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With a well aimed shot to the head, the Myrkulian dropped dead to the ground.
Groaning, Megatron stood up from where he was once pinned. “Thank you for the assistance, Minimus.”
“It's no prob—”
“Hey, a little help here would be nice!” someone yelled out.
Minimus jumped, looked over his shoulder, then back to Megatron.
“I suggest going to First Aid. That is quite an unpleasant-looking bite,” he said.
Megatron nodded, feeling a tad unbalanced. There must be something in the alien's saliva that affected his systems. It must've been powerful, to make a mech like him feel woozy. If Minimus were to be victim to the same attack, it would surely incapacitate him nearly instantly.
“Ow, fragger, that hurts!” That was Rodimus's voice. The yell was quickly followed by sporadic gunfire, and lots of crashes and bangs.
“Well, I must get going. I have a duty to defend this ship, Magnus Armour or not.” Minimus nodded at the taller mech, and then padded on over to where he was needed.
Megatron could only grunt, and started making his way over to the medics.
He heard, more than saw, First Aid firing his gun three times and hitting something behind him, presumably another one of the Myrkulians.
“That was close,” the medic muttered, then yelled, “Whirl, stop messing around! Get back here and cover for me!”
“You got it, cutie!”
Megatron sat down heavily as First Aid began cleaning his wound and patching it up, grumbling to himself about “petnames” and “undermining his authority as the new Chief Medical Officer.”
Megatron sighed. New universe, new adventures. But also new enemies, apparently. The Myrkulians they had come across, on their ship The Undying Conqueror, hadn't been interested in diplomacy, to say the least. This group only wanted to kill, capture, and enslave, it seemed.
“Okay, this is gonna pinch a little,” First Aid said.
It didn't, but Megatron did not want First Aid's bedside manner to turn into Ratchet's, so he said nothing.
“Done. You're not too hurt and you have a good self-repair system, so you can get up once your head starts feeling clearer.”
“Thank you,” Megatron said. The medic nodded, then went to take care of another mech.
While awkwardly sitting on the floor, Megatron looked around to observe the fight that was going on. Cyclonus was slicing enemies left and right, Perceptor was sniping from a distance, and Minimus…
Oh. Megatron felt woozier now, actually. Oh dear. Minimus… looked positively radiant, running around with a cannon nearly twice his size, blasting Mrykulians two at a time with no hesitation.
Megatron felt breathless, and had to take a moment to turn on his fans. It was disconcerting. He swore that had long since changed his opinion on violence—and perhaps it was only because he had subconsciously started picturing himself, in an old alt-mode, held tightly in Minimus' small but strong hands—but in this moment he had to admit.
Minimus looked very good with a gun.