Chapter Text
“Rattrap?” Optimus called out, searching for the small rat-like Maximal through the dimly lit corridors of the Axalon. After their meeting with Rhinox, he needed to discuss something important with Rattrap regarding their history about the Great War of Cybertron.
He found the rodent Maximal in one of the storage rooms, rummaging through a pile of spare parts and muttering to himself about "proper maintenance protocols." Rattrap looked up as Optimus approached, his optics narrowing slightly at the sight of the spider-bot commander.
"Eh, what's up, Legs? Want another robo-noogie?" Rattrap quipped, setting down a circuit board he'd been examining.
“We need to talk. Back in the command center, you said that you knew of the Decepticons. The history files I've studied back at the Academy only mentioned that the Autobots fought against the Decepticons. How do the Maximals and Predacons factor into this ancient conflict?"
Rattrap leaned back against a crate, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk.
"Y'see, eight-eyes, after the Great War ended, an Autobot and Decepticon warship crash-landed on this mud-ball, and since the environment wasn’t suited for them, they had to scan an organic mode, thus becoming the first Techno-organics in the form of Maximals and Predacons.” He explained, gesturing broadly with his hands. "Over time, we held a fragile peace treaty, but the old rivalries never completely died out, since ol’ Megsy is obsessed with ‘making alliance with his namesake' - as he likes to put it. Tch, as if the OG would wanna partner up with an organic descendant like him.”
Optimus processed this information, his mandibles clicking thoughtfully. While he had studied Cybertronian history at the Academy, hearing about their evolutionary path directly from Rattrap added crucial context to their current situation. The connection between ancient Autobots and modern Maximals suddenly became clearer, explaining why Megatron was so fixated on finding his Decepticon predecessor.
“That means… the Maximals are Autobots!”
“Correction; the Maximals are descendants from ya Autobots. Same as the Preds descending from the Cons.”
“How did you know I was an Autobot? And- and why didn’t any of you try to find a way back to Cybertron??”
Rattrap snorted, shaking his head.
"Kid, I've known you and ya girlfriend were Autobots since ya crash-landed on a Decepticon vessel; the scent gave ya away. And as for why we haven't tried to get back, well, I doubt we'd be welcomed back with open arms like this." He gestured to his own furry form. "And based on your arrival here, it’s clear they haven’t changed a bit on their view on organics.”
“Well, haven’t any of you tried to… find a way to reverse this?”
“Ey! In case ya didn’t notice, Legs, I don’t mind bein’ a rat. In fact, I'm pretty comfortable with who I am, all things considered. Better a rat than a spider - no offense." He added hastily, eyeing Optimus's eight limbs. "Besides, the beast mode is part of who we are, so until Cybertron manages to see that as well, there’s nothin’ we can do.”
Optimus contemplated Rattrap's words, his mandibles clicking thoughtfully. The revelation that Maximals and Predacons were evolutionary offshoots of Autobots and Decepticons from the Great War added a new dimension to his understanding of Cybertronian history. But the question was; why didn’t any of the Archives back at the Academy even mention this significant part of their history? Was it deliberately withheld to create a divide between pure mechanical Cybertronians and their techno-organic cousins? The troubling implications made Optimus's processor race with questions.
“Is there anything about it on the Axalon’s Archives?” He asked.
“Yeah, it’s in the History Isle. Just about next to the Biology Isle. Feel free to check it out if you want the whole shabang.”
With a nod of appreciation, Optimus went to the archives as soon as he was finished chatting with Rattrap. After he was gone, the rat maximal let out a sad sigh, resting his head on his hand while looking at the other.
“How much longer before we can go back home…?” He muttered to himself. The Maximals have all been waiting for the day Cybertron finally changed their view of organics, but based on the arrival of Optimus and Elita, it was clear that they were still treating organic material as contamination, as something lesser. Glancing down at his own techno-organic body, Rattrap couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever be accepted by their purely mechanical brethren again.
The archives terminal hummed to life as Optimus accessed the Axalon's historical database. The screen displayed a vast collection of files categorized chronologically, starting from the Great War and extending to the formation of the first Maximal and Predacon societies. Each entry was accompanied by detailed accounts and visual recordings from that era - documentation that had been completely absent from the Academy's carefully curated archives back on Cybertron.
“Okay…” he muttered to himself, passing between one Archive folder after another. “Evolution, birth of the Maximals, War against the Predacons, Organic Integration Technology, Return to Cybertron... there's so much here that we were never taught." Optimus scrolled through the folders with growing fascination, his mandibles clicking in thought as he realized just how much history had been hidden from him and other Autobots.
As he delved deeper into the "Return to Cybertron" folder, Optimus discovered an unsettling truth. The attempted returns by early Maximals and Predacons had been met with horror and rejection by the purely mechanical population. Video logs showed techno-organic Cybertronians being treated as contaminants, subjected to quarantine protocols, and in some cases, threatened with "purification procedures." This explained why their existence had been scrubbed from official Autobot records - not to protect the Maximals, but to erase what Cybertron's leadership viewed as an aberration.
“They exiled their own… for becoming half-organic??”
The revelation struck Optimus deeply. The civilization he had been so proud to serve had systematically rejected and erased an entire population of their own kind simply because they had integrated organic components. The historical logs showed generations of Maximals and Predacons who had attempted peaceful returns, only to be treated as contaminants rather than fellow Cybertronians.
Looking at his claws, he began to turn them to a shaky fist as he recalled everything spoken about Organics from everyone back at home, from classmates, to teachers, higher ups, and even Sentinel:
"Organics are disgusting, filthy beings!"
"They're primitive and inferior to our mechanical perfection."
"Keep away from organic matter - it'll contaminate your systems!"
“How do the organics manage to live with themselves?”
"Stay away from those organic planets - you never know what kind of contamination you might bring back."
"The only good organic is a dead organic."
“Bleh! Disgusting.”
"I feel so bad for those being stuck on Organic worlds. All of that contamination... how can anybot live like that?"
"Cybertron is better off without that kind of contamination."
"Organics are the worst plague upon the universe. We should just let them rot."
An angered growl builded into a full-blown roar as Optimus slammed his fist against the console, the impact creating a spiderweb of cracks across the screen.
How could they? How could Cybertron, the civilization he had sworn to protect and serve, reject their own kind for something they had no control over? The hypocrisy was staggering. The very same leadership that preached unity and peace had systematically ostracized an entire population of their own kind simply for having organic components. And now, he and Elita-One were one of them.
She was right to be afraid of going back like this. He hadn't truly understood the depth of her fears until now: They became exiles the moment they got bitten.
“Those… lying… bigoted… stuck-up… scrapheap, pieces of CRANKCASE SLAGGING MOTHER-! AAAARGH!”
SMASH!
As if having minds of their own, the upper leg appendages on his back flailed outward, smashing into the nearest equipment with violent force. The physical representation of his rage and betrayal manifested in destruction as Optimus struggled to regain control of himself.
“GET IT together…! Get it together...! Get it together..." He muttered to himself, venting deeply as he tried to calm his aggressive chittering. The revelation was overwhelming, but losing control wouldn't help their situation. He needed to be level-headed if he was going to help not just himself and Elita, but possibly all Maximals who deserved better treatment from their homeworld.
‘I’ll show them…’ He silently vowed. ‘Cured or not… For all my Maximals… for Elita… I’ll show them all. They'll see!’