Author's Note:
As usual, show lots of love with the reviews! I think you guys will have a lot to say about this chapter! :)
"RAF!"
After a terrifying chase with the newest Decepticon addition, a Predacon dragon, Ultra Magnus as Nightstalker so learned, was leader of the Wreckers, Optimus's right hand man, and the highest ranking commander they had right now. His ship's instruments had tracked their life signals, picking up Arcee and Jack, Bulkhead and Miko, Wheeljack, and Cliffjumper and herself. The last two life signals made her spark flutter in fear. Optimus, Ratchet, Smokescreen, or Bumblebee?
She shoved Cliffjumper aside, spark swelling to almost bursting as Bumblebee chirped excitedly, *Nights?* and she had thrown her arms around him. He knelt, squeezing her unbearably tight with a high pitched coo. *Nights!*
"Bee!" She squeezed so tightly around his neck that he gave a mock choke and another laugh. "I was worried!"
*I missed you!* he said back. He swung her back and forth, and Nightstalker laughed, struggling to keep her legs from flailing.
"I missed you too." She put a kiss on the side of his cheek before he finally let go, and she looked down with a smile. "Raf!" Kneeling, she scooped up the human much in the way she had done Jack and Miko. Greetings floated above her as she smiled down at the young human, pushing his glasses back up on his nose correctly and tweaking his hair. "I missed you bunches."
"I missed you too," he said. He grinned. "I'll have to tell you about my cousin! He customized Bee's paint job for me!"
Nightstalker smiled. "Oh, did he?" She looked up, finally noticing that Bumblebee was wearing a snazzy new black paintjob that dominated his cute yellow. It made him look older, but he wore it well.
Then, Nightstalker noticed the other Autobot they were picking up. Her spark leapt to her throat, and she ran up to him, jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Instinctively, he caught her as she pressed her face into his neck cables.
"R-Ratchet . . ."
Anything else she could say was choked by the thick tears clogging up her throat. She was swallowed up by a giant hug before he cleared his throat, asking, "Are you all right?" She felt him start to try to pry her away.
She latched tighter. "I'm perfectly fine, quit it with the scans!" She shivered slightly, burrowing as close as she could. "Just hold me. I . . . I missed you . . ."
She heard him give a soft, defeated vent before his arms wrapped around her. Then, he looked up suddenly. "Ultra Magnus?"
"Doctor."
He tried for another moment to pry her off, but when she fluttered her wings and refused to let go, he obviously swept it under the rug and just proceeded to approach Ultra Magnus with a seeker clinging to him. The commander arched a brow, but Ratchet just waved a hand, saying, "Processor health." Which, in a way, it was very true. "The communications link needs further calibrations to be compatible with Autobot frequencies," he updated the commander automatically. "The ground bridge, however, is fully operational."
"THAT would have come in handy," Miko suddenly chimed in sarcastically, "when robo-dragon was trying to eat us for breakfast."
At the very reminder of the Predacon, Nightstalker clenched around Ratchet tightly, prompting him to pull at her arms to loosen her.
Finally, tapping a finger, Ultra Magnus had to ask, "The indigenous population of this planet . . . Do they all display the same disregard for authority?"
Ratchet shook his head, putting a comforting hand on Nightstalker's back to knead between her wings absently. "No. Mostly just Miko."
On the tail of his words came the roar of a jet engine in the air. Nightstalker winced and cowered when Ultra Magnus reacted so quickly, drawing his weapons in a spark beat.
"No!"
"Don't shoot!"
"It's Fowler! He's with us!"
As the jet began to coast in for the landing, Ratchet finally huffed and pulled at her wrists, saying, "Nightstalker, really!"
She let him pry her off and set her on her peds. She smiled sheepishly at him, blinking back some lubricant in her optics. "Sorry, I just . . . I'm really glad you're okay."
"Oh for the love of—"He cut off shortly with a mildly irritated vent and he cushioned his words with a secret and quick kiss pecked to the side of her helm. "Straighten up. I don't know how Ultra Magnus's first impression of you was."
I'm the queen of bad first impressions, Nightstalker thought cheekily to herself, but she also blushed ridiculously at his affectionate gesture that went unseen at the back of the pack of Autobots. She took several steps forward to see Fowler and June, and the nurse looked up and waved. Nightstalker waved back.
"The only signals Ultra Magnus was able to isolate are standing right here," Arcee said.
"Maybe his scanner's faulty," Wheeljack muttered snarkily.
Bulkhead frowned. "So the kid's unaccounted for."
"Smokescreen bridged out unaccompanied," Ratchet told them. "Only Optimus knows where. And Optimus remained behind, to . . . destroy the ground bridge, to . . . ensure that everyone else made it to safety."
Arcee bit her lip. Jack glanced up at her. "I . . . watched the base go down," Agent Fowler told them. He shook his head. "No one or thing walked out of there."
"Not that we could see."
"Even IF Prime survived, I'm not sure we can afford to wait for him to show up. Not with Megatron holding us hostage from his high and mighty perch of Darkmount!"
Arcee glanced nervously to Nightstalker whose wide optics pinned up to Ultra Magnus when he took several steps forward. She shrank a little, intimidated by his size and commanding authority. "I would be inclined to agree with the native life form. We must stop Megatron. With or without Optimus Prime. We must do everything in our power to ensure Megatron's downfall, but we will need to be smart about it."
"Whoa!" Wheeljack cut in again, irked and optics narrowing. "Who put shoulder pads in command?"
"Ultra Magnus is the only logical choice," Ratchet told him. "He was trained by Optimus and served as his commanding officer throughout the War for Cybertron."
"Now, unless there is any further objection," and Arcee witnessed Nightstalker shrink even smaller—as if to disappear—and hide behind Bulkhead, "soldier, please follow me."
Jack made another oblique gesture, nodding his head. Arcee shook her head. Not now. The knowledge that Optimus was on his death bed would do them no good right now. It would not change the outcome of their plans, and it would only worry the others. Even IF Optimus needed Ratchet, there was no way to be able to tell the CMO where to go. Nightflier had to come back and show them where he, Smokescreen, and Optimus were holed up.
As they filed into Ultra Magnus's ship, Arcee's optics flickered back to the gun-shy Nightstalker. On top of that, she didn't know how the information would impact Nightstalker, that her brother was alive. The time wasn't prudent. Not with them gearing up for a battle like this. It would have to wait.
Nightstalker blinked at the storage of weapons he showed them. "Autobots, take your pick."
"Now you're speaking my language! Sir."
Her pulse skyrocketed. They got to PICK? She peeked from behind the others, eyeing the whip she could see from a mile away. It wasn't like her whips. The handle was bigger, bulkier, but with a fashion like that, she knew it contained more volts. Hers was an old style anyway—
And then, as the bots began to grab the ones they liked, she saw Wheeljack grab the whip.
Her optics narrowed.
Oh no he doesn't!
She reached up, tapping his shoulder as he grabbed another gun with his other hand, holstering the whip on his hip. "What?"
She arched a brow. Well, if he didn't even want to say hello. "You took my pick."
His brows lifted high. He glanced at the gun in his hand before eyeing her critically. "I dunno about that one," he said. "It's mighty big for you."
Nightstalker rolled her optics, knowing good and well he was playing her. "Not that one, slag for brains, the whip. C'mon now, hand it over. Be a good sport."
He grinned at her leisurely. "You're a little spitfire, aren't you? Well, safe to say, I got my hands on it first, and there's plenty else to choose from. Besides, I want it."
She grabbed his wrist when he tried to turn away. "I want it MORE," she stressed, arching a brow and daring him to argue with her.
Wheeljack smirked, taking some sort of pleasure in plaguing her with his existence. He looked down on her easily, intimidating her with his size. "Do you, now? I bet you couldn't even take it from me even IF you wanted it that bad."
Oho, was that a CHALLENGE? "Wheeljack," a commanding tone cut across the confines of his ship.
Before he could say anything more, Nightstalker held up a hand to him. "Easy, Ultra Magnus. I can handle this one myself." Oddly, he didn't say anything to that and the apparent disregard for "sir" but instead arched a brow as he watched the confrontation. Everyone but the two contenders glanced hesitantly towards the commander, wondering why he didn't press the issue with Nightstalker.
"Like you said," Nightstalker said, taking a posturing step forward until she was almost face first in his chassis as she craned her neck back to look at the swaggering Wrecker. "There's plenty of other choices. You can hand that little trinket over to me."
"As if," Wheeljack snorted. He wagged the gun at her. "You've already got yourself a set of whips, femme. Spread the love."
She stood on her toes and gave him a mocking smile. "What love? You asked me to take it from you, so I did."
He blinked uncomprehendingly at her for a second, and then he jumped back, optics flaring as he looked down at his now-empty hip. He looked back at her to where she saucily twirled the whip. His face relaxed into a grin.
"All right, keep it! Because I for one don't know how you managed to steal that right from under my nose."
"Trade secret," she snarked back, holstering it on her own hip. Show over, they began to filter out of the ship, and when Ultra Magnus just looked at her, she arched a brow at him and her lips twitched as she fought back a smirk. She shrugged slightly as she left the ship, and Cliffjumper met her outside. He held up a fist.
"Nice."
She smiled back, bumping his fist. "Thank you."
"Knew I fell for you for a reason. I think you even had ol' Magnus tongue tied."
Nightflier was getting restless.
He was certain Smokescreen had been gone too long. He was certain. What if he had been captured? Did he need backup? He needed to get out and fly—this underground business was making him claustrophobic! Optimus was dying with every passing moment! He needed to go scout for Ratchet! What was the Decepticon's next plan of attack? Were the other Autobots still alive? Where in pits of Kaon was Smokescreen?
Optimus hadn't surfaced again. Either that, or he just never spoke or opened his optics when he did. Reading the hitching cycles for consciousness depressed and worried Nightflier both as he sat helpless as the Prime wasted away before his optics. His wings fluttered in worry. He sat impatiently and broodingly, crisscross and jiggling his knees as he waited without word.
The faint whir of the Phase Shifter caught his attention. He jumped to his peds as he saw Smokescreen materialize from the wall, dragging the largest golden hammer he had ever seen before. It was even bigger than himself! He blinked widely before blurting, "Smokescreen, he's slipping."
The mech didn't even waste time to speak to him. He turned straight to Optimus, hurriedly telling the rousing Prime, "Optimus! We have the Forge. You can use it to repair yourself!"
There was a second or two in which Optimus's labored in cycles filled the silence, gritty and painful. Nightflier knelt on his opposite side as he managed weakly, "That . . . is not the reason . . . I had you retrieve the relic . . ."
Nightflier reared back in shock and Smokescreen gaped. "W-What? I don't understand!"
"The power of the Forge is not unlimited . . ." Optimus struggled to explain, wheezing for each breath. Nightflier dipped his helm respectfully, looking down at his peds. The Prime's energon leaked and pooled, dirtying in the dust. "Its energy has already begun . . . to ebb . . ."
"So it's running low," Smokescreen said, pushing aside his words as worry for him ate them alive. "Who cares! All we need is enough juice to get you back into fighting shape!"
Nightflier fluttered his wings, listening as he managed, "Whatever power remains . . . must be used . . . to rebuild the Omega Lock . . . to restore Cybertron . . ."
He looked up. That made perfect sense. But . . .
Smokescreen picked up on it too. "But . . . That would mean—"
Optimus gently cut him off, optics whirring solemnly. "The fate of all our kind . . . is more vital . . . than that of any one of us . . . including me . . ."
Nightflier felt his energon tanks twist uncomfortably. He shouldn't talk like that. He was giving up. He shook his head. "With all due respect, Commander," he said respectfully, quietly. "I thought using the Forge required a Prime."
"It does," Smokescreen told him. "The Forge is a relic of the Primes. We can't use it to restore Cybertron—not without a Prime!" The weak state of their leader made him put a light hand on comfort on his chassis. "Not without you."
Nightflier watched Optimus look towards Smokescreen, something unreadable in his optics. "There will be . . . a new Prime . . ."
He felt all his weight rock back. A chill that had nothing to do with the drafty cave drew over Nightflier. He scooted back a bit as he turned his gaze to Smokescreen, feeling like the third wheel of the conversation.
Smokescreen made a sound of impatience, standing to get the Forge. "You can worry about that after we get you patched up and we take down Megatron."
When the Prime used his waning strength to reach up and grab Smokescreen's arm, Nightflier jumped to his peds, backing away in dumbfounded awe.
"The time . . . for a new leader is upon us . . ." Optimus said, vents rattling weakly. "In my spark . . . I believe . . . that leader stands before me right now."
For the umpteenth time, Nightflier could only wonder at this mess he had suddenly been thrown into. He moved back to the opposite side of their homely cave, trying to put some distance between them as pure shock overtook Smokescreen's face. The weight of the knowledge seemed to settle slowly on the mech's processor, and Nightflier could only blink.
He was to be the next Prime. He had fraternized with the next Prime unwittingly, unknowing of the greatness held in this mech across from him. The greatness held in both the mechs across from him. He couldn't believe what he was bearing witness to.
The rise of a new Prime.
Finally, Smokescreen seemed to snap out of his stunned trance. He reared back, staggering back several steps, and Optimus's arm fell back to his side. For a moment, the mech just stuttered without words before he looked helplessly to Nightflier. Not of any help, he just blinked back as wide and stupid and naïve as he did, giving a small, helpless shrug.
He paced for a moment, choking on the amount of responsibility that suddenly crashed down on him. Nightflier, wiped speechless, watched on from his obscure corner as Smokescreen finally stammered, "I—I can't do this."
The white mech turned back to Optimus, saying, "Sure, I mean, who wouldn't want to be a Prime, but I'm—"and he knelt at his side, "really not ready for that kind of responsibility."
Optimus's tired blue optics blinked knowingly up at him. "Smokescreen . . . The choice is neither yours nor mine to make. When it is time . . . the Matrix of Leadership will present itself only to one . . . whose spark is worthy."
Prying Wheeljack away from a comatose Dreadwing had taken both Bulkhead and Cliffjumper and Nightstalker threatening to rip his optics out. And a very strong order from Ultra Magnus.
When questioned about him, Ratchet reported to Ultra Magnus that he had found Dreadwing barely clinging to life. Because of his family ties to Nightstalker, he had chosen on a whim to save the mech—of which Ultra Magnus gave him a curious look about Nightstalker, but did not press the issue—and when the air commander had awoken, proceeded to plead asylum.
Of course, only Ratchet knew that their prisoner of war had asked for no help.
When the upheaval from Dreadwing's presence wore off, plans of their rebellion against the Decepticons began. They knew that if they were going to storm the Decepticon stronghold they didn't have the manpower or ammunitions to take it out. However, the United States military did. Unfortunately, Fowler couldn't let them attack with Megatron's ray guns pointed at Washington.
So the plan was to infiltrate Darkmount in order to nullify its fusion cannons.
The plan's simplicity was probably the beauty of it. Because Darkmount was heavily protected against unauthorized ground bridging, there was no way to easily find their way in, and they would have to infiltrate the old fashioned way. Jack and Miko, by using their phones, would help scattered some of the Decepticon forces into other locations. Two was conspicuous, but not completely traceable. On top of that, with Jack's voice, they would send another squadron on a wild goose chase for Autobot interlopers at one of their mines.
The Wreckers would provide the distraction outside. A small group would try to sneak their way in and through to disable the fusion cannons. Ratchet would stay with Raf at their base of operations, temporarily located in the Harbinger. Ultra Magnus would stand by in his ship until the Predacon showed, and they would trick it into a ground bridge straight into sub-zero temperatures.
The idea to move the Predacon far off was originally Ultra Magnus's. But it was Jack's idea to send it to an icy wasteland. He reasoned that if a Cybertronian reptile had a physiology like Earth-based lizards—as in, it was cold blooded—then it would require a constant warmth to stay alive. Ratchet had praised him for the sound thinking.
Nightstalker was sent with Bulkhead and Wheeljack. Cliffjumper was sent with Arcee and Bumblebee, the former of which muttered that he was awful at sneaking. When Nightstalker had expressed secret disappointment for having to be teamed up with Wheeljack, Cliffjumper just laughed, grinned, and told her that Ultra Magnus just knew after the fine display of before that she could handle anything he dished out.
"Autobots! Lock and load!"
Bridged out, Nightstalker, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack camped out outside of the Decepticon citadel. Nightstalker's neck craned. It was probably one of the single most-high buildings she had ever seen, twisted and eerie. She sat on the biggest cannon she had ever seen, one of Bulkhead's choice, of course, and he held both it and her easily. She highly suspected that the cannon itself weighed more than she did.
Wheeljack pulled the pin to one of his grenades, cheerfully calling out, "Fire in the hole!"
His grenade hit the side of the citadel, and a rocking explosion sounded. Bulkhead whistled.
"Nice one, Jackie!"
Through the vibrations in her wings, Nightstalker heard Bulkhead chuckle. Wheeljack grinned, grabbing the next, and then he arched a brow at Nightstalker. "Here!" She jumped and squeaked, barely managing to catch the grenade he tossed at her. He gave a gesture. "Go ahead!"
"Me?"
She couldn't help but gape her mouth open at him. He shrugged a shoulder, saying, "Sure! Just chuck it!"
Sliding out of Bulkhead's arms, Nightstalker gave a weak, "O-Okay . . ." before she zeroed in on the Decepticon citadel. Squinting her optics, she pulled the pin, winded up, and threw the grenade with all her might. It soared beautifully before coasting down and hitting the ground about halfway to the citadel. It blew harmlessly in the dirt.
Nightstalker's face burned when both the Wreckers couldn't help but laugh, and she retreated behind Bulkhead. "Aw, nice try, chicka!" Wheeljack pulled another grenade, hollering, "Fire in another hole!" His went far enough, blasting the edge of the citadel and beginning to procure a hole, and unbidden, both Wreckers moved forward. Nightstalker jumped up and followed on their tails, and her head craned up as Starscream's seeker armada soared down from the top of Darkmount.
"Steady," she heard Bulkhead's deep voice intone for her sake. She took a breath as they came down in range, and then, they fired.
Bulkhead's cannon blasted through the first seeker with ease, sending a volley of Vehicon debris falling down on them, smoke and metal shards and flaming parts. Wheeljack's semi-automatic clipped into their sides, weakening them, and he got a lucky shot on an engine, sending a soldier careening out of the sky.
Grabbing the whip, Nightstalker turned it on, reeling back the powerful voltage and slinging it into the sky as a Vehicon soared through. The whip snapped against his wing, and the voltage surged through the silver Vehicon, overloading his systems and eating a jagged edge through his wing. His engine exploded from the overload of electricity and died almost instantly. He crashed to the ground behind her somewhere, flipping and crashing into pieces.
Nightstalker did her best to pull her weight. She had troubles aiming because she was used to a non-moving target, but the whip was long enough and powerful enough that it helped her handicap. If anything, both sides had troubles landing a hit. The seekers feinted away, spooked by getting hit by the weapons, and did not take the killing shots for fear that they would die in the process. The Autobots could only catch such fast moving targets.
So the game of chicken resumed, blaster fire scorching the Autobots periodically until the seekers finally flew back overhead. Nightstalker reeled back in the whip so she wouldn't singe Bulkhead or Wheeljack, and she heard a deep growl rumble the sky.
She backed behind Bulkhead for cover, cowering in fear as the Predacon screeched angrily above. Bulkhead and Wheeljack traded glances before they open fired on the beast. Nightstalker peeked between them when Ultra Magnus shot the dragon, zooming by in his ship. The Predacon roared an audio-splitting sound, rearing around and chasing the machine that impeded on its rule of the skies. It shot several fireballs only for Ultra Magnus to dodge them. The great beast's wings pumped as it gained on him, and Nightstalker's spark froze in her throat. Just when she thought its jaws would snap on the edge of his tailpipe, his ship suddenly veered up, and the ground bridge blasted open. The Predacon flew through before it could think to stop, and the bridge shut.
Nightstalker and the Wreckers hooted with success, and then, the volley of laser fire erupted from above as Starscream's armada converged on them again. Bulkhead grunted and winced when one of the shots hit his shoulder, and Nightstalker lashed her whip out again, taking down the Vehicon that had inflicted the damage.
"Nightstalker!" She cringed and ducked behind Bulkhead for cover when the next wave of laser fire pelted through, hearing Ultra Magnus on her comm. link. "Our stealth group is compromised. Join them!" With that one order, he showed his confidence in his Wreckers by leaving them with only two to hold the front.
"Yes, sir!" she hollered back, snapping her whip up at one more silver seeker. Astonishingly, the tip if it caught the fleeing seeker, and it brought him down with an overloading surge to his systems. Wheeljack stepped around, snarling at a leak spreading down his leading arm.
"Get outta here!" he snapped. "We can hold them here!"
Bulkhead's cannon blasted another seeker into oblivion, thinning their ranks. "We'll cover you!" he said to her. "Move it!"
Nightstalker jumped, Bulkhead's soft demeanor completely gone in combat. Holstering the whip, Nightstalker transformed and zoomed across the field of battle to the hole they had made in the wall. It was small, but with several well-placed kicks, she had knocked the weakened metal in to a size that she could squeeze through. She had just gotten on her knees to crawl through when a heavy bot landed behind her.
Her optics flared wide at the sight of Shockwave's hulking form. Shockwave. Shockwave. Her processor stuck on repeat because she had only had a few brushes with Shockwave, those long ago. Curious about adding a new torture technique, asking if he could have her victim for his laboratory, and they always gained mixed answers with each other. The relationship was professional, a little nit-picky and snappy at each other, sharp with jibes and underhanded measures to get each other's ways. She liked to keep her distance from him.
Fortunately, he hadn't noticed her. His one optic was pinned to the Wreckers that were rapidly thinning the ranks of Starscream's armada. He transformed into a slow-moving Cybertronian tank, engine roaring as he approached. His gun rotated, whirred to dangerous life, and shot with a thunderous clanging gong.
The Wreckers turned at the noise, and both jerked before the shot blasted near their feet. Both lost their grips on their weapons and tumbled in a heap.
"Your mission was most illogical."
Nightstalker turned, running up and grabbing her whip. Igniting it, she jumped with a cry and lashed it across Shockwave's back. The Decepticon arched, jolting as the voltage seared through his systems, but working in science had tempered his systems for surge overloads and he had extra protection from it. When she lashed out the whip again with a snarl, Shockwave grabbed it with his hand, and he yanked her forward while he jabbed his gun into her face.
The steely barrel of his gun clocked her right beneath her chin, nearly breaking it and nearly snapping her neck in one blow. Darkness swallowed her before she could blink.
"Who . . . stands . . . before me?"
Smokescreen's throat worked as he fought around emotion. "W-What? I-It's me, Optimus. Smokescreen."
Nightflier approached a little closer, frowning with worry as the Prime's optics grew distant. "Who . . . beckons . . . ?"
His optics began to flicker.
Nightflier jumped forward as the Prime's chest seized. His knees hit the ground at Optimus's side. "Smokescreen, we're losing him!"
For a panicked moment, his hands slapped to one of the wounds on his stomach that was more severe than the others, trying to stop the energon flow as if it would help. But it wouldn't. He had enough energon to sustain him for several days. It was his spark, the trauma, and the sheer amount of damage done to him that he couldn't hold on.
Smokescreen jumped forward. "Optimus! No!"
His optics flickered once more, whirred relaxed, and died.
Instantly after his passing, his chest plates automatically opened, triggered by the Matrix held inside. Nightflier and Smokescreen both jumped to their peds as the sacred Matrix of Leadership was exposed. Nightflier gaped to bear witness to such an event, and he backed away, staring owlishly at Smokescreen.
Smokescreen's throat bobbed. His optics tightened. "This isn't how the story's supposed to end . . ." he whispered to no one in particular. Nightflier saw him turn, saw his optics settle on the Forge of Solus Prime.
"Smokescreen, no!" Nightflier hurried forward, flinging himself in front of the mech to stop him. He gave a gesture. "You heard him! It was his dying wish! We need it to restore Cybertron!"
"No!" the white mech snapped. "We need it to save Optimus! I can't go toe-to-toe against Megatron—I'm not ready to be Prime! We need him!"
Nightflier staggered back when Smokescreen pushed him out of the way, dragging the Forge with heavy grunts. With finality, he dropped the handle of the Forge into Optimus's limp hand.
Smokescreen's panicked vents filled the cave. "C'mon . . . C'mon!" He dropped to his knees in the dirt, wrapping Optimus's lifeless fingers around the handle. "Please, please!"
Nightflier cleared his clenching vocalizer. "Smokescreen . . . It's too late—"
"It can't be too late!" he cried. He jumped to his peds, servos shaking as he passed them over his face. "It can't be too late, it can't . . . we need him . . ."
"No," Nightflier corrected him gently. He came forward to the distraught mech. "We need YOU."
Smokescreen looked at him with pained, wide optics before staring back down at the dead Prime and the awaiting Matrix of Leadership. "But I—I'm . . ."
"You have to take it," Nightflier urged him. "It's your destiny, Smokescreen! He chose you as his successor."
His throat worked. With shaking servos, Smokescreen reached down into Optimus's chassis, fingers slowly curling around the Matrix of Leadership. It disengaged from Optimus's chassis, and Smokescreen carefully lifted the precious artifact, staring into its soft glow. He looked up to Nightflier for help, and he just gave him an encouraging nod, finding that he didn't know what to say. The white mech looked back at the Matrix, and his hands and knees wobbled.
Sucking in a tight vent of air, Smokescreen put the Matrix back down on the ground before he dropped it, and he staggered backwards into a boulder just large enough for him to sit on. He dropped his face into his palms. "I . . . I can't do this . . . I can't do it . . ."
Praying he somehow had the right words to say, Nightflier approached Smokescreen and knelt on the ground by his side. "Look, Smokescreen . . ." He swallowed, closing his optics and trying to formulate his thoughts in a cohesive form as his jagged vents filled his audios. "You've got to calm down. It's gonna be all right."
"No it's not," Smokescreen denied. He looked up at him, fear and turmoil filling his optics. "We NEEDED him, Nightflier! You don't understand, the things he's done, the things he's sacrificed, everything . . . I can't live up to that! I—I'm not ready to be Prime, that's too much to—" He choked on the amount of responsibility suddenly shoved down his throat. "I'm no Optimus Prime . . ." he finally whispered shamefully.
Nightflier shook his head. "You don't have to be him." He fluttered his wings nervously, saying, "Look, he wasn't asking you to turn into him. In fact, I'm sure that's the last thing he wanted. He asked you to become Prime—not a Prime like Sentinel, not a Prime like Optimus, just a Prime. SMOKESCREEN Prime."
When Smokescreen failed to look convinced, Nightflier shook his head and shifted his weight on the rocky ground. "Look, I think that this really is your destiny," he finally said. His vents were starting to get a little gritty because of the amount of dust covering them from the underground cave. "We've went through millennia of war. And for all of the great things Optimus has done, there's plenty mistakes to offset his greatness. So . . . maybe the Matrix needs a new Prime."
Smokescreen blinked. He finally rested his palms on his knees, and he gave a shuddering vent to control his rampaging emotions. "Needs a new Prime?" he finally repeated quietly, staring at the ground.
Nightflier nodded, meeting his optics though he didn't. "Yeah. Maybe . . . I mean, I respect Optimus as a Prime greatly, but . . . Maybe whatever it was that happened between him and Megatron was just too much to overcome. Slot, I don't know, it just seems like if the war had went on this long under his command, that maybe it takes someone else to end the war. A new way. A fresh start. A new Prime."
Smokescreen's optics squeezed shut tightly. He shook his head, and his servos clenched into fists. "And you think that Prime is me?" he finally rasped.
"Optimus did." The simple statement made Smokescreen's head jerk up and look at the lifeless husk of Optimus. Nightflier shrugged a shoulder, glancing over at him too. "Look, I . . . I can't predict your path, and I can't fully see your past . . . but . . ." He looked up at him again. "While I may not have known you that long either, I can say that I see in your optics what Optimus saw." Smokescreen's gaze finally shifted to the small seeker by his side. Nightflier's lips quirked up in a small smile. "A will to overcome fear, and a spark of gold, and an eagerness to learn. Who knows?" and that smile tugged into a grin. "Maybe there's more to you than meets the optic."
When Smokescreen's gaze drifted slowly back to the Matrix awaiting him on the ground, Nightflier popped to his peds to get it for the hesitant mech. "Look, you can do this," he said. He scooped up the Matrix. "You've just got to have a little—"
The word "faith" died on his lips. He flinched and nearly dropped the Matrix himself when his touch made it glow incredibly brightly. The light dazzled the grim underground cave, glinting off their armor and whitening their optics.
When the light of the chosen one faded, Nightflier blinked wide and stupid at Smokescreen who just looked back dumbly, jaw hanging open.
