Bald Evil

A Day In the Life of Megatron
by Bald Evil baldevil@hotmail.com

More of Bald Evils fics can be found here.

The vessel was silent in the hour before dawn, save for the ever-present rumblings from the lava tubes deep below, and the creaking of the hull as it stirred uncomfortably on its rocky bed. The command center was empty, save for the occupant of the captain’s chair. Dozing fitfully, Megatron dreamed his dark dreams. Standing in the shadows, keeping a silent vigil, was the motionless form of Inferno. Only the occasional twitch of his antennae indicated that he was awake and aware.

A low but insistent beeping began to sound, followed by the voice of the ship’s computer. “Attention, Megatron. Six mega-cycles have elapsed. Resume normal operation.” Megatron frowned even as he blinked, stretched his arms, and yawned. Inferno transformed and snapped to attention.

“I await your command, Royalty!” he bellowed in the stillness of the command center. Megatron winced.

“Hurrrrr… go away,” he growled, rising to his feet and turning his back to his lieutenant. Inferno obediently transformed and scuttled out the hatchway behind him. Megatron stalked to the nearest terminal.

“Status report, all units and systems.”

The computer was silent for a moment, then spoke in its quiet feminine voice. “All systems normal. Sentinel is operational and active. Status of all Predacon units: normal.” Megatron pondered for a moment, then returned to his command chair.

Things had been going exactly as planned; until they had gone wrong. It was grating to him that he could not precisely locate the flaw in his plan, the agenda that had carried him across millions of light-years and centuries to carry out the orders of his namesake. The Maximals had proven to be more capable and determined adversaries than he had ever suspected. The apparent defection of Blackarachnia to their side had not helped a great deal. His fist clenched involuntarily at the thought of the traitorous Predacon. He loathed wild cards.

Following a few more moments of silent deliberation, he activated the ship-wide com-channel. “Attention all Predacons. This is Megatron. Report to the bridge immediately.” Without waiting for affirmations, he shut down the comlink and removed the small Energon compressor he carried within his armored chest. The malevolently glowing spark energy within its containment field pulsed angrily as he regarded it.

“A wise commander sets his mind to victory, but plans for defeat, as well. Yesss.” Holding the compressor in his hand, he turned to face his troops as they arrived, assessing them as they made their ways in.

Quickstrike entered, blinking and scratching himself with his serpent-headed arm. Brutal, sadistic, and never a creative thinker, the Fuzor made an excellent soldier: expendable, but ferocious.

Waspinator buzzed in from the other side of the command center. The insectoid was the most laughably unlucky of the Predacon crew, but he was quite durable and too frightened of Megatron to even consider a mutinous thought. Megatron admired his tenacity even as he scorned the insect’s weakness.

Inferno stormed back into the room, carelessly thrusting Quickstrike aside (eliciting a string of curses from the smaller ‘bot) and coming to a halt before Megatron with a salute.

“I am here, Royalty! Command me!” Megatron favored him with a faint smile. Though his behavioral circuits might be miswired, and he had no concept of the word “strategy”, Inferno’s loyalty was utterly beyond question. He would die for his precious “royalty”, and that suited Megatron perfectly.

Creeping in lastly, and most reluctantly, was his least trustworthy and most dangerous soldier: the unstoppable Rampage. Held in check only by the spark fragment Megatron possessed, his rage was directed instead at their Maximal enemies. Megatron knew that sooner or later, Rampage would have to be destroyed; but for now, he was far more useful than not.

The Predacons assembled in a rough semi-circle, with Rampage hanging back. Megatron gazed over them and scowled.

“Where is Tarantulas?!”

Quickstrike spoke up. “He headed out real quiet-like before the sun come up, Boss Bot. But he didn’t say where he was goin’.” His serpent jaws clicked wickedly. “You want we should round ‘im up and bring him on back?”

Megatron shook his head. “I will deal with him later. For now, I have tasks for you. We have a great deal of work to accomplish if we are to defeat the Maximals and achieve victory.”

“Your chance for victory has come and passed, Megatron,” hissed Rampage mockingly. “It is only a matter of time before Cybertron comes to finish the job.” Scowling angrily, Megatron squeezed the compressor in his hand, and Rampage writhed in agony within a nimbus of energy. After a few moments, he released the compression field.

“Naysayers to the contrary, we have a very good chance to win this war after all, yesss. But to do so, we must act quickly.” He rounded on his soldiers. “Waspinator, Quickstrike. Go to Sub-Sector Hooks and set up a jamming tower there. There is an Energon vein running through the bedrock there that was not destroyed by the alien device, and I want it. Inferno-”

“Yes, Royalty!”

Megatron paused, his eyes narrowing, then continued. “I want you to perform a reconnaissance mission around the Maximal perimeter. If they have left us any holes, I want to know where. If we can retake the Ark, they will have no choice but to surrender, or perish!”

Quickstrike chuckled. “I kinda prefer they surrender AND perish, if ya ask me!”

Megatron turned to him and smiled fiercely. “That’s the kind of thinking I like to hear. Yesss. Now. GO!”

They turned and moved out at a creditable pace; Inferno, of course, was first out the door. Waspinator hung back suspiciously to let Quickstrike out first, until finally only Megatron and Rampage were left. The giant crab turned to Megatron, claws clicking.

“I see you have assigned me no duties. A wise decision.”

Megatron raised the compressor and Rampage cringed. “I have another job for you entirely, Rampage; one unsuited for the ears of our comrades. Tarantulas has grown too bold of late, too treacherous. I cannot allow anyone to stand in the way of our total victory. No.” He touched a button on his command chair, and a three-dimensional map grid rose up from the console in the center of the room. Indicated in the upper left was a glowing red network of tunnels and caves.

“Here is the location of Tarantulas’ ‘secret’ lair. I want you to pay him a visit, my dear Rampage.” He grinned mercilessly. “And explain to him that we want our dear spider to come home once more.”

Rampage bristled. “I am not your errand boy, nor your servant, Megatron! You cannot-” he was cut off as the compressor crushed his spark fragment again, causing him to howl in helpless pain.

“Do NOT presume to tell me what I can or cannot do! NEVER forget that, Rampage! And you,” he said, leaning towards the mewling crab, “YOU will do exactly as I say, or you will know pain like you have never known before. Oh, yesssss.”

Releasing the compressor, he pushed Rampage’s carapace contemptuously with his clawed foot. “Now go. And leave no trace of Tarantulas’ lair. That spider has caused me enough trouble that a bit of his own will be well earned. Yesss.”

Rampage seemed about to retort, but thought better of it. “And if Tarantulas is there when I arrive?”

Megatron smiled again without humor. “If he is there, Rampage, than you can pass my lesson on to him PERSONALLY.” Rampage glowered and scuttled out. Megatron laughed.

It was good to be a tyrant.

The ship was empty now, his minions dispersed to perform their tasks. Sentinel maintained its mindless vigilance over his base now as it once had over the Maximals’ vessel. Megatron slouched in his command chair, poring over records, combing through the corrupted database of information that still remained. When the former (and now late) Decepticon Ravage had led the Maximal’s last assault, the ship had been damaged almost to the point of collapse. But after much hard work (by his soldiers) and careful use of resources, he had brought the ship back from its pitifully dilapidated state to much the same condition it had been in when it crashed. Maximals built excellent ships, he mused with a touch of black humor. There were no finer vessels to steal in the whole galaxy.

“Blast!”

Slamming his metal fist onto his chair arm, he rose in sudden fury. Those accursed Maximals had stymied his plans at every turn so far. His soldiers were second-string at best, and hopeless psychotics at worst. It seemed as if the jaws of a vast trap were closing on him, one that he could flee, but not avoid. The trap was Time, and time was running out. He needed… inspiration.

“Computer. Secure records and hyper-encrypt. Download all viable records to backup systems, filename ‘Megatron Alpha’. I am leaving the bridge.”

“Confirmed. Hyper-encryption completed. Downloading files now.”

“Display position of all Predacon units on main monitor.”

The monitor came to life, marred by the long hairline crack across its face, displaying bright Predacon icons exactly where they should be. Rampage was well on his way to Tarantulas’ bolthole. Megatron allowed himself a flicker of grim satisfaction that at least one of the thorns in his side would soon be plucked. And no one would disturb him for a while.

He left the bridge, heading down deep into the ship. Among the modifications he had made during their exile on this planet was the construction of a private chamber, unknown to the others. It was listed in the ship’s directory as “Secondary Maintenance Locker 7B”, but it was more than that. Much more.

Outside the unmarked hatchway, Megatron paused a moment, out of habit eyeing the hallway suspiciously for any prying eyes that might have been lurking. Then he turned to the simple comm panel and spoke.

“Computer. Open maintenance locker. Voice code ‘Megatron Alpha’.” Without warning, massive boarding cannons appeared out of the ceiling on either side of him, whirring and locking onto him. At full power, the boarding cannons could shear through the hull of the most massive dreadnoughts in seconds. Even at half power, they could cut a Transformer to ionized shreds in a tenth of that time.

“Access requires spark frequency confirmation. Open spark compartment for scan, or firing sequence will commence.” Unfazed by the ugly, blunt-nosed weapons, Megatron touched his chest plate in a seemingly random sequence. The plastron whirred, armored plates sliding back and down, revealing the glowing, pulsing spark that was Megatron’s very soul. A Transformer could change his appearance, even mimic the form of another; but he could never change his spark frequency. There was no secret more closely held by any Transformer than this one.

“Beginning spark frequency scan.” A faintly violet scanning beam emanated from the comm panel, playing quickly over his spark. Megatron felt the faintest tingle through his limbs as the scanner scrutinized his essence. A moment later, the scan ended, and the boarding cannons withdrew.

“Scan completed. Access granted.” The hatchway slid open and a brief gust of pressurized air hissed out. Megatron entered the chamber, and the door slid shut behind him.

Lights came up, subdued and solemn. The chamber seemed empty, containing only a command chair similar to his seat on the bridge, but appearances were deceiving. He sat down quietly, gently, almost reverently, facing a display panel on the opposite wall.

“Computer. Open storage compartment five.” A panel on the wall slid silently aside, and a wide case slid out on mechanical arms. Megatron leaned forward to study the contents with an unreadable expression.

Beneath the armored glass were displayed the many medals and honors he had received during his service to the Predacon Alliance: his first commendation for bravery, won only a few days after he came online; four Silver Sparks for injuries received in battle; the Predacon Medal of Valor, for his defense of Colony Theta Six against the murderous war criminal Thunderwing; and his finest achievement, the Cybertron Cluster, for single-handedly preventing the genocidal scheme of a Quintesson scientist from wiping out half of Cybertron. Ringing these awards were many other indicia of merit, commendations, and awards for service rendered.

He frowned slightly. Had it all been worth it? Had it been worth throwing away everything he had earned on a desperate gamble? Or had his life been simply a charade until the day of that fateful revelation, the dark secret learned from that Prozon-addicted Decepticon wretch, the secret of the message in the Golden Disk?

How he and his fellow officers had chafed under the gratingly benevolent command of the Maximals. He had risen only so far, and no further, for that was not a privilege for a mere Predacon. He had suffered and warred for them, and they repaid him and his people with pats on the head, and pretty trinkets to stroke their egos and their honor. The proud Predacons, warriors by nature and conquerors by heritage, had been brought to heel like Terran dogs. And they had been made to thank their enslavers for the privilege.

He had rebelled against his Maximal oppressors. He had defied the Predacon Alliance. He had gathered together a band of malcontents and criminals, and stolen one of Cybertron’s most revered artifacts. He had fled the world he had spent countless stellar cycles defending, propelled by the time-lost scheming of his Decepticon namesake, to return in triumph or not at all. For the dream of freedom, the promise of victory over an ancient enemy, he had forsaken his own future and very possibly, forfeited his own existence.

Megatron sighed. “Computer, close storage compartment five. Display Predacon archive image seven delta seven five.” The display case obediently retreated into the wall, and to his right a holo-projector flickered to life. The image within the beam wavered for a moment and then resolved into the fearsome image of the warlord whose name he carried and whose legacy he sought to restore: Megatron.

The image was far smaller than the real Megatron had been, and immobile; nevertheless, the sense of menace was palpable, as it always was. The gleaming, unforgiving steel of his hull, the proud, severe cast of his features, the air of strength and potency; all captured for eternity in this frozen moment of time. A column of information in soft green words flowed downward through the air beside the image of Megatron, records of his life and deeds, from the earliest records of the war between the Autobots and Decepticons to the fall and exile of Galvatron, his later incarnation. Megatron studied his predecessor, then rose and walked toward the image. Even reduced by the holo-projector, the Decepticon leader towered over his descendant and disciple.

“I have done as you commanded; and still I have not achieved victory for our people. I have failed in my duty to you and all our kind. But I have not stopped trying. No.” Megatron gazed up at the cold face in the beam. “We will overcome the Maximals here. I will crush the spark of our enemy Optimus Prime with my own hands, and grind the Matrix of Leadership into dust. When you awake, you will triumph. And I will never come to be.” He paused, pondering that. “An interesting dilemma, yesss. What need of me when you will have long before achieved victory? But time is a peculiar puzzle, and I am not concerned with what is to come. I am only concerned with what is occurring now.” He paced back and forth, still addressing the apparition of Megatron.

“I had briefly considered attempting to wake you, aboard the Ark; who better to destroy the Autobots in their helpless state? But there is only room for one Megatron at a time, I think. Yesss. I would not risk becoming obsolete through your premature resurrection. In any event, only a fool tampers with time more than necessary.

“They think I am insane, you know. They consider me unstable, erratic, incompetent.” He sneered. “Because they have no vision. They have forgotten what it means to be a warrior, yesss. Even my current command is weak and unreliable. Of all of the Predacons who followed me here, only Dinobot had even a fraction of the courage and commitment needed to achieve our goal; but he had no faith. He did not believe, and betrayed us for the Maximals. He preferred the life of a favored servant to the path of conquest. And now he has paid the price required for such foolishness.” Megatron paused. “Such a waste.”

He turned back to gaze into the emotionless eyes of the Decepticon leader. “I have failed you. But I will not fail again. Your empire will not be lost for want of faith. No. I have faith in the Predacon ideal, in our Decepticon heritage, and I will not be stopped. History has shown that one spark in the right place at the right time can change the course of things forever.” He clenched a fist and raised it trembling before the image of his namesake.

“THIS is the place. THIS is the time. I AM that spark, and I WILL TRIUMPH!”

His bellow echoed around tightly within the chamber, ringing in the walls. The image of Megatron regarded him with unfeeling eyes.

“Computer. Close archive.” As the image faded, Megatron turned and walked from the chamber.

So much work to do. So many enemies to overcome. But there had never been more at stake, nor a prize more worth dying for.

III

Megatron wandered through the depths of the ship, in search of nothing in particular. He hated these moments of indecision, the feeling that he had no control over the events unfolding around him. But he knew they would pass, as they always did. He had endured many hardships, and this was but one more. It would all be worth it when victory was achieved.

The blow was incredibly strong, and entirely unexpected. Megatron was flung violently into the wall, briefly losing consciousness. Even as he tried to stand, he was struck again, more savagely that before. He collapsed to his knees, growling in pain. A hateful, familiar chuckling emanated from the shadows.

“Poor Megatron. You should pay more attention in this part of town; it’s full of dangerous characters.” Rampage’s beast form lumbered forward, claws raised to strike again. Megatron groped for the Energon compressor. Rampage hammered him with both claws, sending him sprawling. The compressor skittered away, dropped through the broken flooring, and bounced down into the recesses of the ship.

“Treacherous… monster!” Megatron rolled to avoid the next attack, which instead caved in a bulkhead. “You will dance in agony for this!”

“The only dancing I’ll be doing will be upon your grave, Megatron! Rampage, terrorize!” The crab unfolded and rose up as Rampage assumed his huge robot form. His tri-barreled cannon came to bear on Megatron.

“I will drink the fear from your shrinking spark, and send you to oblivion for your temerity!” The first blast sent Megatron flying, careening down the hallway in a bath of fire, to rest at the entrance to an empty lift shaft. Rampage stalked down the hallway towards him as he shook his head, trying to clear it.

“You thought to enslave me? To make me your puppet?! NEVER!” the giant’s cannon rose again.

“I am relentless! I am eternal! I am ELEMENTAL!” The gun roared again, missiles spitting out at point blank range, and the hallway became a furnace of expanding fireballs and superheated metal. Rampage stood in the inferno laughing.

“I am FREEEEEEEE!”

Far below, at the bottom of the lift shaft, Megatron glared up at the flame-lit entrance. “Foolish creature. I am not so easily vanquished.” In the few moments he had before Rampage realized his target was still functional, he assessed the damage done.

“Warning; severe damage to all systems. Power levels are at 55 percent. Enter CR chamber immediately.” Megatron frowned.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment.” He wondered how Rampage had managed to sneak up on him as he had; this was not the first time his warhound had managed to slip the sensor leash Megatron kept him tethered to. But now was not the time for such things. He had to get out of the lift shaft, or he would be trapped.

Far above, Rampage’s head appeared in the doorway of the shaft, wreathed in flames. “Still alive down there? I’ll soon remedy that!” The head withdrew, and the cannon appeared. Megatron seized the lift doors and desperately pried them apart. Even as he shouldered his way through, more missiles were descending.

Flung across the chamber he had just entered by the fireball, Megatron again crashed heavily into the wall. Energon sparks crackled over his hull, and he could feel a terrible looseness within him. He realized how badly damaged he was.

“This cannot continue. I will not be defeated by this creature, no! Computer!”

“Yes, Megatron.”

“Divert power from the primary reactor to the restricted systems on deck 12, voice code ‘Megatron Omega Seven’.” He glared at the burning entrance to the lift shaft as he struggled to his feet.

“Come along, Rampage. Let’s play this game to its end.” He turned and lurched away down a ruined corridor. A moment later, Rampage shattered the lift shaft entrance and, with a tremendous roaring laugh, stalked after Megatron.

“Running will only delay the inevitable, Megatron! I can smell your fear; it is like honey to a bee! Mwahahahahahaha!”

Megatron paused long enough to call back in a hoarse bellow, “Chase after bees, Rampage, and you should be prepared to be stung!” The response was simply more hideous laughter, and another volley of missiles. The ship trembled, and Megatron staggered as the corridor buckled. Not too far to go…

The wall exploded in a blast of flying metal and titanic claws. Rampage’s beast form crashed through and seized Megatron, swatting away his plasma-thrower and clutching him in a death grip. His Transmetal body shrieked and cracked as incredible pressure bore down on him.

Rampage’s grotesque, tusked mouth loomed close. “Yours will be the sweetest nectar I’ve ever consumed, ‘master’. And when I’ve drained you, I will scatter your husk to every corner of this planet!” Megatron struggled, but could not free himself from the massive claws. He tried to speak, but only sparks emerged.

“Finding it hard to talk? Your spark is fading, Megatron. You will soon be within me. Ha, hahahahah!"

“Warning. Damage critical. Stasis lock imminent.” Megatron blinked, and forced out words.

“I… look forward… to your demise, as well, Rampage. Y-yesss….” The claws pulled him closer as they crushed him.

“I cannot die, fool. Do you not see that? You no longer have any power over me!”

“N-no. But… I do have… one trick left… up my sleeve.” He managed a faint grin. “The compressor… holding your spark… fragment. It is… rigged to explode… upon my death. Part of you… will die with me… and perhaps… ALL of you. Yesss.” He tried to laugh, and choked instead. Rampage howled in fury.

“You lie! And yet… perhaps not.” The relentless pressure eased for a moment. “You have a transmitter on the compressor, I am sure. Take me to it. I want my spark restored and made whole before I destroy you forever!”

“Hardly… an incentive… to comply, Rampage,” Megatron gasped with a leer. The pressure resumed, and Megatron roared in pain.

“AAAAARRRGH! Very… very well, Rampage. You… win. You are… f-far stronger… than I ever imagined.” Still holding Megatron like a toy, Rampage chuckled.

“At last; you see. You cannot stand against the elements. Take me to my spark, and I will grant you a merciful death.” Weakly, Megatron raised his free arm.

“Down… here. The s-signal… is coming from… the secondary cargo hold.”

Rampage turned and scuttled down the hallway, holding Megatron like a rag doll.

The secondary cargo hold was the lowest level of the ship, collapsed and ruined in the crash. It had held nothing of value before the crash, and was still empty and silent. Rampage shattered the hatchway to the chamber, and carried Megatron in, claws flexing aggressively.

“Where? WHERE?! Where is my spark? I do not see it, Megatron! If you are trying to trick me…”

“N-not a trick, Rampage.” He raised his arm again, pointing at the corner. A faint reflection from a small, golden object was just visible there; it was the Energon compressor. With a bellow of triumph, Rampage cast Megatron down savagely, smashing him to the deck. Megatron’s right arm burst from his shoulder in a cascade of sparks. He groaned through gritted teeth.

The huge crab fairly ran towards the compressor, claws clicking excitedly. “My spark! And soon… you will have your reward, Megatron!” He snatched up the compressor, gazing at the precious cargo within.

“And I shall give you yours NOW, Rampage.” All trace of pain was gone from his voice. Rampage spun around, antennae rearing up.

“WHAT?!”

Megatron grinned horribly. “Computer… activate containment sequence!”

Rampage was suddenly transfixed by energy cascading over him, and he shrieked in mortal agony. The compressor fell away, and rolled across the deck. Megatron scooped it up. Slowly rising to his feet, he staggered over to Rampage’s paralyzed form.

“I took the precaution of preparing a special defense against just this sort of thing, my dear Rampage. I have your spark frequency, you see; and this chamber is equipped with a containment field generator much like the one used by this Energon compressor.” He brandished the small golden unit and squeezed, eliciting even more terrible wails of torment from the captured titan.

“This whole room is, as far as you’re concerned, one vast Energon compressor, tuned to your spark frequency. It is powered by the primary reactor, so there’s no danger of it running out of power anytime soon.” He leaned forward, his face forming a snarl. “Enjoy your stay, Rampage. You will be here for a LONG time.”

Rampage turned with great effort. “I… have never… hated anyone as much… as I hate YOU, Megatron!” He bellowed in helpless frustration and pain. “I will see… you… DEAD!!!”

Megatron chuckled. “Perhaps. But not today. I’m going to go spend a bit of time in the CR chamber now, I think; yesss. That will give you some time to think about what you’ve done wrong.” His voice turned to ice once more. “And how foolish it is to try to cross me. Computer! Increase the pressure by 30 percent!”

Rampage howled in renewed torment, no longer capable of speech. Megatron turned and walked from the chamber. The computer spoke.

“Containment field is still active. Do you wish to end containment sequence?”

Megatron smiled. “Not just yet, I think. If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it is undercooked crab.”

When he emerged from the CR chamber, Megatron was greeted by Inferno, standing by worriedly. He was holding Waspinator’s head. Quickstrike was slumped in the corner, propped up against the rest of Waspinator, smoking from numerous blast marks.

“Royalty! The drones have been damaged by a Maximal ambush! Did they attack here, as well?”

“Mmm. No. I just had some trouble with a household pest.” He glowered at Waspinator. “What happened?”

“Zzz, Waszzpinator reports szztrong Maxzzimal preszzence in Szzub-Szzector Hookszz, Megatron.” He blinked. “Waszzpinator can’t feel armszz and legszz.”

“Blast!” Megatron scowled. “If you want something done right, you must do it yourself! Inferno, put Waspinator in the CR chamber. We will start planning our next move at once. Quickstrike!”

The Fuzor shook himself and hopped up. “Right here, Boss!”

“Find Tarantulas. I need to consult with him regarding some… faulty sensor readings.” Quickstrike nodded, transformed, and scuttled out.

Inferno was piling Waspinator into the CR chamber when he noticed a light flashing on the console nearby. He turned to Megatron.

“Royalty! There is a substantial power drain taking place on deck 12, in the secondary cargo hold! Shall I investigate?”

Megatron thought for a moment, smiled, and shook his head. “No, Inferno. Some things are best left alone. And for the time being, this is one of them.”

Inferno thought for a moment, then said simply, “As you command!” He turned and activated the CR chamber.

Megatron surveyed the bridge. He did not have a lot to work with. He was running out of time. But he had a mission, he had the means, and he had faith. And a lot could happen in a short time. Even in one day.

“The right spark, in the right place, at the right time. Yesss.”

Laughing to himself, he left the bridge, leaving a slightly puzzled Inferno behind him.