Thief

Summary: Ancient cities and artifacts of great power don't just disappear on their own! The number of defections rises. A group of washouts and a warlord wind up on a world unlike any they've seen before and the leader is interesting enough. Peace. Equallity. And no factions, put your weapons down, Primus damn it!

A/N: TFA, an idea that popped up into my head when listenimg to P¡nk's 'What About Us' and Papa Roach's 'None Of The Above' one after the other.

The streets of Iacon were quiet and deserted safe for a mech just then exiting the Hall of Records, posture slumped and a worried expression on expressive faceplates. Most of the lights were off - how ironic, for a city nicknamed the 'City of Light', but energon was short in supply ever since the Great War and not to be wasted - as he made his way down the street, deep in thought and spsrk still heavy with grief and indecision.

Despite the honor he had been offered as opposed to being dismissed, he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, to accept that position. He was obviously inadequate. It had been just the three of them and yet he hadn't been able to get both of his companions, his friends out. There had just been no time. Why had they even been on that planet in the first place!? It was strictly off limits! He had gone against the rules and look at how it had ended. Not that he hadn't tried to protest but all of his protests had fallen on deaf audials and now one of his friends was dead and the other blamed him for it - rightfully so, in his own opinion - and hated him. It hurt. It was all so agonizing. He wished he could just go back in time and stop it from happening, but that was impossible. He had to live with his regrets.

It wasn't helping that he was being offered a chance like this. It wasn't helping that he was bring offered exile as though it should be a boon and he was expected to just smile and thank his commander. He didn't want to leave Cybertron, it was his home. Who knew when he'd see it the next time if he takes the position of leader for a space bridge repair crew. Space bridge repair crews repaired space bridges on the outer reaches of the Commonwealth's space. He'd be so far from home that he might as well be in another galaxy. And with a group of bots he doesn't even know! He doesn't really have a problem with that last bit but all that he'd ever known had always been here in Iacon. Short term trips, he had nothing against, when he knew he would be coming back soon. But this ... On top of everything ...

And after the datapads he had just read ...

He had never known why Alpha Trion had taken such a liking to him, but the old mech had always given him full access to the Archives. He had spent so many megacycles in that old, beautiful building, reading everything and anything he could get his servos on to his spark's content. He had thought the familiarity of the Archives will afford him.a peace of processor to help him make a decision, hut it had only left a bittersweet taste on his glossa, for he had finally found the datapads he had always been searching for. The uncensored version of Towards Peace, a sort of manifesto and criticisms and an insight towards what had started the Great War, written by servo by none other than Lord Megatron of the Decepticons himself. A text he knew he would never finish in one night. Not to mention all the other texts he wanted to go through. The Great War had always been a great fascination to him. But if he accepted the position, he'll be stuck with just the things he had read about pre- and post the war.

And both had left him feeling like their society had a lot to be desired. The Autobots were nowhere near as courageous and noble and fair as they tried to make themselves be. Sure, he had always known deep down that half of what they learned was pure propaganda, but he had never thought that almost all of it was altered. Reading the original records had left him doubting his place and the position he was being offered even more.

He vented a deep, rattling sigh as he passed the Primal Basilica, sealed closed as always, dark save for that small streak of light under the heavy doors like it had been since the fabled War for Freedom-

He froze. The Basilica had been sealed and undisturbed since the Quintesons tried taking over Cybertron and almost succeeded. They had sealed the Basilica and, as the rumors say, thousands if relics and treasures inside that could have helped Cybertron defend itself and no one had been able to enter the building since. The Senate that came after they chased the cyborg squids away had forbidden it and the Council that succeeded them had declared it a lost cause, that nothing can break that seal. He reset his optics, thinking he was experiencing a malfunction, but the light was still there. Uncertain, he drew his ax out from his subspace and neared the Basilica. He shouldn't be here. No one lingered in front of the sacred building. The more superstitious mecha even whispered amongst themselves that the place was cursed somehow or that it was infected by some disease or something. Or that the squids had left sparkeaters inside. It was more than enough to keep bots away.

Yet, somehow, that wasn't nearly enough to keep him away. In fact, the closer he got, the brighter that light was and the more he was drawn to the building. A blue servo uncertainly touched one of the giant handles of the huge, heavy double doors and he released a yelp when the doors lit up, strange symbols flying from where he had touched the metal door upwards and towards both sides. The light from inside was blinding when the huge doors burst open and presented the inside of the Primal Basilica, the interior seen by a pair of young blue optics for the first time in several vorns. That light was blinding and it kept drawing him in, kept calling.

His spark was frantic inside his chassis and there was nothing that could have stopped his pedes from walking him straight into the most holy of all sacred places for their people save the Well of the AllSpark and Vector Sigma, the two life givers. He wasn't even aware when his ax hit the floor. All he was aware of was the light, calling to him, filling him with warmth and love, welcoming him like nothing had ever before and the acceptance that he felt here, like he belonged ... He walked in without hesitation, though his stabilazer struts felt unsteady. There was no room in his processor for wondering why he was here, whether he should be here, how he was here. There was no room for doubt. The light chased it all away.

Come, little Prime. Come to me. I have been waiting.

"For what?" He asked, in an ancient dialect he had not even known he could speak, vocalizer spitting static in protest before something settled, deep in his processor, in his frame, in his spark. "Waiting for what?"

For you.

He just stared into the light, unable to look away, continued walking forwards even as he shook his head in denial. Who would wait for him? He was a failure, a nobody. "Who are you?"

You know that answer, little one.

And he did. Without a doubt, he knew. How could he not. This sort of feeling could only originate from one source and one source alone. He fell to his knees, chestplates open, spark singing as it soaked up all of that unconditional love. He swore he could see stars. That, or his optics were overloading. Or malfunctioning. Or this could all just be a hopeful dream. Yes, that had to be it. Just a dream, an illusion his processor created to relieve some of his stress and guilt, to make him forget, if only for a moment, how spectacularly he had failed his closest friend, his Amica Endura. This was just a dream. Everyone had the right to indulge themselves in a dream, right? Though he would have preferred a dream where he hadn't failed, where his Amica Endura was still online ...

Oh, my precious little one. She lives. She lives and she is alone and she is afraid, the voice said and he gasped. It didn't sound quite the same as before. It was closer. The light felt like a solid blanket around him now. He was quivering, shaking down to his protoform like a scared sparkling. And yet he felt no fear at all. He felt only comfort. Comfort and hope. Because if what the voice was saying was true ... If there was even the faintest chance that it was true ...

"I have to find her!"

Soon, little one. Soon.

"No, now! She might be hurt! She needs help! I should have never left her back there! It should have been me!"

But it was not and no,.it shouldn't have. Cybertron would have been left without a future if their Prime offlined.

He drew short, his ventilation stalling. "I'm not a Prime. I still don't know whether I should take that position. I could just endanger more bots' lives-"

Prime, the voice insisted, carefully pronouncing the word and his ventilation froze completely as he recognized the difference. He wanted to protest but his spark sang in pleasure. It whispered Prime, me, yes, love you Creator, my people, need to help my people, Prime, lead, peace, save lives, save Cybertron, Prime, me, yes and so on and so forth and he knew he couldn't deny what his very spark, his very being was insisting to his self-deprecating processor as though it was scolding a sparkling that thought it was glitched because it lacked experience.

"Prime ... " He whispered uncertainly and was once again surprised how right it sounded. "I'm Prime."

Yes.

"You want me to ... somehow end this."

Yes, came the answer with a pulse of satisfaction and affection.

"You want me to leave." It wasn't a question. Everything was clear. His spark was singing. The light was coming closer. He could almost touch its source. He still didn't know what was its source. It felt like it was meant to be his. Whatever it was, it was his and no one else's. And he wanted it. He wanted it closer as much as it wanted to be closer. He had never encountered something like this before.

He was completely unaware of it, but the entire Primal Basilica has lit up like a newly born star, wild and bright but nobot was awake to see it or simply wasn't looking in the right direction. The inside of the Basilica was humming with energy. Energon was crawling though wall cravings of ancient battles and beings older than time, making a breathtaking picture that could not be compared to the changes happening to the only mech inside these walls. It was a rainbows of color as pure white light danced over red, blue and silver plating. The mech in question was completely oblivious to the changes of his frame, from the harmless markings being left in the wake of white light, white as the light of Haden, to the change in his color scheme, designs like liquid fire remaining on his pedes and the bottom half of his servos and from his hips to his chestplates, the way his plating became just a tiny bit thicker and a whole lot stronger, the way his processor pinged him with new additions to his back. He was only just a tiny bit vaguely aware of his chest changing, his spark chamber molding itself into a new shape, a better shape to carry the burden about to be thrust upon him.

A burden he was perhaps onlined for, for only those of true compassion and care and a truly pure spark that wishes good for all can bear it.

Yes, the voice answered, sounding somewhat regretful. A feeling like something brushing his finials made the mech shudder. But only for a little while. You are needed by my children more than by me. You and I shall have an eternity together, little one, a long time from now. I can be patient.

"I don't want to leave." Not just Cybertron, this building, this chamber. He belonged here. He needed somewhere to belong. He needed it. He had never belonged, even before he had messed up. "I don't want to go." He wrapped his servos around himself in a desperate need for a hug that he knew he won't receive from anyone because there was no one left to give it to him. His Amica Endura was on a completely different planet and the only other Person who could give him a hug hated him and was just waiting for a chance to belittle him or get rid of him. He wanted to stay. "I don't want to be alone!"

He was so scared. How could he be a Prime?

Oh, little Prime. The voice returned, even closer than before. He felt like there were giant arms reaching for him but letting him choose whether he will accept them or not. A choice. I will never let you be alone ever again. A promise. A promise that soothed his spark for he knew it will be kept. His spark skipped a few harmonics. He reached back for those giant servos. He needed them. He needed someone to hold him as he fell apart and built himself back up again to be stronger. He needed that comfort. He needed to feel safe, to be wanted. Even if only for a little while. Oh, my little one. You do not belong here, the voice sounded mournful even as he accepted the reformatted mech. More of the young bot transformed. He gasped as something hot and light settled right over his spark, encompassing it as though it belonged there. It just might.

It felt so good.

He released a keen as something snapped at the realization that the voice was right. He didn't. He never had. There was a mold here, one he didn't fit. Not with his questions, not with his thirst for knowledge, not with his way of thinking, not with his willingness to forgo rules and regulations if he knew there was an alternative, not if he knew there was a better way, a way that won't leave him trying to hide from his conscience. He wasn't a cog. He didn't belong in a machine. He was an individual. They could repeat the same speech at him until they were as blue in the face as he was and it won't change a thing. It was a relief to know who and what he was.

It hurt that he can't be that at home.

Not yet, little one, but soon. Which is why you must leave. You are in danger here. The voice said as it cradled him without a form to actually do it but still managing in that way only creators and deities can. Of course the creator deity would be a master at it. They are not yet ready to accept you. Not for a little while longer. You must leave. Take everything that is in this chamber, every artifact, every relic, and leave.

"How? Go where!?" He asked in desperation, wishing he could cling to something but not being able to touch anything in the physical plane of existence. His spark, though, could cling just fine and he used that to his advantage. Primus didn't seem to mind. In fact, his voice and energies purred in content at holding his new little Prime.

You just need to listen to your spark, little one. It will never lead you astray. Go where it tells you and you will reach every destination, you will fulfill your destiny. And fear not, the voice was starting to fade and he got pings from his processor that the sequence to close his chestplate was active and asking for permission to do so, only then drawing attention to the changes his frame had gone through this strange night cycle. I shall never be too far, even when you are half a universe away. We shall speak again, my little Prime. For now, you must go. They are waiting.

"Who is!? Wait! Please, don't go yet! I have so many questions!" He called desperately after the retreating presence of their Creator, his chestplates closing and covering his spark, the light dimming until it was almost completely gone, leaving him in semi-darkness. There was only a faint light coming from beyond the windshield on his chest, creeping through the seams that covered his spark. He'll need to find a better alt mode, one that will better protect his spark.

And the answers are all in your spark. You just need seek them.

And just like that, Primus left his newest Prime all alone in a should-be sealed sacred Primal Basilica to deal with the cryptic instructions left to him. The mech looked around and didn't hesitate to step towards the closest artifact, picking it up and watching in fascination as it lit up at his touch, glowing like it was made of a star. Appropriate, given its name. And yet the sword didn't quite fit. He looked further around and found one curiously with the same coloration as himself. He reached for it and startled when the beautiful sword seemed to burn with liquid fire, the same symbols that now graced the new Prime lighting up as it all but sailed into his outstretched servo. The new Prime stared at it for a moment and looked around at all the other items there. Any he neared started humming with power, recognizing him as a Prime and reacting to his presence.

In the end, he used a big transformation cog, which he recognized as the legendary artifact of Amalgamous Prime that allowed him to constantly change shape, endlessly, and he used it to shrink all the other relics and artifacts, all of which he recognized save for the sword in his colors, which he had strapped to his back - as his unexpected reformatting allowed for it now - so he can fit the relics into his subspace. He had never heard of an artifact like it before. Then again, it is said every Prime got an artifact and that one felt like it was his and his alone, just like the Forge was Solus', the Star Saber Prima's and the Requiem Blaster Megatronus'. He saw that a couple of the relics were missing, but he had a good idea why. He cast a glance towards the Hall of Records as he closed the Primal Basilica and picked up his discarded ax, replacing it into his subspace. He looked down both sides of the empty street and concentrated on the new features and the new coding he got, wincing in discomfort when two pairs of flight stabilizers emerged from his back, one smaller and pointing upwards, the secondary quite a bit smaller and tips pointing downwards, with a pair of small but powerful boosters wedged in the middle of all four stabilizers.

He took a deep invent and closed his optics, focused on his spark, on where he was supposed to be until he felt a clear thread, like a guiding line that led out into the Sea of Rust and his optics snapped open, a clear destination in his processor and a new understanding. He will need to get used to that. He hoped he had the time.

Prime took another deep vent and lifted off.

00000

"Breaking news! This last night cycle, the most holy of places for our species has been broken into and the Primal Basilica has been robbed of all the relics and artifacts it was said to house. This morning, the dawn shift of enforcers marched past the Basilica only to find that the millennia old seals were broken and that the Basilica was completely empty of all the sacred relics of the Primes. Surprisingly enough, no riches, such as precious crystals and rare metal alloys, that were also stored there were taken. There are no signs of vandalism and nothing is broken save the seals that have been keeping the Basilica closed for vorns. The enforcers on site report that there is no message-"

"-it makes one wonder, don't you think? For stellar cycles, we've all been told that the Basilica can't be entered due to what the Quitnessons have done to it when they attempted a hostile takeover. And yet some random thief had managed to enter the most sacred of our grounds in one night, without being noticed? Have we been deceived all these years, my fellow Autobots? Surely we could have done what this thief has done on our own, long before this criminal has become bold enough to steal our precious relics? What is the reason that we have never reclaimed the very center of our religion? We cannot stand for this! We are the children of Primus and we have been denied-"

"It is unbelievable, Blaster, simply unbelievable! Last day cycle, it has been here, where it has been for the last ten billion stellar cycles, if not longer, but with this cycles first light, during the customary satellite and telescope patrol, the officers on duty on Luna 2 have contacted High Command in a panic, stating that the whole city is gone. There are no traces of it ever being here, save for the giant crater behind me-"

"-the Head of the Ministary of Science, Perceptor. Tell us, Perceptor, are the rumors true? Have the ruins of the ancient city, Astroplex, truly been bombed by Decepticon aggressors in the night? How have they managed to come to Cybertron undetected? How is it that no one saw the explosion? And, most importantly, are we safe?"

"It is my great sorrow to report that this last night cycle, we have lost an invaluable historical treasure when the Decepticons destroyed Astroplex. The Elite Guard apologizes for this grave mistake on our part and we promise that we shall make sure they face judgment for this attack against our very own Cybertronian culture and history. There is an ongoing investigation whether they are also responsible for the theft of the Primal Basilica, but the Thief does not show any signs of being in any sort of allegiance with them. Still, we are keeping a weather optic on the horizon. The truth will come to light. For now, I call all Autobots to mourn the loss of our very valuable history but not to despair. Astroplex may be gone, but I promise we will find and return the sacred relics of the Primes. The desecration of the Primal Basilica will not be tolerated or forgiven. Ultra Magnus out."

"-reported missing former Autobot Academy cadet, suspected to have been victimized in last night cycle's events. If you see him or know anything about his whereabouts, please contact the nearest Elite Guard officer."