Post War Cybertron - Tumblr Posts
Immortals
Cybertronians are ancient beings, but even they age. Their frames deteriorate, and if that isn't what puts them in the grave, then eventually their sparks grow weary and fade. It is the way of things, and with time, every Cybertronian reaches the end of their road. All accepted this reality, but with the passage of time, a few mecha have found that they simply do not suffer as the rest.
Megatron more so than others.
[Please note this is a solid 10k nightmare that was also posted on Ao3 so be ready to READ if you click on the read more.]
━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙
Death was by no means a new concept for Megatron. He was raised amidst it, lived relishing in it, and now wandered through the remnants of places that once flourished. In a way, it was part of him just as much as he was part of it. He brought death wherever he went, as such it was only fitting in a rather poetic sense that death spared him its embrace. He offered so many sparks to satisfy the appetite of the void, why would it not reward him by refusing him the chance to perish in peace?
For several long vorns, all he did was wander the stars after being freed from Unicron’s control. He had no purpose without his cause, and he had no desire to see any suffer as he did under the great devourer. Whatever urge to conquer once plagued his spark was long gone. In its place… he felt the desire to instead try and find himself again. So much madness and devastation. He forgot who he was, and he desperately wished to recover that lost sense of self.
He wasn’t entirely sure when the decision was made, but at some point during his wanderings, not even a millennia after he fled to the stars, Megatron meandered his way back to Cybertron. There was no hiding who he was, nor did he really bother trying. What was the point of that? Everyone was bound to know him based on his face alone regardless of whether or not he went through the trouble of filing down spikes and rusted armor plates. He fully expected to be met with raised blasters and blades, however, he was instead greeted by familiar faces and smiles.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“Look who crawled in from the asteroid belt. While you were off doing who knows what, I Starscream was given a senatorial seat!” Starscream stood as proudly as ever, a slag-eating smile on his face as he gestured toward the badge on his shoulder. Megatron could only be thankful it wasn’t a crown or gaudy cape the seeker had chosen as his designator of profession and rank.
“I can see that, Starscream” Megatron hissed as the seeker continued to preen with pride. Beside him, Soundwave and Optimus stood. The former refused to even look at Megatron, an unsurprising reaction when all things were considered. The latter merely smiled as kindly as ever, his frame still bulky and unsightly, no longer the smaller more mobile form that he possessed before their Primus forsaken war.
“It is good that you have returned Megatron. I believe there is much to discuss.” The Prime stated simply as if Megatron hadn’t fragged off for almost a millennia and then sauntered back to Cybertron still carrying the burden of the many lives he ended. Then again, if the Prime allowed Starscream of all mecha to have a seat of power, perhaps Megatron being greeted kindly was not totally out of the question. Optimus was always a soft sparked fool.
“You aren’t going to try and blast me to bits, Prime? One would think after a war as bitter as ours that the people would demand justice.” Starscream scoffed, Soundwave twitched from where he was looking over a datapad, and the situation as a whole grew somewhat tense until Optimus replied.
“The war is over Megatron. You are no longer leader of the Decepticons, nor am I the sole leader of the Autobots. Things have changed, amends have been made. I will not say there is no lingering bitterness, but there is a second chance for you if you wish to take it.” A long silence reigned as Megatron considered. The world around him was not the one he knew or wanted, but it was Cybertron, it was his home. He had no intention of lingering for long, but what was the harm in remaining for a time?
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Arrangements were made and Megatron took up a job as a simple poet. His spark demanded he climb the ladder and try to wrestle some form of control away from the senate that formed in his absence. However he did not trust himself to not abuse that power should he gain it, not when the power of Unicron still tainted him. He remained quiet, contemplative, and docile as he worked on his various philosophical writings, largely uncaring of the world outside. Too many new faces, too many strange places with new names that were once locations he considered ‘home’.
Most only recognized him from their history lessons and thus treated him fairly normally. A few of the older bots wandering around sneered or hurried away in fear, but as a general rule, Megatron was left alone when he did go to the cities for whatever reason. He had no need for fuel, Unicron’s taint made the inherent necessity of energon null and void. It was disturbing at times, but he preferred it that way. It meant he was not required to head to cities often to restock. The newness of Cybertron was unsettling, and he was perfectly content to remain far away from the cities out in the renewed spire forests near what was now titled New Kaon. He didn’t want to or rather didn’t trust himself to get involved in the changing state of his homeworld. Thus, he kept quiet, held his helm low, and focused on himself.
The only ones he interacted with were old companions and enemies, mecha he knew well from war. He never left his hideaway out in the woods save for when Optimus dragged him away to do something or other or give his opinion on a legislation. The Prime seemed to have made it his life mission to redeem everyone and everything if his growing collection of reformed Decepticon and Autobot advisors said anything. Still, it was a comfort in a way. It made Megatron feel… normal, especially once he finally began dealing with old wounds.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“Megatron: Abandoned the cause.” Soundwave sat beside him on his porch, looking up at the stars above. He had not spoken to his former second-in-command since his arrival on Cybertron. Neither was willing to speak to the other despite how much it ate away at them both. It hurt too much.
“I know,” Megatron replied simply. There was little else to say. What could he say? Soundwave gave everything to their cause, believing in Megatron and what they fought for. Then without warning, Megatron abandoned that cause, leaving all their efforts to waste away and Cybertron to fall under Autobot rule, at least technically. The senate was composed of mecha from all factions. Optimus was a fool, but he and his inner circle were good about trying to have a wide variety of opinions.
“Megatron: Left Soundwave to rust. Left Shockwave in Autobot servos. Left loyal followers to be captured and imprisoned.” Again, his oldest friend spoke and Megatron repeated his prior phrase.
“I know.”
Soundwave sat still beside him, his visor keeping Megatron from knowing what expression he was making. They said nothing for what had to be at least a long thirty or so kliks, both lost in their thoughts. The stars shone above them, a testament to the glory of their world when the skies were not blackened with smog and the fumes of burning cities. He could still smell the plasma in his olfactory sensors, he could still hear the screams in the dead of his recharge cycles. Despite that, there was peace to be found just… sitting and observing with his dear friend as if they were both still young and hopeful.
“Will you stay? Will you abandon us again?” A soft and grim voice called out to him in the gloom of the cycle. Megatron hummed, feeling his thrusters warm a degree as he considered again retreating to the stars. This world was not home anymore, but those he cared for remained. It would not do for him to leave them for good, not after the torment he dragged them through in the name of freedom.
“I will Soundwave. Until there are none who care for me, I shall remain.” Spindly digits reached out and gently touched him. Megatron did not need to look to appreciate the weight on his arm where Soundwave offered a degree of comfort. They needed each other, more than anything else, they needed familiarity.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Time was something Megatron did not often pay close attention to in his quiet dwelling. His servos were occupied with his written works, his mind consoled by the occasional queries sent to him by Soundwave and Optimus, and his spark was eased as he watched the forest around him thrive. The anniversaries of Cybertron’s restoration were his only true method of keeping time. First, there was the 691st, which Optimus dragged him off to in order to show the people how much old wounds were healing. Then there was the 843rd where Starscream threw a tart at his helm and spurred on one of the most impressive fuel fights Megatron had ever seen.
The 927th where Soundwave scared Optimus’s favored medic so badly that the spymaster was nearly met with a blade. The 1034th where the Earth team Megatron fought against during the last days of the war threw all their collected blackmail at one another. Then there was the 1130th where a whole batch of younglings managed to convince Megatron to tell them a few stories…
Vorns passed and yet not once did it seem that anyone he cared for changed at all. Starscream was still a glitch, Soundwave was as dutiful as ever assisting the Prime and his senate in handling internal affairs, and Shockwave remained a genius in science once he was allowed to roam on parole. Knockout was doing something or other and evidently making a great profit off it, and the Autobots Megatron recognized seemed to be doing just fine. The world changed, but the mecha he knew stayed the same for the most part, that is save for the odd paint change such as Starscream’s botched attempt to sport gold for a short time.
They were constants, stable reminders of who Megatron was and what influence he had aside from the pure devastation he wrought. But of course, that mindset did not last. Not once he made the decision to visit the rebuilt city of Iacon on a whim. When he arrived, Optimus sat with the elected senators discussing policies and other things that Megatron had little care for. However, as he looked around, concern and a degree of shock were quick to worm their way into his spark.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“Did you really invite him to assist in these matters, Optimus? I can’t exactly patch you up like I used to if he goes off the rails!” Ratchet, the Prime’s loyal lap dog, raised his cane into the air with a scowl as he gestured toward where Megatron stood in growing horror near the door. He hated the fragger with a vengeance, yet he couldn’t help but wonder… When did the medic get a cane? When did his plating dull so much? At what point did his joints begin cracking every fourth step?
“I did not invite him, old friend. However his presence is welcome, he has much he can contribute.” Optimus smiled gently and gestured for Megatron to take a seat in an empty chair a few seats down from him. Megatron obliged, albeit with a degree of hesitation as he examined the rest of the senate members.
Most were new faces he did not know well aside from what he gathered from the data Soundwave occasionally sent him for review. However, those he did know were… different. Perhaps the celebrations clouded his judgment, but now that he saw them without the atmosphere of cheer and remembrance, their differences were stark and clear.
“Finally done with your self-imposed exile Lord Megatron? I am sure there is some position I could have you fill serving under one of my officers.” The urge to chuck something at the arrogant seeker was strong, but any retort died on his glossa as he observed his former officer. Starscream had gotten a frame change long before Megatron returned from the stars, and it never really struck him how drastic the differences were until that moment when he really looked.
Starscream’s plating was darker, no longer lustrous, and a sure sign of nanite failure. His wings, which he religiously held high throughout all of his youth, now dipped to a degree due to tiredness in what were once strong cables and hydraulics. His face was sharper, still polished and shining, but covered in small nicks and creases in the metal from long vorns of continual activity. What was most startling to Megatron was the way in which the seeker sat. No longer did he hold himself as if he were attempting to impress everyone, instead he sat perfectly composed, still proud, but with an air of earned respect. Shockwave and Soundwave were not much better off. Both sat slightly hunched in their seats, their armor dulled and any exposed components appearing far frailer than they once were.
Where had his proud warriors gone? Megatron had not experienced any signs of wear and tear, so why should his officers be dealing with it so seriously? If they were being overworked, he would have words for the Prime…
And yet, seeing how Ratchet all but hobbled along with his cane as he grumbled his way to his chair, Megatron began to doubt it was Optimus’s doing. The others at the table were perfectly fine, almost exuding youthful energy with how vibrantly their plating shone and with how energetic their voices were as they put forward ideas and debated.
“Let us continue, shall we?” Optimus guided the conversation along with expert precision that left Megatron slightly bewildered. The Prime was always an excellent speaker, but now he seemed older, wiser perhaps. His optics were tired even as he maintained his smile and welcomed the late arrivals.
Megatron sat in silence throughout the meeting for the most part. All he could do was watch and finally see how much those he knew had degraded. He struggled to believe it, especially when his armor still glinted and his spark hummed with power. This wasn’t right, it couldn't be right. How could those he knew be falling to pieces while he endured? Perhaps he was overreacting. Optimus seemed fine after all.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
After the revelation of his compatriots' degradation, Megatron made far more frequent trips to the cities to visit them. Death was nothing new, and yet he could hardly comprehend it in those he once saw as functionally immortal. Cybertronians did not wither as other species, it was not in their nature. However, given time, their frames would break down, and should that fail to bring them to their end, their spark would weaken and putter out at some point, regardless of the newness of a frame.
Most simply never bothered trying to hold themselves together once their frames started to fall apart if they lived long enough to reach that point. Self-repair systems could keep a mech up and running in prime condition for millions of years. As such when they finally started to show signs of aging, it was often taken as a sign and allowed to be. No matter how many components were replaced or how many times mind and spark were transferred, once the original frame started to crumble, it was only a matter of time. Some like Ratchet could last far longer than others for any plethora of reasons, but sooner or later, death would come for them, one haunting step at a time.
After that meeting, Megatron knew it would happen eventually. He knew sooner or later those he cared for would start to fall one by one. Even still, when he came to visit Shockwave and found the mech dead in his laboratory, his spark long had gone out and his frame undisturbed due to his lack of friends… Megatron found it hurt more than he thought it would.
Shockwave’s funeral was a short and sweet affair. Those who knew him from before the war bid their final goodbyes, a few loyal Decepticons offered condolences, and surprisingly, the Predacons who had taken to ruling over the still undeveloped west came as well. They knelt before Shockwave’s gray and lifeless frame and offered quiet words of thanks to the scientist for giving them life. As Shockwave left no will behind, there were no objections when Predaking took the body of his creator to be laid to rest in the lands he had dominion over. A great scientist, a master geneticist, and once upon a time, a true friend.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“Thank you for all you did Shockwave. I do not know if this is what you would have wanted, but I doubt you would have minded this outcome all that much.” Predaking had taken care to ensure that Shockwave’s memory was properly upheld with a memorial engraved with abstract images of the scientist weaving life from mere bones. Megatron appreciated the effort, especially once blue crystal flowers began to grow around the headstone of his old companion.
He hoped Shockwave would have at least found a degree of satisfaction in knowing that his creations endured. The reforged Predacons held little love for their creator, but Shockwave was the one who gave them life, and their appreciation was quite clear in their efforts. The memorial was spotless and the newly emerged Predacons that climbed from the Well were all brought before Shockwave’s grave at least once.
Megatron liked to think Shockwave would have been pleased to know that his life served as an example to his creations. Last Megatron checked, there were a few Predacons who had opted to follow in the pedesteps of their creator, aiming to be scientists and researchers like Shockwave. There seemed to be an underlying urge to surpass him amongst all of the newly forged Predacons. Megatron personally found it rather amusing. None would ever be as brilliant as his head scientist.
“Rest well Shockwave. I will return to visit you soon.” Megatron smiled as he watched younger Predacons meander around, observing him in silence. He sighed and patted the memorial once before turning to leave. A growing heaviness weighed down his spark, but he paid it little mind. His old comrade would want him to be strong. Shockwave always despised it when emotions overcame rationality.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
It really shouldn’t have surprised him when the old bag of bolts finally offlined. But it did despite the fact that it was a long time coming. Ratchet’s death was devastating for many of the Autobots, but Optimus more so than any other. It had been a rather sudden thing apparently. According to Soundwave, Ratchet had bid Optimus a good recharge cycle and then passed quickly sometime during the early groons of the cycle without warning. No one suspected much until he failed to arrive for his shift in the clinic. At that point, it was Ratchet’s apprentice and caretaker First Aid who came to check on him only to find his frame lifeless but still warm to the touch.
Ratchet was a cranky glitch who, while often right in matters of science and medicine, was not the most pleasant to be around. Despite that, hundreds of former Autobots came to his funeral. Ratchet was buried in the forests of Southern Iacon, as per his will. Optimus was too large to be part of the procession carrying the medic’s coffin, but that did not stop him from bidding his companion farewell with the most saddened and sorrowful song Megatron had ever heard from the vocalizer of his former foe.
The medic was given military honors and his will was seen to. Megatron only came to the funeral partially to spite the fragger with his own continued functioning but largely so that he could be there for the Prime. Bumblebee and other mecha Megatron knew were close to Ratchet stayed for several groons, but they eventually left after their coolant stores ran dry. Despite that, when the other Autobots cleared out and the last came to bid their farewells, Optimus Prime did not move from where he stood at the side of the freshly made grave, his sword dug into the ground and his expression firm as he gazed resolutely ahead.
Even when acid rain rolled in from the Rust Sea, Optimus did not so much as twitch. He remained quiet, standing guard over the grave of his comrade in what Megatron could only imagine was one final act of loyalty. The rain did not hurt Optimus much, not with how sturdy he was built, but as his paint melted and was washed away by brutal winds, Megatron decided to linger.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“These rains will continue for cycles, Optimus. How long do you intend to remain here?” Megatron stood beside the Prime as the wind howled as the rain assaulted his frame. It didn’t hurt, his armor was touched by the Unmaker. Next to nothing save for the strongest of weapons could damage him. However, Optimus was not the same. The Prime was hardy, that much was true. But he was still mortal in the end, at least in frame. The rains chipped away at his paint and had to be aggravating with their sting as acid puttered against increasingly sore plating.
“I will remain until I have fulfilled my promise.” Megatron raised a brow at the Prime’s words, watching on curiously as Optimus started to hum quietly, his blade still driven into the ground and his stance firm.
“And what is that promise?” He questioned cautiously as the wind picked up in severity, battering his and Optimus’s frames with a greater vengeance. The Prime remained quiet for a long few kliks, seemingly lost in thought before at last, he replied.
“It was one of our rites we performed during the war. We made many promises that cycle, not all of which we were able to fulfill. But one of them was that should one of us fall… the other was to stand guard one last time.” Megatron said nothing as the Prime continued to stand, his expression stoic and strong. Optimus and Ratchet’s relationship was something Megatron never fully bothered to look into. It was not relevant to the war, and after his return to Cybertron, it simply was not important. Whatever their connection, they never made a show out of it.
Still, it was quite clear that their bond, regardless of its type, ran deep enough for Optimus Prime to wish to endure the long watch, unmoving until their final rite was complete. It was sweet in a sense, but Megatron found himself more uncertain than anything else as he observed the slight crease around Optimus’s optics. Reaching up to touch his own face revealed nothing of the sort, and for that reason, Megatron worried.
Optimus’s frame was biologically far younger than his due to his reforging at the behest of the other Primes. Combined with the Matrix ensuring the Prime could not die due to his spark puttering out… there were worrying implications. How was it that Optimus and so many others were aging when Megatron did not? Was he like the old medic in that death was taking its sweet time getting to him? Or was there something else, something far grimmer to be concerned with?
━━━━━━━━━━━━
After Ratchet, things seemed to fall apart far faster. Almost as if a switch had been flipped, suddenly Megatron could see the differences in everyone.
Soundwave became frailer, even reaching the point where he physically required the aid of symbiotes to function. His sight grew weaker and his senses poorer so that he could either find himself confined to using a cane or getting symbiotes. Soundwave was quick to choose the latter. Megatron’s former spymaster was not pleased in the slightest when he was offered a few young symbiotes without carrier units, but he accepted them begrudgingly. Often he would shoo them away during Megatron’s visits, usually complaining off and on about how energetic they were. Deep down though, it was quite clear Soundwave cared a great deal about them. They were too high energy for his tastes, but the former spymaster tended to them dutifully and they in turn showered him with assistance when it was required.
Even still, Megatron was always somewhat distraught when he visited. It was not hard to realize that he simply… did not age. It had been millennia and Megatron felt no weaker in spark, body, or mind. He had no need to visit a medic to confirm it. He could sense it in his very core whenever he took Soundwave’s arm to help him walk. They were almost the same age and yet Soundwave had a cloud of death lingering above him at all times. It was harder to accept than he thought it would be when he watched Soundwave trip and break his leg for the first time from a simple fall.
Speaking with his dear friend in the hospital was optic opening for him to say the least.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“I apologize for not catching you, Soundwave. I was not paying close enough attention. I thought the fall would not have affected you so greatly.” Megatron stood by the berthside of his former spymaster. Soundwave for his part lay still in the berth with his arms placed at his sides and his venting was so shallow that it was downright disturbing. He looked so very thin from where Megatron towered over him. His wrists especially seemed two kliks and one stiff breeze away from breaking like a rust stick.
“Soundwave: Understands. Megatron: Has not fully comprehended situation.” Megatron gave his companion the most befuddled look he could manage, and in response, Soundwave laughed.
It was a broken and raspy sound that led his vents to hitch in what had to be a painful manner. Soundwave’s symbiotes were quick to flock around him, wiping down his vent filters and adjusting his berth settings so that he was sitting up a bit more. The little things were worried sick, but Soundwave merely hummed and waved them off with one stick-thin arm. They obliged and stepped back after a moment. It hurt Megatron somewhere in his spark to watch the scene. Less than a millennia ago he wouldn’t have put it past Soundwave to be able to eliminate him in the arena. Yet now he laid in a medical berth, his leg welded back into place but his frame so small and fragile looking as to make the repairs seem far from satisfactory.
“Megatron: Has not aged a cycle since Cybertron’s restoration. Forever youthful. Frame still strong. Mind still sharp. Spark still powerful. Megatron: Untouched my time.” Soundwave gestured toward Megatron’s shining armor, particularly his shoulder plating and his optics with one painfully thin digit. The symbiotes made noises of agreement from where they huddled nearby but otherwise said nothing as Soundwave continued.
“Soundwave: Not like Megatron. The others: Not like Megatron. We age. We decay. We will die.” Megatron paused as the words registered. His spark flared in his chassis in denial. Logically he knew Soundwave was right. He was different on a fundamental level now. Whatever Unicron did to him changed him, made it so that unless he was cut down, nothing would touch him. Shockwave had already fallen, it was only to be expected that others would soon follow…
“That won’t happen yet, not for some time. You still have strength in you, my friend. I know you can endure.” Reaching out, Megatron was as gentle as he could be in taking Soundwave’s servo and holding it. The former spymaster shook his helm slowly as he grasped Megatron’s far larger digits with such pitiful strength that Megatron felt true fear worm its way into his spark. Soundwave had always been by his side, ever since the beginning. To lose him-
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Soundwave: Will one day offline. Megatron: Will be left alone.” Soundwave lifted his other arm and with both servos held Megatron’s far larger one. There was a hint of desperation in Soundwave’s field as he pulled himself up as much as he could and began to speak again.
“Soundwave and others: Will not be here forever. Megatron: Will endure?” Silence reigned for a long moment as Megatron’s spark flared in pain and grief. He did not even wish to consider losing Soundwave… but now he knew it would one cycle be reality. It was going to tear him apart, but he refused to leave Soundwave without comfort.
“I will try.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━
It hurt to think on Soundwave’s words, even if Megatron knew he was right. His fellows were aging, younger mecha were taking their place. Soundwave was quickly forced to retire after the incident with his leg, and a younger model bearing the same designation was swiftly pushed into the vacant position. The original Soundwave taught his younger namesake as much as he could, but he was weakening and many of his cycles were spent in his hab in the center of Iacon where he could still be of use if need be.
Starscream was not much better.
Over the vorns, he and Starscream had largely reached a strange agreement that bordered on true friendship. Megatron would visit Vos off and on, and in return he would be welcomed and treated as a guest, sometimes even helping Starscream run the city he had dominion over. But it became painfully clear that Starscream was weakening. He still looked his finest at all times, but more tasks were delegated to his younger assistants, and his flights were shorter and less in sync with those he traveled alongside. Starscream’s steps were slower, his wings held lower, and his voice deeper and with an undertone of wisdom, Megatron never expected to hear in his former officer.
At some point, Starscream had Conjunxed a Speaker from a colony world, one whom Megatron only knew as Windblade. Megatron missed their ceremony since no one informed him of it, but from what he knew, she was far younger and tended to handle rulership when Starscream could not. Supposedly the Conjunxing was merely political, but Windblade seemed to genuinely care for the ailing Lord of Vos, if only in a manner not too dissimilar to an Amica. They even took on a whole gaggle of sparklings of their own to raise, a surprise to Megatron who all but expected Starscream to try his best to be an immortal ruler for as long as physically possible.
The named Aerialbots were highly skilled due to Starscream’s training, but their existence and excellence only served to further show Starscream’s age. Every vorn his sparklings grew stronger and his Conjunx took more control. It was a slow and sad decline, one that Starscream surprisingly handled with grace. By the time he actually sat down to speak with Starscream one-on-one around Cybertron's 5491st anniversary of restoration, Megatron found himself even more distraught.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“Thank you for coming to visit, Megatron… I worried I would not be able to see you again.” Starscream’s voice was deep and rumbling from long vorns of use. His usual snark was nowhere to be seen as he gazed up at the skies, taking occasional sips of his energon as he observed the Aerialbots performing feats of flight above. His optics were dim and his plating dull, and yet he still smiled softly as he watched his five sparklings soar through the skies in perfect sync. Megatron wanted to be awed by the display and pleased with Starscream’s success in teaching, but he couldn’t let go of Starscream’s words. The seeker he knew would rather find him dead in a gutter than talk to him for any reason that did not have an underlying benefit.
“They remind me of Skywarp and Thundercracker.” Starscream mused as the Aerialbots performed a perfect roll, leaving twisting trails of smoke behind them. Following his gaze, Megatron had to admit it was impressive. And yet… it wasn’t Starscream and his trine. They were new, not mecha that Megatron cared to know or was particularly attached to.
“You have taught them well.” Megatron settled on commenting as the Aerialbots performed a few twists that Skywarp and Thundercracker performed with far more eloquence alongside their trine leader. If Starscream shared that opinion, he said nothing as he merely hummed and continued to watch for a long few kliks.
“They are good mecha, Megatron. They are young and just as arrogant as any other seeker, but with time, I know they will do well.” Confusion radiated off Megatron in waves until he saw the wistful smile Starscream had plastered on his face. It seemed so… wrong for the ambitious fragger that Megatron both loved and hated to be bearing anything close to a smile of contentment and peace. He seemed older, wiser, and more ancient than Megatron despite the fact that their ages leaned more in Megatron’s favor in regard to experience.
“Why did you call me here, Starscream? You have always been ambitious and a pain in the aft. Seeing you like this is unsettling.” It took a moment, but as Starscream registered what was said, he chuckled in what was almost a fond manner before he put down his energon cube and turned to face Megatron properly. Starscream had always been a spindly thing, but seeing him so small was a bit of a shock, especially so soon after really seeing Soundwave’s state. The cape the Lord of Vos wore did give him a bit of extra bulk, but beneath it all, he was thin, weak, and aging.
He was no longer the Air Commander Megatron relied on for so many millennia during the war.
“I doubt you’ve noticed much until now considering your circumstances, but I’m old Megatron. All of us are. Even Prime is getting on in vorns. We are all tired, and all those little things that meant so much even a millennia ago simply no longer matter.” The Winglord coughed somewhat harshly, causing him to grip the table and shake for a moment. Megatron reached out to assist but was waved off as Starscream collected himself and continued.
“I’m out of time. Windblade will be the next Winglord and my sparklings will assist her in leading. I tell you this because I want you to keep an optic on them, just to make sure they stay on track. The Aerialbots are arrogant little glitches just like I was. They will need someone to remind them of their place every now and then.” As if to prove his point, the five Aerialbots hooted and hollered as they flipped overhelm, diving toward the ground and shooting up at the last possible moment. Pretentious and arrogant indeed.
“I understand. I won’t be soft with them though.” Starscream laughed again, this time with more of the gusto Megatron recalled. Only it lacked the malicious undertone he was used to, a fact that threw Megatron for a loop despite being well aware that Starscream lost most of his aggression vorns upon vorns ago. Megatron just hadn’t been able to see it amidst the cloud of his thoughts.
“Give them a few beatings. The little glitches will need it once I am gone.” No more words were exchanged between them as Megatron abruptly stood and marched off. Starscream frowned but did not stop him. A hint of regret prodded at his spark, but he paid it no mind. He had no interest in hearing his former Air Commander discuss his death, not when Megatron was not acutely aware that he would likely never be faced with such a prospect.
Not anymore.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Starscream’s prediction was right. Within the next half vorn, the Lord of Vos passed away quietly in his gardens, held aloft by a thin hammock so that he could feel the wind gushing past his wings as his spark, at last, went out. Megatron attended the funeral alongside Soundwave and Optimus. Both his companions offered words of condolence for the loss and offered Windblade their sympathy. Megatron followed in their pedesteps and even went so far as to give Starscream’s grieving widow a few old trinkets he’d kept around from his former Air Commander.
He was unsure if it did anything, but Windblade offered her thanks all the same. Megatron merely felt… nothing. Even deca-cycles afterward, he was void, cold, and unfeeling. He didn’t want to feel. It hurt too much to think about the newest absence in his life. Shockwave was one thing, but Starscream was another.
He tried not to contemplate the loss of another familiar face or the increasing number of new ones that took Starscream’s place at the odd meeting he attended. Instead, Megatron spent more of his time with those who remained, clinging to Soundwave and oddly enough even Optimus as much as he could. Occasionally he would fly to Vos, and as per Starscream’s final request, beat around the Aerialbots to remind them that they were not in fact as amazing as they thought they were. It was humorous to a degree, but largely sorrowful above all else. The defiant look in the optics of the Aerialbots was far too similar to Starscream for Megatron’s liking.
He tried to only come to Vos when required, but when he was there, he always made sure to walk past the statue dedicated to Starscream, usually leaving some random piece of jewelry behind as well. He liked to think that a younger Starscream would have been both pleased and offended, and that alone made the effort worth it.
Then as if to pour acid into the wound, a mere twenty vorns after Starscream’s passing, Soundwave passed away in the comfort of his home, surrounded by his symbiotes. Megatron hated himself for not being there, he despised that he was not made aware of Soundwave’s passing until he returned to his residence and only became concerned due to a lack of messages, resulting in him reaching out to Optimus. His spark screamed in denial, grief, and rage. However, there was nothing he could do aside from bite back tears when Soundwave’s funeral was held and his last will and testament read out.
Soundwave wanted his frame to be cremated and his ashes turned into gemstones to be given to each of his symbiotes and to Megatron. It was such a small thing, but when the eldest of Soundwave’s symbiotes came to him and offered him a small black jem already within a pendant and ready to be worn… he wept softly and held it close. He didn’t want to believe that Soundwave was gone, not while he remained pristine and not so soon after Starscream. Optimus was his only comfort in the following few vorns. The Prime took up the position Soundwave left in Megatron’s life, and soon enough, Megatron retreated to his hab in the forests and received reports once a deca-cycle.
For a long time, Megatron could not bear to leave his place hidden away in the forests. He warded off wandering mecha who came too close and convinced Optimus to give him the land so that none could intrude and break him from his reverie. He hated the new faces, he hated the new sights. It was so different and always changing on the surface of the world he once called home… and yet he did not change with it. Forever a remnant, a relic of a war that ended millennia earlier.
He did not weep when he was informed of Knockout’s passing, then of Arcee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and countless other names that he recognized as both Autobot and Decepticon in origin. He did not attend their funerals, nor did he visit what remained of his former comrades. No, instead he stayed hidden away, unwilling to deal with it all and instead trying to comfort himself by wearing the pendant made of Soundwave’s ashes.
He managed to get away with his behavior for roughly a dozen vorns before Optimus seemed to have had enough as the next thing Megatron knew, the Prime was on his doorstep and promptly invited him to visit Iacon. The prospect caused his spark to ache, but the familiarity of the one he once knew to be a foe and long before that a friend…
He couldn’t find it within himself to object, not after seeing the weariness around Optimus’s optics.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“You are the Master Archivist now? How are you managing such a position alongside being the head of the Council?” The archives were deep and dark, just as they were back when Megatron was still but a gladiator and Optimus not yet a Prime. In the back of his processors, he was nearly certain the archives would have been renovated to match the newest trends, but it seemed Optimus had kept the pre-war aesthetic. It was a comfort despite the mix of good and bad memories that befell him in response.
“I imagine you have not been keeping track of current affairs, but I have not been head of the Council since Ratchet passed. I handled some affairs for them from here, but otherwise, I have focused my efforts on keeping our history preserved.” The Prime walked softly despite his towering frame almost matching Megatron’s. Many of his gaudy outer plating attachments had thinned and his frame overall seemed somewhat weaker, but it was nothing as prominent as the frailty Starscream and Soundwave showed before their deaths. Optimus’s words almost didn’t reach him amidst the storm of it all, but Megatron still found it within himself to feel a degree of shock.
How out of touch was he?
“What of your scout and the rookie you took a liking to? How do they fare?” Megatron asked, partially to try and distract himself but largely to try and get Optimus to speak on something Megatron actually knew. The yellow nuisance and the elite guardsmech rookie were two mecha that Megatron despised for their efforts during the war but also held respect for due to their show of skills. He didn’t care for them, but if they got Optimus talking and discussing subjects that didn’t cause Megatron’s spark to flare in distress and loss, he would take it.
“They are just fine. Bumblebee has long since risen to the upper echelons of the ranks of Enforcers and Smokescreen has been focused on integrating the Wreckers, DJD, and Elite guard all into one cohesive unit. He’s had limited success so far, but he is trying his best.” The Prime smiled as he led Megatron to the heart of the archive and stood before a console. For a moment, he looked just like Orion Pax, the brother Megatron thought lost to him so long ago. It hurt, it ached.
“I brought you here because I do not wish to see you suffer alone. This burden you bear is great. As such, if you would allow me, I would be here to help you endure it for as long as I am able.” Optimus reached out and gently grasped his arm, pulling him a little closer so that he could see the screen. On it was an image of him, Orion Pax, Soundwave, and Ratchet before everything went to slag. They were all smiling, save for Soundwave who projected a smiley face on his visor. Tears he had long tried to suppress clouded his optics as he clutched Soundwave’s pendant, unable to hold back any longer.
“I do not desire death, but I do wish that I would not be left in this state, untouched by time while all I know fades away before me.” His words came out between harsh sobs. Optimus merely held his servo and drew him into a comforting hug, understanding filling his field. Why was it that all he had left was the mech he once hated the most? Why did his companions have to wither while he did not?
“All will be well Megatronus. This reality that plagues you is not one you need to endure alone. I am here, and I will remain until my end draws near.” Optimus’s ominous final statement flew right over Megatron’s helm as he wept and truly felt the grief of all he lost for the first time. His cause, his Decepticons, Shockwave, Starscream, Soundwave, Knockout, and so many others. All of it was gone, and nothing remained save for echoes, shadows, small trinkets, and the odd mention of them in the history books.
He hated this, but at least he was not alone.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
He took comfort in Optimus for many long vorns. The Prime understood him and was the only one who really knew who Megatron was. Often his routine for the following few millennia amounted to retreating to his abode in the forests where little ever changed and going to Iacon a few times a vorn to visit Optimus and teach the sparklings his former foe gave lessons on history to. Surprisingly, the little ones did not fear Megatron when he stood before him. Whatever anger from the war still remained only seemed to linger among the first generation of forged bots who came from the Well. Most war veterans were dead or too old to care, and for that reason, Megatron did not mind teaching at the archives as required.
Time was a blur for him for the most part, a mess of emotion that largely consisted of grief, reminiscing, brief flares of joy, and apathy. Lots of his time was spent in his hab, writing down his experiences, his poetry, and his wisdom. Those things he brought to Optimus who in turn published them under Megatron’s name. He would have preferred he remain anonymous, but the Prime insisted, and Megatron did not have the spark to say no when Optimus was all that remained.
There were moments of joy and comradery, but overall his life was a mess. Optimus helped and proved to be an anchor, but the way of the world meant that when Megatron finally saw, it was too late to do much of anything.
As with his old comrades, Megatron remained unblemished whereas Optimus suddenly grew to be frailer. Optimus was a Prime, the Matrix kept his spark ablaze and youthful, but it did not maintain the vitality of his frame. As such Optimus rather quickly deteriorated. At first, Megatron said nothing. It was not his place to speak on such matters. He assumed that Optimus was merely biding his time, enjoying the familiarity of his frame for as long as possible before going to get a new one, as was customary amongst Primes who lived long.
They were functionally immortal. Why would they not wish to continue on when all it would take was a quick frame change? Megatron understood better than ever why immortality was a curse more than a gift, but despite that, he still could hardly believe his optics when Optimus continued on, never getting a frame change even when he obviously needed it. The Prime’s armor fell off in droves, leaving him thin and emaciated to the point of requiring one of his younger archivists to guide him around. Then his vision began to fail so much that whenever Megatron visited, he often needed to read things out to Optimus if the print was too small.
Even still, he said nothing for vorns. He was positive Optimus had a reason… up until the Prime tried to go fetch a datapad for Megatron to review only to instead trip, fall, and break his hip in three places. That was the final straw for Megatron.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“Why won’t you get a fragging frame change?!” Megatron demanded as he marched into Optimus’s office, noting with grief the stabilizer that was now welded onto the Prime’s hip to keep it in place.
“Because I have no need of it,” Optimus replied simply as if he weren’t using reading glasses and didn’t require three pillows just to sit upright in his chair. Megatron growled in outrage, anger boiling within his core to cover for the fear and sorrow that threatened to break loose.
“You are falling apart, Orion!” He all but screamed, his fists shaking as he tried to make his point. Optimus merely put down his glasses with a sigh and turned to face him, suddenly looking so much more tired than Megatron remembered. His old foe always had an air of exhaustion around him, even when they were both still young. But the mech before him was wearier, darker, and seemingly so done with it all that even his spark lamented life.
“I know, and I allow it to be. I am tired Megatronus, I have lived long enough and I want nothing more than to rest with my loved ones in the Allspark.” White hot rage ran through every fuel line and processing unit in Megatron’s frame as he marched forward and grabbed Optimus’s servo, holding it gently despite the way a dark part of him wanted to crush the weakening limb.
“You want to abandon Cybertron? You archivists? Your position? Do you really want to leave it all behind? Are you truly so selfish as to have me endure this reality alone!?” He wasn’t sure when his tears began to fall, but as his wrathful questions poured from his vocalizer, he knew Optimus had already made up his mind. The Prime met his gaze calmly and squeezed his servo in that fond manner only Orion did back before the war.
“I take no joy in this, but I wish to make this singular choice for myself. I want to rest.” Sorrow, rage, denial, and so much more drowned out all logical thought as Megatron tore his servo away and fumed. Memories of the High Council and Orion’s ascension to the rank of Prime plagued him as he marched off, saying only one final thing before he left the archives for what was going to be a very long time.
“FINE THEN! FRAG OFF AND DIE FOR ALL I CARE, PAX!” He slammed the archive doors behind him and took to the skies in a rage, unwilling to heed the messages Optimus sent to him. He couldn’t handle them, not right now.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Megatron retreated back to his hab and fervently refused to so much as look at any messages from Optimus for vorns on end. He didn't want to hear it. He didn’t want to listen to Optimus’s slagging reasoning for essentially offing himself. The Prime was a selfish fragger and always had been. He could be the one to wait until Megatron was good and ready to come back, at least, that was Megatron’s thought process as he fumed.
Optimus wanted to leave him alone. The Prime was the only other living mech who could essentially go on living forever just like Megatron. Why did he have to decide to abandon him? Why did that hurt so much? Why couldn’t Megatron move on already?
Thoughts plagued him, his anger simmered into remorse, and by the time Optimus contacted him again after a lull of a whole three vorns… he, at last, returned to Iacon.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“Orion…” His voice echoed in the near-silent room. The only other sound was the tortured venting of the mech before him. Optimus Prime lay on a simple berth in a small hospital room. There was a pile of audio recordings beside him that he had evidently listened to quite frequently if the marks all over them were any indicator. But aside from that, the most notable and startling part of the situation was just how far Optimus had fallen.
He was stick thin, even slimmer than Soundwave was before his death. His plating was all but gone and his limbs were so frail that Megatron doubted the Prime could raise his arm for more than a half klik at most. Despite that, he seemed content as his dull and useless optics remained uncycled while still managing to look in Megatron’s general direction.
“You came…” Optimus murmured, his voice so gravelly and filled with static that it was hard to hear at all. Megatron moved to his ailing companion’s side and gently took the servo that reached out for him. This time he held no anger in his spark, and instead he felt nothing but regret. Vorns he could have spent enjoying the closeness of a former foe and friend were lost because of his bitterness, and now all he had was a few short kliks at best.
“I did. I’m here Orion.” A weak smile met his words and never more did Megatron wish he was capable of aging. He wanted to have been able to age alongside his fellows, to banter about the woes of growing older, and to have the slagging peace that all of his fallen fellows seemed to have right before the end.
“Thank you… for coming… one last… time.” Optimus’s optics flickered and his field crumpled. He was out of time.
“Sire, rest easy, we will take care of things.” Bumblebee came forward from wherever he was previously loitering in the room and took up Optimus’s other servo. The former scout was aged as well, but it did not show with how kindly he cradled the dying Prime’s servo in his own. Megatron did not even bother trying to fight back tears as Optimus continued to smile so hopefully as if he were but a youngling again, just so pleased to be with those he loved.
“I know… you will both… endure… I know… that one cycle… we will… meet… again.” Optimus’s voice started to fade and Bumblebee began to sob. Megatron held himself upright, wishing he could spill out the millions of apologies that he had rehearsed during his trip to Iacon but knowing he had no more time to utter them. Optimus was fading, and if he could hear the words Megatron wished to speak, he would not have the chance to respond.
There would be no comfort from his dear old friend, and so all Megatron could do was listen and obey.
“One day… an Autobot shall rise… from our ranks… and use the… power of the Matrix… to light… our darkest… hour.” The Matrix pulsed, its light shining through Optimus’s thinned armor and causing his optics to glow.
“Until that day… till all… are… one…” And just like that, Optimus’s frame went still, his venting ceasing and his spark chamber opening so that the light of the Matrix could bathe the room. Megatron did not stay. He carefully allowed Optimus’s lifeless servo to rest at his side and allowed Bumblebee to do whatever he wanted with the slagging relic as he stepped outside and flew back to his hab in the forest.
He did not care to linger, and as soon as he was home and the door firmly shut, he collapsed against the wall, weeping and clutching Soundwave’s pendant as if his life depended on it.
“Forgive me Orion… forgive me….”
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Megatron stopped bothering to keep track of time at all after Optimus’s passing. He stopped writing, he stopped doing much of anything. He left his hab with only Soundwave’s pendant and a datapad Optimus gave him vorns prior to read from. Once he had those two items, he merely… wandered.
He contemplated ending his life by blaster or blade, but he found that reprehensible considering how pathetic it was compared to his comrades who died content and with honor. And yet he also had no desire to really continue living. As such Megatron fell to marching on, wandering the forests, seeing the sights of Cybertron, and avoiding cities like the plague. On the off chance he met another mech, he was quick to fly away.
Loneliness ate at him, but he disregarded it. He could have left Cybertron and fled back to the stars, but he couldn’t bring himself to. That felt… disrespectful in an odd way, especially after all his comrades did to care for the world he walked. A strange sense of duty kept him firmly planted, and the rational part of his processors explained it away as him keeping his promise to Starscream. He was, by continuing to be present, ensuring that if things really needed to be looked at, he could come to handle the issue.
At least that was what he told himself as cycles bled into one another and countless deca-cycles were spent laying flat on the ground staring up, unmoving and uncaring of the world around him.
He wanted to be left alone to wallow, and for what could have been but a handful of vorns of countless millennia, he was allowed to do just that. But of course, Optimus’s final words had a way of following him, and eventually, he was greeted by a new and old face while resting along the edges of the Rust Sea.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
“You’re Megatron, right? Megatron of Kaon? Lord of the Decepticons, the great and mighty slag maker, the Herald of the Unmaker, and Champion of the pits? Do any of those ring any bells?” A young mech, one likely not older than perhaps millennia, stood above where Megatron lay on the ground uselessly. He sat up quickly and waved a servo dismissively, agitation blooming in his spark as he moved to gather his datapad and leave. But that didn’t seem to be enough for the pesky thing to leave him alone as quickly the orange, gold, and red youngling stood in front of him, stopping his path.
“Got any time to spare for an adventure?” The youngling asked with a big smile that seemed slightly unnatural to Megatron. He grunted and tried to sidestep before Bumblebee of all mecha hit his leg with a cane the former scout had evidently acquired.
“Been looking for you for quite some time Megatron. We have a situation on our servos that requires somebody with actual experience to deal with.” The yellow scout scowled as he glared at the youngling who sheepishly whistled, seemingly uncaring of whatever distress he was causing.
“Something’s gone wrong with Cybertron’s core. The Well is turning up empty with less and less sparklings every vorn. We found some of Optimus’s old texts talking about the ‘Knights of Cybertron’ and we could use your assistance hunting them down.” Surprise was quick to override agitation at the mention of the fallen Prime. Megatron stopped trying to get away as Bumblebee tried to speak only to be interrupted by the youngling before him.
“Bee’s got it mostly summed up! My designation is Rodimus Prime! Just got the Matrix, not all that long ago and I’ve already got a crew ready to go and find these Knights!” A Prime? Megatron could feel his brow raising in cautious curiosity as he looked the mech over. He didn’t at all match any prior Prime Megatron knew of, but then again, it was a time of peace. Odd things happened during peace just as they did while at war.
“According to Bee, you’ve just been wandering around for the past few millennia since you can’t die. So what do you say? Want to go on an adventure and shake things up? I’ve got stickers!” The stupidity was astounding, and yet Megatron found himself compelled. It had been so long since he’d really attempted to connect with anyone, and quite frankly, Cybertron held too many painful memories to continue hanging around. He kept his promise to Soundwave and Starscream as much as he was able.
Maybe it would do him some good to leave for a while. If nothing else, he might find someone out there to kill him in an honorable fashion.
“Only if I can be co-captain of this expedition.” He settled on a compromise, not fully trusting the so-called Prime before him. Rodimus seemed only partially let down before he gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up and grabbed Megatron’s arm.
“Then let’s get going! Cybertron won’t save itself!” Rodimus smiled, Bumblebee grumbled, and Megatron sighed. Whatever was going to happen, at least he wouldn’t be alone.
Cybertronian Civil Warfare
One wrong move. That was all it took to make Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, mad. Now Strongarm and Sideswipe have to deal with the unfortunate consequences of their actions by participating in Optimus's game.
(First chapter of a fic I am writing that will showcase some of the stuff being at war did to Bee and co :3)
━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙
No one was entirely sure what thought process led to the current situation, but Strongarm could remember when it started.
The team had gathered to celebrate what was quickly being dubbed the third liberation of Cybertron when it all began. Strongarm and her team, the Bee Team as they were called, were invited to celebrate with Team Prime in the newly constructed crystal gardens attached to the restored Hall of Records. Optimus Prime himself had been the one to give out the invitations, and not a spark had refused. Sideswipe had of course made a fuss about having to go to what he assumed was a formal event, but Strongarm had shut him up well enough beforehand.
Meeting Team Prime in a more civil setting was exciting and she had no intention of missing it for the world. But of course, someone had to screw up. And that screw up in turn led to a series of unfortunate and poorly thought out words.
Primus, did they frag up.
“Look, all I am saying is that I don’t get why you all are so high strung all the time.” Sideswipe remarked as he sipped from his cup of high grade. His optics flared a pale blue, a sign of overcharge from too much to drink. A scowl marred his features and Strongarm suppressed the urge to march over and swat him.
“Why is that Sideswipe?” Optimus questioned patiently from where he sat at the head of the table. The others present had largely continued on with their activities, uncaring of the conversation, but Sideswipe could sense the way the others threw their fields wider, subconsciously keeping an optic on the situation.
“It's pretty bad with Bee. He’s always whining about us using too much energon and he gets angry about us not being up all night long for our patrol despite the fact that we have cameras.” Sideswipe glared at their leader and Strongarm almost burst from the rage pooling in her spark. Did the little glitch have no respect? These were war veterans for Primus’s sake.
“Sideswipe, keep your grievances back at base. We are in a public area-” Bumblebee chimed in, chastation heavy in his tone. The former scout’s optics cycled in on Sideswipe, a sign of agitation that Strongarm had long learned to notice serving under him. Only Windblade’s firm grasp on her arm kept her from getting up to teach the mech across from her a lesson.
“Bumblebee, let him speak. It is at times like these that such issues should be aired.” Optimus sat perfectly composed in his chair, his attention on the red speedster as Sideswipe grumbled and continued, his words somewhat slurred as he continued.
“You all constantly act like you are better than us. You treat us like newsparks. I’ve been functional for long enough! By old Cybertronian standards I am fully framed!” Sideswipe slammed his cup onto the table as if he were a sparkling and glared at the elder mecha present. Smokescreen stood up abruptly from where he was seated, anger etched onto his features.
“You are a newspark Sideswipe. I am still considered young even though I was forged during the height of the war.” Smokescreen’s servos were planted firmly on the table, his doorwings twitching as he glared. The Wreckers at the table paused in their activities, their words quieting as they stopped to pay attention. Their stillness swiftly led to the remainder of the table falling silent to observe.
Strongarm couldn’t help the way her plating clamped down around her as the war veterans present seemed to make a shield around themselves with their fields. It was suffocating to endure.
“That’s exactly my problem! You get treated so much better than us and you don’t act much different!” Sideswipe wasn’t making any sense. His logic wasn’t adding up, and yet his field screamed of outrage. Evidently he had a lot more going on than he could voice. But Strongarm didn’t care to hear it.
“Sideswipe! Don’t be so rude! We are among war veterans and heroes!” Strongarm stood up as well. Her field flared in anger and Smokescreen looked over at her so sharply that she almost felt the urge to sit down. Ratchet slowly began to rise, his servos up in a placating manner as he attempted to speak before being cut off.
“You all fought in a war. So what? I’ve fought Cons and they weren’t even all that bad!” Sideswipe stood proudly despite the fact that he obviously wasn’t thinking straight. Strongarm wished she could sink into the ground as the gazes of the elder mecha present all zoned in on Sideswipe as if he were fresh energon ready for the harvest. She couldn’t tell whose field was whose, but she didn’t need to. All of them were running with an undercurrent of rage, at least those amongst team Prime. Windblade, Drift and his minicons, and Grimlock quickly began to gather beside Strongarm, stepping back from the table as things became more heated.
“Sideswipe, I believe you are not thinking clearly. What you are saying is insinuating a great deal more than I think you intend to convey.” Optimus was still composed ever as the rest of Team Prime slowly began to get up and move. Sideswipe didn’t seem to notice as Bulkhead carefully, and with surprising stealth, pulled the table out of the way in time for the Prime to stand.
This felt practiced, rehearsed almost in a sick way. Strongarm wasn’t sure what to do, what to say even. But she wasn’t given the chance as Bumblebee stepped in front of her and the rest of their team, his gaze surprisingly steely as the situation continued to unfold.
“Bee, what’s going on?” Grimlock asked hesitantly. The dinobot was not usually one to look so… concerned. It startled Strongarm in a way. He was usually always ready for a fight, even against one like Optimus. Here though? It looked like everyone, including the battle hardened Drift, wanted nothing to do with the situation.
“Quiet. Optimus will handle this.” There was no room for disagreement in Bumblebee’s voice. He was surprisingly stern. Usually he was loose in his methods of leadership. However as Smokescreen came over and stood at attention right next to Strongarm’s leader, she felt fear begin to gather in her spark.
This was serious, and everyone seemed to know it.
“I mean it all! I don’t get why you all do all this stupid paranoid slag all the time! Always on our afts about our energon usage and lack of combat training or all that other scrap!” Sideswipe’s field was vicious and sharp, but untrained. His didn’t hurt. But those around them? By the Allspark, Strongarm could feel pinpricks running all along her plating from where Bumblebee and Smokescreen practically emanated outrage.
“Sideswipe.” The Prime’s tone had shifted. It was subtle, almost too soft for Strongarm to notice. But her training under Bumblebee had done her good. She wasn’t a spy by any means, or even a special agent. However the few weeks of interrogation training she underwent were having their influence.
Optimus wasn’t happy.
“I don’t want to hear whatever fragging excuses you have, you old bag of bolts! You wouldn’t be held in such high esteem if you just ended the war when it began!” Everyone froze, even Grimlock. Windblade seemed too shaken to speak, her wings dipping so low they almost touched the ground as she stared on in horror. Strongarm was sure she was making a similar expression as Optimus’s expression changed.
He always wore gentle expressions, or at least a soft firmness or strictness. Now though? His optics were startlingly wide, almost as though he were looking at Sideswipe as some sort of prey animal. Optimus’s posture dipped, becoming tenser and his digits twitching ever so slightly. A true predator.
“Sideswipe, that is enough.” Arcee hissed through gritted denta. The elder femme seemed two kliks away from shredding Sideswipe and appeared to only be kept in place by Bulkhead who glanced down at her in warning. Grimlock was shaking like a leaf and Slipestream and Jetstorm weren’t much better off. They huddled around their carrier unit fearfully and Drift subtly drew his swords, the tension in the air setting him on edge.
Strongarm couldn’t blame him when she found herself palming her pistol on instinct.
“The Cons we’ve fought have been smallfry. Sure Megaton might have been a piece of work, but you could have ended this easily! But NO, you dragged it all out! Our planet DIED because you and the rest of these plasma helmed glitches didn’t want to put aside your egos and end things!” Strongarm didn’t think things could get worse. Evidently she was wrong. Team Prime were all angry. Even Ratchet seemed to be on the cusp of letting loose what Strongarm could only imagine was a legendary string of curses.
Despite that, Sideswipe must have been absolutely sloshed since he just. Kept. going.
“Great and mighty Optimus Prime my aft! All you did was make things worse! We wouldn’t have had to deal with all this Primus forsaken fallout if you had just done the right thing in the first place!” There it was. Strongarm could feel it. This was the pinnacle. One more word and things were going to explode.
“Sideswipe. This is the only warning I will give you. Be silent now, or I will need to take disciplinary action on account of you disturbing the peace.” It was a bit of a stretch legally. However it seemed Optimus, and the rest of team Prime for that matter, didn’t care all that much. The tension was heavy. It was too much.
“Sir, that would be an abuse of power. Sideswipe has the right to free speech. He can technically say what he wants regardless-” Over a dozen optics fell on Strongarm like lasers. She wished she hadn’t spoken, but she couldn’t back down now.
“What I mean to say is that, uh, Autobot law does not permit…” She trailed off, but the wrath of those present was already on her. Sideswipe didn’t even seem to be aware she was speaking on his behalf. A bitter part of her processors resented that. She was hurting her reputation with Optimus Prime and likely the rest of team Prime just to stick up for him.
“What are you insinuating Strongarm?” She didn’t need to look. Bumblebee’s optics were boring into her with such intensity that if he were to be granted the ability to kill on sight, Strongarm was sure she would be dead by now. Still, no one else spoke up. The team were silent save for their unspoken anger which hummed in the air like a dooming court sentence.
She floundered, stress prompting her to rehearse what Sideswipe had said. He was saying things that no one was able to, words which should never be spoken aloud. However as she fidgeted with Optimus’s far too wide optics glued to her, she sputtered out a response.
“He makes valid points!” Oh if looks could kill, Strongarm was sure that she and Sideswipe would be dead a thousand times over.
“How so?” The Prime questioned, his tone too smooth and practiced. It was akin to how cashiers and those who worked in customer service would smile and wave even as they internally cursed to the stars and beyond.
“It’s just… according to the records, the war started because you and Megatron had a disagreement and failed to work it out. Then as the war went on, neither of you were willing to compromise or kill the other…” Smokescreen stepped forward, she could feel his field pressing against her. He felt murderous, so much so she couldn’t bear to look as Optimus tilted his helm ever so slightly in what had to be faux curiosity.
“And it is also stated that the Decepticons weren’t really all that much of a threat beyond their numbers. The Autobots had superiority throughout a good portion of the war, but it was never used. The Decepticons could have been crushed easily if you look at the tactics and the resources available at the time.” Any other words died on her glossa as Smokescreen’s servo pressed heavily on her shoulder, his face so eerily composed that she genuinely feared for her life. Optimus didn’t so much as twitch as he hummed, his optics cycling ominously.
“So that is what you believe. Is that what the history books say?” Sideswipe had evidently finally begun to sober up a bit as he stepped back. Optimus’s field, which had up until that point been held totally at ease, finally spread out.
It was just a flare, but it dropped Strongarm to a knee as she looked up in horror. Optimus was mad. Her plating rattled and her hydraulics tensed as fear threatened to overwhelm her. Windblade, Drift, his minicons, and Sideswipe didn’t appear to be fending much better when she glanced over at them.
“You believe our sacrifices were for nothing? That the countless dead were lost in a meaningless conflict? How very amusing.” Strongarm didn’t know Optimus, she didn’t even try to claim she was acquainted with him to any serious degree. But his voice… it wasn’t him. He wasn’t talking like the Prime she knew and served alongside back on Earth.
However, just as quickly as it came, the tension dissipated like smoke as Optimus straightened his posture, composed himself and turned to exit the garden with only one final declaration.
“It seems you have much to learn. Return to your base of operations until you receive further orders. I do not wish to see you at this moment or for the foreseeable future.” Then, just like that, Optimus left. Strongarm promptly hunched over and purged whatever she had consumed during the gathering. Sideswipe for his part immediately found himself smacked so hard upside the helm by Bumblebee that she was sure he was seeing stars. Those of team Prime were cold as they quietly gathered their things and left, not another word uttered between them.
Ratchet lingered just long enough to throw a hangover cure at Sideswipe’s face, but beyond that, only Smokescreen stuck around until Bumblebee waved him off. They were fragged. Strongarm could sense it as she was pulled to her pedes and put in with the rest of the Bee team in silence. Bumblebee said nothing as he dragged Sideswipe behind him by his right pede, uncaring of the pained groans of the speedster.
Windblade and Drift offered their arms to keep Strongarm steady as her tanks churned in nausea and her vision swam. She accepted it without question, not even having the energy to yell at Grimlock as the dinobot all but threw himself through the space bridge back to Earth.
They had messed up royally.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
It was to be expected really. All sorts of double patrols, cleaning duty, and plenty of additional training sessions made perfect sense considering how badly both she and Sideswipe had messed up. However the predicted backlash from Optimus never arrived. Strongarm spent months dreading it, even waking up in terror a few times in fear of those far too wide optics zoning in on her.
Yet, as the months passed, nothing happened. Bumblebee was cold for the first little while, but he settled back into his usual behaviors within a month. Grimlock seemed to forget all about the incident, Drift and Windblade put it behind them, and Sideswipe spent quite a few weeks in a similar state of alertness to Strongarm before he too calmed. Everything went back to normal without any word from Optimus, not even a transmission or a single set of orders.
Everything… was normal. And somehow that scared Strongarm more than it comforted her. She had never seen Optimus so angry, and from the looks of it, neither had Team Prime, at least not in a very long time.
Her anxiety grew each passing month, until at last, after around a whole year on Earth, a transmission arrived from Cybertron along with its messenger.
“Hey kiddos! I’ve got a message from Prime for you all! It's addressed to Sideswipe and Strongarm specifically, but I am pretty sure it was intended for your group as a whole.” Jazz, the special operations agent who Strongarm hadn’t seen since they took down the Council, stood before them. He was as cheerful as ever as he handed over a singular holographic disc. Bumblebee took it from him before Strongarm or Sideswipe could do so.
“Did he give any instructions?” Bumblebee questioned simply, suspicion lacing his tone. Jazz shrugged and smiled, his visor glinting in the light as he put his servos on his hips casually.
“Turn it on. Whatever he has to say will probably be on there.” An obvious assumption, but one Strongarm found herself somewhat concerned with as Bumblebee nodded and plugged the disk into the terminal. There was a long harrowing silence in the space as the rest of team Bee gathered around, watching with rapt attention as the screen flickered on.
“Greetings. It has been some time since our last communication.” Optimus’s voice rang out clearly in the space as his face pixelated into being on the screen. He seemed completely at ease as he sat in a chair, a series of datapads at his side.
“In light of your previous statements, I have taken the time to prepare an activity for all of you to participate in. All save for Strongarm and Sideswipe will not be forced to participate if they choose to not engage.” She was already being singled out. Beside her, Strongarm sensed Sideswipe stiffening. This was the other pede finally dropping. Their punishment for speaking out of line.
“Before you bring forward any legal concerns, let it be said before I begin that everything I have prepared is well within my rights. The provisionary council has given me the authority to move your team as I see fit, and all supplies and resources used in the upcoming activity have been funded through my personal efforts and connections.” Optimus sat smugly, or at least that is how it looked to Strongarm as he leaned forward, a little closer to the camera. Fear rattled down her spinal struts as she came to the dark conclusion that the whole year of silence hadn’t been because Optimus forgot. No, she had not been so lucky.
He had been preparing for whatever this was.
“Your involvement is compulsory.” Again, a warning. In the video, Optimus smiled, but it was a sickening thing that left Strongarm’s tanks churning. She reached out to hold Sideswipe’s arm instinctually, seeking the comfort of another as Windblade and Drift came nearer, doing their best to offer silent comradery as the words continued to relay through the audio systems of the terminal.
“We will be engaging in a real time strategy game made as realistic as possible through my resources. This game will take place in the uninhabited city of Helex in exactly one Earth month. You will have the entirety of that time to prepare.” A grin grew on Optimus’s face, and Primus, Strongarm felt that same churning in her tanks all over again. She wanted to be sick as the Prime tilted his helm, an unnatural ease to his movements.
“You may recruit whoever you see fit. However you may have no more than a hundred units under your control.” Every word was punctuated, almost as if Optimus had long ago rehearsed the lines.
“Any Autobot you can convince to join you is within your rights to recruit. To make things fair, I will not call upon my team or any close allies amongst the Autobots to assist me.” Every movement was far too crisp, practiced even as Optimus held up a datapad showing a map of the city of Helex.
“Are you putting it together now?” There was a degree of amusement in the Prime’s voice, and looking around, not a spark seemed to like it. Not even Bumblebee.
“You will have three main objectives which will be given to you a day before the start of the game. I have not selected these objectives. All objectives have been chosen by Elita-One and other neutral parties.” This was real.
“Complete all three of these objectives, and you will have victory. However in the event that neither faction involved in this conflict completes all of them, the one with the most completed objectives will be victorious.” Strongarm’s hydraulics threatened to falter as Optimus kept talking. Bumblebee held her up by the arm and captured Sideswipe by his neck guard. Their leader was deadly serious as he listened and forced them to endure.
“Further details will be given to you upon your arrival at the site. In the meantime, prepare for any possibility. This is war, and I have no intention of going easy on you.” Why? Why did it have to be Optimus Prime who they angered?
“Designate a leader and begin recruiting. You will have no resources from the state, so all of your preparations must come from your own sources. My advice is simple. Recruit those with influence.” Optimus smiled again as he leaned forward in his chair, his optics too wide and too threatening.
“I do this not out of malice or bitterness, but instead to make a point.” Not out of malice her aft. There was no way there was not a personal grudge involved for Optimus to put so much effort into this.
“It is my hope that our game will give you a taste of what our war was like. May you find victory, or failing that, learn a lesson amidst this trial to come. Till all are one.” The video shut down with a dooming whirl and Strongarm struggled to not purge right then and there. What had they gotten into?
“So we are playing that game…” Bumblebee murmured, his optics distant.
“You kiddos made him really mad. Well it wasn’t just you, but you certainly played a part! This will be interesting to watch play out.” Jazz commented with far too much cheer in his tone. Was all of this just a game? Even Bumblebee didn’t seem phased.
“He can’t seriously be expecting us to do this- this bloodsport!” Sideswipe burst out, breaking the atmosphere.
“I agree. Isn’t this going too far?” Windblade commented carefully.
“Nope! This is a common game amongst troops, at least during the war. Rion just seems to be taking it to the next level.” Frag it all.
“Then I suppose there is nothing to be done. I shall join this game, if only to give my students additional training.” The minicons under Drift’s command look decidedly unhappy, but Strongarm could only feel a bitter sense of relief. This was really happening.
“We… better get to work.” Strongarm choked out, her vocalizer failing her as the image of Optimus’s grin burned itself into her mind.
What had she gotten herself into?