Transmute

Prologue

“A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.”
- Graham Greene, The End Of The Affaire

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Megatron stepped into the dimly lit cell. If he had a nose, it would twitch at the pungent stench of Energon stains.

Visiting prisoners had never been his favorite pastime. As fun and satisfying as torturing his subjects was, the cramped space and thick air always worked aversely on his systems.

But, alas, it was necessary, since no one else on the warship seemed competent enough to get any information out of their… guest. Perhaps Soundwave was the sole exception, but he was on a suppliers mission for Shockwave at this time.

“Hello scout,” the warlord seethed lowly at the mech in front of him.

Bumblebee was a proud bot, but the days that he had spent in captivity hadn’t done him much good. His armor was coated in Energon stains, fresh and old, making his paint job barely recognizable.

The Cons hadn’t been kind with Energon rations either, resulting in severe underfuelment.

Combine all that with Megatron’s regular visits and torture sessions, and the scout’s spirits had been severely dampened.

Bumblebee hissed a foul word in his broken voice, which Megatron decidedly, and kindly, ignored. He could teach the pest a lesson right now, but unfortunate enough that would defeat the purpose of coming here in the first place.

“Spare me the creativity, pest, and tell me what I want to know.”

“No,” was the curt reply that he got.
Megatron was hardly surprised, amused even. He hadn’t expected the scout to cave in, not yet at least. One thing that he hated so much about the Autobots was their determination.

Even if that made him a hypocrite.

The silver mech walked over in a few big strides, easily towering over Bumblebee, who was slumped against the wall.

He lowered himself on one knee, red optics boring into the young mech’s blue ones. With striking speed, his servo flashed forward and pulled the scout’s helm towards him in one harsh tug on the neck cables.

“I already ripped out your voice box.” Megatron spoke in a threatening whisper, resonating with every word he said. “Are you so eager to add your spark to the list, pest?”

Bumblebee barely flinched. This was not a new threat to him. Megatron mocked his absence of a clear voice on a daily basis.

He narrowed his optics at the warlord, spitting Energon from his derma onto the ground.

“I’d do that before I surrender to your games, Megatron,” he said slowly but clearly. He turned his helm in defiance, despite the strain that put on his inner cabling.

The warlord growled and threw the mech back with considerable force. A muffled metal thump filled the room for a brief moment.

Megatron stood to his full height, looking down on the miserable scout with disgust.

“Rest assured, scout, that there are other ways that I have at my disposal. Ways to persuade you.”

Bumblebee fiercely stared back. At this point, he didn’t care what Megatron threw at him anymore.

“Do your worst.”

The silver titan curled his derma into a grin, having just got an excellent idea. “Oh, I will. Once Shockwave finishes his little experiment, we will have this chat again, pest.”

With those words simmering in the air, he turned on his pedes and left, the door closing behind him.

And somehow, the promise that Megatron made to him struck fear into Bumblebee’s spark.