I’m Trying My Best 😅

“… The Council and Ultra Magnus weren't my only role models." Optimus said softly, allowing his frame to relax at the seemingly simple admission. “My drill sergeant, the one who named me—he's retired now, and his name is Kup. And before I met Ratchet and the rest of you, he was probably the best person I had ever known."

"Like, an actually good guy-or-?"

“An actually good guy, thanks," Optimus assured him, smirking a bit at the clarification before relaxing again. “Up until we found the Allspark and went missing those fifty stellar-cycles, he still checked in on me every once in a while. He was the one person from my past who never blamed me for what happened to Elita-1, but... I didn't appreciate it, because I blame myself."

"… Why'd he name you Optimus?" Bumblebee asked. "I mean, I got my name because Sergeant Sentinel said I was a 'bumbler’. And Bulkhead, he said he was ‘all bulk, no brain’.”

"Ugh." Optimus shook his head. "One of these days, I swear-" He sighed. “… My first day of boot-camp, he's going down the line. One bot isn't even paying attention to Kup's spiel, so he calls her on it—and she says ‘blah, blah, blah' to his face, and then says that she wouldn't even be there if it wasn't a stepping stone to reach the Ministry of Science's military labs. Kup calls her a snob, and so he names her 'Elita-1’.” Bumblebee got himself comfortable as he listened to the story. "Another ‘bot steps forward and tells Kup to get out of her face, and Kup tries to intimidate him. This second ‘bot, he doesn't move—just stays between Kup and Elita. So, as much as Kup hates his attitude for the rest of our training, he kinda respects the fact that he stuck his neck out for a stranger—so, he decides to call him 'Sentinel’.” Optimus took a deep vent. "And he keeps going down the line, asking while we're all there, and he gets to me. And he asks me, even though he-... Well, he already probably knows the answer.”

"Why's that?"

"My upbringing was... atypical." Optimus said. “And while I knew that I was good at what I was there to perfect, I wasn't very comfortable around my peers—bots my own age or younger—and... I honestly didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Everyone else seemed to know the plan, but they didn't really clue me in." He shrugged. "So, I just say... I want to be able to help people. And a lot of the other cadets start to laugh at me, but Kup shuts them up—and he asks, and how do you plan on doing that? And I say... however I can. He calls me optimistic, then... ‘Optimus’.”

Bumblebee opened his optics and gazed at the floor. "What the frag did they do to us, Prime?" He spoke like his spark was in his throat. "It didn't-…”

"It didn't have to be this way," Optimus said. "No, it didn't.” He closed his optics. “… We were kids."

“We still are." Bumblebee whispered. “I get why Ratchet and Wheeljack call us ‘kids’, now... They didn't wanna let anyone take that away from us."

“… It’s already gone.”

A moment of silence followed.

“Nah.”

Optimus opened his optics. “What?”

Bumblebee was smiling at him. “Prime, you might not wanna admit it for some reason, but you’re no fossil and you’re no- What does Wheeljack like to call Ultra Magnus, when he’s real fed up?”

“Do you realize how little that narrows it down?”

“Marble statue,” Bumblebee decided, and his leader blinked. “You’re not… stone. Rust. Dead. Done. Y’know? You’re still young, still learning and still growing—just like the rest of us knuckleheads just trying to figure it all out.” He sat back. “… They haven’t taken it away from you. Don’t try to convince yourself that they have, and take it away from yourself all on your own. They… don’t get to control you anymore, remember? They sent us away, and… we realized that was a good thing.” He nodded. “And we are going home, after this—back to Earth, and Detroit, and the lives that we fought for… the lives we deserve, with our family.” He glanced away. “Even if it’ll never be the same, again… They’ll never take it all away.”

Optimus stared at his teammate, stunned, then he managed another tired grin. “And you really wondered why I like talking to you.”

…

…

Armor repaired and polished.

Statements ready. Facts checked.

Bumblebee by his side, ready to act as… ‘scary dog privilege’, as the younger ‘bot had put it.

Optimus appreciates the thoughtful company, though it did not ease his anxiety during the trip to Tigatron Stadium. His spark hammered in his chest, and he squeezed Bumblebee’s servo a little tighter than was probably appreciated as their transport landed—knowing he’d have to let go soon, for the sake of their public appearances.

If his friend minded, he didn’t let on.

Bumblebee just stayed close as the Elite Guard cleared a path for them to enter the stadium, and Optimus moved as quickly as was permissible to get the both of them inside. Detroit had done nothing to make Optimus more comfortable in the face of a crowd, and it was really showing.

The two Autobots were escorted towards a private chamber to await the beginning of the trial, and they were almost there when a familiar face appeared out of an adjacent hallway.

“At ease, Cliffjumper,” Alpha Trion chided gently, and the leader of their escort calmed. “I simply wished to visit with a former student of mine. Would you mind it if I escorted our esteemed guests the rest of the way?”

Cliffjumper seemed conflicted. “Sir, it is my duty to maintain their security—in light of the sensitive testimony they are to deliver.”

Alpha Trion chuckled. “I assure you, they are in safe servos. Why don’t you go and get a good view for the trial? I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing from this historic occasion.”

Cliffjumper hesitated only a moment more, then nodded and took his leave.

“Alpha Trion, sir,” Optimus greeted, his own sense of trepidation not yet ceased.

“Optimus.” Alpha Trion looked at him with that familiar warmth that had always been so strange, among his mentors. “How good to see you.” He looked to the Prime’s smaller companion. “And your name, it is Bumblebee?”

Bumblebee nodded. “Yessir.”

“I need to have a word with you, both of you,” Alpha Trion explained, turning—and the younger Autobots exchanged glances before following the council-‘bot in a continued trek down the hallway. “We must conclude before we reach the chamber. The cameras here record video, not audio—but the chamber is properly bugged.”

“You’re warning us?” Optimus asked, surprised, as he caught up to walk side-by-side with Alpha Trion—with Bumblebee coming to his other side.

Alpha Trion’s optics narrowed. “They know that you removed the monitors from your guest suite, and were not pleased—but not for the reasons you may think. They’re calling for a new Magnus.”

Optimus’s optics widened. “Sentinel?”

“There are some who would prefer that,” Alpha Trion conceded. “But Sentinel is not the one who returned the Allspark to Cybertron and brought Megatron here in chains.”

“… Me?” Optimus felt his fuel tank drop. “No, no. I-I couldn’t be-”

Alpha Trion sighed. “You have been isolated from Cybertron, these past few days—whether you have realized it or not. It is what the public cries out for, young Prime.”

“Ultra Magnus is getting better,” Optimus argued.

“Ultra Magnus’s position has been destabilized, for the first time,” Alpha Trion explained. “There are many who believe that it is time for him to step down. It is only a question of whether he will accept this quietly, and if what will take his place will be for the better.”

Optimus felt uneasy. “What do you believe?”

“Admittedly, I was uncertain until your meeting with the Council,” Alpha Trion said shamelessly. “I knew that you had grown powerful, Optimus. But that? That was strength.” They were approaching the chamber doors. “Our time is up. We shall talk more at a later date.”

“Alpha Trion, sir.” Bumblebee turned to face the elder ‘bot. “What exactly are we walking into?”

Alpha Trion regarded him, then sighed. “… Stay close to each other. Keep your words calm, and measured. Think before you speak. And please, do understand… this is your chance to tell every Autobot the truth. Don’t waste it.” The council-‘bot turned away. “Good luck.”

Optimus and Bumblebee watched Alpha Trion walk away, then Bumblebee looked at Optimus with uncertainty. “I get the feeling that there’s something he wants us to do.”

Optimus nodded. “Me, too.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Not really.”

“Great.” Bumblebee crossed his arms. “I was worried I was the only idiot here.”

Optimus just shot him a look.

…

The trial of Megatron was exactly as Optimus had feared it would be.

The stadium was packed with spectators, all of them vying to get a glimpse of the Decepticon warlord in chains.

The floor had been formatted into a makeshift council chamber—with proper stations for the members of the Autobot Council, prosecution, defense, witnesses and testimony… an actual cage that was obviously far too large to hold just one restrained Decepticon… and VIP seating.

Optimus and Bumblebee were escorted to sit on the side of the prosecution, in the first row of the VIP section—and from there, they were able to see firsthand why the cage was there.

All of the Decepticons they had ever encountered on Earth or Cybertron were led out and placed into the cage, put on display to watch the public downfall of their leader from behind bars.

The VIPs, who were taking their own seats, took their time to look upon them each with wariness, hatred, disgust, and a morbid curiosity.

Like they were animals in a zoo.

They were Optimus’s enemies, but… this all felt so very, very wrong. He felt sick, and… angry.

Angry, on behalf of the ‘bots he should hate most.

Angry, when Prowl was dead in a casket.

What was the universe coming to?

The High Council members processed and took their seats, with the spot meant for the acting Magnus—positioned above Halogen—left open.

No Ultra Magnus, then.

Why did Optimus feel relived?

Finally, the time arrived.

Sentinel led Megatron out in stasis cuffs and chains, flanked by the Elite Guard’s finest—though Optimus noted the obvious absence of the Jettwins, and he tried not to worry about it.

Or about how Megatron didn’t have a scratch on him, and processed with his head held high.

He didn’t look humiliated, defeated.

Even as Sentinel chained him to a round platform before the Council, he remained on his feet with the posture of someone in complete control.

It unnerved Optimus, especially as he realized that the other Decepticons—like their leader—were not just mended but shining. They also stayed on their struts and kept their heads high.

It was… sort of… admirable.

Sentinel remained at the side of Megatron, his lance and shield ready, poised like the picture of a perfect Elite Guardsbot—but then, Halogen shot him a look and cleared his throat.

Sentinel blinked, then tensed before awkwardly putting his weapons away and making his way up to the position of acting Magnus. He took his seat, seeming uncomfortable—and Optimus felt his anger quietly bubbling up again.

They were turning his friend into a figurehead.

Sentinel was many things—but an office-‘bot content to sit quietly, complete paperwork, make public appearances, and do what he was told?

Never.

“Ahem,” Sentinel began, tense. “The High Council of Cybertron convenes on this day, two million years since the end of the War for Cybertron and the Exile of the Decepticon scourge, to determine the fate of Megatron: Decepticon warmonger. Having once been granted the mercy of exile, Megatron now stands accused of attempting to reignite the war through malicious control over the Allspark—font of all Cybertronian life—as well as authorizing or even participating in attacks on Cybertronian civilians and enlisted Autobots, repeated attempted invasion of Cybertron by the commandeering of space bridges and the original Omega Sentinel, construction of an unregistered space bridge and three Omega Sentinel clones, and the attempted assassination of Ultra Magnus. These are but the chiefest of your expansive list of post-war crimes. How do you plea?”

Megatron’s crimson optics had narrowed. “… We do not attack civilians.”

Sentinel blinked. “What?”

“We do not attack Cybertronian civilians. There is no need,” Megatron repeated as silence fell in the stadium. “And I would have you immediately strike that egregious lie from my record… unless you can produce the evidence.”

Optimus felt his shoulders raise in agitation. The Decepticon warlord certainly had no qualms about the attack of civilians on Earth, after all.

Sentinel checked a data-pad, his optics narrowed, then he blinked in surprise before sighing and glancing up. “Very well. I’m not sure who put that in the opening statement, but… as far as I can tell, we have no record of an attack of a Decepticon on a civilian Cybertronian since the exile. All of the recorded casualties I can find have been officially enlisted Autobots.” He glanced over at the court records-‘bot. “Strike it.”

Megatron watched Sentinel appraisingly, then he nodded. He did not speak again.

“Be that as it may.” Halogen began, glowering at the Decepticon. “You are responsible for mass Autobot casualties since the exile. Decepticon vagabonds have attacked our ships, taken space bridges, infiltrated our ranks—and these past fifty-two years, your efforts to claim the power of the Allspark and bring the war back to Cybertron cannot be denied.” He gestured. “The Council calls upon Optimus Prime, commander of the starship Orion and its staff of space-bridge repair ‘bots, to deliver a brief testimony regarding the events on planet Earth.”

Optimus tensed, having not expected this to happen so soon—then cleared his throat as he stood. “Uh… Define ‘brief’, sir.”

“We want the facts only,” Perceptor replied.

“Very well.” Optimus nodded, then he glanced one last time at Bumblebee before he made his way over to the witness stand—passing in front of Megatron, and feeling that burning gaze.

Optimus arrived at the stand and took a seat, gazing at the microphone before him like it was a live grenade—and not even one of Wheeljack’s.

Alpha Trion was right.

He had one chance.

Just the facts.

Just the truth.

“… Fifty-two stellar cycles ago, my teammates and I were tasked with removing the debris from a space-bridge in remote quadrant within Autobot territory,” Optimus began, straightening his posture. “My team then consisted of five, including myself.” He gestured to his companion, who perked up. “Bumblebee, maintenance ‘bot second-class, and one of the fastest ‘bots you’ll ever meet—both in wheels, and in thinking.” He saw his friend smile. “Our medic was Ratchet: the field-tech who twice rescued Agent Arcee and her codes, and who became the first to mentor an Omega Sentinel. He is the longtime caretaker of Omega Supreme.” Optimus’s spark was pulsing wildly, but he kept going. “We were fortunate enough to have Bulkhead, the galaxy’s top space-bridge technician and someone who is as strong in mind and spark as in body, working alongside us as well.” He took a deep vent. “Lastly, we came across a cyber-ninja named Prowl during our travels, and he joined our team in return for safe passage home at our earliest convenience.” That felt… wrong, despite its truth. “As we worked, the space-bridge behaved erratically and sent debris flying. When it was over, I discovered something glowing among the rocks and uncovered it. The Allspark.” His optics narrowed as he thought of that… thing. “Our ship’s artificial intelligence, Teletran-1, immediately alerted us to an approaching Decepticon ship—and we took action to protect the Allspark at all costs.” He glanced up at Sentinel. “I called for help. Sentinel Prime answered the call, at first disregarding me on account of how fantastic my story seemed, then put me straight through to Ultra Magnus… who told me to sit tight and wait.”

Botanica folded her servos and leaned forward, her optics narrowed. “With the Allspark in your cargo hold and the Decepticons approaching?”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Optimus admitted. “That is why I disobeyed my orders.” He could hear gasps and murmurs from around the stadium. “With Omega Supreme’s weapons’ system disabled, I was forced to get creative as Megatron boarded—but, as fate would have it, Starscream valued killing Megatron more than obtaining the Allspark. I… do admit that it was easier to subdue Megatron after he’d already been blasted apart by one of his own.” A glance at Megatron showed one of the warlord’s optics twitching in agitation. Good. “Between the explosion and interference by the Allspark, we lost all control of the ship and were transported across the universe. We began careening into Earth’s atmosphere, and I saw my opportunity. I opened the hatch in the cargo hold and kicked Megatron out, where he proceeded to burn up on re-entry.”

“Wait, you never told me that part!” Bumblebee stood up, absolutely delighted. “Frag, man—that is AWESOME!”

Optimus sighed. “Bumblebee.”

The smaller mech raised his servos and shrugged. “Sorry, not sorry.”

Sentinel groaned. “Stadium. Live broadcast.”

“Still not sorry, sarge.”

“The ship was still falling,” Optimus continued. “With Megatron gone, my priority was protecting my crew. We entered into emergency stasis, and we only woke up fifty stellar-cycles later because a foreign contaminant alerted Teletran-1.” He glanced away. “No one had found us, or the Allspark. It was nearly a year later when we learned we had been presumed dead.”

Sigil hummed. “Sentinel Prime’s eulogy was rather… stirring.”

Optimus blinked. “Wait, what?”

Sentinel just snorted.

“Continue, Optimus,” Alpha Trion advised, his optics never leaving the young Prime.

“On Earth, my team faced much adversity—from Decepticons, humans, and other forces,” Optimus went on, trying to regain his focus. “And as we faced that adversity, our enemies seeming to multiply by the day, our team and list of allies grew. Sari Sumdac. Jazz. Arcee. Professor Sumdac. The Dinobots. Captain Fanzone. Blurr. Even Wreck-Gar and Scrapper came to help us, when we needed them.” Somehow, Optimus found himself smiling. “And by some twist of fate, an Autobot from another universe fell into our lives—and more than that, he chose to stay and to help. To use his own experiences to guide us, so that… we could win the battles his universe couldn’t… wven the battles that are hard to see.” He looked up, optics narrowed. “And one of his many warnings was that Megatron would return. From a very early time, we knew that something was working against our team—in the shadows—on Earth. There were many inexplicable thefts and acts of sabotage, which all came to a head when Megatron burst out of Sumdac Tower.” He gestured. “A secret study of his remains had allowed Earth’s people to rapidly advance their technology, but it had also allowed the energy of the Allspark to come into contact with him and—while he was just a head hooked up to wires—orchestrate many of our hardships.” He shot a glance at the warlord. “I cannot overstate how dangerous Megatron truly is. He was able to coordinate his own rescue and revival, and then proceeded to target the Allspark once more.” He closed his optics. “Overwhelmed with no hope for reinforcement, with the enemy of the Autobots holding the Allspark in his chest, I did the only thing I could think to… I shattered it.”

As more gasps and murmurs rang out, Contrail just seemed fascinated. “And Megatron survived that, as well?”

“Evidently,” Optimus replied. “My actions bought us time, but led to a race to collect the fragments as they wreaked havoc upon the human city of Detroit—making technology run rampant, even bringing it to life. Megatron also wrought havoc upon Earth while preparing for his final goal: to overtake the space-bridge network and take Cybertron by storm, with help from teams across the universe and Shockwave here on our own planet. He and his followers damaged the city repeatedly, took hostages, threatened lives, and almost succeeded in their plan. If not for his own rash actions and the heroism of Omega Supreme, he would have.”

Avalon raised an optic-brow. “Hm.”

“But Omega Supreme’s actions to save us and Earth made him vulnerable, and Megatron is well-versed in taking advantage of vulnerability,” Optimus went on. “The trusting, the traumatized, the trapped—he targets them and exploits them. He manipulated Omega Supreme, stole Arcee’s codes, and laid siege on Earth so that he could test his Sentinels out on a human population before he waged war on Cybertron.” He turned a full-fledged glare on the Decepticon warlord. “Again, Starscream’s determination to kill his own leader worked against Megatron—but this time, it was not in our favor. Starscream wanted to blast the Sentinels and everything within a hundred-mile radius of Detroit. Millions of lives, lost in an instant.” He gripped the stand. “Using the recovered Magnus Hammer, I brought one Sentinel down. After Sari and Arcee restored him, Omega Supreme brought down another. One was left. Our plan was to bring together the Allspark and use it to power a shield. Prowl and Jazz chose to use the cyber-ninja art of processsor-over-matter while I held off Megatron.” The stand creaked under Optimus’s grip. “I wasn’t there when… Prowl must have realized that he couldn’t pull in anymore, and… gave up his spark, to give the Allspark the strength it needed to save us all.” He closed his optics. “Megatron was trapped inside the barrier with the Sentinel, and I thought he’d been killed—but he was still alive, and he came after me. He blamed me, for everything… Then, Wheeljack stepped in.”

Halogen grew intrigued. “The Wrecker from another reality.”

“That’s right.”

“He defeated Megatron?”

“To the point where Megatron himself told me to finish him off,” Optimus replied quietly.

Alpha Trion tilted his head. “But you didn’t.”

“No.” Optimus looked up, optics narrowed. “I am not judge, jury, and executioner. I believe that Megatron must face the consequences for his crimes… I wouldn’t help him run away.”

Silence fell once more.

Optimus could feel millions of optics on him: judging him, analyzing, weighing his character.

It was actually scarier than fighting Megatron.

“… You, there. Bumblebee,” Botanica spoke up, and Optimus snapped out of his daze. “Do you stand as witness to your leader’s story?”

And Bumblebee nodded. “I’d stake everything on it, ma’am—and I know any member of my team as well as millions of humans on Earth would, too. You could call any of them here, and they’d tell you that same story—and… that Optimus Prime has gotta be the greatest hero of all time.”

Optimus’s optics widened as he looked over at Bumblebee in disbelief.

But Bumblebee just has a smile on his face. “‘Cause from the day we met, Prime has always been trying to be better. He’ll never think that he’s perfect, he’ll never assume he got it right—and that’s why he’s always been a great leader. He listens, and he cares about us. He sees what makes us different, and how our differences are strengths—no matter how much they drive him crazy.” He shrugged. “It used to drive me nuts, ‘cause I thought he had to be faking it. I mean, no one is just that good and kind and brave—but… Optimus Prime is. He’d give up his life to save strangers and never think twice about it. He’s the one who runs in first, puts his own spark on the line against an unknown danger before he’d even think about sending one of us in.” He laughed. “It actually drives us nuts, ‘cause we know it’s just him now! It’s… what makes him different, what makes him Optimus. No wonder he’s so tired all the time, carrying the weight of worlds on his shoulders—‘cause… he really thinks all of us are important just ‘cause we’re here, and he believes in what we can be. He just needs our help to believe in himself, sometimes.” He looked at Optimus, smiling—then, he winked. “And that’s the Allspark-honest truth.”

One chance.

And that’s how Bumblebee used it.

“We-… We shall take your statement under advisement,” Drivetrain said, having noticed the rest of the Council at a loss. “Where are the other members of your team, now?”

Optimus snapped out of it to resume his testimony. “I’m not currently keeping tabs on them.”

And Halogen snapped out of it as well. “Not even the Wrecker?”

“No,” Optimus replied, his optics narrowing. “Not even Wheeljack.”

“… Very well,” Halogen said, closing his optics, then he opened them and nodded. “The Council thanks Optimus Prime for his testimony. You may be seated.”

Optimus tried to not seem as eager to leave as he actually was. He barely would have noticed Megatron as he passed by the second time, except- “You’ll never stop seeing it.”

Optimus paused, his optics widening, then he shook his head and continued making his way back to his seat.

…

The rest of the trial preceded as expected.

The Council continued to call witnesses to tell their stories about how Megatron’s actions, direct or indirect, had led to their suffering—with heavy emphasis placed upon the “mercy” of the Exile and how Megatron had totally disregarded it.

Megatron did not react to any of the testimonies, merely standing silently as everyone spoke.

Rodimus Prime, representing Team Athenia and those who were harmed by the space bridge raids, got a mere shifting of the optics—a glance.

Everyone noticed Rodimus, though. He was so young, and to be a Prime already?

Optimus knew he had blazed through the ranks after Optimus’s own expulsion from the Autobot Academy. He was a gifted warrior.

Still, the Decepticons seemed genuinely unsettled by something about Rodimus Prime.

It couldn’t have just been his age…

Finally, the witness testimonies came to an end—and the moment Optimus dreaded had arrived.

“Having heard all of these testimonies from those your actions have impacted, I doubt that you will truly reflect upon what you have done,” Halogen stated coldly. “All the same, it is our custom to allow the accused the right to speak on their own behalf. What, pray tell, does the mighty Megatron have to say in the face of such vast and egregious evidence?”

Daylight was fading.

The trial had lasted all day. It hadn’t felt so long.

Artificial light fought to keep the darkness at bay in the massive stadium.

Optimus thought they gave Megatron a spotlight.

The Decepticon warlord closed his optics for a moment, seeming to think on Halogen’s question genuinely, then he opened them and looked up—his head still held high in regal defiance.

“… Good evening, Ultra Magnus,” Megatron spoke at long last, and the Council members actually tensed as the crowd was unsettled. The leader of the Decepticons saw this, and Optimus saw him smile. Was that… a gamble? “Come now, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist watching this—but you won’t dare show yourself until you’re the image of strength. And I do mean image.” The warlord chuckled to himself. “Honestly, I don’t know why you try. Your loud-mouthed little stooge already circulated the pictures of your completely helpless state. Your people know that you aren’t immortal, invulnerable.” He looked up. “The façade you built is starting to crack.”

Perceptor was not impressed. “You spent fifty stellar-cycles as a lifeless, severed head in a lab.”

“And did I ever deny that? No,” Megatron replied easily, and the crowd grew even more restless. “I called out to my faithful, and they restored me. See, that’s a big ideological difference between Ultra Magnus and myself. He stands back and watches, lording over a battle like a statue—unmoved, in every definition of the word. I am a leader. I do not go on every mission—but I could go on any mission, and I have. I fight on the front lines. I let dirt and dust and Energon coat my frame as I stand beside my faithful.” He raised an optic-brow. “Why do you think, during the fifty years I was away, no new leader rose among them and they continued to follow orders? Loyalty begets loyalty. How long was Ultra Magnus in that hospital room before you sought out a far more gullible, moldable replacement?”

Sentinel was taken aback. “What?”

Halogen stood, seething. “That’s enough!”

“No. It’s never enough,” Megatron retorted. “It was never enough for you Autobots. Our conflict is as old as Cybertron itself, our factions only changing their names with the passage of time.” Optimus’s optics widened. What? His history research never indicated that. “We Decepticons have changed little over the eons. We’re not saints, any of us would admit that much—but you Autobots? You stew in corruption and call it your perfect machine so that the dull-eyed masses stay in line and allow you to shape their entire existence: their bodies, their names, their minds. Anything other than blind obedience and loyalty without question results in expulsion. Fit the mold, or be cast out.” Megatron turned his head, and Optimus froze as their optics met. “You lost some of your best, that way.” Optimus just stared back, then Megatron turned his crimson gaze upon the Council again. “Poor Elita-1, so terrified of what you Autobots would do to her after a tragic accident that she fled to my side and became my chief biological scientist.” Sentinel looked away. “And dear Optimus Prime: a proud warrior and sensible mind, sentenced to a life of maintenance duty. And why? He dared to take responsibility for the fate of his friends.”

Megatron snapped his digits, and the screens around the stadium—having been showing close-ups of the trial for the audience to see—suddenly changed.

:Cadet Optimus! Cadet Sentinel!: Ultra Magnus presided alone over a familiar chamber. :You stand accused of trespassing on an organic planet in violation of Cybertronian law, resulting in the tragic loss of Cadet Elita-1.: His optics narrowed. :Before I pronounce judgement, do you have any final statements?:

A younger Sentinel huffed, looking at his friend in accusation. :I wanted to go back for Elita, sir—but when things got glitchy, Optimus cut and ran!:

:So you’ve testified, cadet,: Ultra Magnus remarked flatly. :But I suspect there’s more to this story than meets the optic sensor.: He eyed the other cadet suspiciously. :Whose idea was it to go to this planet?:

:I was the senior cadet, sir,: a young Optimus said quietly. :Whatever happened was my responsibility.:

Ultra Magnus glanced at the young Sentinel. :Anything you’d care to add?:

:No, sir,: the young mech replied, and the current-day Sentinel looked away in shame.

:Then, you leave me no choice. Cadet Optimus, you are hereby expelled from the Autobot Academy and ineligible for service in the Elite Guard,: Ultra Magnus decreed. :I had hoped that, someday, you would achieve greatness—perhaps even prove yourself a worthy Magnus… but clearly, being a hero is not in your programming.:

The screens halted on that image.

And the stadium exploded in an uproar.

Optimus just stared at the screens in complete disbelief, feeling hollow. One of the very worst moments of his life, broadcast for the world to see—by Megatron himself.

“They did that to you?” A voice whispered, and Optimus felt like he was turning his head in water as he glanced down.

Bumblebee was staring at him. “Prime, that-… That was wrong.”

“Where is that coming from?!” Halogen demanded, regaining both of their attention—and with the microphones catching his voice, the stadium caught on as well.

“From you. From this council,” Megatron told him curtly. “True loyalty, and it was punished to save face. It was punished because Ultra Magnus had an heir apparent and expected him to be willing to do whatever it took to stay in power, to follow in his footsteps, and could not accept that young Optimus valued honor and camaraderie over power. After all, these things have all been long forgotten by your Council—for so very long, you mistake the introduction of cure as corruption.” Megatron’s optics narrowed. “Your perfect machine is nothing but a mountain of crushed sparks for this complete and utter farce of a government to stand upon. You rode on the backs of true talent to keep your power. And history is written by the winner, so your young don’t know enough to ask questions you can’t answer.”

Sigil folded his servos. “Like what?”

“… Why did no one on this council see the front lines of the war? Including Ultra Magnus,” the Decepticon warlord replied, and the Council members were taken aback. “I’ll answer that one for you.” Megatron looked out at the crowd, his face neutral. “That’s not their job. Their job is to sit here and idly watch as they send their freshly-molded fodder soldiers to die for them.” He looked at Optimus again, next. “That’s why Ultra Magnus was so useless, on Earth and against Shockwave—a spy and scientist, not a warrior. He had his precious hammer, and what good did it do? He never even swung the blasted thing, let alone marched into war. That was for lesser creatures.” He turned his gaze to the council once more, and he smiled. “Like the workers drafted to Project Safeguard, perhaps?”

And that, the mention of the Jettwins, snapped Sentinel out of his funk. “Enough!”

“If one could even call it ‘drafted’.” Megatron’s fingers clicked again, and the screens changed-

:They’re just kids, civilian kids,: this universe’s Wheeljack argued, data-pad in hand. :And they’re unconscious, they can’t give consent. They need medical attention, not… this!:

:Energon supplies continue to dwindle. New laborers are molded every day, and these two can easily be recycled if you believe they will not survive the process,: Ultra Magnus replied, visibly unmoved. :I have alotted the resources to be used specifically for Project Safeguard. If you want to save these mechs’ sparks, it will be by this means—and that is final.:

:… I want Red Alert,: this universe’s Wheeljack decided, at a loss. :If-… If we’re going to do this, it can’t just be me and Percy on the project. I want Red Alert, to monitor their vitals and manage the pain, and then… I’ll do it.:

:… Very well. I shall send for her at once. Make the necessary preparations.:

As there was more outcry from the crowd, Megatron was just getting started. “And what of your intentions with the Wrecker? Your plans of reward for his heroism?”

:What is your fascination with the Wrecker from the alternate universe?: Came Perceptor’s voice.

And Halogen’s replied. :An Autobot warframe from another universe, with Wheeljack’s mind and untold power and experience? I’m surprised that you aren’t more fascinated, you don’t need to have emotion for analysis. Ultra Magnus was going to make an emotional decision; he wanted the Wrecker gone, out of fear that his rogue voice could inspire dissent upon the masses.:

:And you do not want him gone?:

:Not until our scientists have wrung even scrap of information and use they can from him—mind, body, and spark. We just have to wait, to find an opportunity—something, anything, that we can use to take him into our custody without stirring up a fuss. I don’t care what we pin on him, I don’t care if he’s injured. We just need him alive… but that rogue voice? I can agree with Ultra Magnus on that much. That can go.:

“What?!” Optimus shouted, standing up—right at the same time as Bumblebee cried out:

“No!”

“This is the true face of your leaders, Autobots!” Megatron announced, using his cuffed servos to gesture to the mortified members of the Council. Even Perceptor’s optics had widened. “They are nothing more than cowardly bigots who cling to power by stifling anyone whose ideals differ from their own.” Megatron bared his fanged dentas, letting his anger show. “They slay, imprison, or reformat anyone who could possibly hope to stand against them. You heard it yourselves! How long will it be, until young Optimus Prime and his brave little teammates start to disappear—one by one? Into the stockade?”

The footage that appeared on the screens next was so horrific, so gruesome, that Optimus froze for a moment to stare in horror before he heard rapid vents and broke his gaze away to see how his teammate was reacting.

Bumblebee was hyperventilating, hugging himself, unable to tear his gaze away—because the images on the screen…

It was Wasp.

“Bumblebee!” Optimus finally kneeled and swept his teammate into his arms, tucking the smaller mech’s face against his chest to shield his gaze despite knowing the horrible sounds would still reach him, then he closed his own optics. “I-… I didn’t know…”

“Or into the Well itself, silenced and sidelined in the annals of history—propagandized for all they’re worth, what they truly represented forgotten?” Megatron went on as the crowd started to truly turn. “This is the restitution for sacrifice, for heroism. All you have ever been taught is a lie. You’re not priceless cogs in a grand Autobot machine. You’re puppets. Experiments. Slaves to the council.” Megatron closed his optics, his shoulders raising. “Just as we all were, before the war. A war which only the Council truly won.” He opened his optics and looked at the leaders of Cybertron with nothing but a lifetime of disdain. “The rest of us all lost.”

Avalon stood and pointed. “Guards!”

As the Elite Guard closed in, Megatron smiled. “So, Autobots, I must now ask: who do you believe that you can trust? If I may, I can also answer that question… with just two words.”

“Lord Megatron?” Halogen asked, completely outraged. “The Decepticons?”

Megatron’s expression darkened. “… No one.”

A hush came over the stadium.

Optimus looked up, his optics wide.

And then-

BOOM!

The ceiling exploded—and alongside debris, fully-armed Decepticon warriors rained down into the stadium.

The crowd panicked, scrambling to flee, while the Elite Guard flew into action to protect the Council and the VIPs.

They weren’t the target, though.

Optimus watched, still shielding Bumblebee with his own body and petrified in horror, as a warrior with a glass mask over his head removed the restraints holding Megatron—while a much larger warrior freed the other trapped Decepticons.

“Strika!” Lugnut exclaimed in delight upon being freed. “My beautiful, ferocious Strika!”

“The time for a proper reunion shall come,” she told him calmly, then she gestured to the rest of her companions. “Remove their restraints. Give their flight capabilities back, and prepare both Shockwave and Soundwave for transport.”

“Oh, goodie,” Shockwave remarked flatly.

Megatron rubbed his freed wrists, then he looked back—meeting Optimus’s optics with his own for one final time. “Hm. The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Truth?!” Optimus asked. “You’re Decepticons!”

“… And who gave us that name?” Megatron asked quietly, raising an optic-brow.

Optimus didn’t mean to do it.

His gaze shifted, just for a moment. He saw the Council being escorted away by the Elite Guard.

Then, he was looking at Megatron again—and the warlord seemed genuinely surprised… before his expression actually softened, just a little bit. “No going back now, Optimus Prime. You will always see it.” Then, he was the terrifying leader of the Decepticons again—his optics narrowed as he raised his fist towards the sky. “Decepticons! Transform, and RISE UP!”

All those engines at once created a furious wind, casting debris through the destroyed stadium, and Optimus watched the Decepticons ascend and depart even as Autobot reinforcement ships arrived to give chase.

Optimus knew they wouldn’t be caught.

They wouldn’t be caught, because Wheeljack had been right along—about everything, everyone.

Something was starting.

And Optimus… couldn’t protect anyone from it, not himself and not his home and not his family.

Something was starting.

And everything was over.

“Prime? Prime! Optimus!” Optimus looked down to see Bumblebee grabbing his arm, his optics wide. “We gotta go, man.”

Optimus staggered to his struts, and Bumblebee held onto his arm as he turned and ran—and the Prime somehow followed.

They ran, and ran—making it to the hallway they had first come onto the stadium floor from, and Optimus just let Bumblebee lead the way.

His spark thundered, his mind reeled, and-

And someone was suddenly grabbing him and pulling him into a side hallway, slamming his back into a wall and pinning him there.

“Hey!” Bumblebee shouted as he doubled-back to face Optimus’s attacker.

Optimus just stared. “Sentinel?”

“Optimus, you gotta go!” Sentinel snapped, grabbing Optimus by the shoulders and then pointing towards a different door—an emergency exit. “Take your team, and leave this planet!”

Optimus blinked. “What?”

“Things are about to go to scrap in a hurry around here, and I know you. You’re gonna want to play hero,” Sentinel explained as Bumblebee lowered his fists. “This isn’t Earth, Optimus. You’ll just get yourself thrown in the stockade or killed.”

“… You were helping me,” Optimus managed.

Sentinel didn’t look away, he just held on a little tighter. “Yeah, and this is probably the last favor you’ll ever get outta me. The chaos will buy you some time, but you don’t have long before this place goes on lockdown—and if I’m ordered to arrest you, then I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Optimus argued, reaching up to grab Sentinel’s wrist.

Sentinel glanced at Optimus’s servo, then looked back at him with a conflicted expression before he grew resigned. “… Go.”

“Sentinel-”

“Go!” Sentinel turned and shoved Optimus towards the door, reaching back and pushing Bumblebee forward to follow along as well. “And Optimus? Do yourself a favor… Don’t come back.”

“Sentinel.” Optimus couldn’t think. “Sentinel, I-”

“Prime, we gotta go!” Bumblebee grabbed the larger mech’s arm, his optics wide.

But Optimus couldn’t. “Sentinel!”

“… I know, buddy,” Sentinel said quietly, offering a tired smile. “Me, too.” His optics narrowed, and he pointed. “Now, GO!” Sentinel turned his back, raising a digit to his commlink. “Halogen, this is Sentinel Prime reporting. Optimus Prime and his subordinate are no longer on the grounds… and I’ve lost visual.”

Optimus let Bumblebee tug him along, then he forced himself to turn and run with his teammate—away from the stadium, the crowds, Alpha Trion and the Council, and Sentinel.

They burst through the door, and the Prime raised a digit to his own commlink. “Calling all Autobots! Calling all Autobots!”

…

…

Sari and Arcee looked up from their work as Ratchet picked up an incoming message on Omega Supreme’s monitor.

:Megatron has escaped!:

Sari gasped, covering her mouth with her hands—and Arcee carefully wrapped a servo behind her back before looking at Ratchet in dismay.

The field-tech just stared at the screen in horror.

…

:The Council will declare a state of emergency!:

In the Cyber-Ninja Fortress, Jazz lowered his digit and looked back at Drift—at a loss for words.

…

The Jettwins stared at the barracks’ screen, which had gone from reddened to full of static.

:Cybertron is about to go on lockdown.:

Behind the young warriors, Bulkhead and Wheeljack exchanged wary glances.

:And as of this moment, we are all on the run.:

…

…

Optimus gritted his dentas as he held onto Bumblebee’s servo with everything he had left.

…

TFP Wheeljack: Crushes are the worst. Whenever I’m near mine, I start acting stupid.

TFP Ultra Magnus: You always act stupid.

TFP Ultra Magnus:

TFP Ultra Magnus: Wait-

…

TFA Optimus: Hi, could I ask how exactly does one “accidentally” set a lemon on fire?

TFP Wheeljack: Microwave for forty minutes.

TFA Prowl: WHY WERE YOU MICROWAVING A LEMON?!

TFP Wheeljack: I read boiling lemons helps cover up bad smells and I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges, but I didn’t own any pots-

TFA Ratchet: Did you burn an orange too? HOW?!

TFP Wheeljack: Microwave for forty minutes.

…

TFA Optimus: Wow, I keep stepping on a lot of crunchy twigs.

TFA Elita-1: Those are bones, Optimus.

TFA Optimus: *looks straight up* Not if I never look down.

…

TFP Ultra Magnus: You know what bothers me? Bats. Why can bats fly?

TFP Wheeljack: *groan* Not again!

TFP Ultra Magnus: No. Seriously, who gave them the right? They're mammals! Mammals walk on land, no exceptions.

TFA Prowl: Just wait until you hear about whales.

TFP Ultra Magnus: What, now?

…

The TFA Kids & TFP Wheeljack, after the TFA Kids finally accept the dark truth about TFA Cybertron:

…

Miko Nakadai: *barging in* PEASANT, I REQUIRE SUSTENANCE.

TFP Bulkhead: You know, there are other ways to say you want McDonalds.

Miko Nakadai: FOUL PLEBEIAN, YOU DARE SPEAK AGAINST ME?!

TFP Bulkhead: *sigh* What do you want?

Miko Nakadai: Chicken nuggets, please.

…

TFP Wheeljack: The only straight I am is a straight-up badass.

…

TFP Wheeljack: What are you writing?

TFP Ultra Magnus: The human government wants to know what kind of weapons we have. I'm letting them know it's private information.

TFA Bumblebee: *looking around TFP Ultra Magnus's arm* … This just says 'fuck around and find out' in calligraphy.

…

TFA Jazz: I hate you, sometimes.

TFA Drift, holding up a data-pad: *smirk* Well, according to this picture your ghost friend drew of us holding hands, that's not true.

TFA Jazz: Drift, you drew that.

TFA Drift: *hiding the drawing* It doesn't matter-

…

TFA Optimus: Bumblebee, what are you doing tomorrow?

TFA Bumblebee: Having my day ruined by whatever you’re about to ask me to do.

…

TFP Wheeljack: Why did you leave Wrestlemania on for the cats?

TFA Prowl: They need to learn how to protect us.

…

TFP Wheeljack: *rubbing his temples* I am not proud of what I am about to say, but someone: get me a cy-gar.

TFA Optimus: But Wheeljack, we don't smoke.

TFP Wheeljack: Cut the crap, Prime. I'm not an idiot. I know that one in five kids smoke.

TFP Wheeljack: *points at TFA Optimus* One! *points at TFA Jazz* Two! *points at TFA Bumblebee* Three! *points at TFA Bulkhead* Four! *points at TFA Prowl* Five!

TFP Wheeljack: Now, I am going to close my optics—and when I open them, there had better be a cy-gar between these two fingers!

TFA Bumblebee: *puts a cy-gar in TFP Wheeljack's hand*

TFP Wheeljack: Thank you. Light?

The TFA Kids: *all simultaneously pull out lighters*

…

TFP Prowl: What’s up? I’m back.

TFP Wheeljack: *stunned* I literally saw you die. You died. You were dead!

TFP Prowl: Death is a social construct.

…

TFP Wheeljack: *deep vent* I don't know how to tell you this, but... I love you.

TFP Ultra Magnus: That's great, Wheeljack. Especially considering the fact we've been married for six fucking years-

…

TFA Prowl: *arms crossed* Everyone knows that Santa is an invention designed by the big five corporations to sell tinsel and video games to an unsuspecting public.

TFA Bumblebee: The whole “childhood wonder” stage just blew right past you, didn’t it?

…

TFP Wheeljack: I wonder who’s ruining my life.

TFP Wheeljack: *looks in the mirror*

TFP Wheeljack: So, we meet again.

…

TFP Ultra Magnus, to TFA Optimus: Please, picking locks is my specialty.

TFP Ultra Magnus: *throws a brick through the window* Okay, let’s go.

(he learned from the best)

…

TFA Bumblebee: Do you think different paints have different tastes?

TFA Bulkhead: They do.

TFP Wheeljack: ... Why did you say that with such certainty?

…

TFA Optimus: Why can’t we all just get along?

TFA Ratchet: Because most of us are assholes.

…

TFP Wheeljack: I have a plan.

TFP Ultra Magnus: Good! As long as we aren’t breaking the law again, I’m open to hearing it.

TFP Wheeljack: … I no longer have a plan.

…

TFA Optimus: (shielding Blackarachnia) Treat spiders the way you want to be treated!

TFA Sentinel: (nod) Killed without hesitation.

…

TFA Ratchet: Who the fuck broke the toaster?

TFA Bumblebee: It was Wheeljack.

TFA Optimus: It was Wheeljack.

TFA Bulkhead: Wheeljack broke it.

TFP Wheeljack:

TFP Wheeljack: ... YOU PROMISED-

…

TFA Jazz: Do you ever wonder why you're still single?

TFA Drift: *eating Space Fluff straight out of the jar with a spoon* Yeah... I mean, I'm perfect! Who wouldn't want to date me? :3

TFA Jazz: *sigh* I can name a few people.

…

TFA Bumblebee: Can you keep a secret?

TFA Bulkhead: *nervous smile* Well, I'm good until I meet the next person…

…

TFP Wheeljack: Hold the fuck up.

TFP Ultra Magnus: Excuse me?

TFP Wheeljack: I said hold the fuck up.

TFP Ultra Magnus:

TFP Wheeljack: I’m the fuck-up, hold me-

…

TFP Wheeljack: *looking at a data-pad* As you know, I keep a list of all my friends in order of how likely they are to betray me-

TFA Crew: (cackling, wheezing)

TFA Optimus: (grin) Where am I on the list?

TFP Wheeljack: Well, I can’t tell you that—because then you’ll quickly move up or down depending on your reaction.

…

TFA Bumblebee: (holding a shovel) Alright, so the vampire's gravestone is—

TFA Prowl: Cenotaph.

TFA Bumblebee: What?

TFA Prowl: It's only a gravestone if it marks the location of a body. A monument honouring someone whose body isn't present is a cenotaph.

TFA Optimus: I'm... not sure that's how it works if the body gets up and walks away on its own.

TFA Prowl: There's a precedent for gravestones being reclassified as cenotaphs if the body is later removed and reinterred elsewhere. There's no rule that says the body itself can't do the removing.

TFA Bulkhead: Okay, but the body is very much coming back—even though it shouldn’t be coming or going at all, ever. That's kinda what we're here to accomplish.

TFA Prowl: … So, it's a temporary cenotaph.

TFA Bumblebee: And naturally, our greatest concern here is avoiding semantic ambiguity.

TFP Wheeljack: Semantic ambiguity is how vampires get you.

…

TFA Ultra Magnus: Hello-

TFP Wheeljack: Leave before there's a terrible misunderstandin’ between my foot and your ass.

…

TFP Wheeljack: I wish I was a dinosaur.

TFA Optimus: Why? Cause they're big and scary?

TFP Wheeljack: Because they're dead.

…

TFA Jazz: *yawns*

TFA Drift: Yeah, being that pretty must be tiring.

TFA Jazz: Then, you must be exhuasted.

Ghost!TFA Prowl: *popping out of the Allspark* Will you two shut up? Some of us are lonely.

…

Henry Masterson: (posting Headmaster Unit pictures online) I’m a reverse necromancer!

TFA Optimus: (reading this) Isn’t that just-?

TFP Wheeljack: (posting a rant) No. Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You are literally so fucking unfunny that it hurts. It physically hurts my body knowing that people think that murder is funny. I can’t believe I’m saying this—but do you guys know how chronically online you all are, thinking that saying “oOh iM a rEVeRsE nECrOmANcER i LOvE tO kiLL pEOpLe” is genuinely funny and will get everyone in the room shitting themselves from laughter??? ‘Cause it’s not. It’s fucking not. In fact, it’s the unfunniest fucking joke ever. Not just any joke about killing people. This one specifically. Nobody is fucking laughing at that, Henry. It makes you look like a greasy emo kid who has never been outside once in their life and uses Tumblr religiously—like not even the funny side of Tumblr, the fucking unfunny side filled with overused jokes about murder and illegal acts. WAIT, you are that kid! Honestly, fuck you.

TFA Optimus: (reading that) … You okay?

TFP Wheeljack: (face-down on his keyboard)

…

TFA Bumblebee: *writing a letter* Dear Santa, I'm writing to let you know I've been naughty... and it was worth it you fat, judgemental bastard-

…

(TFP Season 3 Part II)

TFP Wheeljack: (talking about home) We wouldn’t last two minutes without Ultra Magnus.

TFP Wheeljack:

TFP Wheeljack: Don’t tell him I said that.

…

TFA Bumblebee: We are gathered here today because someone- *glares at TFA Prowl’s coffin* -couldn’t stay alive!

…

TFP Ultra Magnus, about TFP Wheeljack: I could fix him, but honestly whatever the Hell is wrong with him is way funnier.

TFA Optimus: *snort* That's probably what Primus thinks about me.

TFP Optimus: It is.

…

TFA Wheeljack: *working at McDonald's while trying to raise money for Sari’s care* Sorry, sir—we don't serve a McFuck here, so either you throw that one slice of pickle out or we're gonna have a McProblem.

…

TFA Bumblebee, after every near-death experience:

…

TFA Ratchet: *sigh* Ah, yes. Here, we have a beautiful couple...

TFP Ultra Magnus: *installing steps beside their bed* I really care about your feelings!

TFP Wheeljack: *working on forty new prosthetic designs* I really care about YOUR feelings!

TFA Ratchet: *turning his head* And then, there's the disaster couple...

TFA Drift: *standing on a table to be taller* YOU NEED TO PAY MORE ATTENTION TO ME INSTEAD OF BEING AT THE HOSPITAL!

TFA Jazz: *arms full of paperwork* I WOULDN'T HAVE TO SPEND SO MUCH TIME AT THE HOSPITAL IF YOU STOPPED INSISTING ON FIGHTING EVERYONE WHO COMES WITHIN A FIVE FOOT RADIUS OF YOU!

…

TFA Ultra Magnus: If I had a face like yours, I'd put it on a wall and throw a brick at it.

TFP Wheeljack: If I had a face like YOURS, I'd put it on a brick and throw a wall at it.

…

TFA Bumblebee: *sigh* At this point, I have to confess… I started to feel a little bad for Blurr.

TFA Bumblebee: *shrug* Maybe it was the fact that I had just outperformed him at his own game, or maybe it was that I held an obvious advantage over the poor former-cube bastard. Maybe it was just that unbearable to look into his optics. Either way, I started to wonder if maybe this was a pointless endeavor after all. What was I doing to this ‘bot? What was I trying to prove? Was this really some grand, noble quest to tear an overconfident fraud from his unearned throne? To show everyone that I was right—that Blurr did not deserve to stand at that zenith, to lord over all his lowly racing competitors?

TFA Bumblebee: Or… perhaps… was I really just doing this for myself? Beating an opponent in recovery over and over and over again… all for my own petty ego, all to fill this emptiness inside of me. I asked myself, was Blurr really the bad guy? Or was it me, all along?

TFA Bumblebee: … But then, I remembered that Blurr ain’t shit—and I got over it!

…

TFA Kids: Fight me!

TFP Wheeljack, standing behind them and holding a knife: *mouths* Do not.

…

TFP Wheeljack: I’m so jetlagged I can’t even regrender my chorf.

Everyone: *stares*

TFP Wheeljack: *also baffled* … I don’t even know what I was trying to say.

…

TFA Drift, texting: Don't worry, I have your phone! Text me when you're gonna come get it!

TFA Jazz: *watching in fond exasperation*

TFA Drift: … Oh-

TFA Jazz: There you go.

TFA Drift: *embarrassed* That’s-…

TFA Jazz: *grin* You were trying to do a good thing.

…

TFA Bulkhead: Are you ever going to listen to me?

TFA Bumblebee: Yes. Absolutely.

TFA Bulkhead: When?

TFA Bumblebee: When you're right.

…

The Wreckers, part one of TFP Season 3:

The Wreckers, part two of TFP Season 3:

…

TFA Bumblebee: You know guys, sometimes I feel like you don’t take me seriously enough.

TFA Bulkhead: "Sometimes"?

TFA Ratchet: "Enough"?

TFA Bumblebee:

TFA Prowl: Change that to “at all”, and we'll talk.

TFA Optimus: *silent*

TFA Bumblebee: No comment?

TFA Optimus: No need. He’s been summoned.

TFA Wheeljack: *materializing in the doorway* Hey-

…

TFP Wheeljack: *sitting at a desk chair* Do you ever feel like exploding? Have you experienced the urge to enter the process of combustion? Has your mind created a logical idea, known as thought, to disperse your body into thousands of particles suddenly?

TFA Ratchet: *not even bothering to ask why TFP Wheeljack is in his room* It’s 3 AM. Please, go back to sleep.

…

TFP Wheeljack: *holding his baby (Strongarm)*

TFA Jazz: Oh Primus, I can’t believe one of us actually has one of these.

Sari Sumdac: I know, I still am one of these.

TFP Wheeljack: *raise optic-brow* You’re all my these. You know that, right?

…

TFP Wheeljack: *enters his own password* I'm in.

…

TFA Ratchet: Now, the recipe calls for 2 shots of vodka.

TFA Ratchet: *upends the bottle*

…

TFP Wheeljack: *to TFA Optimus* Prime, I am nothing if not a ‘bot of principle.

TFP Wheeljack: Now, let’s break into this fortified military base.

…

TFA Bumblebee: Okay, let’s play for it. Rock, paper, scissors—SHOOT!

TFP Ultra Magnus: *plays with prosthetic claw*

TFA Bumblebee: Rock beats scissors! I win!

TFP Ultra Magnus: I played paper.

TFA Bumblebee: *blink* Wait- *mortified* Frag!

TFP Wheeljack: *quietly* You fragger. You face the claw down to play paper. You had it sideways. You played scissors.

TFP Ultra Magnus: *tuning out TFA Bumblebee’s rapid-fire apologies* He needs to know how to be a good winner as well as a good loser.

TFP Wheeljack: … That, and you are a fragger.

TFP Ultra Magnus: Heheh.

…

TFA Jazz: I'm having problems with a guy...

TFP Wheeljack: Like his dead body won't fit into your trunk kind of problems, or you like him kind of problems?

TFA Jazz: *thinking about TFA Drift* … It kinda varies from moment to moment.

TFP Wheeljack: *thinks on it*

TFA Wheeljack: Saw.

…

Sari Sumdac: Please confirm, to your knowledge, that you are not a fully robotic being, were born an organic creature, and do in fact possess what many cultures would call a soul.

Miko Nakadai: What? “To my knowledge”? Do a lot of people not know if they’re robots???

Sari Sumdac: … Thank you for your confirmation.

…

TFA Bumblebee: I still don’t have a New Year’s resolution.

TFA Prowl: You could work on your attention span.

TFA Bulkhead: You could be less lazy.

TFA Ratchet: Don’t be such a bitch.

TFA Bumblebee: Okay, DAMN! FRAG.

…

TFA Ratchet, watching TFA Bumblebee do something stupid: *sigh* Wheeljack, you're officially only the second highest risk here.

TFP Wheeljack: Hell, yeah! I'm gonna-

TFA Ratchet: Don't finish that sentence, you'll move back up.

…

TFA Drift: Love is weakness and an evolutionary mistake.

TFA Prowl: *hovering as a ghost* You are literally making a Valentine’s day card for Jazz.

TFA Drift, pointing his hot-glue gun towards TFA Prowl: You’re on thin fucking ice.

…

If TFA Ultra Magnus tried to make a run from facing judgement, and the TFP Cast found out about it:

…

TFP Ultra Magnus: *checking a cabinet* Wheeljack? Where are your meds?

TFP Wheeljack: … *awkward smile* Y’know how you told me to pick up my prescription at the pharmacy?

TFP Ultra Magnus: Yes…

TFP Wheeljack: … They are out of my ADHD medication for five days.

TFP Ultra Magnus: *huge optics* By the Allspark.

TFP Wheeljack: It’s gonna be a fun week!

TFP Ultra Magnus: *grabbing his bug-out bag* I’m going to stay with Optimus.

TFP Wheeljack: In sickness and in health, fragger!

…

TFA Ratchet: I didn’t want to do it, no one else wanted to do it, so I made Wheeljack do it.

TFA Bulkhead: Wheeljack? Why not Bumblebee?

TFA Ratchet: I wanted it done, not us dead.

…

TFA Optimus: “Struggling with depression” would imply that I am bad at being depressed when I am, in fact, very proficient at being depressed.

…

(shortly after TFA Drift joins the family)

TFA Drift: *texting* O

TFP Ultra Magnus: What?

TFA Drift: Don’t read into that.

TFP Ultra Magnus: But I will read into that.

TFA Drift: HOW?! IT’S A LETTER!

TFP Ultra Magnus: Why is there a space after it?

TFA Drift: Dude, really?

TFA Drift: It’s a fragging letter.

TFP Ultra Magnus: It could stand for something!

TFA Drift: IT DOESN’T, I PROMISE!

TFP Ultra Magnus: Like Oppression! Or worse…

TFA Drift: Dude, I just typed the letter O. That means nothing. 🫤

TFP Ultra Magnus: Optometrist.

TFA Drift: I’m going back to the Decepticons.

…

TFP Wheeljack: *holds a gun out*

TFA Jazz: *taken aback* I-I don't believe in guns.

TFP Wheeljack: *snort* Well, trust me: they're very real. Now take it.

…

TFA Ratchet: If I ever had sparklings, I imagine they would be a lot like you.

TFA Bumblebee & Sari Sumdac: Aw, thanks-

TFA Ratchet: Which is probably why I’ve never reproduced.

…

TFP Wheeljack: *staring at the shields he’s been working on since Season 2* Can you PLEASE peer pressure me into doing my project?

TFA Optimus: *awkward* I don’t know, Wheeljack. I wouldn’t even know how to-

TFA Ratchet: Do it, or you're straight.

TFP Wheeljack: I said peer pressure, NOT THREATEN!

…

TFA Drift: I hate to disagree with you, but-

TFA Jazz: Please, you love to disagree with me. It’s your favorite thing to do.

…

TFA Ultra Magnus: Pardon the intrusion, but-

TFP Ultra Magnus: On this moment, or just my life in general?

…

TFP Wheeljack, pre-TFPWiTFA S3:

…

TFP Bulkhead: Miko, you can do anything!

Miko Nakadai: Anything?

TFP Bulkhead: Anything!

Miko Nakadai: *holding a torch* ANYTHING?!

TFP Bulkhead: *panic* Wait, not that!

…

TFP Wheeljack: Remember how I once thought that this place couldn’t possibly be any weirder than my home?

TFP Wheeljack: (staring at TFA Bulkhead’s still-alive severed head) Well, now: I’m not sure how to feel about being proven wrong.

…

(during TFA Prowl’s first few years on the team)

TFP Bulkhead: How long do you reckon it’ll be until Prowl finally snaps and commits murder?

TFA Bumblebee: I’ve been going along assuming it’s already happened at some point and it’s just that no one was ever able to trace it back to him.

…

(the Kids wanted to put on a date night for their Wrecker Dads)

TFA Optimus: *spraying a melted cutting board with his water cannons*

Miko Nakadai: *hiding behind TFA Optimus* We gotta cool this bitch down. Cool it down.

Sari Sumdac: How did this even happen???

TFA Bumblebee: *awkwardly tapping his digits together* I actually just put the cutting board in the oven...

TFA Jazz: *visibly confused* Okay, what?

TFA Bulkhead: *glancing up at the ceiling with a silent plea for strength* Bumblebee decided to put a plastic cutting board in the oven.

TFA Prowl: *grabs one of TFA Optimus’s arms, aims the water cannon at TFA Bumblebee*

TFA Bumblebee: *spluttering* Dude, I forgot-!

TFA Prowl: BY THE FRAGGING ALLSPARK! WE ARE TRYING TO MAKE “ENERGON ALFREDO”, AND YOU FRAGGING MELT THE CUTTING BOARD IN THE OVEN AT 400 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT?!

TFA Ratchet, TFP Bulkhead, & Isaac Sumdac: *watching in complete confusion while trying to process this whole situation*

…

(the Season 3 finale)

TFP Wheeljack: “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy”? I would. Fragger.

TFP Wheeljack: “I’m not gonna sink to their level”? I will. Coward.

TFP Wheeljack: “I’m the bigger person”? Bitch-

…

TFA Jazz: *texting* Hey, can you pick me up? I’m drunk.

(later)

TFA Jazz: *texting* Oh, you don't have to anymore. I'm home, now.

TFA Drift, walking into the room with a canister of plain Energon: *speaking* Yes, I'm quite aware of that after bringing you back to the Fortress.

…

(Human AU)

TFP Wheeljack: Why does nobody tell me when people come over?

TFP Wheeljack: I came downstairs singing “All Star” while wearing a "say ‘hey’ if you're gay" shirt and boxers!

TFP Wheeljack: Everyone was there. EVERYONE! Including Ultra Magnus!

TFP Wheeljack: He saw.

TFA Bumblebee: … In our defense, he said ‘hey’.

…

Miko Nakadai: *slams graffitied scrapbook down in front of Sari Sumdac*

Miko Nakadai: Boil up some Mountain Dew. It’s gonna be a long night.

Sari Sumdac: *staring* You could have said literally anything else.

Miko Nakadai: Cauldron boil and cauldron bubble, Baja Blast to fuel my trouble.

Sari Sumdac: I’m going to just stop challenging you when you say random shit. I won’t win. I realize this, now.

Miko Nakadai: Congrats, that means you now rank second among all current Wreckers. You realized that just a lil’ slower than Ultra Magnus.

…

How it must feel to be TFP Wheeljack, when he thinks of his family:

…

(Many Years Ago)

TFP Ultra Magnus: *furious* What do you mean we have homework tonight? I have books to read.

…

TFA Bumblebee: Are you busy?

TFA Ratchet: Yes.

TFA Bumblebee: Cool, listen to this-

…

(the Season 2 opener)

TFP Wheeljack: *grinning at the Elite Guard* Be careful, I thrive on negative attention.

The TFA Crew: Wheeljack, no-

…

Miko Nakadai: *smile, wink* No problemo!

Miko Nakadai: *internally* But it was all problemo.

…

TFP Ultra Magnus: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know!

TFP Wheeljack: *distracted* The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus.

TFP Ultra Magnus: Stop-

…

TFA Optimus: Can we talk about that mass email you sent?

TFP Wheeljack: Why? It was important.

TFA Optimus: All it says is, "I'm back on my bullshit".

TFA Ratchet, already working on his next “jam session” plan: *shrugging* The people need to know.

…

TFA Bumblebee: Sleep is the body’s best safety mechanism.

TFA Prowl: How so?

TFA Bumblebee: It keeps you from screwing up for eight hours.

…

TFP Wheeljack: (to TFA Ultra Magnus) I don’t know how you have your foot in your mouth, your head up your aft, and your nose in my business—but here we are, you fraggin’ wizard.

…

TFP Wheeljack: *spinning a lob-ball on his digit* You know, I used to play—back in my gory days.

TFA Optimus: … You mean “glory days”?

TFP Wheeljack: *sigh* Ah, those too—I guess.

…

TFP Megatron: Yeah, I’m a false prophet—but you believed me, so whose fault is it really that we’re in this mess?

…

TFP Wheeljack: So, are you two friends?

TFA Drift: Yes.

TFA Jazz: No.

…

The Chat’s Running Joke about how Shattered Glass UltraJack is gonna be moving:

Like, do you mean an invincible immortal—he’s a glitch in the Matrix, threats just bounce off and he’s an immovable object? He can be caught, but be can’t be pierced or crushed or destroyed—things will bounce off, break, or fold around him.

What about a Wolverine/Deadpool-type, where the blows land but he bounces back? Horrific injury for trauma points, but then: he heals… once whatever caused the damage is removed?

Iron Giant, where he could get hit by a nuke and vaporized across the planet—and he’ll still come back together, albeit gradually, eventually?

There are multiple types of immortality, each a bit more disturbing when you consider the kinds of things Wheeljack is up against… and what he might be willing to do, once he realizes that he can “bounce back” from hits that’d kill anyone else. That’s another thing to consider, isn’t it?

Because what I’m kinda forming from this Ask is that since Wheeljack is from TFP, where his life is plotted out in a narrative, he can’t really get KOed outside of that narrative he’s been removed from.

It’s like Final Destination rules. He’s not gonna get the axe when it’s not his turn, and it can’t be his turn when he’s not even in the right universe.

But what form shall that take?

Let’s explore each one in the first instance where this probably would have been revealed, okay?

In my series, it’s revealed that The Key doesn’t work on Wheeljack after he takes a hit to his back from Blitzwing to protect Bumblebee and Prowl. That’s the first serious damage he takes, the first instance when he almost died in the TFA reality.

A fire-blast to the spine while shielding two smaller Autobots. Okay. Let’s play this out by each rule set: glitch, Wolverine, or Iron Giant.

Glitch: Blitzwing watches that heat-blast bounce the fuck off of this Wrecker’s back and smack him in his own chest. Wheeljack glances back, utterly bewildered, then looks at Prowl and Bumblebee in complete confusion. “Okay… That’s a surprise.”

Wolverine: Blitzwing watches the blast make contact and blast Wheeljack’s spine apart, causing him to drop. There’s chaos, screaming… Then, Wheeljack’s frame shifts and his armor seals together like it’s brand new again. The white Wrecker winces as he sits up, then seems to marvel as the last aftershocks of pain fade away… before he looks to Blitzwing and his battle-mask slides back into place. “Alright. My turn.”

Iron Giant: Blitzwing watches the blast and the resulting injury and chaos… only for the scattered, scorched fragments of armor to shakily rise from the ground and fly back into place—mending the white Wrecker’s damaged frame back together, piece by piece. Wheeljack sits up after a few moments, a little disoriented, then looks at the Decepticon with a glare. “That your best shot?”

Basically, in every scenario, Wheeljack’s first thoughts aren’t that he’s bulletproof or that he’s healed/repaired. It’s his back, he’s the one who got hit and stunned; he’s probably assuming that TFA weapons are weak-sauce compared to TFP.

Meanwhile, everyone else saw what happened—Bumblebee, Prowl, and Blitzwing in particular got some good seats, particularly of the latter two as far as the ‘Bots are concerned—and they’re kinda losing their minds. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?!

After a pretty spooked Blitzwing is chased off, the other ‘Bots fill Wheeljack in on what they saw—and while the Wrecker is still reeling, Prowl still gets to have his frustration over Wheeljack’s recklessness with his own life. And -well- he’s still very much Short Wrecker Dad about the ordeal.

This would definitely make “The Turning of the Tide” far more interesting—because while King ‘Con can launch mental attacks, he can no longer keep Wheeljack down physically.

Nothing can.

And Wheeljack now knows that.

It makes Wheeljack more reckless, more willing to take risks so that the others don’t have to.

*cue more jam sessions*

Because they can’t let Wheeljack get used to this. They can’t. Because they know that he’s going to go home someday, where he won’t be immortal and they don’t trust most of the other team with their Short Wrecker Dad’s safety.

However, when Wheeljack gets home, a part of him is going to be a little uneasy until his first major injury. It’s so fucking dark, but…

He really found his universe, right?

He’s home.

The young mech standing at the base of the stairs glowered back at him with a pair of orange optics, servos cuffed by black and yellow hazard print closing into fists. “I am sick and tired of being controlled, by the Autobots or you or anyone else!” He started to slowly stalk up the stairs. “You claim to be our champion, to petition the council for all Destron descendants—but time passes and the Autobots continue to grind us under their heels like their ancestors before them!” He gestured down the stairs, baring fanged dentas in fury. “I lost seven comrades in the mines, just today! A fleet of Seekers was slaughtered defending ‘Autobot space’ from invasion! How many more will die before you see that they will never see us as anything more than disposable fodder?!” His lips curled into a scowl. “Before YOU stop seeing us as the same, pawns in a game as you play politics—stepping over us to earn their favor as the Great Placater!”

The armored mech gazed down at D-16 with irritation, still not bothering to turn around. “And what would you have us do, young miner? I’ve seen your written work, your manifestos. Your extremism would have us all wiped out with a single strike of the Magnus Hammer.”

“Not if the Allspark is on our side,” D-16 argued. “The Allspark created us, it must recognize us all as its own—and if it is in any way fair, it would see that our cause is just!” His optics narrowed, and he grabbed a mining pick from his side. “Or, it will be—once I chip your rust away from this faction and lead us out of stagnation.”

“Hm.” The larger Cybertronian finally turned to face the younger mech, a smirk on his face. “You think you can inspire them? You come from nothing, you are nothing—you don’t even have a name, just a government-issue pick and a third-hand stylus and a mouth you truly must learn to keep shut.” He saw D-16’s expression drop and drew a pair of large, razor-sharp blades to grip at his sides. “Perhaps I do play games, but that’s what we must do to survive in a universe like this—and you always were far too honest to be a Decepticon.”

The younger mech gazed up at his opponent warily, then he closed his optics and took a deep vent. When he opened them, they appeared far more red than orange—and he snarled before he lashed out.

…

A Cybertronian craft darted into the warehouse and transformed, followed by several others.

A Seeker ran forward, yellow optics wide with one cracked and flickering. “Lord Megazarak!”

He gasped, stepping back, upon seeing a massive body lying upon the floor as a sword was ripped from its back, the assailant flicking off splatters of pink Energon before looking up with narrowed crimson optics.

“… Megazarak has fallen,” the stranger announced, turning to face the Seekers. His servos were stained with oil. “His rule was driving the Decepticons to ruin. Follow me, and you shall avenge your brethren and take this world back.” He spun the blade and its twin, gripping them at his sides as he strode forward. “It’s time to rise up.”

The lead Seeker seemed wary but attempted to covered it with apprehension. “I am Starscream, commander of the Seekers. Who exactly are you to lead us?”

“Hm.” The stranger gave a small smirk. “… I am Megatron.”

…

…

…

—0—0—0—0—0—

Many Years Later

—0—0—0—0—0—

…

…

…

“Prisoner Designation: D-16. Alias: Megatron.”

Behind the clamp over his mouth, Megatron gritted his dentas—and his dented servos closed into fists from the confines of his stasis-cuffs.

Lugnut too had been gagged for his repeated attempts to defend his leader from further humiliation, and Shockwave had wisely been silent; due to his lack of a visible mouth, Megatron hated to think what these barbaric Council lackeys would do to try and silence him.

The officer behind the window finished filling out the incarceration paperwork and filing away all of the captured Decepticons’ personal effects (i.e. their weapon modifications and heavy armor, stripped from them in a twisted facsimile of Lockdown’s methods), then regarded the Guardsbots escorting the new prisoners.

“Fuel shortage is still limiting power,” they said, frowning but not actually bothered. “The Council has suspended occupation maximum limitations for the cells to conserve Energon. Just throw them in with the others, let ‘em squeeze.”

Excuses, excuses…

Megatron was roughly grabbed by his arms, as were Lugnut and Shockwave.

Optimus Prime had given each of them individual cells, aboard Omega Supreme.

Megatron idly wondered where the little Autobot had learned such niceties.

…

The cell was cramped but doable, Megatron decided, after the Autobot Guards had practically thrown Megatron, Lugnut, and Shockwave in and shut the laser-grid door behind them.

It also came with the advantage of Megatron being able to see all of the captive Decepticons in one place, and the warlord let out an internal sigh of relief at the delayed confirmation that they had not been sent to the Autobot stockade.

“Blitzwing,” Megatron greeted the triple-changer, then he glanced at his mirrored companions. “And-..? You have named them, have you not?”

“Of course, Lord Megatron,” Blitzwing’s “Icy” face replied, then he gestured to one of the Starscream clones as well as he could with his bound servos. He looked tired from months of constant stasis restriction; Autobots never would remove the cuffs, not even while they were all disarmed and jailed. Thankfully though, the gags were removed. “This is Ramjet. He speaks only in lies, even when he doesn’t want to.”

“I don’t lie,” the cream and red mech retorted, though Megatron could see that he had a frown on his face and a plea for understanding in his optics. “And if I did, it would be completely my choice.”

“And that one is Sunstorm.” Blitzwing gestured to the orange clone, raising an optic-brow. “He’s rather… loyal.”

“Thank you for the warm introduction, Blitzwing,” the other clone chimed with a bright smile. “You are truly too kind.”

Megatron glanced between the two. “And are they as traitorous as their progenitor?”

“Hardly,” Blitzwing admitted. “From what Ramjet has told me, it seems that Starscream’s ego was a separate clone. We do not know his fate.”

“I can speak to the actions of Ramjet, my liege,” Lugnut spoke up. “He came to my aid against the Autobots, even when he did not have to and there was no obvious benefit to him. And… despite his immutable compulsion to lie, he did not share my embarrassing predicament with you even after he promised not to.”

“I still can and will at any time,” Ramjet stated firmly, and Lugnut actually chuckled softly.

He always was rather soft with newsparks.

“Interesting,” Megatron noted, intrigued. “But are they as intelligent as Starscream?”

“Difficult to say, with the communication barriers and intense personality archetypes,” Blitzwing informed his leader. “They have displayed some wit, once you become accustomed to their natures; listen to the opposite of what Ramjet says, filter through Sunstorm’s flowery language.”

“Understood.” Megatron nodded, then he regarded the mechs in question. “Final question, young Seekers… Do you possess Starscream’s memories?”

“Fragments, Lord Megatron—mere fragments!” Sunstorm replied, his smile turning anxious.

“Speak for yourself!” Ramjet puffed out his chest indignantly. “I have all of my memories, because I am the Original Starscream!”

“… Your insistence that you are the original,” Megatron noted. “If you must lie, you are telling me you are not.”

“Preposterous!”

“Forgive him, please!” Sunstorm raised his bound servos, his optics wide. “He doesn’t mean to insult. Blame me!”

“Why?” Megatron was taken aback. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“I must have done something!” Sunstorm replied frantically, then his wings drooped as he ducked his head. “You’re angry. You’re always angry.”

Megatron’s face dropped.

A liar who wanted to be honest.

An anxious, groveling mask with a smile.

Survival mechanisms.

They were the embodiments of Starscream’s survival mechanisms… without the twists.

But not without the pain.

“Not with the loyal,” the warlord told Sunstorm quietly. “Your brother cannot control his words. You would make a potential punishment your own. Decepticons must band together to survive. Starscream once understood that, but he has long forgotten all interests but his own.”

“You’re buyin’ your own con, ‘Con.

That’s where you and my guy would get along, but there was one big fraggin’ difference between him and you…

At the beginnin’, he actually gave a damn. He was nuts, but at least he started off on the right track and inspired others to stick to it even after he dropped off the deep end.

But you? You’re just another asshole out lookin’ for a throne.”

“Lord Megatron?”

Megatron was snapped out of the memory by a worried question from Shockwave.

“Hm.” He internally shook the thoughts away. “… Stand with me, Ramjet and Sunstorm—not as clones of Starscream, but as yourselves—and one day, I promise you… I will bring you to the home you’ve never known yourselves so that you may find your own place upon it.”

The two Seekers looked at Megatron in awe, then Sunstorm nodded. “Yes, Lord Megatron.”

Ramjet also nodded, with vigor. “I will betray you at the first available opportunity!”

And Megatron found himself chuckling at the young mech’s antics, too. “Very good, Ramjet.”

“I don’t care what you think!”

Megatron noticed Blitzwing visibly relaxing.

Had he been worried about these Seekers?

Now wasn’t the time to dwell.

“Now, then,” Megatron changed the subject, getting his Decepticons’ attention. “There are still three Starscream clones left unaccounted for, as well as the Constructicons and Blackarachnia.”

“My lord, we knew Blackarachnia had her own motivations,” Shockwave reminded him. “Her loyalty was always questionable.”

“Hm.” Megatron cast a brief glance at the spy; he’d never worked with Blackarachnia directly, never actually known her. He then turned his gaze towards an uncharacteristically quiet occupant of the cell, one keeping his distance. “Soundwave. How nice to see you, again.”

“Lord Megatron.” The Earth-born Decepticon gave a short nod of greeting, and the Mini-Con on his shoulder gave an anxious flutter of his wings.

“I thought you were destroyed,” Megatron said candidly. “How did you come to be here?”

Soundwave’s visor glinted. “Operation: Autobot Reprogramming. I would have been successful, if not for the techno-organic and the Wrecker.”

Ambitious.

But Megatron had other priorities at the moment. “Techno-organic? Blackarachnia?”

“Sari Sumdac.”

“Professor Isaac Sumdac’s child?” Megatron quirked an optic-brow up at that. The naïve, irksome girl hadn’t been all she appeared? “How interesting… What of that creature?”

“Laserbeak,” Soundwave gestured to introduce his companion. “Repairs: complete. Laserbeak is fully operational.” His servo dropped as his face tilted downwards. “Ratbat… offline.”

Was that grief?

“You seek vengeance,” Megatron surmised.

Soundwave met his gaze once more, shoulders raising. “I seek revolution.”

Ah, some things never changed.

Megatron found himself smirking at the young mech. “Don’t we all?”

“Humans: inferior. Machines: superior.” Despite his flat tone, Soundwave actually seemed irate. He was frustrated, tired of having to repeat himself over and over again to what he clearly had not yet recognized as an uncaring universe. “Autobots defend humans. Autobots must be corrected or destroyed.”

“But common Earth machines are inferior, aren’t they? Except for the fact that they listen to you with total obedience,” Megatron shot back, and the young mech tensed. “… You are not an enemy to be taken lightly, Soundwave.”

“… Speak candidly,” Soundwave said quietly, eyeing Megatron carefully as he settled back into his place; the tension was still there, but the frustration was being replaced.

He had the rogue’s attention.

He knew why.

All Soundwave truly wanted was respect—more than power, more than control, he wanted to be respected and treated as an equal.

Like creator, like creation.

“I will not be made a mockery of for the ego of the Autobot Council,” Megatron told Soundwave in all seriousness. “I would rather be dead.”

The response was immediate.

“Lord Megatron!” Lugnut cried out, while Shockwave’s optic widened and Blitzwing let out a surprisingly subdued little “no”.

Ramjet looked angry.

Sunstorm looked distressed.

And Megatron took all of it in before he looked back at Soundwave, who was still watching him.

Soundwave, who reached up to brush his knuckles against Laserbeak’s talons to comfort him in the chaos—and Megatron knew, somehow, they had reached a silent understanding.

“However,” the Decepticon leader went on, regaining attention and order with a speed that used to amaze him in the quiet of his spark. “If there was a way to establish communications outside of this infernal prison… I could make contact with Team Chaar.”

“Strika,” Lugnut whispered, his optic widening.

Those who believed that the large mech actually worshipped Megatron were fools.

He shouted the warlord’s name to the heavens like a rallying cry, declaring and accusing.

But his conjunx’s name?

Now, that was prayer.

“An assault on Cybertron, on this prison,” Blitzwing murmured, pensive—a servo raised to his chin. “Even for them, it’s a suicide mission.”

Megatron glanced at his old friend. “Not if we time it right.”

“My liege, we can’t even reach them,” Shockwave protested.

“Can’t we?” Megatron asked, then he returned his attention to Soundwave. The rogue’s body language betrayed his wariness; he was trying to put on a show of confidence, but he had shifted in an effort to shelter his Mini-Con. “You fear for your companion. That loyalty is admirable. If Laserbeak is a courier for my message, I will assure you that I will never again ask a favor of your beloved bird unless it is in the most dire need… as this is.”

“… Location: unknown. Distance: unknown,” Soundwave said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Freedom: guaranteed,” Megatron reasoned, leaning forward. “Laserbeak will be sent away from this place, to allies—and in my message, I will insist upon his safety.” Soundwave cast a glance at his Mini-Con. “He’s not safe here. And you know that. Will you help us?”

Soundwave hesitated, then he looked back at Megatron. “Escape: how? Prison: secure.”

“Have they seen Laserbeak’s alt-mode?” Megatron asked, folding his servos.

Soundwave tilted his head. “Negative.”

Megatron nodded. “We’ll find a way.”

“Lord Megatron?” Shockwave spoke up. “Forgive me, but what exactly do you have in mind?”

“… They want a spectacle,” Megatron murmured, closing his optics—then he opened them, and his lips curled into a smirk. “We’ll give them one.”

…

…

…

—0—0—0—

…

…

…

Megatron shakily entered the battered remains of Trypticon and braced himself against the wall with one servo, his wide optics on the floor.

His mind was a dense fog, his vents came out of shakes, he felt heavy and floating all at once.

How was he supposed to tell them?

“Lord Megatron.” A familiar voice pierced the fog, and Megatron glanced up to see Starscream there. The Seeker commander had his arms folded behind his back, and his face was a poorly constructed mask attempting to hide concern. “Has a settlement been reached?”

“A verdict has been given.” Megatron forced himself to stand upright, trying to ignore how his legs wanted to sway. “Prepare the Nemesis.”

“For what?”

“Exodus.” Megatron found it hard to meet the Seeker’s gaze, the words bitter in his mouth. “We’re being banished. I managed to argue for the establishment of a Decepticon territory. Tch. Refugee camps, more like… But-”

Starscream’s attempt at control failed. “We’re being made to leave Cybertron?!”

“That is our victors’ decision.”

“We’ll be cut off from Energon!”

“There will be shipments-”

“They’ll be able to control our access, then! And what of protoforms?! They-!” The Seeker looked every bit as devastated and furious as Megatron felt. “They’re just going to ship us off, and wait for us to go extinct? How can you accept this?! We can fight! We need to-!”

“Starscream!” Megatron was suddenly gripping his second-in-command’s shoulders, just as much to brace himself as to ground his friend. “We need time. If I protest now, if we rise up in our current state, we will be eradicated. There are so few of us left!” He saw Starscream’s optics widen, and a reflection of his own desperation within them. “… This is our only chance of getting the remaining Decepticon sympathizers, our civilian allies, off-world safely.”

“They could blast us as soon as we leave the atmosphere,” Starscream tried to argue again, but his face was stricken. “Is there no option for us to stay here? Cybertron is our home!” His optics narrowed again. “Why won’t you-?!”

And Megatron closed his own optics, hanging his head. “There was one avenue left open.”

“Well?”

“We must agree to submit for… reformatting, and re-education. To become one with the Autobot masses, molded in mind and body.” Megatron’s optics opened again and found the floor. “Have you not seen what they are doing to their own? To their sparklings?” His grip on Starscream went slack, his servos merely resting on the Seeker’s shoulders. “I will offer the option to our people, but I would rather never see Cybertron again than stop being… me. I’ve fought too hard. I’ve come too far. I won’t let them send me back.”

Starscream just stared. “What of the Seekers?”

“… They’ve classified any and all flight-frames as ‘war-frames’, and… outlawed them.”

“They would take our wings?”

“Yes.”

“… I’ll have the ship prepared,” Starscream said at last, wings drooping. “It’ll be a-… a tight fit.”

“Any remaining flight-frame warriors who cannot fit can ride upon the hull,” Megatron said, a cold numb washing over him at the finality of it all. If he could convince Starscream, then… it really was over. “Watch, in case of a double-cross.”

“It’ll be a long trip.”

“I know. I trust you at the helm.”

“Where will you be?” Starscream asked worriedly, and Megatron raised his head to look at him. “…Yes, Lord Megatron.”

“Thank you, Starscream,” the warlord said quietly, dropping his hands and folding them behind his back. “You serve us well.”

“… I just wish we could’ve done more,” Starscream said after a moment.

“We will,” Megatron assured him. “We require time, but I do have a plan. For now, we just need to focus on protecting our own.”

Starscream clenched his fists, but he nodded in agreement. “They’ll pay for this. They’ll all pay.”

“Someday.”

“Someday.” Starscream turned away and began to walk off to complete his task, then he paused. “Lord Megatron?” Megatron glanced his way, and Starscream looked back with a grave little smile. “… You did the right thing.”

…

…

…

—0—0—0—

…

…

…

Megatron brushed his servo against the wall, gazing upon it wistfully, then sighed and looked towards the glowing door to the cell.

He could hear an odd whirring noise approaching, and he idly raised an optic-brow as a ration cart with no clear operator rolled into view.

An automated system?

So much for Energon conservation.

Then, from around the cart, a particularly small Cybertronian—about the size of an adult human—rushed into view and picked up a tray full of Energon canisters very much larger than themself with practiced ease.

The small ‘bot trotted over to the door, scanned a minuscule keycard at their level, and watched as an opening just large enough to allow them and their tray entry form.

They entered the cell, set the tray down, then looked up at the massive warframes around them and folded shaking servos behind their back.

“Please, return your empty canisters as you take a new one!” The small ‘bot chirped. “If you are a new arrival, this will apply to you going forward—so, please: do not break your canisters!” He let out a sigh. “We still haven’t gotten word about replacing the ones you broke when you got here—so if you break ‘em, you’ll have to share.”

“Duly noted.” Shockwave picked up a canister gingerly. “Blasted bureaucrats…”

Megatron waited for all of his warriors to claim their shares, then took his own. “Thank you.”

“Huh?” The small ‘bot looked up at the warlord, clearly taken aback. “Oh. Y-You’re welcome.”

Megatron raised an optic-brow, and lifted his shackled wrists. “Why so frightened?”

“We’re not supposed to speak with prisoners, outside of delivering instructions,” the small ‘bot said, glancing away—as if he had not already made his little canister comment.

Megatron found himself smiling at the thought. Little rebel. “Well, you’ve already started.”

The small ‘bot shifted, uneasy. “Mm.”

“Apologies, Autobot. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Megatron said genuinely, then he glanced back at the wall beside him. “Not in this place.”

“Oh, I’m not an Autobot. I’m just a laborer,” the small ‘bot corrected the warlord, and Megatron looked back at him as the small ‘bot rocked nervously on his heels. “Heh. Less than that, actually. A Mini-Con.”

“Hm.”

“… Why-?” The Mini-Con glanced around, then back at Megatron. “Why not in this place?”

“Trypticon was once a dear companion of mine,” Megatron explained. “It saddens me to see his fate, but at least he made it to Kaon. If he was to rest forever, he would rest at home.”

The Mini-Con blinked. “The prison, it-? It was alive?”

“Indeed,” Megatron replied, and he watched the Mini-Con look at the walls with new reverence. “… There are worse places to spend eternity besides the embrace of a friend.” When the Mini-Con looked back at him, Megatron smiled. “I don’t mean to keep you from your work. Let me assist.”

“Oh!” The Mini-Con’s optics lit up with a mixture of panic and relief as Megatron picked up his tray and placed it into his servos. “Thank you!”

“But certainly.” Megatron brushed his servo atop the tray. “I wasted your time, so I must make up for it. Do you have a name?”

“Oh, no.” The Mini-Con shook his head. “I never attended boot camp. Look at me!” The small ‘bot looked away sheepishly. “Heh…” Hesitantly, he looked back at Megatron. “My designation is L-1.”

Megatron felt his expression soften genuinely. “Very well… L-1.” He almost felt bad, watching the Mini-Con go—his tray laden with empty canisters, plus one extra piece of forbidden cargo. “Hm.”

Blitzwing must have noticed. “Lord Megatron?”

“Laserbeak is on his way out,” the warlord said quietly, watching the cart depart—plus one stowaway cassette. “… Shockwave, I need you to tell me everything you ever learned as the Autobot’s head of intelligence—every horrid, nasty detail they never wanted anyone to know.”

The spymaster’s optic glinted. “I can do much more than tell you, my liege.”

“… Perfect.”

…

…

…

—0—0—0—

…

…

…

Megatron grimaced when his search came to an end in a large, scorched underground cavern with jagged metal shards piercing the cave walls like darts.

He had found what he was looking for, thought not the resources nor surviving refugees he had hoped for.

The warlord raised a servo to his comm. “It appears that the Twilight was here, and it has been destroyed. I’m going to investigate further.”

:Please do take caution, Lord Megatron.:

:Fool, Starscream! Lord Megatron is the wisest, the strongest, the greatest-!:

Muting the comms of two of his inner circle should not have been so easy of a decision.

“Ugh.” Megatron rolled his optics, then he pressed onwards—leaping off of the ledge he stood upon and letting the boosters in his feet lower him down to the craterous floor. When the warlord set down, he glanced back and noticed a set of large, red, beady eyes gazing back at him from a tunnel. “Hm. The organic indigenous life forms.” Megatron cast a dim red light from his emblem, catching a glimpse of the eight-limbed beast—which greeted him with a hiss. “You alone could not have wrought such destruction upon a warship.” He noticed large lacerations on the creature’s exoskeleton. “Something else is down here with you, something that has been hunting you.” The warlord watched the creature click its mandibles and step back into its tunnel, shying away—though not from him—and Megatron let his optics narrow as he turned around. “I know you are watching me. Show yourself.”

From the darkness, there came a hiss—and Megatron suddenly raised his arm to block a strand of purple webbing launched at his face.

A small figure launched out of the shadows, using the web as a sort of bungee to slingshot themselves at the warlord with enough momentum to slam two heeled boots into the juncture between his cannon and his arm—sending sparks flying before the weapon fizzled.

“Intelligence,” Megatron realized as the figure darted away and attached the web still holding his arm to a wall, containing him to a circle. He watched four more red eyes open in the darkness, but there was something different about them… Optics? “A Cybertronian?”

The small shape darted out again, slinging from the ceiling and swiping past Megatron—leaving three claw-marks along the side of his helm—and he winced before baring fangs in frustration.

“Enough! I do not intend to harm you!” He could hear footsteps running up behind him, and he braced himself before turning and slamming his hand down—pinning that small shape to the floor. “I said, ENOUGH!” Megatron’s narrowed optics suddenly widened. “A youngling.”

The female ‘bot on the floor bore fangs and hissed, then seemed to realize what the warlord had said and even let out a soft gasp.

“Easy.” Megatron loosened his grip. “Easy, now.” He let go, stood upright, and stepped back to let her recover. “Forgive me, it- It has been a very long time since I have encountered one so young.” He watched her sit up and begin to recover. “How did you come to be in this place?”

“You’re not-?” The ‘bot placed a servo over her spark, watching him warily. “You’re Megatron.”

“Heh.” Megatron cracked a small smile at that. “You know my face?”

And she gave a small smile of her own. “My friend, Optimus, was always such a history nerd. How could I-?” Her face suddenly became stricken, then she raised her clawed servos to the sides of her helmeted head. “No… No! He left me! They both left me! They’re not-!”

Megatron instinctively stepped forward and raised a servo. “Child, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“What do you care?! I’m a freak!” The young ‘bot snapped, holding her fists to her chest as she kneeled and looked up the warlord. “The spiders, they-! Ah!” She shook her head. “Even if they’d come back for me, I’d-!” Her optics widened, and she began to vent shallowly, rapidly, frantically and uncontrollably. “I-I’d-…”

Megatron swiftly moved over and kneeled before her, then he raised a digit to his comm as he kept his optics on his young companion. “Blitzwing, you must be swift and discrete. I have an organic creature down here, in distress. Frantic venting. I need to stop her from doing damage to herself. Go into Shockwave and Starscream’s research files, see if there’s anything that could help.”

:Yes, Lord Megatron,: his old friend replied, and a few agonizing moments passed. :It would appear that organic venting is called ‘breathing’. It is necessary for them to acquire the element of oxygen in its gaseous state for their organic cells. When organic creatures panic, they engage in heavy breathing though limited oxygen intake. You must slow her breathing.:

“How?”

:Calm her down.:

“How?!”

:Shouting will not help.: Blitzwing’s tone was near-scolding, at that point. :Ahem. Is this organic creature intelligent?:

“Yes.”

:I’m sending you some ‘grounding techniques’, now. Good luck.:

“Hm.” Megatron lowered his digit from his comm and glanced down at his arm as a panel popped open, displaying the aforementioned grounding techniques. After a long moment, the warlord stowed the panel and turned his gaze back to the young ‘bot before him. “Child, look at me.” When she obeyed, Megatron rested a servo over his spark. “Like this.”

Megatron took a deep vent, then let it out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Slowly, the young ‘bot began to mimic him.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

A shudder went through her body, and she hugged herself as she closed her optic and hunched over. “Mm.”

“That’s it.” Megatron moved closer and carefully rested a servo across her back. “That’s it.”

“… Thank you,” the young ‘bot whispered, soft and hoarse.

“No need to thank me,” Megatron assured her, keeping his own voice soft. “Are you alright?”

“No.”

“How can I help? Tell me what happened.”

“… My name is Elita-1,” the young ‘bot murmured. “I’m a cadet from the Autobot Academy. I came here with two of my classmates, my best friends. Sentinel wanted glory, I wanted adventure, and Optimus wanted to keep us safe. We came to look for a lost Decepticon ship.” She and Megatron both raised their heads to look around the room. “Then, the spiders attacked us. Sentinel held a few off, and we were separated. I found Optimus in the ship, and the spiders came. We destabilized the ship to cover our escape, but… I fell, to the explosions and the spiders.” Her four red optics widened as she continued her tale. “Optimus was safe, Sentinel came, they looked at me… and they left. I tried to use my powers on the spiders to take their abilities and escape, but- But-…” She freed her arms from her body and looked down at her claws. “Oh, Primus. What happened to me?”

“It would seem that… the spiders are a part of you, now,” Megatron offered carefully. “You did take on their gifts, but… not without cost. Your CNA and their… DNA… are now intertwined.”

The young ‘bot, Elita-1, began to shake her head frantically. “I have to fix it. I have to fix it! H-How do I fix it?! I can’t go back to Cybertron! They left me, and they’d just-!”

“No, no.” Megatron reached up to stop her from clawing at her head, again. “Don’t hurt yourself… Child, you are alive. All is not lost.”

“Are you kidding me?!” The young ‘bot threw her clawed servos down and scowled at the warlord, still looking so small from her place on the floor. “I’ve lost everything! I'm not even Elita-1, not anymore! I don’t know what I am, just that I’M ALONE!” Her vents shook as she glowered at Megatron, then her face dropped as she cast her gaze down. “I-… I’m alone.”

“… Stand with me,” Megatron said quietly, and she tensed before looking up at him in disbelief. “Stand with me, and you shall never be alone again.” He extended a servo, and she just stared at it. “It’s alright, child. It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” The young ‘bot insisted on a wall, reaching up to wipe at her optics as she sniffled—then she pulled her clawed servo back and looked at it in confusion.

She didn’t recognize tears?

“No, it’s not,” Megatron said, unable to quantify the devastation he felt break through what felt like an eon of resigned numbness. “And I’m sorry that it’s not.” She met his gaze, more tears falling from her optics—and Megatron felt something prick at his own. “I truly am, I’m so sorry.”

“… You’re Megatron?” The young ‘bot asked, a look not unlike wonder appearing on her face.

“Heh.” Megatron brushed beneath one of his optics, trying to regain his composure. “Don’t mistake me for a misunderstood saint, child. I have done terrible things—things which I will readily admit to, with pride.”

“Hm.” The young ‘bot crossed her arms and shrugged. “At least you’re honest.” She gave a fanged smile, small and frail but genuine. “Heh. The leader of the Decepticons, honest.”

“Between us?” Megatron leaned close and gave a small smirk. “… I’m a notoriously terrible liar.”

The way she raised a servo to her mouth, closed her optics, and giggled made it worth it—and the warlord allowed himself a chuckle as well.

When she opened her optics, Megatron stood and once more offered his servo—and this time, the young ‘bot took it and let him gracefully pull her to her feet.

“I must say, I’m rather glad you no longer favor ‘Elita-1’. I’ve never been fond of numbers,” the warlord told her, and she seemed surprised. “… Your cause chose your old name for you. What do you choose, now? Who do you choose to be?”

“Heh.” The young ‘bot raised a servo to rub the opposite arm. “I have a choice?”

“Always.” Megatron’s optics narrowed. “Who you are is always your choice.”

“… Blackarachnia,” the young ‘bot said at last, meeting his optics with matching determination. “My name is Blackarachnia.”

…

…

…

—0—0—0—

…

…

…

Megatron opened his optics and raised his head.

Conserving his strength was paramount. The Energon rations were enough to keep a healthy mech functional (though not dangerous), but—after that battle back on Earth—Megatron was hardly a healthy mech.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Shockwave.”

The battered spymaster blinked out of a daze. “Yes, Lord Megatron?”

“How were you so injured?”

“Ah.” Shockwave shifted in his place, wincing in a way Megatron had learned how to recognize over the millenia. “It would seem that the Wrecker from the other universe has been training his young team while on Earth. Bumblebee certainly couldn’t fight like that, back in boot camp.” He weakly gestured with one of his claws. “I can only presume that his training of Optimus Prime led to your own injuries, my liege.”

“So it would seem.” Megatron sat up a bit himself, interest growing. “The way Optimus Prime fought, it was unlike any other wielder of the Magnus Hammer in recorded memory.” He cast his gaze down, optics narrowing. “Tch. If the Council recognized what they had in that young ‘bot, we might actually be doomed.”

“But those stagnant fools, they do not want a commander,” Shockwave remarked, not at all concerned. “They want a puppet.”

Megatron hummed idly in agreement, nodding. “Then I fear that, in targeting Ultra Magnus, we may have done them a favor.”

“The current acting Magnus, Sentinel Prime, is brash and reckless,” Shockwave disagreed. “He was always critical of the council in his youth, so they must wear him down to make him more compliant. Unfortunately for them, he does not hesitate to call upon Optimus Prime when in dire need—and that does bring a degree of sense to the situation.” His claws clicked together as he contemplated this. “It makes me wonder if they’ll try to eliminate Cybertron’s new ‘hero’ in order to keep their marionette manageable, give him no one else to turn to.”

Megatron found the very idea repulsive, despite his obvious ire towards the young Prime he faced on Earth. “Despicable.”

“But not out of character,” Shockwave reminded his leader, shrugging. “Autobots punish loyalty when it goes to anyone but the leadership, and leave those no longer useful to rust. Just look at poor Agent Arcee.”

“Hm.” Megatron leaned back against the wall. “It would seem Earth changed the little team we’ve been facing, then.”

“Indeed.” Shockwave nodded. “They really won’t last long, now that they’re here.”

“No. I suppose not.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“… I can’t help but wonder what this world could be, if it was led by someone more like Optimus Prime than Ultra Magnus,” Megatron confessed. “But I suppose we shall never find out.”

“No. I suppose not.”

Megatron frowned, then he heard the familiar sound of an approaching cart and turned his head towards the cell door as it stopped. “L-1?”

The Mini-Con, already holding his tray above his head, looked up at the warlord in surprise. “You remember me?”

“Of course, my friend,” Megatron replied, moving back to let the petite ‘bot enter the cell and begin his usual process of trading empty canisters for those full of Energon. “… I was wondering, if it would not get you into trouble, if I could ask for a med-kit.” L-1 cast the warlord another surprised look. “I would like to patch some of my comrades’ injuries, even just the ones that pain them.” He gestured to Shockwave in particular, then gave L-1 a tired smile. “I do understand though, if you cannot. We are to be punished, after all.”

L-1 gazed up at Megatron, tilting his head to the side as he seemed to contemplate the request and the implications behind it: legal vs. moral.

Which one would matter more to him?

Megatron was banking on the latter.

The Mini-Con had been so surprised by acts of kindness, by being remembered, by even the barest consideration—given by Decepticons, when his government won’t even restock basic supplies. And Megatron’s request was basic, harmless even…

L-1 glanced back at the cart. “SP, GD, HW.”

For the first time, Megatron watched in surprise as three more Mini-Cons emerged from the cart and entered the cell.

One of them still seemed to be skeptical, but the other two appeared agreeable—and with pleasing looks from the united three, the fourth sighed and caved with a short nod.

“Your punishment will be decided at the trials,” L-1 said, turning back to Megatron. “And it’s our job to take care of you until then.”

Megatron found the smile on his face warming genuinely. “Thank you, my friend.”

L-1’s optics lit up and crinkled, like he was smiling back behind the mask on his face.

When Megatron ruled Cybertron, he would have to remember that smile and these kindnesses and reward them—misguided though they may be.

The Decepticon cause was for the oppressed.

And there was still time to rise up.

…

…

…

—0—0—0—

…

…

…

Megatron stood outside the operating theatre of the Nemesis—his back against the wall, arms crossed, and a foot tapping (not that he would ever admit it). His optics were locked on the door, and his shoulders were raised in agitation.

Finally, the door opened—and Megatron stood upright as someone exited. “Well?”

“The procedure went well,” Blackarachnia reported, folding her servos behind her back as she looked up at the warlord with a confident little smirk. “He should be able to do it, to take on two alt-modes. If it works, it’ll provide all Decepticons with the perfect edge.”

“Hm.” Megatron’s expression softened, and he nodded. “Well done, Blackarachnia.”

She crossed her arms. “Still worried about him?”

“… Blitzwing was beside me for a vast majority of the war on Cybertron,” Megatron admitted. “He is a great warrior, intelligent and loyal to the cause, but he is more impulsive than he would admit and I have always held a private concern that he would push himself too far eventually.” He glanced at the open door behind Blackarachnia, letting out a sigh. “I am truly grateful that he volunteered for this experiment—but I am wary of the known risks which he seemed to disregard, as well as any that are unknown.”

“Physically, he’s fine,” Blackarachnia assured. “I can promise you that much, my lord.”

“Hm.” Megatron smiled. “And I am glad that I can trust that assessment, Blackarachnia. In choosing my new chief medic and scientist in Shockwave’s absence, I chose well.”

“So, Blitzwing survived?” Starscream asked as he and Lugnut came around a corner, and the Seeker glanced at the larger mech beside him. “Looks like I owe you some axel grease.”

“Hmph.” Blackarachnia rested her servos on her hips. “Betting against your teammate? Real class act there, Starscream.”

Starscream shrugged, uncaring. “Not like there’s anything else to do around here.“

Megatron opened his mouth to reprimand the Seeker, only to freeze as a horrible scream like three voices warping into one, splitting, and mashing together all over again suddenly came from the operating theatre.

“Blitzwing?!” Megatron stood upright and ran inside, his followers behind him—and he found a medical berth overturned as Blitzwing staggered around and gripped his head. “Blitzwing!”

“What’s happening?!” The warrior shouted, his back to the group, then there was a peculiar whirring noise before he shouted in a deeper voice. “IT HURTS!” Another whir, then a high-pitched cackle rang out. “I thought the idea was to make the Autobots hurt more, not us!”

Megatron cautiously stepped forward, hesitantly raising a servo. “Blitzwing, I need you to turn around and look at me.” The other mech tensed. “Old friend, please: show me what’s happened to you. Look at me.” A soft whir, then Blitzwing took a shuddering vent before he turned to face his leader with a distressed expression. “That’s it. Do you know where you are?”

With a whir, Blitzwing’s pale purple face vanished in a spinning blur—replaced by a dark void illuminated by narrowed red optics and a jagged red grin. “The Nemesis, of course!”

That was the high-pitched voice.

Megatron’s optics widened. “Blitzwing.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron?” The mech tilted his head, still grinning. “What’s the matter? Wasn’t the procedure a success?” A trail of lubricant leaked from one of those beady optics and raced down that new face. “Didn’t it mean something?!” A whir, then a crimson face bared dentas in rage as Blitzwing stepped forward and clenched his fists. “TELL ME it meant something! Tell me I’m not broken! I’m still here, damn it! I’m not-!” He froze, his optics widening behind his visor—then a whir, and his pale purple face returned. “Lord Megatron?” He slowly closed his optics. “My head…” He gave in, and let himself slump into the embrace of the worried warlord. “Mmph.”

“It’s alright.” Megatron raised a servo to the back of the other mech’s head, offering comfort and hiding his own distressed expression from the panicking warrior. “It’s alright… I’ve got you, old friend.”

“His processor couldn’t cope with the extra alt,” Blackaeachnia theorized as Megatron guided Blitzwing to sit down on the floor with his back against the overturned berth, and the warlord went down with him and kept an arm wrapped around his shoulders. “It has been fragmented three ways, one for each form.”

“So, err…” Lugnut glanced down at Blitzwing, his usual partner in crime, with concern. “Which… face… belongs to which form?”

Starscream rested his chin on a servo. “I have a theory.” The others looked at him. “His original alt-mode is air-based. That’s gone unaltered, so that is his reason.” He gestured. “That’s him, as icy calm as we’ve always known him… The wrath, that’s new—Blitzwing has never been a hothead, in spite of his many other character flaws. That’s the introduced ground-mode.” The Seeker’s optics narrowed. “That last face… He’s chaos on his struts, constantly switching. Random.” After a few moments of letting that sink in, Starscream cleared his throat and shrugged. “Next time, I’m sure-"

“No.” Megatron cut him off. “Never again.”

Blackarachnia looked at the warlord in surprise.“Lord Megatron?”

“Never again.” Megatron looked up with narrowed optics. “Our priority is atoning for this egregious error. Our priority is Blitzwing.”

Megatron felt a trembling servo close around his wrist, and he glanced over to see Blitzwing offer a shaky smile. “I fear… I may be a nuisance to you now, Lord Megatron.”

Megatron just looked at him, then he raised an optic-brow. “… Now?”

Blitzwing blinked, then he started to crack up—inspiring some weak laughter around the room.

Megatron held his old friend closer, smiling tiredly as he watched the present members of his inner circle release ages of built-up tension, then his expression softened.

He was tired.

His spark ached.

He missed his home.

His Decepticons were scattered, reformatted, undercover to possibly be found and killed (or worse) any day, or held in the Stockade.

Starscream was becoming colder, crueler.

Blackarachnia’s desperation made her reckless.

Lugnut’s blind faith was exhausting to humor.

And now, Blitzwing was hurt—probably forever.

Megatron had done nothing but try his best to be what his cause, his people, needed him to be for their best possible future—and no matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t enough.

The Allspark wasn’t found.

They were still wanderers.

They kept getting hurt, getting worse.

And it hurt.

And…

Megatron didn’t want to hurt, anymore.

What if that very weakness, that sentiment that stopped him from crossing certain lines, had been the downfall of his people as a whole?

He had to be better than this.

He had to be good enough.

He had to be enough, whatever the cost.

…

…

…

—0—0—0—

…

…

…

Sentinel Prime approached the Decepticon cell with Ironhide and Cliffjumper behind him, lance and shield at the ready.

He expected to find the same battered, wounded, defeated but still performatively smug dictator he’d sent away three days before when he arrived and turned to the door.

“It’s time.”

Instead…

Can TFA Optimus never catch one fucking break in his life? I mean, seriously!

It’s never “oh, TFA Optimus has a good day” or “TFA Optimus gets a vacation” or “TFA Optimus finally gets validated by his family, friends, and respected peers”. Instead, we get more along the lines of “TFA Optimus gets brainwashed” or “TFA Optimus and the rest of his family die horribly” or “TFA Optimus kills his dad ON CHRISTMAS-"

Now, we’re back on our bullshit!

The Quintessons in Aligned fascinate me a lot, not just because of… this bullshit!

But because of how their existence fundamentally affects the lore of the continuity, because they were so traumatic to Cybertronian society that there was a mass repression of memory.

Alpha Trion, you bearded bastard—I blame you and your fanfic-writing destiny Quill.

TFP’s Ultra Magnus alone becomes a thousand times more fascinating when you factor in what was written in The Covenant of Primus. He was the last leader of the original Wreckers, a band of warriors out in the wilderness—calling Orion Pax “civvie” and carrying him like a football. After the war to overthrow the occupation ended and there was that mass forgetting and coverup, he ends up serving the Council as a member of the Guard and then has to prove himself as leader of the wartime Wreckers? That’s compelling!

But it’s also terrifying.

That’s how traumatic the Quintessons’ actions were to the Cybertronians, even those who had the courage to stand up and fight back.

And now… as if TFA Optimus didn’t already have enough problems, we’re doing this.

TFA Optimus already has a “cockpit” due to his Earth-based vehicle mode—so body-horror is not on the menu for today, thank fuck.

But no name or identity, only an alphanumeric designation… stripped of who you are…

Wheeljack and Optimus actually had this talk.

Grim, right?

But… it led to this talk.

And… that was pretty neat.

TFA Optimus isn’t a demigod or “chosen one” wielding mystical might and divine wisdom for a righteous cause. He’s a kid who is learning, and realizing that the cause that raised him is flawed. Hearing about other Optimus Primes across the multiverse, it’s hard for him…

But unlike a majority of them, especially the real powerful ones that he has come to know… he has always been Optimus.

Now, if someone ever tried to take TFA Optimus’s name and identity from him?

Let’s just see what the rest of the family would think about that, shall we?

…

…

…

Unit OP-2007 waited for the next set of orders.

Ever since the Citadel went on lockdown, it had been on standby—but it was well aware that the masters would dispose of whatever the crisis was shortly. That, or they would call upon OP-2007 to handle the matter personally—so it remained alert for its instructions to come through the comms.

Instead, the Citadel continued to shake.

OP-2007 could hear Sharkticon soldiers howling and doing battle with something a few corridors down from the station it stood beside, its task of recording data on a potential colony planet called ‘Cybertron’ interrupted by impudent intruders.

It would all be over shortly, one way or another.

Then, OP-2007 could get back to work.

Then, the door between the station and the adjacent corridor was suddenly blasted off of its bearings and sent careening to the floor.

OP-2007 internally noted that it would have to make repairs, later; inconvenient, but necessary.

A Cybertronian stood there. OP-2007 noted for its records that it was far larger than average (colors: blue, silver, red), carried a melee weapon (war-hammer, colors: gold, silver, blue), and wore the emblem of the Autobot faction. Despite this, it seemed to be one who would be culturally-designated “war-frame; an anomaly, then.

That could be added to the data.

“Optimus!” The Cybertronian shouted, his blue optics wide as they locked on OP-2007.

OP-2007 did not recognize the term from its records of Cybertronian language. This would have to be rectified as soon as possible.

“Kid!” Another Cybertronian appeared in the doorway; this one was a large-average (colors: white, grey, silver, green, orange, red, black), carried blades (two, curved, colors: silver, red, grey, green), wore the Autobot emblem, and also appeared to be of the “war-frame category”.

Kid. noun. a casual term for a relative adolescent.

Was he referring to OP-2007? Peculiar.

“Optimus!” There was that expression again, as the white Cybertronian ran over and grabbed OP-2007 by its shoulders. “You scared the frag outta me, kid! We’ve been lookin’ for ya for weeks! What happened?!” His wide optics scanned over OP-2007’s frame. “Are ya hurt?!”

This Cybertronian was not one of the masters.

OP-2007 was not authorized for communication.

It could not acknowledge without instruction to.

“Kid?” The white Cybertronian tried again, strain in his voice. “Can you hear me, kid? Optimus.”

Was that agitation?

OP-2007 would have to note the possibility of aggression towards units not given authorization to speak, to be factored into resource and risk management.

“Optimus.” The larger Cybertronian walked over and got down on one knee, bracing his hammer against the floor while his free servo extended to rest on the white mech’s shoulder. “Son, it’s us—it’s Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus. We’ve come for you, to take you home—all of us. The others are distracting your captors, buying us time.”

They intended to remove OP-2007 from its designated station? That would certainly be a problem, as the unit had yet to record its findings to the masters’ database.

OP-2007 was meant to be on standby, not to resume work until cleared. However, that work was important to the masters and these two Cybertronians intended to ensure that it was never completed. The threat of punishment for disobeying orders had to be prioritized as lesser than the necessity for data recording.

OP-2007 silently stepped back from the intruders and turned to its station, resuming its work.

“Mags,” the unit could hear the white mech say, his voice low and stiff. “What’s he doin’?”

“Optimus.” A noise, then the blue Cybertronian was standing beside OP-2007 and gazing down at it with an odd expression. “We can go home, now. I don’t know if you don’t think we’re real, son—but we’re going to get you out of here.”

OP-2007 kept typing out its findings, as much as it could manage in the anticipation of being halted. It already recorded its own asset loss.

“… Wheeljack, we need to just take him,” the blue mech said softly. “I don’t know if he’ll fight.”

“Got it,” the white mech replied.

The blue Cybertronian slung its hammer onto its back, then. just. picked Unit OP-2007 up in his arms and turned to the damaged doorway.

Right.

OP-2007 was supposed to repair that.

Suddenly, three Sharkticons appeared in the doorway and snarled.

Perhaps OP-2007 would be able to resume its list of tasks, after all; that, or they were there to punish the unit for disobeying direct orders.

“By the authority of the Quintesson Empire-"

OP-2007 would never know what the Sharkticons intended to say and do, as the white mech suddenly lashed out and dispatched them all with his blades. A shame. Sharkticon soldiers were far more valuable commodities than laborers.

As the white mech turned back, OP-2007 found the large arms holding it tensing. Strange.

“Quintessons?” The blue mech asked, and OP-2007 noted for any possible future incident report that something in the mech’s wide optics changed. Those optics then narrowed, though the rest of the mech’s expression stayed neutral. “… Wheeljack, get our son out of here.”

“Mags?” The white Cybertronian blinked, quickly sheathing his blades so that OP-2007 could be passed into his arms—then he turned around to watch his companion go, that massive hammer back in his servos. “Hey, what are you doin’?! Mags!” The white mech shifted on his feet, uncertainty painted across his features. “Frag. Frag, frag, frag…” He closed his optics, then opened them and looked down at Unit OP-2007. “… I gotta get you outta here, kid.”

With that, the white Cybertronian exited the station room with OP-2007 and began swiftly navigating the corridors.

OP-2007 could hear a continuing, escalating chaos ensuing from… everywhere.

That blue mech could be an entire incident report in himself, it would seem.

…

The bombardment had been halted for about five minutes when Jazz heard approaching footsteps and looked up, his optics wide behind his visor.

“Wheeljack?! Is that-?”

“I’ve got him! He’s alive!” Wheeljack shouted, sliding to a stop with a familiar figure in his arms. The Prime’s paint was dull, scratched and dusty, and his optics were vacant—but he was alive. That was more hope than they’d had in weeks. “But Mags stayed back!”

“What?!” Smokescreen stepped forward, stunned. “Why would Magnus do that?!”

“I don’t know!” Wheeljack admitted, a mixture of frustrated and shaken. “We realized that it was Quintessons, a-and he just-" Wheeljack blinked, then he cast his gaze down as his brow furrowed. “… I’ve never seen him so angry.”

And TFP Optimus’s optics widened. “Oh, no.”

“Prime?” TFP Bulkhead looked up at his former leader, concerned, but the Matrix bearer just turned away and raised a servo to his comm.

TFA Ratchet had other priorities, as he stepped forward and gestured so that Wheeljack would kneel with the young Prime in his arms.

The field-tech got down on one knee and began his examination, and Sari flew over and perched on Wheeljack’s shoulder so that she could get a closer look. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know,” Wheeljack confessed. “He’s been unresponsive since we found him. Mags seemed to know somethin’, but-" The Wrecker looked back at the citadel. “Damn it, where is he?!”

“Ultra Magnus!” TFP Optimus was shouting into his comm. “Ultra Magnus, come in!”

BLAST!

The top of the citadel blasted apart, and TFA Ratchet had to stand and use his magnets to shield the family from the debris.

Wheeljack stared through the dome of magnetic fields as it flickered and vanished, watching the massive flames and billowing plumes of smoke.

“… Mags?”

“Pops?” TFA’s Bumblebee whispered, horrified.

“I’m still picking up his signal,” TFP’s Ratchet swiftly assured everyone, his optics on his wrist-implanted monitor. “It’s strong, almost as if-"

An engine roared, there was a shift of metal, and a familiar figure emerged from the smoke.

“Ultra Magnus!” TFP’s Arcee lit up.

“Commander!” And TFP Optimus stepped forward. “Ultra Magnus, what happened?”

“Where are my conjunx and my sparklings?” The blue and silver mech asked quietly, casting a strange gaze up at his mentor. The Prime tensed, then raised a servo and gestured. “… You and I will have words later, Pax.”

“… Agreed,” TFP’s Optimus said softly.

Ultra Magnus looked forward, that severe face dropping as he quickly ran over and kneeled before Wheeljack—looking down at the young mech in his arms worriedly.

“… Wheeljack.” He glanced up at his cojunx with a guilty expression. “Starburst, forgive me.”

“Yeah, fine! Just don’t do that again!” The smaller Wrecker scolded his spouse, then sighed. “Ugh.” He looked up as the field-tech kneeled to examine TFA Optimus once more. “Doc-‘bot?”

The field-tech stashed his examination mod and regarded Wheeljack gravely. “There’s one nasty virus uploaded in his processor, kid. Overrode the whole thing, tucked everything that makes ‘Optimus Prime’ himself into a corner. I don’t even think he knows who he is, right now—let alone the rest of us.”

“Okay, now: get it outta him,” Wheeljack urged, only to be met with silence. “… You can get it out.”

“Wheeljack, this thing is practically burned into his mind—branded—and I’m not sure what all is underneath,” TFA Ratchet explained. “If I make one wrong move while I try to remove it, I could cause more damage!”

“You have to try!”

“I will! Just let me think!”

“Slave coding,” Ultra Magnus said softly.

And TFA Ratchet’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”

“The Quintessons of our reality engaged in the same practice, eons ago. I’ve… seen this before,” Ultra Magnus murmured, then he looked over at Wheeljack. “Field-Tech Ratchet is correct. If he tries to remove it by force, it could kill Optimus.”

“Then, what do we do?” The white Wrecker asked, visibly distressed and desperate.

Ultra Magnus looked down, his brow furrowed in thought. “… The Quintessons could tamper with the physical matter, the processor—they even tried to tamper with the Well of Allsparks itself to see their ends met, to raise a planet of slaves from birth—but they were never able to conquer the spark. And… that is where we truly reside. Sometimes, we must simply be reminded.” He blinked, perking up a bit, then he looked at his conjunx. “… Wheeljack.” He held out his arms, his expression hard to read. “Trust me.”

And Wheeljack didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

Ultra Magnus took TFA Optimus into his arms, looking down at the relatively small frame sadly, then he took a deep vent. “… Optimus? Son, it’s me: Ultra Magnus…. What I am about to say would be difficult to hear under the very best of circumstances, and will likely come across as a bit blunt or… harsh—but I feel that I must say it now, to have any chance at getting my boy back.” He gave a small but true smile. “And I want you to know that I love you, that I apologize in advance, and that it’s all going to be alright.”

“Aw.” TFA’s Bumblebee crossed his arms, letting himself grin. “That was actually really sweet-"

That smile warped into a smirk, and Ultra Magnus raised an optic-brow. “But are you honestly letting those Pit-damned tri-faced squids turn you into a cog in another fraggin’ machine? Kid, c’mon: I thought that we were all done with this bullshit already. But alright, if you’re going to keep being a little glitch about it: more free mandatory psychoanalyses, just for you!”

As Ultra Magnus condescendingly pat the young Prime’s head, jaws actually dropped—and TFP Optimus put his face in a servo. “Oh, no…”

Prowl glanced over at him, obviously perturbed—and Jazz couldn’t help his internal agreement.

Just what did he know about all of this?

“Mags, seriously: what the fuck?!” Wheeljack asked, his optics wide.

“Hey, I get it.” Ultra Magnus shrugged. “Life sucks, then we die.” His optics narrowed. “When we get sick and tired of it, might as well let someone else call the shots! Right, kid?!”

“Oh, yeah—that’s the whole fraggin’ plan!” TFA’s Optimus snapped back, crossing his arms and huffing in his larger caregiver’s hold. “So glad someone finally got it!” He didn’t seem to notice the faces lighting up all around as he squirmed out of the commander’s grasp and stood up, his servos resting on his hips. “Magnus, you’re my father and I love you too—and I don’t know what crawled up your tailpipe and DIED, this morning—but you are being a complete and utter-!”

The young Prime was cut off as he was suddenly swept into a hug, a servo coming to rest on the back of his head. “… There you are, son.”

TFA Optimus blinked, bewildered, then his optics went wide. “M-..? Magnus?”

“Heh.” Ultra Magnus pulled away and cradled the younger mech’s face in his servos, grinning broadly. “There you are. There’s our boy.”

“H-How-?”

“Always worked, back then!” Ultra Magnus’s smile looked as though nothing could dampen it, and who would want to try? “Stubborn, good kid—you’re so hard to piss off!”

That really didn’t sound like the normal Magnus, Jazz realized. What exactly had happened, up in that citadel?

“You had to make me angry.” TFA Optimus stared at the commander, then he put on a trembling smile. “Oh, you’re the worst.” Ultra Magnus chuckled, resting his forehead against the young Prime’s, and TFA Optimus hugged him. “You’re the absolute worst.”

Ultra Magnus hugged the young mech in return. “For your sake? Gladly… Family is a promise, kid. And I’ll always be here for you.”

As the two pulled apart, Wheeljack finally snapped out of his stupor. “Kid!”

TFA Optimus grinned as Wheeljack hugged him, then actually laughed as the rest of his family closed in and nearly knocked him over with their shared embrace. And Ultra Magnus wrapped his arms around them all, comfort and shield…

TFA Optimus’s optics snapped open, and he looked up frantically. “The Quintessons-"

“They’re of no concern—for the moment, at least,” Ultra Magnus assured the young Prime, standing. “This outpost has been eradicated.”

The group-hug broke up, leaving TFA Optimus staring up at the citadel before looking back at Ultra Magnus. “You-? You did that, by yourself?”

“Hm.” Ultra Magnus turned to look up at the citadel, an odd look on his face. “As soon as I realized what we were up against, it was as if-…"

“Ultra Magnus, I-… I’m so sorry,” TFA Optimus said softly, stepping forward, and Magnus looked at him in surprise. “If I had never been caught, this never would have happened. You would’ve never had to go so far, to-"

“You have nothing to be sorry for, especially not for my sake,” Ultra Magnus insisted, then he sighed as the young Prime glanced away. “… Optimus. Look at me.” Hesitantly, TFA Optimus obeyed. “I know that this must frighten you, and make you feel guilty. But believe me when I say that it was necessary, and… the most ‘in-character’ I have been for a long, long time.” He looked up at the citadel again, his expression grave. “I remember everything, now.”

As he moved over to hover beside the unsteady TFA Optimus, Wheeljack raised an optic-brow at his conjunx’s words. “Remember?”

“The processor can be tampered with, but the spark is where we truly reside,” Ultra Magnus parroted his own words, voice soft. “Sometimes, we must simply be reminded… though I fear that this reminder is long overdue.” His optics narrowed, then turned on TFP Optimus. “… You knew.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Wheeljack tried as his conjunx turned to face his mentor. “Mags? Knew what?”

“It was not my doing, my friend,” TFP Optimus tried, looking absolutely crestfallen.

But Magnus’s shoulders raised, his fists clenching at his sides. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

“By the time the Matrix allowed me to recall the truth, I doubted you would believe me.”

That seemed to get a reaction out of Ultra Magnus, the Wrecker commander blinking as surprise overshadowed anger. “You forgot?”

“I did. It-… It hurt too much,” TFP Optimus told him quietly. “And then, I was… compelled… to remember.” He rested his servo over his spark chamber. “Even memories which do not belong to me, yet… still bring pain.”

“Alpha Trion,” Ultra Magnus realized. “He knew. He always knew.” That look of rage returned, and the Wrecker commander bared his dentas. “He let them keep me, take me from my family!”

“Mags, you hated your caregivers,” Wheeljack once more tried to intercede.

“Wheeljack.” TFP Optimus gave the white Wrecker a warning glance. “That is not the ‘family’ he means.“

“Then, what does he mean? What do either of you mean?” Sari cut in, flying up between TFP’s Optimus and Magnus and looking between them both with concern. “You’re talking about pain, and forgetting, and being- Being kept. What’s going on?”

“And what does it have to do with the-… the Quintessons?” TFA Optimus asked softly, and the Wrecker commander glanced at him with an odd expression. Jazz could see a storm in his optics, something wild and barely restrained: angry, scared… but also the same worried, kind, loving Magnus. “Ultra Magnus?”

“… They will never touch you, again,” the Wrecker commanded said, and Jazz felt an odd chill.

He believed Magnus.

Wheeljack was less-certain. “Mags, darlin’—you-… You can’t promise that.”

“Yes, I can.” Ultra Magnus turned away, and he cast another glare at his Prime. “And whatever he knew or didn’t know when, he knows that now.” A small smirk crossed his face. “Heh. It seems I had some coding of my own to break…” His optics then narrowed as Magnus stepped forward to face TFP Optimus again. “Placed there by the Quintessons, manipulated by the ruling class!”

“Not completely,” the elder mech tried. “You found your way back.”

“Unrecognizable!” Magnus snapped. “And you knew, the moment that papal parasite was lodged in your chest! You knew, ya Pit-damned civvie!” Jazz jumped a bit as Magnus’s voice changed, his accent losing its refinement and becoming closer to TFP’s Bulkhead’s or even Wheeljack’s. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me! I trusted you, defended you, and you didn’t help me! Why didn’t you help me?!” Jazz could hear the rage, but all he could see was devastation. “I NEVER GOT TO SAY ‘GOODBYE’!”

Magnus then raked the tips of his prosthetic servo across his chest, curled like claws.

“Mags!” Wheeljack was there immediately to assess the damage. “Hey, lemme see! Lemme-"

Wheeljack froze, his optics widening.

Ultra Magnus was shaking with fury, dentas bared, his optics closed and his face in his prosthetic servo… and his conjunx could not tear his optics away from the place where the Wrecker commander’s emblem sat.

Only…

Paint had been scratched away, revealing another symbol—similar, but still distinctly different.

Formerly-concealed biolights shone strong, showing a Cybertronian face with a hammer forming the forehead and ‘nose’.

TFA Ratchet saw it, and his own optics went wide in disbelief—and his TFP alternate gazed at the image like he had seen a ghost.

TFP Bulkhead’s jaw fell open.

TFP Optimus just gazed on forlornly.

“Magnus?” Jazz asked. “What’s that symbol?”

The Wrecker commander’s servo fell to his side and closed into a fist, and he opened his optics and let them narrow as they turned towards the sky. “… A promise.”

There was a thunderous roar of engines above, and an enormous ship emerged from the clouds to begin an ominous descent.

“We have to get outta here,” TFA Bumblebee decided, with Sari flitting over to perch on his shoulder as everyone stared up in horror.

Wheeljack went to reply, then he blinked as Ultra Magnus drew the Forge and stepped forward. “Mags? Mags, what’s goin’ on in there?”

Ultra Magnus glowered up at the ship as the force of its looming engines made the ground tremble and debris fly. “Protect the kids.”

“You can’t do this by yourself!” TFA Optimus protested, then he got winded.

Wheeljack stepped forward and caught the battered young mech before he could fall.

Ultra Magnus was looking back, his face stricken with worry, then his expression hardened. “Yes, I can.” He turned his gaze back to the ship. “I’ve done it before… and it’s best I get this out before the inevitable ‘jam session’.”

“This?” Wheeljack asked, watching as his conjunx adjusted his grip on the Forge. “Mags…”

TFP Optimus stepped forward, reaching out, his face a desperate plea. “Ultra Magnus-”

“You may not have stolen my life, but you didn’t return it either—so, I must take precautions,” Magnus said sharply, then he closed his optics. “… Never again. No more half-measures. This ends here, now, today. They never breach this Cybertron’s atmosphere. They never harm my family again, in this or any universe!” He opened his optics again. “That’s my vow.”

“Ultra Magnus,” TFA Optimus tried. {… Father.} The Wrecker commander looked back at the young Prime sadly. “Please.”

Wheeljack took the opportunity to make his own case. “Mags, please: talk to me. What’s gotten into you?”

“… I have,” Magnus replied, turning his gaze to his conjunx and giving a small smile. “Trust me?”

Wheeljack blinked, then he huffed before smiling in return. “… Always, ya stupid son of a glitch.”

Ultra Magnus chuckled, then he turned his gaze back towards the invading ship. “… Wreck n’ rule.”

Wheeljack’s optics widened.

TFP Bulkhead stepped forward and reached out.

TFP Ratchet looked ready to faint on the spot, and TFA Ratchet grimaced.

TFP Optimus just braced himself.

A the commander started running, Jazz found himself reacting too. “Ultra Magnus!”

But Magnus didn’t look back.

He reached the waiting Iron Will, boarded, raised the ramp, and took off.

“Wheeljack, what was that thing he just said?” TFA Bulkhead had turned to the remaining caregiver. “What was that mark on his chest?”

Where had Jazz heard and seen them before?

“I-… I only ever really heard about it in stories.” Wheeljack admitted, still stunned. “It was before my time, before the War for Cybertron, before the Council even—back when Cybertron was divided into tribes. It-… It was said that, as a united society rose under the false primacy and the caste system enacted, only one lasted up until-" He tensed, his shoulders raising, then he closed his optics. “Up until the Quintessons came.”

“And after,” TFP Ratchet noted, seemingly in shock.

“That tribe was said to protect travelers, take in those who had nowhere else to go, and never bend a knee to the rest of Cybertron,” Wheeljack went on. “They were independent, free—rebels. Heroes.”

“Our unit had some of the last survivin’ members of that tribe,” TFP Bulkhead added. “That’s how we got our name, and how we saw that symbol. Kup told us about them when he talked about the old days, the ancient Wrecker rallying call and the emblem of the tribe—but we didn’t really use either of them, outta respect.” He glanced at Wheeljack. “Did he tell Ultra Magnus the stories?”

“Kup was dead before Magnus got there,” the white Wrecker said softly.

TFP Bulkhead winced, then blinked in surprise. “Then… which one of the old geezers told him?”

“… I don’t think any of them did,” Wheeljack admitted, glancing up as the Iron Will darted overhead and passed over the Quintesson ship.

“What?” TFP Bulkhead was confused. “Jackie, what are you sayin’?”

BLAST!

An arc of explosions went off across the bridge of the ship, knocking it to the side. Its easy descent quickly went to barely-controlled freefall.

“Heh.” Wheeljack held TFA Optimus closer as he gazed up at the scene, an incredulous grin on his face. “It’s gonna be okay, kids. It’s gonna be okay. Don’t be scared. I’m here, and Mags?” Fighter ships began to pour out of the main craft, their formations focused upon a single target. “Yeah, he’s got this.”

Jazz looked at the engineer warily. “How do you know that?”

“… Like most of the Cybertronians from my reality, I don’t remember much of the occupation or the Quintesson War. But-…” Wheeljack took a deep vent. “But I think that Mags does, now.”

Sari blinked. “He fought them, in your universe?”

“Hm.” TFP Optimus gazed at the battle above forlornly. “… He was instrumental in overthrowing them, actually.”

TFP Ratchet, who had a servo to his head, looked at the Prime in alarm—and TFP’s Bumblebee and Arcee were similarly shocked.

“Optimus?” Smokescreen tried.

“I went looking for help. He wouldn’t let the rest of the group risk their lives, so he came on his own to make things right for all of Cybertron,” TFP Optimus said quietly, not taking his optics off of the Iron Will. “One lone Wrecker—the very last leader of that ancient, original warrior band… Ultra Magnus.” The ship wove through fighters, annihilating them left and right. “What he did last time was out of selfless kindness. But now, these Quintessons? They have made it personal. One of the greatest warriors in our Cybertron’s history…” The elder Prime’s expression darkened. “And they harmed his child.”

“We should help him!” Sari protested.

TFP Optimus cast her a wary side-eye. “We would only get in the way. Believe me… I used to.”

“Kid?” Wheeljack gave TFA Optimus a light shake, but he was dead to to the world—optics closed, limbs limp. “Doc-‘bot!”

Jazz didn’t watch the field-tech rush over.

He was too busy watching a fleet of enemy ships explode, and light up the sky of that barren world like stars.

…

…

…

When TFA Optimus woke up, he as in his room in the Plant.

Detroit.

He was home.

The young Prime grunted as he made himself sit up—and, to his surprise, he found that he wasn’t alone. Ultra Magnus was standing a short way’s away, seemingly appraising the Starscream wing Optimus had mounted on his wall after that first big battle.

Wheeljack and Ratchet had always joked that it was morbid.

“Ultra Magnus?”

The Wrecker commander was shaken out of his thoughts, then he glanced over and gave a relieved smile. “Hm. Hello, Optimus.” He walked over and sat in a chair beside the berth. “It’s alright. You were… quite overwhelmed, after everything. We got you back to Cybertron, stabilized you, and brought you home. You’re safe, now.”

“I-… I had the weirdest dream,” Optimus admitted, finding himself at a loss and grinning. “Heh. You were like a superhero, taking them all on by yourself just because-"

“They took my son, and they hurt him.” Magnus’s optics narrowed, then his expression softened. “… And that was inexcusable.”

“… So much so that… something that was buried, it came back?” Optimus asked softly, and Magnus folded his servos and closed his optics. “… You seem like you’re still you.”

Ultra Magnus opened his optics and looked up at the younger Autobot. “As do you.”

“But… after this… something’s still different,” the Prime said quietly, a massive and invisible weight settling on his shoulders and in his spark. “We’re still us, but-…”

“Not the same as we were, before,” Ultra Magnus agreed, nodding.

He seemed older, weary—and yet, his optics held a new shine. Or maybe… it was an old shine, at last polished from dull.

“I know what it’s like to be empty, now,” Optimus confessed. “And… I guess you do, too.”

Magnus shook his head. “It cannot be compared.”

“Deep down inside, we were both still us,” Optimus argued. He wasn’t diminishing his own pain—he needed a comparison, someone who could relate and understand… and sadly, Magnus always did. “You just… fought back harder.”

“… I had a very long time to learn,” Magnus said softly.

“But you had to do it by yourself,” Optimus said. “And you-…” When had he started to shake? “You found me.”

“… And you found me,” Magnus replied. “… Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not.” Optimus shook his head. “You’re my {father}, and you’re here. You’ll always be here.”

“Always, Optimus,” Magnus agreed, then he looked down as his shoulders raised. “When you went missing, I had never been so scared. And when I realized-" He was gripping his own servos so hard that they audibly creaked, and he closed his optics. “But that’s over, now.”

“… You got them?” Optimus asked.

Ultra Magnus nodded. “You’ve been asleep for some time, son, and… it took time, for me to… vent my frustrations.”

“Because no one came for you.” Optimus recalled snippets of the argument Magnus had with the Prime’s own alternate. “Just like with Wheeljack, you-… You were always the one saving, and never the one saved.”

“I did not know myself,” Magnus corrected him, opening his optics. “But I have been saved for some time, now. I’m a Wrecker, and I protect my family. That’s all I need.” The commander then winced. “I apologize again, for-"

“The funniest thing you’ve ever said?” Optimus asked, raising an optic-brow and grinning.

Ultra Magnus huffed and sat back, both relieved and exasperated. “I was out of line.”

“You knew it would help me,” Optimus reminded him, then snorted. “And you sounded-… It was actually pretty funny. I didn’t know you had quite a mouth like that on you.”

“Until about twenty minutes beforehand? Neither did I,” Ultra Magnus confessed. “… We have so much to talk about.”

“Guess we do.” Optimus shrugged his shoulders. “… The Quintessons?”

“They thought your Cybertron was vulnerable, that there were none who could defend it,” Ultra Magnus explained. “I simply corrected that false belief. The survivors have retreated back to their territories.”

“And… the Wrecker commander?” Optimus asked tentatively.

“I’m here, now—all of me.” There was a twinge of worry, even fear, in the elder mech’s optics. “… Don’t be scared.”

“Never,” Optimus assured the Wrecker leader again. “Wheeljack?”

“Heh.” There was a real smile. “We’re alright. I just don’t want to overwhelm him with too much, yet. We waited for you to have that ‘jam session’, but…” And there was the uncertainty. “Even with extra time, I still don’t know what to say.”

“Then, practice,” Optimus suggested. “I could… use a little help, assuring myself that I can feel again—that I’m me… I’m listening.”

“… When I finished my required education, my caregivers wanted me to continue my education with the intent to go into politics and law. After the Quintesson War, I was so lost and confused that they eventually got their way—though I still wound up disappointing them anyway by joining the Elite Guard,” Ultra Magnus began, his voice soft. “But… before all of that… I saw how the leadership of Cybertron bent the knee and allowed our people to be altered and enslaved, and I wanted no part in it. So, I… ran away—into the wilds… where the last free tribe of Cybertron took me in as one of their own, and… I eventually came to lead them.” He squeezed his own servos again. “Then, one day… I was visited by a young mech named Orion Pax, who presented a plan to overthrow the occupation. I would not risk my people, but… I also had to do what was right. So, I left… and it would be a very, very long time before I found my way again.“

“But you did.”

“Hm.” Magnus nodded, smiling sadly. “I did. And so will you, son.”

“I know.” Silence fell. “… I’m still listening.”

“… I know.”

…

…

…

TFP Ultra Magnus, to the Quintessons: