Chapter Text
The meeting went off without a hitch. Everyone received their assignments, there were no protests, and well, Orion was by his side this time. Truly. Every time Starscream even opened his intake to argue, Orion clocked it, either saying something before he could, or pinging him to do the same. The two of them worked in perfect, bureaucratic tandem, and it warmed his spark to see it.
The meeting ended, leaving bots to busy about before the chronometer hit zero. Orion sidled up to him, grasping his pauldron, pulling him down to his level. Only when they were optic to optic did Megatron realize what he was doing, and only then did Orion seem to consider if it was a good idea, pausing centimeters from his lips.
Megatron rolled his optics, closed the gap. There was hardly anyone left to witness it anyway, and of those who were there, he didn’t care. Starscream and Elita? Let them see.
Orion pulled back, smiling. “Jazz thinks he’s found a way to bring up the rest of the FFFF.”
“Good,” Megatron said with his own pointed smile. “The more the merrier.”
And off Orion went, giving a little wave before he passed the threshold.
A beat of silence, and then, “well isn’t that just an adorable sight.”
He should’ve known Starscream would try to get the last word in.
He shed any remaining softness from his stance and field, turning with threatening intent. “Can I help you, Senator?”
“As always, you have it backwards,” Starscream tutted. “May I show you something?” He tilted his helm, took a few meaningful steps towards doors that led to the side of the building he’d never been invited to: the seeker side.
Maybe it was foolish to follow, but in the end, he did need this mech, wouldn’t do to tick him off entirely, though he wanted to.
The room on the other side was another cavernous chamber. There wasn’t much in it, just some ornament, and an elevated chair on the far side. Belatedly, Megatron realized what it was: a makeshift throne room.
“What is it you wanted to speak about, Starscream?”
The seeker pivoted on his heel-strut. “Not so much speak,” he chuckled, then snapped his digits. Starscream’s trinemates came trotting out of another door, carrying something between them. The whole thing was very dramatic. Megatron was suddenly certain that the whole thing had been rehearsed at least once.
“I have a gift for you,” Starscream trilled as the two seekers presented it to him. A long black object, shiny and cylindrical. He’d never seen anything quite like it. “It’s a fusion cannon, one of Vos’s latest, and most powerful designs, built by our best and brightest– some input from yours truly,” he preened, “well?”
It was an effort to keep the fascination off his face. He let skepticism take its place. “Why?”
Starscream floundered. “What do you mean, why? To win! Go on, try it on.”
Skywarp lifted one end so it was aligned with his arm. He took it from there, grasping the barrel and clicking it into that place left empty by the volt-saw. For a moment his systems went static, his sensory array adapting to the new component. An uncomfortable energy rippled through his lines.
And then the system synced and booted up. He’d been concerned about the weight, but the machine was deceptively light, no heavier than the volt-saw had been, and already thrumming with power.
“It’s at full charge,” Starscream’s shrill voice cut through his wonderment, “but I will have you know that it’ll increase your energon requirements.”
“Trade-offs,” Megatron rumbled.
“Exactly. I knew you’d get it.”
Megatron eyed him suspiciously. It was too simple, too straightforward. What was the seeker’s angle? He turned his arm, marvelling at the easy weight, almost a comfort after the volt-saw’s absence.
Sometimes it was easier to just be direct.
“And what’s the real trade-off?” Megatron asked.
Starscream tilted his helm, innocent as anything. “I haven’t a clue what you mean.”
“What do you expect to gain from this?”
“You are dense, aren’t you?”
Megatron’s jaw tensed. He didn’t dignify that with a response.
Starscream sighed, shuttering his optics. “Here’s the way I see it. Sentinel Prime is old, and stupid, and cruel. I’m here because we need someone young, and clever, and maybe not cruel, but certainly ruthless enough to do what needs to be done… and I think you’re that someone.” That ruby-red gaze returned to him, bright with piercing resolution. “Don’t you get it?” he sneered, gesturing to the cannon. “I’m betting on you.”
Megatron cocked a brow ridge. “And Orion?”
“Orion’s a bleeding spark. He’s good if you like weepy, virtuous bots all fired up, but he’s never going to pull the trigger.” He took a step closer. “And I mean that literally.”
Megatron considered this. Even as fury simmered in his lines at every new insult Starscream had for Orion, he made himself consider it.
“You’re going to fight Sentinel today. Here’s my request. Grind him to dust. Take this gun, and blast him to pieces. Shove it right into his still-spinning spark, and make him beg like the feeble-minded fool that he is.” Starscream took another step closer, brought his servos up like he might touch him, then thought better of it. His optics were blazing, his fans had actually clicked on. “Make him feel it.”
Megatron narrowed his optics, considered the cannon on his arm. The whole display should’ve been unsettling, but he couldn’t help but thrill a little at the request, though he’d never let Starscream know it.
His promise to Orion weighed heavier.
“We shall see.” After all, there was always the possibility Sentinel may… force his servo. He strode out the door.
*
“OP!” Arcee leapt forward, wrapped her arms around Orion’s neck. He almost fell back with the force of it.
Cliff wasn’t far behind, ambling casually in, openly taking in the opulence. He let out a low whistle, then chuckled. “Nice digs.”
Orion laughed softly, happy to be reunited with the rest of his crew. “That’s what Jazz said too.”
*
The upside of being majority ex-miners was that none of them took issue with the claustrophobia of the tunnels. Orion would go so far as to call them roomy after mining down in the dark, and squeezing into a dozen different ventilation systems to get into places he didn’t belong.
Some of the gladiators had a harder time, not to mention the way that many of their frames scraped up uncomfortably against the ceilings.
“How much further?” Orion whispered sharply.
“Not much,” Jazz said, guiding them around another turn.
“Can we really get into the council chamber this way?” Elita asked.
“Yep. These tunnels lead right to it. Problem will be the bottleneck.”
“That’s why the strongest go first,” Megatronus said.
Orion nodded as they crept forward. He could make out the exact place where the gray metal of the streets gave way to the finery of the palace. That, and the consistent upward motion. Soon, the tunnels weren’t even all that dark. Where they’d previously only been lit by the occasional wall-mounted emergency light, there were now cracks— or rather, windows out. At one point Orion looked out and saw the entirety of Iacon’s sprawl, the same way the councilors would.
It was… well, he couldn’t excuse the excess, couldn’t excuse the way these bots lived in unapologetic splendor while his languished in the dark.
But it was beautiful.
The architecture, the way everything circled the contour of the palace grounds, but above all, the bustle of the city. Just from here he could see a thousand— thousands of bots darting this way and that, in alt or root, just…
Living their lives.
And for one hanging nanoklik, Orion felt regret, knowing he was about to throw all of this into chaos.
“You’re not getting second thoughts, are you?” Elita said with a glare.
Orion shook the notion off, like drops of solvent after the washracks. “No.”
Elita gave him a friendly smack on his pauldron, continuing the way up.
Up and up and up. Orion’s struts burned, not unlike the time he’d had to climb all those stairs with Cliff and Arcee. Too bad no one had thought to install a secret elevator.
As they ascended, so too did the tension. It spawned from his spark, crawling under his plating and leaving him jittery with it. They were going to arrest the senate. The thought was so absurd that it was almost nullified and tossed out by his reality matrix as another of his idle fantasies. It had been so easy to disassociate from the concept during their planning, say the words, but not quite internalize their weight. They were going to end functionalism. Right here, right now.
The procession stopped, and it took him a moment to realize it was because Megatron had stopped.
Because they were at a door.
Not any door either. Sure, it looked perfectly mundane from their side, but through it, they could hear fierce debate amongst councilors.
“I don’t care what you have to do! I want those insurgents found!”
Orion recognized that voice, might’ve had a hard time placing it, because it usually sounded so even over the holovids. He knew better now, after that voice had ordered their capture in the alley.
“Sentinel,” Megatronus growled. His servo creaked as it curled into a tight fist. Orion’s intake went dry, knowing the intent. He cleared his throat, and Megatronus’s gaze, bright crimson, snapped to his.
It only took a moment of optic-contact, but he knew Megatronus got the message. He flicked his optics derisively, letting Orion know he remembered, and then turned back to the door, awaiting the signal.
“Sounds like Senator Decimus’s failing,” Starscream groused from the other side of the door, muffled, but undeniable. Any klik now, he was going to say the phrase that would tell them that the room was cleared of threats.
“It’s not!” Decimus shouted, indignant. “I told you, my intelligence states that they were last seen on the premises of your embassy.”
“That just tells me that your ‘intelligence’ is as unintelligent as you are.” Orion could picture the self-satisfied way Starscream would curl his digits and preen as he delivered that barb.
“I still think we’re going about this all wrong,” another voice said. Orion recognized this as Dai Atlas. He respected what he knew of the mech. He was in on the scheme, after all. Orion was still nervous that some of the gladiators would have a hard time– or not think to care, about making the distinction between the corrupt and the good. “These bots have as much right as any of us to make their voices heard. It’s our duty as representatives to speak for them as well,” Dai Atlas continued, furthering Orion’s respect for the mech.
“It’s our responsibility to save our constituents the headache of dealing with these upstarts!” Proteus exclaimed, with a clatter of standing.
“Fight nightfall as much as you want,” Starscream drawled, “the new dawn always comes.”
The signal! Orion stood to the side. Megatronus’s engine revved, and he kicked in the door.
*
The functionalist councilors scattered like cyber-rats cast into the light, vermin that they were.
It warmed Starscream’s spark to see it, manic glee, bubbling vindication as Megatron stormed through the door, fusion cannon leveled at their idiotic, terrified faces. Decimus and Proteus were already begging, the stupid oafs. Ratbat had gone silent, for once, wide, terrified optics searching for an out. He wouldn’t find any.
Prime was backing up slowly, lips pulled into a not-quite-smile.
Starscream’s backstruts prickled a warning. In all his years of heading a military state, he’d learned a few things, chief among them: if the enemy wasn’t panicking, something was terribly wrong.
“Seize him!” Starscream shrieked, pointing at the retreating Prime. No one listened. It was just him and those blasted insurgents. His own seekers had been forced to circle several tens of kilometers south, for fear of detection. Even at mach 3, it would take them at least five more kliks to make it to the palace.
“Seize me yourself!” Prime exclaimed, almost sounding excited. Some of the gladiators exchanged looks. Starscream felt himself stiffen at the challenge. For an eerie moment, he was sure that nothing was going to happen, and the Prime was going to saunter right out, unopposed.
“With pleasure!” Megatron bellowed, charging with all fifty tons of his silver frame. The idiot didn’t even use the cannon— what a waste, just colliding directly into Prime, throwing them both dangerously close to the balcony that overlooked the Heart of Cybertron. If they both simply teetered over the edge and fell in, that would be fine by him. Prime’s death was going to leave a power vacuum, and he had the clear sense that Megatron wasn’t going to just roll over and let the better mech lead. He’d already thought up a few schemes to… deal with Megatron once the dust settled, but if they both just perished here— a scenario so perfect he hadn’t even dared dream it, all the better.
Prime forced out a laugh, activated his chosen weapon: a double-bladed sword, and missed Megatron’s chassis by millimeters as he struck.
Starscream considered that luck could be made as well as gifted. There was nothing to say he couldn’t meddle. They were both so close anyway, they really only required a small push…
Another tingle up his backstruts. For a klik, he couldn’t understand the feeling, so entranced by the battle and his own plans, and then he turned to the source.
A red visor from a tilted helm. He’d forgotten about Soundwave, Megatron’s shadow. Starscream had hoped to turn him to his own side, but abandoned the idea once the mech’s devotion had become clear. Fragging zealot.
Soundwave took a menacing step forward, like he’d heard the thought, like… Starscream swallowed dry. There was no way he could know what he was thinking, no way–
“Fire on Megatron, you die.” Creepy voice too, all layered monotone.
For a moment there was only shock, and then Starscream was puffing up his chassis, taking on an indignant look, to all senses at ease, expression like armor from vorns of practice. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
Soundwave continued to stare.
Anger rose in him, “and besides!” he threw his servos in the air, “I don’t see you helping him!”
Soundwave settled back, and Starscream was embarrassed to find that the distance made him feel better.
“Megatron: would not want me to.”
*
Megatron would be lying to himself if he claimed the fight wasn’t exhilarating. It had all the energon-racing, pump-thrumming thrill of a Pit fight, with none of the humiliation of acting for the pleasure of others. No longer an announcer’s puppet. The audience was his comrades, his enemies. This time when he won, he would truly be a victor. It wouldn’t be a pat on the back, a scrap ration, and a malicious promise of future fights. Sentinel’s place was beneath his pedes. This fight would reveal that to the world. This time, it mattered.
He’d fought at least a dozen bots who’d chosen a weapon like Sentinel’s. It wasn’t difficult to predict how he’d use it. He dodged a swipe, and countered with a strike of his servo like it was venting. He could feel Sentinel’s humor evaporating to frustration, then fear, as Megatron countered over and over, not even onlining the cannon. He didn’t need it. That’s how little Sentinel meant to him.
In his increasing erraticism, Sentinel misstepped. Megatron was conditioned to draw out fights against such weak opponents, give the audience their shanix-worth, but this wasn’t that. When Sentinel went to close the clumsy opening, Megatron took the opportunity to drop down, and kick the offending pede out from under him.
The mech caught hold of the banister, not quite touching the ground. Megatron lunged forward, using Sentinel’s own weapon and the weight of his frame to pin him against the banister.
“What’s wrong?” Megatron leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. “Never had a real opponent before?”
Sentinel sneered. “Please, I was killing Quintessons by the platoon when you were just a twinkle in Primus’s optic. You should be thanking me!”
“That just makes it worse!” Orion appeared by his side, simmering anger in his field. “You experienced their oppression, had to fight for your freedom because you know what it’s like without it, and you still chose to shape our world as you did.” Orion’s helm tilted down, optics blazing. “You remade Cybertron in their image.”
Sentinel’s field took on genuine anger. “They were making us into slaves!”
“What do you think you’ve been doing?!” Megatron roared, pulling back, and slamming Sentinel against the railing again. Prime’s internals rattled in their casing as the air was forced out in a startled wheeze.
“Let’s just get him out of here,” Orion said, turning heel towards the door.
Megatron got a good grip around Sentinel’s servos, preparing to herd him out, when a sharp uptick in his field had him hesitate.
“What?” Megatron growled.
“Now,” Sentinel said, smiling slightly.
There was less than a nano to parse what that meant. One moment they were standing, the next, every bot except Sentinel was slammed to the floor, magnetized by some unknown mechanism. Megatron tried to pry himself up, but it was as though he were welded down. Above him, Sentinel chuckled. With the way Megatron’s helm was stuck on its side, he could see him, just barely out of the corner of his optic.
“What a mess,” Sentinel drawled, walking somewhere out of Megatron’s line of sight.
“What the frag is this, Prime?!” Starscream squawked.
“Screamer. Not surprised to find you had a servo in this.” A kick, and Starscream yelped in pain. Megatron didn’t care for the seeker, but he found himself angry at the action anyway. These were his bots, damnit. Another kick.
“Stop it!” Orion shouted, shifting a bit on the floor.
A low growl started in Megatron’s throat as those pedesteps started towards the both of them.
“So who’s the real leader here?” Sentinel stopped between the two of them, scrutinizing. “It couldn’t possibly be you.” He canted his helm towards Orion, then back to Megatron. “I couldn’t imagine the big bad scourge of Kaon taking orders from a skinny little data clerk.”
Megatron let his tac-unit run solutions. He was only barely able to temper his anger, knowing that he would find a way.
“We’re equals,” Orion said, reigning in a fury of his own. His field roiled with it. “Partners.”
“Orion. Shut up,” Megatron bit out. Damn if he didn’t love hearing Orion voice his convictions, but right now, they couldn’t afford to give Sentinel anything.
“Partners!” Sentinel laughed. “Don’t tell me, is that why–” he cut himself off with his own returning laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Megatron couldn’t even stop himself from asking.
“Megatron, Megatron– or should I call you D-16?” Sentinel punctuated that little insult with a smile. “I’ve been in your mind. Do you know what I saw?”
He didn’t let himself answer, only ran the tac-unit again. This time, it spat out a solution, but he’d need time. His hydraulics just weren’t powerful enough. He quietly started diverting power to his right arm. He’d only get one shot at this.
“I saw someone desperate for revenge. I saw bottomless rage, and a bot who didn’t know a thing about himself outside of his need for vindication.”
“That’s not true,” Orion said, voice shaking with anger. “Even if Megatronus wasn’t the best mech I’ve ever known, he’s still infinitely better than a tyrant like you.”
“Is that so?” Sentinel crouched down so he could better look Orion in the optics. A sudden surge of dread washed over Megatron. “Have you ever been in his mind? Have you ever felt his feelings? Thought his thoughts?”
Orion didn’t answer. The hardline had been one-way, and in that moment, Megatron was regretting it.
“I know him better than you ever will,” Sentinel said.
“Tell yourself that, if you like,” Orion snapped back.
“Oh I will. Are you aware of what he’s done? What he’s going to do? You’re data-caste. Did you know he wants to tear our entire world to the ground?”
“I hope he does.”
“Did you know he’s killed?”
“He was a gladiator, you idiot!”
Sentinel didn’t seem to have another rebuke for that, until he glanced back over his shoulder, met Megatron’s optics, and they both knew he wasn’t done.
“Did you know about my good friend Declaron.”
“I don’t care about any friends of yours,” Orion said lowly.
“Did you know he was found dead, defenseless in his berthroom, with a hole where his spark used to be?”
Orion’s brow furrowed, and he wasn’t stupid either. He put two and two together. “Megatronus wouldn’t.”
Megatron willed the power diversion faster. 80 percent, almost there…
“He did.” The glee coming off Sentinel’s field made him want to purge. “I saw it in his mind.”
Megatron waited for Orion’s reaction with measured vents. 96 percent. He swore, if he survived this, he was going to let Flatline reformat his lines.
“I don’t care what you say you saw,” Orion said. “I don’t care if it’s true. You shouldn’t have been in there.”
Power hit 100 percent. He could already tell that this wouldn’t be the end of that particular thread. Orion was nothing if not persistent, but he could worry about that later. With little preamble, he swung his charged up arm, felt the vice of the magnetized floor resist, and then give. Something snapped in his hydraulics from the sheer force, and he fired into the support beams of the palace.
For a moment, nothing changed. The beams took the hit, and a rumble swept across the structure. Sentinel braced, and then relaxed when it passed. The grin on his face was worse than any torture.
“As I was saying—“
A high-pitched sizzling noise was the only warning before the palace walls lit up in a brilliant explosion. He could only reason that he’d hit a fuel line, and now the whole thing was going up. Some bot yelped. He didn’t have a nano to wonder who, because the magnetization gave out at the exact time as the floor did, sending everyone careening to the side. His shot worked better than he could’ve hoped.
The shouts of dozens of their bots, and the scrape of metal on metal. He swung his helm around as he found a grip on the tilted floor, some crack between tiling, and jammed his digits in. It hurt like a glitch, but his hydraulics held, and he was left half standing, half swinging across the slanted surface. The ting-ting-ting of slender pedesteps. He looked up, to find the many optics of Airachnid, and the picture of her carrying her leader to freedom.
“Hey!” With his free arm, he aimed the fusion cannon, remembered every klik of training Elita had given him, and fired. It missed the target, and the blowback stung his damaged hydraulics, but took out the section of ruined building she was aiming for. With a loud yelp, she lost her footing, and tumbled down, Sentinel close behind.
.:Megatronus, we’ve fallen to ground level. Where are you?:. Orion commed.
.:Watch out. Airachnid and Sentinel are heading down there:.
He received an affirmative ping, then let go of his hold, letting gravity take him down into the chasm of the ruined side of the building. Maybe dangerous to do so blind, but he couldn’t waste the time the councilors could use to wreak havoc, or call in their forces. His pedes found a protruding girder, then a long ledge of broken flooring, then he picked up those sharp pedesteps of the spider, and followed the sound down.
He must’ve passed thirteen levels when the gunfire came into audial-range. He dropped faster, forgoing any remnants of caution. He charged up the cannon. A persistent whirring, a promising humm. He leapt down to the last level, and came into contact with full pandemonium. The golden guards of Sentinel’s own forces were swarming into the large, but broken down chamber. His own bots were holding their own. Orion’s too, he had to concede. While the gladiators were favoring their fists or rudimentary weapons, the FFFF had blasters, and decent aim.
Among it all, he couldn’t spot Orion.
.:Where are you?:. he commed, not at all succeeding in burying his panic. He didn’t panic— never in battle. Never unless it was Orion. He searched wildly, and never got a glimpse of that distinct shade of red.
.:On your nine:.
Megatron looked, and there he was, crouched behind some rubble, giving a stupid little wave despite the carnage, though he wasn’t smiling. Soundwave and Elita were each crouched on either side of him, the femme with her laser-rifle, picking off golden soldiers, Soundwave just stooping threateningly, daring anyone to come closer. Megatron sprinted over, firing twice to lay ground cover.
“What’s the situation?” He snapped.
“I think we’re surrounded,” Orion said.
“Negative,” Soundwave intoned. “Seekers: two kliks out.”
Megatron nodded, considering. “Tell everyone we only need to hold out that long. Then the seekers can throw them off-guard. That’s our chance to overwhelm them and take back the fight.”
“You sure we shouldn’t just retreat?” Orion swept his gaze over the chaos, looking nervous.
Megatron blinked his confusion. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your nerve.”
Orion’s expression hardened. “I’m worried about casualties.
“Command: sent.”
Megatron nodded his approval.
“It’s now or never, Pax,” Elita said, for once, echoing Megatron’s thoughts perfectly. “If we pull out now, they’ll be on high alert. We’ll never get a better shot at this.” As though emphasizing her point, she fired two rounds into oncoming guards. Orion grimaced, almost imperceptibly, and Megatron couldn’t help but remember Starscream’s words. “He’s never going to pull the trigger.” Orion had accomplished so much in the short few gigacycles they’d known each other, but this was something Megatron was going to have to do alone. As though hearing the thought– and he probably had, Soundwave stood, sidling up next to him.
“Plan?”
“Create teams for each target. Manage the operation here. I’ll take care of Sentinel.” He turned then to do so, taking a step away from the debris that shielded them.
A lone servo darted out, grasping his wrist. His first impulse was irritation– any kind of distraction from his target, but then he looked back, and of course, it was Orion, big optics, field heavy with trepidation. “Be careful.”
Megatron nodded, then stormed out.
He immediately came under fire, which was only negated by shots from his own side. Chancing a look back, he saw Elita, and Orion, peering over the rubble, two smoking barrels between them. He didn’t stop to make his appreciation known.
Charging Sentinel the second time was harder, only because of the black air-razor. Every time he got too close, she was there, anticipating every move. Her dedication was almost admirable. Unfortunately, that dedication meant they could be locked in battle for ages. Where he was strong, she was fast. He took another jab to the protoform between plates, and turned it into fury, obliterating the torn-up steel flooring where she’d stood only a picoklik before.
“I don’t want you,” he snarled, “just your master.”
“You think you’re the first so-called revolutionary I’ve dealt with?” she spat back. “They’ll forget your designation by the end of the meganuum.”
“Yours first,” he swung and missed again. Her projection models were too fine-tuned. He’d never land a hit on her this way.
He wouldn’t have to. .:Seekers:. was the only warning Soundwave gave before the whistle of fighter-jets descended on the tower, and he threw himself away from the gaping hole the golden warriors were pouring through. His audials rang from the impact of explosion, and he had the single nanoklik to hope that Sentinel had made it, just so he could deal with him himself.
Not kill. Not kill. He’d promised.
He picked himself up, frame tingling all over from the intense heat, and feeling more alive for it. He pulled in a vent of dusty air, and relished the sting as bits of particle caught in his filters. His bots were rushing forward, no doubt directed by Soundwave, seizing golden guards and any other combatants that might remain. In his periphery he caught a flash of bright pink against black, and knew Elita was doing her best to bash in Airachnid’s faceplate.
He mounted the rubble at the makeshift entrance, and took in Iacon’s gleaming towers, spiralling vistas, the gaping maw of Cybertron’s heart, right in front of him. It was like climbing that slagged beast, right before the riot that would gain him his freedom from the Pits, only a thousand times more potent. It was almost as though he were Prime, and not the pathetic blue-gold figure stumbling away from him.
“Where do you think you’re going, Sentinel?” he called, breaking into a jog to make up the difference. They were running along the edge of the Heart’s entrance. When he cast his gaze over it, he only found darkness where the dizzying drop faded to nothing. It wasn’t like peering down into Cybertron’s vents. This was something much deeper. From here, he could almost believe it really did go to the planet’s core.
One last easy step, and he caught Sentinel’s pauldron in his fist, squeezing tight to make his point, yanking him back and throwing him to the ground.
It took every neural of self-control to keep from falling after him, pinning him down, and beating his faceplates in ‘till there was nothing left. As it was, the mech only hit metal and wheezed, scrabbling for a way to pull himself back up. One arm had been damaged, his weapon was gone. Megatron sneered, placed a pede against his flank and kicked him back to the ground, aimed the cannon at his spark.
“Please,” Sentinel whined. “Please don’t–”
“Don’t what?” Megatron stood tall, knew his field hung heavy with intent. There was nothing he wanted more…
“Please! I’ll do anything! I’m– I’m sorry!” Sentinel scrabbled at his pedes.
His bloodlust didn’t die, but simmered down. There wasn’t anything here worth killing.
“You’re pathetic,” he said, watching Sentinel beg. It was only a matter of waiting now. Any klik, his bots would come and take the sorry excuse away. Orion could have his peace, Megatron was resigned to keeping his fury. There was a better way. He didn’t have to resort to his baser instincts.
“Megatronus!” Orion was sprinting towards him, stumbled to a slow, then a stop, only a few paces short of the both of them. His digits were splayed, placating. His optics were wide and searching, like he hadn’t a clue what Megatron was going to do next.
Sentinel Prime was inching away in his periphery, crawling on a mangled arm, because he knew his era was over. Megatron’s was just beginning.
“Don’t worry,” Megatron lowered his cannon. “He’s not worth it.” How he’d ever considered the mech a threat. He’d loomed so large in his mind– ever since Trepan. The cannon itched where it connected to his protoform. There was still a part of him that wanted to do as Starscream had asked.
But then, there was Orion, full of so much hope. His field was just emanating love, and joy, and Megatron realized all at once that he really could have this. The war wasn’t over, but the battle was won. Maybe the real work was only just beginning, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d finally reached the crest of an ever-growing hill.
In the thrill of the victory, he didn’t quite register the whirring of transformation mechanics until Orion’s optics went all terror-wide. “Look out!” And he was being pushed aside.
Time. Funny thing, that. That night at Maccadam’s, for instance: despite lasting cycles by his chronometer’s readout, it had felt like nanokliks. Meanwhile, the Pits had dragged on forever.
The two subsequent nanokliks put that time to shame. He’d turned, seen Sentinel’s arm raised, his servo swapped away for his built-in cannon. The bright light of the shot had already burst in his vision, sending white spots all through his visual processing. Orion’s servos were on his flank, shoving him bodily with every ounce of strength his smaller frame carried. Megatron was stumbling back, maybe a meter, maybe less.
And Orion was in the space he’d vacated.
Sentinel’s aim was true. He’d only been a few meters away. Even Orion would’ve been able to hit that target.
It was Orion’s expression that really struck in his memory. He didn’t look pained, or scared, just surprised, like he hadn’t actually considered the shot’s weight, the way it would shear through his plating like rust in the wind. Oil, and bits of metal, and glorious flickers of sparklight, sprayed out from his frame, back, back, and then he was tumbling over the edge, into Cybertron’s heart.
Megatron’s paralysis only lasted those two nanokliks, but by the time he’d flung himself to that ledge, thrown an arm out to grab, taken a proper look, Orion was already out of reach, dropping down into the depths.
He clenched that fist uselessly, feeling for a servo that wasn’t there. Would never be there again.
If he squinted his optics, cranked up their sensitivity, he could just make out the smallest glimmer of fading sparklight.
Orion was gone.
Orion was gone.
Gone, gone–
He heard Sentinel’s cannon charge up for a second shot.
Megatron knew fury like he knew his own designation.
It was time Cybertron knew it too.
*
I’m dead, Orion thought. He couldn’t move so much as a rotor, and when he cracked an optic open and online, there was only endless darkness.
But then, dead mechs weren’t supposed to be in this much pain.
He tried to access his comm channel. There was no way he was walking out of here, but if he was alive, there was hope, and if anyone could hear him, it would be Soundwave, who would then hopefully tell Megatronus.
Megatronus.
He tried to push those final moments away in his mind, Megatronus’s face, his… confusion, the dawning recognition of what had happened.
That last desperate nano where he’d thrown himself to the edge of the heart, servo outstretched. Orion had been afraid for a moment that Megatronus would just throw himself in after.
His comm array flickered on his HUD for a moment, then died. Something in him was too broken to transmit.
Would he ever be found? He had to hope that someone would come looking. Megatronus, surely, but then, maybe he was supposed to be dead? Maybe he’d fallen too far? The Heart of Cybertron was supposed to go all the way down to the core. While Orion doubted that, he didn’t doubt that the hole went deep if it was to earn its mysticism.
He couldn’t give up hope, but he also couldn’t do anything else. He tried again, and again, and his frame continued to lay unresponsive.
His optics felt heavy, his lines were all fuzzy. He was falling into recharge, he realized, just as he remembered that it probably wasn’t a good idea. But then, the pain was fading, and who was he to fight that? Just a few kliks, then he’d try again…
*
Bee hadn’t understood why everyone was so afraid of the military, until they’d shown up. Rows and rows of stone-faced bots, each as tall as the gladiators, with none of the personality. And now they were both fighting each other. No one paid much attention to Bee, or the rest of the FFFF. Elita had taken charge after Orion…
Well, that didn’t matter, because Bee was planning to fix it. He didn’t know how far the Heart went down, but it had to end eventually, and Orion would be waiting at the bottom, and he could pull him back up, and get Ratchet to put him back together, and then maybe Megatronus would stop.
Cycles since the fall, and Megatronus’s rampage hadn’t ended. Hadn’t even slowed. It’d started with Sentinel, of course, and in all honesty, even Bee had been happy to see him go. Maybe not the way he went though. Once Megatronus had gotten his servos on him, that had been that. He’d hefted him up over his helm, and ripped him in two. The energon from his frame had burst outward, smattering across Megatronus’s plating, staining him fuschia. He’d dropped the corpse aside, and delivered some rousing speech. Bee hadn’t heard a word of it, too transfixed by the drip, drip of Sentinel’s energon trickling down into the Heart. And then he’d been too busy cataloging the tiny plates that made up the walls down into it, thinking about where he’d put his pedes as he made his way down. Soon as he was able to slip away from the others. He didn’t dare mention it– knew they’d stop him. They were already discussing the future, like Orion wouldn’t be there. Like he was already…
But it wasn’t worth considering. Orion had been through worse before– maybe not worse, but bad. Bad in ways that made Bee think it had to have been over, but then it hadn’t been. Orion got slowed, and hurt, and banged up, but he always pushed on. He always came back.
A low rattle shook the building they were sheltering in. Megatronus and his bots must’ve blown up another city block, or another platoon of military bots. Bee couldn’t even see the sky anymore, it was so choked full of smoke.
Orion would know how to fix this.
*
When Orion came back online again, something was different. The pain remained, but somehow seemed more manageable. When he flicked a digit, it responded.
He onlined his optics, and saw blue light dancing on the edge of his visual.
With nothing better to do, he heaved himself onto his front, and started crawling towards it. His frame wouldn’t allow for anything but steady servo over servo movement. He was traveling down some long corridor, sloping gently up.
He wondered faintly if he would offline down here after all. For all he knew, the light was nothing but some illusion for the fading, one last visual before the Well of Allsparks, if such a thing truly existed.
And yet, the light steadily grew brighter. Eventually it became so bright that he had to lower his optical settings for fear of burnout. It was like peering up at the suns through Cybertron’s vents, only a magnitude more intense. Warmed him like the suns would too. Some strange energy flicked across his plating, foreign, and yet, utterly at home. A few more pulls, and he found himself in some fathomless chamber– or maybe it was the outside? It seemed to go on forever, blue like the sky, warm like the sun, enveloping the way that only the core could be. He lowered his sensitivity further, and was able to make out the shape of a massive consol, hooked up to an even bigger orb– the source of the light. All around him, billions of strands of data flowed in and out of it, every color on the spectrum, every thought on Cybertron.
Orion pulled in a sharp breath. He had to be dead after all.
“YOU HAVE FINALLY ARRIVED.” Something shifted in the orb, like a massive optic turning its focus to him, or a brain, concentrating its full calculative power towards his being. He felt infantesimal under it, but not threatened. This wasn’t a predator with its prey, nor some impassive infinity. Orion gazed upon it, and all he could conjure was awe, because this had to be–
He blinked twice, rebooted his processes. He wasn’t religious. He didn’t believe in Primus.
Code skittered all around him, across the walls, across his plating, as if he were only another conductor for the massive computer. After a nanoklik, Orion was able to identify the shifting bytes as mirth.
“AND YET.”
And yet, indeed. Either he was dreaming, or dead, or… this really was the Primus of myth.
“THIS IS NO DREAM.” Orion felt the energy in the room pulse and turn serious. That crackling humor pulled taut enough to snap, and Orion was caught in the middle of it.
“What do you want from me?” he half-cried, half-laughed. It was all too absurd. “You’re Primus, and I’m not dead.” He perked up. “Can you send me back?”
He felt the room’s code twist in curiosity.
“We were– well, you probably saw it. We were about to change things.”
“YOU HAVE.”
Orion frowned. They had, hadn’t they. Why did that thought fill him with dread? “Is everyone okay up there? I didn’t get to see. You say things have changed. That’s good, right?”
The computer hummed like it was thinking. Sitting in code, Orion realized the thing had gotten caught on the word ‘good,’ the noun, adjective, adverb, all tagged a hundred different ways. The quantified ‘good’ didn’t quite register. He could feel Primus falling into a loop of echoing data.
“Never mind good!” he exclaimed. Primus didn’t seem intent on providing real answers anyway. “I need to help them. Can you send me back?”
“ORION PAX IS DEAD.”
He’d known that, hadn’t he? In the end, the statement was woefully underwhelming. He smoothed over the top of his helm, and continued to feel nothing about it. He felt online, though he realized suddenly that the pain had faded away to nothing.
He looked around. There should’ve been more energon.
“What now?”
For a long klik, there was nothing but the steady thrum of the chamber, and the rhythmic beeping from the computer.
“EACH PRIME IS GIVEN THE FRAME BEST TO SERVE THEIR PEOPLE.”
All at once energy, lightning thick, poured into his frame, like liquid metal filling a mould.
“THIS BURDEN IS YOURS.”
Pain like nothing he’d ever known overtook every millimeter, strut, and neural. Orion tried to retreat into the promise of dream. This couldn’t be real. It can’t be real because I’m dead. Primus said I’m dead.
He wasn’t. He knew it. He wished he didn’t.
“IT’S BEEN A MEGANUUM SINCE A WARFRAME.”
His shape was changing, he tried to hold against it.
“Warframe?” he forced out between grit dentae. Tight fear wrapped around his spark. “The functionalists?” But that couldn’t be right. Their reach spanned far, but he knew at this very moment, Megatronus was cutting it off at the helm, and once the functionalist threat was gone, what could possibly be left to threaten them?
“The Quintessons?” Panic welled up. Not another Quintessons War. The destruction from that was what led to this whole crisis in the first place. A million stellar-cycles of war. He couldn’t bear it.
“YOU CAN,” Primus declared, “BUT NO.”
The realization came to him slowly, dawning horror unraveling out from his spark in sickly trails. “No,” he whispered, tears pricking in the corners of his optics. “No, no, not him. He wouldn’t– couldn’t– I’ll– I’ll stop him!”
“YOU MUST.”
The horror dug in its roots, twisting in him, tangling his processor up in terrible knots. “That’s not what I meant.” He was despairing, he realized.
“DO NOT LOSE HOPE… OPTIMUS PRIME.”
He’d felt the energy pooling around his pedes, building to an unbearable pressure beneath him. With those words from Primus, it released in an explosion of glorious light. White like the allspark, blue like his own optics. It washed over him, comforting and agonizing all at once, tearing him apart and piecing him back together with all the gentleness of a lover. Distantly, he felt the words spill from his intake, “please, I’m not the one– I’m not him,” Optimus Prime, that wasn’t him. He wasn’t the leader everyone insisted he was. A real leader could’ve seen Megatronus before it had all fallen apart. He could’ve stopped him before things had reached this point– made him see reason– hope, without violence. “I can’t,” he gasped, solvent flowing freely. He could feel it trailing down his face, his jaw. He was being stretched by the force of a god, his frame was changing– it wasn’t his, like waking up in the archivist’s body, only worse by a magnitude. The energy wound through him, foreign like an electro-baton between his plating, loving, like those water memory files of his tender slipping energon-candies between his lips. Coming home, and wrenching apart all at once.
“BY THE POWER VESTED IN ME, I, PRIMUS, BESTOW THE MATRIX OF LEADERSHIP.” The words emanated from all around him, every centimeter of pulsing wall of the chamber, as though from Cybertron itself. The Matrix appeared before him, and of their own accord, his chest-plates opened to allow it.
Energy reverberated all through him, adding another fracture. He didn’t want this, the power forcing its way between his plating– plating that didn’t even feel like his own anymore, but he was helpless to fight it off. There was no way to do so. The worst of it, was that Primus felt remorseful, like it really was sorry that it was doing this.
“Do you really think I can stop him?” He barely registered the voice as his own. It was deeper. It wavered, but not in the octave he was used to.
“IF ANYONE CAN.”
“Can I help him?” he asked, even more quietly.
The energy in the room seemed to approve of the question. “THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD.”
He forced back a hiccuping sob. The pain in his frame was starting to ebb– the frame that wasn’t— couldn’t be his. He flexed a servo, and it did indeed move, but the shape of it, the size of it, was wrong. He looked down at his chassis, his stabilizing-servos, and everything there screamed foreign.
Primus didn’t say anything else, but wasn’t silent in the face of his terror either. The room emanated a deep humm, proceeding the wash of a comforting field, gentle pressure against an open wound. The energy under his pedes built to a crescendo, and then he was being launched out of the chamber with the force of a diving jet.
*
Megatron stood on the ruined balcony of Iacon palace, grim satisfaction swimming through his lines. Far above his helm, Starscream’s seekers cut through the thick smoke hanging in the air, preparing for another air raid on the Towers’ holdouts. All the elites left in Iacon had swarmed there like vermin, holed up where they thought Megatron wouldn’t be able to reach.
Couldn’t… yet. While the air force destroyed their shields from above, his grounders were digging from beneath. The rest of his forces were putting out the rest of the military’s fight. Iacon and Vos held the most strength there, and once the former fell, that would be it. Iacon would be his.
The Towers wouldn’t hold much longer. He distantly wondered if it was even worth the trip to see the light fade from their optics personally, but knew there wasn’t anything more pressing for him to do anyway. He wouldn’t feel anything as he blasted them to pieces. The frames wouldn’t register. None had, not even Sentinel’s. His spark guttered out, and he’d felt the slick wet of his energon, but that had been it. Tubes and wires. That was all that remained. No dying frame could ever compare–
He would not think of Orion. Wouldn’t think about how every death at his servos in the subsequent cycles was just some tiny little action he could stuff into the place Orion had once filled. Wouldn’t think about the way the world had seemed to stop spinning.
The way he’d felt alive and dead, all at once, every vivid flaring emotion, crushing in his mind. When compared to Orion’s, all other deaths would pale in comparison.
“Megatronus.”
He whipped around at the designation, raised his cannon to the source. Alpha Trion strode in, to the optics, strong, even as he leaned heavy on a cane.
“That’s not my name,” he said. “Megatronus is dead.”
Alpha Trion only narrowed his optics slightly, and Megatron realized he hated the mech. He chuckled a bit with the knowledge, let the cannon’s humm hang between them.
“It’s not too late,” Alpha Trion said, meeting Megatron’s optics like he could see right through him. A new wave of contempt roiled through his systems. For all his appearances of wisdom, Megatron knew better. Alpha Trion was an old fool, who led other fools down a fool’s path. All talk, no backstruts to speak of. Had to get Orion to do his dirty work.
“Megatronus, I understand that–”
Megatron fired. Alpha Trion looked down at the smoking hole in his chassis, didn’t so much as blink, much less balk, and silently collapsed to his knees, then all fours, then flat on the ground. Megatron could only watch with detached resignation. There was a part of him that wanted to lean down, explain exactly what he thought of the old mech’s words in the last moments of his life, but couldn’t find it in himself. Just wasn’t worth it.
“I warned you,” Alpha Trion whispered into his own energon. Megatron had to strain his audials to hear the words, and in doing so, registered a new sound, a pitched whine, a growing rumble emanating through the building, up to his pedes. “You’re not the one,” Alpha Trion finished, guttering out.
He commed Soundwave, .:Are the Towers going down?:. He couldn’t think of any other cause. He prepared his anger for if he found that they’d made the final push without alerting him.
.:Negative:. There was no emotion attached to the comm, but Soundwave’s lack of continuation told him that he didn’t know what it was either.
He followed his audials to the Heart. If he squinted his optics, he could make out a faint blue glow, getting stronger.
He hopped over the balcony, dug his claws into the wall to slow his fall. His pedes hit the ground, and he crouched a bit with the impact.
.:The Heart:. Soundwave commed, .:Something is coming:.
Megatron pinged an affirmative, knew his warriors would be at his back soon. Not that it mattered. Primus himself could rise from the depths, and Megatron wouldn’t flinch. Force of conviction didn’t matter. The strong lived, the weak died.
Megatron curled his servos into fists, readied the cannon. The noise grew to a roar. Megatron dropped down into a fighting stance.
Red, blue, silver, backed by a sharp burst of glorious blue light, cyan like–
The figure dropped in front of him, pulled itself to its full height– optic-level with Megatron. The size was wrong, the form too, but the shapes, the stance, the face. And then that so-familiar field unfurled, brushed against his, slotting up into those spaces left empty, and it had to be.
He almost lost his footing, staggering forward, needing to feel that plating under his servos. Had to know it was real. His speech came out a staticky gasp, every ounce of desperate pain uncurling in his spark.
“Orion?”
*
“It can’t be, can it?” Megatronus thumbed his cheek. Orion didn’t have the wherewithal to lean into it. The touch should have been comforting.
For kilometers around them, in every direction, all he could see was destruction. And not just the collapsed palace that he’d left behind, but… everything. Iacon city as he’d known it– gone, ruined crumpled buildings in its stead, grayed with charr, smoking.
“What happened here?” he asked, feeling hollow for it, already knowing the answer.
Megatronus’s expression didn’t change. He only looked around, as though he wasn’t immediately sure what the question was about. His optics widened slightly in understanding, before landing back on Orion. His grip slid down Orion’s arm, finding his servos. Megatronus’s flaring conviction rushed over the connection. Not a lick of shame in its wake.
“Orion. I respect you too much to lie to you.” He squeezed Orion’s servos, a wild flare in his optics. “The elites are a disease that cannot simply be curbed. We can’t let a single one of them live. We need to start over.”
Optimus took a horrified step back, his servos falling out of Megatron’s own. Megatron. Because this was not the mech he knew.
“How many innocent people will die?” He asked, breathless, and praying he was wrong.
Megatron’s optics dialed wide, and for a fluttering moment, Optimus thought maybe he’d got through to him. Then that laugh, and his spark sank.
“Amazing,” Megatron chuckled darkly. “Even after everything. You still defend them.”
“They’re people!”
“They killed you!” Megatron roared.
“Sentinel killed me.” The sentence should’ve been too absurd to say straight, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his spark. “How many people have you killed, Megatron?” He dreaded the answer.
“You’ll fight me for them, but you’d never fight them for me. Would you?” Megatron said, taking a step back, red optics narrowing, field roiling with a dozen different emotions. Chief among them: confusion, hurt, disgust.
“I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
Megatron’s optics went wide again, as though wounded, just a moment, before narrowing once more, finally settling on the Matrix, just visible under the glass of his chassis.
“You don’t believe in Primus.” His field tempered into something dangerous, and single minded.
“You don’t kill civilians.”
“I do,” Megatron sucked in a steadying breath, met Orion’s optics with all the ferocity he might a Pit-opponent, “whatever it takes.” Before Orion could blink, Megatron brought up a pede, swift as lightning, and kicked him into a building.
Combat-protocols roared to life as he reoriented himself in the ruin. Up was up, down was down, and when Megatron came crashing in after him, he knew to use the top of his forearm to deflect Megatron’s next blow. The tac-unit told him to counter. He hesitated on the open shot to Megatron’s face. The other did not return the favor, grappling Orion to the ground and immediately attacking his helm. Orion twisted, throwing them both to the side, and kicking Megatron away. They both leapt up to their pedes. Megatron didn’t hesitate to charge again, throwing them both out the building and into the streets.
There were bots around– Megatron’s bots. Soundwave was leading a small army. Orion had a nanoklik to despair, when Elita came bursting up from… somewhere, a storm-drain maybe, leading the FFFF.
“I told you!” Bee exclaimed. “He’s alive!”
“Back away from Orion!” Elita leveled her blaster at Megatron’s helm.
“Stay out of it!” Megatron bellowed, to Elita, and his own bots, who’d been inching closer.
Orion took the moment of distraction, and transformed, throwing Megatron off. His instinct was to flee, but instead, he put his pedal to the floor, slamming Megatron into a wall with a sickening crunch.
“Stop this madness!” Orion said, easing off a little.
“I’d sooner die.” Megatron coughed up energon, angled his arm. Orion didn’t realize the barrel of the cannon was pressed into his chassis until it was too late. Pain burst up through him, and he reeled back, quickly transforming to root. There was a hole in his middle.
He put out his servos, placating. “I don’t want this!”
“Fantasy is over, Prime,” he spat the word like a curse, got back to his pedes, and lunged. “This is what I want.” Orion tried to dodge, but something in him was broken. He was too slow. Megatron got in range, and shoved his whole servo into the wound in his middle, clawed in him for anything vital. Orion felt him brush against his fuel pump, and panicked, getting Megatron’s arm in a good grip, and wrenched. It had to hurt, but the other only sneered like it amused him, and pushed harder. Orion twisted the arm further in turn, and something cracked. Megatron’s arm went dead inside him, and he took the opportunity to bring up a stabilizing-servo and kick him away. They were both left barely standing, venting heavily, spilling fuschia into the rubble.
“It didn’t have to end this way.” Orion’s optics were pleading, field desperate. He could feel it falling apart at the seams– Primus’s haunting words. War. Megatron had to know it.
“This isn’t over,” Megatron hissed, bringing up his cannon. It hummed with charge. Someone was yelling from the FFFF side. It fired, aimed for his helm. Orion braced for the worst.
No pain. The moment passed. He took in the situation, but it came through hazy, yellow. He blinked. It wasn’t a servo blocking his face, but an axe. He followed it down to his arm. It was… his? Megatron looked just as mystified, before his expression went solemn again– betrayed all over. Like Orion had any control over what his frame had become. He raised the cannon and fired again. Orion deflected it, this time, deliberately, throwing himself at his opponent, against every instinct he had. This was bigger than them. This was Iacon, and Cybertron. Megatron had to see reason, because if he didn’t then–
Megatron feigned, countered, threw Orion over shoulder, back onto the ground. Orion rolled before the next strike could hit where his helm had been only a nano previous. Megatron was trying to kill him, he realized, dazedly. Megatron wants to kill me.
He shouted, forced himself forward, swung the axe. It cleaved the cannon in two, stopped centimeters from Megatron’s neck.
And he could kill him. There was nowhere for Megatron to escape to. He could push the blade just that bit further, and take his helm off his chassis.
“Do it,” Megatron snarled. When had solvent started down Megatron’s cheeks? He didn’t look any less fearsome for it.
He wouldn’t— couldn’t. The axe trembled.
“Of course,” Megatron rumbled. That tone had once been comforting. It still was. He was… disappointed? But he said it in such a way– resigned, comprehending that this was the axis the world turned on. Like there were immutable truths, and Orion's inability to kill him was just another. No less deniable than gravity.
Megatron brought his servo up– Orion almost flinched, and gently pushed the axe away from his neck. Took a careful step back, towards his bots. He was limping heavily, leaving thick drops of energon as he went. Soundwave didn’t offer any support, but positioned himself as though he might catch Megatron if he stumbled, and then they turned away.
“Gladiators! Seekers! To me!” he bellowed. And they obeyed, retreating with him, down the street, casual, like the world broke every day, like the ground wasn’t falling out from beneath Orion’s pedes. Megatron looked over his shoulder, just once before he slid out of sight. His expression was cold derision– hatred. His crimson optics burned with it, the curve of his lips was turned down in disgust.
And then he was gone, disappeared into the smoke and dust with his forces.
Orion shivered, fell to his knees.
Black.
*
When Orion cracked an optic open, he found intense light, and the dull hope that the past solar-cycle had all been a bad dream.
The hope was quickly dashed when he pushed himself up onto his elbows, and took in the expanse of his frame. Still too big, kibble all wrong– built more like a truck than a hauler, and the Matrix glowing gently under his windshield.
It was pulsing comfort at him, like a bot. He didn’t know if it helped, or if he wanted to tear the thing out.
“You’re awake,” Elita said, sitting up in a chair. From the way she blinked, and her sluggish field, Orion could only assume that she’d fallen asleep, waiting.
“What happened?” he asked, trying to sit up further.
“Don’t,” Elita put out her servos like she might force him back down. “Ratchet will kill you. Your fuel pump was breached, you know.”
He found the welds in his middle, still silver. He supposed he should look into getting that painted, but couldn’t seem to find the point.
“What happened?” he repeated, letting himself slump back down.
“Before, or after you let Megatronus get away?”
“It’s Megatron.”
“I know,” she said.
“Then why’d you–”
“Because that’s what you called him.”
“What have I done?” He scrubbed over his optics, saw sparks when he pressed too hard.
“It’s what he did.” She leaned forward, servos clasped tight. “Now what are you going to do about it?”
“He won’t see reason.”
“No. He won’t.”
“I couldn’t kill him.”
She didn’t answer, only let her frown deepen.
“Orion!” Bee bounded in, chased by Ratchet.
“I said not to disturb my patients!” He swung the wrench, missed– deliberately, Orion was sure, then let the fight drain from him as he stopped by Orion’s berthside. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine.” It was true. Physically, he felt no pain.
“I wasn’t asking about your frame. Even with the fancy upgrade, I know the blocker I have you on is strong enough to tranq a raging combiner. I’m asking about this.” He tapped Orion’s windshield.
“The Matrix?”
“No, slag you!” He did a frustrated little circle before returning. “I mean your spark.”
Orion seized at the thought of talking about that. Megatron had done worse than cut into his fuel pump, he just… every thought concerning the mech came back blank. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be mad, or sad, or feel responsible. He did feel responsible. He could look back at the past gigacycles and see a dozen– a hundred different places he could’ve changed things, undone this reality. They were supposed to build the future together–
“I know that look,” Ratchet said, tapping his wrench against Orion’s helm. It was too light to hurt, but Orion still gave a half-hearted glare.
“I think… I failed.”
“You think nothing!” Another tap from the wrench, this time harder. “Do you know how many bots you saved today? Even if most of them are total afts. Megatron was going to rip Iacon down to the foundations! You stopped that.”
“I should have stopped it,” he said quietly.
“Is he deaf?” Ratchet asked the room. “What did I just say?”
“Before,” Orion continued. “I should have stopped it from getting this far.”
No one had anything to say to that.
“You should get some rest, Orion.” Elita put a stiff, but comforting servo on his shoulder. “I think you have a city to run.”
“I don’t think I’m Orion anymore.” He held a servo over his windshield, received another warm pulse from the Matrix. It didn’t help the hollow feeling, that dull horror. “I think… I’m Optimus Prime, now.”
*
Megatron and his bots returned to Kaon. Not to the bowels of the city-state the FFFF had hidden in, but to the surface. Seekers and gladiators crowded the space, drinking their fill of engex at the bars, dancing wildly into the night. Megatron may have lost, but he promised them brutal retribution, and they had loved it.
“Have you seen the holofeeds?!” Starscream’s piercing shriek ruptured any remaining good mood Megatron still had from the speech.
He didn’t deign that with a response, just glared in the seeker’s direction.
“The elites are flocking to Orion like a bunch of fanatics. They’re calling him Prime.”
Megatron scoffed and stood, suddenly feeling the urge to slag something. Starscream must’ve felt the violent field flare, because he startled back, on edge.
“There’s no such thing as Primes,” Megatron growled.
“But you saw the bauble. What if–”
“Are you afraid, Starscream?”
The seeker’s wings fluttered slightly. “No.”
Megatron grinned, but there was no humor behind it. “Who knows. Maybe we are fighting Primus’s chosen emissary, but do you know what?” He tilted his helm, optics gleaming dangerously. “I don’t care.” The cycles he’d been idle were dragging already. His bots could continue to celebrate the night away, but he found he had no patience for it. .:Soundwave:. He commed.
Soundwave pinged back, as always, on standby.
.:Meeting in 10 kliks. We’re planning a full-scale assault on Iacon:.
.:Recommendation: bring Shockwave out of stasis:.
Megatron approved it, and knew it would be done.
“So then, Starscream,” the other stiffened under his renewed attention, “how about it?”
“Fight the emissary of Primus?” Starscream drawled. A nervous twitch did not escape Megatron’s notice. “I suppose even that would not lie outside your ambition.”
“Indeed,” Megatron smiled, and this time, it was real. “Can you keep pace?”
“Better than your Orion ever could.” Starscream matched his malevolent grin.
Megatron searched for his anger at the bold declaration, and only found fatalistic acceptance. It was always going to end this way, wasn’t it? He almost found himself reveling in that future– the one that saw him beating Orion– Optimus– Prime, into submission. He laughed, raucous and true. The future would be what he made it. Cleansed of every last one of Prime’s followers, false or not. Words weren’t enough. Fists before poetry. Violence over ideals.
“I hope you can.”
He meant it.