EPILOGUE
"Orion Pax, do you accept the honour of Prime, along with its sacred duty of protecting the mecha of Cybertron, for what better or worse to come?"
"I… erm… honestly, I'm not so sure either." He swerved off lamely, averting his gaze to the ground.
"Bargh! When will you finally mech up and say the fragging word?" Exclaimed an exasperated Ironhide, frustrated to no end at the mech's behaviour. They had been going over and over his coronation endlessly for the last 2 joors or so, and every single slagging time the mech had to have one of his so-called anxiety attack, just when they were about to reach the end of his vow.
A metal clank rang out of the spacious storage room closely followed by a pained yelp, signifying Ratchet's infamous move of an artistic wrench-to-the-helm reprimand, reminding Ironhide to keep his vocalizer shut if he did not want to bear an indented helmet to public's prying optics. "Anxiety disorder is nothing to laugh at, especially when it was triggered by such a horrendous memory. Orion, are you alright?" Addressing the question to the mech, he switched to a more gentle tone, his voice losing the sharp biting snark it usually carry everywhen conversing with the gruff Royal guard. Orion had already been too deeply lost in his incertitude, the rest of the events transpiring escaped his knowledge as he was tightly coiled against the wall, servos around to hug at his own elbow joints and faceplate hidden behind kneecaps.
"Be eradicated!"
"Feel the wrath of Megatronus!"
"You have failed this city!"
Startling awoke with a horrified jolt, the mech cycled air frantically through his vents, engine rumbling loudly as it put effort to cool down overheated neural net, the worst of the hyperventilation had already past and was subsiding gradually to return his stoic composure back in pieces. Focusing his optics on Ratchet's concerned faceplate, he let out a huff of air and admitted softly.
"No, I'm not. I keep hearing Megatron, as if he was right here talking into my audios… In a fraction of a nanoklick I could have sworn we were still there, on that very cycle when-
"Alright, that's enough. Reminiscing about a traumatic memory is not going to help your mental state get any better. The important thing right now is that you are here, right now, in the presence of the moment, remember?"
Cycling a few deep vents like he had been trained to do in the occasion of an anxiety attack, he calmed down enough to form an actual coherent response. "I'm okay. I'm good. I'm here, and now, and no one or no thing can harm me. I'm safe, as far as I am concerned." Repeating the soothing mantra, the mech evened his spark pulse to a more stable healthy rhythm.
"Not so sure 'bout that. Every mech is a possible spy, remember that defective Straxus from earlier? He was right under your olfactory sensor all the time no less, and yet we still failed to account for him being the mole to deposit all our vital information to our enemy as he so please." Ironhide remarked bitterly, still resentful of the traitorous mech ever since the Iacon showdown, his backstrut bearing a sizable gash which he refused to be wielded shut, as he had tactfully put it, "a reminder to never turn your back against an ally". Ratchet had even attempted to rationalize with him and appease to aesthetic reasons, but the mech just plain out refuse to give up a nice battle scar to show off at the annual Royal guards' veteran meeting. The mech had tried to fix it in Ironhide's unsuspecting recharge, but after being caught red-handedly for the fifth time or so had enlisted the use of tranquilizers and medical stasis to keep the mech under while he work undisturbed, hence the reason why the battle scar was only a singular count and a good 3 inches long in diameter.
As he finished his rant, Ironhide's extensive damage list was updated with a lovely large dent at the back of his helmet as Ratchet granted him with another wrench, this one even larger than the previous. "How many times do I have to remind you to keep your trap shut during our therapy sessions? For Primus's sake, you know nothing of the word 'tactful' do you?"
"It wasn't my fault that the mech was prone to such sensitivity…
"Sensitivity my aft! You are either going to get your aft out of this pit-spawned room or you will remain silent until I tell otherwise, or so Primus help you to seek refuge somewhere my XXL wrench cannot reach, because I give you my word that it will be the end of your dignity and pride as you bear it to the next veteran meeting as a domestic scar, do you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, boss!" Giving a mock salute, Ironhide smirked at Orion behind Ratchet's turned back.
The gesture went unnoticed, though. For the moment, the mention of such an event greatly bothered Orion, setting his concerns ablaze in renewed angst, wracking his nerves into a bunch of sparkling circuitry. Sensing his distress, the Matrix started to release its soothing aura, which only succeeded to bring him even more anxiety from its nolstagic reminder of the painful separation with his other. Instantly recoiled in a dejected ball of depression, the artifact hung loosely in his spark, turbulence of suggestion and idealism temporarily silenced so as to grant him whatever semblance of harmony and privacy it could. With his other's departure, the relic seemed to adopt more humanity as it formed a conscious presence settling close to his spark, occupying the comfortable room of the other's spark, occasionally offering sentiments and emotional advice as it did with his Prime duty. Whether it was caused by the other's demise or from the mental instability haunting his processor as of late, the only certainty he could claim was that the improvement did little to relieve him of any stress.
Too busy brooding had he not recognized when Prowl's looming existence had crept up right behind their collective backs until the mech verbalized his inquery. "Are your mental state sufficient to participate in the coronation?"
Panic filled his processor at the thought of confronting citizens of Iacon after failing to protect their city state, his imagination working its power to fill in the blank with their resentful glare, not any less realistic and haunting than an actual screnario.
"Why do you ask? Of course I am." He lied, forged nonchalant tinting at raised vocalizer in the most convincing act he could façade. However, his performance fooled no one, as evidential by the incredulous silence colouring the room right after his response. Narrowed optics in skepticism, Prowl pushed again. "We cannot afford any mistake during the utmost important ceremony. Please be sincere with us."
Meeting his optics were Orion's own feigning ignorance, his optical ridge raised high in fake confusion. Yet, his small performance was cut short as another anxiety attack kicked in, leaving him no other option but to spill every truth.
"Alright, I can't do this. I really can't do this. I don't want to be Prime. Please don't make me Prime. I want to resign."
"Orion…
"No! I cannot look those mecha directly in their optics while I shamelessly annouce myself as their supposed leader after my incompetence cost them their city, their home. Prime or not, my moral compass won't stand for it, and I would rather not be Prime than to continue to plague our history with my dishonourable name." He exclaimed with finalty, voice laden with steel resolution unwavering as the mech locked optics with the chief Enforcer.
Seeing no plausible outcome with this tactic, Ratchet tried another endeavor. "Okay then, answer me this. Do you think Ironhide would look pretty in pink?"
"Excuse me?" The mech was frozen in his place, glossa tied and vocalizer not mumbling a single utterance, shocked beyond coherency at the sudden change in topic.
"Hey! I'm still sitting right here, you know?" The mech in question voiced his disconsent, insulted and thoroughly offended at the scandalised embarassment. Completely ignored by everyone else, he pouted sullenly in the corner of the room, forgotten.
"No way! Are you telling me you succeed in pulling off that impossible prank? When? In his recharge? Mech, you've gotta show me the photo. This is gold comedy!" An Autobot added his two cent in the equation, Ironhide's presence totally non-relevant in his excitement.
"I concur. A photo of said spectacular event would be highly entertaining." Even Prowl displayed a small tug at his liplates, his optics glinting in amusement.
Not receiving the right response he wanted, Ratchet directed the question at Orion's melancholy form again. "Just answer the question. Do you?"
Finally earning a bit solace for the first time in a long while, Orion allowed the mental image of a pink Ironhide to overide accusatory glares as he chuckled softly. "I sincerely do."
With a satisfied smirk, Ratchet ended the recording.
"I sincerely do." The pre-recording played smoothly, no one present in the auditorium none-the-wiser except from the few mecha closer to his inner circle. Ratchet's idea was brilliant, to make use of his easy reply to a complete different scenario to fill in his stuttering blank, every timing meticulously adjusted down to the smallest astroklick so as not to raise any suspicion, to which they succeeded flawlessly. Standing on the highest set of dais, Orion let out a huff or air to be relieved of a heavy burden, his coronation not much further away from completion.
"Then it has been settled. With the ongoing unrest of our society, the derranged appearance of the faction Decepticon and their leader Megatron, our civilization had delved into endless depth of bleak despair. The time for a new Prime has arisen." Mecha exploded in applause after the last sentence, the entire run-down storage district repurposed into temporary Autobot conference hall where the coronation was being hosted filled with aggrement from Iacon mecha of every shape, size and built, regardless of social status or economy class.
"The Prime mantle, along with every sacred duty and obligation as the one, true and only leader of Cybertron, shall now belong to the mech here whom we have all placed our trust and faith into. He had proven his liability and courage by leading us through times of crisis, through our darkest cycles when our very home had been brutally destroyed and invaded by enemy's horde. Not to be deterred, this mech had bravely led us to battle and stood our ground firm against incoming waves of relentless evil, and for what had come better or worse, we will rejoice in the memory of our fallen comrades who had believed in a brighter future, a cycle when our beloved home is finally reunited under the leadership of the Prime!" The crowd cheered on, their rhythmic chant deafening audio receptors as a fresh surge of determination and resolution coursed through his veins.
"From this day on, you are no longer the dock worker Orion. You shall be known as the very leader of Cybertron, our Prime, the delegated prodigy of Primus himself, bearing the honourable artifact Matrix of Leadership granted to us by the one and only god. May his wisdom shed light to guide you on our darkest joor." Placing two symbolic shoulder pads on his frame, the mech submerged to his kneecaps, kneeling on the ground.
"What designation should follow your mantle?"
"Optimus." He found himself responding without thinking, the name deeply ingrained within his subconsciousness by a distant spark pulse, its sensation not felt for quite some time, bringing a tingle of nolstagia to the forefront of his processor.
"Mecha and femmes! Rise to your peds in salute to our newest leader! Bow down to Optimus Prime!" The announcer bellowed into the microphone, his voice amplified and carried across the auditorium.
"All hail Optimus!" From a corner of his optics registered Ratchet and his friends copying the pose.
"All hail Optimus!" The crowd echoed.
"All hail Optimus." A disbodied murmur rang out in his audio receptors, but he needn't check to know who its owner was; his spark ached and twisted too much to be ignored. A drop of coolant leaked from his optics as the mech stared solemnly down at the crowd, spark set on acquiring justice for every Autobot soldier fallen under the servos of Megatron, any affection dedicated to his significant other evaporated in the spite of the moment to be replaced with hot, burning fury. Come what may, he made a promise to never fail his mecha again. And he intended to keep it.
"All hail Optimus!"
"Hey! Get over here! I think bossbot is waking!" Frenzy announced, his pile drivers prodding and inspecting a navy blue frame.
"Get out of my way!" Shoving his brother roughly aside, Rumble climbed onto the mech's glass cockpit and stared into his red visor. Seeing no response satisfying his demand, the cassetticon impatiently poked at the visor with his pile driver, making his mistake.
In a fraction of a nanoklick, everything transpired too fast for his optics to relay, and the next nanoklick the mech found himself staring at the end of a concussion cannon, its barrel firmly pressed into his slim pectoral plating where his spark settled, heat radiating with a low rumble as the weapon was primed and fully loaded.
"Bossbot, wait! It's me! Rumble, your minion!" He yelped, careful not to make any subtle movement for fear of triggering the mech to take the shot.
"Query: time. Chronometer: malfunctioning." The weapon was retracted upon realization of the mech, the telepath not missing a beat as he turned to address the more sane of the two.
"Strange. I've fixed your circuitry exactly like the schematic we've stolen from that facility."
"Malfunction: time displaying: 3 megacycles later than last online session."
"Oh, that's not malfunctioning. You've been under for nearly a quarter of a full stellar." The mech dutifully announced before pivoted on his heel and walk away. Not conjuring up the minimum strength to lift his servo, the mech panicked.
"Query: paralyzed?"
"No no, your tank is completely empty, lack of any Energon. We've been rationing fuel for the last two decacycles, every last inch gobbled up by this rust bucket here," he nodded his helm at Rumble who protested loudly. "Energon is getting harder to hunt these cycles. Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw are scouting drainage sewers for filterable Energon, while Ravage is hunting wild turbofoxes from a nearby natural habitat. Rumble has just recently returned from his venture deep inside an Autobot storage to steal some precious cubes, his escape a close one, let me tell you that."
"You should've gone with me. You could get to see my pile drivers pummeling those Autobots to oblivion!"
"Bossbot needs taking care of. Sorry Rumble, perhaps let me show you how it's done the next time?"
"You bet I'll be dragging your aft kicking and screaming!" Sharing a brief fist bump, the mech wandered off outside the open cavern, returning the cave to its blessed serenity and silence. Light flickered from a small hole above, a magical twilight aura onto their surrounding, a small oil lamp on the working desk the only source of illumination as it cast silhouettes of master and cassette onto the nearest wall.
"Query: events during unconscious?"
Retrieving a canister of oil from the desk, Frenzy extracted the substance and emptied it down a large pot scribbled "refinery" in careful Neo-Cybex, his communication specialist expertise recognizing Frenzy's distinct handwriting. "Heck a lot of things had occurred during your absence, bossbot. There's the Iacon war, then the archivist Orion Pax's coronation as he was chosen to inherit the Matrix and become the next Prime. Apparently, this one was a bit lunatic, because he just up and vanished after several cycles of being Prime, then later found inside the same facility where we recovered you for no good reason. Oh, and guess who was also there." He pressed a few buttons beneath the pot, the liquid inside began bubbling as it was heated.
"Query?"
"Megatron. He gave the order to start the attack on Iacon without you, so we left his army to go find you. As Lazerbeak had recovered on her scout, the mech gave the order to retreat just when Decepticons were winning, then suddenly disappeared without a trace." With a laddle, the tiny cassetticon mucked up a full swoop of the boiling liquid and transferred it to a glass tank labeled "distiller" in a corner, repeating the process until the large pot was entirely empty. "He was spotted by the Enforcer's surveillance feed at the facility, engaged in some shady experiment with the freak Councilmech Shockwave, if the rumour was true, on the ungodly liquid of Dark Energon itself."
Shockwave. That was the mech who experimented on him.
In a brief of fury, he clenched his servos too hard that the digits dented and paint nanites were chipped to reveal dull grey protoform underneath. Hearing the sound, Frenzy stopped short in his work and rushed to his side.
"Bossbot! What's wrong?"
"Query: Shockwave's location?"
"Erm… nobody knows that, really. The mech had already disapeared when Enforcers knocked down the place, the only thing they found a drone replica of him. Oh, and search they did, let me tell you. The chief Enforcer himself had them turn the entire place upside down searching for something classified, their desperate demeanor almost winning my sympathy. Imagine we didn't find your frame as easily as we did, I could almost imagine us tearing the place down for your frame just like he did." The mech resumed his work, activating a small mechanical sequence at the glass tube and the liquid dripped into a filtering tray beneath. "What was his name again? Pax? No, that's the Prime's old designation. Prax? No, that's not right. Prudent?"
"Chief Enforcer: Prowl?"
"Yes, Prowl! Wait, you know him?"
Silence overtook the ambience as Soundwave contemplated over the mech. So he really did come back for me after all.
"Bossbot?"
"Affirmative?"
"Still interested in hearing the full story?"
"Proceed."
"Okay, well, after that whole ordeal there was the ultimate Iacon showdown. The battle was wild, in every literal sense of the word. Decepticons and Autobots alike all went berserker on each other, decimating an estimated of 2500 mecha in total. Megatron won though, his army crushing three-fourth of Iacon's residents, Senate tower included. Now Cybertron is officially governmentless. Every mecha is forced to take a stance, either it be the Prime's, Megatron's or a neutral's side. It's wild out there, bossbot. That's the main reason why we hid you in here while scavenging for parts and Energon to fix your frame. That, and Megatron's relentless hunt for us after he declared us as traitors and deserters. Luckily this place is entirely off the grid." He collected the dim blue liquid from a dispensor tap below the glass tank into a rusty Energon cube, before delivering the fuel to him.
"Here, bossbot. Drink this. Dilluted Energon, refined and distilled from convergible energy source, which in this case is an aged canister of lubricant oil. It's the best alternative to actual Energon that I could manage, it should help with the self-repair while we wait for the others' return." The mech stared at him in hesitance, optics wide and apprehensive, fearful of his rejection. Partly to quench the thirst of his empty tank, but mostly to please the hopeful cassetticon, he consumed the liquid in one big gulp. It was very thinly dilluted, but Energon was Energon nontheless, and so his starved tank rumbled in pleasure at the nolstagic sensation of being fed.
"I made it completely from scratch! In the middle of nowhere, we have no one to depend on but ourselves, and we strive our best to sustain us until you recover completely, bossbot. Do you like it? Does your frame absorb it well?"
"Energon consumption: 62% efficiency. Energy source: sufficient." He announced, pride tinting his monotone at the prospect of his creations surviving all by themselves. At Frenzy's beaming faceplate, he couldn't help but swoop the mech into his servos and set the tiny cassette down on his pectoral glass pit.
"Bossbot, what are you doing?" The mech yelped in surprise, limbs flailing around in the air as he was flopped face-down onto his flat chassis.
"Faceplate: removed. Visor: now only coverage. Cassetticons: feeling?"
"I know, I've read your schematics. I mean, surprising, is it not? Barely a stellarcycle ago I wouldn't know how to tell the difference between a nut and a bolt, but we don't exactly have any medic available, and anything for you, bossbot. So, anyway, we realized your faceplate was removed to integrate the telepathic add-on, and personally, I think it's cool as pit."
"Discomfort: none? Telepathic power: not intrusive or abominable?"
"No, of course not, silly! Where did you even get such paranoid ideas? We're your creations! With or without faceplate, telepathic mind-reading creep or not, you'll aways be our Soundwave." He proclaimed with such certainty that the telepath felt his engine warming up, insecurities fended off and dismissed while he reveled in the close proximity with the squirming mech.
"So… what now, bossbot?"
Rather than the reply Frenzy was expecting, all he received was senseless, uncharacteristic cuddling and pampering from the larger navy mech.
"Suggestion: what do you think of being an Enforcer?"
Author's note: here as promised, the epilogue! I've carefully hidden hints and spoilers about the centric focus of the next fic, spot them if you can and drop a PM of your guess to my account:) Thank you, to all of you faithful readers who had accompanied me to this very last chapter, wish you all the best! Do please kindly leave a review if you think my hard work is worth it, I would really appreciate your feedback!
As for the next fic, now I'll probably take a month or two's break before it it published. Please be patient with me:)
Sincerely,
the_lazy_ant164