Author's Note: So sorry about the delay! The kids start school tomorrow, so I'll have a lot more time on my hands soon. Please know that I eagerly read each and every review, and thank you so much to everyone who has put this fic on their favorites and alerts. Hope you enjoy!

Hunted

"Sam," he greeted me a few nights later. There was something...different about his mood. He wasn't giving in yet, but he was willing to at least entertain the topic.

Deciding I'd better handle this carefully, I simply answered, "Optimus."

He nodded in acknowledgment and then plunged into a speech that felt vaguely rehearsed. "We have argued for many days, and I admit I have not been open to your point of view. That has been unfair to you. We are at an impasse and neither of us have been willing to negotiate. I still feel my position is right, but I intend to more carefully consider your perspective. I ask that you do the same for me."

From anyone else, I'd think this was a trick, but this was Optimus and I could feel the sincerity in his spark.

"You have raised some interesting points. However, I cannot agree to share our technology with humans. As you said, your race is not only resourceful but also adaptable. Mutually assured destruction was a deterrent when the conflicts were between governments, but that is no longer the case. Now the conflicts are primarily ideological."

I frowned a little. "Terrorists."

"Yes," and it was kind of scary how much anger and disgust he could put behind that one simple word. "If I grant your race access to our technology, it will end up in the hands of those who would use it to kill indiscriminately."

I ran my fingers through my hair, frustrated. "If they really want to kill people, they're gonna kill people, Optimus. That's my whole point! From the time we first learned we could punch somebody, we started upgrading to rocks and then bigger rocks and then sharper rocks and then spears and bows and arrows and swords. Yes, we want to make sure the bad guys don't get their hands on the worst stuff, but violence is part of human nature, like it or not. Just like you and all your weaponry."

He rolled back from that emotionally, and I realized I'd hit a nerve. Pressing the point, I said, "We're not so different when you get right down to it, brother. You've got the Matrix even though it's tech so advanced that it's practically magic to you. We don't need that big of a leap. Just teach us how to refine ore well enough that Ratchet can use it, whether it's for fixing Bumblebee's voice or building another solar harvester. Yes, there's a risk, but it's no bigger than you walking around with the power of the gods in your pocket."

He shook his head, his fierce frustration letting me know it was time to ease up. I sighed, realizing he was probably right. I thought hard for a second and then said, "What was your first weapons upgrade? You said you didn't always have energon swords."

He gave me a calculating look, his spark letting me know that he knew exactly what I was doing, but a couple of heartbeats later, he vented a sigh. "It was a sidearm. An ion rifle."

Abruptly we were on Cybertron, walking along an unfamiliar street. The mech beside us was unmistakable, though: Fortron, Optimus' father.

"Don't misunderstand," he was saying, "I'm very proud of you. You'll make a fine engineer. I'm just disappointed that your mother won out. You were offered a good position within the Defense Forces, too."

Optimus' mild frustration rippled across the bond. I got the feeling this had been a point of contention in his family for a while. "I've made my decision, and even if I wanted to, I couldn't change my mind. I gave Pillar my word for two vorns of service when I was sworn into the guild."

Placating humor flowed into Optimus' spark, an echo of what Fortron had felt in this moment. "And I respect you for that, son, on both counts. I merely want to give you a graduation present." He paused and looked pointedly at the shop beside them. It was a weapons retailer.

"You're serious?" Optimus demanded, suddenly aglow with excitement.

"You are of age," Fortron answered, "and with all due respect to your mother, you were not sparked for a science-build. You wear the frame of a leader, and you will be great in whatever you set your hand to. You are a scientist now, but you are also the son of a warrior of Cybertron, and I want you to carry part of that heritage with you." Then he clapped Optimus on his shoulder and led him into the shop.

They spent a long time, looking at everything from crossbows to swords to cannons. A clerk escorted them around, explaining the specs and features of the different things they were looking at. Some of the weapons were sleek and beautiful even in my human eyes - as much a work of art as a weapon. Others were brutally lethal-looking, like something I'd see on Megatron or Ironhide. The swords were very expensive, mostly because of the installation cost. You could just subspace a gun, but energon swords had to be integrated into your circulation systems. There were some cheap blades that were just metal, but Optimus didn't even look twice at them.

Finally they wandered into the used-weapons section, and after examining and setting aside a couple of arm-cannons, Optimus hefted a rifle.

I'd never held a gun before and, after Mission City, never had a desire to. Fortron was right, though, and Optimus had a strong dose of 'warrior' in his spark. The balance felt rightin his hands. Through my brother's optics, I looked down the sights of the rifle and saw with precision analysis just how perfect the construction was. And the weapon was his style, too: simple and efficient.

"I want to test this one," he announced.

"Good. Which other ones do you want to try out?" Fortron asked. "We can take up to four onto their firing range."

My brother shook his head 'no.' "Just thisone."

"You have a good optic for quality," the clerk complimented, and with dismay Optimus noticed the price-tag. It was more than half as much as an energon blade and cost more than many of the new weapons he'd looked at.

I was prepared to buy you a set of energon blades to match my own, Fortron assured him over their bond. Whatever you wish for here is yours.

Optimus glomped his father in a hug of the heart that made the older mech chuckle, and he returned his son's affection with full force.

On the firing range, Optimus really, truly fell in love with the rifle. It was unfailingly accurate and with just a standard power pack it could pierce every target the clerk set up except the equivalent of military-grade armor. He'd have to be in the Defense Forces to get the power pack for that.

It could handle military use, Fortron assured him. I'll have to see if we can't smuggle that rifle past your mother and bring you down to a real shooting range. We can get our servos on some armor-piercing power there.

As Forton paid for the gun, I asked Optimus, "So what did your mother think of it?"

Abruptly we were in his family's living room, and Optimus was showing off his rifle to Megatron. When Optimus offered it to him, his younger brother eagerly held it up and took aim at the living room window, looking down the sights.

"Megatron," Sunset snapped. "Watch where you're aiming!"

"It's not energized," Optimus protested, holding out the disconnected power pack as evidence.

"I don't care," she grumbled. "You should know better how to handle a weapon." Then she glared at Fortron, and judging by how his parents muted their bonds, Optimus knew they were having an argument about their children's lack of responsibility with firearms.

"Here, my turn," my brother insisted, reaching to take his rifle back from Megatron.

The younger mech swung it out of Optimus' reach. "Hold on for an astrosecond!" Then he examined the barrel. "Does this shoot projectiles, too?"

"Yes," Optimus proudly answered as he snatched it back.

Megatron snorted, even though he couldn't quite block his intense envy. "If you have to resort to shooting bullets then you've already lost."

"When you graduate, you can choose one that's only an energy weapon."

I sniggered at how defensive Optimus was feeling of his rifle, almost to the point of being protective.

"I will," Megatron declared. "An arm cannon."

Optimus rolled his optics, and a ghost of Megatron's envy and competitiveness swelled across his brother bond. "A fusion cannon!"

"Hold it," I exclaimed as something dawned on me. "You mean Megatron's fusion cannon is him compensating for something?!" It suddenly made so much sense!

Optimus paused the memory and gave me a blank look, his confusion sweeping across the bond.

I just burst out laughing so hard it left me wheezing for breath. "Google it later," I finally managed through my guffaws.

…

Hunter

I stood watching the sunrise in the waking world, my hand protectively covering the compartment in my hip where the Matrix rested. Compared to the Cube, the energies of this incarnation of the All Spark were quiet. My own fields masked it from all but medical scans. It was safe here, unless someone knew where to look for it. Unfortunately, Decepticons had somehow learned that secret and it had nearly cost me my life. Again. Ratchet was designing a better storage compartment for it - an insulated space close to my spark chamber that would be shielded along with the rest of my core. I would not be carrying around the power of the gods, as Sam put it, in my pocket for much longer.

It had been less than a year since I learned my full heritage. For less than a brief, human year I'd been the steward and protector of the Matrix, but I was born a Prime. It was my fate to one day avenge the Primes who had gone before me. It was my fate to become the guardian of the Matrix. I understood these things now, though I still questioned the path of destruction that had led me to this destiny.

Before I met Sam, the name of Prime was a title I received as a mark of honor from those who followed me. They who fought for so noble a cause deserved a Prime to lead them. Since we lacked one, I accepted the role. I knew it was simply that - a role. Every choice was made with the survival and success of my Autobots in mind. I had no illusions of grandeur that I was a build apart from my brothers. I was simply another a mech, albeit one with some significant gifts and abilities.

Earth, however, changed the War, and Sam changed everything.

As I studied their transmissions before arriving on Earth, I was struck by how similar the humans were to us. They were all younglings, understanding so little and with a potential so great. Most of our own children had been extinguished in the War. Despite their violent nature, the thought of these young ones also perishing awoke something fierce and deep within me. I had failed our little ones on Cybertron. I could not let the same fate befall this innocent Earth. This was my line in the sand, as the humans put it.

With the Decepticons already on the ground, I was fully aware that the Cube might fall into their hands. I had no doubt that the results would be catastrophic and that, if Megatron had the advantage of the All Spark, both the Autobots and Earth would fall.

It was then that the darkest, boldest, most blasphemous idea took hold in my spark: destroy the Cube. Destroy both the Autobots and the Decepticons in one fell stroke. Destroy my fellow warriors and kin. Destroy any hope for my race. End the endless War.

I recoiled from the thought, but the compulsion to destroy the All Spark seemed to grow with the strength of Earth's gravity as we approached it from above. I knew before my cometary form began to warm that on this planet I would destroy the Cube. As I waited, consumed with frustration while Sam and Mikaela frantically searched his room for the glasses, I finally settled on the means. I would destroy both the Cube and my own spark. No penance short of taking my own life could compensate for what I was resolved to do. Even that would likely not be enough. Megatron would be a sainted Prime by comparison. I would both commit genocide against my own race and kill the avatar of Primus. Not even the humans had a demon so dark.

It made no sense, and yet I'd never felt more certain of my course with the sole exception of bonding with Elita. This was a matter of the spark and the spark alone. With an arrogance that was frightening even at the time, I followed the path that felt like destiny. Even more disturbing was that when I told my Autobots what I intended to do they still followed me with no protest beyond Ratchet's concern for my own life. Fate was laying its hand on us all.

Sam was part of that fate, I quickly realized. I saw the qualities of a Prime in him - the bloodied, organic youngling protectively cradling the Cube I needed to destroy. I knew that, despite my resolve, I would not have the strength of will to end my race and myself and the War, so I did the unforgivable. I asked him in his ignorance to commit this unthinkable sin. He had courage enough; he understood the necessity of sacrifice. Let him stand in as a Prime for me as I had for the Autobots. Let his hands deal justice to me, murderer of my people and my creator.

Instead, Sam spared me and killed Megatron.

It was a memory I shared with no one. Piece by piece, the All Spark burned to nothing in Sam's hands. Piece by piece, it tore away Megatron's spark, smelting it. Through it all, Sam stood untouched at the core of the maelstrom, fulfilling the role of a Prime as I had intended. This, too, felt like fate, and my spark faltered before it. Justice had been done to Megatron, and mercy had been granted to me. Both were terrible. Then it was done, and Sam scrambled aside, a frail and frightened child once more.

In millennia of war, I had seen the empty frames of younglings and kin and even my mate. Seeing my severed brother's cooling, empty shell was a new kind of grief, one saturated with regret. With him died any chance for reconciliation, and Megatron was lost to me forever. It was not the fate I would have chosen for him, but his fate had never been mine to choose. My only options were letting Megatron destroy both the Autobots and humanity or saving humanity at the cost of our future. I could not let the humans pay for our mistakes. To his dead frame, I confessed, "You left me no choice, brother."

When I turned, Sam was still stunned, rooted to where he stood and gaping. He'd lost the bearing of a Prime, but he'd also wielded the Cube. There was greatness in him, even if it was not visible now. Now all that was visible was shock. It was my hope that he'd never learn that he'd also doomed me and my Autobots to extinguish from energon-starvation. This boy had done what I and the mightiest of my race could not: ended the War. Whatever our ultimate fates might be, it was I instead of Megatron who would govern the final vorns of our race. It was a precious gift.

In the present, the energy of the Matrix stirred, and I moved my hand to shield it even more, but it quieted again. Through the twists and turns of fate's design, I was now the Matrix-bearer. The All Spark I'd felt compelled to destroy was housed in my own frame. There had been a bigger picture, as the humans put it, and it only came about because I'd gone against my own better judgment and followed the instincts - or inspiration - of a Prime.

My better judgment now was to keep our technology out of human hands. All of my fears, my guilt, and my arrogance could be set aside except for the one inescapable fact that human hunters, whether they were terrorists or money-driven criminals, would kill their fellow beings. Sam had no argument against it except to say that it would have happened anyway.

Unlike with the Cube, I felt no compulsion to share our technology. But then, destroying it was my decision and mine alone, and the boy simply aided me in that task. Now the one feeling compelled was Samuel Prime. Until this moment, I had thought of his dogged determination as youthful human enthusiasm. As I considered my own irrational compulsion to destroy the Cube, however, I was beginning to wonder if there might be more to Sam's motives.

If my choice to destroy the Cube truly was rooted in the will of the All Spark, Sam might also be motivated by a power beyond himself. If that were the case, I might have to go against my own better judgment again and make a leap of faith. As his brother Prime, I might have a duty to assist him like he assisted me in Mission City. Last time, it was my own race I'd put at risk in order to save the humans. This time, the humans were the ones I would place in danger in order to save my race. It was as unthinkable as destroying the Cube. Perhaps it was as unavoidable.

The thought was beyond troubling. Fate had been cruel to untold numbers of Cybertronians, despite the survival of the All Spark and my own resurrection. I could not in good conscience entrust the whole of humanity to its fickle mercies, and my conscience was the guide of my destiny. Fate did not negate freedom but was revealed by it. If it was my fate to assist Sam in this, then it had to be in a way that was compatible with my own spark if not my processors. This was still my choice.