Iacon glittered this night. Rare light showed through the inky, smokey air at random intervals. Even in ruin and at war, the capital was a majestic sight to behold. This night, not even the ever constant, albeit, distant at present, sounds of war could prevail, leaving a peaceful calm over those still within the city limits.
Optimus Prime smiled sadly, hidden behind his battle mask. This was not a sight he'd ever believed to have taken for granted. Not war torn Cybertronian architecture. But this? He would miss the grand silver/white spires of his home, broken and faded as they were now. Even the sounds. He could hear, even now, the low hum of life in the city he surveyed.
But he would miss the bots left behind, the most.
"Rather quiet, Optimus." The leader turned to face the white bot. Ratchet didn't look at him, opting instead to look out on the same scene Optimus had viewed moments before. Ratchet had a certain tenseness to his stance. "Is everything ready?"
The red and blue Autobot nodded, turning back to the city. "Yes. Preparations have been completed on schedule." A flier streaked by, right on time for border patrol. It was light enough to see the almost ethereal color of glowing teal on the broad wings. Optimus nor Ratchet knew the bot's name, but they recognized him. Almost every cycle, the flier took a patrol around the city.
Ratchet hummed, watching the dance of the flier as he spun around spires, twisting and turning in a show of acrobatics. "Then what is it that weighs on you?" The question brought the Prime's attention to the Medic once more.
He vented a burst of air, silent to most, but he knew that Ratchet easily heard it, and the Medic shifted into a softer stance. He stayed silent for a while. But Ratchet was waiting for something, and was stubborn enough to wait for possibly ever to achieve his goal. "We will be leaving shortly." And despite everything, his voice seemed to reveal everything to Ratchet, as the shorter silvery mech shifted once more, and closed his optics with an expression of anguish that mirrored what Prime felt deep inside. And, unbidden, he asked so very quietly, "What changed?"
They would be leaving. Appearing to flee the planet. More war and death would still come. They were prepared to deal with that idea. Leaving wouldn't end the war. It was never meant to. It was likely that Megatron would conquer Cybertron. It was just as likely that his rivalry would instead push him to follow Optimus through the stars, effectively moving the front lines from their war torn planet.
Ratchet hummed low in his chassis. "Everything. And yet, nothing at all." The words were perplexing, and Optimus sat a touch straighter, looking out still upon Iacon. The Medic shook his helm, turning to the Prime, turquoise optics meeting the Prime's own indigo lit ones. "Cybertron needs this mission." Something everyone agreed on. No one was particularly fond of the idea, but all understood the importance. "The probability of success is minimal, as Prowl has pointed out previous. But the needs far outweigh the risks."
"Those left behind will have a more difficult fight." The leader didn't break his stoic bearing. Inside, however, he acknowledged to feeling grim and hopeless. Here, in Iacon and all over Cybertron, his Autobot army worked like a family. An arrangement that had worked well against the Decepticon onslaught from the moment war was upon them. And in this one decision, he had ensured that select few would be cast off from the rest. They would be leaving friends and battle brothers and family behind.
"They're strong, Optimus. They'll overcome whatever comes their way." Ratchet had been rather unreadable on this subject since Optimus had suggested it during a briefing some cycles previous. In fact, of the mechs who'd been present, one had agreed wholeheartedly, two had been unreadable, and the rest had dug in their collective heel on the subject, none wanting to send anyone off into the black.
The Prime knew what was thought of the whole idea. He had split up the top command structure for this juncture. Had separated well working teams. Each mech chosen for the mission would be bringing a well needed element to the dynamic carefully constructed. He would be taking the best he could afford to split from the remainder. But it left the Autobots here with a sudden handicap. It was a cause of dissention among many. It would thrust untrained mechs into open positions on both sides in the middle of a potentially disastrous situation.
"Optimus, I won't deny that I don't particularly agree with the methods we will be observing." Dark blue optics swiveled back at to the Medic, who crossed his arms. It was the first time the leader could remember Ratchet even partially disagreeing with his plans. "But we must have faith in those left here. They are no pushovers."
"And I have full faith in every bot under my command," he said with conviction.
Ratchet nodded, having known that from the start. "I won't deny that some of us would be of better use here on Cybertron. But, Optimus, we trust your judgement. Each of us were not forced into our current positions. We agreed and volunteered for the chance to better assist our people and our planet."
They stared out at the city in silence a while. The flier they'd been watching, long gone by now. The sounds of life, normally covered by the now absent sound of weapons fire and war, reached their audials and they simply listened to the sound of laughter and conversation wafting up to them. When Optimus stood, he did so slowly and turned to face his oldest friend. "Thank you, Ratchet." The silvery white mech nodded with a hidden smile, turning with him for the way they'd originally come to get here.
When they stepped down the small staircase that led up to the roof, they could more easily hear the sounds of the base. Voices from further down the corridor they currently walked through were a tad surprising. It was rare for anybot to use this particular route. "Bumblebee!" a voice exclaimed from not far ahead, drawing their immediate attention, the Medic venting in exasperation. Bumblebee was a well trained Autobot with a good battle sense and was very good at what he did. But he was still a youngling.
Optimus' hand went to Ratchet's shoulder armor, earning a look from his CMO, even as Optimus himself was laughing inwardly. "Bumblebee is enthusiastic. Perhaps we should move to the wall." Not a moment after vacating the center of the hallway, a black and yellow blur fled past, heading for the roof the officers had previously enjoyed silence upon. Before either of them could move from their safe spot, a dark blue blur followed at almost the same speed. Ratchet grumbled after them. "Younglings."
"Let them be," Optimus soothed, continuing his path down the hallway. Ratchet spared one more look toward the roof access before following after the Prime. He was off duty. He would follow Optimus until his leader signaled his leave.
They twisted and turned through the base, earning hellos and salutes from those they passed. Optimus led them both through the base without much of a sound, and Ratchet followed just as quietly. When the Prime stopped before a very familiar doorway, they both simply stared at it. The Officer's Lounge. It wasn't normally closed. But it was currently. In truth, it had been for several cycles. Ever since the bombshell of this mission had been dropped and names disclosed.
They entered the lounge with somber expressions to match the feeling that hit them. If ever there was any question about what was being asked of any of them, the answer could be seen, plain as day, here and now.
The large room had never been strictly one thing or another. It was labeled "Officers Only", but the door had only ever been shut once or twice. Normal soldiers had always graced the Lounge except in those few times. Now was one of those occurrences where only Officers inhabited the room. Another strange thing, was that it was never, ever, silent. It was, now. Normally, laughter or music of some genre, or conversation or even anger/frustration, filled the air in here.
No one moved when they both entered completely, door sliding shut behind them with a slight squeal from disuse. This wasn't an official meeting. In fact, the majority of those currently present, were supposed to be on shift. It was a fact that was very obviously over looked this one time. This last time they'd all be able to see each other before the launching of the ARK and her crew.
All optics were downcast, caught in a never ending moment of silence. None of them seemed to know what to say. Not even Jazz, known for his ability to make even the most depressed, hopeless mech, smile. It wasn't what Ratchet or Optimus had truly expected to walk into, and yet, in hindsight, it made more sense that it should be. This was a side of the Officers that none had expected, nor seen previous. It was a striking image that each and every one of them felt.
Red Alert was isolated in his usual corner, grimfaced. Blaster was frowning at his hands, sitting beside Ironhide, who was as grumpy as he ever was only with a touch of an unknown emotion that only select few could identity. Freefall, their would be pilot, stood blank faced not far from the black and red tinged mech.
Jazz was probably the hardest to look at. Perched on the counter that graced the energon dispenser wall, with his back resting against it, knees drawn up and arms encircling them, his right side looked to brush lightly against Prowl's, who stood beside the saboteur with drooped wings. Prime's Second in Command was as stoic as he ever was, but the closeness to Jazz suggested his true feelings on the coming situation. Even Kup was somber, intensely dark optics narrowed as he seemed to stare into nothingness in the direction of the exit.
Firewall sat on the floor, Gage and Tryp on either side, almost holding hands. Maverick's optics were shut, and he held a similar pose to Jazz situated in the back corner, barely seen beside Whiplash and Klipper due to Scanner, Trim, Nightfright and Skylight standing around them with arms crossed and helms down.
They all simply basked in each other's presence.