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“Say that again, Knock Out.”
The red-armored medic was about to drop offline from fear. He feared if he spoke those five words, they may just be the last thing he would ever say. He always wanted his last words to be him telling Breakdown again that he loved him. But he knew for certain that if he did not answer he wouldn’t live to see the next solar cycle. So he closed his optics and repeated those five words, hoping that he would still be alive by the end of it.
“My Lord, you are sparked.”
.-.-.
The beast pinned him to the berth, grinding their panels together. Megatron snarled and backhanded the Predacon. Any other mech would have been sent flying, but Predaking, as he had styled himself, only hardened his jaw and seized the Decepticon warlord, bringing their lipplates together in a brutal kiss. Megatron only growled and fought against it. A long moment later the beast retreated himself, glaring at the warlord.
“You are the closest to my size, and therefore I have chosen you to be my mating partner,” Predaking declared before he ripped Megatron’s interfacing panel from his frame, savoring the pained yell it earned him. Furious red optics turned toward him, and a vengeful voice hissed, “I will kill you when this is done with.”
In return, the Predacon retracted his panel, and allowed only a few moments to pass before he shoved his spike into the valve of the Decepticon warlord. The frame he had pinned beneath him tensed, and Megatron howled in pain, his digits digging into the armor of the Predacon as his processor fritzed and he demanded more.
“Harder you fragger! I swear to Unicron I will kill you when this is aaaAAAHHHHH!”
Predaking couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his faceplates as he increased the tempo of his thrusting, watching as the Decepticon warlord became a quivering, demanding mess of silver armor. Megatron’s legs wrapped around his waist, his servos and digits drew marks on his shoulders and back, and he arched his back and howled his overload. His chassis opened, blue spark baring itself to the beast.
The Predacon grinned, opened his chassis, and leaned down, merging their life forces.
A moment later, the world was nothing as he reached his climax.
.-.-.
He was getting incredibly desperate. The most desperate he had ever been in his lifecycle. When the day came that he was asked what level of desperation he had reached, he would point to this moment.
He couldn’t wait for the follow solar cycle, when Knock Out promised that he would remove the sparkling. “No muss, no fuss, just walk out of here and no one will have to know,” the medic said while grabbing his tools from his subspace and proceeding to clean the pointed instruments before him.
Following the heed of that chant in his processor that just said – no – screamed “Get it out, Get It Out, GET IT OUT!”, the Decepticon Warlord threw himself up against the walls of his quarters, stifling his groan of pain. He then made sure that when he fell to the floor, he turned around so all the impact would be centered on his abdominal and pelvic area. The pain radiated throughout his frame and made him go still for a few moments before he was able to stand on his pedes again.
How would he know that he had succeeded?
He slammed his frame on the floor of his quarters again, pain radiating throughout his frame. He groaned and hissed, digits clawing at the floor as he raised himself up to sit on the floor, waiting until he regained strength and thought to try this again.
When he had woken from a deep recharge after the fact, there was no trace of Predaking aboard the Nemesis. He ordered each part of the ship, inside and out, be searched so the beast could be brought before him for his doom.
Shockwave was stunned.
“I had not accounted for Predaking exhibiting on these particular traits of his Predacon ancestors. They went into heat, some to sire and some to carry, and when their duty was done there was no further contact between the sire and the carrier. Given that he was grown in a lab-”
“He is still one of them. Perhaps you should have accounted for it.”
“My apologies, Lord Megatron. I might suggest that you get a scan to ensure that Predaking did no lasting damage to you.”
Megatron shook the memory of the conversation from his processor. He had waited many solar cycles until he found himself feeling far more angrier than usual, far more ravenous, far more exhausted to go to Knock Out.
The Decepticon warlord got to his pedes, his legs almost giving out from underneath him.
A strange sensation came over his spark, as if it were being tickled and tugged on. He closed his optics and shook his helm again, confident that it was all a trick of his processor, but the sensation stayed. It was unnerving, and he was about to call for Knock Out until the pain subsided.
Only to be replaced by emotions that were not his own.
Pure love and trust, wonder, awe, came through his spark, shooting to the deepest part of whatever was left of his emotional core. He staggered at the shock and sheer weight of those emotions, bracing himself against the wall as he made his way to his berth.
But they were not his…
It took him a long while of sitting on his berth, optics closed and servos gripping at his knees, to realize that it was the sparkling talking to him.
The sparkling.
The thing that Predaking, the beast, had put in him… actually felt something for him.
It loved him.
Something he had not felt in eons. The last time he felt it had been on Cybertron, when he fought in the Pits of Kaon and delivered life from this universe to the next, when he would look up from his victory and in the stands, amongst the cheering crowds, would be a small librarian looking back at him with an emotion he did not know to express. An emotion that he felt when they laid in berth together, digits twined and murmuring sweet nothings and hopes and dreams for the future. An emotion he only felt when they merged their life forces and they saw each other’s very soul and core.
His intakes hitched and he placed a servo over his spark and the other over his midsection, clenching them into fists. He closed his optics and refused to let the tears brimming at the edges fall.
::Knock Out::
.-.-.
“Are you certain?”
“We have more than enough energon resources to fuel me and the sparkling when it finally comes. I am certain.”
“Won’t it be…”
“What is it?”
“Won’t it be, you know… weird? Carrying a sparkling?”
“I will go through with it Knock Out. Do not inquire me further unless it concerns the health of the sparkling.”
.-.-.
His midsection began swelling the further the carrying cycle progressed, and it made him uncomfortable. The carrier protocols would demand that he raise his servos to cradle his sparkling, touch his midsection and let the little one know that he was there and that he cared, but he would fight to keep his servos from doing so. It was only when he was alone in his quarters that he would lie back and stare at the ceiling in contemplation that his servos would cradle the mound being made of his midsection.
He tried to hide it as long as he possibly could, and he managed to do so for a while as the Nemesis was kept in perpetual darkness.
But then some noticed the slowly growing curve of his abdomen and they proceeded to tell the others. It was easier to hide it, and not everyone believed the rumors, preferring to see it for themselves.
And then one day he couldn’t hide it any longer.
The sparkling kicked, hard, in the middle of an inspection of all the Vehicon troops. The sound echoed all around the room, and they all looked at him. The masks afforded them the ability to hide their true reactions, but it was evident from how they all began whispering and looking to one another that they were shocked and in an uproar. Their lord and master, carrying?
Megatron thinned his lipplates, narrowed his optics, and shot his fusion cannon into the ground. It made a crater, but it didn’t go down to the next level, merely startling the troops. Their chatter stopped and they looked at him with even more fear than they usually regarded him with.
“If I learn that this information has made it outside of this ship and into the hands of our adversaries,” he turned and began walking away, “you will wish in your dying moments that it was Unicron himself that was extinguishing your spark.”
.-.-.
The pain came in the middle of his recharging cycle. He shot out of the berth and crouched on the floor, keening in agony and calling for Knock Out, who came and helped him to the medical bay. The sparkling kicked and squirmed, ready to exit his frame.
He was glad for that.
Megatron roared in agony as his entire frame tried to expel the sparkling from his gestation chamber. The red armored medic cupped the swell of his midsection, feeling for the sparkling’s position, and grinned.
“You’re almost there, Lord Megatron! Just a few more moments until you’ll have to push with all the strength Unicron gave you!”
“Unicron gave me much,” the Decepticon leader gasped, arching his back, “but I doubt he gave me enough to push this Pitspawn sparkling out!”
“The sparkling’s descending! That was rather fast.”
The Decepticon warlord tightened his grip on the edge of the berth as the next wave of pain overtook his frame, commanding him to push down. He followed his frame’s bidding, screaming as he felt the sparkling pushing against the rim of his valve.
“Come on Megatron!” Knock Out’s enthusiasm was starting to get on his already frazzled nerves. “Just one more and I’ll help the sparkling out!”
Megatron’s bellows echoed in the small medical bay as he gave that last, hard push. His chassis heaved, his entire frame felt as if it were going to split in half as Knock Out reached down and circled his servos, his digits around the sparkling still hanging halfway out of his body. The sparkling moved of its own accord, throwing the Decepticon warlord into a river between the mountains of overload and pain. He did not know which was which, he didn’t know who he was, what was happening, and then…
The sparkling screamed.
A gush of fluids left his frame through his valve, the same place where only moments before there had been a little frame hanging partway out, and spilled onto the floor and onto Knock Out’s pedes. The medic made a noise of disgust as he cleaned the sparkling with a cloth and opened the chestplates. Gold light shone on his queasy faceplates.
“It’s a femme. Here you go, my Lord.”
Knock Out placed the screaming sparkling on the heaving chestplates of the Decepticon leader, backing away and leaning down to clean the birth fluids off his pedes. Megatron paid no attention to the disgusted and revolted noises coming from the medic’s vocalizer, staring down at the sparkling on his chest. He was unsure whether to classify the femme sparkling as a little one. She was so large. Then again, her sire was larger than he was, and he should have known from how much his abdomen had swelled that she would have been a large sparkling.
She looked just like her Sire. A dragonform.
Somewhere, Unicron was laughing at him.
He made a mental note to go and rip something in half when he regained enough strength.
Tiny optics opened, little pinpricks of yellow light staring at him in the dimness of the medical bay. Her cries ceased, silenced as she blinked up at him, her optics trying to form a decent image of this mech that had carried her.
He didn’t know what to say to something so new. Something that only a while ago had been hanging out of him.
So he just arched an optic ridge and murmured, “I loathe your sire with every wire and circuit and each component that makes up my frame. But it would seem I do not have the spark to loathe you in kind. Welcome to the Decepticons… Requiem.”
The designation popped into his processor unannounced. He was far too exhausted to wonder why that was, or to think of another name.
She seemed to approve, however, as she chirred softly and kneaded her claws on his chassis.
It was only before he went into a much deserved recharge that he noticed that her claws were not like the Predacon’s. They were just like his. At least she had gotten something from him.
.-.-.
~begin transmission~
To the Predacon Beast that now calls himself Predaking.
I, Megatron, the leader and master of the Decepticons, have borne you a sparkling. A perfectly healthy femme, according to our medic Knock Out. I have named her Requiem. She takes after you in size and form, and gazes at me with the same yellow optics you possess. She is certainly your child.
Your actions of leading me to the berth, siring a sparkling on me, and then deserting the Decepticons are unforgivable. Know that should you ever choose to return to the Decepticons, to return to me… those will be your last actions.
~end transmission~
The Decepticon warlord watched the stars above the stationary warship and hoped that message beamed to the vastness of the universe would reach the Predacon one of these days. Before he was forced to kill him. He did not want to do it in front of their child.
Requiem slept soundly in his arms, wrapped in a thermal sheet to help regulate her internal temperature and to protect her from the freezing cold. She was only a few solar cycles old, but she was already the size of a youngling.
The femmeling yawned and stretched her tiny arms out, curling back into herself.
She would grow to be taller than him. Like her sire.
Megatron found himself curling his lipplates at the thought. He shook his helm and sighed as he turned back and reentered the Nemesis.
.-.-.
He stirred from his recharge, his optics onlining and adjusting themselves to the darkness of his quarters. Two little points of yellow light stared at him from the other corner of the room, and soft trills and chirrs could be heard.
“By Unicron, could you return to recharge?”
Requiem stared at him hopefully, tilting her helm to the side and chirring.
“Requiem,” he state sternly, narrowing his optics at her. “Recharge, now.”
Chirr!
Megatron groaned and stood to his pedes, his legs shaking and nearly giving out under him, he was so exhausted. He placed his servo on the wall for a moment to steady himself before making the trek over to the little sparkling berth. Requiem chirped and raised a servo at him, smiling.
“Be grateful that you are my progeny, my daughter. No one else will ever be able to inflict such torture upon me and live to tell the stories afterwards.”
The femme responded by chirping and hooking one of her servos into his armor, denting and scratching it. She blinked at him before she curled up in his arms and nuzzled into his chassis. Her arms and legs were everywhere, kicking him. She didn’t know her own strength.
Hopefully she would get a rein on it before she did some real damage.
Requiem made it clear that she did not intend to recharge alone, so Megatron settled himself in his wide berth and lay on his side, placing the femmeling beside him so their chests touched. She looked at him with wide yellow optics, curious and happy. He only gave his daughter a fleeting half-grin before closing his optics and tightening his grip around her.
“Please recharge,” he murmured.
.-.-.
He was awakened by another noise this time around, coupled with feeling something unusual against his chassis. He adjusted his optics to the blackness of the room again before looking around. Nothing was out of place. His door was shut and secured. There was no one other than himself and Requiem in the room.
Requiem…
He looked down at her and almost made a noise of surprise.
In place of the little femme that had been beside him and chirping happily, was a miniature version of the Predacon beast. A dragonform, sleeping, curled up next to him.
Requiem snorted in her recharge and her tiny tail twitched as she snuggled closer to the strangely comforting sound of her carrier’s spark.
For the love of… if someone were to walk in at this moment, they would think he’d acquired a strange, small pet.
The Decepticon Warlord stared down at his daughter for a good long while before shaking his helm and returning to recharge. He was far too exhausted.
He’d worry about this tomorrow.