48 million vorns ago, a fatal flaw was found in the central operating system of every Quintesson factory in the galaxy. It began forming sparks that were aggressive, angry. Every unit supplied a processor from one of these defunct operating systems began to hate their function, their masters, their factories.
After 50 thousand vorns, the Quintessons found a way to fix this error. Vector Sigma systems were replaced with Vector Taus systems, and after a few horrible vorns of profit loss, the factories were back in working order, as were their workers.
23 joors ago, Optimus Prime was told to leave his station after sanctioned hours.
Kralik, with fidgeting tendrils and an uneasy line to their back, had announced Optimus would be reassigned. For the first time, Optimus had been told to drive with no cargo but the tiny quintesson.
Procedure would have been to verify with the section manager, but there was nothing telling him explicitly not to follow the orders of the little overseer, and when the overseer told him not to report anything, well, Optimus had no reason to disobey.
The familiar streets surrounding the shipping docks faded to ones he had never seen before. The air changed, more oxygen, more smells, food and perfume instead of exhaust and ozone. People lined the streets, outside of any work uniform, buying and selling merchandise from little stands. Some of the stands were even run by Quintessons instead of bots.
He kept driving down the path Kralik had charted for him. The streets got denser. In the distance there was a huge, wide building, bigger than any ship Optimus had ever seen.
Kaon. The civilian capital of the Cybertron planetary commercial complex.
There had been a few aliens scattered around before, but the closer he got to the colosseum the more there were. Creatures Optimus had never seen before, chatting and laughing and making their way the same direction that he was.
Kralik stopped Optimus with a tap to his interior. “Go around the back.” They instructed.
Optimus complied, slowing down to circle the massive building. This close, he could hear cheering inside. He drove just a touch faster, excited to see inside. He had already seen much, more than his predecessor had as leading convoy, but he wanted more.
Kralik again stopped him, this time at a larger garage door. It slid open after a moment, and Optimus didn't even wait for the order to proceed inside.
There were more Quintessons inside, more bots, too. Large bots, a few even larger than he was, though most not.
His passenger ordered a door, so Optimus gently let him out - lowering his struts so they would not hurt themself getting down.
“Okay, back to root mode.” Kralik ordered, already digging through their bag for something.
Optimus transformed, before getting a good look at the place with his proper optics. A few bots glanced at him, looking worried, others sneered at him. Some simply ignored him.
“Listen, Optimus.” They ordered and Optimus took a knee. “I need you to win a few fights.”
Ah. “That is not my purpose.” Optimus corrected politely. “I am an energon convoy.”
“I know what you are, but I'm telling you you're winning a few fights here. Just until I have enough shanix, then after I’ll take you right back and neither of us have to tell the boss.” The little quintesson explained. “You're big enough to run a few bots over, aren't you?”
Optimus had never thought of that before. He supposed he was quite large. “Perhaps.” He said. “But this plan will only work if I do not become damaged.”
“Then don't. If you do, I'll just say you went crazy and ran off on your own.”
Optimus’s optics narrowed. “That would be lying to a superior officer. You have only been working at the docks for a vorn.”
Kralik waved him off with one tendril. “It's fine, what Hersinak doesn't know won't hurt them.”
Optimus did not like this plan, but he was outside of com range to tell Elita what was happening.
And another part of him was curious. This, like everything else, was something Optimus had never done before.
So, Kralik took him to watch a fight, and Optimus followed.
There was a gray mech in the arena, with dense plating and no delicate extremities, no finials or glass anywhere. It was a juggernaut, across from an equally sturdy purple mech with no face.
They both had guns on their arms, and were doing a strange dance between shooting and wrestling each other.
Optimus had a gun, a rifle, meant for security purposes. Optimus had never used it, Ultra Magnus had only had to use his once and he was convoy for the east side of the dock, jools away from Optimus’s side.
The gray mech grabbed the purple one by their approximation of a helm - which seemed rude, taking advantage of a disfunction - and yanked the other mech down, slamming them brutally into the metal below. The purple mech squirmed so the gray one did it again. And again. And again. Until the purple one fell limp.
The crowd was in an uproar cheering the gray mech who raised their fists in the air in triumph before being led away by a few sharkticons.
“Okay, you're next.” Kralik said. “Don't scratch your paint, I don't want to find a colour match.”
What Optimus had thought was a window slid open, and free air hit him once again. It smelled like energon. He took a few hesitant steps forward and the door closed again behind him sharply.
The crowd started to cheer at him, but their voices were lower. Optimus was not sure what that meant.
Then, there was a tetrajet. Optimus had only ever seen one in pictures.
It was sunshine red and energon blue, paint shining as it flew overhead, gliding through the air like they were on a road Optimus couldn't hope to see. They did spins and the crowd got louder, they drifted closer to the stands, teasing the audience by running his wingtip over the forcefield that separated them, drawing a line of sparks and nothing more.
It was the most beautiful thing Optimus had ever seen, a bot moving with the grace and confidence saved for quintesson Judges and no one below, a bot with sleek paint unmarred by a single scuff. A bot of the skies.
The tetrajet then shifted, transforming mid-air and gracefully landing on their back struts, helm held higher than any bot Optimus had seen and bright ruby optics finding his own standard issue blue. Optimus felt pinned to the spot.
“A newbot?” The tetrajet’s shrill voice accused. “What scrap heap did you drag this one from?” He asked - demanded - of the judges sitting closest to the crowd in their own personal thrones. “Do you plan to bore me to death?”
“Do as you’re told, seeker.” One of the judges demanded, with no physical retaliation for a slight as large as a bot yelling at a Judge.
Optimus got a strange thrill at the thought. He had seen bots scrapped for less, but here the jet stood, unafraid.
The seeker sighed, turning back to Optimus again. “You're bigger than the usual newbot. That's a shame, I would have loved to see if you could put Megatron’s head to the metal for once.”
“My designation is Optimus Prime, may I ask yours?”
The seeker smiled, showing off pointed dentae. “Starscream. Remember it when you're begging for mercy.”
Right. They were fighting. “May I concede now?” He asked.
Starscream looked a little startled, wings flicking. Then he stood even taller, wings held high and servos on his hips. “You've already been cowed by my show of skill, haven't you? Well, I don't see why I cannot let you live, common sense is in such short supply here already--” His vocals cut out abruptly, his limbs locking up and his optics going wide.
Optimus recognized it, every bot did. Stunners were the kind of things that could take down even Ironhide. He took quick steps towards the jet, almost but not quite touching him.
The judge spoke once more. “Destroy it, or let it destroy you. I tire of hearing your voice.”
Starscream was released, and Optimus readied to catch him - but it seemed gladiators could hold their footing better than dock workers.
The jet stumbled away from him, before transforming within a fraction of a second and taking off again. Optimus watched as he was circled from above.
He did not want to hurt this mech, but he was not sure the jet was so adamant against hurting him.
He steadied his stance.
And then he felt a power surge. The kind that locked his joints for a moment. A weaker stun with a stronger current. Then again, and again, and again. Four shots from somewhere above him, then Optimus turned to look at the jet.
He worked with energon, he was made to withstand power surges, but those innocuous little blasters welded to the jet’s wrists hurt. Made his processor stutter, for a moment he just stared up at the Starscream and Starscream stared back down at him, looking more confused than anything.
He had to stop getting shot at. “Please stop.” He directed, voice even like he was speaking to one of his powerloaders.
“Are you glitched?” Starscream asked, still hovering in the air by his heel jets. “Do you even have a weapon?” He turned back to the judge, furious. “Will you send in a toaster next?”
But, that had sent Optimus’s processor sputtering back into gear. He did have a weapon. He drew his rifle and aimed at those blasters he couldn't think around.
One shot, clean through one nozzle. Starscream shrieked, clutching his arm close to his chest, energon leaking between his digits and dripping to the ground.
Optimus nearly dropped his gun, a sick lurching under his plates. Those weren't just weapons, they were parts of the mech. Parts that he felt. “I’m sorry--”
Starscream snarled, before shooting off again, faster this time, his energon making sharp taps against the ground. Optimus looked down at the rifle still loosely held in one servo and didn't recognize it.
There was a tap on his shoulder, a little bead of energon. He looked up.
Starscream was right above him, grabbed one of his finials and yanked.
Optimus’s vision cut out, and there was a harsh snap before he shoved Starscream away with desperate force.
He put a servo where his finial should have been. Energon rolled down the side of his helm. His optics found Starscream again, holding the little piece up mockingly even as his other arm stayed close to his chest, streams of energon rolling down his cockpit. The crowd roared, Optimus could only hear half of it.
Optimus looked up at the audience, looked up at the judges, lips curled in amusement. He dropped his rifle and kicked it away, standing tall with fists clenched even as the world spun and his helm throbbed. He glared right up at the judge. The crowd went quiet.
“What are you doing now, you waste of a paint job?” Starscream growled.
“I won't fight.” Optimus said adamantly. “There is no purpose for this.”
The jet got right in front of him. “Well, that certainly makes things easier.” He pointed his one remaining wrist toward Optimus.
“You don't have to fight, either.”
A sharp tone sounded in the air, Optimus could only assume it was feedback from his broken finial, none of the onlookers reacted.
Starscream smiled wickedly, red optics wide and thrilled. “Maybe I like to.”
Optimus did not falter.
Then Starscream whipped around and shot straight at the Judge, forcefield appearing and then shorting out with just that one blast.
The second went through the Quintesson’s face. They screamed. It seemed to trigger something, every bot in the crowd started shooting, more bots flooded the arena to fire on any organic that moved.
Cold metal was pushed into his servo - his rifle. Starscream glared up at him. “Make yourself useful, newbot. Don't let them shoot me out of the air.” He ordered before running off, transforming between one step and the next before soaring into the sky to rain down fire.
Optimus tightened the rifle in his grip.
