Chapter Text
Even a seemingly cold unfeeling machine could sense the suffocating unease the jail cocooned its visitors within, the systematic halls and minuscule cells offering no reassurance.
A distinct surge of deja vu itches at the back of his helm like an insect.
Megatron’s optics descend to polished prison tile, the floor’s shining surface presenting him with a clear portrait of his reflection. Red optics scrutinize him intensely. He easily meets the mirrored gaze, the insipid itch returning to crawl at his neck.
Confinement would not sedate him, he long since realised, no matter what shackles or walls claim his form.
No longer needing to withstand the inane rambles of an organic pest served as only a small victory, relatively speaking. Especially when being subjected to pitiful human nonsense can yield certain benefits.
A heavy thud from the prison's lower levels enveloped his cell in waves, following the sounds of distant commotion. Vibrations trickle beneath his pedes as the noise settles.
The itch returns to stab at his processor.
Megatron shifted strenuously; his large frame creaked in protest. After his residence had been transitioned to a detached solitary cell, his allocated space downsized exponentially—even relative to the first minuscule room he’d been assigned.
His once-occupied position nestled in between his loyal subsidiaries was allegedly deemed unwise in a recent council assembly, a pathetically late realization.
He supposed being sanctioned in such a way was befitting in their eyes; the sinful Decepticon catalyst locked within the facility’s centre and core. The isolated cell mimicked a throne room, housing a single bench alongside the morose sight of a looming titanium hallway only visible through thick impenetrable glass.
The artificial light bathing the small silver cell prompted his optics to squint with a dull ache. He barely resisted the urge to glare daggers at the ceiling light, as though the inanimate object were a defiant subordinate.
Trypticon Prison would've been insulting had it not been the humiliating testament of cowardly Autobot ideals it proves itself to be.
The facility lies upon the achingly familiar remains of Kaon, the towering building's luminescence a stark contrast to the city's polluted red sky. The domineering sight intended to intimidate and scorn any unruly mechs inclined to step out of line.
The prison’s elaborate promise of justice seemingly offered no relief for the rampant fear encompassing Cybertron's civilians. Megatron felt his mouth quirk in amusement as he recalled rows of wide petrified optics, gawking at his capture.
Decepticon-carved dread still grips Autobot society within an icy hold.
As long as Autobots possessed that terror, he would encapsulate all the power he truly needed, within confinement or not.
The familiar whir of an electric door sliding open caused his thoughts to linger, the sound notably closer than before.
His immovable posture stagnated, akin to an unflinching sculpture even as echoing footsteps flooded the nearby hall. The sound was sharp against the artificial silence, the systematic schedule of noise interrupted as vale steps grew closer.
A muffled conversation was drowned within the facility’s walls, entirely unintelligible but distinctly present against the piercing quiet, before ceasing abruptly as inconsistent and shrill tones from a keypad followed.
One uncertain input of a lengthy security code later and the main cell door slid open, a thin wave of smoke pooling from the sides as the inner mechanisms worked swiftly.
Megatron wasn't necessarily surprised by the visitor, the sight was an entirely possible scenario all things considered—yet even so, he still found himself adjusting his optics as they landed on the small Autobot strolling towards him.
“...it’s you.”
This caused the shorter mech to lour firmly, seemingly unsurprised as he stopped in front of Megatron, leaving a large gap between him and the dense cell glass.
“Yeah, it's me,” he notes dryly, “I suppose I should feel thankful enough you recognise me at all.”
His voice came out tired and bitter, the once fiery contempt burning within his tone Megatron recalled now replaced with thinly coated ash.
“It's Optimus,” he reminded the mech indignantly.
Megatron regarded him with an indifferent gaze, too busy noting the bot’s lack of usual weaponry and additional plating. It would’ve caused him to look younger were it not for the fatigued glint present in those distant optics.
“It appears you've omitted a distinct title alongside that name,” he noted, a vague tint of curiosity gracing his words.
The other mech simply paused, a distant expression tracing his face.
“...Optimus Prime.” The Autobot clarified, his voice a slight mutter as he maintained a steadfast glare.
“Well, Optimus Prime,” he goaded, “What a pleasant surprise it is to see you pay my chambers a visit.”
The deadpan glare he received in return contrasted the Autobot’s typically friendly disposition ridiculously. “The feeling isn't mutual,” Optimus uttered flatly.
The Decepticon leaned back as far as his bonds permitted, humming tersely as he let his acknowledgement stew. He scrutinized the bot for a voluble minute, as though searching for something.
One glance at the smaller, visibly exhausted, mech already painted a remarkably vivid picture.
Megaton was not reaping consequences alone.
“Hardly the appropriate temperament expected out of Cybertron’s newly appointed ‘triumphant hero’,” he prompted snidely, not bothering to conceal the obvious attempt to pry. “I wouldn't have assumed you'd display humility after the feats you've accomplished.”
The venom within his tone was not lost on Optimus as he visibly held back a reaction to the obvious mockery.
“I’ve never been one for boasting, not even now.” The reply was uncomfortably forced, matching the tired strain threatening to engulf his face. “And besides, those ‘feats’ weren't accomplished alone.”
An intrigued gaze landed on his servos as Optimus retrieved a thin, grey object from his subspace.
“In any case, I'm sorry to disappoint you,” The words followed a practised rhythm, providing a verbal barrier before Megatron could interject. “But I'm afraid I'm not here to talk about your assumptions.”
A blue ray of light flickered to life as Optimus toggled the grey object—seemingly a damaged datapad—to power on. Megatron glanced at the screen with half-baked interest, as the Prime held the cracked tablet toward the cell.
The projection housed a lengthy box of text, the outdated UI showcasing a grey pictured mech in the top right corner alongside it.
“I've noticed you've been exceedingly calm behind bars, even by your standards,” Optimus started, “You were letting far too many parts of your arrest succeed without a hitch.”
Blue optics met him purposefully, the bot’s voice seemingly regaining stamina.
“Knowing your way of playing? I'm certain that you haven't come close to revealing all of your cards yet.”
Megatron wordlessly let the image loom over him, the blue hue coating his expression in thick shadows. Buried entanglements of nostalgia scrapped to take refuge within his mind.
He felt his reflection ingrained within the cell floor threaten him with another gaze.
“You have quite the history here in Kaon, don't you?” Optimus remarked knowingly.
Megatron felt his mouth quirk up to a smirk, amusement bubbling in his throat as the faint yet familiar sound of naive confidence graced his sensors.
So this is what inspired the foolish little visit.
“You've certainly done your research,” he remarked, admittedly impressed, “From what I recall; records created before the war are decidedly scarce within Autobot archives. Though, I predict you're well aware of that if you've managed to find this file of all things.”
He watched the shorter mech’s fist clench momentarily, before loosening as Optimus took a short exhale.
“You aren't stewing in here without thought, I'm certain of that,” His voice provoked a minuscule echo throughout the cell. “But, clearly, there are quite a few things I haven't gotten the opportunity to be certain about.”
The pad’s projection flickered, light glaring across polished walls as Optimus pointed the screen's sharp corner accusingly toward the larger mech.
“But, I'm not going to allow you the opportunity to take advantage of that. Not again.”
A blunt declaration, terse patience guiding his voice. Megatron’s amusement only rose.
“Surely your comprehension skills aren't truly this pitiful,” he couldn't withstand the echo of a chuckle rising in his mouth, “The text is entirely straightforward, perfectly legible.”
Optimus ignored the taunt, turning the file back toward him swiftly.
“‘Incident report, case 0039-1567, instigated riot within Energon mining outpost, subject designated ‘Megatron’ apprehended,’ as well as several others ascertained at the scene.” Optimus switched his gaze from the screen to scrutinize the Decepticon still looming over him, composure stiff.
“Want to tell me what you know about Trypticon? I'm sure as a former Kaon miner you must have plenty of insight you ‘forgot’ to mention.”
Megatron returned the intent glare easily.
“You will do everything but remain still, it seems.”
The Autobot scowled and tightly crossed his arms, the gesture painting him with a vaguely sharper silhouette.
“Call me an overachiever, but I tend to get a bit curious when I notice the Decepticon leader plastered across hidden Autobot archive files from long before the war.”
Disdain dripped from his insistent words, faux patience beginning to crumble.
Megatron only offered another sharp smirk.
“Flattering, but the mech within that report is far from fully encapsulating such a title,” he commented easily, “Though, I'm aware it would be unnecessary to explain ‘humble beginnings’ to you of all bots.”
Optimus visibly bristled, before gritting his dental plates to suppress his obvious offense. “You don't know what you're talking about,” he muttered.
“Neither do you.” The Decepticon didn't bother to stifle his chuckle. “Concerned for your privacy all of a sudden, Optimus?”
The Autobot’s slight grimace hearing his name leave Megatron’s mouth did not go unnoticed.
“You seemed very keen on leaving a vivid impression of who you are back on that pebble of a planet,” his mouth quirked upward. “And here I was thinking you'd proven yourself to be a formidable adversary.”
“It's Earth.”
Megatron blinked.
“...come again?”
Optimus crossed his arms, expression unwavering. “The ‘pebble of a planet’ has a name,” he remarked sternly, “It's Earth—a name I'm certain Cybertron won't forget anytime soon.”
There he was, now this resembled the mech that secured his capture.
“...I’m to assume they have already begun to forget yours?”
The Autobot narrowed his optics in warning.
“That doesn't matter,” he declared, “I'm not here to—”
“Ah, of course, because a true hero wouldn't strive to be anything but humble,” Megatron inclined backwards in his seat, watching his shadow’s silhouette slowly engulf the bot in front of him. “Even if it means ascribing yourself as nothing more than a tragic, self-inflicted martyr.”
Optimus clenched his servos incredulously.
“Don’t call me tragic when you're the one behind bars,” he spat pettily.
“Am I?”
He knew the smaller mech never enjoyed utilising excessive violence as a response, but the piercing blue glare stabbing Megatron’s optics strongly suggested otherwise.
The cold look tentatively melted, fury haphazardly swallowed behind a plastered air of composure.
“...all I need you to do is to tell me what you know,” Optimus’ words treaded carefully along his strained tone, “You’re withholding details on purpose. If you're choosing to hide info, that means it has to be important.”
Megatron didn't miss the way the smaller mech’s optics flickered.
“I'm not letting anything else slip, I can't.”
Megatron smirked.
“How about we make it more interesting?” He proposed, amusement trickling from his tongue, “Lopsided interrogations prove to be so dull after a while.”
Optimus flashed him an incredulous glare, blatant bafflement only fueling Megatron further. “Come now, don't give me that look. You haven't even heard the offer yet.”
The room spat back a brief echo as the Autobot groaned, burying his helm within his palm as his shoulders lowered into a slight slump. “Of course, because now is an entirely appropriate time for games…”
The bitter remark was met with a rumbling chuckle, the Decepticon seemingly content in his time toying with the other.
“See? I'm pleased to hear you agree,” Megatron tilted forward, begrudgingly adhering to the distance his shackles permitted, so his optics were almost level with the Autobot. “You won't regret indulging me, you have my word.”
He took a moment to savour the sight of a blue finial’s minuscule twitch, his words appearing to already begin to prod at Optimus’ reflexes in an insipid itch.
“Cut to the chase,” the Autobot gritted out, “You’re hardly in a position to draw this out as much as you have.”
Optimus’ equally unenviable position was decidedly unmentioned. As entertaining as this back-and-forth proved to be, Megatron similarly wasn't keen on elongating his stay any more than he had to. The smaller mech said it best, get to the point.
“I'm sure there is no need to explain the process of trade,” he began, sharp red gaze trained on the other mech. “I propose we encourage more productivity within this little encounter of ours.”
“I offer you what I know,” A heavy servo gestured between them both patronizingly. “And in return, you relinquish info to me.”
Predictably, Optimus gawked at the suggestion at first, a wide-eyed incredulous response. Naturally, negotiating any semblance of an arrangement wasn't the naive mech’s original intent. Regardless, Megatron had no issue with reminding the younger bot just who he was demanding from.
Behind bars or not, the Decepticon tyrant still commands the vehement authority that had continuously fueled his resurgence to power—something he knew the Prime wasn't stupid enough to take lightly, unlike his many arrogant Autobot comrades.
“...ignoring how blatantly absurd it is to even ask such a thing,” Optimus rubbed the ridge between his eyes in taut, frustrated strokes. “What info are you expecting me to just… hand over to you?”
Megatron reclined and casually scanned his cell, perusing smooth metallic walls as though his sanction didn't already offer him enough time to scrutinise each ridge and scratch vigorously as it was.
“I haven't had many opportunities to rekindle my curiosity for Cybertron’s political happenings,”
Optimus glared, optics filled with the same amount of vexation you’d expect from a mech twice his size.
Megatron smoothly ignored the pupil-propelled daggers and continued, “So, I request a few details of the mechs currently overseeing my capture. I'm certain you're knowledgeable enough to deliver, judging by your little fixation surrounding my personal history of all things.”
“Who knows,” The tyrant hummed in a mocking purr, “I may even have some notable insight to offer regarding your ‘pristine’ superiors intent on extinguishing my spark.”
Curiously, the additional remark appeared to have caught the Autobot’s interest, optics widening as his irritated expression shifted. The bot harboured a breath for a moment, pupils darting absently in hesitant thought.
“...you have to answer my questions truthfully,” Optimus insisted carefully, “If I feel like you're lying, then I don't have to offer you anything. Got it?”
“Crystal clear,” Megatron smirked, flashing sharpened teeth as he savoured the trepidation coating the smaller mech’s face.
The Autobot had no reason to worry—because for once, Megatron intended to reveal the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Optimus’ servos tensed momentarily as though an itch had begun to stab at his processor.
His confinement will crumble, the cracks were already beginning to form after all.