"Need a refill, buddy?"
Sentinel Prime didn't even look up at the bartender, just kept his gaze fixed on the bottom of his cup. Part of his CPU - the part that clung to a sliver of reason - insisted the answer was yes, that he'd overcharged himself enough and it was time to go home. The rest of him declared that now was no time to be sober anyhow, and he might as well get thoroughly sloshed before returning to an existence that seemed to hate his internal components at the moment.
The bartender grunted and poured him another cup anyhow, as if sensing he would have said yes eventually. "Why the long face?"
A spark of disgust finally pierced the hopeless haze that clouded his processor, and he raised his head to glare at the barkeep. "That's not funny," he tried to say, but he was muddled enough by the high-grade in his systems that it came out "Thash nah funny."
Maccadam laughed and set the pitcher down to raise his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, hey, easy cyber-tiger. It was an expression." He picked the pitcher back up and topped off his glass. "Besides, if I wanted to insult you, I'd've picked a jab that didn't apply to every other mech who walked in this place."
Sentinel sighed and gulped half the cup in one go. He was too tired to hang onto the sting of the unintentional insult anyhow. The task Ultra Magnus had given him - and the measures he'd taken to countermand it - were exhausting him. Not to mention his guilt at having to track down so many mechs and femmes, and his constant terror that someone would figure out what he was up to and haul him before a tribunal for it.
Maybe that's why Ultra Magnus gave you that assignment while watching Optimus get beat to a pulp, he thought darkly. As a reminder that the same thing could happen to you if you weren't careful.
"Slow night," Maccadam noted, his gaze sweeping the half-empty bar. "Usually this place is hopping on a decacycle-end. Must be a concert or a sports thing going on."
"Musht be," Sentinel mumbled, though he knew the real reason behind the lack of business. Oh, his search hadn't turned up enough Decepticon descendents to empty out half the city - there were plenty of Autobots with Decepticon programming, but not THAT many. But there had been enough of them that their absence made a definite mark on Iacon.
The disappearances of so many mechs certainly had Cybertronians talking… and reluctant to so much as leave their houses. And Ultra Magnus' broadcasts advising all Autobots to report suspicious behavior to the authorities only heightened the growing paranoia. Rumors and unrest bubbled across the planet, and Sentinel feared it was only a matter of time before they boiled out of control.
"Hey… chin up, pal," the bulky black-and-gold barkeep advised, giving the bar a quick swipe with a rag. "Tomorrow's another day. Business'll pick up an' whatever's troublin' you'll pass. One way or another, things'll work out."
Sentinel opened his mouth - whether to snap for the chin remark or counter that things were far more likely to get worse than better, he wasn't sure yet - but Maccadam had already moved on to the next patron. He settled for downing the rest of his glass and walking out of Maccadam's oilhouse, somehow forcing himself to walk steadily despite his equilibrium sensors being desperately out of whack.
Maccadam's Oilhouse was flanked by darkened storefronts - the music store and the mods parlor that had once done business nearby had closed, abandoned by their owners in the wake of Sentinel Prime's investigation. Other businesses had either closed early and locked their doors or simply looked deserted. Sentinel was the only mech walking the street tonight, and he realized that he'd never realized how much he appreciated Iacon's bustle and lights until now.
I wonder where the twins are, he mused, the thought briefly making him stagger as he lost focus on putting one pede in front of the other. They would have livened things up. Slag, they should have been back by now. Did they run into trouble on Earth or something? They better not have, those idiots might fight well but they're complete dolts. At least they're there and not here, where they'd just be one mistake away from being rounded up and tossed in a cell...
He shook his head and kept walking. He wasn't going to start fretting about Jetstorm and Jetfire. They were warriors and could take care of themselves. He wasn't going to start thinking he actually cared about the two of them.
It seemed to take him ages to make his way back to his office. He collapsed in his chair and stared blankly at his computer, at the list of names that seemed to grow longer with every passing day. Until now he'd never stopped to think how many mechs bore Decepticon programming in their code… not until they had been deemed a danger despite living peacefully among ordinary Autobots for so long.
Had it not been for his deeply ingrained habit of following orders to the letter, he might have picked up the computer and thrown it straight out the window. He was exhausted - tired of this mission, tired of trying to keep his efforts at playing hero a secret, tired of seeing the corruption and cruelty of the Autobots firsthand. And worse, he could only wonder if things had only gotten worse recently, or if the Council and Magnus had always been this ruthless and it had taken Optimus' arrest to open his optics to what was going on.
His comm unit pinged. He wished he had the bearings to not answer, but he answered anyhow, grateful that his drunken slur wouldn't be heard over the channel. Sentinel Prime reporting.
Sentinel Prime, update requested on your current project.
He grimaced at Councilor Botanica's choice of words. Rounding up and imprisoning thousands of mechanisms simply because their creators were Decepticon was a project? It's going well, Councilor. Nothing new to report.
A moment of silence… and Sentinel fancied he could almost hear her raising an optic ridge over the comm. We were hoping for a few more details aside from "going well." And in all honesty that assessment seems flawed, given that you haven't made a single arrest yet.
Sentinel's tanks clenched, threatening to purge Maccadam's high-grade all over his desk. I'm identifying potential traitors as fast as I can, Councilor! It isn't my fault that some insider is tipping them off before my team can catch them!
Hmmm… these mechanisms can't stay hidden forever. But until they're found, the Council is expecting results. We need SOMETHING to report to the media, to show that our efforts to protect Cybertron and its citizens haven't been in vain. And the bigger and more high-profile the target, the better.
He frowned. Are you saying I should start looking among the Council for potential traitors?
Not necessarily, she replied, her tones delicate and diplomatic as ever. But if one mech with Decepticon programming managed to attain the rank of Prime, there are bound to be others. Set your sights higher, Sentinel, or…
Or what, Councilor? he asked, though he suspected the answer already.
Or you'll face court-martial and possible arrest for neglecting your duties to Cybertron. Don't fail us, Sentinel. And she disconnected.
Sentinel's hands shook as he rested his digits on the keyboard. After seeing what had happened to Optimus Prime, despite his status as the hero of Cybertron, he had no doubt whatsoever that they would treat him to a similar fate. Slag, they might even fake documents to "prove" he was the son of General Strika or Admiral Cannonball, or even claim he was Optimus' twin brother if they were vindictive enough. At this point, he wouldn't put it past them.
Anger flickered in his spark - not enough to burn away his fear, but enough to push it aside for a few minutes. Fine, then. If the Council wanted a big target for the media to focus on, he'd give it to them. But if they expected him to leave the Council itself out of his search, they were sorely mistaken. The press would salivate over the news that one of their own governing body was a Decepticon… and it would be a small but satisfying payback against the Council for pushing this "project" through in the first place.
Spark scans were mandatory for anyone serving in any government capacity, so it was only a matter of moments before Sentinel was combing through the Council's database. By now he was all too familiar with the kind of energy markers to look for, so it didn't take long for him to go through the scans and rule most of them out. So much for hoping for some hypocrite among the Council to make an example of… unless they'd managed to fake their own scans, which he wouldn't put past them at this point…
There! A scan finally surfaced, one that bore a telltale fluctuation. He pulled up his folder of Decepticon spark signatures and started comparing… and felt a surge that might have been triumph had he been in a better mood. General Deathsaurus had born a number of sparks before he had disappeared at the height of the war, and while most of those sons and daughters were confirmed KIA, at least two had survived. One was still missing, while the other…
His jaw dropped as he checked the name on the spark scan. It couldn't be… it wasn't possible…
He snapped the computer shut. No. He wasn't going to the Council with this information. He was going higher.
Optimus roused, blinking his optic shutters as he tried to reorient himself. He had no idea where he was - not the prison, not any longer, but beyond that he couldn't tell. He could be on Cybertron, back in Detroit, or dead and within the Allspark for all he knew. His damage readout was clear, registering no injuries or abnormalities save a slightly lower energy level than normal, so that was some relief at least.
A smudged expanse of silver met his optics, and he realized he was still clinging to Megatron. The Decepticon warlord's optics were dark, his expression almost peaceful as he recharged. His damages had been patched and welded, his armor cleaned up, and he no longer shook with the tremors of energon starvation. If his color was still off… well, he'd been through far more than Optimus had, and it would take time for him to recover.
Part of him wanted to remain there, in the shadow of his father's protection… but he carefully slid free of his arms. He sat up, still a little shaky but feeling better than he had in what felt like weeks. His movements didn't disturb Megatron, but they did make the white mech who had fallen asleep beside them jerk awake.
"Optimus!" Ratchet exclaimed. "How are you feeling? Don't sit up so fast, you'll crack your welds!"
"I'm… I'm all right, Ratchet," he replied, his vocalizer fuzzy with static from disuse. "All things considered." He let his gaze sweep the area - what looked like an abandoned shopping center, now a makeshift medical center. "Where are we?"
"Dead Zone," Ratchet replied. "Refugee camp. Turns out you're not the only Autobot to have Decepticon parentage, and Ultra Magnus is hunting those mechs down." He shook his head. "At least someone is tipping them off before they can be arrested; otherwise Kalis would've been packed to the ceiling with these poor mechs."
Optimus shuddered. So much for assuming Megatron's capture would end the war for good. All it had done was shift the battlefield to the streets of Cybertron itself.
"How… how long was I out?" he asked.
"A few days," Ratchet replied. "Got you and the rest of the 'Cons fixed while you were out of commission. You won't be wrestling Dinobots anytime soon, but you'll live."
A metallic snort cut into their conversation, and Optimus turned to see Lugnut a few "berths" away. The titanic mech lay on his back, offline and snoring, flanked on either side by mechs just as bulky and thickly armored as he was. The sight of General Strika settled in beside him, one servo resting on the violet mech's shoulder, was shocking enough - she was just as infamous as Megatron, and Optimus had never expected to lay optics on her, let alone witness her in a surprisingly tender moment. But seeing Bulkhead curled up on his other side, head tucked against Lugnut's shoulder, made his jaw drop.
"What…" he began, but couldn't finish.
Ratchet snorted, but a smile tried to fight its way through his scowl. "Yeah, I'm as surprised as you are. We made a bargain with Strika and her cronies to break you out, but weren't counting on her seducing one of our team."
Optimus forced his mouth shut as he gazed at the other berths and their occupants. He recognized many of the Decepticons whom he'd shared a cell block with - Blitzwing, Swindle, Ramjet, Sunstorm, Shockwave. And despite considering them enemies for so long, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy - and anger - at seeing their wounds. Scalpel, Red Alert, and an orange mech he didn't recognize were moving among them, tending to their injuries, while Bumblebee, Prowl, Jazz, and Team Athenia stood guard close by.
He blinked at the sight of Rodimus, then turned to Ratchet. "I'm guessing someone went against orders."
"Punk like that treats orders like suggestions," Ratchet retorted. "Kinda like some mechs I could mention." His expression shifted to concern as he gazed at Optimus. "Are you sure you're all right? After… all that?"
Optimus nodded. "I am. I promise."
"Even after learning who your father is?" Ratchet seemed reluctant to call Megatron by name - and given that Ratchet rarely tiptoed around delicate subject matters, it said a lot about how worried he was for his commander.
"I… I've had time to think about it, and to accept it," Optimus replied. "I was angry at first… angry and horrified. But… but my memories are starting to come back. I'm starting to remember my childhood, and the pieces are falling back into place. I can't deny who he is… and to be honest, I don't want to."
"You realize this IS the Great Slagmaker we're talking about," Ratchet retorted.
"Maybe… but he's still my father. And I have to believe that he's not beyond saving. That despite all that he's done, he's still a good mech, or at least has the ability to be one."
"Optimus-" began Ratchet.
"I know, I sound crazy," Optimus cut in. "And maybe my CPU has been scrambled by what they did to me in prison. But I've seen things, Ratchet. I watched what I thought were good mechs do despicable, terrible things. I've seen Autobots act like brutes, and Decepticons act like heroes. I've had the Magnus I've looked up to for so long practically call me scum and watch while I had the slag beaten out of me. I've had one of the most infamous killers in the Decepticon army show concern for my welfare, despite the fact that I landed him in prison and nearly killed him. We've been wrong about so much for so long… and if Ultra Magnus can turn out to be a monster, then I believe Megatron - my father - can be worth saving."
Ratchet stared at him as if trying to process a suitable reply… but Megatron's soft chuckle answered him first.
"You have a lot to learn about Cybertron, Orion," the silver mech noted, slowly pushing himself to a sitting-up position. "But at least you are willing to learn."
Ratchet's optics flashed as he regarded the Decepticon leader. "And just what are you going to teach him? That everything would be better if YOU were in charge?"
"You suggest that my only goal was domination of Cybertron," Megatron remarked, his voice calm despite Ratchet's accusation. "I did seek to put the Magnus and Council out of power, and establish a new government. But ruling Cybertron was not my end goal, but the means to an end."
Optimus frowned. "What end?"
"The rebuilding of our government and our society from the ground up," Megatron replied. "Creating a Cybertron where all mechs were equal."
Optimus opened his mouth, ready to protest that all Cybertronians were already equal. But he couldn't get the words out. The refugee camp around them - and his recent experiences in Kalis - were proof that there were powerful Autobots who did not regard all Cybertronians as equal.
"Yes, we all know the system is broken," Ratchet snapped. "Functionalism is a fragged-up system, and somehow it's the elites in our society who seem to benefit the most from it. But if a ship is off-course, you correct the course - you don't fraggin' blow the entire thing to smithereens!"
Megatron snorted. "Correcting the course does no good if inept and corrupt captains continue to steer the ship back to its previous path. And the Functionalist Council and Magnus were intent on staying their erroneous course regardless of how it affected our people. If Cybertron was to shake off the scourge of Functionalism, a new captain and crew - and perhaps a new ship entirely - were needed."
"I dunno what you all are talking about, but Functionalism is a weird name for a ship," Bumblebee put in, making Optimus start. He hadn't realized the yellow minibot had been so close. But he and Professor Sumdac had approached while he'd been busy talking to Ratchet and Megatron, and had evidently been eavesdropping for at least part of the conversation.
"Back off, you little snoop," Ratchet snapped.
"Just curious," Bumblebee grumbled. He gave Megatron a wary look before stalking off, leaving a visibly confused Sumdac behind.
"I'm sorry, but… what is Functionalism?" the professor asked. "In all the time I have known you Autobots, you have not discussed it."
Megatron curled his lip in disgust. "Of course your precious Autobots wouldn't let you in on our kind's dirty little secret. Not that I expect an organic to understand it."
"They understand more than you think, Fa- I mean, Megatron." Optimus cringed internally, expecting either Ratchet or Isaac to react badly to his near-slip. Especially Isaac, who had been Megatron's prisoner and had suffered so much at his hands.
Ratchet, bless his spark, acted as if the verbal fumble had never even happened. "Functionalism is the belief that your alt mode determines your function in society. I'm an emergency vehicle, so I've been programmed and trained as a doctor. A lot of Decepticons turn into war machines, which means they were part of the military before they split off to become their own faction. Truckformers tend to be delivery mechs, boats tend to serve in the Navy or operate the shipyards… you get the drift."
Isaac frowned. "But Optimus turns into a fire engine, and yet he works as a space bridge technician. Should he not be a firefighter?"
"Functionalism's been relaxed in recent years," Optimus replied. "But there are still a lot of mechs who think that your make and model should determine your place in society. And that means there are still a lot of mechs who are looked down on for their alt modes. Allspark help you if you're a beastformer, for example - given that so many Cybertronians are afraid of organics, beastformers get a bad rap as unclean or as criminals."
Megatron snorted. "Say what you will about the Decepticons, but we do not tolerate Functionalism in our ranks. A mech's position is determined by their own strengths and desires, not by whatever they happen to transform into. And perhaps you Autobots make a show of no longer outwardly practising Functionalism, but it still happens, regardless of whether you admit it or not."
Ratchet looked like he wanted to argue, but simply nodded in agreement. Optimus, too, couldn't help but admit that there was truth in what his father said. Mechs did tend to hold jobs that corresponded with their alt modes, and while one might argue that they simply gravitated towards careers that played to their strengths, he couldn't help but wonder how many of those mechs hadn't chosen those careers for themselves but had been forced into them.
"It's not just alt modes, either," Ratchet noted. "Functionalism also holds that you have your place in society, and you don't rock the boat by trying to change your place. If you're one of the nobles from the Towers districts, you run for office or inherit your family's business. If you were sparked in the lower levels, you're pretty much a petty criminal in the making. If you're forged rather than sparked, you serve in the position you were forged to fill and you don't ever deviate from it. If you were sparked, you can choose your own future - so long as it's not above or below your station."
And if you're a foundling, you go straight into the Academy, Optimus thought, realization sinking into his spark. That's what happened to you and Sentinel and Elita, isn't it? And to all the others - any sparkling that didn't get adopted was shunted right into the Academy to be made a soldier. They pretended you had a choice about it, but in the end you really didn't. Functionalism affects us all, and it's not just about alt modes.
"I understand," Isaac replied. "It's much like our society. We claim that everyone is equal, but we still divide people by race, or gender, or any number of other things. It sounds like humans and Cybertronians aren't as different as we think."
Megatron nodded, and while he didn't apologize for his recent dismissal of Isaac's ability to understand, a new respect shone in his optics. "Had the Decepticons won the war, we would have done away with Functionalism. Or as much as we could - it's so deeply entrenched in our society that it would take generations to erase entirely. But my goal was not to be ultimate ruler of Cybertron - it was to establish a system where mechs could choose their own futures instead of having it determined by their alt mode, or whom their creators were." He scowled deeply. "But now we've lost the war twice over… and we're too weakened for a third attempt. Functionalism retains its hold on our society, and perhaps it was foolish to think we could ever break it."
Optimus shook his head. "No, Megatron. Don't give up now. There has to be a way that we can change our society. Maybe a revolution won't do it, but there has to be a way."
Megatron gave a bitter chuckle. "Despite everything, Orion, you still cling to hope. It's an admirable quality, if futile. Our society is broken… there is no changing it. You're better off learning to accept it and moving on."
Optimus shook his head. "I refuse to believe that… and I refuse to think that you truly believe it either, Father."
Megatron's gaze had lowered to the ground as he'd spoken his fatalistic assessment of Cybertronian society, but he looked up sharply at that final word. Optimus had a feeling he'd just alienated Professor Sumdac for good by calling Megatron by that name, but at least he'd managed to shock the mech out of his funk. He'd deal with the consequences later.
"Yes, our society's broken - I've seen that now," he went on. "And for too long I've played along, ignoring the fact that there are problems. But I believe we can be better - all of us, both Autobots and Decepticons. And I have to believe that there's a way to fix what's gone wrong, even if it means finishing what you started."
"Prime!" Ratchet squawked. "Have you lost your fraggin' ball bearings?!"
"Maybe I have," Optimus replied. "But I refuse to keep defending a broken system… and I refuse to just leave it broken and hide my head in the sand. If that means I'm fighting alone… then so be it. But if I'm the Hero of Cybertron, then I'm going to be the hero it needs, not the hero it wants."
Silence met his bold statement, and he wondered if he'd just made a complete idiot of himself. But Megatron's optics flared brightly with a flood of emotion, and he reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"I… I am proud of you, Orion. You have the strong spark I always hoped you would have." He smiled - not the cruel, sadistic grin Optimus had witnessed on the battlefield, but a smile of pride and joy. "When I've recovered, I shall join you, and we shall fight side by side as I had always hoped - as father and son."
Ratchet groaned, then set his hand on Optimus' other shoulder. "Well, someone has to make sure you don't hurt yourself again," he declared. "If you're intent on doing this… I'm fighting alongside you. Or at least patching you up afterwards."
Optimus' optics burned, and he rubbed the bridge of his olfactory sensor in an effort to stem the flood of cleanser that threatened to spring forth. "Thanks, Ratchet… thanks, Father."
"Don't thank us yet," Ratchet grumbled. "We could be traipsing merrily to our dooms here. Especially if everyone else refuses to join us."
"My Decepticons will fight alongside me," Megatron vowed. "Or at least those who are present at the moment - they are my most loyal soldiers." His gaze flickered towards Swindle, who was loudly complaining as Scalpel welded something in his shoulder. "Or their loyalty can easily be bought."
"I won't force anyone to join up with me," Optimus added. "But… Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and Prowl have accompanied us this far. Somehow I think they'll be with us the rest of the way too. And Rodimus too, if he disobeyed direct orders to help with my rescue."
"And me," Isaac spoke up. "I do not know how much help I can be, but… you have my loyalty as well."
Optimus stared down at the human. "I do? Even knowing I'm related to… to…"
"Even knowing that," Isaac assured him. "You are still Optimus Prime, and I will fight to the end for you." He smiled. "I am happy that you found your father, Optimus. Even if he wasn't who any of us were expecting."
Megatron's smile faded, and Optimus was treated to a sight he thought he'd never see - the sight of the Decepticon commander looking utterly ashamed of himself. "It would seem… I owe a friend of my son an apology. I used you, Professor, and took you hostage. I won't ask your forgiveness, but-"
"Bah." Isaac waved his hand. "I used your head to build a technological empire. I think we owe each other apologies… so we shall call it even."
The knot of tension in Optimus' internals eased, and he allowed himself a smile as Ratchet plugged a scanner into his arm and began checking him over. Perhaps things weren't perfect, and perhaps all their futures were still completely uncertain. But somehow, his spark was far lighter than it had been in weeks.
Bright laughter cut into his thoughts, and he glanced up to see three sparklings playing near the entrance to the "medbay." The children - one red, one blue, and one an unmistakable shade he'd often heard called "Decepticon purple" - were tossing a ball back and forth while a silver-blue turbofox made snaps at it. Occasionally it would snatch the ball out of the air and dash off, and the children would shriek and giggle as they chased it and wrestled the ball out of its jaws.
Ratchet followed Optimus' gaze, then smirked. "Gaze upon this place's fearless leader," he noted in a heavily snarky tone.
"The children?" Optimus asked, giving him a puzzled look.
Megatron chuckled. "Not the sparklings… the fox."
Optimus stared as the fox dropped the ball into the purple sparkling's hands and danced excitedly in place, waiting for another throw. "Please tell me that's a beastformer and you don't actually consider a turbofox to be this place's leader."
"Dominus Ambus," Ratchet replied. "I'm sure he'll have some words for you later. But as you've noticed, he likes the sparklings."
"I gathered that," Optimus replied. At least the leader of the refugee camp seemed to be a reasonable sort - if he was humble enough to romp with sparklings, then that already put him leagues above the current Autobot leadership.
Autobot younglings playing with a Decepticon child… at least the young ones don't have the same prejudices as the adults do. The sight comforted him… and helped spark new hope in him. If he and his friends - and his newfound family - could manage to give these sparklings a brighter future, a Cybertron that wouldn't decide their fates for them simply based on their creation and alt mode, then the fight, however hopeless it seemed, would be worth it.