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Perhaps he should have been paying closer attention. He’d been trying to lately. But families, juvenile organics, a distinct offshoot of Earth-born Cybertronians, the motivation to understand and care about the well-being of so many others—this was all still so new. If he’d been more observant, he mused later as he thought back, he might have noticed the signs in Twitch far sooner and recognized what they meant.
Even as he watched the small Terran jostle the others aside and shove through the museum’s doors in her rush to get out, Megatron remained where he was, unmoving. He continued to do so as the loud, pulsing whir of her transformation reached them, followed by the buzz of her compact ducted fans as she zipped away. It wasn’t until Optimus fixed him with a pointed look laden with unspoken meaning that it first occurred to him there might be a more active role for him to play.
Frowning, he tuned his radio to Optimus’s private channel and turned to face him. <Yes?>
<Someone has to go with her to make sure she’s safe.> Even through comms, it was plain from the Autobot’s tone who he thought that someone should be.
At their feet, the remaining members of the Malto family were conferring amongst themselves. Robby was beginning to drift from the group, making motions towards the exit as if he meant to chase after her. <Agreed. Would she not respond better to one of her siblings rather than an old mech like me?>
<She looks to you,> Optimus told him. <I’ve seen it.> He’d spent longer among Earthlings, had a slightly better grasp on the function of immature humans—of children. The Terrans were, of course, not human, but what was childhood to a Cybertronian? Prime’s fingers brushed just below Megatron’s elbow in a light, fleeting touch. <Twitch needs help right now. She needs you.>
<Very well,> he said. <I will find her. Care for the young ones until I return.>
With that, he stepped easily past the knot of anxious humans and bots, ducked out into the dazzling mid-afternoon sunlight, and leapt into a rapid alt mode switch. His proprotor blades thumped, lifting him clear of the plaza and the scattered pedestrians pointing and gaping. A slight tweak to his pitch, and he was off, the rooftops of San Francisco rising and falling like a jagged, unnatural mountain range beneath him.
His instruments located the tiny drone with ease, and he caught up with her swiftly. Cutting back on his throttle, he fell in beside her and did his best to match her speed. As he did so, Twitch spun, adjusting her heading to move away from him. He executed a lazy roll, lifting his left wing and banking to the right to follow. With a frustrated noise, she dipped suddenly, the yellow glow to each side dimming as she slowed her fans and flipped the discharge frames to their vertical configuration. She rotated, and, with a quick burst of thrust, shot off in the direction they’d come from. Though her smaller form allowed her greater maneuverability, Megatron trailed her with minimal exertion.
They darted about each other for a few moments more, a simulated dance and dogfight all at once, until he realized the Terran’s temper had shifted; the sound that reached his audial sensors as she zoomed past beneath him was not an upset growl but a laugh. A flicker of warmth engulfed his spark as he pursued, allowing himself to bask in the simple pleasure and freedom of flight. Above the howl of the wind, he called out to her.
“Impressive flying, little bird.”
Coming out of a corkscrewing turn, Twitch swooped closer to hover near his right wing. She rocked side to side and wiggled her ducted fans as if showing off.
“Pretty good, right? I’ve been practicing.”
Her enthusiasm elicited in him a feeling of fondness. Proprotors whupping steadily as they spun, Megatron chuckled. “I’d best be vigilant, then, or you’ll surpass my own abilities soon enough.”
The little drone twisted in midair, flitting nimbly about his vertical stabilizer. “Uh, maybe in a few million years!”
Manipulating his ailerons, he briefly rolled up onto one wing and began to circle in a wide arc around her: a tricky, complex stunt that lost him some altitude. Twitch floated in place and watched him, bobbing up and down a bit each time she laughed.
When he righted himself and drew up next to her, she twirled around to face him, suddenly exuding an air of earnest sincerity. “Thanks for coming after me. I’m sorry I ran off from the museum like that. I didn’t mean to make everyone worry.”
“Hmm,” Megatron rumbled, glancing down at the sprawling, grid-like urban landscape below. Buildings in a range of assorted heights climbed high into the sky, bright daylight glinting off metal and glass, their roots nestled among an unceasing cacophony of human machinery and activity. “In the air above the spires of this city is no place for a proper dialogue. Come, little bird, shall we find a more suitable location?”
* * *
Megatron had been to San Francisco before, of course, so it made sense he would know all the best places. As they descended into a long, open meadow, dropping softly to the grass in root mode, Twitch took everything in with wide, curious optics. Witwicky had lots of nice, outdoor areas and plenty of nature, but nothing like this. The field where they’d touched down was big, bordered by what she guessed were eucalyptus trees, and it was on the north side of a park that was huge. Seeing it from above, she’d thought how much the rest of the family would like this, and that she would have to make sure to tell them about it—but that only brought her back to the reason she was here and the feelings that had made her flee. The fans mounted on her shoulders drooped.
Behind her, Megatron was rising, servomotors whining and plating rustling as he straightened from his landing crouch. Pushing away the sensations trickling in from the emotional bond with her siblings, who she assumed were still at the museum, Twitch whirled excitedly to face him.
“This place is so cool!” Sticking her arms out to either side, she spun in a circle and grinned. “I’m so glad we came here. How did you find out about it? Can we go to the lake we passed? Also, I think I saw some weird furry cows nearby?”
The hint of a smile on his face was amused and kind. “Yes, there is an enclosure here. Earth creatures called bison, I believe.”
“Bison! They looked really cute. Can we visit them? Can we pet them? I wonder if they’re like Fluffy Ears? Maybe they’ll want to play with us, too. Ohhh, wait until I tell Robby I played with a bison, he’ll be so—”
Abruptly, her brain module caught up to her vocalizer and she shut her mouth, gazing awkwardly at her feet. Megatron said nothing, but he reached out gently and offered his hand. Launching herself into the air, Twitch grasped it, though her own was barely big enough to clutch one of his large fingers. Side by side, they began to wander together, Megatron stooping a bit towards her and Twitch keeping herself at a low hover.
“Golden Gate Park,” Megatron said. He maintained a slow pace, taking short strides to make it easy for her to stay with him. “Your mother first brought me here. She had much to show and teach me in those days. Though that’s often still the case.” Despite the shallowness of his steps, she could feel each one resonate through his frame and into hers, solid and sturdy. The biolights at the top of his chest pulsed faintly, his optics glittering.
Twitch tried to recall what she knew about the war. “Was that after Mom got hurt? That was when you became friends, right?”
A short nod. “The Battle of the Bay, yes. As you learned about earlier today. It was a difficult time for us both. Dorothy was in recovery, adjusting to the loss of her limb. I was wrestling with many questions and doubts about the state of my faction, my interactions with humans, my role in the war. We spent many hours here together.”
Thinking back on the photos and video clips she’d seen in the exhibit, the Terran shook her head and shuddered. “That battle was really awful. They said so many people died, humans and Cybertronians. I can’t believe you and Mom had to go through that.” She gazed up at the towering grey mech. “Is that why you and Optimus brought us here? To San Francisco, I mean? To the museum? So we would get it?”
“In part.” His expression went distant. “It is also an important reminder for us all.”
Though he was still beside her, he suddenly seemed far away. Twitch held her thoughts back, unwilling to interrupt. Instead, she glanced around them at the vibrant green of the meadow, noticing for the first time just how active it was. Humans were everywhere: playing with various kinds of balls, jogging, picnicking, walking dogs, dancing. Some were just stretched out on the grass, enjoying the warm spring sunshine. Unsurprisingly, the two bots were attracting a lot of staring as they passed—but most of it seemed curious or wary, she thought, not outright hostile. Still, she drew a little closer to Megatron, her wing-blades flicking anxiously with all the attention. He peered down at her, his face soft with concern.
“I apologize if you found learning the details of the battle too distressing,” Megatron said. With his thumb, he carefully squeezed her hand where it was wrapped around his forefinger. “Cybertronians do not normally experience a developmental stage akin to childhood; even protoforms are relatively mature. I am still working to understand and may have miscalculated what was appropriate.”
“No, it wasn’t—” Twitch felt herself floating higher as her fans buzzed faster. Tightening her jaw, she forced herself back down and held more firmly onto his hand. “Okay, yeah, some of that was hard to see. But it’s important history that we should know about. And we Maltos have been through a lot, we can handle it. That wasn’t why I…bringing us there wasn’t a problem.”
“Ah.” From beneath his helm, vivid glowing optics studied her closely, and she couldn’t help but squirm and look away—just in time to catch a flash of dark grey and yellow in the cluster of tangled bushes to her left. Out of habit, she queried her database for the markings.
“Oh, look!” Momentarily overcome with delight, the mech impulsively yanked her hand free to point, focusing her optics and flicking through vision filters one by one to get a better view. She landed and crept nearer, magnifying the spot as much as her built-in zoom would allow. “That’s a cedar waxwing! I’ve never seen one of those before. Right there, look! I’ve gotta tell Mom, she’ll be so excited.”
“She does love her organic creatures,” Megatron agreed. “This one has a rather pronounced crest.”
“And the wings!” She took a careful step and peered into the overlap of branches and leaves. “They have that little red tip at the end. Do you see it?”
The large bot bent forward, and, as his shadow shifted, the startled bird took the sky like an agitated feathery projectile. Flipping into alt mode without thinking, Twitch rocketed into the air after it, briefly imitating its flight, before sinking back to the ground and transforming again with an exhilarated grin. The lines of biolights along her sides were blazing and vibrant.
“That was great! I wonder what other birds live here that you can’t find in Witwicky? Ooh, I bet there are tons of water birds by the lake. Do you think we’ll see lots of geese and ducks? Maybe even swans! We can take so many pictures—”
Joints creaking, Megatron lowered himself to one knee and leaned down, bringing himself closer to the small Terran. Sunlight reflected from his cockpit glass and polished armor, glinting off the plain, bare metal of his broad chest.
“Twitch.” His voice was like a root, deep and strong, a framework of support spread beneath her that both tripped her up and caught her when she fell. The look in his optics was solemn but kind, leading her gently back to the press of discomfort in her spark. “Little bird, will you tell me what’s been troubling you?”
“I…”
Twitch turned her face away. Everything she’d shoved aside and tried to ignore washed over her again, and for a moment she was being pulled under the surface, struggling to stay afloat. Swells of jumbled emotion from the bond with her siblings swept through her frame, blending with her own; she didn’t have enough details to sort through or understand any of it, what they might be doing or feeling. She stared past Megatron at the dirt path that formed the edge of the grassy field. Beyond it was a simple road lined with (presumably non-sentient) parked cars, then more of the park. She could just catch a glimpse of water sparkling through a gap in the trees. A short distance down the road, a food truck sat by the curb in the shade of a cypress, humans gathered around its open window. A mild breeze carried the smell of cooked meat and seasonings, reminding her a bit of when Dad made adobo.
“The others…said something,” she began finally, frowning at the memory. “We were talking about the exhibit. About the battle and about the Decepticons.” Her gaze flicked across the purple badge stuck to the center of his torso.
“Ah.” The response was neutral, acknowledging. He dipped his head towards her encouragingly. “Go on.”
Twitch shifted nervously, waggling the wing-blades sheathed at her upper back. On the nearby path, a human jogged past, trailed by a leashed white and brown dog with its tongue dangling in a joyful pant, the tags on its collar jangling.
“The things the museum said about the Decepticons didn’t seem very fair. Like everything that happened was their fault, and it didn’t matter that they died, too. Like they were evil just for existing.” She shook her head and angled her chin to look up at him. “But that’s not right, is it? After all, you used to be a Decepticon. And we’ve met lots of others, and sure, some of them are pretty mean, but they’re not all the same. And some humans are pretty mean, too, like Mandroid and Agent Croft. Besides, Mom always says we should look past badges and judge people based on what they do, not who they are.”
Megatron’s expression reshaped itself into a grim smile. “Indeed. It is true that the people of Earth perceive and represent Decepticons in ways often influenced by strong emotion and personal experiences. There is a tendency to generalize, to organize individuals into neat categories. It’s a tendency I’m afraid is shared by humans and Cybertronians alike.”
“And maybe by Terrans, too,” Twitch muttered, mostly to herself. Again, she focused elsewhere, thinking. Further towards the treeline, three kids were playing a game that seemed to include a lot of running and jumping. Their shouts and laughter rose above the fusion of sound that made up the general background noise of the park.
“Did one of your siblings feel differently about Decepticons?” Megatron prompted.
“No, no—they wouldn’t,” Twitch said quickly. “It wasn’t that. We all know better about that by now. It was just…” She hesitated, suddenly self-conscious and uncertain. A breath of wind skipped lightly through the leaves of the nearby trees with a faint rustling sound.
The other mech watched her, silent and patient. He reached out and let her place a hand in the middle of his palm, then carefully curled his fingers to envelop it all the way to her wrist, keeping his grip loose. Even if he was too large to hold her snugly, the gesture was comforting, like being pulled into a safe hug.
Finally, she glanced up to meet the steady scarlet glow of his optics. “We were all talking and Thrash said…well, we know Decepticons aren’t born evil, of course. Thrash agreed and said yeah, because Decepticons are making a choice, and they can always change their minds and learn and do better. You know, like you did. He said nobody is a Decepticon unless they decide to be, and they aren’t made to be that way, not like with—with the Chaos Terrans. Not like Aftermath and Spitfire.”
“Hmm.” Megatron’s face took on a slightly pinched look, and she caught a flicker of something in his gaze; it reminded her a bit of how Mo looked sometimes when she was frustrated with Robby but didn’t want to start a fight. “Yes, I can see why that may have been upsetting for you.”
Twitch kicked absently at the ground with the tip of one foot, her mind turning over how to pick apart and explain the confused knot of her thoughts. “It’s not—it’s not that I think the Chaos Terrans were good, obviously. Not exactly. I know everything they did, especially what Spitfire did when she pretended to be me. I was so scared I would lose my family forever, and it was awful. And sure, I know that their sparks came from the corrupted pieces of the Emberstone.”
Megatron inclined his head. “But?”
“Well, ever since they…ever since Starscream…deactivated them, there are some things I’ve been wondering about.” Two humans on scooters rolled by, heading for the food truck, and her optics tracked the movement without really taking it in. “Even if she was kind of mean, Spitfire was still our sister. Maybe…maybe it was somehow our fault that she ended up how she did. Maybe it was my fault. I was there with her when the Embershard brought her online. I should’ve…I don’t know…family is supposed to take care of each other. Right?”
The other mech said nothing, but she could tell he was listening, giving her room to sift through everything that was churning inside her. Beneath them, sprawled over the carpet of grass and dirt, their shadows were gradually growing and lengthening as the afternoon wore on and the sun progressed across the sky. Twitch stared at the dark outline of her own form, her chest heavy with unease.
“Could it really be true—is it really possible—that she just had a bad spark from the start? That she was just evil?” The Terran felt her pump quicken, her fans spinning faster with agitation. “Wheeljack told me that when Spitfire swapped frames with me, he figured it out because he found a particle of chaos energy in her—my—body. What if…what if it’s still there somehow? Or what if I brought some of that back with me from all the time I spent stuck as her? Would that make me…like them? If even my family couldn’t tell us apart at first, how different were we to begin with? What does that mean about me?”
“Hmm,” Megatron said again, underscored by a low growl of his idling engine. He angled his vents to release a short huff of warm air; then letting go of her hand, he straightened to his full height, his armor plates sliding and resettling on his frame. There was a strange tightness to his expression, but she wasn’t sure what it meant. “Yes. Thank you for explaining; I understand now. Come, would you like to continue our walk towards the lake?”
Twitch hung back, uncertain how to make sense of his reaction. Was it possible she’d said something wrong? Or did Megatron agree that she’d been twisted by chaos energy, by the tainted Embershard, and he was just trying to put some distance between them? But what else could she do other than follow him?
A short hop into the air, and then she was folding down into her alt mode, rising to drift at his shoulder as the grey mech moved slowly across the dirt path and the paved road beyond. She could tell he was stepping carefully, alert for whatever organic creatures might scurry underfoot.
“May I ask you a question, Twitch?” he said finally, and at least it didn’t sound like he was horrified by her. “What do you believe it means to be ‘evil’? What do you suppose makes someone bad?”
Twitch replied quickly. “Mom says—”
“Not what Dorothy says, nor your father, nor your siblings, nor Optimus Prime, nor anyone else. I would prefer to hear what you think.”
She considered that for a moment, bobbing in place beside him. “I…I don’t know. Evil is…there are people in the world who do really terrible things and want to hurt other people. That has to be evil, right? Though I guess it’s not always who you would expect it to be, like with Agent Croft. She was Agent Schloder’s sister, and he loved her, so I think she couldn’t have always been evil. Mandroid, too…he used to work with Dad and he had a family. Dad said he cared about that family a lot. Could…could someone who’s evil still love and care about some people even if they want to hurt other people?”
Megatron grumbled in a noncommittal, meaningless way. “Perhaps. What, then, defines evil? Continue.”
Motion alerted her sensors, and Twitch flipped to aim herself upwards in time to see a tiny, pale yellow shape dart past chased by a much bigger one with a broader wingspan. Some sort of flycatcher, she thought, keeping just ahead of what looked like a Cooper’s hawk. She watched them speed away until they were nothing more than dark spots against the brilliant blue sky.
“I think,” she began slowly, “I think it might be possible for people to be evil later, even if they weren’t all along. They might not start out that way—I guess nobody does?—but they change and start making bad choices, like with the Decepticons. Maybe some people just start really early, then, like Spitfire and Aftermath. So, you can’t be born evil, and it’s not about who you are, but it’s about your actions and what you decide to do.”
Megatron gave a brief nod in return. “Tell me, am I evil?”
Twitch sputtered and swayed in the air, taken aback. “No, of course not! You help us stop bad things from happening. You’re an Autobot. You’re friends with Mom and Optimus. You’re part of our family.”
“And when I was none of those things?” he asked evenly. “When I was not only a Decepticon, but commanded them? When so many of my actions led to pain and suffering: was I evil then?”
“No!” she immediately countered, then found she was struggling to explain exactly why. “Even if you made bad decisions then, it’s—it’s different. You’re a good person. You were just wrong about some things, but you figured it out and changed.”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “But before I did so? At that time, surely I was evil?”
One large, full stride brought him out of the road onto the grassy curb. The lake spread out in front of them, its flat surface textured with shallow wrinkles in the warm breeze. Anxiously, Twitch buzzed right up to the edge and transformed. She sank to the ground and sat, drawing her knees to her torso and frowning.
“I’m sorry,” she said miserably, hunching inwards, “I just don’t understand. I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer.”
Megatron lowered himself to rest beside her, though with considerably more grunting and clanging. Additional humans glanced their way to join the ones that had already been staring. The look the other bot directed down at her was amused but sympathetic.
“Indeed. These principles we discuss are anything but simple. May I share what I believe?”
Twitch nodded, gazing at a pair of wood ducks paddling side by side on a diagonal trajectory across the lake. The biolights at her shins pulsed softly, their golden light spilling before her onto the water.
“Moments ago, we observed a hawk in pursuit of a smaller bird. We can safely assume that, should it be successful, it intends to kill its prey. Does this make the hawk evil?”
The Terran felt her optics flicker with surprise and confusion. “Well, no. Obviously, that doesn’t count,” she told him, shaking her head. “There’s a reason for the hawk to do that. It’s not trying to hurt the other bird. It just needs to hunt to survive.”
He hummed in response as if she’d said something interesting. “When the war between the Autobots and Decepticons began, many millions of years ago, in some ways I was similar to that hawk. I did not set out to mindlessly slaughter; I believed what I did was necessary for me to survive. For Cybertron to survive. I suspect the same may be said of Mandroid: as with me, his choices were damaging, in some cases causing irreparable harm. But did he do so merely out of a desire to be wicked?”
“I guess not,” she admitted. She hadn’t thought about it that way before. “He had his reasons. He was always saying that he had to get rid of us all, that Terrans and Cybertronians aren’t people and that we don’t belong here. But he was wrong about that.”
“Much as I was wrong about how best to defend and uplift my people, or as Agent Croft was wrong about the inability of humans and Cybertronians to coexist on Earth. But we all believed our causes just, and were driven to do terrible things in service of them.” A noise approximating a human sigh rattled his vents, and he suddenly seemed more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.
“These matters are exceedingly complicated, little bird, even for those who have seen much more of life and of this universe. Right or wrong, we are each of us the hawk, hunting to survive as best we know how, guided by the deepest convictions of our sparks. This is true of us all: those branded as evil along with those who are held up as heroes. It is certainly the case for Spitfire and Aftermath, as well.”
Twitch scrunched up her face, turning that around in her processor, considering the implications. “Do you think we let them down? The Chaos Terrans? Should we have helped them figure out they were wrong and how to be better? I mean, we tried to help them, but it was like they just refused to listen. I really wanted to help Spitfire. If I did a better job of it, could I…could I have saved her?”
The red of his optics dimmed, his gaze going distant, and she thought he looked unusually sad. “We cannot know what might have been, only what was.”
A few quiet minutes passed. Twitch watched one of the ducks tilt forwards and dip its head underwater, leaving its tail end pointed straight up in the air. It flapped and wiggled its webbed feet, then reemerged, wet droplets beading on its glossy feathers.
Her mind was still busily sifting through everything he’d told her when a question rose to the surface, and she said, “There’s something I’ve been wondering about for a while. Lately, I’ve noticed certain things I do or say, or thoughts and feelings that I have, and it’s…it seems like her. Like it’s similar to something she might do or say or think. I’ve been scared—worried that I picked up some chaos energy when we switched back, that it’s affecting me and changing me, twisting me to be how Spitfire was. I’m still not sure I completely understand what you’ve been explaining, but…could that really happen? Could something make me become like her?”
Megatron moved, bending one of his knees. He looked out across the lake, his engine humming softly, and though his posture was relaxed, there was an ache in his voice as he spoke. “Every choice we make serves to shape the path of our lives. We do not act thinking we will commit evil, but that what we do is necessary and important. The things we value give us great power, but they can also pose great danger. There is no external element that will alter you against your will, and yet any one of us is capable of becoming Spitfire—or Optimus or Mandroid. This potential always exists in us. A villain, after all, is ultimately only a person.”
“What do we do about it, then?” Twitch picked up a fallen leaf and stiffly traced its veins with her fingers, preoccupied. Her hands were clumsy with minute tremors of anxiety. “I don’t want to be a villain and hurt other people. If we all have that possibility in us, how are we supposed to avoid becoming something we’ll regret?”
When Megatron laughed, it was gruff, different from the way he normally sounded when he found something funny. “If there exists a secret guaranteed technique, I would dearly wish to learn it. But I think what you and I are doing is a good start, don’t you?”
The small Terran narrowed her optics. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“I have been responsible for many contemptible acts in my life, Twitch.” Solemnly, he shook his head. “A reality that, unfortunately, I have recognized only in hindsight. But, when I was at my worst, it was always because I held myself apart from all others. I did not seek advice, nor would I have accepted it. I did not tolerate questions or dissent. This is what you must not do. Do not be closed and stubborn, as I was. Listen to and trust those around you who care for you, and remember that you need not be alone. Allow yourself to ask for and receive help—as you have done here today.”
Twitch glanced down at the leaf, flipping it over in her hands. “Do you really think that will work?” she asked.
“I certainly hope it will. It is what I’ve been taught by those who changed me—by your mother and by Optimus.” He looked directly at her now, his smile genuine and fond. “I will admit, it still does not come easily to me. Do you think this is something we might practice together?”
The request sent a startled jolt through her, but it was soon replaced with an airy sensation of hope and relief. Her spark burned bright in her chest, and Twitch abruptly realized she was beaming.
“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d like that a whole lot.” Bounding to her feet, she threw her arms around one of Megatron’s boxy legs and hugged him tight. Pressing her cheek to the smooth, warm metal, she mumbled into it, “Thank you.”
He patted her on the back with one large hand, taking care to avoid bumping her wing-blades. Lifting her face to gaze at him, she said, “I’m really really glad that we came here. But I bet everyone else is probably super worried. Are they even still at the museum? Do you think we should maybe go back and join them?”
Slowly, Megatron stood, the edges of his armor scraping. Beams of sunlight flashed against the silvery shine of his plating, throwing a long, dark shadow over the lake behind him. There was a mischievous gleam to his optics as he grinned down at her and let her take his hand. “We certainly could,” he said. “Though perhaps a short detour first. I believe there is a paddock of bison nearby waiting to play with us?”