Primary Analysis - Sample Point
Title: Primary Analysis - Sample Point
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Megatron, Jetfire
Rating: PG
Summary: Where the sample is taken is as important as what it is analyzed for. Megatron is recruited.
Warnings: N/A
Notes: This is the first thing I wrote for Primary Analysis, almost as soon as I came out of the theater from the second movie.
o o o
The artifact in the corner was whispering in his mind.
It had been found outside of Iacon, by the archeological team searching for the palace of the Prime Dynasty. There were remnants of seven panels in all; long, triangular panels of strange stone, and all but one were shattered. He'd taken a liking to the whole panel, and after it had been studied and scanned and poked and prodded until it's every molecule was categorized, he'd requested to be allowed to place it on personal display. The Academy, of course, had graciously agreed, and he had it displayed in the semi-private room where he entertained foreign dignitaries and his own generals alike.
It was thought that the panel signified one of the Dynasty Primes, who's spark signal he and his brother carried. There was a simplistic rendition of a face among the runes, stern and solemn. He sometimes found himself locked optic to implied optic with the countenance. Certainly, there was nothing to be concerned with there. Many of their kind had deep fascination with the Dynasty, and had not the Ultras told him that he looked too far to the future and not enough to the past?
The whispers, when they started, seemed to be natural extensions of his own thoughts. Thoughts of the steadily lowering energon levels in the Great Reservoir, thoughts on the inferiority of other races and even other mechs, thoughts on the possible glories that awaited Cybertron beyond the stars.
Like his own, but somehow different. More bitter, more knowing. More dark.
The promises had started after the Matrix rejected his claim on Optimus, after Optimus had betrayed the terrible knowledge that he loved a frail, sparkless drone from another world, and his spark had splintered. Again, it seemed to simply grow and expand from his own thought stream. Fantasies of Optimus belonging to him alone, surrounded by the heads of Elita and old Ironhide and all others who would conspire to keep part of Optimus for themselves. Fantasies of arrogant Starscream and willing Soundwave and cunning Shockwave at his feet. Fantasies of the spark chambers of the Council of Ancients beneath his heel and the galaxy in his palm and enough energon to sustain Cybertron until their star went supernova. Wild fantasies, powerful fantasies. Dangerous fantasies, and by the time he realized they were not entirely his own, he was ensnared.
It whispered the loudest when he was angry. It hummed into his recharge. It spoke promises into his audials from the other side of the planet. Dark things, terrible ideas, but he could not bear to be from the panel for long. What secrets did it hold? What power did it keep?
He didn't know how he came before it. One breem, he was storming from the Council chambers, sick fury in his spark, the next he stood before the panel and the whispers were louder than ever.
"What are you?" he asked out loud, unaware of the words. His mind swirled, and his spark raged. How dare they?! How dare they deny Cybertron what it needed, what it deserved?
/I am power. Power they do not deserve/
How dare they deny him?
"What are you?"
How dare they chastise him, as if he were a naughty sparkling?
/I am betrayed/
How dare Optimus side with them and denounce his vision of expansion?
"Who are you?"
Did they not see? Did they not know? How long since Primus filled the Reservoir? How low would they let the level get? How many would starve? Even as their kind made leaps and bounds under his rule, through a brilliant age of knowledge and creation, energon was rationed, and fears grew.
/I am First. I am Fallen/
They needed to take matters into their own hands. They needed to take a firm stance.
"Will you help me?"
Other races were flawed, corrupt, wasteful. They required guidance, direction, teaching, and the surplus they could create would fill Cybertron's coffers and fuel tanks.
The Council was too old, too set, too eager to keep their power over him. They would have to go.
/Yes/
Optimus would see. He would be made to understand.
"What do you want?"
He had to. They were of one spark. Surely, Optimus could see the Council's flaws as he did.
/You/
Ancient optics like fire, like the sun, like his own. Ancient power sealed away in the name of weak ideals and useless purpose. He sank to his knees, humbled by the being that spoke from beyond the panel. "Then I am yours," he murmured.
"Lord Megatron,"
He looked up and his awe did not abate. The FirstForged was incredible, enormous, darkly brooding. This was a true Seeker, he understood. Not a flighty fool who had take the proud title for his own, but One Who Finds, one who sought out the desires of the Primes.
/Jetfire will guide. You will lead/
"Yes." The faintest whisper, not meant for the hulking flier, but for the voice in his mind. "Yes, Master."
o o o
Jetfire looked down at the still-kneeling Lord High Protector and realized, on some level, that he'd known that the Fallen Prime was mad.
He had come to Cybertron for the first time in many, many megavorns, but somethings were constant among their kind. The Wardens of Primus were still active in the shadows, and willing to help. The Prime was corrupted, they said, weak of spark but strong of will, and contaminated by those unworthy. But the Protector was of old; fierce, powerful, proud. It had been little work to manipulate the archeology guild to dig in just the right place, to bring the Fallen Prime's focus to light. The Prime descendant had recoiled from the artifact, even as the Protector reached for it. The Protector had a weakness they could exploit, a thirst for glory that they could use. Through the Protector, they would recruit the Prime, free the Fallen, find the Matrix, and save their world.
But still, a murmur in his spark. The Fallen's mind had turned, somewhere in the long vorns between the stars. He followed a mad demon to glory, and perhaps his own mind had turned, for he no longer cared.
He bowed, struts creaking. "M'Lord Megatron," he said. "I aim t'serve."
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Megatron, Jetfire
Rating: PG
Summary: Where the sample is taken is as important as what it is analyzed for. Megatron is recruited.
Warnings: N/A
Notes: This is the first thing I wrote for Primary Analysis, almost as soon as I came out of the theater from the second movie.
o o o
The artifact in the corner was whispering in his mind.
It had been found outside of Iacon, by the archeological team searching for the palace of the Prime Dynasty. There were remnants of seven panels in all; long, triangular panels of strange stone, and all but one were shattered. He'd taken a liking to the whole panel, and after it had been studied and scanned and poked and prodded until it's every molecule was categorized, he'd requested to be allowed to place it on personal display. The Academy, of course, had graciously agreed, and he had it displayed in the semi-private room where he entertained foreign dignitaries and his own generals alike.
It was thought that the panel signified one of the Dynasty Primes, who's spark signal he and his brother carried. There was a simplistic rendition of a face among the runes, stern and solemn. He sometimes found himself locked optic to implied optic with the countenance. Certainly, there was nothing to be concerned with there. Many of their kind had deep fascination with the Dynasty, and had not the Ultras told him that he looked too far to the future and not enough to the past?
The whispers, when they started, seemed to be natural extensions of his own thoughts. Thoughts of the steadily lowering energon levels in the Great Reservoir, thoughts on the inferiority of other races and even other mechs, thoughts on the possible glories that awaited Cybertron beyond the stars.
Like his own, but somehow different. More bitter, more knowing. More dark.
The promises had started after the Matrix rejected his claim on Optimus, after Optimus had betrayed the terrible knowledge that he loved a frail, sparkless drone from another world, and his spark had splintered. Again, it seemed to simply grow and expand from his own thought stream. Fantasies of Optimus belonging to him alone, surrounded by the heads of Elita and old Ironhide and all others who would conspire to keep part of Optimus for themselves. Fantasies of arrogant Starscream and willing Soundwave and cunning Shockwave at his feet. Fantasies of the spark chambers of the Council of Ancients beneath his heel and the galaxy in his palm and enough energon to sustain Cybertron until their star went supernova. Wild fantasies, powerful fantasies. Dangerous fantasies, and by the time he realized they were not entirely his own, he was ensnared.
It whispered the loudest when he was angry. It hummed into his recharge. It spoke promises into his audials from the other side of the planet. Dark things, terrible ideas, but he could not bear to be from the panel for long. What secrets did it hold? What power did it keep?
He didn't know how he came before it. One breem, he was storming from the Council chambers, sick fury in his spark, the next he stood before the panel and the whispers were louder than ever.
"What are you?" he asked out loud, unaware of the words. His mind swirled, and his spark raged. How dare they?! How dare they deny Cybertron what it needed, what it deserved?
/I am power. Power they do not deserve/
How dare they deny him?
"What are you?"
How dare they chastise him, as if he were a naughty sparkling?
/I am betrayed/
How dare Optimus side with them and denounce his vision of expansion?
"Who are you?"
Did they not see? Did they not know? How long since Primus filled the Reservoir? How low would they let the level get? How many would starve? Even as their kind made leaps and bounds under his rule, through a brilliant age of knowledge and creation, energon was rationed, and fears grew.
/I am First. I am Fallen/
They needed to take matters into their own hands. They needed to take a firm stance.
"Will you help me?"
Other races were flawed, corrupt, wasteful. They required guidance, direction, teaching, and the surplus they could create would fill Cybertron's coffers and fuel tanks.
The Council was too old, too set, too eager to keep their power over him. They would have to go.
/Yes/
Optimus would see. He would be made to understand.
"What do you want?"
He had to. They were of one spark. Surely, Optimus could see the Council's flaws as he did.
/You/
Ancient optics like fire, like the sun, like his own. Ancient power sealed away in the name of weak ideals and useless purpose. He sank to his knees, humbled by the being that spoke from beyond the panel. "Then I am yours," he murmured.
"Lord Megatron,"
He looked up and his awe did not abate. The FirstForged was incredible, enormous, darkly brooding. This was a true Seeker, he understood. Not a flighty fool who had take the proud title for his own, but One Who Finds, one who sought out the desires of the Primes.
/Jetfire will guide. You will lead/
"Yes." The faintest whisper, not meant for the hulking flier, but for the voice in his mind. "Yes, Master."
o o o
Jetfire looked down at the still-kneeling Lord High Protector and realized, on some level, that he'd known that the Fallen Prime was mad.
He had come to Cybertron for the first time in many, many megavorns, but somethings were constant among their kind. The Wardens of Primus were still active in the shadows, and willing to help. The Prime was corrupted, they said, weak of spark but strong of will, and contaminated by those unworthy. But the Protector was of old; fierce, powerful, proud. It had been little work to manipulate the archeology guild to dig in just the right place, to bring the Fallen Prime's focus to light. The Prime descendant had recoiled from the artifact, even as the Protector reached for it. The Protector had a weakness they could exploit, a thirst for glory that they could use. Through the Protector, they would recruit the Prime, free the Fallen, find the Matrix, and save their world.
But still, a murmur in his spark. The Fallen's mind had turned, somewhere in the long vorns between the stars. He followed a mad demon to glory, and perhaps his own mind had turned, for he no longer cared.
He bowed, struts creaking. "M'Lord Megatron," he said. "I aim t'serve."