Ratchet and Drift’s unsuccessful jailbreak.mp4

• We know Soundwave was around during the era of the Quintesson’s rule in the TFP / Aligned continuity (The Covenant of Primus goes so far as to say he was even a member of Sentinel Zeta Prime's council of thirteen, but that’s another matter).
• Because of Cyberverse, we also know that the multiverse exists, and that the Quintessons jump from universe to universe judging them. (See S3 E9: “Quintessons travel to each universe and judge which are worthy of existence. And if they're found guilty, then that universe is destroyed." [x])
• We know that the “Judge” must be native to that particular universe. (See S3 E11: "A proper judgement of a universe can only be made by an entity born of that universe." [x])
• Finally: we know when a Judge finds a universe guilty, The Scientist likes to keep a little souvenir for himself: aka, the Soundwave of that universe. (Creepy, but he has good taste).

• Go watch Cyberverse instead.

The stars were always a comfort to Megatronus.

The majority of his life had been spent in the suffocating darkness of a mine, completing the same repetitive tasks day-in and day-out. There was no sunlight to suggest the passage of time, no functional chronometer to tell him when he could expect his next energon ration. Each day was one menial routine after another, his systems consistently short on energon and recharge. Miners were always starved of both. They were kept functional enough to work, but the deficit ensured that was all they had the energy for.

Megatronus’ overseer in the mines once said hunger inspired obedience, for hunger could tame even the most defiant spirit. After living with it for centuries, Megatronus grudgingly had to agree.

His life was different now. Better. A gladiator’s duties were simple: fight, put on a good show, and repeat. He trained to keep himself sharp, but apart from that, Megatronus’ schedule was relatively free and unmonitored. “Down-time” was still a novel concept to him, as was the small sum of profits he received from each fight and the overwhelming implication of freedom that particular benefit carried with it. The variety was refreshing.

His first paycheck had gone to a data pad. The tablet was purchased second-hand from a sketchy street hawker who no doubt pilfered the pad from some unsuspecting scholar or Pits patron. The upper-right-hand corner was chipped, the screen was so dim it was utterly useless in bright sunlight, and it flickered on and off in protest if it was used for hours at a time.

Megatronus loved it. [...]

Starscream: I sort of did something and I need your advice, but I don’t want any judgement or criticism. Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Bumblebee: And you came to us?

It was quiet, here at the edge of the world.

It had been quiet in the deep depths of Earth’s oceans too. No sound. No light. No war.

Death had been quiet.

In the Pits, death was an ever-looming thing, a silent promise made to any desperate enough to enter through the arena gates. One step too slow, one wound too deep; a single wrong move often cost a fighter their life. But Megatron was strong, confident, arrogant in his power as he clashed with Primes and gods alike. He didn’t fear death because he was death. Megatron was its champion in the arena, and its herald in war. He alone remained when death claimed all else—his enemies, his planet, and so many galaxies beyond theirs. He thought power made him untouchable.

It was why when death finally came for him, Megatron didn’t see it coming.

Orion Pax wasn’t dead, not truly, but he might as well be.

While Optimus Prime still resembled his prior existence, this was no longer the mech Megatron once knew. Where Orion had been open, Optimus was reserved. Where Orion had been hesitant, Optimus was steadfast and sure. All Megatron could see were contradictions, aberrations in place of what was once familiar. What was no longer there.

His eyes bothered Megatron most. The unwavering hope that once burned so brightly in them was soon exchanged for a solemn, eternally weary look that quickly became the Prime’s trademark. He conducted himself with an almost ancient regal manner, which infuriated Megatron, for it too closely mimicked stories of the old Primes. Truly, Optimus embodied their legacy—or at least, the heroic altruistic Primes depicted in Cybertronian propaganda. History’s truth was a far cry from what their leaders wanted them to believe, however. Optimus Prime was no different. Even if he hadn’t become a figure-head like Megatron had expected, Optimus still represented everything he sought to destroy.

Despite that fact, Megatron intermittently caught himself searching the face of his enemy, still half-expecting to see something—someone—who was no longer there.

(He never did.)

There was little the Autobots or their leader did without Megatron’s knowledge, thanks to Soundwave. If they gained a new ally, if they dispatched a scouting team, if they so much as scheduled an outdoor training exercise, Megatron was the first to know. So, when Soundwave informed him the Council had appointed the task of finding the Matrix of Leadership to Orion Pax, Megatron immediately started strategizing.

He knew that by delegating Orion to find the Matrix, the Council sought to hinder his movement even further. They’d already identified the Decepticon’s weakest link and had managed swayed Orion with their apologies and false promises of change. It was a heavy blow, both to the cause and to Megatron personally, but the damage was ultimately not insurmountable. If anything, the betrayal only galvanized Megatron’s determination. [...]

In the months that passed since Megatron’s ill-fated meeting, tension between the High Council’s troops and the Decepticons ignited into all-out war. Battles were fought both in the political realm and on the field now, neutral bots forced to pick a side for their own safety as prejudice mounted and casualties rose.

For all their censure of Megatron and his followers’ violent call to arms, the Council was quick to assemble a militia of their own—the Autobots—under the leadership of their newly appointed Prime. Megatron didn’t miss the irony in their choice of name. How any mech could be considered “autonomous” in a system that actively strove to suppress its citizens’ freedom was beyond him. The Council already controlled Cybertron; now they had an armed army of puppets at their command with a figurehead Prime to forcefully carry out their will. There was no autonomy in that. [...]

The worst part about Orion’s betrayal was that Megatronus hadn’t expected it.

Oh, there were warning signs, of course—signs he’d willingly blinded himself to. He saw how reluctant Orion was to take action into his own hands and had ignored it, certain that his hesitation would diminish with time. Megatronus hadn’t seen Orion’s proposals for reform as they truly were: stagnation under the guise of progress. Idealistic philosophizing with no desire to act upon them; a coward’s way to claim allyship while in reality making no effort to put such lofty morals into practice.

But Megatronus had believed in Orion. Flattered by his praise, attracted by his intellect, Megatronus convinced himself his friend was different, certain his trust wasn’t misplaced. […]

Orion always acted as a counterbalance to Megatronus, tempering the flames of his anger so it was a sustained heat instead of a raging inferno threatening to consume all it touched. He helped channel it into something productive, like a blacksmith forging steel.

But this time, it wasn’t enough. [...]

Convincing Orion to train with him took time.

It was an undisputed fact that Kaon was a dangerous city; the Pits even more so. Its reputation was so bad, mechs often joked that violence was their most popular method of self-expression (in which case, it could be said that Kaonites were an extremely expressive bunch). The intimidating heavily-armored design many sported weren’t fashion statements as much as they were means of protection. Few made an effort to keep up appearances; polish and paint were too extravagant a luxury for mechs who barely earned enough shanix to afford energon. Worn grey plating where scars hadn’t completely healed over only gave them an even rougher appearance. Many bore these marks proudly, considering them symbols of survival and strength, defiance in the face of an unforgiving indifferent world.

Compared to them, Orion was laughably unimposing—and that was without factoring in his personality. [...]

While there were many aspects to Orion Megatronus quickly became fond of, he was most appreciative of Orion’s willingness to listen. It was a rare quality (especially from an elite mech) and Megatronus took full-advantage of the opportunity, forced to come up with counter-points and objections to Orion’s calmly-stated facts and questions. He marked his victory when Orion’s brow furrowed, momentary silence denoting a change of ideas or re-thought viewpoint. Defeats were measured in frustrated sighs or polite smiles as Orion stubbornly refused to budge in his perspective, but Megatronus decided these defeats weren’t too terrible to suffer if it meant he could spend a little more time with his odd new companion. [...]

In the time that passed since Soundwave recruited himself, much had changed. To say Megatronus’ written output experienced a sharp increase would be a gross understatement, for he’d moved beyond just writing.

The initial stages of their operation had all gone according to plan; his essays spread far and wide across countless Cybertronian cities thanks to Soundwave and his knack for manipulating communication networks without detection. Already, Megatronus’ influence was taking hold, and the outcome was more satisfying than he’d ever hoped for.

Then one day, something changed. [...]

There was a time, once, when Megatronus believed in peace.

As a gladiator, the irony wasn’t lost on him. Energon stained his hands so frequently even a trip to the washracks didn’t always clear the thick blue fluid from the intricate inner-mechanisms of his joints. At least, not without a hard scrubbing, which was rarely worth the effort since the task was inevitably repeated the next day, and cleaning solvent—as well as prolonged time in the washracks—was a luxury even

Something about that felt wrong. Young and inexperienced as he was, the morality of trading an arena crowd’s gratification for his own didn’t sit well with Megatronus. Death seemed a heavy cost for small comforts, even if he wasn’t the one paying the price (though that could easily change any day now). [...]