DECEIVE ME

"Oh, I'm brainwashed, captivated by the fame,"

⬵⤁

Exhaustion kept Jack in a dreamless sleep for a long time, his emotional stamina drained completely as a semi-permanent feeling of nausea remained. He felt terrible, his attempts to help only making things exponentially worse. His sleep was eventually disturbed by the entrance of a Decepticon, Dreadwing once again slinking into the room. The second in command held no weapon or energon cube in his servo, his red optics narrowing as he beheld the organic and the Autobot.

Soundwave followed in behind him, immediately setting off alarmed pings in Ratchet's system. The communications officer was here for only one reason: to record. He glanced down at Jack, shifting and rising to his pedes.

"Please, I beg of you, not in front of -" The medic grunted in pain when one of Soundwave's tentacles shot out and latched onto his damaged chest plate, shoving him against the wall. Dreadwing approached with cuffs, latching them on to the medic's wrists and activating the energon link. The sensitized armor stung at the exposure to the highly-charged energon, Ratchet hissing softly.

"Do not resist, or we will have to use force." Dreadwing glanced down at Jack again, the human standing still like a deer in headlights. Soundwave took advantage of the organic's frozen state to pluck him from the ground.

"Let him go!" Ratchet snapped.

"Lord Megatron desires his presence," Dreadwing growled, forcing Ratchet to walk.

Soundwave felt Jack begin to wiggle in protest, the human unable to help but notice the terrible limp the medic possessed as he walked out of the cell. It seemed that no part of him had been spared, only repaired to the point of tolerable functionality.

The Autobot followed both Decepticons down the hall of the Nemesis, silently wondering where their master was. His first guess about Soundwave had been incorrect, and now he knew that the third in command was merely an escort. Megatron did not want Ratchet to have any chance of escaping, especially with Jack. He frequently glanced toward the human, questioning this relocation.

Such inquiries were answered a few minutes later, Dreadwing pushing him through the laboratory doors. Megatron stood in the center of the room, dwarfing the bright red medic which stood beside him. Something seemed wrong, and it took Ratchet a long second to realize what it was.

"Megatron, what are you doing?"

"Truly, medic, are you surprised?" Megatron gazed at the preserved, floating arm of Optimus Prime with twisted pride "This will allow me to wield the Star Saber, which was so generously given to me by your leader."

Jack stared in horror. Why Megatron did not just throw away the arm was beyond him, the tyrant keeping it like some kind of trophy.

"You disgusting -"

"I am sure we could argue about this for many sols," Megatron waved his servo dismissively, approaching Ratchet in a few short strides. He bent at the waist to become optic-level with the medic. "But there is something else of greater importance that must be attended to, medic. I have grown tired of our little game; your screams haven't changed in the past cycles. So now we must move on. Perhaps, if your body cannot be broken, it will be your mind."

I will build.

Jack felt his hair stand on end as the tyrant switched back to English, unable to help but shift uncomfortably in Soundwave's servo. What is he planning?

Megatron straightened and stalked towards a set of medical berths, each already prepped for the cortical psychic patch process. Soundwave moved and deposited Jack onto a counter filled with computer screens, the Cybertronian text on it completely foreign to him. Dreadwing forced Ratchet onto one of the berths, the medic restrained on it while Knock Out activated the patch. The coils glowed to life as they waited to be used, Ratchet fighting only temporarily before the patch was applied and he was forced into stasis.

The silver dictator looked straight at Jack, sending chills down his spine.

Sharp denta gleamed at him. "Watch closely, Jack. And learn that the Autobots are not the peacekeepers you so blindly believe them to be."

With that, Knock Out attached the cortical psychic patch, plunging his lord into darkness as the minds and data of the medic and warmonger intermingled together.

"The Autobot base, medic. Show it to me."

⬵⤁

Ratchet jerked as the trill of an alarm alerted him to a call from Agent Fowler, the angry liaisons face filling the screen.

"Prime! You seen any Decepticons wearing hula skirts lately?"

"I suppose I should have specified what I meant," Megatron interrupted the memory and jerked the Autobot from his reverie, displacing him from the actual experience. "I want the outside of the base, medic. I have already seen the interior . . . and I remain unimpressed."

"Get out of my head!" Ratchet snapped back, his servos - both of them - clenching into fists. "I won't show you anything, Megatron!"

"You will, with time."

"How do you even know I've been out of the base aside from Groundbridge travel?" His prisoner demanded, snippy and unruly. "For all you know I have never seen the surrounding area!"

Megatron merely sneered. "Don't tempt me to attempt a patch on your human friend, Autobot. I highly doubt Cybertronian technology mingles well with organic tissues."

"Don't drag Jack into this," Ratchet growled softly.

"Then show me what I want to see."

"Gladly."

The memory shifted, the medic doing his hardest to disorient Megatron as much as possible.

Suddenly, they were on Cybertron, the planet ravaged by war and destruction. Chaos and the smell of spilled energon permeated the air outside the twisted remains of an Autobot outpost, a younger medic running across rubble and dodging gunfire. His medical kit clinked at his side, Ratchet diving to the ground and skidding to a stop next to an injured Autobot.

"Hey doc, nice to see you," Ironhide ducked before an energon bolt could enter his helm. The mech seemed to be in good shape, save for the severed stabilizer on his left leg. "I was afraid the blast had reached the medical center."

"It had," Ratchet replied grimly, opening up his kit. "First Aid and Velocity are getting what survivors they can. I was tasked with the front lines."

"Didn't take you as a field medic."

"Well, desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Fool!" Megatron struck out at the Autobot, earning a satisfactory cry as he launched Ratchet across the dreamscape. "I want to see the base on Earth!"

Standing on shaking pedes Ratchet wiped his mouth with a servo, the sensation of pain dulled by the fact that this was merely a mental representation of his self, and his physical body was safe.

"You're going to have to try harder than that to get information out of me," he glared at Megatron. "I have had years of experience, Megatron. You won't win."

The tyrant growled in frustration, Ratchet at first believing he had won this battle before Megatron's muscle cables unwound unexpectedly. He was nothing if not eternally patient, having had plenty of time to practice such a thing. His red optics pierced straight into Ratchet's spark.

"Perhaps, then, I will show the human who you really are," he stalked towards the medic, who took a few steps back before hitting what appeared to be an imaginary wall. "Since you insist on dwelling on the past!"

His silver servo shot out and gripped Ratchet's helm. A surprised cry escaped him as the world warped and changed in a dizzying frenzy, transporting them to another time and place.

Iacon was beautiful.

The gleaming silver and gold structure of the Senate halls were adorned with unmatched artistry and symbolizations of the Golden Age, vastly different from the world Ratchet grew up in. His frame was fresh and polished, which was to be expected for someone who worked as the personal CMO of the Senators. Though he despised the formalities, as they tended to get in the way of his work, he was honored to be a part of such a prestigious position.

His servos worked their magic, gifted digits working across the torn mesh of Senator Shockwave's arm. A protestor had managed to land a hit, and though the mech insisted the wound would heal on its own, he was prompted by the others to receive a repair. It was an easy job, and it gave Ratchet something to do, so he was not about to protest.

"I see the rumors are true," the Senator rumbled to him, breaking his concentration. "Your servos work in a hypnotic-like fashion. Tell me, medic, are you forged?"

"Of course," he replied. "Just like all legitimate medics. I have been told I have an exceptional pair of servos; but I believe it is skill more than anything that makes an excellent doctor of medicine. Good hands are useless if the medic does not have the proper competence."

Shockwave regarded him for some time before nodding, as if agreeing with his statement.

"That statement is most logical."

Ratchet was soon finished with the Senator's mesh, sealing the armor before putting his tools away.

"I understand the scar is unseemly, but it is necessary for the wound to heal. Once your nanite activity has ceased completely, you may summon a detailist to erase the mark." He informed the purple mech, standing as he did.

"Thank you, doctor," Shockwave bowed his head a little. "Your work is most appreciated."

Ratchet took the compliment well, his spark swelling with pride as the Senator left his small clinic area. Putting his tools away he sanitized the area, so absorbed in his work he did not realize he had a visitor.

"I see the Senate is treating you well."

He jumped, turning in surprise. "Pax!" He sputtered. "I told you not to do that!"

The young mech that stepped into the room was nothing like what he would eventually become. His optics were fresh with innocence yet shined with keen intelligence, slim frame moving with the natural grace that came with those raised on Iacon. A soft chuckle escaped the archivist, a smile on his faceplates.

"I wouldn't catch you by surprise all the time if you were not so focused on your work," he chided teasingly. "I made quite a bit of noise coming in."

Ratchet gave him an optic-roll, straightening up again and shaking his servo.

"It is good to see you," he admitted. "But shouldn't you be with Alpha Trion and archiving?"

"I requested some time off," Orion explained. "Which was granted. I wanted to invite you to come to Rodion with me. I am meeting with my friend there, the gladiator."

"Yes, yes, him," the medic sounded a little displeased. "Orion, does it not bother you that he is committing heresy by adopting the forbidden name of an exiled Prime?"

The question brought pause to Orion Pax, whose silver faceplates twisted into a thoughtful expression. His processor carefully analyzed the coding wafting past it, ever careful with his answers.

"I think he brings insight to Cybertron's inequality," he finally replied. "We call ourselves better than the neighboring organic species in this system, yet our people suffer more than they do. Why must a mech's status be determined by his alternate mode?"

"Because it works," Ratchet pointed out. "Would you prefer a medic with tank treads, or one that can transform into an emergency vehicle? We are forged with a purpose, Orion."

"But what of those that are cold-constructed? They have no designated purpose except that which is assigned to them." His companion pointed out. "Please, come meet Megatronus. He perhaps more than anyone can show you that purpose can change."

Ratchet huffed softly, turning to a data screen and tapping a few buttons on the keyboard, calling his most trusted friend. "Pharma?"

"What is it? I'm a little busy."

"Too busy to cover my rotation within the Senate?"

There was a pause. "Yes, that busy. I am attempting a four-way fuel pump transplant. It's going splendidly."

Ratchet sighed, turning off the communication line without so much as a goodbye and turning to Orion. "I guess I'm not going."

"Let me talk to the Senate," Orion offered. "Surely one of them -"

"That is not your place, Orion," Ratchet cut him off, waving a dismissive hand. "Just go without me."

Orion Pax looked displeased with the rejection, but much to Ratchet's satisfaction he left without another mumble. The medic turned back to organize his tools and begin studying once more to refresh his memory banks. He needed to stay sharp in order to remain with the Senate, and things were going well.

"Ratchet?"

"Orion!" The medic leaped out of his seat this time, spinning and trying to calm his inconsolable spark as it pulsed rapidly in his chassis. "What?!"

The archivist had the smallest of smiles on his face, but to his friend it looked like a large, goofy grin. "Senator Shockwave has allowed you to accompany to Rodion, as a reward for your excellent repair job."

"I told you not to speak with the Senate!" Ratchet sputtered, shocked. "And . . . repair job? He just had a scratch."

Orion merely shrugged. "He seemed please. Come on! Or I will be late for our meeting."

Ratchet went reluctantly, not even spared a glance as he passed by a few Senators and exited the Senate building. Iacon was even more beautiful outside and unobstructed by a window, which possessed the blue tint that came with the energon-fueled power. The inner glow of the planet provided all of the light they would ever need, their star too distant this time of year to provide much. He appreciated the glow of Vector Sigma and the Well of Sparks, which accentuated the metal world's smooth and elegant designs.

The trip from Iacon to Rodion took only one and a half groons by the bullet train, though for a drive it would take several solar cycles. Much to Ratchet's dismay and protest, Orion did not take them into the nicer part of Rodion, but instead too near the Dead End for his taste.

"Pax . . . there are circuit booster addicts here," he hissed. "Don't tell me your friend is one of them!"

"No, no," Orion reassured him. "We are not going straight to the Dead End. There is a bar he wants to meet at."

Ratchet felt uneasy, like this was a trap, but he obediently followed. The Senate would be incredibly displeased if they realized he had come here. Intermingling with the gladiator was bad enough, as he spoke against their ideals, but to meet with him in an area of trash was a disgrace.

Thankfully the bar was in a slightly nicer part of town, Orion ushering him in and looking around. The mech was almost too easy to spot, his large frame dwarfing even Orion, who was no small Cybertronian himself. His digits had been prosthetically sharpened, and Ratchet was surprised to see he was recently polished. The grime of the mines and dirt of gladiator soil was not wholly washed away, however this presentation was unexpected.

"Orion Pax," soft blue optics closed as Megatronus bowed his helm in greeting. "I see you have brought a friend."

"Megatronus, this is Ratchet," Orion introduced them. "He is my friend that I have been speaking to you about. The Senate's medic."

"Ah, yes," Megatronus focused his gaze on Ratchet as he sat down across from the silver mech. "Orion has spoken very highly of you. He claims your healing skills are unmatched."

The praise was unexpected and thus was met with a brief moment of stuttering and Ratchet finding the table to suddenly be very interesting. Eventually he regained his bearings and looked back up at Megatronus, who sported an amused grin on his faceplates.

"Thank you . . . but I must say that seems to be a bit of an exaggeration."

"You are too humble," Orion Pax placed a servo on his shoulder, optics returning to Megatronus. "I brought Ratchet in the hopes you could speak to him about the injustices of our functionalist society. He . . . is unconvinced of your declarations."

"As any mech of his status would be, it's not his fault," Megatronus replied calmly, his servos linking together and resting on the table. "Tell me, Ratchet, did you have a profession you wanted to be when you grew up? Or were you already aware of your predestined occupation?"

Once again, it took a moment for the medic to no longer be caught off guard. "I suppose . . . I already knew," he had no idea why he was telling the truth, much less entertaining the mech. If he wanted to convince him, he should just get right to the point. "My frame determines my function. And my final upgrade would determine that."

"I knew what I was to be, because my frame was built for me and my function already deeply ingrained into my code. I was only meant to work in the mines and eventually expire, be it from overwork, starvation, or natural causes. However, I have found that I am capable of rising up above my function, becoming something your Senate has begun to fear. A voice."

"If by 'rise up' you mean your current gladiatorial profession, I would not call that much of an improvement." Ratchet snarked, crossing his arms a little.

Megatronus merely grinned. "Indeed. But I intend to go beyond even that, and will soon move onto a much more elegant field: the political one."

Ratchet frowned a little, his silence cuing Megatronus to continue.

"My voice has been heard across Cybertron, yet with my current status as a mere gladiator I am only seen as a common radical. By taking my movement further up the caste, I hope to not only represent my people but to also sway those who make the decisions for us," he elaborated. "The Senate is terrified of a monster which kills for his own entertainment and survival, but I truly do want to see my world change for the better. Cybertron could be so much more if we cast aside this primitive thinking and instead encouraged our people to pool all of their resources into advancing our society instead of what they were merely born with."

Orion Pax glanced at his skeptical friend, who was very much interested in what Megatron had to say, but only so he could, apparently, shoot it down.

"And what would 'all' of those resources possibly be?" Ratchet remained unconvinced. "I am a medic, it's what I do best."

"Yes, but tell me, medic, is that all you are capable of?" Megatronus leaned forward. "Surely your brilliant mind contains more than just pure medical knowledge. Since medicine comes so easy to you, you must have a sharp memory. Quick reflexes. Inquiries that extend beyond that of what you have been taught. If given the right materials, I could see you becoming a scientist, a tactician; perhaps even an archivist."

He scoffed. "An emergency vehicle could hardly become a tactician."

"But you have the mind for it," Megatronus pointed out. "I should just be a lowly miner. Instead, I was gifted with more than a simplistic processor, and I intend to use it. I will enlighten my fellow Cybertronians, and show them that we are so much more than what your Senate declares us to be."

"You were so much easier to convince then, than you are now," Megatron once again pulled Ratchet from the memory, which faded into oblivion. "I wonder what changed?"

"I should have trusted my instincts then," Ratchet glared at him. "And saw you for the conniving, radical sadist that you are!"

"Make no mistake, I was much better than those Iacon slags you worked under," the warlord towered over him, his optics burning holes into Ratchet's helm. "I spoke for equality, for peace!"

"You wanted to change Cybertron through violence, and slaughter all who stood in your way!" Ratchet snapped back. "Though I don't see why you are so upset about it, given that you ended up using violence anyway to get what you wanted."

"Ah, so that is what he told you?" Instead of becoming angry or firing back with an excuse, Megatron became thoughtful. "Did Orion not mention that I intended to negotiate peaceful means, medic, but the Senate and your precious Orion Pax forced my hand?"

The Autobot grit his denta. "They didn't force you to do anything! You had a choice!"

"A choice that you would have made as well, had you known the truth," Megatron reached out again, gripping his helm. "Come, medic. Let me enlighten you on the reason I did what I had to do."

Ratchet gripped his wrist, but the resistance was futile as the world began to warp around him again, the feeling of a vacuum pulling at his entire being as Megatron forced the cortical psychic patch to begin working in the opposite direction. They were going from his head to that of the Decepticon's.

"Allow me to show you the day that will live in our history for all of time: the day Orion Pax lied to receive the title of Prime!"