Archive of Our Own ^omega

Until now, D-16 hadn’t thought about gold. 

It’s an ugly color. 

The glinting metal encompasses every aspect of the room, bearing down on the mech as his knees bite into its floored companion. Once a symbol of leadership and honor, it's been unveiled for the truth beneath: the corruption, the deceit, the injustice. The color is as filthy as the wings upon Sentinel’s back, as persuasive as the False Prime’s smile. It tastes like Sentinel’s EM Field— sickly sweet. It stirs something deep within D-16, something that breaks and creaks further as he forces his gaze to turn to the others.

They’re full of colors, purples and yellows, blues and greens, reds and oranges. Cybertronians are a colorful bunch, even with all the grays, whites, and blacks thrown in. But none of the mechs and femmes around him are red and blue, none of them holding stubbornly blue optics that are far too hopeful for their own good. In a sea of existence, there is no joy to meet D-16’s gray. 

Were they the only ones that survived? 

The floor opens beneath him, sucking him into those awful golds and yet, he remains kneeling on the floor, servos bound behind him. Sentinel is a merciless and cruel monster… Why would he leave survivors? How likely was it that Orion was even alive? 

D-16’s spark beats harshly, a rhythmic pulse against his chassis, and his processor whirls into another gear as it drags memory after memory to the forefront, unbidden as if to torture him further. They play like a broken record, sweeping over him as his spark quivers and shatters, as the dust turns to knives that drive their way into his mesh. 

Those knives slash images into his optics, hissing history into the forefront of his processor. Hundreds of moments flash by, slowly drenching in red and static, heating the energon flowing within him. 

A handful of cycles ago, Orion had dragged him to an isolated roof and had babbled about the latest thing that he had learned from the archives. Geometric landscapes had played out before D-16, towers reaching up into the landscape or downward. Hundreds of hues had bounced off the metalwork and glass, landing across the two miners as their legs carried them. Orion’s servos had wrapped around his, tightening until they reached the roof’s edge. Their pedes had dangled in the air moments later, bodies collapsing to a seated position and leaning toward each other. The buzz of Iacon had filled the space, life circling around them in flashes and noise. And even then, the moment had hung like a blanket over their shoulders, peace falling upon them in a way that it never could in the mines or facilities. 

D-16’s optics had turned away from the sites, landing on something he found far more valuable and enticing. They had traced over Orion’s frame, memorizing the angles of his helmet and the depths of bright blue that his optics held. Grime had clung to his armor, invading his mesh, a long day of work that couldn’t be hidden by their mediocre buffers and cleaners. And even still, Orion was the most exquisite mech that D-16 had ever seen. 

It certainly made up for his antics, for the trouble that followed after him at each turn and the ridiculous plans that made it out of the mech’s helmet. 

But D-16 was used to it, sometimes… he even found it endearing. 

”Would you want to be my sparkmate?” Orion had asked, optics unblinking as the words bounced over the roof and joined the air. A hint of nervousness fluttered from the shorter mech, but it’s overridden by the pure love pushing from his chassis. 

Happiness had gripped D-16’s chassis, squeezing at him at the same time that fear rang itself an awful creature around his neck. Short-circuits had popped, yes, yes, yes, and shut up, shut up, shut up! He had sworn that his spark had burst and frozen over at the same time, dying and resurrecting in a single breath. 

“Hey!” D-16’s body had swung to action, hand rising to grasp Orion’s chassis as the other slapped over the mech’s intake. “Be quiet, someone could hear you.” 

Bright blues had stared up at him, gorgeous pools peeking out from behind D-16’s servo as the taller mech stared back. A fuzz had filled his chassis to the brim, flooding his energon reserves before spreading through the rest of his systems. It wasn’t fair, he had thought at the time, that those optics hid the mischievous mech behind them. They were innocent and welcoming, a warm depth that pulled his frame in, pulled his spark in. They were just one of the many things that D-16 loved about Orion. 

Had loved. 

D-16 had loved so many things about the stupid red and blue bot that thought he could change the world. His ridiculous laugh that had bounced off the walls. His humor that had accompanied them through the dark mines. His scrap-eating grin whenever Megatronus Prime was brought up. The overwhelming hope and kindness that had poured from the mech, that no one deserved… let alone D-16.

Even back in that moment, with Orion staring up at him and love exploding through his frame, D-16 had been angry. Fury had clung to his mainframe, a steady reminder that he was a cogless mining bot and he could be nothing more. He could do nothing more than be and do what a cogless miner did. He couldn’t transform, he couldn’t connect his spark to that of the person he loved most. 

Maybe if he had been able to, all those cycles ago, in that very moment, he’d know now if Orion was alive or not. Primus, maybe if he hadn’t given into his anger after receiving a cog, the ability to transform, he’d have remembered that moment so many cycles ago and fulfilled that wish he hadn’t been able to. But fury had become his muse, his hope in the past days… and he had only been able to lean forward all those cycles ago, pressing the helm of his head to Orion’s while whispering under his breath, for no one else in Iacon to hear, “If I could, I’d be your sparkmate. You’re already like my Conjunx.” 

Orion’s optics had spun brighter, a flash of electric blue before his gaze dropped down to D-16’s chest. One of his servos rose and ghosted over the metal armor, they had pressed below the space which would have held D-16’s cog. It had been as if the mech was trying to tether them together with his will alone, creating cogs from nothing but his devotion and love so that they could transform, so that they could spark together. 

It had been impossible to read what Orion was thinking at that moment, but D-16 thought that he had a pretty clear idea; nothing. There was nothing going through Orion’s processor, nothing functioning as all systems rebooted and he was left with only the feelings in his spark. Left with only love and awe circulating through the EM Field. It was something that happened every time D-16’s gaze met Orion’s, every time there was a silence that only his feelings could fill, every time that stupid mech laughed and pulled him into another antic. 

It’s hard to think when Orion’s around, it’s even harder to not be pulled into his orbit. 

“I’d like to be your Conjunx, officially.” Orion’s servos had pulled away from D-16’s chassis, dragging the taller mech’s attention to him again, and his bright blue optics glanced back up as a smile crossed his face. 

”Really?” D-16 had gasped, his helm pressing harder against Orion’s. “You’re not pulling my servo, are you?” 

A scoff erupted out of Orion’s intake, lips curling as he said, “Would I joke about this?” 

“Hm, I don’t know…” D-16 hadn’t been able to help himself, hadn’t been able to keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth as Orion scoffed again and pulled away. “You did pretend to be stuck in the mines once, after a cave in.” 

“I apologized!” Orion had argued back. A pout had drifted across his lips, helm tilting away from D-16 as it shook back and forth, but laughter was bubbling from him and dancing through the air. The contagious noise had infiltrated D-16’s audials, drawing out his own laughter as it began to bubble within him. 

It had poured out between them into the empty space, a song created by them in the dead of night and only for them. D-16 had wanted more moments like this, had craved them for such a long time and now… he tries not think about the fact he’ll never have them again, he tries to keep those thoughts away as his processor plays out the memory like a knife to his side. 

Iacon’s music had filled the silence between them as their laughter faded completely moments later. Then Orion’s servos had reached up, pressing flush to the sides of D-16’s helmet and cradling them. Something had sparkled in his optics, something the taller mech had come to recognize, before he had declared, “I’ll find the rites, there has to be something in the archives.” 

Mischievous, mischievous, and D-16 had only been able to reply, “This might be the only time I approve of you going to the archives.”

”I thought you might say that,” Orion had whispered before his helm shot forward and his intake slotted against D-16’s. 

The harsh connection had ached later, spreading across his face mesh like a burn, but the silver bot hadn’t cared, hadn’t even thought about the consequences as he kissed Orion back. His servos had jumped to the short bot’s shoulders and wrapped tight on the armor, forcing his own frame to twist and lean further in until Orion was leaning further and further backward. The balance had shifted between them, teetering them back toward the roof, and Orion hadn’t been doing them any favors as he wrapped his arms around D-16’s frame and tugged. It had only been a matter of time, but their bodies crashed onto the rooftop, tangled together in the shadowed metals and grays. 

It had only halted their kiss for a mere moment before their intakes connected again. Orion’s servos had danced over his frame, finding each crevice and scrape held by D-16’s armor. It was as if the mech hadn’t felt them before, hadn’t spent hours brushing his servos over D-16’s metal and commenting on each unique thing that he loved. 

And then he had pulled away, air shooting through his intake and a grin overtaking his face. His optics whirled to life as they opened, searching D-16’s face as if it was the most handsome thing in the world. 

“Like what you see?” D-16 had asked, lowering himself toward the shorter mech.

But it’s not Orion’s voice that answers him, it’s not his Conjunx’s voice that breaks through the memories. It’s a whisper of a smaller bot, a softer voice, but urgent and undercut with fear, “I don’t understand, why are we still alive?” 

He’s sweet and smart, though he still acts like a sparkling… I don’t think he’s that much younger than us, Orion’s voice rings through D-16’s processor as B-127’s figure materializes before him. It’s another memory rising from the ashes to bite him in the aft. He tries to squash it as he turns toward the smaller bot, who had somehow barely managed to grow upon receiving a cog. He begins to speak, to answer back with a sharp I don’t know when another voice breaks through the suffocating golden silence. 

“Look at this rowdy bunch! The High Guard!” Sentinel’s voice encompasses the room, booming tide washing over as his pedes clack over the golden floor. A chill rolls up D-16’s frame, his servos twitch where they’re locked behind him. “You know, you guys have been tough to find. Every trip to the surface I’ve been searching for you.” 

Arachnid’s voice appears next, a smug tone ringing through as he says, “Tracking the bots in the cave led me right to them.” 

Their smugness rolls against D-16, stoking the fire and sparks deep within him. It continues, grows and grows as they speaks, as Sentinel laughs and declares, “You captured Starscream!” 

“It was too easy,” Arachnid replies and D-16 clenches his jaw. 

A roar fills his audials, ringing through his systems and his optics slide shut. 

Orion is dead. 

Orion is dead and they are gloating. 

The crack in D-16’s spark grows, deepens into a void as their voices bounce over the walls and fade into the background. Reality crashes down on him, it tries to crush him like the mines always had but this time Orion isn’t here to watch his back, to make sure that they both make it out alive. His frame tightens on itself as his spark itches and cracks, crying out for something he never had. And who’s fault was that, Sentinel’s or his own?

“Oh, D-16, what a story you’ll be.” Sentinel’s frame suddenly twists toward him, appearing in his peripheral vision, and aims his words like sharpened blades, “Atop the leaderboard in your sector and secretly a traitor.” 

A scorching flame spreads over D-16’s frame, claws digging into his mesh as he growls, “I’m not a traitor. You’re the traitor.” 

“Nuh-uh.” The False Prime smirked, casting his gaze over the room before sweeping his hands forward. Giddiness plays across his EM Field, amusement. “You, all of you, are traitors. You’ve been working with the Quintessons to sabotage my expeditions. You’re the reason why I haven’t found the Matrix of Leadership yet.” 

The fire burns, D-16’s spark hurts. He can barely listen as Sentinel speaks, as his words bounce off the walls. It is a whisper among the roar in his audials, rushing energon crashing through his helmet and limbs. 

“None of that is true!” B-127 jolts next to him. Determination sits across the yellow bot as he leans forward, his knees scrape across the ground but the affronted glare on his face still stands. 

”Oh trust me, it’ll be very true when I’m executing you in front of all of Iacon,” Sentinel retorts before his optics narrow and his body swings forward. His face leans into B-127’s space, pushing closer and closer as he punctuates his words, glowering like a hunter over its prey. Like Darkwing over the miners. “Because down here, the truth is what I make it.” 

Something waves through B-127’s face, nearly knocking off the fierce fire behind his optics. His helm tips back as Sentinel leans over him, a looming threat of death and pain that has the smaller bot’s antenna shrinking far into his helm and fear creeping into the air around him. The scene could be a guardian scolding their sparkling, if the threat of execution wasn’t still ringing in the background. 

Didn’t you feel like you were something else? Like you’re more than what they say you are? 

The world wavers in D-16 vision, blurring as he moves and shifts on the golden tiles. His pede hits the floor with a thud, an echo ringing out, and his body rises from the floor. Optics and helms swivel toward him, saudering his frame as he raises his chin. His own optics glare into the False Prime, staring past the glamor and armor to the corrupted spark within. 

Something shifts behind Sentinel’s optics, something D-16 could only describe as annoyance as he asks, “Well, well, what’s this about?” 

“I’m not kneeling in front of you,” D-16 says, because he’s not the same bot that had wasted his life toiling away in the mines for a lie. He’s more than a cogless miner, he has always been more. Orion had shown him that. 

Sentinel’s optics glare down at him, fueling the burning energon running across his frame. It spreads past his spark, through his helmet, and he thinks, just for a moment, that if he’s going to die, if he’s going to join Orion, then he’s not doing it on his knees. 

“Feeling confident, are we?” The False Prime asks, no trace of the fear that D-16 desires from him… Nothing but confidence and bravado, a facade that D-16 had bought for cycles upon cycles and had looked up to. How many other lies has this mech sold them?

Sentinel is looming over him, but it doesn’t matter any more. None of it matters any more, not even D-16’s own life matters. His spark is empty, his life is gone, and there is nothing but the anger, the fury, and the rage. It explodes from his frame as he curls his head up, as he snarls, “You don’t scare me, you want to know why?” 

“Please,” Sentinel smirks. 

Please? D-16 could kill him, could strangle the smug smile off of his face, and wipe his stupid golden tower with the energon of his remains. His digits squeeze instead, tips digging into the crevices of his armor, and he spits, “Because I don’t have anything left to lose. You took it all.” 

“Is that so?” Sentinel frowns, before a brow of his optic’s raises and his voice turns soft, as sweeter than brightest energon, “So you wouldn’t mind if I found your rustbucket friend and executed him instead?” 

Air floods out of his intake, his chassis caving in as the words punch his gut and twist his insides. Soft light peeks through his processor, warm and white as it captures his spark and spreads through his systems. It’s elation, but it’s not without fear the swallows him from below and breathes on the back of his neck. 

Orion’s alive, alive, alive…? Is it true?

D-16 whispers, “What?” 

“Oh, did you really think he was dead?” Sentinel steps closer, smirk widening as his wings twitch to the sides and he leans forward. Domineering hate and pride floods from the mech, disgust like sewerage and rust as he says with a smirk, “It would have been nice, but I thought multiple executions could come in handy… always good to have a story on hand.” 

White hot fire burst over his spark and his body moves before he can think better of it. He throws himself forward and jolts his head upward. making contact with the smug grin and wiping it from the fraud’s face. Pain blooms across his helmet, but he pushes forward and swings his frame down to lunge again. Gasps ring in the air, Sentinel scrambles backward and—

And suddenly D-16’s on the floor. 

His chassis aches, his arms twist beneath him, and the ceiling stares down at him. Titanium fills his helmet as he tries to see what happened, his helm drags through the air, rocking back and forth as if it were balancing on the edge. His optics blink back to life, reconfiguring as he catches sight of Sentinel a few feet before him. 

Bright blue energon runs from the mech’s face, spreading over Sentinel’s servo as he lifts it. His optics glare over the mess and stare through D-16, facade gone as the full extent of his anger and disgust breeches the surface. The monster overtakes his features as he steps forward, wings flaring to the side and his servo whipping out, casting his energon across the floor in bright drops. 

“Dee, no, no!” B-127’s voice jumps from the stunned silence, the tiny bot twisting toward him. “Stop, Sentinel! Please, don’t hurt him—“ 

“Shut your trap or I’ll make you!” Sentinel cuts B-127 off, continuing to stalk toward D-16 with flexing wings. 

B-127’s voice falls silent, except for the shuttering intake of air and jittering armor. His bright optics meet D-16’s, fear overflowing and processor whirling behind them. Even now, the tiny bot is trying to figure a way out of this, something that will save them both but they’re desperately running out of time. D-16 has to force himself to look away, to turn back to Sentinel as the monster looms over him. 

“Ah, Megatronus Prime.” Sentinel kneels down before D-16’s frame, before leaning as his servos dart forward. His servos peel Orion’s decal from D-16 chassis, the edges of Megatronus’ helmet torn and scrapped in such little time. Words boast from Sentinel’s mouth as he leans back, decal waving in the air. “Of course you were a fan. Megatronus was the coolest Prime! The biggest! The baddest! The toughest!” 

The facade rises over Sentinel’s face again, the smirk returning, the confidence and bravado as he turns toward D-16. But it’s broken, fractured, the manic look in his optics peeks out as he stares down at him, as if he were nothing more than mining dust stuck to the floor. And yet he smiles, deranged, and proud, a puppet to his own insanity. 

“That’s why after I killed him.” Sentinel taps his chassis, the plates sliding away and opening as the cog within folds outward, “I took his cog for myself.” 

Disgust sits atop D-16’s frame, but his processor keeps swinging back. Orion’s alive, Orion’s alive, and…  this glitch is gloating. 

“He was greater than you’ll ever be!“ D-16 shouts and struggles again, servos aching beneath him as he twists his frame. Sore pain stretches through his body, accompanying the dull thuds within his helm. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty great,” Sentinel chuckles over his words and twists toward D-16. Orion’s decal flickers in the air, being waved as if it was nothing more than a piece of paper. It jumps around as Sentinel speaks before finding a new home on the middle of D-16’s chassis. “But I can understand why you’d want to wear his face over mine. Here, let’s make sure it doesn’t come off.” 

There’s a torch in Sentinel’s servos suddenly, Arachnid over his shoulder with a smirk running across her face. Her optics flicker and twitch along her head, almost half of them turned toward the scene before her as D-16 struggles backward from Sentinels reach. 

But it’s too late. 

Fire scorches over his chassis. Lines cut over silver metal as pain slashes through his systems, protocols dashing through his processor and errors screaming out. Strangled cries leave his intake, entering the air, but no sounds reach his audials. The pain bites into his frame and anchors itself, prominent and demanding.

Even as the torch falls away, as Sentinel stands back up and steps away, the pain remains. It’s claws hang deep, as if they’re trying to rip the cog from his frame. He can barely vent as the pain erodes through his frame.

Whiplash hits his processors as they shuffle through everything. Protocols blare through, flooding the systems, while his memories and thoughts meld together with the flashing pain on his chassis. It’s hard to stay conscious, to not slip into a recharge that his protocols demand, but his instincts are screaming and fighting for control. They slash through his programming and sink into the floor, throwing memories at him wide and dragging at his spark. 

Dee, wake up. 

His optics fly open and he gasps through the pain, Orion’s voice flickering through the back of his processor and a phantom servos brushing over his helm. Aches bore through D-16 frame as he shifts, forcing his servos to move. His body starts to lurch forward, shudders passing over him as a groan leaves his intake. 

Several pairs of optics stare at him, attaching themselves to his frame as he shifts and struggle. Their fear, their awe, their anxiety, it all clings to him. But his own attentions turn toward the mech above him, the one that did this, the one that kindles the burning flames deep within his spark. No matter the pain, the anger burns harsher, brighter, growing with each moment as he forces himself up. 

Sentinel snorts, annoyance playing across his frame, “Not a good idea.” 

Who cares what you think, glitch? D-16 thinks as he struggles, but they fail to form words on his glossa. The fire burns hotter in his spark and he shifts, trying to sit up and glare at the man. 

“Dee, stay down,” B-127 hisses from the side, optics wide and lips quivering. 

The tiny bot’s frame hunches over and his knees scrape over the floor, drawing him closer to D-16’s side. His mouth opens again, ready to beg his friend to stay down, and words begin to tumble out, but Sentinel’s form shifts. An echo bounces over the tower’s room, Sentinel’s pede tapping against the ground and a glare crossing his face as his gaze turns toward B-127’s frame. 

Immediately B-127’s mouth jumps closed and his frame draws inward, ducking toward the floor. Silenced with a look alone, threaten with death if he dares to talk once again, and D-16 sees red along the sides of his vision. 

How many cycles had B-127 only had his voice for company? And now Sentinel, the root cause of that heinous fact, wants to take his voice away?

The creaking pains fall away as anger rises within and D-16 forces himself to stand once more. His pedes shake beneath him, his servos clench into fists, but he turns to the False Prime and raises his chin again. There’s a flicker of rage behind Sentinel’s optics as their gazes meet again, a hint of disgust too that must be mirrored on D-16’s own face. 

“Well, that’s a shame.” Sentinel turns toward him, the smile falling away from his face as his optics narrow and his mouth draws tight. There’s nothing behind the False Prime’s facade but a monster, a virus in bot’s form. He’s empty, completely empty from his optics to his spark, as he raises his servo and it transforms into a canon. “You really were a great miner.” 

Energy pours into the mouth of the canon, a ball of purple spinning at the front. It rises in the air, Sentinel stepping closer until he’s point blank against D-16’s frame. It levels with his helmet and whirls, the energy dancing death in the air. 

D-16’s spark shutteres, his throat squeezes, and he can’t drag his eyes away as he thinks, I don’t want to die.

“We’ve got a breach!” Arachnid’s voice suddenly shouts across the room, breaking D-16 away from the face of his death as dozens of bots jump into motion. “Protect Sentinel!”

Chaos erupts at the words and gold explodes across the room, sending the tension into a frenzied mess in the matter of klicks. One of the golden go-bots appears before Sentinel, servos wrapped around a blaster, and hits D-16’s chassis hard, metal on metal. The floor slips from his feet again and his servos cushion his fall, twisted and worn. Agony explodes over his body at the loss of his focus, his systems defaulting to their basics and letting the damage through once more. His processor whirls forward, protocols beeping to life and his spark screaming for him to move.

And he does, his pedes push off against the floor and surge his frame backward. They scramble over the surface, twisting his frame and body to the side while allowing his optics to sweep across the room. Scans jump across his processor, threats to catalog while he’s suffering and downed; Arachnid has disappeared, along with a handful of other golden guards, but the rest that remain have their blasters trained on the hostages. Their bodies slide into place before Sentinel, a protective formation that isn’t wanted— going by the look on the False Prime’s face. 

But every bot is on their pedes, heads swinging back and forth across the room as their voices spurt questions into the space. The world shakes around D-16 as his pedes scrape over the floor and his frame lifts into the air. He wavers and staggers, tormenting pain clinging to his frame, but he manages to stand. 

That’s when his optics meet B-127’s gaze, his optic ridges pinched together and intake shuttering open. He looks like a startled scraplet, a terrified sparkling, confusion rolling over his body like the shadowed hands of doom. 

“What’s going on?” B-127’s voice calls over the noise, scrambling to his pedes as he turns toward the window. D-16’s optics track the movement, turning away from the commotion to the small bot. 

“Bee,” D-16 begins to say when a servo grabs his chassis and pushes him backward. 

Digits wrap around the armor’s edge, clinging to him and thrusting his form off his pedes. D-16’s frame staggers to the side, optics jumping back to the offending bot, before his systems froze and his processor screamed, Sentinel!

The fraud’s servo shifts and clamps down tight on D-16’s shoulder, lifting him like an amputated servo. Fury strikes through the air and collides into D-16’s EM field as Sentinel’s emotions override everything else. The pulse of fear wavers in the background, drowning as fury and rage washed everything out. 

But terror jumps to D-16’s spark, sinking its claws deep and hissing in his audials. Cold rushes through his energon, from the top of his helm to the bottom of his pedes. His intake sucks in air and his optics freeze over Sentinel’s face. Malice glows through the bot’s optics, but a smile crawls further across his face. 

I’m going to die, D-16 thinks, I’m going to die.

But whatever blow Sentinel means to deal is lost only a klick later. Yellow flashes through the air as B-127 suddenly jumps forward, his frame slamming into Sentinel’s side with a shout, “Let him go!” 

The impact sends Sentinel only one step to the side and barely loosens his grip, if anything it makes it tighter. His digits dig deeper into D-16’s armor, clinging to the metal as if it were the very thing keeping him steady when really, D-16 is only a dangling passenger. 

“Would you shut up?” Sentinel snaps and pushes back against the small bot, before suddenly his free servo darts out. Silver connects with black, wrapping around tight and dragging upward. 

Sputtered chokes leak out of B-127’s intake and his servos jump upward, clawing at Sentinel’s grip. They crackle in the air, glitching as he tries to speak, as he tries to beg, and his digits dig into blue armor, scratching and scraping. Pain, pain, death screams from B-127, colliding against D-16’s helm, and then a flush of blue energon jumps forward, mixing into the dried crust upon Sentinel’s servo. 

“Stop!” D-16 flails his frame as he kicks out, his pedes slashing through the air in front of Sentinel’s body. His spark pounds, desperate as his own instincts screams protect and his processors whirls through anything, any plan, any movement possible. 

“Oh, D-16, you’re pathetic.” Sentinel’s digits snap deeper into B-127’s throat, metal screaming and cables snapping. In a flash of movement, the False Prime tosses the smaller bot to the floor. Amusement pools from the tall bot, his voice sighing as he says, “I hate that guy.” 

Fury, agony, revenge pours through D-16’s spark, his voice growling, “You bastard—“ 

“It looks like your friend came for you,” Sentinel says, plowing on and cutting D-16 off. He steps away from B-127, leaving the bot quivering on the ground, and stomps toward the window, “So let’s give him a show.” 

D-16’s helm snaps to the side, optics landing on the broken bot on the ground. Energon pools underneath B-17’s form, spreading across the floor, and his EM field is silent. Silent.

The buzzing chatter that follows the sparkling has vanished, replaced by a broken silence that screams louder than any words. Sharp pain catches onto D-16’s spark, a knife sliding through. It leaves anger in its wake, a fury born of fire and forged in lies. His frame trembles under the weight of betrayal, of loss, and his spark cracks again. 

Movement shatters the view, sweeping B-127’s body from sight as D-16 is flung through the air. Sentinel’s servo holds tight, joined by the other that worms its way around the gray mech’s chassis. The world around them spins, rushing past in a blur, and Sentinel flies, shooting their two forms from the window and into the fray beyond. 

Death wages in Iacon’s skies, mech fighting mech and tearing each other to pieces. Their cries fill the space with rage and devastation, raining down on the city below and the city above. Their battles wave through debris, sparking in movements almost too fast for the optic to catch, and yet D-16 catches it all. He watches as bots rip arms from one another, impaling each other on spears, and decapitating each other with armed cannons. Their bodies fall, energon spilling and splattering to the ground.

Then his optics close on the train, automated and diving through the sky. His spark pulses harshly against his chassis, his processor jumping to the only conclusion he can think of: Orion stole a train?

Part of him wants to scoff at the notion, but another rings with warmth and he knows that it’s exactly the kind of stunt his Conjunx would pull. His optics scan the sky, searching through the crowded battle, until they land on a familiar flash of red and blue. The stubborn mech weaves through the air and swings his servos to the sides, mining gear clutched in his digits. Warmth explodes through D-16’s chassis as his spark jumps, because it’s Orion.

He really is alive. 

Alive and fighting, like he always has. 

Orion’s name catches on D-16’s glossa as the world turns suddenly and his frame sweeps downward. Words turn to screams as the gray mech hurtles toward the ground level, his audials reporting whooshing air and excessive speeds. His instincts shoot through his frame, and suddenly he clinging to the very being causing the misery. 

His pedes kick through the air and scrape at Sentinel’s armor, edges scrambling for any kind of damage as his systems whirl into confusion. The False Prime snickers, voice chasing through the air as he says, “Can’t handle a little air, miner?”

Then the world spins faster, flashes of gold reaching out at the edges. It blurs into blue as D-16’s frame swoops and swerves, energon sloshing against his insides and warning of vomit reaching his processor. A scream threatens to rip from his voice box but he bites down on it, squeezing it to a straining hiss. Energon bursts over his glossa, the taste overtaking his intake with a vengeance. 

“I’ll kill you—“ D-16 spits. 

Sentinel’s laugh cuts him off, the sound pounding against the gray mech’s audio receptors. “I’d like to see you try.” 

The world flares again and the motions playing across D-16’s frame halts. His optics spin and analyze, scanning the surroundings and scrapping for any kind of information, when he’s dropped. His pedes connect against metal, his balance shuttering as he scrambles backward across the surface. Pain follows after him as his stabilizing system tries to click into place, but it’s impossible when Sentinel’s servos connect to his body and shove, the movement shocking through D-16’s frame until his pedes collapse. 

D-16’s body collapses to the ground, kneeling on a surface of gold. 

Gold. D-16 thinks, anger curling around his vision. I hate gold.

It is then that he realizes they’re perched atop a platform, the Well of Sparks below them and reaching deep into the abyss of the planet. Statues stretch out above them, as the Primes had first appeared, and the platform arcs and transforms from sleek curves to sharp angles. It stretches out into the rest of Iacon, transforming again to connect with the city and bots beyond. 

Dozens of bots litter the golden grounds, optics turned toward the sky and intakes fallen open. Conversations that D-16 can’t hear flutter between them, frames coming together as worry crosses over the masses. Fear, causation, curiosity. 

They have no idea what is going on, what the truth is. 

”Iacon, hear me!” Sentinel’s voice shoots into the air as a speaker system switches on within his armor, his words pounding into the city surroundings. He sweeps his servos into the air and twists, wings glinting against the light. “This battle rages above us, because of traitors like him.”

Words spill from D-16’s intake, his rage simmering anew. “Liar!” 

A smirk crosses Sentinel’s intake and his optics glance toward D-16’s fallen form, before he turns back toward the platform’s edge. Ripples burst through the EM Field from the taller mech and his wings flutter in the air, beating to some language only few can understand. Then warmth spreads and reaches, grasping forward at the bots gathering. 

Sentinel’s field layers like a protective blanket, collapsing over them and supporting them. His smirk turns to worried pursed, a mask collapses over his truth. The facade returns, turning a sick feeling deep within D-16’s frame. 

“Every time that I’ve journeyed to the surface, these bots have prevented me from finding the Matrix!” Sentinel’s word slices into his armor, the older mech turning on his heel and casting his gaze off the platform. Rotten confidence, rotten comfort, permeates forward like a rising tide. “Today that ends! With their execution! No longer will they betray us in our darkest hour, no longer will they keep us hobbled.” 

The bots fall toward the False Prime, a current striking into motion and circulating. They’re planets orbiting around a sun, growing closer and closer to their fate; swallowed by a furious inferno or a supernova that would blind them all. Their gazes lock onto the moment, optics circulating and calculating before cheers leave their intakes. Their voices rise into the air, trumpeting against D-16’s frame. 

His optics drift over them, time grasping onto his helm and dragging downward. It slows, dwindles, and his processor stutters. There’s not a single mech or femme in the crowd that he recognizes, not a single bot that is staring toward him with pity. Their audio receptors feed on lies and their processors accept the filth, their frames jump at the chance for a bite of the false life they lead. It’s a mirror of his past, but with a single difference: these bots have cogs. 

It’s rare, almost impossible, to catch a cogless bot in areas that aren’t sanctioned to them. And yet, D-16’s spark pounds and thrashes, as if trying to find some kindred kind, trying to find someone that would understand.

Despite the fact that D-16 has a cog now… despite the fact that he has changed, that his life has transformed, it will always be a part of his identity…. won’t it?

Even Sentinel could see that.

D-16 rips his gaze from the crowd, back to the tyrant landing over them. They have no clue that his words are sweet-energon on a laid trap, luring them in and in with each sentence. 

“Starting with this bot, who disguised himself as a cogless miner to spy from the inside.” Gasps of demay fill the air at Sentinel’s declaration, bots falling for the lie… as they had been their whole lives. Sentinel was all their puppeteer, wasn’t he? And them, his puppets. “And stole the cog of a Prime for himself.” 

Putrid outrage and disgust fills the EM field, leaving a sour and bitter taste across D-16’s glossa. He swallows it back, anger broiling in his frame, and pulls his field closer to his chassis. It keeps their disgust away, their hatred and disdain away, but it keeps his hatred to himself as well. His spark beats and beats, thumping harsh and true, breathing into the fire burning deep within. 

Red tints the edges of his vision when he pulls his attention away from the gathered bots. Sentinel’s smile cuts through his spark like a blade as the mech stalks toward him. Echoes of metal on mental grow closer, pedes slamming against the golden platform. Each of Sentinel’s steps fuel his rage. 

“You won’t get away with this,” D-16 hisses and pushes himself upward, only for agony to strike through his limbs and over his chassis. A groan leaves his intake as he collapses back down.

Sentinel’s gaze narrows, voice falling quiet and low, hidden from the crowd, as he says, “Yes, I will.” 

The False Prime strikes out, servo connecting with the raw metal of D-16’s chassis. Fire runs across his wires at the contact and his frame sways backward, tipping and slamming to the ground. D-16’s servos scream at the position, a familiar pain wrapping around them as they support his weight once again. 

“I’ll be taking that back now.” Sentinel kneels before him, frame hovering over D-16’s as he had back at the tower. “You aren’t worthy.” 

The crowd roars as he reaches forward and digs his digits into the melted metal of D-16’s chassis. They work deep into the metal, breaking apart the weaker layers that he had etched in, and then break through deep to pry the metal apart. Tearing it apart, as if they were only wires and reaching inside.

It is pure suffering that rips through D-16’s systems. A scream rips from his voice box and his optics glitch. Warnings scream from his processor; energon slowly begins to trickle out of his chassis, his t-cog being torn away, function lost through his frame and limbs, and so many more that he can’t keep count. They all pale in comparison to the white hot fire melting through his frame. 

He can’t keep his EM Field to himself, not at that moment. 

He lets it whip out from his frame and crash into the closest mechs and femmes. His pain rockets out of his body, spreading out of its concentration. But it is not the only thing that he feels, not by far. 

Despair settles itself atop him as he struggles back, Orion’s optics coming to mind and his stupid smiling face. Didn’t you feel like you were something else? 

And he had been until now. 

He had the ability to transform, he could make his own choices, be his own bot… But now he didn’t have that, it had been ripped away from him again. 

Sentinel rips everything away; their lives, B-127, his T-cog…

D-16’s optics cling to Sentinel as the larger mech sits backward, one servo curled into his chassis and another wrapped tight around his T-cog. Energon cakes the organ, dripping from the cracks that begin to appear, before they snap and grow larger under Sentinel's tightening grip. 

The cog shatters to pieces, squirting blue liquid everywhere. The remains bounce off of the platform as Sentinel drops it. More parts break off as it rolls and rolls, slowly disintegrating into almost nothing. 

Agony burns. bright on D-16’s frame as the servo in his chassis twists and pulls on the broken metal. It yanks him upward as Sentinel stands, forcing him back to the kneeling position. His frame shakes, energon leaks, and there is hardly anything keeping him from collapsing back to the ground except his rage.

For the final time, Sentinel raises his cannon against D-16’s helm. “Any last words, traitor?”

His intake falls open, words gathering on across his glossa, but the back of his processor stutters and his spark shudders. Hundreds of possibilities sit in this moment, hundreds of things that he could say, and each word could stirp the mech apart. D-16 could let his voice be a blade to twist deep into the False Prime’s spark, stabbing it over and over. 

But when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. Golden light moves behind the Sentinel’s wings, catching D-16’s optics. The winged motif appears, flickering into life before shifting into an array of colors all too familiar. Sentinel’s own voice slams into the atmosphere moments later

“That’s why after I killed him, I took his cog for myself.”

Sentinel’s helm whips away from D-16, optics scanning the sky before landing on a huge holoscreen. The words repeat with static, resounding through the air as all speakers come to life and the mech’s voice carries across all of Iacon. 

“None of that is true!” Suddenly the image switches as B-127’s voice springs to life, the young bot on his knees and Sentinel moving to lean over him.  “Oh trust me, it’ll be very true when I’m executing you in front of all of Iacon, because down here, the truth is what I make it.”

Sentinel’s cannon falls away from D-16’s face as his frame twists and his pedes stomp against gold. His wings curl high on his back, digits curling into fists underneath them. Even with his back turned on, the glare from his optics and the anger running through him is palpable in the air. 

The comfort facade cracks and shatters, leaving nothing but a toxic rust decaying across the air. 

“I’m working my miners as hard as I can. I swear that I will get you the rest.”

Those words repeat and bound off the city buildings. No bot is spared from the images, from the words, D-16 knows. Not when Sentinel had made sure that all of his messages were heard across all of Iacon, whenever he had returned from the surface. And now that system turns against him, repeating his words, his truth. 

They slam into the next image that appears, the resounding thud of kneeling bots on the surface of Cybertron. Helms bent to foreign bodies, giving into an enemy that killed their heroes… 

Gasps follow the scene, echoing past the platform and forcing D-16 to turn his head to the crowd. Angry bots meet his gaze, but their anger ripples through the air not toward him, but toward the golden-wing mech glaring at the hologram. Their voices mix together, shouts filling the air, a new round of roars far from the cheers that had been displayed moments earlier. 

Strings attached as the scenes come to an end and Sentinel’s voice echoes away, gone but not forgotten. Voices and threats mix in the air as the False Prime simmers. Frustration and rage pour through the EM field, draped in bristles of gold and blue. The comforting facade vanishes like a blown out flame, leaving only a smoky residue. 

Sentinel’s optics flicker in the light, a sickly apathy swimming through the blue. His voice darkens as he turns back to D-16, a blade being drawn, “Now I have to kill you.”

Armor whirls on Sentinel’s servos as they transform, two cannons coming to life. Anger dances from him and sharpens its blades. There’s a glare sliding over his optics before he begins to step forward, frame leaning over foot. Death faces toward D-16, stalking closer and closer as if he were nothing more than prey. 

“No!” 

Chills race through D-16’s network as his audio receptors pick up the shout, as his optics catch the sight of red and blue flashing through the air. Orion’s frame darts forward and slams into the false Prime’s side. Sparks fill the air where their armors meet, the clinging metals echoing across the platform, and then Orion’s twisting away and spinning. His pede shoots into the air before connecting with Sentinel’s chassis with a resounding bam and sending the larger mech flying off the platform’s edge. 

Orion spins on his pede, light bouncing off of his frame, before the mech is sprinting. His pedes carry him across the platform, metal pounding on metal and worry plastered to his face. Blue optics scatter over D-16’s frame and for a moment, the gray mech wonders how his Conjunx had gotten there so quickly… but really, he couldn’t care less.

Not as Orion grows closer and closer, until his pedes are sliding over metal. 

The red and blue mech scrambles for a hold, coming to a stop before they can collide together. HIs servos dart out and wrap around D-16’s shoulders, gliding over the metal as if he were touching broken glass. Then they’re darting under, holding onto D-16’s frame and supporting his weight as they pick him up. 

Words catch on D-16’s glossa again as he stands, optics glued to the sight before him. Sparks flood his processor as energon pumps hot through his body, Orion’s here. 

One of Orion’s servos rises into the air, shaking and shuddering. His digits ghost over D-16’s chassis, one curling into the armor of his frame and the other following the ruptured metal. Blue optics zero in on the missing slot within, the mess of wires and bent shards, and a horrified whisper falls from the mech, “What has he done to you?” 

Then the bot is shaking his head, a mutter falling from his intake that D-16 can’t catch. Orion reaches around his frame and metal clicks, energy lets out a sizzling death; D-16’s servos spring free from their prison, soreful pain screaming through them as they swing back to his side. 

A hiss escapes from Orion as his servos glide back over D-16’s chassis, optic ridges furrowing and lips pressing together. “Oh, Dee…” 

“You’re alive…” D-16 finally says, not at all what he intended or planned, but he can’t fight the relief flooding through his systems. His processor whirls slowly, as if it still can’t understand everything going on and briefly, for a moment, D-16 wonders if he’s already dead, but… but Orion stands before him. The mech flush with color and leaning closer. “You’re alive, Orion, you’re alive!” 

“Of course I am, Dee.” Orion’s digit dart away from D-16’s chassis and fall over the sides of the gray mech’s face. They brush against his helmet before gripping onto the metal and pulling him closer. Blue optics stare with D-16’s own, love and relief wraps around him as Orion’s EM field falls open. “And we did it, Dee, everyone in Iacon knows that Sentinel is a fraud.” 

Roaring cheers echo in the background to Orion’s words, before the shorter mech is nodding to the world around them. D-16’s optics slide away from his Conjux’s frame, darting over the gathering crowd around the platform. Colors blend together, helms angled up toward them as lights bound off of them, but it is the small forms that dot the crowd that catch the gray mech’s attention. 

Miners stare up at him and Orion, voices rising in the air alongside the bots next to them. Battle scars mark their frames, servos heavy with their gear. 

They’re here.

”Pax,” D-16 whispers and turns back toward Orion’s frame. He could kiss Orion right now, in front of everyone, for all of Iacon to see, but that fire in his spark twists and broils. “What about Sentinel?”

Pedes smack against the platform, Starscream and Soundwave landing beside them, as Orion frowns. His blue optics flicker back to D-16’s face, tracing over the metal before he says, “Later, right now you need medical—“

Gold glints behind framed blues and reds, metal glaring as it stretches out and lands steady. A cannon arches through the air, barrel streamlining toward Orion’s helm.  Bright energy flashes in the air and panic screams across D-16’s spark, his instincts punching past his processor as his body swings forward. His servos jump forward, digits wrapping into Orion’s armor as he swings their weight around. The world spins as his Conjunx gasps out and an explosion of sound echoes across the platform. 

Pain explodes over his side. 

It scorches its way up his neck and down to his pedes. 

It squeezes at his spark. 

“Sentinel!” Starscream’s glitched voice screams, whirring cannons filling the air. “Shoot him!” 

Another blast rings out and slams into D-16’s frame again, his form tumbling to the side as he’s ripped from Orion’s grip. The world tips on his gaze, colors blending into blurs and washed out shapes as air whizzes by. His limp frame somersaults through the air, slamming onto the metal flat form, and rolls. Each impact bites at his armor, punching into his mesh and adding onto the sparks of pain searing in his body.

And then it vanishes and his insides swoop, his optics turning to the sky as the platform vanishes. 

He plummets toward the Well of Sparks. 

A harsh yank on one of his servo’s stops the fall, but it sends a harsh agony through his frame. It sinks fangs into his vocal processor, forcing a scream that bounds against the surrounding golden metals. His limbs swing through the air, swaying as they fall limp against the elements and dark cold beginning to pool through him. 

D-16’s helm falls backward as he looks up, eyes squinting against the harsh lights and screeching noises. Cannon fire blasts overhead, screams of death and battle returning in full force as chaos erupts. But it’s his Conjunx that sucks in his attention, rippling waves of emotion piercing the air around the red and blue mech. 

Orion’s the only thing keeping him from falling to his demise. His body leans over the platform’s edge and both of his servos grasp tightly to D-16’s armor, digits trembling at the weight. At the fear.

“No! No!” D-16 swears he can see fluid rolling from Orion’s optics as the mech cries out, but it’s the anguish in the air that curls against his processor. “Dee!” 

Fear bursts through D-16’s spark as his processor wonders, what about Sentinel?

Scenarios burn over his optics of what the False Prime could be doing; climbing to his feet, raising his cannon once more, wings opening like shields against any other opponents… aiming for Orion once again. 

So you wouldn’t mind if I found your rustbucket friend and executed him instead?

“Let me go,” D-16 gasps through the pain, desperation clinging to his voice. “You have to let go…”

“No, Dee, I can’t…” I can’t sacrifice you, I can’t let you go, I can’t leave you, I can’t…

”He will kill you!” Fear grips D-16’s spark and he stretches his gaze upward, optics rolling over Orion’s own, soft blues crashing over him. There’s a pulse from his spark, a pain, and a message of comfort that dashes into the air toward his Conjunx, as the world begins to darken around him and warmth fades from his frame. “Please, my love, it’s okay.” 

Orion gasps, digits digging tighter into metal divots, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” D-16 rasps and his optics flicker, in and out. 

The last thing he sees is Orion’s face, his helm and optics, and the last thing he feels is Orion’s digits ghosting over the armor of his servo. 

The world darkens as his weight takes over, frame falling into the abyss below. It’s more calming than he expected, like a breeze brushing past. His optics shut and he lets go as his processor whirls, sending one last thought through; he’s alive, he’s alive.

It’s the only thing that matters, in the end. 

Rage fades away as the thought settles in, a warmer blanket for his spark as the siphoning embrace of death wraps around him. It’s the only comfort that he has in this moment, and he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed, or embarrassed, or even guilty that the only thing he cares about in the end is Orion Pax. 

His Conjunx has always been more important than anything else in his life, he can remember a dozen of times where this was true. Maybe it gets lost at times, washed in the waters under so many things in their life, but in the end… it’s always been that way. At the center of everything. 

He leans into it. 

Orion smiles at him, optics a set of dazzling blue pools and a smile worth a thousand stars, “I’ll always have your back.” 

There is nothing else for him to do. 

He doesn’t expect it to hold him back, for the outline of a servo to pull him in close and anchor him against a smooth chassis. Optics shooting open, he tries to twist around and push away, only to freeze halfway through the movement—- partially from the pain the arches through his body, partially due to the face before him. 

Alpha Trion looks down upon him, optics gleaming bright with an open EM Field that slams through D-16’s frame. A wave of calming airs and words unspoken, a gentle grasp around his frame. Blue glows from the Prime’s frame, overshadowing the colors of his frame. 

The Prime’s engine rumbles as he says, “D-16, welcome.” 

Must be hallucinating, D-16 thinks, though a part of his processor protests the notion. Alpha Trion wears the same rugged cape that he had back in the cave, the horn of his helm is still broken, and his armor holds the scars of fresh battle. As if he had just been killed, just as D-16 had. 

But that doesn’t explain what is happening, his processor coming up with idea after idea but not settling for any. Maybe he is hallucinating or maybe Alpha Trion’s spark has come to help him become one with the Allspark or maybe this is a dream and D-16’s really in a coma back at a care facility on Iacon. 

“We are waiting, young one.” Alpha Trion twists his helm and bends it toward him, optic ridges pressing together. There’s a moment D-16 expects the Prime to scold him for impatience, but it’s beaten back by ripples that spread through the EM field. D-16’s processor churns, before grasping onto the feeling of pride. “You’ve shown great courage and fortitude in the moment of your death. Those are the qualities of the best High Protectors.” 

A question begins to form in D-16’s intake, about to fall from his glossa, but only a wheezing gasp makes it out. His vocal components try to squeeze together, try to work like well tuned gears, but only scratch against each other and create a screeching and raspy whistle. He winces as the sound bounds forward. 

It’s only then that he realizes Alpha Trion isn’t the only Prime with him. 

Several figures of light dot the surrounding space, parting and shifting like a mining tunnel. Memories burst forth and catalog each of the Primes he can see; Vector Prime, Onyx Prime, Liege Maximo, Zeta Prime…

Zeta Prime’s chassis is split open, pried apart and empty. The cog that had once sat there— long gone, from a traitor that he had thought he could rely on. 

It looks so much like D-16’s own chassis, he’s sure… and the circumstances aren’t so different either. The realization filters over his processor as the Prime in question turns to him, helm leaning closer and optics scanning his frame. 

“We did not expect you to arrive here,” Zeta’s voice is light, almost a whisper, but his optics shine brighter than any glass of energon or any star. They command attention, authority, just as much as his frame alone does. 

“Some of us did,” the new voice is harsh, breaking through the static, and deep. It resonates in D-16 armor, his processor alerting to it within seconds. Megatronus Prime. 

The largest Prime appears out of the corner of D-16’s optics and glides forward, frame moving to take up nearly half of the smaller mech’s vision. His servos sweeps through the atmosphere, purple barely blinking through the blue glow clasped onto his figure. A prodding demands screams through the atmosphere from the Prime, strong enough for D-16 to feel as it deflects over him and lands onto Alpha Trion. 

The other Prime snorts, optics flicking toward his fellow before his frame shifts. Alpha Trion’s servos adjust D-16 within them, before suddenly the gray mech is being passed to Megatronus Prime’s hold. The mech’s larger servos wrap around D-16’s frame, supporting his body and holding it in suspension. 

I must really be dead, D-16 thinks as his processor whirls and his spark jumps, This can’t be real. 

His processor sinks its fangs into the situation, tearing into it like a rabid beast. There is no way that this is a reality, because Megatronus Prime holding him? Not possible, not in a million years could it be possible. Holy Primus.

The raging systems and notions nearly distract D-16 from the other figure that appears in his vision. The lean figure is nearly blinding as they glide to Megatronus’ side, one servo landing on the large Prime’s frame and the other on his servo. Prima Prime lets himself rest against Megatronus Prime as his helm tilts sideways, optics looking back toward Zeta Prime. 

”There is always hope,” Prima says as he leans further against Megatronus’ shoulder. There is a flash of warmth from his smile, breezing over D-16’s frame, and the Prime glows bright. The first of the Primes to be created, the first to online, and the first to experience… the oldest, the most experienced, and he’s still filled with a deep seated light. That burning ember, brighter than the darkness that surrounds and stronger than anything that could try to douse it… It makes D-16 think of Orion. 

“Sentinel has scarred him,” Megatronus says, and it’s only then that D-16 remembers that underneath the twisted metal of his chassis is the scorched remnants of Megatronus’ own face. 

“The right medic can heal it,” Prima adds and he glances down, optics roaming over gray armor as they catch sight of the lines in metal “but it’s… pretty cool, actually.”

“Prima,” Megatronus says, tone light and helm dipping, “jealous?”

A scoff falls from Prima’s intake before he leans down and whispers into D-16’s audials, “He’s the jealous one.”

D-16’s optics jump between the two Primes, processor screeching to a halt as it rings out the only resounding question in his head once again, Am I dead? 

“Not yet, little one.” D-16’s spark jolts painfully as Megatronus’ voice answers him. His optics dart to the larger bot’s helm, dancing over the mask sitting before his face. Megatronus’ eyes glow from the small slits, narrowed but not unkind as says, “You’re in a state of limbo, we are holding you in between at Primus’ will.” 

The words filter over D-16’s frame and splash against his processor, lighting up parts of his thoughts. Systems whirl as he accepts the explanation, multiple diagnosis screaming across his vision display and all too fast for him to catch. 

Drops in the EM Field splatter over his frame, followed by lure for his attention. It pulls him out of his processor, blinking his vision back onto the scene before him and the two Primes leaning over him. They’re own optics circulate as they stare down at him, both of their fields curling toward the other before reaching out to D-16’s. 

“The future of Cybertron is at a precipice, or rather a crossroads,” Megatronus says at the moment that D-16’s attention settles completely on the Prime. His words fall heavy and harsh, grasping onto some unknown factor to the smaller mech, “This isn’t the first time, though I’m sure that those histories have not been taught under Sentinel’s tyranny. Our people have faced many challenges, conquered many enemies, and battled our numerous inner turmoils.” 

Images pour between D-16 and Megatronus, figures springing to life on a miniature plane. Transformers stand clear as day, but other figures hold foreign molds that D-16 can’t recall. A battle breaks out between the transformers and the unknown aliens, before the scene shifts to the streets of Iacon. There, buildings are built to reach into the sky or down toward the core by hundreds of transformers working together. 

Alpha Trion’s history-come-to-life springs to D-16’s processor as he takes in the shifting images before him. The power once again surfaces, a True Prime teaching him a true history that Sentinel had tried to wipe away. 

”There was a time, once, that I lost myself,” Megatronus adds and the history changes images once again, “My rage blinded me, I hungered for vengeance playing the role of justice. It was an appetite that could not be appeased, though I believed that it could, and I turned on Cybertron itself. Our people suffered, our connections to the stars shattered, and it wasn’t enough.” 

Megatronus Prime’s frame appears in the middle of the plane, his trident wielded in one hand as he darts forward. Transformers appear in his path, cut down within seconds and falling to pieces. Their frames roll over the ground, landing at the pedes of others rushing toward the Prime. None of them stood a chance, D-16 knows, but he watches as they try to stop the large Prime from whatever his goal had been. 

Their numbers dwindle and dwindle, Megatronus’ frame grows larger as the image shifts closer to the mech’s helm. Red glares from his optics, the sickly color bleeding across his mask as he turns as if called. Suddenly, a miniature Prima appears on the plane, blaster carried in his servos and frame hobbling on a twisted pede. 

“You have my anger, D-16.” The story vanishes, falling away as Megatronus’ voice lowers. Weariness bleeds from his frame, a drop of urgency in the sea of duty that the massive bot exudes. “It can be the ruin of Cybertron or its savior, but it is not a guide.” 

The images stain themselves over D-16’s processor, the words echoing through his audials and down through his spark. The burning embers crackle, the fury a faint whisper to what it had been before, but still it remains. A muse to his ideas, gasoline to his feelings, a need to right an injustice, a need to destroy until nothing remains… 

D-16’s life had always been a lie, handled to him by the leader of their planet. A leader that had taken power for himself by assassinating the ones that had lead before him, the ones that had aimed to protect them from all threats, the ones that had been chosen by Primus himself to lead. And after gaining that power? 

He had taken D-16’s life away, had forced him into a box that he created. As Elita-1 had said, to clean up his mess.

Of course D-16 was angry, and still is, how could he not be?

He could have spent his life being able to transform, he could have become whoever he wanted to be, he could have worked any job he desired and he could have… he could have become sparkmates with Orion. He could have been able to open his chassis to the one mech that he loves most in the world and chase their sparks together…

His entire relationship had been retrained by their lack of cogs and it was entirely Sentinel's fault. 

The thoughts spiral in his processor, blowing oxygen into the embers and growing it into a flicker light. The anger leaks from his frame, spreading past his limbs, only to be pushed back against by a stern cold and a comforting warmth. Megatronus’ EM Field wraps over him and whispers, ruin or savior, not a guide.

”The other one is coming.” Alpha Trion’s voice calls back their attention, shattering the moment and clearing the emotions in the air with a brush of his own. 

D-16’s optics dart to the Prime, scrapinver over his figure. Alpha Trion’s helm has turned away, gaze looking back toward the abyss, the agglomeration of metal that makes up their planet. He searches, no, he watches as something grows closer.

The collective group follows after Alpha Trion’s gaze until a pale shape appears from the darkness. The gray metal twirls as it falls through the space, two limbs reaching out and flailing. Something within D-16’s chassis sinks further than anything has before, and he tries to speak, as he had only moments before, but like then, no sound comes out. 

He knows that it is Orion before he can make out the details of his Conjux’s armor. Red and blue completely drained, leaving a lifeless gray mixed with torn metal. One of his arms is gone, one of his legs, opposite of each other and leaving nothing but stained energon stumps in their wake. Their absence leaves a hollow pit within D-16, he can only imagine how they had been torn from his lover’s body, how much pain the mech must have been in, how he must have been thrown off the platform. 

The grief settles back within D-16’s frame as a thousand thoughts flicker through his processor. His digits twitch as his voice fails over and over again, he imagines reaching out to his Conjunx and pulling him close. The desire to wrap around Orion’s body, to protect it from any threats, overwhelms his spark, but it’s already too late, isn’t it? 

The only reason why Orion is here, is because he is dead. 

And so is D-16. 

Or maybe this is a figment of D-16’s imagination, his processor falling into some set of protocols as he becomes one with the Allspark. Is it telling him that he won’t be alone? Is it supposed to be comforting? Because it’s not, it is the furthest thing from comforting. 

A huff reaches his audio receptors, followed by a flush of amusement through the EM field. Prima’s smile gleams again, casting white as he leans forward and says, “Just watch, young one, and listen.” 

D-16’s gaze shifts away as Prima leans back, shifting to the taller Prime beside him. Megatronus’ optics stare straight ahead, stuck to the scene of Orion falling closer and closer to them. And while the mask that covers his face hides whatever expression it holds, his optics do not. They’re narrowed, barely noticeable, and whirling a darker blue than they had been before. It’s sorrow, mixed with a rage that D-16 feels himself, but drowned in the moment, in the single truth: he can only do as much as he can, from where he is now. 

So D-16 turns back to his Conjunx, back to the mech that had done more than given his life meaning, but had given it life. He had hope, adventures, risks, rewards, and hundreds of moments that he would not trade for anything, so much due to the wild sparked mech that named himself Orion Pax. When had he lost sight of that?

Suddenly a flash of energy stretches across the sky, the will of Primus reaching forth and encompassing Orion in a breathtaking halo of light. It pulses once, twice, and then a third time before dragging the mech’s body into their collective, into the array of Primes, and D-16’s breath catches in his throat as he sees his Conjunx in gruesome detail. 

“Orion Pax, your noble sacrifice for the greater good has proven you worthy in the eyes of Primus. He entrusts in you the future of Cybertron…” Alpha Trion’s voice echoes as he speaks, louder than he has been before, and his servo rises through the air to cushion the smaller mech’s fall.  “And the Matrix of Leadership.”

Then the blue light grows, the very spark of Primus, the core of Cybertron, reaches outward. Speckles come together, weaving into solid matter. Golden handles reach to the sides, connecting themselves at the middle with a metal sphere lighting blue from the inside. A halo of color grasps onto it as it solidifies into existence. The Matrix glides through space, radiant and powerful, as it drops into Orion’s chest. 

Tendrils of its power latch onto the gray of Orion’s limbs, before shooting through them like lightning. It spreads over the mech’s frame and sweeps over the broken metal and twisted metal, breathing new life in the form of colors. Metals grow over fatal wounds and expand out into space, limbs growing back from where they had been lost and twitching as they come back online. 

D-16’s spark squeezes and jumps as Orion’s optics flew open, bright blues appearing as his entire frame jolted. A gasp chokes out of his intake and his frame twists as systems reunite. 

Beautiful.

“Arise, Optimus Prime!” 

The words echo as light explodes. The rays blind D-16 as white noise whooshes through his audials, energy sparking against his frame and screaming forward. His optics strain against the light as it envelopes Orion— no, Optimus’ frame and gathers behind him before kicking forward and throwing the mech back at the world around them. 

Optimus rockets back toward the surface, back toward Iacon. 

His exit leaves a trail of sparks in his wake, whisks of white that D-16’s digits twitch to touch. His spark aches and longs, reaching toward his Conjunx as he’s whisked away by the power of Primus. His processor glitches as he gasps for words, voice cracking and screeching metal songs. 

But his limbs stay harsh metal and heavy like lead, his helm lulls when he tries to lift it and his pain strikes through his wires and connections. Claws of agony dig deep into his processor and his frame jolts, twitching as a groan leaves his intake. His frame remains in place, even as he tries to fight his way forward. 

The fight dwindles out of his being as energy rolls over his helm, buzzing warmth spreading with a whisper for attention tugging at him. D-161’s optics roll toward the call, settling on the figure holding him. 

Megatronus Prime’s helm tilts downward, optics staring straight through to D-16’s spark. His digits squeeze over the smaller mech’s armor, far more gentle than D-16 expected from a mech of his size. “Get my cog back, will you?” 

Absolutely, D-16 wants to say before wondering, Wait, what? 

“It’s your turn,” Prima tells him before he can process the question, the moment, or really anything that is happening further. The First Prime raises his servo as it transforms. Digits circle into a fan, into what might be a cannon, before the structure alights in a brilliant yellow and white. The streaks bleed against the black metal abyss and the blue spark of Primus, creating a vortex at the center and whistling with an unspoken energy. Then Prima twists his aim, the spiraling sphere coming to rest just above D-16’s chassis. 

It’s almost identical to Sentinel’s actions, the way the mech had turned his cannons on D-16, but no fear rises in him from the movements. Comfort and tranquility flood through the EM field, wrapping around D-16 in a gentle hug. Slowly, the colors expand outward, reaching slowly toward D-16’s frame. 

“You are a true Protector,” Prima’s voice declares into the blinding light that floods D-16’s optics. His processor expects pain, or something akin to the feeling, but there is nothing but warmth as the glow permeates over his mesh and armor. The warmth seeps deep into his frame, into his networks, and air rushes through his intake as his voice systems crack to life. “Carry your valor, D-16, and carry on with your Conjunx. There is nothing that you can’t accomplish together.” 

Megatronus’ helm appears through the light as it fades, the warmth remaining tight on his frame. The sharp lines fold together to create the familiar figure, one that D-16 finds himself looking up to as he always had. His spark pulses, then beats, all as the stronger Prime watches over him. There’s a pride floating between them, a sweet ray over D-16 processor as Prima’s light completely fades away.

Prima’s servo dips away from above D-16’s frame, shifting to cup Megatronus beneath the smaller mech. D-16’s helm falls backward as his optics catch onto the Primes’ heads coming closer together. Their own optics slide across his frame, his helmet, before they both declare, their voices mixing in a crescendo: “Megatron, arise.” 

Data drowns his processor and sparks through his systems, instincts blaring as light explodes past his optics and energy pounds against his frame. The world whirls by, as if he was thrown forward by Megatronus Prime himself. The force slashes over him as he rises through Cybertron’s layers, blowing past the lowest levels. 

It’s nothing like when he died, when he had been dragged to Primus’ spark, to the very core of Cybertron… it’s too fast for him to process what’s happening, where he’s going, or even where he’ll end up. He’s already there by the time his processor catches up. 

Dark shadowed metal breaks away to the landscape of towers and platforms, light streaming through from cracks in the surface. Megatron’s frame spins and twists as his ascent slows, no longer falling upward but floating down to the space below. His pedes kick through the air and his servos stick out, his balance wobbling as forward turns backward and upward turns downward.

Then the platform is underneath him again and his limbs are moving, jolting himself into a roll and catching himself before he can go any further. His joints glide, no longer popping, as he stands up and glares into the sudden light. His optics sweep across the place of his death, details picked to pieces by his processor and by his spark. 

Optimus is only a step away from him, already standing and twisting toward him. Metal dust and debris melt away from where they stand, curtain unveiling the world around them… as they too are unveiled to the world. Standing in the remains of glowing light, resurrected from the Allspark and rebuilt. They must be a sight to anyone watching. 

But Megaton doesn’t have the time to care, he needs to focus. 

His servo jolts into the air and glides over Optimus’ frame, forcing his Conjunx to look back toward the sight before them. He squeezes the side of Optimus’ blue chassis as he pushes his EM Field forward, past the energon rising through his frame, and imagines it like a support beam from the mines. There’s a heavy wave of relief that floods back in return, before Optimus completely turns back to the task at hand.

Back to Sentinel. 

Back to the start of it all. 

The False Prime’s wings cast wide, one servo transformed into a cannon and turned toward the bots kneeling before him. But his other servo shields his helm, his optics, rising against the light that they had cast themselves upon returning. His gaze peeks barely through his digits, optics narrowed into a glare, and his intake purses together.  

Megatron’s gaze drifts from Sentinel as the bot’s servo falls, as he begins to stalk forward. Instead his optics trains on the kneeling bots, his insides churning as his processor identifies each of them. 

Elita-1, Starscream, B-127. 

His processor can’t even figure out how B-127 had managed to survive, let alone how he joined the battle. He shouldn’t have enough energon to stand, it had seeped out of him and had soaked the golden floor in pools of blue. At least until his optics slide over the bot kneeling behind B-127, nearly hidden out of view in their smaller size. Ratchet. 

Of course it would be Ratchet’s luck to treat B-127, a bot that can’t stay still and a bot that should not be here and yet… And yet B-127, practically a sparkling still, was kneeling between them all after no doubt convincing Ratchet to join him… or maybe worse; maybe drones had captured them while Ratchet was trying to save B-127’s life and dragged them down to the platform. 

All to be executed by Sentinel again. 

Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

Megaton turns back to the False Prime, just in time to catch the mech’s glare and shaking frame. Injuries run along the left side of his helm, striking down his frame as if someone had taken a grinder from his head to his chassis. The grotesque injury, which was really superficial at best, almost hides the simmering rage pouring from the bot. 

“Primus let you have the Matrix?” Sentinel spits, optics glaring. 

Megatron steps forward, falling completely beside Optimus as he shouts, “You weren’t worthy.” 

“Not worthy?” Sentinel parrots, optics blinking as his intake makes a nasty line over his mesh. ”Of course, of course, why not?” 

Golden lights fade away from Sentinel’s frame, his sickly truth pouring out in droves. Disgust, fury, and greed taking the place of the leadership and comfort that he had projected. It drowns his image as he throws his servo to his side and clenches it into a fist. His unrighteous fury shrouds him in a cloak against the bright light sky of Iacon. 

It strikes Megatron then, Sentinel doesn’t even look like a Prime anymore. 

The lies have come undone, completely swept away by the truth from his own voice and his own actions. He stands before them now, not as their savior but as the one that has damned them. His reward, their lives, his choice. 

And he can’t hide it now. 

The only thing he can do is… create fear.

“We need to stop him.” Optimus’ helm turns toward him, voice lower as he adds, “No killing.” 

Indignation is the first instinct to jump through Megatron’s processor, a protest rising to his throat before another thought slams into his helm. Prima and Megaotronus hovering above him, their sparks leaning into him, giving to him, so that he could stand here beside his Conjunx. For Cybertron. 

Ruin or savior, not a guide.

“There are fates worse than death,” Megatron finally replies, the flame igniting within his frame, “And there’s already been enough death today.” 

A smile spreads over Optimus’ face, a glint in the light, hardly perceivable before he turns away. As he does, a mask slots over his mesh, leaving only his optics to gleam through. Then the new Prime steps forward, frame rising as he raises his fists.

“Stand down, Sentinel.” His voice carries across the platform, low tones soothing but commanding. 

“You think that you can defeat me?” Sentinel’s voice echoes back, the volume screeching, and it’s clear that he doesn’t care about who witnesses anymore.  “I killed the original Primes, a half-baked one like you won’t be a problem.” 

Danger rings in his voice, in his posture as his words go on, before suddenly he’s shooting forward. Wings angle forward and his cannons raise, purple energy channeling within. His frame lunges into battle, his voice screaming, “Drones, on me!” 

Explosions of gold drop into the moment and chaos erupts across the platform. Through it all, Megatron trains his optics on the False Prime as he screams closer. He’s a threat, one that needs to be put down, and that truth screams through Megatron’s spark. Hundreds of possibilities lay before him, and each one where Sentinel isn’t stopped: tyranny reigns. 

Blasts boom from Sentinel’s cannons, striking toward him and Optimus from across the platform. Megatron jolts to the side, ducking his helm while Optimus jumps forward and dodges downward. Metal and wires whirl as the new Prime transforms, frame gliding underneath the blasts shooting though the air. Wheels slam into the ground as his alt form spreads forward and into battle. 

Megatron steps after his Conjunx, reaching deep within himself and tugging… on nothing. His frame glitches, gears whirring but failing, and his pedes stumble across the platform. Shock works through his systems as he freezes in place, optics widening before glancing down toward his chassis. 

Empty.

Dread fills his frame, anger sparking within as he looks back up at the battlefield before him. His digits curl together and he vents as energy frays at his wires. It itches at him as hopelessness crawls in, scratching at his armor and whispering into his audials. His processor stutters and rewinds, dragging him back and back until suddenly he’s standing in a mine again.

The walls bear down on him, pressing into his frame with sharp spikes. Shadows loom over him, the darkness creeping in as it sits over his helm. His servos flex as he steps back, digits opening as he brings them forward. The scene unfolds before him, consuming him, even though logically he knows that isn’t what is happening before him. 

The battle rages and his processor sinks further into doom. Blasts echo in the background, but he swears they’re the booms of unstable lines. The platform shakes beneath the weight of bots, but it could be the shaking of equipment or maybe…

A gasp leaves his intake as his optics whirl and catch gold flying at him. A drone shoots forward toward him, servo shooting out to the side and towards Megatron’s helm. Light glints from golden armor as his instincts grasp onto frame, his frame ducking down as the drone flies over him. 

Megatron’s frame twists as the drone swoops back into the air, only for another flying bot to collide into. Gold flashes against blues and greens, metal ripping into each other and armored punches flying. The two bots disappear into the chaos, danger leaving to be replaced by another as hundreds of bots clash into each other. 

His optics side back to the platform, turning away from the sky and jumping over the various bots there. Golden drones fight the High Guard and miners, gear flying in all directions as jet packs boost and scream. Shouts echo across Iacon, the world looks to them, and the hologram performs, scenes of the carnage flicking past. 

But not all the images are purely carnage; Megatron watches as B-127’s helm appears on the hologram. The small bot leans against an open wall, smears of ash and oil across it. Ratchet kneels in front of him, digits pressing into the sparkling’s neck as energy leaks from it. Another bot, an unknown High Guardian stands in front of them, servos raised as a golden drone streams toward them. 

“Dee! Here!” Megatron turns at the call, blinking out of the scene before him, and spots a gray-black mech landing close to him. Jazz smiles, bright and familiar, as he lifts up two objects in his servos. “Take these!” 

“Jazz?” Megatron starts, processor still processing, “Wait, but—“

“No buts, you need these more than I do.” Jazz jumps up and shoves the jetpack onto Megatron’s frame. When he falls back down, he drops the rest of the mining equipment into the taller mech’s servos. “Now get your help out of your aft and go save your Conjunx.”

“Ha?!” Megatron gasps, turning to him, “How—“

Jazz scoffs and waves his servo, stepping away as Megatron’s digits curl around the mining drill. “You’re both too obvious! Now go!”

Then the smaller bot darts away, his form slipping into the chaos and disappearing. He leaves Megatron alone in his own bubble, a lapse in the moment, a silence before thunder, the clam before a storm. The taller mech turns to face, nerves fraying, and flexes his digits at his optics scan across the scene. 

Optimus swings his way through battle, dodging the blows from Sentinel’s sword— when the frag did he get that? Their forms move through the chaos, vanishing from sight to reappear in another place. Scraping mechs flings debris in the way and creates obstacles with their own battles, leaving carnage in the wake of their frames. 

Megatron pushes past it all and jumps into the air, jetpack screaming to life. He scorches through the air and spirals until his bearings wrap around the systems in his processor. His digits twist into the mining gears parts— a drill, the bit caked in energon. 

He forces his sight away from the drill and back to the battle, optics scanning once again. So many bots stick out before him, miners he had spent most of his life working beside or members of the High Guard that he had only gotten a glimpse of. They’re forms fall side by side, throwing themselves at the waves of golden drones and soldiers, comrades forced together by the situation at hand. 

Most of them fight across the platform, but a fair few take to the skies as they slice through their enemies. Bodies whiz past Megatron as he ducks and dives, weaving between their flailing bodies and screaming courses. His spark thumps in his chassis with each narrow miss, each time he has to grab another mech and toss them away from his frame. 

“You’re almost a natural flier,” a voice calls out to him and his frame spins in the air, drill drawing back as he readies for the challenge. 

“Starscream?” Megatron gasps out as the bot appears. 

The High Guardsman glowers at him, optic brows furrowing together. “Wait for the opening.” 

“Why should I listen to you, coward?” Megatron demands, and weaves between another flying battle. His processor whirls as a memory displays, Starscream’s figure ducking away from battle and disappearing.

“You’ll never win against Sentinel in the air,” Starscream shouts back, voice glitching loudly. “Wait for an opening.”

Before Megatron can reply, or even think of words to retort, the High Guardsman ignites his boosters and darts forward. His frame zooms into the waves of battle, arching high in the air and eclipsing the light. Air screams and sizzles in his wake, as his form disappears.

The words rattle against his processor, beating against logic and programming as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. But wait?

That’s not something that interests him, not when his Conjunx’s life is on the line. He wants to tear the False Prime limb from lib and strip him of his authority, for even daring to harm Optimus. 

But Optimus wouldn’t approve…

Megatron knows that.

That thought stains his processor as he focuses back onto the battle, optics scanning until they find the blue-and-gold mech. His frame cuts through the battle as if it were a large target. His focus on Optimus Prime as the two grapple for control, punches thrown and kicks flying. They shove each other and blast fire and shout. 

Optimus’ helm disappears into his chassis when Sentinel tries to punch him, before opposing back out as he throws a kick. Sentinel ducks the kick, before blasting Optimus backward with his cannon. Sentinel’s wings flare across his back, spreading out as his frame lurches forward. His boosters ignite and rev in symphony, time slows as the False Prime prepares his move. He’s a missile preparing to strike, leaning into the lunge with his sword level at his side. 

And Megatron doesn’t wait, he strikes. 

He twists his frame into a dive and speeds toward the golden-blue mech. With his drill held forward, he slams into Sentinel’s right wing. The drill shears through the metal and tears a hole through the gold, energon spraying from the wound as if he had hit a live line. 

Agonized screams rip through the air as Sentinel begins to twist, sword striking through the air. 

Megatron pushes back into the air, rising out of reach of the sword as it transforms into a longer length. The tip dashes by his chassis, just barely scraping off the edge. 

“You glitch!” Sentinel roars at him. One of Sentinel’s servos transforms into a cannon and fires into the air after him. 

The blasts fly wide as Megatron swerves and spins in the air. He counts each one as they go by and leans to the side, sliding through the air. 

Rage overtakes Sentinel’s features as he staggers to the side. His optics track Megatron through the air, locked on to him with a vengeance. The blue sears into the gray mech in a way that unsettles his spark; it was as if the mech was looking through him, not really seeing him, but still staring at him. As if he was only a target, a means to an end. 

It’s a good distraction for Optimus. 

The red and blue mech strikes from behind Sentinel, servos wrapping around the large mech and squeezing tight. Another scream rips from Sentinel’s intake as his wounds are pressed against and stretched as he begins to struggle. 

Megatron switches course at that moment and swoops back down, raising the drill once more. His optics zoom in on Sentinel’s other wing, ready to rip the other from the False Prime. 

But Sentinel’s gaze locks on his form once again and he kicks into action. His boosters come to life once more and jolt his form backward, forcing Optimus to let go of him and scramble backward to gain his balance again. Meanwhile Sentinel’s servos swing out and twist his body as Megatron reaches him. 

The movement hides Sentinel’s pede flying through the air until it connects with Megatron’s chassis and sends the gray mech careening to the side. A loud sputter hisses from his jet back as his frame smacks into the platform and slides, before a click whispers into his audials and the equipment falls from his back. 

Aches crawl over his frame as he scrambles back to his pedes. His optics waver and swirl before they right themselves again, rebooting as he blinks. Sentinel’s image comes to focus as the bot turns to Optimus, cannon appearing again. 

A loud scream rips through the air at that moment and a shape darts from the sky, diving in faster than a jetpack could take a mech. Starscream’s form slams into the larger mech and sends him scrambling backward, almost collapsing to the ground. Their frames lock into battle, servos throwing punches and pedes flashing toward each other. 

Drill rising in his servos, Megatron trains his optics on the two as their limbs fly. His optics scan for an opening, any opening, for him to dash into, but each one flares a warning loud and clear. Starscream’s frame swings into each one before Megatron can move, his wings dipping in each target or moments. His actions become too intertwined with Sentinel’s, until they’re almost the same bot. 

Simply put, the risk of attacking Sentinel with the drill becomes accidentally gouging a deep wound into Starscream instead. 

Frustration grows within his spark as he gathers himself and raises the drill bit again, when his optics catch onto the figure rushing toward the two. Optimus’ alt form swerves through the chaos— when he was thrown away from the battle, Megatron doesn’t know, but he races back into it with a vengeance. 

Megatron focuses back onto the False Prime, instincts gripping onto his programming, and shouts, “Sentinel!”

The blue and gold mech swings toward him and his optics narrow. There’s words growing from the mech’s intake, but he’s too far for Megatron’s audials to pick them up. Then suddenly Sentinel shifts on his pedes, larger form grappling onto Starscream’s. His servos yank the shorter bot from the ground, until Starscream’s pedes are left kicking in the air. 

One of Sentinel’s servo darts free and slashes across Starscream’s face. The High Guardsman's scream rips through Megatron’s audials as he watches the scene before him, spark thumping rapidly. The screams rip through his memories, pain flickering across his chassis. 

Then Sentinel spins on his pedes and swings Starscream into the air. Energon leaves a dotted trail as the Seeker spirals through the air, his own glitchy scream filling the battlefield. His frame slams into Megatron’s figure with a splitting metal screech. Both of them slam backward into the ground, scraping across the platform. 

Distantly, Optimus’ shouts filter through Megatron’s audio receptor and he swears its his name, but metal scrapes next to his audials and Starscream’s shrill yells rip anything else apart. The Seeker scrambles and slips, energon spilling from his frame onto Megatron’s as he tries to get away.

”Stop—“ Megatron starts to growl at the mech before his voice hitches and his optics widen. 

Starscream’s helm twists toward him, face mesh covered in thick lines of energon leaking everywhere. His optics whirl and spark behind a slash that crosses the metal mesh, intake sputtering open and closed. 

Then a yellow servo appears on Starscream’s fram, peeling him back from Megatron and shifting his weight to the side. B-127’s helm pops into view, a patchwork of bright metal melded across his throat. His servos are gentle, or as gentle as they possibly can be with Starscream’s flailing, as he pulls the High Guardsman away and into a seated position. 

Immediately Ratchet’s small form appears beside B-127’s, a frown cemented on his face-mesh as his attention twists toward Starscream’s optics. His frame presses close to the Seeker, digits grasping the side of his helm and twisting it toward him.

”Be still,” he says, “I can’t fix you if you keep trashing.” 

A whimper, or maybe a whine, leaves Starscream’s intake and scratches over Megatron’s processor. He looks away from the sight and turns his focus back to Sentinel, optics latching onto the blue and gold lashing out against red and blue. 

Starscream’s groans background the scene before him; his Conjunx ducks and punches as he fights. His ability to transform shines as he slashes forward and shouts, but Sentinel’s own abilities strike out in contrast as he hits Optimus back. Their clash pounds against Megatron, each moment slashing deep into his spark. 

Marks and scrapes cover Optimus’ frame, energon leaking from deeper slices in his armor. Gold paint clings to marks across him, as if bludgeoned into him. 

The flame burns. 

Megatron jumps to his pedes and snatches up his drill, only to halt at the sputtering zaps that fill his audials. His helm twists to the noise, optics following the sparks to his drill, and the snapped metal shearing apart. 

Half of the equipment hangs limp to the side, sparking at the place where it had snapped. As he raises the piece, gravity acts as a final catalyst and it splits into two. Wires snap as the limp drill bit falls to the ground and it clatters to the ground in a deafening thunk. 

Fear grips his spark as his helm twists away from the broken equipment, his attention locking back onto his Conjunx. Each punch against Optimus’ frame stabs a knife deeper into his spark, blistering forth the rage and ire within. The fire consumes him as he stares helplessly, pedes shackled to the mines of Cybertron. 

Didn’t you feel like you were something else? Like you’re more than what they say you are? 

Megatron had been cogless then, shackled to a learned helplessness that kept him frozen in place… but the Iacon 5000 had been where everything had changed. Where he and Orion had proven they were more than capable and…

His pedes spin on the platform and his frame lunges across it. He lands kneeling beside Starscream’s frame, nearly pushing B-127 out of the way as he leans forward toward the mech.

“Starscream, I need you to shoot Sentinel,” Megatron says to him. 

“I’m blind!” Starscream jolts forward, pushing Ratchet’s servos away as he does. “Are you a fool?” 

“Stop moving!” Ratchet snaps and pushes Starscream bak. “Or I’ll leave you blind for the rest of your sorry life.” 

“I’ll aim for you,” Megatron huffs, frustration bleeding through to his voice as the pathetic seeker pouts at him, “Just shoot when I say so.” 

“You’re just going to let him use me like this?” Starscream whines to Ratchet, voice wavering. 

Ratchet snorts, voice cold as he says, “It might be a good distraction for you while I pull this shard from your mesh.” 

Another whimper leaves the Seeker’s intake, but he lifts his servo and transforms it into a cannon. He pushes it away from his body, generally aiming toward the battle, into the array of figures rushing past and screams echoing. 

Megatron ducks forward and under the cannon, shifting until it lays over his shoulder and against his helm. Energon whirs against his audials, a deep thrum from within Starscream’s servo that had begun to mix with the energy lines of his cannon. It’s weight grows as Megatron’s focus latches back onto his Conjunx and Sentinel, tracking their movements with a lurch of his insides. 

Sentinel looms over Optimus’ form, sword pushing down toward his chassis. His pedes pin the new Prime from moving, leaving only one servo free— which claws at the sword, pushing it away and back toward the False Prime. The scene grips Megatron’s spark as he moves Starscream’s cannon, aiming toward Sentinel’s torso. 

He doesn’t get the chance to yell at Starscream to shoot, something else happens entirely. 

A burst of blue and yellow energy slams across the platform and Sentinel is thrown backward, away from Optimus. 

Relief floods Megatron’s spark as his Conjunx rises to his pedes, frame protected by a shining glow. An energized axe pokes out from Optimus’ servo, blue and yellow clinging to the energy as he holds it before him. Its power sings and sizzles as the new Prime wields it. 

The moment doesn’t last however, as Optimus’ optics jump back from the axe, to the battle before him. His frame falls back into a defensive stance as blasts shoot toward him. The axe almost falls to the side as he ducks, before shooting out before him and spiraling into a spinning shield. it tanks the blasts, absorbing their energy… giving Megatron enough time to turn his aim on Sentinel. 

The False Prime stalks closer to Optimus with his cannons raised, both of them shooting— one after the other. His blue optics never stray from Optimus as he moves forward, leaving a trail of energon behind him. His determination, his focus, bleeding through the EM Field as he rages toward Megatron’s Conjunx. 

The downfall of a prideful king. 

“Shoot!” Megatron shouts, frame frozen as Starscream’s cannon ignites and blasts. 

The shot arches through the air, the sound lost in the series of blasts and screams across the battlefield, but Megatron’s optics stay glued to it. Time slows as it dashes forward and races toward its destination, Megaton’s spark rising in beat and freezing in fear at the same time. 

Until it makes contact. 

The blast strikes clean through Sentinel’s cannon and ignites the next blast readying in the chamber. Debris flies as the explosion throws Sentinel backward. Energon sprays across the platform as he falls, his screams puncturing the air and piercing the audials of all around him. His frame collapses hard to the platform, curling over what’s left of his servo. 

“Did we get him?” Starscream asks. 

But Megatron doesn’t reply, already scrambling away from the Seeker’s cannons and onto his pedes. His frame dashes across the platform, focus falling onto his Conjunx as the mech steps toward Sentinel’s fallen form. Echoes follow after him as his audials pick up gasps, his optics catch the sight of golden drones freezing before disappearing out of sight— fleeing. 

But it doesn’t matter

Not to Megatron.

Optimus glances over as Megatron races toward them, his frame relaxing before turning back to Sentinel’s fallen form. The Prime steps forward, the axe disappearing from his servo, before declaring, “It’s over, Sentinel.” 

”You gonna sic your go-bot on me?” Sentinel looks up, optics squinting in pain. Defeat blankets him. 

“I can make my own choices.” Megaton slides into place beside his Conjunx before he can even reply, taking the spot beside the blue and red mech’s shoulder. His voice spits at the False Prime, words a knife once again. “And I’m standing by my Conjunx, he can decide what we do with you.”

A scoff falls from sentinel’s intake, but Optimus’ helm whips around and his optics whirl. Blue light cycles, shaded rings spiraling, and a smile ticks at his intake. Warmth floods Megatron’s chassis as Optimus’ gaze searches over his frame before landing their optics meet, spreading a spark between them. 

“I was thinking that Cybertron can decide what to do with him.” Optimus turns back to Sentinel, mask falling from his face. “We can’t rebuild Cybertron with an execution, but a trial could go a long way.” 

“You really think a trial will fix all your problems?” Sentinel spits back at him, glaring between them both. “Do you even know what it takes to run a planet?” 

The Matrix of Leadership ticks away at the back of Megatron’s processor, the very item that had guided the original Primes years ago. His optics slide toward his Conjunx, across his metal armor and to his chassis, where the glowing blue pumps a steady beat. 

There’s a smile crossing Optimus’ intake as he looks toward Megatron, capturing the Protector’s attention with a thrill in the air, “No, but you’ve shown me how not to lead, Sentinel… and I think having more people to help, who are willing to lead and guide, like the original Primes, would be a great first step.” 

“You’re insane,” Sentinel hisses, voice almost distant.

“I’ve been called that before, among many other things,” Optimus laughs, his optics singing to Megatron with all the words hatred between them, glitch, idiot, reckless, naive… but that smile widens as he continues, history speaking between them. “But I’m also an optimist, I believe that we’ll make a better future for all of Cybertron.” 

We’ll make a better future, and Megatron’s spark jolts into a frizz. 

It had always been Orion’s goal to show Iacon that cogless bots could be more than what was thought of them, and not only had he proven it, Optimus could now build a world where anyone could be anything. And he trusts Megatron to do it with him, just like Orion has always trusted D

-16.

Words catch in his voice box as a pair of pedes slam onto the platform. Sound wave and Shockwave stalk toward them, gazes shifting between them an Sentinel as they approach. Anger filters through the EM Field from their forms, the cold hold of betrayal breathing into it. It’s nearly identical to the rage circling within Megatron’s spark. 

Megatron turns his helm to the two High Guards as they approach, ordering before they can speak, “Take him away, to whatever cell you can find. Make sure he doesn’t die from his wounds… He’ll have a trial in front of all Iacon.” 

“Wait!” Optimus steps away from Megatron’s side and toward Sentinel. “One last thing!” 

The New Prime steps in front of the pretender, kneeling down to his level. Sentinel shoots a glare toward Optimus and shuffles backward, but his frame hardly responds as it shakes and falters. His pedes slide out from him as he completely collapses, falling onto his aft as his wings slam against the platform. 

Optimus’ servo moves forward and rests at the top of Sentinel’s chassis, digits curling into the armor at the side until a loud pop fills the air. The panel across Sentinel’s chassis slides open, the T-cog pressing forward. The purple within whirls and whistles as Optimus reaches forward, digits gliding around the edge before pulling the organ from the slot. 

“No!” Sentinel yelps as Optimus stands up and takes a step backward, “You can’t just take that!” 

“It wasn’t yours to begin with,” Optimus replies and twists his helm toward Soundwave and Shockwave, nodding, “Alright, you can take him away.”

The two bots start forward as Sentinel lets out another string of words, their meanings flowing through Megatron’s audials only to be shuffled back out. Instead he focuses on his Conjunx, watching the mech watch the scene, and he can practically hear Optimus’ processor singing. 

Then he turns toward Megatron with the cog balanced in his servo, purple energy flaring against as he says, “Megatronus wants you to have this.” 

“He wants me to have it?” Megatron asks, unable to hide the disbelief from his tone. 

”He’s being very persistent.” Optimus’ voice drops and he leans closer to Megatron, optics flicking toward him as a worried look shifts over his face. As if he doesn’t expect the gray mech to believe him. “I didn’t think the Matrix would be haunted.” 

The Protector steps forward, one servo wrapping around the offered cog and other rising to his chassis. His digits glide over the edge until the hitch against a seam and hitch, forcing the panel to open. It slides open, revealing the empty slot at his core. It was almost like Sentinel had never ripped Megatron’s T-cog from; perfectly welded ridges and circular compartment within. 

Megatronus’ T-cog slides into place, its own energy lashing out and shooting through his frame. Breeze flows by him and suddenly his limbs float, his processor grasping onto the moment. When he had first received a cog, his limbs had ached and screamed. It hadn’t been painful, but it had left a funny feeling over his limbs and frame. It’s different this time.

His limbs sigh as if they’ve been soaked in an oil bath, weariness drifting away from them and any dull aches vanishing . A tremble of energy rattles through, soft but billowing, before he feels the tell tale sign of armor growing. It tugs at him, pushes at him, and whispers against his frame, growing a support deep within that spreads across every part of him.  

New systems settle into his processor as the ground returns to his pedes. He barely gives them a second glance as he turns back to his Conjunx.

“Are the Primes watching right now?” Megatron turns to Optimus, a flare of amusement flickering through his frame as he looks down at his Conjunx. Their height difference had always been one of his favorite things.

Optimus chuckles, helm nodding, “Yes, it’ll take some getting used to.” 

“Well, put them out of your mind.” 

“What?” Optimus’ optics widen.

Megatron steps forward and raises one of his servos, letting it ghost over the side of Optimus’ helmet. His digits find the edge of the blue mech’s audials and tugs them forward, forcing their faces closer. Then Megatron ducks his helm and pushes his intake against Optimus’ own.

It’s been too long since they had gotten the chance to do this, something that weighs on Megatron as Optimus kisses him back. Servos travel over his chassis and across his frame, explore the canvases of his body before digits curl into armor and pull him closer. The moment spirals them together, further and further until—

”Hello, you two…” Elita-1’s voice ruins the moment, breaking through to them as it had a hundred times before, “You do realize we have a lot going on?” 

Their frames jolt away from each other as Elita-1’s pink frame comes into view, optics darting between them as her servos cross over his chassis.  

“Oh, yeah.” Optimus’ servos fall away, surprise rolling off of him as his helm ducks forward.  He clears his throat, before pulling himself away from Megatron’s grip and flashes a smile as he turns to Elita-1, “A new beginning for Cybertron.”

“And a new leader,” she replies, her servos crossing and expectant look crossing her optics.

A hint of discomfort flashes from Optimus’ frame, his lips pursing together and optics narrowing. Megatron watches as gears start to turn in his processor, emotions striking through his spark; a bottomless pit threatening to swallow him up. But Megatron doesn’t let that happen, as he reaches out and squeezes the armor along Optimus’ side. 

The Prime’s attention snaps to his, optics blinking before a soft gaze fills them. Comfort and support push out of Megatron's frame, wrapping around his Conjunx and growing as a small smile starts to tick at his intake once again. Optimus leans closer, optics falling closed for just a moment, before he turns away again and back to their friend. 

“Yes about that, I could use some help from a bot who is better than me in every way,” Optimus says to her in a way that Megatron knows means that he’s missed something. He’ll have to ask about it later.

“Who? Me?” Elita-1 asks, feigning surprise before adding, “Oh no, I have a pretty sweet gig working in waste management.”

“Well, Captain.” Optimus plays along, unable to hide the smile crossing his face and suddenly Megatron wants nothing more than to kiss him again. “I do owe you a promotion, how’s Major Elita sound?”

“How about Commander?” Elita-1 asks. 

“Even better.” Optimus smiles before turning toward Megatron, voice quirking as he says, “And Megatron…”

Oh, he’ll have to come back to that… Orion’s voice had always done things for him, but the name, the new cadence and depth… Now it was almost too much, but…

“Optimus Prime,” Megatron drawls, letting his voice follow the same quirk as a smile ticks at his intake. 

Blue optics blinks rapidly, before Optimus clears his throat again and smirks. He nods his head toward Megatron, before asking, “What do you think of a… new system of government?” 

“I was onboard the moment you brought it up,” Megatron replies, but pauses before adding, “I don’t like the idea of a single leader ruling our planet.” 

A chuckle falls from Optimus’ intake, his helm nodding as his optics slide up to Megatron’s own. His spark soars as Optimus’ EM Field presses against his own, a warmth that spreads over his armor even as the mech turns, optics peeling away from Megatron’s own to slide into empty space. His gaze searches the air, seeing something in nothing. 

Blue pulsing beats into the air from Optimus’ chassis less than a moment later, the shine rippling through the air. Power thrums like live wires, a crescendo cracking through the air as the glow grows and grows. 

“Okay, so that’s new…” Elita-1 whispers and steps back, optics glued to the sight of the Matrix pulsing and glowing. 

The beats grow faster until it hits a steady high, the glow remaining lit as Optimus reaches toward his chassis. Panels push forward and slide open for him as he does, before his servos wrap around the Matrix of Leadership. The item slides out of the spot in his chest when he pulls, and then jolts into the air as he raises it. A hiss of power ripples through the EM Field before blue light bursts forth and zaps across the air. 

Crashing liquid responds in kind and Megatron’s spins on his pedes, optics widening as he catches sight of fresh energy appearing in the old river ways. It flows in abundance and streams forward, waves crashing against metal as it spreads and spreads. 

Then suddenly objects shoot from the circling pools. The circular objects— T-Cogs, Megatron realizes— shoot past unsuspecting bots and careen through the air, making arches of bursting blues as they dash and dance. Each one finds a home in a bot, slamming into their chassises. A few hurtle backward from the collision, a few merely jolt in surprise, but all of them are thrown into the process of transformation. Limbs grow, armor spreads, frames widen, their bodies transformed from those that had been chained down to those with the ability to choose for themselves. 

Didn’t you feel like you were something else? Like you’re more than what they say you are? 

Orion’s vision comes to life before Megatron and D- 16’s spark gasps, drinking the sight of it in. The world turns upside before him, changing within a single moment, on an even grander scale than he thought possible. He had always thought it impossible; that it would be going against the coding of their very society, but at the same time…

His Conjunx had always believed it possible. 

And it was, the truth of it, the hint of that world before them. 

His spark burns and rises, processor quiet with awe as Optimus steps into the space beside them. Their servos find each other, squeezing tight, as they watch their world transform.