TFP- In Darkest Dreams

_{Part 7/8 of a Transformers: Prime fanfiction based after the events of episode 13 "Sick Mind"}


Torrential rain cascaded through the depths of Kaon, washing the serrated metal streets in a cold sheen of melancholy. Electric-purple clouds suffocated the stars like a toxic shroud – mercilessly drowning the streets as Seekers swept in for landing, their engines generating gusts of vicious wind that whipped the rain into an icy frenzy. Twisted columns of dark energon arced between towering, jagged structures like metallic arteries; sprawling deeper into the city where the overhead observation decks grew into a complexly-knit weave of cables and platforms.

Bumblebee passed through the streets of Kaon unnoticed, a yellow ghost in the realm of indigo. He glanced up at the canopy of interlacing wires, so much like that of a mechanical rainforest, with cautious optics. He was dreaming – he had to be; Kaon didn't exist like this anymore. The fact that none of the plentiful Vehicons nearby noticed his presence similarly suggested that the world around him was nothing but a reconstruction. The lone problem with that theory was that Bumblebee had never seen the Decepticon capital like this before – so whose reconstruction was it?

His chest felt uncomfortably tight; as he walked, the scout was vividly aware of his spark blazing in its chamber. The pain was not unbearable, however – focusing on the sensation of rain hitting his armour plating was enough to cool his circuits. He walked on through the nightmare, through the chaos of the dark city, searching for an exit.

"How do you like my little realm, Autobot?"

Bumblebee stopped dead in his tracks, heavy rain bouncing noisily off his chassis, and stared around in surprise. That voice…it couldn't be…

"I made it just for you – you should feel honoured. You've been such a good host that I felt compelled to reward you in some way. Does my offering please you?"

Filled with dread, the scout slowly turned around to face the source of the voice – and found his optics met by a sinister smirk. The face of his nightmares watched him freeze up through the rain; Bumblebee stared, horrified and rooted to the spot, at the literal embodiment of all his fears come to life. Rain slid like poison from those jagged shoulders, swept over the broad chestplate that was branded with the mark of Decepticon, fell to splash down around those lethal-looking feet. The scarred faceplates rearranged without a sound, disfigured lips stretching in a cruel smirk over jagged teeth.

Bumblebee forced life into his servos, taking a jerky step backward. His movement achieved nothing, other than stirring a quiet laugh in the Decepticon's vocal processor.

"Why so afraid, scout?" Megatron asked softly. He gave an aimless gesture with one sharp hand, the rain-drenched barrel of his arm-mounted cannon glistening as he moved. "I'm not real, remember? You said so yourself…or am I?"

The following nanoklik ensued so rapidly that Bumblebee was only able to work out what happened afterwards. Swifter than lightning, Megatron unsheathed the blade in his forearm and leaped across the stretch of sodden ground separating him from the Autobot – slashing clean into the scout's chestplate with a ruthless flick of the servo. Bumblebee staggered back in shock, a pained whine escaping his vocal processor as droplets of his still-hot energon splattered to the ground.

"I suppose I should thank you," breathed the Decepticon, as the freshly-stained blade suddenly retracted into his arm. Clutching the wound in his chassis, Bumblebee watched as Megatron stooped slightly in a mock-appreciatory bow. "If it weren't for you; I would still be confined as a prisoner to the depths of my own mind."

What do you want?! demanded Bumblebee.

"Keen to get to the point, I see," Megatron murmured, straightening up. "So be it. As spectacular a home as your head is, I'm afraid I wish to return to my own body. Seeing how you refused to escort me to my ship earlier, I've decided to take matters into my own hands…and that's where this place comes in."

The scout creased his brow apprehensively. He had managed to stem the flow of energon from his wound, but felt no more reassured than when his blood was coursing freely. This place? he repeated.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" jeered the Decepticon. "Put two and two together, you worthless hunk of scrap metal. Where are we?"

Bumblebee didn't dare remove his optics from Megatron's face to inspect their surroundings. Kaon, he replied; the Decepticon capital city on Cybertron.

"Very good…and what exactly is Kaon?"

With a small start, the scout realised the significance of their location. It's a prison, he replied uneasily.

"Exactly," stated Megatron, folding his arms. "This is a prison – for Autobots."

A sudden agony ripped across Bumblebee's spark, so abrupt and intense that it brought him crashing to his knees. Half-blinded by the pain; he clutched his chest with one hand, supporting his weight with the other, until Megatron's foot collided sharply with his side. Bumblebee found himself flat on his back, writhing in the cold veil of water on the ground, just able to make out the Decepticon's jagged silhouette looming over him through a death-black fog. He couldn't keep his gasps and groans inside; it felt as though someone had speared his chest clean through with a white-hot iron stake.

"As much as it will pain me to wear the insignia donned by my oldest enemy…I need your body, Autobot," Megatron stated, pity all but absent from his silky voice. The scout struggled at his feet, unable to breathe, clawing at his own headlights in sightless terror. "I care not what you do here – your mind is doomed to rot within the confines of this prison I have built for you, while I claim your body to achieve my own ends. A reasonable exchange, no?"

Pinned down by agony, Bumblebee could only watch as the Decepticon leader straightened up and turned slowly on his heel. He thrashed weakly, helplessly, shuttering his optics against the pain, as Megatron began to walk away – and vanished into the darkness.