Megatron: Forced Feminization

There were lines you had to cross in war. Things you did to your enemy because otherwise, you’d be the victim instead of the perpetrator. But this was different, and Ratchet knew it. He’d gone around this a hundred times in his head, but no matter what, he knew that it was wrong. He’d broken a code of honor; not to save lives, but because of the spectre of some imagined boogeyman. Of all the people on the ship, he should know that Megatron wasn’t an unbeatable threat.

And yet here he stood, holding the very weapon that would neutralize him, forever.

“It’s a complex compound. If he weren’t taking it willingly, we’d have no chance of getting it to work. As is, for the first three days, we cannot have him overstressed: his spark will flare and it’ll burn the compound clear out of him. I’m looking at you here, Rodimus.”

The red and gold mech flinched, trying to look confident. “I’m not gonna agitate him. Look at me, I’m Captain Diplomacy, I’m so diplomatic Alpha Trion wants to give me-” Ratchet turned away, and started the manufactory on making more. A simple yet elegant solution, it would slowly  bond with Megatron’s spark, weakening its ability to consume energon, until eventually it would shrink in self-defense. Shrink enough to be transplanted, to make him harmless.

And then, after, maybe Primus would forgive him for what he’d done.

----

Megatron felt strange, on this drug. It wasn’t merely weakness: he could feel his spark being kept dim, flickering instead of boiling with light. It was distracting at the best of times, leaving him unsettled and quiet. The usual burning rage had dimmed, after his scentencing, and these days he could barely muster the energy to disagree with someone (it seemed like such a wasted effort, obeying was easier). He’d taken to snapping at all who talked to him, furious at his own desire to look away and be pliant.

So he resisted. He fought them all, and felt better for doing so. He could’ve maintained it forever...if not for that idiot psychiatrist. Mediating for him, spending days following him around, making sure he was alright… He could feel himself relaxing, becoming complacent, the longer he went without conflict. It was infuriating.

Right up until he woke up on the table.

----

It was strange, this new body. Bigger, more robust. He wasn’t used to it. Used to being smaller, looked down on. When the offer had come, he’d been disgusted. Furious. But tempted, oh so tempted, to ignore principles and accept the change. A choice of his making, for once. Ratchet had been very persuasive, and he was adapting well. The first day or so had been rough, but now he was moving confidently, feeling his amplified spark settle into his new form.

“How’s the patient doing, Doctor?”

“Fine, fine. She’s barely conscious. Her weakened spark almost didn’t survive the transfer.”

“And you’re sure she’s no threat? I mean, considering-”

“I understand. But she doesn’t have the skill or the tactics to use a body of that type, nor the spark-power. SHe’ll be weak. Vulnerable.”

“And then what? Prison? Execution?”

“Of a sort. We’re going to fabricate a story, but… We’ve put the call out. She’ll be taken care of by old friends. And it’ll take some explaining, but Optimus will have to accept you in Megatron’s body… Arcee.”

----

Tarn didn’t particularly enjoy this cloak and dagger nonsense. The DJD had very specific goals, and backroom meetings just complicated matters. But when they offered bait this good, he’d bite any hook. After all, the traitor? The former Decepticon leader? What a message it would send! No one was above punishment, above the DJD’s reach. The details could be changed, but this would be a pleasure.

The others were confused, when they saw the pink form, weakly crawling in along the rocky terrain of the planet. It was opined to be a trap, until he silenced them. The situation had been made quite clear to him. The feeble begging from the femme had made it clear to the others, too. Only Megatron would’ve known that information. Tarn let her talk. It was amusing, to see her hopes rise…

But not half as amusing as watching the look of horror, when he opened his interface port. The DJD was about justice, after all. And for today, Megatron was going to be about swallowing it. Every. Single. Drop.

Good thing, too.

They’d been getting bored of Drift, anyway.