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Rattrap sat in the giant metal superstructure, indecision gripping his CPU. Optimus Primal stood before him, looking up at him like he was Rattrap's creator and he was watching him dance in the gutters of a busy street, terrified that he'd make the wrong move and slip away from his grasp, only to be crushed by passing vehicles. Megatron hovered just behind, looming like a large, predatory bird waiting for just the right moment to swoop in and take him away.
It reminded him of an alien holo-vid he saw when he was much younger. A gray feline had done something with a little brown mouse when suddenly, two miniature versions of the cat had popped into existence on his shoulders. One had argued to do the right thing and let the mouse go. The other said go ahead, enjoy your victory. You earned it. The two shoulder cats fought, each making a rather convincing argument to their point of view. The feline inevitably chose the path of goodness, and the video ended with smiles and laughter. Everyone got what they wanted.
Now the little brown mouse was in the place of the big gray cat, but who was the angel and who was the devil? Megatron should never have stolen all the sparks, it's true, but... what had Optimus done but screw him over? He meant well, Rattrap knew that, he knew down to the very depths of his spark, but it didn't change the fact that the Prime's actions lead him to misery. First, being stuck in beast mode, then a useless robot mode – not to mention, being shunned when he finally managed to transform because he made a stupid mistake because no one told him what was going on-!
His optics slid closed and squeezed tight, lips pressed firmly together. There was only so much one mech could take, and there was no guarantee it would end any time soon.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Megatron prompted, interrupting his thoughts and drifting closer. He was all but exhaling on the rodent's neck, and Rattrap turned to see impatience glowering down at him. “Finish him!”
“Hey,” Rattrap rasped, glancing back at Optimus. Fear looked back at him. Fear and expectation and hope and pressure that he just didn't think he could handle anymore. He looked back to Megatron and behind that stupid mask, he could make out hints of amusement, curiosity, and over it all, impatience. It tugged at his spark. Dinobot had looked at him like that, once. “Have we revised our policy on firin' on unarmed mechs?”
“It was never my policy to begin with,” Megatron shrugged, and Rattrap choked back a laugh. Oh wasn't that the truth! “Chose carefully, Rattrap. Destroy me and seal your own doom.”
“Not accordin' ta my watch,” the small mech chuckled dryly, glancing over his shoulder. The faintest hints of dawn were beginning to break over the horizon, silhouetting the other Maximals. Optimus glowed with heavenly light, looking for all the world like the savior Rattrap was longing for.
It was a lie. A mere trick of the light. Optimus might have thought he was doing the right thing, but Rattrap was older, set in his ways. He couldn't deny it. The beast mode may have been useful, but he preferred to have wheels. He'd been built with wheels. For as long as he could remember, his altmode had either been a motorbike or an all-terrain vehicle. On Earth, he managed by staying on the ship and in robot mode as much as he could, but oh, if the transmetalization hadn't been a godsend! The only time he had to use his beast mode was for his wheels, and he'd be damned if he didn't love dragging Dinobot's aft out for a ride.
Now he was home on Cybertron, his wheels were stripped away, and he was confined to his beast mode. He'd been stuck in the stupid fur coat for so long, it was beginning to wear on his nerves. Being in robot mode, however weak and pathetic it might've been, was gratifying. He didn't want to go back. Even if he could transform now, he'd never be able to enjoy it. Robot mode made him a target to Vehicons, he'd always be stuck in beast mode, hiding and sniveling in the sewers.
“Yeah... th' solah cycle's ova', an' no Maximal harmed ya,” he grinned, a hint of triumph in his voice. Megatron wasn't as pleased, but Rattrap had a feeling his disappointment would pass. “But the deal ain't 'xactly complete, and we all know I'm a gamblin' mech. Why don't ya allow me ta make a little adjustment t'th' stakes?”
Behind him, he heard a few gasps of shock and Megatron's optics lit up.
“What, pray tell, do you have in mind, rodent?” the tyrant asked, waving off the Vehicon generals as they pulled up, their time in the restoration chambers up.
“Let my friends go,” Rattrap demanded, defiantly looking up into Megatron's optics. “And I-”
“What are you doing, Rattrap? If you say what I think you're about to say...”
With a bitter laugh, the small mech turned around to face Optimus, a tired grin quirking the corner of his lips. “What're you so afraid've, Optimus Primal? He's right, yanno. Dis planet is called Cybertron, not Plantron, Animaltron, Hippietron, or a million otha' organic related monikers I could think'f. We're s'pposed ta be machines. Dis blend a' flesh an' machinery, I'm sorry boss monkey, but it's wrong.”
He couldn't help but smirk a little at the hurt in Optimus' eyes. He'd worn that expression himself so many times over the past few days, it was nice to have someone finally feel the same. Nice, but not enough to change his mind. He knew who he was, where he belonged, what he was supposed to be. They could deny it all they liked, it wouldn't change what he knew to be true.
And deny it they did, shouting angrily up at him from across the bridge. Nightscream and Blackarachnia called him jealous, a traitor, insensitive, any hurtful name that came to their processors. It would have hurt, if they hadn't done it a million times before. Cheetor barked orders at him, demanding that he stop what he was doing and think things through, as if he was the leader, the more experienced mech. As if he hadn't run similar scenarios through his mind so many times, curled alone in his corner beneath the city he once called home. Optimus begged and pleaded for him to reconsider.
“I wonder if they can hear themselves,” Megatron mused, red optics glinting with amusement. He knew he'd already won the tiny Maximal, completely and thoroughly. “Are you sure you want me to spare them?”
“Yeah,” Rattrap nodded, turning from the other mech to smile fondly down on his former friends. They were wrong, and they didn't appreciate him, but that didn't stop him from caring about them. “Dey're good bots, I know. Dey mean well.”
“But meaning well isn't enough, is it?”
“Nah. Not really.”
It reminded him of an alien holo-vid he saw when he was much younger. A gray feline had done something with a little brown mouse when suddenly, two miniature versions of the cat had popped into existence on his shoulders. One had argued to do the right thing and let the mouse go. The other said go ahead, enjoy your victory. You earned it. The two shoulder cats fought, each making a rather convincing argument to their point of view. The feline inevitably chose the path of goodness, and the video ended with smiles and laughter. Everyone got what they wanted.
Now the little brown mouse was in the place of the big gray cat, but who was the angel and who was the devil? Megatron should never have stolen all the sparks, it's true, but... what had Optimus done but screw him over? He meant well, Rattrap knew that, he knew down to the very depths of his spark, but it didn't change the fact that the Prime's actions lead him to misery. First, being stuck in beast mode, then a useless robot mode – not to mention, being shunned when he finally managed to transform because he made a stupid mistake because no one told him what was going on-!
His optics slid closed and squeezed tight, lips pressed firmly together. There was only so much one mech could take, and there was no guarantee it would end any time soon.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Megatron prompted, interrupting his thoughts and drifting closer. He was all but exhaling on the rodent's neck, and Rattrap turned to see impatience glowering down at him. “Finish him!”
“Hey,” Rattrap rasped, glancing back at Optimus. Fear looked back at him. Fear and expectation and hope and pressure that he just didn't think he could handle anymore. He looked back to Megatron and behind that stupid mask, he could make out hints of amusement, curiosity, and over it all, impatience. It tugged at his spark. Dinobot had looked at him like that, once. “Have we revised our policy on firin' on unarmed mechs?”
“It was never my policy to begin with,” Megatron shrugged, and Rattrap choked back a laugh. Oh wasn't that the truth! “Chose carefully, Rattrap. Destroy me and seal your own doom.”
“Not accordin' ta my watch,” the small mech chuckled dryly, glancing over his shoulder. The faintest hints of dawn were beginning to break over the horizon, silhouetting the other Maximals. Optimus glowed with heavenly light, looking for all the world like the savior Rattrap was longing for.
It was a lie. A mere trick of the light. Optimus might have thought he was doing the right thing, but Rattrap was older, set in his ways. He couldn't deny it. The beast mode may have been useful, but he preferred to have wheels. He'd been built with wheels. For as long as he could remember, his altmode had either been a motorbike or an all-terrain vehicle. On Earth, he managed by staying on the ship and in robot mode as much as he could, but oh, if the transmetalization hadn't been a godsend! The only time he had to use his beast mode was for his wheels, and he'd be damned if he didn't love dragging Dinobot's aft out for a ride.
Now he was home on Cybertron, his wheels were stripped away, and he was confined to his beast mode. He'd been stuck in the stupid fur coat for so long, it was beginning to wear on his nerves. Being in robot mode, however weak and pathetic it might've been, was gratifying. He didn't want to go back. Even if he could transform now, he'd never be able to enjoy it. Robot mode made him a target to Vehicons, he'd always be stuck in beast mode, hiding and sniveling in the sewers.
“Yeah... th' solah cycle's ova', an' no Maximal harmed ya,” he grinned, a hint of triumph in his voice. Megatron wasn't as pleased, but Rattrap had a feeling his disappointment would pass. “But the deal ain't 'xactly complete, and we all know I'm a gamblin' mech. Why don't ya allow me ta make a little adjustment t'th' stakes?”
Behind him, he heard a few gasps of shock and Megatron's optics lit up.
“What, pray tell, do you have in mind, rodent?” the tyrant asked, waving off the Vehicon generals as they pulled up, their time in the restoration chambers up.
“Let my friends go,” Rattrap demanded, defiantly looking up into Megatron's optics. “And I-”
“What are you doing, Rattrap? If you say what I think you're about to say...”
With a bitter laugh, the small mech turned around to face Optimus, a tired grin quirking the corner of his lips. “What're you so afraid've, Optimus Primal? He's right, yanno. Dis planet is called Cybertron, not Plantron, Animaltron, Hippietron, or a million otha' organic related monikers I could think'f. We're s'pposed ta be machines. Dis blend a' flesh an' machinery, I'm sorry boss monkey, but it's wrong.”
He couldn't help but smirk a little at the hurt in Optimus' eyes. He'd worn that expression himself so many times over the past few days, it was nice to have someone finally feel the same. Nice, but not enough to change his mind. He knew who he was, where he belonged, what he was supposed to be. They could deny it all they liked, it wouldn't change what he knew to be true.
And deny it they did, shouting angrily up at him from across the bridge. Nightscream and Blackarachnia called him jealous, a traitor, insensitive, any hurtful name that came to their processors. It would have hurt, if they hadn't done it a million times before. Cheetor barked orders at him, demanding that he stop what he was doing and think things through, as if he was the leader, the more experienced mech. As if he hadn't run similar scenarios through his mind so many times, curled alone in his corner beneath the city he once called home. Optimus begged and pleaded for him to reconsider.
“I wonder if they can hear themselves,” Megatron mused, red optics glinting with amusement. He knew he'd already won the tiny Maximal, completely and thoroughly. “Are you sure you want me to spare them?”
“Yeah,” Rattrap nodded, turning from the other mech to smile fondly down on his former friends. They were wrong, and they didn't appreciate him, but that didn't stop him from caring about them. “Dey're good bots, I know. Dey mean well.”
“But meaning well isn't enough, is it?”
“Nah. Not really.”
