#mixed continuity

The Cybertronian coliseum pulsed with the roar of the crowd, a sea of metallic faces gleaming under the artificial lights. Energon-splattered sands bore the weight of countless battles, and tonight would be no different. Gladiators strode into the arena to test their mettle, each seeking victory, fame—or survival.

Among them was Megatronus, a towering ex-miner whose reputation had already begun to eclipse others. His movements were calculated and powerful, his crimson optics scanning the space like a predator. Yet, for all his notoriety, this was his first time facing an unfamiliar name: Soundwave.

The gate across from him groaned as it opened, and out stepped the enigmatic figure. Tall and leaner than most gladiators, Soundwave’s face was a blank visor reflecting the glaring lights. His posture was calm, almost eerily so, as if the jeers and cheers around him did not exist. The only sound from him was the faint whir of his systems, a symphony of mechanical hums that somehow harmonized with the chaos.

Megatronus found his optics lingering, intrigued. This gladiator was different—not just in appearance, but in the way he held himself, an aura that demanded attention without a single word.

---

The gong echoed. The battle began.

Soundwave moved like liquid, weaving through Megatronus’s thunderous strikes with grace that belied his size, tentacles always ready to strike. His movements were deliberate, a dance of precision and efficiency. It wasn’t long before the audience fell silent, enraptured by the duel.

“What are you?” Megatronus rumbled mid-battle, voice strained but laced with fascination.

Soundwave did not reply verbally. Instead, he dodged another swing and countered with a quick strike to Megatronus’s shoulder, forcing him back. The visor tilted slightly, a silent challenge.

Megatronus smirked, a rare expression for him. “Silent, yet so loud.”

The battle continued, but it was clear that neither fought to end the other. There was no overreach, no attempt to finish the duel. It was as if they were testing each other, learning.

---

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gong rang again, signaling a draw. The crowd erupted in mixed reactions, but neither gladiator seemed to care. Megatronus approached Soundwave, his massive frame casting a shadow.

“You intrigue me,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I’ve faced countless warriors, but none like you.”

Soundwave tilted his head, his visor flickering faintly as if considering the statement. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion yet somehow intimate, he replied, “Observation: you seek more than victory.”

Megatronus chuckled, a sound both dark and amused. “Perhaps. And what do you seek, Soundwave?”

There was a pause before Soundwave responded, his tone soft but firm. “Purpose.”

The single word struck Megatronus harder than any weapon. He saw a reflection of himself in it, an echo of the drive that had pushed him into the arena in the first place.

“You’ve found it,” Megatronus said, surprising even himself.

Soundwave didn’t answer immediately, but something shifted in the tilt of his head, a subtle acknowledgment. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the gate, his steps soundless despite his size.

Megatronus watched him go, an unfamiliar feeling stirring in his spark. For the first time in eons, he felt a connection—not of rivalry, but of understanding.

As Soundwave disappeared into the shadows, Megatronus knew this would not be their last meeting.

After the first stellar cycle that Ratchet was joined by Knockout and reunited with First Aid and Ambulon, then Kaput and even Velocity -though the two latter were short-term- the rapidly populating area of the planet had its first fully operational clinic. Though, the matter that took precedent was the construction of a full operational hospital. Bulkhead’s team couldn’t work more efficiently.

Yet, Ratchet and his own motley team found themselves recharging between shifts in MARBs. But that was soon remedied as apartment were erected… And soon, as the patients rolled in and out, as the dynamics grew between the doctors and nurses, and the stellar cycles blurred and quickly turned to over a deca-cycle. 

Ratchet found his routine, and would go “home” to a building he shared with so many of his friends. Ironhide and Chromia were in the rooms beside his own. Yet, today as he went to the step that led to his door, he looked over to see the next door was open. 

Somebody must be moving in. 

But then there was the feeling that one can put into words if they have experienced it once before. 

Out the open door stepped a tall bot adorned in simple shades of dark blue and red. He was talking over his shoulder, a smile upon his faceplate, and a femme, painted in a quite bright tone of pink, followed after him. Together, they just stood at the step. 

But then Ratchet caught the femme’s optics, and they met each others’ gaze.

Oh, Ratchet’s spark was going too fast. 

Then the blue mech turned. 

He smiled again, cobalt optics as wide and bright as Ratchet remembered, and together, the two waved.