Chapter Text
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Magnus’ POV
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“Does Optimus Prime possess powers? Is he truly Primus’ Chosen, the rightful leader of Cybertron? Joining us is Indexal to shed light on what we know about Optimus Prime so far and how he restored the fluxstream here in Iacon City.”
“Indexal, the fluxstream is flowing again, but only within the city's borders. Could there be a reason Optimus Prime has limited its reach? Does it relate to the rising threat of the Decepticons and their leader, Megatron of Tarn? Or perhaps to the recent attempt on Optimus Prime’s life just yester-cycle?”
“Now hold on, Buzzfeed, that’s a lot of speculation you have there. First off, there’s a reason why the entire Fluxstream isn’t flowing all throughout Cybertron, and here’s why. Optimus Prime is afraid of the Decepticons—”
Magnus’ vents exhaled sharply as he immediately reached for his console, muting the grid's broadcast. If his Prime was truly afraid of Megatron and his Decepticons then he wouldn't have traded alt-mode kits for energon.
“Lousy media reporters.” Magnus muttered.
The buzz of speculation and half-truths grated against his neural processors. For now, he turned his attention back to the report on yester-cycle’s shooter, the facts far more pressing than the noise and clout of the media.
Upon further investigation, it was clear that Soundwave hadn’t killed the shooter. The evidence pointed to something far more complicated—the mech’s helm had exploded from the inside, a mini-bomb ensuring its destruction whether or not they had happened to succeed on their mission. This meant its neural scans and information storage were completely unrecoverable, thus the identity of the shooter will remain unknown.
What little they could piece together revealed one thing: the mech was from Stanix.
There wasn’t much information on Stanix, other than it was a city rumored to exist in the outer wastelands, surrounded by rocky terrains that constantly shifted in unpredictable patterns. Navigating it was said to be like weaving through a dense asteroid field mixed with a quicksand pit—one wrong move, and you’d be swallowed whole by the earth. Of course, flying high enough could avoid the hazards entirely, but that didn’t change the fact that Stanix had been outlawed for millions of years, ever since the death of Quintus Prime. Even Sentinel, for all his talk about every city adhering to strict ordinances, had steered clear of it, ignoring its existence.
In any case, Magnus would need to find someone familiar with the treacherous terrain to investigate further.
Once he finished copying the report onto a datapad, he decided against sending another mech to deliver it. This time, he would deliver it himself.
Magnus was surprised to learn that Optimus and his retainers had gone to the Praesidium Arena. The grand stadium was typically reserved for the Royal Iacon Guards to train and spar, making this an unusual choice for a gathering.
When Magnus arrived, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. The gathering crowd of training recruits had their attention fixed on a red and yellow blur streaking in circles around the stadium.
What... was that?
The blur gradually slowed, resolving into the unmistakable form of Hot Rod. He skidded to a stop next to Optimus and his group waiting at the finish line, sparks flying from his pedes as he struck a flashy pose.
“WOOHOO! What a rush!” Hot Rod hollered, his voice echoing through the arena. “Holy frag! I think I might be faster than Blur!”
“For only 60 nanoclicks, so don’t go getting a big helm!” Jazz raised his voice, trying to cut through the oaf’s nonstop cheering.
“Still faster!! YEEEAAAHHH!! WOOOOOOOH!” Hot Rod kept shouting, completely ignoring Jazz as he threw his arms up like he’d just won a major victory.
Optimus laughed at Hot Rod’s antics, and for a moment, Magnus found himself caught off guard by the sight of him—so serene. But he quickly composed himself when something else caught his optics—a shiny, flashy module attached to Hot Rod’s left pauldron.
“Oh! Greetings, Ultra Magnus!” It was Codex who noticed him first, the little archivist’s loud greeting cutting through the noise and making everyone turn around to look.
Hot Rod and Red Alert immediately straightened up, snapping to attention and saluting Magnus like their lives depended on it.
“At ease,” Magnus said, his gaze briefly shifting to Optimus. “I’m curious—what exactly just happened?”
“Oh! Optimus Prime gifted me a high-velocity, turbo-booster module that lets me move at supersonic speeds!” Hot Rod eagerly answered before anyone else could.
“For a short duration,” Optimus clarified, turning toward the enthusiastic soldier. “Remember, it has a two-joor cooldown, so use it wisely. I’d prefer you not jumping in front of me again to take a hit without a plan.”
“Yes, My Prime! I’ll be more careful!” Hot Rod saluted again, his grin betraying his sheer excitement.
Magnus could only assume that Optimus had entrusted such an extraordinary relic to Hot Rod because of his heroic actions yester-cycle, when he’d taken the laser shot meant for the Prime. The old commander couldn’t think of a more fitting reward—especially since racing was one of Hot Rod’s favorite pastimes.
“Is that the report on the shooter?” Optimus asked, his optics shifting to the datapad in Magnus’ servos.
Magnus nodded. “Yes, My Prime. I just finished compiling everything we’ll need to investigate further.”
He held out the datapad, and Optimus took it with care, his optics immediately scanning the flatscreen as he began scrolling through the report. He must be a fast reader—no surprise for a former archivist.
“Stanix?” Optimus asked, tilting his helm slightly.
“Are you familiar with it?” Magnus asked. “The city’s been outlawed since the start of Sentinel’s rule. Our last official visit wasn’t just about dealing with the rock formations—it was the city’s own system weapons that attacked us.”
“And Sentinel couldn’t land the Tempest any closer because he was afraid his precious ship would be damaged by the shifting terrain?” Optimus replied, a faintly sardonic smirk tugging at the corners of his intakes.
“I—yes.” Magnus answered reluctantly, the memory of Sentinel’s… less-than-dignified behavior creeping back to mind. It was an embarrassment he’d rather not revisit.
“Oh! Codex,” Optimus suddenly said, prompting the mech’s attention. “Would you mind requesting the same Constructicons you recommended to also re-design the Tempest?”
Codex nodded, activating a holo-display from his right forearm and typing a coded message. “Of course! I’ll add that to the list. Should I prioritize it ahead of the Primal Estate Chambers, or...?”
“The Chambers remain first,” Optimus replied, his tone laced with a faint note of disgust.
Magnus couldn’t help but recall the day Orion Pax became Optimus Prime. The transition to leadership came with many expectations, one of which was moving into the grand Primal Estate Chambers. Optimus had taken one look at the opulent space and flatly refused. Instead, he’d insisted on keeping his quarters—a former storage room beneath the Hall of Records that Alpha Trion had remodeled into a modest living space during his Orion Pax days.
The Commander remembered assigning guards to secure the area, only to find it unexpectedly defensible—at least until someone managed to slip through the guards entirely. That “someone” had been Jazz, one of Zeta’s hired assassins. Optimus had been more than capable of handling the situation himself, though Magnus still couldn’t understand why he’d chosen to hire Jazz as his principal aide afterward—especially to the extent of sweeping his records clean. But a Prime had the authority to pardon crimes, after all.
“What’s your plan for this, Magnus?” Optimus asked, holding up the datapad, his optics briefly flicking to the report on the shooter.
Magnus straightened his posture. “I’ll be looking for someone familiar with those terrains, someone capable of infiltrating Stanix.”
“I see…” Optimus replied, raising an optic ridge. “You’d have a hard time finding anyone here with that kind of knowledge, wouldn’t you?”
Magnus didn’t answer. Optimus wasn’t wrong—there wasn’t a single soldier under his command who came from a place like Stanix, or even ventured the area.
Before Magnus could speak again, Optimus gestured lightly, a quiet authority in the motion.
“Walk with me, please,” he said.
Magnus followed without hesitation, drawn to the alluring sound of Optimus’ vocalizer. There was no question—he’d gladly follow wherever Optimus led. Prime’s retainers trailed behind, keeping a respectful distance to allow them some privacy in their conversation.
“We’ll have to shelf this issue and deal with it another time,” Optimus said.
Magnus narrowed his optics. “You want me to just ignore it? What if they try again?”
“They won’t be trying again anytime soon,” Optimus replied, his attention shifting to the datapad as he began adding his own notes, stirring Magnus’ curiosity.
“I believe it was a warning,” His Prime continued. “The trajectory of the first shot I had dodged would have shattered my knee—crippling, but not fatal.”
“You speak as if you already know who we’re dealing with… and what the insignia on the shooter means,” Magnus pointed out sharply.
Optimus simply nodded. “I do.”
When his Prime offered no further explanation, Magnus vented a sigh, his voice low but firm. “Optimus, please. If you know something—anything—that could help with the investigation, you must tell me.”
Optimus’ gaze dropped, his expression shadowed. “So long as you don’t send anyone out there. They would likely lose their life needlessly,” he said quietly. “The insignia belongs to a faction opposed to the Primacy. They call themselves the Covenant.”
The Covenant. Magnus’ optic ridges furrowed deeply. He had heard the name before—perhaps only once in his lifetime.
“What do the records say about them?” he asked, knowing full well that Optimus carried the entire memory of the Hall of Records within his databanks.
“Their first mention dates all the way back to the first Prime—Prima,” Optimus said, his optics whirring softly as he sifted through the data stored in his neural banks. “They are…an elusive group. They vanish for cycles at a time, only to reappear suddenly—always with the same goal: to harm the current Matrix bearer or create conflicts of interest. Enough to ignite civil wars.”
He paused for a moment, his intakes pursed thinly. “…They’ve mostly been a thorn in the Primacy’s side for countless of eras. However, during the Quintesson War, they disappeared entirely. After all, Cybertron couldn’t afford to be divided—not with Quintus Prime leading the fight. I suppose even they understood that having a Prime around was better than surrendering to outsiders invading our home.”
“…But they never appeared when Sentinel stole the Matrix and ruled Cybertron,” Magnus observed, his optics narrowing slightly.
Optimus shrugged. “Either they knew he was a false Prime, or they helped put him there. How else would Sentinel have known to dismantle some of Quintus’ components and wear them so the Matrix wouldn’t reject his chassis?”
Magnus paled, his vents shuddering as he exhaled. “Do you believe some of them were in the Senate Council? Is that why you removed certain members?”
“No,” Optimus replied calmly. “I removed them because they committed crimes, not because of any suspected connections. Even then, I never found any evidence of the Covenant’s involvement—at least nothing concrete.”
He paused, his tone softening slightly. “Besides, it isn’t criminal to hold beliefs against the Primacy. Primus granted us free will, knowing full well that many would dismiss him as nothing more than a myth. Honestly, he doesn’t care much about that. I think he only created us because…he was feeling a little lonely.”
Magnus fell silent, turning over his Prime’s words as he stared at the melancholic smile on Optimus’ faceplates. It was as though he knew Primus personally, and that thought both terrified Magnus and left him in quiet wonder.
But the idea that they were created because their God was just lonely? Baffling.
And yet…
They soon reached the steps of the Primal Estate, where Optimus came to a stop.
“Do you mind spending a bit of time with me, Magnus? There’s something I want to show you,” Optimus said softly. “…Unless you’re busy?”
Was he busy? Magnus thought about it for a moment before shaking his helm.
“No, My Prime. You may have me,” he replied with certainty. The paperwork piling up from yester-cycle’s incident could wait a few more joors.
Optimus nodded before turning to his retainers. “Jazz. Codex. Why don’t you two get a head start on the Relicarium assignment? I’ll meet you there later.”
“Right away, My Prime!” Codex shouted enthusiastically, already turning on his pedes—nearly bolting to a run. Jazz, on the other hand, slumped his shoulders, resigned to his fate as he turned as well, following after the other archivist at a slower pace. He didn’t even bother voicing a complaint, just venting quietly through his intakes.
Magnus watched with mild surprise. The former assassin usually had a more spiteful response; his behavior was, at best, atrocious. And yet, ever since Optimus had taken him in, Jazz had become… docile. Tolerable, even.
They entered the estate and made their way to the balcony overlooking Iacon City, where the morning sun shone brightly across the skyline. From a distance, Red Alert and Hot Rod stood watch, their optics scanning the area while keeping a subtle eye on the two of them.
Optimus led Magnus to a table and two chairs. Magnus recognized it instantly—it was the same table where Optimus and his aides had once spent hours playing a so-called ‘card game.’ He recalled Red Alert submitting a report on his first day of duty while Optimus introduced the group to various games, mentioning offhandedly that he’d lost quite a few credits to something called Poker.
“I wanted to introduce you to a game we could play as a pastime,” Optimus said, smiling warmly as he took his seat and gestured for Magnus to sit across from him. “All you do is work, and I rarely see you take a break.”
“I don’t believe that’s true, My Prime,” Magnus countered, though he still took the seat as instructed.
“Oh really? Name one time,” Optimus challenged, holding up a servo.
Magnus opened his intakes, ready to respond, but his processors began sifting through memories, and a troubling realization hit him: he hadn’t taken any breaks. Wait—what about that time— No, he’d been on the comms trying to get a report from Ironhide. Then there was— No. That had been Prowl, and he was chasing another update.
…Scrap.
No answer came out. Optimus, clearly expecting as much, calmly raised his right forearm, where a panel slid open with a faint hiss. Tapping a few keys, a holographic board materialized on the table. It displayed checkered squares with forty statuette-like pieces—twenty white ones lined up neatly in front of Optimus, while twenty black ones sat in front of Magnus.
“This is called chess,” Optimus explained, gesturing to the board as he picked up a few holo-pieces, which adhered easily to his touch. “Let me lay out the rules for you, and we’ll do a practice run.”
At first, Magnus was reluctant. The game seemed overly complicated, with too many pieces and rules to keep track of. But once he grasped the mechanics and experienced the practice run, the game’s complexity and strategic appeal began to intrigue him.
By their third game, Magnus had managed to corner Optimus—victory imminent.
Optimus’ optics narrowed as he studied the board, his servos hovering briefly before he reached out and tipped his own king over in quiet surrender.
Magnus’ intakes stretched into a small, satisfied smile. “I think I’m starting to understand this game. It doesn’t seem all that difficult.”
“Careful, Magnus. No one likes a sore winner,” Optimus quipped, a faint edge of discontent in his tone. Magnus’ vents rumbled with a deep laugh, though he quickly masked it with a cough. How charming… his Prime hated losing.
Optimus smiled then, his expression softening. “One more round?”
Magnus glanced up at the sky. The sun hung high at noon now, a reminder that he should probably get back to work. But…
“One more shouldn’t hurt,” he said, relenting.
“Oh? This one might,” Optimus replied with a sly tone, tapping a few keys on the holo-board. The pieces reset to their starting positions, colors swapped once again. Magnus tried not to smile too much, though he couldn’t deny he found his Prime’s competitive streak… amusing.
His amusement quickly faded when Optimus ended the match in just three moves.
“Checkmate,” Optimus said, smiling a little too smug,. “...Want another round, Magnus?”
This time, it was Magnus who reset the board, carefully placing the pieces back into their starting positions. They played several more rounds after that, each match sharpening his skills as he absorbed the strategies Optimus demonstrated and began to adapt them into his own style.
At the end of each game, they would discuss their moves, analyzing the plays like old warriors honing their tactics. Optimus, being younger, often hesitated to sacrifice his pieces—a reluctance Magnus found oddly endearing, even shielding the pawns using the queen.
By now, even Red Alert and Hot Rod had started to pick up on the game. Their optics were sharp as they stood watch, quiet whispers passing between them as they observed. Occasionally, they would make a bit of noise when they spotted a clever strategy at play, unable to contain their excitement, and Optimus would hush them, a servo in front of his intakes.
It seemed Magnus had found his new favorite pastime.
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= = =
Megatron’s POV
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“Here, try this on for size!”
“It was built for a Mini-Con, but I believe it should be compatible with you too.”
It had been a few cycles now since the day the fluxstream returned to Iacon City—and Iacon City only. Soundwave had just returned this cycle’s morning with his report, but Megatron dismissed him to rest, insisting he was busy at the moment and would hear from him in eight joors. That should give Soundwave enough time to recharge.
As expected, Soundwave—his most loyal espionage—reported on time. They reconvened in Megatron’s office to discuss the latest developments: the fluxstream, the shooter, and Laserbeak’s newest upgrade.
Needless to say, every city on Cybertron had gone haywire since the fluxstream’s return. Megatron had even seen his own citizens from Vos, Tarn, and Kaon leaving to witness the phenomenon for themselves, flocking to Iacon and scrambling to purchase energon from the aqueduct treatment centers. However, the supply was being strictly limited, distributed equally within the city, and priced nearly the same as energon from the mines in today’s market.
For a moment, Megatron had feared that Prime might recklessly give away all the energon at once, as if it were an endless stream of charity—but that hadn’t happened. Optimus Prime was proving to be smarter than Megatron had given him credit for. The thought of terminating their bartering agreements and withholding the last few shipments he owed Prime had crossed his mind. However, with the energon market prices still within the expected range, there was no immediate threat of miners losing their work.
Still, to be cautious, he had assigned a few monitors to track the fluctuating energon rates. So far, the prices had remained steady over the past few cycles. The mines in Tarn and Kaon remained at optimal operation.
As for the shooter, Megatron recognized the emblem on the mech’s pauldron, but his neural processors struggled to pinpoint where he had seen it before.
Soundwave’s calm voice broke the silence. “My liege, this insignia was once on another mech’s chassis: Gravestorm.”
Megatron tilted his helm. “Now why does that name sound familiar?”
“Recalling: he was Megazarak’s second-in-command. You tore him in half.”
“Ah, now I remember,” Megatron said, his intakes pulling into a faint smirk as the memory resurfaced—of ending the spark of that cocky, loudmouthed cog-head. Gravestorm had indeed worn the insignia, though it had been deliberately crossed out on his chassis.
Shame he couldn’t interrogate the offlined.
With that dead-end, the only topic left to discuss was Laserbeak’s surprising little adventure.
“Explain,” Megatron demanded, his red optics glaring down at the bird-like con perched on the desk.
Laserbeak wilted under his gaze, letting out a hesitant caw. Soundwave, ever dutiful, bowed his head low.
“Apology: sincere. I have failed to discipline Laserbeak. Punishment must fall upon me.”
Megatron vented a disgruntled sigh, his tone sharp with irritation.
“Soundwave, I would simply like to know what possessed your minion to go and save Prime.”
Laserbeak chittered softly, and Soundwave ex-vented quietly, a hint of shame coloring his typically stoic demeanor. It was rare for Megatron to see his third-in-command in such a state—but then again, it was even rarer for Soundwave to fail a mission. Megatron could count such failures on one gauntlet.
“Laserbeak is… fond of Optimus Prime, my liege,” Soundwave answered carefully, his tone measured. “However, Laserbeak managed to uncover additional intel. Conclusion: Optimus Prime does not seem to view us as enemies.”
Megatron’s optic ridges furrowed, skepticism flashing in his optics. “Pray tell what you mean by that, Soundwave.”
Without hesitation, Soundwave inserted a jack into the console. After a few nano-clicks, a holo-display flickered to life, projecting the video feed from that cycle.
Megatron was…astonished.
“Optimus Prime! Let go of that thing--!”
“No.”
“You don’t understand, Optimus. That drone belongs to Soundwave—”
“--You’re not getting Laserbeak, Magnus.”
Megatron observed the exchange closely, his optics narrowing as the scene unfolded on the holo display. What baffled the Decepticon leader more than Optimus defending and protecting Laserbeak was Ultra Magnus’s refusal to take the drone by force. Instead, the old commander had opted to halt the argument, focusing on informing the public of Prime’s safety and well-being before resuming the dispute privately within the command room.
Throughout it all, Laserbeak continued recording the entire scene. In hindsight, it seemed Laserbeak’s failure to hide himself from Optimus Prime had turned into an unexpected boon. The Prime was a fool—did he truly believe they were ‘friends’?
Then again, Laserbeak’s apparent fondness for this Prime certainly didn’t help matters.
However, Prime’s unexplainable actions and his determination to shield a Decepticon spy—even if Laserbeak had saved his life—rattled Megatron’s beliefs and opinions of him. His neural processors struggled to make sense of Prime’s motives. Why take such actions? Did he not realize that Laserbeak would be recording the entire scenario? And if he did, then why? What was his purpose? Or did he simply not care?
Megatron had hoped that sending Soundwave to investigate this Optimus Prime would help him construct a clearer picture of the mech’s true nature. Instead, it had only left him with a thousand more questions, while the few answers he’d gathered still made no sense.
“Optimus! Why do you lack any sense of safety for yourself?”
“I am not Sentinel, or Zeta, Magnus.”
That’s certainly an understatement, Megatron mused silently, ex-venting his frustration. Then again, perhaps that was a good thing—for the Prime, at least. It meant he might live long enough to become Megatron’s prize once Cybertron was finally his.
Then, the next set of words caught Megatron’s attention as the video zoomed in slightly on the conversation between Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime.
“I don’t have battle protocols or defensive systems in my programming.”
Megatron’s optic ridges rose. No battle protocols? No defensive systems?
“… I had assumed it was because you could counter him by using gravity against him, but… is it because you truly lack any self-preservation protocols…?”
“Stop,” Megatron commanded, his tone sharp. “Replay what Magnus just stated.”
Without hesitation, Soundwave rewound the video and played the clip again, pausing at the exact only once Magnus’s sentence ended.
Using gravity against him…? Megatron was certain Ultra Magnus had meant something by that, but the wording was too vague to discern the full implication. As for Prime’s apparent lack of self-preservation protocols, it certainly explained his peculiar behavior toward Laserbeak—treating the Decepticon spy as anything but an enemy. What Megatron hadn’t expected, however, was for it to backfire on them slightly. As Soundwave had pointed out, his minion was apparently fond of Optimus Prime.
Once again, despite the videos recorded and shared with him, a thousand more questions plagued Megatron, their answers growing increasingly convoluted.
At this rate, he was tempted to launch a full-scale assault on the Prime Citadel and end the charade—and the waiting game—once and for all. It was becoming clear to him that the contract they had forged at the outset was little more than a ploy for Prime to buy time, restoring the ancient energon refinery treatment centers to bring back the fluxstream. The offer of the alt-mode kits had undoubtedly made the contract difficult to refuse, and Optimus Prime had calculated that, in the end, Megatron would accept it under whatever affordable terms were presented.
Am I being played for a fool? Megatron began to wonder, his engine rumbling softly with suppressed rage, claws curling into a clenched fist.
The video continued playing, showing Optimus Prime entering the Cybertron Relicarium and stopping before a massive chrome statue of a femme’s face.
Optimus was speaking to Laserbeak, who was nestled in his arms at the time.
“You’re worried about learning this secret I’m about to reveal? That’s alright. I understand how close you are to Soundwave, and I know there’s probably nothing you could keep from him. So don’t worry. Tell him whatever you like. After all, it’d be impossible for anyone to pass through here without me.”
Just like the encrypted datafiles his Decepticons were still struggling to unravel, Megatron had no doubts that Prime’s last statement was the truth. It didn’t help that the so-called ‘Trine’ kept sneaking off to play with that ‘spaceship simulator’ whenever they thought Megatron wasn’t watching.
To Megatron’s surprise, a warp portal opened, and Optimus Prime stepped through with Laserbeak in tow. Even as the video continued to play, Megatron couldn’t determine where the two had gone; the Prime provided no explanation. Instead, Optimus brought Laserbeak to a desk, gently setting her down before searching through the room.
Eventually, he returned, holding up a small, flat square chip.
“Here, try this on for size……It’s a cloaking module!”
Megatron’s helm whipped toward Laserbeak, still perched on his desk. As if on cue, Laserbeak spread her wings, a visible purple charge coursing through her frame, and vanished in an instant. His optics widened in surprise as Soundwave’s minion completely disappeared from view. However, only a few nano-clicks later, the same purple charge flashed, and Laserbeak reappeared—this time perched on Soundwave’s right shoulder.
Soundwave paused the video and spoke. “Module explanation: cloaking duration lasts 120 nano-clicks. Cooldown additionally equals that. Cloaking effect may also be terminated at will.”
Optimus Prime had just granted their little Decepticon spy an upgrade—one that could easily be turned against the Primacy itself. Megatron’s neural processors struggled to comprehend it. Did the Prime truly believe they weren’t enemies?
It didn’t make sense.
It just didn’t make any sense.
Suddenly, a beeping noise emanated from the console, and Megatron vented his frustration in a low snarl—the kind that always built whenever Optimus Prime was involved. Still, he answered the call.
“What is it?” Megatron snapped, his tone sharp.
The caller—Jetfire on the comms—remained unfazed. “Lord Megatron, have you seen the news?”
Megatron’s optics narrowed into a glower. “What news? I’m currently in a private debriefing with Soundwave.”
Jetfire got straight to the point. “Prime is leaving Iacon City. Right now. He’s all over media news.”
With that, Megatron immediately ended the call, and Soundwave was already pulling up the news coverage trending among the citizens of Iacon City.
“—This is Iacon News Network. My name is Elita-One, reporting live from Metro Station 42, where we’ve received word that Optimus Prime will be boarding the train to Circuitspire. Speculation states that Optimus Prime intends to meet with the Royal Iacon Fleet, which has remained stationed outside of Circuitspire since withdrawing from the conflict against Decepticon rule—Wait, here he comes now!”
The camera focused on the large retinue of soldiers escorting Optimus Prime, with Ultra Magnus at his side and the familiar faces of his retainers close behind.
Megatron watched, both intrigued and curious. Is this it, then? With their contract nearing its end, along with the fragile truce, was Prime preparing to strike against the cities under Decepticon control? He had always known it was only a matter of time.
No matter. Megatron would proceed with his plan to force Optimus Prime into surrender.
As he continued to watch, Megatron noticed the reporter’s relentless determination to reach the Prime.
“Optimus Prime! Optimus Prime! My name is Elita-One—can we have the truth? The people of Cybertron deserve to hear the truth from you!”
Her persistence seemed to pay off as Optimus stopped, leaning in to say a few words to Ultra Magnus. After a brief exchange, Ultra Magnus turned and pointed directly at the reporter.
“You! Reporter, Elita-One! Step forward!”
Megatron’s optic ridge arched in mild surprise. Was Prime finally going to address the media with something of substance, or would it just be another hollow “Primus bless you”? That phrase was growing tiresome.
Elita-One stepped forward, the soldiers parting to allow her through, along with her news camera operator. They approached Optimus Prime, stopping as close as they were permitted to get.
Holding out her microphone, she addressed him directly. “Optimus Prime, sir, you brought back the fluxstream to Iacon City. Are you planning to do the same for the rest of Cybertron?”
Optimus smiled so serenely that, for a moment, Megatron forgot to vent, prompting him to run a quick internal scan on himself and a quick reset on some functions. Quietly.
“Yes. We’re on our way to Circuitspire to reconvene with the rest of the army,” Optimus said. “My commander, Ultra Magnus here, had said it wouldn’t be safe for me to travel out this far without more protection. We’ll be making our way over to Jhiaxus afterwards to restore the energon aqueducts’ refineries there as well.”
“W-why aren’t you making the fluxstream flow all throughout Cybertron? Do you not have the power to do that, sir?” the reporter asked, her voice wavering but her question sharp.
Optimus’s optics whirred and blinked before he answered. “If I had done that, what would happen to the mining industries? My intention is to release the fluxstream one place at a time. Besides, the aqueduct refineries will need time to be restored to their original function. This should give most mining industries time to adjust to the changes.”
“Also, I’ve already handed the government plans to each remaining representative of the Senate council this morning, so they could further explain it to their people. You will hear from them soon. But for now, I must go.”
“Wait! Optimus Prime, sir, one more question,” Elita-One insisted, just as the soldiers moved to shoo her away. Prime, however, raised a servo to stop them, granting her permission to speak.
“What about Vos? Vos also has energon aqueducts, and it’s under Decepticon rule. Do you plan to restore it as well?”
Optimus Prime didn’t even hesitate.
“Of course.”
Megatron watched with his arms folded, though his claws clenched tightly, betraying the tension building within him.
“Do you plan to take back Vos from the Megatron of Tarn, sir?” she asked. This femme reporter certainly had a knack for asking all the right questions. Perhaps that was why Optimus chose to answer her seriously.
Prime tilted his helm at her, his tone calm but curious. “Take back Vos? Why?”
His response confounded Megatron. What did he mean by why?
The reporter, also frazzled, stammered on, “W-well, because… because aren’t they refusing to be part of the cog in the machine? Most of these Decepticons were from the lower castes, built to perform the work that upholds the foundation of all Cybertron! Does it not go against the Primacy?”
Absolutely. At least, that was what Megatron’s overseers had once relentlessly hammered into his neural networks: that he was forged solely to mine in the darkest, deepest caves, endlessly searching for energon to be collected, refined, and consumed by others. Because, apparently, that was what the Primes wanted—to fill the bellies of those in power while the rest of them suffered.
Once more, Optimus Prime never ceased to confound him as he posed a question to the reporter.
“Elita-One, can you tell me the difference between a politician and a miner?”
Megatron froze at the familiar phrasing.
The reporter reeled back slightly before answering, “Uh, their jobs, sir?”
“I see. Now, strip away the plating, the polish, the ranks, and the titles. Take us down to what truly matters—our sparks,” Optimus continued. “When you gaze into that glow, can you tell which one spent their cycles in the mines and which one sat in a council chamber?”
Those words… Megatron’s frame began to rattle, his vents whirring as the realization struck him.
Those words… were his.
“I-I… I wouldn’t be able to, sir.”
Optimus’s optics softened as he gestured outward with his servos. “A writer by the name of ‘D’ once said the functionalist system would have you believe it’s obvious—that the sparks of the lower caste are dimmer, smaller, less worthy. But that’s not the truth.”
“Any spark can shine the brightest, even in the darkest depths of Cybertron. The system teaches us to see difference where there is none, to accept what it tells us we are and what we can never be. But if the spark cannot tell the difference between one caste and another... then why should we?”
At this moment, Megatron couldn’t even compute the storm raging within him. Was it rage? Anger? Resentment? Sadness? Relief? It was all of them at once, colliding and tangling together in a way that made his core feel unsteady. It felt as though an ancient, festering wound deep within his chassis was being stitched together—slowly, painfully, and against his will. He didn’t want this. Not now. Not after everything. Not when he had already committed himself, made so many choices, crossed so many lines to get to this point.
Why was he hearing this now? After all this time, someone who finally agreed with his words? His words!!
It twisted something deep within him, like the grinding of gears long worn down. But just… wasn’t it far too late? Too late to matter. Too late to change anything. Too late to undo everything he had already become.
AND YET.
“RAAGHH!!”
Megatron slammed his fist into the console, shattering it as his clenched servos punched deep into the system. Sparks erupted, and the video feed cut out instantly. His vents heaved, struggling to cool the fury coursing through his systems, while his grinding dentae produced a harsh, grating noise.
Soundwave shot to his pedes immediately, standing alert, Laserbeak shifting nervously on his shoulder.
After a click or two, Megatron didn’t bother to turn toward him as he growled, “Leave.”
Soundwave didn’t need to be told twice. He bowed formally, once, before exiting the office with careful, measured strides. The doors slid shut behind him with a sharp shk!
Megatron pulled his fist free from the shattered console, fragments of metal and wiring clattering to the floor. Without a word, he turned and strode toward the windows overlooking the city of Vos.
It was just far little too late…
…And yet…
.
.
.
= = =
A/N: Megatron is… WOW. I have no words for how I have written him right now. It’s giving me so much stress, lol. Channeling my inner early-Megatron is hard when I have future-Megatron already forged and ready for the conclusion of this story—which is CHAPTERS away mind you. @.@ This is a slow burn! Isekai slow burn!
By the way, it is not explained, but yes, ‘D’s writing and Megatron’s writing are separate in Cybertron—at least cybertronians don’t even think they’re the same mech. Just for your information. Otherwise I meant to unravel this web a little later. Tee-hee!
Also, Elita-One just has this… Louis Lane vibe to her. I swear to God. It works out just fine.
Btw, I feel like I need to explain about the Primal Estate, which is within the Prime Citadel. The Primal Estate is the main living quarters for Primes, and a few other important figures, like Alpha Trion. Zeta also lived there before he was a Prime. Optimus likes the place, EXCEPT for the main primal chambers. He avoids that room at all costs.
Anyways, hope you enjoyed eating up this chapter! Tis a little longer than my usual length, so don’t expect too much of it. I just got really excited to writing this bit.
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I’ll reply to the comments of the previous chapter soon enough! Note: the reason I don’t reply is because I already started writing the next chapter, and the more I read the comments, especially with your guys’ insight, the more I kept writing. @.@ I'm a Comment ho here for sure.
Thank you!