Chapter 2: A Reminder of Burdens

"You are not yanking this old mech's chain. You aren't honestly going to proposition that a Hall of Primes is more important than a medical school, are yah?" said Ironhide, trying to hide his limp. He knew he should go to a medic for it, but they suddenly were a scarce commodity. And oddity he would look into if he had the fraggen time. If Forthright was leading him on, wasting his time, he was going to punch the mech in his stoic face.

Forthright, one of the few surviving Priests of Primus, just kept walking down the hall in a rushed pace, his white paint seeming bleached compared to the dingy blank halls. The zealot, as he was called by pretty much every mech that had the unfortunately circumstance to meet him, was still angry one of the first building reconstructed hadn't been the Hall of Primus. A temple to the Primes and the Matrix.

It was a building meant to house the Prime in a religious manner and the Matrix whenever a new barer had to be chosen. Apparently, a structure like that wasn't needed anymore. The Matrix was gone. Lost with the great Optimus Prime, the last of the Primes. Or so everyone else thought. But Forthright knew better. His prayers had been answered.

"No. And why would a Prime's Guard need chains?" said Forthright in all seriousness. The human jargon lost to him.

Ironhide's spark pulsed painful at the reminder. Yes, he had been marked as a Prime's Guard the moment he was sparked. Not too surprising. There were a fair number of mechs with helm glyphs that had been chosen to serve the Primes in life. Such a title was useless now though. He had no Prime to guard, to serve faithfully. He was a relic in this new world.

He hadn't even gotten to serve Optimus Prime in the end. He had been sent with the last of the Priests, assigned to guard them.

What a folly that had been.

Then again, perhaps it was for the best there were to be no more Primes. The Senate had been restrictive with the Matrix for countless generations. Instead of a mech or femme worthy of the Matrix's burden coming to present themselves and see if they were chosen, only the dim witted and power hungry were allowed in the Hall of Primus to stand before the Matrix. Ironhide personally felt the Matrix just made do with what it had, choosing the best of the worst that stood before it. Plus, given the direction the new world was heading, the Prime's cycles would have continued to degrade into poorer and poorer candidates.

Optimus Prime had been a fluke, the Senate too scattered to stop a good candidate from coming forward.

It was for the best that there were no more Primes … as much as those words hurt.

"We really don't need a building right now with a Matrix display, Forthright. A museum will be built for the young-bots. No question there, but it's not like the Matrix exists any … oh. Oh … Sweet Prima."

Flinging a door open, EM field full of irritation, the white mech waved his hands at a table in the middle of a room, a group of young-spark collectors all looking nervous from their days pick. For, on the table, was the Allspark, shining brightly as it waited for a chosen to come and claim it.

"This is why we need a new building! It was in that strange growing tower by the Well. We need a Hall of Primes," said Forthright with a huff.

"Now … ain't that something," said Ironhide, not knowing what else to say. Seems his life as a Prime's Guard wasn't over. It had just started anew. Now, he just had to find a Prime to fit the deal … Hopefully before the new Senate tried to restrict what mechs presented themselves before it. He just hoped the poor fragger was up the the challenge. This new world .. was not going to be kind. It was wild and it would certainly take a sturdy powerful mech to tame it.

That is, if the new world didn't devour him first.

…

Smokescreen rolled over, his chassis hurting. He grunted and tried to offline his optics again. He didn't know when exactly the ache had started. In honestly reminded him of the day he had been alone with Optimus, his spark in a panic and trembling, thinking he was going to watch the great Optimus Prime offline. Luckily, that day had never come … at least not with him as an only witness.

Nonetheless, if this kept up. He would have to go see a medic.

That was something he wasn't looking forward to either. Ratchet … was gone. Apparently he left a note, stating he had to find himself, but personally Smokescreen was reluctant to believe that. The medic had been so angry, vocal in the forming government, especially about the rights of right for newly onlined war models. He had especially been adamant about the new Senate trying to pass a registration act. They wanted all new war models to register and be assigned to their home and occupation.

So, why would he just leave like that? No mech should be assigned their place in this world purely on the basis of what form the Well gave them. It was just … wrong.

But who was he to talk, given how long he was in status, he had no room to speak. He was practically a new-spark himself. What did he know of politics?

Regardless, he still had a medical issue and he didn't know any medics. Not even Knock Out. For some reason … he had stopped practicing medicine. He wouldn't say why, but Smokescreen personally knew the mech had started collecting credits for a ship oddly enough. It was like he wanted to get off planet, like he was worried about something. Didn't he want to wait and see if Breakdown's spark would be reborn like he had whispered so many orns ago?

Personally, Smokescreen felt it had something to do with the worried look seemingly always plastered on Knock Out's usually dynamic face plates. It was just wrong. It was as if something was beating him down and without Breakdown there to fight his battles … he now had to run.

Smokescreen wouldn't be surprised if, in a few vorns, more medics went missing to the stars. But … what was chasing them all off?

Sighing, unable to recharge now due to his heavy thoughts, Smokescreen nearly jumped out of his armor when his berth-room door suddenly slid open, Bumblebee rushing in without even knocking. "Smokescreen! You would believe what just happen! Its just, I can't even! I can't believe it!"

Having nearly fallen off of his berth, his surprised EM field being nearly drowned in Bumblebee's (his current roommate) excited EM field, Smokescreen sat up awkwardly. "What? What is it? Did you get a promotion with the enforcers? Are you making investigator?"

Smokescreen still didn't understand why Bumblebee had just accepted the placement. The Senate had basically assigned him, a war hero, slayer of Megatron, to traffic duty. Ultra Magnus had even offered him a position in his cabinet as the larger mech tried to wiggle his way into this new government, but Bee had obeyed the Senate without question. They said his model was built for public service of this type. Not politics. Yes, they had worded it enigmatically, but Smokescreen … he had seen Ultra Magnus' frown, his worry.

Bee deserved so much more. He deserved a place in this new government. He would make a fine leader, but what would Smokescreen know about that? He … he didn't know anything about politics. He had been sheltered his whole existence. Alpha Trion and basically plucked him from the Well and had him train specifically to assist him in the Hall of Records. He had barely been allowed to have his cadet training.

Honestly, he only knew how to be Alpha Trion's assistance. He barely was a soldier. Then again, Alpha Trion made him feel like he could take on the world and then some.

He missed the old mech.

"What? No," said Bee, his excitement nearly drowned out as a slightly pained feeling filled his EM field. Not that Smokescreen really got to analyze it. Bee pulled his field in close before anything could be discerned. "Guess what they found near the Well? It's amazing. It's … it's amazing. I can't even … I don't..."

Waving his hands, his CPU still trying to boot-up, Smokescreen chuckled, "Come on Bee, vent. What is it? Did they find a secret racing track? Please say secret racing track."

"No better," all but cried Bee, his excitement drowning the room again. "The Matrix. Its come back! The Priests of Primus have made a makeshift display out in the open so everybot can come and present themselves. The Matrix can pick a new Prime. Isn't that great?! We have to go. I know it probably won't pick us, but just seeing it returned is a sign. A sign of things turning for the better."

Placing a hand on his chassis, the pull now painfully understood in his spark, that it hadn't been a nightmare he had had of the Matrix returning, Smokescreen pulled his EM field close so Bumblebee wouldn't be able to feel his terror.

Yeah … for the better of who?

He … he didn't want to be a Prime. Then again, he had just been the wrong bot in the right place. There was no reason for the Matrix to remember him. None at all. He wasn't a hero-bot. He had barely even been a soldier. When they spoke of the heroes at the end of the war, they didn't even list him. Maybe this time, the Matrix would choose right. He could see … he could see Bumblebee being a new Prime. He really, really could.

He wasn't cut out to the world's hero.

…

Standing in line, dozens upon dozens of bots having heard the news already, Smokescreen twitched and resisted the urge to run away when Bumblebee smiled at him again. Maybe he was just being paranoid. There was no way the Matrix would choose him. He had just been a stand in on Earth. There were so many better candidates on Cybertron. There was Ultra Magnus, Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee … Knock Out?

Okay, almost anybot but him would be a better option. Definitely.

Maybe to just be safe he should hang back … farther back, farther. Like so the Priests of Primus wouldn't notice he was in line. Or anyone really. Yeah. Yeah. Just back away slow -clunk!

Smokescreen immediately cringed, having ran into someone … Someone who had a very, very familiar EM field. Slowly, he looked up, offering an awkward grin and a small wave, "Hiya, Magnus. How have you been?"

Face as composed as ever, the large mech nodded down at the younger mech, "I am well as is to be expected. Have you come to present yourself before the Matrix? To see if you are worthy of be its barer?"

Laughing nervously as he turned around to face the larger bot, Smokescreen shrugged, "Me? No, no. Bee. I mean as in Bumblebee is totally going to present himself. Not me. No. No. I don't want to waste anybots time. Not me. Nope."

Magnus raised a metallic brow in question, his EM field pushing outward to tweek the younger bot's field. Smokescreen pulled his field close, not wanting the other mech to know the amounts of shame coursing through him.

As polite and stoic as ever, Ultra Magnus immediately pulled his field back in, understanding that Smokescreen didn't want to reveal his current feelings.

Looking up at the raised platform, a Prime's Guard on either side of the artifact. He watched an aged construction-bot present himself before the relic, falling onto one knee and bowing his helm, waiting. Generally, the Matrix started reacting the moment a prospective barer was in the area, glowing a little brighter. It would continue to glow and was rumored to tug at the prospective carrier's spark until they presented themselves before it. To present oneself, a mech only had to stand or bow before it, offering themselves. After all, the artifact had to be taken freely.

If accepted, it would rise off the pedestal and floated to its new barer, chest plates parting. In his long life, Magnus had never seen it himself. Then again, the past five Primes had been chosen in the secure sanctity of a Temple of Primus and only with the Senates chosen.

Here, out in the open, barely any buildings to offer up to the artifact, anybot could present themselves.

Anybot.

"No war models!" came a yell in the small crowed area, an enforcer pushing his way through mechs and not far from Magnus and Smokescreen, making the younger Autobot jump. "Who even let you over here!"

The enforcer, grabbing a young war model's arm, tugged, the poor thing looking confused. He had just been watching. He didn't even know what was going on.

"Don't even think about presenting yourself! The Matrix doesn't want trash like you!" said the enforcer, all but dragging the larger and obviously confused young-spark behind him.

"But I … I just wanted to see … what the group … was about," tried to explain the war model, his voice so soft it was barely heard among the growing murmuring. Poor thing's EM field was also erratic and slowly growing terrified. Normal for young-bots that had yet to learn how to control their EM field.

Seeing the young war model, scruffy and yet new at the same time, terrified, Smokescreen felt he couldn't watch. He stepped forward in front of the enforcer's path, "Hey, let him go. He was just watching like everybot else. Plus, he should get to present himself like anybot else. Optimus Prime was technically a war model in the end. Anybot that fought in the war technically was if they had integrated weapons. He should get to stand before the Matrix."

The guard sneered at him and Smokescreen's door-wings immediately dripped. Frag, what was he thinking? Standing up for a war model like that? This wasn't the war anymore. He didn't have the phase shifter to save his aft anymore.

Nonetheless, the young-spark, obviously just out of the Well, blinked at Smokescreen, confused. He was … he looked really beat up. Even his red optics were dull. They looked almost pink. Most young-sparks were taken to the youngling care center by young-spark collectors. There, they were given their first few meals, data packs, and usually an apprenticeship where a mech called a caretaker would watch over and house them for a few orns. This young-spark obviously had none of those things. Smokescreen had heard some protoforms were allowed to hatch out on their own around the Well. The collectors didn't catch them all … especially the war models. And, if that was true, if they hatched and wanted to survive, they had to make their way to a settlement and find work before their tank ran out.

He had just thought it was a nasty rumor, leaving young-sparks to fend for themselves, but seeing this young war model, optics dim and hungry, he now felt it wasn't a rumor.

How many war models had been left to starve in the barrens? How many had deactivated without even getting their basic information packs just because of the model the Well chose for them?

Honestly, the Well was doing its best. It was trying to balance the population. Personally, Smokescreen would compare it to an ant hive, like Raf had told him about. The hive had worker ants and soldier ants that protect the hive. War models were no different. They were meant to protect the planet.

How could no one else see that?

Hadn't their race been enslaved, eons ago? Yes, there weren't many mechs around that remembered it, but the hall of records recalled.

The enforcer, EM field now filled with a tinge of rage, suddenly backed up when Ultra Magnus stepped into the area, his EM field powerfully washing over everybot in the vicinity. It was full of control and strangely a calm steadiness meant to pull sparks back from violence. It was probably the reason he was given command of the Wreckers actually … It also probably calmed down young-bots. It was no secret, given how hard it was for young-sparks to control their EM field, that they had to have an older and more powerful spark tweek theirs. It basically calmed them down and leveled out their emotional responses. It was one of the many duties of a caretaker.

"Fine, whatever," growled the enforcer, letting the war model's arm go as he stomped away.

Probably two kliks from sobbing, the young war model scrambled towards Smokescreen and Ultra Magnus, allowing his EM field to be tweeked and calmed by the larger bot.

"Calm yourself," said Magnus instinctively to the slightly shorter war model, a hand being placed on his shoulder as Magnus manipulated the new-spark's EM field. Smokescreen didn't miss the critical gaze that was being placed on the young mech, Magnus likely documenting every scratch.

Now wanting to distract the young-spark from Ultra Magnus' obvious review, Smokescreen spoke to the war model. "Don't let that jerk-bot bother you. You can present yourself before the Matrix. Everyone should be able to."

Plus, it also meant somebot might be picked instead him. Not that he was chosen or anything … he just worried too much. Yeah.

Looking ashamed but thankfully calming down, the war model admitted, "I don't even know what the Matrix is. I just … hoped I could find some work or energon around here. I-I came into the city and they said I need to work for energon and d-data packs. So, I am looking for those things, but I don't know where to start."

Smokescreen immediately felt like he had been punched in the stomach as the young-spark looked at his peds in shame. He also didn't miss how Magnus' EM field flared for a moment in controlled anger. So … it wasn't a rumor. War models … were being left in the barrens … to starve.

Frag, did he have any energon on him? The bot had likely never even intaked before. That would explain the dim optics at least.

Magnus, reaching for a subspace, reacted before Smokescreen could even check his memory banks. Large hands were suddenly cupping the young-bots hands together, placing a full cube of energon into them. He even opened the corner carefully in case the new-spark didn't know how to open one. The young thing at first looked confused and then looked like he was about to start clicking in sadness. He wouldn't dare look away from the cube though, not even to rub his optics as they slowly started to gather fluids. It was like he was afraid it would disappear if he looked away.

Smokescreen threw a begging look at Magnus and Magnus threw a slightly awkward look back down at him. Neither one of them wanted a sobbing young-bot in the middle of a crowd. Magnus, thankfully, thought of something to say before Smokescreen blurted out something stupid.

"There you are than, young spark. Your first cube. Have a toast to Optimus Prime for luck. Then, after you have had your turn in presenting yourself, I will take you to the care center. No need to become upset," said Magnus, trying his darnedest to smile reassuringly though he failed spectacularly.

That bot just wasn't meant to smile.

"Yeah, toasted to Optimus for luck. Even if the Matrix doesn't recognize you, toasting to him with your first cube will promise you a lucky life, for sure," said Smokescreen reassuringly though he knew neither Magnus nor he believed that.

Finally looking away from the cube, optics still daring to spill cleanser, the young war model couldn't help but ask in curiosity, "Who is Optimus Prime, by the way? Y-you've mentioned him twice. Is he important?"

Nodding, still starstruck by Optimus despite his shame, Smokescreen added, "Yes, he was the last Prime. He ended the war and he also threw himself into the Well of Sparks for you, all of us, so the world could be renewed.'

Playing with the cover on the cube like he was trying to figure it out, the young-spark blinked his red optics on and off at Smokescreen in confusion, his EM field baffled, "He … offlined for me? Are you sure? I didn't … I didn't think anyone cared what happened to me."

Smokescreen … hadn't been able to say anything after that, a smile just struggling to form on his face. What had become of their new world? Who would just leave a new-spark like this? Had the Matrix returned to fix all of this … or make it worse?

Magnus, turning to Smokescreen as if feeling his inner conflict, put a calming servo on his shoulder, words so heavy Smokescreen felt like he was going to be crushed under them.

"I can tell you do not want to present yourself before the Matrix, Smokescreen, but … we need all the good sparks we can get to stand before it. Optimus would have asked you to," said Magnus, nodding his head before he turned his attention back to the new-spark and his needs, helping the new-spark take his first sip of energon.

Smokescreen, suddenly feeling hollow, placed a hand over his spark … feeling the sickening pull. Little did Ultra Magnus know … Optimus had already asked him to, but he didn't want it. He didn't. He didn't. Didn't! He wasn't good enough to stand before that sacred item of power.

He would never be as good as Optimus.

And yet he found his peds dragging him back in line behind Bumblebee, the yellow bot having not even noticed he was gone or about the sad tale of woe that had transpired not even a few stride-lengths behind him.

XXX

Paw07: Poor, poor little war model! He needs Magnus huggles! Also, I'm sure he will show up again. I left him purposefully unnamed for a reason. Any suggestions of who he should be? :3

And, while you are at it, any suggestions for a second new-sparked Con? One preferably with rotaries?