BRAINWASHED || BATTLE CRY (Transformers Prime)

Epilogue | King Me

KING ME

"Idealogical subversion is the process which is legitimate, overt, and open."

⬵⤁

The sun was slowly disappearing from the horizon, colors bursting across the sky in a dazzling display of Earth's natural beauty. Its warm rays danced across the sand of the desert, a gentle breeze shifting the individual granules and tussling the hair of the young man who stood there.

Jack watched as the colors bounced across the sand dunes, his good hand stuffed in his pocket and back against the outside of the Area 51's main hanger. His eyes scanned the horizon, half expecting Decepticon forces to crest over and annihilate the Autobot cause once and for all.

Paranoia had left him on edge for the last week. Megatron's burning optics haunted his dreams, his arm continuing to throb even after its correction. The surgery had gone well, and now he was waiting for the bones to heal as normal. Yet he was terrified of being so vulnerable, unsure what he would do if their base was destroyed.

The Decepticon forces had already set up their base on the New Darkmount, settled in what used to be his hometown. Starscream was scrambling to suppress any potential advancements, desiring to stem the spread of the enemy before they could destroy Earth just as they had done Cybertron.

Thunder quietly rumbled overhead, Jack looking up to see dark clouds which had snuck in behind him, threatening to smother the beauty of the sunset. It rarely rained in Nevada, so the presence of the clouds were far from comforting.

He wished Arcee was here. Bulkhead had informed him the femme had been missing, Jack quickly able to deduce the last person to see her . . . was him. Though, perhaps more specifically, it was likely Megatron.

The young man refused to think she was gone. Arcee was tough, there was no way she would let the tyrant gain the upper servo and . . . offline her. Maybe she was stuck somewhere, unable to communicate with them. Maybe she would come back.

She had to come back.

"I will find you," he vowed softly to himself. "We won't let him take Earth lying down. And we won't let him take Cybertron either. He won't have your home."

The increasingly emphatic roll of thunder answered him, a fat drop of rain falling right in front of him and splattering on the sand. It was quickly followed by more of its brethren, the human ducking back into the base just in time to only receive a few of the soaking drops on his head.

Starscream was inside gazing at the computers, his servos folded behind his slender back. Even the heavy atmosphere had an effect on him, his red optics dimmed. Wheeljack and Bulkhead were deeper in the base, mourning the loss of their comrades and leader. Megatron had sent a transmission soon after the Autobot defeat across the universe, coaxing his Decepticons to return to home base for reconstruction. He also confirmed the death of Optimus Prime, and bragged that there were others - Starscream suspected Bumblebee, Smokescreen, and Arcee - that had fallen by his servos. However, if Megatron was to be believed, there was only one surefire confirmed death. There was hope for the others.

Miko and Raf sat on the couch, the former flipping through a magazine while the latter clicked through photos on his computer, pictures of him and Bumblebee doing various activities. He had long since stopped screaming, but the tears still gathered in his eyes as his chest ached. Optimus and Bumblebee would never give up, never. They had to be stuck on Cybertron, or at the very least prisoners, waiting for their friends to rescue them. Just as Bumblebee would never abandon him, he could not lose hope in his friend.

Agent Fowler and June were quietly discussing things they had seen on the news, word of the Decepticons spreading rapidly. Earth was becoming increasingly aware of its new overlord, many countries mounting defenses and threatening to annihilate the States if it meant inhibiting the spread of the Decepticons.

The Seeker barely shared a glance with Jack as he walked in, his tactical mind constantly calculating various counter measures and attacks they could use, if the time was ever right. Their small team stood little chance, but they had to be smart - and Megatron's broadcast would surely bring more Autobots with the Decepticons. If that was the case . . . then there was hope yet.

Hope . . . as if he ever believed in such a thing.

⬵⤁

Megatron stood at the edge of New Darkmount in his freshly-constructed throne room, overlooking the construction of New Kaon with his far-reaching gaze. At his side, under his claws, stood Ratchet, the medic scanning the earthen environment impassively. He relished the touch of his master, letting him stroke the crevices and dips of his helm without restraint. Satisfaction hummed across their bond, the Dark Energon in their veins binding them forever.

The tyrant had not bothered to tell Ratchet of Optimus Prime's fate. He had left his newest pet on the ship - awaiting his potential commands in the bridge - for the specific purpose of not undoing the delicate balance of his mind. He would never admit it aloud, but he had fears  Ratchet was not wholly converted during this final battle. If he saw the annihilation of his old friend, he might turn his back on everything Megatron had given him, then the tyrant would have to work from square one once again.

However, the medic had not asked, and so he did not disclose. He might have listened in on his master's transmission, however it hardly mattered; Megatron had seen just how far the former Autobot fell from grace when he had returned victorious. Ratchet had bowed without prompting, and he had referred to him as Master without force. If it had been disingenuous, he would have sensed it. And besides, he knew that once Ratchet had resolved his trauma with murdering another Autobot, he would be at more peace with himself, and the creature he had become. He was now enlightened.

"I have considered a proposition, my pet," Megatron spoke aloud after some silence, feeling Ratchet tilt his helm as he looked at him curiously. "While I rule Cybertron, perhaps I may place you here, on Earth, in my stead."

There was some disturbance. "I am not a ruler," Ratchet pointed out, displaying obvious discomfort at the notion. He added: "And I do not believe Earth requires ruling."

"But, it needs monitoring," the dictator stroked his cheek, tracing the ghost of a scar. If he was bothered by the medic's minute resistance, he did not show it. "However, I am in agreement with your former statement. Dreadwing may be more fit for the position. I do prefer you remain at my side; I was curious as to how deep your attachment to this planet runs."

"I . . . have come to care about its natives," Ratchet confessed, purple optics meeting the red of his master. "Especially those placed under Autobot responsibility."

"Yes. But do not fret. I have no plans to torment them any longer. Not that I have won."

"They will still resist you."

"Perhaps," Megatron admitted, gazing at the setting sun. "But, in time, they will settle. Cybertron will settle. And we will be at peace, free to gaze upon a grateful universe."