One-shot "The Worst of Days"
Title: The Worst of Days
Author: dreamerchaos
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I'm only playing with them.
Summary: Inspiration came from kirin_saga's transformers bunny farm.
Any and all mistakes are mine.

Perceptor loses his memories and is found by Megatron.

He is not online.

But a distant part of his CPU is somewhat aware.

'What is...'

'What is my designation...?'

Designation: Confirmed.

Designation: Perceptor.

Warning: Damage received. Repairs: Necessary.

'Damage? From what?' He wondered.

He tries, in vain, to locate the appropriate files and call up any bit of data that would inform him of what had transpired to cause him damage, and if the damage was connected to his current state.

ERROR

Invalid File.

ERROR ERROR ERROR

Systems returning online in three seconds...two...one-

His torso jumped from the surface of the ground, air whooping sharply from the tight stretch of his lips. He coughed dryly, falling back to curl on his side. Fingers clinging to the rough grooving dent imbedded in the chipped paint of the microscope's helm.

He didn't dare to shake his helm to try to dissolve the haze and nausea, forehead and temples throbbing painfully from the change in position as he resolutely pushed himself onto his hands and knees.

Taking note of his location, Perceptor's optics blinked in confusion. "Wh-where am I?"

There was...tossed soil beneath his curled fingers. Tall, looming monuments of orange and bronze rock rose above him. The sky was a rich robin egg blue, dotted with blooming mushrooms of vaporous clouds.

'This isn't Cybertron.' Perceptor's knees tremble as he pushes onto his pedes, falling against a tall boulder to brace his weight, thrown akimbo from a harsh wave of vertigo. He clutched at the dented patch of metal upon his helm, whimpering at the throbbing lancing agony. 'Some sort of organic world? But why? Why am I here, and how did I get here?'

He ran a quick scan over the surface of his form, noting the thick patches of dust and grit digging into the seams. Curiously, his fingers trace the edge of a red symbol etched into his chassis.

Perceptor frowned in confusion; not recognizing the marking, and not understanding its purpose or meaning. Why on Cybertron would he have allowed himself to be branded like some sort of organic cattle?

'I don't understand.' His confusion continued to resolutely run about in wild circles, incapable of deciphering an answer as to how and why he came online upon some foreign, organic world. Nor can he explain the scuffed, dusty state of his form. He could not have possibly have been involved in some sort of scuffle... Primus, the microscope would more than likely break his own hand trying to punch someone, let alone take a direct hit without incurring serious personal damage!

This would certainly not do. The situation and the damage he had sustained were dire. Regardless of his unfamiliarity with this planet and its inhabitants, Perceptor had no choice but to try to establish contact with other sentient life in order to receive necessary repairs.

The microscope was relieved to find that his communication systems responded to his command to send out a distress beacon, seemingly undamaged from the rough blow and scattered state of his systems. His vents hissed a sigh of relief, soothed by the rhythmic 'ping' of the comm link sending out the signal for immediate assistance.

A response came, much to his surprise, not that long after the initial pulse from his comm link.

Unfamiliar responses, the signal a low, trembling rumble, the foreign signal literally shaking his communication systems. It caused the microscope to pause, for a moment uncertain, not recognizing the frequency or 'voice' of the signal.

What he could determine, and what was of utmost importance, was that the signal was derived from a fellow Cybertronian.

Eager and relieved to find that he was not alone, Perceptor sent back an answering response, his signal far more harmonious, a thrilling chirp and melodious click of numbers and symbols, a delicate ping of cymbals compared to the other rough, bass boom of the foreign signal.

A response came again, immediately after his own quick relay...From a much closer proximity than before, the other Cybertronian apparently having covered a great span of distance in a short period of time.

'Strange.' He wondered. 'To have responded so fast, and to be moving so quickly. A premium model, probably warrior's class, perhaps? What would a Cybertronian possessing those sorts of schematics possibly be doing on this sort of planet?'

His answer arrives not too long after that last thought.

The Cybertronian lands on the opposite side of the boulder he is leaning against. Dust plumes, blasted away as the mech lands, heat melting beads of sand into glittering glass.

It is more than likely due to his overactive imagination, but the ground appears to tremble beneath the stranger's pedes as the mech circles around the large boulder, shadow falling across Perceptor's gaze before the much larger, broader mech steps forward into sight.

The microscope is concerned by the odd twist settling within his fuel pump, throat tightening, words escaping him. 'W-why am I suddenly seized with terror?'

Outfitted in burnished silver, with careful touches of red and black, the stranger's ruby optics narrow, focusing upon the much slighter scientist.

"U-um.." Perceptor stutters, swallowing against the tightness and dryness of his throat. Lubricating the inside of his mouth with a swift swipe of his glossa. "He...Hello?"

The stranger does not offer a verbal response.

Rather, he lifts his right arm, and for the first time, Perceptor absorbs the sight of the large black cannon mounted into the mech's forearm. Perceptor's optics flare wide, pressing back against the boulder, staring down the deep muzzle of the weapon, catching the tiny pin-prick of light pulsing within its depths as the weapon begins to slowly power up.

"A..ah...No, wait! What's going on? I haven't done anything wrong!" The microscope begs helplessly, turning his face away from the burning wash of heat rising from the cannon. "I don't understand-"

"Then enlighten me." The stranger growls, nudging the edge of Perceptor's jaw line with the edge of the cannon's muzzle. The trapped mech hisses in pain as the heat lightly scorches the metal dermal plating. "I'm curious. What don't you understand about this situation?"

"I-I don't understand why you are pointing a weapon at me...a-an-and possessing a weapon, a fusion cannon, that is clearly stated under the authority of the High Council as being explicitly dangerous and highly illegal to own."

The desperate honesty behind his words appears to make the stranger pause. The weapon draws back, but only just.

"Is this some sort of pathetic farce?" He growls, stifling the charge in the fusion cannon and thrusting the barrel of the weapon away from Perceptor's face. The microscope nearly breaths a sight of relief, but instead winces in pain as black fingers bite around his chin, the large silver mech kneeling down and staring deep into the scientist's optics. "State your designation." He commands.

"Perceptor!" The scientist immediately complies, twitching back away from the pools of ruby drilling into his own.

"State your ranking officers."

"W-what?"

"State the designation of the Leader of the Autobots!" The stranger snarls.

"Who..What? I don't know-"

"Don't play these games, fool. I am not amused, and I will not tolerate this act further. State my designation!"

"I don't know-"

The back of Perceptor's helm is smashed against the boulder, in a painful warning that he is testing the other's patience.

"State my designation!"

"I don't know..." Perceptor whimpers.

Black fingers tighten further. "You continue to test my patience..."

"I don't know! I've never met you before!" The microscope twists within the immovable grip, flailing about like a fish on a hook.

Seemingly momentarily satisfied by his desperate defense, Perceptor is tossed onto the ground, collapsing onto his side, huddling away from the massive form looming over him.

The stranger casually turns his optics away from the shivering mech, clearly unworried and not threatened by the smaller Cybertronian. He presses two fingers to his temple, activating a private comm link. "Soundwave. Your assessment." The mech commands.

The exchange is garbled, not allowing the scientist to decipher the conversation. His optics flicker upward, suddenly catching and tracing the strange lavender crest stenciled into the large mech's chest.

Much more sharply defined, a menacing face that glares from its position, sharp edges cut so finely that the marks would otherwise appear to scratch across the surface of the silver mech's chest and cause him to bleed.

Against his will, Perceptor's hand clutches at the vibrant red symbol upon his own chassis, optics incapable of wavering away from the opposing symbol marring the stranger's broad chassis. 'Oh no, no, no, no.' The scientist moans internally. Dawning horror, realizing too late that regardless of the damage to his memory banks, and regardless of his confusion about his location and purpose upon this planet, he has stumbled across another Cybertronian who is clearly marked as unfriendly.

The private conversation that the stranger had been holding must have ended not too long ago, because when Perceptor's attention returns, his optics meets the ruby pair. The stranger assessing the horrified gaze of the microscope's, locked onto the purple emblem upon his chassis, and the cobalt hand clutching the red symbol upon his own.

"Who are you?" Perceptor whispers.

A twisted, gleeful grin rises upon the mech's face. Perceptor shudders. "You will find out soon enough."

The silver mech looms closer, causing the microscope to fall flat upon his back, feebly trying to push away as a hand closes over his throat. "No! Stay away!"

"But for now," The stranger assures him with cold promise, bearing the mech down, more substantial weight trapping the microscope, "You can refer to me as 'My Lord'."

___________________

"Such a distasteful color," Scavenger tsked, fingers outlining the wide blue optics beneath. Perceptor trembled violently underneath his hands, unable to twist his head away from the Constructicon's grip. The back of his hands lying flat along the sides of his head, encased in thick bands of metal keeping him prone and prepped upon the medical table. "Ruby glass will look so much better." He cooed in comfort, tracing the dark dermal plating of their pet project's face.

"Hmmm, hmmm.." Mixmaster hummed thoughtfully, running his hands up and down the red crest upon the microscope's chassis. "Just a little bit of acid...make sure it's the right pH balance...and we can erase the mark and m-make it all better."

Hook probed at the uneven dent upon Perceptor's helm, frowning while he assesses the extent of damage most likely done to the mech's internal systems. "Don't know if it will be worth repairing the damage, or if we should start from scratch."

"Hook." Long Haul call his brother's attention as he finishes shoving over another large piece of equipment, prepped to connect into to the microscope and run a further analysis.

Bonecrusher applies the last metal clamp to hold open the scientist's microscope tray, allowing more access into the intimate inner components. "Don't fuss." He warns as Perceptor weakly tries to shift under his probing hands.

On another smaller table resting beside the much larger medical table, Scrapper is bent over, meticulously dissecting the lens barrel that had been removed from the mount upon Perceptor's shoulder. "Light cannon, huh?" He snorts, chuckling in humor. "Not the right amount of firepower or charge to cause that much damage. But we can fix that."

Hook raises his head from his observations when the door to their labs slides open. Realizing whom their guest was, Hook bowed his head in supplication, forcing himself to step away from their current project and approach the Decepticon leader.

"I trust that you and your brothers will be suitably entertained by this latest project that I have assigned?" Megatron crossed his arms across his broad chest, glancing over Hook's shoulder, watching as the Constructicons putter about and work excitedly, eager to begin working further on a live Autobot subject.

"We are very much pleased, Lord Megatron." Hook swore, optics burning eagerly into his leader's. "It will take a bit of time, but I promise that the time and efforts will be worth it."

A sharp pained whine drew their attention, and Bonecrusher snapped at Mixmaster. "Watch where you're applying the acid! Give him some analgesic if you're going to sling that slag around!"

"I want a full report by the end of the orn." Megatron coldly instructs the medic. "Deliver it to Soundwave, and make certain to determine if any further supplies will be necessary."

"Sir. He won't be ready for any scans by Soundwave until we've had time to meticulously examine his internal systems."

"Then make sure that Soundwave is informed of this." Megatron orders. "I do not need Soundwave hovering about, waiting for our project to be ready for further investigation. I am aware that Soundwave is eager to perform his own examination, but I will not have him standing around unnecessarily."

"So then...Soundwave will be responsible for his care, once we are finished with the optimization process?"

Megatron grinned humorlessly. "You sound disappointed, Hook."

"Lord Megatron." Hook shifted closer conspiratorially. "By no means do I question your judgment, but my brothers and I are aware of Perceptor's talents as a fellow scientist...If at all possible, perhaps you may allow us some time to determine if the microscope will be able to consolidate with us in our future projects?"

"I will...consider your request, Hook." Megatron relents, but only just so.

"My thanks, Lord Megatron."

Appeased at the progress of their current project, Megatron decides to leave the Constructicons to their own devices.

Hook returns to join Scavenger and his brothers, hovering over their patient.

He chuckles, cupping the side of the shivering mech's face. "Don't be so afraid." Hook admonishes. "After all, I'm a medic. I promise that it will only hurt for a while."

"He will be fine in not too long."

"And soon..."

"The only thing that will matter most is complete and loyal servitude to the Decepticons and his Lord Megatron."

Author's note: No sequel! Nada! Nope. Nuh uh. If someone is interested and asks nicely, they can write for themselves. I have so many fic ideas and WIPs, that I'll never get them done if I keep writing more and more sequels. XO