Disclaimer: Standard stuff.  I'm not selling anything, therefore I'm not 
intentionally violating any of Hasbro's copyrights.  All quotes from 
the TF Movie are accurate, to the best of my knowledge.  Dictionary
definition is adapted from the 1980 Random House Dictionary.  My opinions
do not reflect those of anyone but me.  Distribution is permitted, but
I retain all copyright and further publication rights.  Etc, etc.

                                **  POSSESSION  **
                                  by Ivy Bohnlein

Possession: n. 1) Something owned by an outside power. 2) The state of
                being under the control of an external force, usually 
                supernatural. 3) rare Self-possession; the control of one's
                own destiny.

     I was born in fire.
     I know this must be true, because my first memory is of the intense light,
the heat, and the scent of the forge.  The new fire.  The awareness of 
contrast, of stars within the blackness of space, came to me a split
second later.  Power flooded me, and I knew the feeling of my own body.
I clenched my fists, and as the light faded, I saw others beside me.  Like
me, they were new creations.  We were all children of the same forge.
Their eyes, like mine, were bright with new power.
     Instinctively, I knew they were my troops.  I was their leader, and they
knew this as well.  And I knew, even before the announcement, who I was.
     "Behold, Galvatron."  The voice was resonant with power and a hint of
self-satisfaction.  It came from within the huge orange planet before us,
which was also the source of the forge's light.  This was -- Unicron.
Somehow, I knew this from a time before memory.  It was a voice from the 
time before I existed, and yet it was unique to me alone.
     "And these shall be your minions," the rich bass promised.  "Scourge, the
tracker.  And his huntsmen, the Sweeps."
     They were a group of blue Decepticons (Decepticons?) with long faces,
sharp clawed nails, and a spread of jagged wings unfolded behind their 
backs.  My gaze passed beyond them to a pair of purple warriors with severe
expressions and large grey horns atop their helmets.  As I looked at them,
Unicron continued to speak.
     "Cyclonus, and his Armada."  As his words reached us, a panel opened 
in the side of the planet, revealing a strange spacecraft.  The craft
drifted toward it, and my small army and I moved through space to intercept
it.  "And this shall be your ship."
     The craft was of an alien design, unlike the ones I was used to on 
Cybertron.  Cybertron.  Another memory of the past.  It was my homeworld,
and I was prepared to defend it with my life.  I and my Decepticons
controlled it.  Yes.  The Decepticons were also my minions.  I had to
collect them.
     "Now go," Unicron commanded.  "Destroy the Autobot Matrix."
     Another tide of memory was released.  The Autobot Matrix.  Unicron
feared it, but I did not have to.  I had to destroy it, though.  For 
Unicron.  And for myself -- the Autobots drew spiritual sustenance
from their precious Matrix, believing it the receptacle of their leaders'
spirits since mythical times.  It was a symbol of their unity.  If I
could destroy the Matrix, it would lead to their ultimate downfall, and
open the doors for total conquest of Cybertron, its moons, and the rest
of the star system.  My conquest.
     But I had thought the Matrix destroyed.  I shook my head, trying to
bring the faint memories into sharper relief.  But they were only 
shadows, while Unicron's imperative was clear and undeniable.  I had
to find the Matrix and destroy it.  And I was going to find it with
the newest Autobot leader: Ultra Magnus.
     "I will rip open Ultra Magnus, and every other Autobot, until the 
Matrix has been destroyed!" I vowed.  But first, to collect my other
troops.  I turned to my small army and ordered, "To Cybertron!"
     As our spacecraft left Unicron and headed for our home planet,
Unicron's voice followed behind us.  "Destroy the Matrix."
     On the ship, the mood was solemn and silent.  I sat behind a massive
raised console and monitored my minions, noting their strengths and
weaknesses.  It was odd, but as we journeyed further from Unicron, I
felt like a mist was being lifted from my mind.  The tiny voice of 
past memories, thoughts, and ambitions, once relegated to a whisper
in a shadowed corner, was now clamoring at the edge of my conscious
mind.  A quick survey of the others showed no indication that they felt
the same.  They each performed their duties with great precision, but
no passion or personal motive.  The worst example of this was Armada, 
one of the purple twins.  While Cyclonus actually showed a glimmer of
intelligence and drive, Armada lacked any demonstrable initiative. His
optics seemed flat and lifeless, and though he was perfectly capable of
performing any tasks assigned to him, he would simply finish them and
return to inaction.  
     I frowned.  I knew there was a good reason for this, and that I should
know it.  But how could I possess knowledge from a time before my own
forging?  Unless...
     Unicron had not created me.  Nor had he created my new minions.  
Instead, we had all been shaped to his purpose, and were in our present
incarnations thanks to his direction.  He had reforged me, this was true.
And for this, I owed him.  I owed him my life.  I owed him my loyalty.
I owed him my... servitude?  For the first time, the thought made me
uneasy.  Even angry.
     I could not complain about the form I had been given. Looking down
at my arm, I admired the sleek orange fusion cannon attached to my
forearm, and smiled at the power contained there.  I looked up to the
blank monitors before me and pondered my reflection.  Bulky with power,
and wrapped in shining silver and purple armor, I was the very image of
a leader.  My head was even topped with a three-spired crown.  But the
face -- I had hoped that something in my face could help me understand
the thoughts in my mind, the ones that Unicron had failed to submerge
and silence.  But there was nothing.  
     Yes, I had been recast, and in a stronger mold.  This time I was
ready to conquer.  And owing a debt to Unicron was well worth it.

     Wasn't it?

     As we approached Cybertron, I noticed on the monitors that a large
group of Decepticons had gathered in one area of the planet's surface.  
A name, the Great Plaza, came to my mind unbidden, along with the knowledge
that this place was seldom used, especially by a great congregation.  It
was only for ceremonial occasions, like funerals... or coronations.
     'Well,' I thought with a wry smile, 'it will be the place of at least
one of those occasions today.'  I looked up at my warriors.  "Put us
into stationary orbit over that gathering, " I commanded.  "We will fly
down to the surface, land in their midst, and wrest control from whatever
usurper they have placed on the Decepticon throne!"
     "Yes, Galvatron," They chorused, heading for the great launching bay 
doors to transform and dive down into space.
     One more thing.  "Cyclonus!" I called.  He turned to face me.  "I
require transportation to the planet's surface."
     "It is my honor to serve as such, mighty Galvatron," he replied, 
inclining his head toward me.
     "Excellent.  Let us proceed to the launching area."
     As my fleet approached the plaza, the crowd came into clearer focus.
A group of Decepticons were arrayed to either side of the great podium,
which was elevated majestically above them.  Two Decepticons were perched
atop the platform: a large grey and purple warrior holding a gaudy golden
crown in his hands, and a thinner, grey-white, red, and blue Decepticon 
wearing an ostentatious cape and smug expression.  The grey and purple 
one -- Astrotrain -- kept attempting to place the crown on his companion's
head, but was interrupted each time by a blast of the ceremonial trumpets,
which were being held by a line of lime green robots. The white robot 
looked at them in exasperation, and I got a clear look at his face.  I
felt a sharp stab of hatred.  This shameless betrayer, this vile usurper,
this... Starscream.
     Yes, Starscream.  It is unsurprising that you are the one to assume
control of my Decepticons.  Enjoy your tenure.  It will be a short one.
     Starscream cut off the sound of the trumpets by slicing through the
stems with a well-placed laser blast.  The crown was placed upon his
head without further interruption, and Astrotrain stepped back.  Starscream
surveyed his new subjects arrogantly and began some kind of twisted
victory speech.  I urged my troops to come in fast and noisy, but hold
their fire until attacked.
     "Fellow Decepticons," Starscream oozed. "As your new leader, I..."
He was cut off by the sound of my fleet's engines roaring into the plaza.  
All of the Decepticons turned to look at us in dumbfounded surprise
and Starscream gasped in indignation.  "Who dares disrupt my coronation?"
he screeched.
     As Cyclonus transformed, I leaped from his cockpit and swaggered up to
the great staircase that led to the platform.  I was conscious of all 
the Decepticon optics trained on me, but I refused to show it.  "Coronation,
Starscream?" I asked drily.  "This is bad comedy."
     Starscream sputtered, then his optics registered fearful recognition.
"Megatron, is that you?"
     Memories exploded in me like a supernova as soon as he gave them a 
name to connect to.  But I had no time to assimilate them now -- I had to
act quickly and decisively, taking control before I lost my momentum.  
"Here's a hint," I snapped back, transforming into my powerful cannon mode.
It was the first test of my capabilities in this form, but I was determined
to use them to the fullest.  The blast I unleashed upon him carried all
of my hatred, vengeance and fury.  This creature had left me to suffer and
die in dishonor. It was a pity he would have no time to suffer, but his
dishonor would last for eternity.
     As the purple light hit, Starscream's mouth opened in surprise.  Currents
of electricity ignited trails of plasma that consumed him from the inside
and weakened the integrity of his very molecules.  He disintegrated into
nothing but a pile of ash and a batch of bad memories.  The golden crown 
was untouched, and as I transformed, it bounced down the stairs and rolled
up to me.  I looked at it in disgust, and instead of placing it on my own 
head, I crushed it under my foot.  It splintered and cracked like so much
tin foil.  I dragged it contemptuously along the ground with my toe.
     After a silent look back at the pile of ash I had recently added to the
Grand Plaza, I turned back to the gathered Decepticons.  My assumption of
power had been dramatic, but was not yet complete.
     "Will anyone else attempt to fill his shoes?" I sneered.
     A tiny blue robot, one of Soundwaves's cassettes, asked simply, "What'd
he say his name was?"
     I looked over the crowd.  It was a moment of indecision.  My past had
been given a name -- was I Megatron?  No, Megatron was dead.  From now 
on, I was... "Galvatron," I told them firmly.
     "All hail Galvatron!" they chorused, thrusting their fists in the air 
in a sign of victory and unity.  "Galvatron!" 
     My Decepticons.  Your leader has returned.

     I had more time to ponder my situation once I had returned to Decepticon
Headquarters and been reinstalled into my new quarters.  They had been mine
before, of course, but they were so spartan that there was little to trigger
memories of my past.
     Still, the greatest breakthrough had come as soon as Starscream had
uttered that single word: Megatron.  He finally managed to be of real
use to me.  Of course, that was after he had set this whole cycle in 
motion by casting my body unceremoniously out into space to die a slow
and painful death.  After I had just achieved my greatest victory, he
threw Autobot City away and fled.  I had bested Optimus Prime, my only
true military rival, and Starscream had dared to usurp my position.
     Yet it wasn't his attempt to kill me which fueled my fury.  On the
contrary, murdering a superior officer is a perfectly acceptable means
of succession among Decepticons.  It keeps the commanders from losing 
their edge.  However, Starscram has ignored the two basic rules of the
process.  He acted openly, not even bothering to cover his tracks by 
framing a loyal supporter of mine.  Second, he didn't even bother to
dirty his hands with my death.  That violated the second rule: make
sure the target doesn't come back.  In other words, make sure he is dead.
Starscream's negligence cost him his life.
     If you're going to kill your commander, at least do it with respect.
     Starscream was not entirely to blame, however.  None of my other 
Decepticons, even those I considered my most loyal followers, had tried
to stop him.  As tedious as the unthinking loyalty of my new troops might
become at times, at least I could count on them to defend me.
     My thought hovered for a moment on my other minions.  I did not want to 
confront the basic issues of my new identity quite yet, but the many 
memories and parts of my mind which had been opened to me had given me 
a new perspective on many other things.  Now that I could draw upon
Megatron's experiences, I thought about the other Decepticons who had
been reforged, as Megatron was, to create my new fleet.  I had been 
tossed into space with several insecticon clones, Thundercracker, and
Skywarp.  Discarding the clones was not a bold move -- they were little
more than cannon fodder on their best days, and they could clone themselves
into a small army if given enough raw materials.  But it surprised me that
Skywarp and Thundercracker, who had always been valued warriors, could
also be discarded.  And yet...
     Perhaps it was to my advantage.  Only Scourge and Cyclonus seemed 
capable of real, independent thought, while the Sweeps and Armada needed
closer supervision and instruction.  Plus, the Sweeps had already shown
a capacity to reproduce themselves.  Could it be that Unicron depended
on the raw materials he was given when reforming us?  Cyclonus and Scourge
had inherited the neural abilities of Thundercracker and Skywarp, while
the Sweeps were limited to what was available in the Insecticon clones.
However, the Sweeps also inherited their cloning power.  I was the only 
one to recover memories of my past existence, however.  Was it to help
me destroy the Matrix?  Or was my personality just too strong for Unicron
to submerge?
     This explanation could not account for the absolute lack of passion
in Armada, however.  But if Unicron was forced to rely on what was already
available when creating his warriors, what would happen if his subject 
was already dead?  The loss of personality, of special abilities, and
of motivation... had Armada been reanimated instead of reformed? I
shuddered involuntarily at the thought. Perhaps Armada had been meant to 
reproduce as the Sweeps did, creating an army of his clones, but had lost
his powers.  Maybe Unicron's transformation process proved too stressful 
for his body to withstand.  But in any case, I was convinced.  Armada was
an abomination, and had to be destroyed before he turned the Decepticons
against all of the Unicron-born.
     I turned on my radio.  "Cyclonus," I ordered, "Send me Armada."
     "My lord, if you are receiving visitors, Soundwave has requested an
audience," Cyclonus replied.
     I frowned.  Soundwave was one of the Decepticons I considered most 
loyal to me.  Obviously that loyalty had its limits, but at least he
would tell me the truth of what occurred while I was... away.  However, 
I had good reason to want to avoid his mind-scanning abilities right now.
I did not want anyone to see me in a position of either physical or mental
weakness.  Still, a conversation with him would probably do more good than
harm.  
     "Send him in.  Have Armada wait outside until I call for him."  Perhaps
the unfortunate beast's death might serve some greater purpose after all.
     "Yes, mighty one," Cyclonus agreed.
     Soundwave entered moments later.  I stood in the center of the room
to receive him, and for a few moments we simply regarded one another in
silence, measuring each other's strengths and searching for weaknesses.
Finally, I guestured to a chair.  "Be seated," I invited.
     As he settled down, I tood a seat opposite him.  "You requested an
opportunity to ask questions.  This is it."
     "Yes, Galvatron," he intoned, his voice highly processed and slightly
musical.  I have always been facinated by the way it rises to a high pitch
and shifts almost instantly to a blue note.  "Query: do you believe you
are Megatron?"
     I processed the question twice, noting that the real question lay in
how his question was phrased.  Typical Soundwave.  "I wish to hear your 
answer first," I bargained.  "Do I believe that I am Megatron?"
     "Evidence inconclusive," he replied in a baritone voice.
     I was not about to ask about the nature of the evidence.  "Do you 
believe that I am Megatron?" I pressed.
     He took no time to find a way around the question.  "No," he said
emotionlessly.
     The answer was no surprise, but I stiffened nevertheless.  I had no
credible witnesses to my transformation by Unicron, because all of my
companions had undergone the same process.  It was my word, upheld by
my might, which the Decepticons had to believe.
     "A risky gambit, Soundwave.  If I were Megatron, I would have respected
your courage and honesty.  If I were a deluded psychopath claiming to be
Megatron to gain power, I'd have shot you before you could spread your 
doubts to others."  I looked at him expectantly.
     "Evidence remains inconclusive," he replied.  His voice shifted to a
higher, almost amused pitch as he continued, "You wish to do both."

[cont.]





               [Next Part]    -    [Whizdom Central]