# Mine! My Spark!

Аноним Nytare

Megatron pours his blood on Nana before he dies in Mission City. And by the will of the Allspark, she acquires the ability to create decipticons. Then he moves with his change away from people.

Introduction

Well, let's go.

You somehow found my fanfiction and decided to read it. In order to avoid a situation like "mice and a transforming, but very aggressive red-eyed cactus", it is worth reading the introduction and deciding whether you need to read this fanfiction. And since you decided to read it, well, as they say, you were warned. My opinion in many ways does not coincide with the canon, I can rotate this canon in my favor (and such an ambiguous and contradictory canon as the world of transformers, even more so), interpret events in different ways. I take information from comics, cartoons, and movies, making up my world story the way I want it. In general, I can (and will) do various God-abominable things with the canon.

And now a little more about what might be.

Let's start with the world in which everything happens, or put in a word about the poor canon.

This story is written in the Transformers universe.

But! As always, there are a couple of nuances.

Firstly, the warnings specify AU (Alternative Universe). If you hover over the warning (for the Ficbook), you can read the following: "AU is a story in which characters from the canon world find themselves in another world or in other circumstances unrelated to the canon. It could also be another fork in the canon events."

In my opinion, it is quite an exhaustive definition. And for those who have forgotten or did not know, I want to remind you that changing one event entails changing the whole story. This is the so-called causal relationship, which is reflected in the event series (chain of events), it is also the logic of the narrative. Therefore, changing one event changes everyone's much-loved canon beyond recognition.

Secondly. As for the canon itself. It is ambiguous and contradictory both in the cartoons themselves (anime is also a kind of cartoon, if anyone has forgotten) and in the films, it has many event inconsistencies and contradictions, and in many ways the logic and psychology of the characters are not respected.

Third. Again, regarding the canon that some people love. The scriptwriters turned it the way they wanted. Something was added, something was changed to the exact opposite. So it's ridiculous to talk about a strict canon system. If desired, you can find evidence that Megatron is Optimus' older brother, or vice versa, that they are generally representatives of two different species and one of them (poor Megatron) It was created by the Allspark (Energy Cube, Great Spark, Matrix of Leadership) in other words - a natural-born being, as far as this definition is suitable for a cybernetic life form, and the other (Prime, which is Optimus) was created artificially by some incomprehensible "Creators" from "living metal", which requires (unexpectedly) organic matter. Moreover- it is alive. Oil and plastic, apparently, did not come out with mugs.

Fourth. Again, about him, about the poor.

Everyone understands the canon in their own way.

The same notorious energon. Initially, it was neither toxic nor dangerous and did not cause any harm to organics. Then suddenly, at the behest of the cartoon's scriptwriters, he went berserk and picked up all sorts of nastiness, got acquainted with a dark relative, made an agreement and became toxic, turning into "undead water": it seems like he is toxic and generally harmful to people's lives, but he can treat injuries inflicted by a dark evil brother without harm to the victim.

And right there in the comics, people climb up to their ears with this energon, and nothing happens to them. Other organics (not humans) actually swam in it. And also nothing.

The canon is so canonical...

I'm not saying that energon changes color the way people breathe: all the time. Sometimes it's iridescent, sometimes it's light blue, sometimes it's pink, then purple, then orange, then suddenly green or red... especially when it splashes out in the form of blood from the unfortunate transformers. Oh, yes, these poor devils sometimes have some strange body fluids (saliva, yeah), then they seem to crystallize and disappear, then something else....

The arbitrariness of the scriptwrit... sorry, mysticism!


We will continue with the poor transformers

Whose origin is vague, confusing, contradictory, and incomprehensible to the Transformers themselves: the Prime, which is Optimus, says "this is how our race was born," and then Lockdown also piously convinces that some Creators riveted them on their knees from metal created from poor dinosaurs (well, or from other poor devils, which is not the point) and, most importantly, Optimus completely agrees with this assurance. The backstory to the film shows how the Transformers were created by the Allspark on Cybertron (by the way, the Cube was in the temple in Kaon) for some idiots.

They would have decided eventually!


The time and reasons for their appearance on Earth are equally vague, mysterious, and beyond logical analysis. In cartoons, one thing, in a movie, another, and a third at once with time inconsistencies and so on.

I don't say anything about comics at all. I only found five different Soundwaves there. Instantly! And they even differed in color and size. And the carcass configuration. I will also keep silent about the three simultaneous Shockwaves. In general, they are interesting creatures, with a vague history and an incomprehensible origin.

I am generally silent about the reasons for their deaths: according to one version of events, they are hidden in the darkness of history and buried so deeply that they cannot be found with a hundred grams. On the other hand, they are more than clear, but then the Autobots look frankly ... unpleasant companions.

You can choose anything, and all diametrically opposed stories are equally canonical (one is cartoons, the second is comics, the third is movies, and there is also a fourth book).


About personal fuckers, in the sense of the psychology and personality of our large and not quite organic friends, especially about the pens of the formidable Lord Megatron and his impossible, in the sense NOT possible under normal conditions, shoals.

It's possible to talk about Prime's glitches and the distortions in his character and personality for a long time. There is pathos, and unjustified reverence for people (who, for him, as for a theoretically eternal being, should be somewhere on the level of "ordinary, active cockroach"), the actual betrayal of his species and his native planet, bringing his own comrades under the axe, amazing brainlessness and lack of sanity of mind in his presence. In general, a lot of things. And this is despite the amazing cruelty of Orion Pax (and that was the name of our dear Optimus before he was struck by the Matrix, if anyone does not know).

And, most importantly, PATHOS! The sea, the oceans of PAPHOS!

No, I understand that he is a Prime (you can cry from the actions of other Primes in general, some Zeta and Sentinel are worth something), but you need to have a brain. I mean, use them, not fuck them.


But, back to Megatron.

The story of the main villain of the entire disepticon is sad. Lord Megatron seems to be smart, reasonable and dangerous, he is an excellent and experienced leader and combat commander, his subordinates are powerful, they kill with difficulty, but they constantly merge for some nonsense reasons. Is that their karma? After each major, fatal defeat, Meg is not even allowed to die normally: just a little bit - resuscitation discharge and come on, dear Meg, work for the benefit of society, and we will set you up again and let you down, or let you down and set you up... or we will bring an ally who will betray you, let you down and set you up, or the authorities (who appeared from out of nowhere) we will inform, which will deceive, frame and betray. In general, life is wonderful, and we love you very much! And don't you dare die! We'll find it anyway, we'll get it from the bottom of the ocean, we'll take each other for spare parts, but we'll make you live! Bad, but not for long! And then - in a circle.

Cartoons with poor Megatron do about the same thing as movies: Unicron won't let you die, then a healing spark will discharge, then Shockwave (or Soundwave) will be reanimated, then something else will happen, but the beloved, brutalized toy of the Allspark will certainly be revived and thrown into the hottest cauldron. Meg doesn't know how to sit in corners and doesn't want to.

What can I say, an extreme guy. Active, trying to do something, achieve something, get something. Well done, in general.

But Meg just wants greatness for her race. Not a bad wish, by the way.

Does he hate people? Well, which of us is not without a flaw?


But that's not the point. It's about personality and character.

Interestingly, Megatron's personality is surprisingly stable throughout the canon (including cartoons), adjusted for events: he is a smart, charismatic and very calculating leader, an excellent military commander, a great fighter, and so on. And his periodic completely abnormal and incomprehensible paddocks occur surprisingly timely: exactly when, according to the plot, it's time for him to die in the name of the Great Good. Well, or just lose in the name of the same, the good. That's it, and all the brains, the mind of a military leader, prudence, the ability to analyze a situation, tactical genius, the ability to fight, and all the like are somehow abruptly replaced by the behavior of a teenager trying to foolishly assert himself.

Strange. Or is it Prime that affects him so much? Did you bite his?

There was no pathos, there was no pathos, and then suddenly, how he tramples, how he tramples... That's right, Prime got bitten!

Or is pathos transmitted by airborne droplets? Along with the loss of common sense and combat experience for millions of years. Yes, the arbitrariness of the scriptwriters is such an arbitrariness: evil must surely die at the hands of GH, even if he can smear this GH with bloody porridge all over the planet. And do not forget, when fighting with GH - Heads the Evil One abruptly becomes dull, squints, weakens and forgets to use his brains. He catches a debuff like that. Yeah, self-renewing.

At the same time, before its ridiculous death / defeat, Evil IS BOUND to fail spectacularly. Thoroughly so that everything he painstakingly did for the entire movie/series/comic book would go to waste, preferably in front of his eyes (yes, the collapse of Cybertron in front of poor Meg, who so badly wanted to save and reanimate him). Evil must SUFFER! Here! Moreover, in such a way as not to arouse sympathy: maliciously, with pathos and stupid pens, where would it be without them, relatives.

And it's easy to find out that Evil is going to mess up: before that, he either makes a throne for himself, or necessarily assumes a pretentious pose, copying Prime (exactly, bitten!), or pushes some kind of heresy to Starscream, who listens to him faithfully, in general, behaves strangely and unnaturally.

Oh, yeah. Starscream.

A wonderful intelligence officer, the leader of Cybertron's best seeker triad (and for a moment, the Seekers are distant star intelligence among their other functions), one of the best spies and saboteurs of the Dis, who deceived two Prime rulers along with the entire Senate combined, who suddenly turned into a complete, complete moron, hungry for power. And constantly betraying his leader, to whom he is infinitely loyal (the words of Starscream himself, when he kneels before the wounded gladiator: "Megatron. I give you my undying loyalty.") Which, by the way, is perfectly confirmed by the comics.

Honestly, I like this sicker bastard, but he turned into a solid flying joint by the will of the scriptwriters! And Megatron's phrase: "You let me down again!" stretches like a red thread from the first episodes of cartoons to the movie inclusive.

And how come Meg hasn't nailed him for that yet? It's true, the man's nerves are adamantine and his patience is cosmic. Or he remembers the last Starscream, who is a great scout and schemer, who brought him victory in the uprising.


About power and the desire to get it

One minute Meg craves power to the point of bloody autobots in his eyes, then he meekly gives it to another and even bends his knee (yeah, to Prime, the one who said: "I made a career out of killing Primes"), then he makes a throne for himself (the name justifies or just suffers from nonsense)... and again the power gives away. He's kind of inconsistent....

So does he want power, or does he not give a damn about this stuff?

The canon convinces - it longs.

And the events in the canon show that he doesn't really crave it, and even so he has this power, how much more? And so under him is the entire military elite of the race (remember who the disepticons are).

Although, if you want and have the right imagination, you can find any explanation or come up with it and string it like an owl on a globe.

Okay, long blah blah, that's interesting. But let's get to the specifics.


What you WON'T SEE in this fanfiction:

You will not see openly crooked-armed and stupid disepticons. Be realistic. These are action movies, gladiators. They should be able to fight on the level of unconditional instinct! And the fighting is excellent. Crooked-armed people simply do not live with this lifestyle (do not forget that gladiatorial fights were to the death)! And no need to tell tales about how they are always easily killed. Take away the arbitrariness of the screenwriters, and the Autobots' lives would be sad but short.

You won't find the all-conquering Optimus Prime. No matter how you look at it, Megatron is much more powerful and has much more combat experience. You will not see how disepticons suffer from strabismus in its extreme degree. Yes, they are living beings, a full-fledged Artificial personality, capable of emotions and illogical actions, but they are cybernetic creatures with all the bonuses of such a mind carrier. They are accurate, they know how to calculate the pre-emption of a shot.

So it's quite possible to shoot so that their target lies down and no longer gets up. Make adjustments for the target's speed... well, you get the idea.

You won't see such a disgrace as was shown to us in the first film (I'm silent about cartoons - they were filmed for children and therefore the level of cruelty, logic and so on is adjusted to the perception of children), when a crowd of diss couldn't shoot these military idiots.

Don't tell me stories about shelters and stuff. No one canceled their thermal imagers, along with their cold logic and vast combat experience.

They've been fighting for millions of years! That is, that helicopter (which Blackout) could bring down the entire military base alone, but not a dozen people? It's ridiculous and unrealistic.

You won't find the ubiquitous "Grave Wind".

Let's be realistic, they don't teleport. They drive on their own. Well, or they fly. And any movement takes time. Sometimes a lot.

You won't find... yes, you won't find a lot of things from the canon. And a lot of things you'll suddenly discover, but I won't describe them anymore, and that's how the sheet turned out.

Beginning: That's who would know...

The energy cube existed even before time started counting down. We don't know where he came from, but we do know that he carries the power to create worlds and fill them with life. That's how our race was born....

We lived in peace and harmony, but as often happens with great power, some wanted to use it for Good, while others wanted to use it for Evil. And the War began.

The war that ravaged our planet until Death reigned on it, and the energy cube was lost in the depths of space.

We spread out across the galaxy in the hope of bringing him back and restoring our homeland, we looked at every star, every world. And when we had already lost hope, the news of a new discovery forced us to go to an unknown planet called Earth.

But we're... too late.

Optimus Prime


It was an ordinary, unremarkable day. Work, work, work with a short lunch break, and again - a stuffy cafe and the same boring job as a waitress for a pittance. For the umpteenth time, a tired thought was beating in my head: why did I come here at all? What for? Why did she give up everything and fly with her... then still her beloved boyfriend to faraway America, leaving behind a good job, friends and family? He's understandable. He was offered a prestigious position in a large design bureau, a high salary, and excellent prospects....

Probably, a stupid blind infatuation has done its job, clouding the mind. I rushed to a foreign country, raking out all the money, believing in the assurances of a loved one that everything would be fine, great prospects were opening up in distant America, we would be happy, and others-other loud promises that turned out to be lies.

No wonder they say that love is akin to insanity.

Max took off to the local Olympus very quickly, because he is really an excellent designer, and he is very beautiful in himself. And I... I stayed at his foot like a cast-off ballast: his feelings somehow subsided very quickly, Max did not return home more and more often, preferring to rotate with his new acquaintances and colleagues, and I was left alone in a one-room rented apartment, which I could barely pay for....

It takes a year from assurances of sincere love to a complete breakup.

Was there even this love? Or were they just my illusions?

"Nina, are you sad again?"

Smiling Lynsey gracefully sat down on a chair - a charming mulatto woman with lively brown eyes, dark skin and a magnificent shock of black curls. The same designer as me... only she had a job in her field, unlike me. The girl is local, talented, and spectacular. And the energy was overflowing. She seemed to glow with it, with this energy: cheerful, graceful, with a beautiful figure, which was amazingly emphasized by a scarlet dress with a full sun skirt to the middle of the thigh.

"It's hot today." I forced a smile.

I didn't say anything about the fact that there was nothing wrong with the visitors because of the heat, and, consequently, with the revenue. Why bother her with your problems? All I needed were stories about Willy, along with a description of how good social services are in the United States.

"Come on, let's eat and relax." Lynsey jumped to her feet and pulled on my arm. "Get distracted! Cheer up, or you'll get stuck with your job!"

Let's eat... She'll be the one eating, and I'll be the one sitting next to her and listening to her... wise Native American ideas. I've been tormenting you for two years now! And you can't be rude: Willy likes this twirly girl, and she's not a bad girl herself. He just likes to get into his soul and give advice too much.

"I can't, Lynsey. You know, Willie... I don't like it when someone isn't working."

On behalf of the "master" I was shaken up. I feel like a slave... to a fat Negro. Oh, I'm sorry, an African-American with the manners of a minor boyar.

How disgusting...

But it's useless to argue with Lynsey.... I've already learned this during our acquaintance.: The girl has an amazing ability to ignore my objections. Why she comes here every day to talk to me, I still don't understand: we weren't friends, communicating only at these moments, the character and outlook on life are different. Sometimes - dramatically. We live in different social strata, and we don't cross paths anywhere except in this cafe.

Sighing, I took off my apron and sat down at her table.

Maybe she's right. Is it really worth relaxing, taking a break, and everything will go as expected? Although... where will it go... only downhill... unless a miracle happens and I can finally find another job. So far, I've had absolutely no luck with this event. There are enough cash reserves for another month of housing payments, which Will has to pay in about a week. You can buy clothes and go for an interview at an interesting office three blocks from home. If it works out, I can break out of this damn circle. If not...

Damn, if it doesn't work out, you'll have to decide whether to buy a ticket and return to Russia without a penny in your pocket or try to hang around here. Okay, we'll see how it goes in a week.

Lynsey kept up, and I gave up: it was easier for her to give in, otherwise she would be offended for three days. Do I need it? The owner doesn't seem to be there, the customers don't either, and Marie, standing behind the cash register, won't turn me in. So you can sit with this restless one. Anyway, she'll calm down quickly and get to work: she has about forty minutes left.

Half an hour later, after hearing that I needed to contact social services, a psychologist, and the manager of her company, I tried to gather my strength. The rest did not improve the situation: they paid me from the production with a penny rate, but there were no clients today. It's too hot. The mood finally slipped to indifferent apathy, fatigue and stupefying heat beat on the sleepless brains, adding to the fog, so that the condition was somewhere at the level of the urban sewer system.

Should I really leave?

She would have left a long time ago, but her natural stubbornness prevented her from admitting defeat and giving up. And I stubbornly continued to work at this cafe, trying to scrape together money, running for interviews and trying to somehow make ends meet.

A sluggish thought stirred: if nothing changes, I will change my job on principle. I'm just stalling here. A little more, and I will finally be drawn into this gray muddy quagmire, and all dreams of a bright future and an interesting life will evaporate under the yoke of everyday life.

Living in a large city in a foreign country did not benefit me: my character deteriorated, tolerance fell somewhere to the level of urban collectors, understanding and love for others completely evaporated along with illusions and faith in human altruism and mutual assistance. But patience has developed. And the understanding that in this life you are not needed by anyone except the tax service. Even my family: they had been calling for about a year, but as soon as my problems started, they quietly disappeared from the horizon, content with short messages to the mail. My parents have enough problems with my older brother and younger sister to take on mine as well. As they say, she's alive and well.

I wanted something... different. Not this "ordinary life of the average American," which catatonizes the brain! I wanted something... in short, I wanted something. As the near future has shown, you need to be more careful in your desires!


Gunfire, explosions, and screams rang out suddenly, rolling in like a tsunami wave, shattering the dreary day and spinning people into a whirlpool of events. At first I thought it was someone who switched the TV to a movie, but... I was mistaken: the shots were heard on the street and very nearby. Lynsey got nervous and ran outside to find out what was going on, but I stayed at my workplace: I was not allowed to leave the cafe until the end of my shift.

And then events started like an avalanche: panic reached our intersection, someone was shooting at someone, people were running, pieces of concrete and fragments of our building fell from above. Lynsey panicked and started running around the sidewalk in front of the cafe, not knowing what to do or where to run. I was in no hurry to leave the room. The building is sturdy. It's not an earthquake, so there's no point rushing outside. If they're shooting... even more so. Why expose yourself and catch a stray...

Two robots crashed into the roadway right in front of the window, and all coherent thoughts scattered. Huge, about ten meters! One is red and blue, the other is more powerful, silver in color. Immediately, passersby screamed, ran around, ran in. I saw Linsey running down the street. I didn't try to catch up with her and bring her back to the cafe: it was useless. In this state, she is unlikely to listen to advice, rather, she will drag her down the street. Let she run. Not a small one, your brains should be in your head!

I cautiously approached the broken window and looked out. Chunks of concrete, somewhere very close - explosions and gunfire, the sound of massive footsteps. So ... and the robots are not alone ... somewhere very close there are more of the same giants.

There was no fear. Just tired apprehension. The robots don't care about me. I'm nothing to them. They don't know about me, and if I keep my head down and attract attention, they won't find out anymore. I'd rather sit here and watch.... There is less chance of catching a bullet or getting a huge mech under your foot. And nothing will fall on your head. The robots began to move, and the silvery one propped himself up on one elbow, peered at the man standing right in front of him, dressed in a blue pullover and black formal trousers....

Bah, it's Stephen! The asshole from the HR department who locked me up at the initial interview just because I'm Russian. And when I got a job at this cafe, every day this bastard comes here for lunch and annoys me with petty nagging.

"How... DISGUSTING!" The low, hoarse voice was filled with disgust and irritation, as if an outsider had seen something vile and disgusting.

With a snap of his fingers, the silvery one threw Stephen away from him, and with a scream he crashed into a taxi car and curled up, moaning. Alive, well, wow! It was possible to bend over from such a blow, but no, it was intact. Judging by the way he cheerfully crawled under the car, nothing was even really broken. Look how he rustled!

Pity didn't even stir... and if anything did, it was a feeling of deep contentment. I like this fur and its approach to people! And really... disgusting! This particular one is moral.

I couldn't help but laugh nervously. Yes, only for this Silvery one can forgive the demolished place of my penal servitude! It's a pity, you can't rewind! I'd like to watch it again! And then another one. And more.

Suddenly, it became clear that Silvery had not set out to kill a man. He simply threw it aside with a snap of his fingers, as people throw away an insect that has crept too close to them, which it is a pity to crush, but there is no desire to tolerate nearby. And he threw it away quite carefully: if he had made a little more effort, Stephen would have been lying by the car like a broken doll. A powerful mech could easily smear a man with bloody porridge on the asphalt, could turn him into a bag with broken bones with a single touch of a finger, or throw him away so that he would remain a smear on the wall of a house. Could. But he didn't. And he didn't even touch the people struggling to get off the asphalt in his immediate vicinity. They were as close as Stephen, except they weren't in front of his face. The huge mech allowed the people to scatter, and only then began to rise.

The red-blue one stirred, opened his hand, releasing some kid clutching a metal cube to himself and began to broadcast some pathetic nonsense about this very cube, which should be placed somewhere in his chest, he, in the sense of fur, would sacrifice himself to destroy the unfortunate cube and all in the same the spirit. It was happening in close proximity to me, and Red's voice was loud enough to be heard verbatim.

A guy named Sam muttered something, yanked through the intersection and lay down behind a pile of broken concrete. In the middle of this very intersection. I lost sight of him, but I knew he wasn't running out from behind that pile. It would have been obvious. The silver one was just starting to get up, the Red One turned over and got up too, blocking the opponent's path to the guy with the cube.

"It's just you and me, Megatron!" said Red.

So the Silver One in the world is Megatron. I will know the name of this embodiment of humanity.

"No! It's just me, Prime!" He growled, literally spat out an enraged Silver One.

And he's furious. It shows. It was felt in his every movement, in the intonation of his low, rolling voice. I don't know what exactly made him so angry: the situation, or specifically the red-blue congener. Both opponents know each other very well and are clearly not the first to encounter such skirmishes. Otherwise, why all the scraping? It's like an old unspoken ritual. An attempt to convince the opponent, senseless and useless, but habitual, which neither side wants to violate. Otherwise, the fight would have already started. A fight, not these arguments.

"At sunset, one will stand, the other will fall!" The pathos in Prime's speeches made my jaw clench, but one good Megatron pitch quickly interrupted this blah blah.

"You're fighting on the side of the weak." The Silvery One growled contemptuously, approaching the rising enemy, intercepted him and threw him into the nearest building again. "And that's why you're losing!"

I wonder if Prime is CONSTANTLY losing, then why is he still alive? Is he being spared? Or is he constantly being rescued? Or is Silvery so unlucky that he can't finish off his old enemy for some reason? Can't or won't.

Well, then the banal fight began.

No matter how ridiculous it was to realize, but two high-tech intelligent beings simply and without fuss punched each other in the face. With their Fists. Without any frills or special techniques. An ordinary, ugly fight! And the red Prime was inferior to a much more powerful silver opponent. And more experienced, because Megatron's combat experience is clearly much greater than that of his kinsman: he moved too clearly, blocked attacks too easily, calculating the enemy at once. Looking at this, I began to believe Silver's statement about Red's constant losses, but the more curious the question became, how did Prime survive? I don't know about their other encounters, but in this fight, Red had no chance at all: he wouldn't have made it to sunset, and Megatron would have smeared him around the city in five minutes if he hadn't taken his soul away, methodically beating him and saying something to him in a strange harsh language. a growling tongue. Harshly, sarcastically, contemptuously, breaking into an angry growl and furious words dripping with hatred. Silvery didn't need the enemy's muddled responses. He wasn't interested in them, as if he knew everything in advance. Every word. Every objection. He wasn't even listening, he was just hitting and talking.

I watched the disassembly of the huge aliens, standing under the protection of the building. Of course, I could have run away to save my precious skin, as other people did, but... so that I would miss SUCH a sight?!! Never! I won't forgive myself later!

Stupid? Yes. But this happens once in a lifetime, and it's not too rich in events and adventures, which something in the depths of my soul craved so much.

Other extreme sports enthusiasts also shared my opinion: I saw a guy gawking at what was happening from the restaurant across the street, and two more were filming a fur fight on their phone. Three lame scumbags with no instinct for self-preservation at the other end of the intersection were waving their arms excitedly, clearly rooting for some kind of fur and completely ignoring the attempts of a group of military men to remove them from the street. Judging by the violent enthusiastic reaction of the scumbags to the actions of the Silver One, their sympathies belonged to him, which, however, is quite understandable: the powerful mech moved very beautifully, smoothly and swiftly, and beat with knowledge. Professionally, prudently, harshly, strongly, but carefully.

Why Megatron still hasn't torn Prime's head off, even though he could, has remained a mystery to me. But he finished off the victim to the state of an unresisting, but not too crippled body quite quickly and technically.


The first explosion made me recoil in surprise. My feet went on glass fragments, I lost my balance and fell on my ass, cutting my hands on the glass, and the silver giant swayed from a direct hit by a rocket. The explosion! Glowing dull purple drops fanned out, drenching me from head to toe, and I sat among the glass fragments and watched as if fascinated by what was happening....

The mighty victor was shot like in a shooting gallery: The rockets exploded, knocking him down, inflicting colossal wounds, the soldiers around him fired, and he got up and got up to receive another rocket or grenade in his back or chest. He stood up, splashing purple drops. He stood up until, finally, in a final dash, he rushed after the fleeing man with the cube in his hands...

I got up, climbed out, and silently watched a powerful and proud creature die, liberally doused with a sticky purple substance that made my skin tingle slightly. Yes, it's kind of hostile to us humans, but... but...

"I'll kill you!" Megatron was already crawling towards the man, unable to get to his feet. He crawled and growled: "Mine! My Spark!"

The red one stirred...

"Sam! Put the cube in my chest, quickly!"

But the kid... the kid did something else: he blew himself up, lifting a cube filled with shining blue light with both hands and... put it under the Silvery Man's torn chest....

I didn't see what happened next. Massive Megatron completely blocked visibility, but now, a blue wave passed over him, flowing onto the asphalt, and he staggered back on his knees, clutched his chest, covering the red-hot spot, wheezed... and collapsed backwards.

I shook my head, retreating into the darkness of the trashed cafe, and the words came out of my mouth:

"What a... pity..."

I still didn't understand what happened next: the purple liquid that the dying alien had lavished on me suddenly shimmered, sharply absorbing into my skin, a strange blue-light blue wave passed through my body, and the world... somehow faded by itself.

Prime's words were the last to be imprinted on his fading consciousness:

"You left me no choice, brother...."