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It was a visit of courtesy. Actually, the very opposite of courtesy. A small spiteful gesture born of the fact that Megatron hated being played.
Being invited to Visages to read poetry and watch everyone flee the bar was not a reason to hold grudges. Megatron had endured many things during his early cycles on Cybertron, ranging from mockery, thrown glasses and a chair straight to the face during his poetry recital. Being ignored by your audience was by far not the worst thing that has happened to him.
Yet Megatron was annoyed to find out that the invitation had been fake. Gossip and bits of overheard conversations confirmed that the poetry reading was a ruse, a simple setup to drive rival’s business into the ground.
Now, pranks was nothing unusual on Lost Light and neither was the crew’s distaste for their new captain. But there was only so much Megatron was willing to take before something snapped.
It was clearly the time for a visit of courtesy.
When Megatron walked in the bar, the effect was heard immediately. The closest tables grew quiet, and as Megatron walked on, the silence spread like an infectious disease. Eventually even the drunkest and rowdiest Autobots realized that something was very wrong in Swerve’s bar.
Megatron reached the bar stand and slowly sat down on the chair. It creaked, clearly not used to housing the bulk of a miner’s body.
Finding the eyes of the barman, Megatron slowly smiled. The growing panic in Swerve’s eyes was a delightful sight.
“A fine establishment you have here,” said Megatron, thoughtfully rubbing his finger against the table surface. Someone clearly had been polishing this thing for hours and really taken pride in its appearance.
“Yes, yes, that is true,” said Swerve with the fixed grin of a bot in last stages of rigor morphis. “A very fine bar.”
Megatron mentally added to that sentence “… but that will be soon a thing of the past if slagged Megatron - the former leader of Decepticon and destroyer of worlds - keeps sitting in the front.”
Smiling even wider, Megatron shifted on the chair and threw a glance around the bar. Conversations have started again, although in much quieter voices. Megatron used to associate such gatherings with the preparation of an assassination attempt, and the hateful glares made no mistake about who’s gonna be the target.
To be completely and utterly frank, Megatron enjoyed being feared by his enemies almost more than being adored by his allies. Of course, the Autobots were longer his enemy and the crew of Lost Light was under his care and responsibility, and yet… this was bringing back fond memories.
With a smirk, Megatron turned his attention back to Swerve. The bot was frantically cleaning a glass at such speed, that one could fear that it would catch fire. It was clear, that Swerve’s brain was overclocking to find a solution to the nightmarish situation he found himself in.
Megatron wanted to keep the bot off-balance. If not, Swerve’s infamous word barrage might if not defeat Megatron, then at least seriously daze and incapacitate his mental processors.
“What drinks do you serve here?” Swerve stared at Megatron as if he was asking him about quantum physics. Megatron tried with something easier. “Anything special for your captain?”
“Captain..?” mouthed Swerve, then suddenly beamed. “Oh yes! We have something right for you! Let me fix you up in a moment!”
The bulky bot moved with unexpected dexterity, quickly fingering the energon taps and juggling bottles to fill up an extra-large cocktail with an unusual swirl of colors. While Megatron rarely drank, he knew his way around energon types and recognized some of the labels. What Swerve was about to serve him was most likely gonna knock a Titan of his feet. What it could do to Megatron in his current state… was hard to anticipate.
Well, there goes the first assassination attempt.
But what did it matter? Megatron did not come here to drink, but to unsettle others, anyway. Fear is much more potent drug than anything else in the world. One would have to find a way spill the drink - or even better, make somebody else spill Megatron’s drink to keep the fun going.
Swerve’s hands were barely shaking when he put the glass before Megatron. Megatron awarded him with a subtle, knowing smile and placed his palm around the glass with no intention of raising it to his lips. He was about to say something - didn’t matter what, just to keep Swerve on his toes.
But then something interrupted him. Swerve had looked behind Megatron, and shock, fear and then relief appeared in rapid succession his face. Moment later Swerve was grinning again, waving a welcoming hand to the new-comer.
“Chief Enforcer Ultra Magnus! Glad to see you! Came to join your friend? Well, don’t let me bother you,” Swerve winked with hope and sauntered to his other customers. It was clear that Magnus was the savior that Swerve was looking for.
The chair creaked dangerously, as Ultra Magnus sat down next to Megatron. Magnus’s face was impassive.
“I hope you do not intend to drink that.”
Megatron watched a bubble rise to the surface of his drink and burst, releasing a small green cloud in the process.
“I did not.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want to disrupt your energon diet.”
“Ah,” said Megatron, “Of course. The “diet”. How could I ever forget.”
The cocktail suddenly grew more attractive. At least death was quick and merciful, unlike the “diet”. It was an insult to energon in the whole galaxy, to insinuate that this foul, slimy liquid had anything to do with the real thing.
Magnus eyed up Megatron with a very neutral expression.
“If you did not come here to drink, then what are you doing here in a bar, Megatron? Socializing?”
As he said the last word, Magnus pointedly looked towards the conspiring masses. It seems the “assassins” were in the last stages of preparation, judging from the hunched backs and increasingly dark glances towards Megatron.
“Actually,” said Megatron with a faint smile, “I came here to read poetry.”
Ultra Magnus raised a brow, then glanced towards Swerve and back to Megatron. Swerve was pretending to serve customers, but it was obvious that his attention was only pointed towards Megatron.
“I see,” said Magnus. “Swerve! Two weak energon spritzer for both of us.”
Swerve snapped to attention and energetically nodded. He whispered something to the customers nearby - Riptide, Chromedome and few others, before getting to fetching the drinks.
“We’ll make the spritzers an exception,” said Magnus looking straight Megatron in the eye, “One drink, then we leave. Without making a scene. Leaving the bar intact and without doing any damage to its reputation.”
Swerve was filling up the drinks with his back turned. There was no doubt the bartender was intently eavesdropping.
“Not even a little damage?” said Megatron with amusement. “Well, fair enough.”
Swerve served the spritzers without looking Megatron in the eye, passing one quick and grateful nod in Magnus’s direction. Megatron followed the bot’s unsteady walk. It seemed that Swerve was close to falling over from relief.
“This is unlike you, Megatron.”
Megatron almost snorted.
“Expert on Megatron behavior? Already? You have put the six months with me to good use, then.”
Ultra Magnus’s frown deepened.
It was always like this on Lost Light. Every single moment was poisoned by suspicion, every single word by Megatron scrutinized under the lens whether it fit with the tale of the genocidal maniac they heard about.
Megatron sighed, took a gulp of the drink and set it down.
“I am stuck in an unlikely place and even less likely situation,” calmly said Megatron. “Clearly, a time for changes. Four million years of war is a hard thing to forget, but that’s no reason to treat my crew with kid gloves. A little jitter will do them good.”
“Or make things worse.”
Megatron shrugged.
“All life is a gamble. Avoiding direct confrontations often only leads to delaying the inevitable.”
Magnus said nothing. Of course, Ultra Magnus’s job was law and order. Taking risks was against his nature, as it should be. But commanders were by design taking the risks as they came. Only important thing was that the risks were worth the gain - and that the commanders knew who to skew the odds in their favor.
A chair fell over. The thunk was not very loud, but it accentuated a change in mood that made the bar hold still. Some drunken bot had stumbled from his table and now stood in the open, hands raised and calling for attention.
“Dear friends and those… diddle… didly… diddle-doods that ain’t friends!” The bot smiled beatifically in that mischievous, daft manner of a dead drunk bot. “Lemme tell you all a joke!”
The bot swayed, but found his balance.
“So, the joke goes as follows: a Nail… you know those, right? … A Nail walks into a bar and sees Starscream and Megatron sitting at the table.”
Ultra Magnus had begun standing up, either planning to take down the jokester or going to drag Megatron after himself and leave the bar. Megatron placed a hand on the Magnus’ arm and hissed: “Sit down.”
After a long, dark look, Ultra Magnus complied. The joke went on uninterrupted.
“The Nail walks up to the couple and asks what they are doing. Megatron says were planning a war,” the drunk Autobot nodded and pointed up a finger in sagely manner. “The bot asks what’s going to happen this time. Megatron says this time they were going to kill 15 million Autobots and a turbofox. The bot asks why a turbofox.”
“And then Megatron turns to Starscream and,” the bot started shaking uncontrollably, “and then… then Megatron says ‘See, I told you no one would care about the 15 million dead Autobots.’”
The Autobot started laughing like a maniac. He was the only one, for the bar was dead silent. After a few moments, somebody grabbed the jokester and lead him to the entrance.
The hysterical laughing almost sounded like crying, but even that grating sound was better than the silence after the bots departure.
“Well,” said someone cheerfully, “if someone had told me tonight was joke night, I’d have come better prepared.”
People sniggered nervously. Apparently those were Skids’ words, for he was now slowly approaching the spot where the first bot had delivered his performance.
“Frankly, I had a few drinks too many,” confided Skids the audience in pleasant manner, “and I’ve definitely forgotten all my best jokes ever since I became an amnesiac.”
The bots chuckled in earnest now.
“But I got something for you that you might like. So here it goes…”
Skids cleared his throat and began:
“A bot with busted optics walks into a bar, orders a drink and says, ‘Hey! Does anyone want to hear a Decepticon joke?’”
Skids exaggeratedly placed his hand towards his ear, as if trying hard to hear something. The bar got the cue and roared “Yes! Decepticon jokes!”.
Skids bowed with a small smile and continued:
“The robot next to the Autobot taps his shoulder and says, ‘Listen pal, I got two guns strapped to my hands and another four to my shoulders, I am three times as big as you are, and I’m a Decepticon. The bouncer over there, well he’s a Metallicato expert and his fists can punch through a frame and tear out your spark. As for the best part? He’s Decepticon too!’”
“Now the Decepticon’s smile turns nasty,” whispers Skids darkly before continuing in an upbeat tone, “and the Con says: “As for the bartender, serving your drink? He is from the K-quad and his alt-mode is fusion bomb that could level this entire city. I case you wonder, he is another a Con!’”
“‘So,” says the Decepticon thug menacingly, ‘do you still wanna tell that Con joke?’ To which the bot replies…”
“Well, not if I gotta explain it three times!”
Skids grinned widely as bar roared with laughter. Megatron was sure they heard this joke before, most likely even told it to each other tens if not hundreds of times. But they never heard it like this, not in earshot of fragging Megatron himself.
As Skids walked back to his seat, he gave Megatron cold hard glare. It was clear this performance was not meant as a favor. Still, it was Skids who turned this disaster of a situation into a salvageable trainwreck.
“Did you know,” Megatron leaned towards Ultra Magnus, “that the same joke is told using the same very words about the Autobots?”
“I did not,” said Ultra Magnus levelly. “I usually do not listen to jokes.”
Megatron half snorted, half laughed.
“Well, then pay attention, and you will learn a few new things tonight.”
Ultra Magnus’s attention had already shifted, for there was a new bot coming up to replace Skids. This time it was Chromedome. The bot clearly lacked the energy and Skid’s infectious smile, but the bar went quiet either way, anticipating more entertainment.
“I’ll make this short,” said Chromedome. “Joke starts with Starscream and Windblade sitting in a bar. Starscream notices Megatron drinking in the corner, and points him out to Windblade.”
“Hey, check out that guy! That’s my former commander. It’s been years, and he’s still not over me leaving his army.”
“Come on,” says Windblade, ‘nobody celebrates that long.”
Laughter filled the bar. Well, that was the one good thing about Starscream; he was insufferable enough to be hated almost as much Megatron was.
Chromedome bowed slightly and left. Staring at his back, Megatron felt a jolt of electricity. With sudden clarity, Megatron saw that this was his cue. This joke left an opening, a single moment of sympathy that could be exploited.
The odds were hardly in Megatron’s favor. But the chance had to be taken by its throat, because if Megatron had to lose, then he’d prefer to lose on his own terms.
Ultra Magnus looked startled when Megatron stood up, but failed to grab his hand in time. Megatron walked unobstructed to the open spot and turned to his audience.
There was surprise, shock, hostility and amusement on the people’s faces. Not a bad mix, all things considered.
No time for preface, no need for introductions. They had to focus on the joke, and not the Con delivering it.
“Megatron walks into a bar and orders three glasses of energon.”
There were sounds of muffled surprise, but Megatron ignored them and continued:
“The bartender asks, ‘Why three?’ Megatron replies, ‘I’m drinking for myself, my ideals and my army.’ He does this every day for million years. One day he comes in and orders only two glasses. The bartender is concerned, and says, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ The bot replies, ‘Nothing lost.’ ‘Then why only two glasses today?’ asks the bartender.”
“‘Didn’t you hear?’ says Megatron, ‘Megatron’s dead now.’”
Megatron bowed his head and headed for the entrance. The confused mutters were cut off as the door closed behind Megatron’s back.
They didn’t get it. Of course, Megatron told that joke cause he knew nobody would understand. Not immediately. After some thought, they’d have some ideas what Megatron had meant, but they wouldn’t be sure.
The seed of doubt will unsettle them. Understanding the joke would mean trying to understand Megatron… and who would ever want to do that? That was the curse of curiosity, leading people to places they didn’t want to go.
Heavy footsteps followed Megatron. He slowed down, to allow the straggler catch up with himself.
“What was that all about?” asked Ultra Magnus.
“A joke. You heard enough tonight to recognize one, don’t you?”
“There was no laughter after yours, therefore I doubt it was a very good one.”
Megatron said nothing. He remembered vividly the Autobot that was shaking with laughter over the millions of deaths that Megatron caused. Rung will need to have a talk with that jokester. It seems humor was the mind’s last defense before it all broke down.
“We haven’t heard the punchline yet,” said Megatron, surprising himself. “The joke might still change, but it’s watch and see. Until tomorrow’s briefing, Magnus.”
“Yes, sir.”
Megatron entered the elevator alone. Just before the doors fully closed, a big hand stopped it.
“Megatron?”
“What is it?”
“Never enter Swerve’s bar again. I won’t survive a second joke night.”
Megatron smiled.
“Here’s to two of us.”