Chapter Text
It wasn’t until the fifth week of my first semester that I saw him. I had no idea how our lives would be entwined, the grotesque extent of it. Two serpents twisting together and struggling, racing to feed Eve an apple.
Trion Hall University sat brusquely in the northern quarter of Iacon, nestled between mountains and too-green trees. It was a twenty five minute walk downhill to the outskirts of the city and the bustling, vibrant life contained within. Iacon at that time was an ever-stretched womb. Constantly growing and birthing the new, vulnerable future. A sordid mix of culture and peoples and ideas, little holed-away businesses and grand empty libraries.
Quite honestly, I don’t know how I had missed him around the campus before. He was formidable. Tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. To the extent that when he wore his overcoat, he looked akin to a large rectangle from the back.
Cigarette burning low between his fingers, the poorly wrapped filter seated betwixt the digits of his left hand. His cigarette filters, which he folded himself out of thick card, were always shabby and lopsided. I suppose because his blunt fingers did not allow him to perform such intricacies well.
I was subtly drunk. As I had been near permanently since arriving in Iacon for University. My course, a multi-faceted science curriculum, had started that past month. I had attended only one of the classes, which was so rudimentary that I had resolved not to worry much about attendance for introductory classes and instead focus on the more important aspect of university; networking.
There were several large universities in Iacon, each one more elitist and expensive than the next. I had chosen this one for its great location, not quite in the center of the city, the comfortable dorms and well funded science labs.
At each of my elbows sat my two childhood companions. Thundercracker and Skywarp. They had chosen the university for almost entirely the same reasons, apart from Thundercracker was undertaking some humanities and writing courses in the old part of the campus, and Skywarp had already been to the Dean’s office thrice to swap courses. Unable to settle on a path. In the early days I think he was studying some sort of human resources and drama subject. Whatever it was, it did not bother me.
Around us was a collection of others, sitting out under the sun on the campus green. Drinking and talking idly, dressed richly.
It was the feining end of October by that point, and I was wearing a jacket. Red and white, that tied at the waist and flared out with padded shoulders. Around this time, I was frequently, stylishly overdressed. My father, one of Vos’s many Winglords had taken me on a shopping spree before I left, citing that I had to represent the household well. However, I had spent nearly every coin he’d given me on clothes that I can say for certain he would not find agreeable.
Short, sharp and sexy. Anything that showed off my legs and waist and chest. I was overome with the thought of my own youth and distraught about its ending long before it came. Thundercracker’s family had offered the same, but he dressed modestly and had only brought with him some ugly blue tweedy jacket and dress shoes in need of polishing. Skywarp had no wardrobe to speak of. He had worn the same clothes since finishing school. Mostly black and ripped and dirty.
Tuning out from the gabble of vosians and praxians around me, I had tried to concentrate on the tall figure across the green. He was talking to another, shorter than him and considerably slimmer. He had a Walkman tucked into the waistband of his pressed black trousers. This one I knew, Soundwave - a communications major that occasionally DJ’d at basement parties.
Soundwave only stepped up to perform his art once or twice a term, but it was a major ordeal everytime. Word would spread like wildfire among students, and it seemed the entire school of 4,500 would try to squeeze into a room that could maybe hold a fifth of that. I had seen him during my second week, while I was drunk and dazed off some pill or other in the party room of my dormitory, ‘Solus Quarter’.
He was phenomenal, wearing red tinted sunglasses for the entire set and kept the same emotionless expression throughout.
I nudged Thundercracker to my right side. He had a keen knack for cataloguing people, remembering names and faces.
“The coat over there.” I gestured with my head. My black hair had been blown out of place by the rising autumn winds. I smoothed it down. “Who is that?”
Thundercracker glanced up from a slim, leather bound novel he was thumbing through. He raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t know him?” He asked.
“No.” I answered sharply. I disdained being asked questions about questions. I especially hated not being in the know.
Having spent a great majority of my life ‘not in the know’, an only child kept at arms length by brisk, vosian parents about nearly all our family affairs - I felt I contained a certain heavy undercurrent, like a depth charge that vibrated before exploding. I had an unyielding need to scratch at everything until I knew the innards.
“That’s Megatron.” Thundercracker said, looking back down at his novel and adjusting his seating. “He is kaonite - or tarnian- one of the two. That is why he is so big. And from what I’ve heard, on considerable financial aid. He’s a third year.”
I breathed out through my nose in a half laugh. Though he would deny it until the bitter end, Thundercracker really was one of the most officious gossips.
Cradling my chin, I watched the two converse. There was something strangely militaristic about their dress. Straight lines and simple colours, Megatron especially was wearing only blacks and hues of dark grey. His hair was grey, too, odd for a man his age. It was nearly shoulder length and spiked out at the bottom. He kept it swept back from his face, which displayed a strong brow, a slightly too large nose and a square jaw.
At first look, he might've been a professor, dressed as formally as he was. But some aspects offset that presumption if he was studied for a moment longer. His strong stance and a certain swiftness in his movements should have been found only in sprightly student athletes. He really was so big, I wondered what lay beneath the thick wool overcoat.
“Do you know what he is studying?” I asked. To my knowledge, there were only certain courses that allowed in students on financial aid. Medical fields, maybe and some sports scholarships. I assumed the latter, due to his almost ridiculous size.
“Something to do with philosophy and politics,” Thundercracker said boredly. People were beginning to tear off from our large group on the lawn and trudge steadily to the mess hall for dinner. Through some sixth sense, I could feel Skywarp getting restless beside me, tiring of his task of ripping leaves into a thousand tiny pieces in some methodical way that bordered on the disturbed.
With some incredulousness, I turned to face Thundercracker. “Are you sure?”
He nodded, looking at me and then at Megatron. He had just parted ways with Soundwave and was making his way with long strides across the green and towards the library.
The philosophy and politics classes were notoriously small, mostly because they were not very good. Plenty of young Iaconains sought to follow the family tradition of being politicians or advocates but they attended better equipped universities with real debate halls and lecturers who were ex-politicians themselves.
The classes here were small, underfunded and held in the shabby old classrooms on the far side of campus. I hadn’t even seen them myself, only heard about it through drunk rumour.
I realised with some hot distaste that I was sobering quickly and as Megatron disappeared behind a weathered red brick wall, I stood up made my way to the mess hall with the two of them at my heels.
-
A week or so later, through certain means, I learnt that Megatron was the first student the university had ever offered a humanities scholarship to. It was a third year who told me at a bar.
Some drunken fool named Breakdown. He was loud and wide, a sports major. He smelled like sweat and dirt. So masculine it almost seemed like a false pretence for something else. An avid drinker, he got an allowance from his mother, who had been divorced some years prior and spent nearly all of it on beer or other more dainty drinks for the poor souls he tried to pick up.
We were talking over the music. I sneered, glancing him up and down one more time before concluding I didn’t like him and would not be going home with him after all. He was half way through some asinine joke when his phone rang. This pricked my interest as he reached for it instantly, and I saw a flash of the name ‘Megatron’ on the screen as he brought it to his ear.
“Yes.” Breakdown said, cupping both hands over the phone to try and dampen the noise of the party around him.
He seemed suddenly sobered. Tension in the back of his neck. I leaned on the bar, swirling my drink and watching with interest.
“Ain’t seen him,” Breakdown answered the faceless voice at the end of the line. “Not since yesterday.”
There was more talking, and Breakdown was nodding. I wished I could hear the opposite side of the meagre conversation.
“I’ll get it done.” He finally spoke. “Be seeing you.”
With a click, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket.
“Who was that?” I asked, suddenly more interested in this oaf of a mech than I had been all evening.
“Friend.” Breakdown said, with a quiver of uncertainty that disgusted me.
I stayed silent and waited for him to speak himself into a hole, inching closer to him for added effect.
“Megatron.” He said the name like it held weight. “He’s organising a few things for us to do this semester.” Breakdown met my eyes for only a moment, but he lost his nerve and looked away.
“I heard he takes philosophy?” I mused, running my finger around the rim of my glass and plying for more information.
“Yeah.” Breakdown nodded, swigging his beer. I was too close to him now, our shoulders almost touching.
“Big thing too - I guess you weren’t here when he did the big speech.”
“Oh?”
Breakdown grinned, recalling the story like a wistful memory that was all his own. “Yeah. They rejected his application, you see. So he turned up on admissions day and forced his way into one of the auditoriums where they give welcome speeches or whatever.”
I tilted my head, trying to picture it. Unfortunately, my imagination has always been more literal than romantic.
“He gave this speech about class - and war and like, the function of a tarnian in society. He made a lot of points and cited some real stuff. Two guards tried to wrestle him off towards the end, but they couldn’t.”
This wasn’t so hard to imagine with Megatron’s size.
“From what I heard, the lecturer for Philosophy and Politics was so impressed he made a case to the university that day, and Megatron was offered a spot just like that.” Breakdown clicked his fingers together in an attempt to emphasise the point. I noted with distaste the dirt under his fingernails.
Breakdown sniffed, finishing his beer. He turned to me, side on and put a hand on my waist, testing the waters. I smiled thinly, wanting to hear the end of the story.
“But you should’ve seen it - that speech.” He continued, sensing my nerves. “I’ve never heard anyone speak like that. You couldn’t look away. It was something else.”
-
Much of the rest of that evening was a blur. I woke up in Thundercracker’s dorm just a few doors down from my own with a sore back and a splitting headache.
I made a coffee and pulled a loose shirt over my shoulders. The mornings were getting cooler by the day, and I stuck my head out the window, hoping the cold shock of fresh air would annihilate the majority of my hangover.
Being sturdier in my drinking habits as I got older was an odd blessing. At this age, I could barely drink anything at all without edging into the realm of ‘over-doing’ it.
It was week seven of the semester, and my class started in half an hour. Behind me, Thundercracker grumbled something about wanting a coffee himself.
I ignored him and made the short trip to my own room, where I put myself together. Nylons, boots, shorts. Concealer and eyeshadow and liner. I pulled my jacket on and hooked my bag over my shoulder. Checking myself in the mirror, fluffing and flattening my hair.
I was already five minutes late when I left.
The door to the chemistry labs was a thick metal, fresh and new. It slid open with the tap of my student access card, and I found a seat amongst my muttering classmates. The professor - a gruff older man with a slight stammer and steady hands - was dictating at the front of the room.
Pointing to a goliath board behind him. The thing must’ve been over fifteen feet and covered almost entirely with equations and chemical formulas. I studied it, retrieving my books and pencils from my little pack.
“Chemistry,” he spoke, his voice deep and enthralling. Tinged with an accent I struggled to place. Mr Sentinel taught a range of subjects, including history - but was passionate about the sciences. He was a genuinely engaging teacher for anyone with a true adoration of the subject. He spoke for lengths but moved through subjects quickly, forcing the student to keep up with him.
The two hour lecture went by in flashes of diagrams and discussions about the metal on asteroids. The alloys that stilled and hardened in the core of dead planets. Mr Sentinel gestured sporadically, thwacking his pointing stick against the board so loudly it woke up the sleeping students in the back row. They shuffled awkwardly, wiping drool from the corners of their mouth. All Helexians, I noted with distaste.
With a vast wave of his arm, his voice grew louder, and attention was captured. He had a brilliant manner, able to transport us to a hard landing of sense and logic.
“So why does this all exist?” Mr Sentinel looked around the room, blue eyes and white beard harsh in the easing light. He looked, in his maroon coloured suit jacket- like a prophet of the devil. Telling us God’s secrets so that we could unravel the universe.
There were a few utterances about his question, but no one jumped to answer it.
“Well?” He said. “Why does it all exist?”
“The big bang.” Someone said from the front row.
“No.”
“Because the universe is full of energy-“
“No.” Mr Sentinel cutoff this lacklustre attempt from the middle rows.
I tapped my foot, turning the question over in my mind. I disliked a parenthetical question about such a logical subject.
“For us.” I answered. The words left me before I could stop them. The sharpness of my Vosian accent cut through the noise of murmurs. I aborted trying to stuff them back in my mouth.
Sentinel laughed and then nodded, folding his hands over each other in front of himself.
“For us.” He repeated, amusedly. I felt three hundred sets of eyes on me all at once. I held my chin up.
“I think so, too.” Sentinel nodded. “We are not the centre of the universe forever. But we might be right now. The chances of our existence and intelligence is so small as to be negligible, as I am sure you know. Whether you believe in God or not, there is design inherent throughout.”
He took a moment to breathe.
“To believe that we are not connected to the world and to each other is folly. We each have will. Nothing is random. All is explainable scientifically, chemically, and do not allow anyone to convince you otherwise.”
He paused, relaxing his shoulders.
“Trust that sweet mush in your skull.” He pointed to his head with his index finger. “Over that mush in your chest. Only one of them can understand chemistry in the way it matters.”
This earned a few muffled laughs from the back row.
-
It was Friday night, and we were travelling into Iacon by taxi.
After spending the better part of three hours getting ready, we had stumbled, already drunk, into the back of some nondescript car. Skywarp was chattering to the cab driver, leaning his twisted torso over backwards so his chin rested atop the front passenger seat.
“Busy night ahead?” He asked, smiling and all teeth. I wondered how many times a night the cabbie heard that poor excuse for conversation.
“Aye,” He responded thickly. “Big night tonight for the city. Some sort of unveiling. Statue, like.”
My ears pricked up at this, so did Thundercracker’s, who ceased staring prolongingly out the window. None of us had heard anything about a big unveiling. It was amazing how close the campus was to the city, and yet it seemed so cut off from the outside world. Insular, with a lack of foreign news. The student body was like a different species, only allowed out into public after dark, where they could tolerate our presence and advance upon us in the shadows.
“What kind?” Skywarp asked. I noticed the inner thigh of his black jeans was ripped, and a slit of tanned skin was visible.
“Just something to do with the Primes.” The cabbie shrugged. I scoffed. There hadn't been a Prime for nearly a century, since the republic was born, and I didn't see the need to keep revering them constantly. Their disastrous fall from grace had disrupted every crevice of the status quo and had lead to a decline in the quality of society. And, quite frankly, it was embarrassing for an institution as rich and elite as theirs.
The Winglord’s family had shattered, each patriarch lashing out for their share. I was one of many unofficial heirs, spread to the wind like spores by the end of the Primes.
It seemed to me that their existence was likened to an ancient, diseased tree that rested on the bank of a picturesque pond. One day, a wind blew too hard, and the tree cracked at the trunk and fell in. The splash was ruinous for the pond. Wildlife died, and the habitat was disturbed. However, the leftover bacteria and scum subsisted off the tree's corpse until something similar but pock marked replaced the pondlife. And the surface returned to its serene stillness.
“Oh, cool.” Skywarp nodded and spoke in a way that suggested it wasn't cool at all. He was watching the dashboard, no doubt enthralled by the little blinking numbers. We chattered amongst ourselves for a while more, making a loose trail as our game plan for the night. Thundercracker had barely wanted to be there and required encouragement - both real and liquid - from Skywarp and I to feel excited.
Skywarp paid the driver and thanked him. I watched as the car retreated into the city, lost amongst a thousand others and off to collect some other mediocre soul that would enquire into his ‘busy night’.
Iacon’s nightlife, while not exactly being Kaon, was ample enough. More bars than clubs, and only a few holding the license to stay open after 2am. We started at The Oil Pipe, then The Prime’s Head, drinking two or three drinks at each. Thundercracker, who was somehow an even lighter weight than I was, had to grip my shoulders as we found a booth in the third bar. This one, the ‘Three Tuns’, was not upscale and was inhabited by out of towners like ourselves. It was Skywarp’s round to buy drinks, and he pouted, but sauntered up to the bar nonetheless. After a double take, I wished I had agreed to buy the round anyway. The bar was lined from end to end with burly, broad types in interesting clothes.
Skywarp squeezed between them; he was only a little bigger than me, and smiled back at us, pointing to a bicep at his left. I sighed, sinking into my seat.
As drunk and needy and well dressed as I was, I had thus far been unlucky in finding a dance partner. I adored dancing in clubs. The music and lights, the inhibition of it. Feeling bodies close to your own, hot and promising, dancing alongside you. Catching an eye and knowing. There was nothing better in the world. My jacket felt suddenly hot, and I unzipped it fully, exposing my sheer shirt beneath, which left very little to the imagination.
Thundercracker raised his eyebrows at me and grinned crookedly.
“That time already, Screamer?” He slurred, his tongue struggling to find its way around my shortened name.
“I’m hot. It's stuffy in here.” I said snappishly. At this time, I habitually wore my sexuality on my sleeve, but couldn't stand it being addressed. It had to be some intangible, perfect thing. Indescribable and unattainable. Even if I slept with someone, they had only partaken in the merest speck of it. A masked speck, a faint glitter of my whole. They couldn’t comprehend me even if they begged. I was a great secret that would shatter under observation and could cleave a man in half from cranium to groin.
“Shots!” Skywarp slammed a tray down on our sticky table, snapping me out of my horny, moody stupor. Thundercracker, through his drunken haze, seemed joyous for this distraction also. Skywarp was perfect for appearing and holding attention at the right moments, easing awkwardness or contempt. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, leaving a stamp of red lipstick on the skin.
“What shots are they?” Thundercracker asked, looking interested in the purplish liquid.
Skywarp picked it up and laughed, loud and from his chest. “Some sort of gin, I think - fella called it ‘high-grade’, whatever that means.”
Without another word, we picked ours up and clinked them together. Tipping our heads back and swallowing the sweet liquid down in unison, our throats exposed to the world.
The night from thereon was a gold lit blur of lights and pavement, drinks, Thundercracker stopping to urinate in an alleyway, until we reached the Holy Grail of Iacon’s nightlife; The Ark. A converted industrial building with three floors, all hosting different types of music and themed bars. It was rumoured to be owned by a crime family, and people often disappeared down into the basements, which I heard were like a cavernous labyrinth underground. Nonetheless, the place was pouring with life. We queued for about twenty minutes at the entrance, and Skywarp somehow maintained his sober act well enough for us to get in. The roar of the music made the linoleum flooring beneath us vibrate, and I felt drawn to the dancefloor immediately, grabbing their hands and making a dash for it. Skywarp stopped me before I made off, flashing a little baggie of white he’d pulled from his jacket.
In amongst that pool of bodies, I lost myself. Arms above my head, jumping and swaying. Bumping into one another and laughing. I felt weightless, the alcohol numbing my brain and heightening my senses. I was kissing, God knows who, mouths moving by instinct, multiple sets of hands wrapped around my waist and trailing over my shoulders, down my back. I sucked in breath, eyes closed, allowing myself to feel. The heat, the weight, the sensation, the swimming in my head, the music, the night. Life in all its enthralling disgust, surrounding me in a patchwork as I allowed it to devour me.
At around four in the morning I spilled out of the club via a side entrance meant for staff. There were empty kegs of beer stacked high near the door. I coughed, my lungs caught off guard by the newness of fresh nighttime air and throat burning from an onslaught of shots and cigarettes.
“Christ,” I muttered, gathering myself with a deep inhale through my nose. I braced the wall, my back to the world. Thundercracker and Skywarp were still inside, lost somewhere else entirely. I reached inside my jacket for a crumpled box of cigarettes, only to find I had just one left. My hands, uncoordinated and blurry, struggled to strike the lighter, and I dropped it onto the gravel below.
Faintly, I knew the sun would be up soon and the day would be a write off. An innocent victim of an oncoming hangover. As I stooped to collect my lighter, I also became aware of the mess of incoherent noise around me. After a moment spent trying to overcome the ringing in my ears, I decided the noise was coming from just around the corner. The club being a square shape, I edged closer to the end of the wall and listened.
It was muffled, like an argument held in a confined space. I assumed it was likely just a drunken bout of pushing and shoving, as to be expected, but after listening for a moment longer, that couldn't have been the case. The voices were too steady and confidential. There was an echo of police sirens, stark when set against the muffled but rhythmic booms from inside the club. I peered around the corner, wishing suddenly I hadn't been wearing a bright red coat as three sets of eyes fell on me at once.
The stabbing happened quickly. There was a shout and a cry as the largest figure of the three lunged forward, tackling one of the others by the neck. His head smacked against the wall with a thud, but he kept conscious. Rays of moonlight broke through the clouds in intervals so minuscule flashes of the scene were clear for a moment and gone the next. A knife, which glinted and made me suck in breath, appeared in the third man’s hand. My eyes were wide as I watched him purposefully hike up the man's thick overcoat and line the knife up with his side. #
A large arm failed out, away from crushing a neck to defend himself - but he was too late. The sirens grew closer as the knife penetrated the flesh, and although I could not see it, I knew the larger figure was in immense pain. His back stiffened, and he made a strained noise akin to a growl, throwing his strangling victim to the floor.
The police were close. I heard the slamming of doors and shouting. The two men looked at each other and then at me before making off. Running headfirst into the bushes, one gasping for breath and rubbing at his throat.
Oh God, I thought. I’m going to have to give a witness statement or something. Spending hours in a depressing, dingy police room talking about what I’d seen. My head was pounding, the effects of alcohol and coke were losing control of my brain chemistry and surrendering to adrenaline.
The tall figure straightened up and brushed his hair back, blunt fingertips lingering on the knife sticking out of his side just below his rib.
I realised that I recognised him. He moved towards me with surprising swiftness. There were strong voices shouting, and the flash of torches heading towards us. My heart pounded, bile rising from my stomach to my throat. He grabbed me, dragging me by the arm down to the other end of the building. I prayed that the police would be more concerned with the two who had run off than with us.
Looking back at this, I realise I could've shouted out. Anything at all, the police were right there, and I had done nothing that could implicate me. Just a wrong place, wrong time sort of thing. But if I’m honest, the thought never crossed my mind. Megatron’s large hand was wrapped around my wrist, taking up a considerable part of my forearm, and I was excited. Scared, but alive and so intrigued. I could feel my blood pumping and every one of my hairs standing on end. The world was vivid as Megatron slammed me into the wall behind a fire escape.
Shouts were still coming, and I struggled to tell if they were getting closer. I wanted to speak, to ask a question, anything - I think talking would've grounded me back in reality. But Megatron sensed it and covered my mouth with his other hand. I was pressed into the rough brick wall, my forehead touching it. Megatron was flush against my back. I struggled, flinging my sharp shoulders against him, but he did not move. It was smart, I suppose, to cover us both with his dark black coat. His chest was wide and hard, and I could feel the metal of his belt buckle pressing against my mid back. I panted into his hand until the noises faded and daybreak was beginning to ease itself up onto the horizon.
He let go. Shuffling his footing uneasily. We were silent for a moment. I remember thinking it was funny he was wearing glasses, silver wire rimmed glasses, and him pushing them back up to the ridge of his nose from where they had fallen. He stared at me, regarding me as if I were a foreign animal up for showcase in a zoo rather than a person who had just been privy to his stabbing.
I covered myself with my jacket and rubbed under my eyes to check if my mascara had smudged. It had, and I felt annoyed. Megatron somehow still looked composed. Barely a wrinkle in his trousers, apart from the large splotch of blood on his shirt, which emanated from the knife wound. He saw me looking at it, his frown turning into something darker.
“Did you see the knife?” He asked. It was the first time I'd heard him speak. His voice was unmistakably tarnian, but more refined and deep.
“Yes.” I nodded, somewhat in shock. It was my first brush with this world, and I felt incredibly far away from my father's skyscraper in Vos.
“How long was it?” Megatron spoke evenly, as if asking the bartender at his local why they hadn't restocked his favourite wine.
“Not long. About four inches. If it didn't pierce anything vital, you should be fine.” I found myself matching his calmness. Rationality setting in. He was looming, massive beyond description. His dark clothes blending into the world around him. If I craned my neck, I could see a glimpse of grey sky, but my entire being wanted to focus solely on him. It was difficult to look away. He was terrifying.
He made a noise in the back of his throat that could've been a laugh and stared at me for a moment longer.
“Get a taxi with me.” He said. “It’ll be less suspicious if it looks like I'm taking you home.”