Set during the last few minutes of "Predacons Rising". Hell yes, spoilers.
Megatron flew away. Away from Starscream and his grasping ambition, away from his old friend Orion Pax—his enemy, Optimus Prime for so many eons, but now, after everything, Megatron could only see Orion Pax.
He couldn't face his old friend. Not yet. He couldn't deal with any of it, yet. Time to be alone, time to fly high, time to think.
His space-fighter engines drove him high and fast, above everything that happened on the ground. He'd always flown when he needed to think things over, climbing up and up until cities were miniature toys beneath his wings and all his concerns were distant echoes far away.
Perhaps that had been part of what went wrong. Megatron dove and flared out just above the ground, skimming shining ruins at ballistic missile speeds. Cybertron shone with new life, with new potential, but the old ruins were still there, battered and broken by the long war.
Megatron slowed his headlong race and transformed. He landed on a high ridge overlooking the shattered shell of a long-abandoned building, some casualty of the early days of the war. No signs remained to tell the function of the three broken walls and stump of a fourth.
"I still function..." he mused aloud. His voice echoed off the broken walls. But why? I died. The Terrorcons all fell when Prime imprisoned Unicron. The dark energon powers faded with Unicron. I should have gone the way of the Terrorcons. Is it because I still have my spark?
Transforming again, Megatron rose from the ground and flew slowly back, old habit drawing him towards Kaon. He studied the land as he flew over it—more ruins, broken rail lines, blasted power stations, rubble everywhere. We—I did this. He'd been blind, so blind all those millenia.
When did righteous anger turn into wrath and hatred? When did leadership turn into tyranny? He'd started out with an ideal, and a fervour born of anger at the contempt and abuse heaped on him and his people just because of who they were. Worker-caste, slave, servant—how had he forgotten what it was to be oppressed? So easily had he let anger and hate justify violence and tyranny.
Unicron had thrown him back into that pit again, and worse, stripping even his body and will from him, leaving him a naked spark, writhing in endless torment. In the end, not even his hate could sustain him.
"Yet I still function." Megatron had his body back, and his will was his own. The hate and the rage that rode with it were gone, burnt out and stripped away with Unicron. He could see more clearly now.
Am I to be Megatronus once again? The battle-scarred towers of Kaon rose ahead of him, and the sparks of the fallen danced through the air in a thousand colors. Megatron felt a brief pang of grief—of course. Orion did what he had to do to restore everything. I should have stayed; I should have said farewell.
No, I cannot be Megatronus—I am no longer so innocent, and--Orion Pax is gone. These ruins and the name of Megatron are my legacy, a legacy they will not forget. I remain Megatron. But--
Megatron transformed, landing on Darkmount's highest landing pad. The war is over. The old system was destroyed, swept away by the war. Something new will be built on Cybertron, something better. I will not lie down and die—I am Megatron! I still function. What I wrecked, I will rebuild.
-- END --