Chapter Text
Shockwave gave his report in his usual manner—presenting a rigorous, in-depth analysis of the information he’d deemed worthy of Megatron’s concern. Due to his newly acquired position as head of Autobot intelligence, this included changes in the political climate on Cybertron, the division of funds amongst its sectors, any recent experiments or major projects being undertaken, and of course, an overview of the military strategies being enacted both on the front and behind the scenes with the express purpose of repelling the Decepticons further into space.
Unfortunately, today this also included an account of the recent skirmish on Kalis, where one of their remaining squadrons had been overwhelmed by the Autobot assault despite prior warning and preparation. Those who hadn’t been destroyed had been detained, and it was unlikely that Shockwave would be able to orchestrate the escape of more than one prisoner without drawing undue attention to himself. He would have to decide later which of the bots, if any, were important enough to the Cause to risk his discovery.
So far, it seemed unlikely.
He was meticulous in his address, loathe to think he might leave out some vital minutiae which his lord could utilize in the coming months. Some might think him overzealous, but Shockwave had always scoffed at such prattle. Megatron had made it abundantly clear in the past that he appreciated Shockwave’s assiduous approach; his comprehensive reports were indicative of the tireless work which had gone into gathering said data. They were proof of his diligence.
What was unusual in this case, was the venue. For the first time in two millennia, Shockwave wasn’t giving his report from the constraints of Autobot headquarters, but rather was standing in front of his liege, in a room from which he had long been absent.
At the moment, Megatron lounged in his throne and listened wordlessly. His questions were few and far-between, but that was standard considering the thoroughness of Shockwave’s account.
To simply be in Megatron’s proximity once again was extremely gratifying. A holoscreen wasn’t the same; it couldn’t capture the enormity of his presence, nor the raw, charismatic power which he exuded—that which had always drawn bots to flock around him.
Every word captured one’s attention. Every decision assured one of his capability. Megatron’s strength was implicit in each action that he took, and to be confronted with the full force of his lord’s personality could be staggering at times.
While aware of the effect, Shockwave wasn't immune to it, and he’d long ago accepted that he was as susceptible to Megatron’s charms as any other bot. And of course, Shockwave was hardly ‘any other bot’, but there were a multitude of things which he admired personally about his liege. His brutal efficiency, for one. And on the flipside, his cunning intellect, augmented by the eloquent manner of his speech. His lord was a myriad of contradictions, all of which complemented each other exquisitely.
Shockwave had initially followed Megatron because of his grand vision for the future, and the opportunities it would provide for the expansion of his own research. Before committing, he had taken into account Megatron’s likelihood of success—which all of his calculations had shown to be significant. Over the years that logic had morphed into a true faith, and even after all this time—the countless shared successes and failures—he remained certain that there was no other bot as well-suited to the task.
The years of war had solidified Shockwave’s respect for his lord and his ability to endure—to thrive under duress, and achieve victory against nearly insurmountable odds. Eventually, that respect had morphed into full-blown admiration, and ultimately, the great affection which Shockwave now harbored in his spark.
Suffice to say, this opportunity to speak directly to Megatron once again—to share the same space, and bask in the approving glow of his EM field—it was nearly dizzying.
With Shockwave unable to compromise his precarious position on Cybertron such occasions were rare, and he savored each encounter all the more for it.
Shockwave had landed a major victory in his ascension to the council, and access to new and highly sensitive information had made this trip justifiable. A foolproof alibi had been concocted for his alter ego, so that he could slip away and relay the recent developments to Megatron personally. His absence would be a short one, and having handled his duties ahead of time—and given both adequate notice and excuse—he was confident that Longarm wouldn’t be missed.
As Shockwave concluded his report, he was graced with a small incline of Megatron’s helm, and a slight curve to his lips.
“You have done exceedingly well, Shockwave,” rumbled Megatron, and Shockwave relished the dulcet tones which washed over his audial receptors nearly as much as the praise itself. “Though I’m not surprised. I’d never expect anything less from you, my most loyal servant.”
Joy flared in Shockwave’s spark—a pinprick of light piercing the apathetic fog which had settled in during his years of isolation. He placed a servo over said spark as it throbbed in delight, claws curling inwards.
“I am undeserving of such extolment from you, my Lord, but it brings me great satisfaction to know that I have been of service to the cause,” he replied, and Shockwave knew that his optic glowed bright in his exhilaration. “I only hope that I can continue to serve you so faithfully in the future.”
For how many of Megatron’s servants were as unwavering as he? Shockwave was steadfastly loyal, and had achieved much—partially due to his intelligence and unique skillset, but more importantly because of his willingness to sacrifice for his success.
Wasn’t that why Megatron had picked him for this arduous mission, far from the security of Decepticon space?
Megatron hummed lowly.
“I believe whether or not you are deserving, falls under my discretion,” he said, though his tone was light and there was no true reprimand behind his words. He chuckled as Shockwave’s antennae drooped slightly in chastisement. “Your devotion is indisputable Shockwave. No one would doubt the strength of your resolve, and what you’ve achieved here is commendable—especially considering the delicate nature of your assignment. I would give you the recognition you are due.”
Shockwave lowered his antennae further, in part to indicate his acceptance of Megatron’s words, but also to hide the minute trembling which had overtaken them. He knew the statement to be true, but to hear it directly from Megatron was the highest of honors.
Megatron continued, satisfied with his silent acknowledgement.
“I’m pleased to to have you among us once again, Shockwave. I know that your presence has been sorely missed in the labs. I also imagine that you are relieved for this chance to relax your guard, however brief the reprieve might be,” he posited.
Shockwave was not so blindly content as to not recognize the test in Megatron’s words, and he chose his own carefully.
“Ah, Lord Megatron. I am, of course, exceedingly glad to be back in Decepticon territory, but I would not dare linger too long,” he replied. “My time among the Autobots has been trying, but ultimately rewarding, and my work is far from over. I will return to where I am needed most, as soon as time permits.”
Megatron’s smile was all denta, but there was a decidedly pleased glint to his optics. Shockwave had evidently answered well.
“I look forward to witnessing the results. This will have dire ramifications for the Autobots, when our plans finally come to a fruition,” he said, and now Megatron shifted in his throne, and fixed those burning optics on him. “The future has a great deal in store for us, and your efforts will not go unnoticed,” he promised.
Shockwave bowed, a warm glow having suffused his spark. Yes, this trip had most certainly been worth it.
When he stretched up again, he half-expected to be dismissed, but instead Megatron looked upon him with consideration.
“How long has it been since we’ve had the opportunity to talk at length, Shockwave?” he asked.
“Quite some time, my liege,” answered Shockwave, with a glimmer of hope. He had missed their conversations—held outside the formalities of station and rank, and often extending late into the night cycle. Perhaps Megatron had as well. They’d always been well-suited for each other, when it came to genuine conversation and debate, though Shockwave wasn’t near the orator that Megatron was.
“You aren’t expected anywhere, I take it? And your habsuite is hardly going anywhere,” mused Megatron, as he tapped his fingers against his throne. He seemed to come to a decision.
“Join me.”
With that he descended smoothly from his throne, and began the walk towards his private quarters.
Shockwave trailed after him, anticipation curling within. He wouldn’t dare presume —but he could hope.