Chapter Text
The war memorial in the park was something Norson grew up with. It had been there since his earliest childhood memories, huge, gray, unmoving. Every time his mother took him to the park to play, he had had to pass the fearsome statue that had starred in not few of his nightmares.
The war memorial was a huge statue of a Robot, at least six meters to the top. According to the tablet at its foot, it was supposed to be Megatron, the Destroyer of Worlds, how he had been caught after the end of the Robot War.
The robot itself had to be almost twice as tall. But its head and arms were fastened in stocks, leveled so that the robot was bent at a right angle at the hips. The stocks, or a pillory, Norson didn't know what the thing was called, kept the statue upright; otherwise it probably would have slowly tipped to the front and landed on its head.
The statue's top, which consisted of the robot's back, was a viewing platform. It could be accessed via a spiral staircase that ran up one of those huge legs. But Norson had never been up there. He had been too scared of the fearsome-looking spikes and shoulder pauldrons and the evil face staring down from the stocks. Its arms had been caught in holes beside the head, and its long, spindly fingers looked like torture instruments just waiting to reach down and snatch up bad children.
But the metal giant hadn't been more than a statue for him – cold, still, eternal. However, the day he saw one of the Robots working on it, everything changed.
The Robots were figures of legend, impossibly tall and strong, and ever since their war had ended more than 400 years ago they only visited Earth sporadically. And even then, Norson had only seen them on TV, being greeted by the World Government.
But that evening, when he had gone by the park, there had been a second statue all of a sudden. Norson had stopped and stared, but he had stared twice over when the second statue moved. It took a while for him to realize that the second statue was one of the Robots.
Was it there to visit the war memorial?
Quietly, he watched the robot check the statue's plates and brush away soot and dirt that had gathered in the gaps. It even talked to itself the entire time. It was Cybertronian, so Norson didn't understand a word. He couldn't even tell if the robot was cursing or reciting poetry or something.
The Robot was so tall that it could easily reach across the statue's back, and even see on top of the stocks with its glowing, blue eyes. Compared to the Robot's size, the statue actually didn't look as ginormous anymore. Especially not bent over as the Megatron statue was. But Norson was pretty sure that standing up straight, Megatron would still be taller by quite a bit.
After the robot had cleaned most of the accumulated dirt away, it found an access panel on the statue's side, chest-height on the robot, but completely out of any human's reach at about five meters.
To Norson's surprise, the robot removed a cable from its arm and plugged into whatever was behind the hatch. Then it grew very, very still.
What was it doing? Was the statue some kind of recording device, and the robot was downloading information? Or... He didn't know what else it could be. Some hidden energy-producing thing, and the robot was recharging itself? A camouflaged supercomputer? A transmitter to talk to its home planet?
Only belatedly did Norman remember that there already was a communications array that was capable of reaching Cybertron. It was in New Washington, the capital of the world. The robot could just use that one, couldn't it? Unless it was a rogue robot. Or didn't know anything about the other array.
If it was a rogue though, it probably was dangerous. Norson bit his lower lip. Should he hide before it spotted him?
Slowly, he moved off the path towards some of the large trees, always taking care not to let the robot out of his sight.
When the robot's eyes flared a bright blue all of a sudden and it spoke in its electronic language again, Norson froze.
Luckily, the robot seemed to have reacted to something else, not Norson. It didn't even turn its head to look into his direction. Instead, it took some kind of... hose from somewhere, and proceeded to connect one end to its arm and the other to the statue. Norson didn't know where the robot had taken the hose from; it wasn't like the robot had pockets or bags or anything like that. But there it was, and it was starting to glow pink from some kind of liquid flowing through it. From the robot to the statue.
Was the statue some kind of super-weapon that the Robots had moved to earth to make sure humans didn't do anything bad? The glowing pink liquid certainly looked radioactive. Very toxic at the very least. Or was it fuel of some kind?
It sure did something to the statue, because it... it answered? The statue talked in the same screeching electronic language as the robot did, and the robot talked back. Norson so wanted to believe that the statue was just a highly programmed computer, but what if it was another of those robots? What if... what if the statue was the real deal? Nobody knew quite how long those robots lived, but he thought that their king, the – Prime he had been taught in school, that their Prime was still the same as the one from 400 years ago.
So it wasn't too out of this world to believe that the statue, the robot, could have survived there for 400 years, either.
But why would the robots leave one of their own here on earth?
No. It couldn't be. If this – if this was the robot the tablet said it was – if this was really Megatron, irredeemable war criminal and murderer of hundreds of thousands –
Norson's heart jumped into his throat. He froze completely, not daring to move. Was the robot, the moving one, here to free Megatron? Norson knew that he should probably run away, try to alert the police, anyone, but he just couldn't move. He was spell-bound by the fascination of impending doom.
While the hose continued feeding the statue – Norson's mind just shied away from acknowledging the statue might be Megatron – the other robot took a look at the guard rail that had been mounted on the statue's broad and flat back. It spat out something in Cybertronian that sounded quite uncomplimentary.
Its hand then transformed – transformed! There was whirling metal, fingers breaking apart into sharp-edged fragments that folded and slithered away and out and up, until the robot didn't have a hand anymore but some wicked-looking tool. And then the tip ignited with a flare so hot that it was a colorless blue, and if it hadn't been so dark Norson probably wouldn't have been able to make out the light. A – a cutting torch!
Norson tensed. Was the robot going to – to torture the statue? Or to cut it loose?
He couldn't see what the robot was doing, because its back was to Norson. He could just see the sparks spraying in all directions, and the smell of burned metal. The statue didn't say anything, didn't move at all, didn't show any signs of pain, but... it just couldn't be comfortable, even for a robot. Could it?
The robot worked all along the statue's back, occasionally throwing bits of metal to the ground with a wordless growl. Or was it words that Norson just didn't understand? It was only gradually that Norson realized it was removing the guard rail of the viewing platform.
Oh. Oh, crap. If the statue was a robot in disguise, then – then Norson didn't want to imagine how much it had hurt to have the thing installed. Or did robots not feel pain?
When it was done on the statue's back, the robot focused on the spiral staircase. It worked form the top to the bottom, removing level after level, and cutting off the beams where they had been fastened to the statue's leg plates. The robot crumpled some of the lesser metal like tin-foil before throwing it onto the growing pile of scrap metal.
It was crouching at the statue's feet by now, cutting away the last remnants. Above its head, the now-bare leg was completely visible from Norson's position. He could see the dull red glow of heated metal where the robot had cut away the staircase. He shivered, not able to look away until the rectangular patches dimmed to invisibility.
When the robot got up again from its crouch, it kicked the pile of scrap metal away as its blowtorch-hand transformed back to a regular hand again. The pink hose was still connected to the statue, and Norson realized only then that the robot had managed to work around that line without any problem.
It said something again when it finally disconnected the hose. The statue answered, and the robot went to its neck. Once again, it plugged into that access hatch on the statue's side, and then proceeded to the statue's neck. Norson thought he could hear that transformation sound again, but he couldn't see enough from his angle on the ground to tell what the robot was doing. He thought it had turned a single finger into something that had looked like an octopus mated with a pincer crab, but he wasn't sure. It kept working on the statue's neck until it unplugged and stepped away. It said something more, to which the statue didn't answer, and then the robot left.
It actually left, stomping along the paved paths of the park, until it vanished into the trees. Norson could still hear it for some time, but then the robot seemed to have found the mainway. After another transformation sound, a hovercar engine revved and a vehicle sped away.
And then all was silent. Norson didn't dare move for a long time.
The next day, everything seemed like a dream. He couldn't quite help the morbid curiosity, but it wasn't until three days later that Norson dared visit the park again. Three completely boring days without radioactive doomsday devices, without robots breaking free and fighting each other, without huge alien mother-ships coming to land on earth. The news didn't even mention the robot Norson had seen, let alone show pictures.
On the fourth day, he gathered all his courage and went to see the statue. To his disappointment, there were children playing in the park and the sun was shining, and there was absolutely no sign of the statue being anything what it was: a statue of Megatron, Destroyer of Worlds, shackled and put into stocks to show he had been defeated completely all those centuries ago.
The only thing different was that the viewing platform and the spiral staircase were gone, and that someone had cleaned up the scrap metal.
He walked closer, looked at the huge foot. There, just above the ankle, he could see a mark where the staircase had been fastened to. It was even with the surrounding metal, but looked discolored. A rectangular pockmark to show where the metal had been bolted to the statue.
He brushed his fingers across. The discoloration didn't feel any different from the surrounding metal. Smooth, even where the bolts had been cut off and were still lodged in the statue's plates.
Norson shivered. He had probably just imagined those events three days ago. The statue surely hadn't talked. And if it had, it was just a mindless computer.
He stepped in front of the pillory, resting a hand on the vertical iron pole that held up the stocks. Its base was much thicker than he could wrap his arms around.
He looked up and up and up into the evil face of the robot-statue. It stared down at him, sharp helmet-spikes lining its jaw before the metal curved upward and shaded narrow eyes. The teeth inside the mouth were bared and looked sawtooth-sharp, and its entire expression was a vicious sneer.
If its eyes weren't completely dark, Norson would have been sure the statue was alive, so life-like was its expression. It was no wonder he'd had nightmares when he was little. Still...
“Can you hear me?” he asked the statue, feeling pretty silly. He hadn't said it very loud, so even if it was alive and listening it probably wouldn't be able to hear him. He wasn't too surprised when he didn't get an answer. He was a little disappointed nonetheless.
Patting the base of the pillory, Norson left the park. But the idea that the statue could be a real robot, didn't let him go.
He looked it up on the info-net. There were ancient vids from 400 years ago, still 2D, that showed people cursing the statue and throwing rotten eggs and fruit at it. There were other vids of some teens that... did something between the statue's plates, and all of a sudden there was a wash of fluid trickling down the statue's legs. Their language was hard to understand, being centuries old and all, but Norson thought he could hear something about... Robo-orgasms?
He drew a face. Oh, honestly. Was this the kind of stuff that survived on the info-net for whoopin' centuries? Joke-vids of people bringing statues off?
With a snort he continued looking. But there were no mentions of the statue talking, or of other robots visiting it. More stuff about the end of the Robot-War. How Megatron was defeated by the heroic sacrifice of Bluestreak, who let himself be captured so that he could take out the entire Decepticon leadership by blowing himself up. Somehow Megatron survived, and that was the end of the story.
There was an interesting online blog dating around the end of the war, that wondered how Cybertronians treated their prisoners of war – reformatting and essentially killing them, except that it wasn't killing because their spark still existed.
Confused, Norson did some more research. They had learned about the Robots in school, but not to the extent that he could understand a philosophical discussion on that level. It turned out the Robots thought that sparks were the one thing that made them alive. Kind of like a soul. Apparently, they weren't considered 'dead' as long as the spark survived, even if they had different memories, different processors, a different frame, heck, even a different name.
Norson shuddered at that. He just didn't see how erasing someone's memories and letting them grow up in another body as another person, couldn't be considered killing. So, in a way, a reformat could be compared to a execution. They had... executed the entire other side of the war like that. And even done it to some of their own? Damn, how ruthless were those robots?
But as always, his focus of interest was drawn back to the statue in the park and, reluctantly, Megatron. It seemed that he was one of the very few Decepticons to not be reformatted immediately. Instead, he still had to face 'punishment' before being reformatted. Norson swallowed. Sure, he had learned about the Robot War in school, but somehow this seemed much more... hateful. Vindictive.
He couldn't find anything on Megatron afterwards. nothing worthwhile about the statue, either. Frustrated, he gave up. Every time though he passed the statue, he continued wondering. It was getting dirtier again. Sometimes, he tried cleaning those parts he could reach, which is where he made some interesting observations. Dirty as the armor plates and the gaps between were, when he looked deeper there was a point from which on everything remained clean. He even tried dropping a bit of earth into the seam, but all of it bounced off some internal energy shield. Afterwards, he felt kind of bad for intentionally dirtying the statue.
He brushed the dirt away, reaching as deep as his fingers could. Scowling, he tried to get out all the earth he had filled behind the plates. It hadn't been clean before by any definition, but now it was even worse.
Suddenly, there was a clicking sound and then some fans turned on. Norson froze. The sound, both the clicking and the fans, had definitely come from the statue.
Carefully, he extracted his fingers from between the armor plates. He really, really didn't want to get them squished should the robot decide to move.
“You're alive, aren't you?” he whispered, slowly backing away. This was – this was – awesome and terrible at the same time. “You're Megatron,” he breathed.
A Robot – the Destroyer of Worlds at that – and it was right there in front of his nose. It looked so much more imposing than on TV in those 2D vids that were available of the Robot War.
A sudden exhalation of sound slammed down on him. It wasn't so much a voice to be heard but a growl that shivered through Norson's bones, and that filled him with terror. “And you are an illiterate fleshbag.”