#mtmte 54 chapter

[sofonn]

54 mtmte spoilers

[jesuis-melodrama]

TV Show Proposals

Just in case a TV show executive is scrolling through Tumblr searching for their next big hit, here are some proposals from a humble yet rabid media consumer.

More Than Meets the Eye

What do you know about Transformers? That this 1980s cartoon TV series started off as a ploy to sell toys, but impacted their audience so much children were walking out of movie theatres crying when Hasbro literally executed their first line of products in order to introduce the second?

The beginning of Transformers were conceived in the same faith multiple other 1980s cartoon were made – as product advertisement to sell children toys. My Little Pony, Carebears, He-Man, G.I. Joe – they appealed to the violent and action-oriented or cutesy and fashion-oriented subnature of young children, so they could in turn badger their parent to splurge money on figures of their favourite character and any future accessories at the local toy mart.

The fan reception to the Transformers film (1986) allowed studio executives to realise Transformers had something more to it than advertising potential. And fastforward thirty years later when Micheal Bay took the reins to produce the multimillion live-action series, firmly cemented Transformers in its place in American pop-culture.

Although Transformers was always political – the entire Autobot vs Deception concept was based off the Cold War tension at the time of writing the original series – over the years this mostly negligible baseline has been heightened, especially in IDW comic's publishing. From apartheid society, right to self-autonomy, and state-mandated divide of class based on function, certain part of Transformers lore has become 'realistic' enough to be uncomfortable. Even when the characters are giant mecha-alien robots, there is an undeniable human element beneath all the armour.

I am not proposing a TV show of all of IDW's comics, just the More Than Meets the Eye and Lost Light series.

I acknowledge, foremost, that there are already serious issues with only animating this singular storyline alone. IDW, after all, has a near two-decade long history, and animating a stand-alone chapter that happens in the middle of the series is not going to help any new fans or consumers. Additionally, many beloved Transformers legacy characters are not going to appear in the narrative at all, bringing up the question of More Than Meets the Eye's marketability. Inspiring-Prime Rodimus will be leading a 200-bot ship of famously C and D-list characters (many who has since reached fandom fame for the roles they played in MTMTE and Lost Light); and when Bumblebee, Starscream, and Shockwave does come into play, finally, their position in the plot will be extraordinarily confusing unless the reader already knows the comics backstory.

Either way, I think that if some studio executive want to take a risk, they should do so anyway. More Than Meets the Eye was the first Transformers comic I actually read, when I knew absolutely nothing about the IDW lore and was only basing all my knowledge on the Bayverse films, and even though I didn't know who most of the characters are, it took barely five issues to get attached. I found myself intrigued by the witty writing, clever characters, gorgeous art, and the ever-desirable camaraderie that formed between this unlikely found-family group of bots.

More Than Meets The Eye was honestly magical to read, I genuinely believe my life and life philosophy had become better after consuming those 54 issues.

Other issues in producing a More Than Meets the Eye TV show relates to the lack of human characters, as human characters has become a prime template for the human audience to project themselves upon, and More Than Meets the Eye is also notoriously un-child-friendly. From characters such as Overlord to Tarn, or Megatron himself. Torture, murder, concentration camps, cannibalism – the comics illustrate the worst of what a galaxy-wide war between a hard-scrabbling general and a genocidal warlord could produce, and it does not shy away from the details.

More Than Meets the Eye is also a story of redemption. Multiple characters throughout the series – literal war criminals, self-deprecating, suicidal, cruel in the way that those who have given up are cruel – learn to give a damn, to realise how to live for a better tomorrow.

And the two defining titans of the entire franchise meet some of the best writing that has ever been given to them. They don't appear until the second half of the story or they don't appear much at all, but don't let their scarcity convince you of the quality of their characterisation. The writers of More Than Meets The Eye love every character, those who were destined to fade into obscurity and those who were never meant to be in the limelight, and it shows. IDW's Megatron isn't a true villain in the way that Optimus Prime couldn't live up to his untouchable hero image, but this does not mean that Megatron hasn't willingly and gleefully committed evil and Optimus hasn't done the best and the most righteous a leader in his position in the middle of a robot holocaust could've.

Making a More Than Meets The Eye TV show is risky. One hundred percent. It's in the middle of a series that a reader need background knowledge for, it has no human characters, its robot characters aren't exactly winning any popularity contests, and it cannot be marketed towards a general audience.

But More Than Meets the Eye has won two Comics Alliance award for good reason, and it has certainly convinced this Transformers-curious reader with no prior knowledge to become a lifelong fan of the entire franchise.

And I am not the one who sees the potential in a TV series. To any executive who has somehow read till the end of this post, check out these fantastic animations by passionate fans and artists:

魏威安's animated summary of the entire IDW comic history, just to give you an idea of the scope you're dealing with here.

Spooky Unicornus's heartwarming Christmas-themed short, with some fantastic lighting and movement.

The Alexicon's mock trailer.

This disconcerting comics-accurate short by OMUSUNDA featuring some brilliant voice-acting by a Scottish Skids –

– and a compilation of Ultra Magnus featuring his Animated voice from the same artist.

The Arcane-fication of Overwatch

I am not a gamer. I don't own any console systems, my iMac is pretty but cannot run computer games, and my favourite game is actually this mobile app called Bullet Echo, which I will proudly announce I am quite good at. Shout out to my main hero, Mirage.

But I have watched literally every single one of Overwatch's animated cinematic shots. And I am fascinated. The storytelling, the animation, the characters and their designs. I love all their accents, the little nods to their culture, and overall, the camaraderie between Overwatch members, although their interactions are brief.

I'm getting the slowly coagulating imagery of a truly fascination techno-dystopian world, a classic tale of a future gone wrong and heroes that rose up to the challenge.

I have heard and read some criticism about Overwatch's lore, that it's simplistic and is weak, lacking in any kind of depth. If this is true, I will claim ignorance to the fact that I have not played a single game. As an animation-enthuasist, I have simply watched the cinematic shorts over and over again, and is enchanted by the short bursts of story I've seen there.

I've never played League of Legends either, and I can bet most of those who watched Arcane never did as well. But Arcane was enjoyable for both hardcore gamers and first-time fans anyway. It had something for the general unfamiliar audience while throwing out some service to those that followed the franchise for a long time. And the trick to maintaining this balance is simple: good writing, writers that care.

So – Arcane-ficiation of Overwatch. Am I going to play Overwatch one day? Unlikely. But would I sit down and watch a TV series about it? Definitely. Comments on Overwatch's cinematic shorts always snarkly points out that the movies are better than the game and the producers should realise where to throw in their funds. I won't cast my own judgement upon these opinions as I, once again, have not played a single game. But I hope some Blizzard executives are warming up to the idea. After all, video game-based TV series has been gaining traction over the past few years. Just look at Arcane, or The Witcher, or The Last of Us. Dungeons and Dragons even managed a big feature blockbuster, with a pretty star-studded cast.

A brief list of my favourite Overwatch shorts, judged by not ranked on story, animation, and voice-acting.

Percy Jackson

An animated Percy Jackson series.

I know there's a live-action series of Percy Jackson coming out next year, and so far, it seems pretty hopeful. The actors are age accurate, the set design looks amazing, and Rick Riordian himself approves of the series.

Thing is, I grew up reading Percy Jackson and was violently passionate about the series once, back when the live-action movies were the ire of the fandom and the fanart, especially those of Viria's, were so popular they were considered canon. Canon enough that the official Percy Jackson wiki page actually eventually hired Viria to make their official character art.

There was even this petition to make an animated series with Viria's art that I remember signing a couple years ago.

Nowadays, artists likes velinxi has also become fandom staples in defining the stylised appearances of the characters, especially regarding the likeness of the Big Three.

This is one TV show that I'm not too invested about – as animated series with Overwatch and More Than Meets the Eye could be considered inevitable to the franchise at this point while Percy Jackson is significantly more popular and enjoy more medias, blockbusters alongside comics books, a musical, and the upcoming DisneyPlus+ TV series.

Just saying, fans manifested Viris's art being canon enough that the prophecy has been fulfilled. And if 50 000 fans signed a petition to make Viria's art an animated TV show – who knows?

Hamiltion

This is the long shot, I know. Hamilton is probably the most successful musical of this generation, and for good reason. I personally has never seen so much passion, clever lyricism, historical significance, and art stuffed within two hours.

My knowledge of musicals is that usually maybe about 40-70% of the show is sung while the rest is acted. Not for Hamilton, the actors truly push their physicality and vocal cords to the limit by turning it up to 200 percent for the entire performance. Renée Elise Goldsberry sang and rapped and delivered a masterful rendition of emotion during Satisfied (one of my favourite songs, ever) alone. No other musical has come close to Hamilton's set design and sophisication in my humble opinion, and I bet it will be a very long time before another musical that is released will come close.

Here, I am not only proposing the possibility of a TV show, but also a movie. There are many loose-ends in Hamilton that Lin-Manuel Miranda mentioned could not be covered in the play due to time constraints, such as the question as to what happened to Peggy.

A TV show could give the producers plenty of time to expand on fan-favourite moments, such as the Winter Ball or the battlefield scenes along with typing up loose ends. More time could also introduce more songs, and embellish the visual design further with on-site landscape, although the question of whether or not this will elevate the musical's appeal is debatable as Hamilton's single room, rotating dais set has become synonymous with the show and an archetypal of ingenious on-stage set design. Again, like with Percy Jackson, not too fussed about the possibility of Hamilton making it onto the big screen. But just throwing the idea there.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (24/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: Wow, so, to say the least a few things have happened since last I updated. Before I could finish this monster of a chapter I had a move halfway across the country, a lot of holidays, new jobs, a new year, and now a full time student and teaching position at a university happen. So. Quite a bit, you could say. And while I’m really sorry to have made you all wait so long, I feel so happy to be wrapping up this story. We only have one chapter left after this and I hope the journey has been as rewarding for everyone else as it has been for me, really and truly <3 So thank you all so much for your patience, your kindness, and your attention. I cannot thank you all enough. 

Special thanks to squireofgeekdom, Isame, and brokeneisenglas for the feedback!

Part V: The Day the World Caught Fire Chapter 5.4: The Emperor Wears No Robes

Being experienced in war, Drift didn’t have much reaction to the resounding crack that happened when his blades cut through armor and protoform alike. There was a sad normalcy to it, and beyond even that there was the fuel pumping horror of being out of step with his real concerns well past the mounting acolytes in their garish red and black paints.

Far ahead of him was the true battle — the one between Error and Rodimus.

Rodimus who was still half the mech he used to be in the sum of his parts. Physically.

Spiritually, well, as much as others had attempted to warn Drift off of reading EMF fields and taking aura as doctrine, he found that it could tell him much about the mechs he knew most. And he knew that Rodimus’ spark radiated with a fierceness and energy the likes of which Drift had not seen in what felt like a vorn.

It was Rodimus, but it was Rodimus like hadn’t been seen since the launch of the Lost Light itself.

Still, a mech who was hardly standing once before and a beast of a Cybertronian towering over him in weight and height was predictably a blow out. The strikes Error threw hit more than they missed and Rodimus’ supposedly superior speed seemed to be fairly chipped away at each time they clashed and moved the battle further out from the field.

It was difficult to watch, but Drift found that it was even more difficult to keep up with after the hordes of brainwashed cultists continued to throw themselves in his way. The crack sounded again and Drift progressed a little further, leaving messes of bots aside.

And it was suddenly then, with Rodimus’ winded chatter fresh in the air, that Drift began to realize what was actually happening. They were pushing forward, away from the new Hot Spot, away from the masses that obviously would give their sparks in service to the madbot. Rodimus wasn’t simply taking hits like Drift had been aghast about.

Rodimus was leading Error. And it was working. At the cost of what was left of Rodimus’ own body.

Suddenly, the push for Drift to close in was felt even stronger. Without thinking twice, he took an easily blocked hit, like Rodimus before him, and instead of striking, transformed into his altmode, taking off with a screech straight toward the battle he was destined for.

“Admit it, Never-Prime,” Error was sneering in undeserved bravado. “Admit that you feel the righteous call, the sins burning within you. Showing you to be undeserving of the call of the Matrix. Admit that my savagery upon you now feels like the just punishment you deserve for the horrors you have inflicted.”

“You mean all the screwed up things in my head thanks to you!?” Rodimus gritted back, transforming into botmode in a particularly confident and smooth transition before firing lasers straight at Error. “Yeah, I’m feeling progressively less like scrap over those since I got reintroduced to your stupid face!”

Hearing that, Drift allowed himself a small, meaningless sense of comfort. Because it was exactly what needed to happen for Rodimus. Half physically recovered still, yes. And getting worse by the second in the current fight. But spiritually, to his spark, Rodimus for the first time since the incident felt unbelievably, remarkably healed. And that was a victory in and of itself.

Until the laser blasts to Error’s face and chest plate landed, actually pot marking the latter. And in an outrage at the very indecency of the act, Error lunged forward, grabbed Rodimus by the wrists, and ratcheted him up into the air by them with a crushing force applied to the gun modifications. Rodimus let out a howl of surprise and kicked off of Error to no avail.

“You humiliate yourself and demean the suffering your inadequacy has wrought, Never-Prime,” Error snarled into Rodimus’ face viciously. “My shadowplay, my simple tinkers with your inconsequential and rotted mind, was not a plantation of memories. That takes sessions, ages, time that was not had in that dark cavern where your soul burned along with your body and face with a holy flame. All I did, all I was allowed time to do to you, Rodimus, was to bring what was buried back to its surface. The countless millions dead at your hands, the city leveled, the friends lost to your naivety, all of the things which were your fault and more — including the horrors of that cave — were yours. They were always yours. All I offered,” Error released one of Rodimus’ arms to coil his hand, unleashing short but significant spikes from the tips of his digits, “was to bring them back to the surface. Where they belong. Where they can be worn like the tainted scar of your face—“

Having closed in enough, Drift launched himself into the air, transforming to botmode with his sword drawn. “Rodimus!” he shouted as his sword swiped downward in its arc, severing the freed hand from Error’s arm.

In a moment of pained roaring, Error slung Rodimus at Drift, reeling back with his damaged arm flinging into the air. Energon arched at the motion, sputtering from the absent hand. But, another more treated liquid fuel also spewed into the air, a paler color than the energon with a more noxious smell to it as it pumped out from a cable which had flown loose at the severing.

Drift tried to take in as much of the scene as he could, needing as many clues to their next set of actions as possible, but it became demonstrably harder as Rodimus hit hard into him and sent them both to the dusty Nyon grounds.

They both grunted and rolled to their sides after it happened, Drift quickly putting his feet beneath him and reaffirming his grip on his sword.

“You are a liar and a monster, driven mad by a religious fervor beyond any recognition of mine,” Drift seethed at Error. “And your condemnations and hatred are rendered useless to us as a result. We know you are all tricks, Error. You’ve more than proved it now.”

“Tricks? Lying!?” Error laughed roarously. He gained his composure, raising his remaining hand up to his severed limb and igniting a flame from his palm which soldered the spewing cables. “You can claim that even as your precious Rodimus is frozen in realization of my truth?”

Drift was ready to snap back, but he glanced to his side where Rodimus was. Surprisingly, Rodimus was still on his elbows, looking forward rather than getting up.

A pang of hurt went through Drift and he believed, for an instant, that he had lost Rodimus to that dark void of introspection once more and that the captain was looking at Error. But the more Drift examined, the more that didn’t seem to be the case after all.

Rodimus stared, silently and determinedly at the severed hand before him, laying on the ground unclaimed. He was examining the spikes on its fingers, the mysterious tubing at its wrist. The make of it entirely.

And then he looked back to Error.

A fire was lit in his optics.

“You keep telling me I’m fake, that I’m death to those around me,” Rodimus hissed, pushing up finally. “Fine. I won’t fight it. I’ve got some demons even bigger than your tank aft, but because of you or not now, Error, I’m set on facing them.” His optics shined an unnaturally bright hue as he glared directly into Error’s face. “And you’re just a fake, too!”

Those words were boastful and tinging on seething, but they seemed to fuel Rodimus in ways his energon couldn’t. He wasn’t backing down, no matter how dumbly the action could have been perceived, again. And as Error cocked back for another attack, Drift was more than happy to be the first to move.

He sliced again but not for the flaming hand. It was instead for the cables protruding with the kibble on Error’s back.

And in doing so, he caused Error to let out a snarl of pain, the non-energon fuel spewing from them again and the flame from Error’s remaining hand dying out almost immediately.

A copycat outlier. A secret shadowplayer. A true fake Prime.

Drift had never been more ready to help take someone down.

But as the slice of Drift’s sword became more apparent, a weakened backside revealing a direct slice through the bulking Error’s chases, both Drift and Rodimus were frozen in shock and despair to see a familiar glint of green, a bright and shining light which was showing from deep within Error’s spark chamber.

“A phase sixer,” Drift managed to say just before the wrathful tyrant whipped around and clocked him right across his helm.

In truth, they were going in blind.

As far as a tactician went, Megatron had managed to not only prolong an uprising he was supposedly doomed to lose in its immediacy, but had managed for thousands of years to almost win across several planets and star systems alike. He was deadly with his cool and capable calculations like few others across any time or space could have been. But managed it all. And not only did he manage it, he managed it ruthlessly. To the point that ages and ages of judgment awaited him at the hands of supposed glorious knights.

But it was always an assumed error — and a fatal one at that — to go in completely blind to any situation.

And the mysterious “future” bots who conveniently could no longer follow them through, were all but serving them up for slaughter.

Still working on preservation instinct ruthlessly beat into him in the mines and later in the War, Megatron allowed himself to fall back however slightly. Prime, if he noticed at all, kept ahead with a one-minded speed. But Ratchet took notice, for certain.

The doctor, after all, had a habit of watching and threatening Megatron for all that he was worth. Which… was fair and somewhat earned, the former Decepticon was forced to admit.

That initial instinct toward preservation, however, seemed to disrupt Megatron’s spark the moment he looked ahead and was no longer blinded by the unknown. Instead, he was faced with failure at his responsibility. The responsibility he still very much felt toward his crew.

Drift and Rodimus were not doing unwell in their combat considering the circumstances, but the bulking mech they had come to know as Error was rampaging in a way which chilled Megatron’s innermost energon — it reminded him of Tarn and of Overlord. Of an unmatched strength which knew of its future victory. And it reminded him of a seething hatred for the hand which had guided it.

Once, with Tarn and with Overlord, Megatron had been on the receiving end. But with Error, there was a clear line of sight, and it was for Megatron’s co-captain.

After getting a good hit in on Error, Drift was hit with a flaming fist at a force which sent the light footed Cybertronian hurling into the ground at a cracking speed, causing metal to go flying from Drift’s armor and kibble as he skidded away from Error and Rodimus.

The attack was brutal, but the largest damage it caused was to Optimus, Ratchet, and Megatron’s advancing charge, as both Rodimus and Error followed through after Drift and locked optics with the upcoming party.

A renewed energy seemed to surge through Rodimus as he got up, cradling his left, puny replacement arm all wire and sinew, and looked at his would-be rescuers.

Though, Megatron, as usual, was incapable of predicting what came out of his co-captain’s mouth.

“What the frag is wrong with you!? Get the hell out of here!!! Don’t bring the Matrix around this maniac!” Rodimus all but screamed at them.

“We’ll leave when we’ve finished putting an end to this terrorizing,” Optimus said, transforming and landing only a yard away from the two, his gun arm readied. “Back away from them, Error, and surrender. It’s over.”

The optics of the attacker gleamed sharply toward Optimus, a smile cracking on his red painted face. “You are right,” Error said just before using his remaining large hand to grab the wounded Rodimus by the faceplate and drag him to his side as he turned to face Optimus. “Now that the Matrix is all but within my grasp, and the deceiver’s final blow almost dealt, truly, it is over. Just as Primus has intended for us all.”

Glaring, Megatron quickened his approach and hastily stepped in league with Optimus. As with his current code, he did not carry a weapon, but his appearance was apparently more than enough to grab Error’s attention.

“It has been millennia,” Megatron sneered, “and still I am very exhausted with the constant talk of this hangover from an irrelevant age.”

In the periphery of his vision, Megatron could see that Ratchet had gotten to Drift and was pulling him back and out of the midst of the upcoming conflict.

That was at least one matter taken care of.

“We should be working together, Megatron, our invigorating visions for the future are not so incompatible,” Error offered, ignoring how Rodimus was struggling in his grasp. “We both are more than happy to watch the old worlds burn.”

“It isn’t an option, Error,” Optimus declared for them both. “Put. Him. Down.”

“The only way that these negotiations are going anywhere is if we see Rodimus released, Error,” Megatron added stiffly.

“These aren’t negotiations,” Error laughed. “Are they, Proclaimed Prime?”

“There has been enough energon shed over trinkets,” Megatron urged.

“Put Rodimus down,” Prime repeated, more testily.

“I don’t believe I shall,” Error grinned at them, a madman lost within his own vision. “As I said, for a better future, for a truer future, I need to see the fires of Primus cleanse all that is around us. Beginning with the fake Prime who overlooked potential and worthiness of me, his most studious and most prepared acolyte, his true successor, the real Prime—“

When the flash of fire sparked from Error’s hand, Megatron felt his spark stop. He wasn’t certain what Rodimus’ technical condition was anymore, but he certainly could not withstand his brain module being crushed or blasted at such a close distance. They had failed — Prime’s bravado and force, and Megatron’s supposed great words.

But it was not Rodimus who released a pained yell from the flash of fire, but Error who backed off a few steps and left Rodimus, fire pulsing out from around his shoulders and head, to slide to his knees upon release.

“I just remembered,” Rodimus announced with a huff of exhaust from his intake as the flames died down. “You’re not the one who burned me. I burned myself. You can’t. Drift was right. There’s no judging fire from you.”

The words meant little to Megatron at the time, which made it somewhat relieving when Optimus interrupted the exchange by barreling forward and landing a monstrous, head turning punch right into Error’s face.

Even Megatron’s pacificity felt something remotely positive toward the feat.

At least, he did until Error launched back, fist on fire, landing a crushing blow directly to Optimus’ chest. It sent him flying back onto his shoulders and against the corroded grounds of Nyon, scraping and sparking along the way. But the true damage had been to Optimus’ dented in chest plate, where even the glass had been heated enough to flame.

“I will not fail, I will not allow my fate to be some predetermined failure! I have made my own greatness and have sought to rewrite the world into the image that Primus himself has commanded!” Error roared, his optics wide and sparking with rage. He was completely lost within himself. “I cannot fail when my goal is to fix what has been wrong.”

Having heard more than enough and seeing even Optimus would need some assistance, Megatron walked forward with his optics set and a tight frown on his face.

The movement was more than enough to capture the raging bot’s attention. “I have read the histories, I have read your treatises, Megatron!” he called toward the former Decepticon. “Surely you understand a broken system—“

“Systems are not broken on the basis of being preordained or not, they are broken for seeing utility,” Megatron answered, stopping at Optimus’ side and offering a hand up, “where character should be valued.” He then glared in Error’s directions. “And your so-called histories must be greatly edited if you do not realize that my opinions have always been rather overt about how religious zeal is but a perversion in discourse to excuse viewing utility over personal character.”

Optimus grabbed onto Megatron’s hand and, with Megatron as leverage, pulled himself back to his pedes. “Thank you… old friend,” Optimus said lowly before turning his piercing gaze to Error. “I suppose you would like to take first strike—“

“Actually, Optimus, if you were listening, you would know that my strikes have already landed,” Megatron answered confidently.

“In that case…” Optimus said before pivoting forward, fist raised.

“Of all the scrap-for-brains ideas!”

Ratchet knew there was an angry cadence to his voice, but he could have cared less who heard it. Especially after he reached Drift’s side and let the heavy hitters take care of business with the conniving terrorist sitting at the center of all of their current problems.

“It has been a long adventure, you will have to be more specific, Ratchet,” Drift uttered, still clutching to his damaged armor even as the medic worked to pry his hands away for assessment.

“All of it,” Ratchet replied, not even flinching at the noises around them — of battle, of the unknown, of pompous posturing. None of it was unusual or unexpected for him at that point. He’d heard and seen it all before. “Where’s most of the damage at, Drift, and don’t give me anything about how you can fix it with just some meditation and a few prayers to Primus. I’m not asking either, I’m telling. So out with it.”

Drift tilted his helm back enough to look at Ratchet with a squint and pursed his lips. “There’s no need to be aggressively nonreligious at the moment, Ratchet—“

“When I’m around you it can’t be stopped,” Ratchet scoffed.

“Regardless, that’s not why I’m going to refuse help,” Drift continued, pulling away from Ratchet’s grip.

The doctor almost knowingly gripped onto Drift and squeezed tight to remind him that they were not going anywhere. “Frag it, Drift—“

“You can help me after you take care of Rodimus,” Drift said decisively. “He’s worse off than I am and is the target of whatever insane machinations are driving Error, not me. Until I get back on my feet and into the brawl—“

“Which is not happening, frag’s sake, Drift,” Ratchet growled out.

“—Error isn’t going to have any interest me,” Drift continued unimpeded. “And that’s just how it’s going to be, Ratchet. And you know it’s the right order of things, so just stop being stubborn and do it.”

Ratchet’s voice box gave an audible click as he sputtered for the right retort. He then raised his arms up in aggravation. “You are calling me stubborn!? While refusing medical care?”

An almost affectionate smirk came to his old friend’s face. “I am.”

“Damn it,” Ratchet growled, getting back to his feet. “Fine. But you listen to me, if I see you so much as crawl toward the battle, I’m going to shoot off your kneecaps to keep you in place until I’m ready to kill you with my own hands. Got it?”

Infuriatingly, Drift nodded almost sagely to the threat and sent Ratchet into another sputtering, anger filled rage as he turned his attention toward the other damaged mech in the area.

Things seemed to be wrapping up, Optimus was landing a solid hit on the bulky mess the self-proclaimed error they had been dealing with, and not far from him and Megatron was the mech in question. Rodimus was on his knees, smoldering with flame in a way that Ratchet hadn’t really seen since the Necrobot’s planet. But he also seemed to be mostly gassed out by that point.

Which was fine by Ratchet. It was less arguing that he would have to deal with since Rodimus was about as whiny — in or out of his slump — as Drift was stubborn. Except for the fact that Ratchet had dealt with Rodimus’ lack of self-preservation enough by that point to know that he burned up fuel when he was on like that, and him allowing his fuel usage to go on even for the most climactic of fires was dangerous and stupid even for him.

“What the Pit has gotten into the two of you,” Ratchet growled out as he raced to Rodimus. “Are you and Drift trying to fry circuits today? Namely mine?”

“I’m making a stand,” Rodimus answered petulantly. Despite being in some of the worst shape externally that Ratchet had seen since they got his spark fully online again, Rodimus’ voice was as strong as it had ever been. He was determined.

Even if it was determinedly stupid in Ratchet’s book.

“You’re not standing, you’re on your knees, now knock off whatever it is you’re doing before you burn up your energon,” Ratchet snapped.

“Let him burn,” Error roared, pushing up once again from the ground, apparently knowing how to stay down even less than Rodimus. He had a hollow, angry glow to his optics. Wild and monstrous. “In fact, if it is the only change I am capable of making, I will even help—“

Error held up his arms, as if to aim his hands toward Rodimus and Ratchet. There was a strained, clicking sound but nothing happened. Nothing visible, but Ratchet caught a whiff of ozone and could hear the failed fizzle of a dying spark of flame.

Looking over Error’s bulk, looking at the cables and tubes weaved in and out of the massive armor that covered his body, Ratchet didn’t need much more to figure out what exactly was going on.

“Your augmentation’s not going to work, those enhancements are put together like scrap, and the external fuel you were using to light those fires is cut off or stopped up,” Ratchet informed the vile Cybertronian. “Sorry to tell you, but you’ve got no holy fires you can start up any time soon.”

“Surrender,” Optimus ordered grimly to the struggling form of Error.

“I won’t stop until I prove that Primus’ light will purify and destroy unworthy,” Error spat hysterically.

“Good to know,” Rodimus growled.

Somehow, against basic physics itself, Rodimus propelled himself from his knees to his feet, and with that same momentum dove toward Error’s bent form with one hand — his right hand — outstretched. The smoldering smoke and red heat of Rodimus’ self-produced fire had been concentrating without Ratchet’s notice, concentrating onto the right limb which before Rodimus had allowed to lay lifeless and limp at his side. Full of fire and fury, Rodimus grabbed onto Error’s face and immediately elicited a searing heat as metal melted to the touch and steam hissed out from Error’s optics.

“Rodimus!” Megatron sounded genuinely shocked.

“I just remembered what you taught me I could do,” Rodimus hissed at Error. “Hope it was worth it.”

When Rodimus released Error, the mech fell back onto the burnt grounds of Nyon, leaving Rodimus with a weak standing over him. Hissing flames and smoke were coming out from his hand still but Rodimus seemed intent on seeing his mark on Error.

A hand was burned into the monster’s faceplate, equal in size but opposite in direction to Rodimus’ own. And, all at once, the screaming and torture of the recordings made all too much sense even in ways it hadn’t before.

“It was me,” Rodimus announced emotionlessly, not looking back at the others. “On Eukaris. I… They did something. Unlocked it in me. A fire… and I… I burned.”

Ratchet stared at Rodimus’ back as the silence fell over the three mechs who could best be called Rodimus’ mentors.

“We know,” Ratchet answered.

“You do?” Rodimus half laughed. “That’s… a relief…”

Rodimus was already toppling forward for a harsh landing before Ratchet could start moving to stop it from happening. But he didn’t have to move too far. Another set of hands already were reaching and almost gently catching the flamed out bot.

Optimus looked as stoic as ever, but being one of his oldest and longest held friends Ratchet could see through much of it. And to Ratchet there was a tenderness in the soft glow of Optimus’ optics and a pride that made the warrior’s mech’s shoulders stiffen back and chest hold broad despite damages.

“Easy, Rodimus,” Optimus said softly. “We have you.”

“And we have what we need.”

The voice was so unexpected, Ratchet almost did a double take. He had completely forgotten that the time traveling nonsense had been involved at all, or that they had come with two additional mechs who held back at the last minute.

A pervasive annoyance came across Ratchet’s system. But beside him, Drift was left gawking.

The contrast was even more stark when the supposed Rodimus Prime was standing so near to their Rodimus himself. He had several advancements and improvements to his frame, a tighter look overall, but he was taller and constructed with a firmer chest plate, one large enough to hold something of grand importance to a bunch of non-thinkers by Ratchet’s standards. But most stark were the colors — that black and red paint job they had all come to instinctively grow wary of due to the cultists, and most of all the painted imprint on his face. A single hand, sprawled across his silver faceplate in a deep red.

Not too far from the future Prime was the future Cityspeaker as well, quickly using an energy blade to swipe through additional adornments on Error which were likely usable as weapons, then pulling out a pair of power dampeners and handcuffs.

“Well, Error, you’re arrested. Again. For me. Not for you, I guess. But again, for me,” Rodimus Prime professed, hands on his hips.

“Don’t antagonize the time traveling assassin, Prime,” Windblade hissed in his direction.

“Sorry, I’ve just been looking forward to this for a super long time. Especially now that we know who he is,” Rodimus Prime answered. And though the voice was familiar and light, as if not taking the situation very seriously, Ratchet knew that everyone standing there at the moment could see the twinge of something else on Rodimus Prime. He was not nearly as stoic or good at hiding his emotions as his apparent predecessor.

“I suppose you won’t be telling us who that someone is then,” Megatron said, sounding highly displeased.

“Nope,” Rodimus Prime said.

Ratchet felt himself almost blow a gasket.

“That’s absolute scrap! We deserve to know what we’ve been dealing with, whose fault it is that so many lives have been lost!” Ratchet growled at them.

Windblade looked taken aback, but Rodimus looked positively nostalgic.

“I’ve missed being yelled at by you so much, Ratchet,” Rodimus Prime sighed fondly.

“Come over here and I’ll give you a way to remember it better,” Ratchet warned, holding up his tool arm. “You can’t just poof in here and poof out, the world deserves to know who to blame for the literal terror they have been living under. And we deserve a chance to prevent it.”

“No one deserves that chance, you can’t prevent the future, you can just live with it,” Windblade reasoned.

“Says who?” Optimus said lowly. There was a certain, noncommittal tenor to his voice that seemed to be working against them.

“In our time? The law,” Rodimus Prime answered. He glanced toward Megatron. “The ones crafted in legislation by you.”

“Me?” Megatron asked, baffled. “How can that be? I have never written legislation before, and we are on the way to Cyberutopia specifically so I can be tried for my crimes—“

“Which is what we need to do with Error,” Ratchet said pointedly. “We need the responsible party!”

Rodimus Prime and the future Windblade glanced at each other, their looks cryptic and mysterious but clearly conveying ages of information that was beyond anyone else. They turned back to the rest at the same time.

“Then look no further than who is in your Prime’s hands,” Rodimus Prime said almost sagely. “Against his will and for his own will he has slain hundreds. Maybe thousands. Perhaps it was under command, or by Primus’ will, or due to interfering Shadowplay, or maybe just because he did. But you all know what happened on Eukaris, that Rodimus using a divine gift, an Outlier ability, blew up himself and everyone in a cave with him.”

“He was made to,” Optimus defended.

“But it was him. And if he’s not punished, if he’s not banished, if he’s allowed to live his life, he’ll prosper and heal and eventually lead,” Rodimus Prime continued. “And he’ll continue to be mistaken as much as he’s right. And when he’s in charge of leading young, impressionable bots who hold the future’s future in their own hands, he will make a mistake. He’ll make a grave error in judgment, and his greatest student will grow mad with power and religious fervor, deciding for himself that his horrendously flawed master never deserved the title he wears to begin with.” He let out a long huff from his intake, closing his optics in thought for a moment. Slowly, his gaze returned to the others. “So. You can punish me — the me of now — for what was not in his control, and maybe even the things that were, or you could punish him preemptively for the things that he will do and stop the mistakes he will make. And when I tell you the name of the young spark who would become that biggest of all mistakes, you can preemptively punish him first before his life has even begun, too.” He nodded to Windblade and then back to himself. “For us, though, that is unethical. And unlawful.”

There was a pregnant pause between them all.

“There are many scenarios that come about from time travel that would require laws,” Megatron said lowly.

“Yeah, if I were you, Megs, i’d get on them now while you have free time,” Rodimus Prime attempted to say lightly. But the burden of the moment was still far too great, too loud and stifling.

“The first Hot Spot on Cybertron in ages,” Ratchet marveled, looking back across the stretches of Nyon. “And you’re telling us that one of those new lives is going to become the biggest piece of scrap history can throw at us?”

“Well, it’s not history for you yet,” Windblade offered. “But we have to leave with Error. That, unfortunately, is nonnegotiable.”

“And what the Pit are we supposed to do with all of this?” Ratchet demanded angrily.

“We will have to decide that, won’t we?” Optimus questioned, having pulled the unconscious Rodimus fully into his arms. “Make right choices. Make mistakes.”

A small smile, nothing like Rodimus’ usual broad showy grins, but small and true, showed up on the future Prime’s faceplate. “Yeah. Just like you taught me.”

Ratchet, though, wasn’t having it. “We can do more. I don’t believe in predetermination,” he snapped.

“Good, I hope you do do more,” Rodimus Prime said truthfully. “The world could always serve to be better.

Windblade, standing between Rodimus Prime and the captured Error, pulled out a suitcase from her subspace.

“Why suitcases?” Optimus asked.

“That’s a Brainstorm question, sorry, can’t help you there,” Rodimus Prime shrugged just before Windblade finished opening it and a puff of purple smoke encapsulated them.

And then, just like that, the time travelers were gone, and in their wake was every bit of carnage and disappointment that their visits had brought.

“Frag it,” Ratchet growled to himself, squeezing his optics shut and pinching the bridge between them. He was going to need to hit Swerve’s after it was all said and done.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (23/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: I have been ridiculously busy preparing for my big move and unfortunately that has led to neglecting updates on many of my projects, particularly this one. And I’m more than pleased to turn some of my attention on the last couple of chapters for this fic that I’ve been working on for over a year now. We’re so close to the end! My goal is to finish the whole fic before I move but either way, I definitely want it finished by Thanksgiving. So here’s hoping!

Special thanks to @iamabagfullofcats, @mythicbells-fan-3495, squireofgeekdom, Isame, and a lovely guest on ffn for the feedback!

Part V: The Day the World Caught Fire Chapter 5.3: The Saviors of Cybertron

No one had been more certain of the danger passing than Knock Out himself.

Their species was not particularly well known for being plagued with diseases, let alone an actual plague. The things that he was trained for as a doctor on Velocitron had mostly dealt with injuries from consistent use, or system failures which came due to a combination of personal errors an being negligent of self-care. Disease control was a footnote in his greater studies.

So when the Red Rust had been taken care of by them the first time around, Knock Out lulled himself into a sureness that it was simply the end. That the Error that time was not their own.

And as such, he had diminished and ignored the concerns of his Conjunx.

Breakdown had been affected by the Red Rust originally, kept alive by Knock Out’s vigilance and connections to the government and the research facility. And Knock Out had been very content to put his own and Breakdown’s concerns to rest with a flip of his wrist.

Things were safe again. Breakdown was cured. They didn’t have anything to worry about.

Until Breakdown had been driving with him through the streets of Cybertron, strangely quiet and even slower than his bulk usually caused. Then, when they transformed once more at their destination, there was oil and energon leaking from Breakdown’s every crevice, his metal becoming brittle as the red stains began to mark him in his entirety.

No horror, no fear, had ever gripped Knock Out nearly as terrible as what he felt in those moments.

And despite his credentials, despite his big talk and insider knowledge, he was reduced to sitting beside his husband, clasping his hand in worry as they sustained him.

Sustained him and postponed any further treatment because there was an outright war being waged in the laboratory behind them. As if Knock Out wasn’t there with his Conjunx, as if there wasn’t panic already set in that very room.

As if Knock Out wasn’t right there.

“Are you trying to tell me that for weeks now you have been spending Cybertronian money, resources, and time on absolutely nothing? That even after everything, even after all that I’ve given you, you are somehow still not any closer to giving me a solution to this entire blasted mess!?” Starscream raged at First Aid and Windblade.

“He just talked you through all of his discoveries, Starscream,” the Camien delegate defended fiercely. “Obviously he’s done a lot of work with that time and if you just explained what he learned to the rest of Cybertron—“

“What I heard, Windblade, is a lot of theory and nonsense about how these things were killing Cybertronians! I didn’t hear an iota of news about how First Aid was going to stop them!” the supreme leader snarled.

“I can’t,” First Aid began to say.

“My point exactly!” Starscream screeched.

“Yet,” First Aid finally asserted himself. “I can’t stop it yet, Lord Starscream, but knowing is half the battle. By knowing how the organisms operate and how they communicate I’ll be able to find a way to deactivate them eventually. And more importantly, we know how to prevent them from being reactivated in the rest of the population. We just need a period of time where no one uses their T-Cog until I treat each and every one of them.”

“And how do you plan on keeping an entire planet from using their T-Cogs!?” Starscream snapped.

“First Aid can’t. I can’t,” Windblade answered. “But you can, Starscream. Easily. You can hold a press conference just like you did this morning and explain this to the world, have them hold off until they are treated by First Aid and everyone can be screened and cleared.”

Knock Out cycled his optics off, holding Breakdown’s hand even tighter. He hated it. He hated that his Breakdown was patient zero for the next round of the disease.

Where was the information — where was First Aid’s research — before Breakdown’s fall to illness?

“What I’m hearing is that you are asking me to send all of Cybertron straight into a population-wide panic,” Starscream scoffed. “After weathering disease and terrorism and a war of Combiners, you want to plunge Cybertron into a panic over an illness that has no cure as of yet. Do you realize what kind of hysteria that would cause? Do you realize how terrible of a position that puts me in? Prime and the future time travelers and who knows who else are fighting some battle that is surely going to cause enough explosions to be noticed by the news if not the citizens themselves, there’s still an embargo on mechs coming or leaving the planet that was so close to being lifted, and now this morning I said the big N and S words on global broadcast. Even if it was outlawing it, there’s a stirring panic over the idea that it was being used before.”

“It was being used before!” Windblade snapped.

“Also, mneumosurgery has a silent m,” First Aid corrected.

“There won’t be any press conference!” Starscream screeched definitively.

Having heard more than enough, Knock Out stood up fast enough to send his seat flying backward and clattering loudly against the ground. It was more than enough noise to draw the attention of all three mechs who had been ignoring him to that point.

“I don’t give a damn about the politics of Cybertron or any other games you mouthventers consider to be terrifying for the public or not!” Knock Out glared at them. “My Conjunx was already affected — betrayed by his own transformation. And even if it was a one-in-a-million frequency from the transformation, the effects are here to see. And in a population of millions there are more one-in-a-millions that will be coming our way soon. And panic when the public realizes there was knowledge not shared with them will put to shame any concerns brought to them in warning.”

When Knock Out looked to the others he received quite an array of emotions. First Aid was contemplative, a hand held to his chin in silence. Windblade was empathetic, her looks bleeding concern and responsibility. Starscream was utterly defiant, unmoved as it were.

“Delegate Knock Out, I enjoyed your opinions far more when they were not burdened by emotions,” Starscream finally announced, earning looks of ire from both Windblade and First Aid.

Knock Out snarled. “How dare you—“

“I will not send this world — and the other worlds — into a certain panic that will cause mass chaos, more deaths, and more destruction of what little property we all possess!” Starscream snapped at last. “The public can’t know they’re a T-Cog away from death at any moment because I can barely handle the information! And I’ve been aware of Error and his refuse since the start of these destructive tantrums!”

“We can’t do nothing! There will be deaths!” Windblade argued angrily. “And just like Knock Out said, once bodies start dropping, real panic and mayhem will hit either way. The public deserves to know—“

“The public can’t handle everything. That is why they have leaders elected to keep them safe!” Starscream scoffed. “Honestly, have none of you played this game before?”

“This is not a game to me!” Knock Out roared at last.

“What if,” First Aid began thinking out loud.

“Everything is a game! If you’re not winning you’re dying!” Starscream cried out in anger.

“This is not a zero-sum game for you to power grab more and more, Starscream!” Windblade said bitterly. “This deserves a summons from the Council of Worlds, and if you won’t start it than Knock Out and I will. And we’ll decide, by committee, how or how not to tell the citizens that their very lives are at stake.”

Feeling justified, Knock Out stepped closer to Windblade and crossed his arms. “I couldn’t have imagined saying it better myself.”

“The Council does not rule Cybertron, I do!” Starscream barked.

“All of our worlds are going to be affected!” Knock Out balked.

“Not yet,” First Aid said, a little louder, enough so to make the others realize he was still involved in the conversation. He looked back at them with determination. “None of us seem to know each other personally all that much, but I’’m going to ask everyone in this room to trust me and work with me. The other worlds aren’t affected yet, anyone who is affected isn’t just on Cybertron but lives within this city, correct? Then there’s potential that we could find a cure — the right code at the right frequency — and have it sent out to deactivate all of the nanites at once. We’d cure everyone without alerting them. But we’d obviously have to do it soon. As in done last cycle soon.”

“Brilliant!” Starscream cried out, clapping his hands together.

“You can do that? Just from what little information you have that you’ve already told us?” Knock Out asked skeptically.

“Yes,” First Aid nodded. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” Windblade said almost too readily, stepping toward First Aid. “Tell us what you need all of us to do then.”

Slowly, the little medic turned his head back toward Starscream. “Um. Well. Believe it or not, we still need to call that press conference.”

Knock Out joined Windblade in looking Starscream’s direction as the Cybertronian leader could not have looked more displeased.

As much as the task at hand required his full attention, Optimus found himself growing increasingly concerned with the way that the supposed Rodimus Prime was looking to Megatron almost with a sense of awe. If Ratchet or Megatron himself noticed it, they said nothing, but for Optimus it was an unavoidable sight.

And he could not understand why, with such stakes and how they were rushing toward certain conflict, he felt so unsettled by the time travelers and their interactions with everyone. It was wrong and disconcerting.

“Prime,” Windblade radioed to him from her jet form as she flew overhead. “I was going to scout ahead and see if I can give you all an advantage on what’s coming up…”

“That would be most advantageous, Windblade,” Optimus replied curtly.

“I was but… I can see you’re distracted and…”

“We do not have time for petty distractions,” he affirmed, more for himself than for her.

“I can respect that,” the cityspeaker from the future claimed without wavering. “But all the same, I know that our appearance and our coming to you all this way is, at the least, difficult to fully understand. And at worst it is going to cause irreparable harm to some of these relationships. And I don’t want you to feel that we have somehow come to change the course of things.”

“I am not sure I understand what you are trying to tell me here, Windblade,” Optimus said flatly.

“I am only trying to say that if you are worried about the relationships with those you have in your life now, don’t worry about the idea that Prime— Rodimus and I in any way endanger that. Things are as they should be. And you don’t even have to think of us as the bots you know today if there is anything about us and our appearances you are uncomfortable with. That is not them… yet.”

“What I see is not what the future holds for me but what the present has already presented,” Optimus answered lowly, seeing Rodimus and Megatron starting some sort of repertoire that was so natural even Ratchet didn’t seem particularly concerned by it. “The decisions I have made that have been beneficial for the relationships of others and not for myself and the ones who held me most dear at my most trying of times.”

Windblade did dip in her flight slightly. “Well, the one thing that is beneficial about being in the present and not from the future is that you have decisions you can still make and not regrets you can only feel.”

The words were sound advice, but they felt hollow. There was something permanent and determinative in the way that these future Windblade and Rodimus presented themselves. An inevitability. A fight that was only a losing battle, and Optimus already felt before they reached their destination that he was going to be long since tired of fighting those losing battles.

“Your plan of scouting ahead is solid advice, Windlade,” he said, effectively ending the conversation. “You should move ahead with it.”

The jet seemed hesitant, but just as the Windblade Optimus knew in the present, she was quick to act on his word without protest. She zipped ahead of all the road bound Cybertronians and over the debris fields of Nyon.

“Windblade!?” the future Rodimus called out in obvious concern.

“She is going to scout what is ahead of us,” Optimus assured the group. “We may not have the element of surprise, but we will benefit from knowing what we are getting into.”

No sooner had he said the words, Optimus and the rest of the crew were taken by surprise by a blind white light just ahead of them. He leaped forward, transforming and landing heavily on his feet ahead of the rest before racing to Windblade’s side as she sat on the ground, holding her head. Purple smoke pillowed from her shoulders and head.

“Windblade!” Rodimus Prime cried out, racing up to Optimus’ side as the current Prime kneeled beside Windblade.

“There’s some sort of barrier there — I think it’s temporal energy,” Windblade announced, looking back to the others. “It feels the same as the energy that sent Rodimus and myself here.”

“Are you injured?” Optimus asked her seriously.

“I’ll be fine. I just don’t know how we’ll be getting through this, and that worries me,” Windblade answered.

“There must be a way through,” Megatron said determinedly. He turned his attention toward Rodimus Prime. “What was the way we got through to the other side.”

The future version of Optimus’ friend held up his hands and shook his head. “I have no idea! I don’t remember anything about this at all. I just remember that the three of you showed up and—“

“Just the three of us?” Optimus demanded, rising to stand. “You do not recall seeing yourself at the battle?”

Rodimus Prime squinted and scratched at his chin. “Okay, hold on a second, I have to decipher those tenses.”

“The barrier, whatever it is, is keeping the two of you from doing something you didn’t already do,” Ratchet determined.

Optimus looked at his oldest friend with some surprise. But not nearly as much as Rodimus Prime and Megatron.

“You didn’t go back in time with us, how do you know the rules?” Rodimus Prime asked.

“Because I bothered to pay attention and I’m bothering to use common sense now,” Ratchet declared, pushing past Megatron and Rodimus Prime in order to approach the very wall of energy that was glinting at them after having thrown Windblade back. He stopped only for a moment then pressed forward boldly, phasing right through the energy field.

“Okay. I guess it’s not time to help yet,” Rodimus Prime said, a bit stunned.

“Come on, Megatron,” Optimus ordered, earning a look of ire from his former nemesis.

“A moment, Prime,” Megatron said, looking to the time travelers as Wiindblade got back to her feet with Rodimus’ help. “You know the outcome of this battle. Some things are set in stone.”

“Want us to ruin the ending for you?” Rodimus Prime asked almost jokingly.

“I can assume, given your appearance now,” Megatron said offhandedly. “How will you be?”

Rodimus’ face dropped slightly but he maintained a level gaze at them both. “I’m going to spend the next few years defining who I am for the rest of my life,” he answered cryptically.

Megatron did not look pleased with the vague answer, but Optimus knew they were already losing precious time.

“The outcome won’t matter if we don’t act now, Megatron, let’s go,” Optimus said again. Megatron finally seemed ready to listen to him and together they went through the energy field, stepping straight into a battle which Optimus had not quite seen the likes of before.

“I utterly despise everything about this plan,” Starscream announced with a snarl.

“You agreed to it rather quickly,” Windblade reminded him as she kept in step behind him. There was a hint of amusement in her voice that Starscream desperately wanted to strangle out of her. But they were on a time table as it was.

“That was before I realized I was going to be on the news vamping for however long it takes those medical flakes to figure out how to annoy everyone on Cybertron.”

“I wouldn’t think that more time for you to be center stage on the news would be considered such a difficulty for you, Starscream,” Windblade mocked.

Having had more than enough, the supreme leader quickly turned on his heels and punched his fist into the hallway wall right in front of Windblade’s faceplate. It was more than enough to make her stop walking and face him entirely. There wasn’t any fear, though, nor was there even anger. There was just frustration and annoyance mirroring back to him.

“I am risking my future for a harebrained scheme that, for as much as I can tell, is at least partially the fault of your time traveling counterpart,” Starscream snapped. “Something I could stop from ever happening by making certain that your spark is snuffed out long before you become the time traveling nuisance in my life instead of the ordinary nuisance in my life. It’s an idea that only becomes more desirable the more you remind me of how much you disrespect me and my judgment.”

“It’s not your future at risk, it’s all of our futures at risk,” Windblade reminded him firmly. “What you’re doing is going to determine if there is a future for our entire species — and that isn’t just whether or not you stop this one plague. You hold that power over all of us each and every day as the leader of Cybertron and the head of the Council of Worlds.” Her frown tightened and her bright blue optics almost grew sharper as she stood in complete confidence. “I don’t like you, Starscream. You make it hard for anyone to even entertain the idea of liking you. And it’s not my place nor my interest to assess which one it is. I don’t agree with you most of the time. And I will disobey you for my own conscience even more than that. But it is not because I disrespect you. Respect is the only thing I have for you. For your position, for the games you played in order to get to it practically on your own.”

Starscream searched Windblade’s features for any sign that she was speaking anything less than the truth, but it was an unnecessary practice. He could see rather clearly already that she was precisely as truthful as she had ever been.

A quality he respected no matter how little he could ever stomach or understand it himself.

“Very well,” Starscream said, letting his arm drop back to his side. “That’s all I can ask of you.”

“It’s more than what you can ask of me,” Windblade argued flatly. “But we’re going to save the future today, Starscream. And I am going to be in your debt for it for seemingly a very, very long time. So I hope you can, just this once, be truthful with me.”

He looked at her carefully and tilted his head. “About what?”

“How much did you know before the rest of us?” she asked lowly, as if aware that whatever direction the conversation took, it was best left between the two of them. “I know that you’ve known more since the beginning. I know that Error and you must have been in contact for you to have made some of the maneuvers you have since his arrival. How much did you know? How much damage were you willing to see and to what end?”

Starscream looked back at her dully. “Is that the most you wish to ask? I expected better of you, Cityspeaker,” he said almost sarcastically.

She wasn’t amused. “Starscream—“

“Before everything, when the Lost Light was first approaching with Megatron at its helm, I had contact with Error,” Starscream at last revealed. “He got my attention and offered the opportunity that arcane law and Optimus Prime’s failed judgment did not afford me — the chance for justice to be served and for the planet to be protected from the very mech responsible for bringing it to its knees. Bringing me to my knees.”

Windblade seemed genuinely surprised by the candid response. “You were the first to make contact with Error? Just before the entire planet became hostage to the Red Rust?”

“Yes, I know, my suspicions should have been higher and what not. He spoke cryptically enough that I heard what I wanted to so far as his motivations were concerned,” Starscream answered flippantly. “Now if you’re satisfied then we should be…” He halted, optics concentrating on his counterpart’s suspiciously. “Why are you emphasizing that I was first? That only means I had no way of knowing his true intentions.”

“It… does,” Windblade said hesitantly.

His internal alarm was basically screeching at him, begging him to leave without digging further into Windblade’s sudden turn toward strangeness. He, like she had said before seemingly stalling her processor, was intent on keeping their species from being held hostage by a disease they weren’t even aware that they still had.

“Very well, I will be taking this one on my own then,” he huffed in irritation before turning back and completing his trek down the hallway.

He was in the press room within seconds, his mind still mulling over what he and Windblade had been discussing before, despite his best intentions otherwise.

Why her accusing tone and and words continued to needle him even as he took to the stand before the news cameras and reporters was almost beyond him for a moment. Even as he worked quickly to bury those things deep in his mind, he found them annoyingly conscious still. There, pressing him for the grander realization which Windblade apparently already had.

“Lord Starscream! What is the reason for this briefing? Do you have news on the hunt for the terrorists?” one of the reporters asked, holding up their thumb microphone too close to Starscream’s personal space.

He was forcing an easy smile, some kind of small comfort to his people, knowing that if everything was to go according to plan, First Aid and Knock Out would be invading the airwaves with the siren-like blast to take out all of the nanites from the last to the first when—

Starscream’s stalled, his mouth agape.

“Me,” he realized out loud. “I… was patient zero for the plague.”

No sooner had the words left his slacked jaw than the room, and probably all of civilized Cybertron, exploded into a fury of noise all at once.

The moment he realized what he had just done, Starscream glanced back toward the door and saw Windblade looking at him in complete astonishment. She shrugged her arms at him and tilted his head. Whatever she was trying to get across, he couldn’t really process it over the sounds of reporters and his own spark attempting to pulse out of his chest.

Realizing things were turning quickly, Starscream thought quickly and held up his servos, forcing an easy smile. “Please, everyone calm, there will plenty of time for questions once I have fully completed my statement. I’m certain that you all will want to have all of it, which will require you paying attention rather than overtaking me.”

Slowly, everyone died down, at least enough that Starscream felt he had control of the room yet again. “Cybertron, citizens beyond the stars — in the weeks that unfolded after the initial disease that ravished our species, endangering our very future, it seemed, we began to turn suspicious gazes on our brothers and sisters. We wanted sources and blame even when there were color coded villains set before us. It was an excuse for lines that we had always had drawn to be retraced once more, and it was a cause of pain across our lands.” He paused, a bit for drama, then continued, his audience completely raptured. “I, as your chosen leader, failed to live up to the call of just who the people could blame. It is a shame that I still wear now as much as paint.”

Windblade crossed her arms, unimpressed with the white lies, but everyone else was lapping it up like high grade energon.

“So, in these dark hours, I will tell you what we should always turn toward when it comes to blame,” he pointed at his own chest plate. “I am your leader. I am the first to take responsibility for this disease beyond the cultists and terrorists who we are hunting down for the name of justice as we speak. But no worries, I do not take this cross to bear simply for guilt, but as a call to a new focus for my leadership of our shared and collective people! I, and Delegate Windblade, along with the rest of the Council of Worlds will begin official plans for cross-integration of our worlds and people, to see to it that we see each other as One rather than simply neighbors.”

She was surprised by the callout, but the moment that reporters and cameras made their way to Windblade, she offered a forced smile and a small wave.

“Now, those questions—“ Starscream began to say just before a static filled the air and microphones all around the room began to ring with a screeching, horrible noise. It was enough to make Starscream duck and shutter before holding on to the sides of his head. He calmly walked off stage while the news crews and guards tried to figure out what was going on.

Windblade was waiting on him.

“About damn time,” Starscream huffed as they left through the hallway together.

“You might have had to resort to volunteering us for cleaning the city dump if you’d been up there much longer,” Windblade huffed, holding the sides of her own head. “But… how much of that did you actually mean, Starscream?”

“It doesn’t matter, Windblade,” he assured her, a swarm smirk on his face. “The only thing the history books will note is that this was the defining day where Lord Starscream began our new Golden Age.”

Still, she did not seem impressed, but Starscream found it hard to force himself to feel any dampening on his mood. He had a peek at the acclaim that was to come his way.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (22/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: It’s been forever, I know, I’m sorry, but we’re so close to the end everyone. And even more than that, we’re very close to me moving across the country so that’s at least part of the reason my updates have been all over the place. Hopefully, though, everything will be settled soon and this story will be closer to it’s fastly approaching end!

Special thanks to Isame, squireofgeekdom, and TheWatcher  for the feedback!

Part V: The Day the World Caught Fire Chapter 5.2: Through Mounting Panic

With Velocity officially off of the radar of the huge, fiery mech, Hot Rod could focus again on the simpler issues at hand. The ones like, how his unfinished repairs were all but tearing at the seams as he held onto Error’s arm and was slung around by it. He gritted his denta and kept hold, though, because for whatever reason, no matter how much of the flames were being spewed by Error, the armor plating around his arm never heated up, even as Hot Rod clung to it and redirected the directions of the flames.

“Either I’m really good at my job,” Hot Rod hissed out, pedes far from the ground as Error attempted to throw him off, “Or you’re not actually producing that fire organically!”

“You know nothing!” the mech roared at him.

“I know about fire,” Hot Rod snared back. “And there’s nothing holy or natural about yours, Error! You’re a fraud, not gifted!”

The strength of Hot Rod’s voice meant that his message carried quite a bit to the area surrounding them. Enough to especially stop many of the other fighting cultists in their tracks. They were looking to their leader warily, waiting for a response.

“The only fraudulent Prime here is you!” Error snapped, finally turning off his shooting flames so that he could use his other arm to grab Hot Rod by the shoulders and yank him off.

Unable to help himself, Hot Rod let out a yell of pain as the brittle metal reconstructing his bad arm broke away at the action. It was probably a sign to a smarter bot that they weren’t supposed to be in the amount of trouble that they were in. But for Hot Rod, it was the most alive he had felt since waking to his nightmare. Especially once Error clutched him by both sides and began to crush him inward.

“You are inefficient, you are small and small minded, you are a blight to the history of your own creation, and you do not deserve to ever entertain the idea of being a Primal Representative on this mortal plane!” Error snarled.

Grunting out in discomfort, Hot Rod stopped once Error’s little speech completed and he looked toward the cultist, glaring into the painted hand across his face. “You know, what? Probably… Probably that’s all true. But you know what’s more true?” he pressed before reaching deep within himself, and letting the fire from his spark burn outward. “Even if I’m a screwup, I’m the real deal. And you’re the cheap imposter. Or else when you flamed out, it’d feel a lot more like this!”

Unleashing the burst of white hot flames from himself, Hot Rod knew he had surprised the hulking monstrosity that was Error, as he was immediately released. as the villain backed away with a loud cry of his own.

Hot Rod, though, honestly didn’t fare much better, immediately falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to bring the flames down himself, something he had never been successful at before. The temporary metals and joints that replaced much of his damaged areas began to expand and grow malleable under the heat and pressure. “Frag it,” he seethed. “Just once — just once be under control. Be under control.”

“Rodimus!” Drift’s voice called out from nearby.

Despite himself, Hot Rod opened his eyes at the name and turned to look in Drift’s direction. When he saw that the other bot was heading straight for him, he fell back, holding out his arms to keep Drift at arms’ length at least. “No! Drift, stay back! I-I’ll burn you like… Like I burned everyone—“

Obediently, Drift stepped back, but he stood his ground, a confused look growing on his face as he examined Hot Rod from a distance.

It was then that Hot Rod realized, his body was cooling, the metals contracting — his flame was off. It wasn’t a flash in the pan explosion like what he had always experienced before. It was a controlled fire.

And it had finally gone out on command.

“Are you alright?” Drift asked, not missing a beat.

Hot Rod looked down to his hands, inspecting them as if he couldn’t believe for himself that the fire he started was finally out. And he still had fuel to burn, so to speak. He looked up at Drift and took a breath. “Something like that,” he admitted. “You called me Rodimus again.”

“Old habits,” Drift assured him.

“I think I’m okay with it,” he admitted.

Across the valley of newly ignited sparks, however, a shrill cry of joy took grasp of both of their attentions. They looked in time to see a small red-and-black cultist holding up a giant, impressive spark.

“Master Error!” the cultist cried out. “Your spark! It is found! We can safely set the field aflame!”

No sooner had the words left the cultist’s mouth than Nautica landed a solid punch across their jaw, sending the spark flying into the field of fellow sparks all over again. “Monsters! You’re not touching any of these sparks again!”

“They’re going to destroy newly formed Sparklings?” Drift asked in disgust. “Just because it was you who ignited the field?”

Hot Rod narrowed his optics and turned just enough to look in Error’s direction. “Just the ones that aren’t his spark,” he realized out loud. “Which means the best way to keep the Hot Spot alive is to make sure they can’t find the spark, which means getting this fragger the hell out of here and letting the others take care of his crew of brainless minions.”

“I thought that time couldn’t be changed,” Drift answered. “Didn’t everything you do on your time travel escapades lead to history catching up with itself?”

“Maybe it’s not just history this guy wants changed. Or maybe he’s just an idiot. If he kills sparklings does it really matter?” Hot Rod asked. “Drift?”

The speedster looked back at him. “Yes?”

“Do you mind helping me do something overtly dangerous and at least partially self-sacrificing?” Hot Rod asked.

“I feel like the answer to that is to just say, like old times,” Drift responded with a smirk. “Once honorary Wreckers…”

“I’d say Wreck-n-Rule but I think Springer would leap out of whatever rock he’s hiding under these days and dent my face even more,” Hot Rod replied.

“That would be impressive if possible,” Drift answered.

“Wow,” Hot Rod replied. “Besides, I have the odd urge to say something else, and something tells me it’s more likely to get this one-note idiot to give us chase.” He then cupped his hands around his mouth and cried out toward the distracted Error. “Hey! Pain in the aft! Till All Are One!”

“That’s the key,” Drift said as Error turned back around. “You’re officially Rodimus again. How’s it feel?”

With a snarl, Error transformed to his alt-mode, a giant, lumbering tank with treads large enough to cave in someone — most likely Hot Rod’s — head. And he was sure enough blasting right their way across the landscape.

“It feels like near death and lots of empty posturing,” Hot Rod replied candidly.

“That sounds about right,” Drift replied. “Let’s go!”

Without further hesitation, Hot Rod transformed along with Drift, though he could feel the aches and lack of weight balance, especially in his under carriage after doing so. There was a painful shift of weight to his right side’s wheels, but it wasn’t anything to dwell on.

They had to move fast because Error was determined to take his aggression out on his so-called Rodimus Prime, and Hot Rod — Rodimus-not-a-Prime — was the closest he was going to get to it.

First Aid glared into the microscope, scratched at the side of his helm as he tried to concentrate more and more on what everyone else had allowed the panic to pass on. The Red Rust, the technovirus that threatened their entire species if they didn’t find a way around its rather genius advancement.

The nanites at the source were far from unique when compared to the samples First Aid had logged on from Delphi, but at the same time their vibrations communicating with one another, and thus increasing the rate of speed with which they ate away at the techno-organic life they infected, was entirely new. It was like a language that First Aid was only on the edges of cracking the code of.

And with Velocity and Ratchet gone to take care of Rodimus and with the doctors of the capital proving to be less than interested in the disease now that Red Rust was no longer prominently causing chaos around them, First Aid was left with the daunting and nigh impossible task of cracking it all by himself.

As usual, it would seem.

Recording the interactions of two nanites for ten minutes, First Aid was able to slow down the recording — frame by frame — and write down each vibration and pause as they communicated to each other. He noted when they moved along with vibrating, and he noted when they stopped and began to attack the sample of techno-organic matter First Aid had left for them.

Then he would move to the next sample.

It was achingly long work, complex beyond anything First Aid could have expected, and yet he felt no closer to solving it than when the theory first came to him. He groaned and rubbed at his optics.

His work was becoming maddening just before the doors to the laboratory slid open and revealed the streamlined frame of a jet who was not Starscream for once — it was the delegate, Windblade, looking rather shellshocked.

“Um, Delegate Windblade? I’m sorry, we’re working with very volatile samples right now, it’s not safe for non-trained personnel to enter here,” First Aid attempted to explain even as she turned her attention to him and began to cross the room.

“It’s okay. I have a good degree of confidence I’ll be around for quite a while,” she said almost hollowly. “First Aid, thank you for your services to Cybertron. Working on a more advanced cure for the plague will be a great sign for the upcoming Golden Age.”

For a moment, First Aid simply stared at her. When he cycled his optics, however, he finally tilted his helm and looked at her in utter bafflement. “I… don’t really know what any of that means. But I do think there is more to the Red Rust that was unleashed on Cybertron.”

Windblade grew a tentative frown and put a hand to her chin, looking worried about more than just First Aid’s work. “In what way?” she asked.

“It’s… complicated,” First Aid tried to wriggle his way free of the responsibility of explaining. But then, when he saw the way Windblade looked at him with quite a bit of determination, he bottled up the frustration and pushed away from his microscope. He waved to the device, inviting the delegate from Caminus to look for herself. “When the Red Rust we were exposed to back on Delphi infected the T-Cogs, it was due to a sound bomb that had gone off. One which ignited a frequency which carried these techno-organic cannibalizing nanites. They are the virus which brings the symptoms of the Red Rust.”

“That would be these nanites?” Windblade pressed.

“No, these are new ones,” First Aid explained, crossing his arms. “They’re nearly identical in design and their ability to multiply and transfer, but they operate differently. They are tactical. They communicate with each other at that same frequency of vibrations that the initial set were only carried by. And by communicating, they much more quickly attack the body they are inhabiting, dividing into groups and multiplying based entirely on where to eat techno-organic matter from the T-Cog out. They move so quickly with this new ability to communicate that the window for us to work in and cure decreases. And also means that if even one nanite survives, it can go dormant until the threat is over, then grow and divide when reactivated. And then they can communicate to its new divisions its resistance to the previously administered cure. Meaning the previous ways of killing them will work less or even not at all anymore.”

Windblade bristled at the announcement and turned to look at First Aid rather wide-eyed and frightful. “That’s… That’s horrifying. But… What would reactivate ones that might already be latent in the population of Cybertron that were infected and survived before?”

“Their T-Cog,” First Aid explained “If it ever hits the exact right frequency and awakens the latent virus, this starts all over again with an even more difficult bug to kill.”

“As long as the nanites are telling each other to eat the host,” Windblade said lowly.

“Well, that’s all they seem to communicate about,” First Aid admitted before waving to his notes, which were on their hundredth scroll on his tablet already. “Eat, move, eat.”

“But they communicate through vibrations,” Windblade continued. “Wouldn’t that mean that they could be communicated to through? Couldn’t someone change their actions or their directions if they figured it out?”

First Aid looked at her in confusion. “I suppose… theoretically. But why would you be asking?”

“Because I don’t believe Starscream when he says he knows nothing about what Error has been doing, I don’t believe his reign could lead to a Golden Age of peace, and I don’t believe he’s outlawing mnemosurgery for himself if he can find a covert way to alter the way people think.”

“Well, as long as we’re not edging on heresy in a government building,” First Aid mumbled before the implication really caught up with him. “Wait. You believe this cult is capable of commanding who is and who isn’t affected by this virus. But… that would require everyone to be affected and for everyone to be at risk of their transformations eventually hitting that frequency that would wake their nanites up.”

Windblade looked at First Aid with the same shellshocked expression she had when she entered. “First Aid, you’ve been the only one consistently working on this disease and had first hand dealings with diagnosing the shadowplay that affected Rodimus. And you may very well be the only doctor on Cybertron capable of saving us all from a techno-organic weaponized disease from the future.”

First Aid cycled his optics, then looked around the lab before falling back on Windblade. “Um. We aren’t somehow still on the Lost Light are we?” he asked.

Suddenly, the lab’s doors slid open again.

“We’re in a hazard environment!” First Aid shouted, losing his patience with mechs barging into the contamination zone. But he stopped immediately when he saw it was the doctor from Velocitron, Knock Out, dragging a large, bulky blue and copper mech through the door. “Knock Out?”

“I need help!” Knock Out cried out to them. “My Conjunx Endura — my Breakdown! He’s… I don’t understand how but he’s reinfected!” The doctor released his partner just long enough to turn around and look at them with wild, concerned eyes. “The plague has returned!”

Megatron stepped down from the boarding ship and took one look over the fields of Nyon before becoming incredibly, undeniably aware that as usual, the Lost Light had stepped into a situation far exceeding its capabilities. Like a joke which got old a millennia ago but kept being told all the same.

“That’s a Hot Spot! This entire field is a Hot Spot!” Rung uttered in shock as he stepped down beside Megatron. His expression then grew somewhat faint. “And there are mechs setting them on fire!”

“Fragging idiots,” Ratchet added, shooting the first cultist near enough to them that was reigning such destruction on the field.

Further ahead, crew from the Lost Light who had been missing alongside their former captain were battling with obvious exhaustion, but judging by the sheer number of red and black cultists who were sprawled out or dead around them, they had been more than doing their part.

Without further hesitation, Megatron waved to the rest of the away team and security forces they had brought at Velocity’s request and sent them forward. “Help our crew. Keep as many of the bots alive. Be careful around these sparklings!”

“Megatron! Captain!” Nautica's familiar voice called out, drawing the old bot’s attention toward her. She skidded to a halt beside him. “Velocity said she got in contact with the ship for help, but I didn’t realize that it was… I mean, won’t you be arrested if…”

“My crew is my responsibility and for now they are in trouble. My place is here,” Megatron said firmly. “If I could lead others to their deaths in a battle for our planet, I am more fit leading a last time in a battle for the souls of this new and strange world.”

The Camien squinted slightly at him. “Even one with Starscream as the leader?”

For a moment, Megatron actually considered that implication, then he shook his head and kept to his morals. “However unfortunately.”

Ultra Magnus exited the passenger ship with lock up cuffs in tow, a suspicious look in his eyes as he entered the scene. “This is complete chaos. None of these fugitives are in any archives I have logging wanted criminals or registrars for prior offenses.”

“The Council of Worlds has opened Cybertron up to many new outlaws,” Megatron reminded him.

Looking back at Megatron, Ultra Magnus seemed genuinely offended. “I am completely updated to all records from all worlds’ databases. Did you believe I was not screening and cross checking all of our new recruits?”

“I apologize for the offense,” Megatron said.

“What we need apologies for is everyone being off the objective,” Ratchet growled out before glancing toward another skirmish. “Velocity! Where the frag is Drift and that half a screw loose captain of ours?”

Velocity took down the combatant cultist and then looked to them with concern. “They were already gone by the time I got back from contacting the lot of you! They were leading the big one away from the Sparklings so they wouldn’t destroy the field.”

“Why are they determined to commit sparklicide!?” Ultra Magnus demanded. “It is the most horrific of any offenses.”

“They’re time travelers and only one of the sparks belongs to the cult leader so they want to find his and burn the rest,” Nightbeat answered, assisted by two of the security crew to bring in some conscious cultists who Ultra Magnus immediately began to cuff. “In truth it’s a rather fascinating turn of events.”

“Time travel? I have truly come to despise time travel,” Megatron balked before incidentally meeting optics with Brainstorm. “The offense that time is intended.”

“I have no idea where they got my technology from in the future. You would think that my increasing intellect would lead to me being better about keeping my inventions under wraps,” Brainstorm defended himself. “I’ll take this as a lesson.”

“You can’t, we already established that everything in this universe’s timeline is a stable and cemented fact,” Megatron reminded him. “Whatever mistake you will make you have already made for this mess to happen. Or do we have to again go over the events we all agreed would never be spoken of again?” Everyone glanced around not wanting to deal with the time conundrum they had already gotten out of the way. Megatron grunted and pinched the bridge between his optics in frustration. “I am too tired for this. Who is responsible for the time traveling this time around? Do we know them beyond that someone grown tomorrow is a sparkling here today? Why did they come here?”

“Uh, apparently it has something to do with Rodimus, Sir,” Nautica answered with some reservation.

“Of course it does. I don’t know why I bothered to ask,” Megatron muttered, looking around. “Which direction did they go in—“

They all grew silent as another ship began to land nearby, one marked with an official Cybertronian seal. Megatron felt immediately apprehensive toward it but remained calm even when the doors opened and revealed Optimus Prime — of all the mechs — with some others. Some of the badgeless police began to pick up where the Lost Light’s crew were in apprehending surviving cultists, but Optimus and his followers were making a straight line for Ultra Magnus, Megatron, and Ratchet.

“Captain, if you go back on the ship, I will be happy to explain the circumstances of our unannounced arrival,” Ultra Magnus offered.

“I doubt that Prime came all this way for only me,” Megatron answered in turn.

“Do not sell yourself short, Megatron, I would cross many paths to address issues with you,” Optimus answered darkly before looking around. “Where’s Rodimus?”

“That’s what we’re here for, Optimus,” Ratchet answered.

The Prime’s optics immediately narrowed. “You mean you do not know yet?”

Before they could argue any further, there was a distant explosion, flames shooting high enough in the sky that it could be seen even from where they stood.

“I remember this now,” a strangely familiar voice said from behind Optimus. “See, Windblade, we’re not late at all.”

Megatron turned, leaning around Optimus enough to see the younger bot who was talking for himself, and his eyes widened almost immediately as the other bot’s optics met his own.

They stared at each other. The older bot who still had a youthful look to him, even with more neutral tones outside of the distinctive scar on his faceplate. He looked a little stunned and concerned after catching Megatron’s gaze.

On his end, Megatron felt like pulling his helm apart, scowling. “Time travel,” he said as though it were a curse.

“Well that saves us some explanation,” the not-Rodimus replied candidly.

“Good, we do not have it to waste,” Optimus declared, transforming and immediately heading toward the source of the explosion.

The two red and black painted mechs likewise transformed — one a jet and the not-Rodimus into Rodimus’ usual altmode. And they followed.

“Was that…” Nautica began.

“The less we know the better,” Megatron decided. “Everyone keep here. Listen to Velocity and Ratchet with regards to managing this Hot Spot. This is no doubt an important moment in our history. I will assist Rodimus and Drift with whatever nonsense they have gotten into.”

Everyone seemed more than ready to follow orders but Megatron was halted by Ratchet quickly grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to turn back toward him.

“If anything happens to any of the three of them — Optimus, Drift, or Rodimus — I’ll be the first to throw you overboard when Starscream and his deluded secret police come after us,” Ratchet warned.

“I expect nothing less of you, doctor,” Megatron answered.

Then, as quickly as he could, Megatron took off in the direction of the continued fire and explosions. A mark of Rodimus’ handiwork if Megatron had ever seen it.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (20/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: I know there’s been a super long wait and I apologize for that, but in my defense, this ended up being quite a long chapter compared to the others and it’s also the last chapter of Part IV, so hopefully getting some long awaited answers to questions will have been worth the wait. Thank you so much for your patience and your support, guys, it means a lot. We’re only five chapters from the end! It’s so hard to believe!

Special thanks to AntaresofJuly, Isame, squireofgeekdom, Fanatic97, and Catgox for the feedback! 

Part IV: The Right to Lead Chapter 4.4: Primal Power

Brainstorm carefully balanced the wrench on the ends of his digits and waited for it to tilt in either direction. He, of course, knew it wouldn’t as he had created it and therefore it was obviously perfectly balanced, but it went a long way to proving his point to a fellow scientifically minded crewmate.

“There is nothing wrong with the wrench on any comparative, physically acknowledgeable scale,” he concluded as he looked back to Nautica only to have the wrench rudely snatched away from him.

“I told you that before you ran diagnostics on it by hand,” Nautica retorted, shaking the wrench at him in warning. “What I need from you right now is to stop bothering my things during the hours you’re not allowed in the laboratory. It’s not funny anymore, Brainstorm. Actually, it never was, but the patience required to humor you costs too much now.”

“You wound me to the spark,” Brainstorm claimed, hand on his chest. “And besides, with Chromedome more occupied with Rewind than usual and Nightbeat constantly researching something he won’t tell us about and Perceptor taking on more official duties with the Lost Light all in alarm, I literally have nothing to do with all the time I’m not allowed to be in the laboratory!”

Nautica looked highly unimpressed as she crossed her arms and stared at Brainstorm. “That doesn’t make me more sympathetic to you annoying me, Brainstorm. Why don’t you hang upside down until you can think of something better to do.”

Narrowing his optics, Brainstorm crossed his arms and stared back evenly at the Camien. “I’ll have you know I was upside down for at least nine hours earlier and the new perspective I gained was that I needed more time in the lab to do something with all the ideas trying to burst out of my brain processor. Time I have even less of now because of Perceptor’s new duties. Which means my processor is filling even more and even faster without giving me time to do anything with it. Soon I’ll have to delete files so I don’t lose any of my glorious ideas to the clutter!”

“How about you delete some of your centuries dedicated to the timecase to make room for a subroutine that gives you manners?” Nautica asked dryly.

“I was thinking of deleting the files that reminded me why we’re friends to begin with,” Brainstorm snapped back sarcastically.

While Nautica was halfway through a roll of her optics, they were nearly knocked out of the way by Velocity, who was truly allowing her speedster tendencies to show through as she was racing down the hall.

Thinking fast (as always), Brainstorm grabbed Nautica and kept her from being knocked over by her old sorority sister. “Whoa, what’s the lit ignition coil?” Brainstorm called out after the doctor.

More concerned, Nautica pushed off from Brainstorm and began giving chase to the green Camien. “Velocity? What’s the matter?”

“Yeesh,” Brainstorm muttered, dusting himself off after nearly being knocked over from the push. “And she thinks I need an update on my manners? What a joke.” He then looked to see that both the other bots were getting far ahead of him. He wasted no time in giving chase. “Hey, wait! I’m bored, and you’re obviously moving toward something more interesting than my perfectly crafted tools!”

Velocity, who was so frazzled Brainstorm was surprised steam was not being let off by her, looked widely toward Nautica for some kind of explanation for Brainstorm’s interruption. Fortunately the other Camien just shook her head.

“It’s, quite literally, a Brainstorm thing,” Nautica assured her. “Ignore him. What’s the emergency? Is everything okay? Is it the captain?”

Brainstorm felt less emboldened by the last question, though he wasn’t sure anymore if it was because of his concern for the truly bizarre and unnerving behavior Rodimus had put on display for the last few weeks or if it was because all of it still stemmed from the mystery that was Brainstorm’s same spell of forgetfulness and narrowly escaped death.

“Yes? No? Which one?” Velocity answered back in rapid succession.

“Um,” Nautica hesitated, obviously not expecting a full response for each of them.

Fortunately, she still had Brainstorm on her side for the time being. “Is it an emergency worth sounding the ship’s alarm? On a scale of one to ten how not okay are things? And typically we still think of Rodimus as captain, though that’s us Lost Light shenanigans veterans perspective, and I can’t speak for who you guys refer to as captain willy nilly.”

“Rodimus,” Nautica clarified, giving Brainstorm a look for overstepping to which he shrugged.

“I’d rather not alarm the ship, since I’ve been running to get away from the utter nonsense that was the doctoral team we have right now all arguing and angry and accomplishing nothing,” Velocity responded in a huff.

“Well, that is a sign that Ratchet’s back. Though I’m used to him running a tighter hospital bay,” Brainstorm said, holding his chin in thought.  

Velocity sent a look Brainstorm’s way that could freeze anyone’s joints in place before glaring forward again. “Well, personally, I’m not  used to constantly being undermined by colleagues seemingly no matter how much I prove myself and my skills on this ship,” she announced haughtily.

“That’s unfortunate, since that’s pretty much just how the Lost Light functions,” Brainstorm argued. “You wouldn’t believe how many times my genius has been brought into question by things like realistic expectations and ethical standards. Real nonsense.”

“Velocity, I understand you’re upset, and I’ll be happy to use my wrench to knock some sense into anyone who questions you as a doctor,” Nautica assured her friend while keeping pace. “But you’re not heading in the direction of the medbay or Swerve’s, which I’d think were the best options under the circumstances.”

“You’re right, I’m not heading to either,” Velocity answered, looking seriously toward the two of them. “I’m apparently heading to the shipping dock.”

“You’re leaving?” Nautica gasped.

“Well this seemingly got extreme fairly fast,” Brainstorm noted.

“Only if I can’t convince my patient not to,” Velocity answered. Once she saw the perplexed looks on the other two’s faces she nervously scratched at her cheek. “You see, while the other doctors were measuring neural nets for some reason beyond me, I knew that no matter what changes he’s undergoing, Rodimus is still Rodimus and I fully anticipate him doing something unwarranted and dangerous to all the hard work we’ve put into repairs.”

“Is it really necessary to have a medical license for that assessment? If so, I should be a surgeon general at this moment,” Brainstorm joked.

“How do you know for sure he’s going to the docks, though?” Nautica asked curiously. “That still seems like a leap of logic.”

“Oh, I put a tracker on him during his last checkup,” Velocity answered nonchalantly. “Turns out my assessment was right but I underestimated Rodimus’ patience before going utterly reckless.”

“In your defense, no one would have believed he was capable of patience or a lack of recklessness,” Brainstorm continued to rib before Nautica threw an elbow back toward his chest to get him to stop.

“Is that ethical, Velocity?” Nautica asked worriedly.

“By medical standards or by Lost Light standards?” Velocity asked just as they turned the corner and were met by Nightbeat.

“Ah, good, you’re already on your way,” the detective said before turning quickly on his heels and leading the charge toward the docks.

“Wait, how are you already in on this?” Brainstorm demanded.

“Deductive reasoning,” Nightbeat answered without even looking bak toward them. Which neither of the Camiens took offense to but Brainstorm sure did.

“As a scientist, I have to say, I don’t think that that term means what you think it means,” Brainstorm announced just before they pushed through the dock doors and were met by the very surprised looks of Drift and Rodimus who were by a very much not the Rodpod ship. Much to the shock of anyone who remotely knew Rodimus.

“What the hell,” Rodimus stated flatly more than asked.

Drift had a much harsher glare and his hands resting on the hilts of his swords. “If this is an attempt to stop us from going to Cybertron, I’m afraid you’ll need to fail your mission.”

“Huh, Cybertron. I would have originally guessed it was Eukaris you were going to investigate, but leaping straight to the source of the greater picture is a much more thought out idea,” Nightbeat said resoundly.

“You’re not going anywhere without medical support,” Velocity said, waggling a finger at a perplexed looking Rodimus. “I have put far too much work into your recovery for you to halfway through it decide to throw yourself in danger without backup.”

Still looking very confused, Rodimus glanced toward Drift who seemed to only share his confusion with a shrug.

“And I’m part of the Rod Squad, so consider me offended that I wasn’t asked to come along to begin with,” Nautica announced, walking toward the ship.

Night beat and Velocity were not far behind, though Nautica did stop long enough to look back at Brainstorm curiously. “Are you coming, too?”

“Absolutely,” Brainstorm said, coming forward. “You know how bored I have been here. And let’s be honest, if I’m left without you three to annoy consistently, I’ll just be looking for answers to these questions myself.”

“What about you getting arrested,” Rodimus asked Brainstorm critically. “You’re supposed to not set pede on Cybertron aren’t you?”

“I don’t think any of us are,” Drift reminded Rodimus.

“Looks like we’re all lawbreakers together,” Brainstorm concluded. “What else is new?”

Rattrap could all but feel the scorn being sent his way as he ventured through the capital’s halls.

It went without saying that he had never really been popular, being the voice of Starscream, Supreme Ruler or not, did little to help anybot’s image of course. But there was a uniquely traitorous ring to the murmurs that surrounded a former Autobot who sided with the most hated of former Decepticons.

Being an essential source of information was the only power that Rattrap could use to keep himself alive in the current environment on Cybertron. And yet he was proving time and again to be woefully inaccurate.

The entire Council of Worlds doubting and eventually verbally siding against his testimony despite him being among their ranks most certainly didn’t help matters there. 

As such, even Rattrap’s usefulness to Starscream himself was being brought into question. And if he wasn’t useful to Starscream then, well, it was questionable how much use someone who knew too many secrets for his own good could be at all.

Being summoned to the laboratories just beneath the capital building by Starscream out of the blue, after a much noted distancing between them, seemed ominous. And it would have been an excellent time to let some friends know where he was going and who for, if Rattrap had had any friends. But alone and with only his caution to look after him, Rattrap scurried to his summoning.

A task which led to one of the biggest processor halts in his long lifetime.

“You, uh… called for me, Supreme Ruler…?” Rattrap asked with uncharacteristic timidness, leaning through partially opened doors and seeing the familiar frame of Starscream himself. A sight that did not take his attention for long as Starscream was — much to the rat’s relief — far from being alone.

The Prime was there, intimidating and large as ever, and beside him was Delegate Windblade which seemed like an obvious companion though somehow it still managed to take the beastformer by surprise considering all the wild news going around.

Not too far from them were the ever busied scientists of Wheeljack and Jetfire, scanning somebots in a transmatter scanner which obscured Rattrap’s view of them. Not that he needed to know exactly who the other bots were to know that he was completely surrounded by witnesses so the likelihood of getting the brunt end of Starscream’s anger at the moment seemed highly unlikely. So… probably not indefinite prison sentencing?

“Rattrap,” Starscream called, only tilting his head back slightly to acknowledge his right hand bot’s entrance. “You have been in some hot oil for the last few days in thanks to incorrectly identifying your attackers as some fellow Cybertronians, correct?”

“Well, I never called them attackers per se, just said they were painted in a whole hubabaloo like part of those crazy cultists and seemed to be working on this Error-screw-loose’s side ’til the very last minute when they pulled my aft out of the proverbial energy fire.” He hesitated, remembering that the conclusiveness of the description had been his exact undoing before the Council. “Eh… allegedly.”

Starscream didn’t seem moved nor did he seem altogether that curious about Rattrap’s questionable story. His full attention seemed to be on the scanners.

“If you saw these bots again, could you identify them?” Starscream asked sharply.

Still not catching on, Rattrap shrugged. “Why sure. But last time I did, everybody got their circuits in a twist ‘cuz they didn’t like what I had to say,” he reminded them all. When he noticed Optimus and Windblade’s glares, he flinched back slightly. “Eh, no offense or nothing to present company, of course.”

“Scan’s are complete,” Jetfire announced, sounding baffled. “And if I didn’t see the results myself… Well…”

“I know, I wouldn’t believe it either,” Wheeljack agreed, turning the transmatter off and allowing it to open with a hiss. “Starscream, they’re telling the complete truth, just like Windblade was. Spark signatures, energon grades — the whole kit and kibble’s exactly what they say. They’re who they say they are.”

“Who says? What’s going on?” Rattrap asked before stepping all the way through the door.

When the doors opened and the two bots stepped out from the scanners, Rattrap’s jaw nearly unhinged itself to drop far enough to express his disbelief.

Standing before them was none other than Windblade and Rodimus — the exact same black and red paint jobs that Rattrap had seen on them in the sewers before they pulled their puff-of-smoke disappearing act — the same wear and tear on their large frames. The same everything from what Rattrap had seen before.

Just to make sure he could believe his own optics, Rattrap glanced back to the part of the room where Windblade stood with the Prime, then he looked to where she stood with Rodimus. There were differences, but they were both obviously the same Camien and they were both obviously existing in the same room at the same time.

“Holy Pit,” Rattrap gasped, grabbing the edges of his head. “What is going on?”

“Supposedly time travel,” Starscream answered sourly, crossing his arms. “I despise the concept.”

“Yeah, well, I despise the practice of it,” Rodimus spat back at him before looking back to the scientists. “Since you’re done proving who we are I’d appreciate having it back now, thank you.”

“Right,” Wheeljack answered, going to the side and returning with, to Rattrap’s complete shock, looked like a completed Matrix, and then timidly handed it to Rodimus.

The supposed time traveler then opened his chest — a far broader space than the Rodimus who had been with them in the medical wing just a short time ago — and placed the holy relic in place like it had always belonged there. And once it was locked, he closed his chest as if the maneuver had been nothing, letting out a quick vent of relief once it was done.

“You still have not disclosed how the Matrix is brought back to its whole,” Optimus Prime then said lowly. “Considering that currently mine still remains in parts after… Rodimus told me he used up the half which I had given him.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Rodimus-apparent promised. When he received looks of disbelief he held up his hands. “Optimus is the one who told — er, tells — me the story someday so… I have confidence in you, Big Bot.”

The red-and-black Windblade then placed a hand on the chest of Rodimus to stop him and looked to the rest of the room intently. “I know there are probably many questions which you all have for us, but we both have to be fairly cautious in what we’re ready to tell you of your futures or not. Even what we’re doing right now is of great risk and only because we are filling in the roles as I remember them being three million years ago.” She then shared a long glance with her past self, which was just about enough to make Rattrap’s optics spin out of socket.

Rattrap shook his head. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s take it back a step or two here, folks,” he called out, stepping forward. “You’re wanting to tell us that you’re time travelers from three million years in the future? Here to… what? Fulfill a literal self-fulfilling prophecy? Excuse me for having a bit of a difficult time swallowing this.”

Rodimus-apparent crossed his arms and looked annoyed at Rattrap. “This is why I didn’t want to save him, Windblade.”

“But you already did save him, Prime,” she reminded him.

At that the Rodimus-apparent groaned and rolled back his head, giving Rattrap a good look at the deep, dark scarring on the right side of his faceplate — matching up almost exactly with what injuries the Rodimus on trial had shown.

“See, this is exactly what I meant about hating time traveling,” he professed.

“What the Pit,” Rattrap continued in sheer amazement.

“Enough of all this,” Starscream said sourly, pointing toward the time displaced mechs. “Rattrap, do these bots seem like a closer match to the ones you saw within Error’s cult down in the sewers?”

Full alert, Rattrap looked wide eyed from the two mystery mechs then to Starscream before nodding rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! I’d bet my spark on it, Lord Starscream. This is them! No doubt!”

“That’s what I needed to hear,” Starscream said loftily. “Windblade — our Windblade — you’re off the hook officially. I want these two arrested, unless you have an objection to that, Prime.”

“I do,” both Optimus and the red-and-black Rodimus said at the same time.

The two then looked awkwardly at each other as if they were utterly startled by the other answering.

“You can’t do that,” the time displaced Windblade announced, walking toward Starscream. “The fewer bots who know about the distortion of time, the better. You must understand, us being in this time is a great risk to all of Cybertron and the Council of Worlds’ futures. It is not a decision we made lightly or,” her eyes glanced back to her younger self, “without some precedent, as you can imagine.”

“If it’s so dangerous to interrupt time as we know it, then why do it at all?” Jetfire asked.

“Oh, just felt the need to make a few failed experimental offshoot universes in my Primacy. I missed doing it on the Lost Light so much,” Rodimus answered in full sarcasm.

“Because your current problems are not entirely of your own time,” Windblade answered more accurately. “They’re of ours… We are not the only one who have interfered with your time by going back ourselves. The one you all know as Error is using the technology we have to try and enforce his views of religious Primal Purity on the past and prevent the Peaceful Reconciliation of our time. To prevent the Exchange and thus prevent the diversification of the Cybertronian races again.”

The current Windblade put a hand to her spark chamber. “All of those things… they sound wonderful… Why would anyone not want them?”

“Well, world peace comes at too high of a price when you’re a bigot,” Rodimus declared flatly.

“I have yet to hear a single reason I should not go through with arresting the both of you for endangering all of space-time and apparently providing technology to a terrorist organization,” Starscream said haughtily. “In other words, what are you proposing to do for me and my Cybertron.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be obvious to you all now,” the older Windblade sighed, putting a thoughtful hand to her chin. “But it’s very much within your interests that we stay here, Lord Starscream.”

Current Windblade physically recoiled. “Did I just willingly call him Lord Starscream?” she asked rhetorically.

“One of Error’s main objectives beyond just destroying the line of succession of the Primacy is to destroy the leader responsible for the new Golden Age of Cybertron,” Rodimus continued, though the look on his face made it seem as though every word was painful. “That means… well, it means killing you, Starscream. Assassinating you will prevent you from accidentally falling into world peace.”

Rattrap joined the entire room at looking at Starscream in utter shock, though no face was more stunned than Starscream’s own.

“Me?” he got out before a sly smile came to his lips. “Do tell.”

Drift stayed in the back of the ship, allowing the others to handle navigating them to Cybertron and past any of security measures or blockades that Starscream and his Council of Worlds might have had prepared for them. By staying in the back, he stayed closer to Rodimus and was able to keep an eye on his closest friend and see the lackluster glow of his optics as Rodimus scratched at the temporary paint on his bare replacement shell.

He was still himself, down to his spark. Drift could feel Rodimus’ field no matter how much he tried to assert that he was Hot Rod again.

What others often forgot about them was that Drift had been there with the Wreckers when they had Hot Rod among their ranks, and he had been there after the Primacy itself was saved by Rodimus’ selfless actions and Optimus renamed him from that day forward.

In those moments, so much unlike any time before or since, Drift had felt a complete change in Rodimus’ spark signature and onew that the feeling he had spent so much of his life looking for was there. That the Prime he knew would lead them into their Golden Age, that caused the same vibrations of his spark as the great swords of the Circle of Light managed, was in the tiny speedster from Nyon. Even if no one else in the cosmos could see it yet.

Which made it just that much more painful to see his friend in the confused, angry, and hurt state that he was in.

Looking around to make sure that the others were a good enough distance away to not overhear, Drift glanced back to Rodimus more seriously and interrupted their silence. “Why Nyon?” he asked lowly.

“It’s on my mind,” Rodimus replied shortly.

“That could be Shadowplay,” Drift warned cautiously. “It could be a trap. It could be anything.”

“If it is, then that’s just more of a reason for us to have to go,” Rodimus answered. “Because it’s on my mind. Because it still makes me feel sick, like energy went bad in my fuel tank or my coolant ran dry. Because I feel sick about it, but I don’t feel that way toward any other bad things I’ve done.” His optics focused on Drift’s face. There was something haunting about how one eye remained untouched while the other was wide and circular without form thanks to the damage inflicted on Rodimus’ faceplate. “And I think I’ve done a lot of things to feel guilty about but don’t. Haven’t I?”

That was, without a doubt, a loaded question, but Drift was not one to let himself go untested.

“There is not a single mech among all of us who couldn’t say the same, Rodim… Hot Rod,” Drift replied gently. “Autobot, Decepticon — By Primus, it seems the more I learn of our colonies and their worlds the more damaged and unclean their own hands seem to be in matters, too. We wear the scars of a race bent on war and disarray. It is unthinkable that any of us could know peace. Let alone within ourselves.”

Rodimus looked off again, scratching at his chipped paint. “Why have you stayed friends with me?” he asked coldly. “Why would anyone still follow me? You all tell me that my processor’s got its wires all crossed and wrong now, but whenever I say that I’ve caused death and destruction, no one can argue with me. At that point, he even cares about the specifics of exactly what I am or am not guilty of. And why would someone I’ve been so terrible to feel they can still be my friend and expect anything different whatsoever?”

A little surprised, Drift tilted his helm. “You mean you… feel guilty about me?” he asked.

“About as much as Nyon,” he confessed, squeezing his good hand tightly into a fist. “Though… it doesn’t feel as new or fresh as the sickness with Nyon.”

Drift shifted, never losing sight of Rodimus as he reached out and placed a firm hand on Rodimus’ good shoulder. “What you’re feeling? The way it makes you sick when you know something’s wrong? That’s the reason that even though you make mistakes, even though sometimes it hurts, we believe in you. We believe in you because those mistakes give you a chance to learn and to understand all of us and our mistakes better than any leader Cybertron’s had before.”

Rodimus finally looked back at Drift. “Before… before all of this? Did… Did I at least apologize—“

They both lurched forward as the ship began to break through the atmosphere of Cybertron. The conversation had to wait.

“We’re coming in on Nyon, Rod—Hot— Sir!” Nautica announced from the front of the ship.

“Using my shortcut!” Brainstorm asserted.

After a moment, Drift vented sharply and squeezed Rodimus’ shoulder again before getting up. “Do you have any specific idea what we’re looking for at Nyon?” he asked his leader.

“That sort of preplanning isn’t usually how I do things,” Rodimus answered, accepting Drift’s hand to help him get on his feet.

“For future reference,” Drift chuckled, “the honesty is a good change. You should keep it up.”

“Wow,” Velocity muttered, opening the hatch and looking out into the rusted, old ruins of the once prosperous city. “It’s… completely gutted.”

“I never saw it before the War, it was always like this to me,” Brainstorm replied, following the Camiens off the ship.

“I visited it once,” Nightbeat told them, scratching at his cheek. “It honestly wasn’t much back then either. But it was filled to the optics in peddlers and shock jocks.”

Years since his last charge and Drift still couldn’t help but flinch at the slang.

“They were all still Cybertronians,” Rodimus declared lowly as he followed the crew off the ship. “They were lives. And they deserved better than—“

Drift was following Rodimus off the ship closely, protectively even, which made his view of the event all the more stunning and unbelievable.

The moment Rodimus’ pede hit the grounds of Nyon, there was a shift in the energy around the whole abandoned city. There was an enormous surge — like the plates themselves were opening up to the damaged mech. it was a distantly familiar sensation to what Drift had witnessed before, though it had been ages ago, at the very earliest stages of the Decepticon rebellion.

Then the ground opened up to a slow, but growing burn of energy and light, miles wide, unbelievable and real. Something that hadn’t been seen in ages.

“It’s…” Velocity gasped.

“A Hot Spot,” Drift completed. He looked at Rodimus in wonder. “You… you were sensing a Hot Spot. Somehow you knew—“

“No, I didn’t,” Rodimus tried to defend, though Drift could not imagine why he would be reluctant to accept the praise.

When Rodimus turned around, he was surrounded by concerned looks from everyone who had traveled with them from the Lost Light, and it was the sort of thing that he obviously was not interested in. His face turned into a snarl and he vicious waved everyone off.

“It’s not the reason we’re here!” he growled out.

Drift looked on in amazement. “Rodimus—“

“It’s Hot Rod!” Rodimus spat.

“Sir,” Velocity interjected. “You just used your right arm again! You were able to move it, the neural net hasn’t been damaged after all! Look! It must have been psychosomatic!”

“Psycho-what? What are you talking about?” Rodimus demanded before glancing down to the once more loosely hanging arm at his side. Rather than disappointment or outrage however, a look of complete terror came across his face as he saw that from the palm up, his arm was producing a red hot flame. Instinctively, he tried to back away from his own appendage with a yell of shock and disgust, but rather than get him anywhere, he merely smacked into Drift’s side.

Without a second’s thought, Drift caught onto Rodimus’ shoulders and held him up. “It’s fine, just concentrate. Think of turning it off.”

“I-I can’t,” Rodimus stammered.

“That’s okay, you usually burn through your fuel fairly fast when you use your outlier ability,” Drift reminded him calmly. “We’ll just use some of our reserve energon once it’s out.” Drift then looked intently toward Velocity. “We do have supplies of additional energon, don’t we?”

“What kind of doctor do you think I am? Of course we do,” Velocity said with a long suffering sigh of annoyance. “Even when Ratchet and First Aid aren’t around, I swear.”

Brainstorm held a hand to his chin. “That’s fascinating, I never knew that about Rodimus’ outlier ability. I bet you if I could run a few tests on him using it I could fix up whatever it is that’s causing the overabundance of fuel loss.”

“But why is he suddenly scared of fire?” Nightbeat asked. “Is it something to do with Nyon—“

“What about this Hot Spot? What are we supposed to do with all these sparks? They need formation, we need to call someone — this is a new generation of our species!” Nautica tried to remind them all.

All at once Rodimus pushed off from Drift and slung his arm again, finally causing the flames to go out. “Everyone shut up I’m right here! And it’s not me causing this Hot Spot, I didn’t come here because I sensed it, we’re here because… I remember it — this is where I fragged it. I sent everything to straight to the Pits!”

Drift felt his spark clench. “Rodimus, don’t say that. I wasn’t there at Nyon — none of us were, and none of us can pretend to know what it must have been like for you. But you can’t be guilty about a decision you had no choice in. Believe me, I know about rightful guilt. The choices I’ve made… what I live to redeem are beyond anything you’ve done—“

“Drift, shut up!” Rodimus snapped angrily, looking at him wildly. “I’m not talking… I am talking about what I did to Nyon, but I’m also remembering… I remember what I did that caused the war, that broke everything.”

Everyone grew silent in their shared confusion, a few glances wavering between each other. And Drift was no exception. He looked at his friend with complete and utter befuddlement.

“Rodimus, there was already a war before Nyon. You were one of the Freedom Fighters, you should know—“ Nightbeat began.

“No, I started the War,” Rodimus continued, looking at everyone with an expression of shock of his own. “I led him… I showed him where and… It was me. I should’ve guard it, it wasn’t ready to be found by anyone. It shouldn’t have been used the way it was… and I…” He vented loudly and let his shoulders slump, almost in resignation. “I… I led Orion Pax to the Matrix of Leadership. I restarted the true Primal Line again. It wasn’t time. It wasn’t what Primus wanted.”

The babbling was all but incoherent to Drift and from the looks the others were giving, it was likewise incoherent to them, but a distant, loud clap seemed to disagree.

They all turned, Drift with his swords at the draw. And to Drift’s dismay they were met by the large, looming image of the terrorist who had been on all the screens of Cybertron during the attacks, the mech responsible for attacking their captain and crew.

The large mech Error was clapping, his red eyes boring down on Rodimus in particular.

“At last, my message is interpreted,” Error announced lowly as his cultish members began revealing themselves from hiding as well.

“How did they hide their EMF fields and spark signatures from us?” Drift growled out.

“I don’t know. I’ve been working on some kind of dampener that would help cloaking more but I’ve barely been able to tinker with it thanks to my lack of lab access!” Brainstorm announced.

“You,” Rodimus snarled savagely. “I remember you.”

“You should be starting to remember a lot, my Prime,” Error said with a strangely soft tone, almost as if some remote fondness existed between them.

“Your… Prime?” Nautica asked in confusion.

“Rodimus Prime was my Prime, before I saw Primus’ guidance for myself,” Error announced turning his hands over so the palms faced upward, measured flames burned out from them. “Now I shall make sure you will be my Prime no more.”

“What the hell is going on?” Brainstorm squawked.

“Someone teach this guy how to keep his tenses straight,” Nautica attempted to say in light humor.

“No, don’t you get it?” Nightbeat asked, as if that meant anything to the rest of them. “The tense confusion, the technology beyond even our own, the way he and his cult members seem to disappear and reappear at random?”

“Spell it out, Nightbeat!” Drift ordered, gripping his swords harder as he tried to estimate their odds.

“These guys are from the future. Or a future where Rodimus is a Prime!” Nightbeat exclaimed.

“A future that shall never be again!” Error roared before charging for them.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (19/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: So I know I took forever with this chapter, but in my defense, action sequences always take more out of me than “usual” chapters, so you all who have wanted some more action to spice things up in the story came at the right time ; ) 

Special thanks to Isame, All_Good_Names_Are_Gooone, squireofgeekdom, AntaresofJuly for the feedback! Lately I’ve spent too much time concentrating on negativity instead of appreciating all the kind words and support I’ve gotten lately and I’m going to try to do better by myself and by you guys in remembering and focusing on just how proud I am that I have any readership on this story at all. So sincerely, thank you all. 

Part IV: The Right to Lead Chapter 4.3: Old Friends

Almost despite herself, Windblade found herself thinking about the Mistress of Flame. Flying through the hectic city, ducking into bowels of its underground labyrinth hot on Starscream’s trail, but Windblade’s instincts were still with Caminus. 

And how the leader would think of her following, without question, a mech who proposed something as fundamentally abhorrent to their sensibilities as ousting the rightful Prime. 

But beyond that, Windblade was at odds with herself. After all, ultimately she, too, could not disagree that there was a certain logic behind putting the city and indeed the entirety of their worlds before the Prime.

Is that not what Optimus would have opted for himself in the circumstances? 

“The Badgeless are useless,” Starscream snarled ahead of her. “Utterly useless -- I’ll have Ironhide’s head for this incompetence. What good is a police force that can’t even manage guardianship of the absolute most important spot in this entire city!?”

“We won’t know what we’re dealing with until we get there,” Windblade reminded him, narrowly missing scraping her wings against the sides of the ever changing walls around them. “I fail to think of a way that anything less than truly extraordinary circumstances would remove Ironhide’s police from their posts.”

“Then you’re not nearly as well versed in the many ways of incompetence of soldiers as I am,” Starscream snapped at her without hesitation. 

Windblade held her tongue and sped up. 

Being a fellow jet, Windblade took some appreciation for the skill of the Seeker in the air. For a more bulky model, his speed and control even in the tight spaces they were currently in was something to behold. Then again, as Starscream had liked to remind Windblade in the past, she lacked experience in war, and it was war that gave him a certain edge when it came to creativity and resources that she was still novice in. 

At least for the time being. 

Still, it took Windblade by surprise when Starscream let out a flustered but ultimately incoherent set of noises and slowed to a stop, transforming in midair and landing in the tunnel. 

Windblade followed suit, realizing with some surprise that the shaking and quaking had come to an abrupt end. And that standing not far ahead of them was Optimus Prime himself.

“It is astounding how you continue to be found at the source of all my endless problems, Prime,” Starscream snarled at Optimus. 

“Optimus!” Windblade greeted with, by far, a higher note of relief. She neared him. “How did you know we were heading toward Metroplex’s processor?”

The Prime stood tall among them, as always. His head tilted toward Windblade almost in surprise. “I received your herald, Windblade. It was the only way which I could have known where the source of this current chaos could have resided.”

Starscream let out a long growl and glared in Windblade’s direction. “Honestly, does your subservience to blind traditions and outdated lore know no bounds? And here I had the senselessness to invite you along to stop this mess.”

Cycling her optics in disbelief, Windblade held her hand to her spark chamber and shook her head. “That wasn’t me, Optimus. I swear it. Starscream and I rushed to her as soon as possible and I had no time to send out any signal, even along the way. I didn’t even think to.”

“Truly, this is a matter of concern then,” Optimus said gravely just before Metroplex experienced another mighty shake that sent them all unsteady on their pedes.

“We don’t have the time for accusations or explanations!” Starscream snapped. “Prime, if you actually are here to help us then do us a favor and knock down the door to the inner sanctum.”

Despite Starscream’s crassness, Optimus steadied himself against the wall and made his way to the door in question. Emergency lights were signaling around it, clearly marking that Ironhide and Wheeljack’s emergency designs were working and the door had been fastened shut.

But Optimus pulled out a large plasma rifle and aimed for the door before setting the gun off, bursting the door down from its center. He then showed no hesitation before going inside.

Windblade and Starscream followed. The Camien was shocked to see the guards Ironhide had posted were morbidly still at their assigned stations — but malformed and melted in place with streaks of black burns across the floors and walls around them. She put a hand to her mouth and looked back to see the others’ reactions.

Starscream, as ever, was an unreadable glare.

Optimus walked toward the guard nearest him and reached out with an almost tender hand, laying it on what was left of the Badgeless’ arm. It was a silent moment that broke Windblade’s spark with the familiarity that Optimus seemed to take in doing it.

“At ease, old friend,” Optimus said softly.

In that moment, with those words, Windblade was not sure how Starscream or any other Cybertronian could doubt the truth in Optimus being a Prime.

“You knew that guard?” Windblade said with a soft tone.

“Prime can’t recognize who the poor cog was anymore than you and I, Windblade. Just look at what’s left — nothing,” Starscream spat.

“I do not have to know one personally to know they died in duty,” Prime answered. “Move forward, the culprits are no doubt these cultists who have been responsible in the past. I almost became familiar with the flames of the leader, Error, myself last time. I am eager to ask some questions in regard to where his ability came from.”

Confused, Windblade watched as Prime began to enter further into the chamber. Reluctantly, she looked to Starscream who seemed irritated more than anything else. “I don’t understand… he called the mech a friend—“

“Oh, please do not waste any more of our time attempting to psychoanalyze a wartime general who can’t find his place in society,” Starscream snapped as he moved forward. “It’s a quirk. He’s chalk full of them. He calls soldiers his friends to pretend like he isn’t using divinity as an excuse for his position and sending zealots to die because they believe in him more than his cause.”

Windblade narrowed her optics. “The war is over, Starscream.”

“Please, I know that,” he replied, looking over his shoulder toward Windblade. “I have moved on. I have a city I’m here to protect. A planet whose survival rests on my wings. I don’t even wear a badge anymore. Now. You need to ask who among us has none of those things to fight for but still carries a high grade military weapon.”

Moving into the chamber, Windblade tried to hide how flustered she was with Starscream by heading her separate way, fanning out and investigating more of the area and, hopefully, getting herself on the quicker route to Metroplex’s processor so that she could fix whatever damage these monsters had caused.

Still, as always was the case with Starscream’s biting words, they clung to her and sent trembles through her spark.

Optimus was still fighting, she could never deny that. But she had known him to fight for his friends rather than any political agenda. She could respect that — after all, Caminus taught traditional warrior swordplay and weapons handling to all of its residents and worshiped the forge of Solus Prime. But if Starscream was remotely correct, if Optimus considered himself to be fighting for soldiers… What was his true investment in the rest of Cybertron and its colonies?

The concern was paramount to her own mission, let alone what their current objective brought them.

But she did not have long to think on it, as her shortcut led her exactly to where she needed to be — Metroplex’s processor. And no sooner had she reached it than the sound of clashing and gunfire in the near halls rang out.

Windblade looked toward the sounds of violence for only a moment before turning her attention back to Metroplex and seeing, to her horror, that just on the other side of the round orb of the processor was none other than the hulking, massive form of Error.

He was drawn to look away by the sounds as well, but his attention was quickly refocused on Windblade and his red optics narrowed to slits.

“You still are determined to be a thorn in my… No. It is not you. Not yet,” he said cryptically before aiming his palm toward Windblade. “And if I truly have my way, hopefully not ever.”

Having been around for their last confrontation, Windblade was aware of what power Error’s current action held, and so she wasted no time in using her wind terminals to increase the power of her own leap away from his aim. The searing flames licked at her pedes before she came to a safe landing on the other side of the chamber. Still she looked back in surprise at just how much hotter and more powerful the flames had become in the short amount of time since she had last encountered him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Error,” she said firmly before unleashing her wing blade and getting into proper sparring stance. “But I won’t allow you to harm this Titan or any other citizens under the protection of the Council of Worlds!”

“My, how the times leave little to change,” Error cackled, slowly coming around toward Windblade, attempting to line up his aim once more. “Who all did you bring with you? You aren’t Prime’s pet yet. You don’t lead Caminus’ little Torch Bearers…”

Confused, Windblade kept her focus on slowly backing out of range of Error. But she couldn’t help the way his words confounded her. “I think you have a circuit loose,” she declared. “Nothing you’re saying makes any sense.”

“That’s the sad part, Cityspeaker,” Error said with a long drawl. “I assure you, everything I saw is true, and it still does not make sense. It does not make sense because time and truth and power and Primus’ will has been thoroughly broken. It has to be corrected for there to be any hope at all.”

“You’re a zealot of a doctrine that doesn’t exist,” she snapped at him. “And for you to continue to use Primus’ name as an excuse for the evil you’re doing—“

“Is not more evil than allowing the title of Prime to fall to the unclean hands of nonbelievers!” he roared.

Windblade’s spark skipped at Error’s ferocious snarl as he caught up with her, his hand lost behind a searing flame. She dodged, but not before realizing that between them was a entrance to the processor chamber where Optimus was racing their way, plasma rifle drawn.

But he was not at an angle to see Error before Error saw him.

“At last,” Error hissed, turning his attention toward the door and redirecting both of his open palms. “Primus’ Guiding Hand has brought me to the very moment where I change all of history and time for the good of his Will.”

“Optimus!” Windblade cried out before jetting toward him, knocking him back into the halls just before Error’s fires caught up with them and engulfed her.

Hot Rod stewed where Megatron had left him as the others talked around him in heated tones.

It was not exactly a new thing — over the weeks of his so-called recovery, that had been something of the norm. Hot Rod’s silence was taken for a lack of opinion or desire to participate in the conversations being had about his life and his state of mind. Talking over him, talking about him, it was the norm at that point. And outside of mine outbursts to remind everyone that he wanted at least the observation that his name was his own to determine still, there seemed to be precious little inspiration for him to make a change.

Instead, he stared at his brittle right hand as it laid limply by him, still scorched and painful.

It said so much — more than even Megatron’s outburst had said, the revelation that the people around him knew had said.

“Velocity, I’m being serious when I tell you that you’re to contact the ship guard and tell them that under no circumstances are they going to let Megatron in the medical wing,” Ratchet was snapping just a short distance away. “And, Rung, sorry, but you’ll have to have your ‘talks’ with Rodimus in my office if you need privacy. He’s staying exactly where we can keep an optic on him since it’s clear our captain has lost his circuit breaker.”

“I don’t disagree that it was crude and unnecessary,” Drift spoke up. “But I think it needs to be said that Megatron was able to get more of a reaction out of Rodimus in a few minutes than we have in hours — weeks of working with him. There may be more method to his madness than not.”

“Are you defending what just happened? It was a serious breach of medical protocol and utterly unbecoming of a leader,” Velocity challenged haughtily.

“Of course he is, because Drift is the epitome of change and believing in someone’s spark no matter what war criminal they were before or what scrap they do now,” Ratchet snapped, throwing up his arms. “Let’s just come in for a hug, I’m sure it’s in everyone’s best interests.”

“I’m not defending Megatron, and I’m not in favor of what happened, but I think he understands the point he was making more than any of us are giving him credit,” Drift said simply. “I worked with Megatron before—“

“As a Decepticon, Drift, which you’re not anymore,” Ratchet hissed.

“No one has to tell me what I’m not anymore, I’m more than aware,” Drift said simply. “As was Rodimus when he asked me about beginning the Lost Light. It’s just important to acknowledge when things have more than one layer. Back me up, Rung.”

“I believe there is more to Megatron, but Hot Rod deserves tempered treatment in his state,” Rung said, straightening his goggles.

For a moment, Hot Rod could feel enough of his numbed limb to twitch a finger.

“Thank you,” he said lowly.

No matter how lowly it was said, however, it more than caught the attention of those around him. Everyone turned in shock and awe toward Hot Rod. He could feel their gazes on him, burning into the back of his head and more. His optics narrowed, but he didn’t turn toward them, almost petulantly.

“Thank you, Rung… for calling me Hot Rod,” he said, getting to his feet. He was far more mindful of the waver of his uneven weight than he had been when Megatron got the better of his temper just a short while before. He looked back to the others with intent, something that apparently caught them off guard. “How many of you listened to the audio recordings?” he asked, still low and scratchy, like his vocalizer was still struggling in its own recoup.

“Half of you? All of you? How many?”

“Not many,” Ratchet answered first, firm and stoic as ever. “But yes. Everyone here right now. We have. We listened.”

We know, was not said.

Hot Rod inferred it.

“Were you going to make me listen to it, Rung?” he asked. “When I was better, whatever that means anymore?”

“I was never going to force you to listen to anything, Hot Rod,” Rung answered. “It was something I would offer, in doses, if you continued to be confused by the false narrative that was fed to you.”

“False… shadowplay?” Hot Rod clarified. “Is it false that I blew up Nyon?”

No one dared say a word.

“What could be false if that wasn’t?” Hot Rod asked with a small, subconscious laugh. “What could be worse? The fact that I used my own hand to kill members of this crew? That could be worse than killing everyone in a city with the touch of a button.”

Rung attempted to explain, “Not all of that is true, and your recent guilt about Nyon is a side effect of—“

“It’s not that recent,” Hot Rod said before making his way to the door.

“Rod—“ Drift stopped himself short and took to Hot Rod’s side. “Hot Rod, I’ll walk with you. Let these guys all sort things out.”

“Right,” Hot Rod said simply, allowing Drift to follow, as if he had much of a choice in the matter, and leaving the team of doctors behind them.

The weight was still off balance on his frame, and that made most of Hot Rod’s movements uneven. But Drift kept pace with him all the same. The material that Hot Rod’s frame was temporarily welded by was lighter than his previous build, and the kibble that had been replaced had been basic, strictly necessary stuff.

And yet, despite all looks to the contrary, deep in his spark, Hot Rod felt like he could still kindle a flame, could still test out his t-cog. It was like he was halfway to whole no matter how he looked or felt.

“We’re not heading toward the infirmary are we?” Drift said after a while, voice low.

“No,” Hot Rod answered. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” Drift assured him.

“You definitely could right now,” Hot Rod said before looking toward Drift. “Do you think there’s another reason that Nyon’s so prominent in my head right now? Beyond the obvious?”

Drift seemed to reflect on the question quietly before looking worriedly toward Rodimus. “Do you?”

“That’s what I want to find out,” Hot Rod said seriously. “And to do that… we need to get there.”

Optimus knew he had been slow and he had been foolish the moment Error’s full attention had fallen upon him. After all, he had been using himself as bait for the zealot before, and it was clear that it had been a proper call.

The moment that Windblaie’s frame hit the floor, Optimus was bursting through the residing fires to scoop her up.

“Windblade!” he called out to her as he did so, easily pulling the smaller bot into his arms.

She was not nearly burnt as badly as those who they had witnessed suffer on Eukaris had been, but to be just short of shark expulsion was far from a positive mark to meet. She twitched at what was no doubt searing pain where the brunt of the heat had been taken and thus melted down to expose scarring protoform beneath on her arms and legs.

“Optimus, get out of here,” she ordered, as fierce and decisive as ever.

“No, my False Prime, stay,” Error urged, stepping closer. “Know the fate that meets all those judged harshly by the Guiding Hand.”

Narrowing his optics and holding more assuredly to Windblade in his arms, Optimus stared back at Error meaningfully. “I cannot know a judgment which is not truly served,” he told Error fiercely. “You are no more a Guiding Hand of Primus than you are at true command of those flames.” He nodded toward the hands which were still steaming as they hung by Error’s sides. “Or did you expect that after a fourth encounter with you, I would not notice that you have a recharge limit on your so-called divine powers, or that the flames come from your wrists where I am certain a flamethrower is rigged rather than from your palms like a mech who truly was gifted with an outlier ability to produce fire.”

Error stopped cold in his tracks. There was surprise on his face, but only momentarily. It was followed by inconsolable rage.

“How dare you insinuate—“

“There is no insinuation, only observation,” Optimus continued while Windblade looked at him, mortified. “After all, we both know that if such a gift was supposed to be a message of divine right, there is a mech who actually can produce fire at will.”

Windblade’s head was nearly turned entirely on its side as she looked at Optimus in shock. “Are you… intentionally upsetting the homicidal mech?” she asked him lowly.

“I am making a point that must be made,” Optimus answered. “One that must be said for any one of Error’s followers to hear so they can stop being blinded by Primus’ so-called light themselves.”

Growling in anger, Error thrust one of his hands up in the same motion which had led to the prior attack. Windblade recoiled on instinct, but it was not followed by flames. An empty click met them instead.

Optimus remained unmoved and unimpressed.

“The world cannot quake to a terror it does not have any longer, Error,” Optimus warned.

“Foreboding but ultimately unimpressive yourself, Prime,” Starscream called from behind. “You left the rest of Metroplex in danger to make your showy stand off, but fortunately one of us had the good foresight to call for backup.” He paused and looked to Error. “In case you were wondering, it was me. As always, I am the one with the plans. And I am the one that truly you should have thought twice about crossing.” He grew a smug expression. “I suppose that’s your aptly named error in judgment.”

“Wrong,” Error snarled, lowering his hand. “The Error to which I refer is to the wrong line of succession that has been undertaken. I refer to the disservice of false Primes who do not make Cybertron and its nascent colonies form to the will of Primus.”

“And if only you had kept your business to that, we may have found common grounds,” Starscream tisked. “But like so many before you, you’re greedy. And your message fell on deafened audials the moment you overreached.”

Prime was ready to then take Windblade's warning — that they were testing the calmness of mind of what was a truly unhinged bot — to spark and warn Starscream to back off from Error’s formidable temper. But he did not have the chance.

Marching feet could be heard encircling the chamber an Ironhide pressed to the front, making his way through the halls and toward Optimus, Starscream, Windblade, and the ever mysterious Error. “Is everyone alright in here?”

“For the moment,” Starscream said with sadistic leering in Error’s direction.

“Windblade could require medical attention,” Optimus informed Ironhide. “And some of your guards — the Badgeless — were burned.”

“Saw that, saw a lot, actually,” Ironhide growled out, nearing Error with cuffs. “Error, you are under arrest by order of the Badgeless Guard of Cybertron. You can remain quiet or you can take a righteous step off the step of a pit. We’ll be happy with either at this point.”

Dawning with realization, Error stepped back. “No. This is not how it works, this is not how the change is made and the errors of time corrected!”

“Afraid that’s very much how it happens,” Ironhide claimed just before Error made some rash movements, causing them all to tense. “Put down whatever you have or—“

“The time is just not now,” Error decided before producing what looked like a brief case — one that Optimus near immediately recognized from before.

“Ironhide, that case is his escape—“ the Prime attempted to warn just as Error opened the contraption.

No one had time to react, a purple haze overcoming them all and mass confusion ensuing.

Once more, they had lost their chance.

“What the Pit was that!?” Ironhide coughed out, waving the smoke away from his face. “And where did that aft go? How did he go?”

“Gone, he left he went,” Starscream screeched in rage before turning angrily on Optimus. “And, as usual, the sanctimonious Optimus Prime seems to be more aware of what’s going on than anyone but can’t be bothered to warn us ahead of time!”

Windblade struggled to push enough away from Optimus’ chest to assert herself against Starscream. “That isn’t the case, Starscream.”

“None of us knew what the case was except for Prime, so it stands to reason, Delegate Windblade, that he is involved with this all somehow!” Starscream snapped.

Even Ironhide had to look at Optimus with some amount of derision. “What’s going on, Optimus?” his oldest friend asked.

“I am not sure how much I know, only that I had seen Error utilize that escape before, and that I believe it is a technology that allows for interference with travel not just through space but through time,” he explained vaguely. “A very advanced science that I do not myself understand.”

The group looked at him more apprehensively.

“And how is it that you came to such knowledge to begin with, Prime?” Starscream demanded.

“That I cannot share,” Optimus responded.

“Of course you can’t,” Starscream snapped before pointing at Optimus and looking at Ironhide. “I say we arrest him.”

“On what charge, Lord Starscream?” Ironhide asked with a roll of his optics.

“Please, that can be made up secondarily, what matters is that we don’t let him off on his merry way after it’s been made obvious that he’s not keeping authorities informed of all that he knows and it’s putting our entire planet at risk as a result!” Starscream claimed.

Optimus had little doubt that Ironhide would ignore the order, but even if he hadn’t, his attention was immediately brought elsewhere when he received an incoming message from Jetfire. He tuned from the squabbling officials to put more focus on the call.

“Yes, Jetfire? What is it?” Optimus asked.

“You need to come to Wheeljack’s lab, Sir,” Jetfire reported in formally. “Immediately. It’s… Rodimus just arrived here. Sort of.”

Surprised, Optimus looked warily toward his company before beginning to carry Windblade out of the chamber with him. “I will make my way there after taking Windblade to a medical ward. She received severe burns that should be taken care of—“

“Uh, you might want to bring her here instead, Sir,” Jetfire continued, sounding more and more unnerved as they went on.

“What for, Jetfire?” Optimus asked.

“Well… you see… Rodimus isn’t the only one who arrived,” Jetfire said lowly. “A… well, the Windblade came with him. Wheeljack triple checked her spark signature. It is definitely her…”

Stopping in his tracks, Optimus looked to the Windblade in his arms. She looked back, equally confused.

“What is it, Optimus?” she asked.

“How is that possible, Jetfire?” Optimus demanded. “I assure you, Delegate Windblade is with me—“

“Well, you need to see it for yourself,” Jetfire continued. “But the best we can get out of the two of them is that they want to see you, that it’s urgent, that their spark signatures do match what they say and…”

“And?” Optimus pressed.

“And, well,” Jetfire uncharacteristically hesitated before at last answering. “Rodimus is… He has the Matrix. The whole one.”

Optimus could not have appeared more shocked had Alpha Trion himself appeared before them. 

Windblade was immediately on edge. “Prime... Optimus... what is it?” 

“I am not sure, Windblade,” he answered truthfully. “I suppose we shall soon learn it together.”

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (15/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: I could try to give all the excuses for why it took so long to write this chapter and get it out for you guys, but ultimately I just have to say that I’ve had a really, really unreasonably tough month that has taken away from my time to write this story quite a bit. But, hopefully, the length of the chapter can somewhat atone for the sin of having left it for so long. Thank you all fo being so patient with me, it means a lot.  

Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, Isame, Snozzlefrog, and Squiggol for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part III: The Risk of Saving the Guilty Chapter 3.5: In the Public’s Best Interest

"You honestly just don’t know when to give up, do you?” Chromia asked in irritation. “Did you miss the part where you were thrown in jail for a few hours without due cause because of this maniac and how he runs this Primus forsaken planet?”

Windblade of course didn’t have to be reminded of such things. She had just watched her fellow delegates nearly give her a sentence for the very same injustice. 

“I didn’t,” she answered Chromia instead, pushing on forward through the halls of the very capital that had been her prison just beforehand. “And persistence will never be a bad quality.”

“Too much of any quality can be a bad thing,” Chromia muttered, though it wasn’t lost on Windblade. 

She knew she was pressing her luck. She had known that before she ever fully accepted her position at Cybertron for the Mistress of Flame and Caminus. Perhaps he had gone at these things with a certain naivety and self-righteousness. Maybe she had been knocked off her feet more than once by Cybertron and its ever incredulous leader. 

But Windblade at least could not clall herself naive anymore. 

“Things are only ever going to change around here if mechs like us refuse to allow the utter nonsense that is Starscream’s governing,” Windblade declared, finally leading them directly into the innermost chamber of Metroplex’s body and to the secreted away brain module. 

“There is no way that Starscream won’t figre out where you’ve gone to if we’re here,” Chromia continued to object. “They’ll be on us in minutes.”

“I only need a few,” Windblade assured her, walking toward the console before the brain module. “Util then, I’d appreciate if you could watch the door.”

“Don’t I always?” Chromia sighed, producing her battleaxe and taking charge of the door.

Windblade smiled apologetically toward her friend before stepping up to Metroplex’s brain. “Hello, Metroplex. I’m sorry I haven’t been by recently.”

Wind-voice. he greeted her as usual. There was a note of hesitation before he continued. You are... upset.

Offering the Titan a gentle smile, Windblade reached toward the brain module and began to pull for the direct connection. “Frazzled more than upset,” she admitted. “But I’m hoping you can help.”

Help. I will. For Wind-voice.

“Please, Metroplex,” she said, connecting the line directly from his brain module to the side of her own helm, “let me see through your eyes. Help me search for someone who wishes to cause us all harm.”

The Titan seemed alarmed, if not exhausted, by the request. There was an understanding of the underlying danger and nervousness of his citizens that Metroplex had been aware of, but beyond that the specifics had eluded him until their linking. 

Stop them, Wind-voice. 

Windblade nodded. “I absolutely will, Metroplex. You know I will. We just have to find out where they are first of all. Can you help me?”

Immediately, security feeds throughout Metroplex’s system began popping up all around Windblade. There were more than she could reasonably get through herself, but fortunately her connection to Metroplex was giving her the ability to scan through them quickly enough.

It was like searching a Titan for any of the various system errors or pains it might have been feeling, but accelerated. 

Metroplex was taking Windblade’s lead and specifically honing in on parties he had no innate connection with -- those who, in a sense, had not belonged to the city. That were foreign to him. 

But the more their focus shifted to that concentration, the more feeds began to pop up. Dozens quickly became hundreds and suddenly they were both staring at unfamiliar faces all over the city. 

Don’t know them, Wind-voice. Still mine, Wind-voice. 

Her own head was throbbing and Windblade reached up to her mantle. “I know, I know,” she said out loud. “This is all wrong--”

Getting Chromia’s attention, the bodygard turned enough from her post at the door to look worriedly at Windblade. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“This, what I’m doing -- the way I’m doing it. It’s wrong,” Windblade explained, looking tiredly at Chromia. “Metroplex has become a hub -- a metropolitan between all of the city-states of Cybertron’s surviving population, of all the colonies. We are looking for those who don’t belong based on Metroplex’s relations to them, his familiarity, and all it’s doing is making everything muggier. None of us belong at the end of the day by that definition.”

“Find another way then,” Chromia replied, seemingly unaware of the problem truly at hand.”

“Chromia, you don’t understand,” Windblade said, exhausted already. “Think about the targets thus far. Think about Error’s actions. He’s out of place in Metroplex, maybe, but they aren’t the actions of an unfamiliar resident,” she said. “It’s not truly a colonist at work. These are the actions of someone familiar. Someone at home.”

Chromia crossed her arms. “You said that Metroplex doesn’t know him.”

"He doesn’t,” Windblade agreed. “I don’t... It doesn’t make sense, I know, but neither does trying to trifle through everyone on the streets and abusing that power when we have no indication that we’re even on the right lead. That’s something Starscream would’ve asked me to do if he wasn’t so sure that I was a part of this mess somehow.”

Chromia turned fully and tilted her helm. “But Starscream didn’t think of this. You did.”

“I know, and that scares me,” Windblade replied. She looked back to the Titan’s brain module before her. “I’m so sorry to have abused your power like that, Metroplex. I won’t do it again,” she promised before unplugging herself from the system. 

“You’re not Starscream, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Chromia said without hesitation. “I know that look on your face -- that’s your look of I’ve messed everything up. You haven’t. There hasn’t been anything to mess up yet. So don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Windblade asked critically, looking to her bodyguard and friend. “Chromia, don’t you remember when we spoke with Optimus before? When we talked about Shadowplay and mnemosurgery... how he said that their ethics were debatable? How horrified I was to hear that from not only someone we trusted but from someone who was a Prime?” 

While she didn’t look convinced, Chromia apparently knew Windblade well enough to not continue the debate. “What’s the solution then? You need to find Error -- not just to save lives but to prove your innocence in all of this nonsense. How are we supposed to do that without crossing any lines?” She frowned, looking off with some amount of shame in her optics. “You would know better than me. I’ve crossed too many lines before. We both know that.”

Dropping her head, Windblade hugged her arms and tried to think. 

Her optics flickered back up to Chromia as she had an epiphany. “Why was Rattrap so convinced that he saw myself and Rodimus -- someone I don’t even really know -- with Error? Convinced enough he went to Starscream and got him to act on it. Like he was genuinely afraid of what he had learned.”

Chromia gave the question a genuine frown. “Is it not enough to just assume that he has a name like Rattrap for a reason? He’s one of Starscream’s cronies plain and simple.”

“No,” Windblade said with an affirmative shake of her head. “It’s not that simple. Rattrap is in this for himself, not for Starscream. And for him to react to myself and Rodimus with the vitriol that he did is significant. It was genuine fear -- he believed that we were somehow involved and endangering the rest of Cybertron.”

“Then he’s a crony and an idiot,” Chromia replied defensively. “Where are you taking this thought train, Windblade?”

“To the next logical conclusion, Chromia,” Windblade answered She turned to Metroplex’s brain module and reached out to it softly once more. “Thank you, Metroplex. And I promise again to not abuse our relationship like that again. I trust you to do everything you deem necessary to protect all Cybertronian life.”

Wind-voice. Thank you.

Relieved, Windblade turned sharply and started back out the doors. 

“Where are we going now?” Chromia asked.

“Following that thought!” Windblade answered zestfully before quickening her pace. 

As familiar as she was with the capital, it did not take her long to lead them both exactly to the medlab that Ratchet had all but taken over from Knock Out and First Aid in the past few weeks. Chromia, always a speedster herself, didn’t miss a step, always shoulder to shoulder with Windblade the whole way. 

Just as they reached the threshold, however, Optimus Prime himself was stepping outside of the room with Knock Out, of all bots, at his side. 

“Optimus!” Windblade called out, getting the Prime’s attention as she came to a halt by him. “Is Rodimus in there? I need to speak with him.”

Knock Out released a sarcastic vent and rolled his wrist. “Good luck with that. There’s not much upstairs in that bot right now, if you catch my drift.”

“I do not think that is the best idea at the moment, Windblade,” Optimus said more gently. “At the moment, Ratchet is reconstructing a base frame for Rodimus, and against all of our suggestions, he has refused to be placed offline for the procedure. Rung, the psychiatrist, is sitting with him through the process and I do not believe the session should be interrupted. For anyone’s sake.”

“This is important, Optimus, I promise,” Windblade argued. “I’m trying to track down exactly why Rattrap thought we were agents of this cult.”

“Delegate Windblade, is that the wisest decision for you?” Knock Out asked, crossing his arms. “Given the close shave you nearly had before the Council and the fact that another honored delegate has accused of steep atrocities, I would assume you would do your best to keep your nose out of the investigation from this point on.”

"Sounds like Council meetings haven’t been enough to give you a real idea of who Windblade is,” Chromia half mocked. 

Windblade ignored the two of them, instead focusing on the Prime. Optimus still seemed distant in thought -- more so than she had ever seen him before. And his dire attitude had not been improved by whatever business had taken him to the Lost Light and back. 

“Optimus,” she said, stepping up to him. “If nothing else, I’d appreciate knowing your perspective on all of this. At the very least, you have more stakes and understanding of the elements and mechs involved than I do. I’d value your opinion more than any right now.”

He focused his optics on her for a moment, but they were not filled with the warmth of the Matrix. 

“My opinion should not carry more weight than the others. Especially not now,” Optimus answered instead. “Please do not disturb Ratchet and Rung’s work at the moment, Windblade. I trust you to do whatever you deem right or necessary, but what they are doing right now with Rodimus is vital work. It may save Rodimus’ spark.”

He then continued to walk away, Knock Out reluctantly following behind him for some reason. 

Chromia looked after them, helm tilted to the side. “Wonder what that’s about. Any ideas, Windblade-- Windblade? What are you doing?”

Settling on the floor outside the door, Windblade rested her back and wings against the wall. “Waiting until I get the clear to speak with Rodimus. I need answers. He seems to be the only one with anything close to them.”

Staring at her, Chromia shook her head. “You’re one stubborn bot,” the bodyguard sighed before taking a seat on the floor opposite to Windblade. 

Sharing a small smile with Chromia, Windblade hugged her knees against her chest. “Thanks. You are, too.”

Ultra Magnus was no longer the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, and his status as Second-in-Command was questionable given the general confusion of having Co-Captains. But he took his appointments, former and imagined, with a note of seriousness that would have turned lesser bots’ energon to crystals in their pipes. 

And with one such Co-Captain down, Ultra Magnus had never been more affirmed in his duty helping to keep the Lost Light in functioning order. 

Megatron sat back in his desk with servos stacked before his eyes. He seemed even more ancient and brittle than the war itself had ever made him seem. And that was after one of the few encounters between him and Optimus Prime that hadn’t come to actual blows. 

“Is there anything you need me to do, Captain?” Magnus asked, nearly feeling as tired as Megatron looked. 

“Yes,” Megatron answered without hesitation, actually managing to surprise Magnus some. “I need you to get Bainstorm in here. Quickly. Before I rethink anything.”

Confused, Magnus reached to his wrist so as to send out the communication. He waited a moment, looking to his exhausted leader. “Are you certain you wish to meet with Brainstorm? You have not met with him one-on-one.”

“And I will continue with that record, you are staying here, too,” Megatron ordered flatly. “Send it out.”

Allow a twitch of emotion to cross his faceplate, Magnus sent out the signal at last and shook his head firmly. “As you wish, Sir,” he replied flatly. 

Considering the very public, very close to success, assassination attempt that Brainstorm had attempted on Megatron on their very ship with time briefcases and nonsense abound, it was not exactly a Luna One level mystery of Cybertron why Megatron had not had much contact with his would-be killer compared to the other survivors of the mutiny. 

Which made the certain change suspicious, if nothing else. 

There was apparently some hesitation at least on Brainstorm’s end as it took him more than thirteen minutes to get to the Captain’s office whereas Ultra Magnus had calculated multiple times that a bot of his make and model could have easily traversed the space from the science lab to them in at least nine minutes. 

Given the circumstances, however, Ultra Magnus neglected to bring up the discrepancy. 

“Uh, you asked for me?” Brainstorm asked cautiously, barely poking more than his helm into the room. 

“Yes, now get in and shut the door behind you,” Megatron ordered impatiently.

Brainstorm glanced from the captain to Ultra Magnus warily, but there was little encouragement to be offered. Instead he simply did as was ordered and came barely into the office, just enough steps to bring in his wings before the office door shut behind him. 

“Alright, guess you’re being serious about... whatever this is,” Brainstorm joked lightly with a turn of his wrist. 

“I’m going to be curt with you, Brainstorm,” Megatron explained. “You were one of the least injured among the survivors on Eukaris. And your attempt on my life well before the mutiny is well known for its... elaborate nature and decades of planning.”

“Ooo-kay,” Brainstorm replied, tilting his helm. “Thank you? I guess?”

“Which is why you have raised my suspicions,” Megatron continued.

“What?” Brainstorm balked. 

“Please know that any truthful reply to me at this point will not be met with reprimand but with honest consideration,” Megatron explained, red eyes flickering with meaning. “I wish no harm to you now than I did when it was first learned you were going back in time to undo my life and its work.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” Brainstorm asked flatly. “That’s just ambiguous enough that I can take it to mean you’ve really wanted to kill me since that day. Just saying. Maybe we should hash everything out before this conversation continues--”

“Sir, perhaps it would be best to allow me to work out some proper lines of questioning here,” Magnus offered. “I believe yours are... dubious at best--”

Megatron held up a hand and silenced them both, much to Magnus’ chagrin. 

“We haven’t the time for double meaning, only answers, I assure you,” Megatron explained. “Brainstorm, have you at any time -- recently or in the past -- been approached by this cult which seems to be at the center of undermining our mission to find the Knights of Cybertron and undoing the very fabric of the peace back on Cybertron.”

For a moment, Brainstorm simply cycled his optics in disbelief, then he pointed at his own chest plate with a thunk. “Me?” he asked critically.

Somewhat stunned himself, Ultra Magnus leaned toward Megatron’s desk. “Sir, perhaps there is a better way to parse your question--”

“Perhaps, but there’s not a more direct way,” Megatron said without so much as looking Ultra Magnus’ way. “Brainstorm, I want honesty in your answer. No repercussions will come of the truth. You have my word.”

“Oh, that means a lot!” Brainstorm cried out, throwing up his arms. “Are you being serious right now? You think I would betray the ship? Betray Rodimus after everything? This is my home! And I almost lost it once on the Necrobot’s planet already!” 

“Perhaps you were approached beforehand, your values have shifted,” Megatron offered. “Perhaps the group became more militant in your absence. You have played both sides before.”

Brainstorm’s optics narrowed and he yanked off his faceplate viciously, the tearing of metal causing Magnus to flinch. “You see any insignia or flames on this? I don’t even have the Decepticon brand anymore, I removed it the moment I was placed on probation on the ship. Sir.”

Ultra Magnus could feel the air growing stale once more, neither bot on both sides of the room willing to relent.

“Some marks can only be seen at the spark,” Megatron said simply in return. 

“What are you fraggin’ getting at!?” Brainstorm demanded. 

“Why were you left relatively unscathed? Why didn’t Starscream take the opportunity to arrest you? Why were you the only member of Rodimus’ away team which did not make it into the caves with them before the attack?” Megatron asked in rapid fire succession.

“If you’re trying to say something to me, Megatron, you need to say it directly to my face!” Brainstorm snapped back angrily. “I am not a traitor! I am not! And being accused by you, of all bots, is an indecency I can hardly muster!”

“And yet you know no bot has more reason to suspect,” Megatron replied darkly. 

Having heard more than enough, Magnus stepped between the two of them clearly, holding his hands up. “This cannot be continued,” he said plainly. “It is inappropriate and unseemly.”

“You mean he is inappropriate and unseemly!” Brainstorm snarled, snapping his faceplate back onto his helm. “I’m done with this meeting if you are.”

“I have not received my answer yet,” Megatron said calmly. 

“Frag you, Megatron,” Brainstorm growled, heading out the door in a brash fashion. 

Flinching as the door slammed shut, Ultra Magnus then turned to his captain suspiciously. “Satisfied, Sir? I think given a few drinks at Swerve’s and one story to either Tailgate or Whirl and this entire fiasco will have alienated the entire ship from you.”

Megatron scowled. “Believe it or not, that was not the intention of the meeting,” he announced.

“I’d appreciate being informed as to what was the intention then,” Magnus replied dryly.

“We already turned the recordings over to Optimus Prime,” Megatron reminded him. “That much of the investigation is out of our hands. But we can still act on what we know. And what we know is that Brainstorm was not heard on those recordings.”

“That makes him guilty?” Ultra Magnus asked skeptically.

“That makes him a link, and if he is half the genius he makes himself out to be then he would understand that significance as well,” Megatron answered, denta gritting. “Nothing these menaces have done thus far has been without reason. And no one recognizes that more than myself.”

“I suppose not,” Ultra Magnus replied. “But do you think Brainstorm understands his significance even in that much?”

“Not after that exchange,” Megatron sighed. “That was honest. And Brainstorm does not seem to me to be quite a liar.”

“Only in matters of building time machines,” Ultra Magnus said dully. 

“Careful, Magnus,” Megatron said, rubbing at his optics. “Rodimus might not take kindly to you growing a sense of humor while he was gone.”

If nothing else, Optimus could always rely on Starscream’s flare for theatrics. 

He was suspicious from the moment he had been summoned by Cybertron’s appointed leader, after all there were few things that he and Megatron agreed on but not trusting Starscream had been high among them. But when he entered the room to a bleak darkness and found that the former Seeker leader was looking for a one-on-one, Optimus felt confidence flare up from his spark.

Starscream was hoping to corner him, but was more afraid of witnesses should he corner himself. 

At the very least it meant that Windblade had been right in her suspicions. Though there was a morality question on whether or not to encourage her snooping any further. 

There was definitely something Starscream was attempting to hide. 

“Took you long enough,” Starscream snapped as soon as the door was closed. 

“Apologies for any inconvenience,” Optimus Prime said with as little spark behind his words as possible. 

Turning toward Optimus, Starscream shared what was becoming his characteristic, world weary scowl. “I already know it’s next to useless to ask you what you’ve learned from the expedition I sent you on to the Lost Light,” he said flatly. “Seeing as how your first instinct upon reaching Cybertron was to completely undermine my executive authority before the entire council.”

“Then I would say you do not understand my motives very well,” Optimus argued firmly. 

“Oh, please,” Starscream sneered, rolling his optics. “Prime, there are few things in this or any other world a Cybertronian has ever stepped foot on that are less understandable than your nobility and motives. I’m certain you can explain away your motivations for assisting and defending a friend who got himself in over his head and found himself in the midsts of a plot to undo the very fabric and stability of our very unstable current society.”

Optimus let out a long vent and shook his head. Starscream had developed very little over his time as leader, even less so than Optimus had once dared to hope that he would. 

The mech was incapable of accepting other points of view or reaching out for help in the idea of simple compassion and kindness. 

A ruler not to be revered, one could argue very firmly. 

“If there is nothing you would ask of me then I would rather make myself more productive and useful elsewhere, Starscream,” Optimus somewhat threatened. “I have much to discuss with the medical staff--”

“Oh, I’m certain you do,” Starscream mocked. “Seems everyone is suddenly very busy around your little second stringer protege.”

A flicker of anger quickly rose within Optimus and he turned to leer at the supposed leader of his planet, his home. But nothing came of it, though the reference to Bumblebee and the condescension toward Rodimus were not outside of Optimus’ grasp.

“A lot can be said about the allegiances we hold and in what order we hold them, Starscream,” Optimus said clearly. “I will not make apologies for where mine have come to lie.”

“Then let me make it abundantly clear, once again, just where mine lie, Optimus Prime,” Starscream snapped back. “Mine are with the good of Cybertron. And I am not above wickedness or betrayal of lesser goals to ensure that. That is what makes me the leader of this new world’s order rather than you. And the more savagery and chaos your presence and the presence of your followers brings to us, the longer my reign will flourish. Because if there’s one thing this world trusts less than me as a ruler, it’s war heroes who are still fighting.”

“That may be true,” Optimus admitted wearily, “but you were far from a bystander yourself, Starscream. And no one knows the scars of war and strategy as well as you. Which is why I know to come to you for this request rather than your council.”

Starscream hesitated, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair. 

“You have me curious, I must admit,” he said lowly. “Do go on.”

“I believe that it is more and more apparent that this cleansing that Error and his cult have called for has to do with the Matrix and those who have bore it,” Optimus explained carefully. “I have reason to believe that it was the reason for targeting Rodimus psychologically, for targeting me physically, and for targeting you politically.”

For a moment, a flicker of surprise came across Starscream’s face before hardening into anger. “You believe I am targeted. Prime, if you have evidence of a conspiracy against me and you haven’t been forthcoming with it, then I will charge you with being part in that conspiracy--”

“It is apparent,” Optimus clarified. “These threats have done nothing for you politically, and I believe there is reason behind Windblade’s suspicion of you in regards to Error. And I believe that the three of us are connected by one thing.”

“Please, I wore the Matrix momentarily compared to the two of you,” Starscream scoffed. “That putz Hot Rod saw to that himself. Before Megatron put a hole exactly where that Matrix belonged. What an irony that they now serve together thanks to your intervention--”

“The amount of time would not matter to those radicalized enough to believe that a valid response to any perversion of Primus’ will is worth murdering and slaughtering over,” Optimus warned. “So if there are not any connections as Windblade suspects there are, I believe it would be within your best interest to keep it that way.”

Starscream narrowed his optics. “You have a plan, I presume?”

“I will use myself and the Matrix to draw out Error, somewhere away from the city’s population and away from the energon supplies to prevent any threats of spreading the disease they have weaponized,” Optimus proposed grimly. “In return, all that I ask is that there be more guards for the medical ward and for yourself.”

“For your fanboy and your enemy,” Starscream surmised. “How kind of you, Optimus.”

“I simply do not wish for Cybertron to fall into chaos without a decisive leader,” he clarified, He could only hope that his tone hid any disgust he still felt at his core from having to regard Starscream as such. 

“I can grant it,” Starscream announced. “But you won’t be going alone on this suicide mission.”

“But--” Optimus began only for Starscream’s hand to come up.

“I’m sending another member of the Council to, at the very least, bare witness to this catastrophic idea of yours. You and I may not think much of the Matrix and those who have touched it, but you are correct about the sway it holds for others. In the unfortunate circumstances that you should fall, I would rather have someone I trust nearby to take the mantle for you rather than this genocidal maniac Error,” Starscream clarified. 

“In that case, I will go with whoever you assign,” Optimus said regretfully.

“And while you are gone, I will do my best to uncover whatever evidence it is that you have been so keen on keeping from me that you found on the Lost Light,” Starscream warned, a clever smirk on his face. “So don’t think we’re done with these elating conversations just yet, Optimus Prime.”

“Neither of us should be so lucky,” Optimus responded grimly. 

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (14/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: Chugging on along! I should note that rather than being 5 chapters, part III is actually six chapters so this is just the second to last chapter for Part III. Just a head’s up to those who care about the structure of this silly thing lol

Special thanks to Isame, Snozzlefrog, and @secretlystephaniebrown for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part III: The Risk of Saving the Guilty Chapter 3.4: One Hand Tied Behind the Back

Drift watched from his cell, leaning against the wall to get the best angle he could to watch as Ratchet and First Aid dressed the wounds of an uncharacteristically silent Rodimus in the cell diagonally across from him.

Having been a former criminal as well as a former Decepticon, Drift had already concocted multiple ways to break out of his cell the moment something was sketchy or Starscream sent someone to take out Rodimus. He was so confident it was going to happen he hadn’t settled down for a recharge the entire time. 

It hadn’t happened. Yet. 

“Move your fingers,” Ratchet ordered Rodimus. 

The captain’s hand remained limply in Ratchet’s servos, his head bowed enough that Drift couldn’t even make out an expression through the shadows. 

“Are you trying to move your fingers, Rodimus, or are you ignoring me?” Ratchet asked impatiently. 

“Ratchet,” First Aid muttered, drawing both Ratchet and Drift’s gazes to his side of Rodimus. 

The fingers of his left hand twitched, as ordered. 

“It could be the cable damage, they’re pretty exposed on that side,” First Aid suggested. 

“No, it was much worse on his left side,” Ratchet replied gruffly. “I want some sort of analysis done on his neural net. But so far they’re being mum about allowing us to take him back up to the medical bay.” 

First Aid shook his helm. “As if putting him under guard there would be any different from having him under guard here--”

“It’s different, all right,” Ratchet growled. “It’s inhumane to have a hardly functioning bot held in a dungeon cell under the evidence that he blurted out half in hysteria.”

Slowing his own pace of doctoring Rodimus’ limbs, First Aid looked worriedly toward Ratchet. “We’re certain that’s all it was?”

Having had enough, Drift slammed his fist against the field of his cell, ignoring the shocks that rode down his limb as a result. It got the doctors’ attentions. “Stop talking around him like he’s still in a coma. He can hear you. Can’t you, Rodimus?”

Looking to his friend, Drift held a vent, waiting for a response. But none came. He just twitched his left fingers again. 

Ratchet got to his pedes and looked toward First Aid.  “Keep doing what you can, I need to speak with Drift.”

“Wasn’t going to stop just because you were walking away,” First Aid fired back as he continued his work.

Drift grew quiet, watching as Ratchet came his way. The old medic regarded the distance of the guards before looking more fully at Drift. “It was kind nearly to the point of foolish for them to put you in a cell this close to Rodimus.”

“That was Ironhide,” Drift clarified.

“Good bot, always was,” Ratchet mused.

“Good bot working for Starscream and allowing us to get locked up to begin with,” Drift snapped in return. “Hard to make the argument that any bot’s a good bot in those circumstances.”

“For taking the opportunity to do what you can in a bad situation?” Ratchet asked. “I suppose the only good bots are the ones who are stubborn enough to be locked up for being unyielding then.”

“If more bots did it, they’d run out of cells,” Drift replied crossly. 

Rolling his optics, Ratchet just vented and leaned in closer. “Well, from your choice seat down in the dungeons, have you been able to see anything? Has anyone tried to speak to Rodimus? Is there a reason he’s basically putting himself in reserve mode?”

Alarmed, Drift glanced back across the cells toward Rodimus. He still hadn’t moved since Ratchet left him. “He is?”

“Basically, he’s catatonic compared to his usual self -- compared to those outbursts he was giving us a while ago,” Ratchet explained. 

“No,” Drift answered. “No, no one’s come by. No one’s done anything since throwing us in here.”

He didn’t mention the near-pity that the guards seemed to have when they were putting Rodimus in his cell compared to the half-throw that tossed Drift into his. Drift was still too mad, still too protective to allow any sort of positive thought toward anyone involved with the grand conspiracy against them. 

It was short sighted for someone who had been on every end of a war and back. Drift found he didn’t care about the hypocrisy. 

“What about anything else?” Ratchet asked. “Have you noticed anything?”

Thinking, Drift glanced to a different cell from Rodimus’ for the first time in hours. 

“The delegate,” Drift said lowly, bringing Ratchet to look toward Windblade with him. “The one who was close with Optimus Prime when he was here. She’s been treated to the same hospitality we have. She’s not done anything, but she’s been pacing. Thinking. Her field is basically a hum of open energy--”

“Of course you immediately jump to field readings,” Ratchet muttered.

“She knows more about what’s going on than we do,” Drift continued. “When Optimus gets here, you need to tell him to press her for the real answers.”

"Alright,” Ratchet said with a nod. “I did find it suspicious that Rodimus’ outburst got her arrested, too. I’ll ask around with people I trust to see if there’s anything else on her I can figure out before Optimus arrives.”

“Before he arrives?” Drift asked critically. “Why aren’t you calling him now and getting him sooner!? They’re going to keep Rodimus down here as long as they can, Ratchet, you know that. I’m already hearing rumors about some kind of trial because Starscream wants all of this done before Prime has time to straighten it out!”

“I realize that, but I also know that any message I send out to Rodimus is going to be used against us,” Ratchet said pointedly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Drift said, listening as the doors down the walkway opened. “Here they come.”

Starscream was holding himself proudly, strutting like he had accomplished something. It made Drift want so badly to knock him down a few pegs. Which, given, was something Drift had felt even when he was a Decepticon. 

“Are you almost done in here, doctors?” Starscream asked.

“No,” Ratchet answered before First Aid even had the chance. He stepped away from Drift’s cell to stand between Starscream and Rodimus’ cell. “And it is a complete violation of agreed ethical standards to have a severely injured patient retained in custody when medical services are available.”

“Yes,” Starscream agreed. “But last I recall, those were ethics of wartime, Ratchet. Those were terms agreed upon for enemies. We are in a time of peace. And this is not a rival side of a skirmish but perpetrators of a crime against all of Cybertron -- acts of terrorism.” 

Drift gritted his denta. “And what exactly is your evidence?”

“You shall see it at trial,” Starscream said with a wave of his hand. “Since this is an event that involves multiple locations within the Council and has victims of all colonial and homeworld origins, that evidence is about to be presented at trial before a tribunal from the Council of Worlds.”

“Fat chance,” Ratchet snapped. 

First Aid joined Ratchet’s side. “Rodimus is too injured--”

“I’ll go.”

Drift joined everyone in looking toward Rodimus in shock. The bot’s head was still hanging, his body rested against the corner of his cell. But the blues of his optics was looking up at them. “I’ll go before the Council. I deserve it.”

Starscream knew he was making a miscalculation. 

There was nothing more difficult to deal with than a sympathetic opposition, and having been there from the start of the Decepticons’ rise on Cybertron, Starscream had made a point of not underestimating sympathies and the court of public opinion when it came to his rule.

That was something that Megatron had never taken fully into account. In his savage drive to do what was righteous by old slights, he didn’t see how the story evolved from being his as triumph to Autobots’ story of a tyrannical force that undid all good he had managed eons ago. 

No one knew how to spin stories better than Starscream, it was how he had managed to reach the position he had as leader of Cybertron. 

So he knew that putting a hardly functional, hardly able to stand for himself Rodimus on trial before the Council was very likely not going to play well. 

He could too easily be seen as the victim no matter what accusations were made. 

But, should he wait, Starscream’s careful balance of power and his window of opportunity to get rid of all to do with the cult and Error would erode away. There was no doubt that Prime would be on his way, and once he arrived, he would take at least half of Starscream’s current loyalty on the Council.

To speak nothing of Prime’s sway over the general public. 

“Rattrap,” Starscream said, glancing to his assistant as the Council began to fill in the room. 

“Yes, Lord Starscream?” he asked back with some unsteadiness in his voice. His possible exaggerations and lies as to the story about seeing Rodimus and Windblade as cultists were obviously making him uncomfortable. 

“Talk to the guards,” Starscream instructed him. “Tell them that there will be no reporters or cameras allowed in these proceedings, understand?’

“Yessir!” Rattrap said before scurrying off.

Starscream folded his hands before his eyes and took a long vent. He would announce the verdict and explain Rodimus’ vain treachery soon enough, and the less sympathetic the images he could give the press for Rodimus’ identification would shift opinions their way. 

“Done, Lord Starscream,” Rattrap chirped up as he came walking back from the short trip to the guards. “Everything’s taken carre of.”

Humming to the news, Starscream leaned his jaw into an awaiting hand. “Tell me something, Rattrap. I’ve been trying to figure it out for myself,” he said lowly, carefully. “If Rodimus and Windblade were instrumental in saving you from Error’s attack... why would you turn against them now?”

"What’d’ya mean?” the beastformer asked almost nervously.

Starscream tilted his helm. “It really is a rathe straightforward question, isn’t it? Though, I suppose, you do have difficulty with answering those.” He crossed his arms as he continued to leer at Rattrap, making him squirm in place. “If you recall, when you first gained my confidence, I told you that I was familiar with the game you wanted to play -- that I had played it myself and it had gotten me to where we are now. And I meant it when I said that I admired those who joined me in playing. But that doesn’t mean my suspicions lessen or that I can’t know when my supposedly loyal supporter is overextending the trust he’s earned.” 

“I’m not--”

Shaking his head once, Starscream got Rattrap to immediately close his mouth. “I’m merely curious, Rattrap. What’s the play? What are you earning from this, turning on those who, in your own statement, saved you from Error’s wrath.”

There was a gulping noise from Rattrap and he teetered in place slightly. “I just...”

“Are so loyal to my claim to Cybertron, I’m sure,” Starscream mocked. 

“It’s hard to explain, Sir, but if even if they saved me, working for that cult, for those terrorists, they’re endangering all of Cybertron,” Rattrap said decisively. “I can’t overlook that. Even for my own aft!”

Humming slightly, Starscream couldn’t hide his disappointment in the answer he finally got. “Very well then,” he sighed, walking forward past Rattrap and toward the hall. “I’m disappointed, my friend. I thought you were more intelligent than that.”

“What do you mean?” Rattrap asked, aghast.

“I thought for certain that you’d be more on my level, that you would know when to cease power as it was available for you to take,” he sighed. “Ah, well. I suppose I should just accept gifts without looking them in the engine.”

While Rattrap sputtered behind him for a response, Starscream refocused his concentration on the so-called trial ahead. 

He had fantasized about sentencing some of the main Autobots to tremendous sentences before. Little fantasies he allowed himself in some of the more boring processes of ruling Cybertron. Rodimus, one of Optimus’ right hand bots, was of course one of those but also one of the least realistic before that day. 

After all, there was a charisma factor and a war hero factor that had garnered him quite a bit of a reputation even despite his known hotheadedness and consistent mistakes. 

In almost any circumstances imaginable, Rodimus would have been able to conjure up some support for himself among the greater Cybertronian community -- much like he had managed to do right under Bumblebee’s nose in order to start his Lost Light quest to begin with. 

The Rodimus who stood before the Council at the end of the hall was not that adversary though. 

If Starscream could overcome the irony of such a statement, he might have even called the pathetic wreck of a mech before him a shell of his former self. 

Starscream crossed the room, not daring to take optics off of Rodimus until he found his seat at the head of the Council. He knew that the vast majority of the delegates on their ruling body would have struggled with some suggestions of dignity and sympathy under normal circumstances -- which would have made a trial with such a pathetic looking accused less favorable to Starscream’s means -- but fortunately fear was an excellent motivator for what were usually rational and moral mechs. 

Windblade stood not far behind Rodimus, handcuffed and still looking bewildered at the fact that she was in her current predicament. 

There were many things to do and little time to do them, but fortunately for Starscream he could always find time to revel in an adversary’s horror and confusion. 

Keeping face, Starscream folded his hands together and sat back in his chair at the head of the Council. He hardly got more than passing judgmental glances from the fellow council members, which meant their attentions were properly on the defendants. 

Fair enough. 

“Lets get this ghastly business over with,” Starscream said, rolling his wrist. “While we had all hoped that such an unprecedented event as a cross-jurisdiction crime, we also all can agree that, in truth, there was a certain amount of expectation we all held for this possibility. And that it was always going to fall upon this very council to deal with these heinous crimes. So, today, I ask my fellow delegates if you are prepared to set the precedent for prosecuting severe crimes perpetrated by one of our citizens upon citizens of another jurisdiction and, complicated further yet, by its occurrence in yet another. Can we all put aside personal stake and perspectives to rule fairly here?”

“There is no need for presentation, Starscream,” Obsidian said grimly. “We have all come today. Now let us hear the cases.”

“Killjoy,” Starscream muttered under his breath before venting and looking toward Rodimus. “Hot Rod of Nyon,” he noted how the very mention of his home caused a full body flinch, “In charges against you involving the assault and demise of several fellow mech including two Eukarians, one Cybertronian, one Velocitronian, and a Camien, how do you plead?”

The shell of an Autobot looked dazed by the question. “I... where’s Optimus?” 

An uncomfortable shift moved through the Council and Starscream did not at all miss it. 

Annoyed, Starscream leaned forward. “This hearing does not acknowledge any legal authority you may claim in the name of a Prime,” he said clearly. “As you may have noticed, I used your initial designation. Not that given to you after your time falsely holding the Matrix--”

“If Optimus isn’t here you have to put me back,” Rodimus said, still not even remotely on the same page as the rest of them. 

A murmur erupted among the Council, and Starscream could feel the energon surging through him boiling. 

“Is that an admission of guilt? Requesting to be locked up?” Starscream yelled loudly, attempting to regain control of the conversation. 

“Please,” Rodimus pressed. 

“What is this, Starscream?” Knock Out asked, turning on Starscream with a suspicious glare. “This bot is clearly not in his right mind, and on top of that, I verified his stasis condition, which means the testimony of Rattrap is inadmissible.”

"How much more evidence would the Council need besides the confession of one of these terrorists and the word of one of its own members?” Starscream asked, though, of course, the question was rhetorical. 

He simply needed them to remember the fear and anger that had been inspired by Error’s attacks against their very senses of safety and efficacy. 

That was more than enough to convict. 

“The connection is vague, but Eukaris demands answers,” Tigatron announced stiffly. “If we could perhaps postpone actual sentencing while assuring that there is extreme measure taken to keep suspects under watch.”

“Carcer is also concerned with anyone suspected of betraying its trust in particular,” Obsidian announced, focusing his dark gaze on Windblade. “After all, it is honesty we value. However, there is nothing to hold delegate Windblade other than Rattrap’s word.”

“And that’s not enough?” Rattrap asked critically from Starscream’s side.

“No,” Obsidian answered brutally. 

“Fine,” Starscream snapped angrily. “We will release Windblade under extreme scrutiny, and with the condition that if she pokes her nose in our investigations any further it will be deemed suspicious behavior and she’ll be back in a cell.” 

“I think it’s curious that you seem so dedicated to assessing my part in this somehow, Lord Starscream,” Windblade fired back.

“There is nothing on Windblade,” Moonracer argued. “And your continued angling this around her is highly suspicious, Lord Starscream.”

“Fine, then she’s free to go and Hot Rod will be returned to his cell until adequate information is gathered. As the Council wishes,” Starscream replied sourly.

“Until Optimus is back,” Rodimus persisted. 

“His authority is not recognized!” Starscream snapped. 

“We shall see about that, Starscream.”

Starscream cycled his optics and dropped his head back in defeat and blinding hot rage. Because it truly was only the voice of Optimus Prime entering the chamber that could have possibly caused him that much more of a processor ache.

Rodimus couldn’t believe it -- finally! At long last! Optimus was there, he came. It was later than Rodimus had wanted but praise Primus he could finally talk to Optimus about what happened. 

The trial didn’t concern Rodimus, the mechs on the Council of Worlds didn’t concern him. 

Optimus was there. And then Optimus was leading him back to the medical bay. Rodimus didn’t think twice about why, didn’t question why he was still in restraints, he followed to the best of his ability, ignoring the way his pedes wavered without properly working stabilizers. 

Ratchet was there already, as was Rung and Drift, but none of it mattered.

“Optimus, I have to talk to you, please,” Rodimus begged as the door closed, leaving all of them in the room without any of Starscream’s guards. 

There was no softness in Optimus’ gaze as he looked at Rodimus. 

“Yes. You do,” Optimus said lowly. 

The tone of the Prime was apparently enough to cause alarm between Ratchet and Drift as they began to move closer to Rodims, almost between him and Optimus. 

But again, Rodimus didn’t care. He was there to confess.

“It was my fault. All those bots died, and it was due to my hand,” he explained. “I’m ready to stand on trial for what happened at Nyon.”

At that point, Ratchet and Drift shifted their concerned looks from Optimus to Rodimus. It was utter disbelief between the two of them, but that could not have registered less with Rodimus.

The only one who didn’t seem surprised was Optimus. And why would he be? He was there. He already knew. 

When Optimus pulled his gaze from Rodimus, it felt like a sentencing already, like judgment had already been passed. But Optimus looked at Rung. “I have a recording that I am going to share with only you and Ratchet. Megatron and Ultra Magnus believe it’s essential toward helping Rodimus--”

“I don’t deserve that name anymore, Starscream was right. I should go back to going by Hot Rod,” Rodimus continued to confess. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Ratchet demanded. “We didn’t look for any signs either on his neck or on his processor. There was so much other damage -- dammit! Stupid mistake. A sparkling would’ve known better That’s one of the first thing they teach you in medical school -- for every diagnosis you miss for not knowing, you miss ten for not looking.”

“I suspected but I was apparently too optimistic given the increased odds of recovery,” Rung sighed, cleaning his goggles with a long vent. “Truly, we are dealing with real monsters.”

Growing impatient and confused, Rodimus waved his good hand toward his chest, flinching at the feeling of metal clinking against his half exposed spark chamber. “Why do you need recordings? I’m confessing to you right now! I need to be stopped before I cause anymore damage. Like when I trusted Doubledealer and then Swindle and...” His processor began throbbing. He knew the points were connected, but he couldn’t quite string them together. Not out loud in any case. He reached up and gently held his helm as his optics cycled off. “You were there, Optimus. I trust your judgment. I saw you take the Matrix.”

“Rodimus--”

“I don’t deserve that,” Rodimus announced stiffly.

“Hot Rod, if that makes you more comfortable then,” Rung continued gently. “Hot Rod, you are very confused at the moment. Someone has possibly damaged your processor, interfered with your memories. We’re going to need Ratchet and some other doctors to examine you again and then start reconstructing your frame -- actually reconstructing it. Not leaving you exposed as you are now.”

“No,” Rodimus refused angrily. “If I have my arms I’ll hurt people again--”

“Rodimus,” Ratchet made a point of grinding out, ignoring the displeased look Rung gave him, “the events you’re talking about? They’re different things. They’re millennia apart from each other in some cases! Scrap, the thing with Swindle you’re talking about took place on Earth, and that was over fifteen years ago. I know, because I was there.”

Scowling, Rodimus shook his head and cycled his optics back on. “I know what I remember! And it doesn’t matter because Optimus was there and he’s the only one who has a right to make a judgment call on it.”

“You need to calm down, Rod,” Drift said almost gently reaching out toward Rodimus. “You’re worked up and very hurt. You’re not making a lot of sense.”

“The only thing that matters is that I killed people with my own hand!” Rodimus snapped in return. “I don’t deserve whatever sympathies you’re trying to give me--”

"Rodimus, that’s enough,” Optimus said, causing Rodimus to snap his misaligned jaw shut as quickly as he could. There still was no softness in the Prime’s gaze, even as he looked at the bot on proverbial trial, but he also had purposefully used the name he had given Rodimus himself. “This is not about Nyon. I was there for Nyon, but not for this. This is about Eukaris.”

The name sparked some familiarity to Rodimus’ senses, but not much. 

“I killed--”

“I have listened to the recordings,” Optimus said. “My order is for you to get help. To do what Ratchet and... Wrang tell you to do after I have allowed them to listen to them. And then we will determine what to do from there.”

“It was my hand,” Rodimus pressed.

“I know,” Optimus replied. 

A wave of shock went off around them, Optimus receiving confused looks from Ratchet, Drift, and Rung. But Rodimus didn’t care. He was relieved. He could see that Optimus knew what had happened. 

“I was too weak to stop, Optimus, I’m sorry,” he tried to apologize, but Optimus held up his hand.

“We will discuss it after you’ve been fixed up more, Rodimus. Now that Ratchet knows the source of the issue, I’m sure straightening it out will be simpler,” Optimus replied. And Rodimus accepted. It made sense.

“Optimus, you know that undoing Shadowplay isn’t that simple,” Ratchet snapped at him. “And after I took Chromedome’s needles, we don’t know a professional surgeon for it--”

“I wouldn’t allow it either way,” Rung announced. “I may not consider myself much of a practitioner anymore, but I will remain ethical, and that is not a solution to Shadowplay -- more undergoing the needle. He needs therapy.”

Nothing they were saying made sense to Rodimus, he wasn’t even sure they were talking about him anymore.

“Which is why you two will be working together,” Optimus announced. “You can sort out how that’ll be managed, I need to speak with Windblade and some of the delegates to manage what I can there.”

Alarmed to see Optimus turn his back on them, Rodimus reached out with his good am. “But... Optimus--”

“I’ll be back when you’re... better, Rodimus,” Optimus assured him, but he couldn’t even turn around to say it to Rodimus’ face. Instead, he kept walking toward the exit. 

Rodimus stood among the bots who, for reasons beyond him, were still calling themselves his friends, and watched as the Prime left without fully judging his sins. He couldn’t find the words, but he knew deep in his spark that he didn’t need Optimus later, he needed him now.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (12/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: Agghhhh this was supposed to come out Friday, but I’m LAZY and I apologize so much for the wait <3 

Special thanks to Isame, @secretlystephaniebrown, and squiggol for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part III: The Risk of Saving the Guilty Chapter 3.2: Steep Accusations

Velocity, like all Camiens, had been accustomed to worship of the Primes. These distant, mythological figures who were chosen by Primus to guide all mech, to open their spark to the Matrix and provide a guiding light to them all. 

She had, especially of her sorority, always been the more secular of the girls, especially if one did not account for Firestar’s self absorption. Velocity had never been precisely a skeptic or non-believer on the levels she had seen over the months being exposed to Ratchet’s tutelage, but the reality of a Prime was always so distant from her day to day life. 

One thing she never dreamed of was riding in a shuttle beside the Prime himself. 

The very real, very solemn, very intimidating Prime. 

His very presence smothered what otherwise would have probably been joyous reunification between her and her group of Amicas. 

Alongside her, Nautica seemed utterly starstruck by the Prime’s presence, unusually quiet and teetering on pure nervousness. So unlike her. 

Their Cybertronian Amicas and other friends did not share the quiet awe, but they were all visibly uncomfortable, from Brainstorm’s nervous chatter to Nightbeat’s suspicious leering in Optimus Prime’s direction.

Chromedome was flying their shuttle, Rewind by his side as always. But the minibot was downright furious -- his field was vibrating with it. Their reactions to the Prime’s presence on the ship was... curious and mostly an outlier. 

The Prime was unreadably stoic from his seat. 

“So what are the odds, given he was part of the mutiny, that Perceptor would allow me to design something briefcase shaped but under supervision as always?” Brainstorm asked, stroking his faceplate’s chin. “I’m thinking it’s in the twenty to thirty percent possible.”

“You’re being far too generous,” Nightbeat informed him. “I’d put it at a zero. I think briefcases are out of the question at this point in your scientific career.”

Brainstorm let out a frustrated noise and grabbed the sides of his helm. “But it’s the only thing I have on my processor since I woke up!”

“Hm,” Nightbeat said, bringing his own hand to his chin. 

Velocity looked at him curiously. He had been unusually quiet since the upset at Eukaris first broke news across their crew. It was very unlike Nightbeat, and even more than that it was most likely because he was trying to untangle some connections he was making. Though, Velocity couldn’t imagine for the life of her how he had enough information to figure anything out yet.

Nautica was hugging her arms before taking a deep vent and pulling her gaze away from the Prime as best she could. Instead she looked to Velocity. 

“Velocity, you got to spend more time in the medical ward while we were on Cybertron,” Nautica stated. 

“Yes,” Velocity agreed, somewhat confused by the subject.

“Did you see Windblade and Chromia at all?” she asked hopefully.

“I did,” Velocity said. “Though, not much. They seemed to mostly be looking for answers and checking the tensions in the room. With it being an interplanetary incident and all, I’m pretty sure they were figuring out political stuff more than come in for a visit.”

A somewhat disappointed frown came to Nautica’s face. “I guess Windblade always did dive headfirst into anything she was involved in, didn’t she? That’s a shame. I’ve always had a hard time of holding a high opinion of politicians.”

“Everything’s a little political at the end of the day,” Velocity observed. 

“And the patients?” Nautica asked. “I mean, Brainstorm’s doing better -- processor damage or not.”

“Who said anything about damage?” Brainstorm huffed defensively. 

“So the others have a good chance thanks to your all’s hands, right?” Nautica pressed. 

Velocity rubbed at her shoulder. “That’s difficult to really answer, Nautica. You’re dealing with different injuries, and I didn’t have a direct hand with everyone in the ward. I barely got to more than watch over Rodimus’ CR chamber while we were there and all.”

“But you could read his charts, right?” Nautica asked. “When do they think he’ll wake up?”

Surprised by the curious looks all of her friends were giving her, Velocity realized that they really didn’t grasp the state of their co-captain’s hospitalization. 

“Oh, gosh. Everyone, it’s not....” Velocity paused and gathered her thoughts. “Rodimus isn’t going to wake up until they decide to take him off of sedation. His coma is medically induced until they can figure out a way to reconstruct his bareframe over his protoform again. A lot of his natural physiology is melted and will require lots of reconstruction. It’s beyond natural mending abilities.”

"That sounds horrible,” Nautica said, placing a hand over her intake.

“I’d be completely lost on what to do if it was my case alone,” Velocity admitted. “Fortunately First Aid and Ratchet are on it. And they’re... It’s amazing. I’ve never seen some of the procedures they would use while working on Rodimus. I mean, First Aid alone revived Rodimus’ spark on the brink of offlining -- when it was the size of pinprick!” She then hesitated, recalling the enormity of those moments and glancing toward Optimus Prime. O-of course they were using the Prime’s help at the time. I even saw the Matrix itself once.”

Nightbeat and Brainstorm seemed intrigued but not nearly as impressed as Nautica, who looked to the Prime with complete awe. 

Velocity wondered if their similar religious upbringing brought the same subtle fears and amazement to her friend as they did to her.

It was difficult sitting in the same ship as a religious figure.

“I really got to put into perspective my position as a new doctor while in that room, though,” Velocity announced, steepling her fingers. “I worked so hard for all those years to make it through medical school and then through the exams. Even at my proudest moment, I had always assumed mediocrity for myself in my field. But the Lost Light -- learning under First Aid and Ratchet. They do laps around the mentors I’ve had for all these years. Their application has taught me more than all the books I’m still in debt paying off during school. I am beyond fortunate. And our captain is beyond fortunate to have them on his team, keeping him in the best care possible.”

Nautica nodded. 

Brainstorm and Nightbeat were unusually quiet for themselves. 

“Is there anything else you want to know?” Velocity asked. “If not, I’d love to hear about the sights on Cybertron you all got to visit while I was cooped up. The growth of the city is something to behold! Each time we stop there, no matter what crisis has happened in the time between, they’ve managed to do so much and grow in population and structures.”

“There’s a civilian-ran research facility--” Brainstorm began, eyes shining with excitement. “It’s the first time I’ve thought there could actually be something Cybertron could offer if the Lost Light ever docks back--”

“If I may interrupt...”

At that booming voice, Velocity felt ready to leap out of her own frame. She turned and looked in shock to the Prime. He was looking right at them!

Nautica actually squeaked. 

The Prime continued staring at them. “I overheard one of you telling Chromedome and Rewind about modifications to the hyperdrive of this shuttle someone made. That was one of you, correct?”

At once, Velocity joined the others in looking toward their resident quantum mechanic. 

“I...” Nautica began before coughing into her fist. “That would be me, Prime. Sir. Mister Prime....”

“I am called Optimus by my friends,” he assured her.

“I... Yes, Prime,” she said before burying her face in her hands. “I can’t be seen if I’m hiding. No one can see me. This is worse than being upside down.”

Velocity, uncertain of what else to do, reached forward and gently patted her friend’s shoulders while the socially awkward submarine flailed in the proverbial waters of social engagement. 

“Those are impressive enhancements to such a small vessel,” Optimus Prime said gently. “I would like to put you in contact with the scientist of my own crew -- Jetfire. I believe the two of you would get along very well by comparing notes. And having a quantum drive on our own ship could make travel between Earth and Cybertron without a space bridge more possible.”

“Oh...” Nautica said, dropping her hands slightly. “Oh! I mean. Oh! Yes. Yes, it would be an honor to help the Prime and his crew. I’m honored. I’m--”

“We would also cover your expenses in doing so,” the Prime continued. “I am not in a habit of not rewarding others for their work, even if they are religious.”

“That is even better,” Nautica responded without thinking. Then she smacked herself in the head. “Oh my god, what’s wrong with me -- what I mean to say is that it would be, I would be, you don’t have to...” 

“Vent, Nautica,” Velocity whispered.

Doing as instructed, Nautica vented pure steam. “Thank you, Optimus Prime. I am very grateful.”

“Better,” Velocity whispered with an encouraging smile. 

“I will be the one thanking you, I am certain,” he replied, looking back toward the bow of the ship. “Both for the assistance and for helping change the subject of conversation.”

The ship grew uncomfortably quiet after the Prime’s pronouncement. Nautica in particular looked like her fuel tank was expiring before their eyes. 

Velocity did her best to swallow down her own feelings of intimidation and stepped toward the Prime. She hesitated at first, but then gently placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing the large mech’s attention toward her. 

“We really appreciate everything you did to help our co-captain, Sir,” Velocity said. “The medical procedures were a success thanks to your very spark.”

At first, the Prime seemed almost surprised by her and, for a moment, Velocity was worried that perhaps she overstepped by touching him. But his optics grew soft and he glanced back ahead to the front of the ship. It allowed Velocity to quietly withdraw her hand and hold it as if some of the Primacy had rubbed off on it.

“There has been a lot more that I could have done,” the Prime said lowly.

It was a flat statement, not open for discussion. And, thoroughly intimidated and questioning what had gotten into her processor, Velocity backed off. 

She was just close enough to hear lowly as the Prime shook his head and muttered, “Co-captain,” like it was a curse. A regret. Something. 

The rest of the trip was stiflingly uneventful.

Cybertronians were a famously durable species. 

Drift remembered his own rebirth among the Knights, when he had been saved by Wing. He had been ripped assunder, and yet with the barest medical care available at the Crystal City, he was given a new body, a new life. 

Rodimus had the greatest scientific minds Cybertron had to offer working on him. 

But he still wasn’t awake.

Hands always dancing over the hilts of his swords, always prepared to protect his captain at the slightest sign of danger, Drift had to wonder why. Why wasn’t Rodimus awake yet.

He knew what Rodimus’ destiny was, he knew that the future of Cybertron, of their crew, needed him more than anything else. That his explicit, confusing visions needed him to survive any trial their journey threw at them. 

Including this. Certainly including this. 

“Drift.”

Cycling his optics, Drift turned and looked toward Ratchet. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even realized that the old grump of a robot had been finished yelling at his fellow doctors. 

“We’re done for the day,” Ratchet said, continuing to walk toward him. “Grab some of your stuff and come with me to Blurr’s. Get some decent energon in your system while we’re off the clock. First Aid assures me he has everything handled here for the night.”

Not making any motions to move on the suggestion, Drift rested his hands on the hilts of his swords. 

“You deserve a break,” Drift agreed. “You’ve done so much, so tirelessly, Ratchet. I can’t thank you enough. But I do not have a clock. I have a duty, and it does not take breaks for energon.”

Ratchet’s face showed that he was anything but impressed. Drift had to give it to him, he was a mech who wore his emotions with clarity. 

“You’ve got nothing but a security pass I wrestled out of that piece of scrap Rattrap’s hand for you,” Ratchet reminded him. “He’s not in danger anymore -- and he’s mostly out of the woods, as they said on Earth.”

Frowning, Drift looked back at the CR chamber. “He’s going to need someone -- someone not with a medical degree -- with him when he wakes up. When he sees... when he sees the damage.”

For once, Ratchet seemed to drop the snark from his reaction. “Well, his coma at this point is medically induced. He’s not waking up until we’re ready for him to,” the medic explained in what, for him, passed for gently. “So I think you can go out for a drink.”

Drift actually turned from Ratchet at that. 

He was exhausted... 

"I trust First Aid and the other doctors,” Drift said. “Medically. But as far as protection goes, I believe my place is still here--”

“Oh, for the love of...” Ratchet said, throwing his servos up in the air. “I knew you were going to be like this.”

“Like...?” Drift said, tilting his helm.

“Like a dunce with a second rate processor,” Ratchet snapped before waving to the doors of the lab as they slid open and Ironhide and the bodyguard he met before known as Chromia came walking in. “I called backup for you.”

Drift vented, feeling himself cool almost immediately with relief. 

It was better. His nerves were shot and the idea of leaving Rodimus’ side at all still unsettled his fuel pump, but it was better. He could manage it -- for a short amount of time. 

“Thank you,” Drift said to Ratchet. “For understanding my obligation--”

“Yeah, yeah, you should thank me,” Ratchet said with a wave of hi hand. “Can we get some energon or not?”

Drift frowned some and glanced back toward Ironhide and Chromia before stepping toward them, eyeing them from helm to pede. He ignored Ratchet’s “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding,” from behind him and concentrated on the bots before him instead. 

“You’re going to assure me that any threat to Rodimus will be handled by you personally?” Drift asked them clearly. 

“If a threat comes up, between the two of us it ain’t got a chance,” Ironhide said firmly. 

Chromia was a little more suspicious. “Has there been any attempts made on him? Or threats--”

“The threat that put him in that CR Chamber to begin with,” Drift responded snappislhly. 

"Drift!” Ratchet snapped from over his shoulder. “Move your tailpipe. They’ve got this.”

Drift let out a heavy vent and offered his servo out to Chromia .”Thank you for your time and service.”

“Not a problem,” Chromia assured him, taking his hand and shaking it. “Windblade was happy to get rid of me for the night. As usual.”

Before Drift could turn to tell Ratchet he was ready, the lab door opened yet again. 

Somehow, in the building relief Drift had been allowing in his system, he had not even made a move for his swords when he heard the doors. He hadn’t been prepared for the worst possibilities for the first time in months. 

He let his guard down, and was taken aback by the arrival of Starscream, that traitorous Rattrap, and the official badgeless Cybertronian guards. 

“How convenient, finding everyone in one spot,” Starascream said darkly as he neared the medbay. His optics then concentrated on Rodimus’ CR chamber. He seemed displeased. “Rattrap, your story doesn’t seem to be adding up right now.”

Drift moved for his swords, but the gards raised their guns. 

It was a standoff. 

“What’s the meaning of this!?” Ratchet demanded. “You want talk on your research, Starscream, go find First Aid or Knock Out. But don’t bring armed goons into a place of healing--”

“It was him, Lord Starscream. There’s no doubts about it!” Rattrap declared by Starscream’s side. “And just look! These guys’re here... but sure don’t see any Windblade, do ya?”

Starscream almost looked delighted to have the point made out for him. He shifted his gaze to Chromia. “Ah, yes, where is our favorite cityspeaker?”

“Recharging,” Chromia spat out. “What’re you doing here, Starscream?”

“To prove once and for all that Rodimus is faking his injuries and is guilty of collusion with our greatest modern threat to Cybertronian society,” Starscream answered as if it was the simplest statement in the world. 

“What the pit are you talking about?” Ratchet demanded. He waved toward the CR chamber. “We’ve had him put under for weeks!” 

"Then what was he doing downtown in the sewers just an hour ago?” Rattrap asked, as if he really ‘had’ them.

“That’s impossible,” Drift hissed. “I have been here every second since he was put in intensive care. He’s not so much as flinched on his own!”

“And I was with Windblade an hour ago,” Chromia defended. 

“You’ll have to forgive me for not taking your words for more than face value,” Starascream said dismissively before waving to his guards. “Open up the CR chamber. I want this cleared up yesterday.”

The guards took one step forward and Drift moved fast, slicing through each of their guns with his sword before the guards could even react. They looked at each other in shock and confusion while Drift held out his sword in an attempt to show the supposed leader of Cybertron just how serious he was. 

“You have no right to attack a wounded warrior!” Drift declared angrily. 

“I have any right I want,” Starscream said cockily. “But what right I have or don’t have is not of importance here. What’s of importance is that if we have truly caught Rodimus in a lie, then we are a step closer to understanding who attacked the mechs on Eukaris and what insider has been responsible for leaking information to the cltists.”

“What in the frag are you talking about!?” Ratchet cried out. 

“I think you understand perfectly what I’m saying,” Starscream announced. “I am formally accusing Rodimus , former Autobot, former captai nof the Lost Light vessel, is responsible for the death and carnage that befell Eukaris and his crew. I am accusing your former captain of assault and murder. Not to mention traitorism. The last charge goes for Windbalde as well.”

Everyone stared at the mad king in shock. 

It was not exactly predictable that the captain himself was not there to greet them at the shuttle, but it managed to put Optimus even more on alarm than he already was. 

Megatron wanted to make the encounter more challenging, then so be it.

He exited the ship looking all around the dock before finally settling on Ultra Magnus. 

“I hope the trip was decent,” Ultra Magnus said immediately. 

“You have a good crew if this group is anything to judge by,” Optimus said assuredly, earning some looks from his recent travel companions. “If not... easily lead into conversation.”

“We consider that a hallmark of the Lost Light,” Ultra Magnus said somewhat lightly. 

Optimus Prime had heard rumors of Ultra Magnus’ new leaf -- at his attempts to provide levity and humor. It was hard to believe. And in his actual presence, it was difficult to determine if it was that kind of situation or not.

“I need to speak with Megatron,” Optimus continued all the same. “Of course, I’m sure he knew that when he sent you.”

“I do my bet to not make assumptions on my higher commands’ intentions,” Ultra Magnus answered before leading and waving toward the nearest corridor. “But I am here to lead you to his office if you are interested in speaking with him yourself.”

“I am,” Optimus answered, stepping forward and all but marching toward the office Ultra Magnus was directing him to. 

Beyond the brief exchange, there was not much conversation between them. It was unusual for Ultra Magnus -- especially to not at least be asking about the status of the crew recovering on Cybertron. 

That all but cemented in Optimus’ mind that there was something on the Lost Light that was being kept a secret. And that just made the Prime more determined to learn it for himself. 

When he opened the door to the office, Megatron wasn’t even pretending to not be waiting on him. He was merely sitting at his desk -- hands crossed over a very distinct dent in the shape of a fist. 

“Megatron,” Optimus said, ignoring as Ultra Magnus entered after him and shut the door. 

"Prime,” Megatron said thinly. 

“Your ship has not been compliant with the Council of Worlds’ investigations to what occurred on Eukaris,” Optimus said angrily. “It also has yet to leave Eukaris’ airspace.”

Megatron remained stonefaced throughout the accusations. “I was not aware that the colony had any space program to speak of. Our Eukarian crew members did not mention as much--”

“Your mission to find the Knights of Cybertron is being stalled,” Optimus got to the point.

That declaration shook something loose from Megatron as he finally reacted. His look darkened and he unfolded his hands to grip the edges of his desk. “Of course it is stalled. Members of my crew, including my co-captain, have been attacked and hospitalized. We are waiting for the crew to--”

“You are postponing your trial through distractions,” Optimus snapped. “I know who you are, Megatron. I know what you are about. And there is very little you do without reason or planning.”

“Our mission is not moving forward without our co-captain,” Megatron said fiercely. “That is all, Prime.”

“You are the captain,” Optimus said firmly. “I made you such. You can do whatever you want without Rodimus’ input--”

“I could, and I wouldn’t!” Megatron yelled, getting to his feet and slamming his hands against the desk. “You do not understand anything, Optimus. You may think you do, but you don’t.”

“I understand that the less you do to help Starscream, the more reason he has to throw you and every member of your crew into jail, taking this ship, and cutting off financial support to the medical center in the capital that holds your crew,” Optimus bantered. “I understand you might just be selfish enough to risk it.”

“Selfish!?” Megatron laughed, a thunderous disturbing laugh that Optimus had not heard in years. “You don’t know the meaning of the word--”

“Enough,” Ultra Magnus stepped in between them, even going so far as to put a firm hand on Optimus’ chest to keep him and Megatron at arm’s length from each other. “This is not productive. We all share the same concern.”

“Do we?” Optimus asked dryly, reconcentrating on Megatron. “Do you understand what this all is looking like to those on Cybertron? That it seems as though you are making a coup against what Autobots are left on the ship who are not loyal to you? That you’re no longer looking for the Knights but are attacking an underdeveloped colony for invasion?”

"Is that all?” Megatron asked. “Really, Optimus? After the eons I spent determining near perfect ways of assimilating and overthrowing worlds at a time, you think that I am in charge of this series of disastrous events?”

“You and disastrous events are seldom mutually exclusive,” Optimus argued. “And it is not what I think, it is what Cybertron, the Council and--”

“Starscream,” Megatron interrupted, “does not believe I am responsible for anything at the moment because he knows my approach better than anyone. I taught him his ruthlessness, to my eternal dismay. If he sent you here with that impression then you are more of a fool than had ever realized.”

Optimus narrowed his optics. “Then what does Starscream think? Enlighten me,” he demanded. 

A look was shared between Ultra Magnus and Megatron that left Optimus feeling highly uncomfortable. The shared understanding between them was not something Optimus ever expected to see, even when he put Megatron in charge of the ship knowing Magnus’ fealty to the chain of command. 

They knew something.

“If you have anything--” Optimus began. 

“He could get the information to Ratchet even more quickly than Velocity, and we would not be without a medic,” Ultra Magnus argued on the part of a side Optimus was not even aware he was on.

“This has the potential to be the greatest of mistakes either of us has made,” Megatron said darkly. 

Suddenly, Optimus felt dwarfed by the momentum of their conversation, lost in the lack of information. “Who does Starscream believe is responsible?” he pressed.

Megatron stared at Optimus once more like he was the true enemy. 

“Rodimus,” he answered finally.

“Rodimus?” Optimus repeated. “But how? He’s the most damaged of the survivors -- I helped restart his spark three times--”

The former Decepticon was not listening to him anymore, reaching toward his gauntlet and producing a drive. 

“What is that?” Optimus asked suspiciously.

“Your answers,” Megatron said flatly. “The ones you don’t want.”

Still steeped in suspicion, Optimus accepted the drive and looked to Ultra Magnus instead. “What is he talking about?”

“That drive contains the saved audial logs that we were finally able to decode from the Lost Light’s emergency frequency,” Ultra Magnus explained. “They are from Rodimus’ away team during the incident.” The law abiding looked at him gravely. “We need to see these make their way safely to Ratchet and to Rung.”

Optimus tilted his helm. “Rung?”

“Our former ship psychoanalyst,” Megatron answered, still holding out the drive. “He... retired himself recently, but under my order he stayed on Cybertron after traveling with your recent companions.”

Idly, Optimus somewhat remembered an orange mech receiving hugs shortly before their departure. 

“Other than them, we have not allowed anyone to listen to the recording,” Ultra Magnus explained further.

“Why?” Optimus demanded immediately. 

Neither answered. 

“I suppose you do not wish for me to listen to them either,” Optimus surmised. 

“Do you trust Rodimus?” Megaton asked.

“Excuse me?” Optimus asked, thrown off guard.

Megatron did not so much as flinch. “Do you trust Rodimus? Do you wish to assist him? Or is he yet another acolyte to sacrifice for the greater good?”

“You of all mechs have no right to say such things against my character, Megatron,” Optimus argued angrily. 

“I don’t disagree,” Megatron replied. “I am old, old enough that I question if change is truly possible for any of us. In a sense of irony, our species seems particularly inept at change. But if there is anything that has led me to change it is that I find myself concerned for this ship, this crew. Rodimus is more than simply my crew, he is my co-captain. We have survived and led together through what we previously thought was the ship’s darkest hours. And without him there is zero possibility that I can lead this ship. Ultra Magnus and Perceptor have taken over most of the command duties. I am without power -- power to command, power to help those I consider... my friends.” 

Still, Megatron held out the drive. 

Optimus took it. “I take care of my friends as well,” he assured them both. “But I will be listening to this recording myself. I want to know what I am protecting them from.”

“Of course you will,” Megatron said with only slight disgust as he glanced toward the opposing wall.

Confused, Optimus looked to Magnus who seemed equally disheartened. 

“You will be protecting Rodimus from himself, Sir,” Ultra Magnus revealed. 

[renaroo]

Six Fics for 2016

Heeeeeyyyyyy so who’s doing this meme three weeks late? This guy

I have no reason for my laziness, so apologies to the amazing @secretlystephaniebrown​ who invented this meme and tagged me for my sluggishness! It was just really hard to pick fics, and honestly I only managed to do so by deciding I should only pick ones that are finished and aren’t being continued on into 2017 or are part of ongoing series!

So without further ado, my Six Fics for 2016! May it be a year we never have to repeat again:

6. Caboose Alone (Red vs Blue - 12 Chapters)

[Post-Season 13 Finale] When the smoke cleared, when they finally made it back to their heroes, only one of the Reds and Blues was left standing. Caboose is all alone now.

aka @powerfulpomegranate​ made me do it.

To describe any one day more miserable than the other felt a bit factitious at that point. But if Washington felt like taking a note in hyperbole, he would humor considering the worst days the ones where Caboose had his checkups with Doctor Grey.

Caboose was a large man, nearly half a foot taller than Wash himself, who was already not short by most comparisons. Usually it was an asset that Caboose’s bulk added up to some useful strength, but not when Caboose wanted to do something, or worse when he couldn’t do something.

Wash didn’t remember much after they had boarded the ship, some fleeting gunfire in the distance, shouting -- the images were there, but they were jumbled, scattered. They didn’t run smoothly like a movie reel, but rather were all assorted and mashed back together awkwardly. It was a nightmare -- a massacre -- in that room. The fighting had continued on even as the ship was crashing down and as best as they could estimate, the Reds and Blues had continued fighting even as the ship turned itself on its end.

It meant blood and gore had been everywhere -- on every wall, on the ceiling, over top the ones who had fallen.

And then there was Caboose

5. We Won’t Need 60 Minutes (Batfam/Superfam - 1 Chapter)

Bruce needs someone he can trust to break the news of Cassandra's adoption in the world of media blitz. Fortunately he knows the best.

If you give me a prompt where I can put Lois Lane and Cassandra Cain in the same room, I will absolutely run with it. That’s my promise. 

Give me any prompt in the world that allows me to put Lois Lane and Cassandra Cain in the same room and I will kill over from joy. Or write a sappy one shot.

Lois took a seat at Bruce’s desk and kicked her feet up. “Did Bruce tell you who I was?”

There was a thoughtful gleam behind Cassandra’s eyes that Lois latched onto immediately. Bruce was right, she hadn’t said much but already Lois could see the girl was highly intelligent.

“Yes,” Cassandra answered again.

“Well, he probably did it wrong,” Lois shrugged. She held out her hand and smirked at the girl. “I’m Lois Lane. Reporter for the Daily Planet. Here to ask the tough questions so other reporters don’t have a new spin even if they try.”

4. Worth Fighting For (Red vs. Blue - 1 Chapter)

The lieutenants are sent by the general to scout a distant city for the possibility of reclaiming it after the loss of Armonia. It's a simple scouting mission, but nothing about their discoveries of a war and time before their service is simple.

People forget, but I actually got my start in the RvB fandom by writing stuff that mostly concentrated on my beloved children, the Lieutenants, and getting to focus on them again this year was something I actually put a lot of heart into, though I think it flew under most people’s radars. Oh, well, it was definitely one of my favorites.

“Palomo’s the youngest,” Jensen snorts, patting him condescendingly on the head. “Go figure.”

Palomo takes it, flinching only a little with each thwap but there’s something more serious and focused to his eyes than usual. After he chews on his lip a bit, he looks to the rest of the squad and quietly points out what really should be obvious.

“If you guys are only nineteen… doesn’t that mean none of us were even in kindergarten when the war broke out?” he asks.

They fall silent for a moment, focusing on the words.

“It’s kinda weird,” Palomo shrugs. “I think I’m only a New and not a Fed because that’s what my parents were, y’know? I guess I never really made the choice. I mean. I guess I was lucky! I just got to be on the right side because my parents were on the right side.” He looks at them cautiously. “Right?”

The question hangs between all of them thickly, suffocatingly.

“Of course,” Andersmith finally answers. And it’s settled.

3. Words Better Said (Transformers - 1 Chapter)

[Vaguely post-MTMTE #54] Rewind and Chromedome made it through the Dying of the Light with what remains of the crew, but there are far too many words that are still left unsaid. Sometimes it has to be someone's job to say what, to everyone else, must be obvious.

I need -- I mean, literally, on a visceral level I need to write more Rewind and Chromedome, because I love them so dearly and I have SO many thoughts and feelings about them and their relationship and gosh this was cathartic to get out after MTMTE truly threw us for a loop.

If it were him on the table, his Domey would not have moved, would not have ever looked away. Chromedome’s entire world would have been that seat by Rewind’s side. He knew this because on the Lost Light he had missed, this(his) Domey had done just that.

But Rewind struggled. Not with the commitment, not for a moment because his spark did not pound with worry for his beloved, but because he had to deal with the fact that they hadn’t talked about it yet.

His choice.

The choice Rewind had to make because Chromedome honestly couldn’t see for himself what it was that Rewind thought he so obviously felt.

It hurt to sit there because Rewind was an archivist. His mind was a library of thoughts and memories and neatly packed away reminders of every stupid choice, every dumb word he had made over the last several years.

The case was laid out before him, in Rewind’s mind. And he couldn’t believe how stupid – how selfish he seemed in hindsight.

2. The Problem Is (Batfam - 1 Chapter)

The problem is Harper isn't so sure how to handle her crush.

I will forever be the guardian and patron saint of BrendaxCassandra, no one make any mistake, and with Blüdhaven back in the picture so is the possibility of my all time OTP for my fav, but man CassxHarper can get me RIGHT in the feels, and I adored filling out this prompt. 

Harper specifically has herself cooking for two, and when the night stretches into morning and she’s sitting by a window that hasn’t been opened yet, when she feels her chest twist and ache with disappointment from the day ending without a drop by of Cassandra Cain.

The problem is it’s suddenly a problem when she eats alone. Even if she knows there is no obligation for someone to join her.

The problem is that laundry day waits for a second pair of sweats, and that some pajamas aren’t in rotation because they’re someone else’s favorites to wear.

The problem is that when her playlist gets to “For Good” she cries now laying on her bedroom floor like she never understood the meaning of the song before.

“Uh oh,” Harper says.

Because the problem is that uh oh means she never thought she’d let her guard down enough to hurt this way before. And the problem is that she’s got no one to blame but herself.

1. Took a Wrong Turn at Normal (Red vs. Blue - 1 Chapters)

Simmons was just fine with Grif dating other people. Just fine. No problem at all.

*breaks into your home and bangs on all the pots and pans* EVERY YEAR NEEDS A LITTLE GIMMONS + MISCOMMUNICATION PROBLEMS

While Simmons would never make the argument that things started off innocently, they had been pretty simple at the start of it all.

“It’s like a mutual thing,” Grif had proposed. “I mean, what else are a bunch of guys going to do in the army? Not have sex with things?”

Then again, Simmons did have a tendency to edit history however his brain saw fit.

“I hope by things you mean people and not, like, objects,” he had countered nervously, looking around the barracks.

“Depends on the mood,” Grif deadpanned. “So what do you say, Simmons? Fuck buddies or not? C’mon. Everyone’s doing it.”

Simmons also never quite learned how to deal with peer pressure.

At least it was a handshake he did not later regret.

And that’s my six fics for the year!! Hopefully over 2017 I’ll improve and give you guys more quality!!

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (10/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: Again, sorry for the time lapse but it’s better than last time at least!! Right? Right? -__- Ah well. We’re officially at the end of Part II, though! So yay for that!!! 

Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, Isame, and squiggol for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part II: The Fire Down Below Chapter 2.5: Acolytes of Primus’ Light

Velocity trusted Nautica, Rung, Nightbeat Rewind, and Chromedome, and she knew that the quantum engineer was confident in the warp drive of Ultra Magnus’ ship, but it did not make her feel any less queazy to arrive at Cybertron’s main port and be met with the amount of scrutiny and security measurements that they had in place for them.

First Aid had requested her services, and Velocity was obliged to assist him -- she was just as responsible for the lives of their crew as Ratchet and First Aid were, perhaps even more so seeing as how she was left in charge of the Medbay just before the mutiny and all. 

And he had warned her in their brief communication that Cybertron was going to be very protective given all the recent events. 

Still, the compartment search was more than unnecessary.

“They’re all medical supplies,” she assured the guards as she hugged her arms and watched them go through each item she had brought in her subspace compartment. “I am a doctor. It’s what I’m here for. I thought, given everything that’s happened, that Cybertron would be more happy to have an increase in medical staff. Including psychologists.”

“You’re from the Lost Light, ma’am, and that was infiltrated by the terrorist organization,” the tiny guard argued strongly. “And you brought four friends who are not doctors.”

“One is our quantum engineer,” she said, nodding to Nautica to make her point. “And Chromedome was requested to come by the Prime himself, and of course he should be able to bring his Conjunx with him.”

The tiny guard tilted his helm and pointed to where Nightbeat was unloading several unusual and unexplainable items from his own compartments. “And that one?”

“He thinks there’s some sort of mystery to unravel,” Velocity shrugged. “Solas Prime couldn’t keep him off our ship once he got whiff of a case. But if you need more reason, he’s my Amica.”

That caused the bot to take pause, look back to Nightbeat, then to Rung, and then to Nautica before falling back on Velocity herself. His optics were nearly squinting at her. “You are third to claim that.”

With suspicion laden in his voice, Velocity sighed and knew she was going to have to waste more of her precious time conversing with the security rather than assisting her mentors with the Lost Light’s patients. It was threatening to put her in a mood. 

“That would be because there are several of us who are all joined Amica Endura together,” Velocity explained testily. “One of which happens to be in the medical ward at the capital, and after everything we’ve been through, we would prefer to go on our way, help who we can, and check on our loved ones.”

“You can’t have multiple Amica,” the bot dismissed with a wave of his servo.

Velocity couldn’t help but bristle. “Absolutely one can! And I do. Obviously. I just explained.”

“Figures you mechs would throw such a thing around so easily,” the bot shook his head and began writing something down on his datapad before shoving all of Velocity’s supplies back to her. 

Thrown off by the tone, Velocity pressed her lips together. “You mechs?” she asked thinly. 

“Camiens,” he clarified. “It’s just... obscene to have more than one Amica. Unnecessary. It devalues it.”

“Then I’m happy, both as a mech and as a doctor, to be from Caminus, where one’s spark is large enough for all the world if you let it be,” Velocity responded, taking her supplies and quickly placing them in her subspace as the rest of their motley crew at last made their way over to her. “Are we ready to go to the capital?” 

“Sure, I’ll lead the way,” Nightbeat said, somehow managing to still have cheer in his voice despite the general mood. He then transformed into his altmode, only to get a few coughs from Rung and Chromedome. 

"Some of us do not have the most applicable of altmodes,” Chromedome said, a firm hand resting on his Conjunx’s shoulder.

Rewind vented and threw up his hands halfheartedly. “Here we go again about the altmodes.”

“And I’m afraid my scooter wouldn’t be quite as fast as those of us with wheels,” Rung added. “Not to mention those of us who have different modes of transportation entirely.”

Nautica gave a worried smile and shrugged. “Point me at Cybertron’s nearest lake and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Sorry, Nightbeat,” Velocity picked up, closing her subspace, now filled once more with her medical supplies, “You’ll need to point us in the proper direction of the capital without the tour on wheels.”

Without another word, Nightbeat transformed and showed a slight grimace on his face. “Well, that’s not nearly as fun.”

“Story of my life,” Chromedome joked lightly as he and Rewind joined the others in walking out of the security kiosk in botmode, ignoring the less than amused shaking of Rewind’s head. 

While she was no Cybertronian and her experience with the planet had been fairly limited to her short visits thus far, walking the streets toward the capital building still managed to be eye opening for Velocity. 

The already unsettled and curious atmosphere of the planet had shifted rather prominently to something far more uncomfortable. Like the pit one could swear their spark would fall toward within their sparkchamber that simply wasn’t there. 

Last time she had visited, there were groups and couples who were all about each and every corner, with the streets busy with activity. 

Sparse a cycle later it seemed that the bots all huddled in doors of buildings and indoors all together, nothing but straight, direct traffic lining the streets, and hardly anyone but the Lost Lighters themselves on the actual sidewalks. 

Cybertron felt like an unhappily cold place at that point. It almost pained Velocity to her spark. 

Nightbeat dutifully led them to the capitol building and once more they were met with the most unhelpful looking guards imaginable. All stood strongly opposed to letting the group forward even a single micrometer. 

“Hold up, we need to inspect each of you before you come anywhere close to entering these restricted areas!” one of the guards growled out, his broad servo held up making it very tempting to smack it down.

Immediately, the entire group broke out in groans aside from Rung who merely cleaned his lenses with a soft vent. 

“This is getting ridiculous!” Chromedome said, putting a hand against the side of his head. “We were asked to come here.”

“Velocity is a doctor and they need her talents immediately!” Nautica added, coming up to Velocity from behind and grabbing her by the shoulders so as to better position her up front of the group. 

Velocity did not struggle against the pushing but she did give a strained glance back toward her old friend. 

“Is this true?” the guard asked, tilting his helm. “We are allowing further medical staff through. But the rest of you will need a thorough search.”

“It’s true,” Velocity answered quickly. She glanced back. “Sorry everyone, but if I can help the injured--”

“Absolutely,” Nightbeat nodded.

“Do whatever you can,” Rewind urged. 

“We absolutely support you, dear Velocity,” Rung assured her, leaving Velocity to turn back on her heels and offer her credentials to the guards. 

They took a moment to examine her but not a moment more, waving her through the doors. Velocity ducked her head, sent a swift thank you to her friends, and rushed on in, hoping that the inside of the building would be simple enough for her to navigate and find the medical bay for. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Primus was on her side with that one.

Velocity circled a corridor at least twice before running into the same, scraggly looking beastformer with large buckteeth took notice of her and grabbed her by the wrist.

“Hey, you supposed to be here or are they lettin’ scrap wander in from off the streets again?” he demanded rather testily.

“What is with how rude this planet has become?” Velocity demanded, wrenching her wrist back. “I was requested here. I’m a doctor and my services are very much needed--”

“You, uh, from the Lost Light?” he asked, tilting his helm. “Well then. My sincerest apologies! Let me just lead you to the laboratories so you can deal with those overbearing bots instead’a me for once.”

Velocity cycled her optics and nearly stepped back from the bot. She hadn’t expected that reaction whatsoever. “Oh! Yes. I mean, yes! Thank you!”

“Eh, don’t thank me ‘til you work with them,” he snapped with a flip of his wrist as he led the way.

Frowning, Velocity began digging in her subspace for her medical kits. “If it’s Ratchet and First Aid, I think I already have something of a preview of what is to come.”

“Heh, if that was all there was,” the bot replied. “What was your designation again?”

“I didn’t say it,” Velocity corrected. “But it’s Velocity. And you’re--”

“Pfft, like you don’t know Lord Starscream’s righthand bot by sight,” the mech responded dismissively before finally leading her to the room. “Alright, do your stuff, Doc. And for your sake, I hope you’ve got some real talent because these guys? They’re high strung about every single spark in there.”

She gave him a glance before continuing in. “As doctors I would hope they would be...” she replied lowly. 

“You bots from the Lost Light have some weird bond or something, huh? The way you all act when just a few of ya are banged up,” he said before waving some guards off from the laboratory entrance. “You guys know that’s really not normal behavior.”

“I’m really not comfortable with what Cybertron seems to consider being normal then,” Velocity said tiredly. “Thank you for showing me the way—“

The beast former was gone in an instant, and Velocity could not pretend to be anything but relieved about it as she carried forward through the room and was inducted into another bout of absolute chaos that being on the Lost Light had made her far too familiar with.

The laboratory that they spoke of was, without exaggeration, a research lab first and obviously retrofitted for medical needs second. That was made abundantly clear as she pushed past several pieces of equipment that had been haphazardly shoved together to the other side of the room and toward the entrance in order to make way for the medical beds and cryochambers that had been placed on the other end.

She could still smell the distinctive tang of soldering stitching meeting paint jobs, and there were plenty of ticking clocks letting her and all of the available medical staff know just how desperate the states of some of the sparks in their care were.

It was a horror show as a physician to approach the slabs and see once familiar faces dented in and crushed, scorched in various places with metal twisted and broken where it wasn’t melted and malformed entirely. Her spark screamed out in empathy toward them all.

“Primus,” she whispered.

“Velocity!” First Aid’s familiar voice called, turning her toward where Ratchet and some other, less familiar mechs were all standing. “I called on you ages ago, did you just get here?”

“Security on Cybertron is not the easiest to navigate,” she answered, coming up to the various doctors. “First Aid, Ratchet, what happened down there?”

“We haven’t the first clue,” Ratchet answered somewhat angrily. “But the first one to wake up is going to have a lot of questions to answer, that’s for sure.” He then looked more directly to Velocity, his expression tightening in that way that all of them who had been on the Necrobot planet and made it off tended to do however unknowingly. The face of being completely reserved while knowing a shared secret. “The lot of us have been working around the clock to keep everyone we could online, and the few of us who lack field experience could use some reprieve.”

Two of the physicians by Ratchet and First Aid’s sides immediately bristled at the jab.

“After watching the utter hack jobs you two performed on those frames, you think we are the ones who are misplaced?” the red doctor scoffed. “On Velocitron, that sort of sloppy work would have had your credentials taken away within a cycle!”

“Which makes it lucky no one here’s performing for the boards of Velocitron,” Ratchet snapped, his irritation already seemingly at an all time high.

Velocity glanced between the mechs a few times over before focusing on her mentor. She stepped up to First Aid, gripping her medical kit. “Did we lose anyone?”

He looked at her gravely. “We did,” he answered stiffly. “We have three still hanging in there but… It’s a bit of an intergalactic incident now. A lot of the dead were colonists.”

In truth, Velocity could not have cared less about the politics of it all, her spark sank at the very thought of losing anyone among their crew. Whether she knew them personally or not. But then again, there were the ones she knew personally.

“Brainstorm?” she asked quickly.

“One of the least injured,” Ratchet spoke up. “We’re expecting him to come online first. Whatever attack it was, he seemed to be hit and taken out of the action early on.”

“Who are the other two survivors?” Velocity demanded.

“A new member of the crew named Fang,” First Aid answered. He then brought his servo to his faceplate and hummed slightly. “And… well, Rodimus.”

Hearing that their co-Captain was among the survivors should have sent Velocity into a wave of relief, but she could hear one of the doctors — the red one again — vent loudly as he crossed his arms and looked toward the CR chambers.

“If you consider that living,” he said rather harshly.

Inside of her, Velocity felt her insides twist and turn at the comment but her curiosity had been piqued. Either this particular doctor was one of the crudest physicians she had ever met — a feat considering she mentored under First Aid and Ratchet — or the hesitation First Aid had shown earlier was for good reason.

Without waiting for further briefing, Velocity walked toward the CR chamber and nearly gasped at the sight.

Surviving the onslaught of the DJD and the seemingly endless amount of former Deceptions they had gathered at the Necrobot’s planet had prepared her for some fairly gruesome sights — namely when it came to the very bots she cared most about. But Rodimus’ current unconscious form seemed to bring those experiences into question.

His outer armor was nearly melted down to his protoform beneath, and there were scorches across what remained of his armor. But most terrible of all was the way his protoform and faceplate were burned down to their barest layer over the side of his right face — a handprint etched into the very barest layer of his body in truly horrifying fashion.

“Solas Prime,” Velocity said, putting her hand against the glass of the CR chamber.

“It looks bad, but he’ll make it through.”

The voice took Velocity by surprise but she was relieved when she saw that in the shadows just beside the CR chamber it was simply Drift. She was not the most familiar with him of their crew, but she knew him and respected him enough to trust him. And there was some comfort in the way he was sitting prepared in the shadows of Rodimus’ chamber. Like a guard on vigil.

“He has to,” Drift said, as if it were a matter of complete fact.

“Of course,” Velocity answered quietly.

“Until his vitals change, Rodimus’ healing is up to the CR chamber,” Ratchet announced from behind Velocity. “I’ve been keeping my optics on it. But we could really use an extra hand with the other two. Give these guys a real break. Including First Aid. He’s lacked a good recharge since before we brought this load of work to his doorstep. Researching that Red Rust outbreak and everything.” He looked at Velocity warily. “Are you ready for the responsibility?”

“Of course I am,” Velocity answered matter of factly. “I’ve been taught by the best.”

Chromia was still in recharge as Windblade looked out upon Metroplex from their capitol suite. The cityspeaker was still attempting to process all that had happened in just the short amount of time since they had been contacted by the away team of the Lost Light and all hell had broken loose in order to get them safely to Cybertron.

Starscream’s initial anger had been anticipated — even looked forward to in a sick sense that Windblade tried not to think of as speaking for her character. But the calm that had followed and his silence on the matter since then.

He was up to something, and as usual Windblade felt hopelessly behind in their game, barely scraping by in her attempts to catch up to a master manipulator while still retaining some sense of the morality she once wore as intimidatingly as armor.

There was a yawn from behind her that brought Windblade out of her thoughts and she looked instead toward her partner and bodyguard. Chromia stretched before pushing off from her habsuite and beginning to stretch and exercise in her usual routine.

“Did you recharge at all?” Chroma asked. “You know you’ve gone through the ringer lately, you could use more recharges. Especially more than I do.”

“I’ve been through nothing compared to those poor bots,” Windblade corrected with a frown.

Chromia’s optics nearly rolled. “Those poor bots were lucky that you and the Prime seem to be the only mechs with half a processor firing on this godforsaken planet, Windblade. If you two weren’t there to defy Starscream—“

“We defy because he continues to allow us to defy him, Chromia,” Windblade said, hugging her arms. “Can’t you see the politics at play here?”

“I don’t have a mind for politics,” Chromia shrugged. “That would be why I’m the bodyguard and you’re the delegate here.”

“By letting Optimus Prime and myself carry out these rouses against his orders, he is both the strong leader who is unyielding on his policies, and able to stake claim to good that the Prime and we do against the orders of the Council, along with all of the repercussions falling on our shoulders,” Windblade explained.

“Then, when there aren’t lives at risk, you and the Prime need to force Starscream’s hand, make him break his own ridiculous laws,” Chromia answered simply.

“There are always lives at stake here,” Windblade sighed, looking back to her window. “Always. This planet truly is a constant conflict.”

“Must be why I feel at odds with its charm,” Chromia replied, resting against the window with her arms crossed. “I prefer when the only one at risk for hitting things is me.”

Windblade gave her old friend a small smile. “Same,” she said somewhat cheekily. “Still, I just wish that doing the right thing didn’t also always mean doing the wrong thing. It’s getting a bit…”

“Annoying?” Chromia offered.

A reply was ready on her lips, but Windblade stopped and stared at the city square below instead. She felt a cold chill splash through her fuel tank as the news screens lit up with a hauntingly familiar and all too terrifying face once more.

“Chromia,” Windblade said lowly. “Error.”

“What?” Chromia asked, not following.

“Error,” Windblade repeated, pointing on the glass toward the vliewscreens lit up with his face. “Why is he on the news again!?”

“When since the attacks have the news stopped being about him?” Chromia tried to rationalize.

“Not like this,” Windblade admonished before opening the windows of their room and focusing to listen on the speakers down below.

“Citizens of Cybertron and its claimed worlds—“

“By the Primes,” Windblade gasped, optics widening. “It’s another live broadcast.”

"I have warned your people and your lands before of my power. The power to cleanse Cybertron and all its systems of those not worthy of the Prime’s hand,” Error proclaimed on all the screens and all of the speakers of Cybertron, drawing a silence over even Windblade and Chromia.

Windblade watched, optics wide, barely glancing as Chormia stepped forward to shield her from the invisible threat between her and the screens below.

“First I weeded us of the weak and unworthy,” Error explained, backing away enough to show more of his bulk than just the frame of his head. Then he held up both of his hands and immediately shot a powerful, blinding flame through them both. “Now it is time that the Hand of the Primes baptize you by fires. And we have already begun.” 

“The Lost Light crew,” Windblade realized out loud. 

“No doubts there, Cityspeakder,” Chromia muttered. 

“And I shall begin by cleansing our religion, dearest Cybertron,” Error declared. “By taking what is the right of any true Prime -- by taking the Matrix of Leadership for myself. And burning all the false prophets who have tarnished it.”

They watched as all the screens went blank with the end of the threat, and then all of Cybertron let out a terrified and confused screams.

“We have to find Optimus,” Windblade said quickly.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Chromia sighed, grabbing her lance. 

While the cynicism in Chromia’s voice was not lost on Windblade, she concentrated on getting to Prime as soon as possible instead. There was little time, at least in the cityspeaker’s mind, for playful banter even as they raced down the halls and toward the science labs where Prime had been spending most of his time since the emergencies from Eukaris. 

There was a mech speaking to Optimus that Windblade only faintly recognized from being surrounded by more familiar faces -- Camien faces that she knew were Lost Light crew members now like Nautica. 

The one standing in front speaking to Optimus was locked hand-in-hand with a minibot who was practically radiating his displeasure toward the Prime.

“Even if I wanted to help you, Optimus, I can’t anymore,” the tall mech said with a defensive shake of his head. “I don’t even have my needles anymore. I’m... I’m recovered from the craft. Had Ratchet himself remove them. And judging by his reaction to the last time I used them... I find it hard to believe that you ran this idea by him first.” 

“I am sorry if I have offended you by making such a dangerous request, Chromedome,” Optimus said lowly.

“We flew all the way from the Lost Light just because of your request, too. I think we need an apology for that, too,” the minibot raged.

“Rewind,” Chromedome attempted to say soothingly only for Rewind to shake his head angrily.

“Don’t Rewind me, Domey! You almost died right in front of us! We saw it! If you ever thought of doing it again after what we went through? After it basically killed you? I... I’d have to extinguish my own spark. I’ve not helped you at all,” Rewind cried out.

“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” Chromedome said achingly, grabbing the minibot’s other hand and lacing fingers. He then vented strongly and looked to the Prime. “I cannot perform mneumosurgery for you, Optimus, Sir. It’s not possible. I wouldn’t do it if it were still possible. I wish I could help you some other way with finding out what Rodimus and our other crewmates encountered, but that’s more of Nightbeat’s business.”

"Thank you, but seeing my options as they are currently, it seems my next step has been made for me,” Optimus vented.

“Prime!” Windblade yelled out, not waiting a second more since the conversation between the Prime and the Lost Lighters was all but over. “Error has returned -- he’s making demands and he’s specifically focusing on you and the Matrix this time! We have to get you out of danger before he makes a move.”

Optimus looked at Windblade and Chromia for a moment before placing his hands on his hips. “Then it seems Starscream’s assignment to me must have been even more opportune for him than he realized.”

“Starscream?” Windblade questioned, unable to prevent her nose from curling at even just his name.

“He has charged me with determining what happened to Rodimus and the Lost Light crew on Eukaris. And since I cannot do that while remaining here, I will do so where I can,” Optimus explained. “And keeping myself far from the public will do well to keep it safe if this Error truly plans on acting on his words. I will not be defending myself in the streets of Metroplex.”

Windblade narrowed her optics. “After all of this, you’re going to Eukaris? To be slaughtered like this crew?”

“No,” Optimus said with a shake of his head. “The Counsel is very outspoken about keeping the various colonies and Cybertron separate until they have an answer. I will be setting foot elsewhere. Getting answers from the Lost Light itself.”

Windblade’s mouth opened but she did not have a ready reply. 

Only a feeling deep in her spark that something was still very, very wrong.

Megatron was receiving information from the medical station on Cybertron as quickly as the data could be carried between the stars, and it still felt far from enough.

Even with non-affiliated and even former-Decepticon members of the crew on the rise, the Lost Light remained a specifically Autobot ship. And his position on it remained purposefully precarious. And with his co-Captain among the injured — well, it was difficult to say what his position even was anymore.

The Lost Light had always been restless, but weeks after a mutiny, a plague, and now weathering an away team’s near decimation might prove to be more than the crew could bear to stomach under a Megatron ran ship.

Perhaps Optimus was going to receive the retribution he had always thinly veiled through the bogus position and the watered down Fool’s Energon.

“Just for sport,” Megatron said lowly at his Captain’s desk, reading through the filtering in reports, “I won’t break so easily, Prime. You’ll have to try a bit better to take advantage of our second darkest hour.”

Still, he hoped that the bar was still packed with that low-grade shrill water Swerve was posing as high-grade. The less drunks they had on the ship, the less likely they would have a medical emergency at the one time that they had exactly no one on the medical staff.

Still staring at the documents on his tablet, Megatron waited for something to pop out at him — good news, bad, something that resembled a clue as to what happened before threats of an official inquiry against the Lost Light were actually made. He knew his own crew at the bridge were still scrambling under the orders he gave them to find anything and everything that could be relevant to the events on Eukaris.

So far no one had come to his office to tell him they had found nothing from the ship’s various files. Megatron figured this was more of a sign of fear than of the new bridge crew’s undying need to find answers for themselves.

He was more than ready to give up on his reading when, finally, a knock came to his office door.

“Finally,” Megatron said, setting aside his tablet and leering at the door. “Enter.”

It was unsurprising to be met by Ultra Magnus’ face. He was both the only crew member left who made up for what he lacked in fear of Megatron with respect for positions and order, and the only mech who seemed even more personally dedicated to the current mystery than Megatron himself.

Magnus was the former duly-appointed enforcer of the Tyrest Accord. If that meant anything in these days.

“Word from Cybertron I suspect,” Megatron said crisply, doing little to hide his anger and irritation at even the possibility of receiving contact from Starscream again after last time.

“There is that,” Magnus answered, coming in and quickly shutting the door behind him — which was more than enough to put the captain on edge. “Though it is not what I believe you think it to be, Captain.”

“I will have to look at that as a positive then,” Megatron replied.

“It seems that Starscream saw it fit to send someone to the Lost Light in search of any answers we may be hiding from their current inquest,” Magnus explained. Then he added, “It would appear the one chosen for the task is Optimus Prime.”

“Of course it is,” Megatron snapped before he could catch himself. “I’ve never known the bot to sidestep an opportunity to dig the blade a little deeper.”

There was a twitch on Magnus’ face, one of the only tells the second in command ever gave when he was irritated or put off by his captain. It was better than most, Megatron supposed.

“It almost makes it appealing to know that we won’t be able to give him what he’s looking for,” Megatron said, glancing back to his reports — still no further updates.

When the silence carried on a moment too long, he glanced back toward Ultra Magnus. There was unease in those robust shoulders.

“Or am I wrong?” Megatron asked.

“We have found… something,” Ultra Magnus answered lowly. “Badly damaged audio from a failed attempt to hail the ship while the signal was being blocked by… some sort of technology more advanced than our own.”

Megatron tilted his helm. “The Black Block Consortia?” he asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ultra Magnus replied, unease continuing to grab at Megatron’s attention. “It does appear Cybertronian in origin. But different. Colonial perhaps, but it is advanced — centuries in advanced to our own.”

Tapping his fingers against his desk, Megatron scowled. “It’s safe to presume such advanced technology would not naturally exist on a colony planet that seems more interested in trees than electricity.”

“That would be a safe presumption,” Ultra Magnus answered.

“Alright then, on with it,” Megatron sighed, rubbing at his optics tiredly. “I know there is bad news already, Ultra Magnus. It cannot possibly be worse than what we’ve been going through for the past several hours—“

“You need to listen to this audio. So far only the sound technician and myself have heard the deciphered and cleaned up version,” Ultra Magnus interrupted, highly unusual for him and enough to make Megatron lean back in surprise. “I made certain to bring the only copy to you first. To determine what your course of action will be with it.”

Staring at Ultra Magnus, Megatron allowed the graveness of his second in command’s tone to fully reach him. Then he set aside his reading tablet. “Tenser the audio to me directly. It will be erased as I listen to it so that your copy remains the only one. I trust your judgment — if you deemed it necessary, it must certainly be necessary.”

“I fear it is,” Magnus replied before complying with the demands.

Continuing to look at Magnus suspiciously, Megatron internally accepted the audio file and began to lean back into his chair, listening avidly and even shuttering his optics to keep complete focus on the sounds of their crew. It did not take long into the May Day for the screaming to begin. Then for it to be clear who, in the background of the audio, was making threats. Threats that turned into demands. Demands that turned into pleas. Pleas that turned into screams. Not of pain, but of terror.

Not even halfway done, Megatron stopped the transfer and looked to Magnus. “No one else has heard this other than the sound technician, yourself, and me?” he demanded sharply.

“Yes, Sir,” Magnus answered just as sharply.

“Can you ensure any backups are deleted?” Megatron pressed.

“I will ensure it,” Ultra Magnus nodded. “As for the file?”

“Well,” Megatron said, folding his hands together. “I suppose that entirely depends on determining what side Optimus Prime is playing for when he arrives.”

“Rodimus means a great deal to him,” Ultra Magnus attempted to explain. “I am certain he will be more understanding—“

“He will side with whatever he deems just no matter what friendships it lays bare in its wake,” Megatron corrected. “No one knows Prime more than I do, Ultra Magnus. And you are not to give him that recording until I explicitly give you permission. No matter what threat to your honor that gives you.”

“I understand, Sir,” Magnus said thinly.

“We are the only things protecting Rodimus now,” Megatron reminded him. “Until we know who our allies truly are, this is the way it must be.”

Ultra Magnus nodded stiffly then headed out the door.

Megatron vented angrily before throwing his tablet across the room and shattering it against the adjacent wall, its pieces littering the floor and the smaller, engraved desk that Rodimus had shoved in the corner — co-captain labeled on the top marker.

The former warlord slumped in his chair and rested his helm in his hand. “Damn,” he uttered lowly.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (21/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: I know that this has been a very, very long wait for most of you and I deeply apologize for that, but we’re so close to the end. Only four updates away now. And Part V is incredibly intimidating for me on my end since, well, everything needs to be wrapped up and completed, and I’m hoping to deliver this story to you all in the best and most enjoyable way possible. I hope I manage that with today’s update too!

Special thanks to squireofgeekdom, Isame, and brokenEisenglas  for the feedback!

Part V: The Day the World Caught Fire Chapter 5.1: Heavy is the Head

Optimus, even as Orion Pax, had never thought of his pragmatism as a flaw, nor did he believe that his lack of interest in mysticism and the occult did his judgment a disservice. He understood technology, he understood character, and he understood power balance. And he did so almost in strictly terms of gray.

Sometimes sacrifices needed to be made to balance powers in the right direction, to work for the greater good.

And though there was a science to the fantastical tale these future Rodimus and Windblade weaved, the fact that it was still very much fantastical kept the Prime from being completely won over.

Not to mention, the very notion that Starscream was somehow capable of bringing Cybertron into a new, peaceful Golden Age did not endear Optimus to them in the least.

“And you’re certain you can’t tell me how long my reign will be?” Starscream continued, hand firmly on his chin as he looked thoughtfully at the time travelers.

“If we tell you too much we risk changing everything,” Windblade — the older, less decorated one — reminded him impatiently. “Probably for the worst, to be honest.”

“Well, we definitely wouldn’t want that,” Starscream agreed. “I need to continue my leadership just as if I had no idea that this was happening. For the good of the planet, of course.”

“Oh, please,” the current Windblade muttered, crossing her arms across her chest and rolling her optics back into her head. Fortunately, it seemed to be low enough that Starscream either felt he could ignore it or hadn’t heard it to begin with.

“What’s the matter, Prime? Turbofox have your tongue?” Starscream asked Optimus instead, looking incredibly smug at the moment. Which, in effect, Optimus tried desperately to remind himself that it was just the set of Starscream’s face in a way. “Time travelers came from the future to let us know I usher in an entirely new Golden Age for Cybertron. You must be thrilled at the prospects for our future.”

“We didn’t really travel millions of years into the past to fluff egos,” Rodimus argued.

“I am pleased to know that long sought after peace is nearly within Cybertron’s grasps, Starscream,” Optimus answered steadily, keeping his voice low and reserved. “How it is ushered in and under what power becomes increasingly of less importance. I am simply thrilled at the prospect of ending this strife and destruction.”

Looking at Optimus in some amusingly exaggerated awe, Rodimus laughed. “By Primus, I have missed just how amazing your speeches were.”

“A defining trait according to the archives,” older Windblade teased  before the doors of the laboratory burst open.

“What’s the meaning of this intrusion!?” Starscream shouted at the guards who filed in. “I’m listening to nostalgia for my reigning superiority over the people of Cybertron and all of its blessed

“Sir, we apologize, but there has been a breach in the blockade,” the soldier reported to Starscream directly.

“What!?” Starscream screeched. “What is the entire point of a blockade then?”

“That’s the problem, Lord Starscream, our blockade is mostly concerned with the ship fields and Iacon… this was a breach on an entirely different side of the planet. It was in the abandoned districts.”

“Was it Kaon?” Optimus asked immediately, stepping toward the guard.

Starscream glowered toward him. “Of course your first instincts blame Deceptions. Once an Autobot, they say.”

“Actually, Sir, it wasn’t Kaon,” the soldier said, turning to ward Optimus. “It was the remains of Nyon. And we have a trace on the ship. It belongs to the Lost Light. I don’t know if that means anything—“

"It mean everything,” Optimus answered, immediately heading toward the door toward himself.

“Where do you think you’re going, Prime! You don’t have my permission to leave!” Starscream snarled.

“I doubt I will need further confirmation on my actions, Optimus said clearly.

He had every intention of walking straight out of the laboratory with that final line, but to his surprise and annoyance, the time traveling Rodimus got in the way,

“We need to talk about this before we do anything brash and… timeline-changey,” Rodimus said clearly.

“No more than you and Windblade have already decided for us,” Optimus shot back.

“Well, to begin with, that’s a little unfair, don’t you think?” Rodimus said with feigned hurt. “Secondly, maybe while working on those memories, you can actually think about the consequences here since an entire timeline is something I’ve set in some future historical texts already.”

“Do you know who would be at Nyon?” Optimus demanded.

“I think you don’t need confirmation,” Rodimus explained with nodding support coming form Windblade behind him. “But yes, I know — or, rather, I remember what’s going to happen next. For the most part. It’s going to get… really confusing very quickly.”

“We are already at confusing,” Optimus assured him, continuing to make his way to the door.

“Yes, but we’re talking not only about the logistics of time traveling and interference, Optimus Prime, but the actual possibility of forever changing the good that may come from all of this,” Windblade assured him.

“Good?” Optimus asked, turning to face the travelers as well as the rest of the group gathered in the laboratory. “Nothing good can come from extremism, from blind worship, from this… line of Primes which have continued to reign unjustly until Cybertron was all but dead.” He paused and looked intently at the future Rodimus’ face, so heavily scarred with the print of a hand that Optimus had seen on their own time’s Rodimus days before. “From allowing self mutilation to appear to others as some sort of stigmata in a future further perverting of what is just handed down stories of creation and destruction.”

“That’s not what this is,” Rodimus said, pointing toward his faceplate. “It’s a reminder, every day, to myself and to every bot I meet, that a price comes with everything we do and everything we achieve. And that we have to wear our mistakes if we survive them.”

The others in the room looked at Rodimus with widened optics.

He noticed and immediately offered a sly smile, shrugging. “It takes a few million years but I got good at pep talks eventually.”

Optimus was far from convinced, however. “What you wear as a scar, I saw Error and a dozen acolytes wear as a symbol of disorder and hatred,” he said plainly. “That is not a symbol on today’s Cybertron, and I find it hard to believe it could come about in a supposed new Golden Age.”

“That’s because you don’t actually know Error or why he’s been toying with everyone until today,” Rodimus answered.

“Yes, supposed future Prime,” Starscream said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the nearest wall. “I would like an explanation as to why this grave threat couldn’t be revealed to us before it happened or if it is capable of destroying my glorious legacy — the new Golden Age, brought in by me, once again — why it wasn’t done sooner.” His nose curled in disgust. “Or what ever anyone could want in a dump like Nyon currently.”

“Because,” Rodimus said, hands on his hips. “Today, at Nyon, is the day that Error and the First New Generation of Cybertron first ignited their sparks. And any changes he wished to make could only really take affect once he was sure he wouldn’t be insuring his own destruction.”

For a moment, there was only silence, then Optimus stepped forward himself, breaking it. “There is a Hot Spot in Nyon today?” he asked critically.

Rodimus’ smile grew somewhat brittle and he looked right into Optimus’ optics. “The most important Hot Spot in Cybertrons post-War history. The Hot Spot that will unite the Council and breathe a new sense of alliances between all Cybertronians once and for all.”

“And it is imperative that it be saved before Error can ensure that only his own spark is allowed to thrive,” old Windblade announced.

“Then there is no time to waste,” Optiimus agreed. “Let’s roll out!”

The oath of Do No Harm was difficult to maintain in the middle of a war zone, and if anything was to make Velocity appreciate First Aid and Ratchet’s unorthodox perspective in the medical world, it was most definitely going to be the combination of their last stand on the Necroworld and the horrors of the fight before them in the middle of a sea of newly emerged sparks.

The lumbering giant of a mech lunged at them, fists alight with flames. And while the others were quick to move out of the way, Velocity all but grabbed her hardheaded captain to dive out of the way with him since he was standing his ground.

Immediately, Rodimus began pulling and fighting against Velocity’s hold, even as it saved his life. “Let go of me!” he growled. “Velocity! I’m ordering you—“

“You might still be my captain at spark, Rodimus, but I’m your doctor and keeping what’s available of your kibble alive is going to be worth putting up with your complaining!” Velocity fought back angrily.

“Don’t call me Rodimus!” he snapped at her. “And don’t you see? He’s the guy! The one that… He messed me up! He confused me and… He made me by— Velocity, fragsake let go of me!”

“Everything that’s come out of your voice box has just made me more sure than ever before that I am not letting go of you,” Velocity replied sternly. “So just go ahead and drop that idea from your mind, Hot Rod. You’re damaged, and as long as you’re damaged, I outrank you!”

Rodimus stared at her with a mixture of surprise and anger that left him uncharacteristically speechless.

If she had had the time, Velocity would have basked in her assertiveness but there was a vicious roar from their attacker that drew her attention instead. And most horrifying of all, she finally could see not only the damage she had rescued Rodimus from, but what effect it had on the area surrounding his point of attack.

“No! The Sparklings!” Velocity gasped in horror. She let go of Rodimus and covered her mouth in shock. Her insides felt twisted and coiled in revolt against the senseless loss. “He snuffed out an entire patch of young sparks! An entire grouping of young life and it’s all gone. What horrible kind of creature is this thing—“

Before she could continue rambling in terror, Rodimus took off from beside her at a speed and with a dexterity he had not shown since waking from stasis.

Velocity whipped back into doctor mode and got to her feet. “Rodimus! Stop right there!” she yelled.

Wasting no time, Velocity transformed mid leap into her alt-mode, hitting the ground at full speed and living up to her name in order to keep up with the damaged captain. Her damaged captain that was determined to put himself right in the midst of the stand off between Nightbeat, Brainstorm, Nautica, Drift and the horrific Error.

“Error!” Rodimus growled out, his hands suddenly enveloping in a white hot flame themselves.

The bulky monstrosity slowly turned, just enough to see Rodimus and grow an unnerving grin. “Ah. At last, my Prime. At last we meet, and at last I shall handedly give you a defeat.”

“Rodimus! Get out of here!” Drift yelled as he lunged for Error with his swords drawn. There was a clang of swords against armor, but Error had managed to hold off any damage by keeping his heavily armored forearm up.

Drift was bearing as much weight down with his swords as he could, determined to break through the armor Error was hiding behind, but when the metal was broken enough, it ht a thick rubber tread, which caused Drift’s optics to widen in surprise.

“Ah, there we are,” Error said almost gleefully before beginning to start up the treads on his arms, the fast rotation sounding like a saw that led to Drift’s swords shattering at the friction.

Taking advantage of the swordsmech’s shock, Error then landed a powerful kick to Drift’s chest, sending him flying backward into the rest of the Rod Squad.

“Pathetic,” Error chuckled, aiming his hand at the group as a flame grew.

Seeing there were only a few feet between Rodimus and Error at that point, Velocity slung herself around, skidding to a halt between them as if to create a border with her own body between Rodimus and Error. “Rodimus!” she yelled at him angrily.

It did nothing to stop the determined Rodimus, however, as he just leaped, kicking off of Velocity’s alt-mode to propel himself at Error.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Rodimus roared, landing a flaming punch against Error’s cheek.

Even Velocity felt slightly in awe of the moment as it played out, as that was not exactly a small feat by any means. The others seemed to join her in their amazement, though — that was their Rodimus back. Impulsive, feisty, full of fire.

But that awe was quick to disappear the moment he landed and his less armored, still healing frame crumpled under the momentum of his jump and sent him falling over himself, his damaged side hitting the ground and inspiring an anguished yelp.

“Rodimus!” Drift called out, immediately getting to the captain’s side. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be better when someone takes that fragger down,” Rodimus gritted out, looking pale. “Also… maybe some fuel could help out.”

Brainstorm, surprisingly enough, stepped forward, looking more curious than anything else, head tilted. “The technology you’re using to come to our time? To disguise yourself and your followers? If you’re really a time traveller, tell me how many times my worst-best ideas are used to come back and bite all of us in the aft in the future. I think as their creator I deserve to at least know this much.”

“Brainstorm!” Nautica snapped. “That’s not helpful!”

“It could be if I know which ones are bad, I’ll keep a tighter lid on them and make sure they’re not mass produced,” Brainstorm offered.

“You’re still going to make them?” Nautica demanded.

“Obviously. They work,” Brainstorm replied candidly.

“Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter if he chooses to make them or not, because they’ve already been made in this future!” Nightbeat corrected them all. “He has to create them for this paradox to happen to begin with. He can’t choose to change that. Which is also probably why Brainstorm was the only one left undamaged on the Eukaris attack — his future inventions and the survival of those inventions are things that were necessary to get us to this point. And, more importantly, to get Error and his followers here.”

“None of that is answering my question!” Rodimus snarled viciously as Drift helped him stand up. “What did you do to me? Why? Why did you let me survive instead of making… making—“

Velocity transformed back into her natural mode, looking at the scene from the other side of Error. Her spark was pulsing strong, so much anxiety at once.

She had an instinctive, intuitive need to get to Rodimus — to her patient — and keep him from stupidly stumbling into further physical or psychological damage. But she also needed to see what Rodimus knew and had refused so far to share with all the doctors and friends and crew around him just what he remembered or what had happened.

And she needed to save the young lives surrounding them as well. Her duty as a doctor called for it.

“The answer is the same for everything,” Error answered. “I played you, my former Prime. I played you like the instrument of my own design just as is asked of me by Primus himself. He guided my hand, and likewise I used my gifts to guide yours.”

“Shadowplay," Velocity all but whispered to herself, realizing how the pieces were beginning to fit.

“But why?” Nightbeat pressed Error.

“So that we could meet like this on this day,” Error said confidently, raising his hands to reveal that during the excitement, his acolytes had spread out into the field of the Hot Spot. “And you could watch as we used Primus’ Guiding Light to take away from you the very future you all have worked to build — that you all sought while being so undeserving, one and all.”

Sparing no time, Velocity shouted to her friends, “Spread out! Save the Sparklings!” she ordered, turning to race back to the ship.

“Velocity! What about you?” Nautica cried out in fear.

“I’m calling Ratchet and First Aid!” Velocity answered. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“Don’t you dare defy my planning!” Error roared.

In the corner of her vision, Velocity could see the giant mech turning to stomp in her direction. She aptly shifted back to her alt-mode to speed off from him. Surely, given the difference of frames, he would have no chance to keep up with her.

But what she hadn’t taken into account was that he didn’t need to reach her.

Instead, the lumbering giant pressed his wrists together, aimed in Velocity’s direction, and shot a hurdling ball of fire in her direction.

Swerving to avoid it, Velocity couldn’t zigzag enough to avoid being singed by the fireball, leading to her letting out a scream of pain.

She nearly flipped in her alt-mode, but a quick transformation held her skid, somewhat painfully, on her knees for a distance.

While Velocity pushed to her feet, she fully expected for Error to take advantage and finish her, but when he didn’t she looked back to see why. To her surprise, rather than spreading out and protecting the Hot Spot, her friends had all tackled onto Error’s arm, keeping him from aiming it.

“Velocity!” Rodimus growled out as he helped the others. “Get to the ship and call for help! That’s an order! You’re not allowed to die today! I’m saying that as your captain! So do it!”

Velocity felt her chest raise and she nodded. “Yessir!” she yelled back before turning and racing to the ship to do just that.

Starscream almost did a double take when he walked down the halls and found none other than Windblade standing in wait for him just outside the Council’s chamber.

She had a muted expression, thoughtful but purposefully reserved. Her eyes, as usual, were her real give, though. They shone with intrigue, concern, and anxiousness. If she was ever to live in the world of politics, someone was going to need to teach her how to keep such blanketed emotions under wraps.

He sure as the Pits wasn’t going to waste time doing it, that was all Starscream knew for sure.

“Windblade, you’re here,” he said, letting the snideness come through. “Rather than placing yourself in the thick of what’s sure to be almost clear destruction. I find it hard to believe that you grew a sense of self-preservation since your last excursion into snooping, so why are you here instead of following Optimus Prime and all the other fake future Primes out into the middle of nowhere for what’s certain to be a complete and total trap?”

For a moment, just a moment, Windblade let her optics harshen their glow and she put her hands on her hips. “Do you really care why I’m still here, Starscream?” she asked.

“No, not in the slightest,” he assured her. “I only care so far as how it’s going to effect what I’m having to do now to make sure that regardless of what happens in the junk heaps of a forgotten slum, this planet continues to spin on its axis and all its citizens — here and abroad — maintain some sense of order and security.”

“Then we’re here for the same thing,” Windblade assured him, glancing off.

Dissatisfied, Starscream moved in closer to her. “But, to sate some of my curiosity on the matter…” he began.

Windblade turned completely toward Starscream and looked him straight in the optics. “If some future version of yourself came into the past to try to stop someone from the future from using your religion as an excuse for destroying literal Sparklings, how would you feel about it? Would you want to follow this anomaly into battle? Possibly learn more about what kind of bot you will be shaped into over time?”

“Hm,” Starscream hummed in response. “I suppose I would never know since I carry no faith, seriously doubt the credibility of those who claim to be traversing through time, and most of all, the very idea that there would ever be a Rodimus Prime.” He scoffed and shook his head. “And you Camiens question why most Cybertronians have ignored the sanctimonious faith part of all this Primacy superstition.” He could see the way she was grimacing beside him so he threw her a false smile of sympathy. “Oh, my pardon, I didn’t mean offense.”

“You did,” Windblade said flatly.

Starscream waited for a moment, looking at Windblade’s face before growing impatient with her lack of reaction. “I must say, Windblade, as little as I care for your regular disposition, I am not a fan of you in a completely foul mood.”

“I’m just not in the mood to be played with today, Starscream,” she snapped back. “Or for being your excuse for putting this off.”

He balked and stood straight again. “Me? I have no fear of this conference,” he defended. “I just don’t want the people to become too alarmed over what’s probably nothing. And what’s probably definitely not the first Hot Spot on Cybertron since the end of the War. That’s just asking for mechs everywhere to get their hopes up.”

Curious, Windblade looked back at him, head slightly tilted. “You don’t believe anything the time travelers said? Even after they proved who they were with their spark signatures?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Starscream said with a flippant twist of his wrist. “Didn’t you hear what they said? I am supposed to be such a good leader I bring us into a new Golden Age. Are you telling me you believe that?”

She stared at him for a moment before crossing her arms. “I believe that I’ve learned not to underestimate you, Starscream,” she said instead. “And I think you want to believe at least that much is true because it’ll make up for the part of all of this chaos and turmoil we’ve been through thanks to Error at least a little bit possibly redeemable.”

“Other than leading our united people through this unspeakable hardship, I have no idea what you’re referring to, Windblade. I’ve been completely uninvolved,” he said smoothly as he finally opened the doors to the Council of Worlds’ chamber where their fellow representatives and the media were ready and waiting.

Leaving Windblade behind, Starscream climbed up to his usual seat at the head of the table, clearing his voice box, and then looked out to the gathered crowd. They stared back at him attentively and with heavy suspicions.

“Cybertronians, one and all, we are looking to the end of our darkest hour as a unified world and preparing to move forward to a new age,” Starscream began, a cocky smile growing as he continued. “A new Golden Age, you might say. One with us unified as the final hour approaches those terrorists which sought to destroy our faith and unity with one another. But in order for us to all achieve those lofty goals of unification and sanctity, we must first learn from the horrors that came before and see to it that we change our futures.”

As he paused dramatically, Starscream smirked and looked down to Windblade in particular. She had quietly crossed the room, standing by Chromia again, those all-telling optics surprised and curious about the speech.

Suddenly, Starscream knew she really hadn’t known what to expect from him. A realization which made everything only that much more wonderful.

“What I’m proposing is new legislation to be brought before the Council of Worlds, worked out between us all to more agreeable terms,” Starscream continued. “About the regulation and state sponsored study of mnemosurgery.”

There was a collective gasp across the room, and Starscream crossed his hands on the podium before him. “It is a dark and devious form of invasion of the most personal kind. And it has been used by many sides of many conflicts to disastrous effect. I propose regulation at the highest level, and sponsored study in its reversal and long term effects.”

The tension did not break, if anything it grew thicker. But Starscream had succeeded.

He was the one who publicly and diplomatically framed the discussions to come.

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (13/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: Annnnnnd time for stuff to hit the fan : ) ) ) )

Special thanks to Isame, @secretlystephaniebrown and squiggol for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part III: The Risk of Saving the Guilty Chapter 3.3: Speaking with Guilt

Windblade should have been relieved to have been ‘escorted’ by Starscream’s personal guard to his private chambers rather than the detention center. Should have been. But she was far from it. 

She did not exactly take kindly to being put in handcuffs while in public. 

“Stascream!” she spat out the moment she saw him over by the balcony. He didn’t even have the decency to be turned to face her. “What he Pit is the meaning of this? You had me arrested! And you did so while I was in public! I never took you for such transparent dictatorship.”

“You’ve never paid that much attention then,” Stascream said flatly, half turning toward her. With a nod, he sent the guards away. 

“You think this is all fun and games?” Windblade all but snarled, uselessly testing the restraints for what she already knew would happen. A slight shock tested her system and she flinched back despite herself.

“I do not,” Starscream said, fully tuning toward her and walking closer. “That is why, the moment Knock Out confirms that the stasis and medically induced coma are simply a ploy, I will have your partner in this conspiracy of betrayal arrested along with you.”

Positively confused, Windblade tilted her helm back. A slightly irrational fear took over her for all of her friends. “What are you talking about, Starscream?” she demanded. “Have you absolutely fried your circuits? What conspiracy? What betrayal?”

His optics narrowed to red, intimidating slits. “You can’t play dumb with me, Windblade. I know about the cult. I know about you and Rodimus working for Error.”

At that, Windblade had to actually cycle her optics. She had not been sure what Starscream had meant before, but she certainly had not expected the complete nonsense she got. 

“Excuse me... what?” she asked, baffled.

"You heard me, Windblade,” Starscream said the utmost seriousness. “I know that you are involved with the cult. I know that Rodimus is faking his injuries. And I know that all of this is somehow to undermine my rule of Cybertron. Entrapment perhaps? How clever. Unfortunately for you, I learned of your deceit and can act first.”

She stared at him, still processing all the accusations flung her way before she reached up and rubbed the side of her faceplate as best she could with the handcuffs. 

“I’m sorry, what?” she repeated. “Starscream, I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about? What evidence do you have of... any of this?”

“A live witness, despite your leader’s greatest efforts to keep him from being that way,” Starscream said smoothly. “I suppose your conscience got to you in the last minute. A pity. I genuinely was not onto either of you until you made that misstep of trusting Rattrap to keep your secret, Windblade. Maybe you thought you could earn his trust, get him on whatever twisted side Error has concocted to entice you into the cult.” He smirked at her knowingly. “I never had to concern myself with such things, neither trusting anyone else so much nor worrying about a conscience. Well... for the most part. Until recently.”

Windblade stared at him like he was mad -- and, perhaps, he was. 

“Starscream, I am not working with Error or the cult,” Windblade said firmly. “And if you believe I am on Rattrap’s word, then you are trusting someone and it is making you out to be the fool. I am sorry to tell you.”

“You think you’re so clever,” Starscream snapped. “The problem is, Cityspeaker, that the reason you have to be so nosy is because while you’re playing the game, you’ve never once managed to get out ahead.”

“I don’t think I’m clever,” Windblade admitted before motioning toward the hall door. “But I think it doesn’t take a clever person to know that there is no faking what Rodimus’ injuries or stasis are. And Rattrap’s going to have you look like an idiot in front of everyone in this building the moment Knock Out comes up here and tells you that himself.”

"Rattrap knows better than to speak falsely to me,” Starscream said without concern. 

“You two are certainly a pair,” Windblade grouched when the doors opened behind her and in came Knock Out and Rattrap themselves. 

“We should be getting a second opinion here! From someone who’s obviously not biased!” Rattrap was crying out hysterically.

Windblade could not help the smile that formed on her faceplate as she glanced toward Starscream and saw his own confidence melt from him. 

“Bias?” Knock Out scoffed. “I have no bias -- I could care less about the internal affairs of Cybertron. I owe nothing to these bots. That is why Lord Starscream asked for my opinion to begin with.”

Starscream leered at them. “What is going on here?” he demanded. 

“I’m afraid we’ve been duped, Chosen One,” Knock Out said wryly. “There is absolutely no doubt in my processor that the patient there is in stasis and, beyond that, with the extent of the injuries and the incapacity of his proto-healing, there is no way he has left that chamber in at least the last forty-eight hours.”

There was an immediate rage that radiated from Starscream. Windblade could not help the satisfaction she somewhat felt at it.

“Don’t believe a word of it, Lord Starscream!” Rattrap cried out. “I saw it with my own optics -- look at the singe on my armor!!! And everyone knows that Rodimus has that outlier ability -- with the flames? It’s the cult’s main way of attack.”

Her attention to detail not failing her, Windblade honed in on the information about Rodimus and looked at Rattrap with scrutiny. “Outlier ability--”

Without warning, the power to the restraints on Windblade were cut and she looked back to Starscream with surprise. 

“Delegates,” he said firmly, “I will have to ask you to leave my chambers. I need to deal with a personal matter with my good friend here.”

Windblade and Knock Out glanced toward each other before following suit, to the crying objections of Rattrap.

They had waited for Swerve to all but clear out the bar for them -- a favor in mutual understanding and debt to Skids. 

Their gathering was small, but most importantly it was away from prying optics and audials. 

“Okay, Brainstorm, spill what you know,” Nautica demanded, hands on her hips. “We’ve been placating your amnesiac answers since we got to Cybertron. We’re your Amicas. We deserve the truth. We deserve to be able to help you.”

Brainstorm had suspected it would come to this rather quickly. Still, he hadn’t expected it to quite be that quickly. He was cornered by Velocity and Nautica with no escape routes and not even a Swerve to pry.

Camiens didn’t know how to play fair.

“What makes you think I wasn’t telling you everything from the start?” Brainstorm asked, tilting his helm.

“Because you keep bringing up your stupid briefcase,” Velocity said, arms crossed.

“Because I know you,” Nautica argued even more directly. 

Not coming up with any proper responses to that, Brainstorm rubbed his servos together nervously. “Look, I really don’t remember much. And why I’ve got briefcases on the mind? It could mean literally anything -- I always have my greatest invention, and greatest failure and mistake -- on my processor. You don’t spend years constructing a perfect plan to save the mech you loved and every other bot ever taken from us as a species because of the War without having it take up a decent portion of your consciousness.”

“And that’s your big explanation?” Nautica asked critically. 

“No, I’m just saying that whatever happened on Eukaris, everyone else’s injuries were heavy, if they survived at all,” Brainstorm rubbed at the cables of his neck. “I’m kinda grateful to just be jumbled in my head.”

“More like suspiciously avoided,” Velocity argued. “Whoever attacked the others didn’t care to kill them or maim them. But for some reason you were spared. And that has to be for a reason.”

“But what reason?” Nautica asked, bringing a hand to her chin. 

“If I could propose something,” Nightbeat finally spoke up from his seat nearby, he had been pouring four energon cubes for them all and then brought them over. “We have to take into account that while a genius weapons inventor--”

Brainstorm puffed up at the compliment. “Why thank you--”

“Brainstorm’s been proven useless in combat. So there is always the possibility that he was seen as non-threatening to these attackers,” Nightbeat continued.

Affronted, Brainstorm crossed his arms. “Well, that’s not completely fair--”

Nightbeat then steepled his fingers before his face and turned to face all of them at once. “But it wouldn’t explain the prominence of your briefcase in your thoughts since the incident. That seems to indicate some sort of representative associative memory.”

Nautica tilted her helm. “Meaning?”

“Either the briefcase symbolizes something Brainstorm’s subconscious is trying to tell him, or it is exactly what it’s meant to be, and he’s got some sort of clue in there as to what really happened down on Eukaris,” Nightbeat surmised. 

“Those are two very different possibilities,” Velocity said calmly. “How are we supposed to figure out which one it is?” 

“Finding clues isn’t always so simple when you’re looking at the bigger picture,” Nightbeat shrugged. 

“So, what, you want me to get psychoanalysis?” Brainstorm asked. “No thanks. I find it to be a pseudoscience. Unless it’s Rung. I’ll talk to Rung.”

“We left Rung on Cybertron, remember?” Nautica sighed, crossing her arms. “I wish I could talk to him right now. He always knows the right thing to say, and is so kind and gentle. And always has energon sticks--”

“You realize he’s all of those things because he is a trained doctor, of course,” Nightbeat partially teased. “But you’re right. It is a shame we don’t have access to Rung at the moment. But... there are more simple ways. Maybe Chromedome--”

“Absolutely not,” Brainstorm snapped, surprising everyone. Taking a deep vent, Brainstorm pinched between his optics and shook his head. “Look, I worked at the Institute. I’ve been friends with Chromedome since before he was named Chromedome. He doesn’t perform mnemosurgery anymore, doesn’t even have his needles. And even if he did, it kills him bit by bit. I would never ask him to do that again. Especially not for me.” He then pointed to his helm. “Also, no one has permission to scramble this genius.”

"Sorry,” Nightbeat apologized almost immediately. “I was getting carried away. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Brainstorm agreed readily. 

“I don’t disagree with the idea of never volunteering mnemosurgery again under any circumstances,” Velocity spoke up, “but we really do need you to try to remember anything that could be helpful, Brainstorm. We’re wanting to help. Not just the others and the investigation, but you. It’s... not normal seeing you have such a lack of curiosity about something. Especially something that happened to you.”

Brainstorm couldn’t argue with that. 

But he also couldn’t explain why he feared trying to remember. 

Except...

He lowered his head and rubbed achingly at his helm. “I think the reason I was uninjured had to do with the briefcase. I don’t think it was an accident.”

“Yes!” Nightbeat called out excitedly, only to get shushed by the glares of the Camiens. 

“But I really can’t dig further than that,” Brainstorm explained. “The only thing that comes to mind is...”

“Is what, Brainstorm?” Nautica asked gently, gripping his shoulder. 

He looked up at them. 

“Burning,” he replied. “Burning alive. Screaming. That’s all there is other than.... briefcases.”

If Ratchet could have ever before been described as fighting mad, it wouldn’t hold a light to the rage surging through his cables after the nonsense double checking of Rodimus’ CR chamber. 

As if Rodimus’ spark hadn’t nearly gone out on them multiple times beforehand, as if Ratchet and every other scientist and doctor weren’t enough to determine whether or not a bot  on the brink of extinguishment was faking or not. 

Ratchet’s grip on the control panel to the CR chamber nearly dented the metal. “Unthinking, incapable Starscream cronies!” he hissed, not caring in the least that at least two guards were still standing by the doors. “Look at the mess of the systems they made! And Knock Out! I’ll have his license expunged, he’ll never work as a doctor on this planet so help me--”

“You shouldn’t have let them touch him!” Drift shouted at Ratchet angrily, hovering so close to Ratchet that the old doctor could practically feel him venting hot air. 

“How the frag was I supposed to stop them, Drift?” Ratchet demanded. “Pull out guns against them? Set up a coup?”

“I would have sliced down anyone who tried to get to either of you,” Drift responded coldly. “You held me back--”

“You’re full of scrap, now pipe up your vocalizer so I can restabilize Rodimus’ stasis before he fully comes out of it!” Ratchet bit back, watching the percentages of the various chemicals within the bath slowly recalibrate. “Come on, he’s been out of the cryogen too long!”

Drift somehow managed to hover even closer. “What can I do? Are there supplies you need from anywhere I can get?”

“You know what you can do? You can go sit your aft down and let me work!” Ratchet snapped just before Rodimus’ vitals began to start up at an alarming rate, the waves detected from his processor spiking. “Frag it! Rodimus, don’t do this yet--”

“What’s happening!?” Drift demanded. 

"He’s waking up!” Ratchet snapped back before looking, optics wide, toward the glass of the CR chamber. 

There was noticeable twitching as the cables along Rodimus’ protoform attempted to activate limbs and armor that wasn’t quite there yet. His forcefully peaceful face squinted together, nose curling before his jaw opened. 

His optics were still offline, but Rodimus was trying to speak. If him waking early from stasis wasn’t such a terrible thing in his current state, Ratchet could almost make a joke of it. 

The handprint that was burned across Rodimus’ faceplate and exposed the intricate metalwork and mesh beneath was disturbed by his immediate attempts to talk, and his jaw slackened and gave on that side that was still exposed. 

Choking on the cryogen and chemicals around him, Rodimus thrashed. His optics flashed on at once and he swung wildly against the various wires and restraints that had been placed there to keep him from a moment just like this. 

Drift finally left Ratchet’s backside to near the glass and hold up his hands in a soothing motion. “Rodimus, calm down! We’ll put you back in stasis, just cool it for a second. I know it hurts and it’s confusing--”

Ratchet assessed the spiking vitals and growled before submitting to the only thing to do, throwing the switch for the CR cahmber and beginning the drain of the liquids out of it, after they had spent all that time attempting to refill it. 

At first, Drift seemed shocked and confused as the liquid began to visibly drain from the chamber, then he turned and looked at Ratchet. “What are you doing!? You said he needs to go back in stasis--”

“It’s not going to work with him having a panic attack, we need to calm him down first before he gives himself a spark attack,” Ratchet answered, pressing the final termination sequence before rushing to Drift’s side and waiting for the door of the pod to open. 

The moment the glass was no longer restraining him, Rodimus let out a gulping vent and fell forward into Drift and Ratchet’s awaiting arms. He sputtered and coughed, straining to balance on his pedes beneath him but they were still underarmored and unblanced. He could barely find purchase against the slick floor of the laboratory. 

“I-I -- what!? Where!?” Rodimus cried out, spurring the guards to step closer from the door.

Ratchet freed one of his hands to hold up a finger and shake it at the guards. “You step one bit closer and I’m going to unleash Drift on you. You know. The one who’s been chomping at the bit for a fight for a week now?” he warned angrily. 

The guards looked at each other before stepping back into place. 

Relieved somewhat that it had worked, Ratchet vented then turned his attention back on Rodimus.

Drift was trying, with great difficulty, to soothe the captain. “Rodimus, you’re safe. We’re no longer on Eukaris -- Ratchet and I came back for your team. We got you. You’re still being patched up.”

“Me!?” Rodimus cried out. “Th-the crew!”

He took another step without realizing the pede no longer had a stabilizer beneath the wheel. It flung him back and while his left arm flailed against Drift to stop himself from completely falling into it, Ratchet took immediate notice how his right limb hung limply by his side. 

Biting back on his words, Ratchet tried not to alarm either Rodimus or Drift before he could get a full assessment of the limb. His processor immediately came up with a list of differentials for what could be causing the paralysis of the limb.

Maybe the others had been right, maybe Ratchet had been holding off on full surgical repair too long in hopes of the protoform reassembling what it could. 

Ratchet hoped not. It was hard to deny it now.

“Scrap,” he muttered under a vent. Drift was holding Rodimus up almost entirely on his own and looking to Ratchet worriedly. Ratchet snapped a finger toward the nearby slab. “Help get him to sit up on it if he can.”

"You don’t understand!” Rodimus cried out nonsensically as Drift managed with almost too much ease to lift him up and set him on the table. Rodimus struggled, but with little frame and only one arm cooperating, it didn’t get him much. “I’m dead! The crew--”

“You’re not dead, Rodimus, calm down,” Ratchet ordered, coming over to his side. “And... not all the away team with you died. We lost two, but the rest have been repaired, awakened, and Brainstorm’s even back on the Lost Light by now as we speak. Not that we’ve got many answers--”

Rodimus’ left hand reached up to his face, almost knowingly. “I’m supposed to be dead!” he said, tenderly touching the handprint melted into his faceplate on the right side. 

Ratchet stared at Rodimus, processing the information.

Drift, though, wasted no time on Rodimus’ seemingly random actions and inactions. He gripped onto Rodimus tighter, keeping him upright. “You’re not, Rodimus! By the Thirteen, you survived! Optimus Prime himself boosted your spark at least twice--”

That seemed to cause at least something to click with Rodimus and the mech steadied. His optics flickered up toward Ratchet and to him it seemed almost as if there was something haunting the captain’s blue lights. 

“Ratchet,” he all but gasped, “I n-need to talk to Optimus. I-I have to tell him!”

Composing himself, Ratchet held up his hands. “You’re in no condition for anything. We’re putting you back in stasis as soon as you get your bearings. I’ll knock you out myself if you don’t take a moment to vent.”

“You don’t understand!” Rodimus shouted, vocalizer cracking.

“Rodimus, calm down,” Drift tried more softly, but Rodimus didn’t even look his way. 

“I’ll send word to Optimus that as soon as he’s back on-world he needs to talk to you,” Ratchet tried to assure him. “Until then, we’re going to have a lot of procedures we have to do on you.”

At first it didn’t seem as though nay of Ratchet’s words were making an impact on Rodimus. He stared nearly through them, optics shifting without concentration for a moment before he jerked away from Drift’s hold to no avail again.

“Th-then lock me up! Get... I need to be stopped!” Rodimus near yelled, reaching with his left hand again to cradle his head. “I have to be put away! I’m dangerous, I can’t-- I can’t control--”

“Stop talking,” Ratchet ordered.

“You’re not making any sense, Rodimus -- you’re damaged, but Ratchet’s going to fix you,” Drift attempted to soothe.

“Don’t you get it!?” Rodimus cried out. “I don’t deserve fixing! I’m... I killed them! It was me!”

Ratchet bit back on his denta. “Rodimus, calm down, you’re talking nonsense--”

“That’s not how I hear it.”

Swearing with every foul word he could pull from his processor, Ratchet turned toward the door and saw not only Starscream, but at least four of the so-called delegates by him, including a very shocked looking Windblade who looked nearly ready to tip forward and pass out from the exclamation from Rodimus. 

Starscream continued walking forward. “You heard it yourself, Council of Worlds. And without any further objections, I want to place delegate Windblade under arrest once again along with Captain Rodimus of the Lost Light.”

To Ratchet’s horror, Rodimus almost seemed to ease up in relief. 

Drift was the opposite, stepping between the approaching guards and Rodimus with his swords drawn. “Not another step--”

“Drift!” Ratchet tried to snap. 

“Really now?” Starscream sighed before snapping his fingers. “Someone arrest anyone else who tries to resist as well. I won’t make any exceptions when it comes to protecting the safety of Cybertron and this coalition. These horrific crimes on Eukaris will be answered for.”

Windblade hardly resisted, still looking to be somewhat in shock as she was grabbed by the nearest guard. The other delegates looked simply mortified by everything that was going on but also seemed fairly determined to be on Starscream’s side in the matter.

Drift narrowed his optics and raised his sword as the soldiers neared, guns drawn, but Ratchet lunged at Drift and forcefully lowered his arms. 

“Are your wires crossed?” Ratchet demanded.

“Are yours?” Drift snapped in retaliation.

Lowering his voice, Ratchet lowered Drift’s swords further. “Frag it, Drift. Surrender willingly that way we can at least have you keep an eye on Rodimus in prison and make sure nothing shady happens there. I’ll work from up here to get myself and First Aid access so we can perform medical procedures -- Starscream can’t have a bot kept in inhumane conditions let alone put on trial--”

“There won’t be any trial!” Drift snapped.

“We can’t stop one until Prime’s here, now surrender!” Ratchet snapped. 

Angrily, Drift finally listened to logic and threw his swords to the ground, allowing the soldiers to swarm him. “You better be right, Ratchet.”

“I know,” Ratchet muttered, mostly to himself as he locked optics with Starscream. “I know.”

[renaroo]

Twisted Legacy (11/25)

Disclaimer: Transformers and related properties belong to Hasbro Warnings: Canon-typical language and violence, Psychological torture and horror, Post-war politics, Canon divergence/Loose canon, Hospitalization and illness, Cultist indoctrination Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence from MTMTE and exRID #54] The legacy of the Primes has had a tainted past, one that weighs heavily on Optimus, his supporters, and those who seek the legacy for the future. But as they look forward for themselves and for Cybertron, a darkness looms that threatens to further corrupt the unsteady peace of their planet with its curious claim to be the Hand of Primus himself.

It’s up to Optimus, Windblade, Rodimus, and their teams to try and save all Cybertronians from this mysterious threat and, perhaps, change the future for the better if they can.

A/N: Thanks everyone for waiting on this one! We’re on part THREE! All things are coming together, all the different gears are getting turned, and I hope you all enjoy what’s in store because it’s about to get, let’s say, complicated ; ) 

Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, squiggol, and Isame for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

Part III: The Risk of Saving the Guilty Chapter 3.1: The Whispers Travel

In a reasonable world -- which Cybertron seemed determined to prove it was not -- but in a reasonable world, there would have been some sort of system in order that would have given Knock Out the immediate access he deserved for the laboratory he had spent the last several weeks of his life and work in for Starscream.

And Starscream -- that was another untrusting blunder within itself. 

If only Knock Out did not find himself so weak for a decent paintjob. He probably would have made certain his arrangements were more permanent. 

Ever since the Lost Light survivors had come through the space bridge, it was a literal struggle each solar cycle to get back into the room and to his research. Most of which had been left completely abandoned by his fellow doctors. 

Honestly, Breakdown would have been more assistance in the lab at that point than the Cybertronians. 

With a long vent, Knock Out threw out his credentials again for the snarling guards and did his best to ignore the way being a colonist was giving him extra looks that most of Cybertron did not. Then he looked, with annoyance, once more to see the galactically famous Ratchet alongside the other doctors busied with the same assortment of bots. 

“Well,” Knock Out drawled out, running his sharpened nails across his desk of untouched research. “What is that idiom I keep hearing about if you can’t beat them...” 

Strolling over to the medical bay, Knock Out earned those funny looks once again, as if it was a Cybertronian thing to always wear one’s faceplate like it was about to fall off, but he was then promptly ignored. 

“Wheeljack, can you give me anything at all that soft-melds to protoform?” Ratchet barked out. “I know it’s out there--”

“Was out there, Doc,” Wheeljack informed him with an awkward rub of his neck. “Cybertron’s been in short supply of hot spots since before the war. The sort of melding material used to treat sparkling injuries would be basically a lost art.”

"You are the highest scientific mind on Cybertron, and you’re telling me you can’t work something up to suit our needs?” Ratchet asked harshly.

From behind them, one of the awake patients -- a blue and yellow jet who Knock Out was unfamiliar with -- made a point of waving a hand in the air at them. “Since I’m here on Cybertron now, too, I can actually contest that claim--”

Rounding on the jet without hesitation, Ratchet pointed a thick finger at him. “Brainstorm, you are a weapons expert. I’m not going to let you build him into a giant gun. We already have a captain who was a giant gun. I’m not willing to have a second!”

Brainstorm crossed his arms and tilted his helm, looking positively offended. “It’s not only guns. I made an entire time machine out of brief cases, in case you forgot--”

“We didn’t!” they all said at once. 

The green medic from Caminus that Knock Out hadn’t bothered to learn the name of yet then apathetically patted Brainstorm’s head. “You’ve been stuck on repeat about the briefcase for days now, Brainstorm. It’s time to move on to something else.”

“I know,” Brainstorm grunted, rubbing at his neck tenderly. “I don’t know why, but it’s at the forefront of my brain module.”

“Well, either shut your brain module off again or move it back to thinking about guns, because we don’t have time to waste on this anymore,” Ratchet snapped before looking back to Wheeljack. “Can you whip me something up to help rebuild the protoform layer?” 

“Undoubtedly,” Wheeljack said. “I’m just worried about how the mesh will hold, Ratchet. Injuries this deep and this bad... Well, in the war weren’t they mostly Cold Constructed bodies?”

“I’ve made it work on forged and constructed cold millions of years before the war. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll just be proving to Rodimus again that his tailpipe isn’t shinier than the rest of ours,” Ratchet said with a wave of his hand.

"I just feel like patience would get us along much further,” First Aid encouraged. “The more time we allow for self-healing--”

“The more time Starscream has to weave whatever version of the story he feels like it,” Ratchet interrupted the younger doctor. “Especially since Brainstorm’s questioning was no help.”

“I can’t help what I can’t remember -- no one’s driven more crazy by unused brainpower than me, I assure you!” Bainstorm defended.

Having been left out of the intellectual loop for long enough, Knock Out stepped forward toward the CR tank in question, hand on his chin as he hummed slightly to himself. It was a vain attempt at getting the other scientists’ attention, but at the very least it worked. 

Raising a brow, Knock Out looked back at his fellow doctors. “On Velocitron, most every mech is, what do you call them again, ah yes, forged. And given the frequency of racing and the dangers that come with it, we get plenty of deep protoformic injuries. As a doctor, I keep protomatter synthesized in my labs. It’s not exact, but it is nearly seamless when worked with the right hands.”

The doctors stared at him for a moment, most seemingly impressed, before turning toward the one face that was far from ecstatic about Knock Out’s explanation. 

Ratchet crossed his arms. “Do you have access to Velocitron at the second?”

Knock Out cycled his optics. “Well, no one has access to the space bridge at the moment--”

“And do you have any of this here?” Ratchet continued harshly.

“Well, no--”

“Then you’re wasting our time and Wheeljack still needs to make some of our own,” Ratchet snapped, then turned to Wheeljack. “Are you going to get me what I need?”

Knock Out couldn’t help but drop his shoulders at being so quickly iced out of the conversation again. He stepped toward the CR chamber to get another look at the half mangled mech inside. “Fine, be that way. I swear, it’s as if you don’t even really want help.”

“I assure you,” a deep voice said from the shadows on the other side of the CR chamber, nearly causing Knock Out to jump back in shock. The quiet swordsmech who had been in the lab since Ratchet’s arrival leered at Knock Out. “We are giving Rodimus all the help he needs.”

“You’re still here? Tell me, do you bots ever take a recharge?” Knock Out asked. 

The swordsmech’s steely blue gaze merely narrowed at the notion.

“Nevermind,” Knock Out sighed. “Honestly, forget trying to help any of you with these Eukarian casualties.” He strolled toward First Aid. “I’m more interested in the Rust Killers and how our research is going anyway.”

First Aid tilted his head at Knock Out. “Seriously? Knock Out, I haven’t had any time to vent, let alone continue working on that project since the injured came in--”

Having had enough of the social customs, Knock Out dropped his half cocked smile and showed a full scowl toward the doctor. “That project? Terrorists nearly wiped out your planet and all of the colonies in the Council of Worlds, and it’s just some side project?” 

“To my oath as a doctor, everything is a side project,” First Aid responded snippishly. 

“What do they teach Cybertronian doctors? The needs of the few outweigh the many?” Knock Out growled. He turned toward the Camien doctor. “And what about on Caminus? Is a doctor’s duty only to those they’re loyal to first and foremost?”

Velocity quickly raised her servos. “I’m not really here to fight. I’m not even working right now. I was just leaving with Brainstorm to meet with the rest of our amicas--”

"Everyone has their own little projects,” Knock Out sighed before walking back toward the door. “If no progress is being actively made on the Red Rust research, then there’s no reason for my brand of genius to be around. Though if you believe the Council of Worlds will continue to sponsor this lab and its experiments without further progress, you have another thing coming.”

First Aid threw up one of his hands. “But you’re on the Council of Worlds.”

“And I’m interested in the Red Rust research,” Knock Out reminded him threateningly. “I’m going to take a nice drive, test my engines and blow off some steam before I reconsider making a report about this misplacement of funds, First Aid. I’ve enjoyed working with you while you’re on task. Hopefully we can do that again.”

No one stopped him as he left the room, but of course none of them probably knew a proper retort for the slew of accusations Knock Out had just flung at them. 

After all, his interests in the Red Rust were for his own self interests -- that and his conjunx. 

As always with Cybertron, though, there was more than simply their own concerns going on. 

He was in the halls for maybe twenty seconds before Windblade collided into him. 

“Why, I never!” Knock Out ground out, checking his paint job for any scratches. He then leered at the cityspeaker. “Delegate Windblade, if you wish for my attention, use your voice box.”

“Apologies, Knock Out,” she said, mid-vent. “I am in a rush and I need to get to the shipyard before it’s too late.”

“No you don’t!” Chromia called out in pursuit of her delegate. “Windblade, you can’t leave with the Prime--”

Surprised, Knock Out tilted his head at the jet. “I must concur with the bodyguard.”

Unlike with the doctors, his suggestion seemed to at least carry some weight where the cityspeaker was concerned and Windblade stopped in her tracks, looking toward Knock Out. 

“There’s something bigger going on and it involves Optimus Prime directly -- you’ve had to have seen the news! If this Error is after the Prime and the Matrix, then there is no reason to send him alone into space--”

“Unless it’s to keep the rest of us safe,” Knock Out said, raising his brow. “You are right, Windblade, in that there is something bigger going out here. And considering I have been approached by Lord Starscream for my scientific knowledge already, I have to say he seems to already understand that perhaps even more than you.”

Her optics narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes, Delegate Windblade, it is our job as leaders, as doctors, as mechs of power, to understand when the needs of many outweigh the needs of the few,” Knock Out explained. “And if the danger lies with the Prime, there was probably more than one incentive for Lord Starscream to send him alone into space and away from the citizenry.”

Chromia vented with relief at someone spouting sensical words for once.

But Windblade’s jaw merely squared itself. “The holy and powerful position of the Prime, for many of us -- that hope only the Prime’s light can provide? It can squash a whole lot of the many when in the wrong hands, Delegate Knock Out.”

“Maybe,” Knock Out said, crossing his arms. “But are you willing to leave your position here? Let Lord Starscream run the Council of Worlds without you? Alone?”

Windblade’s wings dropped slightly.

“Energon for thought,” Knock Out shrugged before continuing on his way out. “Do try to make the right decision. For all of us.”

Without further interruptions to his day, Knock Out went for his drive. 

Ultra Magnus was not sure what gave him more work -- when Rodimus was in charge himself, or when he was forcibly co-captaining with Megatron. But there was one thing he was certainly learning under the current fear and unease: Megatron in control of a ship of Autobots, by himself, under highly suspicious circumstances, and just after most of the original crew had mutinied, was the hardest of the three options.

So hard, in fact, that the captain had hardly left his quarters in the last week of disfunction, and their ship had not yet left Eukaris’ airspace as they awaited news of the survivors. 

The former second-in-command should have happily taken charge of their situation. After all, he mostly ran things while Rodimus was the sole captain. But the burden was greater.

There was a burden of knowledge. Of injustice.

And as the former Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, there was quite possibly nothing that caused his fuel tank to turn more in on itself than the idea that he was assisting severe injustice.

Excusing himself from the bridge, not that anyone there was doing anything under their inactive orders, Ultra Magnus walked to the captain’s office and knocked politely once. 

When there was no answer, he sighed and overrode the code to let himself in.

Megatron did not even budge from his desk. 

“I have been making contact with Cybertron over the last week,” Ultra Magnus informed his captain. “The next inbound ship will have Velocity, Brainstorm, one of the other recovered members of the away team, and the others who had departed for Cybertron.” When the former Decepticon did not look up, Ultra Magnus tilted his head. “I assumed you would want to be informed that we were about to have a medical officer again. There have been far too many unattended injuries from barfights without one.”

“Which made me wonder why you had not closed down Swerve’s,” Megatron replied before finally glancing up to Ultra Magnus. 

Ultra Magnus stood in complete attention. “Are you asking me as captain to do that, Sir?” he asked. 

“No, that would elicit more distrust and anger from an already formerly mutinous crew. As well as upset Swerve who is among the few of our group that I trust after that mutiny,” Megatron responded. “Given, he is vocal about his hatred of me, but of course, it’s the vocation of it that makes me trustful.”

“Then that, sir, would by why I have not made any such action yet,” Magnus responded. “We are in a precarious situation.”

“We are,” Megatron agreed, folding his servos together before his face. “We’re having two conversations at the moment, aren’t we, Ultra Magnus?”

“About the crew and about the situation with the recording?” Ultra Magnus asked. “Yes, we are.” He stepped closer to the desk so that more hushed tones could be used by them both. “Have you determined yet who we may trust with the information?”

“I’m not entirely convinced there is anyone to be trusted with it,” Megatron replied briskly, optics flickering in Magnus’ direction. Their steady redness was deep, calculating. As sharp as ever. “We may need to discuss with Ratchet, either directly or indirectly, and bring him in. If he understands the enormity, he would understand the need to move Rodimus onto the Lost Light for the rest of his recovery. He needs to explain what happened to us directly. Having him on Cybertron, having only half the information, it makes everyone at risk.”

“Agreed,” Ultra Magnus said. “Velocity’s arrival may give us that direct link to Ratchet we need. It would require more time without a medic in the long term, unfortunately, but you are not allowed on Cybertron and I am not comfortable abandoning my post by you under the current climate.”

Megatron nodded slowly in agreement. “We have to move quickly.”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Ultra Magnus vented loudly.

Tilting his helm suspiciously, Megatron glared at Magnus. “What? What is it?” 

“We may need to move quicker than originally planned, Sir,” Magnus explained reluctantly. “I came in here because the same ship which is carrying crew members back from Cybertron has... another passenger.”

“What?” Megatron demanded. He gritted his denta and shook his head. “Damn Starscream.” He looked back to Magnus. “Who did he send?”

“This is where we may find a silver lining,” Ultra Magnus attempted to break the news easily. “It is someone who is going to be on Rodimus’ side, and our side if we can appeal to him.” 

Undeterred, Megatron narrowed his optics. “Who did he send, Magnus?”

Venting again, Ultra Magnus answered, “Optimus Prime is inbound for the Lost Light.”

At first, Megatron sat in his seat patiently. Only his tapping finger on the desk gave any testament to the rage building up inside. 

“I may need my office to myself for a moment, Ultra Magnus. Please be the one to greet the Prime upon his arrival,” Megatron said formally. 

Already on his way out, Ultra Magnus did not bother to look back even at the sound of a fist going through a metal table. “It will be my pleasure, Captain.”

"Rattrap, I need to know where these cultists are in my city.”

Lord Starscream had not needed to speak twice for Rattrap to know what his role was -- what his usual role was. He was, after all, the rat in every wall throughout Metroplex. He had his optics and audial receptors set everywhere. 

There were the usuals that Starscream wanted close watch on, knowing the comings and goings. Any of the delegates from the Council of Worlds, and especially Windblade and her ever present bodyguard. 

Citizens of Cybertron in high concern were also Blurr and Ironhide, any of the most outspoken against Starscream’s rule. He especially wanted attention paid to the disgruntled former Decepticons in the slums. Of those he watched, though, Rattrap found the most interest in Blurr’s bar. 

When Rattrap could manage to be one step ahead of Blurr and not be bounced from the establishment, of course. A most difficult thing considering the speedster’s famous quick feet. 

But lately there had been higher priorities that Rattrap found himself concerned with. 

There was Optimus Prime and his crew, the followers of the Primal religion who flocked to him. The former Lost Light crew trying to integrate to the Cybertron they formerly had rejected, and more. 

As a spymaster of sorts, Rattrap was finding his work cut out for him. 

And the cult -- this Error and his followers -- were such a nonentity for the most part that each day passed without so much as a sign breathed about them other than the general fear. 

They were getting dangerously close to Starscream’s plan of rounding up any and all bots with a red and black paintjob becoming a reality. Whispers of it were to the point that every paint shop and body work house in the city were booked for weeks. 

Rattrap needed to find information. Whether he got the credit for it or not, he was one of the pillars keeping their crumbling society from utterly collapsing. 

Then, slowly, it came to Rattrap’s attention that of all his rounds searching the city, he had yet to check the depths -- Metroplex’s underground and the very energon rivers that Starscream himself had tapped into before. 

“Well, if there’s not anything up here, it’s gotta be down there, right?” Rattrap asked himself, heading toward the nearest underground entrance. 

At first, his hunch yielded little. 

The reservoirs of energon, both used and unused, were weak and diluted, which at least made travel somewhat easier. Especially in Rattrap’s beastmode. 

He was nearly ready to give up on the idea entirely when he began to hear hushed tones from one of the less populated, and thus less energon flowing, districts’ pipelines. 

Suspicious, he followed the noise along the pipes, the vibrations riding up his limbs as he walked across the pipes and toward the constant rumble. Until those rumbles became words, low and distant. Then louder.

The closer he came, the more Rattrap was put in mind of an old sermon in the days before the War. Words about the Primes and Primus and things that Rattrap had hardly given consideration then and certainly had grown some skepticism toward these days. 

And he worked for a genuine Chosen One. 

After what felt like hours of travel, Rattrap finally came to where the rumbles became words he could make out, and a soft glow of fire light gave him warning for what was around the corner. 

“Bingo,” he whispered to himself. 

“Primus’ Hand has guided us to this point,” a deep voice, unmistakably the same a the mech who had multiple times at that point taken over on the airways. “His fire has lit the way, and it has showed us his chosen vessel. Fire cleanses this world and all others which owe Primus its domain. And it shall soon judge those who have come forth as false Primes. As nonbelievers. As unworthy. And it will be with your assistance, with your sacrifices, that Primus’ will shall be done.”

There were cries and screams of desperate jubilation in response. 

“Well, scrap,” Rattrap muttered quietly to himself. “Just my luck. I missed the descriptive part of the meeting and made it in time for preaching to the choir.” 

“And we shall start now,” the voice continued -- deeper, louder. “By lighting a fire to destroy those who would put our work in danger.” 

Rattrap tilted his helm at that just before the light grew brighter from around the corner and then, suddenly, he saw the trickles of energon that were in that corridor begin to spark with an unsettling light.

“Oh, damn!” Rattrap cried out, realizing what was happening and turning to race away just as the sounds of roaring flames began coming his way. 

"Well isn’t this just a rotten way to go!” Rattrap cried out somewhat hysterically as he could feel the flames licking at his tail and back paws. Then there was the tell-tale crackle of the energon reservoirs catching fire. 

Despite imminent death, Rattrap leaped uselessly in an attempt to race ahead of the upcoming explosion. His cries echoed nearly as loud as the boom to follow. 

But before his body burned and his spark extinguished, he turned off his optics. 

It kept him from seeing whoever it was that grabbed him, hard, almost like a collision. It nearly knocked the steam out of him before darting through the air, its coolness rushing over Rattrap’s beastform in comparison to the growing heat they were leaving behind. 

His spark was still skipping pulses as it all came to a stop and he realized that the explosions were a great distance away from wherever he was currently.

“I’m alive,” he said, cycling on his optics as he was gently laid on the ground and allowed to transform back into botmode. “I’m alive! Oh sweet Primus!”

“I told you, this was an interference that was supposed to happen. It was a good thing, calm down, Prime.”

Recognizing the voice immediately, Rattrap turned around to face his savior. “Windblade? But you were at the capital and--” he paused, looking over the jet curiously. Her paintjob was different, and there was something different about the decorations of her faceplate. And there was no other color but black and red. “What the...”

“I still think this is a mistake,” a second mech said, drawing Rattrap’s attention to him. “Even if Rattrap is supposed to be around later... does he have to be? He never made my life any easier after all this. Or yours.”

Rattrap looked at the mech in shock. Like Windblade, the paint was different, even the build was different in little details that amounted more and more the longer Rattrap stared. 

But beyond the black and red and the increased size, there was no mistaking it.

“Rodimus?” Rattrap asked, optics wide. “But you’re in the CR chamber.”

A displeased look grew on the mech’s face and Windblade gave a little vent. 

“And this is where our job is about to get very complicated,” she said toward Rodimus.