I've returned, updates on this story will be slow in coming because my inspiration is lacking at the moment. A quick rehash of events; the youth sectors have been destroyed, Bumblebee has been rescued, Tempestfire is dead, Nighthawk is slagged, Hot Rod went nuts, Elita1 went into robot labor (is that a thing?).
This first chapter is dedicated to Lord Magnus UK, who got me to start updating The Path of the Righteous.
Chapter One
The medical wing is quiet, an almost eerie tranquility that sets a phantom buzz in the audio. The lights are starkly white, casting a severe light down on the two still frames lying on the slabs, both already grey with death.
Optimus Prime's optics shutter away the sight for a moment, the numbness in his wires freezing his legs from moving away from the gruesome sight. One is old, Optimus would know his faceplates anywhere, ancient battle scars are deep engraved into the deceased's frame. Optics that have seen so many vorns, countless conflicts, and two great wars are now dimed in extinction.
But the other…
The other frame would barely fill out his cupped servo. Its perfect and unblemished… not even a scrape mars it, and its optics— optics never granted the chance to online— will remain forever dark.
One his mentor, an old friend, Quick-plot. The other… Optimus' spark clenches in grief, his vents shaking. The other is his own creation.
A loud crackling of static on the PA system shakes Optimus out of his trance, his audios catch the end of an announcement that is calling a medic to the examination room and he watches Code Blue, the young medic hailed, making his way across the medical wing. The medic sends him a concerned look before bustling on his way.
The Prime pulls himself from his brooding, knowing that were his mate, Elita-1, to see him she would probably have scolded him for his darkened thought process. He should go see her before long... Optimus considers reaching out to her through their bond but stops himself; she is tired, it would be selfish of him to burden her with his emotions as well as her own.
His optics find the small greyed frame once more. The mechlet looks like his Carrier, his faceplates hold a regality that could come from none other than Elita… abruptly Optimus turns from the frames and makes his way to the recovery wing of the medical bay. Elita is recharging through forced stasis at the moment; she looks haggard, Optimus notes, but beautiful… even in the depths of her slumber her optic ridge is drawn, indicating that her rest is not a peaceful one. To give her peace from his own grief he blocks their bond connection, this action stops his negative emotions from reaching her.
Elita relaxes fractionally.
Unsure of what to do, the Prime's optics scan the medical wing's area. He spots Flat-line and Ratchet walking together, going over a data pad in the C.M.O. servos and pauses. He should leave before they spot him and worry over his psyche. The last thing he needs at the moment is Ratchet recommending psychoanalysis at a time like this.
Someone tries to hail him through the comms and Optimus hesitates. He sends a quick look back at Elita. He had intended to be here when she woke, but… another hail on his comms. Duty is calling. Optimus acknowledges this time, but still doesn't answer. He needs to get back to work. His troops need him.
He squares his shoulders and walks through the doors to the main Medical Bay. It is busy with activity. A senior officer is rapping out orders to his underlings as they work. The Prime tries hard not to dwell on the fact that all their patients are sparklings or non-military fembots, still coming in after the massacres at the youth sectors. It takes some effort, but he manages to keep his hulking frame out of the way as he makes his way toward the hanger doors.
Surprisingly he leaves the confines of the med bay unchallenged by Ratchet.
En route to the Tactical Division Optimus finds himself pausing in the hall. His optics scan the wall and find a faint hint of energon signal left… It's been scrubbed clean since then, he notes, the janitor missed a few flecks of energon by the ceiling. Before he can stop it, his processor manages to flash the image of the aged tactician, Quick-plot, crumpled against the corridor wall, chassis blown open. Optics wide, surprised, unseeing. Optimus blinks it away and moves on.
There is much to be done.
Optimus Prime steps through the sliding doors into the chaos of the Tactical Office. Piston is giving orders to half the room, something about moving prisoners. Sonic-blaster is beside him barking instructions to the other half of the room. It's chaos.
Where is Prowl?
A glance around the room, followed by a scan tells the Prime that the Head Tactician is not here.
Sonic-blaster spots Optimus and quickly makes his way over, "Sir," he nods a brief greeting and then the Prime's Second in Command launches immediately into his report, "The damage reports are still coming in. Of the five Youth sectors Iacon sustained the heaviest damages. We are going through the files of each one to determine how many sparklings and caretakers are still missing." Optimus nods his helm at this.
"And the number of casualties?" Prime asks, dreading the answer to his question.
"We don't have the exact amount, but we have it estimated over three hundred so far. There were very few civilian casualties and even less losses in troops. I redeployed the troops to Xor after Commander Elita-1's team returned. They are sweeping the area but haven't found anything."
Optimus' spark twists slightly at the mention of his sparkmate. He should've never let her talk him into allowing her out, even with bodyguards. What had he been thinking?
"Volunteers are helping with the search and rescue, we have the city enforcers and fire units at each location," Sonic-blaster says as Piston steps up to the pair of them, grimly handing the Second a data pad. Sonic-blaster takes it without pausing, "We've captured over four hundred enemy troops, including the wounded. The Primes have called an emergency meeting to discuss the actions to take against the Prisoners of War."
Optimus keeps the overwhelmed feelings at bay and nods, "Good, when did they request the meeting?"
"A few kliks ago, I hailed you as soon as I learned the details. They asked that you speak with them as soon as possible… There is also another matter that needs your attention immediately," Sonic-blaster says, lowering his vocals slightly. Optimus knew it was coming. Dread grips him, he knows what Sonic-blaster is about to show him and nothing in all his vorns of living can possibly prepare him for it. "Shall we step into Prowl's office?" the Second asks and Optimus nods grimly. The Prime notes again the head tactician's missing presence and voices his concern.
"Where is Prowl?"
Sonic-blaster looks mildly uncomfortable as they step into the missing mech's office, "He hasn't been seen since we deployed to the youth sectors. Piston has stepped up to fulfill his duties during his absence."
Optimus reads between the lines; Prowl is looking for Bumblebee at the youth sectors.
He had told him to stay at base, Optimus vents deeply… Primus could this cycle get any worse?
Pin pricks of guilt stab at his spark… If the sparkling is offlined it is on him, he had been the one to send him to the youth sector. The pain in his spark seems to deepen at the thought of a world without the yellow sparking.
The door closes behind the two mechs sealing them in the privacy of the impeccably clean office. Nothing is out of place, save for the few toys and whatnot in the corner that Bumblebee could usually be found in.
Sonic-blaster hands the data pad to the Prime, who takes it tentatively. Optimus plays the security feed and watches, the numbness mounting. He watches as his little brother, who he practically raised since their Carrier's death, murders Quick-plot. It's surprisingly quicker than Optimus thought it would have been and a hundred times more grisly. The scene becomes more horrific in his processor as he see the preamble to the old mech's demise.
The shots are fired and Hot Rod is gone within nano-seconds.
Was this what Hot Rod had meant when he said he could do something? Optimus' processor struggles to make sense of his brother's logic. What exactly did he hope to accomplish with Quick-plot's death?
He plays the video feed again.
"Immediately following, he took munitions from our storerooms and then came here to the Tactical Division where Piston bridged him out, being none the wiser of what had just transpired," Sonic-blaster says softly, finally breaking the silence.
Optimus restrains himself from doing something brash in his growing frustrations, like throw the data-pad against the wall. Another deep vent is evenly cycled through him and he plays the video once more. None of this makes sense. Why would Hot Rod feel that killing an old mech would help anyone? The conviction in his brother's vocal before he left rings in Optimus' audios tauntingly.
You should've stopped him. Could've, should've, would've, it's all irrelevant now.
"When is the meeting with the Primes?" Optimus asks instead of dwelling on the pressing confusions of his brother's actions.
"Whenever you get a spare moment, they are waiting," Sonic-blaster answers and heat blossoms through the Prime's frame. They are waiting for him?
"Thank you, Sonic-blaster. I will confer with them here. Prowl's office is set up for a holographic meeting," he says, his embarrassment building.
"Oh and sir," Sonic-blaster's vocals draw him up short just as the Second was about to leave, "they've found Bumblebee."
Prior embarrassment gone, Optimus temporarily forgets how to vent in and out. They found him? A million questions run through his processor and demand to be voiced but he holds them back. As a Prime he can't show partiality to a particular mechlet, especially so many others have been victimized. So he schools his faceplates into careful neutrality, "I see." It's all he trusts himself to say.
Sonic-blaster, knowing the Prime's difficult position, doesn't miss a beat, "The medics say he is completely fine save for the emotional trauma he is probably going through. He keeps asking for Prowl." A little smile comes across the Second's faceplates.
Gratitude swells in the young Prime that Sonic-blaster didn't make him ask.
"Thank you Sonic-blaster," Optimus allows himself, and then turns back to business, "As soon as you locate Prowl, order him back to his station. And call my council together; I would like to discuss what needs to be done about my... about other problems that have arisen"
"Yes sir."
Sonic-blaster heads out of Prowl's office dimming the lights on the way out.
Optimus vents deeply. Bumblebee is alright. Somehow, by a miracle of Primus, the mechlet is online and back in the base. Optimus would like to go to the med bay and hold the little baby bot in his arms just to be sure he is alive and to apologize for putting him through such horror.
Duty first.
Without further procrastination Optimus sets his data pad before him, pushing in his code, hailing the other Primes. This was going to be a long cycle.
The meeting seems to stretch on for cycles, though a glance at his chronometer shows barely two joors have passed.
There is much to discuss. They each give the report of the cities they aided in the attack. They discuss the survivors and where they will go once they recover. Next they debate what to do with the prisoners. Then they dispute over cities that finally pledged their allegiance to the Autobot cause and the steps that need to be taken to station troops in said cities; and finally the number of new recruits coming in from the newly allied cities.
By the time Optimus shuts his data pad down and the holograms of the Primes fade from existence he feels as though he has aged a million stellar cycles. He vents deeply and steps out of Prowl's office and into the tactical room. Prowl is now present spouting orders at his underlings overseeing the search and rescue teams of the five cities Optimus sent his troops to.
Optimus stops next to his Head Tactician. Prowl dips his helm toward his Prime, a look of contrition is upon his countenance.
"Prime, sir," Prowl says his vocals betray nothing; "I would submit myself for disciplinary action." That is exactly what Optimus expected Prowl to do.
"That will not be necessary, Prowl," he says. Prowl looks like he is about to argue a point when the doors slide open admitting most of the Prime's council. "We will convene in your office if that is acceptable," Optimus says by way of asking permission to use the mech's workplace once more. Prowl nods his helm.
Optimus and Prowl enter the room closing the door behind them. Prowl's office is not a small room but with so many big bots inside it starts to feel a little cramped.
"Optimus, this had better be important," Ratchet grumbles, his words don't have their usual bite. The mech looks worn. Glancing at the rest of his comrades he notices they mirror Ratchet's appearance. He wonders for a short nano-klik just how ragged he must look. Sympathy wells in Optimus' spark and he decides to get to the point.
He stares into Ultra Magnus' optics, trying to silently lend strength through their sibling bond for what he is about to say.
"Hot Rod has gone AWOL," he says grimly. Ultra Magnus' optics widen.
"Absent without leave is the least of his problems," Ironhide growls testily. "He disobeyed a direct command from his superior officer and hit his Prime."
"Ironhide," Optimus says tiredly. "That is the least of his crimes." Ironhide's optic ridge furrows as he stares at his leader. Optimus signals for Sonic-blaster to show the gathered bots the evidence. His second complies.
Optimus doesn't watch the video this time. He has seen it often enough to have its images forever saved in his processor. His Creator's last words come unbidden to the forefront of his processing. Train Hot Rod as I have trained you. Carry my Matrix for him until he is deemed ready to bear it. It seems he has failed on both accounts.
Hot Rod killed a defenseless mech and deserted the Autobot cause, and he no longer carries his father's Matrix. After Sentinel Prime's deactivation the Council of Ancients came to Optimus and told him they would care for the Matrix until it chose another bearer. Optimus had allowed them to take it.
Failure! His processor sings in the quiet, dark recesses of his thoughts.
Optimus looks around at his gathered assembly. Save for two missing mechs and the two new additions of Jazz and Chromia it is the very same body that gathered all those vorns ago to discuss Hot Rod's fate when taken by Megatron. And now here they are once more to discuss the same mech but for vastly different reasons.
The sound of weapon fire startles him from his thoughts and the video shuts down abruptly, courtesy of Ultra Magnus, who end the feed and grabs the data pad.
"What is the meaning of this?" Ultra Magnus asks through gritted denta, gesturing to the offending device. Optimus meets his brother's gaze with warning in his optics. ::Don't shame me anymore than has already been done, brother,:: he says softly through their sibling bond and then addresses his council as a whole.
"I have called this meeting to discuss what action to take in apprehending Hot Rod," Optimus explains his spark growing heavier with each word.
"Apprehend?" Ultra Magnus asks his optics flashing, "You mean arrest."
"He is a criminal and must be treated as such," Optimus says.
"He is not-!" Ultra Magnus shouts, but stops midsentence and lowers his vocals to a more civil, but no less convicted tone, "he is not a criminal."
"His actions speak otherwise, sir," Prowl speaks. Ultra Magnus scowls at the smaller mech. Prowl doesn't cow under the severe look and says calmly, "The events here will have to be reported to The High Councilor Violet. She and the Guilds of Cybertron will then most likely issue a planet wide arrest warrant."
Ultra Magnus growls at the thought and begins pacing the best he can in the cramped space.
"What happens if they catch him?"
No one comments on his choice of words.
"He will be court martialed," Prowl supplies.
Optimus and Ultra Magnus exchange a glance. Hot Rod will probably go to court on the charges of murder, disobeying a commanding officer, desertion, striking a superior officer, the list went on and on. He'll be lucky if he's not executed.
Ultra Magnus snarls, "That's ridiculous!"
"It's the law," Optimus says softly and steels himself as his brother hurls the data pad in his servos to the ground with a curse. He is losing control. "Commander Ultra Magnus, please remove yourself," Optimus commands, ignoring the look of hurt that crosses his brother's features. Ultra Magnus storms out of the office and the door slides shut behind him.
"But why couldn't Optimus handle the trial?" Chromia asks suddenly as soon as the entrance is closed, "Ever since the war started The Guilds of Cybertron have let the Primes handle the justice system of the troops stationed under them."
"They will most likely feel that Optimus is not qualified to handle this specific case," Prowl explains, "Given the nature of his relationship with the bot in question."
"So they will either demand another Prime to handle the proceedings or take the case themselves," Jazz mutters darkly.
That would definitely spell disaster.
The Guilds of Cybertron and its High Councilor Violet always seemed to be on such good terms with Optimus' Creator, Sentinel Prime. After Sentinel Prime offlined the relations between Optimus and the Guilds became strained. If he wanted to move troops to a city, they blocked him. If he tried to recruit, they stopped him saying, "All measures of recruitment must first be approved by the High Councilor." He always got a distinct feeling that they didn't care for his leadership much.
If his brother is captured his fate will be in their hands.
"Jazz, write out the report and send it to the High Councilor, you will have to take a statement from the witness," Optimus orders his third, Jazz nods his helm and leaves immediately. Springer suddenly comes to mind and Optimus realizes with no small amounts of shame that he never inquired how the young mech was doing.
"Ratchet, how is Sringer?" he asks. Something flashes in the medic's optics but it's gone before the Prime can place it.
"Physically he will be fine given time, just a fracture in the faceplates," Ratchet says. "But I don't know if he will ever recover from the betrayal he feels," the medic's vocals waver with his own hidden emotions. Optimus feels at a loss of what to say. In a roundabout way he is responsible for his brother's actions, he had raised him… apparently he raised him wrong. Optimus tries to clear his processor and keep his thoughts on the tasks before him.
"Piston, you will gather all the video evidence you can find of the hallway and send it to the Guilds," Optimus orders. The mech who had been sitting quietly in the corner during the entire duration of the meeting finally mumbles a 'yes sir' before leaving as well. "Ratchet, send your autopsy report to them as well."
The medic nods in consent but doesn't leave like the rest of the bots. Optimus knows what he wants. He is going to comment on his health and give him an order concealed cleverly as a suggestion for him to get some recharge.
Optimus dismisses the remaining assembly. Surprisingly Ratchet isn't the one who lingers.
Prowl approaches him with a determination written on his features as the bots leave.
"Sir, I would like to submit myself for disciplinary action. Forgive me, sir, but I disobeyed your direct order and by regulation I am supposed to spend two cycles minimum in the brig and have a mark on my record," the Praxian says. His features are hard and Optimus knows there is no arguing with the mech. The Prime presses his lip plates together and nods in agreement.
"Red Alert," Optimus calls the security mech back before he is out of the room, "take Prowl to the brig. He will remain there for two cycles and place a mark on his record," the Prime orders. Red Alert nods his helm and the pair head toward the door with Red Alert leading Prowl. "Red Alert, stop at the med bay before you take Prowl to the brig," Optimus adds before the pair disappears. The Prime catches a smile on the Head of Security's lips and a 'yes sir' before the doors slide shut once more.
Optimus follows them out of the office and nearly startles as a servo brushes his arm. It's Elita's sister, Chromia.
Her blue optics demand his attention, "Where is Elita?"
Optimus' spark twists at Chromia's question and he barely manages to keep his faceplates neutral and answers softly, "She is in the medical bay." He doesn't say anything by way of explanation but Chromia catches on instantly. She always was a fast one. Sympathy is on her faceplates and maybe that is admiration…
"I'll go to her," Chromia says and squeezes his arm in support, "She'll understand."
Would she? He's hiding like a sparkling; and everywhere he turns there is something new he needs to hide from; Elita, the Hot Rod situation, Bumblebee, Quick-plot's family units.
Apparently the long cycle is still going to get longer.
High Councilor Violet sits at her desk going through the recent reports of the numerous neutral cities that have aligned themselves with the Autobot cause. To be completely honest Megatron couldn't have chosen a better or more productive plot than he did.
Now because of the Decepticon leader's brutality the remaining neutrals, besides Tyger Pax, have all allied with the Autobots. The reports from the Primes detail a large number of new recruits at each base, and all the numerous expenses that the Youth sectors were causing is cut to a third.
Her office door slides open admitting her secretary. Violet gives the old femme a pointed glare.
"Pardon my intrusion, High Councilor," the olden femme says her vocals still crisp, "I believe you will want to take a look at this." The femme hands over the data pad she is carrying and Violet takes it with a growing irritation. She reads it only because her secretary knows better than to enter her office without good cause.
Her optics scan the report and she pauses, her optic ridge drawing together. It is very important.
"Contact the Iacon base, and get me a meeting with Optimus Prime, directly," Violet orders and the femme hurries to do her biding.
Violet's blue optics hungrily scans over the contents on the data pad. This is the advantage she needed, now she can finally snare Optimus Prime's allegiance to The Guilds of Cybertron, and she can keep the Council of Ancients happy all in one fatal swoop. If she were a more expressive femme she might have smiled.
The Council of Ancients or otherwise known as the Matrix-keepers, they kept each Matrix of Leadership safe until it chose another bearer and until the chosen one was ready. Currently there is only one Matrix in their care. After the deactivation of its former barer it chose a mech the Council felt would be detrimental to their cause, both unpredictable and impossible to control. Frankly, after watching said mech for several vorns now she is inclined to agree with them.
But this… this report solves everything.
"Madam, the ground bridge has been prepared and Optimus Prime has been contacted," the old secretary's voice comes from the data pad in her servos as a tiny picture of the femme appears in the corner.
"Very good, Secretariat," Violet says and adds as an afterthought, "Take the rest of the day off." The old femme thanks her repeatedly, Violet ends the connection cutting her off. The femme would just be in the way here anyway.
Now, to tie up the only loose ends left in this war.