So this was sort-of-kind-of requested by mzzterry , as we have discussed Power of the Primes before. It's a fairly "controversial" cartoon in that the animation and overall visual storytelling is very lacking (given that it is by a small animation company, such a thing should not be unexpected), but the plot was something very new and different, and carried a little more adult-themed ideas as well. When she suggested a fanfiction from this particular storyline, I didn't really think of anything specific.

But, as one can see, I did come up with something.

It's not fantastic, and it's not an "original" plot by any means, but I like it. And there isn't really a solid idea on where this story could go, yet the potential is there. I would suggest watching the Power of the Primes trilogy, just because it is something new and it carries interesting ideas. Honestly, my only problem was the presentation - and that turned a lot of people away from it alone. But! to each their own opinion.

Enjoy!

ΩΩΩ  

It was love, yes, but only in the name.

The light faded almost as fast as it had appeared.

Megatron patiently waited for any sign of life from the outside world, wondering how Optimal Optimus could have missed. Surely the Autobot was not as dumb as he looked.

When nothing seemed to happen - not gasp of surprise, or scream of horror - he relented and opened his optics. They adjusted to the surrounding environment with smooth ease, his sensors generating soft pings within his processing core. It took longer than he anticipated to realize he was no longer at the Well, and that he was alone.

"If this is hell, I'm not complaining," he muttered to himself.

Though he grunted out of habit, as his aged stabilizers and pistons would whine when he strained them, he found it was unnervingly easy to stand upright. Glancing at his armor he noticed how new it appeared to be, every digit curling and straightening at his command. Where once there was hesitation as he warmed his offensive systems and extended his EM field it was as if he had just been newly constructed. The frustrating extra nanosecond to process information and formulate attack strategies was gone as well.

Dropping his servo he looked around once more, still finding it difficult to comprehend. His optics were working perfectly, however all they were registering was . . . nothing. White, perhaps, if he could even call it that. Tilting his helm, he did his best to not lose his footing or bearings as he failed to register any shifting in light or shadows. It was a dizzying effect that he did not in the least bit appreciate.

"I'm beginning to regret my earlier statement."

"You seem to have many regrets, my creation."

Instinct caused him to whirl on one pede, his servos clenching when he could not find the source of the voice. His optics scanned the nothingness before him and, as usual, found nothing.

"Who are you?" He demanded. "Where am I?"

"Have you strayed so far as to have forgotten your Creator?" The voice was strange to his audio receptors. It seemed to have no inflection or tone and yet he could sense the presence was . . . peaceful. "I am Primus. And your sacrifice to destroy Unicron's Matrix of Chaos has deemed you worthy of the Allspark."

"If I had known it was that easy, I would have gotten rid of that annoying dinobot and idiot Titan-speaker when I had the chance." The former warlord quipped dryly. "So, this is the Allspark. I was expecting it to be a little less . . . boring."

"You are merely worthy of it, my creation. But I wish to ask of you a favor," Primus paused, allowing Megatron to consider saying "no" right then and there, and continued. "Cybertron has seen so much war, so much hate, and eons of pain. It dims my spark to see my creations suffer at the hands of their kin, and I wish to set things right again."

"And you waited until after I was dead. Typical." Megatron was waiting for the bit where he was left alone.

"I did so to communicate with you directly,"  Primus answered. "To ask this of you: more than anyone else, you understand what it is like to be less than, to be treated as nothing but a tool, or weapon. Megatronus has also felt this way. I wish to make you his companion during the First Age of Cybertron, when he walked amongst his fellow Primes."

He had to be hallucinating, or close to death. Surely Primus would not actually ask this of him. To go back in time and "fix" things before they were broken? The god certainly had a death wish.

"And you can't just do that yourself?" Megatron asked bitterly. "Surely you, an all-powerful god, are capable?"

"Indeed. But I do not wish to wholly twist my creations to my designs, as Unicron does. I desire to give Megatronus, and the other Primes, one last chance of redemption."

"And what is in it for me?"

If Primus was unsurprised the lord of the Decepticons had asked such a question, he did not say so. "Nothing that has already been gained."

Many things described Megatron, but "charitable" was not one of them. It puzzled him to see Primus reach out to him of all mechs for help. Surely, if he was looking for someone to carry out his good deeds, Optimus Prime would make top of the list. He suspected ulterior motives from the god, but he could easily dismiss them and opt to join the Allspark instead. For once he could kick back, relax, and let the idiots in the world of the living sort themselves out for once.

But Megatron was not also one to "relax." And, admittedly, he was curious to understand what Primus truly had in store.

"If I agree . . ." he said slowly, "will I lose who I am?"

"Nothing that has already been gained."

"Thanks for clearing that up," Megatron grumbled, crossing his arms. He acted as if he was contemplating - though really he was just counting to ten - before looking back up to . . . well, no one. He realized he was staring off into nothingness and expecting to see something.

"I will accept this . . . mission."

"Very good, my creation."

Nothing more was said, Megatron briefly wondering if the god was going to act any time soon when a bright light engulfed him once more.

ΩΩΩ

"Hello? Hello?"

"Windblade," Megatron snarled into the darkness. "If you continue asking that stupid question, I am going to -" he onlined his optics very suddenly, realizing that Windblade should not have been communicating with him. Indeed, where he expected to see the silly Seeker, a delicately framed face gazed back at him. 

The femme, he realized, was extraordinarily beautiful, with an expression of concern carefully crafted onto her smooth frame, her soft blue optics glowing like warm coals in a flame. She was on her knees beside him, giving him a fairly limited view of her entire body, but when her name graced his processor he decided that she would not appreciate if his optics began to wander.

"Are you alright?" Solus Prime asked with a gentle inflection. "Who is Windblade?"

"I'm fine," Megatron sat up, ignoring her slight jolt of alarm when his old joints creaked and complained. Guess it would have been too much to ask for a new body. "Perfectly functional."

"You did not answer my second question."

Give me a moment to understand my surroundings, then I'll lie to you. He bit back the retort on his glossa as he stood, cringing when even more internal protests snapped through his frame.

It appeared that Primus had settled the mech just outside of Solus Prime's forge, within what was now - in the future - the Primal Swamp. Megatron could not say that he saw the god's logic; wouldn't it have been better if Megatronus, the one mech he was supposed to "fix," found him?

"Who is Windblade?" Solus repeated, gazing at Megatron with a frown. "And, perhaps more importantly: who are you?"

Solus Prime was revered amongst her brothers as incredibly intelligent, the femme with a hard drive one-hundred times faster than that of even Alpha Trion. She solved complex problems for fun, she built and crafted the world's deadliest weapons within months, where normal scientists would take millenia. Yet Megatron knew he was the only one with big enough lugnuts to lie to her.

"Windblade . . . I don't know." He dared to look at her, letting her gaze into his optics and attempt to read his mind. That was how he got even Shockwave to believe him - by giving them no reason to think he was guarded. "As for who I am . . ."

Megatron was not the name he should use. To reveal he was millions of years from the future would be detrimental to his mission, surely. Many wrongs occurred when everyone would attempt to change their fates; doing so normally sealed them.

"I was not given a name," he admitted. "But only a designation. D-16."

Solus Prime tilted her helm. "D-16?" She mused. "It sounds like a name I would give my creations - not a sentient being."

The designation - the slave code - brought back painful memories, yet Megatron just allowed them to wash over him.

"That is all I know," he said, shrugging ever so slightly to make himself more convincing. "I know not where I hail from, or who con- created me. I only know that I am D-16, created to serve."

Primus, he hated the words that were coming from his glossa. But they were one of the first he ever said, and he remembered them vividly.

"D-16: online. Function: mining. I am prepared to serve."

A bitter taste welled in the back of his intake.

Solus Prime regarded him with kind, pitiful optics. He immediately regret sharing the small details; the last thing he needed was a shoulder to cry on.

"With your permission," she said. "Shall I call you by something else? D-16 is hardly a proper name for a sentient being."

He raised an optic ridge. "And how do you know for certain I am sentient?"

The femme Prime laughed, a pleasant sound which made her frame seem to glow, her optics sparkling with a bright joy.

"Because you are thinking, you are feeling," she replied. "And perhaps because you chose to answer the question. I see who you are, D-16, and I know you are not one of my machines. Perhaps a lost Prime?"

How ironic. I get sent back in time and they mistake me for a Prime.

"I am unsure," he continued to lie, ever the Decepticon. "Why would I be a lost Prime?"

Solus tilted her helm. "I do not know," she thought. "Perhaps you were created . . . to serve us. But I do not think any Prime has any use for a servant; after all, we are too busy strategizing and planning." There was another pause, Megatron half tempted to ask her a question he already knew the answer to, but he too remained silent. She was clearly thinking. "I think I shall name you Orion Pax, for to us it means 'the peaceful warrior.' Something I think my brothers forget that we are."

You have got to be kidding me!

Megatron forced a smile on his faceplates. "Orion Pax . . . it sounds nice."

"Do you like it?" The Prime looked genuinely pleased with herself. "Orion Pax. Yes, it is a fitting name indeed." She beckoned for him to follow, turning toward her forge. "Come, I am sure you have many questions."

"Yes, like why you would give me such a ridiculous name," Megatron muttered it very carefully under his breath, Solus Prime none the wiser as she coaxed him into her forge. "And I thought I was beginning to regret naming myself after your boyfriend."

Taking a deep ventilation, he reluctantly began to follow her inside, ever wary as he realized Primus may be keeping watch.

I hope you know what you're doing, you crazy god. Or it won't be just Unicron that will feel the wrath of the Requiem blaster.