Chapter Text
Isaac Sumdac was always afraid of Megatron. From the moment that enormous grey hand thrashed to life and wrapped its metal fingers around his body, he had been afraid. That hadn’t changed now, but something else was creeping into his head as he watched the warlord down another cube of what the Constructicons called their “high-grade:” confusion.
It had begun with the slightly widened optics on Blitzwing and Lugnut when the two new Decepticons presented their refinery to Megatron. As far as Isaac understood it, oil was a crude substitute for the Cybertronians’ usual fuel, but this refinery processed it to such an extent that it became “smoother than water off the back of a speedin’ Jaguar,” according to Mixmaster.
Megatron’s optics had lit up, and a purr entered his voice as he commended the two on their work. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a proper cube of high-grade. How about a round to celebrate?”
Scrapper cheered and Mixmaster got to work preparing the oddly pink-tinged oil; only Isaac, watching from inside his glass prison, noticed Blitzwing and Lugnut exchanging a nervous glance. He only ever saw those two worried when they were anticipating Megatron’s wrath after failing a mission. Why were they twisting their hands and ducking their heads now?
“Today is a good day, as the Decepticons are strengthened by two new initiates.” Megatron raised his cube in a toast. “Indeed, they have already proved their worth. Mixmaster, Scrapper,” he nodded toward them, his smile wide enough to show his fangs, “you have my thanks.” With that, he knocked back his drink, draining the cube in one go. When his lips drew away from the glass, they shimmered pink.
One drink became another. And another. And another. They were lucky to have stolen an oil tanker the day before, or they might have run out—and, Isaac thought as Megatron emptied his cube yet again, some would have been very disappointed indeed if that were to happen. The Constructicons had at first been entirely on board with their leader’s love of high-grade, seemingly thinking he was a free-spirited, rowdy party-bot like them.
Then Scrapper made the mistake of trying to tease Megatron. He hadn’t even closed his mouth before a hand was wrapped around his throat. Megatron’s smile was just as wide as before, but a strange lightness had entered his tone as he tightened his grip. “Care to say that again, Scrapper?”
Scrapper could only wheeze, but Mixmaster stepped forward, waving his hands frantically. “L-Lord Megatron, he didn’t- he didn’t mean anything by it,” he babbled. “He’s just a big idiot, I’ll weld his mouth shut later!”
Megatron cocked his head. Scrapper’s feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. He was gasping, desperately clawing at Megatron’s hand, but it was as if his plating was carved from stone. Lugnut and Blitzwing watched, tense. They said nothing. Isaac held his breath. Megatron wouldn’t really…?
Then, Megatron let go. Scrapper fell to the floor with a crash, coughing hard as he sucked air into his burning vents. Mixmaster ran to his side, and the both of them looked up at Megatron with new fear in their eyes. “See that you do. But first,” Megatron said, “get me another cube.”
The Constructicons hurried to do as they were told. They quietly disappeared afterward. Blitzwing and Lugnut were soon to follow, though the latter made sure to inform Megatron that he was going to patrol the area “to ensure no Autobot pests disturbed his lordship!”
Megatron simply waved him away as he nursed a new cube of high-grade. Now alone, he began talking to himself, switching between idle thoughts and low humming. Isaac tried to ignore it and focus on his work, but at times he almost thought he could hear Megatron singing under his breath.
Suddenly, Isaac noticed the cavern had gone silent. Megatron’s meanderings had ceased. He looked up—only to find those too-bright optics on him. “Oh,” Megatron breathed, as if he had just remembered he had a captive audience.
Isaac’s heart dropped into his stomach. Like a human spotting the eyes of a tiger watching them through the brush, something deep and instinctual inside him began screaming, run. It was too bad he couldn’t. He could only stay perfectly still as Megatron lowered himself to the ground, lying on his chest and propping himself up with his arms, face looming at the glass. “I almost forgot you were here.” That smile was still on his face, loose and amused, showing off every one of his teeth. “Tell me, how do you like your little cage? I hope it’s up to your standards.”
Isaac swallowed. “…It’s..” He faltered. What did Megatron want him to say?
Lucky for him, the mech didn’t seem too invested in an answer. “I think it’s rather luxurious. You get to see what’s going on around you! A room with a view!” He chuckled to himself. The sound stunned Isaac all on its own; he had never heard Megatron laugh before; at least, not like this. When he smiled or laughed, it was always a sharp, controlled expression. He wielded them like weapons. This laugh, however, was relaxed, light, almost silly.
Megatron took another long sip of high-grade, then exhaled, his warm breath fogging up the glass. “I should take your oil once I leave this mud ball of a planet,” he hummed as he drew a wobbly, cartoonish heart with one finger. “Yes, I’ll take all we can refine and burn the rest alongside your cities.” An X slashed the heart into pieces, and Megatron’s optics, half-lidded, peered through it to focus on Isaac’s ashen face.
“Oh, don’t look so dour, Professor.” Megatron pouted. “I’ll kill the rest of your species, but you?” His lips stretched wide once more. “I think I’ll keep you as a pet.”
Isaac took a step back (for all that would do him). Megatron either didn’t notice his fear or didn’t care. “I’ll… I’ll have a new cage built for you. One much bigger than this. Lots of- of room for you to exercise!” His grin had taken on a mischievous slant, and to Isaac’s horror, Megatron got to his knees and reached over and into the glass cell. Isaac scrambled backwards, but there was nowhere he could hide from that enormous hand. It scooped him up, Megatron turning around to sit back against the glass and study the human clutching his fingers so he wouldn’t be dropped.
“M-Megatron, please,” Isaac said, glancing between the warlord’s face and the ground far below.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you! I’ll-” he hiccuped (a sound somewhat like an engine turning over), “I’ll buy you toys and trinkets so you won’t get bored. I’ll feed you, haha, walk you!” Megatron curled his fingers inward, sparking a bolt of panic in Isaac. He scrambled toward the edge of his palm, away from the metal walls trying to close in on him, but was stopped by Megatron’s other hand. The mech shoved him back with one finger, which then ruffled Isaac’s hair like he were a dog. “I’ll even- ahaha- I’ll even get you a wheel to run on!” His lazy giggles turned into a full-throated cackle.
Isaac’s face burned. He was used to feeling like a trapped animal, but this was too far. He shoved Megatron’s finger away and surged to his feet, growling, “That is quite enough! I may be your prisoner, but I will never- never- be your pet!”
Megatron stopped laughing.
His vents opened, a warm gush of air rushing over Isaac, blowing his hair back and making him squint. When he had blinked the dryness from his eyes, he opened them to see Megatron’s face far closer than before. “Oh? Really.” His optics were almost blinding to meet directly, their glow painting Isaac red. “Then what would you rather be, hm? Perhaps… A science experiment?”
Isaac’s jaw clenched as his courage fled him. He knew where this was leading, and it made his stomach start to churn. “Megatron, I didn’t know you were al-”
“Shut up!” Megatron snapped, the simmering anger in his voice flaring up for a moment. It slipped back down into a growl, but it was harsher than before. “This isn’t about me. This is about you.” His thumb poked Isaac’s chest, shoving him back against the mech’s other fingers. “I could hand you over to Blackarachnia—she has lots of experience in cutting open organics. I think I might become interested in the mechanics of flesh as well. Yes, maybe I’ll vivisect you,” the word flew from his lips alongside flecks of high-grade. “Slit you from chest to belly and let your guts spill out, pick them apart, see what I can use and what I can sell to the highest bidder!”
Megatron had him pinned between his fingers now, squeezing just hard enough to lean over the threshold between discomfort and pain. Isaac squirmed and whined at the pressure on his ribs, trying in vain to push Megatron’s fingers away. “Megatron- please, don’t-!”
Megatron ignored him. His breath was hot and sharp with the smell of gasoline. “Or maybe I’ll keep you all to myself, my disgusting little secret, my skeleton in the closet. Keep you alive but just barely, never whole, never at peace. Twist your head from your neck and mount it on my wall like a trophy,” he snarled, nose wrinkled and fangs bared like a tiger about to pounce. His voice was almost at a shout now, louder than the roar of his turbines. “Pull your nerves out inch by inch, tear your fat, fleshy hands from your body with my teeth and make them into a CHAIR-!”
Abruptly, Megatron stopped.
“A chair,” he said. The rage in his voice had all but evaporated.
Isaac struggled to catch his breath, mind reeling from the whiplash as it tried to anticipate what the warlord was going to do next. A moment later, Megatron gave him his answer.
He snorted.
And began to laugh so hard he could barely breathe.
“A chair- a chair! Primus, that’d be so- stupid!” Whatever vestiges of control over himself Megatron had clutched onto were gone, and it was truly a sight to behold. The Slagmaker could barely sit up straight, much less stop himself from convulsing in paroxysms of laughter, his vents stuttering and wheezing as they strained to keep his frame from overheating. “Ahah, those- those little human hands, they’re- oh, they’re microscopic!” His own hands had loosened their grip, leaving Isaac to grab at the metal digits once more so he wouldn’t tumble off them as Megatron shook. “A chair! Just imagine it! Me! Sitting on- I’d just- haha- I’d, I’d, I’d crush them! Ahahahaaa!”
He was gasping for air even as he stood and dropped Isaac back into his cell (thankfully not from a lethal height). Isaac quickly scrambled over to his desk, hiding behind it. The table of course wouldn’t actually protect him, but the action at least in some part calmed the screaming of his hind brain.
Megatron paid the human no mind, still babbling nonsense about “tiny hands” and “sparkling school chairs” as he laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. Sparks leaked from the corners of his optics even as he shut them tight, glinting like stars in the gloom of the cavern. His face fell into his hands, enormous shoulders shaking as he crumpled to his knees. Little hiccups kept interrupting his voice.
And Isaac, though his own heart was going a mile a minute, couldn’t help but notice that Megatron’s laughter was sounding less like laughter by the second.
Pushing past the voice in the back of his head begging at him to shut up and hide away, he spoke: “…Megatron? Are you…?”
Megatron’s voice died. The only sounds echoing through the cave now were the low whir of Megatron’s internal fans and the hitching, muffled breaths from behind his hands, slowly ebbing away.
Isaac’s body waited, tense like a coil, for something to break. For an explosion, a shot, glass shattering. Isaac’s mind waited for Megatron to speak.
Then, slowly, one red optic peered through the black bars of Megatron’s fingers. It stared into Isaac, but the bright, fiery anger that had been there before was gone. Now, it only looked hollow. Weary. When he spoke, his voice was deliberately devoid of emotion.
“Get back to work, Professor,” Megatron said.
Then, he stood, and facing away from Isaac, walked out of the cavern. He took a cube of gleaming pink high-grade with him as he went.