[TFA] ASD 20 - Rise
a/n: This is actually the last flash fiction prompt. :) For the LJ Anon who gave me the prompt of Megatron/Optimus, planned.
Desc: Optimus stands beside Megatron as the Autobots present them with an offer that Megatron is eager to decline.
The Art of Self Destruction
Chapter Twenty: Rise
Optimus startles upon hearing the title, and the flush returns to his faceplate.
Commander Optimus.
Why has it taken being captured and manipulated by the Decepticons before someone considers him worth anything? Even if it is a game Megatron is playing, Optimus can't stop this ripple of pleasure from cascading through his spark.
He'd been turned out, cast aside, and abandoned by the Autobots.
He'd accepted his blame for Elita's death but still felt like he'd been punished for it for his entire life.
Now here he is, second in command of the entire Decepticon armada, and while a touch of it rings hollow, another part of Optimus clings to the honor, to the respect it offers.
It makes him feel… well, it makes him feel that he is a mech of worth, and maybe that has been Megatron's intention all along.
Optimus cycles a ventilation, lets himself luxuriate in the feeling of belonging for the space of several cycles, and then tucks it down deep. He can't lose sight of his goals. He can't forget what he's set out to do.
Megatron can slap as many Decepticon badges on Optimus' shoulders as he wants, Optimus is still an Autobot.
His resolve, however, becomes a little shaky when Megatron urges him out of the room with a gentle touch to his shoulder and the Decepticons in the corridor outside dip their helms in a bow of respect. Oh, sure, there is banked anger in their crimson optics. Someone of them are unhappy with their leader's decision.
But no one speaks a word.
Opitmus and Megatron walk onto the bridge without incident, where the crew waits either at attention or at their consoles, on duty. Blitzwing turns to greet them, his Icy face blank of expression.
“Lord Megatron,” he says as they approach the command station. “We are being hailed by the Elite Guard. Do you wish to accept?” He switches to Hot. “Or should I just blow them out of the sky?”
Megatron folds his arms behind his back as Optimus remains at his side, hands fiddling before he decides to copy Megatron's stance. It is far more acceptable than defensively folding his arms over his chest and cocking his hip. Plus, it will make his Decepticon badges all the more prominent, presenting them with a pride he doesn't feel.
His plating crawls, and Optimus has to hide that as well. He can't let his disgust show in his face, no matter how much he wants to claw at his arms.
Stripping away the Autobot badge felt like stripping away a part of himself. He fights down a shiver.
“Send them through, Blitzwing,” Megatron says with an amused curl of his lip. “Let's see what our old friend Ultra has to say.”
A large screen descends, nearly blocking the view of Cybertron and Megatron's forces surrounding it. The shield continues to glisten in the background, and Optimus wonders how much longer it will hold. Or is Megatron waiting for the perfect dramatic moment?
“Are you ready, Optimus?” Megatron asks without looking at him.
Optimus lifts his chin, staring straight ahead at the screen as a spinning sphere counts down the seconds until the connection is established. “I am not afraid, if that's what you're asking.”
Megatron laughs. “I know you aren't, Commander. But it's not everyday you get to confront the mechs who abandoned you while standing next to their greatest enemy.”
Optimus' optics narrow. He tilts his helm toward Megatron, but the screen flickers, capturing his attention. And there they are, Ultra Magnus and Sentinel and Jazz and Perceptor and… Alpha Trion. Some are more expected than others.
“Well,” Megatron says with an amused lilt to his vocals. “It looks like you brought everyone to inform me of your surrender. How proactive of you, Ultra.”
Ultra Magnus' optics cycle down. “We are not surrendering, Megatron.” His gaze slides to Optimus and then back to Megatron. “We have nothing to fear from an army of dilapidated ships that cannot cross our shields.”
“Then why contact me? Why force a charade?” Megatron counters.
“To give you the opportunity to turn back before I unleash the full might of the Autobot Elite Guard upon you,” Ultra Magnus replies, one hand resting on the Magnus Hammer. “I am not so cruel as to strip you of your dignity.”
Optimus frowns, despite himself. Magnus knows Megatron will never turn back. It is not the Decepticon way. Just what does he hope to accomplish?
“And why the hell is Optimus Prime standing next to you?” Sentinel demands, vibrating with tension as he lurches forward, nearly knocking the Hammer from Ultra's hand. “He's supposed to be dead.”
Megatron smirks and looks over at Optimus. “Yes. You really should be careful about the things you throw away, Ultra Magnus. We Decepticons have a habit of picking them up.”
Optimus lifts his chin and helm, projecting a pride he does not feel.
“Optimus Prime,” Ultra Magnus says, his sonorous voice commanding attention as he lifts a hand to quiet Sentinel. “Is this true?”
Optimus works his intake and clenches his hands into fists. “I no longer go by that title. I am Command Optimus. You will address me as such,” he says, and the heat in his faceplate is as much shame as it is embarrassment.
He has never in all his functioning been so bold.
Megatron laughs, though all the mockery in it is directed at the Autobots on screen. His field is a ripe flicker of triumph and glee.
“You see, Ultra,” he says with a gesture toward Optimus. “We Decepticons have always recognized the value in those you deem unworthy of it.”
Optimus forces himself to remain still as Ultra Magnus' optics narrow. His fingers flex around the Magnus Hammer. Jazz has no expression on his face, but Sentinel looks like a volcano about to erupt. If he shakes any harder, he's going to shake right out of his armor.
“Traitor!” Sentinel hisses, lurching forward again, only Jazz's hand on his shoulder keeping him from knocking into Ultra Magnus.
What does he think he can do? Leap through the screen to attack Optimus?
“I always knew you were one, Optimus,” Sentinel snarls, his faceplate flushing with fury.
Optimus is glad he can not feel the force of his former friend's rage.
There is no love lost between them but even so, Optimus is surprised how little it hurts to hear the insult coming from Sentinel. Perhaps because Sentinel has been less than kind to him for solar cycles.
Instead, Optimus inclines his helm. “You must ask yourself, Sentinel, who betrayed whom first?” Optimus counters.
Beside him, Megatron chuckles, a low show of amusement that reverberates in his chassis. He rests a hand on Optimus' shoulder, the warmth and weight of it as much a show of solidarity as their presence next to each other.
“Yes,” Megatron says with another laugh. “My commander has a point. You left your most valuable assets unguarded, Ultra. How shortsighted of you.”
Sentinel's engine revs but a single look from Ultra Magnus forces him to clamp his mouth shut and take a step back. Yet, there is a murderous gleam to his optics, one that focuses on Optimus alone. Megatron might as well not exist.
Optimus ignores the squeezing of his spark and looks to Ultra Magnus instead. The mech who lied to him, who punished him, who pretended to assist him, and yet, disappeared when it mattered.
He expects to feel betrayed. Instead, he feels blank inside. Perhaps because he is shoving his emotions deep down so as not to reveal them to Megatron.
“What you call improvident, I call prudence,” Ultra Magnus replies as he inclines his helm. Blue optics are sharp and incisive. “What you have at your side is a mech who has finally shown his true colors.”
It stings.
Optimus flinches. He feels the tips of his audials burn. His spark rails within his frame - his Decepticon-designed frame.
Megatron's grip of his shoulder tightens, almost as if offering comfort. “Or a self-fulfilling prophecy,” he growls. “You should not be so dismissive of your soldiers.”
Ultra Magnus stares at Megatron before his gaze shifts to Optimus, as though ignoring Megatron. “Do you remember what I once told you, Commander Optimus?”
“I do,” Optimus replies, his ventilations quickening. “But it is no longer relevant.”
“No, it is not,” Ultra Magnus agrees and his gaze shifts back to Megatron. “I ask again, Megatron, will you yield and turn back your troops?”
Megatron laughs and his hand slides from Optimus' shoulder. He tells himself he does not miss the weight of it.
“You already know the answer to that question, Ultra. So I'll do you a favor, I'll give you the opportunity to surrender before I unleash the full might of my Decepticons on you.”
“You won't even get past the shield, filthy Con!” Sentinel snarls, every inch of his plating vibrating with fury. “You're not going to win this!”
Ultra Magnus cycles a ventilation. “The Autobots will never bow to the likes of you, Megatron.”
“So be it, Ultra.” Megatron leans forward with a grin of sharp denta. “You've brought this defeat upon yourself.”
“We will see.”
The screen fuzzes with static and then goes dark. Trust Ultra Magnus to have the last word. He has always been like that.
A chill fills Optimus' spark. He refuses to let that show on his faceplate and waits for orders, waits for Megatron to give the order to attack.
“Well,” Megatron says with a smirk as he turns to face the rest of the bridge and the waiting Decepticons. “I tried to do it their way. Now we do it mine. Are the codes ready to be uploaded?”
Icy Blitzwing nods. “They only await your command, my lord.” His faces spin and Random appears with a wild cackle. “Bring on the rain!”
“Indeed,” Megatron replies with a rumble of his engine. “Give the order, Blitzwing.”
“Yes, Lord Megatron!” Icy Blitzwing pops off a salute that he had to have learned from the humans and whirls back toward his console. “Bombs away!”
Optimus isn't sure what to expect. Maybe for the view to light up with blasterfire as they all race toward Cybertron in an all-out attack. He's on bolts and brackets, his spark hammering in his chassis. Self-loathing creeps in, gnawing on his spark, even more so when the beautiful opalescence of the shield ripples.
Optimus startles forward. He knows that his own pseudo-defection is to blame. They need the codes of at least five Prime-level Autobots to disengage the shielding. They have his and Longarm's aka Shockwave's. But where have they acquired the other three?
He fears to know.
“They think they are safe behind their walls, their shield,” Megatron murmurs as he paces across the bridge, his optics locked on the viewscreen and the flickering planet-sized shield. “They think they have nothing to fear. We will prove them wrong.”
Optimus' ventilations stutter. He watches, careful to hide his horror, as the shield wavers and then vanishes, leaving Cybertron completely unguarded.
They could re-initialize it, he knows. But he doubts any of them suspected the shield would fall. It will take them precious minutes to re-activate. By that time, Megatron's armada will be beyond the shield's protection.
“Are you ready, my commander?” Megatron asks as he looks down at Optimus, his expression unreadable.
Optimus cycles a ventilation and nods. “Of course, Lord Megatron. Let them reap what they have sown.” Borrowing a human adage, he thinks. How apt.
Megatron chuckles. “That is exactly what I want to hear.”
He takes a step forward and lifts both arms, addressing the Decepticons on the bridge. “This is our time, my Decepticons, and the final hour for the rule of the Autobots. We return to Cybertron, our home of exile, and we take back that which has been stolen from us.”
Optimus' spark shrinks. He watches as Megatron's armada, though small it might seem, sinks down toward Cybertron and Megatron's flagship follows in their wake.
“Be strong. Be vigilant. Be mighty,” Megatron continues, his inspiring vocals making the atmosphere thick with zeal.
“Decepticons! It is time to rise up!”
'And conquer,' Optimus thinks bleakly.
He can only hope to mitigate the damage.
It is too late to prevent war now.
***
A/n: And that's the end of part one of The Art of Self-Destruction. No, I won't be showing the huge battle. I'm going to time skip a little when I start part two. There's still a lot of story left. Including the edits and revisions of part one, of which I'm about halfway done. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/319965.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Desc: Optimus stands beside Megatron as the Autobots present them with an offer that Megatron is eager to decline.
The Art of Self Destruction
Chapter Twenty: Rise
Optimus startles upon hearing the title, and the flush returns to his faceplate.
Commander Optimus.
Why has it taken being captured and manipulated by the Decepticons before someone considers him worth anything? Even if it is a game Megatron is playing, Optimus can't stop this ripple of pleasure from cascading through his spark.
He'd been turned out, cast aside, and abandoned by the Autobots.
He'd accepted his blame for Elita's death but still felt like he'd been punished for it for his entire life.
Now here he is, second in command of the entire Decepticon armada, and while a touch of it rings hollow, another part of Optimus clings to the honor, to the respect it offers.
It makes him feel… well, it makes him feel that he is a mech of worth, and maybe that has been Megatron's intention all along.
Optimus cycles a ventilation, lets himself luxuriate in the feeling of belonging for the space of several cycles, and then tucks it down deep. He can't lose sight of his goals. He can't forget what he's set out to do.
Megatron can slap as many Decepticon badges on Optimus' shoulders as he wants, Optimus is still an Autobot.
His resolve, however, becomes a little shaky when Megatron urges him out of the room with a gentle touch to his shoulder and the Decepticons in the corridor outside dip their helms in a bow of respect. Oh, sure, there is banked anger in their crimson optics. Someone of them are unhappy with their leader's decision.
But no one speaks a word.
Opitmus and Megatron walk onto the bridge without incident, where the crew waits either at attention or at their consoles, on duty. Blitzwing turns to greet them, his Icy face blank of expression.
“Lord Megatron,” he says as they approach the command station. “We are being hailed by the Elite Guard. Do you wish to accept?” He switches to Hot. “Or should I just blow them out of the sky?”
Megatron folds his arms behind his back as Optimus remains at his side, hands fiddling before he decides to copy Megatron's stance. It is far more acceptable than defensively folding his arms over his chest and cocking his hip. Plus, it will make his Decepticon badges all the more prominent, presenting them with a pride he doesn't feel.
His plating crawls, and Optimus has to hide that as well. He can't let his disgust show in his face, no matter how much he wants to claw at his arms.
Stripping away the Autobot badge felt like stripping away a part of himself. He fights down a shiver.
“Send them through, Blitzwing,” Megatron says with an amused curl of his lip. “Let's see what our old friend Ultra has to say.”
A large screen descends, nearly blocking the view of Cybertron and Megatron's forces surrounding it. The shield continues to glisten in the background, and Optimus wonders how much longer it will hold. Or is Megatron waiting for the perfect dramatic moment?
“Are you ready, Optimus?” Megatron asks without looking at him.
Optimus lifts his chin, staring straight ahead at the screen as a spinning sphere counts down the seconds until the connection is established. “I am not afraid, if that's what you're asking.”
Megatron laughs. “I know you aren't, Commander. But it's not everyday you get to confront the mechs who abandoned you while standing next to their greatest enemy.”
Optimus' optics narrow. He tilts his helm toward Megatron, but the screen flickers, capturing his attention. And there they are, Ultra Magnus and Sentinel and Jazz and Perceptor and… Alpha Trion. Some are more expected than others.
“Well,” Megatron says with an amused lilt to his vocals. “It looks like you brought everyone to inform me of your surrender. How proactive of you, Ultra.”
Ultra Magnus' optics cycle down. “We are not surrendering, Megatron.” His gaze slides to Optimus and then back to Megatron. “We have nothing to fear from an army of dilapidated ships that cannot cross our shields.”
“Then why contact me? Why force a charade?” Megatron counters.
“To give you the opportunity to turn back before I unleash the full might of the Autobot Elite Guard upon you,” Ultra Magnus replies, one hand resting on the Magnus Hammer. “I am not so cruel as to strip you of your dignity.”
Optimus frowns, despite himself. Magnus knows Megatron will never turn back. It is not the Decepticon way. Just what does he hope to accomplish?
“And why the hell is Optimus Prime standing next to you?” Sentinel demands, vibrating with tension as he lurches forward, nearly knocking the Hammer from Ultra's hand. “He's supposed to be dead.”
Megatron smirks and looks over at Optimus. “Yes. You really should be careful about the things you throw away, Ultra Magnus. We Decepticons have a habit of picking them up.”
Optimus lifts his chin and helm, projecting a pride he does not feel.
“Optimus Prime,” Ultra Magnus says, his sonorous voice commanding attention as he lifts a hand to quiet Sentinel. “Is this true?”
Optimus works his intake and clenches his hands into fists. “I no longer go by that title. I am Command Optimus. You will address me as such,” he says, and the heat in his faceplate is as much shame as it is embarrassment.
He has never in all his functioning been so bold.
Megatron laughs, though all the mockery in it is directed at the Autobots on screen. His field is a ripe flicker of triumph and glee.
“You see, Ultra,” he says with a gesture toward Optimus. “We Decepticons have always recognized the value in those you deem unworthy of it.”
Optimus forces himself to remain still as Ultra Magnus' optics narrow. His fingers flex around the Magnus Hammer. Jazz has no expression on his face, but Sentinel looks like a volcano about to erupt. If he shakes any harder, he's going to shake right out of his armor.
“Traitor!” Sentinel hisses, lurching forward again, only Jazz's hand on his shoulder keeping him from knocking into Ultra Magnus.
What does he think he can do? Leap through the screen to attack Optimus?
“I always knew you were one, Optimus,” Sentinel snarls, his faceplate flushing with fury.
Optimus is glad he can not feel the force of his former friend's rage.
There is no love lost between them but even so, Optimus is surprised how little it hurts to hear the insult coming from Sentinel. Perhaps because Sentinel has been less than kind to him for solar cycles.
Instead, Optimus inclines his helm. “You must ask yourself, Sentinel, who betrayed whom first?” Optimus counters.
Beside him, Megatron chuckles, a low show of amusement that reverberates in his chassis. He rests a hand on Optimus' shoulder, the warmth and weight of it as much a show of solidarity as their presence next to each other.
“Yes,” Megatron says with another laugh. “My commander has a point. You left your most valuable assets unguarded, Ultra. How shortsighted of you.”
Sentinel's engine revs but a single look from Ultra Magnus forces him to clamp his mouth shut and take a step back. Yet, there is a murderous gleam to his optics, one that focuses on Optimus alone. Megatron might as well not exist.
Optimus ignores the squeezing of his spark and looks to Ultra Magnus instead. The mech who lied to him, who punished him, who pretended to assist him, and yet, disappeared when it mattered.
He expects to feel betrayed. Instead, he feels blank inside. Perhaps because he is shoving his emotions deep down so as not to reveal them to Megatron.
“What you call improvident, I call prudence,” Ultra Magnus replies as he inclines his helm. Blue optics are sharp and incisive. “What you have at your side is a mech who has finally shown his true colors.”
It stings.
Optimus flinches. He feels the tips of his audials burn. His spark rails within his frame - his Decepticon-designed frame.
Megatron's grip of his shoulder tightens, almost as if offering comfort. “Or a self-fulfilling prophecy,” he growls. “You should not be so dismissive of your soldiers.”
Ultra Magnus stares at Megatron before his gaze shifts to Optimus, as though ignoring Megatron. “Do you remember what I once told you, Commander Optimus?”
“I do,” Optimus replies, his ventilations quickening. “But it is no longer relevant.”
“No, it is not,” Ultra Magnus agrees and his gaze shifts back to Megatron. “I ask again, Megatron, will you yield and turn back your troops?”
Megatron laughs and his hand slides from Optimus' shoulder. He tells himself he does not miss the weight of it.
“You already know the answer to that question, Ultra. So I'll do you a favor, I'll give you the opportunity to surrender before I unleash the full might of my Decepticons on you.”
“You won't even get past the shield, filthy Con!” Sentinel snarls, every inch of his plating vibrating with fury. “You're not going to win this!”
Ultra Magnus cycles a ventilation. “The Autobots will never bow to the likes of you, Megatron.”
“So be it, Ultra.” Megatron leans forward with a grin of sharp denta. “You've brought this defeat upon yourself.”
“We will see.”
The screen fuzzes with static and then goes dark. Trust Ultra Magnus to have the last word. He has always been like that.
A chill fills Optimus' spark. He refuses to let that show on his faceplate and waits for orders, waits for Megatron to give the order to attack.
“Well,” Megatron says with a smirk as he turns to face the rest of the bridge and the waiting Decepticons. “I tried to do it their way. Now we do it mine. Are the codes ready to be uploaded?”
Icy Blitzwing nods. “They only await your command, my lord.” His faces spin and Random appears with a wild cackle. “Bring on the rain!”
“Indeed,” Megatron replies with a rumble of his engine. “Give the order, Blitzwing.”
“Yes, Lord Megatron!” Icy Blitzwing pops off a salute that he had to have learned from the humans and whirls back toward his console. “Bombs away!”
Optimus isn't sure what to expect. Maybe for the view to light up with blasterfire as they all race toward Cybertron in an all-out attack. He's on bolts and brackets, his spark hammering in his chassis. Self-loathing creeps in, gnawing on his spark, even more so when the beautiful opalescence of the shield ripples.
Optimus startles forward. He knows that his own pseudo-defection is to blame. They need the codes of at least five Prime-level Autobots to disengage the shielding. They have his and Longarm's aka Shockwave's. But where have they acquired the other three?
He fears to know.
“They think they are safe behind their walls, their shield,” Megatron murmurs as he paces across the bridge, his optics locked on the viewscreen and the flickering planet-sized shield. “They think they have nothing to fear. We will prove them wrong.”
Optimus' ventilations stutter. He watches, careful to hide his horror, as the shield wavers and then vanishes, leaving Cybertron completely unguarded.
They could re-initialize it, he knows. But he doubts any of them suspected the shield would fall. It will take them precious minutes to re-activate. By that time, Megatron's armada will be beyond the shield's protection.
“Are you ready, my commander?” Megatron asks as he looks down at Optimus, his expression unreadable.
Optimus cycles a ventilation and nods. “Of course, Lord Megatron. Let them reap what they have sown.” Borrowing a human adage, he thinks. How apt.
Megatron chuckles. “That is exactly what I want to hear.”
He takes a step forward and lifts both arms, addressing the Decepticons on the bridge. “This is our time, my Decepticons, and the final hour for the rule of the Autobots. We return to Cybertron, our home of exile, and we take back that which has been stolen from us.”
Optimus' spark shrinks. He watches as Megatron's armada, though small it might seem, sinks down toward Cybertron and Megatron's flagship follows in their wake.
“Be strong. Be vigilant. Be mighty,” Megatron continues, his inspiring vocals making the atmosphere thick with zeal.
“Decepticons! It is time to rise up!”
'And conquer,' Optimus thinks bleakly.
He can only hope to mitigate the damage.
It is too late to prevent war now.
***
A/n: And that's the end of part one of The Art of Self-Destruction. No, I won't be showing the huge battle. I'm going to time skip a little when I start part two. There's still a lot of story left. Including the edits and revisions of part one, of which I'm about halfway done. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/319965.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.