Hey, I'm back with another chapter.
Warnings: this one get a little on the graphic side people, so be warned. The warnings from the first chapter definitely apply in this one.
That being said, enjoy!
Chapter 3:
Black plating splashed with brilliant glowing blue; white plating scored to reveal tender protoform. Gorgeous. The stoic visage had long since yielded to the passion that hid underneath. Beautiful. The energon soaked mech was a sight to behold and it sent a thrill of arousal straight to his spark. How lucky was he to have discovered a mech who loved to be dominated so.
Even so, he knew that there were times when their lovemaking was too intense for even his gem of a lover. If only the council would listen! Those lazy fraggers were too immersed in their decadence and their hard-helmed attachment to talk rather than decisive action drove him past all reason. His beloved was so wonderful, allowing him to work out his frustrations in ever more passionate love. The delightful mech would actually pretend to be unwilling to increase the visceral satisfaction they both received from this, and now it was time for the next step in their role-play.
Optimus looked down, in his servos lay a spark-chamber override wand.
His horror finally stirred him from the first-person viewpoint of the memory, but even though it was no longer he that participated Optimus was still forced to watch as a massive blue mech raped a smaller black and white Praxian.
Prowl!
The tortured mech was his own second!
The begging screams that issued from the once proud doorwinger shook the blue and red Iaconian down to his core and the young Prime cried out in protest. *What is this?! Why am I being shown this?! Stop it! I do not want to see anymore!*
But you must. You must understand the transgressions of your predecessor if you are to make restitution.
*What? Who are you? What are you talking about?* Optimus felt a warm gentle presence surround him and the awful vision faded. The comforting presence was all-suffusing and Optimus knew it was the consciousness of the Matrix.
I will not show you more of this event, but there is much that you need to know. Sentinel Priima has caused much damage to many mecha and their great expertise will be lost to you unless healing can be wrought. If you lose them neither you nor the Autobots will survive what is coming.
The Iaconian's spark quivered in dread, but the Great Artifact consumed him with a silent promise that it would stay with him throughout the ordeal. Comforted he replied. *O-ok, I w-will watch.*
With the soothing aura of the Matrix giving him strength he bravely watched as many more memories were played out before him. Every type of torture and abuse Sentinel ha ever inflicted upon Prowl; all the verbal haranguing the blue mech had delivered to his staff; the degrading treatment of his subordinates. All of it was subject to Optimus' viewing. When it was all over the red and blue was sobbing, his spark quailing in distress. The Great Artifact waited, giving the young spark its warmth until his anguish abated. *He did all of this?*
And more. But showing you the remainder would serve no purpose right now as most of the victims not shown have either joined the Decepticons or have already become One in the Well.
*Oh. Can I even fix this? Is it even within my power to do anything?*
I would not have shown you if you could not.
*Then tell me what I must do.*
And as the Matrix explained Optimus could feel its approving smile.
*.*.*.*
Pink. His datapad was pink. Of course this was only the tip of the morass, but Prowl valiantly attempted to concentrate on the data rather than the bizarre, processor-freezing rainbow that occupied his desk. The Praxian was beginning to think that those glowing references had been a last ditch effort to palm off the over-enthusiastic, color obsessed mech now sitting quietly in the antechamber of the office. Prowl surmised that the head Archivists were probably patting themselves on the back right about now for a con-job well played. Well, they would get theirs, he would see to that.
For now however, he was stuck with trying to ignore the reality that his desk looked like someone had purged on it. Every datapad was color-coded according to urgency, department of origin, and whether or not the final mock-up would need a Prime signature. This level of organization was excellent, but the little Altihexian had chosen to only use colors in the Pink spectrum. Puce, magenta, amaranth, champagne, carnation, mauve, pastel, ruby, maroon, burgundy, scarlet, byzantium, violet, and plum had all found representation in his multihued datapads. The fact that he was now aware of the precise names of these optic-searing shades of what passed for color was horrifying. His potentiate had spent a joor explaining the new sorting system and the information was practically permanently engraved in his memory banks.
It would take a full orn and five near meltdowns over Prowl using 'the wrong color datapad' for his work before the doorwinger would come to a very important decision. Prismacolor had to go.
*.*.*.*
He brought them in one at a time into his office. An overwhelmingly ornate office that conveyed even less comfort than before his meditation with the Matrix. The called individual would sit before his desk and await his judgment. They would all flinch minutely when he addressed them and it gave him unending sorrow that they believed that he would abuse them too. It made Optimus want to cry.
He spent joors explaining to them his distress over their prior treatment and then consoling them as they finally broke. He begged each of them to reconsider their resignations, to give him a chance to prove how a Prime truly deported himself. Most left his office still in tears, but promising to consider his request. He also explicitly assured them it was a request and not an order.
It would take nearly a decaorn to see to them all, the victims of Sentinel Prime's madness, and when he was finished only one would be left. Prowl.
Prowl, whose suffering had been the most severe, would require a special touch if healing were to take place.
*.*.*.*
Prismacolor was gone and Prowl rejoiced. He had tactfully explained to the green and silver that the current arrangement was not working. The Altihexian had been crushed, but swiftly perked up when the doorwinger told him he would not be returning to Archives. Instead, Prowl, being the economical mech that he was, had gotten Prismacolor assigned to Requisitions where he could color-code to his spark's content and have his efforts actually appreciated.
The overjoyed mech had leapt up, head panels flashing bright blue, hugged Prowl, and rushed of to his dream job.
In return for Prismacolor the Requisitions Office was sending his a mech that had been serving as the office's temporary secretary. Supposedly, the mech, a purple and blue Urayan, was very good at his job and Requisitions felt he deserved advancement.
Dissever would arrive in the morning.
*.*.*.*
Optimus trudged down the corridor after his first orn of apologies and restitution. It was harrowing work, but the young Prime felt duty and honor-bound to see it done. Still, it was exhausting work and he was headed straight to his berth for some much needed recharge. As he passed the door to his meditation chamber he felt a slight pull. Stopping, puzzled he looked around. Seeing nothing that might have triggered the strange sensation he tried to move on, but the pull came again. He turned towards the room of reflection and the pull called him forward. Yielding, he entered.
A few moments later, after seating himself and calming his spark to listen, Optimus found himself wrapped in the comforting embrace of the Great Artifact.
You are troubled.
The accepting, nonjudgmental tone of the Matrix was the last crack in the Iaconian's serene façade. He let go and cried like he had so desired earlier when he had seen his people's reaction to him.
*Sentinel has done so much! There is too much hurt! How can I fix it all?! I cannot withstand!*
You will young one. I will be there to give you strength and wisdom. It is my function. You can do this, trust me.
*I will try.*
The Matrix held him until peace had returned to his spark and resolve renewed. Then it spoke again. You have questions.
The young Prime's spark flared in an approximation of an embarrassed blush. *If it is not too much trouble?*
Never youngling. I function to store and provide information. Now, what is it that burns in your spark?
*Earlier, when you spoke of Sentinel, you called him Priima. What does that mean?*
The Matrix was silent.
Ok, for all that might think that Optimus is being a little too OOC. I am portraying him as he would be just after ascending, so still in his Orion Pax mentality. He will eventually mature into the OP that we all know and love but for now he is still a barely mature mechling in an adult body.