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The Sumdac lab hummed with quiet activity, the glow of monitors casting long shadows against the cold steel walls. Megatron remained motionless, his optics dimmed in false dormancy as he observed the human scientist move about his work. The man had grown comfortable in his presence, It was a mistake Megatron had long since learned to use to his advantage.
But today, something was different.
Sumdac was holding something… no someone.
A small, fragile creature cradled in his arms.
Megatron would have ignored it at first, dismissing it as just another organic, another human. But then Sumdac turned slightly, and the child shifted in his arms, soft whimpers escaping from tiny lips. Her head lolled against Sumdac’s chest, her face scrunching in the way of all young as she began to stir.
Then her eyes opened.
Megatron froze.
Dull red eyes, soft and unfocused, stared up at the world. Not human brown, or green but.. red. His red.
A slow, crawling sensation crept over his neural net, something ancient and instinctual buried deep within his own code. Recognition. Claim.
Sumdac was gently bouncing her now, hushing her softly in that infuriatingly human way. “Shh, little one… I know, I know… The nanny-bot will be here soon.”
Megatron barely heard him. His world had narrowed to that tiny, helpless form curled against Sumdac’s chest. His spark pulsed in a way it had not in centuries, a slow, dragging realization sinking into his very core.
She was his.
He did not know how, not yet. But there was no denying it. His CNA was in her. A fragment of himself, twisted and reshaped, buried within weak organic flesh.
His optics flickered brighter, just for a fraction of a second. Sumdac did not notice.
But the child did.
Her red optics met his across the room, blinking sluggishly. Her tiny fingers twitched against Sumdac’s shirt, then relaxed.
She was too young to comprehend, too weak to act. But for a fleeting moment, Megatron felt something pass between them.
Megatron forcibly shut down the sensation before it could take root. Weakness. Attachment was weakness.
And yet…
His optics remained fixed on her even as Sumdac turned away, even as the nanny-bot arrived to take her, even as she disappeared from his sight.
This changed everything.
The Autobots would not have her.
Not Sumdac. Not the humans.
She was his.
And one day, she would know it.
Megatron’s mind burned with purpose.
He had known rage. He had known vengeance. He had known the cold, calculated patience of a warrior without an army.
But he had never known this.
It was not just anger that gripped him as he watched Sumdac hold his creation, nor was it the bitter loathing that usually accompanied his dealings with the human scientist. No, this was something else, he STOLE his sparkling, the sparkling megatron didn't know he would care for. But looking at her little dull red optics he vowed, in his Spark, sumdac would pay for it-
And yet…
She exists.
She existed, and they took her from him.
Not in war. Not in battle. Not with the violence and destruction that had stolen so many of his warriors from him before.
They had stolen her while he was in stasis.
While he was helpless.
The human… he had taken his body, had scattered his form into nothing but spare parts, and Sumdac still scavenged his remains like a parasite.
And from those stolen pieces, from the corpse they had tried to make of him…. his bitlet had been made.
He did not know how. He did not care.
Sumdac had lied to him.
All this time, pretending to be some naïve, absent-minded fool. Pretending to help him. Speaking with fear in his voice. Acting as though he had not meddled in things he did not understand.
That coward planned to keep her.
To raise her as though she were his.
Megatron’s rage was so vast it felt like it could tear through the walls of his prison, rip through the wires holding him in place. He had never known helplessness like this…. not on Cybertron, not even in his fall. He had always had power, always had control.
But not now.
Not when it mattered most.
He should have felt her. That was what burned in his mind now, gnawed at his logic and threatened to fracture his composure. If she was his… if she had come from his spark, his metal, his code…should he not have felt her from the moment she came online? From the moment she had been made?
Had he been so shattered, so fragmented, that he could not even recognize his own sparkling?
The thought sickened him.
But it changed nothing.
She was his.
And she was out there helpless, surrounded by creatures that did not understand what she was, who she was meant to be.
Megatron’s mind burned with purpose.
Days and weeks passed, and Megatron watched.
That was all he could do.
He had no digits to grasp, no servos to reach, no vox that was not funneled through the cold, sterile filter of Sumdac’s speakers. He was a mind without a body, a warlord stripped of his throne, a sire denied his sparkling.
It was a word he still struggled with.
Sire.
He had never considered the possibility. Cybertronians did not have Sparklings anymore. Their kind was forged, built, divided from existing sparks- not born, not raised, not since the early days at least not for lower casts. The very notion of parental bonds had been distant, theoretical, unnecessary.
But then he had seen her.
His creation. His sparkling.
Stolen from him while he lay in stasis, forged by the hands of the very organic who now dared to call himself her father.
It enraged him. It disgusted him. It terrified him.
She did not belong in human hands.
And so, when the fool Sumdac began constructing a gift for her, a guardian, Megatron seized the opportunity.
Sumdac worked late into the night, utterly unaware that the machine he built was being altered with every keystroke, every misplaced wire.
Megatron guided the humans hands without him knowing, embedding new coding beneath the surface, altering directives, shifting priorities. Sumdac believed Soundwave would be a toy, a simple AI to entertain a child.
Megatron made him a guardian, for her, no one would harm her with soundwave there, he had made sure of it.
Sari’s birthday party was everything Sumdac had planned for her, balloons, presents, cake too big for a child so small. The Autobots had arrived, awkward in their holomatter disguises, blending as best they could among the humans despite their stiff mannerisms and unnatural smiles.
Optimus Prime stood a respectful distance from Sumdac, speaking in the polite, uncertain tone of someone who didn’t quite understand human customs but was trying his best. Bumblebee had taken to the festivities with far more enthusiasm, chattering animatedly with anyone who would listen. Prowl, in contrast, remained at the edge of the crowd, observing. Bulkhead, ever gentle despite his size, seemed equal parts excited and nervous, careful not to break anything.
Sari was the center of attention, as she should be, bright-eyed and smiling in the arms of her human father. She didn’t fully grasp what the celebration was for, but she was happy, and to Sumdac, that was enough.
Then came the gifts.
Optimus offered a carefully chosen book of Earth stories, something he had been told human younglings enjoyed. Bumblebee proudly presented a small, yellow stuffed toy in his own likeness, which Sari immediately shoved into her mouth with the enthusiasm of a teething infant. Bulkhead had painted a little picture for her, his large servos not suited for delicate brushwork, but the effort was clear.
Then Sumdac himself stepped forward with sari, gesturing toward the sleek, polished form standing beside him.
“Sari, sweetheart,” he said, smiling warmly, “this is Soundwave. He’s a special gift for you.”
Sari blinked at the new machine before her, her red eyes reflecting the glow of his visor.
Soundwave stood perfectly still, silent, observing.
Then, with smooth precision, he extended his arms and opened his servos.
Sari stared.
Then, without hesitation, she reached for him.
Her tiny fingers curled around the edges of his plating, her body shifting instinctively toward his frame.
It was instant.
The Autobots barely had time to register it before Sari had nestled comfortably into Soundwave’s grasp, curling against his metal with the absolute trust only a child could give.
Soundwave hesitated for the briefest of moments, then adjusted his hold, shifting her with a care that seemed almost unnatural for a human machine.
From within his frame, soft music began to play, a gentle, rhythmic melody that soothed rather than overwhelmed.
Sari let out a contented sound, her tiny hands patting at his armor.
She liked him.
The Autobots exchanged glances. Optimus, ever cautious, stepped closer.
“Professor Sumdac,” he said carefully, “are you sure it’s… safe? She’s very young.”
Soundwave did not react, but his hold on Sari subtly tightened. Protective.
“Oh, yes,” Sumdac assured them, smiling brightly. “He’s programmed to be her companion, her caretaker. He’ll look after her.”
Soundwave’s visor flickered, unreadable.
Soundwave carried her everywhere the rest of the day.
She clung to him the way an organic child might cling to a favorite blanket or toy, seeking his presence, reaching for him when she stirred from sleep. In return, he remained ever-present,
cradling her carefully, adjusting the tones of his internal music to match her moods.
Later in the night while sari slept, curled up in her too-large bed, the baby was oblivious to the decepticon standing over her. Soundwave’s visor flickered as he processed his secondary directive.
Then, gently, carefully, he reached down.
She barely stirred as he lifted her, encasing her in a protective field of the harmonic resonance of his frame, keeping her cocooned in safety. Not a scratch would be left on her.
Soundwave moved undetected, slipping into the darkened halls and descending into the chamber where Megatron lay in silent captivity.
The lab was empty. Sumdac had long since retired to his quarters.
He brought her to Megatron.
The moment she was set down before him, Megatron felt something deep within his fragmented core ache.
She was so small.
So vulnerable.
He could do nothing but watch as she breathed softly, tiny hands curling into the fabric of her blanket. Her optics remained closed, unaware of the silent war raging in his processor at her existence.
Megatron had never known gentleness. Never known tenderness.
But when she stirred, when she let out a tiny whimper in the quiet, when her unfocused, red optics cracked open and met his..
For the first time in his existence, Megatron whispered.
“My sparkling…”
She did not understand the words. Could not. But something in her expression softened, as if the resonance of his voice settled within her metal and flesh alike.
She reached out, toward him.
His processor screamed that it was wrong. That this should not be. That there was no logic in attachment.
And yet, when her tiny servo pressed against the cold metal of his helm, Megatron let himself believe, for a moment, that she knew him.
That she would always know him.
Megatron hated that could not touch her. Could not hold her. Could not protect her in the way he should have been able to.
But he spoke to her.
Softly, in Cybertronian, in words she did not yet understand but seemed to respond to nonetheless. He told her of Cybertron, of what she was. He told her of strength, of power, of her rightful place beside him. He whispered to her of a future where she would no longer be surrounded by weak organics who could not understand her.
Her metal was soft, mixed with organic tissue in ways that should have been impossible. She was a contradiction in form, a creation that defied everything he had known.
And yet she lived.
And she looked at him with optics so much like his own, even as she yawned, even as she curled her tiny fingers against Soundwave’s plating.
She trusted him.
Megatron had known loyalty. Had commanded it. Had crushed those who failed to give it.
But this trust… silent, instinctive, absolute-
He had never earned something like this before.
And he would not lose it.
This became routine.
Each night, Soundwave retrieved her.
Each night, she spent precious stolen moments with the one being in the world who truly understood what she was.
And Megatron… he adapted.
He studied her. Learned her habits, her mannerisms, her stubbornness. He learned the softness of her vox when she babbled nonsense in her recharge, the way her digits would instinctively reach for the nearest metal surface as though seeking something familiar.
His CNA was strong in her. He could see it. Could feel it in the way she reacted to his presence, drawn to him in a way she was not to the organics around her.
She was his.
She belonged with him.
So when Soundwave, his loyal Soundwave, one day activated his live feed…
And Megatron saw Autobots standing around his sparkling…
He snapped.
His rage was instant, all-consuming, a furnace of unyielding fury that threatened to short his circuits as he overheated.
THEY. HAD. HER.
She was in their base, in their clutches, surrounded by his enemies.
His optics blazed, red-hot malice searing through the helpless wires of his disembodied state. He could do nothing. Could not rip them apart, could not take her back.
But he would.
He had been patient.
He had waited.
But now… now…Megatron’s wrath could no longer be contained.
The Autobots had touched what was his.
And they would pay.
For Megatron had never forgotten how to wage war.