Chapter Text
The first time Optimus Prime asked for a ceasefire and peace, the war hadn't even begun. He wasn't even aware that he had asked for it.
Optimus Prime, the last of the Prime , kept the voices in his head whispering like a haunting mantra. He couldn't believe it— a Prime, he an archivist filled with to much energy, who had dared to seek peace. Outside the council chambers, Orion turned to Megatronus, his dear friend. "Megatronus," he whispered, voice trembling with hope, "we've gotten the council's approval." He spoke of friendship, but his optics shone with love and adoration, longing for a touch, a connection, something bigger than duty. He yearned for the other mech's embrace, for his love.
They were no longer of different size classes. Orion gently rested his servos on Megatronus's shoulders, reveling in the closeness, the ability to look into those deep, beautiful conflicted optics without straining his neck. "We can start changing things peacefully. All we wanted..."
"All we wanted! All YOU wanted! they never listened to my version of the things to the despair of my mecha! just you and your mid-high cast frame!!”" Megatronus's face twisted into a snarl, fangs bared in fury. Orion had never seen him this angry, not even in the arena. Megatronus’s shoulders tensed sharply as he pushed Orion away, his voice dripping with contempt and betrayal.
"Megatronus, please! We can make this work. The title of Prime is nothing but a tool for power in the senate. Please, friend. We will fix the despair of your mecha. Of all mecha. Please." Desperation seeped into Orion’s voice; his frame trembled with fear. Was this not what they fought for? To be heard, to bring awareness of Cybertron's decaying state.
Megatronus dislodged Orion’s servos with a sharp shrug and took a step back. His golden optics flickering in rage. "I’m not your friend. Prime." The word was spat like venom, each syllable a dagger. As if speaking it disgusted Megatronus to his core.
Orion, shattered, he shook in despair. "It’s me, Orion. The Matrix hasn’t changed anything. Megatronus..." (Love) His voice broke “Everything will continue as planned. We have more power than ever. Your voice will be heard, I will make sure of it."
"That’s the problem, Prime," Megatronus hissed, voice cold and hard. "It’s you and your high position in society. I was blind to think you could ever understand the hardship of my mecha. You, who has never starved, who has never fought just to survive. You are all the same. That’s why they gave you the Matrix, someone they could manipulate." His gaze was filled with pure hatred and disgust. Orion’s spark ached deep with unbearable pain.
"I’ll give you the Matrix," Orion whispered desperately. "I’ll rip it from my spark. what must I do for you to believe me? Anything. I’ll do anything. I want to protect your mecha, Cybertron. Please." His whole frame trembled as he took a step closer, clutching Megatronus’s chassis leg struts weak. “Please”
Megatronus pushed him away, unapologetic if his claws tore into Orion’s frame. "Don’t ever call me Megatronus or ‘friend’, ever again. I am Megatron, leader of the Decepticons. And I will never be deceived again." His golden optics turned red as he turned sharply, walking away, proud of his rejection, leaving Orion on the floor trembling, broken.
After that day, Megatronus never looked back. That night, in a high tower apartment, Optimus Prime wept the loss of a friend mourning what could have been. It was the only time Optimus Prime cried. The same night, his love left him, and Orion died.
The second time it was a mere week later.
Optimus had been hearing about the escalati ng conflict in all of Cybertron’s western regions, Vos had cut off all trading operations, Tarn and Kaon had ceased their mining activities. All miners had been liberated by the gladiators of Kaon; they had risen against their handlers and nobles who bet on the downfall of the gladiators. It had been a thing of beauty, watching them revolt. They did it so precisely and perfectly Megatron’s ability to rally everyone with his voice and charisma, combined with Soundwave’s wits and abilities, it had been perfect.
Optimus couldn’t even be mad about the shed energon; a shame mecha had to die, but every time someone called on the Prime to stop it, Optimus had made excuses anything to give Megatron the freedom and venting he needed. After the council meeting, Optimus’s spark still ached when he thought about it. And now Megatron waited for him in Iacon’s most important plaza, waiting for the Prime.
Optimus made his way to the broken plaza. Several enforcers had tried to disarm the rioting miners and gladiators. It had been an energon bath, anyone in their path torn to shreds, civilian or not, and Optimus would not stand for the destruction of those who were innocent. The handlers in the gladiatorial pits had been an exception.
Megatron stood there in the middle of the plaza, in front of his battalion of mismatched, angry warriors painted in red and purple swirls and words of victory, like the gladiators who went to the arena to kill, to win. By his side stood Soundwave imposing as ever in his silence and Starscream, wing lord of Vos. Their aura was terrifying, a barely controlled mob of angry scraplets waiting to be unleashed. In comparison, Optimus felt rather inadequate. He had no army, no symbols that spoke of power and victory. Several primal guards stood before him, all in their white and gold shining plating. Somehow, they didn’t look as powerful or intimidating as Megatron’s fighters. He knew somewhere hidden was Jazz, gathering information from the corners.
“At ease, soldiers,” Optimus said. He walked until he was just a few body lengths from Megatron. The primal guards poised for battle behind him. Megatron raised one of his cervo, signaling his warriors to stay put, as he took two steps closer to the Prime.
“Surrender, Prime, and we will have mercy on those in the high towers,” Megatron said.
“Megatron, I’m afraid that is not possible. I will not stand for any possible harm to those who are innocent. But we can talk about a better future, where we all work together. No more gladiatorial pits. Mining will become a respected job with proper wages. The high cast will be abolished,” Optimus said, his tone neutral but hopeful. Maybe now they could go back to how things were before, perhaps even better, since they would all be equal now.
There was a gasp, and the rapid approaching steps of a small mech painted yellow, with a polish that only a high cast mech could afford, came standing to the right of Optimus.
“You want to give those barbarians such luxuries? They aren’t capable of proper interaction. They are nothing but brutes, they can’t hold any other job in this society besides mining and killing each other. There is no greater entertainment,” the small mech sneered. Optimus turned to him in disbelief, utterly baffled by the other’s ignorance and sheer stupidity.
“They are mechs of Cybertron. They deserve to be free. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. No one should ever die to amuse you or anyone else. They are the ones providing the fuel you consume every cycle. They must have the same rights as you,” Optimus said sternly, chastising the yellow mech.
“You see how things are, Prime. We don’t matter to them. We are nothing but machines, dirt beneath their pedes,” Megatron said contemptuously. “You said you’d make your voice heard, Prime. I don’t see that happening. You’re nothing but their puppet.” Megatron raised his arm, his fusion cannon pointed at the high cast mech.
“Megatron, please. He will be punished for this, but there is no need for more energon to be shed. I am Prime, Primus’s envasator. By my law, all this can be fixed,” Optimus said, turning around to face Iacon. He had no desire to pull the ‘I am Prime’ card, but if it could fix this, so be it. “Iacon, we shall become kinder to our mecha. The gladiatorial pits will be destroyed and replaced with medical facilities. Miners’ shifts will be of eight groons like anyone else, and wages will be equal to ours. We are all the same!” He looked at Megatron, hope shining in his optics, trusting that this could fix the corrupted system.
“You can’t no senator will ever-” Megatron shot the small mech. “Listen to me! They will never change. Prime was chosen by the Senate; he is one of them. THEY WILL NOT GIVE US ANYTHING, SO WE WILL TAKE IT OURSELVES!!!” Megatron roared, firing into the air, his mecha roaring in agreement, fists raised.
“Surrender now, Prime. This is the last time I will show mercy,” Megatron declared.
“Megatron, I swear on my spark and on the Thirteen, I will make sure Cybertron is united in freedom, where all frames are equal,” Optimus knelt beside the fallen mech.
“They have to die. They are nothing but barbarians,” the small mech fired a small hidden gun at Megatron. It hit the gladiator’s shoulder, barely denting him. Optimus was stunned at the small mech’s audacity. He quickly took the gun from the mech’s servos. Megatron stepped closer, walking calmly, making him all the more menacing. Optics dark.
“I tried to be kind, to give you another chance, for the old times….. for Orion. But I will not stand for this disrespect,” Megatron swung his arm, blade glinting in the air, aiming to strike the high cast mech. It happened in the blink of an optic. Optimus lunged to protect the smaller mech. Megatron’s blade severed the yellow mech’s neck; blade coming up in a perfect arch, cutting through everything on its path. Optimus’s faceplate was sliced; blue energon stained the plaza.
Megatron’s optics were impassive, no emotion, just a deep stoicism. In his decorated gray plating, he looked like the messenger of death.
“Next time we see each other, Prime, I will kill you.”