Well, um... Hi? I know it's been about half a year. I had intended to update more regularly, and keep to a writing schedule, and, and, and, but life kinda hit out of nowhere, and then I felt like I lost a lot of my motivation to write. I'm back at it now, though, so here's hoping updates will start being at least a bit more frequent than once every 6 months :D
One more note: I know there's several different working theories as to how the war itself started up, and I'm going to kind of go with a combo of a few different ones, while trying to stay at least somewhat true to TFP canon. Basically, I've got: The Council was super corrupt and oppressive, Megatron(us) and Soundwave were D-16 and D-15 enslaved as miners who rose to the gladiatorial ring and won their freedom, Megatron became a poet and an activist as well, and became friends with Orion Pax the librarian from Iacon. They worked together to expose the corruption of the council and to seek freedom and equality for all mecha. However, after Orion was chosen to bear the Matrix and become Prime. Megatronus was filled with jealousy. His frustration was furthered when Optimus was unable to move quickly enough to enact immediate change like Megatron wanted, and after the Council attacked Vos due to their bigotry and hatred, and Starscream's revenge, Megatron and Optimus split ways and found themselves on opposing sides of the war. Hope that makes sense! If you have any questions, I'll be happy to *try* to clear up any confusion! Enjoy!
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jack was just as delighted and exuberant in his expressions of excitement at Switchshade's well-being as Raphael and Miko had been. The stunned young mech knelt to accept as much of an embrace as the Autobot's eldest human child could give, Switchshade's processor still spinning wildly with all that Lord Pri-Optimus had told him.
Arcee's response had been more expected, when the femme had stared at him with a blank expression, and Switchshade felt her field retreat and close up behind a solid barrier which blocked any of her emotions from escaping. The blue femme stared at him for several astrokliks, then turned away without speaking, stalking over to where Cliffjumper stood nearby, taking his servo and dragging him away. The surprise came when, moments later, everyone in the base could hear her enraged voice nearly screaming at the poor red mech, "He's alive?! He didn't offline, and you didn't tell me?! Jack and I were out there, patrolling, while Switchshade, one of our own was here, alive, while we thought him dead?!"
Switchshade cycled his optics in astonishment, even as they heard the normally cheerful Cliffjumper trying to protest that Arcee's com link was blocked, and they had only missed one check-in before she had returned. Their argument quieted after that, then after a klik both returned to the room, mild irritation on both of their faceplates, though strong red servos gently gripped unsteady blue.
Arcee approached Switchshade where he stood near Ratchet in the main common area, and the dark mech straightened slightly at her approach, wondering if she would also berate him for worrying her needlessly. He stumbled back a step and nearly fell on his aft when, instead of anger, he was met with a fierce embrace. The blue femme wrapped her arms around him and tucked her faceplates into his chassis, snarling, "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will make certain you regret it."
The ex-Con held very still, his servos held awkwardly away from him, uncertain if he should attempt to return her embrace. His panicked optics fluttered from Ratchet, to Cliffjumper, to Bumblebee, and then back down to the blue helm tucked up against him. The femme's threat, however, was far less terrifying than it might have been when he had first come to the Autobot's base, for underneath her anger, he could easily detect the concern and fear in her vocalizer. Between that, and her overheard claim that he was one of them, the dark mech felt only relief at her clear concern.
Just as abruptly as she had embraced him, Arcee released him moments later, drawing back and crossing her arms. "Well. Just-don't do that again." She strode back over towards Cliffjumper, who immediately drew her into his arms comfortingly. The femme turned her gaze back towards Switchshade after a long moment in her conjunx endura's arms, and admitted sheepishly, "I was worried about you."
Shortly thereafter, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead departed the base to take their respective humans home. Ratchet stood at the computers, glancing over at Switchshade every few kliks, his servos twitching with the clear desire to demand the younger mech permit him to examine his frame once again, just to be certain he was indeed entirely healthy. The old medic had already scanned him three times after Switchshade had woken, and all was as the dark mech had promised, his mod was indeed only dangerous if left on for long periods of time, and he only required time and rest to fully recover.
Cliffjumper watched Ratchet with a half-grin, taking it upon himself to pester the medic until he admitted he needed rest himself. The red mech sauntered over to the Hatchet recklessly, throwing a wink to Switchshade before leaning against the console right next to the medic. "Heya Ratch. So… whatcha workin' on?" Switchshade ducked his helm with a grin, then slowly began to move away from the two subtly, knowing full well that Ratchet's legendary lack of patience for any mecha not on the brink of death would quickly catch up to Cliffjumper. The dark mech had no desire to remain too near to the catastrophe that was certain to take place in a matter of kliks. Without realizing it, the dark mech had begun to edge closer to Optimus, who had taken a seat on the floor nearby, scrutinizing a datapad in his powerful servos.
Optimus peered down at the datapad in his servos, reminded of a much simpler time millennia ago in the Iaconian library, when he bore a different name and significantly weaker frame. The Chosen of Primus suppressed the urge to sigh, his ancient spark aching as he longed for the time past when his biggest concern was whether Megatronus would have answered his missives that solar cycle or if he would need to wait longer to hear from his dear, poetic friend. A time when Cybertron still stood in all her glory, at the peak of her Golden Age, though time and experience had opened his optics to the truth that it was only 'golden' to the upper class mecha, and a nightmare to a large percentage of the population.
His optics were only opened to the corruption and darkness on his beloved planet through Megatronus' firsthand experience, and then further enlightenment when Primus found him worthy of the Matrix and the knowledge and wisdom of all Primes was passed to him. That was the moment he realized the true corruption of the Council, but by then, they had already razed Vos, causing a sparkbroken retaliation from Starscream that had only escalated the conflicts breaking out all over into the all-out war it had become. After the Seeker had utterly destroyed the Council in a fit of rage, Optimus himself had been sparkbroken when Megatronus not only approved of his Second's actions, but encouraged further violence and revolt. That, the Prime mused, was when I truly began to realize that my friend, my brother had given into the furious hatred and jealously in his spark, and was lost to me.
The Prime stared at the datapad detailing as much information as the Autobots possessed regarding the Nemesis' recent movements under Starscream's command without really seeing it, but was shaken from his thoughts when he noticed Switchshade quietly moving closer. Optimus remained very still and was careful to avoid looking up at the dark mech or give any indication he had noticed his presence, well aware that despite his best intentions, Switchshade was still utterly terrified of him.
It felt like a genuine physical pain in his spark that the youngling should see him as somemech to be feared, especially after all that Switchshade had done to prove his loyalties and gentle spark. Optimus was hopeful, however, that Switchshade understood now, at least, that he needed not fear beatings of physical pain as punishment for anything. And Primus save the mech whom Ratchet gets his servos on for that! The Prime had heard the increasingly dark and sadistic threats and plans his oldest friend had begun formulating for Starscream, Soundwave, and any other mecha who had even an iota of a chance of being responsible for Switchshade's unrelenting terror of authority figures. Optimus, despite his sorrow over Megatron's apparent demise, couldn't help but wonder if his ancient friend turned rival might be the luckiest of the Decepticons, being able to avoid any retribution the Autobot medic would find a way to inflict 'even if it offlined him'.
Optimus watched silently, as Switchshade continued to edge ever nearer, his dark red optics still focused on Ratchet and Cliffjumper. The young mech seemed torn between amusement and unease at the increasingly loud teasing (Cliffjumper) and snarling (Ratchet) coming from the two mecha bickering at the computer consoles. He moved nearer, and nearer, and then suddenly stumbled as, without realizing it, he had backed up into Prime's pedes as they lay stretched out before him where he reclined against the wall. Switchshade flailed desperately, his servos outstretched wide, but he had been moving just quickly enough and tripped suddenly enough that he had lost his balance entirely.
The dark mech fell to the ground with a startled burst of static, sprawled out on his backplates and blinking up at Optimus in bewilderment. Optimus bit down hard on his inner lip plates to keep from smiling, instead kindly offering a servo to help the other sit up. Switchshade stared at him, his faceplates conflicted and confused, and then very hesitantly, the young mech placed a trembling black servo in Optimus' own, and the Prime gently helped him to sit up. Ratchet and Cliffjumper had both turned at the commotion, shaken from their argument, but Optimus shook his helm in the negative when they made as if to come over and offer assistance. Cliffjumper grinned and shrugged, turning back to his self-appointed duty-mission: Get-Ratchet-to-Chill-Out-and-Hopefully-Recharge-Too. The medic's optics lingered a moment longer, but after he had ascertained both his Lord was safe, and his young patient was not in a state of extreme physiological or psychological distress, he turned back to Cliffjumper with a renewed desire to complete his own mission: Get-This-Fragger-to-Find-Something-Useful-to-Do-and-Leave-Me-the-Pit-Alone-or-I-Will-Get-the-Wrench-So-Help-Me-Primus.