= = =
Megatron’s POV
.
.
.
“No… NO! I won’t! You can’t make me talk! You can’t!”
Megatron stood with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, dentas clenched tightly. His piercing gaze remained locked on the screen, where a former Senate Council member unraveled into hysterics. The mech, recently stripped of his position, thrashed violently against his restraints. One of Megatron’s Decepticon agents loomed over him, pressing with relentless determination for answers about the day Zeta Prime was arrested.
Suddenly, the mech collapsed to his knees, his forehead striking the floor with a resounding crack. The impact made the Decepticon agent flinch back.
“Ascend, ascend! To Primus’ Light! Through fire and shadow, day and night!” he howled, his voice cracking with unhinged fervor. “Transform the soul, ignite the flame! The Matrix calls, we rise in his name-!"
Starscream scoffed audibly, his wings twitching in disdain. “Ugh, have these mechs completely fried their neural networks? Witnessing someone chosen by the Matrix isn’t that profound.”
“I dunno, ‘Scream,” Thundercracker drawled, leaning against the console with a skeptical look. “With the way they’re all actin’, something bigger must’ve gone down. This is the fourth one spoutin’ like Primus will smite ‘em on the spot if they dare say one thing!”
Megatron’s dentas ground together as his frustration mounted. Questioning these Senators was proving to be a colossal waste of time. What was this new Prime—Optimus Prime—even up to?
Rumors swirled that Optimus had enlisted the Praxian Research Center to restart the ancient energon treatment refineries, facilities once built exclusively to process the flow from the Energon Aqueducts. Once, the fluxstream had provided an endless supply of energon, vital to Cybertron’s lifeblood. But that was millions of years ago, long before the Quintesson War left the aqueducts dry and desolate.
Why bother restoring those refineries now? It was a futile endeavor.
Not to mention, Optimus Prime had successfully delivered 300 alt-mode kits as promised in exchange for a weekly supply of energon to Iacon—enough to last three months.
Megatron, ever cautious, had assigned a team to inspect every single kit to ensure there were no hidden tampering or sabotage. So far, every one of them had been pristine, in perfect mint condition.
It was almost too perfect.
What was Optimus Prime planning?
“…Soundwave, have you gathered any more intel on Optimus Prime?” Megatron asked, his voice low and cold, his optics narrowing as the tension in the room thickened.
“Rumors: require additional confirmation. Preliminary evidence suggests Optimus Prime has located the Institute… and dismantled it,” Soundwave reported, his mechanical tone steady and unflinching.
A sharp intake of air swept through Decepticon Command, the weight of the revelation hitting like a physical blow. A few mechs visibly recoiled, optics wide with disbelief.
“That place was actually real?!” Skywarp blurted, his voice cracking with alarm. “Fraaaaag!”
Megatron raised an optic ridge, his gaze cutting across the room. “It hasn’t made public news?”
“Media reports: Optimus Prime remains elusive. No public acknowledgment from Iacon leadership,” Soundwave replied, his visor glinting faintly in the dim light, mirroring the unease that rippled through the gathered Decepticons.
The gladiator sighed, his expression hardening. So this Prime was camera-shy, unlike the two who came before him.
Yet Megatron had seen the news. Optimus Prime might have avoided the spotlight, but when he did appear, his behavior was almost laughable—spouting hymns and prayers of Primacy while evading every question thrown his way.
What is your plan to deal with Megatron, Optimus Prime?
What about the cities of Kaon, Tarn, and Vos? Will they remain under Decepticon rule?
The reporters were relentless, but Optimus simply smiled, his blue optics steady and unreadable. “Primus bless you,” he’d say, offering nothing else before walking away, leaving them with empty words and unanswered questions.
Megatron’s grip on the console tightened, the metal groaning under the pressure. What game was this Prime playing? Why hadn’t he made any move against them?
He had agents embedded within Iacon’s Royal Fleet, monitoring their every move. Yet the fleet remained on standby, as though a civil war wasn’t tearing Cybertron apart. It made no sense. A truce had been called, yes—but Megatron wasn’t naive enough to believe Optimus Prime would simply sit idly by, not plotting some kind of coup against him.
Unless…
Maybe this Prime was different?
He scoffed, shaking the thought from his mind.
No. Primes are all the same.
The doors to the command room hissed open, and a group of mechs strode in with the confidence of those who believed they belonged.
“Hey! Who gave you permission to barge in here?” Jetfire barked, immediately intercepting them. His wings flared in warning as he stepped into their path.
The largest of the group, a clunky mech towering several inches over Jetfire, didn’t slow his pace. Instead, he rammed chestplates with the Seeker leader, the impact echoing through the room.
“Out of my way, Cloud-chaser!” the mech growled, baring his dentas in a snarl as he loomed over Jetfire. “I demand to speak to Megatron!”
Megatron groaned, his optics narrowing with a mix of disgust and annoyance. Overlord. The mech was a fellow gladiator from Kaon, though Megatron hardly considered him an ally. They didn’t get along—never had—but Overlord was too useful to discard, a relentless beast on the battlefield.
“Let him through, Jetfire,” Megatron ordered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I want to hear what this overclocked oaf is whining about now.”
Jetfire shot Overlord a warning glare before reluctantly stepping aside. Overlord wasted no time, shoving the Seeker leader out of his way as he stomped forward. His heavy strides echoed through the command room as he approached the raised platform where Megatron stood.
Stopping ten feet away, Overlord clenched his fists, his frame trembling with barely contained fury.
“What’s the big idea, huh?” he bellowed, his voice booming. “Giving away our energon to the enemy! We’re barely scraping by as it is!”
Megatron’s smirk widened, his tone laced with biting amusement. “Overlord, if you had any self-control, you’d have enough energon rations to last at least two days. But no—you guzzle it down like some carrier with a brood of sparklings to feed.”
“Damn you, Megatron!” Overlord growled, his voice a low, rumbling snarl. “We wouldn’t have to survive on tiny cubes of energon if not for your deal with the new Prime! Weren’t you fighting for our freedom? Or is it true?” He leaned forward, his optics gleaming with accusation. “Are you actually afraid of Optimus Prime?”
The command room fell deathly silent, tension thick in the air as Overlord’s words hung like a challenge.
Megatron’s optics burned with a dangerous light as he slowly rose from his throne, his towering frame radiating power and fury. His glare locked onto Overlord, sharp enough to cut steel.
“Shut your mouth, Overlord,” Megatron hissed, his voice low and venomous, “or I will tear you apart and leave your scraps for the garbage heap!”
Overlord didn’t back down, baring his dentas. “I just want to know what your next big plan is when the deal’s over! When this so-called truce comes to an end!”
“This deal has been good for us, you gears-for-brains!” Jetfire snapped, cutting in before Megatron could respond. “We’ve secured enough alt-mode kits to bolster our forces—and correct me if I’m wrong, Overlord, but didn’t you get one as well? That’s what the energon barter was for! Or have your neural paths short-circuited from bashing your head against too many walls—”
“You Sky-SLUG!” Overlord snarled, his fists clenching as he advanced. “I’ll pummel you into the ground—!”
“Bring it, you lumbering brute—!” Jetfire growled, wings flaring aggressively.
“ENOUGH!”
Megatron’s roar thundered through the command room, the sheer force of his voice halting both mechs in their tracks. The tension in the room crackled like live wires, but Megatron’s glare silenced even the faintest growl of protest.
“Overlord,” Megatron began, his tone sharp and icy. “Your complaints have been heard. My next big plan, however, is none of your business.” He leaned forward slightly, his optics burning with authority. “But if you think for even a moment that I would ever consider surrendering to the Primacy, think again. Speak this carelessly one more time, and I’ll rip out your vocalizers. Do we understand each other?”
Overlord grunted, his fists tightening at his sides. “Crystal.” He glared at Megatron, his voice dripping with warning. “Just remember—my men and I didn’t help you betray Megazarak just so the Decepticons could bow their heads to a Prime.”
With that, Overlord turned sharply and marched out, his ragtag group trailing behind him like a cluster of storm clouds. The command room doors slid shut behind them with a sharp shkk.
“The insolence of that overgrown oaf!” Starscream screeched, his wings twitching in agitation. “You should have blasted his faceplate on the spot, Lord Megatron, for daring to insult you! Bowing to a Prime, indeed! Hmph!”
“Shut it, Starscream,” Jetfire snapped, rolling his optics. “Megatron doesn’t need you sucking up to him every chance you get.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Starscream rounded on him, his voice spiking. “What did you just say to me!?”
Megatron groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Be silent. Both of you.”
The command room fell into uneasy quiet, though the tension still simmered beneath the surface.
“…Soundwave,” Megatron prompted his third in command. “Continue investigating Optimus Prime. Personally.” His optics flickered at the emphasis as he added, “We’ll hold off on our plans to invade Jhiaxus for now—at least until we have damning evidence against this Prime.”
Soundwave rose smoothly from his seat, his visor glinting in the dim light. “Your order will be carried out. Mission: may require extended duration. Iacon security: highest level.”
“That’s fine,” Megatron replied, leaning back slightly. “Do what you can, but don’t get caught. If something goes wrong, leave immediately.”
Soundwave inclined his head in a subtle nod. “Acknowledged. Lord Megatron.”
.
.
.
= = =
Op’s POV
.
.
.
“…What does this card do?” Jazz asked, pointing at one of the holographic cards floating before him.
Codex leaned over, his grin almost too wide. “Oh, I love that card. You should absolutely play it.”
Trusting the archivist’s words, Jazz tapped on the card. A flash of light flared between them, and in an instant, their hands switched. Where Codex had held seven cards moments ago, Jazz now clutched them, leaving his own meager three in Codex’s possession.
Jazz’s jaw dropped. The goal of the game was to get rid of all your cards, not collect more.
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Jazz! Why would you trust him?”
Jazz slammed his fists on the desk—more frustrated than furious—and shot a venomous glare at Codex. Meanwhile, Codex bounced gleefully in his chair, utterly unrepentant.
“I hate you,” Jazz growled.
“I really love this game,” Codex said, beaming. He turned to me with a nod. “You were right, My Prime—this game is way better with more than two players.”
I smothered my laughter, trying to ease up on Jazz’s misfortune, and played a color-change card, selecting red. We were playing an app I’d designed called Blazing 8’s—one of Discord’s activity games. It was like UNO, but with a twist—a card that could randomly swap players’ hands. Most players knew to play that card the moment they got it, especially early on, but Jazz’s luck had taken a nosedive this round.
Cybertron wasn’t exactly a hub for recreational games. Sure, there were casinos, but most mechs seemed more inclined to spend their credits on energon or gamble them away in fleeting chances of luck. Board games? Practically nonexistent. Life on Cybertron felt rigid, monotonous—like being a cog in a vast, unyielding machine. For creatures of habit, maybe that kind of predictability was comforting. But surely, even they had to crave something more, something unexpected, every now and then.
Change, though, was a rare commodity.
“Optimus Prime.”
I turned to see Magnus approaching with two mech soldiers flanking him. One was painted in a striking red-and-yellow scheme, the other in blue and white.
“Magnus,” I greeted, rising from my seat. Jazz and Codex immediately followed, standing upright on their pedes like a pair of reflexive sentinels.
Magnus raised a hand, halting me mid-motion. “There’s no need to stand, My Prime.”
I paused, caught off guard by the weight of his formality. The reverence in his tone was unmistakable.
“Well, I want to stand and greet you, Magnus,” I replied, deliberately using his name. We were on my estate balcony, after all, and here, I set the etiquette rules.
Magnus gave a simple nod before stepping aside to gesture toward the two mechs at his flank.
“I present two of Iacon’s finest,” he announced, his tone formal and measured. “They’ve been assigned to serve as your guard from now on.” His gaze shifted past me, sharp as a blade, landing squarely on Jazz. “Since it seems the usual guard hasn’t been… adequate at preventing a certain intruder from breaching your chambers.”
Jazz coughed, masking his discomfort, and promptly turned his head, pretending not to hear Magnus’s pointed remark.
“Let it go, Magnus. What’s done is done,” I said, my tone calm but firm. It had been a week since Jazz had taken on the role of my principal aide, yet the Commander of the Iacon Royal Forces still hadn’t stopped directing his sharp glares at the smaller mech.
“I will endeavor, My Prime,” Magnus promised with the faintest edge of reluctance. He gestured to the two mechs at his side. “Optimus, this is Hot Rod. He’s young, brash at times, but he rarely fails his assignments.”
“Sir! It’s an honor to serve as your guard, My Prime!” Hot Rod shouted, snapping a sharp salute. His enthusiasm was palpable, though there was a nervous edge to his voice.
Magnus inclined his head slightly, then moved on. “And this is Red Alert.”
“My Prime, SIR!” Red Alert barked, his stiff salute almost painfully precise. His nervousness was evident, even more pronounced than Hot Rod’s.
“Red Alert has served the public trust for centuries,” Magnus continued, proudly. “He’s upheld the laws dutifully, and is also trained as a battlefield medic.”
“I see you’ve indeed gathered two of Iacon’s finest,” I said, tilting my head. “Any reason why you decided this so suddenly? Just curious.”
Magnus nodded. “I’ll be focusing on strengthening our armies. The Decepticons have the alt-mode kits, after all, and I want to make sure my men are ready for them.”
My fists clenched at the mention of the kits. I was the one who had brokered that deal—trading 300 alt-mode kits to the Decepticons in exchange for energon. At the time, I thought it was the right call, but as days passed, doubts crept in. Megatron was keeping up his end of the deal, but this was only a temporary truce.
“Magnus, I—”
“No, My Prime,” Magnus cut me off gently, his tone soft. “I do not blame you. I trust you. I believe you have a plan, and I’m ready to follow you through to the end. I just want to be cautious, which is why I’ve assigned Hot Rod and Red Alert to you. They’ll be ready to escort you at a moment’s notice within Iacon City.”
My eyes widened at his words. Magnus wasn’t just agreeing—he was openly showing his faith in me. It was… unexpected.
“May I talk to you in private, Magnus?” I asked.
He nodded, and I began steering him away. Before we left, I glanced back at the others. “Codex, Jazz, why don’t you two show Red Alert and Hot Rod how to play Blazing 8’s?”
“Will do, Optimus!” Codex replied cheerfully.
Jazz shot the Iacon soldiers a look and pointed at Codex. “Hey, don’t trust this bot.”
Codex rolled his optics but didn’t protest, already explaining the game to the newcomers.
Once we were out of audial range, near the railings of the balcony overlooking Iacon, I turned to Magnus. The spires of the city glinted faintly in the distance.
“I think I remember cautioning you not to follow orders so blindly,” I said, folding my arms. “What changed your mind? It’s great that you trust me, Magnus, but don’t forget what happened with Sentinel and Zeta.”
Magnus shook his head. “I haven’t forgotten. You misunderstand me, Optimus… you’ve opened my eyes since then.”
“Alright,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “But why the sudden change in attitude? You were usually wary around me.”
“I was, and I apologize for that,” he said, his faceplates softening. “Before you, I followed Sentinel Prime’s orders to the letter. I was his commander, after all—it was my duty to ensure the military forces adhered to orders and protocols. But…” His optics dimmed slightly. “I admit, there were times I turned a blind eye, times I chose not to investigate further. Whether or not I was directly commanded, I knew… I knew something wretched was happening. And yet, what did it matter?”
He let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his words hanging between us. “It wasn’t until after you became Optimus Prime that I started to feel hope again… for the future of Cybertron.”
My arms fell limply to my sides, and my jaw slackened. “Magnus,” I rasped, barely finding my voice.
“…This may be a lot for me to ask, My Prime, but I want to entrust the future to you,” he said, his voice steady yet tinged with vulnerability. “Wherever it leads us, I don’t think I’ll ever regret it. So… bear with me when I take actions, like assigning you guards.”
I shook my head lightly, offering a small smile. “I won’t mind. I mean, I’ll probably complain here and there, but if you believe it’s within your duty and right to do so, then so be it.” I reached out, clasping his servos tightly in mine. “…I trust you at least that much, Magnus.”
Relief visibly washed over him as his grip firmed around mine. This time, he brought my servos close to his faceplates. “You honor me, My Prime,” he murmured before pressing a kiss to the palms of my hands, his optics closed.
The unexpected contact sent a jolt through my systems, my engine revving involuntarily. Heat rushed to my faceplates as my cooling fans whirred in an effort to stabilize my system.
Magnus’s optics flickered open, catching my stunned expression. I swore to Primus, there was the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. Taking full advantage of my surprise, he stepped back smoothly, then bowed low with an almost theatrical flourish before making a tactical retreat, disappearing off the balcony.
…Did Magnus woo me?
Did Magnus just try to woo me?!?!
…Oh, Primus, how was I supposed to recover from this…!?
“Hey, Optimus, you good?” Jazz called out, snapping me out of my thoughts.
My optics darted to the group, scanning their curious expressions. Good—they hadn’t seen anything. It didn’t seem like they’d noticed my interaction with Magnus. And as for… whatever that was, it couldn’t have been romantic.
No, surely not.
Magnus was probably just toying with me. Besides, if Alpha Trion were alive, Magnus would have been deafened by the lecture he’d be enduring for all eternity.
I took another nano-click to steady myself, ensuring my cooling fans had calmed, then made my way to the table.
“I’m fine. Let’s play a few more rounds,” I said, sliding into my seat. I joined the group, forcing my focus back to the game while also getting to know Hot Rod and Red Alert.
News Flash: Hot Rod’s an extremely competitive player.
***
With the cycle drawing to a close, I made my way to the Hall of Records and slipped into my office. Before that, I had dismissed everyone for the day, but Codex, as always, insisted on lingering.
“Would you like an energon cube, My Prime?” he asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of his pedes.
I smiled, amused by his energy. “Thank you, Codex. But it’s late. Why don’t you call it a day?”
“I don’t mind! Besides, you’re still working. What would others think of us bots if I just left?” he countered, tilting his helm.
I chuckled. “That you’re taking care of yourself, unlike the Prime,” I replied.
When I reached my desk, I paused, taking in the mess—the scattered datapads littering the surface like fallen leaves. As I picked one up, I froze. This particular datapad… was more than meets the eye.
Ha.
Smiling, I turned to Codex. “Actually, I’ll take you up on that offer, Codex. But after that, you must go. I’ll only be reading here—no work.”
Codex’s enthusiasm was almost palpable; if he had a tail, it’d be wagging like helicopter blades. “Of course, My Prime!” he chirped before rushing off.
While he was gone, I sat at my desk, gathering and arranging the scattered datapads. I took special care with the ‘oddball’ among them, the one clearly trying far too hard to appear inconspicuous.
Soon, Codex returned, an energon cube in hand. He placed it before me with a wide smile, then gave me one last gracious bow before finally leaving for the night.
Once he was gone, I leaned back into my chair, placing the cube down in front of the peculiar datapad. Tapping the desk lightly, I spoke.
“Go on. You must be starving,” I said softly. “It’s okay—I won’t hurt you. This is the Hall of Records. One day, I plan to make everything here public. So you’re not exactly in trouble.” I paused, offering a small smirk. “Even the datapads you’ve nosed through aren’t classified. You haven’t committed any crimes I could hold against you.”
I smiled, resting my chin on my servos. “Besides, making a little mess of my desk isn’t illegal.”
A few clicks passed before the datapad began transforming. Its form unfolded with a fluid grace, reshaping into a bird-like construct. It—or perhaps she—was about the size of a pigeon compared to me. On Earth, though, she’d be large enough for two humans to ride comfortably.
I pushed the energon cube closer and lowered my chin to the desk, watching her drink from a lower angle.
“You’re very pretty,” I said, the admiration slipping easily into my tone. She paused, fluffing herself up as though preening from the compliment, looking undeniably proud.
Once she finished the energon, I carefully extended my forearm, waiting gingerly to see if she’d hop on. She tilted her head at me, suspicion flickering in her optics. But after a moment of deliberation, she stepped onto my arm, and I could barely contain my excitement.
Bringing her closer, I began stroking her chest frame carefully, my motions slow and deliberate. Her metal feathers were smooth to the touch, and I marveled at the craftsmanship of her design.
“Very, very pretty indeed,” I murmured, continuing to stroke her chest frame. She responded well to my touches—or at least allowed them. “I wonder who you belong to… they must be lucky to have you as their companion.”
Of course, I wasn’t a fool. This little creature had clearly been sent to spy on me. But really, what was there to steal here? Most of the information in the Hall of Records was going public soon enough. As for the restricted datapads? Good luck getting past their security protocols. It’d take an eternity to answer questions like What elemental type is a Togepi?
I chuckled softly and tilted my head at her. “Did you sneak in through the vents? That must’ve been uncomfortable.”
Standing carefully so as not to jostle her, I held her securely on my arm. “Come on, I’ll take you to a window so you can leave. But don’t come back sneaking around, alright? The guards here might not be as gentle as I am.”
We left my office—it didn’t have windows, but the rest of the Hall of Records did. I carried her through the quiet halls, her small, warm weight on my arm as I sought a suitable spot to let her go.
I walked to a small open balcony, where the sun was beginning to set on the horizon, painting the sky in warm hues. Gently, I placed the bird on the ledge, and it hopped off. Its optics whirred and zoomed in on me, almost as if questioning my intentions.
I smiled softly at it. “If I see you again, I’ll make sure to have another energon cube ready for you.”
It blinked several times, as though processing my words, before finally spreading its wings and taking off from the ledge. I watched as it climbed higher into the sky, circling far above. I raised a hand, giving it a small wave.
After a moment, it turned south and flew toward the city, its silhouette disappearing into the fading light.
Huh. I wonder who she belonged to.
.
.
.
= = =