Primeless: Smokescreen never told anyone that he had almost been a Prime, especially after Optimus sacrificed himself. That could have been him. The Matrix is a dogging thing though. It came back. Smokescreen doesn't want the burden, Bee thinks he's going crazy and the Rescue Bots find themselves surprisingly caught in the middle. Basically, how RID should have been with a dash of Rescue Bots.
Disclaimer: If only, if only, the plot bunny sings.
Image: Smokescreen by ai eye.
Rating: Teen.
…
A dead king deep in his crypt,
Resting and rotting and weary,
Searches and searches for a fair heir.
Never finding his query.
...
Smokescreen hated himself in the dark of the night after Prime had sacrificed himself.
Mind you, he didn't hate himself in the same way Arcee or Bumblebee did. Or like any of the other mechs that had watched the great Prime drive into the heart of the world with its gaping maw. No, his hatred was towards himself and his selfishness. It was now a secret hate he hid deep down in the depths of his spark where dark things dared to bloom. It was a secret that none had known except for probably the Prime himself.
For, Smokescreen was glad. He was glad that Optimus was deactivated because that thing in Optimus' chest, the Matrix, had gone with him. It was dust as far as he was concerned.
He would never have to be a Prime. He would never have to suffer like Optimus did. He could live for himself and not for the weight of that crystal omen.
He could be whatever, whoever he choose.
And so he hated himself for his thankfulness. Optimus Prime was a great figure. A kind figure, full of sacrifice and servitude to all. Just like a Prime was supposed to be … made to be. Forced to be.
He knew Optimus hadn't meant it. Hadn't meant to start telling Smokescreen about the burdens of a Prime orns before his death. It was just that Prime saw the Matrix's next carrier, the next Prime, even though Smokescreen just wanted to be seen as a soldier, a friend … a youngling like hew was.
He didn't want to be forced into some shape. He didn't want his dreams molded entirely by the needs of others. He was young. He was vibrant. He … had never wanted to be a Prime. If he had wanted it. He would have taken the Matrix the first time Optimus requested he claim it, bloodied and battered.
And so … he was glad there were no more Primes.
And in shame, he wept that night with the others and their survivor's guilt, but a deep dark part of him, a selfish part of him, felt it would have been more fitting if he had laughed. It was best he hadn't become a Prime. He wasn't a good enough mech for it.
…
And so time passed, the stars slowly drifting farther and farther apart in the voids endlessness.
In truth, it was very little time in comparison to the long lives of Cybertronians. It was enough time though for a fledgling of a government to start, the first cities starting to glimmer in the night. The metal world was gradually moving away from Martial Law upheld by Ultra Magnus and into something more akin for civilians … and the new sparks that were slowly growing from the earth like so many heads of metallic cabbage around the Well of Allsparks.
The Cabbage Patch Kids would have been proud.
Two generations had risen so far, young mechs now easily outnumbering the older survivors three to one. It was a city of the youth, of new ideas, new thoughts, and new ecstatic joys to stain the world with their youthful color.
Most would think it was their world now. A new world that would not be held down by the governments of the older generation nor by their hate or wanting. How wrong they were. Senators, High Class, Religious fanatics all seemed to pull themselves out of the inky blackness of space, trying to press their wants onto the youth. It was almost terrify to see the very things that had caused their world to fall into ruin, welcomed back so wantonly.
If Optimus Prime was still alive he would have been aghast.
Most just thought he was rolling over in his grave. This war, his sacrifice, slowly becoming meaningless.
Not that most mechs dared voice their thoughts. Some monster had brought back the practice of emputara and t-cog removal … and slavery coding were rearing their ugly heads.
Not to mention that the young war models were also finding out that they were being held in prejudice for acts that were not their own, caused by a generation they had never known. Many were just sparked and had no idea what the word Decepticon even meant.
A dark seed had taken root in this new world.
Yet, in a grey area near the Well where no spark could grab hold and bloom, something different started to grow. At first glance, a mech might not have thought much of it. It just looked like the first bud of another hot spot. But it didn't keep that orb like disposition. It rose up like a twisted tower, metallic like spires reaching for the sky and its aloft stars. It, rising in height, was announcing itself. It had returned.
And so mechs and femmes watched with a disposition of curiosity and undertones of fear. What was this? What was this abnormality in their new blooming world? Was it a new nightmare? A new terror in the night to pluck the young and kind from the world?
The day it bloomed open though … there was only one spark filled with fear. One spark that shirked back at the announcement.
For the Matrix had returned and it was looking for a new barer. In fact, unknown to anyone, Smokescreen sat up from recharge in fear, his spark pulsing for it had heard the call. The call to be the next Prime … for the Matrix had chosen him orns ago in a cave where a good Prime lie dying.
Smokescreen had kept the Matrix at bay that day, kept the current barer -Optimus- alive and well, but the Matrix did not forget him. No, it never forgets. It is patient. It can wait. And so it called again for its new host to come and claim its responsibility.
The young mech could only shiver, pulling his knees into his chest. No. No. He would not go.
Let this world be Primeless.
XXX
Paw07: I had a discussion with Insecuriosity in the notes of A Hot Red Tide about RID and then bam, this plot bunny hit me. Now that I am done with the short story The Price of a Glitch, I figured I'd start on my next short multi-chapter. I'm planning on 7 chapters. Hopefully, it doesn't go over that … though it probably will.