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Greg was an engineer and somewhat of an inventor. He was a brilliant engineer, in fact, that the military had tried to scout him for themself. Build new machines to destroy more countries, all that boring stuff. Greg didn’t need that. He had already gotten tired of creating things that would blow up in one use—metaphorically and literally—and he thought it would do well for him to stay away from his job a little bit. A nice, relaxing vacation, if you will. But then came M.E.C.H. A private military opposing the US’ government. Which sounded stupid the first time he heard it, but as he dug deeper, he realized that M.E.C.H was the thing. Count him in, then.
He passed the interview swiftly, unsurprising given his records at the military and some other private companies. But despite M.E.C.H’s claim to be ‘number one at technology’ stuff, he found that there was little to do except for tinkering existing technologies to make it better somehow. Greg wanted to blow up on Silas. What did the boss expect him to do with all this junk?
Everything changed for him permanently when he, out of all people, was assigned to assist Silas to take a Dynamic Nuclear Generation System—or DNGS, as stupid as the acronym sounded. Frankly, he didn’t know what the top brass meant to do with him, an engineer, going with Silas’ unit. But long story short he had gotten into the helicopter, and the mission went smoothly until they tracked the vehicles that were transporting the DNGS. Said vehicles then turned into giant robots. Which was some next-level bullshit craziness that Greg definitely didn’t sign up for. As he watched the giant robots take down M.E.C.H’s soldiers with ease, Greg immediately knew what he was supposed to do.
He practically stormed into the top brass meeting room to demand for them to catch one of those robots. Surely, there weren’t only four. Silas nodded then, and Greg could see that the leader also had the same ambitions as him.
The first giant robot they caught was one called Breakdown. Which was ironic, considering what Greg was about to do to it. Its screams of pain—do these things actually feel pain?—had made his eardrums ring, and he grumpily told one of his subordinates to do something to make it shut the fuck up. He went through the motions carefully, since they weren’t guaranteed to catch one again to pick apart. He had enjoyed watching the thing squirm like a helpless child under his hands, and the rest was history.
Silas had been near-obsessed on recreating a giant robot on his own with Optimus Prime’s caliber, and it was kind of hard to do so considering that the materials they had were Breakdown’s parts. The robot had made its escape before coming back dead, and Greg didn’t want to think over the little details of it as he worked his way to breaking down its parts. The materials were unlike anything that Greg had laid eyes upon, that much was clear. It took a lot of tinkering to build a replica of Optimus Prime. One, because the robot was massive, and two, because frankly they didn’t know shit about the giant robots’ apparent biology. And wasn’t that interesting to think about, thought Greg, as he discovered that some parts couldn’t be built because they were biomechanical of some sorts.
Long story short, it took a long time before his team was able to build their own giant robot and get it to function. Silas happily took on the role of being its controller, and Greg was more than content to watch the destruction it would do. Or so he thought. The moment the robot was finished and its form powered up, instead of moving like Silas wanted it to, it emitted a light bright enough to blind them all. Greg could only close his eyes and place his arm over them to stop the blinding light, and even that wasn’t enough.
He didn’t know what happened next. The only thing he instinctively knew was that they had been transported to some other place, judging by the rough ground he sat upon. He briefly wondered if their plan was a success before opening his eyes. The first thing that came across Greg’s mind as he awakened was; where the hell am I? He swept his eyes around the room which looked to be a hall of some sort, with a giant throne on top of equally giant steps. The pillars supporting the ceiling were also gigantic, as if built for giants. (Greg didn’t want to acknowledge the correlation between the size of things around here and the giant—and apparently alien—robots.)
His team members and Silas were slowly beginning to awaken one by one, with each being as confused as he was. Silas glared at him as if Greg knew the answer to where the fuck is this, but unfortunately for the boss, Greg was as clueless as the rest of them were. No one spoke a word other than murmured awe and terror for the unknown, when the ground might as well shake from the force of something hitting the ground repeatedly. With a regular interval, Greg noted. Giant footsteps. His conclusion was really getting into what he wanted the least to happen, and Greg internally readied himself to run behind Silas if the robots found out what they intended to do and already did with one of theirs.
He was reciting prayers under his breath when he saw what or who was the source of the noise earlier. It was Optimus Prime, albeit with a different color scheme than what he remembered. And as if one weirdly colored Prime wasn’t enough, there was another robot following him. A slightly bigger robot than Optimus Prime with silver coloring his armor. Greg could hardly hold back his anger when he saw Optimus Prime languidly walking towards the throne in the hall, the Prime’s expression unreadable save for the glowing red eyes that swept over them. Greg could feel his face flush in embarrassment. Oh, so he wanted to play that way? Greg could do that. Just wait until Optimus learned his place when M.E.C.H’s replica of him beat his ass.
He felt a giant hand nudging them all to move forward. “Optimus. These are the fleshlings that I reported earlier.” He tried not to flinch at the sudden voice coming from above them, but he failed spectacularly when he felt Optimus’ eyes sweeping over his group. The purple bot didn’t make a move to address the voice from earlier, and Greg—even with all of his arrogance—knew not to look for the source of the voice.
Silas, for some reason, approached the throne with purposely loud and forceful footsteps—although they could hardly echo, given the sheer size of the hall—huffing when either of the robots looked at him. The silver robot, who was following Optimus’ movements if his eye tracking was any help, turned his head towards Silas—towards them. But it wasn’t him that Silas was looking for.
“Optimus Prime. You look… different than when I last saw you.” The statement didn’t rouse any reaction from the giants, but the atmosphere seemed to change. Greg felt it down to the very core of his being. He took his eyes off of the pair of robots, and instead watched Silas’ back as his superior attempted to gauge their reaction. Which, considering that neither was moving to acknowledge their presences, was a futile effort on his part.
The other bot in his line of sight moved, cannon coming to life on his right arm, but before Greg could utter any prayer, Optimus raised an arm. An order, Greg realized. An order for the bot to back down. He didn’t know whether he should be relieved or afraid at the hold Optimus seemed to have over the other bot. Nonetheless, the bot in question’s cannon eventually disappeared. Presumably to one of those subspace magic things that Greg had never managed to comprehend.
It took quite some time for Optimus to reply, and in all honesty, Greg didn’t know what he had expected either, but eventually Optimus replied with a low, scratchy voice. “Different… how?” He said the words with a drawl—not consciously, Greg realized later, Optimus spoke as if his very own vocal chords were broken, and as a result, left him to sound as if he was growling half the time. It was very different with how their Optimus sounded. As far as Greg knew, the red and blue giant’s voice was gentle, with a kind of soothing effect coming along with it. This Optimus, however, his tone of mockery didn’t escape his notice, and so did Silas’.
“My name is Silas, and I am the leader of M.E.C.H. I am so very pleased to meet you for the second time, Optimus Prime.” Instead of answering, Silas introduced himself with the flair that he liked to use every time they held a meeting with an outside source. Greg thought the dramatic tone was ridiculous. So did the bots, apparently, because none of them reacted as if his superior’s name and organization mattered much to them.
“Ah, but where is my manner? Let me introduce myself too, shall we?” Every time this Optimus Prime spoke, Greg couldn’t help but to feel fear etching into the crevice of his being. A certain sense of dread kept crawling all under his skin, and he didn’t know what to do with it. There was no point of escape, at least none that he could have seen. The giant doors a few meters away from them were closed shut so tightly that there wasn’t even a gap in the thing. No one was guarding them—at least that’s what Greg thought when he stole a glimpse at them—but his instincts told him that the second any of them turn towards those doors, they’d be flattened by one of those giant feet or hands. Greg couldn’t decide which one was worse. Facing the unknown, or talking with who felt like the devil himself wearing the face of Optimus Prime.
“I am Optimus Prime. Leader of the Planet Cybertron, where all of you are standing right now. Welcome to my humble abode.” A certain flair was used where it mattered within Optimus’ words, and Greg tried not to notice that Optimus failed to introduce the other bot standing in the shadows behind him. He didn’t know what to do, frankly. His palms were cold, and he tried to position himself behind Silas’ back. As cowardly as it looked like, Greg wasn’t suicidal in the least. But his action backfired quickly when he heard a sound coming from Optimus. “The little fleshling is afraid,” Optimus noted much to Greg’s horrified realization. The purple giant then laughed. Not the kind of laugh that would get the butterflies in your stomach to flutter, and not even the kind of laugh that Silas made when his plans went smooth. His laughter sounded as if they were just a joke, or as if they were toddlers who stumbled upon their own feet when trying to walk for the first time. It was a demeaning sort of laugh, and the sound of it made Greg’s face burn with embarrassment as shivers went down his spine. The sound echoed within the hall, with no other sound accompanying it. It felt as if all of this was just one big bad joke, and Greg was ready to wake up anytime now.
In front of him, Silas cleared his throat. The laughter died down immediately, but Greg had reasons to believe that it wasn’t done out of respect. “It’s nice to finally talk to you in person, although you…” his boss moved his head up and down, as if inspecting the Prime, “look quite different from the last time I saw you,” said Silas. It was clear that the act was meant to bait either of the giants—or perhaps both—but neither rose to take the bait. Greg could only watch from behind helplessly, cringing at every little sound the hall seemed to make if they so much breathe. At the mention of difference, Optimus frowned, turning his head to the other bot for a second before addressing them again. “You talked as if you knew me. Yet I could not remember seeing you anywhere. I believe Earth was under Prowl’s supervision,” Optimus looked at the other bot for agreement, “and the last time he reported, hardly any human had survived to this day.” Optimus didn’t even have to stand up for him to feel the pressure emanating from the bot. “So let me ask, different how?”
If Silas was offended by Optimus’ tone, he didn’t show it. Rather, he once again scrutinized Optimus from top to bottom, and this time, Greg could guess what Silas would say next. “For starters, my Optimus was more red and blue.” Despite his lack of access to the rest of Optimus’ face, Greg swore that the giant raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose, if we were to compare his actions to yours, he was more gentle towards his human allies than you.” Forget a raise of an eyebrow. Optimus laughed, for the second time in Greg’s meeting with him, the sound loud as if Silas had told the funniest joke ever. Greg felt out of loop.
“Me and ‘human allies’ don’t belong in the same sentence, fleshling,” Optimus spoke, and much to Greg’s relief, leaned back on his throne. “Dearest,” he turned towards the other bot standing in the shadows behind him, “could you imagine it? Me, allying myself with squishy, fragile humans?” His words still had a touch of laughter within them. “I suppose not, my Prime.” An answer actually came from the other bot, and the being in question now came out of the shadows to stand next to the Prime’s throne. His silver armor had scarring all over them, but Greg swore that the silver bot was downright beautiful, to say the least, compared to Optimus whose color scheme could certainly do better.
Greg, however, could guess his place in the throne room, and so he held back his comment and let it be swallowed down his throat along with his saliva. His mind raced with questions, one after another which never found their answers. Was this Optimus a different entity from the one back on earth? Was this even the same universe anymore? Were they transported into an alternate universe? How could they even breathe if there wasn’t any oxygen? The hall didn’t answer his questions, neither did its residents.
“Megatron,” so that was the other bot’s name, “come back.” Greg didn’t know how he missed the silver bot coming halfway down the steps, before freezing in his place at Optimus’ words. Megatron looked unimpressed by the order, but still he turned around, his cannon still making sounds that made Greg feel squeamish. This time, he didn’t hide in the Prime’s shadows, but standing right next to the throne. Greg couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The purest of silver, his mind whispered, look at that. What little light that could sneak within the hall’s crevices was making Megatron look even more majestic, and Greg couldn’t help but think that it should be Megatron who sat on the throne.
As if hearing his thoughts, Megatron waved away his cannon, before picking Optimus up from the throne, sat on the throne himself, and placed the Prime on his lap as if it was a familiar routine. Judging by the lack of reaction from either of them, Greg would bet that it was indeed a familiar routine they did. “So this is how you want to play, Optimus Prime? By making a fool of yourself and faking ignorance of my very presence here?” Greg, despite all his fears, wanted to slap Silas so badly as soon as the words escaped his superior’s lips. Couldn’t Silas fucking read the room that this Optimus was clearly different from their usual one? Couldn’t he feel the hostile air in this very hall?
From what he could see, Optimus just rolled his eyes and leaned on Megatron even more, tucking his head under the silver bot’s jaw. The display was so… surprising—because it implied vulnerability—given their position, but soon Greg learned that Optimus was acting that way not because he didn’t hold enough power to actually decide what would happen to them, but rather it was Optimus deeming them unnecessary for him to even lift a hand. But that was something that future Greg had to find out under a very painful procedure by the bots’ own medic.
“I’m bored with them already. My Lord High Protector, won’t you decide their fates for me?” That scratchy, deep voice should not attempt at doing a pleading tone, Greg decided. Much to his amazement, Megatron smiled at that evil-ass voice and wrapped an arm around Optimus’ waist, before letting out what Greg thought was a giant robot’s equivalent of a hum. (The sound was more like gears grinding against each other, and Greg had only ever gotten his hands on one of those, so he didn’t have much to judge, honestly.)
Silas was clearly fuming at the pair who were ignoring him, Greg could practically feel the rage in the air surrounding his superior. “I demand an explanation for our summons here, Optimus Prime! And if you are not willing to do so, I will show you what it feels like to be on one of M.E.C.H’s medical tables,” Silas roared. “Oh, hush, you.” Was Optimus’ immediate reply, and Greg nearly pissed himself at the reaction. They were clearly running out of options to go back—if there was even any to begin with. Angering not one, but two giants when the odds were clearly on said giants’ side was not the brightest thing Silas had done.
The other team members were keeping their silence, although Greg could feel their fear. It was starting to affect him too, he realized. He glanced at Silas who finally seemed to realize that their safety relied solely on the Prime’s decision—or Megatron’s. “Fine, what is it do you want?” Silas relented, although Greg wasn’t sure if there was anything the bots wanted in the first place. Optimus, at least, perked up from his unconventional seat. Greg watched as Optimus pulled himself up with one arm clutching onto Megatron’s shoulder, making the Prime sit upright on the other bot’s lap.
“Megatron, look, the fleshbags thought there was anything of theirs we wanted!” At Optimus’ comment, Megatron finally showed an expression other than annoyance and boredom, as the silver bot’s expression formed a sneer. “I know, My Prime. They spoke as if their planet wasn’t plundered by your own orders,” Megatron replied. “As for what to do with them, I believe I have an idea already. May I?” Megatron brought Optimus’ hand to his lips and kissed it—the gesture would have made Greg curious about the bots’ capability of forming romantic relationships and the like, were it not for their fates on those hands.
“Mmhm. Go ahead, My High Protector.” At Optimus’ words, Megatron turned towards them and grinned, flashing them with his very sharp teeth before he gave the orders. Greg felt as if his feet were tied to the ground, for he found himself unable to run, protest, or anything similar. “Sideswipe!” Greg flinched at the silver bot’s voice. A large shadow loomed over them—how the hell did any of them not notice yet another robot in the room? Megatron didn’t let this Sideswipe speak before continuing, “Take two of them to Ratchet.” Greg didn’t dare to look up, so he assumed that Sideswipe had agreed, because the next thing he knew was that there was the back of a giant hand brushing against his abdomen, and when Greg turned his head, he found that his team was missing two personnel. Greg didn’t want to imagine what would happen to them.
“Sunstreaker. Take two of them to Ultra Magnus. Maybe they will entertain the Wreckers long enough.” The name Ultra Magnus was spit out with so much venom in it, and Greg didn’t manage to resist when he felt a big hand grabbing his waist none too gently. He couldn’t even let out a scream when Sunstreaker’s hold tightened a little too much until he thought he heard his ribs crack.
Sunstreaker walked with a nearly relaxed pace, a fact that Greg would have appreciated if his ribs didn’t hurt so much. “You guys got away lightly,” Sunstreaker told them. “Your leader would be grateful if he were to be in one piece by the next hour.” Greg couldn’t say anything, limp in Sunstreaker’s hold. “And you,” Greg screamed when he felt his ribs cracking even more, “you’re lucky that Optimus let you out. He usually doesn’t let anyone look at Megatron that way.” Lucky how, Greg wanted to ask, ribs crushed and blood pouring down his mouth? He didn’t think so. “And Megatron,” Sunstreaker shifted his hold, and Greg could breathe for a second, “he would never let anyone who disrespected Optimus like that alive for long.” The robot looked thoughtful for a second, “well, at least not in one piece.”
Megatron thought his day was getting bad to worse by the second. First, he had a disagreement with Optimus in front of the council over what to do with New Kaon’s restless population—and no, Optimus, displaying Sentinel’s remains to them won’t quell them—and second, apparently, by some Primus-damned miracle, Sunstreaker found a group of organic beings knocked out just outside of Iacon. Optimus, after being notified of this discovery, had informed Megatron and Sunstreaker—with an excited glint on his optics—that these beings were called humans. And that they most likely came from a planet called ‘Earth’. Megatron thought he heard Optimus murmuring, but how could they survive here without oxygen?, but his attention was immediately averted by Optimus’ order to bring the humans into the throne room.
Now, Megatron loved his Optimus. He could make poems out of Optimus’ purple and green chassis alone, but even he couldn’t read Optimus’ mind. He really wished Soundwave was here to secretly read Optimus’ thoughts, but the loyal bot was forbidden to come within certain distance with the Prime given his ability. Which made sense, of course, but it also meant that Megatron was left with no one else to take the brunt of Optimus’ ire. Or curiosity. Or both. (Megatron could easily calm Optimus down, everyone knew that, but frankly, Optimus lately had been so volatile that Megatron was tempted to shove his spike into Optimus’ valve on the bot’s throne that he liked so much.)
Ah, he was getting off track now, wasn’t he? Optimus dismissed Sunstreaker, but he had Megatron come with the guard to ensure that the humans were properly handled—because apparently they were squishier than an Energon jelly—and perfect for Optimus’ enjoyment. He was only gone for a few minutes, and when he came back, he could see his conjunx were really excited to observe the humans up close. Megatron didn’t like that, he decided. How come his Optimus easily got happier only by seeing fragile beings with his own optics after Megatron had spent the entire day coaxing his conjunx to no avail?
He said exactly that to Optimus, with jealousy seeping into every word he said, but Optimus only scoffed at him. So Megatron had to resort to tugging Optimus into his arms, forcing his conjunx’s mask to disengage, and kiss him as if he were dying of energon deprivation.
The kiss had evidently taken Optimus off guard, for the Prime had opened his intake to protest, yet was rewarded with Megatron’s glossa slipping into his intake. Megatron restrained Optimus’ arms above his helm, sliding his knee between Optimus’ thighs. It went on for quite some time until Megatron could feel Optimus’ frame overheating, vents cycling noisily in the not-quite-deserted hallway. Megatron pushed their helms together. “We’ll continue later,” he said. “Let’s go see the humans you care so much about, hm?” Optimus looked at him unhappily at both the earlier action and the question, but nodded nevertheless. Megatron had then promptly released him from his hold, and let Optimus know that the humans were waiting for him in the throne room. That, at least, managed to bring Optimus’ mood up.
On their way to the throne, Megatron thought that the fleshbags would make good toys to keep Optimus’ ire off of the council for a few days. A week, at most. He doubted that the humans had the built for what Optimus usually had in store for his latest obsession. He had lost count on how many times he told Optimus that no, they can’t afford to orchestrate a new civil war just so you could watch, Optimus this week, so he really hoped that the humans would be at least sturdy enough to face the Prime’s playful mood.
The walk towards the throne room was at least long enough for Megatron to keep his spike inside his panel. His optics were glued into every motion Optimus took, and from the glint of those red optics, he knew that Optimus knew what he was doing. He wished for nothing but to drag Optimus to their berth, but the humans were more urgent than interfacing right now. Who knew how long they would last in Cybertron’s atmosphere? (He thought he had read a similar research on this by Jetfire, he believed. Unfortunate that he couldn’t remember the answer.)