CLANG
Megatron roused, blinking his optic shutters in an effort to focus his vision. Pain and lack of energy made what should have been a basic function a task of herculean effort - he barely had the strength to raise his head, let alone focus his attention on what was going on. He hadn't refueled properly since his capture, and his captors seemed to take a perverse delight in denying him rations. Part of a long-term plan to keep him too weak to plot an escape, or just the Autobots' way of exacting revenge for his crimes?
His vision cleared in time to give him a glimpse of a bronze-armored form being dragged past his cell. The mech's hands were cuffed before him, and wide violet optics gleamed with panic over the vocalizer lock that had been fastened over his mouth. His gaze met Megatron's for a brief moment, and a brief flash of shock - and disappointment - crossed what was visible of his faceplate before he was hauled out of sight.
Swindle… so he finally found a situation he couldn't bribe or smooth-talk his way out of. At this rate, all his remaining Decepticons were going to be hunted down and locked away. So much for his glorious revolution.
A wave of dizziness swept through him, and his head tipped forward, helm resting against the transparent cell door as he tried to recover. This wasn't how he had wanted it to end. If he had to be offlined, he'd wanted it to be in battle, for the cause or defending his throne. Not wasting away, starving in the bowels of a prison, utterly forgotten by all.
A face materialized in his CPU… a face that had been haunting him repeatedly since his capture. His son… the mech he should have protected with his very spark… the one mech who would have ensured he was never forgotten, had he survived to adulthood…
Blaster fire searing through his shoulder, sending a blaze of pain down his arm… roaring his rage as he whipped around to fire at his attacker… the pirates swarming his ship, heedless of their own losses as they sought to capture the ultimate prize… Megatron himself…
He fought like a wild mechanimal, emptying the energy clip of his arm cannon into the mob, then drawing his sword once the clip had been drained. Energon and oil arced through the air in glittering spirals as his blade met alloy, slicing his attackers apart. For every one he felled, two more seemed to take their place, but he refused to back down…
"Zere are too many of them, Herr Megatron!" Blitzwing shouted, firing his ice cannons to form a temporary but welcome barrier between them and the horde.
"Take the sparkling and get him to an escape pod!" Megatron ordered. "NOW!"
"Ja, Herr Megatron!" Blitzwing saluted and turned to go… only to be struck in the chest and sent flying into the wall. The ice wall shattered, and the pirates surged forward…
A high-pitched scream cut through the sound of raging battle, and Megatron's spark clenched in horror as two pirates fled the bridge, one of them carrying a tiny form…
"NO!" He grabbed the pirate directly in front of him and tore his cranial unit from his shoulders, then flung the chassis into the mob as a distraction. He surged through the stunned pirates, the few who dared remain in his path being slashed brutally aside by his sword. They might take his ship or his troops or even his life… but he would NOT let them take his son!
"Creator!" The sparklings cry rang through the corridors of the ship as his captors fled. "Creatorrrrrrrr!"
"I'm coming!" Megatron roared, pouring as much energy as he could into his leg servos. "Hold on!"
He burst into the hangar an instant too late - a blast of thrusters shoved him back, and he could only watch as the shuttle tore out of the bay doors and vanished into the stars.
His roar of anguish seemed to shake the entire ship, an unholy scream of grief and horror and rage. Only later would he dimly recall laying waste to the pirates that had invaded his ship, leaving the halls spattered in their fluids. In that moment, only the pain of having the one thing he valued above his own life ripped away from him…
Someone - Lugnut from the intensity of the blow - slammed into the wall of their cell, jolting Megatron out of his thoughts. He shuddered and forced himself to stay in the present, to not sink into the memories again. Which was worse - being trapped in an agonizing present, or sinking into painful memories? At the moment, he wasn't sure.
I swore I would find you, little one, he thought, his vision going hazy again. I failed you… I hope, wherever your spark is now, you can forgive me for my failure...
Once Starscream had schemed to rule not just the Decepticons, but all of Cybertronian-kind. His lofty aspirations and plots against Megatron had created no small amount of headaches for both the Decepticons and the Autobots, and had not only resulted in him unleashing his clones on both factions but gaining an immortality of sorts thanks to a fragment of the Allspark. He had been one of the most formidable and dangerous Decepticons, slippery and cunning, a warrior that seemingly nothing could defeat for good.
Evidently even the former Air Commander's wings could be clipped. And even immortality was a gift that could be ripped away without warning.
Wreck-Gar's usual bouncy step evened out to a more steady walk as he approached the makeshift bier, clutching a bunch of flowering trees in his hands. He'd been whistling a cheery tune as he picked his way through the heaps of junk and detritus that made up his home, but the whistling mellowed out to something more somber the closer he got. By the time he reached the bier, where the winged chassis lay in state, he had gone entirely silent.
Starscream had gone gray with death, optics dark, a ragged tear in his forehead marking where the Allspark fragment had been ripped away by Prowl and Jazz's efforts to reassemble the fragments. He lay on the slab of crushed cars that made up his resting place, hands folded over his chest, the grime and dirt carefully cleaned from his plating. Small tokens scavenged from the landfill - ragged stuffed animals, cracked mirrors, chipped statues, scraps of metal twisted into ornate shapes - ringed the base of the bier, and the wilted remains of flowers drooped about the chassis itself. Perhaps it was a cheap mockery of a proper funeral service, but it was the best the junkyard mech knew how to do, and that was what counted.
Wreck-Gar carefully cleared away the old flowers, then arranged the blooming cherry trees in their place. Had he known just how he had been given life in the first place, perhaps he might have understood just how lucky he'd been to avoid a similar fate. As it was, finding the chassis during his wanderings of Detroit, collecting any interesting junk and rubble that had been left behind in the wake of the battle, had given him a queer pang in his internals. He'd seldom encountered death in his short life, and faced with the demise of a fellow sentient machine bothered him on a level he couldn't quite identify.
Despite not having the least clue who this mech was, however, he was determined to do right by him. And if that meant converting a corner of the landfill he called home into a memorial site, then so be it.
When the flowers had been arranged this liking, Wreck-Gar took a step back and pulled a harmonica from his pack. Holding the instrument delicately between his thumb and forefinger, he played through a rough rendition of "Taps" before speaking.
"Ladies, gentlemen, pigeons, seagulls, rats, raccoons, and vagrants digging for recyclables - y'all know who you are - we are gathered here today to pay our respects to What's-His-Face, the Lord of the Chins, He Who Kinda Looks Like an Airplane If You Squint Right. We honor the memories we have of… um, dragging him down the streets of Detroit, and… uh, chasing stray cats out of his cockpit, I guess. We don't know who you were, O Winged One, but you must have been someone legendary, and for that we salute you!"
Wreck-Gar gave a solemn salute. The various creatures that called the dump home continued to peck and paw for scraps, ignoring the ceremony.
"And to show our gratitude towards you for… uh, existing and giving us something to do here besides count flies, we present you with this token! Accept it with our thanks."
And Wreck-Gar opened a panel on his chest and rummaged around until he pulled out a glittering shard. He had found the gleaming object in his chest one day while trying to chase a stubborn opposum out of his internals, and tugging on it had left him feeling lightheaded enough that he hadn't tried to remove it since. But he'd been able to pry off a sliver of it… and somehow, bestowing such a shiny, beautiful object upon his fallen comrade felt like a fitting tribute.
He set the shard down on Starscream's forehead, right in a small niche that seemed perfectly suited to hold such a fragment, then saluted one more time before walking off.
He never witnessed what came next. The shard glittered in the sunlight… then shone with a blazing brilliance before sinking into the metal. The dull alloy began to shift, brightening to silver and maroon - faded, but still a far cry from the deathly gray of before. A soft hum emanated from his internals, like the thrum of a computer booting itself up.
Starscream's optics flickered as his systems slowly fought their way back online… then blazed with crimson light.
What… what just happened? Where am I? What… He scrambled to recall just what had happened. The last thing he remembered was flying over Detroit, and something yanking the Allspark fragment from his head…
I was dead… again. But not anymore. To another mech, realizing that they had been resurrected from the Well of All Sparks might have sent them straight into a breakdown. But Starscream had been offlined so many times and returned without anything worse than a few dents and stung pride that such an event was just another lousy day of the decacycle.
Well now… I'm back. And this time… I'm here to stay.
He allowed himself a smile as his systems continued to power up… and growled in frustration as they stalled. A quick check of his damage readout made him wince - his fuel tanks were nearly dry, and months spent in a junkyard with animals crawling through his internals and dirt and moisture settling into his joints and components had wreaked extensive damage. He had managed to cheat death once again… but without the energy to bring himself fully online and with his chassis and circuits riddled with exposure damage, he was immobile, almost worse than dead.
Ugh… why does the universe HATE me? Why can't Megatron suffer a setback like this every once in awhile? But no, that mech has probably destroyed that wretched human city and returned to Cybertron already, remaking it in his own image. Whereas I'm reduced to rusting for eternity in this scrapheap… wherever this scrapheap happens to be...
Any further grousing was cut short as his CPU, in an effort to conserve energy, threw him into emergency stasis. Its last action before falling into hibernation itself was to fire off an SOS, calling for help. But not a general-broadcast message - this one was coded to reach anyone who shared spark programming with the fallen Seeker, be it creators or co-creations or offspring.
In the newly constructed brig of the Detroit Autobot Base and in the high-security detention level in Kalis, five cloned Seekers began to shift restlessly against their bonds, throwing themselves against the walls of their cells. None of them could quite put their digits on what was making them so restless, but they felt the urge to break free and fly far, fly fast, towards a destination none of them were quite certain of but that they knew they needed to reach soon.
In Iacon, two other mechs felt the call. And unlike Starscream's clones, they weren't confined by walls and cuffs…
"Sentinel Prime, sir!"
Sentinel was in his office, gazing out the window at the Iacon skyline, when that voice jarred him out of his thoughts. A scowl overtook the troubled expression on his faceplate, and he turned to glare at the speaker hovering in the doorway.
"I thought I told you two numb-units to not disturb me!"
Jetstorm cringed at the rebuke, but Jetfire seemed unperturbed. The orange flier stepped into the office, disregarding his superior officer's glower.
"Sentinel Prime, sir, my brother and I are receiving a distress call."
"Then go answer it," Sentinel snapped.
"But sir," Jetstorm put in, raising a questioning finger. "We are not knowing who is giving the call."
Sentinel gusted a sigh. Did he have to do ALL the thinking for these tin-foil-brained rookies? "Where's it originating from?"
"From Earth, Sentinel Prime sir."
Probably Jazz or one of Rodimus Prime's crew, Sentinel thought - there was no way in Pit any of Optimus' crew would be hailing anyone on Cybertron, especially one of Sentinel's team. "Answer it, then."
"Are you being sure-" began Jetfire.
"Did I stutter?!" Sentinel snapped. "Go already!"
"Yessir!" The twins saluted and darted off.
Sentinel growled softly and turned back to the window to brood. As much as he enjoyed the twins' unswerving loyalty and admiration, they got on his sensory nodes all too often. And at the moment, their presence was just a distraction. If they wanted to respond to this mysterious signal, let them. They were big bots and could take care of themselves.
He paced his office, tapping his chin with one hand, occasionally shooting glances at the computer screen as he passed it. The image of Optimus Prime's spark scan, its wavelengths so closely matching Megatron's, still lurked there, plain as day. It almost seemed to taunt him every time he walked by, mocking him for his cowardice.
I'm not a coward! he thought fiercely. I'm going to report this to Ultra Magnus and the Council. I just need a moment to process what I've found…
Coward, the image seemed to sneer in his head. Coward… you don't have the bolts… you don't dare…
I do dare! Just watch me! But every time he opened his comm link to make the call or took a step towards the door to report in person, he froze. Somehow, despite every sensible thought screaming for him to alert a higher authority that the Autobot forces had a Decepticon spawnling in their midst, he was hesitant to do so.
Optimus… He didn't like the mech, and their friendship had soured vorns ago after that fateful encounter that had cost Elita-1 her life. But he still remembered the mech's easy smile, his caring nature, his complete lack of ego, his awkwardness that somehow made him endearing and even cute at times. Sure, he might be a pain in the aft and a bit too snarky at times, but when he fought, he fought with all his spark and strength, always willing to put his own spark on the line in defense of others.
In short, he was the last mech Sentinel would ever have pegged as the offspring of the most notorious criminal in Cybertron's history. And the very thought of reporting to the Council that the hero of Cybertron was Megatron's creation made him balk.
It's not because you still care about him, he decided. It can't be that. He hates you, and you hate him back, right? No, it's because if you break it to them that their precious hero is the son of a dangerous criminal, YOU'LL be the bad guy for it. Your name's already slag with them, why make it worse?
Keep telling yourself that, a voice nagged in the back of his processor. He squashed it ruthlessly and kept pacing. Slaggit, he'd never been this conflicted about a mission before… but then, he'd never had a mission that entailed betraying a former friend.
He'd just made for the door a seventh time when his comm unit pinged. He vented out air in a half-sigh, half-snarl as he took the call. If this was the twins pestering him to come with them on their half-baked mission…
"This had better be good," he growled out, hoping his tone got across that he didn't want to be trifled with.
As respectful of authority as ever, I see, Sentinel.
Sentinel squeaked, and only intense self-discipline kept him from voiding his oil tanks on the spot in sheer panic. "U-Ultra Magnus, sir! M-m-my most profound apologies…"
Apologies are not necessary, Sentinel Prime. It seems I owe you thanks for holding the Magnus seat during my absence… as well as undertaking a mission on behalf of the Council.
Sentinel made to sit down… only to miss his chair and land on his aft on the floor. He barely registered the shock of the impact. "Y-yes sir."
I never imagined we would be seeking out the progeny of Megatron… but we live in a strange galaxy, don't we?
"Yes, sir."
Do you have an update on your mission?
He gulped and scrambled to his feet. "Yes, sir."
Then give it. And I do hope it's more illuminating than a simple "yes, sir."
"Yes, sir- I mean…" He hesitated a moment, grappling with himself, his long-entrenched habit of following all orders to the letter at war with his horror at betraying the hero of Cybertron. He couldn't… but he had to… but surely an old friendship still meant something… but was an old friendship worth offending his superiors...
...well? We're waiting, Sentinel.
Had Ultra Magnus stayed silent, Sentinel just might have ended the call then and there. But the Magnus' voice reminded him that he had been given orders… and defying orders came with terrible consequences. He would obey - there was no alternative.
"I'm sending you the pertinent files as we speak," he replied, and went to his computer and punched the Send command. The image of the side-by-side comparisons of Optimus Prime and Megatron's sparks folded in on itself as the file was compressed, then shot off through Cybertron's holonet to reach the Magnus.
Files received. Give me a moment to open this… no. It can't be...
Sentinel forced himself to sit down, this time in his chair. It was done. He'd accomplished what the Council had sent him to do. But why did success feel so much like failure at the moment?
"Hah!" Hot Shot hooted, tossing the controller to the floor and standing up to do a hip-swinging victory dance. "Third race in a row! Who's the champ? I'm the champ!"
"That wasn't fair!" Bumblebee retorted. "It's bad form to use your power-ups when you're already that far ahead! I demand a rematch!"
"Hey, if I wasn't supposed to use power-ups, the game shouldn't have given me any," Hot Shot replied with a grin. "But I'll take ya up on that rematch anyhow."
Bumblebee's scowl morphed into a grin, and he picked up the controller and handed it back. "I'll beat your skidplate clear to Cybertron this time, Hot Pants."
"That's what you said the last three races, but my skidplate's still firmly attached."
"Well, get ready to kiss it goodbye." Bumblebee started up the next race, and the two young bots hunched over their controllers in concentration.
"Fraggin' turbo-revvin' young punks and their video games," Ratchet grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. "I'll never understand this younger generation."
"Neither will I," Red Alert confessed. "But at least Hot Shot hasn't set the couch on fire again, so it's not as bad as it could be."
It was the Autobots' first evening in their newly completed base, and they were enjoying a night to relax and unwind after weeks of overseeing construction, rounding up rogue mechs and Decepticons, and scouring Detroit for stray Allspark fragments. The younger mechs had commandeered the viewscreen for video games, while Prowl and Jazz flipped through the former's collection of holo-photos of the natural scenery outside of the city. Ironhide showed Brawn and Bulkhead how to mix fuel blends "to put Maccadam's Oilhouse to shame." Ratchet and Red Alert alternated between sharing gossip about their various patients over the years and critiquing Ironhide's attempts and mixing drinks, and Rodimus had crouched down to talk to Professor Sumdac, fascinated by this planet's organic natives and the stories the inventor had to share.
Optimus Prime, for his part, mostly hung back and watched, drinking from his own cup of a simple blend Ratchet had fixed for him personally. It was good to not only have their own team back together, but to find comrades they got along with nicely. His crew had been on Earth long enough that he worried they'd forgotten how to get along with fellow Cybertronians, but unless Team Athenia's time spent in space had left them a little off-kilter in the CPU as well, apparently they hadn't entirely lost the knack.
His gaze rested on Prowl, and he smiled as the mech pointed out a photo of a beaver dam he'd discovered during one of his forest excursions. This wasn't just a night to relax and hang out with Rodimus' team - it was a welcome-home party for Prowl, who had finally been cleared to leave the medical facility on Cybertron and rejoin them on Earth. Pharma and the other medics were still scratching their heads over just how the cyber-ninja had managed to survive his heroic sacrifice, but Optimus didn't question it too much. He was just glad to have his old friend back.
His gaze drifted to the barrel that served him as a makeshift fuel glass, and he idly swirled the contents. He should be happy, he knew - their team was complete again, and they'd made great strides in their mission on this planet. All was well… so why did he feel so unsettled? Why couldn't he just relax and an enjoy an evening off in the company of friends and comrades?
The memories, he decided. They'd been coming back more frequently, rising to the surface of his CPU to surprise him at the most inopportune times. Strange… he hadn't dwelled on them in vorns, not since coming to Earth and getting pulled into the first actual battle of his life…
Gunfire and screams of pain filled his young audials, and he hunched down behind an offline mech and clapped his hands to the sides of his helm. His whimpers of terror were drowned out by the pitched battle raging around him, and he barely heard his father's voice over the bedlam.
"Take the sparkling and get him to an escape pod! Now!"
Hands snatched him, and for a moment he felt a rush of relief… but the mech who had grabbed him was not one of his father's soldiers. It was a stranger, a patch over one optic and a cruel light gleaming in the other. A scream of horror ripped from his vocalizer as the mech flung him over one shoulder and ran, leaving his father and the fighting far behind…
"OPTIMUS!"
"Huh?" Optimus shook his head. "What… sorry, I missed what you said, Ironhide. Can you repeat it?"
"I asked are we ever gonna do anything about them Dinobots?" the red mech repeated. "Just leavin' 'em to tromp 'round on that island don't sit well with me."
"Our policy towards the Dinobots will be the same as our policy towards Wreck-Gar," Optimus replied. "Unless they're a direct danger towards humans or Autobots, we leave them be. And since they seem content to stay on their island and defend it themselves, we won't interfere."
"I have a feeling we may regret that, Prime sir," Prowl noted, looking up from his holoprojector. "The Dinobots aren't the most reasonable individuals."
"All the same… we'll leave them be for now," Optimus told him. "If they show signs of aggression towards humans, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But honestly, I don't think it will come to that."
Prowl nodded. "I hope you're right. After everything we've been through on this planet, it will be a relief to finally have a period of extended peace and quiet here."
"Don't start THAT, kid!" Ratchet snapped. "That's just invitin' trouble!"
"Don't tell me you're superstitious, Ratchet!" Bumblebee piped up, looking away from his game for a moment - a moment that earned a squeal of outrage as Hot Shot took advantage of his distraction to nudge his racer ahead and win the match.
"C'mon, it's practically a scientific principle," Ratchet retorted. "The surest way to make sure somethin' terrible happens is to make a remark along the lines of 'wow, it's real quiet here, ain't it?'"
"I didn't say anything remotely close to that," Prowl insisted.
"C'mon, everyone, let's not argue," Bulkhead insisted. "We're supposed to be having fun, right?"
"The big guy's right," Ironhide replied. "Let's focus on the happy, a'right?"
"Indeed." Optimus raised his glass. "To good friends, old and new! And to a world finally safe from the Decepticons… and the return of a friend we'd thought lost. It's good to have you back, Prowl."
Prowl gave a slight smile. "It's good to be back-"
The rest of Prowl's sentence was drowned out by the chime of Prime's comm unit, and he touched the side of his helm. Optimus Prime reporting.
Optimus, this is Ultra Magnus. Report to Iacon immediately.
Optimus frowned. There was something he didn't like about the Magnus' tone - he always sounded stern and commanding, but his voice over the comm was clipped, almost hostile. Had something happened back home? Had one of the Decepticons escaped prison, or had some Decepticon sympathizer attacked the Magnus or the Council?
I'm on my way, he replied. Give me just a few moments to round up my team-
Come alone, Magnus replied sharply. That's an order.
Sir-
That is an order. One more word and I'll send an armed guard to escort you here.
THAT sent a chill through Optimus' core. The last time he'd heard that much ice in Ultra Magnus' voice, he was being expelled from the Academy. What had he done? Was he to be punished for using the Magnus' hammer without his permission? Or had Sentinel decided to scrape together some spurious charge to discredit him? That, sadly, made some amount of sense, though Optimus wanted to believe his old friend was above that kind of behavior.
He shook his head, trying to clear way the fears cluttering his processor. Just standing here freaking out over it wasn't going to solve anything. The best he could do was go to Cybertron, figure out what was going on himself, and acquit himself as best as he could. The Magnus was a reasonable mech… surely he would understand that Optimus had needed every weapon possible to stand up to Megatron, right?
Understood, sir. Powering up the space bridge, ETA five minutes. He cut the connection. "I hate to leave the party early, everyone, but Ultra Magnus wants me back on Cybertron."
"Say what?" Rodimus asked, frowning. "I didn't get a call."
"Want us to go with you, boss-bot?" asked Bumblebee.
Optimus shook his head. "They just want me. Don't stop the party on my account. Ratchet, come with me. I'll need you to power up the space bridge."
Ratchet scowled. "Something seems fishy about this, Optimus. Sure you don't want of us with you? At least take Prowl or Rodimus with you."
"Hey, what am I, shredded tin foil?" demanded Bumblebee.
"I'm meeting with Ultra Magnus, not trying to broker a truce with Decepticons," Optimus assured the medic. "All the same… if I'm not back in an hour, send someone after me. Just to be safe."
Ratchet's scowl didn't fade one iota, but he nodded. "Sumdac, come with us. Need you to let us in that fragged tower so we can reach the space bridge."
Isaac nodded, and he said a quick goodbye to Rodimus and followed the two mechs out.