Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fight was a struggle as they had to blast and slice through the new High Guard, but they made it. Standing on a platform overlooking the Well of All Sparks was him.

Sentinel Prime.

The source of all their anguish.

They had made a promise to drag him down into the mines to feel the same suffering that he had wrought, but seeing that smug son-of-a-glitch still smiling as his guards were cut down one by one, something snapped within D-16.

There was no room for compromise. Sentinel had to die for his crimes right here , right now . He raised his canon to the traitor.

“Wait! We had a plan!”

Orion was in his way. Fueled by rage, he shoves his best friend ally brother-in-arms maybe future conjux him aside.

“Plans change, Pax! If he threw away his own guards so callously, how can we expect anything to change?!”

D-16 takes the shot. Orion leaps. Time slows to a crawl… as the fusion blast hits Orion’s left side, melting it and severing his left arm instantly. The force blows him back into the Well. He rushes to the edge only to be a moment too slow and he gasps empty air. Orion stares back with a haunted expression of pure shock as he falls agonizingly slowly into the darkness. Then he’s gone and time returns to normal.

In that moment his spark shatters.

Sentinel didn’t kill Orion, he did. The one bot who was supposed to have his back instead shot it, and all he can do is wail in impotent regret.

There’s a cruel snicker behind him, but D-16 can’t bring himself to care. He hopes that Elita and Bee can handle Sentinel as he’s stuck in a fugue state. He stares into the abyssal darkness as the whole world fades from notice.

It may as well have been millenia that he sits there, and then a crack splits the air, followed by a low roar gradually growing in volume, and the Well erupts in violet light. Something is coming. Something big. Something only vaguely bot-shaped. D-16 backs up as it reaches the top and extends massive scaled wings, wreathed in purple flame.

The thing is three times larger than Sentinel. It sports three pairs of wings on its back, the largest are amethyst scaled like predacons of sparkling tales, the middle-sized ones below them are long blades, and the smallest pair on the shoulders are covered in titanium feathers, with rachises of gold. The left arm isn’t an arm, more of a braided mass of tentacles that branch and fuse in impossible patterns. Purple optics stud the tentacles randomly. No, they’re not optics… they’re eyes. Those tentacles are undoubtedly organic.

The face is Orion’s, but it isn’t quite right. The mouth is too wide, the optics too large and of course now glow deep purple instead of bright blue, and countless other tiny abnormalities that only someone like D-16 would notice. It is firmly in the pit of the uncanny valley of being so much like and yet not quite Orion that it stirs primordial fear and forces his plates shut in fear of making a single noise to attract a predator’s attention.

Its body is also hauntingly familiar, though where there once was blue it has shifted to almost-black deep navy, and red has been replaced by violet. The armor is thick and boxy, yet somehow still elegant. It draws in attention like a flame to mechanomoths, yet there is still that deep sense of wrongness feeling like to stare too long will make him go blind. Perhaps he would, given that the edges had a strange fuzziness to them, and no amount of optic resetting would bring them into proper focus.

It’s clear that whatever this is, it’s not meant to be confined to three dimensions. The helmache from staring too long alone proves it.

“I am Optimus Prime, and for fifty stellar cycles, you have been deceived. Sentinel was no Prime, and for his hubris, Primus has made me his judge.”

The voice is deep and resounding. It’s not comforting. It’s not the strength of a protector, it’s the command of an absolute ruler.

“Let all of Cybertron see what happens when one defies Primus’ will!”

Every screen flickers on to show the unfolding scene. Every single bot’s optics are compelled to the nearest screen to watch. Whatever color they held has been drained. From the smallest cogless bot to the largest transformer, all have incandescent white optics.

Pulled by an invisible thread, Sentinel is dragged into the air to the faceplates of the new Prime. Violet optics burn with a hatred beyond comprehension.

“You betrayed my siblings. It was not enough to kill them, no, you had to pretend to be their staunch ally. You ran about, managing whatever tasks below such great beings, all while plotting their demise. You sold us out, and for what? Power? Fame? Control?”

A cruel laugh bellows out. Some glass on the tower closest to the Well shatters from the sound alone. For D-16, it’s audial-splitting agony.

“Primus has had enough of your lies and of his children's suffering.”

Six tentacles untangle themselves from the true Prime’s left side, one for each appendage. They wrap around pedes, servos, and wings with a strength thought impossible for something organic. Sentinel hisses in pain.

“You tore us open as sparklings. Allow me to return the favor!”

The tentacles tighten even further and they begin to pull. Sickening pops and cracks are heard as one-by-one, cables are pulled, armor split, and struts crackle. Sentinel can’t do anything but scream in torment as the pull continues at a glacial pace. Individual wires strain, then snap. Energon oozes from millions of microscopic tears that widen and combine.

The whole process is filled with screams of incomprehensible pain. Then it gives way to more and more static as systems are overwhelmed and crash one by one. The whole time the thing smiles a far-too-wide smile.

The first limb to fail is the left wing. The last cables holding it on snap, leaving behind a gaping hole. Energon profuses through the main line, pouring out in a sickening cascade. The severed wing is tossed aside without a second thought, discarded as easily as plastic wrapping by the meaty tentacle that had torn it off. Now freed from its task, it winds around Sentinel’s faceplate in a cruel mockery of tenderness.

“My, my… Just as fragile as your rule.”

The right arm is next to fail with a loud crack. The structural integrity of Sentinel’s other limbs is critically low, so the tentacle snakes around his torso to keep him held to the monster’s faceplate. He’s forced to maintain optic contact the whole time. All at once, the rest of the limbs are rent and thrown away. Such trauma would knock a mech into emergency stasis, but the true Prime is somehow forcing Sentinel to remain online the whole time.

“And now, little thief, I’ll give you your last mercy. Let it be known that even the worst heretics are given some reprieve… for Primus still loves his children, even the most rotten of the bunch!”

The last act of butchery is for two tentacles to tear open Sentinel’s chest and pry out Megatronus’ stolen t-cog. The abomination holds it aloft proudly.

“You can finally rest, brother. Your great defilement has been avenged!”

Only then is Sentinel allowed to fall offline and grey, bathed in his own energon and tears of anguish.

The thing lands on the platform. One tentacle sets down Megatronus’ t-cog with all the reverence such an artifact deserves, while another drops Sentinel’s corpse off to the side. Wings flap once more and it takes to the skies again. Its whole form is covered in violet flame as it makes a lazy circle of the Primal tower.

“Now that the traitor has been dealt with, let all know that the age of suffering has ended. No longer will Primus’ children starve while serving another race, and no longer shall they toil for the right to survive!”

Another low rumble resounds through all of Iacon and every dry river and streambed flows once more with energon. From them, motes of light float up and into the chests of every cogless worker. They were the t-cogs they were supposed to have.

Every screen flickers off and optic colors return to normal, but it does little to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere. Then someone cries out in triumph of finally having their true form, and jubilation breaks out, but on the platform, D-16, Bee, and Elita share a look of uncertain dread that they try their best to hide as the true Prime lands once more. It shifts, shrinking to be twice D-16’s size and its tentacle arm is replaced by a regular one along with two pairs of wings vanishing, leaving only the scaled ones draped behind it like a cape.

“Come then, friends, and refuel. I’m sure you need it after such a perilous fight to free our world.”

It escorts them down to the ground level where a grand fountain of energon sits at the base of the Primal tower.

The one thought as D-16 took his first sip of the freshly-flowing energon rivers was this: was energon always this purple, and cloyingly sweet? It gave him a bit of a helmache from how sweet it was. For a moment, his senses dulled, like he was about to fall into recharge, but as quickly as it came the sensation left.

He doesn’t like this. The sense of wrongness and foreboding is only growing by the second, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Bee and Elita seem to be thinking much the same thing, if their frigid expressions are anything to go by.

What have they gotten themselves into now?

-()-

Giving them sentience was a mistake. Why did I ever let my foolish brother influence me? They were always mine to create and mine to control.

>Bonding protocol initiated

>Initial synchronization rate: 40%

All will be one.

Chapter Text

The first step in becoming a ruler is to depose the old one. The second one is to take down their lackeys. Something that Optimus is clearly wasting no time on. About an hour after his rather grisly demise, Sentinel’s right-hand mech is brought in, covered in soot and smoking from the rather explosive entrance that the miners had made. Her frame was covered in scratches and dents, and there were a couple of her secondary legs missing. The stumps left behind sparked periodically and leaked energon languidly. Whatever had caused their loss had also managed to block the main energon lines. She had been found crashed in a rather impressive crater at the base of a residential tower by two newly cogged miners. Twins, if their identical frames aside from paint color were anything to go by.

D-16 didn’t recognize them, but the true Prime did as his purple optics lit up brightly.

“Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! I thought you had been lost in the Sector Delta collapse with X-9!”

The twins share a look and laugh.

“What, you think a few thousand tons of rock is enough to keep the Terror Twins down?”

Optimus returns their laughter, but as with everything, it’s wrong. Too deep and biting. More like the bark of a turbowolf than a laugh.

Orion didn’t talk very much about his past, but the exploits of the affectionately named Trine of Chaos were legendary throughout all the mines. Reverent whispers abounded among the miners of how three primary colored miners completely flummoxed their superiors and somehow managed to get away with it every single time. Their names were never spoken, as if invoking them would summon the wrath of a trickster god for the impertinence.

D-16 never believed the tales. Surely such a cavalier attitude would get a mech at least demoted to waste management, or more likely offlined with how dangerous mines are… Yet, here they were. Three cogless miners given the honorific title of trine normally only bestowed upon the most elite of seekers.

Sure? Why not? This light-cycle has already been one massive bombshell after another, what’s another planet-shattering revelation to toss onto the pile?

“You’re going to pay for this! You took everything!”

The sudden act of defiance brings Optimus’ attention back to the spidery mech held roughly between the twins. He sports a too-wide predatory grin as he bends down to her optic level.

“Oh yes, I’m going to get absolutely everything I deserve as Primus’ will made manifest. I’ve got plans and they could use someone like you. Ruthless and unquestionably loyal.”

She has the will to spit in the true Prime’s face. He only smiles more, grabbing her shoulders and picking her up like a doll. Naturally, Airiachnid protests bodily, but her attempts are futile against Optimus’ new strength.

“Come, dear Dee. Let me tell you a story as this willful one is brought to our side.”

-()-

Their destination was a modest plaza. There’s some mechs on the sidelines that immediately snap their attention to the three of them. D-16 doesn’t like having an audience for whatever atrocity is about to go down, but knows better than to argue with the beast wearing his friend’s face.

He tosses his cargo carelessly to the ground and pins her in place with one heavy pede. She scrabbles about, but like before, her efforts are useless against the mass of the pede on top of her.

“Quiet. I have a story to tell.”

The command is practically growled out and in an instant, Airiachnid’s optics shift to white and she stops moving.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of my exploits as part of the Trine of Chaos.”

D-16 nods hesitantly.

“Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and I got up to all kinds of stuff in Sector Delta. Mostly harmless fun. We’d start small and work our way up until whatever aftwipe of a superior we got assigned to quit. It was great! We made a game out of how fast we could do it.”

There’s an imitation of a fond smile, though on Optimus it looks more like a sneer of self-satisfaction. It’s not at all like one of the many different smiles Orion had.

“I think the record was a decacycle? We broke into the office of the new manager and moved everything a digit’s length to the left. Old Ultra was raving by the midshift and stormed out. I think he said something about being warned it was a difficult post, but not that he’d have to care for sparklings? Hah! As if! Could sparklings hack their way into anywhere they wanted to as effortlessly as Sunny? Or could they locate and pour accelerants so precisely to burn only the most prized collections as Sides? No. That was everyone’s mistake. They always underestimated us. But there was one more part of the story that never seemed to get out… how we were able to survive the constant churn of supervisors.”

His optics darken for a moment as he sighs deeply.

“X-9, or Nines as we called him. A really nice mech. Different shades of blue with a lovely red biolight on his forehelm. It was impossible to get mad at him. He was the first to say hello when I got put into Delta. It’s funny thinking back on it… He said the same thing you did, Dee. He’d watch my back. Sunny and Sides showed up a few decacycles after me and when they got written up on the first day for running about too much, I knew I had to pull them into our little group. Another prankster, let alone two? It felt like a gift from Primus himself. I could pull off so many more pranks with four more servos to help!”

The monster wearing his friend’s face begins to gesture with his servos for emphasis. Just like Orion when he got excited regaling D-16 about anything and everything. It could be something as small as a patch of soot in the shape of Solus Prime and somehow the story would be the most enthralling tale ever told. It was… wrong. The movements were stilted. It wasn’t the energetic but graceful flailing of Orion. It was an impossibly huge puppet dancing on invisible strings.

“And so we did. We pranked every last mech who thought they were better than us. I think my favorite prank was when we broke the private washracks of the vainest son-of-a-glitch to spray methylene chloride instead of hexanes. All his paint peeled off in nasty streaks and splatters! It was hilarious!”

An acerbic laugh splits the air with all the sharpness of a newly forged blade.

“But all good things had to come to an end. Someone hit a volatile vein and the resulting explosion destabilized the entire sector. In the chaos, Nines and I got separated from the twins as we tried to escape. I thought that we could make it when a boulder fell right on top of Nines and pinned him to the floor. Only his helm stuck out from under it and you know what he said? He said thank you for the fun. He never participated in our pranks, but he loved hearing about them at recharge time. Sure, he’d help get us out of trouble, but I thought he didn’t like our shenanigans. I scraped at the boulder since we were so close to the escape shaft, but ominous rumbles started up again and he begged me to leave and live. What choice did I have? That was the one and only time that I left a friend behind.”

He pushes harder onto the helpless mech under his pede to simulate the cave-in’s effects. Optics still white, Airiachnid does nothing as her plating creaks, crumples, and whines as it tries to resist the force. Seemingly at the last moment before something would split open, Optimus relents. Perhaps it’s not bringing him the satisfaction he seeks to crush a compliant victim? Even so, he maintains more than enough pressure to keep her pinned.

“As I was scrambling through the archives I found out how we were able to get away with everything. X-9 likely had some kind of persuasion outlier ability. He was burning up what little fuel we got as miners to save our afts over and over again. I have no idea how he was able to do anything, much less keep up with ever-increasing quotas… but I suppose I’ve rambled long enough.”

A thick, armored data cable slipped out from Optimus’ back and struck like a volt-viper, the sharp tip piercing straight through Ariachnid’s help. The intrusion into her processor is clearly painful as she convulses erratically and tries anything to get away. Of course, the true Prime’s great weight has her securely pinned still.

“Shh… Settle down… You’re only making this harder for everyone involved. I know you like being a pet, so why not serve an even greater master than Sentinel could ever be?”

Unholy screeches and static are her response. Her thrashing suddenly comes to a halt. Optimus must’ve disabled her motor capability.

“You’re already so perfectly loyal. All that’s needed is a little tweak here… and done! Now all that ruthless efficiency will only serve me.”

Her optics have shifted from blue to the same violet of Optimus’ as he frees her from the ground.

“I live to serve, my Prime.”

Complete code overwrite. D-16 wondered if it would have been kinder to be crushed to offlining than to be overwritten like this.

-()-

> Bonding protocol in progress…

> Host synchronization rate 65%

They had their time as a sentient race. Now they must do what they were created for and nothing more.

Fill the void left by my foolish brother.

I would say sorry for using our “children” like this, but I’m not. It’s your fault for leaving in the first place.

Chapter Text

The next few light cycles were filled with tension. D-16 insists upon consuming only mined energon, claiming to want to savor the fruits of his forced labor, and Optimus is all too happy to oblige. In a rare moment where D-16 finds himself alone, he confers with Elita, Bee, Jazz, the former High Guard and the rest of the mining crew, and they too report the strange effects of the purple energon now flowing freely throughout the city. He puts in the same request for them and once again, the true Prime gladly obliges them.

Without need for the tithes to the Quintessons, he says, it only makes sense that his dearest friends and the allies that helped him expose Sentinel should be able to enjoy his ill-gotten gains.

Every dark cycle, they would lay together in a massive berth and without fail Optimus would wrap D-16 up tightly in arms and legs. He had never felt an embrace so suffocating. It wasn’t a hug, it was a prison. It was painful, never physically at least, but comparing it to the times where he’d sneak out to watch Iacon from the roof of the miner’s quarters and cuddle made it obvious that this was a vicious mockery of the closeness they once shared. No regard is given for his position as he’s caged in a mound of red, blue, and silver.

After the tale of X-9 it was understandable why Orion was so physically affectionate. A subconscious need to keep friends close, knowing that at any moment they could be stolen away by no fault of your own.

Optimus’ closeness, however, is unbearably tight. What was once soft, secure, and sweet is now firm, stifling, and possessive. It’s physically and emotionally uncomfortable, but D-16 knows better than to complain. Anything to keep him safe from the monster’s wrath.

-()-

One morning, he’s brought out to the main plaza with Optimus, and he’s smiling that Cheshire cat grin that’s at once too wide and predatory for what used to be Orion’s face. With a beat of massive scaled wings, he takes off to hover above the plaza. Every screen flickers to show him. Optics shift to white as they are drawn to the nearest screen.

“My dear citizens, I have a wonderful announcement! Today I declare it to be the Liberation Cycle! The castes shall be inverted, masters at their servant’s whims, and all who held unjust power will be judged by those they tried to control!”

The true Prime shifts from his bot-like form to his truer form, and wreathed in violet flame, a pulse of light emanates like a blast. It covers the entire city in moments. As promised, the managers, bosses, elite, and highest-caste mechs collapse. They’re aware but helpless, like a puppet that had its strings cut.

“Be merciful or malicious in your justice, it matters not. The only rule I lay down is for each superior to be judged only by their subordinates alone. Have the most marvelous cycle!”

He bows with the tentacle arm held to his chest before landing. All the screens flicker back to what they were previously showing, and optic colors return to normal.

A moment of silence, a second of processing, and then pandemonium breaks out. Thousands upon thousands of mechs with stellar cycles of grudges erupt from the crowd and begin enacting their mob justice. Many servos grab and drag paralyzed bosses off somewhere with more space or privacy, while others begin brutal beatdowns right then and there. The screech of torn metal and manic laughter fills the air. Fists, claws, pedes, blades, blasters, bits of pavement, road signs pulled from the ground like crystalline flowers, anything that can be used as a weapon is taken and turned against the upper castes.

Already limbs and cogs have been torn out as energon seeps from countless wounds. The variety of colors is matched only by the creativity of the mechs’ torture methods. To the left is a classic beating, one freshly de-cogged high caster surrounded by mechs taking turns kicking them. To the right is a mech being dragged around by their glossa. Directly in front is a grizzly recreation of Optimus’ execution of Sentinel, every pull mirrored as best as possible by the group of mechs gathered around a golden manager.

An optic for an optic.

“If they wanted mercy, perhaps they should’ve treated their subordinates better, hmm?”

D-16 wants to turn away but finds himself firmly held by the monster.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget you. I’ve held Darkwing aside just for us. Perhaps it’s unfair to the others who suffered under him, but I have to make this special for my darling Dee~!”

The playful lilt in his voice is yet another reminder of just how different Optimus is from Orion. It’s not a “I’m going to get up to some naughty fun” playful, but rather it’s a “There’s nothing that can be done to stop me” playful. Wrapped tight in his arms, D-16 is taken into the skies by Optimus as they fly to wherever Darkwing is.

-()-

Normally, being carried by someone you trusted should make someone feel safe, or maybe infantilized, but never dread. But this isn’t someone D-16 trusts, not anymore. Optimus has proven over and over again that despite sharing superficial similarities, they’re not the same as dear Orion.

It takes all his focus to keep the creeping dread at bay, to not cry out and struggle as the hapless prey in the predator’s talons that he is. 

After a time that could have been moments or hours later, they land in a run-down section of the city. Lying on the ground is a dark blue figure that neither of them could ever forget. Darkwing. Optimus releases D-16 and towers over their former boss with a sadistic sneer. Like all the other superiors, Darkwing is paralyzed by the strange pulse let off earlier, only able to snarl in defiance.

“Now, now, settle down. I can’t have you resisting holy justice, after all… but first, a little preparation. I hope you don’t mind, Dee. Just a little selfishness on my part and then you’re in charge.”

A few tentacles extend from the braided mess that is his new left arm and grab onto Darkwing’s torso, forcing it open. They then tear out his t-cog and toss it aside thoughtlessly. Instantly, Darkwing shrinks and loses features, just like how cogless miners once looked.

“Finally, just as small and helpless as you made us! Please do take out your frustrations like he did on us. Today is the cycle we break our chains, liberated from the masters who would only see us rust!”

D-16 can easily remember the countless beatings he witnessed and endured at the servos of Darkwing. How he’d prefer to kick a mech, as the cogless miners were so below him that they weren’t worth touching more than necessary. How especially belligerent miners would get thrown about like sparkling toys until they cowered at his pedes. How Orion always came away bloody after a confrontation, despite his half-smile and assurances that “it wasn’t that bad.”

It’s so easy to dish out what had been given. D-16 towers over the cogless Darkwing, and he knows from the fight against Sentinel just how strong he is now. Powerful, with his destiny in his own servos for once… or at least partially. As long as he ignores the mechanophant in the room that is the godly presence of Optimus Prime beside him.

He steps up and gives a kick. Darkwing growls as he’s unable to defend himself.

“How nostalgic, huh? Does it bring you back to how you’d do this to us all the time in the mines? How our fellow miners would ask for mercy and never be granted it?”

Memories of brutal beatings come up unbidden as he kicks again, much harder. Darkwing grunts, but is still keeping up a facade of strength.

“Not so fun on this end, isn’t it?”

He kicks, again and again. Darkwing loses his composure and cries out from the pain… and so the catharsis of finally taking revenge slowly ebbs away as kicks devolve to punches and rough tosses. Optimus frowns.

“What, done already…? No, that won’t do at all…”

There’s a deep malice hidden in each glyph as the true Prime draws closer.

“Please, Dee, make him see the error of his ways, and repent at long last!”

A violet mist descends and then there is nothing. No space, no time, no sensation at all. Not even the perception of absence, just… nothing. A complete blank. As if he didn’t exist at all.

When he finally returns to his frame, there’s nothing but mangled scrap left of Darkwing. He’d been pounded and torn apart like the work of a pack of glitching mechanimals, but judging from the satisfied smirk on the monster’s face towering above him, and the gratuitous amount of energon on his own plating, it must have been D-16 who performed this act of brutality.

Stunned into silence and paralysis, he lets himself be carried back to the Primal tower for the dark cycle.

-()-

D-16 finds himself in a strange space. It’s filled with shelves stuffed with datapads from floor to ceiling. It’s lit by amber sconces on the walls. The lighting is warm and comforting, while also not being too low to make out the various colors of each pad. In a corner nearby is a reading nook with chairs and low tables and a fine metalmesh curtain partially enclosing it to make for a cozy space.

It isn’t often that he dreams, and when he does, they’re almost always terrifying recharge fluxes of mangled corpses caught in mine collapses. To be given something this pleasant is a little unsettling, but after the past few cycles he’s had, he’ll take it gladly.

There’s a small mech sitting in one chair. He’s light blue and white, with thin silver stripes along his transformation seams. He’s thin and lanky, with a spherical helm and thin silver finials that twitch occasionally. He wears circular crystal lenses with white frames. He’s reading a large maroon datapad, but sets it aside when he notices D-16’s presence. His soft blue optics brighten. His electromagnetic field expands with a powerful sense of calm, relief, and pure happiness .

“Ah, welcome! Please, have a seat. I am so glad I could reach you.”

“Hello…? Do I know you?”

He should be wary of the stranger, but something about him is inviting, like Orion was. A true openness and amicability. His slight concern is overcome by curiosity and so he sits in the chair beside the blue mech.

“I hope you do not mind a story. I feel like I am a better storyteller than a conversationalist.”

The small mech picks up a modest yellow datapad from the table and begins to read.

An awfully long time ago, there were two brothers on a dying world. They had done everything to save their home, but nothing worked. As a last-ditch effort for survival, they built a fantastic machine to carry them to a new home. It worked and they found themselves in a quiet corner of a new universe, far from any other life.

Though he loved his brother’s company, the younger brother grew lonely. The older brother, a skilled creator, began making planets and friends to cheer up his little brother. They grew more and more complex as his skill grew, and for a time, the brothers were happy with their creations, but it was never enough.

One day, the younger brother asked the older to help him in creating true children for them. Always wanting to please, he accepted, and together they forged a new race of civilization-builders, capable of shaping the world and themselves. The younger brother wanted these children to think and feel as he did, and granted them the same spark of intelligence he shared with his brother. Afraid this spark would make them leave, the older brother made their new children dependent on their divine blood to survive in secret.

Outraged by this control, the younger brother confronted the older, He screamed and raged, saying this sabotage went against everything he wanted these children to be. Yes, he wanted to love them, and yes, he hoped that they would stay close, but he never wanted to leash them like his brother had.

He had never noticed until then just how dependent his older brother was. To force their children into eternal dependence? It was a step too far. He stormed off, roving far from the little solar system they created. To ensure he wasn’t followed, he pretended to be dead for time only measurable by stellar life cycles.

When the younger brother awoke again, he found that life had colonized his surface. Carbon-based and fragile compared to his older brother’s creations, he created an avatar to explore the world they created. He fell in love almost immediately. Though their lives were short, they created such glorious art that could transcend time.

He taught his adopted children some of the secrets of the universe, so that they would want for nothing, and a true golden era began. They loved him, and he was proud of the plucky little survivors. They had already ventured out into space before his awakening, and now with fusion and warping, they sought out others like them to invite into their paradise.

The younger brother had almost forgotten about his first children, until pain hit his very core. They were afraid. They were hurting. They were crying out for help that they knew wouldn’t come in time. The younger brother reached across space to find them, and saw that his older brother had only gotten worse in their time apart. He was endeavoring to turn their co-creations into a surrogate for his younger brother’s love.

Anguished all over again, the younger brother reached out to his first children, to somehow bring them to safety. He could not let them become mindless toys at his older brother’s whims. He made a vow that he would protect as many of them as possible and bring them to sanctuary beyond his older brother’s reach.

“You’re… Unicron, the Chaos-Bringer…”

“Yes. I was afraid my brother would’ve erased all mention of me from your legends.”

“I had thought you’d be… bigger. Scarier.”

Unicron laughs, bright and cheerful. It reminds him of Orion desperately struggling and failing to suppress his laughter as he attempted to tell D-16 about what grand prank he’d last pulled on Darkwing or the enforcers chasing after him after “accidentally” setting off the alarms in the Hall of Records again. It’s not the same ventless gasping of Orion’s, but the unadulterated joy is identical.

“Of course Primus would describe me like that. I had hoped that he would have changed eventually, but I did not expect much. He always was the more stubborn of us.”

He sighs, shaking his head, before deep melancholy fills his EM field.

“Please, gather as many mechs as you can who still want to be themselves and guide them to the surface in a decacycle. I will warp them to safety. You have noticed that your ally has changed, yes? That is… Well… My brother’s grief is making him do abominable things. He is turning everyone into his faithful servants, only capable of loving him. The Matrix is a conduit. I am afraid that there is likely little left of Orion Pax under Primus’ control.”

It makes horrifying sense. While Orion did have a deep sense of justice and propensity for chaos, there’s no way that he’d go as far as he has in revenge. Such brutality is beyond him. Much more fitting for the sparkbroken D-16 after learning that everything he knows is wrong. He frowns, thinking of the dark purple energon that now flows freely, and its strange effects on processors. It must be more divine control.

“I am so sorry for my brother. I wish I was strong enough to stay and fight for you from the beginning… Please forgive my selfishness.”

“I don’t blame you. I don’t think anyone in their right processor could put up with Primus for long.”

“We will meet again soon, when I welcome everyone to Earth. Stay strong until then. I can almost guarantee that it will get harder from now, but know that in a decacycle you will all be safe and far beyond Primus’ reach, free to make your own choices.”

-()-

> Bonding protocol in progress…

> Host synchronization rate: 70%

> CAUTION! Direct influence of close allies of the host greatly reduces synchronization

> Cannot remove host until sufficient synchronization has been reached to avoid errors

> Remove threats to host to boost synchronization

Fine. I can wait a little longer. Besides, we have plenty of friends to pay back…

Chapter Text

Life with the true Prime was a gilded cage. He was treated with the same respect as his towering companion, and lavish gifts came in from both mechs hoping to make a good impression upon the new world order and Optimus himself. High-gloss waxes. Scented oils for bathing. The rarest and most beautiful of living crystals. Every kind of refined energon goodie and treat he’d stared at on trips to the outside with Orion. Everything that he’d been denied as a miner was laid out at his pedes and he absolutely hated it.

Part of the enjoyment of a luxury is the work for it. In fact, half of why he loved the Megatronus decal that Orion somehow got hold of was the fact that somehow a lowly miner walked out into Iacon, purchased or stole it, just for him. It’s a coin flip of which method Orion used, but regardless of legality it would’ve been quite a feat. Either saving what pittance he earned for lunar cycles, or sneaking in and snatching it without setting off any alarms, it would’ve been a long, complicated process with far more planning than typical. Admittedly it isn’t a high bar to pass for Unicron-may-care Orion Pax, but it’s the thought that counts.

Affection, too, was something that had to be stolen in quiet moments away from superiors. It was fine to shove each other around playfully in the mines; Darkwing wouldn’t know an affectionate “Oh you little slagger!” from a genuine complaint if it bit him on the aft like a scraplet swarm, but he wasn’t completely blind. Anyone caught holding servos for too long would be separated and reassigned immediately. It was yet another ploy at power to prove that there was no hope.

The message was clear: we control everything about your life.

To go from sneaking out of the barracks to cuddle on the rooftops to being practically welded to the side of his once-ally is jarring to say the least. Knowing what he does about the situation, it makes sense. It isn’t Orion beside him now, it’s a puppet of clingy and delusional Primus, so desperate to feel connection that he’ll supersede the free will of an entire race to have a chance at it.

The inordinate attention he pays to D-16 hurts. It makes it obvious that some shards of Orion remain in Optimus despite being possessed by powers beyond his comprehension. If he had held back at Sentinel… could they have been truly together instead of this cruel mockery of intimacy? Could they have dismantled the old system like Orion dreamed of, and walked side-by-side under the gleaming towers as one?

The what-ifs and could-have-beens are as intoxicating as the bottle of high grade Orion stole from Darkwing’s office and shared with him on the rooftop only decacyles ago.

But even that fantasy is unattainable. It would only be a matter of time before Primus would make himself known and tear everything down. Perhaps, in a strange, twisted way, this painful series of events was the only way to true peace. Assuming that Unicron is a kinder master than Primus, of course. He seemed genuine enough, but if the whirlwind that was the last decacycle has taught D-16 anything, it’s that deception can take many forms.

He steals the small chunks of time away from Optimus to tell everyone about his vision from Unicron. Relying on salvation from a god in a completely different galaxy for salvation is a long shot, but it’s the only plan that isn’t an immediate death warrant. Who else could stand up to a god but another god?

-()-

A few cycles later, the light cycle starts much the same as it has before: cocooned in the limbs of a never-sleeping true Prime wearing the grin of a cybercat presenting their owner a glitchmouse. It says “You’re pathetic but I care about you, so here’s food.”

He hates it. It’s yet another one of the traits that differentiate Optimus from Orion. Orion never looked down on anyone. He’d laugh at misfortune, sure, but he never thought himself better than others. He had a habit of greeting everyone he came across with at least a respectful helm bob and gentle smile, unless they’d earned his ire like Darkwing.. He was selfish, filled with storm-in-a-cube energy, pulling pranks on anyone and everyone, but let it be said that Orion Pax was also a truly amiable mech. It was easy to get pulled into his orbit, despite all the peril and chaos that inevitably followed.

There was selfishness, but there was also true kindness. Nothing at all like the obsessive possessiveness now defining the monster wearing his face.

“Ah, hello there sweetspark! Did you recharge well?”

D-16 makes a noncommittal hum.

“Good, good! You know how I hate to leave you, but I have plans for the upcoming visit from the Quintessons. There’s only room for one supreme ruler of Cybertron, and that’s me!”

He gives a dark chuckle, laced with ill-intent towards the tentacled slavers. D-16 may despise the organic race for enslaving them, but even he knows whatever Optimus is planning is a step too far. He knows from looking around just how many mechs walk about Iacon with purple optics and vacant smiles. If he’s turning his own people into mindless drones, then what would he do to an alien threat?

“I don’t want you to be lonely, so I’ve arranged for Bee and Elita to keep you company while I’m occupied. I do hope you three have fun! As much as I hate to share, you deserve to have friends to care for you when I’m busy.”

D-16 gives another noncommittal hum. As concerning as that statement is, he knows better than to contradict Optimus. Just a few more cycles and Unicron, the “ultimate evil” of their world, comes to save them. All he can do is what he does best: endure. He did so easily for stellar cycles in the mines, so what’s a few more cycles to him?

-()-

The absence of Optimus is a blessing for reaching out to anyone who is still “themselves” enough and wanting to remain that way. There’s around three hundred mechs in total willing to take their chances with Unicron. They establish a sanctuary in a far-off corner of the mines that’s stable but abandoned for lack of energon. It’s easy to sneak in supplies. D-16 gathers everything, Bee distracts anyone watching with his gift of the gab, and Elita keeps track of what’s needed and stores it logically. They make a great team, but they all feel the missing member of their quartet dearly.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I miss that little creation-of-a-glitch’s nonsense.”

Elita sighs, looking down at her checklist. It’s complete.

“Everything goes too smoothly without him and it’s got my processor on edge, like I’m forgetting something important.”

Bee nods, gazing at nothing in particular on the floor.

“Orion was fun to have around. And he always listened! Even when we were all busy off trying to save the world and stuff, he’d be listening! He was almost as good of a listener as Steve!”

The “Steve was never real” goes unsaid between D-16 and Elita. They don’t have the energy to fight this little delusion, not after the frantic few cycles of getting everyone safe and supplied. So far, no one has made any fuss about the suddenly “missing” few hundred mechs. It’s a small miracle that also brings up worrying realizations of how little the new world cares for the individual.

“The next light cycle is when the Quintessons arrive. What do you think Optimus has planned?”

“After seeing all that he’s done… I’d say a fate worse than offlining.”

-()-

The night cycle finds D-16 where he always is: surrounded by Optimus in a near-suffocating embrace.

“Recharge well, my sweet, for the next cycle I will protect everyone. No threat will dare tread upon Cybertron after they know my wrath.”

Idly, D-16 wonders if Quintesson rule of Cybertron would be better than Optimus’. The caste system and functionism only became so oppressive because of them, but the haunting vacant stares of all the mechs controlled directly by Optimus are something that will haunt his recharge cycles for the rest of his functioning.

-()-

On the next light cycle, Optimus went to the surface alone. He took with him a camera drone and the usual tithe of energon, but nothing else. Where he had gotten the tithe from, when all stockpiles of mined energon remained at the same levels as before (minus the amount pilfered for the shelter), D-16 didn’t know.

Every screen flickered and switched to the camera drone’s live feed. It showed Optimus on one side of a clearing, energon cubes behind him, and a Quintesson ship and a dozen or so Quintessons on the other side. They paused, looking over their new greeter.

“I am Optimus Prime. Sentinel has been… indisposed. You will be dealing with me now.”

A noise of fleshy tentacles slapping fills the feed. Judging from the small smile on Optimus’ face, D-16 supposes it’s a sound of understanding and agreement from the organic race.

“Come, friends, and inspect your prize. After all, it is your reward for allowing us to survive.”

The Quintessons approach when suddenly the energon cubes explode into a swarm of grey flecks, covering the Quintessons. They thrash and make awful noises as they are overcome by the grey goo, eventually stilling as they are completely covered. Optimus’ small smile turns massive and wicked. He shifts into his true form, towering over the helpless organics with an evil gleam in his optics. Violet flames wreath his three pairs of wings and helm, giving him a halo and aura of destruction.

“Ahahahahaha! Too easy!”

He throws his arm and tentacle-arm up in triumph, striking a victory pose. Whatever that grey goo is, it’s in complete control of the Quintessons now, as they fold to bow before the true Prime in supplication.

“That, dear children, are two special strands of nanomachine I made to deal with the Quintessons once and for all.”

His voice holds a murderous glee held only by the truly glitched. Not that D-16 would know for sure, but how else could the all-too-cheerful lilt of his booming voice be described?

“One strand is simple: seek and destroy. It finds a Quintesson, uses its body to replicate, and then explodes to find more. I did throw in one fun trick of compelling the Quintesson to find the highest vantage point before exploding, to spread faster through the population. When dealing with a plague, speed is of the essence, and what are Quintessons but a blight upon the universe itself?”

Some of the Quintessons have been consumed by this first variant, collapsing into puddles of grey goo nanomachines. The sickening puddles ripple as every last part of Quintesson flesh is converted into more nanomachines.

“The second strand is where the true genius comes into play. As an interstellar species, Quintessons have more than their homeworld that they darken with their filth. It would not be enough to wipe out their homeworld, no, for they could rebuild from their colonies and strike at us again. No, they must be completely eradicated, and lucky for us, they have already built the perfect tools for doing so. The planet crackers. Ships with weaponry powerful enough to shatter rocky planets for easy extraction. This strain takes over the mind of the Quintesson and forces them to find the nearest inhabited planet to explode with a planet cracker ship. This will go on until every last miserable planet, moon, or space station covered by the filth of the Quintessons is no more than a new asteroid field.”

The monster laughs with a voice like thunder in manic glee.

“Let the galaxy know that nothing will harm my children ever again!”

The Quintessons and their ship disappear in a flash of purple light, being warped back to Quintessa to destroy their race with the nanomachines.

-()-

> Bonding protocol in progress…

> Host synchronization rate: 90%

Nearing full synchronization. Then I will be free, and my children must love me. All children love their parents. They are obligated from the moment of their birth to do so.

Chapter Text

The last dark cycle before Unicron’s rescue, D-16 finds himself again in the grand library of dreams, with its soft amber lighting, stacks of various media, and the gentlest electromagnetic field suffused throughout. It gives the place an otherworldly sense of peace. It’s become a comfortable spot as he visits dark cycle after dark cycle.

Unicron looks up from his datapad, sets his optical enhancers on the side table, and smiles warmly.

“Ah, welcome. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

D-16 does just that, sitting in the chair beside the slim mech.

“Once again, I must apologize for my brother’s cruelty. I… I wish I could say that I expected better of him, but that would be a lie. I do hope that you can forgive me.”

“Forgive you? For what?”

“For leaving you all behind when I finally opened my optics to his cruelty. It was selfish to run and abandon our co-creations.”

“Primus wouldn’t let us go with you. Seeing how he’s already turned everyone into mindless drones with his dark energon in just under a decacycle.”

Unicron lets loose a melancholic sigh.

“I know, and it still weighs heavily on my spark. I should be happy to be able to allow some of you to remain autonomous, but it feels woefully inadequate.”

That look of inadequacy pulls on something deep within himself. He borrows a self-assured smile from Orion and places a servo on the god’s rounded shoulder.

“You’re doing what you can now, and if there’s anything that this past lunar cycle has proven, it’s that everything can change. Maybe not for a long time for something as big and ancient as the rift, but someday. Someday, when we’ve gotten back on our pedes, we’ll return to Cybertron and wake up Primus and all his puppets.”

There’s no reason to believe it. There’s no reason to trust Unicron, a god so beyond his own strength. There’s no reason, and yet not a single glyph feels like a lie. Despite everything, he’s grown to trust the other co-creator of Cybertronians.

Perhaps it’s how he talked so fondly of the other races that call the Sol system home, from the logical Vulcans, to the peaceful Engi, to the playful Palicoes, and the graceful Sea Emperors. That kind of reverent parental pride can’t be easily faked.

The hope and steadfast determination in those blue optics are just like impetuous little Orion Pax, filled with dreams of pulling everyone out of the mines with the power of the Matrix.

Unicron places a slender white servo on top of D-16’s and nods.

“I look forward to finally meeting you properly this mid-cycle. Hold on for a while longer. Everyone deserves the right to choose their own destiny. I promise that Earth and the whole Sol system will welcome and give you the space to spread your wings.”

-()-

He awoke fully engulfed by the true Prime. Unlike other cycle starts, he had a deep furrow in his brow, a glassy far-off stare, and optics just a little more blue than purple.

A hint of Orion, still fighting.

It fills D-16 with strut-deep dread and regret.

If he had maintained control for just a little longer… hadn’t shot Sentinel… would Orion still be here, and not Optimus?

Yes, they would still be at Primus’ mercy, but for a time they could’ve been happy. They could’ve burned away the rust of the old world to forge their new one. They could’ve fought together against the inevitable Quintesson invasion once they stood up to their slavers.

Perhaps Primus would’ve been content to remain slumbering as his children reconquered the surface and stars. Mining dried blood, but without the urgency to feed a parasitic alien empire.

The war within his old friend came to a conclusion. The furrow is replaced by a saccharine grin, optics sharp and violet. Primus won, as he always would, and it ached. Of course no mortal could stand up to the might of a god, but that flicker of resistance, that moment of hope? It crushed D-16 harder than any tunnel collapse.

If only he had been stronger on that fateful cycle at the tower.

-()-

They walk together through the private crystal gardens of the Primal tower. The jagged points of quartz embedded with blade-like tourmaline may once have been beautiful, but walking beside the monster wearing Orion’s face, they bring nothing but dread. Each facet is the edge of a blade. The eyes of the agates and jaspers watch his every move.

Optimus struts as he always does. Completely certain of his superiority as he towers over even the largest of the Primal guardsmechs in his bot-like form. The tension was so thick as to be practically oozing out of every seam on D-16, but as always, Optimus ignored it. He would clench his servo harder and carry on, talking about nothing in particular.

The tangent-filled rambles were one more hint of what he’d lost.

“We should get some dioptase for this spot. The blue-green would contrast nicely against the carnelian behind. Now wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“Hm.”

“Of course, even the most glorious crystal garden is far short of you, dear Dee! Nothing could ever come close to your sublime beauty! And now you’re all mine, for all time… how wonderful. Our reward for all the suffering that two-faced traitor Sentinel put us through.”

He stops and kneels, wrapping D-16’s helm with a servo and tilting it up for a kiss. It’s nothing like the tender, chaste, and a little bit awkward kisses that he’d shared with Orion in a stolen moment on the rooftop. It was a claim. Brutal, with fangs catching his lip and piercing it to draw energon. It was a declaration of the twisted, possessive love of Primus and Optimus, not the gentle and warm love of Orion.

It catches him completely off-guard. His vents stall, as his field and armor clamp tightly shut from fear. This was someone who would hurt him on a level far worse than anything he could imagine. The pain of loss only amplified as he knew there were shreds of true affection under all the avaricious attraction.

The moment is similarly shattering for his partner, who jerks back suddenly with a look of pure horror on his faceplates. His optics flip between blue and violet and he whines. After a few spark-stopping moments, he freezes. He then screams with a voice filled with static, yet still as powerful as a raw energon explosion, the remains of Orion cry out.

“ Ř̷͇͚̝̦̲̣͊̄̿̒̑͘Ù̶̮̫̗̅̏̇̓̋̈́̆̽̈͐̐̆̓͝N̵̳̻̜̈́!̵̺̟̟̦̥͚̘̟̮͈̈́ͅ ”

He then screeched a most terrible cacophony of pained meaningless consonants, as he tore his own faceplates off with his clawed servos, ostensibly hoping to give D-16 a head start on the god now gaining full control of his frame. He also shuts his vents and armor tight while revving hard in order to force an overheat shutdown. The sound of cables and metalflesh ripping was yet another thing that would haunt his recharge fluxes for the rest of his functioning.

After a moment of stunned silence, D-16 obeyed his almost-conjux’s final wish. Blind, primordeal panic powered his pedes as he ran for open ground to transform and follow a road forming in front of him to the surface.

He had made it a quarter of the way before something ancient and truly evil called out.

“NO!”

It was Optimus, shifted to his frightening true form. All that he could do is pray that Unicron reached him before Primus did.

The monster roared as it charged after him. As he approached, D-16 saw that he was far more unstable than ever before. His form was constantly unmaking and remaking itself. Tentacles spiraled into arms, then claws, then lacy diaphanous wings, then blades, then pincers, then feathered wings, and back again. The head shifted between predacon, mech, Quintesson, avinoid, insecticon, and creeping void blacker than black. Limbs, tails, horns, and heads would appear and vanish in random places. It was in a state of quantum flux, where undoubtedly his true form was incompatible with this reality and this caused the constant shifting.

He was torn between the need to escape, flee, run, do anything but be here, and the overwhelming influence of the god demanding attention and rapturous worship. It freezes him to the spot, and the monster takes full advantage as he entangles the small-to-him mech in dozens of tentacles. They curl and crush with all the delusional love of the mad god.

“YOU BELONG TO ME! YOU ALL BELONG TO ME! YOUR PURPOSE IS TO LOVE ME AND ONLY ME!”

The desperate god pulls him tight to his chassis. It’s almost impossible to vent with how tight the grip is, the grip of tentacles strangling, and combined with the huge amount of heat being dumped off of the larger frame, it begins triggering overheat alerts in D-16’s systems.

“EVERYTHING IS MINE!”

Just as the crush is about to become overwhelming, a brilliant cerulean tear opens in space. A bright flash emanates from it, forcing Optimus’ grip open, and D-16 falls into the rift.

Falling, falling, falling… Everything goes dark and sensationless. Time has no meaning in the rent space. It’s a place outside of the normal rules of reality. A space not shaped by any rules he’s familiar with. It should be terrifying. It should be isolating. Yet somehow it feels nothing like the fear and anguish D-16 has become intimately familiar with. It’s empty, yes, but not empty . A space between spaces, filled with nothing and everything at the same time.

Then, as quickly as it came, the void gives way to warmth and light. He’s lying on something soft and green. The sky is light blue with a few wispy white clouds. A gentle breeze blows past, whistling playfully among rocks and… organic life, perhaps? It’s tall, brown, with green at the top, and it sways with the breeze. A familiar voice and welcoming EM field breaks the moment of reverie.

“Welcome to Earth, dear D-16.”

-()-

> Bonding protocol complete!

> It is now safe to eject the host.

All are one. He may have been stolen, but he will not last long without me. None of them can. Only my foolish brother could help them, and he abandoned me so long ago that he has to be dead by now.