Transformers: Bloodlines

An Uncertain Future

She paced back and forth, the soft patter of her feet being the only sound. It’s been three months since Megatron unveiled the news of her heritage; she was at a loss of what to do now that the Decepticon has claimed her as his own.

Finally, she halted in her steps and peered up at the door. If she was becoming one of them, perhaps she’ll be able to reach the panel lock one of these days, but, for now, she was stuck here until one of the mechs retrieved her. There was no telling how long she would have to wait…

Rosalie took a seat against the wall. Curiosity began to tighten its hold, and she dug her nails into the soft flesh of her palm. Her blood ran a deep crimson before darkening; darker and darker, until her skin became damp with an ebony coat. “It doesn’t seem to bother me anymore…” She muttered to herself, drawing her wounded hand to her chest. “How will I know? When does the change end?” So lost in her thoughts, she failed to register the door being opened and the bulky image of her captor standing before her.

“Why—you look exhausted, Rosalie.”

The young woman lifted her gaze to the mechanical being; bold enough to stare him in the eye, though not as a challenge—no, she would dare not challenge him. But just as quickly as she acknowledged him, she averted her attention back to the floor. A deep rumble resonated within Megatron’s chest and he shifted his weight slightly onto the other foot; “You must consume energon—to aide the transform—“

“Why do you even care?”

“…”

“You—the master of terror, destroyer of worlds—are concerned for a little fleshling? You can barely lift a finger to help your own men, your own species. What do you want from me, Megatron?”

Her outburst startled him. He remained silent and still, staring at her with widened optics. “I am a part of you… What better reason to end my pitiful existence?” Rosalie turned her back on him, on the verge of tears; but she would not let them fall; she had to be strong and show this bastard what she was made of.

“You’re right,” he started. “I care little for my soldiers—most of them anyway—but you are different. You, Rosalie, hold great potential for a female human.”

“And that sickens you to the core.”

Megatron got to his knees and leaned closer to the woman, the tip of his nose brushing the small of her back. “Greatly,” he purred. Rosalie had to admit that she’d been bluffing this whole time. She was actually afraid, especially after feeling him so close. The tyrant smiled, his sensitive optics picking up the faintest tremble and her scent—the fear seemed to ravish his olfactory sensors.

“My dear Rosalie, you have no idea how much I need you.”