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Everything was going perfectly.
Megatron had successfully achieved control of the spark of Orion Pax. It was far too easy. The young and naïve data clerk had always been too trusting, too gullible. He drank in Megatron’s every word like it came from the Covenant of Primus itself. Orion’s solemn vow still echoed in the Decepticon leader’s audios.
“I will do my part to stop Ratchet’s unspeakable crimes of aggression. This I vow, with all my spark,” he had said, bright, blue optics blazing with fierce determination and undying loyalty.
It was the same look he gave Megatron so long ago, before the simple librarian became him.
The demon that was Optimus Prime.
But now Orion Pax was where he should be. The warlord strode through the dark halls of the Nemesis, the purplish lights reflecting off his polished, silver armor. He occasionally passed a wandering drone, whom would instantly straighten into a stiff salute. He would occasionally would give a nod in return, but his thoughts were focused elsewhere.
Orion Pax should be settling in his station by now. An isolated room, set apart from the rest of the crew, save for the guards posted at the nearby energon storage. The friendly mech disliked being alone, but it was for his own good. The less contact he had with the others, the better. Megatron decided to check on him, to make sure he was adjusting well enough and that he was doing his assigned task—decoding the Iacon Database.
The tyrant eventually came to a door, which yawned open at his approach. Instantly every cable in his frame seized at the sight of Optimus Prime, on his ship. But something was wrong.
Rather than pouncing on him, the Prime was twisting and turning in the strangest ways. He flipped his servos back and forth and pawed the ground with his large pedes. He craned his neck at an odd angle, like he was trying to look at his own body. At one point, he tried to peer over his own shoulder, brilliant optics widening at the sight of the kibble obstructing his view. But his frame was large and bulky, completely inflexible and refused to give at his persistent movements.
In another situation, Megatron would have found the mighty Prime’s weird dance funny.
No.
Not Prime. Orion Pax.
“What are you doing?” the Decepticon leader asked. Realizing he had an audience, Orion Pax immediately straightened and whirled around.
“Oh, Megatronus—er, my lord,” he fumbled rapidly and awkwardly, looking everywhere but the mech himself. “I did not hear you come in.”
“Obviously.”
Megatron stepped forward, servos clasped behind his back. He did not miss what Orion had called him. It was the same name that he had called him in Unicron’s spark chamber, when Orion was finally released from the Matrix of Leadership’s chains. It was the same name the Decepticon leader was called when he was the Champion of Kaon. When he was a slave.
Rather than correcting Orion’s mistake, Megatron inquired, “Care to answer?”
Orion’s optics widened and spiraled as he recalled the lord’s original question. So close together, Megatron could feel his EM field, hot with embarrassment. Rather than obliging his leader, Orion looked away.
“Is something wrong?” Megatron asked, tilting his helm.
“N-no! Er, well, yes… But, I mean...”
Orion Pax certainly did not have Prime’s skill at orating. Primus, he sounded just like when they first met, when the shy and reserved archivist was intimidated by the infamous, hulking champion. At first, Megatron found his speech impediment annoying, until it grew to have a certain charm. He decided to have pity on the poor thing.
“You can confide in me, Orion,” Megatron offered gently. “I will not judge.”
His voice seemed to soothe the mech, as his raging EM field quieted, but he continued to shuffle his weight. His optics went back to roaming across the room. Megatron was patient.
Finally, Orion mumbled, “I feel… different.”
“How so?”
“Just… different!” At his shout, the mech waved his hands dramatically and his field flared with frustration. Megatron resisted the urge to step back, keeping his composure as Orion whined, “I feel so lost. I do not understand how we came to be here. How this could have happened. I do not even recognize my own frame!” The data clerk did his dance again, but quickly composed himself and stared at Megatron, nearly desperately. “Have… have I been reformatted?”
The Decepticon supposed he should have realized sooner. Orion had yet to look at himself in a mirror or see a video feed of himself. He did not even know what he looked like. Megatron decided there was no point keeping it from him.
“Yes,” he answered bluntly.
However, one satisfied question produced several more inquires, as Orion’s optics filled with bafflement.
“How? When? I-I do not remember…”
Seeing that the mech’s distress was only increasing, Megatron thought quickly. He weaved truth and lie together in a painful sentence, “After the High Council choose you as… Prime, they… took you away from me to be reframed.”
“The Council…” Finally some clarity returned to Orion, as he recalled, “I remember that day. You were mad at me…” When Megatron purposefully did not comment, he asked, “What happened after?”
“They took you to Ratchet,” the manipulative liar informed. “He was in charge of your reformatting. But he was driven by jealously and greed, wanting the title of Prime for himself. So when he performed the surgery, he locked you in your new frame, placing you into stasis.”
“Ratchet… did that?”
Orion’s voice cracked with hurt and betrayal. Megatron maintained the lie, weaving another string across the web.
“Yes. When I learned of his deception, I confronted him. He revealed his true colors to me, telling me how he sought to destroy Cyberton. He tried to destroy me! I barely managed to escape, and I have been looking for you ever since.”
Megatron filled his voice with varying degrees of pain and longing, cementing his story. He realized it was bit of a stretch, but he had confronted Ratchet on the battlefield multiple times, and that foolish medic did try to assassinate him once, though he was driven by corrupted energon. But Orion Pax seemed to believe it, like all the rest.
He looked so pitiful, curled up on himself and optics filled with broken sorrow. Still in the body of Optimus Prime, it looked horribly misplaced. Finally, he spoke quietly, “I never believed Ratchet capable of such horrors. He was always so kind to me… Ohhhh… Why? Why would he do such a thing?”
“Envy is a dangerous weapon,” Megatron answered.
“But he could have talked to me! I would have—”
“It would not have made a difference!”
Megaton realized too late he spoke harsher than he intended, as Orion Pax flinched at his bark. The warlord sighed and tried again, speaking softly, “It happened, Orion. There is nothing you could have done. But you are here now and that’s all that matters.”
The former librarian still did not seem convinced. His EM field was still intense and his faceplates were twisted into a conflicted grimace. Megatron fought another heavy ventilation. Orion had always been so naïve, so curious. He was always asking questions. Valuable traits in a scholar and an archivist, but not a Decepticon. Megatron needed him to do what he was told. If Orion continued at this rate, not even the skilled liar could keep the illusion intact. It was only a matter of time before his innate sense of right and wrong rose to the surface, and Megatron may be forced to destroy him.
Megatron had to win his trust, and quickly. Having an idea, he stepped forward. Orion stiffened with surprise when the former Champion’s thick arms wrapped around him, bringing him close to a broad, silver chest. But then he soon relaxed, leaning against Megatron’s warm frame. It was not the first time they had embraced. It was something they would often do, back in the early days of their revolution. Lost in a storm of politics and gladiatorial battles and deceptions, they would just find peace in each other’s arms.
But this was all wrong.
Before, Megatron’s hold nearly swallowed little Orion Pax whole. The short mech would nuzzle his helm into Megatron’s neck, while the gladiator would use it as a comfortable headrest. But the frame underneath his touch was foreign and uncomfortable.
His servos struggled to find purchase as his arms were barely able to wind around Orion. Rather than coming up to his shoulder, the data clerk was nearly as tall as him, so his helm brushed against Megatron’s. He didn’t like feeling another’s ventilations against his audio. No, no, this wasn’t Orion. This was Optimus. The blasphemous Prime always found a way to ruin everything! It made Megatron want to scream.
“Megatron?” Orion suddenly murmured. “You’re shaking.”
Was he?
The warlord sucked air through his fangs in agitation. He swiftly released his old friend, though he was careful to maintain a sense of calm.
“Forgive me,” he apologized. “I am just… happy that you are at my side again.”
Orion blinked at him for a blank moment, and then, finally, his lips curled into a shy smile. The same smile that Megatron adored. It made his dark, twisted spark sing with joy, even as his battle protocols shrieked at him, telling him to dig his claws into that wretched frame and tear it apart. He ignored the invasive thoughts, only listening to melodic voice of Orion Pax.
“I am glad to have you, too.”