Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a chamber deep in the heart of Iacon, a meeting took place that would decide the future of Cybertron.

This wasn't nearly as heavy a statement as one might expect. Every meeting of the Council decided some aspect of Cybertron's future, even if it was something as miniscule as whether to raise a certain tax a fraction of a percent or change the design of the capital city's seal. Of late, however, almost every Council meeting held a solemn air, one that reminded every mech present that they played a hand in historic events… events that would have vast repercussions for Cybertron's future.

Optimus Prime should have been present at this particular meeting. As the one who had captured Megatron and his double-agent within Autobot High Command, it should have been his privilege and honor to tell his story to the Council. But he had respectfully declined to stand before the Council, insisting that he was needed back on Earth to round up Starscream's clones and recover the last few fragments of the Allspark.

Sentinel Prime wished this action could have tarnished Optimus' reputation before the Council… but if anything it only elevated him in their optics. To them, their hero was not only dedicated to his work, but too modest to sing his own praises. They allowed him to return to that Allspark-forsaken organic world without complaint, and let Jazz give his report on the battle.

"...an' the rest you know," the cyber-ninja finished, a satisfied smile on his faceplate. "Might hafta hit Optimus an' company up for all the details, though - mech can only be in one place at a time, y'know?"

"We appreciate your report, Jazz," Alpha Trion told him. "We will request a full report from Optimus Prime and his crew at a later date, but your version of events suffices for now."

Sentinel snorted and folded his arms across his chest. "Optimus should be here giving that report in person! Not gallivanting around on that dirtball-"

"That will be enough out of you, Sentinel," the aged statesmech told him, his voice sharp. "Your actions as acting Magnus are already being called into question. Don't dig your own tomb deeper."

He flinched, head-pipes angling back in embarrassment, but tried to compose himself quickly. "You have to understand, Councilors, that I was acting in the best interests of the Autobots. Sometimes tough decisions have to be made during times of war-"

"I'd hardly call this little uprising a war," Cliffjumper pointed out with a shrug. "And it's over anyhow, so the Council has seen fit to rescind the measures you issued during your term as Magnus - the curfew, the mandatory searches, the travel bans, everything."

Sentinel's head-pipes flicked back up, and his optics blazed angrily. "You had no right!"

"The Council has the right to decide when emergency measures may be ended," Alpha Trion replied. "The crisis is over. Megatron and the vast majority of his Decepticons are in custody, and our forces are rounding up the last of them as we speak. It is time we allowed ordinary Cybertronians to return to their normal lives, without living in constant fear."

Sentinel knew, logically, that Alpha Trion spoke the truth. But hearing that the Council planned to undo everything he'd accomplished rankled. "Fine. But you'd better not pull this stunt with every single law and edict I instate as Magnus."

At that, Cliffjumper and Perceptor shared a look - and while the scientist was as expressionless as ever, Cliffjumper actually had the audacity to smirk.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. Cliffjumper had been the closest thing he had to a friend back in his boot-camp days - to see him enjoying some joke at his expense was infuriating.

"You don't have to worry about THAT," Cliffjumper told him. "Because you're not going to be acting Magnus much longer."

Sentinel's jaw dropped. "What the slag do you mean?" Surely they wouldn't decide to promote Optimus Prime, that failure who hadn't even graduated from the Academy, ahead of him… surely the universe wasn't THAT dead-set against him...

"Ultra Magnus has awakened from stasis," Perceptor replied, his flat modulated voice sending a creeped-out shiver up Sentinel's spinal strut. "His repairs will be completed within the next two planetary cycles, at which time he will resume the office of Magnus."

Jazz had the audacity to grin at that news, while Sentinel just gawked. After Shockwave's attack on Ultra Magnus, most of the Autobots had assumed he was out of commission permanently. Hearing that he hadn't succumbed to his wounds but had rallied and made a full recovery left him stunned… and made his spark churn with a tangle of conflicting emotions. Relief that Ultra Magnus was alive, yes, but also anger and disappointment that his own time as Magnus had been so short… and had ultimately been ineffective.

"You will, of course, step down graciously and return the Magnus Hammer once Ultra Magnus is ready to resume his duties." Alpha Trion's words were clearly a statement, even a command, rather than a question.

Sentinel ground his dental plates but nodded sharply. "I'll step down… but Ratchet still has the Magnus Hammer."

"Then he will be asked to return it as soon as Ultra Magnus is ready for it," Alpha Trion replied. "In the meantime, Sentinel Prime, you will stand by and await your next assignment."

He tried his hardest not to wince at that. If the Council was going to take this opportunity to kick him while he was down by giving him a scumbag assignment…

"Archivist Drivetrain, you are permitted to take the floor," Percepter droned.

A skinny blue-violet mech with a cylindrical helm and a rectangular visor stepped up to the dias, and Sentinel and Jazz shifted aside to let him address the council. Drivetrain didn't even look at Sentinel as he addressed the Council… though he didn't even look at the Council, just kept his visor fixed on the datapads in his hands, so the Prime tried not to take TOO much offense at that.

"After Megatron's, uh, capture, we took up the task of searching the archives for more information on his, uh, criminal history," Drivetrain informed them. "We found some, uh, information that we felt the Council should be made aware of."

Sentinel rolled his optics, earning an irritated look from Jazz. Why not just state the information straight-out instead of drawing things out for dramatic effect? The Council gave no sign of annoyance, however, and simply motioned for him to continue.

"According to our research," Drivetrain went on, shuffling through his datapads, "during the Great War, Megatron sparked, uh, offspring."

Sentinel's head-pipes had drooped at the news that his time as Magnus was drawing to a close… but they jerked straight up at this bombshell. The Council erupted into surprised chatter, optics flashing, even the stoic Perceptor looking shocked at the revelation.

"You're jivin' us!" Jazz protested.

Drivetrain shook his head. "The sparkling in question was activated, uh, shortly before the end of the war. We have records of the, uh, protoform being activated and the spark transferred… but no information on the, uh, child actually being seen in the company of Megatron."

Cliffjumper frowned. "If Megatron has offspring running around, this could be bad news. What if they decide to come break him out of prison? Or worse, take charge of the Decepticons in his place?"

"There is no evidence that a mechanism will behave in an identical fashion to their parental unit-" Perceptor began.

"Nevertheless, this matter must be attended to," Alpha Trion noted. "Sentinel Prime, your mission is to investigate further. Find out if this rumored child of Megatron exists, and if so, find them and bring them before the Council."

Sentinel nodded, his anger mollified for the moment. It could have been far worse - at least he wasn't stuck repairing space bridges or mucking out grease pits. And perhaps he could work this to his advantage. True, bringing the son or daughter of Megatron before the Council wasn't quite as dramatic as arriving to Cybertron with Megatron, Shockwave, and Lugnut in cuffs, but it could still boost his prestige in the optics of the Council.

And of course, the child of Megatron couldn't be allowed to run rampant through the galaxy, rallying their father's remaining troops and rekindling the conflict all over again. He would find the spawn of Megatron, and he would bring them back in chains. He would protect Cybertron with all his spark… and show Optimus Prime that he, too, could be a hero.

"I accept this mission, Alpha Trion," Sentinel replied, saluting sharply. "I will not rest until we've found the sparkling and solved this mystery once and for all!"

"Thank you, Sentinel Prime," Alpha Trion intoned, nodding. "You and Jazz are dismissed… and Jazz, the Council expresses our condolences for the loss of your comrade."

Jazz's casual smile faded, and he gave a respectful bow. "Thanks, sir. Prowl died a hero, but… ain't much of a consolation, t' be honest."

Perceptor raised a hand. "On the matter of Prowl's deactivation… I must correct an error on Alpha Trion's part. There have been… developments."

"Developments?" Sentinel demanded, scowling. He hated it when he didn't understand what was going on.

"The announcement of Prowl's deactivation was premature," Perceptor replied. "Against all odds… he is alive."

Lights flicked on in the corridor outside Megatron's cell, the illumination stabbing painfully into his optics before the sensors adjusted to the brightness. Normally the maximum-security wing of the Kalis Correctional Facility was kept darkened, ostensibly to conserve energy but mostly to demoralize its prisoners. The lights coming on could mean a few things - another prisoner being dragged in, an accused mech being hauled out to face trial, a surprise inspection… or if the squeak of the fuel-cart wheels was any indication, a ration delivery.

Megatron frowned behind the mouthplate that had been bolted to the lower half of his face. Was it really that time already? The monotony of this place was wreaking havoc with his internal chronometer. Either that or it had been damaged during his capture - all too possible, especially as his captors had made no effort to repair him before locking him away.

The hulking mech in the cell across from him growled and slammed a fist against the thick transparisteel wall, as if trying to attack him through their cell walls. Megatron might have responded to the threat, but he couldn't even move - not only was he in stasis cuffs, but his cell was so cramped that even if he had been free of his bonds, he wouldn't have been able to so much as lie down. Either the Autobots were so terrified of him they wanted him totally immobilized, or they were trying to crush his spirit. Perhaps some of both.

The cart paused before his cell, and Megatron locked gazes with the squat yellow-and-green minibot pushing said cart. The mech stared at him a long while, optics bright with amazement.

Yes, gawk to your spark's content, Megatron thought icily. It's not like I'm going anywhere.

The minibot's expression of awe broke into a smirk, and he grabbed a cube from the cart and held it up for Megatron to see - presumably his daily ration. Then the mech drank it down himself and pushed the cart further down the corridor.

Megatron tried to clench his fists in anger, but the stasis cuffs wouldn't allow him to do more than twitch his fingers. Rage seared through him, and he wanted nothing more than to snap his cuffs and shatter the walls of his cell, to chase that little runt down and beat that smirk off his face…

Then a wave of exhaustion snuffed out his fury, and he shuttered his optics as his head slumped against the wall of his cell. He was so tired… anger took too much energy, and he couldn't keep up the rage and hatred. He hadn't refueled since he'd been locked in this cell, and the damages Optimus Prime had inflicted on him still burned with agony. He couldn't even muster the energy to glare at the fuel-cart mech as he finished passing out rations to the prisoners (at least the Autobot ones) and scurried out.

He had failed. He had striven to rebuild his empire, and he had been thwarted by an upstart space bridge maintenance worker. The blow was humiliating, and knowing his most elite troops were either dead or also imprisoned was just as devastating a blow. And worse, he knew rescue wasn't coming - he'd flat-out ordered his Decepticons to stand down and await his command to invade Cybertron, an order that would never come now.

His thoughts drifted, his CPU shifting in and out of awareness as his chassis trembled with weakness. Memories rose to the surface, as if trying to drown out the misery of his current situation. There were memories of triumph, of battles won and enemies crushed… but also quieter moments, of the serenity of deep space, of a moment of contemplation before flying into battle…

And if his CPU reached back far enough, of a smaller form curled up against his torso, drowsing in recharge at his father's side. A young mech, spark newly installed in his protoform, nestled trustingly against the mech who had sparked him, the warlord's arm draped protectively around him even as their ship hurtled towards a rendezvous with destiny…

He forced his thoughts away from those memories. No… thinking of the little mech would do no good now. His son had been kidnapped megacycles ago, captured by slavers, and all efforts to find him had failed. The child was dead by now… and though Megatron had channelled his grief at the loss of his son into a burning rage that served him well on the battlefield, that rage would do nothing but drive him insane now.

But the memories wouldn't be quieted. They continued to dominate his sluggish thoughts, and to haunt his dreams when he finally slipped into a fitful recharge.

Chapter Text

"Come out wherever you are, little one."

He huddled under the seat, hardly daring to cycle air as his pursuer stalked past his hiding place. He knew he couldn't hide forever… but if he could just put off the moment of discovery a little longer…

"Where are you?" the hunter asked, voice a low, taunting sing-song as he turned around and crept closer. "I know you're in here… I can smell you…"

The thought of his pursuer sniffing him out was too much, and he snorted in laughter. It was a single burst of sound, no longer than a couple astroseconds, but it was enough to catch the mech's attention anyhow. Optics flashing, he strode towards the chair and swooped down to grab the little mech.

"Gotcha!"

He shrieked and kicked his legs as hands snatched him up… and let out a whoop of laughter as his captor tossed him into the air and caught him. Strong arms held him aloft a moment longer before cradling him close, and he giggled in delight as the larger mech sat down in the chair that had been his hiding place.

"Well, this has been a welcome respite," the mech rumbled, holding him to his chest. "But we have to get back to work now, little one. This war won't win itself."

He didn't understand quite what the mech was talking about, but he made his voice heard anyhow - a string of meaningless syllables that were his best attempt at mimicking the older mechs' speech patterns.

"Interesting strategy," the older mech noted, laughing softly. "I question some of the tactics, however. I'll take it under advisement, though."

He brightened, thrilled that he'd gotten a response, and babbled again.

"Ah, excellent point - we need to tighten our defenses in that quadrant." A massive hand rested atop his helm and rubbed gently. "We're going to make this universe a better place, little one. We are going to change the course of destiny."

None of those words meant anything to him, but he chattered and squealed anyhow.

"I'm glad you agree. Now hold on tight - we're going into transwarp."

He clutched the larger mech tightly as the ship vibrated around them, gearing up for a leap across space. The strength and power and deep voice this mech commanded should have been terrifying… yet they were comforting and safe to him. He trusted this mech utterly, looked up to him with utter devotion.

It was only natural, of course, that a sparkling adore their creator, the mech or femme who had given them life. If he could only see his face… a face that seemed to vanish into mist every time he tried to focus on it...

"PRIME!"

Optimus snapped to attention, his gaze darting from the window to Ratchet. "What?"

"If you're done steel-wool-gathering over there, you can help me pack up my scanner! Is there some kind of regulation that the medic has to pack all his own gear or what?!"

Optimus shook his head, clearing away the last fragments of memory, before hurrying to the white mech's side. "Just tell me where everything goes, and I'll make sure it gets there."

Ratchet nodded, his frown fading somewhat. "At least I know you'll be careful with all this sensitive equipment. A few other jokers I know would likely drop or step on something important."

"You know Bumblebee and Bulkhead mean well," Optimus replied with a smile, disassembling the medical scanner and carefully stowing the pieces in the proper crates. "Their enthusiasm just overrides their common sense sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Ratchet repeated, arching an optic ridge.

"Don't worry, I have them out on a mission at the moment," he told the medic. "They're going to see if they can find any trace of the Dinobots and determine if they want to come to Cybertron with us or stay here. They'll stay out of the way while we get everything packed up and transported to the new base."

"Not sure I trust those idiots with the Dinobots anymore than I trust 'em with my equipment," Ratchet grumbled. "If they come back scorched or bitten or stomped on, they better not come crying to me."

"They won't."

Ratchet nodded sharply and dug into one of the crates, grumbling as he rearranged the parts to better suit his tastes. From the way the items clunked and clanged together Optimus worried he'd break something important, but the medic seemed to know what he was doing, so he didn't voice a protest.

Optimus looked down at the component in his hands, idly turning it over in his fingers. Dismantling Ratchet's workshop was a necessary step in moving their headquarters from this old factory to the new facility closer to Sumdac Tower… but he couldn't suppress a pang in his spark at the thought of leaving. The new base would be completely up-to-date, with Cybertronian technology and better access to the satellites and other tools that would help them track down the remaining Decepticons on this planet. But this factory had been home, comforting and familiar, and though run-down and crumbling it had the sort of charm and history to it that only old buildings possessed. In an odd way, he knew he would miss it.

Don't mope about it, he told himself. This is a change, yes, but it's a change for the better. You'll be better able to help the humans AND the Autobots at the new base. Besides, it's not as if you're leaving Earth entirely…

"PRIME!"

Ratchet's shout startled him so badly that he nearly dropped the component, and took some rather inelegant fumbling and flailing to catch it again. "What is it?"

"Stop staring off into space and hand me that!" Ratchet snapped. "What's going on in that head of yours? CPU slowdowns? Do I need to do a virus scan before I close up shop?"

Optimus shook his head and handed the part over. "No, Ratchet… I just have a lot on my mind, is all."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge, then dropped the part into the appropriate crate with a resounding THUNK. "The news about Prowl being still online?"

"Among other things." Optimus thoughtfully ran a hand over the workbench. "I still don't understand how he could have survived that merge with the Allspark. His chassis was completely gray… yet somehow his spark hung on…"

"The scientists are still tryin' to figure it out," Ratchet noted. "Wish they'd hurry up and figure it out so we can get him back. Place isn't the same without him."

Optimus nodded. They had left Prowl on Cybertron when they had returned to Earth to complete their work, assuming that his chassis would be interred with full honors. It had been a shock to all of them to learn that the medics, while conducting an autopsy, had found his spark still clinging to life, barely a flicker but still burning with a tenacity that had startled them all. First Aid and Pharma sent back frequent updates, and the last they had heard Prowl had come fully online and seemed aware of his surroundings, though wasn't quite coherent enough to receive visitors yet.

Like Ratchet, Optimus hoped that Prowl made a full and swift recovery, and that the scientists finished their studies on him soon. Theirs was a tight-knit team, and they felt Prowl's absence all too keenly. Even Jazz spending more time among them wasn't enough to fill in that gap… and though he liked Jazz well enough, he was no replacement for their old friend.

"What else is eatin' you, kid?" Ratchet asked, sitting down on a crate. "Get it off your chest now, before the lunatics come back."

"I'm fine," Optimus insisted. "You might be a medic, but I'm not sure you're a qualified psychiatrist."

"Har-har," Ratchet retorted. "And I don't recall YOU being a qualified comedian either. Spit it out, Prime. I'm a tough mech, I can handle whatever it is."

Optimus sighed and sat down on the workbench, staring down at his feet. "Just… so much has happened in so short a time. I'm still trying to process it all - capturing Megatron, identifying Longarm Prime as a Decepticon agent, rescuing Omega Supreme, Prowl's near-death experience… it's a lot for a few days' work." He shook his head, chuckling ruefully. "If someone had told me back at the orphanage that I would be the mech who took down Megatron, I would have told them they were a few chips short of a full processor."

"Don't knock your origins, kid," Ratchet chuckled. "The greatest mechs often rise from humble beginnings. Just don't let it swell your head like SOME mechs we could mention - and who the SLAG let a dog in here?"

Optimus glanced up to watch the robotic canine dart into Ratchet's workshop, barking furiously as it ran in aimless circles. A short, plump man with a shock of black hair striped with white chased after it, panting with the effort. Despite his wistful mood, Optimus couldn't help a chuckle at the sight.

Ratchet rolled his optics and raised an arm, extending the prongs of his electromagnet. The robot dog yipped as it floated in the air and into the medic's outstretched hand.

"You can't even control the pets you build, can you?" he grumbled, handing the mechanical beast back to Professor Isaac Sumdac.

"I'm still working out the kinks," Isaac replied, gathering the dog in his arms. "Masterson did a number on Sparkplug's circuits when he reprogrammed him, but perhaps with a few more tweaks… ah, sorry, I'm rambling."

"You're just fine, Professor," Optimus assured him with an easy smile. "What brings you here? I thought you were overseeing the construction of the new base."

"I came to see if Sari was here," Isaac replied. "She is rarely home anymore, and I thought perhaps she was spending time with her friends here. But I haven't seen a sign of her."

"She's on Cybertron at the moment," Ratchet noted. "Kid managed to sweet-talk some higher-ups into letting her enroll in classes and learn more about the Cybertronian way of life. Suppose that makes sense, given her origins."

"...oh." The professor gazed down at the robotic pup in his arms, his expression drooping. "She… never told me where she was going. She didn't even say goodbye."

"I'm sure she was just over-excited about learning more about her Cybertronian heritage," Optimus assured him. "Still… the next time I'm on Cybertron, I'll contact her and remind her to stay in touch with you. Just because she's a technorganic doesn't mean she needs to forget her human origins… or her family."

Isaac nodded. "Thank you, Optimus. Your friendship means a great deal to me." He made for the door, then stopped and turned to face the Autobots with a puzzled expression. "My apologies, but I couldn't help overhearing something about… an orphanage?"

Ratchet snorted. "Yes, an orphanage in a place called Nunya."

"Nunya?" Isaac repeated.

"As in 'nunya business.'"

Optimus snorted as he struggled to hold back a laugh. "And here Bumblebee claims you have no sense of humor. But in all honesty… it's not a big secret, Ratchet. We can tell him." He turned his attention back to the human. "I spent most of my sparkling-hood in an orphanage in Iacon back home. It wasn't a terrible life, but… not the most illustrious of origins, I suppose."

"Ah." Isaac set Sparkplug down, and the dog busied itself with sniffing every square inch of the floor as the scientist sat down on the floor. "Then… we have something in common, I think. I lost my parents when I was very young, and lived for several years in an orphanage in India."

"Oh dear… I'm sorry for your loss," Optimus told him.

Isaac shook his head. "It has been many years. I was a little boy when my parents passed, and while I still miss them, time has helped heal the wounds." He patted Sparkplug's head when the dog veered within reach. "I was adopted by an American couple when I was twelve, and have lived here ever since. Not an illustrious origin, as you say, but origins do not always determine what we become, eh?"

"That's true," Optimus acknowledged with a bit of a smile. "Though I was never adopted - I got my adult upgrade while still in the orphanage, and like all orphans who never get adopted I was shipped off to the Academy first thing." And was expelled for the little jaunt that had cost him two friendships, he thought, but decided not to bring that up right now.

"If I may ask… you mentioned you were a sparkling. That's like a child, right?"

Optimus nodded.

"I thought the term was 'protoform,' though," Isaac replied with a puzzled frown. "And… how do Cybertronians have children? Certainly not the biological way…"

"'Protoform' is the term we use for a body that hasn't received a spark yet," Ratchet explained. "We use 'sparkling' for a protoform that's just received a new spark from a parental mech, or 'youngling' for a protoform that's given life directly from the Allspark." He shifted, the crate beneath him creaking under his weight. "Most mechs come directly from the Allspark, but when we lost the Allspark after the war more and more young mechs were brought about through sparking. Some claim it's an inferior method, but some of our best mechs were sparked rather than brought forth from the Allspark." He nodded at Optimus.

"So you don't need the Allspark to reproduce?" asked Isaac, his eyes bright with curiosity. "You can create new life on your own?"

"'Course we don't, otherwise the Council would have thought twice about launching it into space - or at least we HOPE they would have." Ratchet rolled his optics, making it clear just how much he trusted that particular governing body. "Any mech can spark a child - they just take a protoform and imbue a portion of their own spark into it. It's generally recommended they use a much smaller protoform than normal, though, since the newspark will be too small to support a full-sized protoform."

"Like the protoform that became Sari," Isaac noted. "So you are saying… that when I touched the protoform, I sparked a newspark somehow?"

"I have no fragging idea how the kid came about," Ratchet admitted. "What happened there is something we'll only be able to understand through dedicated study, and whether we get any of THAT done depends on if she holds still long enough for us to do it."

"I doubt she will want to be made a test subject anyhow," Isaac admitted. "So… you were sparked, Optimus? You had parents?"

"At least one parent," he replied. "Two parents are recommended for creating a sparkling, as both their energies will combine to form a stronger newspark, but one can manage it. I have some faint memories of a parental figure… but none of a second parent."

"Do you remember what happened to him?" Isaac asked. "Or… should I not pry? I'm sorry, I didn't stop and think how painful this must be for you…"

"It's all right," Optimus assured him. "I don't mind talking about it. Though there's not much to tell, to be honest. My memories from my sparkling days are rather patchy - I remember bits and pieces, but nothing completely clear until the orphanage."

Though that wasn't to say that there weren't fragments floating about in his CPU. Nothing definite enough to determine exactly what had happened, but still troubling - shouts, screams, rough hands snatching him out of a dark corner, a too-small cage crammed with sobbing and whimpering mechs…

"You're doin' it again, Prime," Ratchet snapped. "Come back to us."

Optimus shook his head. "Sorry. It's just been on my mind a lot lately. Thoughts of my father, and my past."

Ratchet shook his head. "Dwelling on it won't help, Prime. Your father most likely died in the war. We lost a lot of good mechs and femmes in those dark times, and the best thing to do is mourn them and move on."

"But his father could still be alive!" Isaac protested. "That means that perhaps, with Megatron in prison and the fighting over, he can try to find him!"

"Don't get his hopes up," Ratchet advised. "Too many mechs have tried to track down lost relatives after the war, and most of them end up disappointed - either their loved ones are offline or there's just no trace of them. Plenty of ways to make a mech vanish entirely, and not all of them end in death."

Optimus winced. No, compared to some fates, death was a mercy. Slavers and mercenaries had abounded in the final days of the war, profiting off the misfortune of others and taking advantage of the chaos to fatten their own pockets. And plenty of mechs had been assumed killed in the fighting, only to be recovered from slave ships in deep space… if they were ever recovered at all.

"There could still be a chance, though." Isaac insisted. "He can still try, right?"

"I still have duties to carry out here," Optimus replied. "There are still pieces of the Allspark to recover, and Starscream's clones to round up. Not to mention tracking down any other mechs the Allspark fragments might have created, like Wreck-Gar and the Constructicons."

Isaac nodded. "But that shouldn't take you forever. After you're done, I suggest you find out what happened to your father. Who knows - perhaps he's out there looking for you!"

"It's been vorns!" Ratchet protested. "Even if the mech's still alive, he's probably given up looking. Face it, it's like looking for a screw in a scrapheap."

But Professor Sumdac's words had struck a chord deep within Optimus, sending a jolt of energy through his spark. He'd always assumed that whatever had separated him from his family had also killed his father, but what if his father was still alive? What if, rather than give up his sparkling for dead, he was searching the cosmos for any sign of him? Would it be possible to track him down, and be reunited with him once and for all?

"Do you really think he'd be looking for me?" he asked.

Isaac smiled. "I'm a father, Optimus. And if there's one thing I know, it's that a father will move mountains and cross galaxies for their child."

Optimus smiled in return. "Thank you, Professor. That means a lot to me."

"You're welcome." He waited for Sparkplug to swerve close again, then snatched him up in his arms. "Let me know if I can be of any assistance. You Autobots have done so much for me - when I don't even feel I deserve it much of the time. It's the least I can do for you."

"Professor, we don't hold you responsible for your actions as Megatron's captive," Optimus assured him. "You don't owe us anything. But we'll let you know if we need your help."

"What Megatron made you do, no," Ratchet added. "Now for reverse-engineering your fortune out of the remains of a Cybertronian, even if the mech in question was Megatron-"

Optimus had just opened his mouth to tell Ratchet to stop talking when his comm unit pinged, and he touched the side of his helm. "Bulkhead, Bumblebee, what's the situation?"

We got a problem, boss! Bumblebee informed him. Dinobots are here, but so are some of Starscream's copycats! And it looks like they've sweet-talked the Dinobots into joining up with them! They got us pinned down in Meltdown's old lab!

Optimus stood, ready to bolt for the door at a moment's notice. "How many clones?"

At least two, boss, Bulkhead chimed in. The purple one and the femme one. No sign of the blue one.

"If Skywarp and Slipstream are there, then Thundercracker's not far behind," Optimus noted, using the temporary designations they'd come up with to avoid just calling the clones "the purple one" and similar nicknames all the time. "Hold on tight. Ratchet and I are on our way!"

You might wanna hurry, Bumblebee advised. I'd kinda like to NOT be stomped flatter than a plutonium pancake before going back to Cybertron!

Optimus nodded and turned to Ratchet. "Bumblebee and Bulkhead are in trouble. Starscream's clones have made an alliance of some kind with the Dinobots."

Ratchet groaned and pushed himself to his feet. "Fraggit, and here I thought some of this insanity would go away with Megatron locked up."

"Good luck, Autobots!" Isaac told them, stepping back to give them room. "Try to come back in one piece!"

"We'll do our best," Optimus vowed, and he and the medic transformed and tore out of the base, lights flashing and sirens screaming. Megatron and his personal forces might be in prison now, but there was still a great deal to do before they could consider Earth and its natives out of danger. And he vowed he wouldn't abandon this planet until they'd made it safe once and for all.

Sentinel ground his dental plates and resisted the urge to pick up the computer tech and shake him until the desired result fell out of him. What had begun as an exciting quest to boost his prestige in the optics of the Council had become a discouraging slog through mountains of information, hoping for a scrap or two that might be useful. And any thrill he might have felt at the hunt for said scraps had faded into a desire to fling datapads at anything that moved.

"I've aaaaaaaaaaalmost got it back online," Autobot Tech Officer Gizmo noted, still bent over the fritzing computer console. "Sometimes these Epsilon models get a bit temperamental, especially if you give them too big a workload. Best thing to do is reboot 'em and give 'em a few minutes to clear their caches-"

"Do I look like I care about the technical details?" Sentinel snapped. "Just get it working again!"

Gizmo flinched and tapped a few more keys. "It's up, it's up! Just give it a bit to warm up-"

Sentinel shoved him aside and sat down, fingers rattling over the keys. The records of Megatron breaking into the protoform bank were here, as well as records of a small protoform intended for a sparkling being stolen during said break-in. From there, however, the trail went cold. For all Sentinel could tell, the Decepticon leader could have sparked a child, sold the protoform for weaponry, or just chucked it into deep space for whatever Allspark-forsaken reason suited his whimsy.

He shook his head and pulled up another database of stolen or missing protoforms, scrolling futilely through the dates as if hoping something would materialize out of the mess. He refused to believe that Megatron's child didn't actually exist. They were out there somewhere… it was just a matter of finding them. HOW to find them, though…

"Could I suggest something, sir?"

Sentinel swiveled his chair around to glower at the tech. "Why are you still here?"

Gizmo yelped and backpedaled a few steps, hands raised. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just wanted to help! You looked a little lost and I thought maybe a pointer or two could-"

"When I want your help, technician, I'll ask for it!" Sentinel growled. He turned towards the screen, clicked on a few more keys, stared at a few more pop-up windows, then turned back to Gizmo. "...coincidentally, if I asked you for pointers, what would you tell me?"

The tech grinned and scooted closer, reaching around Sentinel to type. "You're looking for a sparkling, right?"

"Yes… one that went missing during the war." He'd deliberately left the rest of the details vague - no sense starting a panic among the Autobots by suggesting Megatron's progeny might walk among them. Nor did he want Gizmo to get the bright idea to search for this missing mech himself and take credit for it.

"What information do you have on them so far?"

"Parental spark-readings, and a date range during which they may have been sparked."

Gizmo nodded. "Okay, that's not as hopeless as I thought." He swiftly navigated a few more menus, then pulled up a database Sentinel had dismissed as useless. "There's still the possibility that the sparkling got picked up by slavers and sold off, or was killed in the crossfire… but if they were found alive, they probably ended up in a foundling home."

Sentinel grimaced. He knew all too well about THOSE homes - he'd been in one himself. His creators had been brutally offlined during the sacking of Tyger Pax, and he'd been plucked from the rubble and shipped off to an orphanage in Iacon shortly after. It hadn't been a terrible place, at least - and he'd met both Optimus and Elita-1 there, so at least he'd had friends - but he still didn't like to think too hard about his lowly origins. Future Magnuses weren't war orphans and foundlings, after all…

"What's the date range?" Gizmo asked.

Sentinel provided it, and Gizmo plugged the dates in. "Okay, here's a list of the different orphanages and foundling homes that were operating during those dates. And even better, most of them take spark-scans of the kids they take in. That means if you can get ahold of those records and cross-reference them with your parental spark-readings, you just might find a match!"

Excitement burned in his core, and Sentinel copied the information onto a datapad before pushing back from the console and hurrying out, leaving a stunned Gizmo to mutter a sheepish "you're welcome" in his wake. He had a lead… perhaps a shaky lead, but a lead nonetheless. If Megatron's spawn had been picked up by one of the foundling centers, then it would be a simple matter to determine their identity and track them down. If they hadn't… well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

He transformed the moment he left the Hall of Records and drove off. It was time to pay an official Elite Guard visit to his old home. It was close by, so might as well cross it off the list first and get it over with.

Chapter Text

Slag, I wish Prowl were here, Bumblebee thought as he wormed his way deeper into the crevice where he'd taken refuge. He'd have processor-over-mattered our way outta this in a nanoklik, or at least kicked afts and taken names. Hope he's enjoying his vacation, because we sure aren't.

This should have been a simple mission. Go to the island, check and see if the Dinobots were still there, ask Grimlock if he wanted to go to Cybertron, and hurry back to the mainland once Grimlock told them to slag off. It should have taken them an hour, two hours tops, and they could go back to helping to pack up the base and driving Ratchet up the wall. And on the slim chance that Grimlock actually agreed to go back with them, they could have brought back some help. Hauling all their junk to the new base by Sumdac Tower would go much more smoothly with three extra pairs of arms, right?

He should have known by now that things could never go smoothly for the Autobots on this dirtball. Yes, the Dinobots were still here… and so were three of Starscream's obnoxious clones. And somehow they'd managed to talk the Dinobots into joining their side.

Bulkhead hunkered low behind a litter of fallen boulders, trying to work his bulk behind the barrier. His back kibble poked out from behind the rocks, and Bumblebee wanted to tell him to find a better hiding place… but he didn't dare speak aloud. Not with the Starscream wannabes and their new pets within audial-shot.

Voices rang through the tunnels of Meltdown's old base, and Bumblebee worked himself deeper into the crevice.

"You LOST them?!" a shrill, oddly accented voice demanded - Slipstream, Starscream's female clone. "One's bright yellow and the other's the size of Grimlock's giant aft, and you LOST them?!"

"Me Grimlock's aft not giant!" came the indignant, gravelly reply - the aforementioned Grimlock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" That voice sounded just like Starscream's, enough so that it sent chills up Bumblebee's spinal strut, but it shook with terror. "I almost had them, but they took off towards the old lab! That place is terrifying! Who knows what kind of horrible traps Meltdown and that spider creature left behind?"

"For Pit's sake," grumbled another Starscream-esque voice, this one more arrogant than frightened. "If you'd have sent me after the Autobots, I would have captured them effortlessly! I'm not afraid of a silly human-built lab!"

"Enough yapping out of both of you," Slipstream snapped. "Thundercracker, take Skywarp and search the rest of the tunnels. Grimlock, take the Dinobots and search the forest. They couldn't have gone far."

"Yes, flier-lady!" Grimlock roared, and titanic footsteps thundered away.

"Ugh… such an inelegant lug," Thundercracker grumbled. "I don't understand why you let him moon after you like that."

"If he's on our side, I don't care, so long as he keeps his paws to himself," Slipstream replied. "Get moving. I'll check the lab. If you find those Autobots, use any means necessary to put them out of commission. We're NOT going to let them offline us like Starscream, or lock us up like Ramjet and Sunstorm."

"Who made you our boss?" demanded Thundercracker. "If I were in charge…"

"Oh, shut up and get moving," Slipstream ordered.

Bulkhead and Bumblebee exchanged a glance as footsteps trailed off. Neither dared speak aloud, but Bulkhead thumped the armor on his thigh with a blunt finger, tapping out a rapid series of clicks - a code, similar to the Morse Code of the humans. Autobots often resorted to it in situations when speaking aloud, even over their personal comms, was too risky, and Bumblebee had to admit that this was just such a situation.

Three quick taps, two slower. Okay?

Bumblebee responded with a tap to his forearm plating - three quick taps, two slow, then one more tap. Okay for now.

Bulkhead nodded and tapped his thigh again - one tap, a pause, then three slow taps. Is backup coming?

Bumblebee responded with two slow taps. Yes. At least he hoped that was the right answer - he'd radioed Prime for backup before everything had gone to slag. And Prime was the most standup commander he'd ever had. There was no way he'd leave them to rust… right?

Three slow taps from Bulkhead, then three quick ones. What do we do now?

Two taps spaced about a second apart from Bumblebee, then two quick ones. Wait.

Bulkhead huffed in frustration. Bumblebee couldn't blame him - just sitting and waiting was pure torture. He wanted to charge these stupid Starscream knockoffs and their Dinobot pets and kick their skidplates, or at least give them a faceful of stinger blasts. But even as headstrong and reckless as he could be, he knew he and Bulkhead didn't stand a chance against six opponents, especially ones as powerful as Decepticons and Dinobots.

C'mon, Prime, where are you? he thought, squirming further into the crevice. Or did Ratchet make you leave me here? Is this my punishment for dropping his hydrospanner down the sewer grate? I told him I'd go down there and fetch it…

Footsteps clumped down the tunnel, and he froze, wondering if his movements had made too much noise. If he'd managed to attract attention, he hoped it was at least the scaredy-cat clone. Perhaps he and Bulkhead could come up with some means of spooking him.

A shadow fell across the tunnel floor… and Bumblebee grinned widely. It was the wide-winged silhouette of a Seeker, and judging by the fact that the Seeker in question wasn't yakking up a storm about how much better he was at everything than his fellow knockoffs, it must be Skywarp. And while Skywarp was still formidable in a fight, Bumblebee figured that if they could spook him badly enough, it would enable them to overpower him without too much trouble.

He hurriedly tapped out a quick message to Bulkhead. Strike on my signal.

Bulkhead looked unsure but tapped out a reply - three taps, then two. Okay.

Bumblebee raised one hand and counted off on his fingers. Three… two… one!

And with that, he lunged out of the crevice… or tried to. He'd managed to jam himself in tightly enough that his attempt to leap at their attacker ended in a pained grunt and the grinding of rock on metal. He tried again, but with much the same result. Slaggit, he was stuck!

Bulkhead's lunge was much more effective, and he threw himself out of his hiding place with a bellow as he flung his wrecking-ball weapon at the intruder...

Only for a clawed hand to reach up and grab the projectile right out of the air. Bulkhead stared, mouth agape, at the mech he'd just tried to clobber - not the cowardly Seeker, but the silent and menacing Swoop. Even as he watched the Pterodactyl Dinobot flexed his claws, digging deep furrows in the wrecking ball before hurling it back at Bulkhead and knocking him over.

The slagger, Bumblebee thought, thrashing to work himself free of the crevice. He kept his wings spread to look like one of the Seekers at first glance! I didn't think the Dinobots were that bright! Unless maybe Slipstream had told him to do that - the Dinobots weren't terribly intelligent, but they were certainly impressionable and would follow orders without question if they recognized someone as their commander.

"Hmph, not bad, Swoop," Thundercracker noted, stepping out from behind the slender Dinobot. "Though if I had come across him first, he wouldn't be in any shape to get back up again."

Swoop gave Thundercracker a look of utter disdain before pulling out his weapon - a flail that looked as if it had been crafted from molten lava. Bulkhead's optics widened, and he scrambled backwards… only for his back to hit the tunnel wall.

"Bulky!" Bumblebee gave one last desperate lunge forward… and tore free of the fissure with the horrible screech of stripped paint and complaining metal. He staggered forward, stingers crackling to life, and scrambled to put himself between his friend and their two attackers.

"You lay a servo on him and I'll kick your afts clear to the Fringe territories!" he snapped.

Thundercracker and Swoop glared down at the yellow bot, and Bumblebee gulped. Perhaps this hadn't been the smartest course of action after all.

"Out of my exceptional spirit of generosity, Swoop, I'll let you take the big one," Thundercracker ordered, cracking his knuckles with a sinister grin. "I'll eliminate the little one."

"Oh slag," Bumblebee murmured, and he dismissed his stingers and grabbed Bulkhead's arm, trying to drag the green mech further down the tunnel. It was like trying to budge a mountain, and Bulkhead was too dazed from his earlier blow to be much help. Still, Bumblebee refused to abandon him… even if it meant both of them got scrapped.

Thundercracker raised his arms, guns thrumming with power… only to give a screech of pain as something slammed into him with enough force to bowl him over. Swoop squawked indignantly as he, too, was knocked aside. His flail whistled through the air, leaving a comet-trail of flames behind as he swung it at his attacker, but the vehicle swerved to the side, narrowly avoiding the weapon and running over Thundercracker in the process.

"OUCH!" The blue Seeker gripped his leg, snarling. "You'll pay for that, miserable Autobot!"

The crimson fire truck unfolded and planted himself between Bulkhead and the Decepticon-Dinobot attackers, battle-mask sliding in place and axe in his hands. Optimus Prime raised the weapon, the plasmatic blue edge illuminating the tunnel and gleaming in bright splashes from the armor of everyone present. His optics burned with anger - not the rage of battle, but the righteous anger of a hero sworn to protect his friends at all costs.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," Bulkhead moaned, sitting up and rubbing his dented helm.

"What took ya so long?" Bumblebee demanded, dropping Bulkhead's arm and dashing forward with stingers armed to join Prime's side.

"You're welcome," Optimus replied, and though his mask hid most of his features his optics glittered with a sort of resigned amusement. "We had to get past Grimlock and Snarl to get down here. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Just glad you're here now," Bulkhead admitted as he climbed to his feet. "Let's kick their cans!"

Swoop let out a fearsome scream and lashed out with his flail. Bumblebee expected Optimus to block the blow with his axe, but instead he raised his arm and unleashed a spray of flame-retardant. The flail impacted against his chest… and promptly crumbled to ash, its molten heat dissipated by the foam spray.

Swoop stared at the handle of his weapon, as if unable to process what had just happened… and that moment was all the opening Bumblebee needed. He slammed his stinger-weapons together and fired a focused blast of electricity, and Swoop squalled as he fell to the tunnel floor, his chest plates smoking from the blow.

Thundercracker, meanwhile, had managed to stagger to his feet by this point. He snarled and raised his fists, taking a step forward… only to shriek and fall flat on his face. Optimus had fired his tow cable while the Seeker was distracted, tangling his legs and tripping him up.

"Cuff them quick," he ordered, tossing a pair of stasis cuffs at Bumblebee and another at Bulkhead. "Then we'll take them back to the surface."

"What about Slipstream and Skywarp?" asked Bumblebee as he fastened the cuffs around Swoop's wrists, ignoring the Dinobot's furious snarls.

Optimus retracted his mask and smiled. "They won't be troubling us. Ratchet lured them into one of the reformatting chambers in Blackarachnia's old lab and locked them in. He magnetized the door too, so they won't be getting out anytime soon."

Bumblebee winced, remembering what had happened to Wasp in that chamber. "Isn't that kinda harsh, boss-bot?"

"The chamber's disconnected from any power source," Optimus assured him. "They're just being held prisoner, not turned into technorganics or anything." His smile faded, and Bumblebee felt a quick pang of guilt for reminding him about his past… but the moment passed.

"Help me get these two to the surface," Optimus ordered. "Then we'll come back for the other two Seekers."

"What about the other two Dinobots?" asked Bulkhead.

"Big lugs took off into the woods," Ratchet huffed as he entered the tunnel. "Far as I'm concerned, we can just leave them there. I knew sending someone here to see if they wanted to join us was completely useless."

"At least we seem to have gotten an answer of sorts," Optimus pointed out. "And we apprehended the last of Starscream's clones in the process, so that's something. Let's get the clones back to base and let Cybertron know they can send a transport by to pick them up. We'll undo Swoop's cuffs before we leave."

"Uh, Prime, no offense, but… you got a death wish?" Bumblebee looked nervously at the Dinobot, who curled his lip and gave an irritated hiss at him.

"If the Dinobots want to stay on the island, we'll let them," Optimus replied. "That includes Swoop." He gave Swoop a long look, then recoiled as he hissed again and took a snap at his foot. "Though maybe we'd better loosen the cuffs and make sure we're a safe distance away before he works himself loose."

"Good plan, boss-bot," Bumblebee replied. "Let's get home."

"Yes, let's," Ratchet replied. "Because I just got a communique from Iacon. Prowl's online, and he wants to talk to us."

"I never thought I'd be saying this," Prowl noted, "but I miss the entire team. Even you, Bumblebee."

"Aww, didn't know you cared, ninja-bot," Bumblebee laughed.

Optimus couldn't keep the grin off his faceplate as he, Ratchet, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee gathered around the viewscreen to address their friend. Prowl was only visible from the shoulders up, lying on a medical berth that had been inclined to a sitting-up position. His armor still looked slightly grayed-out, as if he'd been left to fade in the sun for too long, and his voice sounded weaker and frailer than normal. And during the pauses in his side of the conversation they could hear the beeping and humming of medical machinery and the occasional bit of chatter from the medics and nurses on duty.

Prowl was still recovering from his brush with the Well of All Sparks… but he was alive. Optimus couldn't ask for a bigger miracle than that.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Any pain?"

"None, surprisingly," Prowl replied. "I still tire easily, but Pharma says that should pass with time."

"You don't have to drink that gross medicated energon they always have in hospitals, do you?" Bulkhead asked, grimacing.

Prowl chuckled softly. "If the choice is between falling back offline and drinking the medicated energon, I'm taking the energon," he replied. "But thank you for worrying about me."

"Have they figured out just how you managed to cheat death a second time?" Ratchet demanded. "First time was Sari's key, but THIS time… I don't even have a proper explanation. Though if there IS one, Perceptor's the best one to figure it out."

"They don't have a definite answer yet," Prowl admitted. "Perceptor thinks it could have been Master Yoketron's armor - it was designed by a master of processor over matter, and may have special safeguards built in to keep a spark online under circumstances that should be fatal."

Optimus frowned, reading the skepticism in Prowl's tone. "You don't think that's the right explanation, though."

Prowl shook his head. "I… I heard something when I fell offline that final time, before waking up on Cybertron. A voice that told me that my time hadn't come yet. First Aid tells me it must have been a hallucination, but… I think it was the Allspark itself."

Ratchet snorted, but Optimus only nodded in reply. They still didn't understand much about the Allspark, despite it being what gave so many Cybertronians life… and there were plenty of mechs out there who believed the artifact was sentient and capable of communication. If Prowl believed the Allspark had spoken to him and saved him from sure death, he was inclined to believe his words.

"You missed a killer fight down here," Bumblebee pointed out. "We caught us some Starscream clones! And a Dinobot too! Though Prime made us let him go… but still, it was awesome!"

"Yeah, awesome that you got stuck and Prime had to save our butts," Bulkhead pointed out.

"Hey, I'm the one telling the story here!" Bumblebee snapped.

Prowl gave a tired chuckle. "It sounds like a lot has been going on since I left. I'm sorry I couldn't be there to help you."

"You just focus on getting better, Prowl," Optimus advised. "There'll still be plenty to do here when you come back."

Prowl nodded. "I need to go here. First Aid is giving me that look, which means I've been sitting up for too long. Hopefully I'll be strong enough to talk more later."

"You take care of yourself," Ratched ordered, then raised his voice. "An' all you medics listening in on this make sure he RESTS! Even if you have to sit on him to do it!"

Someone offscreen laughed, and Prowl gave a little sigh and a smile as the screen went dark.

"Man, he MUST still not feel great if he doesn't comment on how obnoxious I am," Bumblebee noted.

"Or he just misses us," Ratchet replied. "You don't realize how much you miss someone, even their more annoying traits, until they're gone." He looked wistful a moment, but the expression vanished as the viewscreen flickered back to life. "Huh… somethin' he forgot to say?"

"Hey Prowl, you're back alread-" began Bulkhead, only to yelp as a far different visage materialized. The mech onscreen stared at him, mouth open with surprise, before resuming his usual stern expression.

Optimus felt his spark lurch in its chamber, and he forced himself to suppress a flood of emotion - shock, dread, even a spurt of anger - as he saluted the screen. "Ultra Magnus, sir."

The Magnus inclined his head. "At ease, Optimus Prime. This is not a disciplinary call."

Optimus lowered his hand, though he couldn't shake the dread that clutched at his spark. Ultra Magnus looked somewhat worse for wear than the last time he'd stood before him - his armor still bore a few dents and scrapes, and a metallic patch had been fastened over his left optic. But given what he'd heard about the Magnus' condition after Longarm Prime - or rather, Shockwave - had worked him over, it was a miracle of medical and repair work that he looked THIS good. Naturally, he refrained from saying that out loud.

Ultra Magnus gazed long and hard at the four Autobots, until Bulkhead started squirming where he stood and Bumblebee ducked behind a stack of crates to stay out of view. Then, to Optimus' utter shock, the Magnus smiled.

"Jazz and the Council have updated me on everything that happened while I was in medical stasis," he went on, his voice warming by a degree. "It appears, Optimus Prime, that I was wrong about you. Perhaps being a hero is in your programming after all. Well done."

The dread and anger drained away, and Optimus allowed himself a smile in return. "I only did what was necessary to protect Earth and Cybertron, sir. Anyone else would have done the same thing."

"Not everyone, Optimus," Magnus replied. "What you did took the sort of courage that we rarely see among even the upper ranks of the Autobots. In fact… in light of your actions, I think you're long overdue for a promotion."

Optimus felt a thrill pass through his frame. Was he saying…

"Optimus Prime, I would like to officially promote you to the Elite Guard." He seemed to read the shock on Optimus' faceplate, and he chuckled softly. "I know, I know, you were expelled from the Academy… but I think we can overlook the past in this instance. If you return to Cybertron at once, we will make the promotion official and assign a new leader to your team."

Optimus frowned, his joy at finally earning his place among the Guard dampened by the Magnus' words. "With all due respect, Ultra Magnus… I won't accept the promotion unless my entire team is promoted alongside me."

"What?!" Bumblebee squawked. "Did you slip a cog, Prime? What are you-"

Optimus raised a hand to silence the yellow warrior. "I appreciate the generous offer," he went on, "but these mechs have fought alongside me for a long time. I wouldn't be where I am now without them, and it would be an insult to their courage and abilities to leave them behind to make a name for myself. If you make me an Elite Guard, make all of them Elite Guards along with me… or let us continue our work as space bridge technicians."

Ultra Magnus shuttered his optic briefly, the only sign that Optimus' words might have stunned or upset him. "Very well," he replied, voice even. "We can discuss this when you next return to Cybertron. We'll be sending Rodimus Prime and his team to help you find the remaining Allspark fragments and any Decepticon fugitives who may still be at large."

"The help would be appreciated, sir," Optimus replied.

"And Ratchet… I would appreciate it if you bring my hammer back at your earliest convenience."

"Yessir," Ratchet replied, saluting.

The screen darkened again… and Bumblebee took that as his opportunity to lay into his leader.

"Are you nuts, Prime?" he demanded. "You got handed the Elite Guard sigil and you just turned it down!"

"I meant what I said," Optimus replied. "All of you played a part in taking down Megatron and his minions. You deserve the promotion just as much as me, if not more. If they refuse to make a place for you in the Elite Guard as well, then I refuse to be promoted."

"Prime, don't be stupid!" Ratchet snapped. "This is the chance of a lifetime! And the Elite Guard needs mechs like you! Not old fogeys or space bridge technicians! No offense, Bulkhead."

"None taken," Bulkhead replied. "Prime… are you serious? You want us to be in the Elite Guard with you?"

Optimus smiled. "We've been together for a long time, my friends. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have at my side in a tight spot. And if staying a team means I turn down the promotion, then so be it."

Ratchet sighed and shook his head. "Young fools." Then he gave a rueful chuckle and patted Prime's arm. "It's been an honor serving alongside you, Prime. You're a good mech, and quite frankly, the Elite Guard could use a hundred mechs just like you."

"Oh, come on, Ratchet," Optimus muttered, his faceplates blazing with heat. "Okay, Autobots, enough standing around running our vocalizers. We still have a base to pack up."

Sentinel Prime had never imagined that he would come back here. When he had finally received his adult upgrade and left for the Academy, he had sworn he would never return to the place he had reluctantly called home for most of his sparkling years. And yet here he was, standing before the doors and trying to gather up the courage to enter the building. Fate seemed to have a sick sense of humor.

It wasn't that the Iacon Home for Wayward Sparklings had been a miserable place to grow up. Indeed, the femme who ran the establishment, a bulky brown-and-green femme named Digger, had looked fearsome but been a warm and nurturing bot at spark, and she took good care of her charges. And Sentinel had made close friendships here, friendships that had carried over to the Academy itself. But even the best memories of this place stuck in his craw, and the knowledge that he'd had such lowly beginnings made him recoil instinctively.

"Are we to be going in, Sentinel sir, or staring at the door some more?" asked Jetfire.

Sentinel turned to glare at the orange flier. "Are you going to follow orders, or ask more stupid questions?"

"It is not being a stupid question," Jetstorm pointed out. "We have been staring at the door for half a breem now. It is not being very interesting."

Sentinel rolled his optics. "Why Perceptor didn't think to program you two with a few more processor chips as well as flight capabilities, I'll never know." He raised a fist, ready to knock on the door…

Only for the door to slide open before he could so much as tap it. A towering, broad-shouldered femme stared down at him, the treads on her legs and the bladed shovel on her shoulders marking her alt mode of a bulldozer, a slitted mask obscuring most of her face. She stared down at Sentinel with the glower of a bot who brooked no nonsense from anyone she came across.

"The sign on the door says no soliciting," she informed him. "Unless you're the Cyber Scouts selling grease cookies."

"I'm here on official Elite Guard business, ma'am," Sentinel replied, drawing his shoulders back and raising his chin to best display the crest on his chestplate. "I need access to your information databases."

Digger stared at his chest. Then her gaze moved up to his face… and her optics lit up with a smile.

"Sentinel!" she cooed. "It's been ages! Look at you, all grown up now!" And to his intense embarrassment, she flung her arms around him in a crushing hug.

"Oof!" Sentinel squirmed, trying to writhe out of her grip. Back in his sparkling days Digger's hugs had been the best thing in the universe, especially to a frightened child who was still recovering from the shock of losing his parents. Now the embrace was utterly humiliating… especially in front of his subordinates.

"Oooh, are we getting hugs now?" Jetstorm squealed. "I am wanting hugs too!"

"Me too!" Jetfire exclaimed.

Digger laughed and set Sentinel back down. "If you fellas want hugs, I won't say no." She swept the twins up in her arms. "Are these your boys? They're fine strapping bots."

"No," Sentinel replied shortly. "I'm here on business, Digger. I need to see your archives, specifically the spark-scans of your incoming sparklings."

Digger laughed softly. "All business, I see. That's all right - we can always catch up later." She motioned for him to follow her. "This way. Mind the little ones, classes just ended and they're enjoying some free time before their evening refuel."

Sentinel followed her, the Jettwins trailing behind. He kept his gaze firmly ahead - letting his gaze wander about, taking in the hallways and the familiar doorways to classrooms and dormitories and washracks, only brought back a flood of memories he'd rather not dwell on too much. Yes, he had happy memories of this place - Digger's comforting presence, favorite teachers, his friendship with Elita and Optimus that had held strong until that fateful mission to the organic world where everything had changed forever…

But those memories just got in the way of what was important - finding Megatron's sparkling, and ensuring they could no longer endanger Cybertron. And standing around wallowing in old memories wouldn't help him with that mission. He would just go in, get the information he needed, and leave. Not stick around and dwell on the past.

Besides, this was only his first stop in a long list of foundling homes, orphanages, and similar facilities. The odds of him finding Megatron's spawn here were slim to non-existent. All the more reason to spend as little time here as possible.

Chapter Text

Sumdac Tower was easily one of Detroit's most recognizable landmarks, and as the sun sank below the jagged horizon it seemed to gild the metal and glass of the tower in brilliant rose-gold. Lights began to flicker on within its interior, as if the tower were a nocturnal beast stirring from slumber with the coming night. By the time full darkness had claimed the city, it would be ablaze with light like a miniature sun of its own.

Optimus Prime's gaze rested not on the tower, however, but on what was slowly taking shape beneath it. The new Autobot Base, nearly complete by now, looked blocky and ungainly next to the sleek skyscraper, and the construction equipment and scraps of metal and concrete scattered about it did little to improve its appearance. But it would be several steps up from squatting in an abandoned factory, he thought… and would have facilities their old home sorely lacked, such as a fully functioning medical bay and a brig for containing Decepticon prisoners until they could be transferred to Cybertron.

Optimus smiled as a whistle sounded to signal the end of the workday, and he stepped forward to address the construction crews. The humans had done so much for them since they'd come to Earth, and had further proven their generosity by pitching in to help them build their new base. The very least he could do was thank them for their service.

"How did today go?" he asked one of the construction workers, a tall dark-skinned man who wore his hair in a plethora of braids beneath his protective helmet.

"Great!" the worker replied with a thumbs-up. "Things're going a lot faster with the new guys! We'll be done way ahead of schedule at this rate!"

"That's great to hear," Optimus replied. "Um… Scrapper and Mixmaster aren't giving you too much trouble, are they?"

"Nah, they behave themselves," he replied, pulling off his hard-hat to shake sweat out of his braids. "They've got kinda filthy senses of humor, but so do the rest of us, so they fit right in."

"Good… that's good to hear." The Constructicons had never fit in among the Autobots, their ways too crude and obnoxious for most of them to tolerate, but Bulkhead had been sure they were decent bots beneath their boorish exteriors. And he'd been right - it had simply been a matter of finding the right place for them, and the right companions.

"Thank you again for everything," Optimus told him. "Your efforts mean a lot to us."

"Our pleasure, sir." The worker gave an easy wave and walked off.

Optimus talked to a few more of the workers, thanking them for their service and wishing them a safe trip home. Then he looked up as a cement truck and an excavator pulled away from the base. He held out a hand, and with a grudging rumble of their engines the two vehicles ground to a halt.

"'Ey, we're on break!" Mixmaster grumbled. "The union'll hear 'bout this!"

"I'm not sending you back to work," Optimus told them. "I just wanted to thank you two for what you're doing for us. We're indebted to you."

"Aw shucks, boss, it ain't no problem," Scrapper replied, ducking his scoop shovel in embarrassment. "Just glad t' have jobs after the 'Cons went bust. Thanks for not lockin' us up with 'em, by the way."

"You're welcome." Optimus raised an optic ridge. "So… where exactly are you two planning on spending your night?"

"Off to th' gas station for drinks, then th' junkyard t' watch th' big game wit' th' buds," Mixmaster replied. "You gotta problem wit' that?"

"Of course not… just stay out of trouble, all right? See you here in the morning."

"Sure thing, boss!" Scrapper waved his shovel, and the two of them rumbled off into the night.

Optimus watched them go, sighing in relief. When he'd heard the reports that the Constructicons had turned back up in Detroit, he'd feared they would have another attempt to take over the city's oil supply on their hands. But evidently Mixmaster and Scrapper had had their fill of Dirt Boss's nasty attitude, and they came to the Autobots of their own free will with the diminutive Constructicon in chains. Dirt Boss was now cooling his heels in the brig, waiting for the next transport to Cybertron, and Bulkhead had put the other two to work helping build the base.

The roar of a powerful engine caught his attention, and he turned to watch a burgundy-and-gold muscle-car approach. The vehicle hit its brakes, smoke pluming from its tires as it executed a perfect 180 spin and came to rest at Optimus' side.

"Show-off," Optimus noted.

Rodimus Prime laughed and transformed, grinning brightly up at the taller mech. "Hey, what is it that Jazz likes to say? Do it with style or don't bother doing it?"

"Doing it with style is all well and good, so long as no one gets hurt," Optimus pointed out. "Just be careful. We're trying to do as little damage to the humans' infrastructure as we can."

Rodimus nodded, though he wore a reckless grin that reminded Optimus far too much of Sentinel during his wild and reckless younger days. He'd heard all the stories about this young mech - that he'd rocketed up through the ranks to become one of the youngest Primes in Cybertronian history, that he'd dazzled his mentors and commanders in the Academy, and that many had pegged him to become Magnus someday. And while Optimus wasn't entirely won over by the high praise, he had to admit that, despite his headstrong ways, he was certainly a brave and talented young mech who would achieve greatness someday.

Funny, didn't they used to say some of the same things about you in the Academy? a little voice in the back of his processor taunted. Didn't you used to be their star student? Aren't you just a little jealous…

He firmly squelched that train of thought before it could go any further. He was not going to harbor any resentment toward this young mech. They were both working towards the same cause, and he wouldn't subvert that cause by hanging onto jealousy. And if Rodimus rose through the ranks to become Magus someday… then so be it. He would support him the entire way.

"We didn't get a call for backup from your team, so I assume the mission was a success?" Optimus asked

"Well… partially." Rodimus rubbed the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. "We found all three of the rogue mechs we were looking for - the technorganics in the national park, the garbage truck in the city dump. But the truck gave us the slip, and we decided that since he's not actively doing damage to the city or the humans, he's not a high priority at the moment."

"Wreck-Gar's harmless," Optimus assured him. "He stopped by today and entertained the construction workers on their lunch break, playing an accordion and singing something about radioactive hamsters. We generally leave him to his own devices unless he starts spreading trash through the city again." He hesitated, then pressed on. "What about the other two?"

Rodimus grinned and rapped his chest plate, where a few deep scratches marred his otherwise-pristine paint job. "They put up a fight, but we got them. Ironhide and Brawn are hauling them into the brig as we speak."

Optimus nodded, though his optics clouded over as his gaze moved to the Autobot Base. His feelings towards Blackarachnia were still hopelessly muddled - he missed his old friend Elita-1, and knew some fragment of her still lived in the technorganic femme. But at the same time, he couldn't forgive Blackarachnia's crimes against Detroit, or the horror she had inflicted on Wasp.

At least, back on Cybertron, both she and Wasp could hopefully get the help that they needed. And if they were able to reverse the process that had twisted both of them, they could determine if there was any chance of saving his old friend. It was too late to patch up his friendship with Sentinel… he only hoped it wasn't too late to do the same with Elita-1.

"Sir?"

"Hmm?" He shook his head and returned his attention to Rodimus. "What is it?"

"I was just saying that it's an honor to be working with you," the young mech replied, grinning widely. "Team Athenia has done a lot in our time, but I never imagined we'd be coming here to team up with the hero of Cybertron!"

Optimus felt his faceplates heat up, and he waved the praise away. "I was only doing the right thing. I'm sure any mech in my situation would have done the same."

"Yeah, but… YOU were the mech in the situation," Rodimus pointed out. "And honestly, if I was standing up to the Great Slagmaker himself, I don't know if I would've had the bolts to go after him. What you did took a lot of courage… and I just hope I have half that courage the next time I have to charge into battle."

Optimus stared, his headfins twitching slightly. This rising star in the Elite Guard ranks, the mech everyone hailed as a chosen one of sorts and had marked as the next Magus, was praising and looking up to him? He wasn't sure whether to be honored or terrified, to be honest.

He searched his CPU for something to say in response, and settled for something he hoped didn't sound too cliche or arrogant. "Well, if this old-timer can give you a few words of wisdom… just remember that courage isn't the absence of fear. It's being afraid, but doing what has to be done despite that."

Rodimus nodded, his expression studious as he committed those words to his memory banks. "I'll remember that. In the meantime… once we get these technorganics locked up and secure, mind telling us a few more stories? Our entire team would love to hear more!"

Optimus laughed. "I'm sure we can obliged you. Meet you in the common room?"

"Sure thing." He snapped a salute. "Until all are one, sir."

"Don't call me sir," Optimus urged. "We're equals here."

"Yes si- Optimus." Rodimus chuckled and hurried off.

Optimus watched him go, smiling to himself. When Ultra Magnus had sent Team Athenia to Earth to help Optimus' crew round up the remaining Decepticons and Allspark-created mechanisms, he'd anticipated a clash of personalities between both teams. But to his pleasant surprise they'd meshed well, and settled in with minimum fuss. Red Alert and Ratchet had found common ground in grumbling about their patients, Bumblebee and Hot Shot got along like a house on fire, and Bulkhead found near-instant buddies in both Ironhide and Brawn.

And Rodimus, completely against Optimus' expectations, hadn't let his reputation as the "chosen one" go to his head. If anything, he looked up to Optimus as a hero… which Optimus found rather baffling, to be honest. He still didn't consider himself a hero - he'd just been in the right place at the right time, and done his best to protect his friends and the planet he'd come to love as much as Cybertron. Still… it felt good to have someone think of him that highly, and not as an Academy reject stuck on a remote backwater.

The sun continued to dip below the horizon, darkness spreading over the skies of Detroit like a bruise. Optimus watched the planet's star a little longer, then turned to head into the base. It had been a long day, and he was going to enjoy some much-needed rest before tackling whatever tomorrow chose to throw at him.

"I am getting you!"

The sparkling, a chubby violet-and-black mech with stubby yellow helm projections that looked almost like antennae, squealed with laughter as he bolted across the yard of the foundling home. Jetstorm chased after him, hands outstretched, running just fast enough to keep on the sparkling's heels. Other sparklings joined in the chase, veering away from the blue flier in all directions as he darted after one, then another, a wide smile splitting his face.

"You are being too slow, brother!" Jetfire shouted from beneath a pile of sparklings, who were dogpiling onto him and wrestling playfully with him. "Have you been eating rocks again?"

"It isn't being fun if I am catching him right away!" Jetstorm shot back, and made a grab for the black sparkling. His fingers latched briefly onto a winglet, but the mech shook him off and scurried away with a giggle.

"It is being more fun being caught by them!" Jetfire laughed, and he squirmed out from under the mass of sparklings. One clung to his back while two others wrapped themselves around his shins, and he laughed and lurched towards his brother, hauling his unlikely passengers along with him. "I'll be helping you catch them!"

"Will you idiots SHUT UP?!" Sentinel barked, looking up from the portable computer unit balanced in his lap. "I'm trying to do some actual work on our mission here!"

Both twins screeched to a halt and turned to stare at Sentinel, Jetfire with three sparklings still hanging from his chassis. They exchanged a long look, torn between their strong loyalties towards the Prime and their desire to enjoy time with their newfound playmates.

"Why'd you stop?" the black sparkling demanded, turning to stare at Jetstorm. "We were having fun!"

"Sentinel is saying we need to stop," Jetstorm replied, as if the answer were blindingly obvious.

"Who cares what the grumpy guy says?" the pink-and-white sparkling clinging to Jetfire's left leg insisted. "Keep playing!"

Jetfire laughed and patted her helm. "I am liking this one's answer! Brother, are you still being it?"

"I am!" Jetstorm replied, grinning brightly. "You better be running, brother!"

Jetfire squealed in mock terror and shuffled off as fast as the sparklings clutching his legs would allow. Jetstorm took off again, and more laughter and shouting filled the yard.

Sentinel growled. "I thought I told you lugnuts to-"

"Oh, let them have their fun," Digger told him, handing him another data chip. "The kids enjoy seeing a fresh face or two. And just because you get upgraded to adult form doesn't mean you can't indulge in a little play now and again."

"We came here to search for records, not goof off," he muttered. "And those two are supposed to be on lookout duty while I work, not distracting me."

"You know, we DO have an office you can borrow," the brown-and-green femme noted with a chuckle. "You can take your work in there and not be distracted. Though you always were happiest when you had something to complain about, weren't you?"

Sentinel rolled his optics and plugged the data chip in, scrolling through yet another folder of spark readouts. He was already thoroughly sick of combing through these files, scrutinizing spark-scans and comparing them to Megatron's. And to think he had twenty more facilities to visit and go through the exact same tedium… and there he wouldn't have the advantage of knowing the mechs in charge, and would probably have to flex his authority to look at the files in question.

Though the twins'll probably enjoy it, he groused, wincing as Jetfire and a pack of sparklings rolled towards his feet in what looked for all the world like a tickle war. For all their training and expertise, they're just overgrown kids themselves. They'd love the chance to wrangle twenty more packs of the little brats. Maybe next time I WILL hole myself up in an office and let them use up their extra energy on the scraplets…

"Okay, okay, I am surrendering now!" Jetfire shouted, throwing his arms up. "I am defeated! Bleh!" His head rolled back, glossa hanging out and optics shuttering as he feigned shutting down.

"You're not REALLY dead!" the pink-and-white femme giggled… a giggle that faded as she poked lightly at the orange flier's chest. "Are you?"

"I am assuring you I am dead," Jetfire replied, not opening his optics. "If I were not being dead, I would be doing THIS!" And he sat up and wriggled his fingers, prompting the sparklings to run away shrieking in all directions.

"Jetfire, I am TRYING to work here!" Sentinel growled.

"And I am being hard at work too!" Jetfire assured him, getting to his feet and brushing dust off his armor. "Hard at work keeping the sparklings from bothering my boss!" He giggled and trotted off.

Sentinel rolled his optics and kept scrolling through the readouts. The sooner he finished scanning all these records, the sooner he could leave this place. Get it over with, say his goodbyes to Digger, and never walk through these doors again.

It wasn't just the twins and their sparkling playmates that were getting on his tactical sensors - being here dredged up too many memories. Not all of them were bad memories, to be honest - he remembered his friendships among the other sparklings fondly, and it had been a far better life than scraping for survival on the streets or ending up in the hands of slavers. But he still hated thinking too much about his lowly origins… or the horrific events that had landed him in Digger's care in the first place.

When he'd first arrived at the foundling home, a tiny blue sparkling still bearing the dents and scuffs of the Tyger Pax raid that had killed his creators, he'd been so traumatized by the disaster that he hadn't spoken for over a quatrex. He'd spent the first decacycle or so curled up in a corner, refusing to move or speak. Not even hunger had budged him, and he might have shut down entirely from energon deprivation had Digger not intervened.

Digger had been incredibly patient with all the sparklings in her care, and she had been gentle with him despite his refusal to cooperate. She had coaxed him to take a little fuel now and again, and taken the time to speak softly to him and assure him he was somewhere safe. It was okay to miss his parents, even okay to feel scared and lost, but she hoped he would feel secure here.

He even owed his name to her, oddly enough. His willful muteness had included refusing to answer any questions, even a request for his name, so Digger had eventually come to calling him Sentinel. "Because when you finally came out of your corner you would watch the rest of the sparklings at play so solemnly, like a little guard," she had explained. "Like a sentinel."

It had been Digger's gentle coaxing that had finally pried him out of his corner… but it had been Optimus who had finally urged him to break his silence. The red-and-silver sparkling had approached him in the play yard and invited him to join him and another sparkling - Elita-1 - in their play. And while Sentinel had been wary of this friendly, talkative mech at first, he'd quickly warmed up to him… enough to finally smile and even laugh, and to seek him out in the play yard whenever they had a break from their lessons.

From there, a strong friendship had been forged. Once Sentinel overcame his shyness and started speaking again he assumed his place as commander of their little group, leading them in play-yard games and midnight raids on Digger's snack stashes, and other escapades. Optimus had settled in as a sort of second-in-command and voice of reason, trying to temper some of Sentinel's wilder schemes, while Elita-1 alternated between playing peacekeeper between them and just standing back and watching them bicker with amusement.

Those were simple days, he mused. We were so ignorant of how the world outside the foundling home worked - we thought friendships lasted forever, that we would go on to become heroes of Cybertron, that we were a trio of shooting stars and nothing would stop us. How naive we were… but then, we were happy, too. If only…

Sentinel realized he'd been smiling wistfully, and he shook his head with a scowl before returning to his computer. Enough steel-wool-gathering. Elita-1 was dead - he refused to think of that Blackarachnia abomination as her - and his and Optimus' friendship was broken beyond repair at this point. Those days were far in the past, and there was no use dragging them out and moping over them.

He opened another folder and began swiping through the spark scans… and froze. There it was. The fifth scan in this particular folder bore a distinctive pattern in its energy waves, one that looked all too familiar. And pulling up the copy of Megatron's spark scan confirmed it - this was a match. Not an exact match, but so incredibly close that it couldn't be mere coincidence.

I can't have found them already, Sentinel thought, even as his own spark fluttered with excitement. This is too easy, it's got to be a fluke… but no, the fluctuations of energy are too distinctive. Everything matches up. This spark definitely came from Megatron's life force.

Sentinel let out a whoop and threw both fists into the air… and Jetstorm, Jetfire, and the sparklings whooped along with him, having no idea what he was so happy about but celebrating on his behalf anyhow. Sentinel glared and lowered his hands, but his irritation was quickly snuffed by the glow of triumph in his spark. This was a victory, and he'd be fragged if he was going to let a bunch of fresh-faced kids dampen his joy.

He clicked on the spark readout again, checking for pertinent information. He'd need a name, or at least a date. Something he could use to track this mech or femme down…

His smile vanished, and his spark chilled from triumphant fire to cold dread in an instant. There was a name, all right… the last name he'd expected to see attached to this spark readout. Digits shaking, he closed the file, then reopened it to be sure. There it was - the spark readout, so closely matching Megatron's, and the name emblazoned across its records clear as day.

It can't be. There's got to be a mistake. Someone glitched and put the wrong name on this readout, or stuck it on as a prank. Even as that thought popped into his CPU, however, he dismissed it. Digger was meticulous in keeping her records, and even her rowdiest sparklings knew better than to dig around in her office or mess with her files.

The computer unit started to slide out of his lap, and he scrambled to catch it before it could hit the ground, CPU still whirling in shock. His first instinct was to delete this information and pretend he'd never seen it in the first place. The Council would never believe him, and he had no desire to make himself a laughingstock again.

That's not the only reason, a quiet voice in the back of his processor insisted. As much as you want to deny it, you don't want anything bad to happen to him. He's still...

He snapped the computer unit shut, shoving that voice down before it could say more. "Jetstorm, Jetfire, we're done here! Let's go!"

"Awwwww!" Jetfire had gripped a sparkling by her arms and was spinning her giddily about, warrior and femme shrieking in delight, but he whined and set her down. "But we are having fun!"

"Your job is to follow orders, not goof around!" Sentinel snapped. "Let's go!"

Jetstorm and Jetfire both pouted, but they were accustomed to following orders by now and hurried after Sentinel as he stormed for the exit. Digger moved to intercept them, hands out for what he assumed was a goodbye hug, but he sidestepped around her and hurried out, transforming and screeching away as soon as he hit the street.

As much power as he poured into his engine, though, he couldn't outrun the truth. The name he'd seen on that spark record was still emblazoned in his CPU.

Optimus. His old friend, the academy dropout turned space bridge worker, current hero of Cybertron… Optimus Prime was the son of Megatron.

Chapter Text

CLANG

Megatron roused, blinking his optic shutters in an effort to focus his vision. Pain and lack of energy made what should have been a basic function a task of herculean effort - he barely had the strength to raise his head, let alone focus his attention on what was going on. He hadn't refueled properly since his capture, and his captors seemed to take a perverse delight in denying him rations. Part of a long-term plan to keep him too weak to plot an escape, or just the Autobots' way of exacting revenge for his crimes?

His vision cleared in time to give him a glimpse of a bronze-armored form being dragged past his cell. The mech's hands were cuffed before him, and wide violet optics gleamed with panic over the vocalizer lock that had been fastened over his mouth. His gaze met Megatron's for a brief moment, and a brief flash of shock - and disappointment - crossed what was visible of his faceplate before he was hauled out of sight.

Swindle… so he finally found a situation he couldn't bribe or smooth-talk his way out of. At this rate, all his remaining Decepticons were going to be hunted down and locked away. So much for his glorious revolution.

A wave of dizziness swept through him, and his head tipped forward, helm resting against the transparent cell door as he tried to recover. This wasn't how he had wanted it to end. If he had to be offlined, he'd wanted it to be in battle, for the cause or defending his throne. Not wasting away, starving in the bowels of a prison, utterly forgotten by all.

A face materialized in his CPU… a face that had been haunting him repeatedly since his capture. His son… the mech he should have protected with his very spark… the one mech who would have ensured he was never forgotten, had he survived to adulthood…

Blaster fire searing through his shoulder, sending a blaze of pain down his arm… roaring his rage as he whipped around to fire at his attacker… the pirates swarming his ship, heedless of their own losses as they sought to capture the ultimate prize… Megatron himself…

He fought like a wild mechanimal, emptying the energy clip of his arm cannon into the mob, then drawing his sword once the clip had been drained. Energon and oil arced through the air in glittering spirals as his blade met alloy, slicing his attackers apart. For every one he felled, two more seemed to take their place, but he refused to back down…

"Zere are too many of them, Herr Megatron!" Blitzwing shouted, firing his ice cannons to form a temporary but welcome barrier between them and the horde.

"Take the sparkling and get him to an escape pod!" Megatron ordered. "NOW!"

"Ja, Herr Megatron!" Blitzwing saluted and turned to go… only to be struck in the chest and sent flying into the wall. The ice wall shattered, and the pirates surged forward…

A high-pitched scream cut through the sound of raging battle, and Megatron's spark clenched in horror as two pirates fled the bridge, one of them carrying a tiny form…

"NO!" He grabbed the pirate directly in front of him and tore his cranial unit from his shoulders, then flung the chassis into the mob as a distraction. He surged through the stunned pirates, the few who dared remain in his path being slashed brutally aside by his sword. They might take his ship or his troops or even his life… but he would NOT let them take his son!

"Creator!" The sparklings cry rang through the corridors of the ship as his captors fled. "Creatorrrrrrrr!"

"I'm coming!" Megatron roared, pouring as much energy as he could into his leg servos. "Hold on!"

He burst into the hangar an instant too late - a blast of thrusters shoved him back, and he could only watch as the shuttle tore out of the bay doors and vanished into the stars.

His roar of anguish seemed to shake the entire ship, an unholy scream of grief and horror and rage. Only later would he dimly recall laying waste to the pirates that had invaded his ship, leaving the halls spattered in their fluids. In that moment, only the pain of having the one thing he valued above his own life ripped away from him…

Someone - Lugnut from the intensity of the blow - slammed into the wall of their cell, jolting Megatron out of his thoughts. He shuddered and forced himself to stay in the present, to not sink into the memories again. Which was worse - being trapped in an agonizing present, or sinking into painful memories? At the moment, he wasn't sure.

I swore I would find you, little one, he thought, his vision going hazy again. I failed you… I hope, wherever your spark is now, you can forgive me for my failure...

Once Starscream had schemed to rule not just the Decepticons, but all of Cybertronian-kind. His lofty aspirations and plots against Megatron had created no small amount of headaches for both the Decepticons and the Autobots, and had not only resulted in him unleashing his clones on both factions but gaining an immortality of sorts thanks to a fragment of the Allspark. He had been one of the most formidable and dangerous Decepticons, slippery and cunning, a warrior that seemingly nothing could defeat for good.

Evidently even the former Air Commander's wings could be clipped. And even immortality was a gift that could be ripped away without warning.

Wreck-Gar's usual bouncy step evened out to a more steady walk as he approached the makeshift bier, clutching a bunch of flowering trees in his hands. He'd been whistling a cheery tune as he picked his way through the heaps of junk and detritus that made up his home, but the whistling mellowed out to something more somber the closer he got. By the time he reached the bier, where the winged chassis lay in state, he had gone entirely silent.

Starscream had gone gray with death, optics dark, a ragged tear in his forehead marking where the Allspark fragment had been ripped away by Prowl and Jazz's efforts to reassemble the fragments. He lay on the slab of crushed cars that made up his resting place, hands folded over his chest, the grime and dirt carefully cleaned from his plating. Small tokens scavenged from the landfill - ragged stuffed animals, cracked mirrors, chipped statues, scraps of metal twisted into ornate shapes - ringed the base of the bier, and the wilted remains of flowers drooped about the chassis itself. Perhaps it was a cheap mockery of a proper funeral service, but it was the best the junkyard mech knew how to do, and that was what counted.

Wreck-Gar carefully cleared away the old flowers, then arranged the blooming cherry trees in their place. Had he known just how he had been given life in the first place, perhaps he might have understood just how lucky he'd been to avoid a similar fate. As it was, finding the chassis during his wanderings of Detroit, collecting any interesting junk and rubble that had been left behind in the wake of the battle, had given him a queer pang in his internals. He'd seldom encountered death in his short life, and faced with the demise of a fellow sentient machine bothered him on a level he couldn't quite identify.

Despite not having the least clue who this mech was, however, he was determined to do right by him. And if that meant converting a corner of the landfill he called home into a memorial site, then so be it.

When the flowers had been arranged this liking, Wreck-Gar took a step back and pulled a harmonica from his pack. Holding the instrument delicately between his thumb and forefinger, he played through a rough rendition of "Taps" before speaking.

"Ladies, gentlemen, pigeons, seagulls, rats, raccoons, and vagrants digging for recyclables - y'all know who you are - we are gathered here today to pay our respects to What's-His-Face, the Lord of the Chins, He Who Kinda Looks Like an Airplane If You Squint Right. We honor the memories we have of… um, dragging him down the streets of Detroit, and… uh, chasing stray cats out of his cockpit, I guess. We don't know who you were, O Winged One, but you must have been someone legendary, and for that we salute you!"

Wreck-Gar gave a solemn salute. The various creatures that called the dump home continued to peck and paw for scraps, ignoring the ceremony.

"And to show our gratitude towards you for… uh, existing and giving us something to do here besides count flies, we present you with this token! Accept it with our thanks."

And Wreck-Gar opened a panel on his chest and rummaged around until he pulled out a glittering shard. He had found the gleaming object in his chest one day while trying to chase a stubborn opposum out of his internals, and tugging on it had left him feeling lightheaded enough that he hadn't tried to remove it since. But he'd been able to pry off a sliver of it… and somehow, bestowing such a shiny, beautiful object upon his fallen comrade felt like a fitting tribute.

He set the shard down on Starscream's forehead, right in a small niche that seemed perfectly suited to hold such a fragment, then saluted one more time before walking off.

He never witnessed what came next. The shard glittered in the sunlight… then shone with a blazing brilliance before sinking into the metal. The dull alloy began to shift, brightening to silver and maroon - faded, but still a far cry from the deathly gray of before. A soft hum emanated from his internals, like the thrum of a computer booting itself up.

Starscream's optics flickered as his systems slowly fought their way back online… then blazed with crimson light.

What… what just happened? Where am I? What… He scrambled to recall just what had happened. The last thing he remembered was flying over Detroit, and something yanking the Allspark fragment from his head…

I was dead… again. But not anymore. To another mech, realizing that they had been resurrected from the Well of All Sparks might have sent them straight into a breakdown. But Starscream had been offlined so many times and returned without anything worse than a few dents and stung pride that such an event was just another lousy day of the decacycle.

Well now… I'm back. And this time… I'm here to stay.

He allowed himself a smile as his systems continued to power up… and growled in frustration as they stalled. A quick check of his damage readout made him wince - his fuel tanks were nearly dry, and months spent in a junkyard with animals crawling through his internals and dirt and moisture settling into his joints and components had wreaked extensive damage. He had managed to cheat death once again… but without the energy to bring himself fully online and with his chassis and circuits riddled with exposure damage, he was immobile, almost worse than dead.

Ugh… why does the universe HATE me? Why can't Megatron suffer a setback like this every once in awhile? But no, that mech has probably destroyed that wretched human city and returned to Cybertron already, remaking it in his own image. Whereas I'm reduced to rusting for eternity in this scrapheap… wherever this scrapheap happens to be...

Any further grousing was cut short as his CPU, in an effort to conserve energy, threw him into emergency stasis. Its last action before falling into hibernation itself was to fire off an SOS, calling for help. But not a general-broadcast message - this one was coded to reach anyone who shared spark programming with the fallen Seeker, be it creators or co-creations or offspring.

In the newly constructed brig of the Detroit Autobot Base and in the high-security detention level in Kalis, five cloned Seekers began to shift restlessly against their bonds, throwing themselves against the walls of their cells. None of them could quite put their digits on what was making them so restless, but they felt the urge to break free and fly far, fly fast, towards a destination none of them were quite certain of but that they knew they needed to reach soon.

In Iacon, two other mechs felt the call. And unlike Starscream's clones, they weren't confined by walls and cuffs…

"Sentinel Prime, sir!"

Sentinel was in his office, gazing out the window at the Iacon skyline, when that voice jarred him out of his thoughts. A scowl overtook the troubled expression on his faceplate, and he turned to glare at the speaker hovering in the doorway.

"I thought I told you two numb-units to not disturb me!"

Jetstorm cringed at the rebuke, but Jetfire seemed unperturbed. The orange flier stepped into the office, disregarding his superior officer's glower.

"Sentinel Prime, sir, my brother and I are receiving a distress call."

"Then go answer it," Sentinel snapped.

"But sir," Jetstorm put in, raising a questioning finger. "We are not knowing who is giving the call."

Sentinel gusted a sigh. Did he have to do ALL the thinking for these tin-foil-brained rookies? "Where's it originating from?"

"From Earth, Sentinel Prime sir."

Probably Jazz or one of Rodimus Prime's crew, Sentinel thought - there was no way in Pit any of Optimus' crew would be hailing anyone on Cybertron, especially one of Sentinel's team. "Answer it, then."

"Are you being sure-" began Jetfire.

"Did I stutter?!" Sentinel snapped. "Go already!"

"Yessir!" The twins saluted and darted off.

Sentinel growled softly and turned back to the window to brood. As much as he enjoyed the twins' unswerving loyalty and admiration, they got on his sensory nodes all too often. And at the moment, their presence was just a distraction. If they wanted to respond to this mysterious signal, let them. They were big bots and could take care of themselves.

He paced his office, tapping his chin with one hand, occasionally shooting glances at the computer screen as he passed it. The image of Optimus Prime's spark scan, its wavelengths so closely matching Megatron's, still lurked there, plain as day. It almost seemed to taunt him every time he walked by, mocking him for his cowardice.

I'm not a coward! he thought fiercely. I'm going to report this to Ultra Magnus and the Council. I just need a moment to process what I've found…

Coward, the image seemed to sneer in his head. Coward… you don't have the bolts… you don't dare…

I do dare! Just watch me! But every time he opened his comm link to make the call or took a step towards the door to report in person, he froze. Somehow, despite every sensible thought screaming for him to alert a higher authority that the Autobot forces had a Decepticon spawnling in their midst, he was hesitant to do so.

Optimus… He didn't like the mech, and their friendship had soured vorns ago after that fateful encounter that had cost Elita-1 her life. But he still remembered the mech's easy smile, his caring nature, his complete lack of ego, his awkwardness that somehow made him endearing and even cute at times. Sure, he might be a pain in the aft and a bit too snarky at times, but when he fought, he fought with all his spark and strength, always willing to put his own spark on the line in defense of others.

In short, he was the last mech Sentinel would ever have pegged as the offspring of the most notorious criminal in Cybertron's history. And the very thought of reporting to the Council that the hero of Cybertron was Megatron's creation made him balk.

It's not because you still care about him, he decided. It can't be that. He hates you, and you hate him back, right? No, it's because if you break it to them that their precious hero is the son of a dangerous criminal, YOU'LL be the bad guy for it. Your name's already slag with them, why make it worse?

Keep telling yourself that, a voice nagged in the back of his processor. He squashed it ruthlessly and kept pacing. Slaggit, he'd never been this conflicted about a mission before… but then, he'd never had a mission that entailed betraying a former friend.

He'd just made for the door a seventh time when his comm unit pinged. He vented out air in a half-sigh, half-snarl as he took the call. If this was the twins pestering him to come with them on their half-baked mission…

"This had better be good," he growled out, hoping his tone got across that he didn't want to be trifled with.

As respectful of authority as ever, I see, Sentinel.

Sentinel squeaked, and only intense self-discipline kept him from voiding his oil tanks on the spot in sheer panic. "U-Ultra Magnus, sir! M-m-my most profound apologies…"

Apologies are not necessary, Sentinel Prime. It seems I owe you thanks for holding the Magnus seat during my absence… as well as undertaking a mission on behalf of the Council.

Sentinel made to sit down… only to miss his chair and land on his aft on the floor. He barely registered the shock of the impact. "Y-yes sir."

I never imagined we would be seeking out the progeny of Megatron… but we live in a strange galaxy, don't we?

"Yes, sir."

Do you have an update on your mission?

He gulped and scrambled to his feet. "Yes, sir."

Then give it. And I do hope it's more illuminating than a simple "yes, sir."

"Yes, sir- I mean…" He hesitated a moment, grappling with himself, his long-entrenched habit of following all orders to the letter at war with his horror at betraying the hero of Cybertron. He couldn't… but he had to… but surely an old friendship still meant something… but was an old friendship worth offending his superiors...

...well? We're waiting, Sentinel.

Had Ultra Magnus stayed silent, Sentinel just might have ended the call then and there. But the Magnus' voice reminded him that he had been given orders… and defying orders came with terrible consequences. He would obey - there was no alternative.

"I'm sending you the pertinent files as we speak," he replied, and went to his computer and punched the Send command. The image of the side-by-side comparisons of Optimus Prime and Megatron's sparks folded in on itself as the file was compressed, then shot off through Cybertron's holonet to reach the Magnus.

Files received. Give me a moment to open this… no. It can't be...

Sentinel forced himself to sit down, this time in his chair. It was done. He'd accomplished what the Council had sent him to do. But why did success feel so much like failure at the moment?

"Hah!" Hot Shot hooted, tossing the controller to the floor and standing up to do a hip-swinging victory dance. "Third race in a row! Who's the champ? I'm the champ!"

"That wasn't fair!" Bumblebee retorted. "It's bad form to use your power-ups when you're already that far ahead! I demand a rematch!"

"Hey, if I wasn't supposed to use power-ups, the game shouldn't have given me any," Hot Shot replied with a grin. "But I'll take ya up on that rematch anyhow."

Bumblebee's scowl morphed into a grin, and he picked up the controller and handed it back. "I'll beat your skidplate clear to Cybertron this time, Hot Pants."

"That's what you said the last three races, but my skidplate's still firmly attached."

"Well, get ready to kiss it goodbye." Bumblebee started up the next race, and the two young bots hunched over their controllers in concentration.

"Fraggin' turbo-revvin' young punks and their video games," Ratchet grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. "I'll never understand this younger generation."

"Neither will I," Red Alert confessed. "But at least Hot Shot hasn't set the couch on fire again, so it's not as bad as it could be."

It was the Autobots' first evening in their newly completed base, and they were enjoying a night to relax and unwind after weeks of overseeing construction, rounding up rogue mechs and Decepticons, and scouring Detroit for stray Allspark fragments. The younger mechs had commandeered the viewscreen for video games, while Prowl and Jazz flipped through the former's collection of holo-photos of the natural scenery outside of the city. Ironhide showed Brawn and Bulkhead how to mix fuel blends "to put Maccadam's Oilhouse to shame." Ratchet and Red Alert alternated between sharing gossip about their various patients over the years and critiquing Ironhide's attempts and mixing drinks, and Rodimus had crouched down to talk to Professor Sumdac, fascinated by this planet's organic natives and the stories the inventor had to share.

Optimus Prime, for his part, mostly hung back and watched, drinking from his own cup of a simple blend Ratchet had fixed for him personally. It was good to not only have their own team back together, but to find comrades they got along with nicely. His crew had been on Earth long enough that he worried they'd forgotten how to get along with fellow Cybertronians, but unless Team Athenia's time spent in space had left them a little off-kilter in the CPU as well, apparently they hadn't entirely lost the knack.

His gaze rested on Prowl, and he smiled as the mech pointed out a photo of a beaver dam he'd discovered during one of his forest excursions. This wasn't just a night to relax and hang out with Rodimus' team - it was a welcome-home party for Prowl, who had finally been cleared to leave the medical facility on Cybertron and rejoin them on Earth. Pharma and the other medics were still scratching their heads over just how the cyber-ninja had managed to survive his heroic sacrifice, but Optimus didn't question it too much. He was just glad to have his old friend back.

His gaze drifted to the barrel that served him as a makeshift fuel glass, and he idly swirled the contents. He should be happy, he knew - their team was complete again, and they'd made great strides in their mission on this planet. All was well… so why did he feel so unsettled? Why couldn't he just relax and an enjoy an evening off in the company of friends and comrades?

The memories, he decided. They'd been coming back more frequently, rising to the surface of his CPU to surprise him at the most inopportune times. Strange… he hadn't dwelled on them in vorns, not since coming to Earth and getting pulled into the first actual battle of his life…

Gunfire and screams of pain filled his young audials, and he hunched down behind an offline mech and clapped his hands to the sides of his helm. His whimpers of terror were drowned out by the pitched battle raging around him, and he barely heard his father's voice over the bedlam.

"Take the sparkling and get him to an escape pod! Now!"

Hands snatched him, and for a moment he felt a rush of relief… but the mech who had grabbed him was not one of his father's soldiers. It was a stranger, a patch over one optic and a cruel light gleaming in the other. A scream of horror ripped from his vocalizer as the mech flung him over one shoulder and ran, leaving his father and the fighting far behind…

"OPTIMUS!"

"Huh?" Optimus shook his head. "What… sorry, I missed what you said, Ironhide. Can you repeat it?"

"I asked are we ever gonna do anything about them Dinobots?" the red mech repeated. "Just leavin' 'em to tromp 'round on that island don't sit well with me."

"Our policy towards the Dinobots will be the same as our policy towards Wreck-Gar," Optimus replied. "Unless they're a direct danger towards humans or Autobots, we leave them be. And since they seem content to stay on their island and defend it themselves, we won't interfere."

"I have a feeling we may regret that, Prime sir," Prowl noted, looking up from his holoprojector. "The Dinobots aren't the most reasonable individuals."

"All the same… we'll leave them be for now," Optimus told him. "If they show signs of aggression towards humans, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But honestly, I don't think it will come to that."

Prowl nodded. "I hope you're right. After everything we've been through on this planet, it will be a relief to finally have a period of extended peace and quiet here."

"Don't start THAT, kid!" Ratchet snapped. "That's just invitin' trouble!"

"Don't tell me you're superstitious, Ratchet!" Bumblebee piped up, looking away from his game for a moment - a moment that earned a squeal of outrage as Hot Shot took advantage of his distraction to nudge his racer ahead and win the match.

"C'mon, it's practically a scientific principle," Ratchet retorted. "The surest way to make sure somethin' terrible happens is to make a remark along the lines of 'wow, it's real quiet here, ain't it?'"

"I didn't say anything remotely close to that," Prowl insisted.

"C'mon, everyone, let's not argue," Bulkhead insisted. "We're supposed to be having fun, right?"

"The big guy's right," Ironhide replied. "Let's focus on the happy, a'right?"

"Indeed." Optimus raised his glass. "To good friends, old and new! And to a world finally safe from the Decepticons… and the return of a friend we'd thought lost. It's good to have you back, Prowl."

Prowl gave a slight smile. "It's good to be back-"

The rest of Prowl's sentence was drowned out by the chime of Prime's comm unit, and he touched the side of his helm. Optimus Prime reporting.

Optimus, this is Ultra Magnus. Report to Iacon immediately.

Optimus frowned. There was something he didn't like about the Magnus' tone - he always sounded stern and commanding, but his voice over the comm was clipped, almost hostile. Had something happened back home? Had one of the Decepticons escaped prison, or had some Decepticon sympathizer attacked the Magnus or the Council?

I'm on my way, he replied. Give me just a few moments to round up my team-

Come alone, Magnus replied sharply. That's an order.

Sir-

That is an order. One more word and I'll send an armed guard to escort you here.

THAT sent a chill through Optimus' core. The last time he'd heard that much ice in Ultra Magnus' voice, he was being expelled from the Academy. What had he done? Was he to be punished for using the Magnus' hammer without his permission? Or had Sentinel decided to scrape together some spurious charge to discredit him? That, sadly, made some amount of sense, though Optimus wanted to believe his old friend was above that kind of behavior.

He shook his head, trying to clear way the fears cluttering his processor. Just standing here freaking out over it wasn't going to solve anything. The best he could do was go to Cybertron, figure out what was going on himself, and acquit himself as best as he could. The Magnus was a reasonable mech… surely he would understand that Optimus had needed every weapon possible to stand up to Megatron, right?

Understood, sir. Powering up the space bridge, ETA five minutes. He cut the connection. "I hate to leave the party early, everyone, but Ultra Magnus wants me back on Cybertron."

"Say what?" Rodimus asked, frowning. "I didn't get a call."

"Want us to go with you, boss-bot?" asked Bumblebee.

Optimus shook his head. "They just want me. Don't stop the party on my account. Ratchet, come with me. I'll need you to power up the space bridge."

Ratchet scowled. "Something seems fishy about this, Optimus. Sure you don't want of us with you? At least take Prowl or Rodimus with you."

"Hey, what am I, shredded tin foil?" demanded Bumblebee.

"I'm meeting with Ultra Magnus, not trying to broker a truce with Decepticons," Optimus assured the medic. "All the same… if I'm not back in an hour, send someone after me. Just to be safe."

Ratchet's scowl didn't fade one iota, but he nodded. "Sumdac, come with us. Need you to let us in that fragged tower so we can reach the space bridge."

Isaac nodded, and he said a quick goodbye to Rodimus and followed the two mechs out.

Chapter Text

They arrested him as soon as he stepped through the space bridge.

Optimus Prime had barely had time to adjust to his pedes being on solid ground again when hands grabbed his arms. Before he could gather his wits enough to fight back, the guards waiting on the other side of the bridge had slapped stasis cuffs on his wrists. Energy jolted painfully through his entire sensory network, locking every joint from his neck down.

"What-" he blurted, his CPU scrambling to figure out just what was going on.

"Optimus Prime," a green-armored guard barked, scowling at him as his comrades hauled the immobilized mech forward. "By the order of Ultra Magnus I hereby place you under arrest."

"Under… what's going on?" Optimus demanded, unable to comprehend what he'd just been told. "What charges-"

"You have the right to remain silent," the guard snapped, shoving a gun in his faceplate. "In fact, you're strongly urged to remain silent. We have been authorized to use lethal force if necessary."

"Lethal..." he repeated, far more shocked and baffled than actually frightened for his life. What was going on? What had he done - or what did they believe he had done - to warrant this treatment? Was this Sentinel's doing? He knew his fellow Prime could and did hold grudges for a long time, but to be THIS underhanded…

"What's going on?" he demanded. "What am I being charged with?"

The guard on his right rammed the butt of his rifle against his side, and he doubled over, agony coursing through him. His fans stuttered at the blow, and his air intakes coughed and choked as he struggled to get his cooling system back online.

"What part of 'remain silent' don't you understand?!"

"What in tarnation is goin' on here?!" Ratchet growled, stepping out of the space bridge and staring at the scene before him - his superior officer in cuffs and crumpled to the ground in pain, surrounded by guards with weapons drawn.

"This doesn't concern you, medic," the guard informed him. "Return to your post. Ultra Magnus specifically asked Optimus to come to Cybertron alone."

"If someone told YOU to come meet 'em and to come alone, would you listen?" Ratchet retorted, then bulled ahead before the mech could answer. "What the frag is going on here? Do you have any idea who you're arresting?"

"Of course we do," the green mech retorted. "A criminal in the making."

"Criminal? Has your processor been scrambled, you lemon? This is Optimus Prime! He took down Megatron almost single-handedly! How is THAT a criminal in the making?"

"Look, if you have an issue with it, take it up with Ultra Magnus," the green mech retorted. "We're just following orders, and our orders are to apprehend Optimus Prime at all costs and bring him before the Magnus and the Council. And to use whatever force necessary to do it."

Ratchet spluttered, then stormed forward, the prongs of his electromagnets sliding out of his arms. "I'll give you FORCE, you half-cocked turbo-revvin'-"

"Ratchet, stand down!" Optimus ordered… then grunted as another rifle butt drove into his side.

"You're in no position to give orders, scraplet," his captor growled. "But yes, stand down, medic. We're just doing our jobs."

"And I'm just doing MY job of looking after my commanding officer," Ratchet replied. "And until someone says otherwise, that's Optimus Prime! So I think I'll be accompanying you and havin' a few words with Ultra Magnus myself!"

"Fine by us," the guard replied with a shrug. "The Magnus probably wants witnesses to whatever his crimes are anyhow. Get him loaded up, troops."

Optimus wanted to protest, to say something to defend himself, but he could only stare in mute astonishment as the guards loaded him onto a hoversled and pushed him away like baggage. He felt locked out of his own chassis, as if looking down on himself from above. This was a nightmare, a horrible nightmare and nothing more… or perhaps some dark suppressed memory, and he'd snap out of it in a moment and be among his team again, enjoying a drink and listening to the others bicker and laugh…

He swallowed back the fear brewing in his tanks, and did his best to school his features into a neutral expression as his captors carried him into the heart of Iacon's Council Tower. Stay calm… that was all he could do at this point. Keep his cranial unit steady until he had a chance to hear the accusations against him and speak in his own defense. They could clear up this misunderstanding as soon as he saw the Magnus, and he'd be free to return to his team on Earth… right?

If Optimus had expected to find a sympathetic audial in Ultra Magnus, he was sorely mistaken. The expression of angry disdain on the Autobot commander's face made the bottom drop out of his fuel tanks as he was hauled upright and made to face the Council. The Council members glared just as coldly at him - even the normally-stoic Perceptor regarded him as if he were a rust mite under a microscope.

Optimus wasn't surprised to see Sentinel Prime standing at the Magnus' side - what surprised him was the look of absolute shock on Sentinel's face. Had he not played a role in this after all? Or was he just surprised that whatever stunt he'd managed to pull to land his rival in cuffs had actually worked?

"You're a clever one, Optimus," Ultra Magnus noted, his voice colder than liquid nitrogen. "Somehow you managed to keep this hidden from us for vorns. I can almost admire that level of cunning."

A shiver ran down the back of Optimus' neck, and would have continued down his spinal strut had the stasis cuffs not been immobilizing him almost completely. "With all due respect, Magnus sir, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play stupid with us," Cliffjumper barked, rising from his seat and pointing an accusing finger at the captive Prime. "You know exactly what we're talking about!"

"But I don't!" Optimus insisted. "Please, tell me what I'm being accused of!"

Magnus narrowed his unpatched optic. "You're good, Optimus. A good actor to convince us all that you really were a naive but noble young mech who just happened to capture the most notorious Decepticon commander of all time. You must have been planning this for a long time, to fool us all for so long."

"I haven't been fooling anyone!" Optimus shouted. Why wouldn't they just tell him what was going on? Just what had Sentinel told Magnus to turn him against him so suddenly?

"Ultra Magnus," Alpha Trion cut in. "I recommend that we not delay laying the charges against Optimus any longer. Some may appreciate the dramatic effect, but it's only wasting the Council's time at this point."

Magnus nodded. "Optimus Prime, you are hereby charged with withholding the truth regarding your parental programming from Autobot High Command."

Optimus blinked his optic shutters, dumbfounded. THIS was what all the fuss was about? Him supposedly withholding information that he didn't even have? Was this the best Sentinel could come up with to disgrace him? He might have laughed had the Magnus' expression not been so cold and hateful.

"I have no idea who my creators even are," he protested. "I was a foundling who grew up in an orphanage in Iacon. No one ever stepped forward to claim me."

"Small wonder, given who spawned your spark," Cliffjumper muttered.

His optic ridges bunched in a frown. "What do you mean?"

"Sentinel Prime uncovered the origin of the subject's spark energy," Perceptor replied, "and notified the Council. Additional scans will be necessary for a final confirmation, but the subject's creator has been identified. Certainty determined to be at 98.765 percent, with an error margin of 0.005 percent."

Optimus blinked. "You know, then? You know who my creator is? Who? And… and how?"

"Ah," Alpha Trion murmured, and some of the anger left his optics. "He doesn't know. This changes things."

"This changes nothing," Ultra Magnus replied. "Whether he willfully hid his heritage from us or he simply didn't know, it doesn't change the fact that our so-called Hero of Cybertron is the son of Megatron."

It was as if the Magnus had driven his hammer directly into Optimus' abdominal plates. His fans stalled entirely, and his CPU ground to a sudden halt. Had the stasis cuffs not immobilized him, he might have sank to the floor in shock. It couldn't be… this had to be a trick…

"Our archivists discovered evidence that Megatron had stolen a protoform and sparked offspring," Alpha Trion explained. "Sentinel Prime was able to obtain your spark readings and compare them to Megatron's. The readings are a match… meaning that you, Optimus, are the creation of Megatron, the leader of the Decepticons."

No… no, it can't be, he thought, staring at the Magnus and Council members in utter shock. This is a trick! This is something Sentinel has come up with to stir up controversy! They can't honestly believe this! His mouth hung open as he struggled to voice his thoughts, but he couldn't get the words out.

Ratchet, apparently, decided to voice them for him. "This is a load of hot slag and you all know it!" he roared, storming forward.

"I thought I ordered you to come alone, Optimus," said Magnus, narrowing his optics. "Under ordinary circumstances I'd have you disciplined for defying my orders, but these are hardly normal circumstances-"

"Are you seriously trusting this mech?!" Ratchet demanded, thrusting a finger in Sentinel's direction. "You know he's had it in for Optimus for centuries! He probably fabricated his evidence just to discredit Optimus and get him in trouble!"

A scowl overtook Sentinel's troubled expression. "I would NEVER give false information to the Council! Unlike some mechs I could mention!"

"Ratchet, we have already confirmed Sentinel Prime's findings for ourselves," Alpha Trion explained. "We retrieved scans from the original sources - Megatron's from the scan taken upon his incarceration, Optimus' from the foundling home where he was raised. Our findings confirmed what Sentinel Prime told us. Optimus is indeed the son of Megatron."

"Where's your proof?!" Ratchet demanded. "All I'm seeing is jaws flapping! Show me some solid proof or-"

Perceptor tapped a button on his console, and a holo materialized before Ratchet and Optimus - a holo displaying two spark readings, the wavelengths and intensity of their energy pulses clearly visible. They weren't an exact match - only spark-twins had identical spark readings - but the energy signatures were too similar to be mere coincidence. And each spark bore a clear label - one Optimus Prime's, one Megatron's.

Shock wiped the scowl from Ratchet's face. "It can't be…"

Optimus tried to shake his head in denial but found he couldn't. This couldn't be happening. This was all a nightmare… surely he would wake up soon… surely he'd come online and find it had all been a trick of his CPU…

"Optimus," Ultra Magnus declared, "it is the decision of this Council that you be stripped of your title as Prime, and released from your duties to your team. It is also the decision of this Council that you be detained until further notice, while we decide the best course of action from this point."

The words were another blow to his fuel tanks. "Ultra Magnus-"

"You haven't been given permission to speak, Decepti-spawn!" Cliffjumper snapped.

"Let him speak," Ultra Magnus countered. "But be careful trusting anything he says. Decepticons are notorious liars."

Optimus flinched at that comment. "I'm not a Decepticon… I'm an Autobot. Always have been, always will be. I had no idea Megatron was my father until you brought me here! Would I have fought and captured him had I known?"

"Probability of that event sequence: high," Perceptor replied. "Subterfuge and treachery are frequent occurrences among Decepticons. The most likely hypothesis is that the subject apprehended Megatron to reduce suspicion among the Autobots, though a secondary hypothesis - that Megatron's capture ensured his elimination as Decepticon Commander in order for the subject to more easily assume the role - exists."

"That's not true!" Optimus insisted. "I didn't know… and even if I did know, there's no way I'd allow Megatron to hurt innocents, Cybertronian OR human. Please… this doesn't change who I am. I'm still Optimus Prime, still loyal to Cybertron and to my team. This doesn't change anything!"

Magnus' icy expression didn't change. The rest of the Council appeared just as unmoved. Sentinel's expression was hard to read, but Optimus thought he looked a little conflicted… unless that was just wishful thinking on his part. Ratchet hadn't spoken since he'd viewed the spark scans, and the look of utter shock on his faceplate devastated Optimus. Had he just lost another friend thanks to this revelation?

"On the contrary, Optimus," Magnus said at last, his voice low and hard. "This changes everything. Guards, take him away."

Optimus wanted to fight back as the guards grabbed his arms and forced him back onto the hoversled, but he could barely do more than twitch his fingers as they hauled him away. ''Please! I'm still loyal to the Autobots! You're making a huge mista-"

A guard slapped a mouthplate over his face, muffling the last of his sentence. Optimus wanted to squirm and fight back as his captors bolted the gagging device into place, but he could only twitch his headfins furiously.

"We'll decide Optimus' fate at Megatron's trial," Magnus announced. "In the meantime…"

Optimus never heard what would be done in the meantime - Ultra Magnus' voice faded away as he was hauled out of the assembly chamber and towards his fate. He caught sight of Ratchet's face briefly… and somehow, the look of horror on the medic's faceplate was worse than Ultra Magnus' accusations.

I didn't want this to happen.

Sentinel thought he'd be delighted to see his old rival hauled off in cuffs, to be brought down a peg or two after basking in the glory of being Cybertron's hero. But as he watched the guards clamp the vocal restraint over his face, he found that he only felt horror at the sight. He'd wanted Optimus to face some kind of consequences, yes - to have his glory tarnished, the pride he most surely felt but masked behind a veneer of humility taken down a notch.

This wasn't how he'd wanted it to go, though. He thought the revelation he'd uncovered would simply mean Optimus Prime was kept under much closer scrutiny, or even demoted from Prime to Major or Minor or even Ensign. He hadn't imagined the mech would be treated like a criminal right away, simply for the crime of being sparked by the wrong mech.

It's for the best, he tried to tell himself. He's linked to Megatron in the worst way. There's no telling WHAT his programming will have him do. He could become violent at a moment's notice, he could be a sleeper agent, he could be plotting to kill Ultra Magnus and take his place as leader of the Autobots AND the Decepticons…

He had a very hard time convincing himself of any of that, however. Optimus had never hesitated to leap into combat if necessary to protect someone, but he wasn't a violent mech. And he had never shown anything but utmost loyalty towards the Autobots, even when disgraced and expelled from the Academy after the loss of Elita-1.

Ratchet seemed to recover from his shock faster than Sentinel, and rounded on the Magnus as soon as he'd gathered his wits again. "This is a joke, right? Let him go!"

"Return to your post, medic," Ultra Magnus ordered. "Tell your team to await your new leader-"

"Like frag I'm going back without Prime!" Ratchet snarled. "I don't care who he shares programming with! He's our leader, and he doesn't deserve this kind of treatment!"

"He's a Decepticon!" Cliffjumper shouted back, rising from his seat. "He has you all fooled! He has you right where he wants you - as his pawns in whatever sick game he's playing with both Earth and Cybertron!"

"The only pawns I see here are you idiots!" Ratchet retorted. "All of you letting yourself be manipulated by a power-grabbing fool! Optimus Prime may be Megatron's son, but he's still twice the hero THAT hunk of scrap will ever be!" He pointed at Sentinel. "And you're all so fragging scared of anything that stinks of Decepticon that you're letting him scare you into being his tools!"

Sentinel scowled, the sting of the medic's accusations dampening his shock for a moment. "This isn't about me, Ratchet! It's about protecting Cybertron from a dangerous mech!"

"The only thing Optimus is dangerous towards is your reputation, Sentinel!" Ratchet shot back. "He's a good mech, no matter where his spark energy came from! Let him GO! Or so help me I'll-"

Sentinel drew his lance, lowering it to aim at the medic. "Is that a threat towards the Magnus, medic?"

"Enough!" Ultra Magnus shouted. "That's enough out of both of you! Stand down, Sentinel Prime. And another word out of YOU, Ratchet, and I'll have you in a cell right next to Optimus!"

The two mechs glowered at one another for a long moment, Ratchet grinding his dental plates and Sentinel's fingers clenching tightly around the handle of his lance. Then Sentinel slowly lowered his weapon, and Ratchet returned his gaze to the Magnus, though it was clearly taking all his self-control to hold his vocalizer.

"Ratchet, you are to return to the Autobot Base on Earth at once," Ultra Magnus ordered. "You will inform your team of the developments here on Cybertron, and await your new team leader. Do not attempt to undermine their leadership, or there will be consequences."

Ratchet gave a short, sharp nod, optics blazing with anger. He didn't verbally acknowledge the Autobot leader at all - if anything, he seemed determined to comply with the order to be silent as maliciously as possible.

"Sentinel Prime, thank you for bringing this matter to our attention," Ultra Magnus told him, his voice thawing a few degrees. "Your diligence has been most appreciated, as has your loyalty to the Autobot cause."

Sentinel Prime nodded, not sure he trusted himself to speak without saying something foolish. Such praise from the Magnus himself was normally very welcome, but today it felt hollow.

"You're both dismissed," Ultra Magnus told him. "And Ratchet?"

The medic had turned to leave, but he halted in his tracks and turned to face the Magnus, still scowling.

"The next time you return to Cybertron, I expect my hammer returned to me."

Ratchet didn't speak, merely raised his hand in a gesture Sentinel didn't recognize before storming out of the assembly chamber. Sentinel could only assume that it was both human and a nonverbal suggestion that the Magnus put his hammer someplace unmentionable.

"Oh dear," Alpha Trion murmured. "Optimus definitely inspired loyalty in his team, it seems."

"Trait he shares with his creator, apparently," Cliffjumper muttered. "What are we going to do with him?"

"We will decide that at a later date," Magnus replied. "For now, this Council is adjourned. Sentinel Prime, you may go."

Sentinel saluted and left the chamber, trying to still the churning in his tanks. He'd done the right thing, hadn't he? He'd completed his mission, identified the son of Megatron and handed over his identity to the Magnus. A potentially dangerous mech was no longer a threat to Cybertron. So why did he feel like he'd just made a huge mistake?

CLANG

Megatron roused, lights and colors smeared across his vision in a blurred mess before he managed to refocus his optics. The doors to his prison block had opened again… that meant something significant. But his muddled processor couldn't figure it out. If he just had the energy to think…

Two guards passed in front of his cell, and one turned to give him a mocking glare. He just gazed back, too weak to muster up the strength to glower in return. Let them do what they would with him. He couldn't bring himself to care. At least it would be a quick death… and if they were foolish enough to undo his cuffs, it might even be a slightly honorable death…

But the guards weren't here for him. They turned to the cell across from him and unlocked the door. The hulking Autobot within glanced up, scowling.

"It ain't my time yet!" he protested. "They promised me 'nother orn at least before they terminated me!"

"Oh, shut your mouth, Impactor!" one of the guards retorted. "You know full well your sentenced was reduced to life in prison last decacycle."

"...oh, right." It hadn't taken long for Megatron to notice that this Impactor was a few battleships short of a fleet. "Uh… what's goin' on?"

"You're being moved to the medium-security level," the other guard replied. "You've been on good behavior-"

From Megatron's left came the insane cackle of Blitzwing's lunatic personality. "Zat's a good one, freund! Tell another!"

"Fraggit, who took off his gag?" grumbled the first guard. "Send someone down to replace it! But you're being bumped down a security level for good behavior, Impactor. That, and with the influx of Decepticon prisoners, we gotta make room for them in max security."

"Oh, good," Impactor muttered as the guards cuffed his wrists and led him away. "That'll be a relief. Seriously, why did you have to put Megatron in the cell across from me? It's creepy being stared at by that mug all day…"

Megatron watched with a sort of detached resentment as they escorted Impactor out Of course the Autobot would be moved to a bigger, less restrictive cell for "good behavior," despite frequently attacking the guards and throwing himself against the walls of his cell like a wild mechanimal. Never mind that most of the Decepticons had been perfectly well-behaved in comparison, if only because they remained cuffed and muzzled despite being locked up.

Stop dwelling on it, he told himself. The Autobots have always played favorites, even before the war. Let it go and focus on… on… He couldn't hold onto that train of thought, not without feeling it slip out of his grasp.

"Get him inside."

His optics snapped up as another set of guards entered the high-security block, pushing a new prisoner in on a hoversled. They laughed and joked between themselves as they hauled the mech to his feet and shoved him into the cell, not even bothering to remove his cuffs or mouthplate before shutting the transparent door behind him.

Megatron's optics met the prisoner's bewildered stare, shock driving away the terrible lethargy that had been gnawing at him for so long. This was no Decepticon prisoner - this was Optimus Prime! The very same upstart Autobot who had defeated and captured him in the first place! For a wild moment anger burned through his systems, and he longed to draw on it, to use the strength of that rage to shatter the door of his prison and have his revenge on the young mech who had cost him everything…

But that rage tangled with confusion before dying away, leaving only a puzzled shock in its place. What was Optimus doing here? Was this some kind of trick? Or had the mech managed to do something unspeakable to land himself in prison? Surely he wouldn't have been that stupid…

The green-armored guard stepped up to Megatron's cell and slapped the transparisteel door, giving a mocking laugh. "Enjoying the view, Slagmaker?"

Megatron raised an optic ridge, the closest he could come to asking just what in the Allspark's name was going on here.

"Never let it be said that we're entirely sparkless here," the guard went on with a gloating grin. "So get a good long look. It's the closest you'll ever come to getting a family visit in here."

What is he babbling about? Megatron thought… and met Optimus' gaze again.

Those optics… vibrant blue, as blue as the day they had flickered to life as a newspark settled into the protoform's chest… optics that had shone with avid curiosity and delight at everything around him… and utter terror as their bearer had been snatched cruelly away, never to be seen again…

It can't be. He's dead… he's long dead. This can't be…

"Isn't this sweet?" the other guard, a squat brown-and-cream mech, hooted. "A father-son reunion! Enjoy it, you two, 'cause who knows how much longer it'll last after your trial! Who knows, maybe they'll arrange a joint execution for you two. Wouldn't THAT be a nice bonding moment?"

And the guards walked out, cackling with a wicked glee as they pushed the empty hoversled out of sight.

Megatron held Optimus' gaze for a long moment, struggling to process what he'd just heard and witnessed. Optimus Prime… his son… the son he thought he had lost…

Optimus stared back, his optics wide and bright with horror. Then he slumped forward, helm pressed against the transparisteel door, and silently wept.

Chapter Text

Optimus had no idea how long he stood there in the cramped confines of his cell, shoulders jerking as he vented the tangled emotions in his spark. It felt like hours, though it was most likely only minutes. His optics burned, cleanser marking streaks down his face, and his throat tubing clenched with the pain of sobs he couldn't utter aloud.

His HUD lit up, alerting him that his cleanser ducts had run dry. He literally had no more tears… though that didn't mean the emotions in his spark had run dry. Not at all.

He lifted his head to regard the cell across from him. Megatron gazed back at him, his optics dim with exhaustion and lack of energy, the vocalizer restraint over the lower half of his face obscuring his expression. The calculating anger and cunning that had burned in the Decepticon leader's optics was gone - now he only gazed at the younger mech as if trying to commit every detail to memory.

His father… his father… This mech had sparked him. The most notorious war criminal in Cybertron's history, and he shared programming with him. The horror of it was more than his spark could bear.

"Is it really you, schatzi?"

He broke his gaze from Megatron's, almost grateful for the distraction, and turned to face Blitzwing. The triple-changer's logical personality was in charge now, studying him contemplatively. Had his hands been free he might have been cupping his chin in thought.

"I see ze similarities now," he noted. "Ze colors are different, but ze optics are ze same, and ze olfactory sensor. It is you, Orion… and here ve thought ve would never see you again."

Optimus just stared, feeling his headfins twitch at Blitzwing's words. He'd had another name… and this mech recognized him, a mech whom he had traded blows with many times before his capture. Yet the mech was gazing at him like an object of curiosity now, not an enemy. Indeed, there was almost a degree of fondness in his gaze.

With a blur of his faceplates, another of the triple-changer's personalities shifted to the fore - the enraged one. "Did zey hurt you, little Orion?! I vill destroy zose Autobots for daring to lay a hand on you! Right after I hunt down and slaughter the slavers who stole you!"

His headfins jerked again as another piece of the past fell into place… but as much as he wanted to ask Blitzwing to explain further, he couldn't. The triple-changer might have found out how to slip his vocalizer restraint, but that was beyond Optimus' knowledge. And honestly, he didn't trust himself to speak at the moment. Not without blubbering like a fool or screaming at Megatron for ruining his life.

Another shift, and the lunatic personality's jagged mouth opened in a wild cackle. "Oh-ho-ho-ho, ve missed you, schatzi! Ve had such good times together! You used to like us bouncing you in our lap while your father was busy with-"

Blitzwing's cell slid open while he rambled, and before he could finish that sentence a guard stepped inside and refastened the gag, bolting it securely into place. Blitzwing wobbled his head from side to side, as if trying to continue his babbling despite being effectively muted. The guard just rolled her optics, shut and locked the cell, and stalked away.

Megatron hadn't reacted to Blitzwing's words, just continued to stare at the Autobot captive. Optimus, however, shuttered his optics as he processed what the triple-changer had told him. He'd dropped valuable clues about his past… and all but confirmed the truth. He had been Orion, son of Megatron, spawn of the fearsome Decepticon commander… and ultimately had been ripped from his father's side by slavers.

The memories make sense now, he realized. His early memories were fragmented and scattered, pieces and images rather than full recollections, but he did recall being aboard a ship, strong hands lifting him onto a broad shoulder and carrying him through its corridors… a cruel grip tearing him from his father's side and rushing him away… huddling in a cramped cage stuffed with other sparklings, all shaking and terrified…

His first clear memories had been of the Autobots who had broken open the cage and hauled the shivering sparklings out… and from there, being shepherded to the foundling home where he would make friends, receive his upgrades, and eventually make his way to the Academy as a cadet. He had been just another rescue child then, a refugee assumed to be an orphan in the wake of a devastating war. No one, least of all him, had had any inkling that he'd been something far worse than just another foundling.

His CPU seemed satisfied with how logically it all fit together… but his spark still churned with anger and horror and revulsion. It was one thing to learn the truth about your origins, but quite another to accept that truth as fact. And he wanted nothing more than to somehow tear this revelation out of his CPU and destroy it, to deny it with all his spark, to just curl up and scream until all this madness went away and he awakened from this nightmare and everything had gone back to normal…

The sound wasn't terribly loud, but it was just regular enough to finally pierce his haze of confusion and pain and reach his processor. He opened his optic shutters and gazed at Megatron… or more accurately, at his hand. His wrists were still cuffed, immobilizing every joint in his body save the tips of his fingers, and those fingertips were moving in a regular pattern.

Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap. A pause, then another series of taps. Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap.

Optimus' headfins quivered again. That hand signal… he'd used it before with his own team, a hand-language to communicate with his teammates in situations where the sound of speech would only draw unneeded attention. And that particular series of taps wasn't just a message, but a question.

Okay? Pause. Okay? The mech who had tried to kill him multiple times before, who would have sliced his spark from his chest without a second thought, was asking the most unlikely of questions - are you okay?

Optimus stared a long moment at Megatron, then focused all his energy into tapping a message in response. Two rapid taps, nothing more - No.

He so badly wanted that word to convey everything else he felt at the moment - I want nothing to do with you, how can I be drawn from a monster's programming, where do you get the audacity to be concerned about me - but the signals were rather limited. And honestly, if he had the ability to speak, he was sure he would be screaming until his vocalizer shorted itself out.

Megatron's head rocked ever so slightly on its neck joint, a silent acknowledgment. Perhaps he'd expected that answer - how could anyone be okay in this situation? Especially given the news that had just been broken to them in the worst of ways?

A pause, then the silver mech tapped his fingers again. Is backup coming?

What kind of question was that? Optimus wracked his CPU for a potential response. Was he truly asking a military question at this moment? Or was he trying to ask something else, and using the closest hand signal he could think of to get it across?

Maybe he's wondering if a rescue's coming, he decided. If he thinks my team will come to Cybertron and try for a jailbreak.

At one point, he might have answered that question with a resounding yes. But the expression on Ratchet's face as he'd been dragged out of the council chamber - horror, disbelief, a deep burning rage - was still burned into his CPU. He'd lost the loyalty of the mech he'd considered one of his closest friends… and once Ratchet got back to Detroit and told the other Autobots, he was sure they would have the same reaction. They had all faced their own horrors at the hands of Megatron and his warriors, and would surely turn their backs on him upon knowing the truth of his origins.

No rescue was coming. He was alone… alone with the tyrant who had spawned him.

Two quick taps. No.

Megatron's optics dimmed as he processed that. Then he tapped a response.

Mission failed.

Optimus frowned behind the vocalizer restraint. That statement could have multiple meanings… and somehow he didn't think Megatron was stating the blindingly obvious in that his mission to take over Cybertron had failed. Was he mocking Optimus for falling so far, from being the hero of Cybertron to the second most hated mech on the planet? Or was he referring to his failure towards Optimus himself? Was he, in the restricted nature of the hand signals, trying to apologize for not being there for him?

What does it matter? Optimus thought, anger boiling in his spark. He wasn't there, and you're glad for it. You might be descended from his programming, but you're not his son. He was never your father. His apology, if that's what it is, means nothing…

Megatron's head suddenly slumped forward, his optics going black. Optimus felt his spark lurch in his chest. Had he just watched the mech shut down before his optics? No, his chassis hadn't dimmed to death-gray, and his engines still hummed, albeit haltingly…

Scarlet optics flared to life again, and Megatron jerked his head up, shaking. He was still online… but Optimus knew the effects of severe energy depletion when he saw them. And the longer he gazed at Megatron, the more damage he saw. Not just the deep cracks and dents he'd inflicted on him during that fateful battle in Detroit, but new dents and scuffs he swore hadn't been there when he'd turned Megatron over to the Elite Guard. And some of those dents looked too neatly lined up… as if they'd been made by knuckles.

They haven't even repaired him, he realized. No, worse than that - they've roughed him up. I thought we treated our prisoners with some degree of mercy.

He hesitated… then tapped his fingers. Okay?

Megatron's optics flickered in surprise, but he gave a single tap in response. Yes.

An obvious lie… but Optimus let it go anyhow. Is backup coming?

Two quick taps. No.

Had all Megatron's forces been captured? Were Blitzwing, Lugnut, Shockwave, Swindle, and the Starscream clones really all that remained of his once-mighty army? Or did he have other troops out there, simply unaware that their leader had been captured? Or perhaps under orders to stay hidden until the time was right? Optimus supposed it didn't matter - whatever the reason, it was hopeless to count on a rescue from either side.

He looked Megatron in the optic, then tapped out another message. Further explanation required. If he was going to be trapped here, in close quarters with the mech who had tried to kill him so many times but had also given him spark, then he wanted answers. Who was he? Why had Megatron created a son in the midst of a war? What had his early days been like? And why had they been separated for so long?

Megatron tapped again. Wait. Stand down. Explanation forthcoming.

Optimus gave the slightest of nods. This situation still left his spark raw with grief and horror… but it also raised more questions than it answered. And if remaining in this cell meant the possibility of having those questions addressed… well, it was a slim silver lining, but he would cling to it anyhow. It was the only way he knew to keep his sanity.

"He's WHAT?!" Bulkhead roared. "Are you tellin' us Prime's the son of-"

"Keep your fraggin' voice down!" Ratchet ordered. "You want all of Detroit to hear you?"

Bumblebee burst out laughing, slapping one hand against the ratty couch cushion. "Oh man… and here I thought you had no sense of humor, Ratchet!"

Ratchet narrowed his optics, and Bumblebee's laughter trailed off into a look of horror. "Wait… you're not joking, are you?"

"The doc wouldn't jive us 'bout somethin' this heavy," Jazz replied. "But man… I wish he was."

Prowl hadn't said a word since Ratchet had returned to Earth and dropped his bombshell. He kept his hands folded before him, his expression stoic and unmoved… though Ratchet fancied he could see his optics pale behind his gold visor. That might just be a trick of his optical processor, but he knew this latest information disturbed the ninja on some level.

Both Team Detroit and Team Athenia had gathered in the common room of the Sumdac Tower base to hear the news about Optimus Prime's arrest… and his terrible link to Megatron. Ratchet had dreaded delivering this news, and seeing the shock and horror on his comrades' faceplates only made his core ache all the worse. All these mechs had regarded Optimus as a hero, and seeing their idol's name tarnished like this had to be a blow.

"Megatron sparked Optimus," Bulkhead muttered, his gaze fixed on his feet. "Slag… and he was always such a nice guy! Who'd have thought he'd be related to the Slagmaker?"

"Not like there's a family resemblance," Ironhide huffed. "He kept it hidden good, I'll give 'im that. Surprised he kept it canned up THIS long."

"Did you know?" Rodimus asked quietly. "Did you know he was the son of… that thing?" He sounded almost hurt, as if the news that the mech he'd admired had such sketchy origins was more than he could bear.

"I found out the same time Optimus did, if that's what you're wondering," Ratchet replied. "This isn't some dark secret Optimus has been sitting on for cycles - he was just as shocked as the rest of you."

"I find that hard to believe," Red Alert pointed out, frowning. "Surely he had some clue about his past. You don't just forget your creators."

"Oh?" Ratchet retorted, glaring at his fellow medic. "And you remember the first cycle of your functioning time with perfect clarity? Or the exact details of whoever brought you online?"

She scowled but didn't press that issue.

"So what do we do now?" Jazz asked. "I'm guessin' Iacon'll eventually send a replacement leader for Team Detroit."

"More likely they'll just merge our teams together," Hot Shot replied. "I mean… the Elite Guard isn't exactly spitting out Primes right and left. They'll probably put Rodimus Prime in charge of all of us, at least for now."

Ratchet flinched. Ultra Magnus would do exactly that - and worse, it seemed that these mechs were accepting that as irrefutable fact. Were they really writing their leader off so fast based on this revelation? Where was the outrage at their Prime's arrest? Where was the loyalty to the mech who had led them for so long, had sacrificed so much for them?

"Are you crazy?!" Bumblebee shrieked, leaping to his feet. "No one leads us but Optimus Prime!"

"Yeah!" Bulkhead declared, clenching one hand into a fist and thumping it into his palm. "We're not just gonna sit here and let 'em lock Prime up for good! We gotta go to Cybertron and get Prime outta there!"

Ratchet fought the urge to smile, but that was a battle he was happy to lose. There's the outrage… and the loyalty. I underestimated these young punks. Despite everything, Prime's still their champion.

"Did you lunkheads miss what he said?" Brawn demanded. "Optimus Prime's a Decepticon!"

"He's an Autobot!" Bumblebee retorted. "Last I checked, he wore the Autobot symbol!"

"Yeah, but he's a Con in his programming," Brawn shot back. "And not just that - he was sparked by Megatron himself! Don't that bother you?"

"If Prime's a Decepticon, then I'm a minibot," Bulkhead replied. "And he's our leader. Knowing who he's related to is kinda weird, yeah, but it doesn't change anything!"

"You're wrong, Bulkhead."

All optics fixed on Prowl, and Ratchet felt his scowl return. Prowl chose NOW to finally speak his mind?

"It doesn't change a thing," the medic insisted. "Optimus Prime is still the same mech who took you into our team no questions asked, the same mech who saw a bunch of rejects and outcasts and saw potential. This changes nothing!"

Prowl shook his head, his expression as serene as ever but his voice troubled. "No. It changes one thing in particular."

"Whatcha talkin' about, man?" Jazz asked, staring at his fellow cyberninja.

"Namely that Optimus Prime is no longer safe," Prowl replied, rising to his feet. "Before this, Optimus was considered a hero - and even before then, he was still a Prime, someone in a position of respect. This revelation is going to put a target on his back for the rest of his life." He turned to regard Bumblebee and Bulkhead. "We've depended on Optimus to protect us for a long time… but now it's time for us to protect him. And for all he's done for us, I think that's the least we can do in return. If you're not up to that task, now's the time to back out."

Bumblebee drew himself up straight, his stingers crackling to life. "Like frag am I gonna back out! Boss-bot's our friend, and I'll defend him with my spark if that's what it takes!"

"Yeah!" Bulkhead whooped, pumping his fist in the air.

Ratchet's smile returned. "Wise words, Prowl… and it's gonna be no easy task to protect Optimus from the wrath of the Council and the Magnus. But in my opinion, we owe it to him to do all we can to free him and protect him."

"You mean we get to plan a jailbreak?" asked Bumblebee. "Sweet!"

"Not yet," Ratchet replied. "First we need to go before Ultra Magnus and plead our case to him. It's possible we may be able to talk some sense into him and get him to release Optimus."

"But what if that doesn't work?" asked Bulkhead.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Ratchet told him.

"Meaning a jailbreak," Bumblebee grinned. "Man, never thought I'd be this excited to break a mech outta prison."

"What'll you have us do?" asked Rodimus. "My team can be ready to ship out within half a breem."

"You can't be serious," Red Alert protested. "Do you know what kind of charges can be brought against us if we're caught helping break a mech out of prison?"

"And the offspring'a Megatron no less!" Ironhide added.

Rodimus frowned at his team. "Really, I'm surprised at all of you! Where's your sense of adventure? We've never backed down from a challenge before, and I don't intend to start now." His lip plates cocked in a daredevil grin. "Besides… Ratchet is right. It doesn't matter who sparked Optimus Prime - he's still the hero of Cybertron, even if everyone else is choosing to forget about that. And I say we go help our hero!"

"Cool you thrusters, rookie," Ratchet ordered. "You an' your team are stayin' put."

"Awww!" whined Hot Shot. "Why do WE have to miss out on all the fun?"

"Because someone needs to stay behind on Earth in case rogue Decepticons show up or Allspark fragments turn up," Ratchet replied. "As important as rescuing our friend is, we can't leave Earth defenseless either. We're counting on you to keep things together while we're gone, Rodimus. Can you do that?"

Rodimus nodded. "We won't let you down, sir."

Ratchet narrowed his optics, thinking that the young Prime had conceded far too quickly for his liking. But he decided not to press his luck by digging further. "Team Detroit, to the space bridge! Anyone not on the roof in sixty astroseconds gets left behind!"

"Yessir!" Bumblebee transformed and tore off in a flash, Bulkhead close behind. Jazz and Prowl ran out on foot, and Hot Shot moved to follow but was restrained by Brawl's broad hand on his shoulder.

Ironhide waited until Ratchet had transformed and taken off after the rest of his team before turning to Rodimus. "We're following 'em, aren't we?"

Rodimus' daredevil grin returned. "Of course we are. Wait an hour before we head to the space bridge, just in case, all right?"

Red Alert rolled her optics. "I'm going to regret this."

"How dare you disgrace me like this, you walking derelict?!"

Wreck-Gar grinned guilelessly down at the head in his arms. "I am Wreck-Gar, and I am NOT a walking derelict! I am an honorary Autobot! Well… sorta. Nobody's told me I still have the job." He scratched the top of his helm, shedding a few flakes of rust and dislodging some flies in the process. "But hey, nobody's told me I'm fired yet either, so I guess I'm still one, huh?"

"What ARE you blathering about, you scrapheap?"

"I dunno, but at least I have someone around who'll listen to me," Wreck-Gar replied. "The critters and the hobos tend to ignore me or run the other way, so it's nice to have some actual company, ya know?"

Starscream ground his dental plates, glaring up at the orange mech as he continued to stroll through the landfill, his unwilling companion cradled in his arms. This was undignified in the extreme! Bad enough that he was reduced to a head again, but he was stuck with this blithering idiot! He wasn't even a proper Cybertronian, just a pile of human-generated garbage somehow given life by the Allspark. And he didn't even have the decency to treat him with the respect an Air Commander deserved!

Is this to be my fate? he bemoaned, seething. To be the plaything of a demented Junk-ion for the rest of my functioning days? At least the LAST time I was reduced to a head I was still in a position to get control of the situation… now I don't even know what the situation IS! And this blockhead will be no help!

"Unhand me THIS instant!" Starscream shrieked. "Or ELSE!"

"But… you don't have hands," Wreck-Gar pointed out, cocking his head to the side.

"Just put me down!"

"Okay!" And Wreck-Gar dropped the head in a rust-and-oil-scummed puddle.

"ARGH! Pickmeuppickmeuppickmeup!"

"Geez, make up your mind!" Wreck-Gar picked Starscream up, wiped him off with a tattered beach towel he plucked out of his backpack, and strolled off again.

Starscream spit out a mouthful of foul-tasting water before speaking up again. "Guh… how did I get stuck with you anyhow?"

"Just lucky, I guess?" Wreck-Gar hefted the head in his hands and set it in a box-shaped niche in a wall of trash that bordered one side of the landfill. "There! Now you get a nice view of home!"

Starscream scowled as his optics swept across the heaps of garbage that littered the landscape as far as he could see, interrupted by the occasional bulldozer or other piece of heavy machinery shuffling the trash from one place to another. So this was to be his home for the foreseeable future - this kingdom of refuse and detritus, ruled by a king who was far more jester than monarch. And bereft of his body - a body that was too badly damaged to operate even if his head had been attached to it - there was little he could do to overthrow THIS king and better his situation.

Just offline me, he thought. I was better off dead in the streets of Detroit, or floating through deep space with Megatron for company. There's no way this situation can get any worse…

"Here it is, brother!"

Starscream squawked as two mechs thrust their faces into his field of vision - one blue and silver with a blue visor, the other orange and ivory with large gold optics and what looked like a pair of goggles on top of his helm. They regarded him with puzzled expressions, tilting their heads from side to side as if studying a particularly interesting cyberroach.

"What are you staring at?" he demanded.

"Is this being the source of the SOS?" the blue one asked.

"I am thinking it is," the orange one replied, raising a hand to poke lightly at Starscream's chin. "Where is the rest of him, I am wondering?"

"Stop poking me!" Starscream barked. "What IS it with you Autobots being so handsy?"

The orange one pulled his hand back, but he continued to stare at Starscream. "Are you being okay? Who is taking your head from your body? We are not medics, but that is not looking healthy to us."

"Ask THAT idiot," Starscream growled, thrusting his chin in the direction of Wreck-Gar. The junk-mech seemed to share an attention span with Blitzwing's insane personality and was currently occupying himself with a musical instrument he called a "squeezebox." Whatever THAT was.

"Well, that wasn't being nice of him!" the blue one exclaimed. "Where is your body? Perhaps we can be putting you back together again!"

Starscream opened his mouth to tell these two mechs to get lost, then slowly shut it again. These mechs might be pesky, but they actually wanted to help him. How adorably naive… and how convenient for him. If they truly wanted to lend him a hand, who was he to deny them the chance to be generous?

And the longer he looked at these two youngsters, the more intrigued he became. They wore Autobot crests, but bore obvious flight alt modes - something normally seen only in Decepticons. Had the Autobots managed to figure out flying alt modes for themselves? Or had they stolen the technology? Come to think of it, they HAD taken scans of his chassis and spark while he'd been their captive, before his escape…

Most curious… most curious indeed. Perhaps that SOS I sent out DID work - just not in the way I anticipated. And perhaps I can work this to my advantage. I just have to be careful...

"Why, I would love your help, younglings," he told them, softening his voice with an oily smile. "If you could just carry me over to my chassis, I'd be most grateful."

"We can be doing that, sir!" the orange one replied, and he scooped up Starscream's head and skipped off. "I am Jetfire, and this is my brother Jetstorm! We will be helping you!"

"Jetfire and Jetstorm… a pleasure." He gritted his dental plates, fighting back the urge to snap at Jetfire for bouncing him around. "I think we're going to get along nicely."

"A new friend!" Jetstorm gushed. "New friends are being the best!"

"New friends!" Wreck-Gar called out, tossing the squeezebox aside and skipping after the Jet-brothers. "This is the greatest day ever! Hey, let me help you with that! I'm good at fixing things! Or at least with duct tape and superglue, same thing, right?"

Starscream fought the urge to roll his optics. Two innocent Autobot fliers and a Junk-ion were hardly glorious beginnings for his own personal army… but it was a step forward. And any step, no matter how small or strange, counted at this point.

Chapter Text

CLANG

Optimus roused from a fitful slumber, his joints aching from being held immobile for so long. He onlined his optics, rebooting them a few times to better focus them… and immediately wished he hadn't. So long as he kept them shuttered he could forget that he was cuffed and gagged, trapped in a cell across from his worst enemy. A worst enemy that he happened to share spark programming with, even…

Boisterous laughter filled the air as a cluster of guards strode down the aisle between the two rows of cells, hauling a large but lean mech back to his cell. With a shock Optimus recognized the mech - Shockwave, Megatron's spy who had infiltrated the Autobots in the guise of Longarm Prime, framed Waspinator for his own crimes, and attempted to assassinate Ultra Magnus himself. But now, much like Optimus and Megatron, his wrists were bound in stasis cuffs, and a vocalizer restraint had been bolted to the lower half of his eerie not-quite-a-face.

The restraints and the cyclopic face weren't what made his spark drop into his tanks, though. The deep dents and cracks in his armor, and the trail of leaking oil and energon left in his wake as he was dragged across the floor, were responsible for that. Fluids seeped from various fissures in his plating, his optic was a shattered starburst of red, and both his antler-like headprongs had been bent and twisted, one until it had snapped off completely.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead didn't leave him in THAT bad of shape when they caught him. This had to happen after we took him into custody. But… surely not… surely this is from a fight with another prisoner, not the guards...

"Ya know, I thought the ol' double-agent would be tougher than this," one guard noted as they flung Shockwave back into his cell. "But he went down faster than a Starscream clone. Even Swindle was tougher."

"Felt good, though," another gloated. "Teach these mechs to try to start the war all over again."

Optimus wanted to be sick. It wasn't just Megatron who'd been roughed up in prison - other Decepticons were obviously being abused. And it couldn't even be justified as using excessive force to keep a prisoner from escaping - it was brutality, plain and simple, for the sole purpose of allowing the guards to blow off steam at their prisoners' expense.

But these are Autobots! We're better than this! Why are they doing this to a prisoner who can't even fight back?

His optics met Megatron's, and though he couldn't speak he was sure his optics were desperately questioning him, demanding an answer. Megatron gave a slight shake of his head - either he knew as little as Optimus did, or he was warning him not to pursue the matter. Not that he could do much investigation from inside a cell anyhow.

"Optimus Prime?"

His attention turned to the guard who had stopped before the transparent door to his cell - a blue-and-orange mech with a strangely sphinx-like helm and a chunky truck alt mode. Recognition hit like the Magnus' hammer, and his spark lurched with an emotion he couldn't quite identify yet.

Dion? He hadn't seen his fellow cadet since he'd been expelled from the academy. They hadn't been close friends like he and Sentinel had been at one point, but they had been good-natured rivals for a time, and Dion had even gone as far as to throw him a clandestine goodbye party before he had left to join the space bridge crew that would become his team. The last time he'd seen his old classmate, he'd assured him that he'd be a member of the Elite Guard when Optimus returned to Cybertron.

Some small part of him was glad to see he had gone on to fulfill his dream… while the rest of him despaired that he had chosen to participate in this cruelty against the prisoners under his care. Dion had been a scrappy mech, prone to resolving arguments with his fist, but he hadn't been sadistic…

"Well, well, well," Dion noted with a grin, looking Optimus up and down. "You know, Optimus, you never could bluff well when we played cards back in the academy, but it looks like you could lie pretty well when it counted. Somehow you managed to keep a lid on you being the spawn of Megatron for YEARS. I'm impressed."

It took all his strength to shake his head a tiny amount in reply. Why did everyone assume he'd known this all along? Didn't they realize this was as terrible a shock for him as it was for the rest of the Autobots?

"To think the star student, the teacher's pet, was a Decepticon all along," Dion went on. "I knew you were too perfect, too much of a goody two-pedes, to be completely on the up and up. Now that you're not fooling anyone, though, it's time for some payback." He lifted one hand and pounded his knuckles into his palm. "I've been itching to do this for a LONG time, golden-boy."

His tanks clenched. So their rivalry hadn't been as friendly as he thought. But surely he wouldn't stoop so low as to...

"Torque, Jumpstart, Roadblock! How about we give the Hero of Cybertron the ol' welcome to the max-security wing?"

Evidently he would. He strained at his bonds as much as his cuffs would allow, but he only managed a pathetic shiver as Dion opened his cell and motioned for his comrades to haul Optimus out.

As they dragged him out of the cell block, his optics met Megatron's for a brief moment. The silver mech's optics burned with impotent fury, and his entire frame trembled as he watched the guards carry him away. His fingers raised, as if to frantically tap out a code, but Optimus was pulled out of the room before he could catch it.

Some part of him still believed this was all a misunderstanding, that his fellow Autobots were above torturing anyone, be it a Decepticon or one of their own. He still clung to that belief even as he was hauled into an interrogation room. It wasn't until the first blow landed, cracking across his face with enough force to knock his jaw joint out of socket, that his conviction was shattered.

Sentinel walked into the viewing area that looked in on one of the Kalis Correctional Facility's interrogation rooms to find Ultra Magnus standing before the window, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed on the proceedings. The microphones in said room were turned off, but the muffled thuds of fists on metal could still be heard through the one-way transparisteel. Some prisoner or another was getting worked over rather well - either in an attempt to fish out information about other Decepticon cells, or simply for no other reason other than the guards had the power and the inclination to torment someone.

Sentinel couldn't suppress a wince. He told himself that whoever was on the receiving end of that beatdown was most likely a Decepticon who deserved it… but some small part of him wasn't entirely convinced.

"You sent for me, Magnus?" he asked, pointedly keeping his gaze on the Autobot leader and not trying to catch a glimpse of the unlucky prisoner.

Magnus nodded without turning to look at him, gazing into the interrogation room with a detached expression. "You're to be congratulated for helping us root out a potential traitor in our ranks, Sentinel Prime. You are truly the hero Cybertron needs in these dark times."

Sentinel swallowed, trying to rid his throat tubing of a sudden lump. He'd always wanted to be a hero, but at the moment he didn't feel particularly heroic. Not when Cybertron's true hero was languishing in a cell thanks to his "heroic" actions.

"The Council has another assignment for you," Magnus went on. "You've proven yourself capable and efficient in tracking down the son of Megatron; you should be uniquely suited to this new assignment."

He wished the Magnus wouldn't keep referring to his betrayal of Optimus. Then he shook his head, wondering why he was considering it a betrayal. He hadn't betrayed him - he had identified a potential threat to the Autobots. And Optimus wasn't even a friend anymore, so could it really count as a betrayal?

He said none of this aloud, however. "What's the mission, sir?"

"Optimus being the son of Megatron was a shock to us all… and many of the Council agrees that it's only a symptom of a much larger problem. If one descendent of an infamous Decepticon exists among the Autobots, then surely there are more, hidden from our sight and mixed among ordinary Cybertronians. All just waiting for the opportunity to strike… unless we do something about it."

Sentinel's spark lurched in its chamber. He already knew where this was going, and suddenly he wished he were anywhere but here.

"Your mission is to continue what you did with the son of Megatron, and search our databases for more offspring of the Decepticons. We'll provide you with spark scans of all Decepticons where were captured or offlined, either during the war or the more recent struggles against Megatron's uprising, and you'll have access to any and all public records necessary to fulfill your mission."

He opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make him look like a fool in front of the Magnus. Did the Council really believe that there were enough potential Decepticon descendents among the Autobots to worry about? Still, if they presented a legitimate threat to Cybertron's security, then perhaps it was necessary. And the fewer potential Decepticons walked the streets, the better, right?

That didn't stop him from dreading this assignment with all his spark, however. Or for a question to rise in his CPU and come out of his vocalizer before he could stop it.

"What's going to be done about these mechs?" he asked. "Will there be a registry system to keep tabs on them?"

Ultra Magnus' lip plates pressed together in a hard line as Sentinel spoke, and his answer was equally flat and hard. "We cannot risk another Great War, Sentinel Prime. And we cannot risk being too lenient on Decepticon traitors, or anyone who has the potential to become one. You and your team have full authorization to arrest these descendants as soon as you identify them, and transport them here for processing."

"I… what?" Sentinel's mouth dropped open, this time out of pure shock rather than any attempt to address the Magnus. Arresting Decepticon spies and agents he could understand, but anyone with Decepticon programming in their spark? Mechs and femmes who had done nothing wrong and were otherwise loyal and ordinary Autobots just trying to live their lives in peace and quiet?

"You understand the importance of keeping Cybertron safe," Magnus informed him. "You yourself called for extra security measures while you were acting Magnus. These measures are more strict than the ones you implemented, but the goal is the same - to protect our people and our planet from the threat that Megatron and his Decepticons present . His Decepticons… AND his descendants."

A blow and a pained grunt, muffled by a layer of transparisteel, reached Sentinel's audials, and he finally turned his optics toward the prisoner. Said prisoner lay on the floor of the interrogation room, curled up in an effort to protect his abdominal plates, with three guards kicking him and leaning down to drive their fists into him. The mech's back was to him, his face hidden from view, but there was no mistaking that color scheme…

Optimus! His tanks heaved with pain, as if he'd just taken one of the blows meant for the former Prime. Fluid rose in his throat tubing, and he struggled not to purge then and there. He'd wanted to see Optimus' star fall, to see him humiliated in some way, but not like this. Not imprisoned and tortured like a common criminal.

One of the guards bent down and grabbed Optimus by the arm, hauling him to his feet. The red-and-blue mech swayed, steadied only by the other two guards gripping his arms and holding him upright. Then he doubled over, optics darkening with pain, as the third guard punched him in the abdomen. The vocalizer restraint muffled any cry of pain he might have uttered, but Sentinel cringed anyhow.

"Drastic measures have to be taken in times of unrest," Magnus noted in response to Sentinel's horrified reaction. "We cannot tolerate Decepticon activity in any way, shape, or form. Not if we want Cybertron to prosper. Am I understood?"

Sentinel nodded out of pure instinct, the thought of denying the Magnus in any way completely unthinkable. Then something else occurred to him. "What about my team? The Jet Twins? They have Decepticon programming. Am I required to arrest them and hand them over?"

Magnus shook his head. "They bear Starscream's flight programming, but are of Autobot descent. They will be spared due to their useful nature… but keep a close optic on them regardless. If they show any signs of treacherous behavior, we will be forced to incarcerate them as well."

Sentinel clenched a fist in frustrated horror. The thought of those two young mechs, so infuriating yet so loyal and trusting, in Optimus' place, suffering that kind of abuse, made him quail with anger and disgust. Wherever those two idiots were at the moment, he hoped they were keeping their olfactory sensors clean.

"Good luck to you, Sentinel Prime," Ultra Magnus told him. "I trust you won't fail the cause now."

"No, sir," Sentinel replied quietly.

Magnus nodded. "You're dismissed."

Sentinel's gaze moved back to the interrogation room. The guards seemed to have gotten bored with their prisoner, and had grabbed him under the arms and were dragging him out. Optimus hung limply in their grasp, optics dark, a steady drip of fluid trickling from the bottom of his gag. Only a slight twitch of one of his headfins betrayed the fact that he was still alive… though at this point he probably wished he was dead.

His own headpipes twitched as he turned and strode from the viewing room, spark and tanks roiling with horror and disgust. Was this the cause he had fought to protect for so long? Was this what the Autobots were becoming? If they sank to these lows - torturing defenseless prisoners and imprisoning innocents simply based on their lineage - were they really any better than the Decepticons?

Team Detroit was so focused on getting to Cybertron to save their leader that nobody noticed that they had a stowaway until it was too late.

"Boy, I always thought we'd be returning home under happier circumstances," Bumblebee noted, shifting out of his car mode and rising to his feet to survey Iacon's streets. "Not comin' to rescue the boss."

Prowl transformed as well, moving to stand beside Bumblebee. "Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing, Bumblebee. We cannot change it, only determine how we respond to it."

"Wow, that was deep," Bulkhead noted as he shifted with the others. "Did you learn that from Master Yoketron?"

Prowl frowned and looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet. "To be honest… I picked it up from a human film. One of the explosion-fests Bumblebee likes."

Bumblebee smirked. "I THOUGHT I recognized that line! When all this is over I'm totally ragging on you for quoting a Mitch Harbor movie."

"If you idiots are through quoting dumb action movies, we can get a move on," Ratchet grumbled. He pulled up near the others, a shiver running through his frame as he prepared to transform… then stopped. "Frag it all... problem."

"What's wrong, Doc-bot?" Jazz asked, moving to join the others. "Get stuck in your alt mode? Need a hand?"

"Stand back," Ratchet advised, his voice grave. "There's something moving around in my ambulance bay. Must have snuck in right as we went through the space bridge."

Bulkhead and Bumblebee yelped and leaped back, and Jazz flinched and stopped in his tracks. Prowl stepped closer, one hand raised to pull a throwing star out of subspace if necessary. "Do you think it could be an animal of some kind?" the cyberninja asked.

"Could be," Ratchet replied, "but the new base shouldn't be infested with stray cats and raccoons like the old one was. More likely it's one of Soundwave's drones or something else nasty-"

The ambulance's doors burst open, and Prowl pulled out a throwing star… only to sigh and tuck it away again. "Relax, everyone. It's Professor Sumdac."

"WHAT?!" Ratchet transformed on the spot, sending the professor tumbling when he didn't step down from the ambulance bay in time. "What the frag are you doing here, Sumdac?!"

Isaac pushed himself to his feet and carefully dusted himself off before replying in a matter-of-fact tone. "I came to help you rescue Optimus Prime."

"Are you fraggin' nuts?" demanded Ratchet. "In case you haven't noticed, Cybertron is dangerous to organics! You could get stepped on, captured and experimented on, run over-"

Isaac raised a hand to cut Ratchet off mid-sentence. "I'm no stranger to the dangers being around Cybertronians can bring," he replied. "But I will face them. I don't know how much help I can be to you… but if Captain Fanzone can come to Cybertron and be useful, then I assume I can too."

"With all due respect, Professor Sumdac, Optimus Prime is our superior officer… and our friend," Prowl explained. "As such, we owe it to him to try to rescue him. You're under no obligation-"

"Optimus Prime is MY friend too," Isaac cut in. "He stood by me and was willing to help me, even knowing what I had done on Megatron's behalf. And he is a friend of my daughter, too. After all he's done for me, I won't stand back and just watch while you launch a rescue. I will help him however I can, and repay my debt."

Ratchet scowled, but his anger at Professor Sumdac's stubborn stupidity melted in the face of his brave words. "Prime wouldn't ask you to repay any debt, Professor… but I'm sure he'd appreciate the sentiment if he were here. And at any rate, it's too late to toss you back through the space bridge and leave you behind. But stay CLOSE! Autobots aren't overly fond of organics, and you're liable to get squashed if the wrong one spots you. And don't do anything stupid."

"Oh, let him do somethin' stupid," Jazz quipped. "Why should he be any different from the rest of us?"

"I don't need commentary from the nuts and bolts gallery," Ratchet grumbled as he stooped to pick up the professor. "C'mon… let's head for the Hall of Iacon. Either Ultra Magnus or at least some of the Council should be there, and we can plead our case to them."

"We might as well argue with a brick wall," Bumblebee muttered. "They ain't gonna listen to us."

"Aw, don't be a pessa… passa… what's the word?" Bulkhead scratched his head, searching for the term, then gave up. "Don't be so down, Bee. I'm sure someone on the Council'll see reason."

"Bumblebee's right for once," Ratchet noted. "Approaching the Council will probably be a hopeless task."

"If it's so hopeless, why do you suggest it as the first course of action?" asked Isaac.

"So we can claim we tried to do this legitimately first," Ratchet replied. "And as much as I think it WON'T work… well, sometimes you have to try something stupid once, because it just might work."

Jazz smirked a little. "You've got a point, Doc. Lead the way then."

Ratchet snorted and motioned for the ragtag group of space bridge workers, cyberninjas, and a stowaway human to follow him, cutting down a side alley in case a patrol came their way. "Jazz and I'll talk to Ultra Magnus or any of the Council who're present and see if we can't get him to release Prime. The rest of you head for the service tunnels and work your way to Kalis. I'll signal you if negotiations go south."

"Kalis?" repeated Isaac.

"The correctional facilities," Prowl replied.

"Prisons," Jazz corrected. "Call 'em any fancy names you want, but that's what they are."

"Whatever you call 'em, we can probably assume that Optimus is in the max-security wing," Ratchet informed them. "So get as close to it as you can and we'll plan from there."

"But Prime hasn't done anything wrong!" Bulkhead protested. "Why would he be there?"

"It doesn't matter what he did or didn't do," Ratchet replied. "The fear and hatred they feel towards Megatron are all that matter to them. Optimus Prime could be a fraggin' Firstforged and all they'd care about is that he's the son of a Decepticon."

"But he's the hero of Cybertron!" Bumblebee insisted. "That's gotta count for somethin'!"

"Hate to say it, lil' buddy, but Doc's got a point," Jazz replied gravely. "Bein' in the Elite Guard, I've seen some things - mechs fully qualified for a job or a promotion, but passed over in favor of some son of a Council member or an Allspark-forged mech. Lots've mechs believe programmin' is everythin', no matter what you do to try an' change their minds. Y' dig?"

"I 'dig,' yeah," Bumblebee replied, hooking his fingers in imaginary quotation marks. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it-"

"We're being followed," Isaac cut in.

Ratchet froze in his tracks, his magnetic prongs sliding from his wrist guards. "How'd you figure that out? Do organics have some kind of scanning system we don't?"

"We have a scanning system," Isaac replied dryly. "It's called our eyes. I looked behind us and saw something move in the shadows."

The Autobots whirled in their tracks, Bumblebee's stingers crackling to life and Bulkhead's wrecking ball whirling overhead like a helicopter rotor. Jazz and Prowl drew their nunchucks and throwing stars respectively, though Prowl handed his star to Isaac before drawing another one. The professor struggled under the weight of the weapon, but ultimately seemed to decide that a too-big weapon was better than no weapon at all.

"Come out, whoever you are!" Ratchet ordered. "Rodimus Prime, if that's you, I'm gonna strip your paint. I left you clear instructions to stay on Earth!"

A low, liquid chuckle flowed out of the shadows. "I believe you are mistaken, Autobot," the speaker informed him, his voice thick with an implacable accent. "I am not Rodimus Prime… though I hope you'll admit I'm far more charming than that upstart."

Bumblebee shuddered. "Who the frag is that? And why's he talking like an old-school movie vampire?"

Ratchet narrowed his optics. If this was who he thought it was… "Get behind me, all of you. And whatever happens, do NOT look into his optics! Especially the third one!"

"Third one… oh no." Prowl stepped up beside Ratchet, arm raised to hurl one of his stars at a moment's notice. "Him."

"Yes, him." Ratchet turned back to the shadows. "Come out of hiding with your hands up and your optics on the ground. You're under arrest."

Another chuckle, and a mech stepped into view. Maroon and black with elegant gold detailing, he bore folded black wings edged and ribbed in gold, webbed like those of a bat. Thin red optics burned in a severe face… and a third diamond-shaped optic glowed in the center of his tall, cylindrical helm. All three optics were fixed on the street as he raised his maroon-clawed hands, but a smug smile split his faceplate nonetheless.

"Mindwipe," Jazz muttered. "Thought the war scared you into your cave for good."

"Who?" asked Bumblebee, not lowering his stingers.

"One of Megatron's spies," Ratchet replied. "Skilled manipulator and hypnotist. Crazy as a Sharkticon too, though good enough at his job that Megatron doesn't care."

Mindwipe chuckled yet again. "Come now, good doctor, simply because a mech converses with the sparks of those who have left us to dwell within the Well of All Sparks doesn't mean he's mad. As much as many like to dismiss anything they see as different as pure insanity."

Bulkhead and Bumblebee exchanged a look at that. Bulkhead raised one hand and twirled it around his audial receptor with a little whistle, and Bumblebee snorted with laughter.

"I don't care who you chat with, just answer some questions," Ratchet snapped. "What are you doing here? And why are you following us? I thought all Megatron's troops were either captured or on the run."

Mindwipe smirked. "Not all of us, good doctor. Some do choose to abandon our noble leader in his hour of greatest need, but others of us simply lie low and bide our time until we can restore him to his former glory. Commander Strika is one of these, and she has recruited more mechs to her unit to further this cause."

"So you're on Team Chaar now," Jazz noted. "Great. Just what that group'a crazies needs, another full-on loony."

"If you're quite done insulting me, my dear warrior, I may answer your doctor's other question," Mindwipe replied, voice calm and unruffled despite the jab. "I follow you because at this time, it seems we have a common goal."

Ratchet's scowl deepened. "We're after Optimus Prime, not your crackpot leader."

"Father or son, the end result is the same." Mindwipe bowed deeply, his wings rustling behind him like a cape. "As a representative of Commander Strika and Team Chaar, I have come to you to propose an alliance. Shall we join forces and take on the prison of Kalis together?"

Ratchet huffed. "Stay right there and don't move a servo. Let me consult my team. Bulkhead, if he so much as glances at any of us, pummel him."

"Right, Ratchet." Bulkhead shifted forward, though notably he kept his gaze everywhere but on the mech's face. Mindwipe just smiled, seeming pleased at the bigger mechs discomfiture.

"This is a bad idea, Ratchet," Prowl told him. "Decepticons aren't to be trusted, a hypnotist like Mindwipe least of all."

"Come on, we need all the help we can get!" Bumblebee protested. "And who said we had to trust him? At least this way we can keep an optic on him and make sure his team doesn't ambush us in a dark corner or something."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I know," Ratchet replied. "Prowl makes a good point, though. Decepticon or not, Mindwipe's dangerous. And this could all be a trap to get rid of us."

"Could be," Jazz admitted. "But the alternative's lettin' Team Chaar do their own thing without us. An' I like that even less than workin' with 'em."

Ratchet turned to Isaac. "Anything you want to add, Professor?"

Isaac looked at the bat-winged Decepticon, then back up at Ratchet. "I say we join forces… but on the condition that he's blindfolded the whole time. Unless his powers work regardless of whether his optics are covered?"

"As far as I know, he needs optic contact to enthrall someone," Ratchet replied. "All right then…" He turned to face Mindwipe. "It's a deal, but we're blindfolding you until our mission's accomplished."

Mindwipe rested a hand on his chest. "You wound me with your distrust, good doctor… but I will accept that condition. Just let me contact Commander Strika, and we can forge a plan."

Ratchet nodded sharply. He knew he'd just struck a bargain with the devil to help his old friend… but at this point, he would make a deal with Unicron if it meant freeing Optimus Prime. He just hoped this wouldn't come back to bite them all in the afts.

Chapter Text

Megatron had just hung up his arm cannon and turned toward the berth to retire for the night when he caught movement out of the corner of his optic. Instinct kicked in, and he snatched the cannon back off its wall hooks and turned, ready to bring the weapon to bear… but he relaxed the moment he identified the intruder.

"Orion," he murmured. "You really are old enough to be recharging in your own berth."

Orion just gazed back with a pleading expression, clutching his turbofox plush to his chest. The dim light in Megatron's bedchamber gleamed off his violet and black armor, and his bright blue optics shimmered with the unspoken entreaty. He looked down at his feet, took a hesitant step into the chamber, and looked back up at his father.

Megatron sighed. If there was one force on the universe that could stir his iron spark, it was this newspark. "Just for tonight, then."

The child's entire face lit up with delight, and he darted into the room and scrambled up into the berth before Megatron could change his mind. He burrowed into the freshly-arranged thermal blankets, settling in, then peered up at his father. His wide, round optics bore another silent question - a request to be tucked in.

Megatron let a smile creep over his faceplate. Those optics had caused quite a stir among his Decepticons - not a proper red, not even yellow or violet, but a color Starscream disparagingly termed "Autobot-blue." Rumors had flown for a short time that Megatron had simply stolen an Autobot child to raise as his own, or that Orion was the product of a clandestine union or fling with an Autobot soldier. Few were bold enough to speak those rumors to the Great Slagmaker's face, of course, and he was quick to quash them whenever they were spoken within his audial range.

Shockwave, upon inspecting the child, had explained that while certain optic colors were prevalent among Autobots and Decepticons, they weren't entirely unique to either faction. And it wasn't uncommon for a newspark to start off with optics of one color, only for them to shift to another hue over time. Given time, Orion's optics might change… and if they didn't, Megatron could always have him wear a red visor to avoid drawing attention.

Megatron, for his part, didn't care. Orion's optics could be blue or red or even bright green - it didn't change his feelings for him in the least. And he refused to force his child to wear any kind of visor or mask. He would NOT let him think of himself as flawed or imperfect for something as silly as his optic color.

"Father?" Orion chirped, headfins flicking.

Megatron shook his head and climbed into the berth beside him, pulling the thermal blanket over both of them. "Don't mind me, little one. Your father simply has a lot on his processor."

Orion wriggled against him to get comfortable, his fox plush tucked under his chin. "I can help?"

Megatron chuckled and patted his back. "There'll be time for you to help me when you're older, little one. For now, your duty is to learn and grow. To be a child."

Orion opened his mouth to respond to that, only for a yawn to drown out whatever he had to say.

"Rest, little one," Megatron urged. "Tomorrow's another day."

Orion nodded, and his optic shutters slid shut as he drifted into recharge. Megatron, for his part, lay awake a long time, gazing at the protoform in his arms, committing every detail to memory. As much as he insisted it was high time Orion slept in his own berth, he knew he would miss moments like this when the child finally decided he didn't need to seek his creator out every night. And Orion might occasionally ruin his recharge cycle by kicking and squirming in his own sleep, but Megatron found it worth the price…

The slam of a cell door being shut snapped Megatron out of his funk, and he shook away the lingering vestiges of memory and raised his head. The guards were across the corridor from him, locking Optimus back in his cell. They laughed and slapped one another's backs and shoulders as if they'd just come back from a sports match, but the scuffs on their knuckles and the fluids smearing their armor gave away the true, brutal nature of their activities.

Megatron's spark curdled with rage as the guards strutted off, giving him an unobstructed view of the red mech. Optimus slumped against the back wall of his cell, head lolling to one side, optics dark. Deep dents and rents marred his plating, a spiderweb of cracks crazed across the windshields on his chest, and energon dripped from beneath his vocalizer restraint. His status as an Autobot, the Hero of Cybertron, hadn't been enough to save him from the guards' abuse.

Orion… my son… Some part of him still found this entire situation unthinkable. His son, the little mech he had long given up as dead, had survived. Survived and been raised as one of the enemy, taught to hate and fear his own father, to see him as a monster.

I nearly killed him… I nearly slew my own son. Horror warred with the anger in his spark, both emotions making his entire frame shake. To learn that his son was not only alive after all this time, but a soldier for the Autobot cause whom he had tried to kill multiple times, was almost more than his exhausted spark could bear. And to see him suffer like this for the sins of his father - a father he had never known except as a monster - only angered him further.

Optimus stirred, then online his optics. He raised his head and gazed blearily at Megatron, as if trying to comprehend where he'd seen the mech before. Then he seemed to recall just where he was, and his optics dimmed with mingled anger and despair. Understandable, Megatron knew, but all the same it was sparkrending to see such emotions in those optics.

Megatron focused all his strength on tapping out a message - okay?

Optimus gave him a look that plainly said what do you think? His return message was much shorter and a blatant lie - yes.

Megatron dimmed his own optics as he tapped a response. Failed. Failed… you. For it had been his duty to protect his son, and he had utterly failed. Not just in saving him from the slave-trading pirates who had snatched him from his grasp in the first place, but in protecting him from the wrath of the Autobots. Never mind that he was bound and exhausted, physically incapable of anything more than twitching his fingertips - he still held himself responsible for the harm that had come to his son.

Optimus gazed at him for a long moment, the steady tick of energon dripping onto his chestplate the only sound coming from his cell. Then, hesitantly, he tapped out a message of his own.

You… zero… action. He scowled, obviously frustrated with the limitations of the tapping code, but repeated it anyhow. You. Zero. Action.

Megatron puzzled over those words, until their meaning finally came clear - there was nothing you could do. Perhaps he was being too optimistic and misinterpreting… but somehow, he was certain that was the correct answer.

Failed, he insisted. For none of this would have happened to Optimus - to Orion - had he just kept him safe. If he had been just a little more vigilant in keeping their sector of space clear of the slavers, if he had just kept a heavier guard on his ship…

Optimus tapped again, pausing now and then as he struggled to put his reply together. Mission over… outcome final. Onward.

Megatron shuttered his optics. It's the past… there is no changing it. We can only move forward. Noble words, perhaps, but "moving forward" was going to be difficult at the moment. Neither of them had the strength or ability to break free, no rescue was forthcoming, and unlike his previous captivity he wasn't even connected to Dr. Sumdac's computer system to manipulate matters to his advantage. Perhaps, for once, escape was impossible…

Blitzwing hacked like an electrocat coughing up something nasty, and a loud clang echoed from his cell as, once again, he slipped his vocalizer gag. He smacked noisily a few times before his lunatic personality spoke up.

"Ohohoho, zis gets trickier ever time I do it," he noted, and it was a testament to just how brutal their captivity had been that the "random" personality actually sounded downbeat and tired for once. "My glossa's in knots! Zink zey'll finally catch on that it's useless and stop putting it back on?"

Megatron fought the urge to roll his optics. Could the triple-changer NOT be obnoxious for once in his functioning time? At least he didn't have to see it in action - few Decepticons could look at Blitzwing's freakishly-long striped glossa without recoiling in disgust.

Optimus' optics lit up, and he quickly tapped something out. Repeat maneuver.

"Ohohoho, I can do zis lockpicking all day," Blitzwing replied. "Vant me to lock it and unlock it again, schatzi?"

Optimus tapped out a no, then let his gaze rest pointedly on Blitzwing's wrist cuffs.

"Ah." Blitzwing's voice was far more level now, his cold personality coming to the fore. "Zat vill be trickier. We're not sure our glossa can reach zat far. But it is a clever idea."

The young Autobot's headfins drooped, but at least Blitzwing's actions seemed to have snapped him out of his funk. He tilted his head to one side, some of the angry fire fading from his optics as he contemplated. Evidently the triple-changer's antics had sparked the beginnings of an idea, and he'd decided to push his emotions to the side for the moment to plot further.

Megatron, for his part, shuttered his optics and pondered a plan of his own. Blitzwing had just proven that they weren't entirely helpless in their cells… and if he could figure out a way to throw off at least one of his restraints, perhaps they could manage the same.

If nothing else… I will ensure you escape, Orion. I've failed you twice now… I won't fail you again. Even if it costs me my life.

This was the eighth door Sentinel Prime had knocked on today, and if he had hoped it would get any easier he was terribly wrong. Each time he desperately hoped that no one was home, that the inevitable confrontation could be delayed for a time. And each time he found himself facing another mech, forced to deliver news that would, one way or another, change their lives forever.

He wasn't going to get any luckier with this apartment, it seemed. The mech who opened the door was a sleek blue mechanism with a crimson faceplate and a white chevron over his brow, a short set of wings jutting from his shoulders despite his obvious ground-vehicle mode. He'd just opened his mouth to tell off whoever had knocked at such a late hour, only to freeze at the sight of Sentinel, mouth hanging open and his tirade forgotten.

"Are you Autobot Tracks?" Sentinel demanded, forcing as much sternness into his voice as he could.

The blue mech stammered a bit before collecting himself. "I-I-I am. To whom do we owe the pleasure of an Elite Guard visit?" He reached up to fiddle with his spectacles - a useless accessory in Sentinel's opinion, as most mechs with optic damage just got them repaired rather than relying on external aids. "Mirage! Mirage, we have an important guest!"

"At this hour?" a second mech - blue and white, with blue markings resembling a half-mask framing his golden optics and with the sleekly elegant build of a Towers-district noble - demanded with a frown, joining Tracks in the doorway. "I just got the little ones in bed… oh my."

At the mention of "little ones" Sentinel barely suppressed a wince. Bad enough that he was ordered to detain one of these mechs for his Decepticon heritage - according to Ultra Magnus' orders he was required to arrest any sparklings he found as well. The Council was apparently taking no chances on any mech with Decepticon programming escaping their clutches.

"This matter doesn't concern you, Mirage," Sentinel barked, struggling to quell the squirming sensation in his spark. "You may go. My business is with Tracks alone."

"With all due respect, Prime, anything that concerns my conjux concerns me as well," Mirage replied coolly, narrowing his golden optics. "What business do you have with him? We've been complying with the curfews, I assure you."

"This isn't about the curfews," Sentinel replied. "This is about the fact that you, Tracks, have Decepticon programming."

Both mechs' optics blazed in horror. That seemed to be the standard reaction for everyone he confronted - utter, undiluted terror, whether at finally learning the horrible truth about their origins or at learning that a dreadful family secret had been discovered. Sentinel wondered how anyone could feel the slightest shred of satisfaction in uncovering these so-called traitors upon seeing their reactions.

"You must be mistaken," Tracks insisted, and tried to shut the door in Sentinel's face.

Sentinel put a hand out to keep the door opened. "There's no mistake. Your creation records show that you were a sparked mech, not forged. And by cross-examining your spark scans with the scans of known Decepticon criminals, we've determined that you were sparked by Fearswoop, one of Megatron's generals, now deceased."

The two mechs could only gape, their optics paling the longer Sentinel spoke until they were nearly white. Why didn't either of these Bots attack him and attempt to escape, or at the very least turn and flee further into the apartment? Why did these mechs always just stand there and listen to his condemning words, as if they had no choice but to submit to arrest?

"As a direct descendent of a known Decepticon criminal, you are hereby declared a threat to the safety of Cybertron, and are to be placed under arrest immediately," he continued. "You will comply quietly and without resistance, or I am authorized to use whatever force is necessary to ensure your compliance."

Tracks shook hard enough for the stubby wings on his shoulders - wings that were no doubt part of his Decepticon heritage - to tremble uncontrollably. "P-P-Prime sir… I'm a model citizen. I've never had so much as a speeding ticket. I'm a fashionable mod designer, for Allspark's sake! S-surely the Autobot Command doesn't think I'm a threat…"

"The Magnus' orders are clear," Sentinel said sternly. "Your Decepticon heritage makes you a threat, and you have to be contained for the safety of Cybertron and its citizens."

"But… but I have a family!" Tracks protested. "My sparklings! Who will provide for-" He froze, his optics paling to pure white as he realized what he'd just done. "No… no, please, you can't lock them up too! They're so young, they don't even know who their grandfather is, you can't-"

Sentinel raised his hand, silencing Tracks' terrified blathering. "I have my orders. I'm to cuff you and your offspring and transport you immediately to Kalis."

"This is outrageous!" Mirage cried, the fury in his voice barely concealing his own horror. "You'll arrest a mech simply based on who happened to spark him-"

"I am allowed to give you an hour to put your affairs in order," Sentinel went on, ignoring the two mechs. "I am certainly not permitted to advise you to gather your children and anything you can't live without and flee out the back entrance of your home, nor am I to inform you that the Elite Guard will be distracted while you make your escape."

Mirage stared, bafflement overtaking his terror. "What…"

"I certainly am not permitted to tell you that there is an area in the Dead Sector where other Autobots of Decepticon heritage are taking refuge. You are not advised to go there as quickly as possible - without powering on your headlights if at all possible. You certainly shouldn't stick to back roads and underground passages, and I certainly don't suggest that you settle in there as best you can and await further updates."

Tracks' optics flared a bright blue as he realized just what Sentinel was doing. "W-why-"

"I'm not at liberty to say anything else," Sentinel replied. "You have an hour. I'll be back then to take you into custody. Chop-chop, Autobot!"

Cleanser welled up in Tracks' optics. "Th-thank you… thank you so much…"

Mirage wrapped one arm around Tracks' shoulders and pulled him in for a quick hug. "We are in your debt, Sentinel Prime. Come, love... I'll go wake up the kids while you-" And he shut the door in Sentinel's face, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Sentinel drew in a shaky intake, then turned and strode away. He'd make a follow-up visit in an hour to ensure they'd taken his "not-advice," then report that Tracks had somehow been tipped off that his arrest was imminent and had vanished without a trace. With any luck, Tracks, Mirage, and their sparklings would be able to evade the patrols and reach the tentative sanctuary of the Dead Sector without difficulty.

He knew that this was a fool's errand - sooner or later someone was going to notice that he had yet to actually make any arrests, and that an alarming number of suspicious Autobots were abandoning their homes and businesses and seemingly evaporating into thin air. And once Ultra Magnus was informed of what was truly going on, then Sentinel could fully expect to be stripped of his Elite Guard crest… or even thrown in a cell alongside Optimus, considered a traitor to the Autobot cause.

But despite the nervous churning in his tanks, he couldn't bring himself to regret what he was doing. Ultra Magnus had pushed him over a line he refused to cross… and while it might be too late to correct the damage he'd already inflicted on Optimus, he could at least save others from a similar fate. Perhaps he was simply delaying the inevitable, but frag it, he had to try.

He checked the datapad in his hand for the next name on his list, then collapsed into his alt mode and drove off. He had many more stops to make, and he dreaded every one of them.

The fiery rays of the setting sun blazed off of Starscream's armor as he stretched luxuriously, wings flared wide and arms thrown skyward. For a moment he reveled in sensations that had been absent for far too long - of every limb and component working smoothly, of the play of light across the angles of his stunning chassis, of air currents caressing his wings and just begging him to take flight. He was whole again, gloriously complete… and ready to take on the world.

"Excellent," he purred, lowering his arms and tilting one wing to check it for any possible flaws. "Most excellent. I'm impressed, Wreck-Gar."

"All in a day's work!" Wreck-Gar assured him as he snapped the lid of his "toolbox" - in reality a chest freezer filled with any odds and ends he deemed remotely useful - shut and dropped it into his backpack with a resounding clang. "Be sure to schedule a follow-up appointment-"

"Yes, yes," he muttered with a dismissive wave. "You've been helpful." Perhaps that was damning the junky mech with faint praise - he was pretty much the only reason Starscream was even walking right now. He'd been online and watching the entire time Wreck-Gar repaired him, and in all honesty he was still baffled as to just how he'd managed to fix his chassis and reattach his head. A lot of duct tape seemed to be involved, and he could have sworn that the mech had used an old lawnmower engine and a video-game console as spare parts somewhere along the way. He had thought to complain, but then, Cybertronian components were probably hard to come by on this planet, and one had to make do with what they had.

But now Wreck-Gar's usefulness had passed… and it was time to move on. Time to round up his clones and take stock of the situation here on Earth and on Cybertron… and time to plan his takeover of both.

"You are looking much better, Starscream sir!" Jetstorm exclaimed, clapping his hands. "We are glad you got your body back!"

"Does this mean we should be going home, though?" Jetfire asked. "We have answered the SOS… Sentinel Prime will not be liking it if we are gone too long. He is being cranky like that."

Starscream turned to regard the young jetformers, cupping his chin in thought. Like Wreck-Gar, these two had proven useful… but unlike the Junk-ion, perhaps they hadn't outlived their usefulness yet. They had helped him unquestioningly, dragging his chassis off the makeshift funeral byre and handing Wreck-Gar tools and equipment as he'd patched him back together. And neither of them had even flinched upon seeing the Decepticon symbols on his wings - well, they'd poked at them curiously for a bit, but didn't seem all that bothered by them.

"Just because you are being a Decepticon doesn't mean we should be leaving you in pieces," Jetfire had told him. "Besides, you are a fellow flier! We are not seeing those very often! Fliers stick together!"

Yes.. fliers stick together. A slow smile spread across his features as he studied the twins, a plan brewing in his CPU. The poor dears, really - fliers being raised by Autobots, who had no idea how to properly train or care for a jetformer. They deserved to be properly brought up by a true flier, to learn from a master of the sky instead of groundbounds who considered anything with wings to be evil.

Not to mention that these two bore his programming - were, in effect, technically his sons. And who better to teach these two than their own father, so to speak? Yes, it really was for the best that he take these two under his wing and properly teach and raise them, care for them…

He shook his head, dismissing that last part. This was purely to recruit two more loyal soldiers for his personal forces. That was right, it was a tactical decision, certainly not out of any actual fondness for these two scamps… right?

"What are you staring at, Starscream sir?" Jetstorm asked.

"Why… two very capable fliers, of course," he replied, voice as warm as he could make it. "Ones who take after their parent."

Jetstorm and Jetfire exchanged puzzled looks, then turned back to Starscream. "But we are not remembering our parents, Starscream sir," Jetstorm remarked.

Starscream rebooted his optics at that. "Oh? Nothing about them at all?"

"Our memories are being… fragged up, as Sentinel Prime likes to say," Jetstorm replied. "We are not remembering our parents… or what we were before we got upgraded to be fliers. But Perceptor and Sentinel Prime were teaching us after our upgrade, so… I suppose they are kind of being our parents?"

Starscream chuckled and shook his head. ""Oh no, my dears, this won't do. You deserve to be raised by a TRUE parent." He rested a hand on his cockpit. "Me."

Jetfire's optics flared in shock. "You… you are being our father?"

Starscream nodded. Perhaps that explanation was a bit simplistic - he certainly had no hand in creating these two, only in providing the programming for their reformat - but if these two accepted it as fact, he was that much closer to recruiting them.

Evidently they accepted it with great enthusiasm - they charged forward as one, wrapping their arms around his waist. "DADDY!"

"What the- I am not- oh, bother." Starscream scowled, wings drooping as the twins clung to him like overeager sparklings, beaming up at him with admiring smiles. "Fine… I'm your daddy. Just don't call me that in front of anyone else!"

"What about him?" Jetstorm asked, pointing at Wreck-Gar.

Starscream watched as the garbage-truck-former squatted to poke at a raccoon. "He's fine. Wreck, if you speak a word of this to anyone, I'll sink you to the bottom of the lake."

"Mum's the word!" Wreck-Gar vowed. "Well, I guess Pop's the word, or Dad, or Father, or Old Man, or That Bastard Who Ran Off With His Secretary…"

Starscream decided he'd rather not know what he was blathering on about and turned back to the twins. "Transform and rise up, my sons! I will teach you to be proper fliers… and you will help me build an empire!"

The two jetformers whooped with glee and released him. "Yes, Dad!"

Starscream gritted his dental plates and prepared to shift… only for a plaintive shout to stop him in his tracks.

"Hey! What about me?"

He turned to glower at Wreck-Gar. "What about you?"

"You're not just gonna leave me behind, are you?" the Junk-ion pleaded, his optics wide and shining in a pathetic display of emotion.

"Well, far be it from us to take you from your home," Starscream replied, gesturing at the expansive landfill that was his kingdom. "We're thankful for your help, and you will be compensated-"

Wreck-Gar's reaction was both unexpected and spectacular - he flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around Starscream's legs, crying with enough force to send twin streams of cleanser flowing down his face.

"PLEASE!" he sobbed. "PLEASE don't leave me behind! I'm all alone! The Autobots won't visit me here - not even the other temporary Autobots! The humans call me a worthless wreck and a freak and chase me with helicopters! The junkyard cats and the hobos and the garbage collectors just scream and run when they see me!"

The twins made sympathetic cooing sounds at Wreck-Gar's tragic story. Starscream's first impulse was to roll his optics. Though come to think of it, he knew something of what it was to be an outcast from his own kind…

"All right, Wreck-Gar-" he began, but the mech wasn't done.

"My mother was a garbage truck and my father was a shiny alien widget who never even paid child support!" He pulled the ratty beach towel from his pack and blew his olfactory sensor with it. "My brothers and sisters all hated me because I was an only child! PLEASE let me come with you!"

"All right!" Starscream snapped. "All right, you can come with us, just stop talking!"

"Okay." And as abruptly as that Wreck-Gar calmed down and got to his feet. "Uh, I don't have wings."

Starscream turned to the twins. "You two carry him. Surely you can manage that between you-"

"Yes, Dad!" they chirped in unison… and they promptly began to transform, their bodies splitting and fusing together before Starscream's stunned optics until a totally new mech stood before him. Half-orange and half-blue, split weirdly down the middle, he crouched down and slid his hands under Wreck-Gar's arms before taking to the air, letting the Junk-ion's legs dangle beneath him.

"Huh… that's new," he noted, though not without a sly smile. These two mechs continued to surprise him… and exhibit powers beyond anything he could imagine. They would be formidable soldiers to add to his army.

He took to the air, transforming to his own jet mode and gunning his engines to catch up to his new troops. He had a lot of work ahead of him… but he was confident it would be worth it.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee had heard plenty of stories about General Strika, one of Megatron's most feared officers and one of the deadliest warriors among the Decepticons. None of those stories exactly made him feel better about being in her presence, let alone trailing along behind her as she led the way through Kalis' warren of tunnels. And being surrounded by her henchmechs, each one uglier than the last, just made him all the more jittery.

And when Bumblebee was jittery, he tended to run his vocalizer. Which he knew didn't help matters in the least, but what could he do about that?

"So… you work with Megatron, huh?"

Someone behind him - Prowl from the sound of it - slapped their forehead in exasperation. The massive magenta-and-gold femme just turned slightly to regard him over her shoulder, not even breaking her stride.

"The little one has an excellent perception of the obvious," she noted, and Bumblebee felt a rush of relief at the humor that colored her deep voice instead of irritation. "Yes, I serve Lord Megatron."

"So, uh… you must be really devoted to the ol' Slagmaker to wanna break him out. Some mechs probably woulda left him to rot and tried to take over- ow! Bulkhead, what was THAT for?"

"Don't get her mad!" Bulkhead demanded. "She'll slag us!"

Strika snorted. "You Autobots are not worth slagging. We are here for Megatron, not to target puny mechs and flesh creatures." She ducked beneath a low-slung maintenance pipe, though her back cannons still clanged against it. "And to answer your question, not every Decepticon is of Starscream's mold. Many of us are truly loyal, and will not stand idly by and let the Autobots execute him."

"Why're the slagging Autobots helping us anyhow?" grumbled Scalpel, a misshapen roach of a mech perched on Strika's shoulder like a malformed petro-parrot. "Thought your kind WANTED his head to roll!"

"That's none of your business," Prowl retorted coolly.

"Oh, don't play cagey with us," chuckled Mindwipe, sounding in remarkably good humor despite the plate fastened over his optics. "It's not as if the truth about your precious Hero of Cybertron has gone unheard by us. Megatron's son, resurfaced at last… and here so many of us had given the poor sparkling up as dead."

"He grew up to beat the slag out of his own father, so I don't see how that's much better," Scalpel grumbled.

Prowl held up a hand, halting Mindwipe's retort. "We're here. The maximum-security block is just above us. We're close to Optimus Prime… and Megatron."

"How do YOU know this?" demanded Scalpel, rubbing his claws together like a cyber-cricket. "I know you cyberninjas preach about processor over matter, but that doesn't make you telepathic!"

"Processor over matter can accomplish a lot," Prowl replied without a hint of irritation. "But I relied on more mundane means this time. Ratchet transmitted a map of the facility to me before he left to talk to the Magnus."

Strika nodded and held out a hand. "Then let us get to work. Cyclonus, bring the corrosives."

The tall, lanky swordsman nodded slowly and stepped forward, handing Strika a black barrel. She pried off the lid and used it to spread a viscous green substance over the roof of the tunnel.

Faint sirens caught Bumblebee's adial, and he frowned as he picked up other troubling sounds with them - blaster fire, crashes, shouts and curses. Under other circumstances he might assume a fight had broken out in one of the lower-security wings, or another escape attempt was in progress. But he knew the real source of the chaos - the rest of Strika's team, a collection of mechs who seemed to be competing amongst one another for the title of Universe's Ugliest Decepticon, were firing on the prison and staging a distraction.

I never thought I'd say this, but… good job, Team Chaar. Just keep it up until we get Prime outta here. After that I don't care if the Elite Guard kicks your afts-

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he nearly yelped and leaped through the ceiling before turning around. "Don't DO that, Prowl!"

"Calm down," Prowl advised, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "If you twitch any harder you'll be spitting sparks."

"We're surrounded by these freaks and you're telling me to calm down?" Bumblebee demanded in a frantic whisper. "I ain't gonna calm down until this job's done and we're far away from them!"

"None of us like having to work with Strika and her team," Prowl replied softly. "But it's a necessary evil until we have Optimus Prime back. And I would refrain from calling them 'freaks' until we've parted ways."

Strika snorted, not even bothering to look at them as she focused on painting the ceiling with Oil Slick's corrosive compound. "We have been called worse. Often by fellow Decepticons. I do not select my team members based on their physical appearance, but on their abilities on the battlefield. If that means they are more… unique in their body shapes, then so be it."

Bumblebee gave Scalpel a look. The insectoid Decepticon stared back at him, as if analyzing just how to most efficiently disassemble him, and he stuck his glossa out at the diminutive medic. After having the little cyber-roach giving him creepy looks this whole mission, he would never complain about Ratchet's grouchiness again.

"How much longer?" asked Bulkhead, shifting from foot to foot.

"Have patience," Prowl urged. "If we rush this operation, we risk blowing this entire operation."

"But Optimus is right up there!" Bulkhead insisted. "We should be smashin' our way up there to get him, not just standing around!"

"Control your bruiser," Mindwipe sneered, curling his lip plate in disgust. "Obviously you didn't select him for this mission for his processor power…"

"Hey, shut up, Fang-Face," Bumblebee retorted. "We're all here 'cause we care about our leader. How long before we can go up there and spring him?"

"Patience," Strika replied. "Give the corrosive time to work. Then your brute can smash through to his spark's content."

"Great!" Bulkhead punched a fist into his palm. "Uh, was that an insult?"

"Only if you take it to be," Strika replied… and while her faceplate configuration made her expression hard to read, Bumblebee could have sworn she was smiling. "Some of us appreciate a mech with some power in his chassis."

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuh…" Strika's words seemed to have frozen Bulkhead's processor in its tracks.

"Did… did she just… flirt with Bulkhead?" Professor Sumdac asked.

"If so, it's probably a first for the big guy," Bumblebee noted.

Strika rumbled softly, and Bumblebee backed up a few paces before he realized she was laughing. "You Autobots are amusing. It will be a shame to have to kill you when all this is over with."

"I thought we had a bargain," Professor Sumdac stated, paling as he stepped closer to Prowl.

"We have agreed to help you rescue the son of Megatron," Strika replied. "We said nothing about what will happen afterwards. If you wish to remain in one piece once you have your friend, I would suggest you run fast." She tested the section of ceiling with a fingertip. "Soon."

Bumblebee rocked back and forth on his heels, humming anxiously and ignoring Cyclonus' annoyed glare. Hold on, Optimus… we're comin'.

The meeting with Ultra Magnus took place, not in the Council chamber, but in the Magnus' office. Ratchet drew himself up straight as possible, trying not to think about the last time he had stood in this office - being assigned to the living weapon that was Omega Supreme, an assignment that would forever disillusion him towards the Autobot cause. Oh, he had still considered himself loyal to Cybertron and the Autobot symbol, but no longer did he blindly trust every word that fell from the Magnus' lip plates.

He had a sickening feeling that his faith in the cause would sink even lower by the time they were through here. At least it wouldn't come as such a shock this time.

"I know why you're here," Ultra Magnus said, not even bothering to turn away from the office window to address Ratchet. "And the answer is no. Optimus will not be released until the Council has had time to further investigate the matter."

"And when the slag is THAT gonna be?" Ratchet demanded. "Next cycle? Next vorn? Or will you just conveniently forget he's locked up and leave him to rot in his cell?"

"These things take time, Ratchet," Ultra Magnus replied, clasping his hands behind his back. "If I were you, I would suggest you return to Earth and finish your team's business there. Optimus is no longer your concern."

"He's every bit our concern!" Ratchet snapped. "He's our leader and our friend! And we're not going to just sit back and watch while you treat him like a criminal!"

"Is that a threat?" the Magnus replied, finally turning to glower at the medic with his good optic. "That could prove costly for your career, medic."

"Oh, you want a threat?" Ratchet retorted. "I'll give you a threat, you pompous-"

"Magnus, sir," Jazz cut in, stepping forward in an effort to salvage the situation. "This ain't right, an' you know it. Optimus Prime's the Hero of Cybertron, an' one of the most loyal Autobots we got. He coulda demanded the Magnus Hammer after capturin' Megatron, but he didn't. He's one'a the most humble an' carin' Bots I ever met. Is the Council really gonna discount all of THAT just 'cause of who sparked him?"

Ultra Magnus sighed deeply and turned the rest of the way around to directly face Jazz. "The fact that Optimus has been a loyal Autobot up to this point will be considered when the Council makes a final decision. But all factors have to be taken into account… and the safety of Cyberton and its citizens is one of those factors. Autobots need to be able to trust us, to trust the Primes… and can they do so knowing that one of them carries Decepticon programming?"

"Sure they can," Jazz argued. "In fact, this could be great publicity for the Council! Won't it give more mechs faith in the cause knowin' that the son of Megatron himself joined up with it? An' don't the fact that Optimus is pretty much the opposite've his creator prove that he's a true hero?"

Ratchet scowled. He knew what Jazz was trying to do - appeal to the Magnus' pride - but he wasn't sure he approved of his tactics. Still, if it worked, who was he to argue?

"Excellent points," Ultra Magnus admitted, "and ones that we will take into consideration. You two are dismissed for the time being."

"But-" began Jazz.

"You. Are. Dismissed." The Magnus raised an optic ridge. "Unless Ratchet has deigned to follow orders and brought back the Magnus Hammer."

"I told the Council that I would bring the hammer back for the Magnus himself," Ratchet replied. "And at the moment, I don't see a Magnus. Just a slagged fool with his cranial unit so far up his exhaust pipe he can't even see the light of day."

Ultra Magnus' optic flashed in rage, but before he could reply a light flashed on his desk console. He touched a control on the desk. "Magnus speaking."

"Ultra Magnus, Kalis is under attack! Decepticons are firing on the correctional facility!"

The Magnus' jaw dropped… but he snapped it shut, his rage giving way to the firm, calculated expression he had so often worn during the Great War. "I want the Elite Guard mobilized and on its way to Kalis immediately. Those Decepticons must be stopped at all costs-"

Ratchet clamped a hand on Jazz's arm and steered him toward the door while the Magnus was distracted. They had tried and failed to do this the "right" way. Now all hope for rescuing Optimus fell on their shaky alliance with Strika's mechs. And in all honesty, that didn't fill him with a great deal of confidence.

All the more reason to hurry to Kalis before everything goes to the Pit, I suppose. At least I know Rodimus is handling things back on Earth - at least HE can be trusted to take orders and not do anything too stupid.

"Fraggit, I'm stuck."

Rodimus suppressed a groan and turned his head as much as the cramped ventilation system would allow to peer over his shoulder spoiler. "Again?"

"Hey, not all've us can be skinny types," Ironhide grumbled, wriggling in an effort to dislodge his bulk from the narrow duct. "Whose bright idea was this?"

"Hey, going through the ventilation shafts always works in the holovids," Hot Shot pointed out.

"This isn't a holovid," Red Alert reminded him. "As our leader SHOULD know!"

"Keep it down, you idiots," Brawn grumbled. "Want the whole facility to know we're here?"

"Brawn, Hot Shot, see if you can pull him loose," Rodimus ordered. "Red Alert, follow me. The rest of you catch up when you've got him free."

"Yessir," Hot Shot replied, and the two smaller mechs crawled back to the red bruiser's side. Grabbing his wrists, they began to yank, wincing at the screech of metal on metal that filled the shaft.

Red Alert sighed as she trailed after Rodimus, following him deeper into the facility. "When you mentioned you had a plan, I thought it would be a better one than THIS."

"This IS a good plan," Rodimus insisted. "These vents lead everywhere, even to the max-security wing, and no one thinks to patrol them. It's perfect."

"No one patrols them because only idiots get inspiration from cheap action vids," Red Alert retorted.

"Yeah, but they'll assume anyone trying to break someone out of max-security ISN'T an idiot, so therefore it's not worth checking out. But we're proving we're NOT idiots by defying their expectations and taking the route they assume only an idiot will take."

Red Alert just stared. "I'm wracking my processor, but I cannot follow your logic in the slightest."

Rodimus shrugged. "It made sense before it came out of my mouth. How much farther?"

Red Alert sighed and unfolded a panel on her arm guard. "It looks like we've actually overshot max-security by about… ten meters. Not far, but we need to back up a bit."

"Whoops. Reverse it is - if we can clear the blockage first. Any luck back there, you guys?"

"He ain't budging," Brawn grumbled. "Hot Shot, think you can cut him loose?"

"Oh, don't you dare!" Ironhide barked. "I ain't lettin' that pyromaniac bring his torches near me!"

"Oh, calm down," Hot Shot replied, igniting one torch in a burst of crimson flame. "I've cut you out of plenty of tight spots without scorching you, haven't I? Just turn on your super-armor and you'll be fine."

"That don't inspire a lotta confidence," Ironhide growled, but his armor silvered over as he activated his outlier ability. Hot Shot got to work, slicing at the metal walls of the vent.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Red Alert.

"Well, we can't very well leave him," Rodimus insisted. "Plus he's blocking our way back. Honestly, it's almost like you have no faith in any of my ideas."

"I'm not trying to undermine you. I just worry that if Hot Rod cuts too much he'll compromise the strength of the vent walls and-"

The SNAP of overstressed metal finally giving way cut off the rest of her sentence, and Ironhide cursed loudly as he fell through the floor of the vent and into the maximum-security wing of Kalis' detention center.

Megatron stared across the corridor at Optimus, his spark sinking at seeing him slump back and offline his optics. For hours the red mech had been struggling with his vocalizer restraint, trying to imitate Blitzwing's trick to disengage it. But he hadn't the triple-changer's knack for it, and his injured jaw meant that all he earned for his efforts was agony. And in the end, he had given up, surrendering to the pain and the hopelessness of his situation.

The silver mech knew he hadn't the strength to fight off so much as a newsparked electro-kitten… but every component of his being longed to snap his bonds and smash through both his cell and Optimus Prime's. His own life was forfeit - he had accepted that by now - but he refused to let despair claim his son. He didn't deserve to suffer for his heritage.

You cannot give up, Orion, he thought. Open your optics. Please, look at me! Give me some sign that you still have some fight in you!

The doors to the cell block opened, and another cluster of guards made their way into the detention block, muttering to each other as they pushed an empty hoversled down the corridor. Megatron frowned behind his vocalizer restraint. This was new… what were these mechs playing at? Was someone being transferred?

"Which one?" a blue-and-orange guard asked. "Or did Perceptor specify?"

"Just pick one," the green one retorted. "He ain't picky. The experiment just calls for a Decepticon, not a specific one."

Megatron's spark roiled in anger and disgust. So the Autobots had sunk to experimenting on Decepticon captives. Here he had thought Starscream had been exaggerating… but for once the treacherous flier had been correct. Evidently the Magnus had decided simple imprisonment or execution was too kind for the Decepticon rebels.

"Well, it's not like we got a lack of choices," the blue guard noted. "Hey, how about the Hero of Cybertron? Take him down a few pegs?"

Megatron shuddered, spark blazing with hatred and horror. Had he possessed control of his vocalizer he might have begged for them to take him instead, to bring him before their scientists for whatever barbarity they had planned. Though he suspected that his pleas would only encourage them to take Optimus, and perhaps even force him to watch as they vivisected him or did whatever else they had planned…

"Nah, not him," the green mech replied. "They wanna extract battle programming to make stronger Autobot fighters, so probably not the runt of the bunch. One of the Starscream clones, maybe? Or that ugly double-agent?"

"How about the triple-changer?" the blue guard suggested. "We could use some Autobot trips. Maybe even figure out how to iron out that stupid personality glitch while we're at it."

Blitzwing's angry personality growled like a feral cyberdragon. "You Autobots vill take us to the labs over our offline chassis!"

"That's tempting, but you're not in a position to stop us," the blue guard gloated, cracking his knuckles. "Relax, Perceptor's known for being relatively painless. Just ask Starscream - oh wait, he's dead. Well, anyhow, it's less than you deserve-"

The crack of breaking metal cut off the rest of his taunt, and the green guard shrieked and backpedaled as a bulky form fell from the ceiling and landed on the hoversled. The intruder cursed and rolled off the transport, silver plating shifting to red as he leaped to his feet. His hands retracted, replaced with silver piledrivers, and his optics flashed as he whipped around to glare at the two guards.

"What the frag…" he demanded… then his optics landed on the hoversled he'd just fallen onto. It didn't look much different from any other transport sled - except for restraints that had been hastily welded to either end, meant to secure a mech's wrists and ankles before taking them away. His jaw dropped, and Megatron imagined he could see the gears turning in the mech's CPU as he realized just what he had literally fallen into.

"Freeze!" the blue guard demanded, raising his weapon. "Hands in the air!"

The intruder raised his hands… then slammed them into the floor. The resulting tremor knocked both guards off their feet and rattled every captive in their cells. Even the red mech staggered, though he gamely stayed on his feet.

"Y'all get down here!" he bellowed. "Slag's worse'n we thought! Let's get Optimus outta here!"

"We gathered that!" Another mech dropped from the ceiling, this one a sleek magenta mech with yellow flames painted across his chest. "Go break him out of cell, and we'll handle the guards-"

The floor directly under the bulkier mech erupted, and he fell over with another spate of cursing as yet another Autobot hauled themselves out of the newly formed fissure in the floor. The green mech scrambled free of the hole and stood, slamming his fists together.

Bulkhead. One of Optimus' team, Megatron realized - a brawler with more strength than intelligence but with a frighteningly brilliant grasp of space bridge mechanics. So his son still had mechs loyal to him, and willing to put their own lives on the line to save him.

"We're here, Optimus! We gotcha! We're gonna bust ya- oh Allspark, this is bad." He lowered his fists, gawking at the various cells and their occupants. "I thought we didn't do this…"

"You Autobots aren't as merciful as you like to think you are. Now stop gawking and break open a few cells."

For the first time since he had awakened in his cell, Megatron felt a surge of hope as he watched General Strika emerge from the ragged gap in the floor. One of his deadliest officers had returned to his side - disobeying a direct order to do so, but in light of the circumstances her insubordination was welcome. Why she was in the company of Autobots was a puzzle for another time - for now, he was in no position to question a rescue, no matter how unorthodox.

The magenta mech shouted a warning as the doors to the max-security block blew open, and a squadron of guards surged into the corridor. More mechs crawled out of the floor and dropped from the ceiling, until the cell block seethed with blaster fire and fists and drawn weapons. A web of cracks spread across the clear wall of his cell as a stray energy arrow struck it, and the floor trembled under his feet with the force of a pitched battle.

It was Strika who reached his cell at last, and one blow of her fist shattered the transparisteel wall once and for all. She gestured to Cyclonus, who brought his sword down on the stasis cuffs and neatly sliced them away.

Under better circumstances than these, Megatron might have rallied to make a valiant stand, to take control of his Decepticons and lead them to victory. But the abuse and starvation he had suffered had taken their toll, and his limbs gave out the moment the stasis cuffs dropped away. His vision faded, and he vaguely felt himself being slung over a broad shoulder before blessed darkness claimed him entirely.

Bumblebee pulled himself out of the floor and emerged into chaos. Blaster fire hissed over his helm as the Autobot guards opened fire and the Decepticon warriors returned the favor. Cyclonus had shoved the hoversled onto its side, and Prowl and Rodimus hunkered behind the makeshift cover, occasionally raising their heads to hurl a throwing star or energy arrow in return. Ironhide was already hammering away at Optimus' cell, while Strika hauled a huge silver chassis out of the opposite cell.

Megatron… Bumblebee felt an instant of terror at the sight of the Slagmaker himself, but felt it give way almost immediately to a different sort of horror. The Decepticon leader had been in sorry shape after they had beaten his aft into the ground back in Detroit, but somehow he looked worse than ever after a stay in the detention center. His armor was riddled with dents and cracks, oil dripped from a deep fissure in his shoulder, and the stasis cuffs had rubbed his wrists until the base metal showed through the paint.

Slag… I never thought I'd feel sorry for Megatron of all mechs. And Autobots did this… I thought we were better than this!

"What are YOU doing here, Rodimus?" Prowl demanded as he hurled another shuriken at the guards, knocking one's gun from her hand. "You were supposed to stay in Detroit!"

"We thought you guys could use a hand," Rodimus replied, knocking an arrow. "Don't worry, Earth's going to be perfectly fine while we're gone."

That means slag is gonna go down while we're gone, Bumblebee thought. Because that's just how our luck's been goin' lately-

A shriek cut into his thoughts, and he looked down as Professor Sumdac ducked behind his leg to avoid a stray blaster bolt. Instinctively he scooped up the human and held him to his chest.

"Yeesh, maybe you shoulda stayed in the tunnel," he noted. "Stay up here much longer an' you'll get stepped on or crisped."

"Perhaps you're right," Isaac replied, his voice shaky from the close miss. "But there must be SOMETHING I can do to help!"

Before Bumblebee could reply he heard another shriek, and he glanced up to see two of the guards gawking at him as if he were holding a live bomb in his hands. For a moment Bumblebee could only gawk back, wondering just what their problem was.

Then realization clicked, and he grinned and approached the mechs, holding Sumdac out at arm's length. "Get back! I got an organic and I'm not afraid to use it!"

The taller of the two guards screamed and wobbled on his feet, as if about to keel over in a dead faint. The shorter mech kept his gun trained on Bumblebee, but his knees shook

"Stay back!" he barked. "I'm warning you!"

"YOU stay back or the organic gets germs on you!" Bumblebee retorted.

Isaac drew in a deep breath and gave a sneeze that, even to the yellow mech's untrained audial, sounded incredibly fake. It did the trick, though - the guards backed away. Bumblebee waved the professor at them a little longer to ensure they kept their distance, then sidled over to Optimus' cell as Ironhide dragged the red mech free.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Not good," Ironhide replied, unable to hide his worry as he hauled Optimus behind the barrier and laid him down. "Think you can you get his cuffs?"

"On it." He set Isaac down next to Prowl and knelt by the Prime's side, touching the tip of one of his stingers to the stasis cuffs. "Hold on, Boss. We gotcha. You're gonna be okay."

Optimus shuddered as the restraints clicked open, and he immediately curled up and turned away from Bumblebee, covering his face with his hands.

"Boss, it's us," Bumblebee assured him. "We're rescuing you. We gotcha." He touched the stinger to the gag, and it fell away with a clatter. "Talk to us."

Optimus didn't reply, only curled up in a tighter ball. Bumblebee took in the dried oil trickling down his jaw and the terrible dents in his armor, and he felt like purging his fuel tank on the spot. How could Autobots do this to anyone, much less one of their own? Had learning the truth about the Hero of Cybertron's past really tainted him that much in their optics?

Red Alert crouched down by Optimus' side, touching a scanner to his neck. "His energy levels are low, but most of the injuries look minor. He's probably still in shock, though. Let's get him out of here before we worry about repairs."

"How's the guard situation lookin'?" he asked, daring a peek around the barrier. The urge to upchuck the contents of his tanks returned with a vengeance when he saw a handful of mechs lying on the floor of the cell block, at least two of them already gray with death. "Oh slag…"

"We knew going into this that there would be a fight," Prowl murmured, sounding just as troubled as Bumblebee felt. "And any fight means the possibility of sparks snuffed. We have to keep moving, though - we can deal with the repercussions of this later."

Bumblebee knew the ninja was right, but that didn't stop him from wanting to follow Optimus' lead and curl up in a shaking ball on the spot. He had Autobot oil on his hands now. From this point forward he would be regarded as a criminal, just as Optimus was.

"The guards will return, and with reinforcements," Strika rumbled, shifting Megatron's chassis on her shoulder. "We had best be gone before they get back."

"What about the others?" asked Rodimus.

"Oh come on, they're Decepticons!" Brawl snapped. "Let 'em rust! Get Optimus and let's get outta here!"

Strika let her gaze move over the cells… and her optics flared as they landed on Lugnut. "They dare… big Autobot, take him!" And she passed Megatron over to a startled Bulkhead and moved to tear open the violet mech's cell.

"Uh…" Bulkhead stared down at Megatron, then hurriedly set him down on the floor and backed away as if he were radioactive. "Thought we were just gettin' Optimus and Megatron."

"You think we would leave our own to suffer?" Mindwipe demanded, cocking his head in Bulkhead's direction. "We may be monsters to you Autobots, but we are not sparkless. We'll not leave our comrades behind."

Bumblebee thought of a few smart-aleck comebacks he could shoot back, but instead he just watched as Strika pried off Lugnut's gag and cuffs, then lifted him in her arms with unexpected tenderness. The violet bulk's single optic flickered online, and he stared up at the General with a dazed expression.

"S-Strika," he rumbled. "My… my beloved…"

"Hush," she murmured, settling him in her arms. "You are safe now, my consort. Be brave for me a little longer."

Hot Shot exchanged a look with Bumblebee and mouthed consort? Bumblebee just shrugged. In all honesty, those two seemed perfect for each other… even if he never imagined Decepticons to be capable of love and affection before now.

"All right, we'll leave you Cons to your jailbreak," Hot Rod noted. "Meanwhile we'll take our guy and… um…"

"What the frag?" Brawn muttered.

Bumblebee returned his gaze to Optimus… and felt his jaw drop. Optimus was no longer curled up in a shivering ball on the floor - he had managed to drag himself to Megatron's side, and had pressed against his chest like an electro-kitten against its mother. His optics were still tightly shuttered and he trembled hard enough to make his plating rattle, but some of the tension seemed to have drained out of his joints.

Even as he watched, Megatron stirred… and his arm shifted to drape over Optimus' form. Optimus' shivering gradually eased, and he wriggled closer to the silver mech.

"Awww… that's adorable," Hot Shot murmured. Then he shook his head as he realized just what had come out of his vocalizer. "I didn't say that! You didn't hear it!"

"Too late, I heard it," Bumblebee replied, managing a smirk despite the complicated emotions churning in his spark right now.

"Boss, we gotta go," said Bulkhead, bending down to scoop Optimus up.

Optimus gave a soft whimper and clung tightly to the silver mech, like a sparkling against their parent.

"This can't be happening," muttered Red Alert.

"Evidently it is," Prowl replied. "It seems, if we're leaving this prison in one piece, we're all leaving together."

"It would seem that way," Strika noted. "If your big mechs will help us break open the rest of the cells, we can be out of here that much faster. I suggest you hurry - Oil Slick and Spittor and the others won't keep the rest of the guards distracted for much longer."

Chapter Text

By the time Ratchet and Jazz arrived at the Kalis correctional facility, the entire complex was in chaos. Alarms brayed, guards swarmed every building, and blaster fire pierced the general din on an all-too-frequent basis. Whatever distraction Strika and her team had planned had evidently been incredibly successful… Ratchet just hoped the rescue had been as well.

Jazz braked to a halt a block away from the prison. "We can't get in. Place is prob'ly on lockdown now."

"Frag it all." Ratchet transformed and kicked a scrap of debris in frustration. "I HATE playing the waiting game! Those punks had better be okay in there, or I'm going to offline them myself."

"They'll be fine, Ratch," Jazz assured him, transforming and patting the medic's arm. "You got a good team, and Strika's s'posed to be one'a the best of Megatron's generals. They've got this."

Ratchet snorted. "Strika being Megatron's best general isn't supposed to be a good thing."

"Yet here we are," Jazz noted.

Ratchet rolled his optics and opened his comm link. Bumblebee, status report.

It's going great, Doc! And by "great" I mean "to Pit in a handbasket but at least we've got Optimus." Uh… and Megatron and a bunch of other 'Cons, but hey, silver linings, right?

Ratchet's tanks lurched. He had agreed to this alliance knowing Strika's ultimate goal had been to free Megatron, but it still rankled knowing all their hard work in capturing the Great Slagmaker had been undone. Steer as far clear of them as you can and get to the space bridge, all right? We didn't come this far to have an angry warlord shoot you in the back.

Bumblebee went silent, and Ratchet felt his tanks clench again. If the situation was bad enough to shut the yellow 'bot up, then things were worse than he thought.

I don't think Megatron's gonna be shootin' anyone in the back, Doc. He looks REALLY bad off.

Bad off? You're saying they never fixed him after the Detroit battle?

Worse than that… all the 'Cons have been roughed up real bad. And… they beat the slag outta Optimus too. He's really shaken up, it looks like.

Ratchet felt the sudden urge to drive back to Ultra Magnus' office and drive a fist into his remaining optic. That he could condone this kind of abuse towards anyone, Autobot or Decepticon, was inexcusable. And just proved that he was as unworthy to hold the Magnus Hammer as Sentinel Prime had been.

Something slammed into the electrified fence surrounding the prison - an Autobot guard. He let out an oil-curdling scream as energy coursed through his frame, then he fell to the ground in a shower of sparks. The mech who had flung him, a hulking gray helicopter-former whose tiny head was nearly lost in the bulk of his shoulders, stomped forward and fired an energy disc at the fence, shattering it. He kept his weapon-arm trained on Ratchet for a long, deeply uncomfortable moment, then grunted and lowered it.

Ratchet had to suppress a shudder of horror. Knowing Blackout was on their side, if only temporarily, was only slight consolation.

"Incoming!" another hulking mech - Sky-Byte - shouted, and a cluster of mechs emerged from the smoke of the firefight and charged for the rift in the fence. Strika's team flanked the rest of the group, firing in all directions as the Autobots guided the injured. Was it Ratchet's imagination, or were there far more Autobots present than they had come here with…

"Rodimus!" he roared. "What in tarnation are you doing here?!"

"Hi Ratchet," Rodimus greeted, his cheery grin contorted with strain as a badly damaged Swindle leaned on him for support. "Figured you guys could use some backup."

"You were supposed to stay in Detroit, you little punk!" Ratchet retorted.

"Can we talk about this later?" asked Bulkhead, grunting under the weight of the Starscream clone in his arms - the yellow one they'd taken to referring to as Sunstorm. "We got a lotta hurt mechs here, and the guards won't be distracted forever."

Ratchet opened his mouth to snap something grouchy back… and shut it again as Red Alert and Prowl pushed a hoversled into view. Megatron lay on his side on the sled, his chassis deeply cracked and dented, his optics dim and his frame trembling. He recognized the signs of energon deprivation, and the rage already smoldering in his core flared anew. So much for offering compassion to their prisoners.

Then he spotted the crimson-and-blue mech curled up against Megatron, and shock smothered his rage. Optimus Prime lay on the hoversled beside Megatron, dented and scratched and energon spattering his face and chest. He shivered against the taller mech, burrowed against him like a sparkling seeking solace from his creator. Which, some part of him thought, wasn't that far off the mark.

"We couldn't get him to leave Megatron's side," Prowl explained. "Our only choice was to bring them out together."

Ratchet nodded. "Smart thinking. Let's head for the space bridge and get him back to Detroit."

"A capital idea," Mindwipe purred. "Or it would be if this entire sector of Cybertron wasn't on high alert at the moment. And if they aren't now, they will be once word of Megatron's escape spreads further."

"Well, do YOU have any bright ideas?" Ironhide demanded, grunting under the weight of Shockwave. The double agent looked to be in the worst shape of any of the Decepticons besides Megatron, though given that he'd impersonated a Prime and nearly killed a Magus, it was only understandable that he'd bear the brunt of the guards' abuse.

"As a matter of fact, we do," rumbled Strika, shifting Lugnut's bulk in her arms. "There is sanctuary in the Dead Zone."

Ratchet scowled. "The Dead Zone? Nobody goes there!"

"Which makes it perfect for our needs, does it not?" rasped Scalpel, looking up from the crack in Megatron's side he was welding shut.

"Uh, nobody goes to the Dead Zone BECAUSE IT'S DEAD!" Bumblebee squealed. "Seriously, they cleared out that sector during the war because of a bioweapons strike, remember? And it's still toxic enough there that mechs can drop dead just by stepping over the border!"

Dr. Sumdac frowned from his perch on Bulkhead's shoulder. "Robots can be affected by bioweapons?"

"Sure can," Ratchet retorted. "Cosmic Rust, filter-clogging nanobots, deadly viruses, the list goes on. But that explanation's bunk."

Bumblebee blinked. "Come again?"

"Yes, the Dead Zone was evacuated and shut down due to bioweapons. But it wasn't a Decepticon attack - it was a bioweapon munitions factory that had an accident and flooded the sector with toxins. The Autobot Council didn't want anyone knowing our side was making bioweapons, so they blamed it on the Decepticons and ordered the area darkened and cleared for 'protection.' The factory's still there, though it's been shut down by now… but it's not like Ultra Magnus wants anyone to go sniffing around there and find it again. Easier to make it seem more dangerous than it really is than to admit the truth."

Rodimus scowled. "The more I learn about our own side, the less I like it."

"What, shocked to find you Autobots aren't as innocent as you like to pretend to be?" Sky-Byte sneered.

"You hush," Ratchet snapped. "Strika… what makes you think we'll find sanctuary in the Dead Zone? The place may not be contaminated anymore, but I seriously doubt it's hospitable."

Strika gave an enigmatic chuckle. "I have my sources, and that is all I will say. The Decepticons will be taking our own to the Dead Zone. You are welcome to join us, or to attempt to go back to your 'Detroit' if you can." She cast a wry look at the hoversled. "If you can dislodge Optimus' grip from his father, that is."

Ratchet cast another glance down at Optimus and Megatron. Optimus showed no signs of wanting to pull away from the silver mech… and judging by the protective arm he'd draped over the smaller mech, Megatron felt the same way. Neither gave any indication that they were aware of the discussion taking place over their heads, or even of anyone or anything else in general.

Optimus… what happened to you? What did you go through? This wasn't the reluctant but determined hero he had known for so long. This mech had been broken, both by the true identity of his father and the abuse the Autobot guards had inflicted on him. And that had left him shattered and vulnerable, in the perfect position for Megatron to manipulate…

No. Be fair - Megatron's probably just as broken as Optimus is at this point. He's probably just happy to be reunited with his son. Still, it was hard to look at this mech and not think of him as the Great Slagmaker, the monster that had terrorized Cybertron for generations.

"Ratchet?" asked Prowl, his tone indicating that he'd been trying to get the medic's attention for a while now. "Ratchet, your orders?"

The white mech shook his head with a grumble. "For now, we'll go to this Dead Zone. At the very least, we'll lay low until it's safe to return to Earth. And pray to the Allspark that nothing fraggin' happens while we're gone." He glowered at Rodimus, who did his best to put on an innocent expression.

"This is a real bad idea," Bumblebee groaned.

"You're tellin' me," Ironhide grumbled. "But we ain't got much of a choice, it sounds like."

"Don't sound so put-out," Mindwipe chuckled. "We're not so bad of company, are we? I haven't mesmerized any of you once, have I?"

"Only because you're blindfolded," Red Alert muttered.

"If you are all done babbling, let us be gone," Strika ordered. "The guards will start pursuing us at any moment. And it's a long way to the Dead Zone."

Ratchet nodded sharply, and he walked alongside the hoversled as their unlikely group moved on. He had no idea what their next move would be after the Dead Zone - given that their team had just joined forces with General Strika, broken into a high-security prison, and aided one of the worst war criminals in history in escaping confinement, it was safe to say they would never be welcome among the Autobots again. But they had Optimus back, and even if he was in rough shape both physically and mentally, he couldn't bring himself to regret that.

Hold tight, Optimus. We've got you. You'll be safe soon. Whether he would be okay after all he'd been through, he couldn't say… but he could hope.

Optimus wasn't sure if vorns or mere hours had passed since his arrest. Time had lost all meaning for him. Had his beating at the hands of the guards broken his internal chronometer? Or had despair and anger simply taken their toll? He didn't know, and in all honesty he couldn't bring himself to care.

Voices hummed and rumbled around him, snippets of conversation that reached his audials but whose meaning slipped away every time he tried to grasp them. A few words that might have been important stood out - Megatron, Ultra Magnus, Strika, Dead Zone - but he was too exhausted to care more about their significance. All he wanted to was exist, to just be left alone with his thoughts.

And with his father.

Megatron's arm remained draped over him, and vaguely he thought he should feel horrified at being caught in the grasp of the most notorious Decepticon in history. But he remained curled up against the mech's chest, his audial pressed to his armor, listening to the pulse of his spark. Ironic that, after everything he'd been through since Ultra Magnus had ordered him imprisoned, he felt safest with the Decepticon who had nearly killed him multiple times before.

"Orion." Megatron's voice was soft, shaky with energon starvation and pain, but still held a curious warmth at its core. "My son…"

Son… His headfins twitched in response to that title. He had been called many things in his life, both good and bad, but "son" was new… and set his spark blazing in his chest.

"Your colors… they're different." The larger mech traced a thumb over a line of his red plating. "You were violet and black when you were first sparked. Your optics, though… they're the same."

Optimus shuddered, and he finally raised his head to look Megatron in the optics. He still couldn't bring himself to speak, but the questions whirled through his mind despite his inability to voice them. Where were you all this time? Why didn't you come find me? Didn't you recognize your own son when you faced him? And most importantly… what happens now?

Megatron was no telepath - he had no way of answering the smaller mech's questions. But he spoke on anyhow, his voice low and soft enough that the mechs surrounding and transporting them didn't pay attention to the words.

"You were to be my heir," he whispered. "You were my pride. My greatest accomplishment. You were to have fought by my side as my protege, to help me establish a Cybertron grander and more glorious than anything the Council could have dreamed up." His optics shuttered, and a shiver of pain wracked his chassis. "When pirates tore you from my side… I spent quartrexes searching the galaxy for you. I lost count of how many slaver vessels I tore apart, hoping to find you among their captives."

To Optimus' astonishment, cleanser slid out from the thin gap between the silver mech's optic shutters, trailing down his faceplates. "In the end… I lost hope. I gave you up for dead. That is a mistake I will regret until the day I deactivate."

Optimus didn't respond, only pressed closer to his father's chest. Despite everything Megatron had done, both to him and to his friends and allies, he couldn't bring himself to pull away from him. This mech was his father… his spark had finally fully accepted that revelation. And now, after everything else he had held dear had been ripped away from him, the creator he had lost so long ago felt like the surest thing he could cling to.

"Had I known who you were when I first faced you… I would never have hurt you." Megatron's optics opened again, gazing down at him with an agonized expression. "I would have done my utmost to bring you to my side, where you belonged. Perhaps it would have been futile… you were raised an Autobot… but by the Allspark, I would have tried…"

Optimus rested a hand against the silver mech's chest, letting that touch convey what he couldn't bring his vocalizer to say. He couldn't be angry anymore. Circumstances beyond either of their control had ripped them apart, and there was no changing the past. They could only move forward from here.

"Did you remember me at all?" Megatron asked. "Or do you have any memories of your life with me? If those Autobots tampered with your databanks…"

Optimus finally dredged up a response - a single word that cracked with emotion and pain. "S-some."

"Easy… if talking hurts, you needn't answer."

"I… remember… some," Optimus pushed on anyhow. It was the truth - he had fragments of memory from his childhood. So much of the time before the foundling home was either blank or fogged over, only fragments standing out. Had someone wiped his memory banks? He wanted to think that it was the slavers, that Autobots wouldn't stoop that low, but his trust in the Autobots had been deeply shaken by his arrest and mistreatment.

How could I have forgotten my own father's face? Or the faces of the mechs who helped take care of me? What happened to me?

Megatron's optics darkened, and for a moment he feared his father had dropped offline. But his optics flared back to life moments later, and he shook his head and tightened his grip on Optimus.

"I… I will guard you with my life, Orion," he murmured. "I failed you before. I will not fail you again. I swear on my spark."

Optimus - Orion - shuttered his optics and rested his forehead against his father's chestplate. There was so much more he wanted to ask, so much more they had to talk about. But for now, he just wanted to rest… and this seemed the safest place on Cybertron to do so at the moment.

Ratchet had expected to look upon a hellscape when they reached the Dead Zone - no one had lived in this sector for vorns, and it had supposedly suffered heavy damages during the war. He expected to find bomb craters in the streets, buildings collapsing from damage and neglect, roving scavengers prowling through the ruins and ready to gut any mech foolish enough to cross the boundary.

So when their ragtag group entered a former shopping complex and found a large, lively colony of Autobots, he felt his jaw drop.

"Okay, what's the deal?" asked Bumblebee, cocking his head to one side. "Thought you said this place was abandoned."

"It WAS abandoned!" Ratchet retorted. "Every mech was cleared out during the war!"

"Evidently it's no longer abandoned," Prowl noted. "Either mechs wish to reclaim their homes, or they decided that this sector had gone unoccupied for so long that they had a right to stake their own claims."

"Or it's a buncha 'Cons hiding out," Ironhide grumbled. "Figures Strika would lead us to a pack of Decepticons."

"Nah, man, they're all Autobots," Jazz replied. "Or almost all - I see a 'Con or two, but not many. Think it's safe to approach?"

Ratchet forced his mouth shut and turned to Strika. "General? It was your idea to come here. You make that decision."

Strika chuckled and nodded. "It should be safe. And it would seem there is much about Cybertron that your team either does not know or has elected to ignore. Perhaps it is time we educated you."

As they approached the shopping mall, Ratchet took in the makeshift settlement and the mechs who inhabited it. Just as Jazz had pointed out, it was populated almost entirely by Autobots - mechs of every conceivable size and alt mode, ranging from young sparklings to battle-scarred warriors. They cleared debris out of storefronts to create makeshift living areas, or distributed energy rations, or worked to corral the sparklings that scurried about underfoot. And many of them had the dazed, haunted look of mechs who had been forced from their homes on short notice, who had fled with only what they could carry and were wondering where to go from here.

Refugees, he realized. Something is driving Autobots from their homes. But what? Did Strika and her goons launch an attack they're not telling us about? Or is something worse at work here?

"See the mercy of your Autobot Council," Strika growled. "These mechs are not here of their own accord. They have fled here to avoid being incarcerated for their heritage."

"Heritage?" Rodimus repeated. "What do you mean?"

Strika's optics flashed. "You rescued your precious Optimus Prime from being incarcerated for his own heritage, and you have to ask that?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Bumblebee demanded. "You're sayin' all these Autobots have Decepticon parents?"

"Parents, grandparents, or in some cases bondmates," Strika replied. "After Optimus' arrest, the Council decided it was their duty to root out other traitors among their ranks. They sent the Magnus' most loyal lapdog to hunt down any Autobots with Decepticon lineage, and ordered them imprisoned for the good of Cybertron." She said that last in a sour growl.

Ratchet's fists clenched. In just a matter of decacycles Ultra Magnus' rule had become even worse than Sentinel Prime's brief tenure in the Magnus seat. Though it sounded as if Sentinel had his greasy digits in this mess as well. Typical.

"It's a stroke of fortune that someone involved with the Council tipped off so many mechs before their arrest," Strika went on. "They've managed to evade capture,and have made a sanctuary here. A sanctuary that we, hopefully, can take advantage of."

Ratchet's tanks still churned in disgust at what Ultra Magnus had done, but he forced himself to simply nod and motion for the Autobots to continue onward. They could decide what, if anything, they were to do about Ultra Magnus' new taste for tyranny later. For now they needed to get settled in and see to repairing Optimus.

The refugees paused what they were doing to watch the newcomers, optics fixed on their unlikely party as they hauled their injured into camp. Surprisingly, few of them seemed frightened by the fact that they had Decepticons in their midst. There were curious looks, and a few apprehensive expressions, but no real fear. Either they were exceptionally welcoming, or they were simply so traumatized at their sudden flight for safety that they just didn't care anymore.

Ratchet reached out and snagged a short green mech by the shoulder. "There some kinda medical center or equivalent here?"

The minibot blinked up at Ratchet, his yellow mask doing little to hide his surprise at being questioned. Then he pointed towards what had probably been the mall's anchor store. "In there," he answered in a thick Praxian accent. "We don't have a proper doctor, but there are a few mechs with medical training. They will do what they can for your injured - it won't be much, but perhaps it will at least stabilize them."

"I'm a doctor," Ratchet retorted, "and we have two other medics in our group." He decided not to mention that one of those medics was a Decepticon with a reputation for putting his patients back together with modifications they never asked for. "Let us get our damaged mechs settled, then I can pitch in there."

The minibot's optics lit up. "Do you mean it?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," Ratchet grumbled. "Least I can do for us taking up space here. What's your name?"

"Cosmos."

"Thanks, Cosmos. You know who's in charge here?"

"A mech named Dominus took charge not long after my conjux and I got here," Cosmos explained. "We worried about him at first, but he has been a good leader so far. He has organized efforts to get energy for everyone and to keep watch at our borders."

"Know where we can find him?"

"I'm sorry, I don't. He mingles quite a bit. He could be anywhere now." He shrugged, a comical sight with his squat body. "Sorry I couldn't be more help."

"You were a great help," Rodimus assured him. "Thank you."

Cosmos brightened at the praise… then his gaze fell on the human perched on Bulkhead's shoulder, and he openly gawked. "Is that… an organic?"

"Yes, he's an organic, but he's harmless!" Bulkhead assured him. "I dunno what kind of slag you guys have heard, but-"

"Given that all that slag about organics being harmful came from our current leadership, we're not so inclined to believe what we've heard about them," Cosmos retorted, scowling behind his mask. Then he ducked his head sheepishly. "Ah… sorry. I didn't mean to get upset. But… after what happened to us, we've lost a lot of faith in Ultra Magnus and his cronies."

"I believe that," Ratchet snorted, and he urged his group towards the medical center. No sense getting distracted when they had injured mechs to look after. They could question their fellow refugees in more detail once Optimus - and the wounded Decepticons - were repaired.

There were no berths set up in the temporary medical center, but marks had been etched into the floor to indicate where to set injured mechs. A single orange-armored bulldozer-former staffed the facility, and his optics widened in dismay at the sight of so many wounded… but his gaze fell on the familiar medical symbols on Ratchet and Red Alert's armor, and he relaxed and motioned for them to lay out the injured.

"I won't ask you why you've got Decepticons with you," he said as Strika lowered Lugnut to the floor. "Especially Megatron. But I sense a story here."

"Well, it ain't storytime," Ratchet grumbled as he helped lower Optimus - and by extension Megatron, as Optimus still refused to let go of the mech - to their designated spot. "Your name, kid?"

"Wedge, sir."

"What kind of training do you have?"

"Basic first aid certification," he admitted. "You and your friend there are the first real doctors we've seen here. Either there aren't doctors with Decepticon programming out there, or Ultra Magnus deemed them too valuable to arrest."

Ratchet thought both of those options were likely, but didn't voice that opinion. "See what you can do to clean up the injuries, and stop any leaking you see. Red Alert and I'll handle the rest."

"What am I, melted circuits?" Scalpel grumbled.

"Yes sir," Wedge replied, ignoring Scalpel's complaint, and he hurried to Swindle's side and got to work.

"Red Alert, get started on Optimus," Ratchet ordered. "I'm going to go find this Dominus and figure out what the slag is going on. I'll come join you as soon as I've had a chat with him."

"Do what you need to do," she replied. "I've got things under control here."

As Ratchet left the medical center, he caught sight of a slender, weirdly legless mech with silver-and-green armor hovering beside Strika, a clawed hand resting on her shoulder. As he watched the two touched their helms together in an intimate gesture, then the hovering mech took one of Lugnut's hands in his claws while Strika knelt by his side.

Huh… didn't take Strika to be one who'd have a consort, let alone two of them. But then, seeing three of Megatron's top warriors in a multiple-conjux relationship would hardly be the most surprising thing he'd witnessed recently. And if it made the three of them happy, then so be it.

Something slammed into his leg, almost bowling him over. He staggered, arms flailing, fighting to regain his balance, then steadied himself and watched his assailants charge past - two sparklings, one red-plated and one blue, chasing a large turbofox and giggling like mad.

"Hey!" he barked. "You kids watch where you're going!"

"Sorry!" the red femme shouted back. "We're just playing!"

"Daddy Tracks said to get all our wiggles out before we came back to camp," the blue mech added.

"I pity your parents," he muttered, then raised his voice. "You kids know a Dominus by chance?" Unlikely, but maybe he'd get lucky instead of having to spend all day searching the camp.

"Yeah!" the femme chirped. "Dominus is in charge! He's nice!"

Well, that had been ridiculously easy. "You seen him lately? Can you tell me where he is?"

The two sparklings immediately pointed at the turbofox, who by now had sat on its haunches and was regarding the medic, ears pricked up inquisitively.

"Har har, very funny," Ratchet snapped. "Where is he really?"

"Right there!" the femme insisted.

"Okay, kids, I don't have time for games," he grumbled. "Go play with your pet turbofox."

The fox gave a chuckle and rose to its feet. "And here I thought the rumors about your temper were exaggerated, Ratchet. Hopefully your prowess as a medic isn't exaggerated either."

Ratchet's optics flared. "You've GOT to be kidding me."

The fox rose to its hind legs, shifting and transforming until a short, slender, silver-blue mech with armor styled into elaborate points and frills stood before him. He offered Ratchet an amused smile and bowed from the waist.

"Excuse us, Sideburn and Firebolt," he told the sparklings. "I need to have a grown-up talk with the medic. We'll play more later."

"Okay!" Sideburn replied, and they scurried off.

"Delightful little ones," the fox-former noted. "But forgive me for not introducing myself. I'm Dominus Ambus, leader of the Dead Zone refugee camp. I'm sure you have questions, and I'd be happy to answer them… in return for a few questions of my own."

Chapter Text

"You look pensive, Autobot. At least, I assume you're an Autobot."

Bulkhead had been bent over an energon purifying unit, tinkering with it in an effort to distract himself, but he glanced up to find a Decepticon hovering close by. Green and silver with bright crimson claws and a torso that terminated in a set of crimson pincers instead of actual legs, he looked even more misshapen than most Decepticons - which, given what Bulkhead had seen of their kind, was saying something. A complex-looking mask covered most of his face, but his eyes were strangely alight with concern.

"You worry about your leader," he noted. "Am I correct in assuming as much?"

"None of your business, 'Con," he muttered, but couldn't seem to force much anger behind his words.

The mech huffed. "I simply asked a question. If you haven't noticed, we're all equals here. Faction doesn't mean much once the Council has decided to make you a hunted mechanism."

Bulkhead was sure there was a retort to that - Bumblebee could have come up with something snarky in half a second - but he was unable to think of one. He settled for shutting the casing to the purifier and pushing it aside. "Yeah, I'm worried about Optimus. What's it to you? Thought you 'Cons hated him."

"You will find that most of us do not hate specific Autobots," the Decepticon replied. "In fact, many of us have a healthy respect for Optimus. More so now that we know his heritage." He extended a clawed hand. "General Obsidian."

Bulkhead eyed the hand as if it were a rust-eater, and Obsidian lowered it. "You needn't be so unfriendly, Autobot. We're trying to be civil here."

"Yeah, well, it's hard to be civil towards mechs who used to shoot at you," Bulkhead muttered.

"Give him some space, Obsidian," Strika rumbled, looking up from tending to Lugnut. "These Autobots don't trust us yet."

Obsidian huffed again and drifted to Lugnut's side, resting a taloned hand on the hulking purple mech's shoulder. "How are you doing, dear?"

Lugnut let out a low rumble and tried to push himself upright. "I'm fine! Let me up so I may stand guard over Megatron and his son!"

Strika pushed the mech flat on his back. "You are going to stay right there. You aren't as bad off as some, but you're still injured. Let the medics patch you up first."

Lugnut grumbled again but obeyed, and dimmed his optic as Strika rubbed his arm with a tenderness that shocked Bulkhead. Obsidian, too, settled in beside Lugnut and caressed his shoulder, not seeming to notice or care that their gentle moment had an audience.

Bulkhead shook his head and turned away, pulling the purifier close to work on it again. Don't stare, he told himself. They might be Decepticons, but that didn't make them zoo mechanimals that he could gawk at for his own entertainment. No sense fragging them off right now.

He couldn't even pin down why the sight of Strika, Lugnut, and Obsidian bothered him so much. Polyamorous relationships weren't terribly common among Cybertronians, but they weren't banned or considered taboo either. And sure, they were Decepticons and Lugnut had beaten the slag out of him more than once, but it was hard to hate the mech after seeing how badly the Autobot guards had worked him over. And Strika and Obsidian had been nothing but polite to him - slag, Strika had even complimented his looks a little…

Oh, stop, you know she didn't mean it, he told himself. She was just messing with you. That's the only reason anyone would ever show any interest in you - as a joke.

His gaze drifted towards Optimus and Megatron… or at least to where he knew they were laying. So many mechs were gathered around the two he could barely catch glimpses of their plating through the mass of bodies. Bumblebee, Jazz, and Prowl were closest, though Rodimus' team and even a few Decepticons huddled in close - so close that Red Alert had to snap at them to back up a few steps and give her space while she worked.

Bulkhead strained to get a look at Optimus, but finally gave up. He figured he could easily push some smaller mechs aside for a better look, but he didn't want everyone annoyed with him. As much as he worried over their leader and wanted to be sure he was okay, he also didn't want to remind everyone that he was a big, clumsy lug. Best to hang back and wait for the crowd to disperse before he approached.

A hand rested on his shoulder - not Obsidian's delicate talons, but Strika's thick golden-fingered hand. "He will recover."

"Huh?" Bulkhead turned to regard her. "Uh, I'm glad for you. I mean… I'm not friendly with Lugnut or anything, but he didn't deserve-"

"I did not mean Lugnut… though he will recover nicely so long as he doesn't get up and do anything stupid." She rolled her optics slightly. "I meant Optimus. Or Orion, which I understand was his name before the Autobots found him."

Bulkhead stared at her. "You care about him?"

Strika tilted her head and raised an optic ridge at him. "The time for us to care about factions has passed. Here, we are all equals. And Optimus is not only the son of our leader, but a fine warrior in his own right. We respect him."

"Even after he beat Megatron and got him thrown in prison?" asked Bulkhead, then flinched, expecting one of them to lash out for that dumb remark.

"He fought for a cause he believed was right," Obsidian noted. "Even if it was against Megatron, we cannot fault him for having courage." He motioned towards Lugnut, who was sitting up and watching his bondmates expectantly. "Come sit with us."

"Uh…" Bulkhead gave Lugnut a wary look. "I dunno if Luggy would like that."

"He would appreciate the company," Strika assured him, then darkened one optic in a wink. "And we would not mind getting to know a fine-looking Autobot such as yourself a little better."

"Uuuuhhhhh…" Somehow Strika had a knack for rendering him speechless, and it took him nearly a full minute to scrape his thoughts together enough to respond. "You're joking, right?"

Strika looked him up and down, then patted his arm again. "You have seen both my conjuxes, right? My view on what makes an attractive mech is not nearly as narrow as the rest of Cybertron's. Obsidian is beautiful, Lugnut is beautiful… and you are beautiful. Do not let anyone else tell you otherwise."

Bulkhead ducked his head, warmth flooding both his spark and his faceplates at Strika's words. He knew he shouldn't be feeling so happy at being complimented by a Decepticon General, of all mechs, but it felt good to know someone found him attractive. And despite her threats back at Kalis, she had been nothing but helpful toward their team, and nothing but tender and careful with her bondmates. Perhaps she wasn't the monster the rumors made her out to be.

Obsidian squeezed his shoulder, and the three of them went to sit with Lugnut as Scalpel worked on tending his damages. Bulkhead knew he should feel weird sitting in the company of Decepticons… but the weirdest part of all was that it felt more welcoming than strange.

"So how long were you going to just sit there and let me assume you were a pet?" Ratchet demanded as he followed the shorter, sleeker mech through the Dead Zone refugee camp. "In front of kids, no less?"

Dominus chuckled. "You notice I didn't let you assume it for too long. Though I have to admit your expression when you learned the truth was quite amusing."

"I guess being here, you have to find your amusement wherever you can, huh?"

Dominus' smile faded. "Believe me… I find very little about our situation amusing. Though I do my best to make things bearable for the poor mechanisms who have fled here. Oddly, the sparklings are taking it the best - to them, this is just another grand adventure."

Ratchet watched as little Sideburn and Firebolt found a ball and began a merry game with a gaggle of other sparklings. "So… Dominus Ambus. Everyone assumed you vanished during the war."

Dominus gave a slight smile. "And everything that was said to have occurred during the war is unvarnished truth?"

Ratchet scowled. "I'm too old and cranky to be patronized, Foxtrot."

The smaller mech inclined his head slightly in apology. "Forgive me, Ratchet. I forget you and your team went through an ordeal to get here. Yes, I stepped out of the public optic during the war… but only so I could serve as a spy among the Decepticons. I took to it quite naturally… a little too naturally, some might say. But though some suspected I might have Decepticon heritage, they kept it quiet, and I was allowed to retire in privacy and comfort. Until Ultra Magnus' edict, that is."

"So what led to starting… this?" he asked, gesturing to the refugee camp that surrounded them. "Did you get a whiff of what Ultra Magnus was up to before he could start rounding them up? Must be some perks to being buddies with him."

"I have not been on good terms with Ultra Magnus for a very long time," Dominus replied… and was it Ratchet's imagination or did he sound faintly wistful? "And no… I was not aware of this gathering of fugitives until I came here myself to seek sanctuary. There were only a handful of mechs here at the time, but seeing how terrified they were, I took it upon myself to get them better organized and settled. Then more arrived, and more… and well, now I'm regarded as the mech in charge." He shrugged. "Not that I fancy being in charge, but if they need a leader, who am I to turn them down?"

"Wait… so you're not the one who started all this?" Ratchet asked.

Dominus shook his head. "Many of these mechs say they were tipped off before their arrest and given enough warning to flee. They refuse to identify their benefactor, however."

Ratchet supposed he could understand that - it would be a slaggy way to thank your rescuer by leaking their identity to someone who could potentially get them in trouble. Still, he had to wonder who was spreading the word. Obviously someone high in rank. Alpha Trion, perhaps? He'd been the one Council member who had seemed disturbed by Optimus' arrest… had his conscience driven him to do something?

"In the end, their identity doesn't matter," said Dominus. "Only that their actions are saving countless lives. One moment, I need to check something."

Ratchet hung back as Dominus approached Cosmos and a large brown shuttle-former who was leaning back against a pillar. Said shuttle-former wore a Decepticon symbol, and Ratchet had to wonder just how the green minibot had managed to bond with a 'Con and keep their relationship a secret for so long. Or perhaps not as much of a secret as they had hoped, given that Cosmos' name had shown up on a list and sent him fleeing here.

Dominus exchanged a few words with Cosmos and the shuttle-former, then patted the Decepticon's shoulder before returning to Ratchet's side.

"Sorry about that," he told the medic. "I wanted to be sure Blast Off was doing okay. He took a shot to the side coming here, and his recovery has been slow. Hopefully with a true medic here, we can have him properly looked at."

Ratchet nodded. "I'll look him over when I get a chance. Gotta make sure our team earns our keep here."

"It's not about 'earning your keep,' I assure you," Dominus replied. "We don't worry about debts here. We simply ask everyone to contribute what they can, no matter how small." He led Ratchet further into the abandoned shopping center, past more mechs setting up tents or refueling or checking on their neighbors. "Of all mechs to have Decepticon programming, I never expected one of them to be Optimus Prime. How did your team find out?"

Ratchet snorted. "By our Prime being arrested and having the bombshell dropped on him while he was in cuffs, right before they chucked him into a cell." Even just talking about it made his oil curdle with anger. Of all the ways to discover your worst enemy was also your father…

"You and your Prime have my sympathies," Dominus noted, shaking his head. "It saddens me to see the Council has become so paranoid. We're all Cybertronians… we all deserve to be treated with respect. Even those who wear the Decepticon symbol, or whose relatives or loved ones wear it."

"Yeah, well, you're not on the Council," Ratchet grumbled. "Those scrapheaps and the mech calling himself Magnus are calling the shots right now. And I haven't liked those shots in a long time… but this is worse than I ever could have imagined."

Dominus nodded. "This sort of thing tends to happen when you've regarded someone as an enemy long enough. Soon it's not enough to fear and hate the enemy - you have to fear and hate anyone who sympathizes with them, or is even remotely connected to them. It won't be long before even mentioning Decepticons in a non-derogatory way in public is regarded as suspect, and is enough to land an Autobot in prison."

"Frag it all." Ratchet kicked a random scrap of trash across a walkway. "I knew the Council was going rotten, but not nearly this bad. Is it actual paranoia, though, or just a power grab disguised as paranoia?"

"It's hard to say," Dominus replied softly, "and in all honesty it may be a combination of both. Paranoia has a way of making mechs hungry for power." He tugged lightly at his metallic beard as they walked. "I must ask… what were your plans for Megatron and his ilk? What did you intend for them when you brought them here?"

"It wasn't my decision," Ratchet replied. "It was General Strika's idea for us all to come here. We weren't thinking beyond 'find a place to lay low until Optimus recovers.' And I have no idea what Strika or the other 'Cons are planning either."

"Hmm… it would seem word of this sanctuary has reached the Decepticons at large. We may see an influx of them as time goes on."

"That going to be a problem? I can have Team Detroit and Team Athenia guard the borders-"

"No," Dominus ordered. "Let them come. This is meant to be a sanctuary for all. To turn away Decepticons but allow their kin safety here would be hypocritical."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge. "That's mighty dangerous."

"At the moment, our very existence is dangerous," Dominus reminded him. "It's just another danger we must accept if we're to survive. Another question - once Optimus has recovered from his damages, what do you plan to do?"

"Return to Earth, once it's safe to do so," Ratchet replied. "Not all Decepticons are going to go into hiding, I'm guessing, and some just might take advantage of us being here to take over. And the humans aren't equipped to protect themselves against Cybertronians."

"Hmm." Dominus stroked his beard as he pondered that answer. "And you're certain it's going to be safe to return? It's possible the Council will decide to cut their losses and leave Earth to fend for itself… or they may attack themselves to seek out those they deem traitors to the Autobot cause."

"Hey, I'm the one who's supposed to be a pessimist here," Ratchet snapped. "Besides, if the Council leaves the humans to their own devices, that means they won't find us there."

"Unless they hunt you down and the humans get caught in the crossfire?" Dominus countered, then raised his hands as Ratchet tensed, ready to spit out an angry retort. "I'm not trying to dissuade you, Ratchet. I just want you to consider all sides of your decision before you make it. Not all of us hate organics, and I for one have no desire to see any harm befall Earth."

Ratchet growled but bit back his retort. Frag it, the old fox was right - going back to Detroit now would just put the city in further danger. The Autobots, especially the higher-ranking ones, had made it no secret that they disdained and even hated organics - if Ultra Magnus' lackeys followed them to Earth, they wouldn't care if humans got caught in the crossfire.

"Then it looks like we're stuck here for now," he conceded at last. "At least until Optimus recovers and we figure out what the frag everyone's doing here. Because we can't stay in the Dead Zone forever, can we?"

"Sadly, no," Dominus agreed with a solemn nod. "This place works as a temporary sanctuary, but it's only a matter of time before the Council thinks to look here. We'll need a more permanent solution soon… the question is what."

"Don't look at me," Ratchet grumbled. "My last idea got torpedoed."

"It was a good idea," Dominus assured him. "Just not good enough at the moment. And we do have time to figure out a plan of action. Perhaps once Optimus and Megatron are in better shape, they can help us. Optimus is a clever mech, and Megatron is a shrewd tactician."

"Great, we're depending on a Decepticon warlord to save us," Ratchet huffed. "What's this planet come to?"

Dominus shrugged. "You would be surprised what being a fugitive from an unjust government edict can do to help you shed old prejudices. Now… I've kept you from your patients long enough. Do you mind if I accompany you back to the medical center? I'd like to have a chat with Strika, if she's willing."

"Can't stop you, can I?"

Dominus chuckled and transformed to his fox form, and he trotted off at Ratchet's heels as the medic hiked back to the makeshift hospital. There would be time to figure out their next step later, once he'd repaired Optimus and ensured that the trauma of this situation hadn't damaged him beyond healing. For now, he would focus on what he could fix, and be there to help Optimus if he needed it.

Just hope there's something we can do about how badly Ultra Magnus is mucking things up, he thought. And that Detroit isn't a complete and utter mess when we get back. Though knowing our luck, SOMEONE is wrecking the city while we're gone…

A trio of jets screamed over Detroit, the roar of their engines rattling windows and earning looks of awe and wonder from the residents far below. The jets slalomed between skyscrapers, then swooped low to angle in on a city park and the mech that reclined on a massive throne of concrete and steel in the center of said park. Then, in near-perfect synch, they transformed and touched down, saluting as one.

"Starscream," Slipstream barked.

"That's Lord Mayor Starscream to you," Starscream snapped, setting aside the datapad he'd been holding. "This had better be important! You're interrupting a vital meeting!"

"Meeting with who-" began Skywarp, then shrieked as his optics landed on the cluster of humans at the foot of the throne. "Organics! Don't let them get me!"

"Oh, calm down, you ninny!" Thundercracker snapped. "You notice I am not afraid of any pathetic organic insects! Besides, aren't you carrying one in your cockpit?"

That just earned another shriek from Skywarp, and he pried open his cockpit, yanked a green-clad human from inside, and held him away at arm's length like a cyber-roach. The human in question kicked and squirmed furiously, but subsided once he realized just how far off the ground he was.

Starscream raised an optic ridge at his clone's antics. "I take it the mission went well, then?"

Slipstream rubbed the strip of metal between her optics and groaned before replying. "The mission to apprehend the active members of the Society of Ultimate Villainy was a success. We have Fasttrack, Professor Princess, and the Angry Archer in our custody. We were unable to track down the human calling herself Slo-Mo, but without her Allspark fragment we figured she wasn't an immediate threat."

A grin split Starscream's face. "Excellent… most excellent. Take them to the jail and turn them over to the police, then you may resume your search for any other troublemakers that threaten my glorious city!"

"Yes, Lord Mayor Starscream." Slipstream saluted again, then she and her wingmates took off.

Starscream kept grinning as he reclined on his throne and regarded the city council gathered at his feet. "And that, my friends, is how you handle your city's crime problem."

Councillor Edsel, formerly Mayor Edsel, just raised an eyebrow.

"It's… effective," admitted Press Secretary Adrias. "But that's not why we came to talk to you, Mayor Star- I mean, Lord Mayor Starscream."

Starscream's smile faded a little, but he settled in to listen. Ruling this city DID mean having to put up with the occasional prattle from the obnoxious human bureaucracy. But it was a small price to pay for finally having a title to call his own.

It had been almost stupidly easy to conquer Detroit. Once he had won over the Jettwins and Wreck-Gar, freed his clones from the Autobots' laughable base, and convinced the Constructicons to join him, the city's police and defense forces stood no chance against his might. Mayor Edsel had stepped down from his office, and Starscream had declared himself absolute sovereign over the city and established the beginnings of his kingdom on Earth.

His plan had been to tighten his hold on the city, establishing curfews and laws that would keep the populace from ever rebelling. But some members of his personal forces had balked at playing tyrant… and oddly, he had found that listening to their advice had worked to his advantage.

"We've reviewed your plans to build new schools," Secretary Adrais went on.

"Yes, yes," Starscream replied with a wave of his hand. "From what my noble sons tell me, your schools are woefully overcrowded and outdated. If my subjects are going to be properly educated to keep my beautiful city functioning properly, this has to be fixed immediately!"

"Well… yes," she admitted. "But these plans cost money. Money the city doesn't have."

Starscream squinted down at her, scowling. "Money, hmm? How much is your salary, Miss Adrias? Or the rest of the councilmembers' salaries, for that matter?"

"Um… we fail to see how that has anything to do with-"

"Find the funding, Miss Adrias," Starscream snapped. "Perhaps this city should be spending less on luring in tourists or fattening the pockets of its politicians and more on what will TRULY make it the most glorious city on your planet! You can start by cutting your paychecks."

"You can't be serious!" a councilman snapped. "If you do this, you won't have a city council left!"

"Then we'll make do without you," Starscream retorted. "Now get moving! I want ground broken for those schools yesterday! And I want each of them named after myself or one of my finest soldiers!"

Miss Adrias sighed and shooed the council away. As they departed Starscream thought he heard one of them mutter "well, his methods are lacking but can't argue with the results." He decided that remark wasn't worth addressing.

This hadn't been his plan, in all honesty. He would have been entirely content to rule Detroit with an iron fist, making its inhabitants kneel before him and not bothering with any rules and laws that didn't directly benefit him. And if he had to order his subjects to kneel and obey and love him like a proper subject should, then so be it.

But Jetstorm and Jetfire had softer sparks than he had bargained for - evidently being soldiers hadn't kept them from holding onto idealistic notions. And they had argued that Starscream would win his subjects over more by actually taking steps to improve the city than by instating himself as a tyrant.

"The humans would be loving you more if you were being a good leader," Jetfire had pointed out. "If you were helping them and being nice to them! And the humans would be more willing to obey you and accept you as their leader if you were being helpful to them!"

Starscream had balked at that - it wasn't his style to be fragging nice, especially towards worthless organics. But he had agreed to give their advice a shot. So instead of ordering the humans to erect statues in his honor and bow or salute whenever he graced them with his presence, he had set about cleaning up Detroit - sometimes literally.

The sound of an eager, obnoxious voice loudly singing a ditty about "the biggest ball of twine in Minnesota" reached his audials, underlaid with the rumble of a garbage truck's engine. Wreck-Gar was proving useful, at least - he had put the mech in charge of keeping the streets and sidewalks of Detroit clean and free of garbage. The Junk-ion did his job enthusiastically and well… and if he chose to keep the weirdest and choicest bits of trash as keepsakes, then that was his own prerogative so long as he did his job.

He could also hear the clang and roar of construction machinery, and had to snicker. Scrapper and Mixmaster were hard at work too, working to repair the city's infrastructure and architecture. They were the most uncouth and slobbish mechs he'd encountered in a long time, but they were fantastic at their jobs, and so long as they worked hard and without (too much) complaint they could be as rude and disgusting as their sparks pleased.

And there were other projects he had kicked into motion, with help from his clones and the Jettwins. They aided the police in catching the city's criminals, especially that laughable Society of Ultimate Villainy who fancied themself some sort of supervillain group. They took possession of the abandoned Autobot base and turned it into a homeless shelter, complete with a soup kitchen and an employment center. And as much as it pained Starscream to do so, he did his best to be friendly to the humans, making conversation with any who crossed his path and asking them what could be done to make Detroit even better.

He still didn't enjoy being fragging nice to the humans… but he certainly enjoyed the product of his grudging labor. For the humans seemed to actually love him, not just tolerate him as their leader. They didn't bow or salute when he walked or flew past, but they called his name and cheered and waved. The media broadcasts hailed his policies and his efforts to improve the city as the best thing that had happened to Detroit since Sumdac Industries' founding. And if his rule made the city council and some of the wealthier citizens grumble that he was too free with spending the city's money or overstepping his bounds, then so be it.

And he didn't have to order the statues in his honor to be built - it turned out that if you were a benevolent enough ruler, your subjects didn't NEED to be ordered to honor you.

"Look at the little ones, Father!" Jetstorm giggled, pointing. "They are having fun with your newest statue!"

Starscream scowled as he watched the children clamoring all over the latest memorial erected in his image. "Go chase them off. I can't have them scratching it or ruining its polish."

"Oh, but they are enjoying it!" Jetfire protested. "Do not be spoiling their fun, Father!"

Starscream ground his dental plates, annoyed at the suggestion. What right did these brats have to order him around? Still, they hadn't given him bad advice yet…

"Fine," he growled. "But I'm not responsible for any of them falling off and denting their heads, you hear?"

"Yes, Father," Jetfire replied with a huge grin. "So what are we going to be doing tonight? Visiting the hospital again? Handing out sandwiches at the shelter?"

Starscream shook his head. He'd had enough of doing community outreach lately, even if it did improve his image and lead to the media singing his praises again. As much as his ego enjoyed that particular rush, there was something else he wanted to do.

"We're going on a little journey once Slipstream and her trine return," Starscream replied. "And if this journey goes well… we just may have some new mechanical recruits to our forces."

"Ooooooooh." Jetstorm bounced eagerly. "New friends! Who are we going to meet?"

Starscream grinned, rubbing his hands together. "The Dinobots. I think I may know just how to convince that lug Grimlock over to our side…"

Chapter Text

"Need a refill, buddy?"

Sentinel Prime didn't even look up at the bartender, just kept his gaze fixed on the bottom of his cup. Part of his CPU - the part that clung to a sliver of reason - insisted the answer was yes, that he'd overcharged himself enough and it was time to go home. The rest of him declared that now was no time to be sober anyhow, and he might as well get thoroughly sloshed before returning to an existence that seemed to hate his internal components at the moment.

The bartender grunted and poured him another cup anyhow, as if sensing he would have said yes eventually. "Why the long face?"

A spark of disgust finally pierced the hopeless haze that clouded his processor, and he raised his head to glare at the barkeep. "That's not funny," he tried to say, but he was muddled enough by the high-grade in his systems that it came out "Thash nah funny."

Maccadam laughed and set the pitcher down to raise his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, hey, easy cyber-tiger. It was an expression." He picked the pitcher back up and topped off his glass. "Besides, if I wanted to insult you, I'd've picked a jab that didn't apply to every other mech who walked in this place."

Sentinel sighed and gulped half the cup in one go. He was too tired to hang onto the sting of the unintentional insult anyhow. The task Ultra Magnus had given him - and the measures he'd taken to countermand it - were exhausting him. Not to mention his guilt at having to track down so many mechs and femmes, and his constant terror that someone would figure out what he was up to and haul him before a tribunal for it.

Maybe that's why Ultra Magnus gave you that assignment while watching Optimus get beat to a pulp, he thought darkly. As a reminder that the same thing could happen to you if you weren't careful.

"Slow night," Maccadam noted, his gaze sweeping the half-empty bar. "Usually this place is hopping on a decacycle-end. Must be a concert or a sports thing going on."

"Musht be," Sentinel mumbled, though he knew the real reason behind the lack of business. Oh, his search hadn't turned up enough Decepticon descendents to empty out half the city - there were plenty of Autobots with Decepticon programming, but not THAT many. But there had been enough of them that their absence made a definite mark on Iacon.

The disappearances of so many mechs certainly had Cybertronians talking… and reluctant to so much as leave their houses. And Ultra Magnus' broadcasts advising all Autobots to report suspicious behavior to the authorities only heightened the growing paranoia. Rumors and unrest bubbled across the planet, and Sentinel feared it was only a matter of time before they boiled out of control.

"Hey… chin up, pal," the bulky black-and-gold barkeep advised, giving the bar a quick swipe with a rag. "Tomorrow's another day. Business'll pick up an' whatever's troublin' you'll pass. One way or another, things'll work out."

Sentinel opened his mouth - whether to snap for the chin remark or counter that things were far more likely to get worse than better, he wasn't sure yet - but Maccadam had already moved on to the next patron. He settled for downing the rest of his glass and walking out of Maccadam's oilhouse, somehow forcing himself to walk steadily despite his equilibrium sensors being desperately out of whack.

Maccadam's Oilhouse was flanked by darkened storefronts - the music store and the mods parlor that had once done business nearby had closed, abandoned by their owners in the wake of Sentinel Prime's investigation. Other businesses had either closed early and locked their doors or simply looked deserted. Sentinel was the only mech walking the street tonight, and he realized that he'd never realized how much he appreciated Iacon's bustle and lights until now.

I wonder where the twins are, he mused, the thought briefly making him stagger as he lost focus on putting one pede in front of the other. They would have livened things up. Slag, they should have been back by now. Did they run into trouble on Earth or something? They better not have, those idiots might fight well but they're complete dolts. At least they're there and not here, where they'd just be one mistake away from being rounded up and tossed in a cell...

He shook his head and kept walking. He wasn't going to start fretting about Jetstorm and Jetfire. They were warriors and could take care of themselves. He wasn't going to start thinking he actually cared about the two of them.

It seemed to take him ages to make his way back to his office. He collapsed in his chair and stared blankly at his computer, at the list of names that seemed to grow longer with every passing day. Until now he'd never stopped to think how many mechs bore Decepticon programming in their code… not until they had been deemed a danger despite living peacefully among ordinary Autobots for so long.

Had it not been for his deeply ingrained habit of following orders to the letter, he might have picked up the computer and thrown it straight out the window. He was exhausted - tired of this mission, tired of trying to keep his efforts at playing hero a secret, tired of seeing the corruption and cruelty of the Autobots firsthand. And worse, he could only wonder if things had only gotten worse recently, or if the Council and Magnus had always been this ruthless and it had taken Optimus' arrest to open his optics to what was going on.

His comm unit pinged. He wished he had the bearings to not answer, but he answered anyhow, grateful that his drunken slur wouldn't be heard over the channel. Sentinel Prime reporting.

Sentinel Prime, update requested on your current project.

He grimaced at Councilor Botanica's choice of words. Rounding up and imprisoning thousands of mechanisms simply because their creators were Decepticon was a project? It's going well, Councilor. Nothing new to report.

A moment of silence… and Sentinel fancied he could almost hear her raising an optic ridge over the comm. We were hoping for a few more details aside from "going well." And in all honesty that assessment seems flawed, given that you haven't made a single arrest yet.

Sentinel's tanks clenched, threatening to purge Maccadam's high-grade all over his desk. I'm identifying potential traitors as fast as I can, Councilor! It isn't my fault that some insider is tipping them off before my team can catch them!

Hmmm… these mechanisms can't stay hidden forever. But until they're found, the Council is expecting results. We need SOMETHING to report to the media, to show that our efforts to protect Cybertron and its citizens haven't been in vain. And the bigger and more high-profile the target, the better.

He frowned. Are you saying I should start looking among the Council for potential traitors?

Not necessarily, she replied, her tones delicate and diplomatic as ever. But if one mech with Decepticon programming managed to attain the rank of Prime, there are bound to be others. Set your sights higher, Sentinel, or…

Or what, Councilor? he asked, though he suspected the answer already.

Or you'll face court-martial and possible arrest for neglecting your duties to Cybertron. Don't fail us, Sentinel. And she disconnected.

Sentinel's hands shook as he rested his digits on the keyboard. After seeing what had happened to Optimus Prime, despite his status as the hero of Cybertron, he had no doubt whatsoever that they would treat him to a similar fate. Slag, they might even fake documents to "prove" he was the son of General Strika or Admiral Cannonball, or even claim he was Optimus' twin brother if they were vindictive enough. At this point, he wouldn't put it past them.

Anger flickered in his spark - not enough to burn away his fear, but enough to push it aside for a few minutes. Fine, then. If the Council wanted a big target for the media to focus on, he'd give it to them. But if they expected him to leave the Council itself out of his search, they were sorely mistaken. The press would salivate over the news that one of their own governing body was a Decepticon… and it would be a small but satisfying payback against the Council for pushing this "project" through in the first place.

Spark scans were mandatory for anyone serving in any government capacity, so it was only a matter of moments before Sentinel was combing through the Council's database. By now he was all too familiar with the kind of energy markers to look for, so it didn't take long for him to go through the scans and rule most of them out. So much for hoping for some hypocrite among the Council to make an example of… unless they'd managed to fake their own scans, which he wouldn't put past them at this point…

There! A scan finally surfaced, one that bore a telltale fluctuation. He pulled up his folder of Decepticon spark signatures and started comparing… and felt a surge that might have been triumph had he been in a better mood. General Deathsaurus had born a number of sparks before he had disappeared at the height of the war, and while most of those sons and daughters were confirmed KIA, at least two had survived. One was still missing, while the other…

His jaw dropped as he checked the name on the spark scan. It couldn't be… it wasn't possible…

He snapped the computer shut. No. He wasn't going to the Council with this information. He was going higher.

Optimus roused, blinking his optic shutters as he tried to reorient himself. He had no idea where he was - not the prison, not any longer, but beyond that he couldn't tell. He could be on Cybertron, back in Detroit, or dead and within the Allspark for all he knew. His damage readout was clear, registering no injuries or abnormalities save a slightly lower energy level than normal, so that was some relief at least.

A smudged expanse of silver met his optics, and he realized he was still clinging to Megatron. The Decepticon warlord's optics were dark, his expression almost peaceful as he recharged. His damages had been patched and welded, his armor cleaned up, and he no longer shook with the tremors of energon starvation. If his color was still off… well, he'd been through far more than Optimus had, and it would take time for him to recover.

Part of him wanted to remain there, in the shadow of his father's protection… but he carefully slid free of his arms. He sat up, still a little shaky but feeling better than he had in what felt like weeks. His movements didn't disturb Megatron, but they did make the white mech who had fallen asleep beside them jerk awake.

"Optimus!" Ratchet exclaimed. "How are you feeling? Don't sit up so fast, you'll crack your welds!"

"I'm… I'm all right, Ratchet," he replied, his vocalizer fuzzy with static from disuse. "All things considered." He let his gaze sweep the area - what looked like an abandoned shopping center, now a makeshift medical center. "Where are we?"

"Dead Zone," Ratchet replied. "Refugee camp. Turns out you're not the only Autobot to have Decepticon parentage, and Ultra Magnus is hunting those mechs down." He shook his head. "At least someone is tipping them off before they can be arrested; otherwise Kalis would've been packed to the ceiling with these poor mechs."

Optimus shuddered. So much for assuming Megatron's capture would end the war for good. All it had done was shift the battlefield to the streets of Cybertron itself.

"How… how long was I out?" he asked.

"A few days," Ratchet replied. "Got you and the rest of the 'Cons fixed while you were out of commission. You won't be wrestling Dinobots anytime soon, but you'll live."

A metallic snort cut into their conversation, and Optimus turned to see Lugnut a few "berths" away. The titanic mech lay on his back, offline and snoring, flanked on either side by mechs just as bulky and thickly armored as he was. The sight of General Strika settled in beside him, one servo resting on the violet mech's shoulder, was shocking enough - she was just as infamous as Megatron, and Optimus had never expected to lay optics on her, let alone witness her in a surprisingly tender moment. But seeing Bulkhead curled up on his other side, head tucked against Lugnut's shoulder, made his jaw drop.

"What…" he began, but couldn't finish.

Ratchet snorted, but a smile tried to fight its way through his scowl. "Yeah, I'm as surprised as you are. We made a bargain with Strika and her cronies to break you out, but weren't counting on her seducing one of our team."

Optimus forced his mouth shut as he gazed at the other berths and their occupants. He recognized many of the Decepticons whom he'd shared a cell block with - Blitzwing, Swindle, Ramjet, Sunstorm, Shockwave. And despite considering them enemies for so long, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy - and anger - at seeing their wounds. Scalpel, Red Alert, and an orange mech he didn't recognize were moving among them, tending to their injuries, while Bumblebee, Prowl, Jazz, and Team Athenia stood guard close by.

He blinked at the sight of Rodimus, then turned to Ratchet. "I'm guessing someone went against orders."

"Punk like that treats orders like suggestions," Ratchet retorted. "Kinda like some mechs I could mention." His expression shifted to concern as he gazed at Optimus. "Are you sure you're all right? After… all that?"

Optimus nodded. "I am. I promise."

"Even after learning who your father is?" Ratchet seemed reluctant to call Megatron by name - and given that Ratchet rarely tiptoed around delicate subject matters, it said a lot about how worried he was for his commander.

"I… I've had time to think about it, and to accept it," Optimus replied. "I was angry at first… angry and horrified. But… but my memories are starting to come back. I'm starting to remember my childhood, and the pieces are falling back into place. I can't deny who he is… and to be honest, I don't want to."

"You realize this IS the Great Slagmaker we're talking about," Ratchet retorted.

"Maybe… but he's still my father. And I have to believe that he's not beyond saving. That despite all that he's done, he's still a good mech, or at least has the ability to be one."

"Optimus-" began Ratchet.

"I know, I sound crazy," Optimus cut in. "And maybe my CPU has been scrambled by what they did to me in prison. But I've seen things, Ratchet. I watched what I thought were good mechs do despicable, terrible things. I've seen Autobots act like brutes, and Decepticons act like heroes. I've had the Magnus I've looked up to for so long practically call me scum and watch while I had the slag beaten out of me. I've had one of the most infamous killers in the Decepticon army show concern for my welfare, despite the fact that I landed him in prison and nearly killed him. We've been wrong about so much for so long… and if Ultra Magnus can turn out to be a monster, then I believe Megatron - my father - can be worth saving."

Ratchet stared at him as if trying to process a suitable reply… but Megatron's soft chuckle answered him first.

"You have a lot to learn about Cybertron, Orion," the silver mech noted, slowly pushing himself to a sitting-up position. "But at least you are willing to learn."

Ratchet's optics flashed as he regarded the Decepticon leader. "And just what are you going to teach him? That everything would be better if YOU were in charge?"

"You suggest that my only goal was domination of Cybertron," Megatron remarked, his voice calm despite Ratchet's accusation. "I did seek to put the Magnus and Council out of power, and establish a new government. But ruling Cybertron was not my end goal, but the means to an end."

Optimus frowned. "What end?"

"The rebuilding of our government and our society from the ground up," Megatron replied. "Creating a Cybertron where all mechs were equal."

Optimus opened his mouth, ready to protest that all Cybertronians were already equal. But he couldn't get the words out. The refugee camp around them - and his recent experiences in Kalis - were proof that there were powerful Autobots who did not regard all Cybertronians as equal.

"Yes, we all know the system is broken," Ratchet snapped. "Functionalism is a fragged-up system, and somehow it's the elites in our society who seem to benefit the most from it. But if a ship is off-course, you correct the course - you don't fraggin' blow the entire thing to smithereens!"

Megatron snorted. "Correcting the course does no good if inept and corrupt captains continue to steer the ship back to its previous path. And the Functionalist Council and Magnus were intent on staying their erroneous course regardless of how it affected our people. If Cybertron was to shake off the scourge of Functionalism, a new captain and crew - and perhaps a new ship entirely - were needed."

"I dunno what you all are talking about, but Functionalism is a weird name for a ship," Bumblebee put in, making Optimus start. He hadn't realized the yellow minibot had been so close. But he and Professor Sumdac had approached while he'd been busy talking to Ratchet and Megatron, and had evidently been eavesdropping for at least part of the conversation.

"Back off, you little snoop," Ratchet snapped.

"Just curious," Bumblebee grumbled. He gave Megatron a wary look before stalking off, leaving a visibly confused Sumdac behind.

"I'm sorry, but… what is Functionalism?" the professor asked. "In all the time I have known you Autobots, you have not discussed it."

Megatron curled his lip in disgust. "Of course your precious Autobots wouldn't let you in on our kind's dirty little secret. Not that I expect an organic to understand it."

"They understand more than you think, Fa- I mean, Megatron." Optimus cringed internally, expecting either Ratchet or Isaac to react badly to his near-slip. Especially Isaac, who had been Megatron's prisoner and had suffered so much at his hands.

Ratchet, bless his spark, acted as if the verbal fumble had never even happened. "Functionalism is the belief that your alt mode determines your function in society. I'm an emergency vehicle, so I've been programmed and trained as a doctor. A lot of Decepticons turn into war machines, which means they were part of the military before they split off to become their own faction. Truckformers tend to be delivery mechs, boats tend to serve in the Navy or operate the shipyards… you get the drift."

Isaac frowned. "But Optimus turns into a fire engine, and yet he works as a space bridge technician. Should he not be a firefighter?"

"Functionalism's been relaxed in recent years," Optimus replied. "But there are still a lot of mechs who think that your make and model should determine your place in society. And that means there are still a lot of mechs who are looked down on for their alt modes. Allspark help you if you're a beastformer, for example - given that so many Cybertronians are afraid of organics, beastformers get a bad rap as unclean or as criminals."

Megatron snorted. "Say what you will about the Decepticons, but we do not tolerate Functionalism in our ranks. A mech's position is determined by their own strengths and desires, not by whatever they happen to transform into. And perhaps you Autobots make a show of no longer outwardly practising Functionalism, but it still happens, regardless of whether you admit it or not."

Ratchet looked like he wanted to argue, but simply nodded in agreement. Optimus, too, couldn't help but admit that there was truth in what his father said. Mechs did tend to hold jobs that corresponded with their alt modes, and while one might argue that they simply gravitated towards careers that played to their strengths, he couldn't help but wonder how many of those mechs hadn't chosen those careers for themselves but had been forced into them.

"It's not just alt modes, either," Ratchet noted. "Functionalism also holds that you have your place in society, and you don't rock the boat by trying to change your place. If you're one of the nobles from the Towers districts, you run for office or inherit your family's business. If you were sparked in the lower levels, you're pretty much a petty criminal in the making. If you're forged rather than sparked, you serve in the position you were forged to fill and you don't ever deviate from it. If you were sparked, you can choose your own future - so long as it's not above or below your station."

And if you're a foundling, you go straight into the Academy, Optimus thought, realization sinking into his spark. That's what happened to you and Sentinel and Elita, isn't it? And to all the others - any sparkling that didn't get adopted was shunted right into the Academy to be made a soldier. They pretended you had a choice about it, but in the end you really didn't. Functionalism affects us all, and it's not just about alt modes.

"I understand," Isaac replied. "It's much like our society. We claim that everyone is equal, but we still divide people by race, or gender, or any number of other things. It sounds like humans and Cybertronians aren't as different as we think."

Megatron nodded, and while he didn't apologize for his recent dismissal of Isaac's ability to understand, a new respect shone in his optics. "Had the Decepticons won the war, we would have done away with Functionalism. Or as much as we could - it's so deeply entrenched in our society that it would take generations to erase entirely. But my goal was not to be ultimate ruler of Cybertron - it was to establish a system where mechs could choose their own futures instead of having it determined by their alt mode, or whom their creators were." He scowled deeply. "But now we've lost the war twice over… and we're too weakened for a third attempt. Functionalism retains its hold on our society, and perhaps it was foolish to think we could ever break it."

Optimus shook his head. "No, Megatron. Don't give up now. There has to be a way that we can change our society. Maybe a revolution won't do it, but there has to be a way."

Megatron gave a bitter chuckle. "Despite everything, Orion, you still cling to hope. It's an admirable quality, if futile. Our society is broken… there is no changing it. You're better off learning to accept it and moving on."

Optimus shook his head. "I refuse to believe that… and I refuse to think that you truly believe it either, Father."

Megatron's gaze had lowered to the ground as he'd spoken his fatalistic assessment of Cybertronian society, but he looked up sharply at that final word. Optimus had a feeling he'd just alienated Professor Sumdac for good by calling Megatron by that name, but at least he'd managed to shock the mech out of his funk. He'd deal with the consequences later.

"Yes, our society's broken - I've seen that now," he went on. "And for too long I've played along, ignoring the fact that there are problems. But I believe we can be better - all of us, both Autobots and Decepticons. And I have to believe that there's a way to fix what's gone wrong, even if it means finishing what you started."

"Prime!" Ratchet squawked. "Have you lost your fraggin' ball bearings?!"

"Maybe I have," Optimus replied. "But I refuse to keep defending a broken system… and I refuse to just leave it broken and hide my head in the sand. If that means I'm fighting alone… then so be it. But if I'm the Hero of Cybertron, then I'm going to be the hero it needs, not the hero it wants."

Silence met his bold statement, and he wondered if he'd just made a complete idiot of himself. But Megatron's optics flared brightly with a flood of emotion, and he reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I… I am proud of you, Orion. You have the strong spark I always hoped you would have." He smiled - not the cruel, sadistic grin Optimus had witnessed on the battlefield, but a smile of pride and joy. "When I've recovered, I shall join you, and we shall fight side by side as I had always hoped - as father and son."

Ratchet groaned, then set his hand on Optimus' other shoulder. "Well, someone has to make sure you don't hurt yourself again," he declared. "If you're intent on doing this… I'm fighting alongside you. Or at least patching you up afterwards."

Optimus' optics burned, and he rubbed the bridge of his olfactory sensor in an effort to stem the flood of cleanser that threatened to spring forth. "Thanks, Ratchet… thanks, Father."

"Don't thank us yet," Ratchet grumbled. "We could be traipsing merrily to our dooms here. Especially if everyone else refuses to join us."

"My Decepticons will fight alongside me," Megatron vowed. "Or at least those who are present at the moment - they are my most loyal soldiers." His gaze flickered towards Swindle, who was loudly complaining as Scalpel welded something in his shoulder. "Or their loyalty can easily be bought."

"I won't force anyone to join up with me," Optimus added. "But… Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and Prowl have accompanied us this far. Somehow I think they'll be with us the rest of the way too. And Rodimus too, if he disobeyed direct orders to help with my rescue."

"And me," Isaac spoke up. "I do not know how much help I can be, but… you have my loyalty as well."

Optimus stared down at the human. "I do? Even knowing I'm related to… to…"

"Even knowing that," Isaac assured him. "You are still Optimus Prime, and I will fight to the end for you." He smiled. "I am happy that you found your father, Optimus. Even if he wasn't who any of us were expecting."

Megatron's smile faded, and Optimus was treated to a sight he thought he'd never see - the sight of the Decepticon commander looking utterly ashamed of himself. "It would seem… I owe a friend of my son an apology. I used you, Professor, and took you hostage. I won't ask your forgiveness, but-"

"Bah." Isaac waved his hand. "I used your head to build a technological empire. I think we owe each other apologies… so we shall call it even."

The knot of tension in Optimus' internals eased, and he allowed himself a smile as Ratchet plugged a scanner into his arm and began checking him over. Perhaps things weren't perfect, and perhaps all their futures were still completely uncertain. But somehow, his spark was far lighter than it had been in weeks.

Bright laughter cut into his thoughts, and he glanced up to see three sparklings playing near the entrance to the "medbay." The children - one red, one blue, and one an unmistakable shade he'd often heard called "Decepticon purple" - were tossing a ball back and forth while a silver-blue turbofox made snaps at it. Occasionally it would snatch the ball out of the air and dash off, and the children would shriek and giggle as they chased it and wrestled the ball out of its jaws.

Ratchet followed Optimus' gaze, then smirked. "Gaze upon this place's fearless leader," he noted in a heavily snarky tone.

"The children?" Optimus asked, giving him a puzzled look.

Megatron chuckled. "Not the sparklings… the fox."

Optimus stared as the fox dropped the ball into the purple sparkling's hands and danced excitedly in place, waiting for another throw. "Please tell me that's a beastformer and you don't actually consider a turbofox to be this place's leader."

"Dominus Ambus," Ratchet replied. "I'm sure he'll have some words for you later. But as you've noticed, he likes the sparklings."

"I gathered that," Optimus replied. At least the leader of the refugee camp seemed to be a reasonable sort - if he was humble enough to romp with sparklings, then that already put him leagues above the current Autobot leadership.

Autobot younglings playing with a Decepticon child… at least the young ones don't have the same prejudices as the adults do. The sight comforted him… and helped spark new hope in him. If he and his friends - and his newfound family - could manage to give these sparklings a brighter future, a Cybertron that wouldn't decide their fates for them simply based on their creation and alt mode, then the fight, however hopeless it seemed, would be worth it.

Chapter Text

Despite vast differences in species, culture, and circumstances, some things regarding family dynamics never really changed.

"Are we there yet?" Safeguard asked, a slight whine in his two-toned voice.

Starscream growled under the roar of his thrusters. "We'll get there when we get there. If I hear that question one more time I'm going to swat someone!"

"Who are you going to be swatting, Father?"

He growled again. "I don't know where you got your smart-alek tendencies, but it wasn't from me."

The young combiner just gave a little shrug - well, as much of a shrug as he could while lugging a bigger mech - and trailed after the older flier. The Dinobot dangling from his arms had no comment… but then again, two of the three Dinobots hadn't said a word since they had plucked them off their island. Perhaps they really were as dim as they looked.

Starscream twitched one wing as they flew, grumbling over the slashes raked in the metal. Recruiting the Dinobots has been a rougher venture than he'd realized - the big lunkheads might be unintelligent and primitive by Cybertronian standards, but they were still strong enough to give a Decepticon a run for his shanix. And Grimlock might be an idiot next to Starscream's superior intellect, but he still had a predator's cunning… and a complete disregard for anyone's authority other than his own.

All of that meant Starscream's first attempt to recruit Grimlock, Snarl, and Swoop into his forces had ended with claw and bite marks to his armor and two Autobot brothers dazed from being knocked about by Snarl's horns and Swoop's lava flail. Starscream had been two astroseconds from angrily declaring that the dumb beasts were good for nothing but scrap metal, but as always the twins had intervened before he could give the order to put the Dinobots out of his misery.

"Let us be talking to them first," Jetfire had suggested. "Perhaps we can be reasoning with them."

Reluctantly, Starscream had agreed… and somehow, within an hour all three Dinobots had agreed to accompany them back to Detroit. Now Starscream just had to figure out how to grant them what the twins had promised them.

"You Starscream promise to give us Dinobots new home?" Grimlock demanded from his perch on Swoop's back. If the mechanical Pterodactyl was at all uncomfortable bearing his leader's weight as he flew, he gave no sign of it.

"Yes, yes, I Starscream promise," he replied dismissively. Detroit had plenty of parks within its city limits - it should be easy to appropriate one and declare it off-limits to anyone but Grimlock and his team. If his citizens complained, he could just knock down one of the abandoned factories and let them make a new park. Kill two petro-pigeons with one stone and all that.

"And you Starscream promise to smash all cars?"

"What?!" Had Starscream not been in jet mode he would have turned around to glare at Safeguard. "Didn't you idiots think before you started making promises? The humans will revolt at that!"

"That was not being the agreement!" Safeguard insisted. "We are promising the Dinobots that you would be convincing the city to stop using fossil fuels!"

"Hmph. Still going to raise a ruckus from City Council." Starscream grumbled to himself a moment before replying. "Fine. I'll talk to the Council and we'll see about some kind of green energy initiative. But no smashing cars!"

"Fine," Grimlock growled. "Uh… what green energy?"

"Never mind." Starscream banked and dove, making for an open field just outside city limits. "Land, everyone. I need to rest my thrusters."

Safeguard set Snarl down before touching down himself, splitting into Jetstorm and Jetfire in the process. Snarl watched the combiner come apart with a look of dull curiosity, then shifted to his Triceratops mode and lumbered off to go whack his head against a boulder. Grimlock leaped off of Swoop's back and immediately picked a tree to practice his swordsmanship on, while Swoop simply folded his wings and regarded Starscream with the cold gaze of a scavenger bird.

Starscream huffed and transformed for landing, making a show of brushing his armor off. He was in no real hurry to go back to Detroit. Jetstorm and Jetfire's hasty promise to Grimlock just reminded him that he had other issues to discuss with the City Council, and he looked forward to the prospect about as much as he found himself looking forward to having his paint stripped and rolling in used motor oil.

Blasted human politicians anyhow… they're not much better than the old Autobot Council. The only saving grace is that they live shorter lives and can be replaced faster with more reasonable minds. If those reasonable minds even exist - it seems to me every single politician among their species is useless for the job, in it only for the wealth.

He flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder. Perhaps the old Autobots had been right in one thing - it made more sense for a being to simply do the job he was designed and suited to do than to hare off on whatever path he deemed fit, however unsuitable. Why expect a clunky tankformer to make a future for themselves in the Air Corps, after all, or an elegant flier to want to degrade themselves by becoming an energon farmer? And why let just any stupid greedy human become whatever they wanted to be instead of shuffling them off to a job better suited for whatever skills they had? Primus knew his job would be so much easier if he worked with politicians actually suited for their job instead of whoever wanted to campaign…

Something jabbed at his side. "Dad… Dad… Dad… Dad…"

"Stop poking me!" Starscream snapped, stepping away from Jetstorm.

"Sorry, Dad, but you were not listening." Jetstorm pointed. "Look!"

Starscream peered in that direction, narrowing his optic shutters at the sight of the garishly striped tent standing in the center of the field. "I see it. What's the big deal?"

"It is being a circus!" Jetfire exclaimed, practically bouncing on his pedes in excitement. "Can we be going for a look while you are resting?"

Starscream regarded the tent and the motley collection of humans and mechanical animals around it with a skeptical look. It really didn't matter to him what the twins did so long as they let him take a load off his pedes for a few minutes, but he had to wonder what was so fascinating about this antiquated human entertainment that these two would want to watch it.

"Why?" he demanded.

Jetfire's eager gaze took on a wistful cast. "Brother and I are always wanting to work in the circus together. We were always thinking how fun it would be to be performing for a crowd every night… having fun, and making mechs smile. We were wanting to go see, and remember our old dreams."

Starscream's brow plates bunched up in a puzzled frown. "Then why didn't you do that instead of becoming… this?" He gestured vaguely at each twin as if to encompass their whole being instead of a specific part.

"We were being simple labor bots," Jetstorm explained. "In the mines. Labor bots are not invited to join the circus. And later, we were being made into fliers and soldiers. We never got the choice."

Anger flared in Starscream's spark at those words. Functionalism at its finest once again - ripping away a mech's dreams and forcing them into whatever role society or politics decided was best for them. Sure, perhaps being circus performers was a pathetic dream next to his own dreams of conquest, but it had been their sparks' desires. Surely they deserved to choose their own paths…

Gah… and to think I was starting to wonder if the Autobot Council was right in their ways. What kind of a fool am I, to think Functionalism was a good thing? All it's done is clip these two's wings. No… never again.

"Go on," he told them. "Watch the circus. Just don't step on anyone, or I'll never hear the end of it…"

That last sentence was addressed to empty air as the twins dashed off, whooping and laughing in delight. Starscream watched them go, for a moment envious of their energy and optimism. Then he shook his head and leaned back against a tree, grumbling. When did he get so soft? These twins were a bad influence on him… he'd better watch himself.

"With all due respect, you can let go now."

"Hrrm?" Optimus jolted awake, shaken out of his rest by an unfamiliar voice. Part of his CPU remained muddled in his dreams - dreams of being a sparkling again, curling up in the berth beside Megatron, hugging his plush turbofox as he listened to his father sing the old songs and tell stories of his triumphant battles…

Something squirmed in his arms, and he glanced down in surprise at the live turbofox he clutched to his chest. He hadn't expected THAT part of his dreams to become reality! He relaxed his grip, letting the fox wriggle free and shift back to robot mode.

"As glad as I am to see that we'll get along nicely, I do have other places to be," Dominus told him, though he wore an amused smile.

"Ah… sorry about that." Optimus sat up, brushing his armor off. "I hope that wasn't too embarrassing for you."

"Embarrassment is rarely fatal," Dominus replied with a chuckle. "And it seemed to comfort you."

A high-pitched squeal cut off Optimus' reply, and he and Dominus turned to find Blitzwing watching them from his makeshift berth. The triple-changer's random personality had assumed control, and his jagged grin spread wide with delight.

"Zhat was so CUTE!" he gushed. "It reminded us of vhen you were tiny, Orion!"

Optimus blushed and smiled. "Well… glad someone thought it was cute."

Ratchet rolled his optics and resumed work on Shockwave, soldering a wire in the former double-agent's arm. But a smile fought to crack through his usual scowl, and almost succeeded. Shockwave, for his part, gazed at Optimus and Dominus with an intense glow in his optic, though it was difficult to tell exactly how he felt about it. There were disadvantages to interacting with a mech without a traditional faceplate.

"Ratchet, how are our patients faring?" asked Dominus.

"Good as can be expected," Ratchet replied. "Only so much I can do with limited supplies, but everyone should be able to walk out of here by the end of the day. Just don't launch an attack on Iacon or anything - nobody's in fighting shape."

Dominus nodded, then turned back to Optimus. "How are you faring?"

"I'm… good," Optimus replied, and was surprised to find that it was the truth. He felt stronger now that Ratchet had finished his repairs, and while some part of him was still trying to reorient itself after learning the truth about his father, he found he had mostly accepted it. There was still a lot to process - not to mention a lot of uncertainty regarding the future - but he was much better than he had been upon first waking up in the Dead Zone.

"Excellent." Dominus smiled. "I'll let you get settled and talk a bit with your team, if you like. Then I'd like to talk to you a little more about what your plans are. Your father as well. Our sanctuary won't hold out forever, and I wish to know whether you plan on staying with us for the long term before I make any solid plans on where we go from here."

Optimus' smile faded, and unease gripped his spark again. He hadn't wanted to think that this place was only a temporary refuge. Despite being crowded and distressingly short on resources, the Dead Zone had proven a perfect hiding place, safe from Autobot patrols. It was tempting to think they could stay here indefinitely, hiding from Ultra Magnus and his cronies while they plotted their next move. Primus knew everyone deserved some kind of rest after everything they'd been through.

Logically, though, he knew it was impossible. For one thing, there was no way Professor Sumdac could stay on Cybertron for very long. His decision to accompany Team Detroit to Cybertron had been a complete impulse, and he hadn't brought anything in the way of provisions with him. Isaac insisted it was no big deal, but Optimus knew it was only a matter of time before he started to suffer from the lack of food and water, or at the very least needed to be smuggled back to the space bridge.

And of course, their own supplies couldn't hold out forever either. Many who had fled to the Dead Zone had done so with at least some provisions, and most were willing to share with those who hadn't had the time or resources to bring their own. But their stores of oil and energon could only last for so long, and Dominus had judged it too risky to send anyone out to try to acquire more.

Still, Optimus had hoped they could hold out for just a little longer… which was why the news from Hot Shot came as such a blow.

He had just opened his mouth to ask Dominus where they could meet up later when the young mech charged in. Hot Shot waved his arms and spilled out a stream of babble that would have put Blurr to shame, optics blazing in panic.

"Wegottaruntheyrecomingtheyrecomingwegottagetoutofhere!"

"The frag, kid?" Ratchet grumbled, looking up from his work. "Talk Cybertronian, will ya? I don't have the processor to parse whatever junk language that was."

"Hot Shot, slow down," Optimus urged, patting the air in a soothing gesture to try to calm the young mech. "Can you start over?"

"We don't got time to start over!" Hot Shot insisted, waving his arms around with such frantic energy that bursts of flame escaped his wrist guards. "The Elite Guard's on its fragging way here!"

His spark sank down to his boots. No… I thought we'd have more time… "How close?"

"About ten kliks, boss-bot," Jazz chimed in, hurrying up to join the younger bot. "Hot Shot an' I were patrollin' the border and spotted them. Looks like someone tipped 'em off, or whoever's been directin' mechs here had their cover blown an' decided to talk."

Or were made to talk, Optimus thought darkly. There was a time when he would have thought the Autobots wouldn't stoop to torturing a mech for information… but now he wasn't sure the Autobots were much better than the Decepticons.

"Find Rodimus and tell him," he ordered, pushing his black thoughts aside for now. "Megatron too. We'll have to organize an evacuation of the Dead Zone."

"And go where, precisely?" demanded Shockwave, his unbroken antler twitching as he regarded Optimus. "The Autobots are hunting us down. It is not enough to simply flee the Dead Zone - we need a destination. None of us has the energy to run indefinitely."

"We can't fragging well stay here!" Ratchet retorted. "Unless you WANT to be thrown back in prison, or worse! I hear the mining camps are still operating."

"I was merely pointing out that running without a destination in mind is madness," Shockwave replied, unruffled. "Yes, we should plan an evacuation… but we should know where we are going first."

"I'm afraid he's correct," Dominus added, his expression grave. "Simply running isn't going to solve anything. We need a destination. Someplace we can regroup and take better stock of our options. I thought we would have more time to scout out a place, but…" He spread his hands helplessly.

Optimus groaned and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor. He, too, had assumed they would have more time. And part of him wondered if he hadn't brought this doom upon Dominus and his refugees, if coming to the Dead Zone hadn't led Ultra Magnus and his Guard directly to them. Yes, they would have found them eventually, but maybe not this soon.

No… there's no time for dwelling on that. We need to make a plan NOW. But there's nowhere on this planet where we can hide for very long. This planet or any other…

The thought that hit him at that moment was insane, and probably a terrible idea. But it was the only one he had at the moment. And perhaps, right now, what they needed was a terribly insane idea. If it worked, then who cared if it was crazy, right?

"We need to get to the space bridge," he said. "Or to Omega Supreme. I know a place where we might be able to find refuge."

Ratchet cursed and slammed the panel on Shockwave's arm shut with enough force to earn a pained grunt from the mech. "Are you nuts, Optimus? You can't haul these mechs to Earth!"

"Why not?" asked Optimus. "The Council would never suspect that we'd take refugees to an organic planet. And we've always had a good relationship with Detroit and its people - they'd welcome us."

"No offense, boss-mech, but we're gonna be taking 'Cons there," Jazz pointed out. "An' given that they've almost wrecked the place a few times, I'm sure they're just gonna see 'em as menaces to society. No offense, Shockers."

"None taken," Shockwave replied. "But you imply that the Decepticons are incapable of looking after themselves. Earth may not be an ideal solution, but it will suffice for now."

"Not sure Megatron'll agree with ya," Hot Shot pointed out. "They kinda hate him there-"

"I can speak for myself, Autobot."

Hot Shot yelped and scurried to hide behind Optimus as Megatron approached. The silver mech's armor was still dented and dull, but he looked in much better shape than before. And incredibly, he nodded in respect towards Dominus before addressing the others.

"Returning to Earth is… not ideal," he said. "But at the moment, it seems we have few other options. At the very least, we know it is at least somewhat safe for our kind."

Optimus nodded. "And if worse comes to worse, we can leave. There are other planets we can run to if need be. None as hospitable as Earth, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Dominus nodded. "Excellent. I'll spread the word and have everyone ready to leave as soon as possible. If I could trouble you to have Teams Detroit and Athena watch the borders, Optimus, I would be in your debt."

"Of course," Optimus replied.

"I'll have Team Chaar do the same," Megatron added. "The rest of my troops will aid in the evacuation."

"My thanks," Dominus told him, and he shifted back to fox form and loped off.

"Jazz, Hot Shot, get our teams rounded up and tell them to get to the borders," Optimus ordered. "Tell them to alert us the instant they see anyone getting close."

"On it, boss-mech." Jazz saluted, then transformed and drove off. Hot Shot peeled after him, leaving a swath of flames in his wake.

Optimus blew out a sigh. "Is this never going to end? Us running and hiding from Ultra Magnus like criminals? I hate feeling like we're going to be hunted the rest of our lives."

"It's a feeling I'm all too familiar with," Megatron admitted, resting a hand on Optimus' shoulder. "But sometimes, it's better to run and live to fight another day." He let out a sigh of his own. "This… is not the life I wanted for you, Orion."

"I know," Optimus murmured. "But at least you found me again." He managed a smile. "Let's help Ratchet get the injured prepared for transport. As soon as we can get to the space bridge or Omega Supreme, I want us to be ready."

Megatron nodded, and father and son went to aid in the great exodus from Cybertron.

Two guards stepped forward to intercept Sentinel Prime, crossing the blades of their ceremonial pikes before the doors of Ultra Magnus' office. "The Magnus isn't admitting visitors at this time."

Not even a full planetary cycle ago, that order alone would have been enough to send Sentinel packing. One never disobeyed a direct order, after all, especially from the Magnus. But Sentinel had had his fill of taking terrible orders from misguided mechanisms, and instead of slinking off like a good soldier he lifted his chin and drew his shoulders back to glare at the guards.

"Step aside," he ordered. "I'm here to report on an assignment that Ultra Magnus himself gave me."

"You'll come back and report at a later time," the guard replied, unfazed. "The Magnus left strict orders-"

"I'll tell you where you can shove those strict orders, you greaseplugs!" Sentinel snapped. "Unless you want to be the one to explain to the Magnus that we let Decepticon sympathizers slip through our fingers because you were a stickler for protocol!"

The two guards exchanged shocked glances. Sentinel felt like gaping in shock at his own ball bearings himself - he hadn't realized he'd had it in him to stand up to Ultra Magnus' own guards like that. And he half-expected them to throw him out or even call someone to have him tossed in the brig for his outburst.

In the end, though, the guards seemed to believe the urgency of his mission, and they stepped back and opened the door for him. He barely spared them a glance as he strode through the door and towards Ultra Magnus' desk.

"I left orders not to be disturbed," the Magnus replied, not looking up from his computer terminal.

"This is urgent, Ultra Magnus," Sentinel replied, struggling to keep his tone respectful despite the rising fury in his spark. "I thought it best to bring it to your attention as soon as possible."

Ultra Magnus sighed and looked up from his computer. "I hope this means you've actually captured a few of the mechs with Decepticon programming, instead of just drawing up a list of names we need to hunt down."

"Oh, I think I'm pretty close to capturing one," Sentinel replied, and he slapped a datapad down in front of the Magnus.

"What…" The blue-and-white mech picked up the datapad, scanning the contents… and his optics bleached white in horror. "This is a prank, isn't it?"

"It's most certainly not a prank," Sentinel replied, folding his arms across his chest. "General Deathsaurus spawned a number of protoforms before his death. Two of those protoforms are still alive and active - Dominus Ambus, who's currently MIA, and Minimus Ambus, who now goes by another name entirely."

"You can't possibly-"

"Ultra Magnus." Sentinel finally let some of his pent-up fury leach into his voice, his optics blazing and his headpipes vibrating with the force of it. "All this time you've been preaching about how dangerous those with Decepticon programming are to the safety of Cybertron, while you've been conveniently hiding your own heritage! You were so clever, weren't you, redirecting everyone's attention to the Hero of Cybertron while you ducked any accusations yourself!"

Ultra Magnus slapped the datapad down with enough force to crack the screen. "It's a lie. All of it! I don't know where you got this information from, but it's flawed!"

"Spark scans don't lie," Sentinel retorted. "And both your spark signature and that of Dominus Ambus match up with Deathsaurus'. It's way too close to be a coincidence."

The Magnus shook his head, anger and confusion warring over his features. Had Sentinel not known any better, he might assume the news had taken the Autobot Leader by complete surprise. But that was impossible… he had to know who he was descended from, right? There was no way he could be completely ignorant of who sparked him.

Though Optimus had no idea… He shoved that thought aside. This wasn't about Optimus. This was about the Magnus. There was a galaxy of difference between them, right?

"I was cold-forged," Magnus insisted. "I had no spark-parents. This information has to be fabricated - if not by you, then by someone trying to undermine me. Destroy this immediately, and speak of it to no one."

"Oh, like frag I am!" Sentinel retorted. "I've had enough of your orders, Ultra Magnus. I've had enough of ruining mechs' lives just so you can claim to all of Cybertron that you're doing your best to protect them, while you yourself pretend you have no Decepticon programming! While you pretend you're not the very thing you're trying to stamp out!"

"That's enough!" Magnus roared, shooting to his feet. "I'm not going to hear any more of this. You've clearly gotten far too wrapped up in this mission, Sentinel, and it's affected your processor. I'm relieving you of duty."

"You can't-" Sentinel began.

"I can… and I am." Magnus picked up the datapad and snapped it in two, sparks spitting through the air. "Guards, escort this mech to the brig. He needs to cool his heels for a few cycles until he gets his cranial processor on straight."

Sentinel reached back to draw his lance out of subspace… but hands grabbed his arms before he could do so. He cursed and writhed as the guards dragged him out of the office, leaving the Magnus to sweep the broken datapad into the trash before going back to his work.

Chapter Text

Sentinel Prime had expected to be thrown into a prison cell in Kalis and forgotten - perhaps with Optimus as a cellmate, just to drive home how much of a failure he was. He hadn't expected a reprieve, and from one of the unlikeliest of sources to boot.

The guards dragging him away from Ultra Magnus' office and down a corridor halted in their tracks as Alpha Trion stepped into their path. The old statesmech regarded them with his hands clasped behind his back, resplendent in regal plating that gave him the look of a wizard draped in robes. And despite his current seething hatred for the Council and all affiliated with it - not to mention the cuffs binding his wrists - Sentinel felt a sudden urge to salute in respect to the Councilor.

"Ah, just the mech I wished to see," Alpha Trion noted. "How fortuitous."

"This mech is under arrest," one guard informed him. "We're taking him to Kalis to be detained. I'm going to have to ask you to step aside."

Alpha Trion raised an optic ridge. "Is that so? Under whose authority?"

"The authority of Ultra Magnus himself," the second guard replied. "Stand aside, please."

"I see." Alpha Trion stroked the metallic facial extensions that resembled an organic beard and mustache. "In that case, I want him relinquished into my custody."

The guards exchanged a look, ignoring the shocked expression on Sentinel's face. "We have our orders from the Magnus-" one began.

"And now you have orders from a senior member of the Council," Alpha Trion replied, his mild tone at odds with the stern flare of his optics. "I'll be taking custody of him, and will have my guards take him to Kalis when I'm through with him. In the meantime, why don't the two of you take the rest of today off? I'm sure it's been awhile since you had leisure time."

The lure of going off-duty early seemed to convince the guards more than the flex of authority, and they pushed Sentinel towards the statesmech before saluting and turning to leave. Alpha Trion waited until they had rounded the corner before taking Sentinel's elbow and guiding him into his office.

"You've gotten yourself in a bit of a situation, it seems," Alpha Trion noted.

Sentinel bristled, grinding his dental plates together. "Do your worst, then."

"My worst?" The Councilor cocked his head. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You don't like me," Sentinel spat. "You've made it clear you didn't approve of my actions while I was acting Magnus, and you told me point-blank that you'd make sure I never got another chance at the position. So you've dragged me in here to kill me, or beat me senseless, or at least tell me 'I told you so' before you kick me into a cell. So go for it. Get it out of your system. Primus knows I deserve it."

Alpha Trion chuckled. "You honestly think I hate you?"

Sentinel blinked his optic shutters. "You… don't?"

The aged statesmech shook his head. "I disagree with your style of leadership… but I also understand you were thrust into a role you weren't prepared for, and that you were doing what you believed was right. Even if your methods were… overreaching." He reached into his desk and pulled out a tool of some kind. "If you learned some moderation, and that strict adherence to the rules can be more harmful than helpful in certain situations. you could be a great Magnus someday."

I've already learned that strictly following all orders isn't good, Sentinel thought, but decided not to voice that aloud. "So why DID you bring me in here?"

Alpha Trion quirked an optic ridge… then stepped forward and wedged the tool into a slight seam in his cuffs. The restraints fell open and clattered to the floor.

Sentinel's jaw dropped. "What…"

"Go," Alpha Trion urged. "There's a path through the service tunnels that will take you out of here without getting the guards' attention. Alert the refugees you've helped so much that danger's coming and they have to evacuate now."

His optics blazed in shock. How did he know? "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

"I know very well that you've been warning those with Decepticon heritage to flee before they can be arrested," Alpha Trion replied, and to Sentinel's shock he smiled. "Not all of us agree with Ultra Magnus' methods, and I was quite pleased to see you finally take a stand for once. But the last batch you aided were followed… and the Magnus has mobilized the Elite Guard to move in on the Dead Zone. You need to warn them as soon as possible."

Sentinel stared a moment longer, then finally gathered his wits enough to nod. "Th-thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Alpha Trion warned. "Go. I'll keep the guards here occupied as long as I can. The rest is up to you."

Sentinel nodded again and ducked out of the office, checking the hallway carefully before making his way to the service tunnels. He'd been given another chance - he'd be a fool to squander it. Though he could only hope that he could make it to the Dead Zone before the Elite Guard.

Fleeing the Dead Zone might have been a simple process for just Optimus' team. But it wasn't just Team Detroit - the young Prime had Team Athenia, Team Chaar, Megatron's team, and over two hundred civilian refugees to worry about. And there were children and injured mechs among those refugees, and supplies and personal belongings that needed to be collected and organized. It was a lot more complicated than simply transforming and driving away before the Elite Guard reached them.

Knowing all this didn't stop Optimus from twitching with impatience as he helped mechs pack their belongings and round up their sparklings. They were rushing as fast as possible, but he feared it wouldn't be fast enough.

"The medical center's finally cleared out, thank Primus," Ratchet muttered. "Got some of the bigger mechs hauling those who still can't walk or drive under their own power."

"Thank you, Ratchet," Optimus told him. "Is everyone accounted for? Sparklings as well?"

"All present and accounted for," Dominus replied. "I have the children under Hot Shot's care at the moment. He has promised to protect them with his life."

Ratchet snorted. "You put a sparkling in charge of the sparklings. There's no way THAT can't end badly."

"Have a little faith, medic," Dominus chuckled. "Hot Shot, of all young mechanisms, understands just how serious the situation is."

Optimus frowned. "What do you mean?"

Dominus' optics widened. "Why… I thought you knew. I had a chat with that young mech, and he's a Decepticon descendant as well."

Optimus' jaw dropped, but he snapped it quickly shut. "He told you this?"

"I suspected it," Dominus admitted. "Those flame-generating abilities aren't exactly common among Autobots - and you can't tell me they were intended solely for welding purposes. No, I felt he must have Decepticon programming, and he confirmed it when I asked."

"How did he manage to make his way into the Elite Guard?" Optimus asked. "You would think they'd check for that kind of thing." Though he'd somehow managed to slip through…

"The same way so many other youngsters 'join' the Elite Guard," Ratchet replied, placing curious emphasis on the word "join." "They end up in orphanages and foundling homes, then get funneled directly into the Academy after nobody adopts them. I'm sure there are plenty of Decepticon and half-Decepticon kids in the Elite Guard who aren't even aware of their own programming."

"If that's the case, though, why didn't the Council purge the Elite Guard of them?" asked Optimus. "Since they were so quick to scour Iacon for-"

"Because they won't get rid of mechs who they deem useful," Megatron put in from behind Optimus, a snarl in his voice. "Civilians are disposable enough, but you'll notice you saw no members of the Guard or the Council in the Dead Zone. Your heritage only matters if they can't exploit you."

"Rather cynical, but sadly true," Dominus noted. "But enough talk. We're as ready to leave as we'll ever be. Do we have a clear path to a space bridge or Omega Supreme planned?"

"Space bridge access is blocked right now, according to Bulkhead," Optimus replied. "Omega Supreme's waiting outside the Dead Zone, but we couldn't get him as close as we would have hoped."

"He's a Guardian," Ratchet retorted. "They aren't exactly built to be stealthy-"

A shouted curse interrupted their talk, and Optimus turned to see Prowl and Jazz escorting a mech bound in scavenged chains. Well, less "escorting" and more "dragging" - the mech in question was writhing and yelling, doing everything possible to make the job difficult for the two cyberninjas. Prowl looked utterly unfazed at their captive's struggles, while Jazz looked like he wanted to punch him in the overly ample jaw.

Optimus locked optics with their captive… and felt shock and anger pierce his spark. He hadn't expected to ever run into Sentinel Prime again, much less in a reversal of roles, with Sentinel bound and at his mercy. But staring the mech down, he couldn't help but remember the horror of that last meeting, the blow of learning his heritage, a blow quickly followed by incarceration and the all too real blows dealt by the abusive guards…

Sentinel met Optimus' gaze for a moment, then lowered his optics to stare at the ground. There was no trace of the arrogant, angry mech he'd known for so long - he looked almost regretful. Did he actually feel remorse for what he'd done? Had something happened to finally take the wind out of the blue mech's sails?

"Sentinel!" Ratchet exclaimed. "What in tarnation…"

"Found him trying to get into th' Dead Zone," Jazz replied, scowling. "Nabbed him an' figured you'd wanna decide what to do with him."

"He's hoping to track our location," Megatron snarled. "He'll need to be silenced."

"We're not killing anybody!" Optimus protested, an exclamation that brought looks of surprise from everyone - including Sentinel. Even Optimus was shocked at his own outburst.

"We can't just have him go running off to alert Ultra Magnus where we're going," Dominus replied. "Though I wouldn't go quite so far as to offline him." He shot Megatron a look, but the silver mech only shrugged in response.

"We'll tie him up tight and leave him in a dark alley in the Dead Zone," Optimus suggested. "By the time he works himself free or is rescued, we'll be long gone."

"Isn't anyone going to ask me WHY I came?!" Sentinel shouted. "And no, it wasn't to track your location! I'm here to warn you the Elite Guard's on its way! They tracked some of the refugees here and are aiming to wipe this place out!"

"You're a little late for THAT," Ratchet grumbled. "Our scouts already sighted them. We're leaving as soon as we're done with you."

Sentinel's optics flickered. "Oh… I'm too late…"

"How did you know we were here?" asked Optimus. "Is this a trick of some kind?"

Sentinel ground his dental plates, as if the answer were painful to release. "I… I told mechs… to come here."

Optimus jerked in surprise. He hadn't expected THAT.

"Ultra Magnus wanted me to find more Decepticon descendents," Sentinel went on. "They were a threat to our society, and had to be confined for the safety of Cybertron. But… I couldn't do it. What they were doing… throwing innocent mechs, even sparklings, into prison… was awful. So I tipped them off and suggested this place as a safe refuge."

Optimus stared at his former comrade, still struggling to process what he'd been told. "You disobeyed a direct order?"

Sentinel nodded. "Believe me, it was far harder for ME than it is for you." He shifted against his chains. "Why are we still standing around talking about this, though? Get your afts out of here before the Guard blasts them off of you!"

"We were in the process of doing that before your untimely arrival," Dominus replied evenly. "But we appreciate the effort. Shall we go, then?"

Optimus nodded. "Ratchet, you're in charge of moving the injured. Jazz, Prowl, head back to the perimeter and tell the guards to fall back and join the evacuation. Father, Dominus, lead the way for the refugees. I'll catch up."

Megatron gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "Be careful," he murmured, then turned to go. Dominus folded into his turbofox form and bounded after him. Ratchet gave him a long hard look, then transformed and drove off.

Optimus waited until Jazz and Prowl had departed, then reached out and undid Sentinel's chains. "You'd better go before the Guard gets here."

Sentinel gaped. "You're… just letting me go? You're not angry with me?"

"Well… I'm not exactly happy," Optimus admitted. He wouldn't lie - some resentment still boiled in his tanks when he looked at Sentinel's face. Not just for his involvement in revealing who his father was, but for years of grudges and mistreatment. But that didn't make his next statement a lie either.

"You obviously care about what happens to Cybertron and its people," he went on. "And while we may disagree on some things - on a lot of things, really - that's one thing we have in common. I know you were doing what you thought was right when you told Ultra Magnus what you'd discovered about my heritage. And while I could choose to hate you for that… I think we'd all be better off if we called it the past and moved on from here."

Sentinel shook his head. "I'll never understand you, Optimus."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Optimus chuckled. "Think you can make it back to Iacon safely?"

Sentinel hesitated, fear in his optics. "I… can't go back. They were going to throw my aft into prison before Alpha Trion helped me escape. If I go back, they might decide prison's too good for me."

Optimus' tanks clenched. Had they discovered Sentinel's role in guiding refugees to the Dead Zone? Or had he managed to do something else rebellious? No time to ask - the Guard would be here at any moment, and Sentinel was in as much danger as the rest of them.

"Come with us," he offered.

Sentinel's jaw dropped. "I can't… they hate me… I couldn't possibly…"

"If you helped as many of them escape as you say you did, they won't hate you," Optimus assured him. "As for my team… well, I'm sure they'll understand." He extended his hand. "C'mon. Omega Supreme won't wait forever."

Sentinel looked at him as if he'd slipped a cog, but finally nodded and grasped his hand. Optimus gave it a quick squeeze before releasing it, then transformed and drove off. Sentinel shifted and followed close behind.

"So… you're calling the Great Slagmaker 'Father' now," Sentinel noted. "You must have had some quality bonding time since I last saw you."

Optimus couldn't tell whether that was supposed to be a jab or not - Sentinel's tone made it sound a little snarky, but that could have been him assuming everything that came out of the blue mech's mouth was condescending. "We've had… time to talk. I've learned a lot of things. I'm not sure how much of it I'm ready to discuss yet, but… there's a lot I've taken for granted over the years, and more of it's wrong than I first realized."

He half-expected a scathing retort at that… but Sentinel was silent for a long moment as they drove. Optimus was about to brace himself for one of the mech's usual insults when he spoke up again.

"You're not the only one who's taken things for granted… and realized more of it's wrong than you thought." Sentinel's voice was heavy, tired, the voice of a mech who had seen and heard things that had shaken him to the core. "The Autobots… the Council… in some ways they're no better than the Decepticons we've been told are our enemies for so long. And Magnus…"

Optimus slowed a bit, aligning himself alongside Sentinel to hear his words better. "What did he do?"

"He became a flaming hypocrite is what," Sentinel snapped.

"About what?"

An explosion tore through whatever Sentinel's reply had been, and Optimus checked his mirrors. Flames and debris rose from the Dead Zone, and a tower collapsed with a rumble like thunder. The Elite Guard were taking no chances, it seemed… and they didn't seem to fussed about taking prisoners, either. The thought sickened him.

"We'd better talk more when we get to wherever we're going," Sentinel replied. "Can't that Earth mode of yours go any faster?"

At least some of your inner grouch has returned, Optimus thought wryly as he sped down the streets, making for the rendezvous point with Omega. But somehow seeing his former friend returning to normal warmed his spark.

"Do the angry face again!"

"No, the crazy face! I wanna see him do the glossa trick again!"

"Do the blue face! That's the most handsome face."

"Haha, Sideburn's got a crush!"

"I do not, I just like the blue face!"

Blitzwing flipped between all three of his faceplates in rapid succession, as if trying to meet each sparklings' demands at once, before giving up and settling on his angry personality. "Ve are NOT your entertainment for zis journey, little ones! Frag off!"

The sparklings showed no signs of fragging off - they burst into giggles and shouted for more. Blitzwing seethed a moment, but his crazed personality slid into view before his angry persona could launch into a further tirade.

"Zis game is BORING, little ones!" he insisted, and scooped up a violet sparkling and plunked them on his shoulders. "Here's a better one! Pony rides!"

The sparklings whooped and cheered, chasing after the triple changer as he began running laps through the passenger bay of Omega Supreme, still hauling the sparkling on his shoulders. Hot Shot and Bumblebee joined in the chase, each picking up a kid and setting them on his shoulders as they did so. Other mechs just looked on with amused smiles, or did their best to scoot out of the way as the stampede barreled past.

Prowl turned slightly in the pilot's chair to watch the mayhem. "Should… we stop him? I doubt some of these parents would be pleased to see their child playing with a Decepticon."

Optimus just laughed. "They're having fun, and he's apparently a big softie for sparklings under that insanity. Besides, most of these sparklings are on the run because one or both of their parents have Decepticon programming. I'm sure having a Decepticon babysit their kids is the least of their worries."

"All the same, it's hard to watch the mech who use to try to kill you on a regular basis interacting with children," Prowl replied.

"That's true," Optimus admitted. "How are we doing?"

Prowl turned back to the controls. "Omega Supreme's still recharging. Approximately a quarter breem before his recharge cycle's complete and we can be on our way again."

"Good… that's good." Optimus gazed out of the viewscreen at the rocky asteroid where Omega had touched down to recharge and prepare for the final space-bridge jump. "The sooner we get back to Detroit, the better."

"Earth has almost become more of a home for us than Cybertron, hasn't it?" Prowl asked.

"In a way," Optimus replied, though there was a lot more truth to what Prowl said than he wanted to admit. Yes, he'd grown fond of that odd organic planet and its inhabitants… but given recent events, he wasn't sure he could ever properly call Cybertron his home ever again. No one on this ship could - even those who didn't have Decepticon data in their systems were fugitives from justice for their actions. And for many of them, Earth was their last hope for refuge… if the humans would take so many Cybertronians in.

They will, he told himself. For all their flaws, humans are compassionate. Surely they won't turn us away.

Speaking of humans… his gaze rested on Isaac Sumdac, who had just disconnected from a phone call and was reattaching the device to his work belt. The scientist sighed and rubbed his temples, and Optimus was struck by how very tired he looked. This experience had been very hard on him, and he couldn't help but feel guilty for dragging the man into something that wasn't even his kind's business.

"Are you all right, Isaac?" Optimus asked. "Do you need food or rest? Do you need to… um… get rid of waste products?"

Isaac shook his head. "I'll be fine on all those counts until we get back to Sumdac Tower. I was just trying to get ahold of Sari."

His internals jolted at the mention of Isaac's daughter. "She's still on Cybertron, isn't she? At the Iacon Academy."

Isaac nodded. "She was good about calling every weekend… but I have not heard from her in two weeks. I was worried, especially given all that has happened."

Optimus knelt to better address the professor. "Do we need to go back? We can launch a rescue mission. We'll have to be extremely careful not to get caught-"

Isaac raised a hand to silence the mech. "She… does not want to come back to Earth."

Optimus rebooted his optics. "You're kidding."

He shook his head. "She answered her phone… but she says she feels more at home on Cybertron than she ever did on Earth. She is happy living with the Autobots, and she does not want to return to Earth. And… she has heard about your relationship with Megatron. She did not take it well."

He felt his spark sink into his fuel tanks. Sari had been the Autobots' first human ally, and had been by their side for so many of their adventures. To know that she had turned against him - and her own father, if she had decided she preferred to embrace her Cybertronian heritage over her human upbringing - was a blow.

"I'm sorry, Isaac," he murmured.

Isaac shook his head. "It is not your fault. You can't help who your father is. And children grow up and leave the nest eventually. You just never expect them to fly off to another planet and never come back."

"She'll come back," Optimus assured him. "Just give her time. I'm sure she'll remember everything you did to raise and take care of her and return, if only to visit."

Isaac managed a smile before wrapping his arms around himself and turning away. Optimus' spark ached for the man. Had he managed to split apart Isaac's family in the process of reuniting with his father? If that was truly the case, he wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself.

Omega's voice filled the interior of the ship before he could continue down that line of thought. "RECHARGE CYCLE COMPLETE. PREPARING FOR FINAL JUMP."

A flurry of activity followed that announcement. Mechs scrambled for their seats, strapping themselves in for the space-bridge leap. Parents grabbed their sparklings, and Strika and Lugnut tackled Blitzwing and dragged him back to his own seat for the jump. The air practically crackled with nervous energy - no one knew what to expect when they finally arrived on Earth, and they had to be ready for any possibility.

Optimus had just buckled his own safety straps and leaned back in his seat when he felt a hand on his own, and he glanced to the side to see that Megatron had claimed the seat beside him. The mech's expression never seemed to veer too far from "sternly noble," but his optics glowed with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"I… will be," Optimus replied. "It's been… a rough few days."

Megatron nodded. "An understatement, I'm sure. But whatever awaits us on Earth, we will face it together. I just got you back, Orion… I'm not going to lose you again."

Optimus had just opened his mouth to reply when the blue globe of Earth appeared in the viewscreen. A smattering of cheers rose from the passengers, though just as many murmurs of confusion met the sight.

"What's all that blue?" asked Cosmos. "Is it toxic?"

"It's water," Jazz assured the green mech. "It's cool, no worries."

"I never thought I'd come back to THIS dirtball again," Sentinel huffed. "Let's hope the streets are a little more sanitary this time around."

"You know, you COULD have stayed behind," Ratchet reminded him. "I'm not sure why Optimus brought you along in the first place."

"Let him alone, Ratchet," Optimus advised. "He's just happier if he has something to complain about-"

"Optimus, message from the planet," Prowl announced. "From someone identifying themself as the Lord Mayor."

Lord Mayor? Optimus hadn't even been aware that was a title. Just what had happened on Earth while he'd been gone? "Put it through."

A communications screen flared to life, blocking out their view of the blue planet. The face that glared back at them brought screams from more than a few mechs… and a grunt of shock from Megatron.

"That traitor," he growled. "He could never stay dead, could he?"

"This is Lord Mayor Starscream," the mech onscreen rasped, a gloating smile on his face. "Your ship is intruding on the Detroit Territory airspace. You and all your passengers are under arrest and will be escorted to my headquarters at once!"

Horror and despair flared in Optimus' spark. It was worse than he'd feared - Starscream had not only survived the Battle of Detroit, he had taken over the city in their absence. Their desperate flight from Cybertron had been for nothing.

"I would advise you to cooperate, Cybertronian ship," Starscream went on, gesturing grandly as he spoke. "I think you will find that I, Lord Mayor Starscream, am a benevolent leader if you obey my will. But any refusal on your part will only lead to your destruction…"

"Pit, he likes to hear himself talk," Bumblebee muttered. "Doesn't he realize who he's talking to?"

"He's not even lookin' at the viewscreen," Ironhide pointed out. "Think we can just make another jump an' get outta here while he's distracted?"

Before Optimus could reply, two more faces thrust themselves into view - one orange and ivory, the other blue and silver. They gave identical grins and began waving enthusiastically.

"Look, Brother, it is being Sentinel Prime!"

"He is coming back to Earth! We were thinking he hated this place!"

Sentinel made a strangled noise, jerking in his seat. "You! What the frag are you two lunkheads doing with Starscream?!"

"It is being a long story," Jetstorm replied with a shrug.

"Dad, look, it is being Sentinel Prime!" Jetfire exclaimed, grabbing Starscream's arm and shaking it. "He is being like a stepfather to us!"

Bumblebee and Hot Shot exchanged a look of pure and utter shock. "DAD?!"

"Will you little fools stand back?!" Starscream shrilled, pushing the twins off to either side. "I am in the middle of…" His voice trailed off as he finally got a good look at who he was addressing, and his wings drooped in response. "Oh… slag. It's YOU."

Optimus chanced a glance at his father. To his shock, Megatron looked neither angry nor concerned that Starscream had taken over the city in their absence. The silver mech actually wore an utterly smug look.

"Land the ship," he advised. "We cooperate with Starscream - or shall we say, 'Dad' - for now. This is going to be far more interesting than I thought."

Chapter Text

The leaders of the two Cybertronian factions in Detroit faced each other in what had once been the Autobots' new command center, each side sizing up the other and assessing how much of a threat they might be. On one side Starscream reclined in a steel chair that was just one step shy of a throne, flanked on one side by Slipstream and on the other by Grimlock. On the other side, Megatron stood with his arms folded across his chest plate, with Optimus, Dominus, Rodimus, and Strika gathered around him like an honor guard.

It would have made for a grim spectacle, Optimus decided, had it not been for Jetfire and Jetstorm hovering at Starscream's side like overeager sparklings. Starscream seemed to be doing his pointed best to ignore them, but they continued to gaze up at him adoringly.

"So," the self-styled Lord Mayor of Detroit noted, steepling his fingers before him. "Lord Megatron and his cronies have come crawling to ME for sanctuary. Such delicious irony, isn't it, that you who are without mercy now plead to your most despised soldier for it-"

"Spare us your gloating," Megatron retorted, setting his jaw. "We all know you only took Detroit as your own because the Autobots were distracted elsewhere."

"That's still far more than YOU ever accomplished on this planet," Starscream sneered. "You could hardly keep control of the troops you DID have, whereas I managed to not only win the Jet Twins and the Constructicons over to my cause, but tame the Dinobots! You never even managed that!"

Megatron allowed himself a smirk. "In the case of the Jet Twins, I might say it was the other way around. Isn't that right, Father?"

"He is being a good father!" Jetstorm insisted. "He is teaching us all sorts of fancy flight maneuvers!"

"And he is being a good leader of the humans!" Jetfire added. "He is even letting the homeless sleep and refuel in the base!"

"Shut up, you two!" Starscream sputtered. "He doesn't need to know THAT!"

Optimus fought back the urge to chuckle. Well, that explained why there had been so many humans in their base when they had arrived here - evidently Starscream had turned it into a shelter while they had been gone. Not that he begrudged any of them a place to stay, and it had certainly softened many humans' attitudes towards the Cybertronians.

Still, to hear that a mech as terrible as Starscream is so well-loved by the humans is a shock. Unless this is all just a bid for power on his part. Still, even the Great Slagmaker himself had proven to have an honorable side. Perhaps Starscream actually had a spark in his chest too?

"Let's dispense with the theatrics for now," said Dominus, stepping forward. "We only request that you allow us and our companions temporary refuge here. We won't trouble you or try to usurp your rule - we only want a place to rest and recover, and to plan our next step."

Starscream raised an optic ridge. "Refugees, then. So Cybertron has become unlivable enough that even Autobots don't wish to stay there anymore." He tapped his chin in thought, optics narrowed.

Strika rumbled from behind Optimus. "He's enjoying this, Lord Megatron. He relishes having you in his debt. Let us just kill him and take his throne."

Megatron gave his head a slight shake. "No. That will only turn the people of Detroit against us. We'll cooperate with him… for now."

Strika growled again. "You only show softness because he's a father now-"

Megatron raised a hand to silence her, and the General subsided, though not without shifting restlessly as if about to leap over her commander and start thrashing Starscream at a moment's notice. Optimus edged to one side, not wanting to be in her way if it came to blows.

Starscream finally lowered his hands, a slick smile on his face. "So if I allow you sanctuary in Detroit… what's in it for me?"

Rodimus snorted. "Really? You're going that route? Not even going to help us out of the goodness of your spark?"

"Oh please, Autobot," Starscream sneered. "Do you think I'm stupid? I'm inviting a load of trouble already by having dozens of fugitives from Cybertronian justice in my city. I expect SOME sort of compensation."

Optimus opened his mouth to plead further, but Megatron caught his optic and shook his head. Evidently he thought it would be useless trying to appeal to Starscream's better nature. Optimus wanted to disagree - every mech had to have a good side, right? - but he held his vocalizer.

Jetstorm and Jetfire had no such reservations, apparently. The two of them began poking Starscream insistently from each side, and he growled and pulled his arms out of their reaches.

"What?" he demanded sharply.

"Father," Jetstorm replied, "please be letting them stay?"

Starscream growled. "Absolutely not! Not unless they want to prove their worth-"

"Father, throwing them out of the city would be mean!" Jetfire protested. "You are not being mean! You are being the kindest mech we know!"

Strika made a choked noise somewhere between a grunt of disbelief and a smothered laugh. Rodimus, too, twisted his lip plates as if struggling not to laugh, and Dominus ducked his head and covered his mouth with his hand. Even Megatron looked amused at Jetfire's innocent statement.

"I am NOT-" began Starscream, optics flashing.

"And if you are being mean to these mechs, then the people of Detroit will be getting very upset!" Jetfire added. "They are liking you very much! You are wanting them to keep liking you, right?"

Starscream opened and shut his mouth several times, struggling to come up with a retort. Then he growled and flopped back in his chair.

"All right… fine. You and your refugees can stay. But no funny business."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Dominus assured him. "Thank you, Lord Mayor Starscream. Your generosity - and the generosity of your fine sons - is much appreciated."

"Yes, yes," Starscream grumbled, waving him off before leveling a glare at Optimus. "I take it you'll be wanting your base back, Autobot? Shifting the homeless out of their shelter isn't going to endear me to the populace, but-"

"Don't evict them on our account," Optimus assured him. "We'll find a place to stay elsewhere."

Starscream blinked his optic shutters, puzzlement replacing his irritation. Then his optics narrowed in a calculating expression, and he leaned forward, lacing his fingers together.

"So Optimus Prime and Megatron are working together, are they?" he mused, one corner of his mouth turning up in a sly grin. "Curious… I'd think that the Hero of Cybertron would be siding with the Magnus, trying to round up and dispose of anyone with Decepticon programming. Yet here you are helping them escape. Are you just that soft-sparked? Or…" He tapped his chin, giving a show of being deep in thought.

"We can dispense with the theatrics, Starscream," Megatron snapped, resting a hand on Optimus' shoulder. "The mech now known as Optimus Prime is Orion, my son. And that knowledge is by no means secret anymore. You'll gain no advantage by trying to use it as leverage against either of us."

Starscream scowled, as if disappointed that he'd lost a potential bargaining chip just as it had landed in his hands. Jetstorm and Jetfire, however, lit up at the news.

"You are finding your father just like us!" Jetstorm exclaimed, bouncing happily in place. "We are so happy for you!"

"Um… thank you." Optimus' gaze moved between the eager Jet Twins and their glowering parental figure. "I'd like to hear someday how you two came to recognize Starscream as your father-"

"That day is NOT today!" Starscream cut in, rising to his feet. "As Lord Mayor, I am a VERY busy mech, and I haven't time to sit around and discuss family matters with all of you." He gestured in the general direction of Grimlock. "Grimlock will escort your refugees to a place where you'll be safe and out of the way. Slipstream, return to your patrols. Jetstorm, Jetfire, let's go. We've an appointment to keep."

"Yes, Dad!" the two young Autobots chirped, and they each grabbed one of Starscream's arms and practically dragged him out of the former headquarters. Starscream made a show of rolling his optics, but Optimus thought with amusement that the mech didn't look quite as annoyed as he was pretending to be.

"Well… that was interesting," Rodimus muttered. "You sure the city's okay under his rule?"

"The people seem happy," Optimus replied. "And it seems like the twins are acting as Starscream's conscience for the time being. Still, we'll have to keep an optic on him."

"And we'll be keeping an optic on YOU in return," Slipstream informed him, jabbing a finger at him. "Lord Starscream has worked hard to win and maintain his position here. We won't sit back and watch you destroy everything he's achieved." And she stormed out.

Grimlock snorted. "Lady flier a grouch," he rumbled. He looked the motley collection of Autobots and Decepticons over, then jerked his head towards the door. "Follow me Grimlock."

Optimus nodded and made to follow the Dinobot commander as he lumbered out the door. He hadn't imagined he would return to Earth under these circumstances - as a fugitive, with a couple hundred refugees and some of the most dangerous Decepticons alive in tow. But then, he hadn't imagined that he would learn some terrible truths about the Autobot cause… and about the Magnus he'd sworn to serve. Or that he would be reunited with his family in the process.

I don't think any of us have any idea what happens from here, he thought. But at least, whatever happens, we'll face it as a team. We've accomplished the impossible before, after all.

"You've got to be fraggin' KIDDING me!" Sentinel shrieked, backing away with his hands raised. "I'm NOT staying here! Not for a second!"

"Believe me, Sentinel, it's not MY first choice of a place to stay," Ratchet retorted. "But we're staying in Detroit on Starscream's charity, believe it or not. We can't exactly afford to be choosy."

"I most certainly CAN be choosy!" Sentinel shot back. "And I say we gather our forces and go boot Starscream off his high-and-mighty throne! Take this city for ourselves!"

"Do that, and you'll have the humans turning against us," Optimus reminded him. "And we can't afford THAT either. None of us like this, Sentinel, but for now we're going to have to live with it."

The blue mech glowered, then braced himself and took a tentative step into the city landfill. He felt the ground give sickeningly under his foot, and it took all his willpower not to jerk it away in disgust. This wasn't just an organic area - it was where organics dumped their trash and refuse! Who knew what kind of contaminants could be swarming through this wreckage!

"I'll have a word with Starscream later," Dominus noted, gingerly stepping over a black plastic sack full of unidentifiable odds and ends. "Perhaps we can negotiate a more… hospitable location for refuge."

"Starscream doesn't believe in negotiation," Megatron snorted. "He believes in two paths - his way, and the wrong way."

Dominus gave a mysterious smile. "I can be quite persuasive. In the meantime, however, advise everyone to turn off their olfactory sensors and to be on the lookout for signs of rust. We'll make do as best we can."

Sentinel watched as the little mech transformed to turbofox mode and loped off towards the refugees. Quite a few of them were looking upon the garbage-strewn landscape with expressions of dismay, while others simply shrugged their shoulders and plodded on ahead. The general attitude seemed to be that nobody liked this situation, but as long as they were here they would make the best of it.

Then a blur of orange and rust-brown blotted out his vision, and he yelped and staggered back as the blur bellowed in his face.

"Welcome to Garbage City!"

Sentinel yelped again as his foot hit a trash bag, making it slide out from under him. He landed hard on his aft, and grimaced as something burst underneath him, slicking his skidplate and lower back with a thick fluid he didn't want to identify.

"Watch your step, mister," the newcomer advised, grabbing his arm and yanking him to his feet. "Welcome to the Trash Day that never ends! Everything's free, only slightly used!"

Sentinel just stared at the mech - a boxy orange-and-rust being wearing a guileless grin, a handful of flies circling his square-shaped head like a pestilent halo. "Who… the frag…"

"Hello, Wreck-Gar," Optimus greeted, and incredibly he smiled at the scrappy-looking mech. "I take it you're working for Starscream too now?"

Wreck-Gar nodded. "It's a living. Sure beats rusting at the bottom of the Detroit River." He grabbed Optimus' hand and shook it enthusiastically. "My home is your home, buddy! You get free accomodations and your pick of the junk! Just wipe your feet before you leave."

"Duly noted," Megatron replied with a grimace, lifting his foot to inspect the bottom of it.

"Well… thank you for sharing your home with us," Optimus replied. "Could you do us a favor and help everyone get settled in? We've got a lot of scared and displaced mechs here who could use a friendly face right now."

Wreck-Gar saluted, still wearing that goofy smile. "Aye-aye, Captain! The Welcome Wagon is rolling out!" And with that, he transformed to a clunky-looking truck mode and drove away, leaving a stream of trash in his wake.

Megatron watched him go. "You've gotten to know some… interesting mechanisms, Orion."

"He means well," Optimus replied. "And honestly, I'm glad he's here. He'll help our refugees feel a little more welcome after everything they've been through."

Megatron didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the matter. Instead he turned to regard Shockwave, who had just stepped up to address his leader. The double-agent still walked with a limp, and his broken antler had yet to be reattached, but he still carried himself with an eerie grace.

"Lord Megatron… Lord Orion." Shockwave inclined his head towards Optimus. "Dominus and Ratchet have requested a meeting with both of you."

Optimus took a moment to reply - was he thrown off by being referred to by what was presumably his old name, or was he simply unused to being addressed with respect by a Decepticon? "What about?"

"How we are to proceed from this point, of course," Shockwave replied. "As attached as you may be to this organic world, Orion, we will not be welcome here forever. If this self-styled Lord Mayor Starscream doesn't order us to leave at some point, then the humans will. I hardly think they will tolerate being caught up in our war."

Megatron nodded slowly. "We will be there shortly. You will be present as well, Shockwave - you spent a great deal of time in the presence of the Magnus, and your input will be valuable."

The Decepticon leader only spoke fact, but his words still made the smoldering anger in Sentinel's spark flare up. Shockwave had indeed spent time in Magnus' company, duping the entire Council and every other Prime in the guise of Longarm Prime before his betrayal. And he'd very nearly killed Ultra Magnus in the process…

His anger soured, curdled with resentment from an entirely different front. Magnus had commanded him to track down and imprison Autobots with Decepticon lineage, and had ordered his arrest for daring to confront him with his own hypocrisy. Was he really still trying to defend him? Perhaps he didn't deserve to be beaten nearly to death, but still…

Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder, lightly squeezing. "Could… I have a few minutes? I need a few words with Sentinel first."

Megatron nodded. "Be quick."

"We'll convene at the wreckage of the airship in the center of the junkyard," Shockwave informed him.

Sentinel watched as the two Decepticons made their way to the rusted hulk of an airplane that jutted from the center of the landfill. "So… Orion, huh?"

Optimus nodded. "Evidently that was my name before I ended up in the orphanage." He walked over to a nearby stack of cars and sat down, the pile giving slightly under his weight. "Sit down, will you?"

Sentinel looked around for a chair or, lacking that, at least a relatively clean surface to sit in, but came up empty. "I'll stand, thank you."

Optimus cracked a smile. "Your aft's already covered in wet paint. You're not going to get it any dirtier no matter where you sit."

Sentinel rolled his optics and sat down on the ground, crossing his legs. "There. Happy?"

"Happy." Optimus gazed down at his hands. "Sentinel… what happened to us? We used to be friends."

He stared at the red mech, his brow plates screwed up in confusion. After all these vorns, NOW he wanted to hash out how their friendship had gone sour? "You seriously don't remember? The trip to that organic planet, what happened to Elita-1-"

"I remember," Optimus cut in, his voice short and surprisingly angry. "I also seem to remember taking the blame for you. Both of us should have been kicked out of the Academy for it, but I figured they were only looking for one scapegoat. It turns out I was right."

"So what, you're blaming me for ruining things?" Sentinel retorted. "I never asked you to take the blame for me!"

Optimus opened his mouth to reply, then gusted a sigh and shook his head. "Stop… just stop. I didn't want this to become a fight. All that is over and done with, and we can't change it."

"Then why bring it up now?"

"Because I want us to be able to change it." He sighed again and shuttered his optics. "Neither of us can go back to Cybertron - I'm the son of Megatron, and you know too much about the terrible things the Autobots are doing to their own people. We have to be able to work together… but we can't, not unless we work out all this slag between us. Maybe we can't be friends again, but slaggit, I want to at least know that we can work together without endangering all the mechs who are depending on us."

It was Sentinel's turn to shutter his optics, shame quelling some of the anger in his spark. "Fraggit… you always had to be the noble one of us, didn't you?"

"I'm not trying to one-up you," Optimus insisted. "I just have always tried to do what I think is right. Something I know you've done too, even if we disagree on what's right."

Sentinel sighed. "Yeah, but… somehow it always managed to work out for you. Whereas I washed out. I guess I was jealous of you, you know? I tried so hard to protect Cybertron, but then you lucked out and became the fraggin' Hero of Cybertron while I was just some loser who made things difficult for the Autobots. And… and I guess I let that get in the way of things."

Optimus gave a rueful chuckle. "My luck ran out in the end, though. I guess I expected you to gloat about it. That the Hero of Cybertron turned out to be the son of the Great Slagmaker."

He snorted. "I might be a jerkaft, but I'm not THAT much of a jerkaft. What they did to you… I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Let alone an old friend."

Optimus was quiet for a long moment. "We made quite the team back in the day, didn't we?"

"That we did." Sentinel laughed a little. "Maybe it's too late to go back to being friends… but we can at least be a team together, right?"

"I hope so." Optimus held out a hand. "Truce?"

Sentinel hesitated, then gripped Optimus' hand in his own. "Truce."

"Then as the humans like to say, water under the bridge." Optimus stood and pulled Sentinel to his feet. "Let's start fresh. Let the past stay the past."

"Yeah…" Sentinel winced as an awful thought crossed his CPU. "Is Meg- is your father going to hate me for turning you in?"

Optimus' laugh was less bitter and more friendly now. "He's not nearly as dangerous as you think he is. And honestly, I think he's more angry at Ultra Magnus and the Council than he is at you." His smile faded. "That reminds me… you were saying something about the Magnus before we came here, but you never finished that thought."

Sentinel opened his mouth to answer, then shook his head. "I think everyone in charge needs to hear this. Um… do you mind if I crash your meeting?"

"You're not crashing the meeting if I invite you to it," Optimus replied, and he led Sentinel towards the wrecked plane. "Let's hurry… this sounds important."

A junkyard wasn't exactly an ideal place to live, even temporarily, but the refugees from Cybertron's Dead Zone were determined to make the most of it. They cleared away rubbish, collected scrap metal and other materials to build shelters, and took stock of their supplies. It wasn't home by any means, but it was still better than languishing in a prison cell or being knocked around by the Elite Guard.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead should have been helping set up shelters, but instead they found themselves staring at the sky, watching as Blitzwing soared in circles overhead while the sparkling on his back shrieked with delight.

"So… are we gonna stop him?" asked Bumblebee.

"You wanna try telling him he has to stop?" Bulkhead replied.

"Eh… fair point." The yellow minibot flinched as Blitzwing dove, but his passenger held on tightly, giggling like crazy. "Still can't believe we're just watching him babysit kids like that's totally normal. Or that their parents are letting him."

"I think they got bigger things to worry about right now," Bulkhead pointed out.

"No kidding."

Blitzwing finally touched down, letting the sparkling scramble off. "Zat's all, little ones! Blitzwing has things to do!"

"Awwwww… one more ride?" pleaded a dark green sparkling.

Blitzwing shifted from jet to tank, waving his gun turret in the sparklings' direction. "Any more whining and zere will be NO rides! Now shoo!"

The sparklings scattered, but they giggled and chatted amongst themselves, undeterred by the triple-changer's anger. Blitzwing, for his part, shifted to root mode and let his crazed face snap into place before skipping away with a whistle.

"Still think we shouldn't be letting him near the kids," Bumblebee grumbled.

"Aw, c'mon, he's not all that bad," Bulkhead protested. "Not all the 'Cons are bad guys."

Bumblebee raised an optic ridge. "Are you just saying that 'cause you're dating one now? Or three of 'em?"

Bulkhead's faceplates heated up, and he ducked his head. "You had to bring that up, huh?"

"Well yeah, you get yourself a polycule and people are bound to notice. You do know this is freakin' Strika we're talkin' about, right? She's got a reputation-"

"I know!" Bulkhead protested. "But… she's nice to me. They all are. It's… it's nice to be seen as attractive despite being built like a tank, ya know?"

"I'm a minibot, I wouldn't know," Bumblebee pointed out. "Just be careful, okay Bulky? Don't wanna see you gettin' hurt-"

"Is this little one bothering you?"

Bumblebee yipped and whirled around… and found himself staring up into the glowing red optic of Lugnut. The violet hulk glowered down at him, then turned to regard Bulkhead.

"Is he bothering you?" he repeated. "If so, I will remove him!"

"Nah, he's fine," Bulkhead assured him. "He's just worried about me is all."

"Why would he be worried?" Lugnut demanded, his gaze swiveling back to Bumblebee. "You do not trust Strika with him? Or Obsidian?"

Bumblebee gulped, wishing that Ratchet would have made good on his promise to weld his mouth shut much earlier. Maybe then he wouldn't be in this mess. "Uh… it's not so much them as… uh…"

Lugnut jerked back, and while his peculiar faceplates didn't allow for much expression, his body language declared that he took offense to the implications of that sentence fragment. "I, Lugnut, would not so much as scratch Bulkhead! He is one of us now!"

"Uh… but… didn't you used to beat the slag out of all of us on a regular basis?"

"Yes… but no longer." Lugnut's shoulders relaxed as he spoke. "Megatron has declared that there shall be no more fighting you or the rest of Optimus' crew… or any of the Autobots with Decepticon programming. You may not be loyal Decepticons, but you are still allies." He reached out and took Bulkhead's hand in his claws. "And Bulkhead is one of us now - a member of our family. We love him."

"Awww… thanks, Lug," Bulkhead told him, grinning.

Bumblebee shook his head. "This is all still really wild. It's gonna take me awhile to get used to it. But… if you're happy, Bulky, then that's all that matters, I guess."

"Thanks, Bee," Bulkhead told him. "So… we gonna go build some houses or what?"

"Sounds like a plan," Bumblebee replied.

"Very good!" Lugnut bellowed, and he thumped Bulkhead on the shoulder and motioned for them to follow. "Come, Bumblebee! We could use your servos, even if they are small!"

"Yeah, just tell your boss-lady not to try to seduce me into your little polyamorous deal," Bumblebee replied. "Nothing against y'all, but I don't like 'em big."

Bulkhead laughed, and the three mechs went to help Strika and Obsidian dig up possible construction materials.

Chapter Text

Optimus wished he could say that Sentinel's bombshell regarding Ultra Magnus had shocked him to the core… but to his surprise, it didn't. Yes, some part of him DID reel at the news that the Autobot leader was the son of a notorious Decepticon general. But somehow it didn't shake him as badly as he assumed it would.

Perhaps it's only life-changing news the first time you hear it, he thought wryly. Or only if it applies to you.

"That slag-munching piston-sucker!" Ratchet exploded, bringing his fist down on the wing of the rusted airplane. "All this time he preaches about how anyone of 'Con heritage is an enemy, when all this time he's one himself!"

"I knew Deathsaurus had reproduced," Megatron noted. "I didn't realize his sparklings had become Autobots. It would seem more of our lost children ended up in Autobot care than I first realized."

"How did you find out, Sentinel?" asked Optimus. "Did the Council ask you to check?"

Sentinel shook his head, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly now that he'd delivered his news. "Not directly - they just put pressure on me to give them a big name. Someone high-ranking they could arrest, probably so it looked like they were actually accomplishing something with their campaign. I started putting names and spark scans through to check… and well, checking Ultra Magnus' information was just an impulse. Guess it worked out a little TOO well."

"And he didn't like that news, I take it," Optimus noted.

Sentinel snorted. "He ordered my arrest for threatening to go public with it."

"Of course he did," Ratchet grumbled. "Fraggin' hypocrite didn't like his hypocrisy being pointed out to him. And of course, HE wasn't about to go to prison to prove his own cause!"

At that, Sentinel frowned, his headpipes twitching thoughtfully. "Funny… he acted like it was a shock to him as well. He kept denying it. That could have just been an effort to save face on his part, but maybe he was just as surprised as the rest of us?"

Optimus frowned too. "Was he a foundling as well? It's not like I knew who my father was before all this went down."

"Oh, our dear Magnus is no foundling," Dominus put in, his fingers steepled thoughtfully in front of his lip plates. "The two of us were quite close to our father before his untimely death. Though naturally, we never talked much about him after we joined the Autobots."

Optimus' jaw dropped. "Wait… you're Ultra Magnus' brother?" How was it that this revelation hit him with more impact than the news that the Magnus was of Decepticon origin? Maybe he just couldn't imagine Dominus and Ultra Magnus being siblings… or perhaps seeing how ruthless the Magnus had become made his Decepticon origins not seem so far-fetched. Probably some of both.

Dominus nodded. "Guilty. Minimus Ambus - whom you know as Ultra Magnus - and I are spark-twins. And yes, we were the sons of General Deathsaurus, one of Megatron's most feared officers. After his lieutenant, Leozack, killed him, we feared we would be his next targets and fled to the Autobots."

"Lovely," Ratchet grunted. "What is it with Decepticons wanting to off their superior officers and take their places? You sure Starscream's not this mech's kid?"

"Starscream was cold-forged," Megatron replied. "But power-hungry mechs surface in every organization. Decepticons are just more… direct… in their means to climb the ranks. At least the knives they plant in your back are literal blades rather than gossip and manipulation."

"If that was meant to be comforting, it didn't work," Optimus noted.

"At any rate," Dominus went on, "the question is what you plan on doing with this information."

Ratchet shrugged. "Don't see how it helps us. Sure, it makes him a hypocrite, but he's still in charge of Cybertron and, well… we're stuck here. Knowing Deathsaurus sparked our Magnus is just useless trivia at this point."

"Do not discount this information as trivial so easily, Ratchet," Shockwave advised, folding his claws in his lap. "Data can be weaponized as surely as any gun or blade. And what Sentinel Prime has brought us could be forged into a powerful tool of blackmail… a tool that could be used to oust Minimus from the Magnus seat."

Sentinel flinched. "Are we really talking about overthrowing a Magnus? You realize this will make us all traitors." His gaze flicked to Shockwave, then darted away. "Well, more traitors than some of us already were."

Shockwave's optic blinked slowly, the vertical optic shutters lending his already eerie visage a more chilling cast. "I was a double agent, not a traitor. There is a distinct difference."

"Great, that makes it even better," Sentinel muttered. "Thanks for clearing that up."

"Shockwave, Sentinel, play nice," Optimus ordered. "And as for what we do… well, waving this news in Ultra Magnus' face might be satisfying, but at this point it'll just anger him into doing something really drastic. If we want to make use of it, we have to decide what we want from him in exchange for us not leaking the knowledge of his origins."

"Unless he decides he'd rather blast us to shrapnel instead of giving into our demands," Ratchet huffed.

"I doubt it will come to that," Dominus assured him. "For all his flaws, Ultra Magnus isn't so beholden to the letter of the law that he would start massacring innocents."

"You sure about that?" Ratchet grumbled.

"Enough," Megatron cut in. "This information may be useful, but we have more immediate concerns. We cannot keep relying on Starscream's… generosity… forever, nor will our refugees tolerate living in a junkyard for very long."

"You'd be surprised what mechs can learn to live with," Optimus pointed out. "But you're right - a junkyard's no place for them, especially those families with young sparklings. We need a better plan for the future."

"The question's what," Ratchet noted. "No colony world is going to take in a mixed group of Bots and Cons - every colony I know of is one or the other, or neutrals who want nothing to do with either faction. And a few hundred refugees have no chance of overthrowing a Magnus and an entire Council, even if we've got a number of actual Decepticons among us."

"You would be surprised what a few mechs without formal military training can accomplish," Shockwave noted.

Sentinel gave Optimus a look of horrified pleading. "There has to be some other alternative."

"What alternative?" Megatron regarded Sentinel with a frown. "We cannot stay here - it's only a matter of time before we are found and forced to flee again. And there is no reasoning with Ultra Magnus. He wants us dead or imprisoned, down to the last newspark. We either flee or fight - we don't have another option."

"But you're talking about declaring war against Cybertron!" Sentinel gripped the sides of his helm, optics bright with horror. "That's insane! We'll all be locked up as traitors!"

"They were planning to incarcerate us anyhow," Shockwave retorted. "Given that state of affairs, we've nothing to lose."

"There's got to be another way," Sentinel insisted. "Dominus can talk to him, right? He's the Magnus' brother, surely that means he can talk some reason into him!"

Dominus shook his head. "My brother and I have not been on speaking terms for vorns… and that's even before he became Magnus and the Council had their way with him."

"Had their way with him?" Those words made Optimus' spark curdle. "What do you mean?"

Dominus' optics flashed. "You may notice that, despite being spark-twins, Minimus and I look nothing alike. And we have the Council to thank for that - despite all Ultra Magnus' dedication to the Autobot cause and his talents as a warrior, they couldn't have a beastformer wielding the Magnus Hammer. So they decided some… alterations… were necessary."

"They put him in a new body?" Ratchet demanded. "I thought spark transplants were impossible. Every time one's been attempted, the spark has extinguished within a cycle or two."

"Not a transplant," Dominus replied. "The body he currently wears is an exosuit - a set of powered armor that he operates from the inside. He wore it reluctantly at first, at the behest of the Council… but by now he's worn it for so long that considers it his real body. I would be shocked if he's stepped outside of it since the war began."

Four sets of stunned optics met Dominus' words. Shockwave, for his part, only tapped a claw to his faceplate in thought.

"That explains much," he mused. "Such as how he has continually survived injuries that should have killed him. His armor has taken the brunt of the damage."

Sentinel shook off his shock to glare at Shockwave. "Damages like you trying to offline him?"

"Believe me, Ultra Magnus had his revenge," Shockwave shot back, reaching up to touch his broken antler. "You don't think I suffered my damages from falling down a flight of stairs, do you?"

"Could you two NOT fight like sparklings?" Ratchet demanded. "But how's a suit of armor keep you from talking to your own brother, Dominus? You're getting sidetracked here."

"I promise there's a point to this story," Dominus replied. "Exosuits like the one Minimus wears as Ultra Magnus were never meant to be used long-term. They're plugged directly into a mech's CPU, hardlined into their programming… and if used for too long at a stretch, they can cause data corruptions and memory gaps. After all this time as Ultra Magnus, I doubt Minimus even remembers his own brother… or his father."

Sentinel's optics flared with realization. "So he honestly doesn't remember his origins. No wonder he was so shocked when I threw the spark scans in his face."

Dominus nodded. "So as much as I wish I could talk some sense into him, I doubt he will remember me. More likely he'll see me as an untrustworthy beastformer with Decepticon connections and want me imprisoned."

"We won't ask you to risk yourself, Dominus," Optimus told him. "Not when you've done so much for us already." He steeled himself, knowing his next words were probably going to alienate a few mechs. "The way I see it… we have no choice but to fight."

"Fight?" Sentinel blurted, staring at him with a look of horror. Optimus knew he'd probably just pushed his old friend away forever - after he'd tried so hard to mend bridges with him, too - but he forced himself not to look the blue mech in the optic. Best to get this over with before he lost his resolve.

"You're serious about this, kid?" Ratchet demanded. "There's no going back if you commit to it."

"There was no going back the minute Ultra Magnus decided to treat me like a criminal for my parentage," Optimus replied. "And to be honest… we passed a point of no return long ago. The leadership of Cybertron isn't interested in making Cybertron a safe haven for every mech and femme who wants to live there. They're more interested in maintaining the status quo, and locking up or eliminating any mech who goes against that status quo. And it may mean things LOOK peaceful and safe on the surface, at least temporarily… but if you only worry about the surface, then you allow rust and corrosion to build up underneath, until the structure fails and it all comes crashing down."

Ratchet scowled, and Sentinel stared at him as if he'd just ripped his own core out with his bare hands. Megatron smiled, optics burning with pride, while Shockwave cocked his head to one side like a curious turbohound.

"If we're to have any hope of saving Cybertron, we have to fix the system that's been broken for so long. And if we're to have any hope of fixing the system… we need to change the leadership. We need Ultra Magnus and the Council out of power. And unfortunately, they're not going to give up power on their own - we'll have to remove them by force."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge. "You realize that there are mechs who'll assume you're following in your father's footsteps for doing this. That you're doing this not because it's best for Cybertron, but because you've gotten a sudden taste for power."

Optimus was silent for a moment. In truth, he'd considered Ratchet's point already… and some part of him did worry that Cybertron at large would consider him "the next Megatron" for what he was about to do. If he committed himself to this cause, the vast majority of the Autobots would hate him forever. And even if they succeeded in overthrowing Ultra Magnus and the Council, that wouldn't change many mechs' minds - he would still be seen as a villain.

But in the end, he simply nodded. "That's a chance I'll have to take. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings - not just Autobots, but Decepticons, Cybertronians of mixed heritage, and organics. And that freedom is worth more than my reputation."

Ratchet frowned, but nodded. "You're a good kid, Optimus. Just don't let your idealism get you killed."

"None of us will allow that," Shockwave replied. "The Decepticons will defend Orion with our sparks if need be."

"And if I know Team Detroit and Team Athena, they'll fight to the death for you too," Ratchet added with a slight smile. "They may be idiot hotshots, but they're loyal."

"The Dead Zone refugees will aid you as well," said Dominus. "We have precious few warriors among us - soldiers were conveniently overlooked when they weeded out Decepticon 'traitors' within the Autobots - but we will offer whatever support we can."

Optimus' spark glowed with warmth, and he smiled in turn at each of the mechs. "Thank you… your support means everything." His optics met Megatron's. "You have a lot more experience at this than me… will you help me? I could use an advisor."

Megatron nodded. "I would be honored, Orion."

Optimus nodded back… then he turned reluctantly to Sentinel, expecting to read loathing on the mech's face. To his surprise, he saw an expression he'd never thought he'd see on the blue mech's face - grudging admiration.

"I still don't like this," he said quietly. "It goes against everything we've ever been taught. But… you were always one to break the rules when you thought they needed breaking. I was never that bold."

Optimus smiled. "I don't know - I'd call refusing to arrest civilians and urging them to flee breaking the rules."

"Yeah, well, don't get too used to it." Sentinel held out his hand. "I'll follow you, Optimus. I have no idea what's going to happen from here on out, but… I trust you to lead the way."

His spark burned with relief, and he clasped his old friend's hand. "Thank you, Sentinel. I'll do my best not to abuse that trust."

"Then we are in accord," Shockwave noted. "What is our next course of action?"

Optimus had no idea - he hadn't thought that far ahead. "For now, we focus on getting our refugees settled. Most of them are non-combatants and won't want to be in the crossfire anyway. Once we're sure they're as comfortable as they're going to get here, we'll gather our teams and assess our firepower."

Ratchet snorted. "We ain't got the mechpower to stand up to the Autobot army, kid."

"Maybe not… but we can come up with some kind of plan," Optimus replied. "It takes more than firepower to win a war, after all."

"Well, you're going to need some kind of advantage over the Magnus," Ratchet countered. "Which is why… hold on…" He rummaged in the nearby junk pile for a moment, then withdrew a long staff-like object and offered it handle-first to Optimus. "It ain't much, but it's something at least."

Optimus had the Magnus Hammer in his hands before he realized what it was, and he tried to hand it back to the medic. "I can't take this!"

"I told Sentinel and Ultra Magnus that I'd give the hammer back to the proper Magnus," Ratchet insisted, pushing the weapon back at him. "Ultra or Minimus or whatever the frag he's called these days hasn't proven himself worthy of it… but you have."

"Take it," Dominus urged. "If nothing else, it will be a symbol to those who see you as a guardian and protector. If they see that someone wielding the Magnus Hammer is standing up to their oppressors, that will give them the hope they need to persevere."

Optimus hesitated, then pulled the hammer towards him. He didn't feel comfortable taking the weapon of the highest office on Cybertron, but Dominus had a point. Besides, he had a feeling he was going to need all the help he could get. Perhaps the hammer would only give him a small edge against Ultra Magnus and his armies… but perhaps that edge would be all he needed.

His gaze flicked back to Sentinel. The other Prime's optics glittered with just a hint of jealousy, but he only reached out to squeeze Optimus' shoulder.

"So… orders, Optimus Magnus?" he asked. "Or is it Orion Magnus? I have no idea."

"Please don't call me Magnus," Optimus replied. "As for Orion… well, call me whatever you're comfortable calling me. It's going to take some time to get used to being called Orion anyhow."

Sentinel nodded. "So what will you have me do?"

"For now, go check on our refugees and see how they're settling in. Ask if there's anything they need. Shockwave, you do the same. Megatron, gather Teams Athenia, Detroit, and Chaar, as well as any Decepticons who are in fighting shape. I'd like an assessment of our fighting forces and what they're capable of."

Sentinel saluted, and Shockwave gave a regal bow from the waist. Then both mechs headed off to carry out their orders. Megatron gave a nod and touched two fingers to his temple as he put out the call.

"Ratchet… I have a request for you. But I don't think you're going to like it."

"I've had to do a fraggin' lot of things I don't like in the past couple weeks," Ratchet pointed out. "What's one more? Shoot."

Optimus looked down at his arm, where the blue of his gauntlet met the red of the rest of his armor. "I'm going to need paint. Violet and black, to be specific."

"Kids, let go of the nice mech's legs please!"

"But Daddy Tracks, he's a hero! We've never hugged a hero before!"

"Yes, but he's a very busy hero. You need to let him go now."

The two sparklings whined in response, but they released their death grips on Sentinel's shins and hurried back to their father's side. Tracks patted their helms and shooed them off to play before turning back to Sentinel.

"I'm very sorry about them," he said. "They're just enthusiastic about saying thank you."

"They're fine," Sentinel replied, though he dusted off his shinguards anyhow. "And I didn't come here for thanks. I'm just here to ask if you need anything to get you settled."

Tracks shook his head. "Bulkhead and Strika are helping us build a shelter. It won't be nearly as glamorous as our old apartment in Iacon, but it will do for now." He looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at Sentinel. "I know you didn't come here for thanks, but… thank you anyhow. For warning us and helping us escape. We're in your debt."

At one point Sentinel might have beamed with pride at the praise. But now he looked away, faceplates warm with embarrassment. "Don't mention it."

"Don't mention it?" Mirage laughed softly as he stepped up beside his conjux. "You saved our lives and the lives of countless others! Everyone has 'mentioned it,' as you put it - it's the talk of the entire refugee camp. You're a hero, Sentinel!"

His faceplates blazed so hotly he wondered if they were glowing. "Just… doing the right thing… nothing special…"

"Well, you doing the right thing saved our lives." Tracks shook his hand, beaming. "You're welcome to visit us anytime. The little ones would love to see you again."

Sentinel mumbled something approximating a thank-you before hurrying off. He was used to mechs treating him with disdain and suspicion… he wasn't used to such gratitude and adoration. As much as he craved that kind of adoration, he wasn't used to it, and having it given so freely and so often by the refugees left him feeling flustered and embarrassed.

He let his gaze wander the camp as he walked, carefully skirting around the more disgusting-looking garbage piles. Optimus and Rodimus' teams were pitching in to build shelters, with Decepticons lending a servo where they could. Swindle had a group of sparklings gathered in a semicircle before him as he regaled them with a story, while Wreck-Gar played a dramatic accompaniment on a musical instrument that seemed to be operated by squeezing it. Red Alert had set up a makeshift medical center and was inspecting a gash in Swoop's wing membrane, while Mixmaster poured the foundation for a more permanent medical building close by.

It still amazed him that Optimus could inspire loyalty in such a diverse group of mechs - Autobots, Decepticons, and mechs who had been born of the Allspark but had never set foot on Cybertron in their lives. None of them seemed to care that he was a lowly space bridge worker, or the son of Megatron, or the former Hero of Cybertron who had defeated their own champion in battle. Perhaps it was desperation, or perhaps it was simply that Optimus had proven himself in their optics, but they all looked up to him, or at least accepted him as their leader.

I should be jealous, he realized, but… I'm not. Maybe it's because he's not rubbing it in my face. Or maybe… maybe there are just more important things to worry about right now.

"Senny! Hello!"

"It is being Senny! Wait up!"

He whirled, mouth open to snap at the twins for the ridiculous nickname, but he caught himself. "Jetstorm! Jetfire!"

The two fliers bolted towards him, identical grins of delight on their faceplates. Before he could protest they had thrown their arms around him, babbling excitedly and clinging as tightly as Tracks and Mirage's sparklings had just minutes earlier.

"It is being you!" Jetstorm exclaimed. "We were hoping to find you!"

"So much has happened since we have been seeing you last!" Jetfire added.

"Leggo," Sentinel grumbled, wriggling out of their grasps. "You two have a lot of explaining to do. What the frag have you been up to, and why are you suddenly allied with STARSCREAM of all mechs?!"

Jetfire beamed. "You were missing us, weren't you?"

"No," Sentinel said shortly. "In fact, I was able to get much more done without you two underfoot."

"He was missing us, brother," Jetstorm laughed. "But yes, so much has been happening!"

"We followed the distress call to Detroit," Jetfire explained. "And guess who we were finding?"

Sentinel waited, then realized they actually expected him to guess. "Rodimus Prime."

"Starscream!" Jetfire corrected. "He was being just a head in the junkyard! But we were soon matching his head to his body, and Wreck-Gar was fixing him!"

"And you are not going to be believing this," Jetstorm chimed in, "but Starscream is being our father! We have a dad, Senny! And he is teaching us great aerial tricks and how to run a city, and we are helping him be a good leader!"

"He is not really liking the humans," Jetfire noted. "Or being nice. But he is working on it."

Sentinel had to sit down as he processed the sudden dump of information. He knew that Starscream's programming had been used to reformat the twins, but it had never occurred to him that said programming essentially meant the Decepticon Seeker was their parental figure. Nor that the two fliers in his charge would take it so literally that they would latch onto Starscream so hard, despite all their Autobot training and programming.

"Senny?" Jetstorm asked, tilting his head to one side. "What is being the matter? Are you being jealous?"

"What?" He stared at the blue flier. What the frag was he going on about?

"We are still liking you, Senny," Jetfire assured him, patting his arm. "Even if Starscream is being our real father. You can still be teaching us things!"

"And you are still being family," Jetstorm added. "Uncle Senny! If… if you are wanting to be."

Sentinel shook his head. "I'm your superior officer and your guardian… I'm not actually your family." But he couldn't deny that bit of warmth in his spark at being called "uncle" by these two. They really thought that highly of him, that they would accept him as family so readily?

"You can be our officer and guardian AND uncle!" Jetfire insisted. "It is not being against the rules, right?"

"No… I suppose not." He managed a smile. "Well… I'm glad you two punks have found your family. Even if you had to go AWOL to do it. Don't scare me like that again, though."

"We won't!" both twins shouted in unison.

"You probably will," Sentinel muttered. "So does Starscream have you here to spy on us for him?"

"Oh, Starscream is having the Dinobots doing that," Jetfire informed him, jerking a thumb towards Grimlock and Snarl as they watched Red Alert tend to their teammate's wing. "We were just wanting to find you and touch your base."

"Touch my what?" Sentinel repeated. "Oh wait, you mean touch bases."

"Yes, touch your base!" Jetfire insisted. "We should be going back now, but we will be visiting again soon-"

The howl of thrusters cut off anything else the twins had to say, and Sentinel looked up sharply to see a blue jet streaking across the sky. The plane swooped low over the refugee encampment, sending dust and bits of trash billowing up in clouds and mechs scattering for shelter, then pulled up and transformed in midair.

Sentinel grabbed his lance and shield. "Jetstorm, Jetfire, scramble! Defend the camp!"

"It is just being Thundercracker, Uncle Senny," Jetfire assured him. "He is being one of Starscream's soldiers."

Sentinel didn't have time to respond to Jetfire's words - Thundercracker cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted down at the terrified refugees.

"Autobot ships are en route to Detroit! Repeat, Autobot ships are en route! Get whoever's passing for a leader among you and have them report to Lord Mayor Starscream immediately!"

Chapter Text

Starscream scowled as Optimus Prime stepped into the city park that he had designated as their meeting place, trailed by Megatron, Ratchet, and Dominus Ambus. "I said bring the mechs in charge, not your whole fragging encampment."

"We are the mechs in charge," Optimus replied, determined not to let the Lord Mayor rattle him. "Believe it or not, sometimes it helps to have more than one individual running the show."

Starscream snorted at the pointed reply, then narrowed his optics as he reclined on his concrete throne. "I see you've been busy since I saw you last, Optimus… or should I say, Orion? You've gone back to the faction of your creation, then."

Optimus gazed down at his chassis, his new violet and black paint job gleaming in the sunlight. He wouldn't lie - he felt so strange wearing these colors, almost sinister. But he told himself those thoughts came from a lifetime of being taught that only Decepticons wore black and violet and other muted shades, that bright and flashy colors were true Autobot colors. It would take some time to shake that conditioning.

"It's a return to my heritage," he replied. "Not embracing the Decepticon symbol… but showing that I'm not ashamed of where I come from."

"Oh, but aren't you afraid it will alienate those you profess to be your friends?" Starscream asked, an oily smile on his faceplates. "You have such a tight-knit team - it'd be a shame to see it fall apart-"

"We get it, he's had a new paint job, let's move on," Ratchet snapped. "Why are we wasting our time running our vocalizers when we've got Autobot ships closing in on us?"

Starscream dismissed him with a flap of his hand. "They're in orbit at the moment. They've given Detroit one of this world's rotational cycles to comply with their demands."

"Demands?" Dominus repeated, cocking his head. "What demands?"

"Ultra Magnus himself delivered them," Starscream went on. "He made himself quite clear - hand over the Decepticons and the refugees, and he'll leave this world alone. Refuse, and he starts wiping cities off the map, starting with Detroit."

Optimus' tanks clenched. Somehow, some part of him wanted to believe that Ultra Magnus wouldn't be THAT ruthless, that he was still capable of being a fair and compassionate leader. What had happened to change him in such a short time? Or had he always been like this, and Optimus had just been too oblivious to notice?

"Don't even think about it," Megatron growled, folding his arms across his chest.

"Think about what?" Starscream demanded, his optics wide with feigned innocence. "My dear Megatron, why must you be so suspicious of me? Don't you trust me?"

"The last star in the universe will collapse into a black hole before I trust you," Megatron retorted. "You're thinking of handing us over to save your miserable chassis. Don't deny it."

Starscream spread his hands. "As Lord Mayor, I DO have the safety of my citizens to think about. Why, millions of innocent lives are at stake here. Do you truly expect me to sacrifice them just to keep a couple hundred fugitives out of prison?"

Optimus suppressed a shudder. He had no doubt that Starscream would give them up to Ultra Magnus - though unlike Megatron, he didn't think he was solely concerned about saving his own plating. Yes, he was vain and conceited, but he had some inkling of fondness for the twins and for the city under his rule. And though he'd surely deny it to his deactivation day, he cared too much about Detroit, Jetstorm, and Jetfire to willingly let harm come to them.

The question is why he hasn't done so already, he thought. He could have sicced the Magnus and his soldiers on us without even calling this meeting in the first place. Unless…

"What do you want from us?" he asked. "You wouldn't have ordered us here if you planned on betraying us. You just expect some kind of payment in return for not handing us over."

Starscream smirked. "Your progeny's not as dull as he seems, Megatron. There may be hope for your heir yet." He steepled his fingers before him. "I'm not asking much, Orion - just the solemn promise that you and your soldiers will defend Detroit with your sparks should the Autobots attempt to destroy it."

Optimus forced himself not to smile. "You know we would have done that anyway. I'm not about to let the citizens of Detroit suffer just because we're taking shelter here."

"Slaggit, Prime, he expects us to be his mercenaries," Ratchet snapped. "This won't be a one-and-done deal - he'll expect us to fight for him whenever the city's in danger, and hold this over our heads the whole time." He glowered at Starscream. "And who's to say he won't move on to ordering us to invade other cities next? Make us a private army?"

Starscream clicked his vocalizer. "When did you get to be so paranoid in your old age, Ratchet? Though that IS an idea…"

"Enough," Dominus cut in, raising a hand to forestall Ratchet's angry retort. "I say we accept the Lord Mayor's terms… but only this once. We'll try to repel any attack that comes in the immediate aftermath of your refusal to the Magnus. From there, Lord Starscream's on his own."

Optimus frowned. "And let the humans suffer?"

Dominus gave a slight smile. "I think the humans are more capable of defending themselves than you think. And if we do this right… well, we won't have to worry about the Autobots coming back."

Megatron nodded. "Hit them hard enough to make them realize we're not worth their time… and perhaps take Ultra Magnus out of commission while we're at it."

"You mean kill him?" Optimus asked, frowning. Despite everything the Magnus had done, he wasn't sure he could bring himself to strike him down.

"If we don't, he'll only return with reinforcements," Megatron countered. "If we're to defeat this fiber-optic serpent, we have to cut off its head - the Magnus."

"All the same, I would respectfully request that we not kill him," Dominus put in quietly. "Despite everything, he is still my brother. And if I can just get him out of that exosuit… perhaps I can save him."

Megatron scowled. "Too many things can go wrong with that plan… but very well. We'll aim to capture, not kill."

"Do it however you see fit," Starscream ordered. "Just don't let them take this city. My Seekers and Dinobots are at your disposal."

"What about those jet kids?" asked Ratchet. "Safeguard could come in handy-"

"No!" Starscream barked, optics flashing with panic. Then he seemed to collect himself and spoke more calmly. "I mean… someone has to protect ME should any Autobots slip past you. Jetstorm and Jetfire stay with me where they'll be sa… I mean, as bodyguards."

"Right," Optimus replied, unable to suppress a bit of a knowing smirk. "You have our word, Lord Mayor. We'll protect the city."

"See that you do," Starscream grumbled. "I just got this place looking presentable and worthy of my leadership. I don't want that mucked up." He waved for them to go.

Megatron huffed as they left the park and made their way back to their temporary camp. "It seems leadership has matured him. Somewhat."

"I've learned that even the most unlikely of mechs can end up surprising you," Optimus replied. "How many soldiers do we have among our refugees? Ones that are in any kind of condition to fight?"

"We weren't able to question all of them before this emergency arose," Megatron replied. "But somewhere close to fifty. There are others, but they're still too damaged to fight."

Ratchet grumbled an oath and kicked a trash can across the street. "Fifty soldiers against the Autobot Army… we're scrapped. You got us into this mess, Optimus. How do you expect our forces to stand up to Ultra Magnus and his troops without getting crushed to bits?"

"We won't," Optimus replied. "A direct fight would be suicidal for us. We'll have to find some way to defeat them without it coming down to an actual battle."

"The question will be if the Magnus allows that," Dominus noted balefully. "Minimus did always favor traditional battle tactics, and it would be like him to try to overwhelm us through sheer force."

Optimus shuddered at the mental image of Autobot battalions sweeping through Detroit, setting buildings ablaze and crushing humans underfoot in their quest to round up and exterminate the Decepticons and other refugees. He shook his head, trying to chase the image away. No… he couldn't let his fear overtake him. Innocent lives were depending on him; he couldn't let fear take over and obliterate his senses.

"Tradition," he murmured, rubbing his chin in thought. "You know… there's a traditional battle tactic that might work in our favor."

"Dare I ask?" demanded Ratchet.

"Combat by champion," Optimus replied. "We contact Magnus' ship and make a proposition - he sends a hand-selected warrior to fight a chosen warrior of our own. And we set the terms of our victory - if our champion wins, the Autobots leave this planet and our refugees alone."

Dominus nodded slowly. "That could work… provided the Magnus agrees to such combat in the first place."

"And provided he doesn't renege on the terms of our victory… and provided we indeed win," Megatron added. "It's a risky plan… but it seems to be our best option."

"And who do you propose to be OUR champion?" Ratchet demanded. "Yourself?"

Optimus nodded. "This was my idea… I'll see it through to the end. Just… be prepared to flee at a moment's notice if it looks like the fight's about to go south."

"You'll need a second," Megatron added. "I volunteer my services."

"And we'll need a neutral party to mediate the combat," Dominus noted. "Unfortunately, I doubt we'll find such a neutral party in this city."

"Why not that Wreck-Gar fellow?" Ratchet asked. "He's not an Autobot or a Decepticon, and frankly I think he's oblivious enough to the world in general that he doesn't know enough to take sides in this whole fiasco."

Dominus nodded. "Wreck-Gar will be suitable. Then there's only one thing left to do… contact the Magnus, and hope he's willing to hear us out."

Optimus squared his shoulders back, trying to still the churning in his tanks. The fate of a city and of the Deadzone refugees was in his hands. He didn't dare fail, even with the odds stacked so firmly against him. If he lost this battle… then he would never forgive himself.

The planet's rising sun spilled its light onto a city gone silent - every door, window, and other portal to the outside world locked and sealed, every resident taking shelter from whatever dreadful events were to come. A few mechanical police officers continued to patrol the streets, repeating warnings for all civilians to remain indoors until the emergency had passed, but otherwise Detroit was as quiet as a catacomb. Indeed, the city seemed to hold its breath in dreadful anticipation.

Optimus Prime watched the sunrise from an open field outside the city, the rose-gold light gleaming from his violet and black armor. All traces of the damage inflicted by the guards at Kalis were gone, patched and polished and buffed away. Twin weapons were crossed over his back, handles jutting over his shoulders for easy grasping - the familiar heft of his ax and the more unfamiliar weight of the Magnus hammer. To the refugees assembled at the fringes of the field of combat, he knew he looked every inch the warrior they needed and trusted.

Inside, he felt as if his internals had turned to jelly. Despite all the preparations they'd made over the past day, he felt woefully unprepared for what was to come.

Megatron stood at his side, similarly repaired and polished to a high sheen. His own blades hung from his back, at the ready should Optimus be unable to fight. His crimson gaze swept the sky, seeking out any sign of the Autobot ships.

"Is it too much to hope that they don't show up?" Optimus asked. "That Ultra Magnus decides we're not worth it and goes back to Cybertron."

Megatron snorted. "Wishful thinking. Best to prepare for the worst."

"The worst is that he ignores us entirely and just looses his army on the city," Optimus replied. "I don't want to think about THAT."

The silver mech grasped his shoulder. "Should THAT happen… we will fight, all of us, to our last spark-pulse. But for now, your job is to prepare for combat. Nothing else."

Optimus nodded and returned his gaze to the horizon. He had half-expected Ultra Magnus to turn down their proposal of combat by champion… but to his mingled relief and dread, Ultra Magnus had accepted. His warships would continue to orbit the planet in case any mechs tried to flee during the battle, but they would not fire upon human settlements unless fired upon first.

Of course, the Magnus had kept talking after accepting the proposal - and his words had left a bitter taste in Optimus' mouth.

"While I don't understand your attachment to these organics, I do agree that it would be inconvenient to make a mess of this world for the sake of recapturing a fugitive from justice. A clean surrender would have been preferable, but if this satisfies your ego, son of Megatron, then so be it. It would seem being a hero isn't in your programming after all."

His headfins twitched in anger. Ultra Magnus would never again see him as anything but the offspring of the Great Slagmaker… but if he thought Optimus was ashamed of that fact, then he was in for a nasty surprise. For Optimus had accepted his heritage, accepted Megatron as his creator, and he would wear that mark as a badge of honor from here on out. Perhaps being an Autobot hero wasn't in his programming… but that didn't mean he couldn't be a hero on his own terms.

Megatron squeezed his shoulder. "They're coming. You're certain of this?"

"It's a little late to back out now, Father. I'm certain."

Megatron nodded. "You're a fine warrior, my son. You're stronger than you think you are… and you have courage and honor, two things that sad excuse of a Magnus lacks. You can do this."

Despite the fear gripping his spark, Optimus nodded. "Thank you, Father."

Megatron squeezed one more time, then stepped back as a blue-and-white military vehicle pulled up. The mechs assembled to watch the fight backed up a few steps, murmuring nervously amongst themselves as the Magnus braked to a halt a hundred meters from Optimus' position. Two black-trimmed white vehicles, each bearing the crest of the Elite Guard, pulled up to flank the Magnus, either as an honor guard or as protection against a potential backstabbing.

Optimus drew his shoulders back, letting his gaze briefly flick towards his team. Ratchet had already broken out his medkit, as if expecting the battle to turn sour immediately. Bumblebee and Hot Shot whooped encouragement, while Bulkhead fidgeting nervously and clung to Strika's hand for some measure of comfort. Prowl was expressionless, but he fiddled with a shuriken as he watched, as if waiting for an opening to throw it at the Magnus. Jazz had an iron grip on Rodimus' arm, evidently trying to restrain the younger Prime from charging out onto the field of battle to intervene.

They've stood by me for so long, he thought with a burst of pride. They've guarded my back, come after me when I was an Autobot prisoner, supported me even when they knew I was the son of the mech they considered an enemy. I couldn't ask for better friends… I just hope I don't fail them today.

But if he lost this battle, he knew he would be failing more than just his and Rodimus' teams. He let his gaze sweep over the other mechs gathered to watch the duel - Sentinel Prime, staring at Optimus as if he'd never seen him before; Shockwave, enigmatic behind his eerie featureless faceplate; Blitzwing, rapidly switching between his own three faceplates as if all his personalities wanted a turn watching the fight; Autobot civilians and Decepticon soldiers who had faced arrest and beatings and cruelty at the hands of those who should have safeguarded Cybertron. So many lives hung in the balance today - these, and countless others who would suffer if Ultra Magnus had his way.

This had to end today. Failure could not be an option.

Ultra Magnus transformed and stepped forward, eyeing Optimus up and down with obvious disdain. "So you're fully Decepticon now, Optimus. Or is it Orion now? Starscream informs me you're going by your old name now."

Optimus kept his expression neutral, but his headfins twitched. The Magnus was trying to goad him into a bad reaction; he couldn't allow himself to take the bait.

"Call me whatever you see fit," he replied. "It doesn't matter."

"Very well… traitor." The Magnus motioned to his guards, who transformed and stepped back. "Let's get this nonsense over with."

Optimus nodded and reached back to draw his ax… then changed his mind and drew the Magnus Hammer instead. The crowd gasped and murmured, optics blazing with shock and wonder. Ultra Magnus' optics flared, and Optimus couldn't help a smile. He'd hoped for this very reaction - not just the morale boost that wielding the Magnus' own weapon against him would bring, but the fury it would ignite in his opponent. An angry foe could be dangerous… but Ultra Magnus' own anger would also make him careless. That was his hope, at least.

The Magnus clenched his jaw, then relaxed it, the rage in his optics cooling to a startling calm. "So Ratchet finally decided to give my hammer to someone he deems fit to wield it. Pity his judgment's so poor. I'll take that back once I've defeated you… but in the meantime…"

Another collective gasp sounded as Magnus drew his own weapon, their reaction nearly but not quite drowning out the hiss of a sharp blade against its sheath. The sword gleamed an electric blue and crackled with a shimmering iridescent energy, and the white steel of its grip and crossguards bore glyphs that glowed a brilliant gold. It left a burning arc across Optimus' vision as Ultra Magnus swung it in a blazing sweep of light, then held it before him like a knight standing at vigil.

The Star Saber! Optimus' jaw dropped. He had heard stories about that weapon - what Autobot cadet hadn't? They'd heard all the legends about how first Quantum Magnus, then Zeta Magnus, and finally Ultra Magnus had wielded it against the Decepticons during the Great War, and how the weapon had supposedly been forged from the same material as the Allspark in ancient times. But hadn't the weapon been sealed in a vault somewhere? Why had the Magnus chosen to bring it out now?

"I see you recognize the Star Saber," Ultra Magnus noted, a slight smirk on his otherwise stern features. "Seeing as the son of Megatron has chosen to reignite the war, I thought it would only be fitting for the weapon that drove his father into hiding to bring him to justice."

Optimus snapped his mouth shut, dread blooming in his spark like a dark cyber-flower. This was a calculated move, then - just as calculated as his own decision to bring the Magnus Hammer to this duel. If Ultra Magnus defeated him with the Star Saber, he wouldn't just win the combat - he would crush the spirits of every refugee watching the battle. He'd been a fool to think he could outdo the Magnus at his own game.

Wreck-Gar bounded forward, the gravity of the situation entirely lost on him. "All right ladies, gents, 'Bots, 'Cons, and whatchamacalits! Let's get ready to RRRRRRRRRRRRRRUMBLE!"

Grimlock gave a whoop of enthusiasm. Dead silence met his howl, and he immediately cut it off and ducked his head, looking as abashed as Optimus had ever seen him.

"Just a quick rundown of the rules before we start," Wreck-Gar went on, raising a finger towards the sky. "Rule one - absolutely no death-blows, no outside assistance allowed, no weapons aside from what you brought with you, no projectile weapons, winner's declared when one mech's unwilling or unable to continue fighting, both combatants declare the terms of their victory before the fight begins, said terms will be carried out immediately after the fight ends. Rule two - good luck."

Optimus nodded his thanks to the orange mech as he stepped back, then turned to address the gathered mechs. "Should I win this fight, the terms of my victory are this - the Autobots shall leave this planet alone, today and in perpetuity. They will not declare war or attempt to capture any being that calls this planet home. It will be a refuge for those who choose not to live on Cybertron, under Autobot rule.

"And furthermore," he went on, making optic contact with the Magnus now, "should I win, Ultra Magnus will step down from his role as the Magnus. A new Magnus will be instated, and a new Council elected. The Autobot leadership has grown corrupt over the vorns, and new leadership is needed."

Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge. "Hoping to rule Cybertron yourself, Orion?"

"I never said that," Optimus retorted. "I've spoken my terms."

Ultra Magnus nodded and raised the Star Saber skyward, letting the shimmering nimbus of energy surrounding it bathe his features in a nearly holy glow. "Upon my victory, each and every Decepticon, mech of Decepticon heritage, and mech who has aided them in any capacity will surrender immediately to the Autobot forces. Megatron and Orion will plead guilty to any and all charges made against them, and submit to whatever punishment I and the Council deem fit to deliver. Furthermore, the city of Detroit will strip Starscream of his leadership position and deliver him to the Autobots, or face the consequences. I have spoken my terms."

Wreck-Gar raised both hands, opened his mouth to deliver a clever quip, then caught Ratchet's shake of his head and thought better of it. "Round one… FIGHT!" he declared instead, and brought both hands down in a chopping motion before scooting away.

Optimus snapped his mask into place and hefted the hammer, crouching in a battle stance. Ultra Magnus held the Star Saber at the ready, a sleek white mask sliding over his own mouth and olfactory sensor. The two mechs circled slowly, optics locked, each waiting for the other to make a move.

The assembled mechs stared in awful anticipation… then gasped as Ultra Magnus lunged, sword raised. The fight that would decide all their futures - and perhaps the future of Cybertron itself - had begun.

Chapter Text

The Cybertronian refugees weren't the only ones watching Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus' fateful duel. Autobot drones hovered over the dueling field, cameras humming as they broadcast the conflict onto every viewscreen on Cybertron. The Autobot Council and the citizens of the planet watched raptly as the two mechs clashed, hammer and sword flashing in the light of Earth's yellow sun. No one had ever anticipated that the outcome of a struggle on a distant organic world would change the fate of all Cybertronian-kind, but that moment had come, and all Cybertron was invested in the fight… even if some hoped for different outcomes than others.

It wasn't just Cybertron broadcasting the duel, however - camera drones for every major news station in Detroit and from most of Earth's major news networks crowded the sky as well. Every citizen of the city was glued to their screens, watching the battle with bated breath. Even Lord Mayor Starscream watched, claws digging into the armrests of his throne, the Jet Twins fretting at his sides.

If Ultra Magnus felt the weight of all those eyes and optics on him, he gave no indication. Optimus, on the other hand, felt nearly crushed by them. If he failed today, two worlds would bear witness to his failure… and that was far worse a punishment than anything the Magnus and the Council could inflict.

That first clash of the Magnus Hammer and the Star Saber sent a jolt of pain up Optimus' arms, and he nearly lost his grip on the weapon. Ultra Magnus gave him no time to recover and struck again, and he barely deflected the blow in time. Sparks erupted as the blade struck the Hammer again and again, and each slash of the Saber left a blazing arc of light across Optimus' vision, nearly blinding him.

Another slash… and a cry of pain burst from Optimus' vocalizer as the glowing blade bit into his chest. He staggered back, trying to put some distance between himself and his foe to assess the damage. Magnus, too, backed away, a smug look in his optic as if taking a moment to relish having drawn first oil.

"It seems this duel will be over faster than I assumed," he noted. "The son of Megatron inherited none of his father's battle skills."

Optimus hissed in mingled pain and anger as he pressed a hand to his chest. The wound wasn't deep, according to his damage readout, but it still left a slice across his chest that dripped oil and left his windshields cracked. And worse, he knew exactly how it looked to the assembled mechs. Magnus had dealt the first blow, and so the advantage appeared to be his.

Then you'll just have to take it back somehow, he told himself, and shifted the hammer to one hand. Reaching back with the other hand, he drew his ax.

"I"m not down for the count yet," he retorted, and lunged, swinging the ax low to sweep the Magnus' feet out from under him.

Ultra Magnus' good optic flared in shock, and he backpedaled to avoid the slash. Optimus followed the swing up with a blow of the hammer, a blow the Magnus caught with the blade of the Star Saber. Sparks flew in all directions at the strike, and a lesser blade might have snapped apart… but the Star Saber wasn't even dented.

"Not bad," Ultra Magnus noted. "Still not up to Elite Guard standards, though." He shoved Optimus back a step. "It's becoming more and more apparent how you managed to defeat Megatron in the first place."

"Do I even want to know what you're talking about?" Optimus demanded, then struck at the Magnus' chest with his ax.

The Magnus batted the blow aside. "Isn't it obvious? He let you win." He stabbed the blade forward, forcing Optimus to twist to the side to evade. "It was a plot between father and son, to get you in power and let him and his Decepticons seize Cybertron!"

Optimus wished he could say that the Magnus' words shocked him… but after all the Autobot Council had put him through upon learning his heritage, his accusation was more sad than surprising. "You're delusional."

"It's the only answer that makes sense!" Ultra Magnus stabbed again, then brought the Star Saber up to block another swing of the Magnus Hammer. "There's no other way a space bridge worker could defeat Megatron! The two of you orchestrated it!"

Optimus gritted his dental plates as he raised both ax and hammer, crossing them before him to catch the blade of the Star Saber before it could cleave his head in two. "I didn't even know he was my father then!"

"So YOU say," the Magnus snarled. "But you Decepticons aren't known for your honesty." He drew the sword back and swung again.

Optimus bit back his response and parried the blow. Insisting he wasn't a Decepticon was useless - Ultra Magnus was so firmly set in his belief that nothing he could say could change his mind. He had to focus on the battle, not on coming up with clever retorts.

The battle wore on, ax and hammer and sword smashing against each other, flashes and sparks from the Magnus Hammer and Star Saber illuminating the battlefield. The combatants' pedes tore up the turf underfoot, and the reek of ozone and smoke filled the air. The Star Saber met plating twice more, wounding Optimus in the arm and side; in return Optimus' ax ripped gashes in the Magnus' leg and shoulder. Oil and energon spattered the grass from ripped tubing, and dirt and fluids streaked each mech's armor.

Optimus reeled back from another blow, then swung the hammer, missing the Magnus' chest by mere centimeters. In retaliation Ultra Magnus brought the Star Saber around to slam the flat of the blade against Optimus' helm.

Lightning flared across Optimus' vision, and he staggered, struggling not to black out. His head throbbed in agony, both from the blow and from the energies commanded by the legendary saber. He barely had the sense to ensure his wobbling steps took him further away from the Magnus… and even then he couldn't escape his next strike, fire raking up his back at another slash.

"C'mon, Optimus!" Rodimus shouted, his voice ringing with panic. "You're the Hero of Cybertron! You've got this!"

"C'mon, boss, this guy's a pushover!" Bumblebee added. "Kick his aft!"

Optimus shook his head, and at last his vision cleared… just in time to see the Magnus bringing his blade down. He dove and rolled, and the Star Saber sank into the turf where he'd just been standing. Ultra Magnus snarled and yanked the weapon free, turning to glower at him, seeming offended that Optimus hadn't been gracious enough to just lose the fight already.

How is he so good at this? Optimus wondered, limping backwards, his gashed back screaming in pain with every step. How is it that I could beat Megatron but not the Magnus? It couldn't be like he says… Father wouldn't have let me defeat him… he had no way of knowing…

"Pity," Ultra Magnus noted. "You were a promising cadet once. The Elite Guard would have been proud to call you one of their own had you completed your training. It's a shame your treacherous programming reared its head, Orion."

Training… Elite Guard… Those words were intended to bait him, but instead they set his CPU whirring. Perhaps that was the key… but he had to be sure. And though he had sworn not to use a certain fact as a weapon, there was one sure way to goad a reaction out of this mech.

"If anyone is treacherous here, it's you," Optimus fired back. "You've been so gung-ho about arresting anyone with Decepticon heritage. Have you even told the Council about your parentage?"

Ultra Magnus' optic flared with fury. "That's a blasted lie!"

"Of course you'd claim that," Optimus retorted. "You wouldn't want the Autobot Council knowing your little secret-"

The Magnus lunged, bringing the Star Saber up in a diagonal slash that should have cleaved Optimus in two. He sprang away, crying out in pain as fire flared in his wounded back, relying on the reflexes drilled into him at the Academy to evade the slash.

That's it, then, he realized. I've been doing this all wrong. Ultra Magnus fights with the same patterns and tactics we learned in the Academy as part of the Elite Guard training. And I've been responding in kind. There's no way to beat the Magnus by playing his own game, not when I never finished my own training.

To win this fight, he would have to do what his team always did best… he would have to break the rules.

Ultra Magnus lunged again, blade raised… but rather than dodge, Optimus held his ground. Rather than block with his own weapon as his academy training demanded he do, he ducked his head and rammed it into his opponent's abdominal plates. The Magnus grunted, doubling over, and Optimus used the mech's momentum to flip him over his shoulder and onto his back.

Blitzwing whooped, a jagged grin on his crazed personality's faceplate. "Ooh-hoo! It's a TKO! Go little Orion!"

Other mechs joined in the triple-changer's cheer… but Optimus didn't stop to bask in the applause. He turned and, fighting the instinct to brace himself for the next attack, brought the hammer down on the prone form of Ultra Magnus. The blue-and-white mech's good optic flashed in shock as he rolled to the side, the hammer slamming into the ground and sending lightning spraying in every direction.

"You even fight like a Decepticon," the Magnus growled as he rose to his pedes. "Dirty, backhanded-"

"I'll fight whatever way helps me win today," Optimus retorted. "And whatever way protects these mechs and humans from your insanity."

Ultra Magnus barked out a laugh. "You care so much about criminals and organic creatures? More than for the faction that plucked you from a foundling home and made something of you?"

Optimus narrowed his optics. "Those 'criminals' you speak of are family and friends. Those organic creatures are our allies. They are sentient beings, all with their own hopes and dreams and fears… and they deserve my loyalty more than the faction that declared me a traitor for my spark-parent's identity."

The Magnus growled behind his protective mask. "Then share their fate, Orion." And he charged.

Optimus held his ground until the last possible moment… then sidestepped, stretching out the arm carrying the Magnus Hammer. Magnus hit the arm and extended shaft of the weapon and went sprawling, effectively clotheslined by the maneuver.

"Get him while he is down!" Strika bellowed, but the Magnus was already scrambling to his feet. Optimus swung his ax, hoping to wound the mech enough to keep him down, but he raised the Star Saber to block at the last moment.

Again and again they traded blows, the Magnus' strikes and slashes following a well-choreographed dance, Optimus seeking to break the pattern wherever he could with punches, kicks, and outright body checks. He paid for the close-quarters attacks with new slashes and dents, but at least he was keeping his opponent on the defensive more often than not. Perhaps he could wear the elder statesmech down enough to finish this for good… he'd just recently recovered from a terrible beatdown, surely he couldn't last forever…

He swung… and it happened. His ax met the Star Saber at just the wrong angle, with just the wrong amount of force. The saber blazed with blue-gold light - and the ax shattered, sending razor-sharp shrapnel flying in all directions. The Star Saber continued its arc unimpeded, slashing through Optimus' mask and slicing through one optic.

Optimus screamed, staggering backwards, blinded and reeling with pain. He dropped the useless ax haft and clapped a hand over the side of his face. The mask had protected most of his face, albeit at the cost of half of it being sliced away… but a long gash cut across his left optic, leaving a broken gap that leaked optical fluid and energon down his cheek and jaw.

"Give up?" Ultra Magnus demanded, shaking the Star Saber as if to rid it of fluids. "Or do I need to take the other optic?"

Optimus lowered his hand, rebooting his good optic to clear it. The Magnus had dropped his own battle mask and was taking a moment to gloat, a smirk on his faceplate. Behind him, his team looked on in horror, while the Decepticons watched Ultra Magnus with looks of smoldering hatred. Megatron's jaw was clenched in fury, but his optics blazed with fear and worry. Bumblebee, meanwhile, had armed his stingers and lunged forward, and only Bulkhead's grip kept him from charging into the fray to avenge his leader.

Anger boiled in Optimus' spark as he met the Magnus' smug expression… but he forced it back and offered a smile of his own. Ultra Magnus' smile vanished as he stepped back, and Optimus could only wonder just how demented his grin looked with a shattered optic and his own energon trickling down his faceplates. If it gave his opponent pause, he didn't care.

"Is that the best you can do?" he demanded.

Ultra Magnus recovered quickly from his shock, and he tensed to charge again. "If that's an invitation to not hold back… then so be it."

Optimus shifted the Magnus Hammer to both hands and met the charge, using the haft of the hammer to block the next strike before bringing his knee up into Ultra Magnus' abdominal plates. The blue mech grunted and shifted the Star Saber to one hand, groping for Optimus' faceplates with the other. His fingers skidded over the gap where his optic had once been, and Optimus realized he was trying to rip the wound wider. Evidently even the Magnus could resort to dirty, non-academy-approved tactics when he felt the situation was desperate enough.

Time to end this, he decided, and he struck - not at the Star Saber itself, but at the hand clutching the grip.

Ultra Magnus howled as the hammer crushed finger joints, and the blade fell from his hand. He made a desperate snatch for the sword, only for Optimus to swing the hammer into his chest with full force. Lightning erupted from the weapon, coursing through Ultra Magnus' entire chassis and fountaining from his mouth, his optic, the gaps in his armor, until he blazed like a miniature star with the light of the weapon he himself had wielded for so long.

The light abruptly snuffed, and Optimus stepped back as Ultra Magnus wobbled on his feet. The mech's armor was blotched with char, the white darkened to gray and the blue to almost navy, and sparks jetted from his remaining optic, which had burst from the energy surge. He opened his mouth, only for smoke to seep out in lieu of words… and with a last whine of his engines he toppled over.

For an awful moment, silence hung over the battlefield. Hundreds of optics stared in stunned wonder and horror at the fallen Magnus. The only movement came from the camera drones, swooping low for better footage, and Optimus himself, his chassis heaving as his fans worked overtime to cool his taxed frame.

Later, no one would say for sure who had broken the silence. But within seconds every mech present was cheering and screaming, wild relief and joy blazing on every faceplate. Rodimus was practically in hysterics with glee, and Bumblebee and Hot Shot had their arms around each other and were dancing in place with delirious enthusiasm. Blitzwing threw his arms around Shockwave and burst into noisy sobs, a gesture the spy tolerated with a pat to the back. Mirage and Tracks had scooped up their sparklings and were embracing them with expressions of pure relief, while Strika and her mates bellowed out what sounded like a war cry. Wreck-Gar had whipped out some kind of musical instrument and was playing it, though he wore a bemused expression as if he didn't quite know what everyone was so happy about but was content to be happy for their sakes.

Ratchet, Megatron, and Dominus hurried forward, but Dominus skidded to a stop beside the Magnus and crouched down to inspect the fallen mech. Ratchet hesitated, torn between seeing to Optimus' injuries and tending to the Magnus, but Optimus gestured towards Ultra Magnus with a nod. Despite everything, he truly hoped he hadn't killed the mech. Not just because the rules of the combat by champion forbade it - as much as he hated what Ultra Magnus had done to him and to Cybertron, he hadn't truly wanted to take him offline.

"Is he deactivated?" Megatron asked, though he kept one hand on Optimus' shoulder as he addressed the medic.

"Well, the exosuit is," Ratchet noted. "Whatever that hammer did completely fried its circuitry. As for whether Minimus survived the blow… Dominus, does this thing have an escape hatch?"

Dominus nodded, his expression tense as he pried open a panel on Ultra Magnus' chest. Where internal circuitry and a pulsing spark chamber should have been lay a tiny green-and-white mech, just barely bigger than Sari. Tangles of wires sprouted from his limbs, torso, and helm, snarling him as if he were caught in one of Blackarachnia's webs. His optics were shuttered and a streak of black marred his chest from the Magnus Hammer's energy, and for a spark-dimming moment Optimus wondered if he truly had killed the mech.

Ratchet touched a scanner to Minimus Ambus' neck… then sighed, shoulders drooping in relief. "He's alive. Now that this fraggin' suit's out of commission, though, it's just gonna be a drain on his systems."

"I can get him out," Dominus offered, his voice thick with emotion.

"No you won't," Ratchet retorted. "Some of these wires have been connected so long they've fused into place. This is a job for a medic."

"Please," Dominus insisted softly. "I need to help him."

Ratchet glared, then grumbled and pulled a pair of wire cutters from subspace and handed them to the smaller mech. "Wedge, get your aft over here! I want someone with medical expertise to oversee this."

The orange mech hurried over. "Yes, Ratchet! I'll do my best."

Dominus offered a grateful smile, then hunched over the suit and began to snip away wires. Satisfied that the beastformer had the situation under control, the medic grabbed Optimus' arm and tugged him to sit down.

"Are you all right?" he asked, peering into the violet mech's broken optic.

"Besides the obvious?" Optimus asked, hissing at the sting of his wounds, reminding him just what this victory had cost him.

"Don't get cheeky, Prime," Ratchet grumbled as he wiped away optical fluid to better assess the damage. "Just hope I've got the parts handy to replace this. If we're really going to tell Cybertron to slag off and leave us alone, we're going to have to get used to some shortages."

Optimus winced. He hadn't thought that far ahead. It sounded like freedom was going to come at a cost for all of them. He only hoped it was worth the sacrifice.

"You have an ally in Isaac Sumdac," Megatron reminded him, kneeling by Optimus' side. "And even if I have… issues… with him securing his fortune at my expense, his expertise with Cybertronian tech means he can help us."

Optimus stared at his father, then smiled as the realization hit. "He can reverse-engineer the parts we need to keep functioning."

Megatron nodded. "Orion… well done. You fought well today. I'm exceptionally proud of you."

"We'll see if we're still proud of him when the Council has their say," Ratchet retorted. "Just because Optimus defeated their champion doesn't mean they'll honor Optimus' terms of victory."

Optimus groaned. He had hoped the combat by champion would be the solution to their problems. He didn't want to think that he had risked his life and nearly killed Ultra Magnus - Dominus Ambus - for nothing.

"We shall deal with that when the time comes," Megatron replied, patting Optimus' shoulder. "In the meantime…" His voice trailed off, and his gaze focused on the Magnus' guards as they approached the fallen Magnus. "This can't be good."

Optimus and Ratchet both tensed as the mechs stepped forward, but Dominus didn't even look up. He simply continued to snip and disconnect wires even as one of the guards drew his sidearm and leveled it at the smaller mech.

"Unhand the Magnus immediately, sir," he snapped.

"With all due respect, this exosuit will kill him if he remains in it much longer," Dominus replied, tugging another wire from a port in Minimus' neck. "Let me finish what I'm doing. Also, if my understanding of the situation is correct, he's no longer the Magnus."

"We'll see about that," the guard retorted. "I'd suggest you hurry up, though. The Autobot Council is on their way, and they're going to want to question him with or without the armor."

Optimus' spark dropped into his fuel tanks. "The Council is coming here?"

"That's what I said," the guard replied. "They're not happy with what Ultra Magnus has done here… and they have their own ideas on how to handle this entire situation."

Ratchet swore profusely at that. "Just when we thought we were in the clear."

"Get everyone to Omega Supreme," Megatron ordered. "We'll need to be gone from this planet before the Council arrives-"

"No," Optimus cut in. "We're not running away."

Ratchet glared at him. "Are you crazy, kid? Did you enjoy your stay in Kalis THAT much?"

"If we run, we just invite them to keep chasing us across the universe," Optimus replied, and he pushed himself to his feet. His wounds screamed in protest, but he did his best to ignore the pain. "Get all the refugees to Omega… but Father, Starscream, and I will meet with the Council. It's time we put an end to this once and for all."

Chapter Text

The last time Optimus had faced members of the Autobot Council, he had been cuffed and paralyzed, treated like a prisoner of war. Now he faced them as if he were their equal, his wounds from the combat-by-champion patched, the Magnus Hammer at his side. And he wasn't without allies this time either - Megatron, Ratchet, Sentinel Prime, and Dominus Ambus remained by his side, flanking him like officers and gazing defiantly at the Council.

Of course, the Council by and large didn't consider Optimus an equal. If their expressions were anything to go by, they would have rather seen him cuffed and dragged off to prison all over again. And the fact that he had just defeated Ultra Magnus - with the Magnus' own hammer, no less - did nothing to improve his standing in their optics.

What had once been the field of combat now served as a makeshift meetingplace for Optimus' allies and the six members of the Council who had made the journey to Earth. The Elite Guard had managed to produce a collapsible conference table from somewhere - possibly the Council insisted on going nowhere without it - and both the Council's representatives and Optimus' allies gathered around it, glaring daggers across the seamed surface at one another.

While the entire Council wasn't present - they rarely assembled in force outside of a legislative session or an emergency - there were enough representatives to intimidate Optimus and his followers. Cliffjumper glared at Optimus with narrowed optics, as if expecting him to charge and start tearing out fuel lines with his dental plates at any moment. Perceptor regarded him with the clinically detached look a scientist gave a retrorat they were about to experiment on, while Botanica simply looked bored and vaguely irritated that this meeting even had to take place. Septimus Prime wore an amused expression, while Tyrest's features were arranged in an artful sneer.

Only Alpha Trion seemed to harbor any sort of sympathetic expression… but the sad smile he offered Optimus when their optics met suggested he didn't have much hope that this meeting would end well.

"Nice of you politicians to finally move your afts out of your cushy offices and come here," Ratchet noted. "And all it took was attempted genocide and beating the slag out of your Magnus."

"The word 'genocide' is… quite harsh," Septimus, a bronze-armored truckformer with a slitted mask, noted. "Not to mention inaccurate. No executions were ordered."

"You and the Magnus issued orders to arrest anyone with Decepticon lineage," Optimus pointed out. "Including sparklings, I might add. Maybe I know too much human history, but that sounds a lot like preparing for genocide to me."

"We acted with intent to save Cybertron from another war," Botanica pointed out, her voice cool and brooking no argument. "Decepticons were responsible for a great deal of oilshed and destruction during the Great War. It seemed only reasonable to act to prevent them from reigniting the war."

"By locking up sparklings?" Sentinel blurted, then quickly covered his mouth, shocked by his own outburst.

"Enough!" Tyrest barked, raising his chin, the points of his crownlike golden crest catching the sunlight. "Enough of this bickering. We're not here to be interrogated by the likes of you - we're here to collect Ultra Magnus and decide your fates."

"Our fates are already decided," Megatron replied, narrowing his optics. "The terms of our combat by champion-"

"A combat decided without consulting the Council," Tyrest cut in, his voice smooth as a lawyer's. "A combat whose terms went unapproved by us, despite said terms directly affecting the integrity of the Council. Given this breach of regulations, I'm afraid we have no choice but to declare the outcome null and void."

Optimus' tanks clenched. Had his desperate battle and the near-death of Minimus Ambus been all for nothing? He struggled not to let his disappointment show, and wished his battle-mask were still intact.

"So would you still declare it null and void if Ultra Magnus had won?" Ratchet grumbled.

"Speaking of Ultra Magnus, where is he?" demanded Cliffjumper, not-so-neatly sidestepping Ratchet's inquiry. "We were under the impression he survived your little brawl."

"He did," Dominus put in, his expression solemn but still etched with worry. "He suffered serious injuries, however, and is under the care of a couple of medics."

"Decepticon medics?" demanded Cliffjumper. "So he's as good as dead!"

"Please," Megatron growled. "We may be monsters in your optics, but we aren't completely sparkless. Our medics respect the old codes of battle by tending to the enemy's wounded. And Wedge and Scalpel are quite competent medics." He left out that Wedge was still in training and Scalpel had a reputation for engaging in practices that could be called unethical at best. No sense making the Council panic.

"What is his condition?" inquired Alpha Trion.

"Stable," Ratchet replied. "He took a beating, plus that exosuit of his has done some long-term damage over the vorns." He scowled as the Council's optics flared with shock. "Oh, don't look surprised, you fraggers knew any medic worth his energon would have found out eventually. And frankly, given how long he's been hooked up to that pile of scrap, it's a wonder he's in THIS good of shape."

"Counterbalance of risks of long-term exosuit dependence against potential benefits deemed satisfactory to the Council," Perceptor intoned… then gave an uncharacteristic yelp as someone, possibly Cliffjumper, kicked him under the table.

"At any rate, Ultra Magnus is going to be all right," Optimus replied. "But that's not the only reason we're here today."

"Indeed," Septimus noted, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands over his abdominal plate as he regarded the violet-and-black mech. "Part of the terms of your duel entailed you and your refugees being left alone and unmolested by Cybertron. You do understand, of course, why we cannot allow this?"

"And why not?" asked Optimus, keeping his voice as mild as possible despite the growing dismay in his spark. "It's not as if we'll be in your way or a threat to you. We just want to live our lives in peace, and Earth is an organic planet - the Autobots have never wanted to deal with organic planets in the past."

"That was the past," Tyrest huffed. "Before we realized - with your help, I might add - that the organics inhabiting Earth were not only sentient but capable of understanding and using high technology. The Council may wish to negotiate trade agreements with this planet, which makes it too valuable for us to simply ignore."

"Not to mention that we're not about to let a known Decepticon colony just go along plotting against us," Cliffjumper added, cracking his knuckles. "We know your kind. You'll just use this planet as your next base of operations to kickstart the war!" He leveled a poisonous glare at Megatron, who simply gazed evenly back.

"That's not our intention at all!" Optimus countered. "We just want to be left alone, to live our lives in peace. Even the Decepticons are tired of fighting. They don't want this war to go on any longer - they just want to be given the opportunity to live their lives as ordinary mechs. And the people of Earth have already offered us that place."

"Wait, they have?" Sentinel asked, giving Optimus a puzzled look.

"Lord Mayor Starscream has offered us permanent sanctuary in Detroit," Optimus told him. "And Doctor Sumdac has generously donated his company's assets to help us establish our own colony here. It'll take some time to build ourselves a city here, and to integrate decently with the native humans… but everyone's confident it will be worth the efforts."

Sentinel rebooted his optics, needing a moment to process that. Optimus wondered if he should tell the mech that it was his young Jet soldiers who had convinced Starscream to give the Decepticon refugees a home here. He wasn't sure if it would make his old friend proud of his proteges or just burst a circuit in his CPU.

"How do we know we can trust you?" demanded Cliffjumper. "Decepticons can't be trusted. It's in their very name!"

"The term 'Decepticon' is one YOU gave us," Megatron countered. "To convince the citizens of Cybertron that we were untrustworthy and villainous. We knew it was pointless to fight that moniker, so we chose to wear it with pride - to show that we acknowledged that Cybertron had deceived us with false promises of equality and freedom, and that we refused to let ourselves live a fiction anymore."

"Huh… so that's where the name comes from," Sentinel muttered. "I always thought 'Decepticon' was a bit of a strange name to give your own army…"

"We're drifting off-topic," Septimus noted. "Semantics aside, Cliffjumper's point still stands. Megatron and his forces, whatever their name may be, have attempted to overthrow the Autobot government and take control of Cybertron multiple times. How are we to trust you that you won't do it again? Because this agreement you propose sounds like an excuse to rebuild your forces and do just that."

Megatron held Septimus' gaze… then gusted a great sigh out of his vents and let his shoulders slump, his gaze dropping to the surface of the table.

"Perhaps, another time, I might have done just that. But even a warrior like myself must know when to stop fighting. I am old and tired, and my stay in Kalis has done me no favors. Now I only wish to be left alone, to live the rest of my functioning time in peace… and to get to know the son I had long thought dead."

Optimus' spark flared at that last bit… though he had to hide a slight chuckle at the rest of his father's words. He knew there was a great deal of truth in what he said, but the beaten-warrior facade was just that - a facade. Megatron knew his words would be accepted better if they came from a defeated foe rather than a confident statesmech, and he was playing that role to the hilt.

"And the rest of your troops?" asked Botanica. "How do we know they won't take up in your stead? Or that your son won't continue your legacy?"

"I have no desire to continue his legacy," Optimus assured them. "I know the Council is convinced that, now that I'm aware of my Decepticon programming, I'm automatically going to launch a war against Cybertron. But I've always fought for what I believe is right… and right now, protecting those that the Council has demonized for their heritage is what I believe is right. I'll fight to the death to protect the citizens of Detroit, human and Cybertronian, but I won't carry that fight to Cybertron unless they provoke a fight first."

"Is that a threat, young mech?" demanded Tyrest.

"Not a threat," Optimus replied. "A promise."

Alpha Trion nodded slowly. "Optimus Prime may be descended from Decepticon stock, but he has been nothing but honest in all his dealings with the Autobots and the Council."

Sentinel snorted softly. Optimus elbowed him to urge him to regain control. The Council didn't need to know that he had lied before them many cycles ago to shoulder the blame for the incident that had turned Elita-1 into Blackarachnia. It would do nothing to help their case.

"Thus, I believe he can be trusted now, even if we have reason to distrust Megatron's words." He turned to regard his fellow Council members with a serene expression. "I propose we accept his deal - we leave Earth unmolested, and the Decepticons and their descendents agree to never set foot on Cybertron again."

The Council erupted into chaos. Tyrest and Cliffjumper began yelling at Alpha Trion, while Botanica shouted right back at them. Perceptor attempted to interject but was shouted down, while Septimus just laughed uproariously as he watched the ruckus. Alpha Trion, for his part, responded as cordially as possible, though his words were all too often drowned out by the other Councilors' ire.

This is the governing body the Autobots hold in such high esteem, Optimus thought wryly. He wondered if the humans' government suffered these sorts of outbursts. Probably, which didn't help their situation any.

"SHUT UP!" Ratchet finally bellowed. "For pit's sake, I don't see a Council here! Just a bunch of squabbling sparklings throwing a tantrum for not getting their way!"

"Since when was stating an opinion a tantrum?" Cliffjumper retorted.

"Stating an opinion is all well and good," Dominus replied sardonically. "It's when the stating becomes shouting at the top of your vocalizer that we run into problems."

Cliffjumper scowled. "Who asked your opinion, beastformer?"

"Ah, casual mode-ism," Dominus noted dryly. "The Council may have changed out members, but the Functionalist beliefs remain."

"Enough with this name calling," Tyrest snapped. "And your compassion for these fugitives from justice is laudable, Alpha Trion." His tone of voice suggested that he found it anything but. "But this agreement will only mean a delay in the war, not an end. For all Optimus talks of peace, it's only a matter of time before Megatron talks him into launching an attack on Cybertron, or some other Decepticon rises up to declare war. No… it's in all our best interests if we arrest every mech on Earth and take them back to Cybertron. Keep your enemies closer, and all that."

"You're still committed to throwing sparklings in prison?" Sentinel demanded, aghast.

"The decision to imprison civilians was, admittedly, hasty," Septimus admitted. "Still, something should be done to keep tabs on those with Decepticon proclivities. A registration system, perhaps, or designated areas of Cybertron where they can be segregated…"

Internment camps, Optimus thought, sick with horror. He'd heard stories about how humans had imprisoned those they considered the enemy, even civilians who had never spoken a dissenting word in their lives. He had thought Cybertronians would be above such petty prejudices… but it seemed he was wrong.

He was on the verge of verbally blasting Tyrest and Septimus for their words when a soft cough cut him off. He shut his mouth and turned to face the newcomer - a short carformer, blue with orange detailing and a blue visor giving him the look of a bespectacled computer geek. The mech ducked his head in a shy nod, then hurried to Dominus' side and whispered something in the fox-former's audial.

"Who is that?" Botanica asked.

"Gizmo," Sentinel replied. "A computer technician from Iacon. We briefly worked together during my assignment to track down mechs with Decepticon programming." He frowned. "What's he doing here? He wasn't on any of my lists."

"Perhaps he had family or a partner who was on your list," Megatron replied. "Or simply became disillusioned with Autobot policy and opted to flee the planet."

"An overreaction on his part," Tyrest grumbled. "Conjux endura of those with Decepticon programming would be exempt from any anti-Decepticon measures. And Autobots are free to disagree with our laws and policies provided they still follow them."

"Free for now," Megatron retorted. "Or will that change? Today it's locking up Decepticons, tomorrow it will be criminalizing those who speak against the establishment in any way-"

"Thank you, Gizmo," Dominus told the blue mech, loudly enough to cut off Tyrest and Megatron's argument before it could escalate. "You may go now. Give Shockwave my regards."

Gizmo mumbled a nervous "you're welcome" and scurried off.

"What was that about?" demanded Cliffjumper.

"Some rather… interesting news," Dominus replied… and though his voice was even, his optics sparkled with cold rage. "Gizmo and Shockwave analyzed Ultra Magnus' exosuit during his treatment, and they uncovered some fascinating findings."

Botanica's optics brightened in alarm. "This is irrelevant! Remove him from this meeting!"

"No, Botanica," Alpha Trion replied, cocking his head to one side. "I believe we need to hear this."

Dominus nodded his thanks to the bearded mech and continued. "The exosuit was designed to respond to the movements of Minimus Ambus - whom you all know better as Ultra Magnus. But it contained additional systems to sustain him… and to perform more sinister actions."

Alpha Trion narrowed his optics. "Elaborate."

"The medics uncovered a cable amidst the systems plugged into Minimus' chassis," Dominus went on. "They could discern no function for this cable - it was designed to input information, not take output, and it served no life-support function that we could tell. Gizmo and Shockwave volunteered their services, and they deduced that this cable's purpose was to feed information directly into Minimus' CPU. In effect, it gave orders… orders that overrode Minimus' free-will protocols and dictated the orders of an outside force."

"This is preposterous!" Tyrest bellowed. "Are you accusing the Council of using Ultra Magnus as a puppet?!"

A slight smile, no more than a smirk, crossed Dominus' faceplates. "We made no such accusation. But it is telling that you were so quick to assume we were, and leaped to defend yourself and the rest of the Council."

Tyrest snapped his mouth shut. "We shall discuss this no further-"

"YOU shan't," Alpha Trion retorted, "but I shall."

"You can't do this," Botanica insisted. "You can't throw us all under the bus like this!"

"Some of us are tired of living a fiction," Alpha Trion informed her, and turned to face Optimus. "When Minimus Ambus won the Magnus seat, it was a unanimous decision by the Council for him to wear the exosuit. There was, and still is, a regrettable stigma against those who possess a bestial alt mode, and the exosuit would make Ultra Magnus more acceptable to Cybertron at large. It was the original intention of the Council for the exosuit to be temporary, and that the Magnus would shed it at a later date when Functionalist attitudes faded."

"But that time never came, did it?" asked Ratchet. "For all the Council likes to preach that Functionalism is dead, there's still a lot of it going on."

"Regrettably, yes," Alpha Trion answered. "And there were members of the Council who decided that the exosuit could serve other purposes. If the suit accepted output to respond to its user's commands, after all, why could it not input information and make the user act on it? Perceptor and I objected to this plan - and we were hardly the only Council members who voted against it - but in the end a majority vote decided the matter."

"And despite disagreeing with this, you did nothing to stop it?" demanded Megatron.

Alpha Trion held Megatron's gaze. "Had I acted against the Council's vote, I would have lost my place on the Council. And had I done that, I would have been unable to act further to stop any more draconian acts or policies from being held. I acted as best I could do help as many Cybertronians I could, and if that meant allowing Ultra Magnus to be manipulated… then so be it. Perhaps that was the wrong choice, but… we can only do the best with what we have been given."

Optimus knew that all too well. Still… perhaps there was a way this situation could work to their advantage.

"The terms of our combat by champion were that, should I win, Earth be left alone and the Council disbands pending a re-election," he told the gathered mechs. "However, in light of this new information, perhaps we can reach a new agreement."

"What do you mean?" asked Botanica.

"We won't demand the Council dissolve," Optimus went on. "All we ask is that we, the refugees of Cybertron, be allowed to make our new home here on Earth, without interference or harassment from Cybertron. In return, we won't make contact with Cybertron again… and the people of Cyberton need never know that the Council used underhanded means to control the Magnus."

Tyrest and Botanica exchanged a long look. Cliffjumper looked furious, while Septimus just smirked indulgently. Alpha Trion looked unexpectedly pleased, while Perceptor… well, given that Perceptor had long ago purged his emotions to make more room in his CPU for knowledge, who knew what he was thinking behind that inscrutable faceplate.

"Of course, such knowledge could very well result in the end of your careers," Dominus added, smiling as he caught on to Optimus' plan. "I'm quite sure you'd be willing to overlook our existence if it means your little secret never reaches Cybertron's populace."

"This is blackmail," Tyrest snarled.

"This is politics," Alpha Trion noted. "And it seems we have little choice but to accept. All in favor?"

Perceptor and Septimus raised their hands. After a moment's consideration, Botanica raised hers as well. Tyrest glowered, but in the end raised his own.

"All opposed?"

Cliffjumper's hand shot up. Upon seeing he was alone in his vote he glowered at his compatriots.

"Then it is decided." Alpha Trion inclined his head towards Optimus. "We shall collect Ultra Magnus and depart at once. We'll send a representative later with a formal treaty for you to sign, then you shan't hear from us again."

Optimus opened his mouth to agree, but Dominus spoke up again: "Minimus Ambus stays."

"The Magnus comes with us," Botanica insisted. "The Council may make decisions, but we still need a Magnus to rule Cybertron."

"Then you will have to select another," Dominus replied firmly. "Minimus Ambus is in no condition to rule Cybertron, and I doubt he will be much use to you without the armor to keep him under control."

Botanica frowned but, in the end, nodded assent. "Then we will return to Cybertron at once." She rose from her seat. "This emergency Council is adjourned."

Cliffjumper rose sharply to his feet and pointed at Optimus and Megatron. "This isn't over, fraggers. Your judgment day will come… and when it does, we'll be ready."

"And so will we," Megatron replied. "We will not be the ones to strike the first blow… but we will strike the last."

Cliffjumper glowered, then turned and stormed off.

Alpha Trion waited for the rest of the Council members to head for their transport, then turned back to Optimus. "I'll do what I can to ensure they uphold their end of the treaty. I can make no promises, however."

"Thank you for standing up for us," Optimus told him. "I was afraid we'd have no allies on the Council, especially after… well…"

"Your abominable treatment at your sham of a trial?" Alpha Trion finished. "I owe you a sparkfelt apology for that. We acted in impulse, letting emotion overtake reason, and you deserved far better than that. On my part, I am very sorry."

Optimus hadn't expected an apology, but he was grateful for it. "I accept, Alpha Trion."

"Thank you." The statesmech turned to Sentinel. "Sentinel Prime… seeing you here at Optimus Prime's side was unexpected, but not unwelcome."

Sentinel looked down at his feet, shoulders hunched, looking unsure if he should be flattered or embarrassed at the attention. "Um… thanks?"

"I'd like to speak with you a moment in private… if Optimus will allow that."

Optimus hesitated. On the one hand, he had no desire to flex his authority and start bossing Sentinel around. But on the other hand, he knew bad oil flowed between Sentinel and Alpha Trion, and he worried that something disastrous might happen if he left those two alone.

"I'll go with you two," Ratchet announced. "Just to be cautious."

"Thank you, Ratchet. Alpha Trion, I hope you'll understand our caution."

"Naturally." Alpha Trion bowed. "Good luck to you, Optimus Prime… or Orion, however you choose to style yourself. I wish you and your new colony all the best."

Optimus watched the Council-mech go, accompanied by Sentinel and Ratchet. Then he turned to face Dominus. "After everything Minimus did as Ultra Magnus… do you really think he should stay here?"

Dominus gazed up at Optimus with a defiant expression. "He's my brother. Even after all this time, I refuse to abandon my family. And I refuse to believe that everything he did was his own decision - the Council did their fair share of acting through him, given what we've learned about the exo-suit."

"I know," he replied, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "But so many of the refugees were hurt by his edicts. Do you think it's safe for him to be here?"

Dominus' expression didn't waver. "If he's not safe with the refugees, I will take him elsewhere on the planet to recover. Don't dissuade me in this, Optimus. I've finally been reunited with my family. I won't lose him again."

Despite his lingering anger at Ultra Magnus, Optimus couldn't help but smile. "I know that feeling all too well. Do what you feel is best, Dominus, and I'll do my best to help you."

The fox-former's expression softened. "That's most appreciated."

As the Elite Guard moved in to carry away the table, Optimus, Megatron, and Dominus made their way back to the gathered refugees. Their erstwhile colony had assembled near Omega Supreme, ready to evacuate at a moment's notice should the Council demand their arrest or destruction. They watched the three mechs' approach, the air about them thick with tension.

Optimus raised his hands. "The Council has agreed to leave Earth in peace. We're safe!"

A great cheer rose from the collective vocalizer of the crowd - an exhausted cheer more of relief than joy, but a cheer nonetheless. Cybertronians who had languished in prison or lived for decacycles on the run had finally found a place of refuge. They were safe at last.

Dominus shifted to his turbofox form and darted towards a knot of mechs gathered around a tiny prone form - Minimus Ambus. Wedge backed away to give Dominus room, while Scalpel continued to work but shifted aside to let the other mech stand vigil by his brother's side. The fox-former nudged his snout against Minimus' hand, then, evidently not caring if anyone saw him, pushed his head under the unconscious mech's hand.

"I don't think he's going to be able to…" began Wedge. "Wait… did you see that? I think his hand just moved!"

Dominus didn't reply, but his tail thumped in response as he nuzzled his head beneath Minimus' hand. Gizmo, who had been standing by in case he was needed, whooped and jumped in place with excitement, only for Shockwave to clasp him by the shoulders in a silent order to calm down. Gizmo stilled… and, to Optimus' shock, leaned his head to one side to let his cheek rest against one of the massive claws holding him. Shockwave, for his part, just tugged the little mech close and held him with an odd tenderness.

"Hmm," Megatron noted. "I had no idea Shockwave was in a relationship. It seems my spy is better at keeping secrets than I thought… I never imagined he'd be keeping them from ME."

"If you knew he was seeing an Autobot, would you have reacted well?" asked Optimus.

Megatron scowled. "Point."

"I, for one, am happy for him," Optimus added. "We've all been through so much recently. All of us, Autobot or Decepticon or otherwise, deserve some happiness."

Megatron nodded. "Don't relax yet… there's still a great deal of work to be done. A colony doesn't build itself overnight."

"It'll be worth it, though. I know it's not the vision you strived so hard for… but it's still something."

"Yes," Megatron replied softly. "Perhaps this is better than my original vision, even. Building a new society instead of trying to fix our old one's entrenched flaws." He smiled at the younger mech. "You've made me immensely proud, little one. I dreamed that someday you would stand by my side and help me build a new future for our kind… and that dream has finally come true."

Optimus blushed. "I never thought I'd be hearing those words from Megatron… or that I'd be happy to hear them. But… thank you, Father."

Megatron clasped his shoulder. "We have a great deal to catch up on."

"We do…" Optimus admitted, but let his reply trail off as Sentinel and Ratchet approached. "That was quick… is everything okay?"

Ratchet nodded. "Alpha Trion had a job offer for Sentinel here."

"A job offer?" Optimus repeated.

"I don't know WHY he offered," Sentinel admitted. "He's made it clear in the past that he doesn't like me!"

"You DID kind of show that you have a compassionate side," Optimus offered. "Maybe that changed his opinion of you?"

"Oh hush, I've always had a compassionate side," Sentinel snapped, ignoring Ratchet's optic-rolling in response. "I just… suppose I found a reason to listen to it."

"What was Alpha Trion's offer?" asked Megatron.

Sentinel pinned his head-pipes back as he answered. "He wanted me to return to Cybertron with the Council. He intended to have them instate me as the next Magnus."

In another life, Optimus might have protested that decision - Sentinel had a tendency to be far too by-the-book, adhering to the rules rigidly at the expense of common sense and mistreating those under his command. But if his actions since Optimus' arrest were any indication, he had proven that he could do what was right even if it was against the rules. And perhaps seeing the flaws of Autobot society had awakened him to what really needed to be done to set right what had gone wrong.

"I'm happy for you, Sentinel," he replied. "You'll make a good Magnus. We'll even send you back with the hammer if you want-"

"I told him no," Sentinel replied quickly.

Optimus stared at him. "You… what?"

"I told him no." The blue mech's gaze moved back to the refugees. "After everything I've seen, I have no desire to be the Council's whipping mech or puppet."

"You would be in a position to correct the Council's errors," Megatron pointed out. "You could reform our society from within."

Sentinel shrugged. "I could… or I could let the power go to my head like last time and botch everything up. Or the Council could find some way to control me even without an exo-suit. Cybertron's problems aren't going to be fixed until the Autobots decide they WANT it to be fixed… and besides, I think I can do far more good here, establishing a new colony."

"Are you sure?" asked Optimus. "It means you'll be working closely with me… and with Megatron."

Sentinel nodded. "I know… and to be honest, I'd rather work with you two than with the Council."

Optimus smiled. "That means a lot to me, Sentinel. Thank you." And before the other mech could protest, he pulled him into a hug.

Sentinel froze, every servo in his body tensing at the contact. Optimus fully expected him to push him away, perhaps with a snarky or angry comment… but to his shock Sentinel's head-pipes lowered and he returned the hug.

"I'm honored to call you a friend again, Sentinel," he murmured.

"S-same," Sentinel replied, then pulled away, brushing off his chestplate and doing his best to look as if he wasn't at all flustered. "It's nice to know we're a team again."

"A team… I like the sound of that." Optimus' smile faded as he watched the Council boarding their transport. "Though part of me still feels like we're abandoning Cybertron. Running away instead of trying to fix the problems."

"You can't fix problems if nobody wants them fixed," Ratchet told him. "Maybe someday we'll go back and try for reform… or maybe Alpha Trion will pick a new Magnus who'll actually overhaul the system for the better. At any rate, let's focus on our own problems first."

Optimus nodded. "Will you help us, Ratchet? I know you're not a politician, but I still value your input."

"Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble, young punk," Ratchet replied with a slight smile. "It might as well be me."

"And me," Megatron added, squeezing his shoulder.

"And me," Sentinel chimed in. "We're all in this together, it sounds like."

"Thank you… all of you." Optimus drew his shoulders back and nodded firmly. "Let's get to work."

Chapter Text

One year later…

For over a century, Minneapolis and St. Paul had been dubbed "the Twin Cities." But on the other side of the Great Lakes, the city of Detroit had acquired its own twin. Whether you could truly consider it a "twin city" was up for debate, seeing as Detroit's sister city wasn't even on the same continent… or indeed, on the same satellite. But the two cities had a close relationship nonetheless, and the new city owed its very existence to the aid and support of Detroit, so they shared a closer bond than one might expect.

On the stark, barren surface of Luna, Earth's moon, the sister city had sprouted rapidly over the course of a year, like a patch of mushrooms after a rain. Gleaming new buildings were being erected as fast as safely possible, some with the same blocky aesthetic of Detroit's skyscrapers and warehouses but others with twisting, sweeping architecture unseen in any human city. And said city was being built on a far grander scale than an ordinary metropolis - not out of any hubris on the part of its inhabitants, but out of sheer necessity.

Cybertron City wasn't intended to rival Detroit in size or grandeur. For the Cybertronian refugees who had opted to stay on Earth, it was simply home.

Orion grunted with exertion as he pushed a steel girder into place, holding it in position as Scrapper bolted it down. "Got it?"

"She's solid," Scrapper noted, thumping the girder with his knuckles. "Gimmie the next one - oh wait, what time is it?"

"1620 hours, going by Eastern Daylight time," Orion replied. While the moon's rotational cycles weren't nearly as long as an Earth day, Cybertron City still went by Detroit time. Seeing as there was so much back-and-forth between the two cities, it made things easier for everyone than trying to juggle two separate systems.

"Slaggit, I'm late for my oil break." Scrapper tossed his tools aside and dropped down from the skeletal frame of the apartment complex he was working on. "Takin' my fifteen. Union rules and all."

"Can't argue with union rules," Orion noted, laughing. "You enjoy your break."

"You too." Scrapper pointed the "finger-guns" gesture at Orion before sauntering off.

Orion shook his head in amusement as he headed off to check on the other building teams. He'd learned by now that arguing with Scrapper and Mixmaster that they didn't actually belong to any union would do no good. And in all honesty, their mastery at construction work made putting up with their quirks worth it.

I feel bad now for shunning them back when we first met them, he thought. Bulkhead saw some good in them, even if they were a little rough around the edges. But I guess I know now what it's like for someone to make a judgment about you without truly getting to know you.

It bothered him on some level that it took being ostracized for his own roots to finally sympathize with mechs like the Constructicons. But then, he had been raised by the Autobots, who had taught him to judge mechs for their origins and their place in society. It was hard to shed that ingrained behavior… but he was doing better, and taking steps to change how he viewed the universe around him. Or at least he hoped he was.

Not far away, Bumblebee was perched on Strika's shoulders as he welded a sheet of metal cladding into place. The hulking Decepticon general held the minibot's ankles loosely in her massive hands, ensuring he didn't topple over as he worked. Lugnut and Bulkhead, meanwhile, were hauling materials while Obsidian and Wedge consulted a set of blueprints. Ratchet knelt beside Blitzwing, soldering a component in the triple-changer's arm and rolling his optics as his patient kept switching between all three faces to keep up a steady stream of chatter. Prowl, Jazz, and Cyclonus were wrangling a communications array into place on top of a nearly completed building, and Jetfire and Sunstorm were escorting Omega Supreme to a landing strip while Jetstorm and the other Seekers waited to unload Omega's cargo of building materials and other vital components.

A little over a year ago, this sight would have been completely unthinkable - Autobots and Decepticons working together, setting aside their past grievances to forge a better future together. But so much had happened since that fateful day when Ultra Magnus had confronted him about his heritage… and despite the terrible events that had followed that day, he liked to think that they had been able to forge a better future from those events.

Blitzwing's gaze landed on Orion, and his random personality flipped into view. "Ooh-hoo-hoo! Orion, schatzi, come save us from ze evil mad doctor before he dissects us!"

"Can it, Three-Face," Ratchet grumbled. "I'm not dissecting you, just trying to fix this wiring you tore showing off for the sparklings."

"Were you being the entertainment brigade again?" asked Orion with a chuckle as he approached the medic and triple-changer.

Blitzwing's angry personality spun into place. "Someone has to be keeping ze kids out of everyone else's wiring! Might as well be us!"

"So long as you don't give them nightmares," Ratchet noted, closing up the arm plating. "There. Next time wait until you've fully shifted to one form before shifting again. Your transformation systems aren't equipped to change alt modes in the middle of a transformation cycle."

"Don't tell us vhat to do!" the angry visage snapped, and Blitzwing shifted to his jet form and screamed away.

Ratchet growled and pushed himself to his feet. "Here I thought our team had some of the biggest lunatics on it. Blitzwing makes Bumblebee look like a cyber-monk in comparison."

"He means well," Orion replied. "And he's good with the sparklings. At the moment, keeping them out from underfoot while the construction teams are working is the best thing he could be doing."

"Still not sure I trust that trip with the kids," Ratchet complained. "What happens if his angry side decides to resort to corporal punishment? Or his random side drops them into a crater to see if they bounce?"

"Give him some credit," Orion countered. "He often watched over me while my father was busy, and I turned out all right."

Ratchet scowled but conceded. "Fine, point. Still, the first time I see a kid get hurt from his actions, I'm disassembling him."

"It's a deal." Orion knew it wouldn't come to that, though. Blitzwing had a reputation as a brutal, crazed warrior, but he didn't let that extend towards sparklings. In fact, all three of his personalities seemed to have a soft spot for the little ones. Not to mention that Orion himself had plenty of memories of spending time with Blitzwing while Megatron was occupied.

Speaking of Megatron… "I need to go talk to the other leaders. Can you handle things if anyone needs me while I'm gone?"

Ratchet snorted a little, but smiled. "The day I can't handle some young punks is the day I order my own shutdown. Go on, Orion. I've got things handled here."

Orion… it was such a small thing, to be called by his old name by a friend who had always known him as Optimus. But it warmed Orion's spark regardless. He had finally asked the Autobots of Cybertron City to address him by his sparked name instead of his adopted name, and he had worried that they would balk at such a change. And to be fair, so many of them had called him Optimus for so long that they occasionally slipped and called him by that name instead. But the fact that they were making the effort - and that some had finally become comfortable referring to him as Orion - meant the universe to him.

Cybertron City didn't have a functioning city hall yet - the powers that be had unanimously decided that housing and medical facilities came first. Plans were being drawn for a building that would serve as the seat of government, but for now Orion met with the other leaders of the city - Megatron, Rodimus, Dominus, and Shockwave - in the rec room of an unfinished apartment complex. Blast Off and Ironhide guarded the doors, and both nodded respectfully at him as he walked inside.

"Ah, Orion, you made it," Dominus greeted, smiling as the violet-and-black mech drew up a chair and sat at the conference table. "I hope we didn't interrupt you in the middle of a project."

"Lately it seems like living here has been nothing BUT projects," Orion admitted. "There's still so much to be done to get this city built and running, it feels like we'll never get it done."

"Hey, we've still come a long way," Rodimus pointed out. "That's something to be proud of."

"Agreed," Shockwave intoned. "But that is not what we convened to discuss today."

Megatron nodded slowly. "Shockwave, you have news from Cybertron?"

Orion's entire frame tensed, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. Cybertron City might be their refuge, but they all knew that all it would take was one decision on the part of the Council or the new Magnus to threaten their existence. So far their truce with the Council had held, and Earth and the lunar colony were safe… but Shockwave still kept a close optic on Cybertron's information networks, looking for any sign that their safety could be compromised.

"My information sources show that Cybertron is currently in a state of turmoil," Shockwave reported. "It would seem that Ultra Magnus' decision to imprison those of Decepticon heritage was unpopular… and when footage of how prisoners in the Kalis correctional facility were being mistreated was released to various media outlets, it sparked an outcry."

Dominus raised an optic ridge. "Someone leaked prison footage to the press? A bold move."

"Cybertron's citizens have a right to know what's going on in our prisons," Orion replied. "Especially when they have friends and family who might very well have ended up in those prisons. As hard as Sentinel Prime worked to keep mechs out of jail, I'm pretty sure he wasn't able to save them all."

"How did the Council react?" asked Megatron.

Shockwave tilted his head to one side, and Orion swore he managed to look smug despite having no actual face. "The Council instituted martial law… which turned out to be a disastrous move. There are mass riots in every major city as we speak, and multiple calls for the entire Council to resign their posts and allow for a new election."

Rodimus whistled. "That's wild… um, think they'll actually do it?"

"It's unlikely they'll resign of their own free will," Dominus replied. "But if the populace of Cybertron overwhelmingly demands it… they may feel they have no choice."

"Or they'll finally appoint a Magnus to quell the uprisings," Megatron pointed out.

"Pessimist," Dominus retorted. "Has there been any word of a new Magnus being chosen?"

"No one currently occupies the Magnus position," Shockwave answered. "The Council has attempted to appoint Sentinel Prime, Rodimus Prime, and even Dominus Ambus to the Magnus seat in absentia, but Cybertronians refuse to accept a Magnus who cannot even make the journey to Iacon to fulfill their position without being arrested."

Orion just shook his head. The Council evidently hoped that appointing a Magnus in absentia would appease the public while still leaving them in complete power. At least it seemed the people of Cybertron saw through the ploy and rejected it.

"I wouldn't even want the job," Rodimus muttered, shuddering. "Not after what they did to Minimus."

"At least it sounds like there are good changes happening back home," Orion noted. "Maybe the system will finally be fixed… and maybe mechs here will feel safe returning home someday."

Megatron snorted. "Don't celebrate too early. The Council could still prevail. Or the people could install a dictator, or a Council even worse than the one currently in power."

"Still… change is coming," Orion replied. "There's hope for the future."

"And if nothing else, the Council will be too busy with their own problems to worry about harassing Cybertron City," Dominus added. "This news means safety at the very least… though it could also mean an influx of newcomers to our colony. Mechs are growing tired of living under Functionalism and factionism, it would seem. Perhaps they'll choose to come here and be neither Autobot nor Decepticon, but Cybertronian."

"If they do, we'll be ready for them," Rodimus said with a firm nod.

"No further news from Cybertron," Shockwave reported. "What of our relations with Detroit?"

"Starscream has been… surprisingly cooperative," Megatron replied. "As evidenced by him allowing his sons, Seekers, and Constructicons to aid us in the rebuilding. It would seem that, once he actually obtains a leadership position, he's quite good at it." He said that last grudgingly, but with obvious respect.

Orion ducked his head to try to hide a knowing smile. His father met frequently with Starscream to negotiate supply shipments and other dealings between Cybertron City and Detroit, and while those meetings had been fraught with tension at first, the two had settled into an almost amiable relationship over the course of a year. Orion had even overheard them making small talk when they thought no one else could hear - not just about the challenges of governing a city, but their experiences as parents. Starscream would occasionally grumble about the Jettwins, only to nearly burst with pride regarding their accomplishments moments later. And Megatron, when he wasn't holding back laughter at whatever antics the twins had gotten up to lately, would relate his own stories about Orion's childhood or his pride in what he'd accomplished as an adult.

Funny how those two went from trying to kill each other to friends… and maybe more, given time. I wonder…

"Orion!"

"Huh?" He shook his head and looked up at Dominus. "I'm sorry, I got lost in thought there. What did I miss?"

"Megatron was just informing us that Sumdac Industries has made a breakthrough in their study of the technorganics. Isaac thinks he may be able to reverse Waspinator's condition, and restore him to his true self."

His spark jolted, hope flaring through him. "That's great news! Maybe once he's back to normal, we'll be able to rehabilitate him." And mend his relationship with Bumblebee… if he agrees to that. We'll see. "What about… what about Blackarachnia?"

Megatron frowned. "Sumdac is… less than optimistic. She has been a technorganic far longer than Waspinator, and he believes organic DNA may have infiltrated her CNA so deeply that it's impossible to disentangle it. He will continue his research, but can make no promises."

Something inside him deflated at that. He had hoped that some part of Elita-1 could be salvaged. But if it wasn't to be… well, perhaps she could still be saved. He could hope, at any rate.

Isaac, too, had faced his own disappointments in the past year. Sari still refused to return to Earth, and while that didn't slow Dr. Sumdac down, Orion could see the loneliness in his friend's eyes every time he came to Cybertron City. He knew he worried about his daughter, and that her insistence on staying in Iacon hurt him.

At least she's no longer on the Council's side, Orion thought. The last Shockwave had reported, Sari had been spotted leading some of the riots against the current Council. Perhaps she still had a hard time forgiving Isaac for lying about her past - or Orion for his connection to Megatron - but at least she was somewhat on their side. And perhaps that would allow for a mended bridge further down the road.

"Anything else to report?" asked Dominus. When no one responded, he gave a nod and stood. "Then we'll convene again in a week's time, barring any emergencies. Keep up the good work, everyone."

"We'll do our best," Orion promised. "That's all we really can do."

Outside the building, a white-and-green minibot waited patiently by the doorway, greeting everyone who stepped out. His gaze rested on Orion without much in the way of recognition, but he nodded and murmured a quiet "hello" to the violet mech anyhow. Orion, for his part, nodded and returned the greeting as politely as he could. It felt strange to be looking down at the mech who had been a leader of Cybertron for so long, and for that mech to be so shy and soft-spoken…

The moment Dominus walked out, however, all polite greetings were thrown out the window. Dominus smiled broadly at Minimus Ambus and transformed on the spot, shifting from mech form to turbofox form with an ecstatic bark. His tail wagged furiously behind him, sweeping moondust to either side in a wide swath, and his paws tapped out an ecstatic dance.

In response Minimus let out a burst of laughter and shifted to his own fox mode, leaping forward to meet his brother. The two fox-formers tumbled over each other, wrestling like turbohound pups, yapping and snarling playfully before bounding away.

"Well… that's new," Rodimus murmured.

"New and welcome," Orion replied with a chuckle. Minimus Ambus - the mech that so many of them had known as Ultra Magnus - had undergone a long and painful recovery from his time in the exosuit that had rewritten so much of his programming. It had taken months for him to recover enough to stand and walk, and even now there were huge gaps in his memory banks… gaps that might be filled with the passage of time or that might remain blank forever. And oddly, some of those gaps were recent - he barely remembered Orion, and nothing of the younger mech's arrest or of their fateful duel.

Dominus refused to give up on his brother, though. He had stayed by Minimus' side every step of the way, spending every spare moment with him to aid his recovery. He didn't judge his brother for the sins of his past, nor did he look down on him for feeling more comfortable in his fox form than his mech form. And he was careful to shield his spark-twin from those who still harbored a grudge for their treatment a year ago.

Megatron rested a hand on Orion's shoulder. "Does it bother you that Ultra Magnus, of all mechs, gets a happy ending here?"

Orion shook his head. "Some part of me thinks it should, especially for how quick he was to accuse me. But I also remind myself that the Council played a huge role in what Ultra Magnus did, and he suffered at their hands too. For now, I think we're better off focusing on building our future than exacting revenge for our past."

Megatron nodded. "You're a better mech than I. I've been sorely tempted to insist we build a brig, and make Ultra Magnus our first prisoner in it. But you're right - our energy is better directed elsewhere. And Dominus has him well in hand, it would seem."

"I don't know if I'm a better mech than you or not," Orion confessed. "I just try my best."

"Your best is better than you think it is," Megatron noted. "You aren't the mech you might have been had I raised you… but I'm still proud of what you've become."

"Even if I became an Autobot?"

Megatron snorted. "You are NOT what you were raised to be. You were sparked by a Decepticon, raised by Autobots… but you chose your own destiny. And while you carry my programming within you, it is what you chose to do with it that made you who you are. A hero of Cybertron… perhaps not the hero it wanted, but the hero it needed."

Orion ducked his head - his father's praise always embarrassed him slightly. But he couldn't suppress a flush of pride at his words. "Thank you, Father."

Megatron squeezed his shoulder, beaming down at the younger mech. Then his gaze flickered to something behind Orion, and his smile took on an amused cast.

"I'll let you be for now," he told him. "There's someone here who wants your attention."

Orion turned… and smiled at the approaching mech. "I'll talk to you later. Though I'm sure there's a certain mech who wants YOUR attention too. Unless you've had enough of Starscream for now."

"Please," Megatron growled. "Starscream is an arrogant, insufferable fool. Our relationship is purely professional."

"Right." Orion thumped his father's arm. "I'll talk to you later. Fill me in on all the Earth gossip."

Megatron rolled his optics and walked away.

"What was all that about?" Sentinel demanded, frowning as Orion turned to face him.

"Nothing… we just got out of a meeting is all." Orion smiled at the blue mech. "So I hear you're still turning down the Magnus-ship."

"You act like you're still surprised at that," Sentinel retorted with a scowl. "Maybe I wanted the Magnus Hammer at one time, but not anymore. Cybertron dug itself into a hole, and it can dig itself out for all I care."

Orion knew that Sentinel cared about Cybertron far more than he let on, but he didn't press it. Allspark knew that he felt conflicted about his own relationship with their homeworld - he still loved Cybertron and wanted to help its people, but his anger at the Council and the trauma he had suffered in Iacon and Kalis kept him from going back. For now, the two of them could do more good for Cybertron here in Cybertron City than back home.

"Besides… there's not much left for me back on Cybertron," Sentinel went on, his gaze moving to the horizon. "I gave up my position as an Elite Guard when I came here. I don't have any friends back on Cybertron other than Digger, and does the femme who ran our foundling home even count as a friend? Everyone I care about is either here or in Detroit."

Orion raised an optic ridge. "Did I just hear you admit that you care about Jetstorm and Jetfire?"

Sentinel snorted. "Just because those two have latched onto Starscream as a parent doesn't mean I don't still care about them. Don't tell them I said that, though - I have a reputation to uphold."

"Sentinel, those two call you Uncle Senny," Orion reminded him. "You don't have as much of a reputation with them as you think."

"At least let me live with the delusion that I do," Sentinel shot back. "Besides… they're not the only mechs I care about here."

Orion's headfins twitched, his curiosity piqued. Sentinel was leading up to something… but it couldn't be what Orion thought it was. They'd gone a long way towards mending their relationship over the past year, but surely they hadn't come THIS far…

Sentinel's hand wrapped around his, bringing his train of thought crashing to a halt. "You're just going to make me come right out and say it, aren't you?"

"I don't want to jump to conclusions," Orion replied softly. "Besides… I thought there was too much history between you and me."

"Too much history between me and Optimus Prime, maybe," Sentinel replied - it was amazing how much a smile did to soften the blue mech's features. "But I think I've grown to really like this Orion fellow."

Orion squeezed his hand, smiling back. "I don't think I'm THAT different from Optimus."

"You're not," Sentinel replied, tugging him closer. "You're still insufferably noble and protective of your team and prone to making stupid decisions because of that. But maybe that's why I'm drawn to you."

Orion chuckled. "You've still got a bit of an ego… but you're more noble and protective than you think you are. And that attracts me too."

Sentinel's headpipes flicked, and his optics blazed as he closed the gap between them…

"ATTENTION LOVEBIRDS!"

"Gah!" Orion whirled, hands raised to fend off whoever had interrupted their moment. Of all times to have left his new ax behind in his quarters…

"Slaggit, it's YOU," Sentinel groaned.

"Hate to break up this Kodak moment!" Wreck-Gar declared, grinning like a child who'd just caught a sibling with their hand in the goodie jar. "But we've just got a shipload of new arrivals! You gonna come join the welcome wagon, or should I leave you guys here in the Gas Station of Love?"

Orion drew in a deep intake of air, then released it with an exasperated smile. "We'll be right there. Just give us a moment… and keep this between the three of us, all right?"

"Mum's the word!" Wreck-Gar pulled a roll of duct tape out of his backpack and slapped several strips of it over his lip plates, then strutted off, humming to himself.

"Well, that killed the moment," Sentinel grumbled.

"It could have been worse," Orion replied. "It could have been Bumblebee, or Starscream. Then the whole city would have known within thirty astroseconds."

Sentinel groaned again. "Point. Um… you should go…"

"We'll both go." Orion looped his arm through Sentinel's. "We'll both meet these newcomers and welcome them to Cybertron City. Then after today's work shifts are over, I'll meet you at the Copernicus Crater and we can continue where we left off." And he shuttered one optic in a wink.

Sentinel stared at him a moment, then smiled. "I'll be holding you to that, Orion, Hero of Cybertron."

"I wouldn't expect any less of you, Sentinel Prime, Hero of Cybertron."

And with that, Orion and Sentinel set off for the landing strip, ready to welcome another influx of immigrants to their new city.