So, this story is definitely different than most of my works, and just something I was interested in doing. I forget which fanfiction inspired this, but I'm pretty sure it was a June x Megatron pairing fic. I'll have to go a-lookin'.

This IS a story set on Cybertron, however this OC is human; I do have a plot reason to why the OC is human, but I do understand that there are a few readers who see more logic in a Cybertronian OC. BUT, I do like the idea of a human for this kind of story. Due to the time and setting this is taking place, there are two main, huge plot gaps: timeline of the war, and Cybertron's toxicity to organic life. I am ignoring both of those for the sake of plot. You can be mad if you wish, protest, call it stupid, whatever, but do take into account that I acknowledge these two things exist and am electing to ignore them. Call it artistic choice.

There will also be troubling themes in this prologue; nothing is explicit and really everything is implied, however the presence of certain themes is there. This goes for the whole idea and plot - I have no intentions of making anything explicit or overtly violent/graphic.  you are particularly sensitive to sexual violence, themes of imprisonment/slavery, or other similar ideas then this may not be for you. I am trying to be as tasteful as possible and while the ideas are there, they are not front and center to the plot. Quite frankly, this is more of a Decepticon sympathizer work, as it paints the Primes (particularly Sentinel Zeta) in a nasty color. Additionally, this is not a book meant to portray fetishes or really be sex-focused. Again, this is secondary to the main plot that drives it, but is not central to it.

Thank you to those who are reading, and I am sorry to those who either do not like this work or am uncomfortable reading it.

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Megatron strode through the doors of Sentinel Zeta Prime's palace, basking in his victory. Slaughtering the guards had been easy enough with Starscream's assistance, and with the Decepticons having already advanced through most of Iacon, he did not worry about the measly Autobot faction attempting a counter assault. The Decepticons were far too large in number, and very few truly had any sympathy for the Prime who turned his back on his people. Even the old fool Alpha Trion was at odds with Sentinal Zeta, which spoke volumes his integrity.

The elaborate halls were adorned with spiraling sculptures and glittering crystals, each of which enough on their own to buy the freedom of several gladiators in the Kaonic Underworld. The silver and golden patterns on the walls were highlights of Cybertron's golden age, beautiful murals easily hiding the truth outside of the palace walls. The caste system which the Prime had carelessly allowed to take hold did not even come close to touching him during his self-induced isolation in this accursed fortress.

Without many exchanges of words the Decepticon squad he had taken with him filtered in, clearing each room and bringing forth any living creature they could find for evaluation. Shockwave, ever the most logical of the bunch, was tasked with analyzing each Cybertronian servant or advisor and determining where they were best fit to serve - if they had any possible purpose at all outside of being a prisoner.

Starscream lead his new master up the grand staircase to the second floor, then to the third, taking lazy steps up each one. Being a grounder, Sentinel's place of residence was not open and spatial for the convenience of flying, though the Seeker hardly seemed perturbed. On the contrary, Starscream was thoroughly enjoying the Prime's fate. Unlike most, he had a front row seat to Sentinel's cowardice and corrupt practices, and he was just as eager as Megatron to usurp him.

"-and this is where we may find many capable hands," Starscream slinked in front of a set of doors, the set-up of which was quite odd for an indoor entrance. It was a set of ornate double doors, locked tightly with a security code and heavy bolts, that had pseudo-pillars on either side and a begrudgingly beautiful set of Cybertronian glyphs. However, what they said unnerved Megatron, his spark twisting ever so subtly with the suspicion of what might lie beyond the doors.

"And where two lovers meet, they do consume one another to feed their passion."

The Seeker's slim claws pressed the key code, Megatron's armor clamping down as he prepared for the sight which might be before him.

There had been many rumors as the Cybertronian's spread their colonies and widened their parameters that Sentinel Zeta Prime had ordered for . . . souvenirs to be brought back to Cybertron. In addition, some believed that he had his own collection of Cybertronians from which he derived physical pleasure, adding to the already tarnished reputation of the corrupt Prime and his cohorts. Indeed, many high-ranking political figures were said to be invited to the Prime's palace for "special" occasions and private parties; so private, in fact, that they would never be spoken about outside of the rumors. Shockwave even confessed to partaking in a few, not for his own sake but to quench the curiosity of whether the rumors were true. Megatron never bothered to ask the details, though now he supposed he should have, in order to brace for what he might find.

Several pairs of eyes greeted them in a lavishly expansive room, the area much larger than the Decepticon anticipated and clearly taking up the majority of the third floor. Starscream strode in with little hesitation, perhaps not as unfamiliar with the scene as the gladiator expected.

Cybertronians and various organic species alike either stood or lounged in the room, which was kept at several degrees warmer than the rest of the palace. He suspected so they would have no excuse to not be wearing as few items of clothing as typically acceptable, multiple organics in particular covering up at the sight of Starscream and the newcomer, unaccompanied by Sentinel Zeta.

"This, Lord Megatron, is Sentinel Zeta's personal . . . Court," Starscream introduced, standing in the middle of the rich red carpeting. Fabrics such as what adorned the entirety of the room and it's furniture was rare on Cybertron, and extraordinarily expensive to make, as normally fabrics were the product of very thin metal threads, often made interlaced with gold for extra softness. This fabric, however, was clearly organic in nature, making the Decepticon wonder just how much wealth the Prime was wasting on such disgusting pleasantries.

Most of it was rich red, which contrasted sharply with the deep greens and blues of the Cybertronians and the various skin tones of the organics. One mech in particular, adorned with glittering purple jewels across his green chassis, stepped forward with a bowed head.

"Megatron . . . I suspect you have not come here with noble intentions, should your reputation precede you," he said, his entire front half bowed forward in a graceful gesture of respect.

"Sentinal Zeta has been apprehended by my Decepticons," Megatron curled his lip in a distasteful sneer. "Yet as such, you are under my jurisdiction. What is your name?"

"Jetstorm," the mech answered, daring to let his optics flicker up to meet the tyrant's gaze.

"Tell me, Jetstorm, are any of you capable of combat?" Megatron questioned, in particular gazing at the various mechs and femmes around the room. Some were clearly designed for lighter work or taken from their upper class homes, sold to the Prime as some sort of recompense. Others were much heavier builds, likely for much rougher activities when Sentinel so desired.

"Many are trainable, if that is what you are alluding to," he spoke carefully. "Myself included. The organics, however-"

"They are of no use to the Decepticon cause," Megatron bared his sharp denta. "And as such, I see no reason why their existence should continue."

"Ah, my liege," Starscream extended a single claw, not daring to flinch when Megatron's burning gaze settled on him. "There is but one I am sure you will find to be immensely helpful. Sentinel Zeta's personal favorite - a human."

Megatron almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but Jetstorm quietly stepped aside as Starscream gestured to the end of the room. There, another Cybertronian mech, black with golden and silver accents, various colored jewels adorning his armor, stood next to an elevated platform. On the platform were various pieces of furniture and fabrics of many different colors, on top of which rested an organic.

The human gazed back at Megatron with a casual look, evaluating the mech just as he took inventory of the small, irrelevant lifeform. Its hair curled around its delicate face and shoulders, adorned with various pieces of jewelry. Its hands too glittered, one raised to its chin as it watched lazily, prey that had no qualms about being observed by a predator. Its only piece of clothing was a long bottom half, the protoform otherwise exposed in a tasteless manner. Piercing blue eyes clashed oddly with its overall darker complexion, though Megatron could not say he had encountered many of the insects in his life.

This is the favorite of a Prime? Pathetic. Vile.

"And how is it of any use to me?" He asked, approaching the human.

The black Cybertronian stepped forward, like Jetstorm keeping his helm bowed low as a sign of respect. "Megatron, if I may . . . He is an advisor, confidant, and . . . Pleasure of Sentinel Zeta. He holds many secrets that the Prime has told him. Personal, political, military . . . All have been whispered in his ear."

The human opened his mouth and spoke in his strange tongue, Megatron almost recoiling at the sounds. They were unnatural from anything he had ever heard of, and it only made his spark twist with even more hatred for the strange beings. Organics were abhorrent creatures, and he found no reason to take any of their lives into account.

The Cybertronian paused for a moment after the human had finished speaking, optics trained on the floor.

"He wishes to add that his loyalties are not with Sentinel Zeta."

"Then, pray tell, where are such loyalties?" Megatron snapped a little, not in the mood to deal with a coy traitor. If the pet was not loyal to his master, then could the bug truly be trusted?

"Only with himself," the Cybertronian answered once the human finished. "And if you have truly gotten rid of Sentinel Zeta, then he feels that he owes a debt to you."

The Decepticon made to snip back again, but paused. He realized the Cybertronian before him had yet to speak the human's strange language, and yet his questions were being answered without hesitation.

"He understands Cybertronian?"

He was rewarded with a nod. "Yes," the translator answered. "While he is capable of comprehending our language through verbal and written means, his organic vocals are not designed to reproduce the correct pitches and words to correctly speak Cybertronian. We are, however, more than capable of speaking his language."

Megatron was not interested in the last part. "How long has he been a part of this court?"

"Seven of his years," the Cybertronian answered. "According to his calendar. He is twenty-six of his own years as well, by definition a matured mech."

Organic lifespans were just blips on the radar of a Cybertronian's, thus Megatron could accurately conclude that while Sentinel Prime may have only had a short amount of time with this organic, it was long enough. And as much as it disgusted him, Megatron was not stupid. This human was useful, especially if he contained secrets.

"What is your name?" He asked the Cybertronian. "And what is the human's?"

"He refers to me as Bastet. I believe it is a form of endearment," the Cybertronian answered. "Otherwise . . . I have no name. Likewise, Sentinel has always referred to him as Amicus. It is the name he answers to."

Megatron gazed at the odd pair, deciding he would keep them for now. Amicus gazed back at him with an almost bored expression, the human lounging back in his chair. On the table before him was a partially-drank cup of energon, something Megatron had not taken into account. At the very least, it appeared that the care of this human would be convenient.

"Very well. Bastet, you will remain with him," Megatron ordered, looking around the room. "As for everyone else . . . Starscream, take those capable and enlist them into the Decepticon army. The others . . . Deal with as needed."

"Yes, my Lord," the Seeker bowed, barking orders as Megatron made his way out of the room, other things needed to be tended to.

Amicus gazed at his Cybertronian companion, his brown curls gracefully bouncing as he did so.

"This has been an interesting turn of events," he picked up his glass of energon, swirling the substance. "And here I thought the threat of Megatron was merely an empty promise."

"It appears that he should be taken more seriously than what the Council, and Sentinel Zeta, gave him credit for," Bastet agreed, his brow furrowing just slightly. "He may kill you once you run out of usefulness. It is very clear he does not like organics."

"Then I will become useful," Amicus assured him. "You said so yourself: I am much more clever than you give me credit for. And if the Prime has taught me anything, it's that everyone has a weakness, a sin, that can be exploited. I will just need to find his."

"Be careful," Bastet warned.

Amicus gave him a lazy grin.

"All I have left is death. And should Set personally decide to terminate me himself, then so be it. I have nothing more left to lose."