Hasbro owns all the things - except for the title (and this is where I find out they've trademarked all those words).

This story's set in a bit of a mishmash of the Transformers multiverse. The characters and personalities are pretty heavily based on IDW's 2005 G1 continuity, but the inciting action - and all the stuff that's already happened on Earth - is more Bayverse.

Especially that bit about the faces.

Hope you enjoy!

Heavy Lies the Crown

"Are you aching for the blade?
That's okay
We're insured
Are you aching for the grave?
That's okay
We're insured"

-Getting Away With It (All Messed Up), by James

All right then, here goes nothing…

Skids of Nova Cronum, at your service. And I'm writing this because…I don't know. Probably because somebody should.

Yeah, we'll go with that.

I'm Skids of Nova Cronum and I'm writing this because a lot of things have been lost in this war. One of those things is the idea that our leaders are people. Underneath the legends and decisions and battles and parades, they're people—regular bots, just like you and me—full of complex and great and illogical and infuriating and, yes, even tragic characteristics. There's truth to a lot of legends, to be sure ('least on our side, relatively speaking), but legends tend to gloss over things, and that could give future bots the wrong impression of things. The wrong expectations.

So, yeah, I'm talking about Optimus Prime. And Ratchet. And Prowl, I guess. Ultra Magnus and Rodimus and the rest too. But mostly Optimus. And maybe also mostly Ratchet.

All because I was asked to deal with him when he stopped acting like Optimus Prime.

Autobot High Command, back in those days (so three months ago), was basically wherever the majority of the Division Commanders were located; on one particular day it was located in a place called Maccadam's Oil House. Sorry, New Maccadam's Oil House, 'cos we'd just managed to repair enough of Iacon after coming back form Earth (and that's a whole other story) that we could have a functioning oil house again. Anyways, that was where High Command was, and that was where Skids of Nova Cronum was called to appear before the "Central Committee."

The big bots, in other words. Or, big as far as reputation went, since…well, no Grimlock (for obvious reasons), so it wasn't a literal size thing. If they weren't in charge of the really famous divisions, then they'd known Optimus long enough to be considered a part of Cybertonian history—so people listened when they spoke. Even the Conclave of Representatives, which were supposed to be a little sliver of post-war democratic governance that'd be ready to fully take over once the war was done.

Any day now…any day now…

Sidetracked again, sorry. So I was asked to go there, and sitting in Maccadam's was Ultra Magnus, Rodimus, Elita One, and Thunderclash. Oh, and Prowl. Not the full Central Committee, but a good chunk of it.

Naturally, Prowl went and appointed himself Chairman.

"Skids," he said. "You were prompt. Good."

"Thanks for meeting with us," Rodimus said, quite literally butting in. He gave Prowl a look and Prowl acted like he'd just been spat on.

So, yeah, it was one of those meetings. I did the sensible thing and avoided making it worse.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we called you here," Ultra Magnus said. "Let me assure you: the choice of location in no way diminishes the importance of this mission."

"Mission?" I said. "Uh-oh. Secret missions from the Central Committee in the middle of the night? I'm not getting turned into a bomb or anything, am I?"

"Central Committee?" Ultra Magnus said.

"Uh…never mind." I looked at the nearest available seat, which was everywhere (everyone was standing in the middle of Maccadam's like they were posing for an action photo or something) but decided against sitting. I had a feeling I'd want to do as little sitting as possible; or, more accurately, I'd start feeling real trapped if I sat at a booth.

Elita One stepped forward now, with a datapad in her hand.

"We've asked you to meet with us," she said, "because of your skills as a theoretician, and because what we're about to say concerns—"

"Hold on," Prowl said. He pretty much pushed Elita's hand out of the way, so I guess he's lucky she's patient or he'd be feeling that datapad grind against his transformation cog every time he switched to alt mode.

Prowl continued. "How much do you know about the Matrix of Leadership?"

"Wait," I said, "has it been stolen? Is this a retrieval op?"

"It's not a—"

"Because I'd've thought that was something Prime would handle personally."

"No," Prowl said, "it's not a—don't make assumptions, Skids. This'll go faster."

"And don't you dare interrupt," Elita said.

"Yes, that too," said Prowl. He quite obviously didn't notice Elita roll her eyes. Apparently he was done asking questions, too, because he stepped closer to me and stood in his typical "lecture" pose.

"The Matrix has a…it's called a morality lock. We're not entirely sure how it works, but its functionality is apparently significantly reduced if the Matrix bearer begins acting a particular way."

"We know how it works," Rodimus said. "The Matrix is supposed to go to someone wise and compassionate, so if you start acting like a jackass it'll tell you to pound sand."

"Prowl's just skeptical of anything that equates compassion with leadership," Thunderclash said.

"I'm skeptical of some of the decisions its users think they're being made to do," Prowl said.

"Precisely what I just said."

The thing about being a theoretician is that, theoretically (shut up) you're pretty good at noticing enough connections between things that you can create an interpretive and predictive framework. You make smart guesses that pass peer-review, would be another way of putting it. So I was pretty sure I saw where things were going—but I'm also pretty sure most people would've guessed by that point, too.

"What exactly are you about to ask me to do?" I said.

Even Prowl shut up for a moment.

"You've had to have heard some of the reports from Earth," Ultra Magnus said. "About…Optimus's behaviour."

"Mind if I ask what kind of behaviour?" I said.

"Violent behaviour," Ultra Magnus said.

"The 'take-no-prisoners' kind," Elita said.

"'Give me your face.' Direct quote from the field, honest," Rodimus said.

"You sure that wasn't someone pretending to be Nemesis Prime again?" I said.

But Prowl shook his head. And butted in front of Thunderclash because it'd been a minute since everyone's attention was on him. "The reports are genuine. Something happened to Prime on Earth, and now, suddenly, the Matrix won't…I'm not sure what's the appropriate phrase."

"Transmit the wisdom of past Primes," Elita said.

"Right, trick gullible bots into believing their predecessors are protecting them."

"I'm sensing we're all on different pages here," I said, holding up my hands like I was about to get shot. "And maybe some lines are being crossed? I'm also pretty sure I'm about to be sent on a mission that some—maybe even a few people in this room—might consider objectionable. Or uh, or at least above their paygrade. So now might be the time where I ask if this is an order or a volunteer mission."

"That depends," Prowl said. "You're Skids of Nova Cronum, right?"

"Is that fact up for debate? I'm happy to have one."

Ultra Magnus stepped forward. "Skids, I understand your hesitation. I also don't want to give you the wrong impression. This isn't…we're not asking you to…" The big man paused, then looked to the rest (not Prowl) for assistance. "Every way I word it in my head sounds wrong."

"We're not asking you to kill Optimus," Elita said. "We're just asking you to find out what happened on Earth and what can be done."

"Correction," Prowl said. "We're asking you to find a way to make the Matrix do whatever it's supposed to do. If that involves psychoanalyzing Prime, then that's what it involves."

"Yeah, so, you can't do one without the other," Rodimus said. Prowl gave him another look and Rodimus gave Prowl one right back. "Go pout about it: you're outvoted."

Again, Ultra Magnus stepped forward—in their direction, though his eyes were still on me. "Regardless of where you stand on the Matrix, if Optimus has been flouting the Autobot Code, we need to know why. And we need enough information from a reliable source that additional counsel—someone like Rung—might be able to properly intervene."

"Assuming that Prime's in the wrong," Prowl said.

"If half of what's been said is true then he is," Elita said.

"And regardless of where you all stand on the Matrix," Thunderclash said, "it wouldn't close itself off to Optimus without a good reason."

I took a step back. "I said different pages. I think I meant different genres. Also, I'm still not sure why you need me."

"You're Skids of Nova Cronum," Prowl said.

"Great," I said, "I'm in a time loop. A really crap time loop."

"He means you're a well-regarded theoretician," Elita said. "Someone who can think on the fly, adjust their tactics when things get crazy."

"And Jazz can't do it," Prowl said.

"Crazy?" I said. "I mean, if we're talking crazy and other bots are busy, you could just send Whirl,"

"Skids," Ultra Magnus said, "I mean this with the upmost respect, but I should arrest you just for thinking that."

He didn't, but the room did fall silent after that. And, naturally, Prowl decided the conversation would go in his direction again.

"They won't say it, but the fact is: Optimus doesn't know you. Not well. Not like us." He snatched the datapad out of Elita's hands and thrust it into mine. "This needs to be done without Optimus realizing what's happening, so get in, get out, and if we hear any reports on your movements from other Autobots, you're fired."

"Correction," Rodimus said. "Optimus doesn't know you like he knows us, so there's less a chance of you ignoring what's right in front of you because you…y'know, because it's Optimus." He and Prowl, yet again, exchanged looks. "Also we don't fire people."

"We should," Prowl said.

"Twenty shanix who I'd recommend first. Anyone? Anyone?"

Ultra Magnus physically separated them this time.

"Rodimus is right. And, I'm sorry Skids, but that means you'll be on your own for this. I know it's a big ask—"

"It's a massive ask! This ask has its own gravity well! When this ask dies it'll spawn such a big black hole we'll end up tunneling into another dimension!"

It took me a second to realize I'd said all that out loud.

"So, obviously, I regret not internalizing that thought," I said.

Most of the Central Committee looked sympathetic.

"Hey, we get it," Rodimus said.

Prowl did not. He was back to thrusting things in my chest (it was another datapad).

"You being on your own means being quiet about it. Don't talk to anyone: don't talk to your squad mates, don't talk to your direct superior, don't talk to anyone that looks like a bartender." He spun me around and started pushing me towards the door. "And don't tell anyone that was on Earth with him. Especially not Ratchet."

"Why not—hey ease up a second!—why especially not Ratchet?"

I was out the door, into the street, and 20,000 leagues over my head.

"Because he's expecting you," Prowl said. "We're not heartless: get a check-up and make sure you're mission ready. But shut up about everything else."

Then the doors to Maccadam's slammed shut and that was that, I had my orders.

I went off to see Ratchet, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Informed.

(***)

"So you're going after Optimus, huh?"

I'd be lying if I said I reacted in a dignified fashion. It didn't help that Ratchet, Chief Medical Officer of the Autobots, had taken apart my left arm, and that I was laying on a medical slab in a darkened lab hidden somewhere under a still-ruined section of Iacon. In fact, out of context, you'd think him asking me that question in that tone with my arm looking the way it did would be, maybe, something out of an interrogation scene. Really, it was just Ratchet temporarily convincing me that he was a wizard.

So having been convinced that he was a wizard, I promptly malfunctioned my motor gyros in a clumsy attempt to not sound like I'd been caught completely off guard. Which, of course, made it all the more obvious that I'd been caught off guard.

"Easy kid," Ratchet said. "I've got my fingers in some important bits of arm."

"I swear Ratchet," I said, "I swear on the Allspark that I…I have absolutely no idea how you found out."

"I have my ways."

"But you're willing to testify it wasn't through me?"

Ratchet finished sticking his fingers in my arm. "I swear, Prowl won't ever suspect it was you."

The phrasing of that sentence—"won't ever suspect"—that made me think I'd just been tricked into admitting something that Ratchet only assumed. But he'd also mentioned Prowl by name, so that didn't make much sense; the guy had a reputation but even then that was a pretty big guess. In order to get at the truth, I decided to use the ancient, well-honed theoretician technique of asking questions.

"So who blabbed?" I said.

"Ultra Magnus," Ratchet said. "And Rodimus. And Elita. Thunderclash too."

"I'm noticing a pattern."

"You're as good as they say you are." Ratchet fully reassembled my arm and then stood over me, which was great since I was acutely aware that he could easily disassemble it too. Actually, I flinched a bit.

That got Ratchet to soften his features a bit.

"Why'd you flinch just now?"

I unflinched myself. "Uh…truth be told, doc, a part of me thought violence was going to happen."

Ratchet's features softened just a tad more. "They told me for a reason. And obviously Prowl doesn't know so, keep that in mind."

"If he and I ended up in completely separate universes, he'd still be too close," I said. "So consider your secret safe, under penalty of having to interact with Prowl again."

"Good kid," Ratchet said, almost smiling. That almost smile went somewhere else very quickly. "But you're going after Optimus—because there's something wrong with him."

"Not to be pedantic," I said, "but 'going after' makes it sound like…the kind of mission I explicitly said I didn't sign up for. I'm investigating. Or, laying the groundwork for a future, rigorous Rungian analysis. Uh, I guess." I got off the slab. "But, yeah. I mean, if the others—if Magnus and everyone already talked to you—then…no use denying that they think something's wrong."

"And what's Prowl think?"

I shrugged. "That people are being stupid and they should stop? A person might've gotten the impression that High Command gets into internal scuffles on occasion."

"Only when Prowl's around," Ratchet said. He looked off into the distance. "That's not fair. Just mostly when he's around. And sometimes involving Autobots that've never so much as scowled before."

"Thunderclash seemed angrier than usual."

"Yeah, a good case study. The guy wrote an obituary for the Terrorcons—Prowl's something else, isn't he?"

"Certainly a sanitized way of putting it," I said.

"Which is why I don't trust this mission of yours. You're probably fine—I've got no problem with you. But the whole thing's rotten at the source."

My theoretician-senses were acting up. That's something someone might say if they politely wanted to deck you in the head.

"Uh…I don't know how to put this less aggressively, but is that gonna be a problem?"

Ratchet didn't say anything at first. Some people might've taken that as a bad sign.

"No," Ratchet said eventually. "Unless you say no."

"Say no to what?"

Ratchet grabbed some medical supplies and slipped them into a compartment under his armour. "To me going with you." He must've caught my look of surprise-and-or-shocked horror, because the bot's face went from neutral to scowl faster than lightspeed. "Oh c'mon—why'd you think they told me? You think they didn't want someone with a better grasp of the picture in on this? Don't be offended: it's Prowl we don't trust, not you."

"Hey this seems like a stupid thing to get offended over," I said, hands up again like Ratchet was going to start flinging scalpels at me. "But the consensus—if you can call it that—was, essentially, distance good, closeness to Prime bad. And you're…I mean you were on Earth with him, so…"

"So I'm close."

"Yeah."

"Hence the better picture."

"Uh…some people might debate that part."

Ratchet got closer to me. "Anyone fill you in on Earth? What happened there? Why we left?"

See, now? Now I was getting frustrated. Because the answer was obvious. "I wasn't one of the chosen few with the proper security clearance," I said.

Ratchet matched my look for a second but, again, his features softened. "There's a reason word's not out."

"Okay, well…insofar as that impacts the orders I've been given, the answer is: no. And also: I kind of get it. I get why there'd be pushback to someone who was there dealing with this. Because if it's bad enough to have affected Prime? It's probably bad enough to have affected you too. Then maybe you're not so clear-eyed on things."

Ratchet's face flickered between a scowl and neutral again. The guy was a medical professional: he could probably cycle through thoughts and feelings awfully quickly, I figure.

He said, "What preconceptions are you going into this thing with?"

"What precon—what? Ratchet, this is Prime! And I'm mortal. It'd be damn hard not to have preconceptions."

"Not what I asked. What're you assuming happened?"

Here's the thing: I'm not a theoretician all the time. Sometimes I let myself have some fun, just once in a while, and do other things, like consume fuel or recharge or pick bits of Cybertron out of my gears. And, I know this sounds bad, but sometimes—especially when High Command is involved—I just go with the flow. Oh, sure, I catch myself where I can; I try and right the ship, where possible. But occasionally I miss the mark, and I don't have a theory to fall back on.

This was one of those times. I don't know what I assumed. But I could probably piece some things together.

"Well," I said, "based on what Magnus and everyone alluded to? And based on the fact that Earth was, so far as I know, populated entirely by both Prime and Megatron's top lieutenants—meaning there were powerhouses on both sides in very unfamiliar territory—I'd say that it got personal. I'd say that some of the people that didn't come home met some untimely ends from some Decepticons that specialize in creating nasty memories. And so I'd say, that, when Prime confronted these Decepticons—which he'd naturally insist on doing, being the leader and all—that he wasn't as gentle as maybe he could have been." I paused. "Okay that…that last bit sounded too dismissive. Prime did some things that go against the Autobot Code, that was made pretty clear to me. And your point, if I'm right on this, is that it was pretty exceptional circumstances in pretty unfamiliar territory." I took a step back from Ratchet and tried to see if I hit the mark.

"Doesn't really explain the Matrix," I added, "but then again, I don't actually know how that thing works. I have theories but…well I mean, 'course I do. Also: not important right now."

Another look at Ratchet. Still couldn't read the bugger.

"Uh…was I close? Far? Somewhere in between?" Still nothing. "Oh god, don't tell me I accidentally repeated something Prowl said."

"You had it at parts, kid," Ratchet said. He looked around his lab, then back to me. "Look, if you're doing this thing—and Magnus made it clear to me that it needed to happen—then we'd better get going. We'll only catch him at a certain time."

"Okay but…still in the dark here," I said. "Still assuming I'm either completely off or too close to home."

Ratchet sighed. "Bit of both, Skids. Bit of both. I'll explain on the way."

We exited his clinic, transformed into our alt modes, and rode off through the crater-filled streets of Iacon.

And I'll repeat for you what Ratchet told me. About Prime. About Earth. About the whole thing.

Hey folks! Hope you enjoyed that first chapter. I think - looking at what's already been written - that this story will only need four of 'em to finish itself off, but I've been wrong about that before.

Anyways, see y'all around the bend!