Author's Note: After the last chapter my muse ran away and the plot bunny decided to be uncooperative; I had to hunt down one and prod the other until it coughed up another chapter. In the interim I have finally gotten to see TF3 Dark of the Moon... My dad got it early from the video store. Am totally buying it when it comes out...

Disclaimer: Ultimus, Ultra Rodimus, Roddy's skrill, and his two pets are my own creations. Everybody else belongs to somebody else.

Awakening

Chapter 4: Culture Shock

Ultimus followed the younger mech through the tunnels to the surface, watching as the grey mech picked his way through the rooms to avoid stepping on the dead. The big redhead approved of that, his opinion of the other mech rising a notch. Yellow eyes narrowed slightly as he evaluated this mech calling himself Prime. Ultra Rodimus was slim of build; he looked almost fragile at first glance. But on closer inspection his armor appeared to be even more advanced than that of the other mechs Ultimus had seen so far. The way he moved indicated great physical strength packed into a slender frame. He was a walking contradiction, slim yet very powerful.

As he followed the slightly shorter mech out of the complex, Ultimus watched how the other mechs interacted with Ultra Rodimus. The silver-maned mech wore his aura of command confidently if casually, allowing others to acknowledge it rather than forcing them to. The other mechs greeted him respectfully, glancing warily as the big redhead following him. That told Ultimus that this Ultra Rodimus was a respected, trusted authority figure.

"You said you were a Prime," Ultimus stated abruptly. "Yet when you introduced yourself you said it as a name."

Ultra Rodimus turned slightly, looking back at the larger mech briefly. "It's a bit of both. Prime is a title borne by the bearer of the Matrix, leader of the Autobot faction. Since the days of Prima, every Matrix-bearer has had the title of Prime added onto their name. Prime Nova. Sentinel Prime. Optimus Prime. And myself, Ultra Rodimus Prime. It comes from the name of Primus and is used to identify us. So it's a hereditary tradition. I inherited the name after the death of my predecessor."

"Death?" Ultimus blinked.

"The Matrix forms a bond with its bearer's spark. It only changes hands when its current bearer dies. No one is really sure what would happen to a Prime who gave up the Matrix and lived afterward, and I'm not really in any great hurry to find out." Ultra Rodimus shrugged. "My predecessor was killed in battle with his nemesis, the leader of the Decepticon faction. He was in power for around nine million vorns before his death."

Ultimus pondered that information, turning it over in his processor. "How is the next leader chosen?"

"The Matrix chooses its own bearer. Anyone can carry it, but it's more than a little picky about who it will actually accept and bond with. After Optimus died, he passed it to a mech named Ultra Magnus. Magnus carried it, but was never chosen by it. Finally it chose me, changing me from my previous form into the form you see now." The grey mech indicated himself. "Most of my warriors witnessed my transformation, so none of them had any doubt that I was the true chosen bearer."

"Seeing a mech who'd been blown almost in half brought back from the brink of death tends to have that effect," another mech called over. Ultra Rodimus only snorted.

The gladiator looked in the direction of the voice. His optics caught the red insignia the speaker bore, standing out boldly against his green armor. Turning his head, Ultimus looked at the others. All of them prominently bore the red mark of the domestic slave line. Puzzled, he looked back at Ultra Rodimus. "Do all of you bear the slave mark?"

"This?" Ultra Rodimus touched his own insignia. "It ceased to be a slave brand many eons ago. Now it is a symbol of liberation, and the insignia of the Autobots."

"Autobots?" the gladiator echoed. He thought for a moment. "A factional insignia."

"Autobots believe in freedom and peace. Most of us, by nature, are scientists, artists, architects, and explorers."

"Since when are explorers and scientists so heavily armored and armed?" Ultimus wanted to know.

"Since the Decepticons started a civil war, trying to seize control of Cybertron and use it as a base from which to conquer the rest of the known universe." Emerald optics were as hard as ice.

Ultimus regarded him. "If Autobots are descended from the domestic slaves..."

"The Decepticons come from the military technology lines. For a brief time after the rebellion, both races lived in peace. Then those who would become the Decepticons decided that they were better than us, that they deserved to have Cybertron for themselves. Since you last walked the planet there have been no less than four civil wars, mostly confined to Cybertron itself, with brief periods of relative peace between. The current war has been raging for nearly ten million vorns, and it encompasses most of this sector of the galaxy. Right now we're more or less at a stalemate." Ultra Rodimus had to duck slightly through a ragged hole; an ancient entrance hatch that had been blown out of place long ago, leading Ultimus to a roughly cut curving ramp.

"What of the Quintessons?" Ultimus asked abruptly, optics flaring.

"Nuisances with tentacles. After we threw them off in the rebellion, they stayed away for a long time. So long that most of Cybertron completely forgot about them. Resurfaced roughly a quarter of a vorn ago. They do make periodic attempts to get some payback for getting their slimy afts kicked, but as a whole we're too powerful for them. Every time they try, we send them packing. Most of us can't wait for the day when even the rumor of a Cybertronian will send the slimy wretches scuttling." At the top of the ramp he stopped, turning to face the gladiator and spreading his hands. "Welcome back to Cybertron."

Yellow eyes gave him a confused look. Then the big redhead lifted his gaze to take in their surroundings.

They stood on the edge of a pit excavated down to the hidden stasis complex, surrounded by piles of slag that had been dug out. The slag piles obscured the view. Singling out the highest vantage point, Ultimus headed toward it, the Prime following. Once at a higher point, Ultimus looked out over the surface of his homeworld.

Barren metal plains stretched out as far as the eye could see, under a dark, star-filled sky. The ground rolled in waves, indicating that it had that appearance due to the application of an immense amount of heat. In the far distance there was light on the horizon, but otherwise the only light came from the distant stars and the weak reflected glow of two moons.

Ultimus stared. Back when he had arrived at the underground facility, this area had been part of a vast industrial complex. There had been factories and spaceports and slave barracks, and the vast arena where he had fought to entertain the slavemasters. Not far away had been the palaces where the Quintessons themselves had resided. All of it was gone without a trace. Lifting his gaze to the sky, he tried to find the familiar constellations and stars. Only rarely had he been able to see the stars beyond the glare of the lights, but he'd seen them enough to know what positions they should be in. Now, he could see none of them. The distant horizons were dark, with no hint of an impending sunrise or the last fading remnants of twilight. The air smelled strongly of spilled fluids and burnt metal and decay with the sharp tang of smoke underneath, as well as being thinner than he remembered it being.

"Where is the sun?" he asked, directing the question at the grey mech next to him.

"There is no sun." Ultra Rodimus gave a mirthless smile at the resulting stare from the gladiator. "About seventy million vorns ago, there was a tremendous explosion near here. What caused it is unknown. But that explosion was so massive and powerful that it tore the side of the planet open and blew Cybertron out of its orbit. The shockwave flattened the city that stood here, as well as every city for hundreds of stretches in every direction. The heat blast and fireball melted everything into what you see now. This area is known as the Badlands, flanking the Great Rift. You can't see the Rift from here, but you will when we return to Autobase." He looked out over the barren landscape. "Millions of Cybertronians made their homes here. Many were families, with younglings and sparklings. None of them survived that terrible explosion. They died instantly, their remains melted into the ruins of their homes."

The big gladiator reeled. When he had stepped into that stasis chamber and said his farewells to Prima, he had expected that Cybertron would be different when he emerged. But he had never expected so drastic a change. The Cybertron he knew was gone and all his comrades were dead; he had no one to help him deal with this new world.

Ultra Rodimus placed a hand on his shoulder, over the huge pelt he still wore. "I know this is a lot for you to take in. It has been a very long time since you last walked Cybertron, and it is nothing like you remember. I understand why you're afraid."

Yellow eyes flared brightly. Ultimus pulled away from the younger mech, baring his fangs in a snarl. In his world, fear was a sign of weakness, and those who were weak did not survive. "I am afraid of nothing!"

The Prime merely looked at him, not at all fazed by the display, though some of the watching mechs had jumped and were now watching him nervously. Those level green eyes looked ancient. "For us it has been eighty-five million vorns since the rebellion, while for you it has barely been a joor. Nothing is as you remember it. All of your friends and comrades are gone. You are a stranger in this world now, with no one to turn to. If you aren't at least a little frightened by the change, then you have a major glitch in your precessor."

For a long moment the two stood in silence, staring at each other. Then Ultimus dropped his gaze, shoulders slumping under the Transorganic pelt. "You're right," he admitted. "I am afraid. I know nothing of this changed world, and I have no idea of my place in it."

The grey mech stepped closer, reaching out to rest his palm over the red insignia on the bigger mech's chestplate. "You bear our insignia; you are one of us, an Autobot. As Prime, it is my duty to guide and protect my people. I will not leave you in the lurch, drifting aimlessly. You will find your place among us." Green eyes glowed solemnly, and Ultimus managed a weak smile of thanks.

An imperious rattle from below attracted their attention, and Ultra Rodimus made a rude gesture at the glaring medic down below. Rolling his eyes at the answering, equally rude gesture, he gently tugged on Ultimus's elbow. "Let's get you to Iacon before Medic Alert pops a rotor assembly." Keeping his hand on the reeling gladiator's arm, he led the way down to where a large white craft waited. The two boarded, Ultra Rodimus leading Ultimus over to a viewport as the craft took of. "Look there."

Ultimus followed the pointing finger and went stiff, his eyes going wide. It was one thing to hear about a great gaping hole in the planet, but it was quite another to see it. As the ship rose higher, more of the landscape was revealed. The melted wastelands continued right to the edge of a sheer drop, the edge of a vast wound so huge the other side was lost in the distance, as was the bottom. Speechless, the big gladiator peered down into the blackness, seeing the levels of the planet until they were swallowed up in the darkness.

"That's the Rift," Ultra Rodimus told him. "It's so deep it almost reaches the planet core, and stretches about two-thirds of the way from the north pole to the south pole. The whole area is off-limits because the edges are dangerously unstable."

"Great Primus," Ultimus whispered, unable to look away from the devastation until the ship veered away from it and it vanished behind them. The redhead shook himself, turning his attention to the rest of the landscape. Farther away from the Rift and the Badlands, the damage was more blast damage than heat damage. Wrecked cities sprawled across the plains, dotted with the shattered arcs of the vast highways. On the horizon, the single spot of light slowly grew larger as they approached, eventually resolving itself into a once-proud city, mostly fallen to ruin, surrounding a walled, domed fortress.

"Iacon, formerly one of the more powerful city-states on Cybertron." Ultra Rodimus rested one hand on the viewport. "And one of the last cities to be attacked by the Decepticons. That's Autobase, the Autobot stronghold, in the center."

As the ship approached, the great dome began to open. It spread just wide enough for their craft to slip inside, then closed again, forming a solid dome over Autobase. The white ship circled down to the vast plaza in front of the great gates, coming in for a neat landing. Ultra Rodimus tugged Ultimus toward the ramp as the hatch opened, then led him out into Autobase.

Ultimus paused at the bottom of the ramp, looking around. He could hear mechs murmuring, wondering who this red-maned stranger was, but he ignored them in favor of taking in the complex. The walls sported defensive weapons stations and catwalks, as well as openings through which an individual warrior could stand and shoot. The plaza was well-lit and large enough for a significant force to gather. The complex itself had been built with defense in mind as well as functionality. He approved.

The redhead was walking toward the entrance through which other mechs were emerging when Ultra Rodimus suddenly grabbed his arm, bringing him to a halt. Yellow optics fixed on him, a scarlet eyebrow lifting in a silent question. The Prime pointed down, and Ultimus followed the gesture.

Almost underfoot was a very small being, glaring up at them. Ultimus's sensors told him that this creature, barely reaching above his ankle joint, was entirely non-mechanical in nature. It was entirely organic, like some of the Quintessons' clients long ago. But he'd had no contact with them; he'd only been an arena beast. This was the closest he'd ever been to an organic.

The organic had dull brown fibers on its head, much shorter than Ultimus's own fiery red mane. It wore some kind of fabric covering its body. Slowly, Ultimus crouched down for a better look, tilting his head to one side before extending a hand to poke the creature. It moved as if to slap the prodding digit aside, only to yelp and clutch its appendage after striking Ultimus' metal armor.

"Just what do you think you're doing, you metalhead?" it demanded.

Ultimus didn't quite jump, but he did jerk a bit in surprise. "It talks!"

"Of course I can talk, you oversized imbicile!" the creature shrilled while Ultra Rodimus let out an amused snort. "What do you think you're doing? You almost stepped on me! Watch where you're going! You robots are supposed to give way to us humans!"

Ultra Rodimus leaned over, glaring down at the creature. "We're not 'supposed' to do anything. It's a courtesy, since you're so much smaller than we. We could just as easily make you watch out for us instead of vice versa. Ultimus has never seen a human before, or any organic being so small. He's never had any experience with organics of any kind. So of course he doesn't know to look down or watch where he puts his feet." Emerald eyes narrowed. "This is our world. And since you are supposedly a diplomatic aide on our world, you shouldn't be expecting us to cater to your every whim. Smarten up. Or next time, if he forgets to check for small life-forms underfoot, I won't stop him."

The organic went from red to white and scuttled off. Ultra Rodimus growled something rude in ancient Cybertronian before turning back to Ultimus. "Cybertron is in contact with many worlds now, and many different species. We've made a habit of tuning our sensors to detect smaller life-forms anywhere in our immediate vicinity, to avoid stepping on anyone. It's something you'll have to get used to. I'm certain there will be a few missteps and near misses until you adapt, though." He tugged Ultimus to his feet, indicating the entrance to Autobase. "I'll show you to the Medbay."

Ultimus nodded. Glancing once more after the weird organic creature, he followed the Prime into the base. Hopefully he'd be given access to the databases; there was a lot he had to catch up on.

Tbc...

Another chapter down!

I am aware that there were more Primes than just the ones I named, but I have yet to find a list of them, so I'm not going to try listing them. And I picked the best Cybertronian time measurements I could for this chapter. A joor is roughly six and a half hours, and a vorn is 83 years.

Evil Bunnies Inc: If Ultimus had landed that swipe one of Roddy's escorts probably would have taken a shot at him, for attacking the Prime. Fortunately, Ulti's systems hadn't finished getting themselves straightened out and Roddy's a quick bugger. As for the death of Prima, it's very vague; not much to work with.

SilverIcy: Oh yeah, Ulti's been thrown for a loop. He has no idea what to make of this changed world. As for Prima, I'm not entirely sure. Sources are very vague about how he died. One source said Prima was a gladiator who got tired of fighting, turned on the Quints and was killed immediately. Other sources say he simply vanished without a trace. I'm going with the latter.

Vigatus: I'm glad you like it ^_^ And probably not; Poor Ulti's got enough to deal with right now without the 'Cons making nuisances of themselves