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Op’s POV

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My optics flickered open, and I found myself in a familiar space—an endless expanse of white, streaked with light-blue, glowing lines forming a grid that stretched infinitely in all directions. There were no walls, no clear boundaries, just the faint hum of energy resonating all around me.

I’ve been here before.

“Optimus.”

The voice echoed, deep and resonant. Slowly, I sat up and turned, my optics locking onto a massive, floating face—Primus. His head alone dominated the space, composed entirely of light-blue energy that shimmered and pulsed like a spectral beacon against the grid.

“Primus,” I said, inclining my head respectfully, smiling. “It’s been a while.”

“It has, my child,” he said warmly. “Tell me. How goes your journey?”

I didn’t get up but shifted to face him, lounging comfortably on my side. The ground didn’t feel too hard. Maybe it was because this was an astral place, where physical sensations were nonexistent. I was probably still back in my berth, sleeping.

It had been a few deca-cycles since I emerged as Orion Pax—no, Optimus Prime. I should have gotten used to that name by now, but the name still weighed heavily on me, like shoes that were far too big for me to fill. At least, the public was beginning to accept my position, especially as I started stripping power away from the Senate Council. The first to fall was Senator Proteus, who not only aided the Institution’s shadowplay but was complicit in Quintus Prime’s murder, working alongside Sentinel.

With Magnus and other operatives, I had the Institute dismantled once I located it—something I achieved through meditating with the Matrix. Finding its location hadn’t been easy, even with Orion Pax’s processing capabilities. Thoughts and feelings didn’t translate well into data. They were expansive and sprawling—organic, even. Yet I still managed to find where pain and misery was festering upon this world.

As soon as the Institute was dismantled, I arranged for the mechs who had been tortured to be transferred to a secure facility, with the top medics assigned to their care. One of those medics was Ratchet.

“Orion… are you still… you?” Ratchet had asked, his vocalizer tinged with fear and awe, his expression unreadable but for the hesitation in his optics.

I smiled wearily. I hadn’t realized how much it pained me every time one of Orion Pax’s close associates would ask me that same question. Yet, I couldn’t blame them. Their doubts weren’t unfounded.

“I… might have changed a bit, but I’m still me, old friend,” I said, my voice steady but tinged with quiet hope. I watched him closely, silently willing him not to turn away. There were already others who avoided me, unsure what to make of me now that I didn’t entirely act like Orion, or that I became a Prime. But I shouldered through it.

I had to.

“And I need you right now.” I said to him.

Ratchet hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.

“…What do you need?” he asked, his tone softer than I expected.

With Ratchet on board, the medics did everything they could for the victims of the shadowplay, but the damage was irreversible. To my growing horror, I recognized one of them—Senator Shockwave of Jhiaxus.

Shit. I know this story. This was from the IDW comics, wasn’t it?

But no, this world wasn’t supposed to follow any established continuity. Not from the television series, not from the comics—none of it. This was an alternate universe of Transformers, one where events diverged completely. After all, this was the world where Orion Pax supposedly died and never became Optimus Prime. The one Primus dropped me into to "fix."

So how was I supposed to fix what was already broken? I stood over Shockwave, lamenting the sight of him in his ‘empurata’ form. The sole hollowed optic, the clawed servos—he was a shadow of who he once was. Someone who was ever changing, vibrant—actively changed the paint on his plates. I had no clue what to do or how to fix him. As I moved closer, an overwhelming wave of his pain and torture swept over me, and before I could stop myself, I broke down, sobbing openly.

Magnus tried to pull me away, his voice firm but laced with concern. I didn’t want to leave. Not yet. My grip tightened around Shockwave’s servo claws, desperate for some kind of miracle—or something to stop the pain that echoed within.

Suddenly he was consumed in a blinding light from my touch. The Matrix hummed powerfully beneath my chestplates, its resonance nearly deafening.

When the light faded, a raw, anguished cry ripped out of Shockwave’s throat. His voice, strained and guttural, rose in a storm of profanities, raging on and on about ex-Senator Proteus.

“I’LL KILL HIIIIIM!” Shockwave bellowed out as the medics moved to restrain him from his thrashing. “Tear him limb from limb! I’LL make him SUFFER!!! ARRGGHHH!!”

Magnus ripped me away from the room as I watched, speechless.

What had I done…? I’d tried it with another mech, and the result had been the same. They regained their emotions, but at a great cost. Their bodies were healed, but not their souls. Not what lay inside. They were still…damaged.

Even now, my interference weighed heavily on me, questioning if I had done the right thing.

I turned to my Primus.

“…You didn’t tell me I could heal other Transformers with my fluids, Primus,” I said, my voice steady but tinged with pain as Shockwave’s anguished cry echoed in my mind. “I didn’t think I’d have that sort of healing powers…Heh…It almost feels like… like I’m your Cleric, and you’re the god I serve.”

Primus tilted his magnificently massive head, his energy flickering faintly as if in contemplation. “Cleric… You mentioned this before. It has to do with Dungeons and… Dragons… correct?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, his words breaking through my somber mood. “Hahaha, yes…”

The idea was comical. The Supreme Creator of the transformers talking about a tabletop, roleplaying game.

However, my thoughts dragged me back to the topic at hand: I could heal other Transformers with my fluids. Was I supposed to be Steven Universe now? Licking people to close their wounds? Oh, God. No. No way. Maybe I just needed to practice making myself cry on command instead.

Wait… did that mean even the fluids below…?

A grimace spread across my face, and I shuddered in disgust at the thought. Primus, ever observant, tilted his massive head slightly, his light-blue energy flickering.

“What is wrong?” he asked, his tone curious, almost concerned.

“…I think I’m suffering from body dysmorphic disorder,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. This wasn’t something I could tell anyone else—not even Ratchet. He wouldn’t understand my position. How could he?

But Primus? He knew. He understood my circumstances better than anyone. After all, he was the one who dropped me inside Orion Pax’s body.

Primus raised an optic ridge, his glowing form radiating curiosity. “Body dysmorphic disorder?”

“Yes,” I admitted, hesitating as I searched for the right words. “I’m… I’m always worried about… the interface panels below…” Even saying it felt like too much, the words catching in my vocalizer.

“…Ahhh…”

The sound lingered, thoughtful but uncertain. It became clear that Primus had no idea how to comfort me on this matter. And honestly, how could he? This was a human thing, not a transformer issue.

Transformers were and are naturally hermaphrodites.

Ever since the start of my ‘isekai’ journey, I’d never once attempted to explore… my body and its components. I—I felt too uncomfortable, especially when it came to everything below the waist. The thought alone was enough to make me recoil.

The integrated devices on my forearms, though? Those were different. I had no issues opening the panels there. They connected me directly to the Citadel’s database, granting me the highest security clearance to the Hall of Records, and showing it to people in a holographic fashion visible for all to see if I so wished it. It was like having access to the internet.

Anyway, the point is that I wasn’t gonna explore any valves and/or spikes anytime soon.

No sir.

No thank you.

“How goes securing Megatron?” he asked, leaning in closer. Curiosity was clear in his optics.

I smiled weakly. “Slow. No response yet, but…”

After the 300 alt-mode kits were sent, Megatron and the Decepticons stayed true to their bonds. They’d been regularly sending a weekly supply of energon to Iacon, just as the contract stated. So far, Megatron had passed my test. He was definitely a mech with principles.

The next test wouldn’t come for a while—not until Perceptor and Wheeljack finished the repairs on the Energon Treatment Refineries. They estimated it would take a month or two to finish, but were more focused on ensuring the machinery was in proper working order rather than rushing to meet a deadline. I agreed with their approach and told them to take their time.

Hopefully, it would be finished before the end of the third month. I had already drafted government plans to support miners and mining companies in the wake of an inevitable energon price collapse. The Fluxstream was an endless source of energon, and that would undoubtedly push the mining industry to the brink of obsolescence.

The drafted plans included programs to help miners transition into other industries, such as energon refinement, aqueduct maintenance, or tech development. Mining companies could also be encouraged to shift their focus to extracting other valuable metals and minerals, even venturing into space.

In the meantime, I would need to carefully control the release of energon from the Fluxstream to stabilize prices and prevent an immediate collapse. Eventually, though, energon would become as inexpensive to Cybertronians as a bottle of water is to a human.

Lastly, I’d implement buyback programs, particularly for mining companies struggling to transition. A surplus of energon is never a bad thing for the government to store, especially since energon doesn’t expire—unless someone tampers with it directly. Otherwise, it remains stable indefinitely.

For now, I’d only open the aqueducts in Iacon. Once peace negotiations with Megatron began, I could consider opening the rest of the aqueducts and refineries in other cities.

I explained all this to Primus, by the way.

“Hmm… you are wise beyond your years,” Primus said, sounding genuinely impressed.

“Thanks, but all these plans will only work if Cybertron is united,” I replied. “…I’m a little worried about when I have to deal with Megatron directly. Honestly, I’m not sure how he’ll react.”

In this continuity, Orion Pax and Megatron had never met—not even as pen pals. However, Orion Pax had read many of Megatron’s works and was quite an avid fan, much like a Potterhead to the HP series. He’d even written comments that read more like editor reviews, but there was a distinct fondness in his notes on those datapads.

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“If anything, I could always act like a devoted fan of his writings,” I said with a faint smile. I doubted there were many Decepticons who truly read his works. At least, none that I knew of from the Transformers lore—though, for some reason, everyone seemed to know of them.

Suddenly, Primus lifted his optics to the sky, a flicker of alarm crossing his otherwise stoic face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my own concern rising.

“You must wake up,” he said, his tone urgent yet calm. “Someone is in your chambers.”

Immediately, my optics switched online, adjusting to the darkness of my chambers. I rose from my recharge slab, scanning the room. To the naked eye, there was nothing out of place.

I got onto my pedes and moved to the center of the room, still searching for the intruder Primus had warned me about. My optics closed as I focused, feeling the subtle pull of gravity and the metals around me.

…Metal framing, pulsing like a spark…

Without hesitation, my hand shot upward toward the ceiling. Using magnetism and gravity, I yanked the metal down. A fairly small and lean mech fell from the ceiling with a cry of surprise, slamming to the floor with a loud grunt of pain.

“Aw frag—Aggghh!!”

I kept the gravity on him, pinning him to the ground as I approached the figure. My room had no windows, so the only way in had to be through the doors—where a guard was supposed to be posted.

“What did you do to the guard outside my chambers?” I demanded, increasing the pressure and forcing him harder into the floor. His metal frame strained, the sound of creaking steel mixing with the cracking of the stone beneath him. “Answer me!”

“Okay, okay! H-he’s fine, just… knocked out…nggh, frag!”

I eased up on the gravitational force, but I didn’t let go. When he lifted his optics to me, I immediately received plenty of information, his misdeeds, his regrets, his crimes… and most of all his name as I could see Zeta in his imprisoned cell giving one last order to his most favored hired assassin.

“…Jazz…?” I questioned.

The mech froze, looking at me with his widened optics. Then his face straightened up, denying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, False Prime.”

“No, you’re definitely Jazz,” I insisted, ignoring his lies. “You like music, you’re very cool, very stylish, very competent, very small--”

“AYO! Size doesn’t matter!!” he snapped, his tone indignant.

I snapped my servos and pointed at him, narrowing my optics. “You are Jazz! Why are you trying to kill me?”

“I wasn’t planning to, honestly!” he said, though this time, I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.

Still, I didn’t believe him. “Oh, really? Tell that to Senator Decimus, Senator Glavion, Circuita, Ironquill--” I began listing the names he felt guilty about, and his expression shifted drastically. His optics widened, and his jaw practically hit the floor as though his spark had fled him.

“Not to mention the people you cheated on, such as Reverb, KDQ-26, Hound, MJ-22—”

“AYOOO!” Jazz shouted, protesting loudly. “Okay, okay! You are a Prime! You are a true Prime! Quit calling out the names of my past lovers! How do you even know that?!”

I couldn’t help but grin—a little too evilly—as I leaned in close, my voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s because I can see the sins crawling up your back.”

Undertale reference, but it was effective as his faceplates paled—if transformers could change color so abruptly.

Finally, I released him from the gravity pull. He immediately stood up, taking a few cautious steps away from me. I didn’t like the idea of Jazz attempting to kill me—at least, I hoped that wasn’t his real reason for being here, to complete Zeta’s final order.

“So… are you going to follow through on Zeta’s last command?” I asked. He clenched his dentas, now watching me warily.

I mean, he hadn’t tried to murder me yet, but the guilt was still written all over him. An assassin who actually cared about the people he killed. If I hadn’t seen that, I would have never guessed who he was, or who had sent him. Zeta was currently still in prison, awaiting for trial that would happen soon.

“…I got a question,” he said.

I folded my arms, watching him warily. “I may have an answer. Go on.”

Jazz’s mouth gaped open before closing again, his throat clicking audibly. “…Okay… why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”

I tilted my head. “I’m sorry…?”

“Look, I don’t know what you just did, or what kind of power you have—telekinesis or something—but… you could’ve killed me,” he said, his tone a mix of confusion and frustration. “Why didn’t you? You would’ve been justified. I mean, I was trying to offline you.”

“You said nano-clicks ago that you weren’t planning to—”

“No, no, even before that! Okay? You knew I was in the room. What even gave me away?”

I blinked. “Oh, Primus told me.”

He stared at me, his optics unblinking. “…Primus told you…?”

I gave him a look. “What? Don’t look at me like I’m the crazy one. You’re the one who decided to sneak into my chambers while I was sleeping, you creep.”

“Ayo, first off, I am not a creep. Second, what the SLAG is happening right now!? Why am I here arguing with you?!” Jazz yelled, throwing his servos into the air before stomping over to a bench. He slumped down, grabbing his head with both servos. “Primus, kill me now…”

“Oh, Jazz, he’d never kill you,” I said with a smirk. “Beat you over the head for your hits and cheats, sure, but—”

“Please. PLEASE. Stop,” Jazz groaned, burying his face deeper into his servos. Then he froze, lifting his head to glare at me indignantly. “…Hits and cheats?!”

I shrugged. “What?”

Jazz’s jaw hung slack before he shook his head in defeat. “You know what? You win. You win, Optimus Prime. I. Lost.”

“That’s great to hear. What did I win, exactly?” I asked, carefully stepping closer. A flicker of remorse hit me for yanking him around so much, but honestly, he’d been taking the bait the entire time.

It was just too much fun to stop, but now the little game was over.

“I mean, why are you even here, Jazz?” I asked him. “You never planned to kill me, because you probably checked first if I had a clean record, and you know that I do.”

Jazz tensed for a moment, his servos tightening, before letting out a resigned sigh. “Yeah… I know…”

The mechs Jazz had killed were all greedy and corrupt, every single one. Zeta Prime knew that and had decided to use Jazz as a tool, but come on—Orion Pax had the cleanest of records. He was practically Alpha Trion’s sole disciple.

No, he was Alpha Trion’s only disciple, following him around like a loyal puppy trailing after its master. Did he resent Alpha Trion for leaving him and going to Primus? Maybe a little. Because the moment Alpha Trion was gone, doors opened for Orion Pax—doors that had been closed to him before to shield him from the corruption festering within the Senate.

It was Alpha Trion’s absence that led him to Megatron’s writings, to the discovery of the Institute’s shadowplay experiments, and to uncovering the horrors within. It empowered him to fight for justice for the Institute’s victims, gathering evidence against Zeta Prime and Senator Proteus.

But in the end, Orion Pax was murdered under the guise of the Matrix rejecting him when he was told to swear the truth on it.

And then I came in. Reborn as Orion Pax and Optimus Prime. I threw Zeta Prime into prison, yet even from behind bars, he still managed to inconvenience my new life. Sometimes, I wondered if keeping Zeta alive was worth it. But I knew I had to hold out. I just needed to make that prison more secure.

If nothing else, though, meeting Jazz was the one good thing that came out of all this.

“Hey, Jazz.”

“…What?”

“Would you like to work for me?”

He raised his head to meet my beaming smile, completely taken aback by the question. For a few nano-clicks, he just stared, but then his optic ridges narrowed, and he straightened up, looking deadly serious.

“Who do you want offed?”

“Oh, uh, no one,” I answered quickly, waving my servos dismissively. “I was thinking of hiring you as my principal aide.”

Jazz’s optics bugged out as he shot to his pedes. “Whaaaaaaaa—?! WAIT… whaaaaaaaaaaaaatt?!”

Well, he’s surprised.

“You’re insane! Absolutely INSANE!” Jazz shouted, pacing back and forth, waving his servos wildly. “Why do you even want to hire ME? How could you possibly trust me…!?”

“Look,” I said, folding my arms. “You’re clearly capable—you managed to invade my chambers, which is one of the most secured guarded places in Iacon. Honestly, even the guards are among the most highly trained elites in the Royal Guard, and our security system isn’t exactly a joke. It’s baffling how one small mech managed to sneak through it all so easily without any detection.”

Jazz grimaced. “Please stop calling me small.”

“And you’re extremely charismatic—relationships included. The body count proves it.”

Jazz groaned, clutching his chest as if wounded. “I’m begging you! Please!! Stop bringing them up!”

“The point is,” I continued, unfazed, “I need someone who can follow me everywhere—even into danger—and survive.”

Jazz reeled back, narrowing his optics at me skeptically. “Follow you into danger? Are you… planning to head somewhere dangerous?”

“Maybe,” I replied with a shrug. “I don’t have future visions or anything, but I think it’s always good to be prepared.” I paused, before continuing on with my proposal. “If you accept my offer, I’ll pardon your crimes. Wipe your record clean. A full slate, so you can start over.”

“You… you can’t do that, can you?” he asked, staring at me with a mix of skepticism and hope.

I don’t know. Can I? Lifting my right forearm, I opened the grid and accessed the high-level clearance area. It didn’t take long to pull up quite the hefty file on Jazz. With a simple flick and click, his entire record was wiped clean, leaving only the essentials: his designation number, his relations, and, of course, his love for music.

“There. All done,” I said with a satisfied nod.

“I DIDN’T EVEN SAY YES YET—MPPPHH!”

“Stop yelling!” I hissed, harshly clamping my servos over his mouth.

After a few more rounds of back-and-forth, Jazz finally gave up and sprawled across the bench, looking completely defeated. Meanwhile, I finished completing his new employee file and sent his digital badge through the comms so he would have access to most facilities here.

“There you go! Congratulations on becoming my Principal Aide, Jazz,” I said cheerfully. “I’m looking forward to working with you!”

Jazz groaned miserably, rubbing his optics. “I-I can’t believe what just happened.”

I ignored his despair entirely. “You can sleep on the bench tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll get you situated with your own living quarters, and I’ll give you a tour.”

“Yes, yes, as you wish, My Prime,” Jazz said, resigning himself to his fate as he shifted into a more comfortable position on the long, cushioned bench. He paused, grumbling, “…How is this bench more comfortable than the one back at my place?!”

“Hahaha, good night, Jazz.”

I made my way back to the recharge slab, pulling the mesh sheets and cushioned fabric over myself. Closing my optics, I tried to relax, urging myself to drift off in the hopes of continuing my chat with Primus.

Sadly, he didn’t return. Not for a very long time.

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= = =

Magnus’s POV

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Earlier that evening, Magnus scanned through a series of dossiers on the most qualified soldiers within the military elite. There were a few he might have considered had they not defected to the Decepticons—Jetfire, for example. Fortunately, there were still promising candidates among those who remained.

“Orion Pax is my most talented, peerless student, Magnus. There is no way I’m ever letting Sentinel or Zeta lay a servo on him. Not even you, Magnus, old friend. I’m still fighting to keep Perceptor’s servos off him.”

Magnus paused, Alpha Trion’s words echoing in his mind.

Orion Pax.

Alpha Trion was one of the oldest Cybertronians to have ever lived, even older than Quintus Prime. Primus, Magnus could still recall scenes of Alpha Trion treating Quintus like his own scion, much to the warrior mech’s embarrassment. But after Quintus’s passing, Alpha Trion had become solemn and withdrawn for a time.

That changed when Orion Pax was assigned to the Hall of Records, and Alpha Trion discovered his remarkable capabilities. Even Magnus had been impressed. No mech was born with the massive data storage and extraordinary processing power that Orion possessed. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge, taking in everything without pause.

Orion followed Alpha Trion everywhere, like a shadow trailing its source. And Alpha Trion, in turn, took Orion Pax everywhere he went—shielding him from the worst aspects of their functionalist society.

“You must protect him, Magnus. His spark is too soft for this world.”

Soft. Magnus gritted his dentas as he recalled that day in the Senate Council meeting. Orion Pax had claimed to have evidence of the Institute’s existence and had boldly accused both Zeta Prime and Senator Proteus of their deep involvement in its operations. Ever since Alpha Trion’s death, Orion had been exposed to the darker corners of their society, and it had lit a fire of frustration and determination within him—a relentless drive to confront the injustice he saw.

He had set his sights on toppling Zeta Prime, a goal Magnus wasn’t prepared to pursue, not with the ever-present threat of Megatron looming over them.

“Will you tell the truth and only the truth?” Zeta Prime had asked.

Magnus could still see the unwavering fire in Orion’s optics as he responded, “I will!”

“Then swear it!” Zeta said, holding the Matrix aloft toward the archivist. “Swear upon the Matrix!”

The moment Orion touched the relic, a blinding light shot out, piercing through his chest. He collapsed instantly, his spark extinguished.

Magnus couldn’t believe what had just happened. The Matrix… it had killed another mech.

It had killed Orion Pax.

“Do you all see this?” Zeta Prime’s grating voice broke through the stunned silence. “Primus has punished Orion Pax for his lies! He—argh!”

Zeta cried out as the Matrix suddenly shocked him, forcing him to drop it. To Magnus’s surprise, the relic hovered in the air as if it had a mind of its own. It floated over to Orion Pax’s lifeless body and began to glow even brighter.

Magnus watched, mesmerized, as Orion’s body was engulfed in the radiant light. His corpse lifted off the ground, and the fatal injury across his chest began to seal in real-time, the damage vanishing as though it had never happened. Piece by piece, his form changed—his plating grew stronger, his frame more reinforced, and he stood several inches taller than before.

When the light faded, Orion landed gracefully on his pedes. No—Optimus Prime landed.

As soon as Zeta Prime ordered the guards to arrest the former archivist, Optimus raised his hand and uttered a single, commanding word: “Kneel.”

At that command, everyone dropped to their knees, unable to resist the overwhelming force of gravity bearing down on their shoulders and backs.

Magnus could still feel the chills running down his spinal strut as he remembered witnessing that moment.

The fierceness in Optimus’ gaze…

Soft-hearted? Maybe Orion was, but never Optimus Prime. Magnus wasn’t sure what sort of force—good or evil—had been brought into their world of Cybertron this time, but he had to believe Optimus would be better than the Primes who came before him.

Right?

Yet Magnus was filled with worries. This Optimus was completely different from the Orion Pax he once knew, as if his personality had undergone a sudden switch. Still, his doubts were tested against the knowledge Optimus brought forth from the Matrix—revelations such as restarting the Fluxstream.

And Quintus Prime…

Magnus’s reservations about Optimus Prime finally began to waver the day they safely secured the victims of the Institute’s shadowplay. He had watched the former archivist break down, sobbing in despair over another mech. The sight rattled something deep within Magnus, challenging his perceptions of the new Prime.

Truly. Truly soft-hearted.

And then Optimus Prime did what no medical bot could accomplish. He healed them—mechs whose damage had been deemed irreversible. A few medics had even quietly suggested putting them offline, believing there was nothing left to be done.

Yet, with a simple touch and a few tears, Optimus made the impossible happen. The damaged mech began to glow, enveloped in a bright white light that defied all explanation. When the glow faded, the mech roared out their anguish, their emotions flooding back. They were alive again.

Magnus couldn’t deny it anymore. He had to believe. Primus was real, and He had sent Optimus to fix this broken world—a world thoroughly corrupted by Sentinel and Zeta.

And here he was, looking over dossier files to see which mech he should place at Optimus’s side to protect him and keep him safe while Magnus would do whatever he needed to get done to fulfill his Prime’s orders without worrying about his safety.

He picked out two files.

#KDK-16 | Designation: Hot Rod

#KDL-27 | Designation: Red Alert

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