts his helm away and her talons slips free, leaving a minor score behind. Whether intentional or not, he doesn't know.
“We all have to make choices to survive, right?”
Blackarachnia hums a laugh. “Yes, we do.” She backs off, at least. “Like I said, Megatron's on the bridge.” She turns away and flicks her fingers over her shoulder in a parting wave. “Call me when you get your comm codes. We can chat. It'll be just like old times.”
A cold shiver drips own Optimus' backstrut. He can't even explain precisely why. It has nothing to do with her organic half, he knows. It is something else entirely.
Optimus shakes it off. He has to find Megatron and if Blackarachnia hadn't lied, he has to look on the bridge. The last time Optimus had been there, he'd been in chains, expecting to be executed at any moment.
This time will be quite different, so long as Megatron believes him.
The hallways are oddly deserted, Optimus notices, just as the refueling station had been. Usually he passes countless Decepticons and is forced to keep to his side of the hallway. It has become a challenge to prove that he is not intimidated by the fact they are armed and much larger than him.
Two Decepticons stand on either side of the bridge entrance. They are large airframes the likes of Lugnut and they stare at Optimus as he passes. Optimus feels as though he is running some kind of gauntlet even as he steps onto the bridge, doing his best to act as though he belongs there. He'll have to play the part soon enough.
Megatron stands near the command console, one hand behind his back as the other flicks through something on the screen. He looks deep in thought and terribly busy. Optimus suspects he won't mind this interruption, however. Or at least he hopes not.
Enacting a boldness he does not feel, Optimus strides directly toward Megatron. He notices Blitzwing and Lugnut nearby, both watching him. There are a dozen or so other Decepticons scattered around the bridge, most he does not recognize.
They notice him, one by one. They turn to watch, to stare. Silence sweeps through the bridge, all murmurs of conversation ceasing, to be replaced by whispers.
Optimus' plating crawls. His spark hammers in his chassis.
He draws to a halt just outside of Megatron's reach. Words jumble on his glossa but don't emerge. He doesn't know what to say. How does one go about announcing that he's defecting and seeks a new badge? Is there a formal language?
Megatron turns slowly, making his internal debate unnecessary. “I take it you have an answer for me,” he says, vocals carrying easily through the dead silence.
“I do.” Optimus cycles a ventilation and looks Megatron in the optic. Time to lie like he's never lied before.
“You're right,” Optimus says as his hands draw into slow fists at his side. “The Autobots have abandoned me. I will never be one of them. I don't want to be one of them. Not after what they did to me.” He pauses and steadies his ventilations. “I want to be a Decepticon.”
Megatron stares at him. He stares long enough that Optimus is not sure that Megatron believes him. The bridge is no longer silent. Low murmuring has spread through the gathered Decepticons and not all of it is pleased.
“Being a Decepticon is as much coding as it is a choice,” Megatron says at length. He looks down at Optimus. “Kneel.”
Optimus' spark throbs all the harder. He hopes his anxiety is not so readily obvious in his energy field. He lowers himself to one knee, praying that this does not mean Megatron intends to separate his helm from his shoulders. Or blast out his spark.
Megatron looms over him, his expression unreadable.
“Are you prepared, Optimus, to take up arms against those you considered allies?” Megatron asks, his deep vocals rumbling through the room. “Are you ready to do what is necessary to reclaim Cybertron in the name of the Decepticons?”
Optimus braces an arm over his knee. “I am.”
Megatron's lip curls, but it is so slight that no one further away could notice it. “Are you prepared to abandon the mark you bear, in order to take another, one that you might bear with pride rather than shame?”
Abandon. It is a harsh word. Optimus keeps all of his flinching internal.
“I am,” he says. Keep it simple. Keep it short. Let no one see the fear in your optics.
Is that not the Decepticon way?
“Are you ready to accept your new brethren and cast aside the old?” Megatron asks, and surely, he's dragging it now. Surely, they don't involve these ceremonies for every mech who has ever said he wants to become a Decepticon.
“Will you look upon the faces of the mechs who fight beside you and remember it is your duty to hold the line? To stand as readily defiant against the odds?”
Optimus works his intake. “I am.” He meets Megatron's gaze. He holds it. He does not flinch.
There was a time the very idea of Megatron chilled him to his core. He is still afraid, but he has stood against Megatron before. The sparkeater is only as terrifying as the fear you feed it.
Megatron's field ripples. There is approval in it.
“Then perhaps you understand the choice you are making,” Megatron says. “This unbreakable vow that is more than words.”
Megatron leans down and reaches. Optimus does his best not to flinch away, even as Megatron's much larger hand cups his jaw and tilts his helm further back, baring more of Optimus' intake. The touch is gentle and warm, but it opens Optimus to the entirety of Megatron's field and he can sense the appreciation and amusement hovering within it. More than that, it makes him undeniably vulnerable.
“Open your battle mask, Optimus,” Megatron says as he brushes the pad of his thumb over Optimus' covered mouth. “You are among allies now. You do not need it.”
Optimus fights off the kneejerk reaction to the request and obeys. Cold air ghosts against his bare faceplate, the chill of it chased away by the warm brush of Megatron's thumb on his chin.
Optimus looks up at Megatron as something akin to a smile pulls at the warlord's lips. The edges of his mouth curl up, large enough for others to see, no longer a secret shared between them. His optics are bright and approving.
“Better,” Megatron murmurs. The pad of his thumb sweeps a path over the curve of Optimus' jaw. “I accept your service, Optimus,” he adds with a purr and then abruptly lets go.
Megatron steps back and gestures to him with a single hand. “Now rise a Decepticon, Optimus. You are no longer Prime. You are now Commander, my right hand.”
His tanks do a little flip.
Optimus swallows down the upset and rises to his pedes. Megatron's hand settles on his shoulder, an irrationally heavy weight. He feels far too small standing next to Megatron. That he is barely taller than Megatron's hips has always been a point of contention. Especially given that he looks around and all of the Decepticons share the same greater mass.
“We will change your brands in a moment,” Megatron says as he turns Optimus toward the command console. “First, I would like you to see where we are.”
Optimus' gaze lifts to the central screen as Megatron presses a single button. There's a creak and a rattle before the shutters slide open. The intensity of the anticipation in the bridge doubles. Optimus' own ventilations stutter as he looks past everyone to the view looming in front of Megatron's warship.
It's Cybertron.
His optics cycle wide. Optimus takes a stumbling step forward. His ventilations come to him shallow. He barely registers the weight of Megatron's hand or the press of Megatron's field against his own.
Cybertron is right there in front of them. There's a ring of Elite Guard ships surrounding the planet, a surprisingly understaffed ring. The Autobot Defense Shield glistens in the background, a last line of defense against an invasion.
There's no way Megatron and his single ship can get past this.
But no. Optimus turns his helm and realizes Megatron is not alone. The other monitors show an armada of Decepticon warships, large and small, arranged beside Megatron's flagship. This has to be the entirety of the Decepticon force, gathered here for one final push on Cybertron.
“Do you not deserve a front row seat as we take back Cybertron?” Megatron asks.
Optimus sucks in a startled ventilation. “Even if you get past the Elite Guard, how do you expect to bypass the shield?”
Megatron rumbles amusement at him. “There is so very little you know, Optimus. For instance, the number of Primes it takes to deactivate the shield.”
A cold settles in Optimus' lines.
The communication screen on the command console beeps. Megatron looks down at it with nothing short of satisfaction.
“Right on schedule,” he murmurs as he accepts the call. “You have the codes?” he asks without further preamble.
And Longarm Prime appears on the screen. Optimus' optics cycle wider.
“Yes, Lord Megatron. I only await your orders to execute them,” the head of Autobot Intelligence replies.
“Excellent. Once the shield falls, feel free to join us in your true form,” Megatron all but purrs. “You have served me well, my faithful spy.”
Longarm dips his helm in a bow and the screen goes blank.
Megatron squeezes Optimus' shoulder one more time before letting his hand slide away. “You joined the winning team, Optimus,” he says as he folds his arms behind his back and turns his attention to the bridge at large.
“I have no speech, my Decepticons. I will save it instead for our victory.” Megatron's field blasts with pride, amping up the eager tension in the room. “Prepare for our assault on Cybertron. The time is now.”
“Decepticons,” Megatron's voice booms and Optimus realizes that means him as well now. The Autobrand on his shoulders start to itch. “Rise up!”
****
a/n: One, maybe two more chapters to go before what I'm calling part one/arc one is complete and then we move into arc two/part two where maybe we might finally see some MegaOp action. Hopefully. Either way, something happens! I'm still going back and revising these chapters from the start and I'll post them all when I finish. This one will be revised, too, because it reads very awkward to me and I want to fix that.
Teensy continuity note, I envision that this went AU halfway through the final episode of S2. So Optimus never got the reveal that Longarm was a spy. I do need to go back and address where Blurr is. That is something I will be fixing in my rewrites along with some other characters I've forgotten to address.
Anyway, one more flash fiction to go and July will be done. \o/
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/297466.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.