Sumdac Tower was easily one of Detroit's most recognizable landmarks, and as the sun sank below the jagged horizon it seemed to gild the metal and glass of the tower in brilliant rose-gold. Lights began to flicker on within its interior, as if the tower were a nocturnal beast stirring from slumber with the coming night. By the time full darkness had claimed the city, it would be ablaze with light like a miniature sun of its own.
Optimus Prime's gaze rested not on the tower, however, but on what was slowly taking shape beneath it. The new Autobot Base, nearly complete by now, looked blocky and ungainly next to the sleek skyscraper, and the construction equipment and scraps of metal and concrete scattered about it did little to improve its appearance. But it would be several steps up from squatting in an abandoned factory, he thought… and would have facilities their old home sorely lacked, such as a fully functioning medical bay and a brig for containing Decepticon prisoners until they could be transferred to Cybertron.
Optimus smiled as a whistle sounded to signal the end of the workday, and he stepped forward to address the construction crews. The humans had done so much for them since they'd come to Earth, and had further proven their generosity by pitching in to help them build their new base. The very least he could do was thank them for their service.
"How did today go?" he asked one of the construction workers, a tall dark-skinned man who wore his hair in a plethora of braids beneath his protective helmet.
"Great!" the worker replied with a thumbs-up. "Things're going a lot faster with the new guys! We'll be done way ahead of schedule at this rate!"
"That's great to hear," Optimus replied. "Um… Scrapper and Mixmaster aren't giving you too much trouble, are they?"
"Nah, they behave themselves," he replied, pulling off his hard-hat to shake sweat out of his braids. "They've got kinda filthy senses of humor, but so do the rest of us, so they fit right in."
"Good… that's good to hear." The Constructicons had never fit in among the Autobots, their ways too crude and obnoxious for most of them to tolerate, but Bulkhead had been sure they were decent bots beneath their boorish exteriors. And he'd been right - it had simply been a matter of finding the right place for them, and the right companions.
"Thank you again for everything," Optimus told him. "Your efforts mean a lot to us."
"Our pleasure, sir." The worker gave an easy wave and walked off.
Optimus talked to a few more of the workers, thanking them for their service and wishing them a safe trip home. Then he looked up as a cement truck and an excavator pulled away from the base. He held out a hand, and with a grudging rumble of their engines the two vehicles ground to a halt.
"'Ey, we're on break!" Mixmaster grumbled. "The union'll hear 'bout this!"
"I'm not sending you back to work," Optimus told them. "I just wanted to thank you two for what you're doing for us. We're indebted to you."
"Aw shucks, boss, it ain't no problem," Scrapper replied, ducking his scoop shovel in embarrassment. "Just glad t' have jobs after the 'Cons went bust. Thanks for not lockin' us up with 'em, by the way."
"You're welcome." Optimus raised an optic ridge. "So… where exactly are you two planning on spending your night?"
"Off to th' gas station for drinks, then th' junkyard t' watch th' big game wit' th' buds," Mixmaster replied. "You gotta problem wit' that?"
"Of course not… just stay out of trouble, all right? See you here in the morning."
"Sure thing, boss!" Scrapper waved his shovel, and the two of them rumbled off into the night.
Optimus watched them go, sighing in relief. When he'd heard the reports that the Constructicons had turned back up in Detroit, he'd feared they would have another attempt to take over the city's oil supply on their hands. But evidently Mixmaster and Scrapper had had their fill of Dirt Boss's nasty attitude, and they came to the Autobots of their own free will with the diminutive Constructicon in chains. Dirt Boss was now cooling his heels in the brig, waiting for the next transport to Cybertron, and Bulkhead had put the other two to work helping build the base.
The roar of a powerful engine caught his attention, and he turned to watch a burgundy-and-gold muscle-car approach. The vehicle hit its brakes, smoke pluming from its tires as it executed a perfect 180 spin and came to rest at Optimus' side.
"Show-off," Optimus noted.
Rodimus Prime laughed and transformed, grinning brightly up at the taller mech. "Hey, what is it that Jazz likes to say? Do it with style or don't bother doing it?"
"Doing it with style is all well and good, so long as no one gets hurt," Optimus pointed out. "Just be careful. We're trying to do as little damage to the humans' infrastructure as we can."
Rodimus nodded, though he wore a reckless grin that reminded Optimus far too much of Sentinel during his wild and reckless younger days. He'd heard all the stories about this young mech - that he'd rocketed up through the ranks to become one of the youngest Primes in Cybertronian history, that he'd dazzled his mentors and commanders in the Academy, and that many had pegged him to become Magnus someday. And while Optimus wasn't entirely won over by the high praise, he had to admit that, despite his headstrong ways, he was certainly a brave and talented young mech who would achieve greatness someday.
Funny, didn't they used to say some of the same things about you in the Academy? a little voice in the back of his processor taunted. Didn't you used to be their star student? Aren't you just a little jealous…
He firmly squelched that train of thought before it could go any further. He was not going to harbor any resentment toward this young mech. They were both working towards the same cause, and he wouldn't subvert that cause by hanging onto jealousy. And if Rodimus rose through the ranks to become Magus someday… then so be it. He would support him the entire way.
"We didn't get a call for backup from your team, so I assume the mission was a success?" Optimus asked
"Well… partially." Rodimus rubbed the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. "We found all three of the rogue mechs we were looking for - the technorganics in the national park, the garbage truck in the city dump. But the truck gave us the slip, and we decided that since he's not actively doing damage to the city or the humans, he's not a high priority at the moment."
"Wreck-Gar's harmless," Optimus assured him. "He stopped by today and entertained the construction workers on their lunch break, playing an accordion and singing something about radioactive hamsters. We generally leave him to his own devices unless he starts spreading trash through the city again." He hesitated, then pressed on. "What about the other two?"
Rodimus grinned and rapped his chest plate, where a few deep scratches marred his otherwise-pristine paint job. "They put up a fight, but we got them. Ironhide and Brawn are hauling them into the brig as we speak."
Optimus nodded, though his optics clouded over as his gaze moved to the Autobot Base. His feelings towards Blackarachnia were still hopelessly muddled - he missed his old friend Elita-1, and knew some fragment of her still lived in the technorganic femme. But at the same time, he couldn't forgive Blackarachnia's crimes against Detroit, or the horror she had inflicted on Wasp.
At least, back on Cybertron, both she and Wasp could hopefully get the help that they needed. And if they were able to reverse the process that had twisted both of them, they could determine if there was any chance of saving his old friend. It was too late to patch up his friendship with Sentinel… he only hoped it wasn't too late to do the same with Elita-1.
"Sir?"
"Hmm?" He shook his head and returned his attention to Rodimus. "What is it?"
"I was just saying that it's an honor to be working with you," the young mech replied, grinning widely. "Team Athenia has done a lot in our time, but I never imagined we'd be coming here to team up with the hero of Cybertron!"
Optimus felt his faceplates heat up, and he waved the praise away. "I was only doing the right thing. I'm sure any mech in my situation would have done the same."
"Yeah, but… YOU were the mech in the situation," Rodimus pointed out. "And honestly, if I was standing up to the Great Slagmaker himself, I don't know if I would've had the bolts to go after him. What you did took a lot of courage… and I just hope I have half that courage the next time I have to charge into battle."
Optimus stared, his headfins twitching slightly. This rising star in the Elite Guard ranks, the mech everyone hailed as a chosen one of sorts and had marked as the next Magus, was praising and looking up to him? He wasn't sure whether to be honored or terrified, to be honest.
He searched his CPU for something to say in response, and settled for something he hoped didn't sound too cliche or arrogant. "Well, if this old-timer can give you a few words of wisdom… just remember that courage isn't the absence of fear. It's being afraid, but doing what has to be done despite that."
Rodimus nodded, his expression studious as he committed those words to his memory banks. "I'll remember that. In the meantime… once we get these technorganics locked up and secure, mind telling us a few more stories? Our entire team would love to hear more!"
Optimus laughed. "I'm sure we can obliged you. Meet you in the common room?"
"Sure thing." He snapped a salute. "Until all are one, sir."
"Don't call me sir," Optimus urged. "We're equals here."
"Yes si- Optimus." Rodimus chuckled and hurried off.
Optimus watched him go, smiling to himself. When Ultra Magnus had sent Team Athenia to Earth to help Optimus' crew round up the remaining Decepticons and Allspark-created mechanisms, he'd anticipated a clash of personalities between both teams. But to his pleasant surprise they'd meshed well, and settled in with minimum fuss. Red Alert and Ratchet had found common ground in grumbling about their patients, Bumblebee and Hot Shot got along like a house on fire, and Bulkhead found near-instant buddies in both Ironhide and Brawn.
And Rodimus, completely against Optimus' expectations, hadn't let his reputation as the "chosen one" go to his head. If anything, he looked up to Optimus as a hero… which Optimus found rather baffling, to be honest. He still didn't consider himself a hero - he'd just been in the right place at the right time, and done his best to protect his friends and the planet he'd come to love as much as Cybertron. Still… it felt good to have someone think of him that highly, and not as an Academy reject stuck on a remote backwater.
The sun continued to dip below the horizon, darkness spreading over the skies of Detroit like a bruise. Optimus watched the planet's star a little longer, then turned to head into the base. It had been a long day, and he was going to enjoy some much-needed rest before tackling whatever tomorrow chose to throw at him.
"I am getting you!"
The sparkling, a chubby violet-and-black mech with stubby yellow helm projections that looked almost like antennae, squealed with laughter as he bolted across the yard of the foundling home. Jetstorm chased after him, hands outstretched, running just fast enough to keep on the sparkling's heels. Other sparklings joined in the chase, veering away from the blue flier in all directions as he darted after one, then another, a wide smile splitting his face.
"You are being too slow, brother!" Jetfire shouted from beneath a pile of sparklings, who were dogpiling onto him and wrestling playfully with him. "Have you been eating rocks again?"
"It isn't being fun if I am catching him right away!" Jetstorm shot back, and made a grab for the black sparkling. His fingers latched briefly onto a winglet, but the mech shook him off and scurried away with a giggle.
"It is being more fun being caught by them!" Jetfire laughed, and he squirmed out from under the mass of sparklings. One clung to his back while two others wrapped themselves around his shins, and he laughed and lurched towards his brother, hauling his unlikely passengers along with him. "I'll be helping you catch them!"
"Will you idiots SHUT UP?!" Sentinel barked, looking up from the portable computer unit balanced in his lap. "I'm trying to do some actual work on our mission here!"
Both twins screeched to a halt and turned to stare at Sentinel, Jetfire with three sparklings still hanging from his chassis. They exchanged a long look, torn between their strong loyalties towards the Prime and their desire to enjoy time with their newfound playmates.
"Why'd you stop?" the black sparkling demanded, turning to stare at Jetstorm. "We were having fun!"
"Sentinel is saying we need to stop," Jetstorm replied, as if the answer were blindingly obvious.
"Who cares what the grumpy guy says?" the pink-and-white sparkling clinging to Jetfire's left leg insisted. "Keep playing!"
Jetfire laughed and patted her helm. "I am liking this one's answer! Brother, are you still being it?"
"I am!" Jetstorm replied, grinning brightly. "You better be running, brother!"
Jetfire squealed in mock terror and shuffled off as fast as the sparklings clutching his legs would allow. Jetstorm took off again, and more laughter and shouting filled the yard.
Sentinel growled. "I thought I told you lugnuts to-"
"Oh, let them have their fun," Digger told him, handing him another data chip. "The kids enjoy seeing a fresh face or two. And just because you get upgraded to adult form doesn't mean you can't indulge in a little play now and again."
"We came here to search for records, not goof off," he muttered. "And those two are supposed to be on lookout duty while I work, not distracting me."
"You know, we DO have an office you can borrow," the brown-and-green femme noted with a chuckle. "You can take your work in there and not be distracted. Though you always were happiest when you had something to complain about, weren't you?"
Sentinel rolled his optics and plugged the data chip in, scrolling through yet another folder of spark readouts. He was already thoroughly sick of combing through these files, scrutinizing spark-scans and comparing them to Megatron's. And to think he had twenty more facilities to visit and go through the exact same tedium… and there he wouldn't have the advantage of knowing the mechs in charge, and would probably have to flex his authority to look at the files in question.
Though the twins'll probably enjoy it, he groused, wincing as Jetfire and a pack of sparklings rolled towards his feet in what looked for all the world like a tickle war. For all their training and expertise, they're just overgrown kids themselves. They'd love the chance to wrangle twenty more packs of the little brats. Maybe next time I WILL hole myself up in an office and let them use up their extra energy on the scraplets…
"Okay, okay, I am surrendering now!" Jetfire shouted, throwing his arms up. "I am defeated! Bleh!" His head rolled back, glossa hanging out and optics shuttering as he feigned shutting down.
"You're not REALLY dead!" the pink-and-white femme giggled… a giggle that faded as she poked lightly at the orange flier's chest. "Are you?"
"I am assuring you I am dead," Jetfire replied, not opening his optics. "If I were not being dead, I would be doing THIS!" And he sat up and wriggled his fingers, prompting the sparklings to run away shrieking in all directions.
"Jetfire, I am TRYING to work here!" Sentinel growled.
"And I am being hard at work too!" Jetfire assured him, getting to his feet and brushing dust off his armor. "Hard at work keeping the sparklings from bothering my boss!" He giggled and trotted off.
Sentinel rolled his optics and kept scrolling through the readouts. The sooner he finished scanning all these records, the sooner he could leave this place. Get it over with, say his goodbyes to Digger, and never walk through these doors again.
It wasn't just the twins and their sparkling playmates that were getting on his tactical sensors - being here dredged up too many memories. Not all of them were bad memories, to be honest - he remembered his friendships among the other sparklings fondly, and it had been a far better life than scraping for survival on the streets or ending up in the hands of slavers. But he still hated thinking too much about his lowly origins… or the horrific events that had landed him in Digger's care in the first place.
When he'd first arrived at the foundling home, a tiny blue sparkling still bearing the dents and scuffs of the Tyger Pax raid that had killed his creators, he'd been so traumatized by the disaster that he hadn't spoken for over a quatrex. He'd spent the first decacycle or so curled up in a corner, refusing to move or speak. Not even hunger had budged him, and he might have shut down entirely from energon deprivation had Digger not intervened.
Digger had been incredibly patient with all the sparklings in her care, and she had been gentle with him despite his refusal to cooperate. She had coaxed him to take a little fuel now and again, and taken the time to speak softly to him and assure him he was somewhere safe. It was okay to miss his parents, even okay to feel scared and lost, but she hoped he would feel secure here.
He even owed his name to her, oddly enough. His willful muteness had included refusing to answer any questions, even a request for his name, so Digger had eventually come to calling him Sentinel. "Because when you finally came out of your corner you would watch the rest of the sparklings at play so solemnly, like a little guard," she had explained. "Like a sentinel."
It had been Digger's gentle coaxing that had finally pried him out of his corner… but it had been Optimus who had finally urged him to break his silence. The red-and-silver sparkling had approached him in the play yard and invited him to join him and another sparkling - Elita-1 - in their play. And while Sentinel had been wary of this friendly, talkative mech at first, he'd quickly warmed up to him… enough to finally smile and even laugh, and to seek him out in the play yard whenever they had a break from their lessons.
From there, a strong friendship had been forged. Once Sentinel overcame his shyness and started speaking again he assumed his place as commander of their little group, leading them in play-yard games and midnight raids on Digger's snack stashes, and other escapades. Optimus had settled in as a sort of second-in-command and voice of reason, trying to temper some of Sentinel's wilder schemes, while Elita-1 alternated between playing peacekeeper between them and just standing back and watching them bicker with amusement.
Those were simple days, he mused. We were so ignorant of how the world outside the foundling home worked - we thought friendships lasted forever, that we would go on to become heroes of Cybertron, that we were a trio of shooting stars and nothing would stop us. How naive we were… but then, we were happy, too. If only…
Sentinel realized he'd been smiling wistfully, and he shook his head with a scowl before returning to his computer. Enough steel-wool-gathering. Elita-1 was dead - he refused to think of that Blackarachnia abomination as her - and his and Optimus' friendship was broken beyond repair at this point. Those days were far in the past, and there was no use dragging them out and moping over them.
He opened another folder and began swiping through the spark scans… and froze. There it was. The fifth scan in this particular folder bore a distinctive pattern in its energy waves, one that looked all too familiar. And pulling up the copy of Megatron's spark scan confirmed it - this was a match. Not an exact match, but so incredibly close that it couldn't be mere coincidence.
I can't have found them already, Sentinel thought, even as his own spark fluttered with excitement. This is too easy, it's got to be a fluke… but no, the fluctuations of energy are too distinctive. Everything matches up. This spark definitely came from Megatron's life force.
Sentinel let out a whoop and threw both fists into the air… and Jetstorm, Jetfire, and the sparklings whooped along with him, having no idea what he was so happy about but celebrating on his behalf anyhow. Sentinel glared and lowered his hands, but his irritation was quickly snuffed by the glow of triumph in his spark. This was a victory, and he'd be fragged if he was going to let a bunch of fresh-faced kids dampen his joy.
He clicked on the spark readout again, checking for pertinent information. He'd need a name, or at least a date. Something he could use to track this mech or femme down…
His smile vanished, and his spark chilled from triumphant fire to cold dread in an instant. There was a name, all right… the last name he'd expected to see attached to this spark readout. Digits shaking, he closed the file, then reopened it to be sure. There it was - the spark readout, so closely matching Megatron's, and the name emblazoned across its records clear as day.
It can't be. There's got to be a mistake. Someone glitched and put the wrong name on this readout, or stuck it on as a prank. Even as that thought popped into his CPU, however, he dismissed it. Digger was meticulous in keeping her records, and even her rowdiest sparklings knew better than to dig around in her office or mess with her files.
The computer unit started to slide out of his lap, and he scrambled to catch it before it could hit the ground, CPU still whirling in shock. His first instinct was to delete this information and pretend he'd never seen it in the first place. The Council would never believe him, and he had no desire to make himself a laughingstock again.
That's not the only reason, a quiet voice in the back of his processor insisted. As much as you want to deny it, you don't want anything bad to happen to him. He's still...
He snapped the computer unit shut, shoving that voice down before it could say more. "Jetstorm, Jetfire, we're done here! Let's go!"
"Awwwww!" Jetfire had gripped a sparkling by her arms and was spinning her giddily about, warrior and femme shrieking in delight, but he whined and set her down. "But we are having fun!"
"Your job is to follow orders, not goof around!" Sentinel snapped. "Let's go!"
Jetstorm and Jetfire both pouted, but they were accustomed to following orders by now and hurried after Sentinel as he stormed for the exit. Digger moved to intercept them, hands out for what he assumed was a goodbye hug, but he sidestepped around her and hurried out, transforming and screeching away as soon as he hit the street.
As much power as he poured into his engine, though, he couldn't outrun the truth. The name he'd seen on that spark record was still emblazoned in his CPU.
Optimus. His old friend, the academy dropout turned space bridge worker, current hero of Cybertron… Optimus Prime was the son of Megatron.