1) This is a birthday fic for one of my gal pals. Her birthday is on January 1, so she is bonded to Megatron. If you don't get it, go to my bio and check out the birthday matcher my sister and I made while we were bored.

2) This will probably only be four or five chapters long. A cute little ficlet brought about by the careless taunting of my little sister and a merciless bunny that attacked me repeatedly. Enjoy.

Part 1

4,498 words

"Femmes and mechs of all ages and castes! Today, we have a match for all time! The champion of Praxis has come to face our own victor, and you know what that means!"

The crowd roared out the answer, "DEATH MATCH!" with unmatched and barbaric glee.

"That's right, femmes and mechs! So, let's start out this match with a few introductions! Introducing the current gladiatorial champion of Praxis, Beatdown!"

A roar rose from the crowd as the huge door at the left side of the enclosed arena rose slowly, dramatically. Boos and cheers mixed together as the huge, burly, red mech stepped out into the arena. Attached to his forearms were massive blades, and he sliced them around in a showy fashion in an attempt to gain more cheers from his fans. The trick worked, but the noise level rose only a little. His military red optics swept the crowd as he walked to the center of the arena, ignoring the dried energon splatters on the ground around him.

"And of course, the mech you've all heard about, the mech you're all here to see… Megatron!"

Noise filled the underground arena. Screams, cheers, and chants rose from the huge stands surrounding the arena as the door on the right side of the field rose. The mech that stepped out was easily as menacing as Beatdown was. His armor was primarily silver with a few black and white highlights. He stood about thirty-five feet tall and had a thick frame that would catch the optics of any femme. His fingers tapered down to sharp claws, and his dentas were sharp like fangs. He held a smirk on his lips, and as he looked up, he onlined crimson optics dramatically. The crowd roared as he strode forward in a confident saunter, raising his arms as if he had already won the fight. The crowd soaked it up, feeding off his confidence and sending their excitement back through their shouts and cheers. Femmes called out the Kaonian champion's designation, in hopes of gaining his attention, and mechs called out encouragement, wanting to win their bets. The behemoth came to a stop just in front of the Praxian victor and sent said mech a smirk.

"This will be an amusing fight," Beatdown commented with a sneer. "The quaint little Kaonian winner against the Praxian champion. You have no idea who you are up against." Megatron simply smirked.

"Perhaps it is you who is confused. That doesn't matter, though, does it, seeing as it will be your energon staining this ground soon," the silver mech responded in a deep, gravelly voice. The Praxian was about to respond when the announcer continued with his spiel.

"Now, femmes and mechs, we all know how this battle works. These two metal giants will fight it out until one of their sparks stops thrumming, and the other will be named high champion! There are no distance weapons allowed, but melee weapons are acceptable. If a mech is thrown out of the arena, he is immediately disqualified. Are. You. Ready?!" Another cheer rose, and a klik later, a horn blew loudly, signaling the beginning of the fight.

Beatdown was the first to move, lumbering forward to tackle the slightly smaller mech. Megatron smirked as he moved to the side and pulled out a serrated Cybertronium blade from his weapons subspace. The weapon melded to his arm, and he wasted no time in striking out. Beatdown narrowly avoided the blade, catching it with one of his own. He swung the other blade around and cursed when Megatron spun away, only getting nicked by the sword.

"Stop moving, you little fragger!" Beatdown roared as he swung again.

"You are ignorant and lacking in strategy," Megatron commented as he avoided the larger mech's swords easily. He could tell that the mech worked on brute strength, and while Megatron held equal strength, he would not win this battle with it. He vented heavily as he dodged strike after strike, searching for a weak point on the brutish mech's frame. At the moment, though, all he could see was thick, impenetrable armor. It had been something he had looked into before, having armor that thick. Then he mentally paused when he remembered why he had opted out of it. A successful smirk rose to his face when he suddenly switched from defensive to offensive.

"What the frag?!" Beatdown cried when Megatron started slashing at him, aiming for his helm. Beatdown quickly started dodging, working fretfully to protect his optics, which he was certain Megatron was aiming for. Megatron didn't slow his pace. He threw attach after attack, forcing Beatdown to dance around and move swiftly from side-to-side. It took only a fraction breem for the taller mech's cooling system to kick into overdrive. When Megatron heard the tell-tale whine of a cooling system about to overload, he swiftly changed out his sword for a huge, spiked mace. The mace connected to his wrist by a thick chain, and Megatron immediately moved into action. He swung it around with practiced grace, grinning when it connected with his opponent's chest plating. The larger mech lost balance momentarily, but quickly regained it by stepping back. He dodged Megatron's next attack just barely and quickly replaced the swords on his arms with energon whips. Megatron grimaced momentarily as he dodged the other mech's first strike. He hated energon whips. Energon whips fraggin' hurt.

"Stop running, you coward!" Beatdown snarled when Megatron dodged again. The Kaonian threw his mace around again, aiming carefully for the opponent's helm, but Beatdown dodged and retaliated. Megatron roared in pain when the energon whip slashed into his side, leaving a huge gash under just under his chest plating that immediately started leaking energon. A lucky hit, Megatron decided as he continued to dodge despite the throbbing pain in his side. He could still hear Beatdown's cooling system, which meant this battle was almost over anyways. Beatdown landed one more lucky hit on Megatron's left leg before the silver mech finally hit his target: the coolant line on the side of Beatdown's neck. Coolant immediately spurted from the wound, having already been flowing overtime due to the heat of the mech's body, and Beatdown visibly slowed down.

"You… you…" Megatron simply stood there with a smirk as Beatdown attempted to form a coherent sentence. The mech slowly sank to his knees before the smaller gladiator. "You've…"

"Won," Megatron finished for him. Beatdown's helm gave off two sparks, and he collapsed forward as his optics dimmed and his helm started smoking. The crowd roared. There was no denying that though Beatdown's spark still beat, Megatron was the victor. To kill the mech would be superfluous, especially since the mech probably would be dead before anybody could assist him. Melted processors were difficult and expensive to fix. Nobot would spend that kind of money on a gladiator that had just lost. It wasn't worth it.

"Your victor, femmes and mechs! Megatron!" the announcer claimed, which only caused the crowd to roar louder. Megatron soaked up the praise, smirking at the crowd as he left the arena the same way he came. He had better things to do than hang around this place. With his winnings, he would be able to afford a visit to the local energon pub. He grinned as he exited the arena. Tonight held great promise for him…

'Frag!' she thought as she looked through the heavy crowd. Her escort was definitely gone. Gone! Either he was gone, or she was lost. Then again, it was probably both. 'Not good, not good, not good,' she chanted in her mind, thinking only of the rumors she had heard about femmes caught alone in Kaon. It was why she had hired an escort.

::Killsprite, respond!::

It was one of many unmarked comms she had sent to her escort, a small, but nimble blue mech that had escorted mechs and femmes through Kaon multiple times before. Figures it would be her that he lost track of. The femme waded through the crowd of bots that stood in the lobby outside the main arena room. Some were working hard to get outside to head home, but most were collecting bets. The femme in question worked her way through the crowd until she reached an out of the way hallway entrance, one that people seemed to be ignoring. From there, she watched the people bustle around, idly looking for her escort as she did. Unfortunately, she was rather short, only twenty feet tall, and couldn't quite see over the crowd. All she could see was a large array of paintjobs and optics. She could see the blue optics of those of the upper castes, the yellow of the politicians. She could see the red optics of some military builds, mechs who needed to see violence when they weren't causing it, she thought with a sneer. Then she could see a few sets of purple optics, those of the slave class. She couldn't see Killsprite, though.

"Hey!" a voice called out from behind her. She didn't respond, waiting for the mech to walk past her to get whoever he was calling for. She wasn't expecting to feel a hand wrap roughly around her upper arm and whirl her around to face a pair of furious red optics. "Fraggin medic! Always late! Get going and start repairing! We have another match in a few breems!" the mech snapped. The femme's mouth opened in outrage.

"Why you—"

"I'd watch that glossa, or you might lose it," the mech snarled.

"I will not be treated—" The slap may not have rang out to the bots nearby, but there was no denying that she heard it very well as she spun to the floor from the force behind it. She put a hand to her extremely dented cheek as she looked up at the burly black mech in surprise. She could feel the dent with her glossa on the inside of her mouthplates. He had hit her that hard.

"As I said, you better watch that glossa. Now, get going! Start in room four and work your way up. One through three get no repairs this cycle," the mech barked, shoving a first aid kit into her arms as he yanked her to her pedes by the same arm he had grabbed earlier. He shoved her down the hall roughly before turning back to glare at the bots in the lobby. The femme looked down at her arm, which now had dents in the shapes of his fingers, then she looked back at him. He was glaring at her, silently threatening her, so she decided that it would be best to obey. She could have this mech arrested once she got back home.

The trip to the room was relatively short, and she hesitated for quite a while before finally knocking on the door. There was silence for a few kliks before a deep voice granted her entrance. She hesitantly opened the door and stepped into the room. She easily recognized the mech sitting on the berth situated in the center of the room. His huge frame easily towered over her, despite the fact that he was seated on the berth. The armor that covered the lower right section of his chest and his right hip was missing, along with the armor that protected his upper left leg. The femme had to hold back a squeak at the small portion of his protoform that was showing.

"Well, are you going to stand there staring or do your job?" the mech growled. The femme raised an optic ridge and gave the mech a sarcastic look.

"I'm not quite sure. I'm partial to staying over here," she responded honestly. She really didn't want to go anywhere near tonight's victor. There was a reason she had hired an escort: to keep mechs this large away from her. Besides, she really didn't feel like putting up with a rude mech that thought she was a medic. The mech on the berth smirked in amusement.

"I would have you thrown out for that, but then I would be forced to see to my own wounds, and I find that femme's hands are much more… gentle." The last word came out in a husky purr, but the femme ignored it as she approached the mech. She had dealt with mechs like this before. The aristocratic mechs that moved in her circles always thought that every femme alive should desire their company, and they often acted as this mech currently was.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I am, does it? You might regret not kicking me out when you had the chance by the time I'm finished," the femme stated with a grin. The towering mech snorted.

"We shall see," he claimed.

"That we shall," she responded sarcastically. "Now lay back." The mech frowned as he obeyed, obviously expecting a different reaction from her. She didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear that was coursing through her, though, as she opened the first aid box. Like every other noble, she had been taught primary first aid in her schooling, but she wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to do for a wound from an energon whip. She studied the wound carefully, barely resisting the urge to prod it with one of her digits. Well, it looked pretty straightforward… Just put a patch on, and his systems would do the rest. At least. She hoped that was right.

"Do you know what you're doing, or are you completely incompetent?" Megatron questioned in a flat, bored voice. The femme scowled at him, though he was not looking at her, staring instead at the ceiling.

"Get off my case, you rude slagger. I'm here and doing something. That in itself is cause for joy," she hissed irritably.

"My, my. Such harsh language from such a petite femme," Megatron rumbled as he lifted himself up on his elbows to gaze at the femme as she rummaged through the first aid box.

"Yeah? Well, I learned from the best," she grumbled, thinking about how dreadful Blackout's language was. Now that she thought about it, her bodyguard was probably going to be rather miffed when she got back. Then she shrugged it off with a grimace. Blackout was loyal to a fault and wouldn't harm her. Lecture her until her audios offlined, but not harm her.

"That was a fascinating display of emotions, medibot," Megatron noted, breaking into her thoughts. She shuttered her optics in surprise, then looked up from where she had been welding the patch.

"Well, you see, some bots actually have emotions, and we don't feel the need to beat down every mech and femme that comes their way," she replied snidely. Megatron growled lowly at that.

"You overstep your bounds, femme," he snarled, optics brightened in his growing ire. The femme shrugged.

"That's what my opiluk tells me, too. Funny how everybot keeps saying that," she mumbled as she returned to her task.

"Perhaps it is a hint that you should take," the mech suggested lowly. The femme flashed him a cheeky grin.

"Now where's the fun in that?" Megatron frowned at her, not completely certain what to make of her. He was about to start questioning her when the door hissed open and admitted two mechs. The first mech was tall and bulky with black paint and red optics. He gave Megatron a hard look before moving to the side to reveal a small white mech with thin red optics and a smirk on his lip components.

"Megatron, my favorite champion!" he crowed as he strode forward. He glanced at the femme as she finished up the patch on Megatron's side, then he glanced back at Megatron before moving his optics back to femme to get a better look as she moved around to the other side of the berth to work on Megatron's other injury. "Well, what a fine specimen we have here," he purred. He didn't expect her to glare at him like she did, though.

"Cut the slag, Highrater. Transfer my credits, and we will be done for the cycle," Megatron broke in, somehow irritated by Highrater's visual perusal of the little femme that intrigued him so. Highrater frowned as he tore his optics away from the white and gold femme.

"I'm afraid you didn't win any credits this cycle, Megatron," Highrater stated in a mock disappointed voice. Megatron snarled as he moved to sit up. The femme immediately pressed down on his chest.

"Nuh-uh-uh! Don't you dare break that weld! It's slaggin' perfect!" she snapped as Megatron turned his glare to her.

"And such spirit, too! Primus, what I would give to tame a femme like you," Highrater said in a husky voice before Megatron could snap at her. Megatron growled as he turned his attention back to Highrater.

"I won the battle, and as such, I am entitled to two hundred credits!" Megatron argued. Highrater smiled maliciously.

"Ah, but that's not completely true, is it? The rules were that the first mech to extinguish the spark of the other mech would win. Seeing as you left the arena before the mech expired, you forfeited, meaning you won nothing."

"You fraggin' Pit-spawn, creation of a—"

"Now, Megatron! Can you not see we have a femme in the room? Surely, you can control yourself while she is here," Highrater said in a condescending voice.

"You will give him his credits," the femme broke in suddenly. Silence filled the room as the two mechs slowly turned to look at the femme who was giving Highrater a look that only the highest of nobles ever seemed to perfect. The look basically screamed "I am better than you, and you will do what I say or there will be consequences."

"Stay out of this, femme," Megatron ordered, but she did not even spare him a glance, saving her condescending looks for the weasel of a mech standing before her. Highrater, for his part, seemed to ignore Megatron as well, focusing on the beautiful slip of a femme that dare to order him around.

"You are a feisty one, aren't you?" he purred as he prowled over to the femme. "And what, pray tell, are you going to do if I choose not to?" he added as he circled her. She kept her optics on him, glaring darkly at him as he circled her like a bird of prey.

"I'll tell my opiluk about how the circuit leaders are abusing the rights of the gladiators," she responded primly, as if that was the winning blow to a verbal fight. Highrater, however, barked a laugh.

"Oh! Really? Tell me, femme, just who is your opiluk, huh? Some super medic? Is he going to refuse to give us medical assistance for mistreating our gladiators?" he mocked as he came to a stop right in front of her. The femme glared up at him with a successful smirk.

"My opiluk is General Traachon of the High Council," she stated in a very calm voice. All three mechs in the room stiffened, then Highrater relaxed marginally.

"You lie, femme. You have the blue optics of a medic, and Traachon would not let his little creation come to Kaon," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. The femme's smirk grew.

"If you were educated, you would know that blue optics also signify nobility. My danniluk was a Towers femme and a part of the upper-crust of Crystal City, and you are correct. My opiluk does not know I am here, thank Primus, and I hope that he does not find out any time soon, seeing as I left without his permission," the femme responded without hesitation. Highrater frowned then he looked over at Megatron with a glare.

"You planned this! This is all a hoax to make sure you got your credits!" he accused furiously.

"Hardly," the femme said on a snort. "I just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time," she added as she went back to welding the wound on Megatron's leg. Highrater scowled at her.

"You cannot force my hand with false claims," he snarled. The femme scoffed.

"I don't have to force your hand at all. After all, if you refuse to pay your greatest asset, you will eventually lose it. Why should Megatron work for you if you will only withhold his pay?" Highrater's optics widened then narrowed dangerously.

"You will pay for this, femme," he growled as he deliberately dropped a microchip from his hand. With one final huff of anger, Highrater turned on his heel and stalked from the room, the bulky mech following after him. The white and gold femme smiled when the door shut, moving away from Megatron to pick up the credit-transfer chip.

"Now that wasn't too hard. Sentinel was right. I would make a wonderful politician," she chirped with a happy grin. Then she looked at Megatron, and her smile immediately dropped. Anger showed in every part of his expression. His optics were shining a bright crimson, and his body was tensed to attack. His hands were curled into fists, and the femme couldn't help but notice the still-throbbing bruise on the side of her face.

"You little meddling fragger! Do you have any idea what trouble you have just caused for me?!" Megatron snapped, his voice filled with unadulterated fury. The femme jolted and fought the urge to step back.

"I just got you the credits you won," she responded angrily, though she was quivering on the inside. "You should be thanking me!"

"I would have gotten those credits myself, you foolish femme! You think I have not dealt with Highrater's tricks before? Now I will have to worry about how he will retaliate!" The femme blinked in surprise. She had not thought of that. Her attention was drawn back to Megatron rather violently when he rose to his pedes, his massive frame intimidating her without even having to try.

"Megatron, I—"

"You have made my life infinitely worse, slagger," Megatron growled. The femme took a step backwards when he stepped forward. "And for that, I demand retribution."

The battle she had just witnessed flashed through her mind. Strong fists flying, energon spurting out, and the barbaric roars of battle-hungry mechs. Then her mind flashed to what her femme friends had told her about Kaonian mechs. 'They only want one thing from a femme, and they'll take it by force if they have to.' Her mind seemed to sputter, then it kicked into high gear.

"No!" she shrieked in terror. She tossed the chip away and dashed from the room. Megatron snarled in fury and prepared to go after her when a new thought flashed through his mind. It would be pushing it, but two hundred credits would afford him a trip to Iacon and back. What better way to gain retribution than by visiting the little meddler in her own housing unit? Then he shook his helm as he exited the room and moved in the direction he knew she had gone. He was not so cruel as to stalk her to her home. Besides, the consequences that would befall him should he be found at her home were a far cry worse than the consequences of her own meddling.

"No! I already told you that I am not a medibot!" a familiar femme voice snapped. Megatron smirked, knowing he had found his little femme and so quickly! Megatron rounded the final corner, and what he saw made him scowl fiercely. Riptop, a mech that ensured the gladiators' health and fitness, was leaning over his little femme, who now sported new dents in her left arm and her right cheek.

"I don't care what you are! You will do the job you were hired for, or you will give us back every credit we paid you!" Riptop yelled furiously.

"I don't work for anyone, least of all, you!" the femme shouted in response, and Riptop raised a hand in preparation to backhand her. The femme remained stationary, staring at him as if she were silently daring him to hit her again and promising retribution of her own kind. Megatron was about to speak out for her, to claim her as his own when a deep, resounding voice filled the near-empty lobby.

"I would suggest you drop that hand, or I will be forced to cut it off," that deep voice stated, his voice filled with dark promise.

"Fraaag," the femme groaned, sagging against the wall as her attention moved completely from the mech threatening her to the mech that was walking into the hallway, headed in her direction. The mech was large, easily as tall as Megatron, and he had the red optics of a military mech. Bulky armor covered his frame, and six copter blades hung from his back. He walked like a mech with a mission, and Megatron couldn't help but feel his battle subroutes online as he watched the bulky mech approach his femme.

"How did you find me, Blackout?" the femme demanded. The helicopter smirked.

"A mech by the name of Killsprite sent me a datapacket. Gladiator pit fights, Novashine? Honestly? If you wanted to see violence so much, I could have taken you down to the pits of Iacon. We do have our own underground circuit," the bigger bot responded.

"Who the frag are you?" Riptop interjected tersely, red optics narrowed at the new mech. Blackout fixed him with an irate glare.

"My designation is Blackout. I am Novashine's bodyguard, which is why I will be forced to kill you if you harm her again," the helicopter responded. Megatron frowned as he remained hidden behind the corner.

"Blackout, I'm a big femme. I can take care of this without your assistance," the femme stated with a scowl. The black and gray mech gave her a condescending smirk.

"That remains to be seen. Now, you need to be back in Iacon in two joors," Blackout said in a no-nonsense voice. Novashine grimaced at the mech before but rose to her pedes anyways, scowling at Riptop as she passed him.

"Fine. Let's go, then," she said primly as she strode over to her bodyguard.

"Good femme," he goaded with a grin.

"Don't push your luck, mech. I'll make you recharge outside," she mock-threatened as she moved out the door with him following her closely.

"Yeah, your opiluk will definitely go for that."

Megatron watched them leave with narrowed optics, a frown on his face plates. So the femme had not been lying. He grimaced, knowing that any advancements made on her would end very badly for him. It would be easier to simply deal with Highrater's schemes than pursue the repayment from this femmes for his new troubles. He scowled heavily as he turned and returned to his room.

So... chapter 1. I'm kinda blazing through this one. :)

Yes, General Traachon is an actual mech, and yes, he's in the Council of Elders. And yes... he's an idiot. Sad, but true. You will get to see his canon foolishness soon. :) Review, my friends!