Chapter Text
Orion lay on his front with a plasma arrow nocked, peering over the cover of a snowdrift.
A white petrorabbit scurried across the ice in front of him, dislodging shards of frost from the withered wire-bush it had been sheltering under. Orion watched it bound away across the frozen crystalline landscape, its large hind pedes thumping tracks into the snow. Its erratic sprinting startled his real target– a gamma deer. They scurried off together toward the formless blue cover of the forest and disappeared from view.
Orion sighed and lowered his bow. This was one of the only chances he’d had all cycle to shoot some game. Winter was tough for hunting in Iacon’s wilds, but never this tough.
Cover was scarce and the fauna were more skittish. He’d even painted the colorful parts of his armor to a maroon and navy, but with the native scarlet cable bush out of season, he stood out.
In the reflection of the crystals behind him, he could see a swath of his back he couldn’t reach to paint was still bright red.
Oh. Perhaps the color had refracted off the crystal behind him and frightened the hares? But Orion was skeptical. He was quite far away and hares’ processing was not that sophisticated. It had to have been something else that had startled it.
The weather had begun to turn as well, large gray clouds hanging overhead foretelling stormy weather. Orion pondered going back to his cabin, but that would mean waiting out the storm with empty tanks and no energy stores, which was arguably just as dangerous.
Worse, his village depended on him for some of their game and pelts. It didn’t bode well that he had caught nothing in several cycles. Every creature in the forest seemed to be on edge. Even the ordinarily sedate deer bolted at every rustle.
Orion got to his feet and began the trek home, keeping an optic out for any easy game in his path.
While pondering if he should cut his losses, or risk staying out longer and getting caught in a blizzard, the snap of crystal further up the trail alerted him.
Ducking behind a tree, he nocked another arrow and peeked around the trunk. He darted his optics around, his visual programming struggling to locate a target through the increasingly dense flurries.
Over the next few moments, the forest became incredibly still. Orion’s armor prickled, and he tightened his grip on his bow. There was something large out there but he couldn’t say if they were mech or animal.
His suspicions were resolved when an enormous, gray Tarnish wolf lumbered onto the trail.
Starlight glinted off its rugged, silvery pelt. Icicles hung from the corners of its jagged maw, and every labored ex-vent rose steaming into the air.
That’s why all the game was hiding.
Orion kept his distance, vents hitching as he observed the creature with awe. He’d never seen one in the mesh before, though he’d read extensively about them. One of the more impressive beasts he’d catalogued in his neural libraries.
Like its name suggested, Tarnish wolves were not native to Iacon’s wilds, though they claimed enormous roaming territories that occasionally crossed Iaconian borders.
But something was wrong with this wolf, to have wandered out this far. Its movements were odd; jerky and sluggish. Orion noticed it favored its left side, dragging its mangled right front leg through the snow.
He couldn’t have a wounded– and thus, bad-tempered– predator roaming around his village, putting everyone in danger. He didn’t want to terminate it, but perhaps it was more kind. A broken leg was rarely survivable anyway, for a wolf.
The wolf, worryingly, was also quite close to where Orion lived. It had come from the direction of his cabin and was getting closer to him, sniffing the ground intently. The wolf must have scented him and thought him easy prey. Once a Tarnish wolf set its sights on a prey, it rarely backed down.
Orion needed to kill it– a sentiment he held with despair. The wolf was so majestic. But Orion had a duty to defend his village.
Squinting through the worsening storm, he took aim. He’d never hunted one of these wolves, and it’d be dangerous if he missed or miscalculated.
Iaconian Silverwolf was an entirely different beast in all senses of the phrase. Unlike those, Tarnish wolves were heavily armored beneath their hides of wire fur, making them nearly impossible to hunt with anything but explosive ammo or acid arrows. Of which Orion had neither. But these wolves had one weak spot: a slim band of soft protoform around their neck where it met their collar struts.
Orion had no interest in hunting for sport, only for survival. But even he couldn’t help how his spark burned with excitement as he lined up Tarn’s apex predator in the sights of his bow. The thrill of the hunt mixed with his trepidation made his hands shake, and he had to will them steady.
The wolf lifted its massive, shaggy head to sniff the air. It had caught his scent and recognized it didn't belong. Too much mech and not enough beast.
But Orion’s arrow was already flying through the air.
The arrow lodged in the gap in the creature’s neck. Energon splattered across the freezing ground. The wolf lurched and swayed before falling on its side in a heap.
Orion burst out from behind the tree and darted over, knife drawn to finish the job if his aim had not been true. It was hard to say how accurate he’d been with the snow blinding him.
He stopped short as the wolf’s massive flank rippled. Gripping his knife harder, Orion took his position, ready to strike if it lunged.
Mechanisms shifted under the wolf’s pelt. The electronic whirring of a transformation sequence cut through the quiet.
To Orion’s astonishment, the wiry fur inverted, pulled into the mechanimal’s frame, while mech-like limbs and a torso sprouted out. Its pointed snout distorted, folding back to reveal the broad face of a– a mech.
A mech equally as massive as the wolf, with a thick neck and sturdy jaw. Its– his– limbs filled out to their furthest, heftiest extent as the transformation sequence ended. Exuding might, even while unconscious.
Orion had never heard of a mech becoming a mechanimal, or vice versa. He reset his optics and the mech was still there. Like something out of a fable.
Scarred and rugged, the fine lines in the wolf-mech’s facial derma belied his great age. An old, powerful creature. Or was he a mech first? Maybe a pack leader, if not a lone wolf. Whatever the case, Orion didn’t think any mechanism– beast or Cybertronian– would bother challenging him for dominance.
Orion sheathed his knife, processor racing in confusion. He supposed their species could have such a mechanism. Some of the Cybertronian fauna could transform. But when they did, it wasn’t often to an alt mode. Aside from the rare cassette, beast-formers usually adopted a minor alteration of their root mode– something to blend in with their surroundings, or make them appear more frightening, or a better mate.
But where had this mech come from, and why was he all the way out here?
Orion clutched his bow to his chest.
Oh, Primus, he’d shot a mech. He’d shot a mech! Would this be considered murder?
He fell to his knees, parting the fur ringing the wolf-mech’s neck to assess the wound. If there was one blessing, the arrow had caught partially on the mech’s thick armor and hadn't struck deep.
Orion grasped the mech’s shoulder and shook him, but he remained unconscious.
He’d have to bring him back to his cottage and repair his wounds. Such a huge mech would be a task to carry, but home was close and Orion was stronger than he appeared.
—
The wolf barely fit on Orion’s berth.
There was no time to worry about that, as Orion began his mad dash to collect solvent and patches and a welding torch from around his cabin. With his rudimentary first aid skills, he managed to stem the flow of energon coming out of the mech’s neck and set his broken arm. Afterward, he stoked a fire and put some fuel on the hot plate to get warm.
Then he pulled up a chair at the mech’s bedside and waited for him to come online. His knife waited in its sheath at his hip… just in case.
Outside, the storm had kicked up into a blizzard. The wind was making the cabin walls shiver. At this rate, they would end up being stuck indoors overnight as the storm outside raged. Him and this strange wolf-mech.
Orion hoped he made the right choice in rescuing— no, of course he made the right choice. He’d never leave someone to die. He just hoped the mech would be reasonable…
As the wolf stirred, Orion tried to muster his confidence.
“Um. Hello,” he said gently. “Do you have a name?”
One red eye cracked open, fixating on Orion. The wolf squinted irritably at him. His gaze was harsh. Alert and penetrating.
Orion fought the urge to reach for his knife.
“Who are you?” the wolf asked, with surprising force. His thunderous growl rattled Orion down to the struts. The fur at his neck and waist bristled. Fangs, bared.
Terrific, thought Orion. At least the wolf had responded In Iaconian Standard, which cleared up one hurdle. Orion adjusted his subglyphs to deliver his next words with even more gentleness:
“Orion Pax.”
He felt he should explain himself, but wasn't sure how to broach the truth that it was due to his arrow that this mech had been needlessly injured without getting attacked. He found himself shrinking away and gripping his knees to steady himself. Beasts didn’t really frighten him, but mechs… especially one so much larger than himself… while they were trapped alone together…
The wolf laughed, unexpectedly. A deep, rolling chuckle.
“Orion Pax…” He rolled the name off his glossa, ponderous. “That is the name of a legendary hunter in these parts. We know that name as far away as Tarn. What right does a pathetic little thing like you have to bear his name?”
“Pathetic little thing”? Where does he get off calling me pathetic?
Orion bit down his snarky retort and instead said, “Uh. Because that’s me.”
The wolf was still chuckling at him, shaking his head. Clearly having expected a more impressive mech.
“Well, then. Orion Pax. You are the mech who wounded me?”
“Yes! I’m sorry. I didn’t know…” Orion wasn’t sure how to continue. How could he say he didn't know the wolf was actually a mech and was fearful for the lives of the villagers? That didn’t make this right.
“I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am,” Orion settled on.
“You were defending your territory,” said the wolf.
“Yes,” admitted Orion. “This village and its inhabitants are like family to me. I was concerned for their safety.”
“And I was an outsider.”
“Well, you were a lone wolf, and injured…” prompted Orion, hoping that would be enough of an explanation.
The wolf lifted his shoulder in a shrug as if to say “fair enough”.
Orion hesitated. “Maybe this is rude to ask, as a mech can go where he pleases, but–”
“Why am I all the way out in the wilds of Iacon? Rather than in Tarn?”
Orion nodded.
“I was looking for you,” said the wolf.
“Me? Why?”
The wolf’s gaze locked onto him. “For sport. For the triumph of eliminating a famous hunter. An enemy who has long eluded me.”
Orion’s hand twitched for his knife again. So the wolf was a violent sort of mech after all.
Fury seeped into the wolf’s glare as he muttered to himself, hackles rising, “If that damned Starscream hadn't crippled me on my way here, leading an ambush to overthrow me, I would have had you. Pah! That mech doesn't know what it means to respect my territory…”
The wolf slouched back, all the spirit going out of him. He glanced at Orion disinterestedly.
“But now that I’ve had a good look at you… a little mech like you wouldn't be any sport at all to defeat. However, I must repay you for wounding me. An optic for an optic. That’s the law of the wild.”
With surprising speed, the wolf lunged for him.
Orion already had his knife drawn, but that meant nothing when the wolf immediately knocked it out of his hand with his good arm.
Orion accepted his fate as he was dragged onto the berth, landing lengthwise across the wolf’s lap. Bracing himself for a killing blow, he squeezed his optics shut.
And yelped as the wolf’s hand collided with his backside. A stinging blow, for sure. One that brought tears to Orion’s optics.
“Ow! Ouch!?” He cried in confusion as he was spanked.
After several more whacks to the backside, the wolf shoved him off his lap. Orion toppled to the ground, dazed and smarting with heat from his aft to his face.
“My lust for vengeance has been satisfied. Little hunter,” said the wolf, settling back against the pillows with a grin. Apparently pleased with himself for coming up with that nickname.
“It’s Orion,” said Orion, rubbing his aft. But he had the feeling now that the wolf had started calling him that he was not going to stop. The wolf’s casual, smug dismissal of him and his abilities was really getting on his nerves. He really didn’t want to fight him if he could avoid it (not that he’d win anyway) but he wished he could at least show him what for.
“My name is Megatron,” the wolf announced. Resonantly, richly, like his name was supposed to mean something. A name to make mechs tremble in fear.
“Never heard of you,” snipped Orion.
Megatron deflated a little, growling deep in his throat. “You should have. Or do I need to demonstrate–”
“Were you a mech or a beast first?” asked Orion, changing the subject before Megatron had any opportunity to get his hands on him again.
“Beast. I can’t recall how I obtained the ability to transform into a mech. But it's imperfect,” said Megatron, gesturing to the wire-fur ringing his collar and waist. “So I continue to live as a beast.”
“However imperfect, while you’re in my home you must live as a mech.”
“You dare to tell me what to do?”
“I only mean you shouldn’t transform. It’ll worsen your injuries. Speaking of,” Orion eyed Megatron’s neck. “I have to change your patches. You tore them.”
While spanking me, he very deliberately did not say.
“Fine,” said Megatron carelessly. “Replace them.”
Clenching his fists in annoyance, Orion went to fetch more patches, then began removing the damaged ones. As any cautious hunter would be around large, dangerous mechanimals, he approached this task carefully.
Megatron retained his dagger-like fangs in mech form, and Orion was forced to get much closer than he’d like to them as he sat on the edge of the berth. The coarse thatches of wire-fur lining Megatron’s neck and torso scratched at Orion’s wrists as he re-welded the patches.
“The peaceful hunter,” said Megatron.
“What?”
“It is your designation. How interesting that you would name yourself that.”
“My late mentor gave me that name.”
“It is a good name,” said Megatron. “I suppose it fits you well.”
He yawned, flashing his long, silver teeth before settling back and closing his eyes.
Orion leant aside to wipe his hands on a rag. When he turned back, Megatron was in recharge.