They'd said they'd always do whatever it took for their world.

AN- All transmissions, as marked by «», occur in the past.

«Your words were an unexpected surprise. They were bold, unfiltered, rivetingly hopeful. This, I believe, is the greatest set of qualities a mech of this time could own.

I am thrilled to hear you say that the small influence I exert has changed so much for the better in you. While we have never met, I am sure you are every bit as brave as you proclaim you are not. For a high class in Iacon to view their own city without the same lens of idealistic blindness as your fellows is a rare gift of clarity indeed.

I am just one mech. For this system to truly change, an armies worth of mechs are needed. One voice can be silenced by the council. The council can be silenced by the multitude.

And such a change in power must occur for the cybertronian people to ever be free. The senate holds fuel and freedoms from its people; it holds their lives and will not let go without force. As terrifying as standing up can be, it is only the multitude that can break the council's hold. And a multitude requires directions, leaders; willing to resort to force, but primarily standing on words. Words can make or break a truth. They hold a special strength; one that the senate wishes could be silenced. You stated your job was monitoring planet wide transmissions? Then you are a silencer- but one who wishes to be free.

I must believe that there are many who hold this same wish. I must believe there is a multitude waiting, in silence, in fear, ready to tear the old council down. Hope is all a slave can afford. How many cybertronians have not yet realized their own hope is all that keeps them from succumbing to the binds entrapping them?»

«message: received»

«Your passion is most motivating. I wish there were more willing to stand up like you. However, I must admit to being confused over your suggestion regarding the council. It does not seem clear to me what you were implying.

Aside from that, I must admit as always to being entrapped by your words; they are 'rivetingly hopeful', as you called my own (a prose far more fitting to your own speeches than my simple messages).

Though I remain confused regarding the senate suggestions, I must also confess to the dread your words on the council brought me. They were true. The council is steeped in corruption. The world it offers its people is a golden tinted lie. But many council members do not wish for destruction or slavery. They are outnumbered, but willing to work towards a better world.

Still, as I admitted last cycle, your bravery is inspiring. I can only hope it inspires more; many more. Enough for voices to be heard, no matter where they hail from or what their place in this sick caste is.»

«message: received»

«I can only hope you read this. A part of me worries you will see only my name attached to this message and ignore what lies within it.

As reported last orn, I will be delayed to the outpost at Trypt. I know it seems to hardly matter if I show at all. But I will. You can count on me to arrive; though I detest violence and slaughter for any reason. I will because I must do my part for our people. You once inspired me to rise up for freedom, for the right to live and to live without restrictions or overseers- to fight for a planet we all deserve, for a world thats peace is true rather than a grand illusion-

I am still at Uari. I have been cleaning up after our mess ever since the militia moved on to Trypt.

To call it a mess seems unfair to the horror we've left behind. I am not naive; you have seen to that. In so many ways, you have seen to that. This horror I stand beside as I record every loss of property, every loss of life- it is a horror meant to save our people. If it can, then it is worth it.

We shared a dream once. Ratchet insists we no longer do.

We shared a dream for Cybertron. For its people. Death and destruction was not the end goal. We wanted peace for every mech.

Please, prove Ratchet wrong. Please, promise that this dream is still the goal; that this ruin I am surrounded with in Uari is not to spread to every home on Cybertron.»

«draft: unsent»

«My scouts have delivered a copy of a treatise designed by my high command to your borders. It was written to bring a standstill to the conflict of two of the warring factions on our torn world. Our factions. As Prime, I have supervised this treatise. It will be fair for all involved.

This treatise would see a standstill for all combative factions. It would take much effort to undo the damage this young war has already done to our world, but the vitality of that effort cannot be understated.

I appeal to you, not for myself but for this world. You once told me that this planet is what you will rise to fight for. For, Megatron. Not against. This war of ours has many losers and no victors; but among the primary innocents it works to destroy is this living planet itself.

I cannot believe you wish so callously to drive Primus away from this planet's core. Accept the treatise. Meet with me. Cybertronians deserve a world, not a graveyard.»

Cybertron was a graveyard.

It had been less than a vorn since Optimus had last stood here, but such a span of time was still significant. The last autobot to step onto this dead world was Arcee, who had come here with Jack just to find Vector Sigma. To find it for him.

Orion had been in awe that they had thought him worthy. Optimus felt that awe was too strong an emotion to allow. But his recent return from being Orion again had its consequences. The Matrix struggled to submerge old forgotten memories under the veil of leadership.

When he had been Orion, an Orion who did not remember the militia that devolved into brutal war anymore than he did the betrayal of his mentor, he had been shown a landscape. Megatron had shown it to the archivist in the hopes of riling his passion for his homeworld; a passion the warlord could then turn against Ratchet, who he had pinned the hopeless scene on.

A landscape of Cybertron as it was now.

Orion had been horrified. The destruction, the lifeless sky, the husk of a planet- it was a visceral nightmare. It was unthinkable. Borderline impossible to truly comprehend.

As a Prime, Optimus could look over the disturbing scene with grief at failing his planet. He had done so many times in the vorns as his dead world was still fought over.

But as someone so recently a mere archivist from before the war had even seemed possible...

When he had been shown the state of Cybertron while on the Nemesis, it had been far worse than Optimus Prime's slow exposure to a dying world. The war had stretched the destruction out, had made it feasible. A long, slow, drawn out death dealt by the servos of decepticons and autobots alike. Destroying Cybertron had never been either of their goals. He was sure of that. But the decepticons could not be allowed to win. Megatron's warmongering could not be allowed a hold on this or any other planet. It was better to fight for freedom than to accept slavery for peace. As much as Orion detested violence (as he had been so recently reminded while on the Nemesis), Optimus had no such qualms. The Matrix made it so.

He had been here leading troops only a millennia ago. He'd been accustomed to the grief.

He could not stop it now. Not so soon after being forced back to Orion Pax's naivety to the destructions of war.

Optimus looked out over the grave that was his homeworld.

"Autobots."

Without the aid of time and leadership to dull it, he could see with greater clarity than ever before exactly what his former comrade wrought on their world.

This death- this warmongering-

it could not continue.

Ratchet had been right. He had always been right. But Optimus did not believe he understood that more than he did while looking over the handiwork of a remorseless Megatron.

"We must travel to the Sea of Rust. It is likely we will encounter resistance."

There was no redemption for someone who could so callously destroy a world. No hope for one who would rebirth it only to have a planet created in their deluded image.

"We must bring the keys to the omega lock. We must not falter at the attacks the decepticons will no doubt throw at us."

He turned to look at his team. He looked at them so that they may hear his proclamation. Their faces, the memory of their expressions in this moment, would serve to hold him accountable.

He'd failed this planet by sparing his former comrade too many times. He would not fail again.

"Megatron must be stopped." Optimus clenched his fists. "No matter the cost."

Big words. He feared they would not ring true. No matter how horrified Orion's memories told him to be at the sight of this dead world, those same memories would falter in the face of killing his enemy. Perhaps his recent return to Orion had caused him to be more brutal in decision making- to be clouded from his usual hope and just as prone to vengeful thoughts as any mortal-

This time he would not falter. He had not in the cave. He had not in the desert. Only unexpected circumstances prevented him from striking the warlord down when he was unable to fight in both those instances.

One cycle, Megatron would not be so lucky. There would be no unexpected circumstances.

And the hopes left by a phantom mind clashed too heavily with the same mind's horror at the crimes the corrupt mech left behind for it to ever stall before the killing blow again.

"Autobots-" Optimus turned away from his team and looked over the dead expanse again.

"Roll out."

The barricade was the best that could have been constructed in such little time.

And it was far from enough.

Megatron looked over the dusty expanse of land. The infernal autobots could be arriving from any direction. No doubt they had found this 'lock's location just as Soundwave did.

Hmm. Soundwave. It would have seemed fitting to have the mech by his side now. To have his familiar presence waiting as the decepticon's faced their darkest hour. But Megatron never sent Soundwave into battle if the situation seemed perhaps more dangerous than the other ex-gladiator could handle. Granted, the carrier could handle almost any combat scenario.

But not this new weapon Optimus flaunted.

It would not do to have them both die.

His fists ground together. Oh, but he had no plans to die just yet. He had no plans to ever die. The dead were too easily forgotten.

When he killed Optimus (and it was a when, not an if), he would give his opponent the slightest honor he would offer such a legendary struggle as their own. He would make sure history remembered the last of the Primes. And, more importantly, their final destroyer.

The conviction felt more hollow than usual. The dust looked threatening.

The helplessness of this turn in power made him nearly ill. It would not do. He needed a way to turn this war again. He had to.

On board the Nemesis, still hovering over Earth, Dreadwing moved down the halls towards the bridge. He was to assume control of the ship. Much as he was loath to admit it, he did not know how to control this ship and its armies. But he would need to do his best; his master awaited reinforcements on Cybertron. Dreadwing knew he needed to be ready to be called there. After all, Starscream and his armada were already waiting on the flight deck to be sent to the dead planet. It was only the Nemesis that had been told to wait back.

There was noise coming from the room he was nearing. The seeker moved to its doorway and looked in.

The medbay was not empty, although there were no patients. XL-2M99 was sitting at his desk. A different vehicon was making extravagant movements (perhaps some sort of dance? Not one of his era, then. This madness in front of him was far from that art) while the medic shook his head. Both voices carried out of the open doorway. Both sounded happy.

Dreadwing felt himself smile. Then the seeker walked on. He had come to bid farewell; nothing about this mission seemed hopeful on their parts. And he would never again do as he had with his twin; he would not fail to find closure in adieus.

But there was a peace at play that he felt he never brought to the vehicons of the army. His arrival dragged along war and servitude. His absence allowed lively chatting and energetic happiness, at least on the flyer's part (the interim medic had never seemed energetic).

He should not intrude and bring the failures and sobriety of late behind him.

The decepticon 2IC returned to the bridge and organized the squadrons filtering through the spacebridge to aid their master in building a suitable barricade.

But each new list that he passed on, he recorded in his own memory banks. These were soldiers likely heading to their death. Such was war. As the officer in charge of their lives, he would do each one the honor of being remembered.

Some designations he recognized.

Perhaps, Dreadwing considered as his unease grew, he had let himself become too invested with the lives of his mechs. The other officers (with the possible exception of Soundwave, though it was impossible for him to tell) did not concern themselves with the designations of disposables. Not even the named, the officers, the loyal-

He shook his head. It was not the time to think of Skyquake. Nor was it his place to think so bitterly of his lord.

The dust storm blew over the flatlands of the Sea of Rust. Vehicons prowled atop the high walls of the omega lock or waited with weapons hot by the shorter walls of a makeshift barricade.

Peeking up through the ground, the autobot scout took a good long scouting look around. And then grinned under his mask when the first con noticed him.

Bumblebee moved up from the ground, feeling the trippy effects of the phase shifter even as he shot upwards at the vehicons above. Then he was running back and the cons were left to wait and see exactly which direction 'back' was.

And then far more pressing matters arrived.

A heap of rubble coated in orange was thrown through the air. The blue beam of the immobilizer lanced around.

Jets tore into the dusty air. Some were hit with the immobilizer. Some crashed down to the ground when met with deadly levels of soundwaves. Arcee ran, pointing the resonance blaster upwards and taking down as many of the airborne vehicons as got in range.

Those vehicons incapable of flight poured forth from the bottom of the barricade wall. They amassed forward in greater number than the autobots against them. Numbers had always been the one advantage they held above their enemies.

A grenade landed amongst the army and tore through those nearby its explosion. The resonance blaster switched from airborne targets to those on the ground. Knock Out stayed near the back and let the beam of the immobilizer slide between flightmodes and grounders indiscriminately. His goal was merely to keep the thing in one piece this time.

Some of the groundbased troops met the crash of a hammer. Bulkhead let the forge dip down once the devastating swing was completed.

"Eh." Breakdown tossed another chunk of metal up, distractedly glancing at his nearby rival. "Guess yours is bigger."

The wrecker laughed.

Smokescreen had waited until Bumblebee returned from his first run. As they'd already planned, the scout unfastened the phase shifter and handed it off to the rookie. Then the elite guardsmech was slipping through the ground and racing for where the bulk of the con army was on the ground.

Not long after, that segment of enemies dropped from identical deaths. The spark extractor lay alone on the ground amidst the corpses.

Then, making his way from the back of the team to the front, Optimus Prime became visible in the dust. In one servo was the star saber. The sword lifted and then its energy tore through the air. The dust swirling in the wind shot away from the carving slice. The metal of the barricade separated just as the dust had.

With a roar of anger, Megatron leapt from his collapsing wall and entered the air. His cybertronian altmode flew faster than the Prime dared to swing such a dangerous weapon. Joining the warlord, more vehicon seekers took to the air; mainly to escape their failing barricade, it seemed.

And then, high above the omega lock, a space bridge opened. They could have brought their warship through; could have used its weaponry to melt the omega lock down. But the decepticons wished to restore Cybertron just as the autobots did. Instead of the warship, it was more seekers that came through; their weapon fire tore down towards the autobots.

Against a singular airborne mech, the star saber hardly seemed accurate enough. Against a crowd...

More rubble was thrown; that, or mechs were magnetized together and fell crashing to the ground. The immobilizer took down a suitable amount of enemies. The resonance blaster was traded for the femme's typical guns until an unlucky con flew into the range of the relic. The wreckers continued to tear through the decepticons that remained on the ground; a certain rookie joining them in the close combat fighting.

The autobots had made their way to the ramp of the omega lock. The decepticon numbers had dropped.

But it was only when they stood upon the lock itself, Optimus sending another tearing cut through more of the armada, that it seemed to be enough. The battle had been won long before. It was pride and desperation that had kept the fight going.

With one final garbled roar from their leader, the decepticons retreated.

And Team Prime was left atop the omega lock with all its keys at their disposal.

They could revive their world.

Where he stood among them, Knock Out felt a thrill of excitement and deja vu. This time, there would be no interruption. This time, it wouldn't be him standing with the cons feeling the high of seeing a planet resurrected and then the despair of seeing the lock destroyed.

This time would be different.

Surely, it would.

«If this world should devolve into conflict- if this energon crisis cannot resolve peacefully- then it is up to the citizen to rise up. It is our energon that they are hoarding; our life that they keep from us. I know you do not like to hear of conflict- but listen. Should conflict become inevitable, remember what it is we will stand to fight for. The energon we deserve. The freedoms we deserve. The planet we deserve.»