DISGUST ME

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Warning: Mild physical torture.
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"You're speaking it's so clear,
But all the words are hard to hear,
And I think I kind of like it that way."

⬵⤁

Megatron wanted to think it almost insulting that he was wasting time and resources on a human, however the abomination in front of him was anything but man or machine.

    CYLAS was an it.

    If it unnerved him to see the animated corpse of what was once a loyal officer, he made no indication of such a thing. Knock Out refused to be on the bridge in the presence of his former partner's desecrated body, thus the care and torment of their resident Autobot was left to him for the time being. Truly, Megatron allowed him this one mercy, if only because he knew it would keep the grounder out of trouble and not cloud his already questionable judgement.

    Soundwave pinged to confirm he was successfully jacked into the command center's control room, beginning to download the codes directly from the mainframe. The primitive firewalls and false leads were powerless against his superior technology and tech-savvy skills, the communications officer beginning to download.

    As with every issue due to interfacing with foreign equipment, Soundwave had to download the files piece-by-piece and convert them into Cybertronian-friendly code. The process took precious seconds that would have otherwise made the download virtually instant, however Soundwave knew it was best to be patient. His lord and master would wait, if it meant giving him an excuse to rid of CYLAS once and for all.

    Megatron would have gladly executed it right then and there, but CYLAS promised them a way to remotely destroy the Autobots. It was an advantage the warmonger was willing to possess, as he knew each calculated move against the Autobots generally came to successful fruition. Project Damocles was conceptualized and designed by Leland Bishop, M.E.C.H's very own Silas, but it had unsurprisingly been shut down. Humans were mass murderers, but Megatron did have to give them one thing: they ensured almost every kill was personal. That was admirable.

    But after six million years of war, Megatron was over admirable. He just wanted to win.

    Vehicons stationed themselves around the perimeter, preparing for any sort of intruder. The Decepticons were not disillusioned; once the Autobots learned of their activity, Optimus Prime would scramble his team. It amused Megatron, however, to see just how many would actually show up. Would Prime even consider risking his team for the sake of the insect's technology?

    He would soon find out.

⬵⤁

    "Jack?" June Darby frowned when she got home and heard activity in the kitchen, walking in on her son making dinner. "You're not at work?"

    "No work today, mom," he assured her, for once not lying. "Just thought I'd . . . make us some veggie burgers. They've kind of grown on me."

    She slipped out of her shoes and hung her purse on the hook by the door, a little impressed. But something was certainly wrong. "You hardly ever cook when you're not at KO Burger. What's wrong?"

    He paused, looking at the burgers as they sizzled in their vegetable oil. June had asked him at least twenty times a day if he was okay after the kidnapping - and nearly dying - incident, and today was not much different. But when he told his mom that everything was okay, it was only the half truth. When she was there to comfort him and let him know everything was going to be okay, he was safe and fine. Otherwise, the thoughts of the Decepticons, and the fate he left to Ratchet, plagued his mind.

    "I'm . . . I'm just worried," he confessed, "about the Autobots. Bulkhead is in terrible shape and Ratchet is still . .. he's still gone. I feel like it's my fault."

    Her brow furrowed and eyes took on an unforgiving sheen, her motherly instincts kicking into gear.

    "None of this is your fault, Jack," she told him, reaching out and gripping his shoulder. "And I know for a fact they are just glad you are safe. I promise you, Ratchet will get out of there, just like you did. He hasn't survived this long because of nothing."

    Jack nodded a little, gazing at the food forlornly. Fries were cooking in a bath of sunflower oil, just how his mother liked them. Her words echoed the ones he tried to tell himself every day, but much to his frustration nothing was sticking. All he could think about was abandonment.

    "Thanks, mom," he mumbled.

    She gave him a tight hug. "I'm going to go clean up and take a quick shower. The food smells good." Pecking his cheek she slipped off into the master bedroom, leaving her son to refocus back on his task. He slowly moved the burgers around so they would not stick to the bottom of the pan and turned them for an even cook, his mind, however, somewhere else.

    He was still stuck on the Cybertronian history, how it all started. Much to his disgust he did somewhat agree with what Megatron had originally strived for. Their society could have been much better without the political shadiness and the unfair caste system, and Megatronus was trying to fix that with Orion Pax. But something happened . . . something went wrong.

    There was something disturbing about the revelation as well. He thought Cybertron had once been a happy place, one of peace and prosperity; he believed Megatron was just trying to "fix" the tiny things, which was what lead to him becoming a radical and the government trying to get him to simmer down. But he had been manipulated and almost turned into a puppet, and quite frankly he had every right to be angry. Cybertron needed to change.

    He shook his head. I'm sympathizing with a terrorist. What is wrong with me?

    When June returned from her cleaning up Jack had the table set and the food ready, the family eating in relative silence. He dreaded when it would become too unbearable for her and she would ask about how school went that day. Jack hated lying to his mother, and he certainly could not tell her an entire story about school. He preferred to not face the brunt of her wrath, though he wondered dryly if mentioning Optimus would calm her a bit.

    His phone went off, a quiet ping telling him he received a text. Ignoring June's glare he flipped it open, Miko's picture she took for her contact image grinning back at him.

    -Hey, ever heard of Project Damocles?

⬵⤁

    The Autobots had arrived and caused a mess of things, as per usual. Megatron had sent CYLAS to take care of the human child, but unsurprisingly it had failed in its task. No matter, Knock Out was collecting his revenge.

    Their plans had been foiled by a crippled Autobot, a rookie, and an insect. He was so angry he almost had Soundwave delete the files outright, but another thought came to mind.

    Project Damocles was only a failure due to the Autobot's intervention. It was actually a fairly innovative idea, and he would be a fool to discard it completely. Surely, if primitive humans could harness the technology to generate beams of pure energy and transform it into a weapon, they could surely do the same. CYLAS described it as "nuclear," which a quick research revealed to be the humans' most destructive form of technology. It was very much like energon heat fusion, where the substance was heated to a temperature that made it so reactive, one wrong jostle would destroy an entire lab and anything else in a five klik radius. Nuclear energy required the splitting of an atom, the smallest unit of organic and inorganic life.

    Damocles was essentially a nuclear reactor capable of directing its gathered energy into a focused beam, which could be shot out from anywhere across the globe. It would be easy enough to reverse engineer the technology, given time, and create a weapon that did not need the use of energon.

    But for now . . .

    CYLAS had wasted time and resources, however the costs were minimal and Megatron was only grateful it had not instead gone to the Autobots for help. Optimus Prime surely would not have used the satellite, but his long-time enemy was becoming unpredictable. It made him uneasy to think about.

    Speaking of long-time enemy . . .

    He instructed Soundwave to continue his work with the Iacon database, deciding to take out his quietly roiling anger on their prisoner. The dictator would have to restrain himself just a bit, however it would be easy with the knowledge of how valuable their prisoner was. Ratchet was many things: an Autobot, a highly skilled medic, and most importantly he was Optimus Prime's closest friend. It was a bit surprising that the Prime was not making a bigger effort to reach out and beg for his friend back. He had thought the audio recording would have elicited a reaction.

    Oh well; it was only more fuel for him to add to the fire. He would not be lying when he told the medic his supposed friends had no interest looking for him.

    With that dark thought he finally arrived to the cell and opened the door with a smirk, pleased to see the medic a little more lively today. He glared back, his shoulder plating perfectly straight and aligned - Knock Out had done an excellent job. His cerulean optics shone brightly against the pale misty blue of the prison cell, a contrast to his white and orange paint job. Megatron almost forgot that Ratchet was actually older than him; he had changed from a bright red paint job typical of the medical caste to an orange and white, which did make his seem a bit younger. One would have thought someone as deeply rooted in tradition as him would have stuck with the typical colors of his kind, but Megatron supposed it was a quiet protest to functionalism. Such a pity he had a conscience, he would have been invaluable to the Decepticon cause.

    "I see your systems have successfully processed the energon. Good." He rasped, grin growing ever so slightly.

    Ratchet growled back, how typical.

    "If you're just going to torture me and make me scream again, then get on with it," he snapped, the Decepticon dialect tearing from his throat. His consonants were wobbly and his vowels tainted by his Iaconian accent, but the warlord was impressed. Normally the stubborn Autobot stuck to his own language, of which both of them could understand. To hear what used to be considered the birth child of "Kaonian" and "Vosian" slip from his glossa was a pleasant surprise.

    "Perhaps I make you call for him in my own language," Megatron purred, aware that Ratchet knew exactly what he was referring to. "But I doubt he would care. As you know, I had our previous session recorded. I sent it to the Autobots in hopes of generating a reaction, but all I have heard from them is silence."

    The medic's digits curled into fists, giving Megatron a wonderful idea. "Perhaps because they are busy helping Jack, whom you nearly killed. They are outnumbered, outgunned, and limited on their technology. I would be more surprised if they did attempt a rescue."

    "You are also easily replaceable."

    That earned him a satisfyingly bewildered expression, Ratchet narrowing his optics and gritting his denta.

    "And what is that supposed to mean?" The medic demanded.

    "Your precious Autobots have already added another to their ranks." He quietly contacted Soundwave through their comlink, asking him to begin recording via the cameras in the room and save the footage specifically for sending. "According to one of my inferiors, he assisted your crippled Wrecker in a fight."

    "Crippled Wrecker . . . Bulkhead?" Ratchet gasped in surprise, struggling to his pedes and ignoring Megatron as he stalked closer, using the wall to support his back. He was still weak, mostly from the healing process taking his energy, but he refused to be intimidated by the warlord.

    Megatron grinned. "Indeed. He was severely injured by an Insecticon, but he survived, and from what I have heard, healing splendidly. So you see, Ratchet, they don't even need you."

    That gave him the reaction he expected, Ratchet glaring up at him and gnashing his denta.

    "Then your Insecticon must have been incompetent if he thought he injured Bulkhead to the point where I would have been needed to patch him up."

    "Oh, he did. I was promised that the Wrecker had been offlined. But he was revived and stabilized. Without you."

    The medic flinched. "You're lying."

    Megatron grinned triumphantly, taking a step forward and gripping Ratchet's chin. The Autobot only squirmed for a second, but he stopped once the warlord tightened his grip. Cold blue met blazing red.

    "Why would I lie to you, Ratchet? What benefit do I have to lie, when I know you are all too aware of my habits? I am merely telling you the truth, and I would consider you lucky. At least you are not amica endura to a Prime who does not care about you."

    Ratchet's fist lashed out as if it was an automatic reaction, Megatron catching it equally fast and turning it, threatening to tear all three arm joints out of socket. The medic cried out, tugging his arm in an attempt to pull away and correct his mistake. But the tyrant merely held on, gripping the enclosed fist a little tighter.

    "I suppose since you are no longer of use to them, you won't need this."

    The medic screamed at a satisfying pitch as Megatron closed his fist over his own, crushing the sensitive wires and circuitry underneath. Rumor had it that a medic's digits were especially sensitive, which was what made them so attuned with their work, and Ratchet's sounds only aided the myth. The delicate components of his carpals snapped effortlessly once the armor surrounding it was crushed, Megatron's sharp digits cutting and slicing the wiring to add to the damage. When he pulled away it was a dripping, sloppy mess, Ratchet gazing at it with a horrified expression. He sunk to his knees and cradled the destroyed appendage, his frame beginning to shake.

    "I will spare the other one, if only so I have something with which to restrain you with," Megatron said, as if it was an inconvenience. "I highly doubt they would ever want you back now. What use is a medic without his hands?"

    Ratchet shuddered, holding it close to him. "You . . . are a monster."

    "Am I truly?" Megatron knelt down in front of him, tilting his helm up again. Though Ratchet tried to hide it, and fight the thoughts within him, the warlord could tell this act of violence had affected him hard. To take away one's form was to destroy their function, to make them useless. "Think of this as an act of enlightenment. You are not tied to your hands, Ratchet. You are not dependent on your design. Surely your brilliant mind is not wasted on a dysfunctional husk?"

    "I know what you're doing!" Ratchet snapped at him and jerked his helm away, snarling and shifting against the wall as much as he could. "I will never, ever side with the Decepticons, with you. You are a snake, Megatron, and I will not be bitten."

    The dictator laughed, grinning and putting his sharp denta on display. "What a human thing to say. But you know I am not lying to you, Ratchet, and you know it to be true. Without your medical expertise, you are useless to them. You are not a warrior, or a scout, or much of a destructive force of nature. There is no place for you amongst the Autobots. But with me . . ."

    Claws stroked the side of his face plating and elicited a shudder from the medic, the touch more so sinister than cold.

    "Orion Pax stole the title of Prime from me. He stole the Matrix of leadership. He betrayed me, took my trust and scattered it amongst the stars as he tried to keep Cybertron stagnant. I only wish to see he does not do the same to you, an invaluable asset that is worth more than the work of his hands. For you, Ratchet, possess vast intellect and skills. There is more to you than just the function you were assigned on Cybertron, and I wish to utilize it."

    The tips of the dangerous appendages traced along the seams of his face, and across his neck, prodding the sensitive nodes there as he spoke. They worked their way across to stroke Ratchet's helm, further emphasizing the need for his mind over his frame. Each touch sent a violent shiver down his spinal strut, Ratchet suppressing the urge to make a noise or bash Megatron's helm in. He hated it.

    Yet the dictator knew what he was doing. If there was one other thing the Autobot prided himself in aside from his medical skills, it was his intelligence. And more often than not Ratchet was called upon his knowledge of medicine, and rarely used his scientific ingenuity unless faced with extremely adverse conditions. Megatron tugged at the pride within his spark and coaxed it to the surface, complimenting him and convincing him that he was useful to them. The uncomfortable physicality merely served as a distraction.

    Ratchet faltered, and that was all Megatron needed to know he was winning, little by little.

    "Let go of me," the medic finally hissed in resistance, twisting his neck and jerking himself out of the warmonger's grip. "Don't try to seduce me, Megatron. It won't work."

    "In time, I think it will." Megatron stood. "I will allow you to rest, for now. But your servo will no longer function as it once did, so don't bother begging for it to be restored."

    He only received a glare, which was to be expected, but it was weak and disingenuine. Pleased with his progress, the warlord turned and strode out of the cell. The mech placed a digit on the side of his helm to manually activate his comlink and addressing his third in command.

    ::Soundwave, do take the time to meticulously translate what was said into the human English language. I have a very special recipient for this particular session.::

⬵⤁

    Jack was exhausted, so much so that he did not sense anything wrong when he pushed through the door to his bedroom. His mother would kill him for being out at 2 a.m. if she was not aware of the extenuating circumstances surrounding his late arrival.

As he neared his bed he heard something creak, and suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Wiping around, there was a moment of dead silence as he stopped, frozen in both terror and disbelief.

"Scream, and I kill every living creature in this home. Including you."

Jack almost did scream, wondering if his brain was shorting out, if he was tired, or if there was a miniature Megatron standing in the corner of his room. There was another long pause as his tired mind stalled and tried to figure out what was going on.

Jack stared at the tyrant in front on him, feeling as if the blood in his veins had been replaced by solid ice.

"You're small," he whimpered pathetically.

"I see your feeble mind has finally caught up with your eyes," Megatron's optics glowed from the darkness, the bright red as if the devil himself had come for Jack's soul. "Sit, Jack."

Jack saw no other choice than to just do it, his butt hitting the mattress before his brain even realized he had done so, too focused on his breaths started coming faster and shallower.

Megatron is in my house.

Megatron is in my house.

"How did you find me?" He asked, feeling his head start to get light. He forced himself to slow his breathing, realizing that if he continued hyperventilating he would pass out in front of the dictator. Of the short list of things that Jack never wanted to happen, that now made it to the top.

"Soundwave is very resourceful," Megatron kept taking steps towards him, Jack realizing very quickly that though Megatron was smaller, he was far from small. His helm almost scraped the ceiling of his room, and even though he was not exceptionally wide in any size, he could easily spread his arms and take up half of the room space. "But, I have no intentions of whisking you off into the night, or using the knowledge of your whereabouts for any other purpose that what will be done tonight."

Whisking me off into the night? Didn't realize Megatron was a romantic. Jack resisted the urge to actually say that out loud, well aware that the tyrant would probably not take kindly to the quip.

As Megatron made his final steps towards the bed his hand moved, a brief flash of light making Jack jump before he produced a small chip, which was clearly Cybertronian in origin yet was small enough to fit in the palm of the human's hand.

"A message for you," dangerous red optics gazed into his soul as he offered the drive to Jack, who took it very slowly. The Decepticon released it without any tricks or grabbing, though he half expected to feel Megatron's claws sink into his flesh. "Your computers will be compatible with the drive. On it you will find a single video file."

"It's Ratchet, isn't it?" Jack said without much emotion. He was far from thrilled to receive the drive, but the thought of viewing another torture session nestled a stone in his stomach. "Why are you delivering it? Why not one of your lackeys?" Why aren't you just taking me back to the warship?

A grin crept across Megatron's face, and at the same pace chills slithered down Jack's spine. "To remind you that, in time, you will return with me to the warship. Whether by force or acquiescence is your choice."

"When?" Jack asked, cringing as he forced himself to look Megatron in the face. He wanted to cower, even hide under his covers like a child, but swallowed the knob that was in his throat.

"In time," Megatron mused. "I will not wait long, however, I am sure you will make it clear if you are ready - or not."

The unspoken threat was very much picked up on, Jack nodding silently as he felt his fingers start to slip on the drive. They were sweating almost uncontrollably, matching the perspiration on his forehead.

"You won't hurt my mom," he said.

"As long as she remains out of my way," the promise was hardly reassuring. Megatron leaned forward, Jack instinctively moving back. The warlord kept coming, and even when Jack's back hit the wall he kept trying to get away. The mech's suffocating presence seemed to close around him until their faces were far too close for comfort. There was a brief moment when Jack thought about spitting in his face, but that was immediately followed by the deduction that Megatron would kill him on the spot if he tried it.

"You will speak of this encounter to no one," Megatron hissed, his optics drilling straight through Jack's eyes, rooting him in place. "Not even to your runt of a partner, or Optimus Prime. Should I learn that you have compromised this . . . meeting place, I will terminate your carrier - your mother - on the spot."

Hey, you broke into my house - Jack bit his tongue, instead just nodding and squeaking out. "Understood."

Satisfied, Megatron's servo unfurled. Jack flinched as the cold metal touched his cheek, hissing when pain sliced across his skin and the sting of the air was quickly satiated with the blood that welled from the cut.

He touched the spot in disbelief, pulling his hand away to see that it was already well-coated in red blood.

"Was that necessary?" He hissed.

"In case you should try to forget our agreement," Megatron stood to his full height, tilting his helm as a Groundbridge opened up beside them. Jack could not help but grimace at the idea of a direct portal to the Decepticon warship in his bedroom. Without further ado, the warlord disappeared into the vortex, and Jack was left in silence.

Quickly grabbing the nearest thing that would soak up the blood, an old t-shirt, Jack looked back at the drive, wondering if he would actually plug it into his computer. The guilt gnawed at him from the inside, and he realized that no matter what, he would feel the same whether or not he watched it.

So, throwing up his laptop, Jack did as he had been instructed.

By the end he was curled in a ball on the floor, holding back the urge to throw up. His body was shaking, a cold sweat breaking out on his face as he tried to hold back a scream, or a cry,of anguish.

    He's hurting him. He's hurting him and I'm not there.

    The entire conversation had between the tyrant and medic only forced more questions into his head, swirling around and making him dizzy as he tried to grasp on to one single idea. He also tried to fight the doubt worming its way into his mind, but everything Megatron said remained in his veins like venom.

    "Orion Pax stole the title of Prime from me.

    He betrayed me.

    I only wish to see he does not do the same to you."

    What horrified him the most was Ratchet's lack of resistance. He only accused the warlord of lying once, but even then it was quickly shot down. Even as the poisonous words flickered into his audio receptors, the medic's frame just shuddered under the dangerous touch of his enemy.

    The Autobot's will was crumbling, however even Jack struggled now to look at Optimus Prime the same way. The strong leader swore he would protect human kind, yet he promised the same thing to his own species, and now they were nearly extinct. There was no denying that Megatron was evil - he had not only threatened Jack, but was actively destroying Ratchet every second he got - yet now the human struggled to view Optimus as his antithesis. Optimus had promised protection, and yet his best friend was being tormented and a human ally had nearly died.

    He can't protect you.

    The revelation sunk in like a heavy weight. Optimus couldn't protect them. He could only promise, use words to assure their human allies that no harm would befall them. And even when he was rescued, Jack had not seen through the veil until now.

    They were only words. Optimus could not truly shield mankind from a Decepticon assault. The only reason Megatron had not tried was because humans were merely insects to him, nothing more. If he thought humanity was a bigger threat he would have dealt with them three years ago, when the Autobots came to Earth.

    The intense regret settled in his bones again, tightening his chest and threatening to suffocate him. He should not have left with Miko, Arcee. Optimus had shown up because he expected some kind of resistance, but the Decepticons had let Jack go without a fuss. The reason why eluded him, yet the tyrant knew he had left willingly, and was taunting him with the guilt which gave him anxiety and pushed him to the verge of a mental break down. He knew Jack would be troubled by the video of Ratchet's torture, his heart enclosed in a tight fist and faltering. Even worse was Megatron had made himself comfortable in Jack's own bedroom, a very obvious demonstration.

    Optimus Prime cannot protect you, just like he cannot protect his friend.

    Jack took another deep breath, his fingers shaking, and for a brief moment he wished he had seized the chance to spat at Megatron, even if it had meant getting his neck snapped.

Wrapping himself up in blankets the teen tried to sleep, closing his eyes and attempting to force unconsciousness.

    Sleep never came.

⬵⤁

So, as most of you may know, I recently got a drawing tablet to help me with making digital art. As I am no artiste, and am new to digital art in general, my art sucks. Especially this one.

I call it "Bold and Brash."

Just kidding. But points if you get the reference LOL.

Why would I post my garbage art here of all places? Well, because I am incredibly full of myself, my first piece was inspired by this work. The song that really fit and brought the whole piece together was, ironically enough, "Soul 4 Sale" by Simon Curtis, who was also the inspiration for this fanfiction. His song actually came up randomly while I was letting Youtube auto-play songs, and it immediately caught my attention. So, this song is named after it:

Additionally, while I did think of what I wanted to draw, I quickly realized where my inspiration for the posing came from:

https://www.deviantart.com/archerblack/art/Megatron-and-June-350284646

This artist was inspired by her own fanficiton, which I know can be found on ff.net called "Beauty of the Beast." It is a MegatronxJune pairing, but its very slow-burn and it has an interesting premise behind it. If I recall correctly, the ff.net version is clean, but the author made a unclean version . . . somewhere. I know it's on a different site, not sure where. Anyways, ArcherBlack was super smart and simplified Megatron's design, and did a fantastic job with his shading and coloring. Mine is . . . it's a thing lmao.

While the goal was to give people nightmares, the intent was not supposed to be done with bad art haha. It's not horrendous, especially for my first pieces, but you know . . . it's far from fantastic. Just please for the love of everything good don't stare at it too long.

I like to think that ArcherBlack portrayed her (I am assuming ArcherBlack is female. I could be horrendously wrong) Megatron as more somber individual, almost seeming to hand June off to someone else, or display her to the viewer. Mine, on the other hand . . . well, besides having an energon-stained servo, is much more possessive and manic.

Also, Jack is . . . jacked because his torso was empty and it just looked weird. Idk if he's actually ripped under his shirt, but he'll probably appreciate that I made him that way. Despite the, ah, bodily harm he's suffered.

And for those of you who saw me complain about shading . . . yeah, Megatron was a hot mess to work with. Honestly, I'm not sure I ever want to draw him again because I'm so over shading.