A/N: And once again, we swing back to Cybertron to see what devious deeds Optimus has been up to...
It had given Optimus Prime a rather nasty and sudden headache when he read Prowl's report that Ultra Magnus had, much to his dismay, not stayed in a coma, or better yet, died, and that he was as alive and well as one could be. Thankfully though, the best news he had received in a long time arrived back from Prowl later on in the same report, and his spirits lifted for the time being.
When Prowl had first put forth the idea of creating super soldiers to counter the Decepticons' notorious Phase-Sixers, the prospect was a bold one, but without knowing what made them tick, there wasn't any real hope in such things coming to fruition.
That was, of course, until he was sent a full report on every bit of coding and hardware that went into creating them. He dared not question how, as such dark methods of probing the mind were beyond his realm of understanding, but it did explain why Prowl had insisted on taking Overlord with them onboard the Lost Light.
It still didn't make up for said Decepticon getting loose and nearly killing his son for a second time, so he had made sure to start withholding some things from Prowl. Still more trustworthy than Ultra Magnus of course, but he was confident the cold-sparked Praxian would knife Jazz in the back whilst he was recharging in their own berth if he thought it would help further his own agenda.
He let out a heavy sigh, now realising just how fragged up his high command was; the ever-backstabbing and groveling SIC Ultra Magnus, the seemingly deranged, paranoid captain of the Cybertron Defence Force, Red-Alert, and a Chief Science Officer who probably belonged in an asylum, Perceptor. He really only could trust his sons, and Ratchet of course.
However fortunate or unfortunate for Optimus, Perceptor had requested his presence in his laboratory. It wasn't that long a journey, as it was connected via a secret passageway in the Primal Palace for easy access. Making his way down the dimly lit passage, he hoped that his resident mad scientist had something good waiting for him.
Reaching the end of the passageway, and opening the door at the end of it, Optimus stepped into the cavern that passed for Perceptor's laboratory, tightly packed with various equipment and workstations, stains and burn marks scattered about from what one could gather to be failed experiments. However, telling the ones made by the other eccentric scientists apart was something he wasn't in the mood for today.
Optimus didn't have to go far to find who he was after, as he walked into the room he had been told to find him in. There he found Perceptor, the hunched black mech, stained with various chemicals, limping around a stasis-pod, and working on the various terminals and life-support systems.
"Ahh, lord Optimus, thank you for coming down into my humble domain," Perceptor oozed in his thick higher-Iaconian accent, bowing even further than his crippled posture already placed him.
"Yes yes, enough of the pleasantries, Perceptor. I hear you have news on our little science experiment?" Optimus inquired.
"But of course my liege, great progress has been made in the replication of the Phase-Sixers. I must say, it's been quite tricky, but nothing formulaic analysis and good old fashioned trial and error have not solved," Perceptor said, as he ushered Optimus closer to the stasis-pod that housed their soon-to-be super soldier. A mech painted in faded green and maroon, both wheels and rotors visible on him, bobbed up and down in the glowing nucleon mixture, various tubes and apparatus hooked up to their body.
"The specimen has been performing exquisitely, and they are almost ready to be brought out of stasis for trial runs."
"It's not just a specimen, Perceptor. I highly doubt you've never heard of Springer before we brought him here. If he is to be our next step in Autobot warfare, then you would do better to show the bare minimum of respect."
"Ah, my apologies my lord. I sometimes get, shall be say, carried away with it. Such fascinating experiments, so hard to not be caught up in the moment!" Perceptor said with the oh-so disturbing laugh Optimus had become accustomed to by now.
"Believe me, I am well aware of your shortcomings within and outside of the sciences," Optimus said with a glare. "As you were saying, how long do you think it will be until he can be brought out for trials?"
"Oh, not very long, my lord. I'd wager another day or so at most, just to make sure his new enhancements have set right with his protoform. No use in such a weapon if he falls to pieces the moment they take a step."
"Hmm, but of course. Keep me updated, I have other matters to attend to today," Optimus said.
"Such matters wouldn't happen to involve our resident sleeping giant, would it my liege? Such a loss in our forces has been devastating, perfect for crushing Decepticons, don't you agree?" Perceptor asked.
"So long as this City-Speaker that the Mistress of Flame has sent here is as good as she claims them to be, it will only be a matter of time before Metroplex awakens, and the next phase in our plans may commence."
The drive to the bustling dockyards of Iacon were dull as usual, the special elevated roads for military personnel being mostly vacant, as Optimus could only assume they pulled aside to allow their lord and master to pass.
The dockyards themselves were alive with the sound of bots and machinery transferring cargo between large warehouses and the various starships. In the distance of the vast complex, he could see the bays in which his warships were manufactured, all built in a similar design to the Autobot flagship, the Ark.
However, Optimus Prime was not here for sightseeing or venting down the necks of the workers, he was here on more diplomatic purposes. As he reached the designated landing pad, he saw a large shuttle descending from the overcast sky, certainly not of Cybertronian origin, although brandishing the Autobot sigil, along with what he knew to be a symbol of the world of origin, Caminus.
As the boarding ramp lowered, two femmes stepped forth from the ship. The one in front was covered in Cybertronian religious symbols, and her wings were adorned with intricate etchings in gold, the vibrant markings on her face giving away that she was the City-Speaker in question. She also had a necklace that possessed a small caricature of the Matrix. The second was clearly a guard of some kind, battle scars across her heavy armor, with weapons holstered for all to see, and carrying an energon spear in-hand. The guard gave a fist-over-spark salute and a curt nod, whereas the City-Speaker went into a deep bow with her arms outstretched.
"Oh great Optimus Prime, I thank you for being most gracious enough to greet us to your world yourself. I am Windblade, the City-speaker for which you sent for. And this is Chormia, my personal guard and assistant," Windblade said, rising back up.
"Welcome, the both of you, to Cybertron. If you would follow me, I shall take you to Metroplex myself," Optimus said.
"Why my liege, it would be an honor for you to show us to the Titan in distress!" Windblade said, all too excitedly, as she transformed and jetted off without even the faintest clue as to where Metroplex was.
Optimus turned back from watching the City-speaker fly off as he heard Chromia let out a heavy sigh, facepalming. "Apologies, lord Optimus. Windblade tends to become over excited easily. Even I have trouble keeping up with her sometimes."
"No, no, it's fine. Perhaps her whimsicalness may lighten the usually dour mood Iacon has fallen into since we drove away the Decepticons," Optimus said, as he transformed back into his truck mode. "Come, hopefully she will catch up with us after her fly-by of the city."
With that, Chromia transformed into her armored cycle mode, and Optimus led her along to where Metroplex towered over part of Iacon, really hoping that City-speaker would remember to come back.
"Oh dear Primus, It's worse than I could have imagined!" Windblade cried out, as she entered into the Processor chamber of the great city-former Metroplex. Stains of rust crawled up the walls, and in a general state of disrepair, along with the obvious blast marks and hole in the wall wherest one could surmise a powerful blast had struck Metroplex's head. Had it not been for Red-Alert converting the sleeping giant into the new HQ of the Cybertron Defense Force, the imposing figure would have been totally vacant.
"Whatever could have caused such damage? There's so much of the processor that are just, just missing!" Windblade said, tracing her fingers against the ancient nodes and capacitors of the Titan's processor.
"A battle with another Titan, one by the name of Trypticon, ally to the Decepticons, it was some kind of old grudge or something. They ended up levelling an entire continental plate, and added an impressive sized dent into the ground. Thankfully, from what I understand, they did not fare any better after their fight," Optimus said.
"Well, you need not worry, I'll make sure you get all better..." Windblade said to Metroplex, petting the large processor as if it were a pet of some kind, and began to look over the various panels, looking for a way to patch in.
"At this point, she won't be all that responsive, so if you have any other information for her, just send a messenger along to me, or wherever our quarters will be," Chromia said.
"Yes, of course. And we will sort out such arrangements once Windblade is finished with… whatever it is City-speakers do, exactly."
"I've known her over a million years, and I still can't get her to give a cohesive answer." Chromia said with a smirk.
"Then I wish you both the best of luck, and I shall be off," Optimus said, exiting from the Processor chamber, and began to wander aimlessly through the halls of Metroplex. Briefly passing by the command centre, he could overhear what he had become most accustomed to; the arguing of his top brass. Specifically, of Red-Alert and Scattershot, the two top security officers he had. He lingered just long enough to hear a final shout, as Scattershot and that Vehicon he was fond of stormed out of the command centre, nearly running into him.
"Gah, watch it you- Oh, my deepest apologies, lord Optimus," Scattershot said with a bow, nervousness filling his voice once realising his mistake. "Had I know you to be visiting, I wouldn't of been to brash."
"Stand on your own two pedes, soldier, you need not fear repercussions for a simple misstep. However, I would like to inquire into what you and Red-Alert were arguing over this time?" Optimus asked.
"Oh, that old basketcase refusing to grant extra resources into hunting down the Decepticon resistance forces on Cybertron, oh-so adamant that we should only be concerned with an attack from their fleet."
Optimus pondered for a moment more, before saying, "Speak to me at the palace later, and we can hash out the details then. It is imperative we find this resistance force, especially now that they have general Tankor and the Combaticons with them."
Scattershot thanked him for his time, and he and his assistant ran off, leaving Optimus free to leave Metroplex, and finally have some time to himself for a change.