If Orion's history classes were to be believed, the Great War had begun in this very arena, informally known throughout Kaon as the Pit. Megatron had established himself here as one of the best gladiators in all of Kaon, if not Cybertron itself, and used his charisma and fighting prowess to assemble an army of Decepticons. And his oilthirsty ways had carried from the arena to the battlefield, turning all of Cybertron into a killing field before Optimu Prime had finally ended his reign of terror.

Of course, that was history as written by the victors, Orion thought. He was sure that Megatron himself would tell a very different story if asked. Though at this rate he was going to be very lucky if he ever got a chance to ask him.

"You've gone quiet, little Autobot," Strika rumbled as she chained him to a heavy pole in the center of the arena. "Electro-cat got your vocalizer?"

Orion forced himself to grin at her. "Just struck dumb by your incredible beauty, ma'am."

Strika growled and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. "Don't get cute, Auto-brat. Your charm and mouth aren't going to save you."

"Caliber would never hurt me," Orion countered. "We're brothers."

She raised an optic ridge at the "brothers" remark but didn't question it. "Shockwave thinks otherwise. And he's going to ensure Caliber does what he wants… no matter what it takes." She strode off, leaving him alone in the center of the arena.

Orion took in his surroundings, trying to find something, anything, that could help him. The Pit was pretty much what the name indicated - a crater in the crust of Kaon, rings of tiered seats surrounding a sunken oval of exposed metal. The arena floor was pitted with centuries' worth of battle scars, gouged and scratched until it looked like one could cut their pedes just by walking across it, and ugly stains marked where oil and other fluids had been spilled and never cleaned up. Several battered posts, identical to the one he was fixed to, stood about the arena, chains dangling from them.

That's weird… if the purpose of the arena is to watch a fight, why chain one of the combatants up? Were some of them just that good that they needed a handicap? Or… maybe it was for when they didn't WANT much of a fight. Like an execution or something…

His tanks churned, and he abandoned that train of thought. He forced his gaze onto an announcer's box of sorts, where Shockwave stood with his hand and cannon hanging loosely at his sides. The mech's single optic remained fixed on Orion, watching him like a cyberhawk.

"Hey ugly!" he shouted, struggling to hide the quaver in his voice. "Where's my brother, you sick freak?!"

Shockwave didn't deign to answer. He let his gaze focus on the empty stands, as if imagining them full of eager, violence-hungry spectators. Headfins quivering, hand clenching into a fist at one side, he raised his gun-arm in a silent signal.

Footsteps clomped across the steel floor, and Orion lowered his gaze to see Caliber crossing the arena, Tarn at his side. For a moment he felt a peculiar relief at seeing his brother, unhurt and uncuffed…

Until he saw the cannon fixed to Caliber's right arm. A cannon eerily similar to the one Megatron wielded in almost every image he'd seen of the Decepticon warlord.

"Get him into position," Shockwave called out. "Then let the Decepticons assemble."

Tarn nodded, and he rested a hand on Caliber's shoulder and murmured into his audial. Orion couldn't make out individual words, but something about that voice tugged at his spark. It was far more than the tone and timbre, the resonance of the sound waves emerging from his vocalizer - there was something compelling about the mech's voice, that willed him to obey even from this distance.

Caliber's optics blazed molten-gold in horror… but he stepped forward, raising his weapon-arm to point at Orion's chest.

Oh slag… he's controlling him! It was worse than every horror story he'd ever heard about the Decepticon Justice Division. Tarn didn't just kill with his voice - he could manipulate mechs into doing his bidding. It didn't matter that Caliber had no desire to kill Optimus Prime or Orion - Tarn had the power to MAKE him do so.

"Cal!" he called out. "Cal, snap out of it! It's me! It's your brother!"

Caliber's steady pace didn't falter, but his faceplates were a study in desperation. He clearly heard Orion, clearly understood what he was doing and wanted to stop it, but he had no power to do so.

"Decepticons," Shockwave announced, raising both hands aloft. "Our moment of rebirth is upon us!"

A cheer rose to meet his words - weak in volume, as only a few dozen mechs were scattered amidst the tiered seats, but strong in enthusiasm and a deep, burning rage. Orion shuddered. He'd thought most, if not all, Decepticons had renounced the cause after Megatron had lost the war. Evidently there were still fanatics who thought they could conquer Cybertron again after all this time.

"Lord Megatron may be lost to us," Shockwave went on, "but in his wisdom he left us hope for a better future. He left us an heir to the Decepticon throne, one who will finish what he began and restore us to our rightful place in the galaxy. Behold - Caliber of Polyhex, son of Megatron, your new ruler and Emperor!"

Another cheer met that statement. Caliber jerked at the roar of the crowd like an animal about to bolt, but Tarn clutched his shoulder and murmured into his audial, and he instead raised his arms to receive the adulation.

That's not Caliber, Orion told himself. That's not him, he's being controlled, Caliber's not liking this, he's just as scared as you are... The mantra only made him feel slightly better - his life was still on the line, regardless of who was pulling the trigger.

"And as the first step towards our new Emperor claiming his position," Shockwave went on, "I present to you - the death of Orion of Iacon, son of Optimus Prime!"

Orion's tanks lurched as a third cheer rippled through the air, and only sheer force of will kept him from purging right there. He yanked at his chains, but all he succeeded in doing was snapping a cable in his wrist. Hissing in pain, he fixed his gaze on Caliber as the violet mech aimed the cannon directly at his chest.

"Orion… I'm sorry," Caliber whispered, his voice straining as he fought against Tarn's power of compulsion. "I… I can't stop…"

"You gotta fight it, Cal," Orion insisted. "You're strong, you can do this!"

Caliber's hands clenched into fists, his jaw clenched… optic cleanser streamed down his cheeks as he threw every fiber of his being into resisting Tarn's voice… the barrel of the cannon hummed with power, and Orion swore he could see the energy kindling within its depths, preparing to lance through him…

"Shockwave! This ends now!"

Every optic in the Pit swung towards the arena entrance - and the scarlet-and-blue figure striding through the gates. The oilthirsty roar of the crowd fractured into dozens of confused, frightened shouts as Optimus Prime swiveled his head about to glower at the gathered Decepticons. Tarn's words terminated in a startled gurgle, and Caliber took advantage of the moment's respite to lower the cannon. Even Shockwave took a step backwards, headfins twitching madly.

Orion, for his part, had never been so glad to see his father. But his relief didn't last long.

"I'm here as you requested, Shockwave," Prime told the violet mech. "Now release my sons."

Shockwave's headfins pinned back as he regained his composure. "Caliber is MY son, not yours… and that was never our agreement. Had you not come, Orion would have perished. But you're here now… and now both you and your son will meet your end at the hand of Megatron's heir!"

It had been a scene straight out of many Autobots' worst nightmares - Caliber aiming a weapon at Orion's chest, ready to snuff the spark of his foster brother. And though Optimus Prime had long regarded Caliber as his own son, as dear to him as the child of his own spark, he wouldn't lie and say that he had never feared that the son of Megatron might someday turn against the family that raised him. He had long ago dismissed that fear as unfounded… but entering the Pit to see his sons turned against one another had awakened it all over again.

Then his attention had fixed on Tarn, and the fear had burst into a blazing rage. No… Caliber would never willingly hurt his brother. But Shockwave had the means to force him to do so.

"One more step, and Orion dies," Tarn threatened.

"Get away from my sons," Prime snarled, his fingers tightening on his gun.

"Caliber is not your son!" Shockwave retorted - and though his voice was as steady as ever, Prime knew by the twitching of his headfins that hearing Prime refer to Caliber as his son was driving him into a deeper rage. "You were a fool, Optimus Prime, to think that you could deny him his destiny by raising him as an Autobot! He was created for this purpose! To ascend to the throne and continue in his father's cause!"

"He deserves to choose for himself!" Prime roared. "To decide his own destiny! What kind of a parent are you to deprive him of that right? Even Megatron himself wants Caliber to choose his own future!"

Shockwave's optic blazed in fury. "You dare presume to speak for Megatron, Optimus?"

"I can speak for myself just fine, Shockwave."

Gasps and cries of shock filled the stands as another mech strode into the arena - a silver-and-black mech whose scarlet gaze swept the gathered mechs before coming to rest on Caliber and Orion. Tarn stared, not even bothering to disguise his complete and utter awe, while Orion just gaped in shock.

"Dad?" Caliber murmured, his own optics bright with wonder.

Megatron met his son's gaze and gave a reassuring nod before returning his attention to Shockwave. He walked uncuffed and unfettered, not even a transformation lock keeping him bound to his root mode, and no guards flanked him as he stood within the Pit where he had kindled the first sparks of war so long ago. Elita, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and a selection of guards were hidden about the arena, keeping stun weapons trained on him should he do anything stupid, but Prime knew that, even unarmed, Megatron could easily fight his way past them and make an escape if he chose to.

They were placing a great deal of trust in their former enemy… and Megatron knew that all too well. Prime counted on the hope that Megatron's love for his son was greater than his urge for freedom. Perhaps it was a foolish hope… but it was all they had.

"Lord Megatron." Shockwave's voice was entirely without inflection. "Your appearance is unexpected."

Megatron managed a smirk. "I guessed that when you sought to push Caliber to take my place, Shockwave. Noble of you, if rather stupid. Let him go - let BOTH of them go - this instant!"

"My Lord," Tarn protested, sinking to his knees before the silver warlord, "this mech is the son of Optimus Prime! We have the opportunity to rid ourselves of your greatest foe and his offspring once and for all!"

Megatron barely spared the Decepticon Justice Division's infamous leader a glance. "The war is over! All of this…" He gestured about him, at the paltry resistance in the stands and the attempted execution in the arena proper. "...is an exercise in futility, prolonging a struggle we have already lost. There has been enough destruction - and I declare the destruction over! Release my son and the spawn of Optimus Prime, Shockwave, and let this war end once and for all!"

Shockwave stared at Megatron for a long, tense moment. "We agreed to spark and forge an heir to your throne, Lord Megatron. This was the purpose for which Caliber was created. Will you truly deny him his destiny?"

Megatron's optics rested on Caliber… and Prime's spark swelled at the pride and love that burned in his old foe's gaze. "Caliber's destiny is to live, Shockwave. To live and to choose his own path in the universe. This is the future he deserves - a future where he and others of his generation can decide their own destinies, without an archaic caste system or an oppressive Council deciding it for them. And if he chooses to reject the throne and pursue a different path… then he has already realized the grandest destiny of all."

Prime gave a slow nod, his spark burning with triumph at Megatron's words. Small wonder he had managed to rally an army all those eons ago - he spoke with the charisma of a Prime, and had the conviction to back up those words. Perhaps, with the power of his voice, they could end this without oilshed.

"You have given up on your own cause, Megatron," Shockwave replied, his tone cold with rage. "I'm disappointed. Perhaps Caliber will succeed where you failed." He raised his voice. "Proceed with the execution! Eliminate Optimus Prime, Megatron, and Orion!"

Time seemed to slow to a crawl at that announcement - and though Prime would later learn it was just a trick of his CPU, at the time he assumed Elita heard what was going on and activated her outlier ability to buy them precious seconds. Tarn rose to his feet, and though his mask hid his jaw and lip plates Prime could see the cables in his neck work as he spoke a few well-chosen words to Caliber. Caliber's expression was a mask of fear as his arm raised, the cannon humming as it powered up…

Prime lunged, but Megatron was faster - his hand found Tarn's throat, and the violet tankformer's optics flashed with shock and agony as fingers dug into the wiring and tore his vocalizer free. Tarns scream of anger and pain cut off in a burst of static, and he gripped his throat with one hand while leveling the other arm - the one bearing his fusion cannon - at his former leader. Megatron barely leaped away in time to avoid the blast.

As for Prime… his charge took him directly into Caliber, and the young mech grunted with the impact as Prime knocked him sprawling. The blast from his cannon missed Orion's chest by a hand's breadth and struck the arena wall.

"I'm sorry!" Caliber blurted even as he scrambled to his feet, cannon smoking. "I couldn't stop it, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"I'm okay, Cal!" Orion called out. "It's okay, you missed!"

"I… I did?" Caliber stared dumbly at the cannon, then grabbed it and wrenched it off, flinging it across the arena.

"Caliber, go find Elita and stay with her!" Prime ordered. "Orion, hold still!" And he raised his gun, pointing it at his son.

"Wait, Dad, what-" Orion sputtered.

Prime fired, and the chains binding the young mech to the pole fell away. Orion hit the arena floor, then climbed to his feet and ran to Prime's side.

"What took you so long, Dad?"

"You're welcome," Prime replied. "Are you all right?"

"Pretty good, all things considered," Orion replied. "Um… I found Caliber."

Prime wasn't sure whether to reply with a witty retort, give his son a look, or just clap a palm over his face. And he didn't exactly have time for any of those reactions anyhow. The stands had erupted into chaos - some Decepticons were leaping into the Pit to lend Tarn a hand, while others tangled with Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and the Autobot reinforcements Elita had brought with her. Tarn and Megatron were visible as a hopeless tangle of silver and black and violet, gouging at each other's joints and optics and raining powerful blows onto each other's armor.

Shockwave had vanished… and Prime hoped the Council's reinforcements showed up soon. The last thing he wanted was for that mech to go back into hiding and start this whole mess over again.

"Go find your mother," Prime ordered Orion.

"Dad, I can help!" Orion protested. "Give me a weapon! I can fight!"

"No, son," Prime retorted. "Stay with Elita. Help her protect Caliber."

Orion opened his mouth, prepared to argue, but shut it and nodded. "Right. Protect Caliber. I can do that." And he bolted.

Satisfied that his sons were out of immediate danger, Prime turned his attention to the most pressing fight in the arena - Tarn and Megatron. Under normal circumstances they might have been evenly matched… but Megatron was unarmed, while Tarn not only still had his fusion cannon but burned with the zealous rage of a mech betrayed by his own idol. And though the deadly power of his voice had been snuffed, he still had his strength and his weapon.

Megatron bucked beneath the tankformer, hands clawing at Tarn's iron grip on his throat. Tarn held him fast to the arena floor and pressed the barrel of his cannon against the silver mech's head. Energon dripped from his throat, and his optics blazed with angry triumph as he stole a moment to savor his victory.

That moment cost him dearly - Prime's foot caught the barrel of the cannon, knocking it to one side. The blast of pinkish-violet energy seared a molten channel across the arena floor, leaving Megatron unmarked save a scuff mark on the front of his helm. Tarn's head whirled to glare at whomever had taken away his rightful kill…

Only to catch the amber plasma of Prime's energy axe full in the faceplate.

Megatron grunted as Tarn collapsed atop him. Prime wrenched his weapon free of the mech's head and pushed him off, then extended a hand to help his old foe up.

"Are you injured?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Megatron growled, grabbing Prime's wrist and hauling himself to his feet. "You're going to rub this in for as long as I continue to function, aren't you?"

"Why would I do that?" Prime let a little amusement leak into his voice. "Despite everything, Megatron, I do not hate you. And you're Caliber's father. He would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

Megatron narrowed his optics, and Prime wished he could snatch the words back. Despite what had happened today, Megatron was far from a free mech - and his war trial was due to commence very soon. That was something even the Prime, for all his power, couldn't prevent.

A scream of pain brought them both back to reality, and Prime felt his spark jolt in his chest as Orion went down, a smoking hole blooming in the small of his back.

"Elita!"

Elita and Ratchet had been bent over a wounded mech, her holding a panel open so Ratchet could access a ruptured line, when she heard Caliber's shout. Her spark burned with relief, and she raised a hand and waved him over. The violet mech hurried into the alcove where she and the medic were tending to the wounded bot, scooting in by her side.

"Are you hurt?" Elita asked him.

Caliber shook his head. "N-n-no… they didn't… didn't…" He couldn't get the words out and just shook his head again.

"Stay close, kid," Ratchet ordered. "Once I'm sure Hot Shot here won't leak to death, I'll look you over."

"I'm not… not hurt…" Caliber insisted, though his entire frame shook.

"You're in shock, Caliber," Elita told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Sit down and vent. It's okay… we've got you. You're going home."

Caliber nodded and slumped to his knees close by, focusing on venting deeply. His chassis bore some dents and scuffs but no other damages, and his optics blazed with fright. She couldn't blame him - this poor mech had suffered something no mech should have to go through, let alone one his age. And that wasn't even taking into consideration whatever had happened to him before they'd gotten here.

His own carrier did this to him… I knew Shockwave was a loveless parent, but not to this extent. My poor Caliber…

"Mom!"

Elita looked up to see Orion bolting for their group, and felt another wave of relief swamp her, albeit one tinged with irritation. Once they got home and she got done hugging this young idiot, he was going to be grounded until the heat death of the universe…

A shot rang out, and Orion cried out as he hit the ground, smoke pluming from his back.

"No!" Elita shot to her feet, horror searing through her. Not now… not when they were so close to having their children back…

Shockwave strode forward, keeping his gun-arm trained on the fallen flier. "If the heir of Megatron cannot do what must be done, then I shall."

Caliber jerked at Elita's side… and bolted forward before she could stop him. He flung himself over his brother's prone form just as Shockwave fired again, and screamed in pain as the shot tore into his side.

"You truly are a failure, Caliber," Shockwave noted, ice clinging to every word. "As your carrier, I am extremely disappointed in you."

Caliber stared up at him, shaking in pain and fear but determined to say his piece. "It doesn't… have to be like this. We can… we can live in peace… the cause isn't worth this… please..."

Shockwave twitched his headfins. "The cause is worth every life that must be sacrificed to support it. Even yours, Caliber of-"

He never finished his sentence. His head jerked back as a blast pierced his optic, scorching through his cranial shell and slagging his CPU. He wavered on his feet, jerking as the last few bytes of data passed through his systems, then toppled to the arena floor.

Elita tossed her gun aside and rushed to her sons' sides, carefully pushing Caliber off of Orion so she could better inspect both their damages. Ratchet hurried to help, bending down to assess their wounds and seal off the worst of the leaking.

"Orion… Orion, stay with me," she urged.

"Not goin' anywhere, Mom," he grunted. "Can't feel my legs anyhow."

"Must have hit his spinal array," Ratchet noted grimly. "Looks like the blast missed his fuel tanks, at least, though I don't want him moved more than necessary."

Elita nodded and took Caliber's hand, squeezing it tightly. "What about…?"

Ratchet wiped a smear of oil away from Caliber's wound to assess it. "Deep, but not deep enough to hit anything vital. Right now we just need to keep him from going into shock. Keep him awake and try to calm him down while I stabilize Orion."

She nodded again, keeping ahold of Caliber's hand while Ratchet continued to work on Orion. Her tanks churned with worry over Orion… but she couldn't deny that she was proud of Caliber for trying to protect his brother. And even if his words hadn't swayed his carrier, they had distracted him long enough for Elita to line up the fatal shot.

"Caliber," she murmured. "I'm here… everything's going to be okay."

"Mmhhhhh…" Caliber's optics flickered. "Sh-shockwave…"

"He's dead," she assured him. "Caliber… I'm so sorry. He would have killed you…" Would he ever forgive her for shooting down his carrier? Had that one shot shattered their relationship?

Caliber stared blearily up at her, then managed a smile. "Th-thank you… Mom… for saving us."

Her spark flared with emotion, and she squeezed his hand tightly. "That's what mothers do, Caliber. They protect their sparklings."

Footsteps pounded closer, and she looked up to see Prime hit his knees next to Orion, barking frantic questions that Ratchet answered with curses and growls. Megatron crouched down at Caliber's side, frowning, and Elita realized he must have overheard their exchange. But he showed no signs of being displeased with it and instead focused on the tear in Caliber's side.

"He'll live?" he asked.

She nodded. "It's not too deep. He should be fine once it's repaired."

"Orion?"

"He's going to need extensive repairs… but he'll be able to run circles around us again soon enough. Megatron… thank you."

He raised an optic ridge at her. "I should thank you, Elita-1. My son owes you his life. I am forever in your debt for this." He spared a contemptuous glance towards Shockwave's chassis. "I've made far too many mistakes in my lifetime… and selecting Shockwave to carry my heir was only one of them."

Elita wondered who his second choice had been… but decided it didn't matter. No matter who sparked him, Caliber was still their son - Megatron's by spark, hers and Optimus Prime's by choice. They were linked through this young mech, and somehow she couldn't bring herself to regret that.