Another officer might have simply shouted a half-sparked order for those involved to stop from a safe distance, or even simply stood back and allowed what was happening to continue. Primus knew Blitzwing had a reputation as a merciless fighter, and had racked up more kills than almost any non-officer Decepticon over the course of the war. One might argue that he deserved a beatdown, or worse, and that the Autobots delivering said beatdown were entirely justified in their actions.

Optimus Prime was not one of those officers. He froze for a single moment, shock that such violence was being committed by fellow Autobots bleaching his optics white, before storming directly into the knot of mechs.

"Enough!" he shouted, grabbing Blades by the scruff of the neck and yanking him back. "That's enough out of all of you!"

Blades swore and almost dove right back into the fray, but checked himself when he realized just who had pulled him off of the triple-changer. The other mechs involved - Slingshot, Air Raid, Hot Shot, and Cliffjumper - continued to rain blows down on Blitzwing, either not hearing Prime's order or electing to ignore it. Blitzwing lay curled on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest and arms over his helm in an effort to protect his most vital components.

Prime unleashed a blow of his own, and Slingshot yelped as a blue fist knocked him aside. He grabbed Cliffjumper and Air Raid in each hand and physically tossed them aside, then reached for Hot Shot. The young carformer jumped back of his own accord, a guilty look on his visored faceplate.

"This is unacceptable!" Prime growled, bending down to haul Blitzwing to his feet. "These Decepticons have surrendered to us. We will NOT abuse our prisoners!"

"What, it's not like he doesn't deserve a good whaling," snapped Slingshot.

"He's a 'Con, why are we suddenly defending them?" Cliffjumper added with a scowl.

"He will face justice… but it's not your place to deliver justice." Prime gestured to Hound and Ironhide, who hurried over to cuff the dazed triple-changer and lead him away. "The five of you will report directly to Ultra Magnus for disciplinary measures once we have returned to Cybertron."

"But-" began Hot Shot.

Prime gestured sharply to cut him off before walking away. He didn't want to hear it. This, sadly, had not been the first instance of Autobot brutality against Decepticon captives he had seen, and he had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be the last.

The Decepticon fortress on Kruvex had been taken with only a token amount of resistance. It hadn't been a completely peaceful surrender - shots had been exchanged, and a few Decepticons had preferred to go down fighting instead of turning over their weapons - but casualties on both sides had been minimal. Most of Megatron's followers, it seemed, had been all too willing to put their fates in the Autobots' hands rather than continue what they considered a pointless war.

Prime watched the medevac teams carry a badly-injured black Seeker into the nearest transport. One look at her wounds told him all he needed to know - her melted armor hadn't been caused by any weapon from this battle, but the corrosives of the Spiralis Disaster. And she was hardly the only one - many Decepticons still bore scars and melted plating from the devastation on Cybertron, damages they hadn't had time or resources to fix.

So much pain and suffering… and worse, it came from their own commander and not from the enemy. Small wonder they're surrendering in such droves. When you lose faith in your own cause… what else is there to fight for?

"Prime."

He shook himself out of his wistful thoughts and turned his attention to Prowl. "Has the fortress been secured?"

The tactician nodded. "That's the good news."

"Do I dare ask the bad news?"

"Prob'ly not, but he's gonna tell ya anyway," Jazz quipped, earning an optic-roll from the Datsun. "Still not as bad as it could be, I guess…"

"Megatron and Soundwave are nowhere to be found," Prowl interrupted. "We've searched the entire fortress and found no trace of them. We've managed to arrest several other officers, but those two either escaped or were never here in the first place."

Prime sighed softly. Perhaps it had been too much to hope that the Battle of Kruvex could bring an end to their war once and for all. Despite the effects of the Spiralis Disaster - effects he refused to call a "victory" as other Autobots did - he knew the war would not be considered over until Megatron was in custody. And if the warlord had escaped to Pit-knew-where, it meant this struggle could continue for months, even years, before it saw a proper end… and would continue to delay the healing that Cybertron so desperately needed.

"If Megatron was here, he must have had quarters," he replied. "Jazz, find them and search them. Perhaps he left clues that could tell us where he's going."

"Roger-dodger," Jazz replied, snapping a salute.

"Prowl, which officers were captured, and what's the possibility of one of them giving us information on Megatron's location?"

"General Deszaras, General Octos, Ground Commander Doomhammer, and Air Commander Starscream," Prowl replied. "General Straxus was present as well, but opted to take his own life rather than allow himself to be captured. Of them all…" His faceplates contorted in an expression of distaste. "Starscream is perhaps the most willing to talk, though the validity of his information will be debatable at best."

"At the moment, even flawed information is better than none at all," Prime replied. "Take me to him and we'll question him. We'll simply take everything he says with a grain of salt, as the humans are fond of saying."

"In the case of Starscream," Prowl replied sardonically, "you need an entire salt mine, not just a grain." But he motioned for the Autobot commander to follow him.

Starscream had already been loaded onto a transport, and grumbled and complained loudly as Sideswipe pulled him out to address the Prime. The white-and-red Seeker bore the telltale marks of a mech who had witnessed the Disaster first-hand and lived to tell about it - patches of warped metal marked his limbs. A good chunk of his left side and his left wing had obviously been repaired with whatever materials the Decepticons had on hand - the patch over his side was of gunmetal-gray, while his wing was a shade of white that didn't match the rest of his plating - but whether those damages had been inflicted by the Disaster or something else Prime couldn't tell.

"So it's not enough that you Autobots have Cybertron, is it?" Starscream growled, narrowing his optics at Prime. "You have to push us off any world we occupy, don't you? And you call US greedy conquerers!"

Prime ignored the obvious attempt to goad him into an argument. "We're looking for Megatron, Starscream. Do you know where he is?"

"Well, obviously, he's not here," Starscream spat. "Unless you Autobots are blind as well as idiots!"

Sideswipe shoved Starscream in the small of his back, almost toppling him over. "Yo, have a lil' respect for the Prime, all right? Unlike you losers, we actually look up to our leaders!"

"Don't push him around, Sideswipe," Prime ordered. "Starscream… can you tell us where Megatron is?"

Starscream opened his mouth, doubtless to vent more insults at the Autobot commander… but he slowly shut it, his optics taking on a cunning glitter. "Oh, I can all right. But will I? Perhaps with the right incentive, I could be persuaded to loosen my vocalizer."

Prime exchanged a long look with Prowl. The tactician's doorwings twitched, but he gave a slow nod - a reluctant indication that they agree to his terms. Prime nodded in reply and turned back to the Air Commander.

"You will not face an execution when you return to Cybertron," he promised. "And I will tell the judge in your upcoming trial to show you leniency in your sentence. You'll still serve a prison term, but you'll eventually walk Cybertron as a free mech."

Starscream grinned. "He's heading for New Proximus, with Soundwave and a few Seekers in tow. He won't be staying long, though - he'll be making for the fringes of known space once he resupplies. You may want to hurry." His smirk widened. "And do tell Thundercracker and Skywarp hello for me. I look forward to seeing their faces again in prison."

Prime gestured to Sideswipe, and the red warrior hauled Starscream back aboard the transport. "New Proximus… there's still a Decepticon colony there?"

"If they haven't evacuated or gone neutral since the Disaster," Prowl replied. "Think it could be a trap?"

"Perhaps… but it bears investigating all the same. Prowl, I'm sending you back to Cybertron with the prisoners. I'm gathering a task force to go to New Proximus and find Megatron before he can elude us again."

"Be careful, Prime," Prowl urged. "Megatron will be more dangerous than ever now that he feels he has nothing to lose."

"I know… but all the same, this war won't be over until we find him. Cybertron has suffered enough… I refuse to prolong our people's suffering any longer."

The scream of jet engines tore through the streets of Iacon, drowning out the rumble of traffic. Optics darted skyward as mechs frantically searched for the source of that sound. The war had been over for years, but time had not dulled the memories… and there were still many who associated the howl of thrusters with an imminent Decepticon strike.

But the moment the two fliers burst out of an alleyway, one flying almost perpendicular to the ground in order to thread between buildings, most mechs relaxed and went about their business. The magenta jet and the violet helicopter bore no weapons, and seemed far more intent on chasing each other than unleashing chaos on the crowd below. It was no attack, but a couple of youngsters fresh into upgrade and pushing their new alt modes to their limits.

Orion flipped around in a barrel roll, coming to rest with his belly facing the sky. "Is that the fastest you can go, Cal? Told ya you picked a slow mode!"

"And yet I still beat you yesterday," Caliber retorted. "It's not always about speed, you know."

"Yesterday you cheated," Orion shot back, rolling upright.

"I did not cheat," Caliber replied. "You never said anything about shortcuts being against the rules."

"Well, they are now." He waggled his wings. "C'mon, last one to Swerve's buys drinks for the whole crew!" And he gunned his thrusters, tearing away.

Had Caliber been in root mode he would have shook his head in resignation. Instead he simply surged after the magenta flier, his rotors thumping the air. Let Orion have his victory if it made him feel any better. He honestly didn't mind buying a round for the group, even if it burned through his allowance at a frightening rate. He preferred spending his money on things the whole gang could enjoy and not just himself anyhow.

The two fliers soared over Platinum Square, scattering a flock of retro-birds and sending the banners hanging from several buildings whipping in the wake of their passage. They surged over the rooftops, Orion slaloming back and forth between spires and communication arrays while Caliber opted to fly high enough to avoid those obstacles altogether. At one point Orion's wingtip clipped an antennae, almost spinning him out of control, but he managed to correct his course before Caliber could overtake him.

Finally the magenta jet angled downward, diving for a neon-lit establishment on Iacon's main drag. He transformed in mid-air and let his antigravs take him down the rest of the way, until he lightly touched down on the sidewalk. He spread his arms and gave a playful bow to the mechs gathered before the doors of Swerve's. A sleek winged magenta-and-cobalt mech with a black, horned helm, he was a handsome young mech and knew it all too well… though at least he didn't rub it too much in his friends' faces.

"Thank you, thank you, no need for applause, no autographs please."

"I see your ego's as overgrown as ever," Zinc noted, raising an optic ridge. "Where's Caliber? Or did you leave him to get pulled over by the cops?" The yellow femme bore the boxy frame of a truckformer, complete with tires on her legs and windows set in her chest, and carried herself with the air of a mechanism who knew how to handle themselves in a fight. Indeed, she looked about ready to tackle Orion should he confess to leaving Caliber behind.

"I would never do such a thing!" Orion protested. "A good mech never leaves his brother in the lurch. Besides, he's right here."

Caliber touched down on his skids, letting his rotors wind down to a stop before transforming. Mostly violet with silver patches on his legs and chest, he still bore the distinctive bucket-helm and headfins of his youth. A set of rotors hung from his shoulders, and his bulkier frame indicated a heavier alt mode than Orion's.

"Hey Cal, Zinc is accusing me of abandoning you!" Orion told him, looking pained. "You'll defend my honor, won't you?"

Caliber gave a small smile. "He didn't, don't worry. The one time we did get pulled over, he was the one who talked the officer out of calling our parents. He may be arrogant, but he's a decent enough mech."

"I thank you for the high praise, bro," Orion retorted, thumping him lightly on the shoulder with his knuckles. "Is everyone here?"

"We're just waiting on Glory," Zinc replied. "She did comm to say she might be a little late."

"We can wait a little longer for her," Caliber assured her with a smile. "Don't think any of us are in a hurry."

"I am," Paddles rumbled, shifting her silver-and-gold bulk from foot to foot. "I didn't come all this way just to stand around. And here I thought you fliers were supposed to be the fast ones." Paddles stuck out among her comrades like a tank among a squadron of Seekers - enormous and bestial, bearing metallic fins instead of wheels or wings and with the fanged head of a prehistoric reptile tucked behind her head like a hood. She had opted for an ancient beast mode like her father and uncles - Mosasaurus, a massive aquatic reptile.

Soar, in stark contrast to his sister, had upgraded to a sleek and slender adult form draped with overlapping plates of blue and yellow metal that gave him an almost birdlike look - fitting for his own alt, an Archaeopteryx. He made a show of rolling his optics behind Paddles' back. His vocalizer remained silent, but his reply flashed over their comms anyhow: Just ignore her. She got in trouble for punting Uncle Slag through a window and is still sore about it.

"Am not!" Paddles growled.

Rhapsody laughed, though she did back up a step from the Dinobot femme - the sleek and short black-and-red carformer was scrappy enough in a fight but far outclassed by the bigger femme. "Do I dare ask what started it this time?"

No, Soar replied, just as Paddles answered "Buy me a drink and I'll tell you all about it."

"First round's on me," Caliber told them. "Just don't go too pricey, all right?"

"Deal," Rhapsody told him.

"Sorry I'm late!" Glory touched down at that moment, thrusters still winding down from her flight. "My cousins wanted me to finish watching their show with them, and it ran longer than I thought it would."

"You're a lot nicer with those two than I would be," Zinc noted, though she smiled as she draped an arm around the purple Seeker's shoulders and led her into the bar. "It's cute, though."

The seven young mechs and femmes strolled into Swerve's, flashing their IDs to the bouncer before claiming a table for themselves. They were a motley collection of young Cybertronians - from a variety of different heritages and backgrounds, bearing an odd assortment of adult frames and alt modes, with vastly different personalities and interests. Yet they were a tight-knit group, overlooking each other's differences with an openness that would have made their parents proud… and frustrated plenty of older Autobots.

Swerve was not one of those older Autobots… but then, he welcomed anyone to his establishment who had the credits to pay their tab, so perhaps he wasn't the best example.

"Good afternoon, kids!" he greeted, scooting up to their table. "You look like you're having fun! What's the occasion?"

"We're not kids," Zinc retorted. "We're all legal age. And we need a reason to celebrate?"

Swerve shrugged. "Y'all usually come in here to celebrate when one of your friends finally gets upgraded. Thought maybe Alpine finally swapped out for an adult chassis."

He has a few more lunar cycles before he's ready, Soar commed.

"Even if he insists he's totally ready and his parents are just being stubborn about it," Rhapsody giggled.

"Eh, he wouldn't be the first kid to sneak out an' upgrade early without his parents' permission," Swerve noted. "Seen it happen before. Your usuals, kids?"

"Our usuals," Caliber replied. "I'm paying the first round, but split the rest of the tabs."

"Got it." He grinned, making a "finger-guns" gesture at the heli-former before hurrying off.

"Someone needs to tell Alpine to chill," Orion noted. "Growing up's not nearly as fun as it looks."

"Says the mech who was begging Prime to let him upgrade early every day for weeks," Caliber replied, raising an optic ridge.

"Zephyr and Mistral talk about getting their wings all the time too," Glory chimed in. "The uncles are always telling them to enjoy being kids while it lasts, but I think it goes right over their heads."

"I think we were all too excited to grow up, to be honest," Zinc pointed out. "We think the adults have it so much better, only to look back and realize things were so much easier back when we didn't have a ton of responsibility."

"Or were ignorant of a lot of the slag that goes on in the universe," Glory added. "I didn't understand a lot of the hate my parents faced when they first came back to Cybertron… but now that I know, it just makes me upset at what the adults have done to the planet and each other."

"Dad would counter that with a speech about how it's up to us to succeed where the adults failed," Orion pointed out, sighing and leaning back in his chair. "Or some junk like that."

"Well… he's not wrong," Caliber pointed out, taking his drink from the approaching serving drone with a quiet thanks. "Cybertron's still got a long way to go to recover from the war, but we have the potential to fix a lot of it. We just need to step up and take action."

Zinc chuckled. "Look at you, all wise and grown-up, Cal! Let me guess, you're going into politics once you graduate."

Caliber grimaced. "Slag, no. I don't want anything to do with politics."

"Me neither." Orion drained his cube in one go and tried to balance the empty container atop his helm. "Everyone expects me to, because of who my dad is, but honestly I'd like to be able to choose my own future. Didn't we fight a whole war over that point?"

Caliber frowned, and looked like he wanted to say something in response. But a low growl from Paddles cut off any reply.

"Heads-up, guys," she rumbled. "Elite Guards heading this way."

Caliber tensed, rotors hiking higher on his back.

"They're probably just here for a drink," Glory assured her. "They won't harass us."

They're showing identification badges to the bouncer, Soar commed, his own wings hitching up and twitching. We didn't do anything wrong, did we? We're old enough to be here, right? He started rocking in his seat, a soft keen drifting from his vocalizer.

"Easy," Paddles growled, resting a hand on his back and rubbing soothingly. "We're all legal age and paying customers. And unless someone broke the speed limit or ran over someone on the way here…" She glared at Orion.

"Hey, I didn't do a thing!" Orion protested. "Not that anyone can prove, anyhow…"

Zinc gestured sharply for Orion to shut up as the guards approached their table, their Autobot crests bearing the stylized wings that marked them as members of the Elite Guard. Soar keened more loudly, but incredibly both Orion and Caliber relaxed as one of them in particular approached the two of them.

"Hey Tracks," Orion greeted. "How's it feel knowing you're now the second-best looking mech in Iacon?"

Tracks chuckled. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, youngling. It takes more than wings and a flashy paint job to trump my good looks." He nodded to the other occupants of the table. "I hate to break this party up, friends, but Caliber's presence has been requested at the Iacon Tower."

Caliber's rotors had dropped in relief, but now they jerked back up at those words. "The Tower? The Council Tower?"

"I'm afraid so," the other Elite Guard, a dark brown jeepformer with navy blue trim, replied. "You're not under arrest, but Emirate Xaaron would like to speak with you. Just a visit, nothing official… though he recommends you don't keep him waiting."

Orion clamped a hand on Caliber's shoulder. "I'm going with you."

"You don't have to-" Caliber insisted, though already the tension started to ease out of his frame.

"I'm going," Orion insisted. "I dunno what Xaaron's got planned, but it can't be anything good. You need the support." He glared at Tracks as if daring him to try to stop him.

"Xaaron said nothing about the son of Prime…" began the other Guard.

"Oh, what harm can it do?" Tracks insisted. "Come on, you two. It's a long drive to the Tower."

The two Guards and the two brothers left Swerve's… leaving their friends to speculate wildly as to what was going on, and Soar to make a frantic call to his father.

Caliber had never met Emirate Xaaron face to face before, but from all the stories he'd heard he had expected a towering, imposing statesmech. He hadn't expected a stocky, rather plain-looking mech shorter than him, plated in metallic gold and silver but otherwise unornamented and drab. It was hard to look at him and imagine his adopted father so intimidated by him.

"Thank you for coming," Xaaron noted, his voice deep but mild as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk. "Please sit down. Guards, Orion, leave us."

"I'm not leaving!' Orion insisted, planting his fists on his hips and glowering at the Council member. "Anything you've got to say to him, you can say with me in the room."

Xaaron sighed deeply. "Well, you certainly inherited your father's stubborn nature. But I mean your friend no harm. I only wish to have a discussion with him, and perhaps discuss his future."

Orion narrowed his optics. "If that's all, then why do you want me gone so bad?"

"Orion, go," Caliber told him. "I'll be all right."

"I don't trust him, Cal!" Orion protested. "You can't be-"

"I'll be fine," he assured him. "Don't get yourself in trouble on my account."

Orion scowled, but he let Tracks lead him out of the room. Caliber waited for the door to slide shut before sitting down, taking in the spartan but sizeable office before returning his attention to Xaaron.

Xaaron, for his part, spent a long moment studying the young mech before leaning back in his chair. "So you are the infamous son of Megatron."

Caliber bristled, and he forced his rotors to lay flat against his back instead of flaring in irritation. "My name's Caliber. Megatron is my sire. But I'm not him."

Xaaron raised an optic ridge. "I've heard much about you, young Caliber. Prime speaks most highly of you."

He had no idea how to respond to that, and settled for a slight nod.

"The Council has taken a great interest in your future, young mech." Xaaron pulled something from a drawer - a decanter of a bright blue fuel and two cut-crystal glasses. "We're all quite curious about what you plan to do with the rest of your life. And perhaps I can offer some advice on that front." He poured a layer of high-grade into one glass and offered it to Caliber.

"I haven't decided for sure what I want to do with my life, sir," Caliber explained, taking the glass and just studying the contents. He wanted to add but I know for sure what I DON'T want to do, but decided that would only upset the Councilor. "I've discussed it quite a bit with Prime and… others. I have a few ideas, but I want to be sure before I take any big steps."

"Understandable," Xaaron noted, sipping at his own drink. "But I'd be interested in hearing those ideas. Perhaps I can offer some feedback."

Caliber had no idea what Xaaron was hoping to accomplish with this meeting, but decided he had nothing to gain by lying or clamming up. "To be honest… I was hoping to go to medical school. Become a doctor, or a medic."

Xaaron's golden optics flashed at that. "Not quite what I expected."

What were you expecting me to say? Caliber thought, rotors twitching. A gladiator, a revolutionary, Emperor of Cybertron? With a great effort he held his vocalizer, and forced his fingers to relax their death grip on his glass before it cracked.

"Still, an admirable goal. One that I'm sure your foster father will approve of." He drained his glass and set it aside. "You know… the Council can assist you on this path if you so wish. Not every mech who applies for medical school makes it in, but perhaps we can find the means to smooth the path for you."

Caliber frowned. This wasn't what he'd expected from this meeting… but it still sounded too good to be true. Prime had never bad-talked the Council directly to him, but he'd overheard enough of his complains to Elita to know they had a fairly low opinion of him and his father… and that they weren't above some shady tactics to get what they wanted.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that we can make your journey towards fulfilling your goals easy… or difficult." He folded his hands on the desk. "How hard that journey is merely depends on a single factor."

"What factor?" This sounded less like a bribe and more like a threat now. "What do you want from me?"

In answer Xaaron removed another object from his desk drawer and set it before him - a metallic red Autobot sigil. The stern visage gleamed up at him, as if silently judging him and finding him wanting.

"What's this?" he asked, though he knew all too well what it was.

"The key to an easier future for you," Xaaron replied. "The optics of all Cybertron are upon you, young Caliber - watching your every move, your every action, silently waiting for any sign that you may be following in your father's footsteps."

"I'm not-" he protested.

"I know very well that you are not," Xaaron assured him, his voice gentle and even kindly. "Prime has vouched for you on every occasion. But if you were to wear this symbol, to publicly declare your allegiance to the Autobots, it would erase those doubts. Not entirely - you will probably always encounter resistance - but it will ease the minds of so many Autobots to know that the son of Megatron has declared himself an Autobot."

Caliber picked up the sigil and stared into the hollow voids of its optics. Such a small scrap of alloy… yet it felt immensely heavy in his palm. Xaaron wasn't just asking him to wear this on his chest - he was asking him to choose a side.

His fingers twitched, then closed over the sigil. His spark pulsed hotly in his chest, threatening to sear its way out. He knew he should say yes - his family and most of his friends were Autobots, and Cybertron was largely governed by Autobots. But by taking this sigil, he felt he would be renouncing his father and his past entirely. And the thought of doing that made his tanks lurch and ache.

"You don't need to decide right this moment," Xaaron told him, his tone almost fatherly. "But now that you're an adult, you really should make the decision soon. How about tomorrow? You can come back then and give the entire Council your answer."

Caliber didn't get a chance to respond - the doors opened, and Optimus Prime stormed into the office, optics flashing with anger, Orion hurrying after him with a worried expression.

"Optimus." Xaaron's fatherly tone evaporated like water on hot iron. "You have no right to just barge into my office-"

"I have every right when you're interrogating my son without my permission." His hand rested on Caliber's shoulder. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm putting a stop to it right now. And from now on, you talk to ME before you decide to have a private chat with either of my sons."

"Caliber is not your son," Xaaron retorted, his voice cold.

"I beg to differ," Prime replied, and he tugged lightly at Caliber's arm. "Come… let's go home. We can discuss whatever Xaaron has told you in a less intimidating setting."

Caliber might have protested Prime's overprotectiveness at any other time, but now he simply followed him and Orion out of the office, legs shaky with relief. Perhaps Optimus would understand his dilemma… and help him make a decision regarding the sigil.