On the imposing bridge of Omega Supreme, Ratchet bustled about with an air of excitement, his movements purposeful as he prepared for the grand reopening of his beloved hangout, McCadam's Old Oil House. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, yet Arcee remained aloof, her reluctance palpable.
"It's not the sort of establishment that a teaching unit would frequent," Arcee remarked, her optics betraying her hesitance.
Ratchet, undeterred by Arcee's reservations, chuckled reassuringly. "Ah, but you'll see, Arcee. The clientele may be lively, but they're all gentle bots," he insisted, his confidence unwavering.
Omega Supreme, however, stood apart from the excitement, his massive frame casting a shadow over the bridge as he voiced his reservations.
"I just don't fit in there, Ratchet," Omega Supreme lamented, his voice heavy with resignation.
Ratchet's response was swift and resolute. "Just because you were built to be a weapon of mass destruction doesn't mean you can't be a valuable member of Cybertronian society," he affirmed, his words carrying conviction.
Yet as they made their way towards McCadam's Old Oil House, the truth of Omega Supreme's words became apparent. "No, I mean I don't fit in there." Omega Supreme said. In his towering robot mode, Omega Supreme stood outside the establishment, dwarfing the building itself. He was quite literally too large to fit within the confines of Cybertron's structures.
Sari Sumdac, the diminutive techno-organic humanoid, scoffed at the sight, her arms crossed in frustration. "Tell me about it. I feel like I need mountain climbing gear just to sit on a footstool," she remarked, her voice tinged with exasperation.
As the Autobots attempted to navigate their way through the bustling streets, a group of irate bots voiced their displeasure at Omega Supreme's presence, demanding that he move and accusing him of blocking traffic. Ratchet rushed to his defense, but Omega Supreme, sensing the discomfort his size caused, transformed into ship mode and took flight, leaving Ratchet to ponder the harsh reality of acceptance among their kind.
"For a supposedly advanced race, we Autobots sure have a tough time accepting anyone that's different," Ratchet grumbles to Arcee.
In the bustling interior of McCadam's Old Oil House, the air crackled with excitement as Optimus and his crew basked in the adoration of the assembled crowd. Every optic in the joint was fixed upon them, and every bot seemed eager to express their gratitude to the heroes who had taken down Megatron and brought back the Allspark. The Autobots were eager to give Optimus Prime and his crew premium oil drinks. Uplink, the ever-present mediabot, flitted about like a mechanical specter, capturing every moment of the Autobots' celebrity status. His incessant recording drew the ire of Sentinel, who sat brooding at a table in the back, flanked by Jetfire, Jetstorm, and his loyal police bots.
Meanwhile, amidst the chaos, Bumblebee reveled in the adulation, relishing the opportunity to flaunt his newfound fame. With a mischievous glint in his optics, he took delight in needling his old boot camp platoonmate, Ironhide, much to the chagrin of Bulkhead, who attempted to diffuse the tension. Ratchet and Arcee, amid the clamor, attempted to engage in conversation, their voices lost amidst the din of noise. And amidst it all, Sari Sumdac found herself navigating a perilous dance, dodging the giant feet of the towering Autobot.
"Watch where you're going, organic! Why don't you go back to wherever you came from?!" An organophobic Autobot said with prejudice towards Sari. "I wouldn't know anything about that. And FYI, I'm only half-organic!" she shouted to the retreating Autobots, her frustration evident.
As she maneuvered through the crowd, Sari couldn't help but feel out of place. With each step, she lamented the loss of the simple pleasures of her human existence, longing for the taste of a cheeseburger from the Burger Bot amid the whirlwind of Cybertronian adulation. "I could really go for the Burger Bot right now," she confided in Bulkhead, her voice tinged with longing as she struggled to find her footing in this brave new world.
In the dimly lit confines of MacCadam's Old Oil House, Sentinel Prime sat at a table, his optics burning with simmering resentment as he nursed his drink. His thoughts churned with bitterness, his envy palpable as he stewed over Ultra Magnus's decision to name Optimus Prime as his successor. Across the room, Optimus Prime and his Autobot companions reveled in the adoration of the crowd, unaware of the storm brewing in Sentinel's circuits.
As Sentinel brooded, his attention was drawn to the brash figure of Rattletrap, a sleazy Autobot known for his loose tongue and penchant for stirring up trouble. Rattletrap, fueled by oil and gossip, regaled anyone who would listen with rumors of Optimus Prime's supposed ascension to the title of Magnus. "I've heard it from reliable sources," Rattletrap boasted, his words dripping with malice as he gestured towards Optimus and Uplink, who hovered nearby with his video scanners at the ready.
Optimus, ever the voice of reason, attempted to defuse the situation, dismissing the rumors as baseless speculation. But before he could quell the rising tension, Sentinel Prime interjected, his voice laced with fury. "I won't stand for it," Sentinel declared, his anger boiling over. "Especially the part about Optimus keeping the Magnus Hammer." Bumblebee, ever eager to stir the pot, leaped onto a nearby table and raised his cube in a toast to Optimus as the next Magnus. His words, though intended as a jest, only served to stoke the flames of conflict.
"A toast to Optimus Prime, the hero of Cybertron and soon to be the next Magnus!" Bumblebee said as he raised a cup of oil. "Leave him alone. It's just the oil talking," Optimus admonished, attempting to pacify Sentinel.
But Sentinel, interpreting Optimus's intervention as an act of aggression, unleashed his police bots, intent on arresting his rival. The scene descended into a bar fight as every bot in the joint rallied to Optimus's defense, fists flying and sparks flying. Amidst the tumult, Arcee cast a wry glance at Ratchet, her skepticism evident. "Gentle bots?" she quipped, her voice laden with irony as a stray Autobot hurtled towards their table, smashing it.
With lightning speed, Optimus activated his jet pack, soaring above the fray to rescue Sentinel from the clutches of the angry mob. As the chaos unfolded, Uplink captured every moment on his video scanners, broadcasting the story to the far reaches of Cybertron through the Cybertron Information Network.
The next day dawned over Cybertron, casting its harsh light upon the aftermath of the barroom brawl that had erupted at MacCadam's Old Oil House. The air crackled with tension as Uplink, the ever-present media bot, seized upon the chaos to fuel the flames of controversy, repeatedly broadcasting footage of Sentinel's humiliating rescue by Optimus Prime.
With each repetition of the damning footage, Sentinel Prime's fury simmered beneath the surface, his anger boiling over at the perceived injustice of Ultra Magnus's decision. Blame for the brawl was squarely pinned on Sentinel's abuse of power, casting a shadow over his aspirations to succeed Ultra Magnus as the new Supreme Commander of the Autobots.
"This is an outrage!" Sentinel roared, his voice a thunderous echo within the halls of power. "I should be the next Magnus, not some maintenance bot who's "special" because he just so happens to be related to a fembot warrior!"
His tirade was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Zeta Maxus, a veteran of the Elite Guard whose presence sent a ripple of unease through the room. "Is something wrong, Sentinel?" Zeta Maxus asked. Startled, Sentinel turned to face his old friend, his optics narrowing with suspicion.
"Zeta! I didn't realize you were coming," Sentinel muttered, his tone wary.
Zeta Maxus regarded him with a knowing gaze, his purple and gold armor gleaming in the dim light. "I couldn't help but notice that there was a bar fight that happened today and I can't help but notice the turmoil brewing within you, Sentinel. Tell me, what troubles your spark?" With a heavy sigh, Sentinel poured out his frustrations, laying bare his resentment at being overlooked in favor of Optimus Prime.
"It's Optimus Prime," he confessed bitterly. "Ultra Magnus chose him to be his successor, despite my years of service to the Elite Guard. It's not fair." Zeta Maxus listened in silence, absorbing Sentinel's grievances before offering a cryptic response. "Hmmm...Perhaps there is a way to remedy this situation," he mused, his voice laced with intrigue. Sentinel scoffed, dismissing Zeta's words with a wave of his hand. "And how do you propose to do that? The decision lies with the Autobot Council, not you."
Zeta's gaze remained steady, his expression inscrutable. "Trust me, Sentinel. I have my ways."
Sentinel Prime's optics narrowed with suspicion, his processor whirling as he assessed Zeta Maxus's cryptic words. Despite his skepticism, a glimmer of hope flickered within him, fueled by the tantalizing prospect of seizing his rightful place as the new Magnus.
"And what exactly do you have in mind?" Sentinel inquired, his tone cautious yet tinged with a growing sense of anticipation.
Zeta Maxus offered a reassuring smile, his demeanor exuding an air of confidence. "All in due time, my friend. But first, we must ensure that Optimus Prime's rise to power does not go unchallenged."
Sentinel's circuits hummed with renewed determination, his resolve steeling as he contemplated the possibilities laid out before him. "Very well," he declared, his voice tinged with determination. "Lead the way, Zeta. I'm ready to take back what's rightfully mine."
With a nod of agreement, Zeta Maxus gestured for Sentinel to follow as they strode purposefully from the dimly lit chamber, their shadows stretching long across the cold metal floor.
As they disappeared into the depths of Cybertron's labyrinthine corridors, Sentinel Prime's thoughts raced, his optics blazing with newfound ambition. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but with Zeta Maxus at his side, he was ready to confront whatever challenges lay in wait.
For Sentinel Prime, the journey to reclaim his destiny had only just begun. And with each step forward, he vowed to leave no spark unturned in his quest to ascend to the pinnacle of power as the new Supreme Commander of the Autobots.
As they traversed the dimly lit corridors of Cybertron, Sentinel Prime and Zeta Maxus engaged in a conversation that carried the weight of years past. Memories intertwined with the present as they delved into their shared history, each word laden with a sense of camaraderie forged through trials long since endured.
"So, where have you been these last stellar cycles? You've been absent from Cybertron for eons," Sentinel Prime queried, his optics fixed intently on Zeta Maxus as they walked side by side.
Zeta Maxus offered a knowing smile, his gaze drifting momentarily as if retracing the paths he had tread in distant galaxies. "Let's just say that I wanted to explore the galaxy and visit other colony planets. But it's so good to be back on Cybertron."
Sentinel Prime nodded, a flicker of curiosity sparking within him. "So...you'll help me become Magnus instead of Optimus, right?"
"In due time, my friend. In due time," Zeta Maxus replied cryptically, his tone tinged with a hint of mystery that lingered in the air like a whisper from the stars above.
Their conversation drifted back to the days of their youth, to the time when their paths first converged within the hallowed halls of the Autobot boot camp. "Remember when we first met? You were training at the Autobot boot camp when I joined the Elite Guard," Zeta Maxus reminisced, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia.
Sentinel Prime nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, I remember that. You were quite an interesting Autobot. You were shooting lasers from your optics at Decepticon opponents and I was impressed because I've never seen an Autobot shoot lasers from their optics before." Zeta Maxus chuckled softly, the memory, evoking a sense of pride mingled with amusement. "And I became your friend because we seemed to like each other while understanding one another."
"You were the only bot who understood me when I was having a hard day. You would help me in tough situations and you would always give me great advice," Sentinel Prime admitted, his tone carrying a note of gratitude for the bond they shared. "Indeed. It's good to see you again after so many stellar cycles, my dear friend," Zeta Maxus replied warmly, his optics reflecting the depth of their enduring friendship. "It's good to see you back on Cybertron, old buddy," Sentinel Prime echoed.
In the dimly lit chambers of the Elite Guard headquarters, Zeta Maxus and Sentinel Prime engaged in a hushed conversation, their voices echoing softly off the metallic walls. "It's been too long, Sentinel," Zeta Maxus remarked, his optics gleaming with a mix of concern and determination. Sentinel Prime nodded solemnly. "Indeed, Zeta. I've returned to find Cybertron in turmoil, and it seems the winds of change are blowing stronger than ever."
Zeta's gaze turned piercing as he leaned in closer. "And what of your role in these turbulent times, Sentinel? Are you content to let fate decide your path, or will you seize the opportunity that lies before you?" Sentinel's optics narrowed, his expression thoughtful. "Optimus Prime's ascension to power troubles me. He lacks the experience and tenure that I possess in service to the Elite Guard." Zeta's tone took on a persuasive edge. "Then it falls to you, Sentinel, to claim what is rightfully yours. The mantle of Magnus should rest upon your shoulders, not his."
A flicker of ambition danced in Sentinel's optics as he absorbed Zeta's words. "But how? The Autobot Council's decision is not easily swayed." Zeta's gaze hardened with resolve. "We will forge our own path, my friend. Command the Autobot technicians and scientists to create a Power Master suit of armor for you. Make yourself the embodiment of strength and authority, a symbol of Cybertron's might." Sentinel's spark ignited with newfound purpose. "Yes, Zeta. Together, we will ensure that my destiny as Magnus is realized, before Optimus has the chance to claim it for himself."
In the hushed confines of the Cybertronian classroom, Arcee meticulously arranged her teaching materials, her focus intent on preparing for Sari's Cybertronian education. The hum of anticipation filled the air as she awaited the arrival of her pupil.
Soon, Ratchet entered the room, bearing a gift in his servos—an offering of reconciliation for their tumultuous night at McCadam's Old Oil House. He presented Arcee with a pair of laser swords, a gesture of contrition tinged with a hint of hope.
"I was trying to make laser pointers for your lectures but I think I got a little carried away," Ratchet explained sheepishly, his optics shifting with uncertainty.
Arcee accepted the gift graciously, her appreciation evident in the softness of her smile. She reassured Ratchet that she found his gesture to be thoughtful, a silent acknowledgment of their bond as comrades.
Emboldened by Arcee's response, Ratchet stumbled over his words, tentatively broaching the idea of another night out together, one marked by tranquility rather than tumult. Arcee's smile widened, her enthusiasm palpable.
"I'd like that," she replied warmly, her tone laced with anticipation.
"Then how about tonight?" Ratchet suggested eagerly, his spark alight with the prospect of shared moments beyond the confines of duty.
Before Arcee could respond, however, Ironhide rolled into the classroom, his presence signaling an interruption to their exchange. With a sense of urgency, Ironhide delivered orders from Sentinel Prime, summoning Ratchet to the Metroplex without delay. Reluctantly, Ratchet bid Arcee farewell, his promise of a quiet evening hanging in the air as he departed with Ironhide.
Later, within the former project Omega Lab, Ratchet found himself amidst Cybertron's top scientific minds and technicians, including the likes of Perceptor, Wheeljack, and Red Alert. The gravity of the situation was not lost on him—whatever Sentinel Prime had in store, it was bound to be significant. Sentinel Prime entered the lab, his presence commanding attention as he outlined their task with unmistakable authority. Their mission: to design and construct a suit of armor befitting his stature, one that would command respect and awe from Autobot and Decepticon alike.
"Oh, and it has to fly," Sentinel Prime added casually, his tone betraying a hint of insecurity. Ratchet couldn't help but mutter a wry remark under his breath, a testament to his skepticism in the face of Sentinel's demands.
"Somebot's feeling a little bit inadequate. Classic case of hammer envy," he quipped, his words a whispered reminder of the dynamics at play.
Undeterred by Ratchet's sarcasm, Sentinel Prime pledged to allocate whatever resources were necessary to bring Project Power Master to fruition. With a directive issued and expectations set, he left the lab, leaving the team to embark on their daunting task. As Sentinel departed, Ratchet couldn't help but grumble to himself, his skepticism lingering in the air like a stubborn echo.
"And maybe while we're at it, we can turn water into Energon," he muttered dryly, a testament to the seemingly insurmountable challenges that lay ahead.
Meanwhile...
Optimus Prime sat in his quarters, the dim glow of the energon lamps casting shifting shadows across the room as he grappled with the weight of his impending destiny. His spark pulsed with uncertainty, the burden of leadership pressing down upon him like a heavy yoke.
"Why didn't Ultra Magnus tell me about my parents?" Optimus murmured to himself, his voice heavy with emotion. "And why would he choose me to be the next Magnus? I'm not ready."
In the midst of his turmoil, the door to his quarters slid open with a soft hiss, and Alpha Trion entered, his wise gaze settling upon the troubled young Autobot.
"Are you alright, Optimus?" Alpha Trion inquired, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of Optimus's inner turmoil.
Optimus Prime looked up, his optics reflecting the turmoil within his spark. "I'm fine, Alpha Trion. It's just that... Ultra Magnus is gravely injured, and he chose me to be his successor. But I'm not ready."
Alpha Trion approached, his expression gentle yet resolute. "Nor was Ultra Magnus when he first assumed the mantle of Supreme Commander of the Elite Guard. But he grew into the role, just as you will."
Optimus sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility bearing down upon him. "I need to learn more about my parents," he confessed. "I want to understand why I should be the new Magnus, especially when Sentinel Prime has more experience with the Elite Guard than I do."
Alpha Trion placed a reassuring servo on Optimus's shoulder. "The Autobot Council will weigh all factors before making their decision. But Ultra Magnus believed in you, Optimus. He saw something within you that he believed made you worthy of leading our people."
"Primus himself has plans for your future," Alpha Trion added solemnly, his words carrying the weight of prophecy. "Trust in your own spark, Optimus. And remember, you are never truly alone. The legacy of your parents, and the guidance of those who came before you, will always be with you."
Back in Arcee's classroom...
In the hushed confines of Arcee's classroom, the soft hum of the energon lamps lent an air of tranquility to the scene as Arcee stood at the front, her slender frame poised with authority as she began her lecture.
"Protoforms," she explained, her voice carrying the weight of knowledge accumulated over stellar cycles, "are molded into shells and infused with the spark of life by the Allspark."
Sari Sumdac, perched on the edge of her seat, listened intently, her curiosity piqued by the intricacies of Cybertronian life. "I never thought I'd say this, but I kind of missed Tutor Bot," she remarked with a playful grin.
Arcee's response was swift and decisive as she smacked her laser pointer sword against Sari's desk, the sharp clang echoing in the quiet room. "Care to share your comments with the rest of the class?" she inquired, her optics locking onto Sari's with a hint of amusement.
Sari turned around, half-expecting to find a room full of unseen classmates, only to be met with Arcee's expectant gaze. "Um, I am the rest of the class," she admitted sheepishly, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.
Before Arcee could respond, the tranquil atmosphere of the classroom was shattered by the arrival of Bulkhead and Bumblebee, their jovial voices and the tantalizing aroma of Burger Bot burgers heralding a welcome interruption.
"How did you...?" Sari began, her surprise evident as she eyed the delicious spread before her.
Bumblebee, ever the master of resourcefulness, explained with a grin, "Bulkhead pulled a few strings at the Space Bridge Nexus, and Presto-transwarp takeout fresh from Earth."
"And while I was there," Bulkhead chimed in between mouthfuls of burger, "I managed to install a Subspace tachyon transmitter on top of Sumdac Tower."
Sari raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "Why does Sumdac Tower need a Subspace transmitter?" she inquired, her words punctuated by a mouthful of cheeseburger.
