1. Prologue

Cybertron's surface shone a glistening gold. The energon falls beside the Tower of Pion again flowed. Vector Sigma buzzed with activity, the great foundries bellow the planet began to shudder into action. Preparations were being made for the oncoming generation of Cybertronians. Optimus Prime paced through the Iacon command centre. He should have been rejoicing, but since the rebirth he could still not shake an unsettling feeling. Perhaps it was his ever increasing awareness of his own mortality; his creaking gears and aching optics. But something within told him it was more. He sat upon one of the old council chairs and tried to meditate, to pray that the next generation would never know the meaning of faction. But his noble reflections were repeatedly cast to the wayside as another wave of nausea swept over him. He removed the Matrix from his chest cavity and stared into its centre. The crystal had reformed and was again gaining wisdom. With every day it grew brighter. Optimus knew he must return it to Hot Rod soon, but every time he drew himself close to doing so he recoiled. The Matrix had always been a burden, a symbol for the responsibilities of leadership, but of late it seemed to be more than just a sacred mantle. Maybe it was just his aching optics, how he hoped it was, but on occasion, as he contemplated and gazed into the matrix, he thought he saw a disturbing momentary flicker across its cobalt blue centre; a glint of red.

2007 - Cybertron

The Neo Mausoleum perched flatly upon nova point, a lone black monolith of mourning. Each colossal step brought back searing memories. The steps wound on and on, the visions would not cease. Brawn had finally set aside the time to pay his tributes to his departed friends. He had witnessed the bot-cost of the war first hand; little over a year had passed since Brawn was left the lone survivor of the Autobot shuttle massacre. He knelt bellow Ratchet's modest memorial. Megatron's gun mode hyper-condensed fusion blast had paralysed Brawn's entire left side, not even Perceptor or Brainstorm could alleviate the numbness. He wondered bitterly whether Ratchet could have repaired him. Or Wheeljack for that matter, he pondered as he paced through the main foyer, filled with monochromic marble statues of his fallen allies. He opened his olfactory sensors and took in the Primonian incense. Ironhide, Prowl, Bluestreak, Wheeljack, Huffer, Beachcomber, Windcharger, Gears, Trailbreaker; the corridor wound on down the path to oblivion. No matter what Goldbug and Magnus said, the war was not over. They said the golden age would only return at the end of the war - so it was written in the Covenant of Primus- but everyone now knew that Primus was a fallacy. As long as the Quint's and the Con's were still out there the war would continue. As long as the Autobots remained the war would continue. When he returned to the Autobot pavilions, he gathered up his shanix and prepared for his flight to Nebulous. The time had come to converse with Cerebros.

Neo-Iacon, the Neo-Pavilions, Neo-Mausoleum, the town planning commission clearly needed to get more creative, Hot-Rod mused to himself as he approached the building site of Neo-Crystal City. Only cycles in and it was already a sight to behold, Grapple hummed a constant stream of commands as Omega Supreme lifted the upper pinnacles into place.

"Ey, Kup looks like you owe 50 Shanix!" Hot Rod chuckled.

"Remind me." The self-professed geriatric had sworn he would never get atop the minarets, but in his role as Organisational Memorial Construction Advisor in Chief (or town planner as Hot Rod affectionately termed it) he'd been reminded that if something needed to be done right, he needed to do it. Springer and Sandstorm hovered overhead as Broadside delivered a shipment of supplies fresh from the Vos neo-industrial sector. Hot Rod smiled, all was as it should be. From his look out on Akeldama Point, Blaster could not say the same.

Decepticon Space - Yali Sector

It was a behemoth alright, but it just wasn't his behemoth. Runamuck had had it, seventeen cycles of manual flight control, slumped over a vast board of Hive-tech. At least Trypticon could talk; Scorponok couldn't even manage a mumble.

"Finally, get over here Doublepunch! Three cycles late." Runamuck gruffly rose and pushed past his late relief shift worker. "It's pronounced 'Counterpunch'."

"Yeah, whatever."

Runamuck was miserable as he aimlessly wandered the corridors. Trypticon was sparse, you know, that homely sparse; vast empty rooms and amphitheatres. Scorpy was all about a tight labyrinth of interlocking low-roofed corridors. It was a tiny decrepit maze filled with countless miniscule chambers and pitfalls of never ending paths. Even Galvatron's throne room was tiny, hell, Hun-Gurrr was trapped in his quarters, unable to squeeze through. Not only had he not had a chance to slag an Autobot in over a year, but now Runabout had disappeared. All the others said his battle-charger partner had left with Razorclaw and his band of separatists, but he knew they were wrong. Runabout was a lot of vile things, but deserter wasn't one of them. As he slowly tossed thoughts across his mental processor, he was alarmed by a slight creak in the floor plates. "Who?" Runamuck uttered his final unanswered question and turned into the darkness. He didn't even feel the blade.

Galvatron. That was what they called him.

"Galvatron." The name still bought a chill to the room. His name.

"My Liege?" Soundwave questioned the despondent Galvatron.

Raising his head, he looked at his lieutenant. "Ah yes, my noble caretaker."

Soundwave was taken aback; his madness always caught him off guard. All he had done was ask whether Galvatron wished for another infusion of energex.

"Pah, you disgust me." Galvatron spat and pointed at the door through which a dejected Soundwave left in a state of confusion. Ah yes, Galvatron thought, perfect isolation.

"Galvatron. Galvatron." He continued to speak his name under his breath.

"You do realise you are not alone?" Mo Zarak asked, clearly amused. Galvatron's mouth furled in a livid scowl. When would these insects cease troubling him? Couldn't they see he was busy? Galvatron raised his fusion cannon and sent a warning shot at Zarak. That worm. "Very well." Mo Zarak left the room chuckling. Ah yes, where was he? He opened his mouth, prepared to whisper the name that instilled dread in the sparks of thousands of Autobots. What happened next Galvatron could not explain, it was totally unprecedented; surely just a small momentary glitch in his vocal processors. Somehow it just slipped out.

He whispered his own name. "Megatron."