Chapter Text
Just under an Earth week passed by before Ratchet deemed any of Team Prime fit enough to do anything except rest and resume minor patrols. Bumblebee and Arcee fared better than their larger teammates, smaller frames working through the dark and medical grade energons swifter, meaning they ended up returning to routine before the rest and took up the slack where Bulkhead and Optimus couldn’t. Bulkhead, who had been weakened worse than the others, had only just returned to patrolling multiple times an orn and as for Optimus…well…
Despite his stronger frame, it had suffered more exposure to dark energon than anymech should have go through. The fight with Megatron under the looming shadow of one of Earth’s volcanoes was bad enough, but putting himself into Earth’s core and right into the Chaos Bringer’s own spark would have killed any other mech. Without the added protection of the Matrix and Primus’ power, Optimus’ frame and spark had been left weaker than it had when he was infected with the Cybonic plague. After his initial waking post-return, Opt– Orion had barely enough strength to lift his helm, let alone walk across the hub or get to his habsuite. With time and care, Orion had recovered almost as quickly as Optimus had done before in just under an Earth month, lifting one of the heavy weights off of Ratchet’s spark. It was just–
At every chance he got, Orion asked question after question, none of which Ratchet had felt brave enough to answer. He still didn’t right now, even after he told Orion that he would finally explain everything to him. It wasn’t exactly easy telling your oldest friend that he had inadvertently caused an eon long war that destroyed their planet, and that the enemy was led by the one they had trusted and loved the most. Ratchet would have preferred to have done it somewhere private, away from prying optics and audials, but the team had decided amongst themselves that they wanted to help Orion remember and to Ratchet’s dismay, Orion had decided he didn’t mind one bit.
Which was where Ratchet found himself now, sitting Orion down on the lower platform near the monitors, the children lingering around on their raised platform, with Bulkhead, Bee, and Arcee littered about the hub. Too crowded, even though Ratchet had plenty of room to pace and stress.
“Drink this while I explain.” Ratchet said a little more tersely than he meant to as he shoved a hefty medical grade cube into Orion’s too big servos. They were Optimus’ servos. Orion’s had been thin and delicate for handling artefacts…
Orion just blinked at him, wordlessly taking a sip and grimacing. At any other point, the Orion Ratchet missed would have spat the liquid out and cursed it to Primus and back. For an Iaconian, he did always have a dirty intake. Shaking away old memories that would likely resurface at a more quiet, private time, Ratchet let his vents hiss and cool his systems.
“There is a lot more than I can tell you in one sitting, and most would be easier through a datafile–” Ratchet admitted because it was true, millennia could not be explained in moments. He stepped away from Orion’s side after urging him to continue drinking his energon, moving to the console and typing in a few glyphs before unmounting a data card. It sat in his palm, tiny yet holding so much within it. Each and every important document, image, and testimony that might help Orion remember who he was or at least give him some incline of the ‘bot he had become. Undoubtedly, it would take an archivist’s processor only a few groons to sort and read through it all, far quicker than it had been living through it all. The one thing Ratchet couldn’t provide was the raw emotions, nowhere in between military files and mission reports did anymech ask how Optimus had felt during the moment, how it had torn at his spark and left him feeling hopeless, feeling guilty at the sparks lost, at the destruction of their home. Orion could learn about the battles, about the killing, about the bombings and plagues, all cold, hard facts, but only Optimus would know how he had felt about those orns. Ratchet did not think Orion would feel vastly different about what he read compared to how Optimus felt experiencing them, but it was hardly the same.
Almost hesitating, Ratchet dropped the data card into Orion’s awaiting servo, dwarfed even more so in his large palms. His digits curled around it carefully, immediately beginning to fiddle with the card, rolling it between his digits, spinning it in his palm. A simple thing that managed to make Ratchet smile just a little. Optimus often didn’t fiddle or fidget when in company of others, some nonsense about it being ‘un-primely’ which Ratchet always thought was utter scrap. Orion, though, could always be seen doing something with his servos or his pedes, flapping his arms about, rotating his finials, clicking his glossa against the roof of his intake. Simply doing something . Ratchet, as annoyed as he had often been by the repetitive noises when trying to study, had missed it most out of the things Optimus hid away that made Orion the mech he had been.
It was only for a select few optics to see Optimus Prime act anything like Orion Pax, and Ratchet had been privileged enough to be within that circle of trust.
“The beginning might be a place to start, but I’ll get to that later. For now, we are on planet Earth, in a solar system light years away from Cybertron, which is inhabited by a race called ‘humans’.” Orion watched him with such sincere interest, Ratchet almost choked up. Not that Optimus had never done that, but there was something so relaxed and unguarded in Orion’s optics that Optimus had never had. Almost carefree, a weight lifted, no longer carrying a deep sadness to them. Ratchet could have stopped there, could have ripped the data card away and never let Orion know the horrors of their war. But that wouldn’t be fair. Not on Optimus, not on Cybertron that needed its Prime more than Ratchet needed his oldest friend.
Resetting his voice box, Ratchet had to look away from his friend. “They are… a fairly primitive race compared to our society, yet we share commonalities and our planets are far more connected than anymech would have guessed.” Part of him still scoffed that such a small, insignificant planet like Earth was linked to their great home, but he also knew that was an unfair view. He would never say it aloud, but he had grown fond of the small group they had unfortunately adopted, finding them quite impressive despite being so small and squishable.
“We landed around 1984, mostly kept to ourselves until yo–” Bulkhead stumbled over his words as he took up part of the explanation. The wrecker floundered for a nano-klick, shying away from Orion’s awaiting gaze. “Uh, our leader joined forces with the local government. Agent Fowler’s our inside man.”
“While the children scurried into our lives like scraplets and unfortunately will not leave.” Ratchet grumbled, earning a pointed look from nearly everymech.
“Arcee and Bee brought us in, although it wasn’t exactly intentional,” Jack laughed nervously, the next to be subject to Orion’s inquisitive optics from where the children stood behind him. “Then I had to explain things to my mom when she got kidnapped by Arachnid, and well– yeah, now we’re here.”
“I see…” Orion mused, digits tapping on one of the sides of his half empty cube. Ratchet could see the gears turning in his processor, Orion’s optics following a path they could not see as he sorted through all that he had been told so far and undoubtedly produced a million more questions that only branched off into more questions. His gaze sharpened again as he focused back in on the present around him. “I still do not understand why we are on this planet.”
“Because we are at war.” Arcee said simply, frowning as memories of Cliffjumper and Tailgate undoubted rose to the forefront of her processor.
“War?” Orion echoed, optics widening a fraction. He nearly couldn’t believe it, yet with all his research into Cybertron’s history and corrupt, it shouldn’t have surprised him. It was always inevitable, with the unrest in the lower castes and for so long Megatronus had promised his people an uprising, Orion had just hoped he might sway his friend to be peaceful.
“It had been going on for eons now,” Ratchet elaborated, a heaviness to his voice that spoke of the toil the war had had on his oldest friend. Eons . Their people could live that long, eons was nothing to a healthy Cybertronian, but a war to last so long? It was spark-breaking to the archivist. Orion yearned to reach out to Ratchet, so similar yet so different to the ‘bot he swore he only saw a few orns ago but was being told that was millions upon millions of years ago. Although Ratchet had closed up his end of their bond, Orion could still feel the deep sense of grief and exhaustion that curled around their connection, emanating from both ends, which only confused Orion further as he had not felt such mourning, such tiredness in all his functioning.
.: Autobots, the good mecha, fight the bad Decepticons, doing our best to stop them from taking over Cybertron and ruling through tyranny! :. The young yellow ‘bot said this time, demonstrating his point by throwing a few punches at an invisible enemy in front of him. It was impressive, however, Orion’s processor got caught on one glyph in particular.
“Decepticons…” He repeated, feeling the world around him starting to shrink in.
A memory, this one sharp in his processor. The early parts of an orn, Orion watching as the most powerful, most intelligent, most handsome mech he knew captivated a crowd just below.
“They brand us as nothing but thugs and ruffians, deceiving the good mecha of Cybertron into throwing away the caste system that they claim so lovingly looks after them. I say, if exposing corruption and freeing the masses is deception? Then we will gladly be called Decepticons!”
A new flag unveiled, a symbol of their movement, weaved into the centre. Purple burning bright against a grey background, almost gunmetal. Decepticons. A title Orion had worn with pride. A title Orion had suggested one recharge cycle as Megatron had stomped around their awfully small apartment, grumbling and complaining, rightfully so about the council, about Sentinel Prime.
Orion’s digits traced the different symbol adorning his unfamiliar armour, the shape not right. Somehow he knew it was Prima’s faceplates, rather than that of the Fallen’s. Orion did not know how to feel about that.
“They’re led by Megatron,” Arcee pulled Orion from his memories, her words with such venom in her tone there was no deny that the mech she spoke of was vile, cruel, and evil. His Megatronus was not that. He had been a gladiator and unfortunately had killed more mecha than Orion liked to count, but he was never vile or cruel or evil. Megatronus killed to survive until he rose up and fought with quick words and grand promises to stop others from having to stain their servos with spilt energon ever again
“Megatron–” It had to be a coincidence… Orion sought out the one mecha he could trust most. “Ratchet?”
Ratchet just nodded, because of course Orion had already figured it out. He was nothing if not one of the smartest mecha forged on Cybertron.
“And the Autobots?”
“Followers of Optimus Prime.” Ratchet told him, and once again, he could see Orion’s processor working a mile a klick. A deep frown had settled on his friend’s face, one that he did not wish to see. Orion had been so distraught the day Megatronus had cast him aside as a traitor that he had been inconsolable. Then, Orion had been dragged away by the council and Optimus Prime shoved back into society without being allowed to properly grieve the friendship and love that he had lost.
“... You called me Optimus before.” Orion said hesitantly, keeping his voice nearly timid, like he didn’t want to know the truth. Ratchet shut down the turmoil in his spark, but he could feel the unease in the room. The situation wasn’t an easy one. How do you deal with losing the leader you’ve followed for centuries, replaced by a younger version of himself that was no less wise, no less noble, and yet was not the same mech you knew? One who saw Megatron as the revolutionary he used to be, not the tyrant he had become, with no knowledge of the war he had led them through.
“You were given the mantel of Prime after a somewhat disastrous meeting with the council, one you and Megatronus had attended together but left separated.” Ratchet summarised with a gentle sigh from his vents. That was another whole cluster of viruses…
“I am no Prime, Ratchet.” Orion almost laughed at his amica’s words. Him? A prime? “Just a simple labourer who wanted to become an archivist, a caste above their own.”
“You are much more than that, Orion, far more.” Ratchet stressed, but how could Orion believe him? When had he ever been worthy of being a Prime in his functioning? A mech of his caste would never be given the position.
“You have that thing, don’t you? The Matrix-y thing in your chest?” Asked one of the humans, Miko, if Orion remembered right. The one he had almost squished because she had startled him.
“The Matrix?” That was ridiculous, surely not? Reluctantly, Orion opened up his chassis, windshields popping up while metal and protoform shifted to the sides and back to reveal–
The air left his vents as he removed the Matrix of Leadership from his own chassis, it shutting closed while he stared at the priceless relic. It felt heavy in his servos and in its centre was a colorless crystal, the gold of its wings dulled and in need of a shine. It didn’t feel like the Matrix, but Orion knew in his spark that it truly was, even though the relic was thought to have been lost. Sentinel had never been granted it; a secret kept guarded, one Alpha Trion had somehow known.
Then, why did he have it?
Orion set the Matrix aside, feeling as though he should not be holding it, whether it was his to bear or not.
“But I am not worthy.” Orion said so softly and in such disbelief, it cut Ratchet’s spark in two. He wanted nothing more than for Orion to see himself as Ratchet saw him. There was no mech more worthy than Orion Pax, and Primus themself had seen that.
“You have no idea how wrong you are, my friend.” Ratchet assured him, taking Orion’s servo in his own and squeezing it. Orion’s optics watched him, flicking minutely from left to right as they studied Ratchet’s own gaze, searching for any hints of dishonesty.
“You’re the best Prime we’ve had since– Well, I don’t actually know many Primes personally.” Bulkhead laughed, but his words were sincere, drawing Orion’s attention. It was not often most mecha saw past Bulkhead’s well… bulk . Sure, he had a few circuits missing and just because he didn’t know medicine like a medic or battle strategy like a general, didn’t mean he wasn’t smart in his own way. Optimus saw that, saw who Bulkhead really was.
.: Optimus is the only Prime I've known, but you’ve always been so kind, so caring, even when you’ve got the weight of the entire planet on your shoulders. :. Bumblebee added on, optics circling wide as they looked at the mech who would become his adoptive creator. His wings fluttered lightly as he thought about all that Optimus had done for him. Despite growing up in a war, Bumblebee had been given as much of a normal upbringing as possible, all thanks to Optimus. Without his love and care, Bee had no idea where he would be now. .: You took me in, always had time for me, while running an army and fighting a war. :.
“You’re my Prime, whether you’ve got that fancy decoration in your chassis or not.” Arcee insisted as she drew in closer to their small group, knowing she would have been on a much darker road without Optimus’ support, that’s if she hadn't already blown her helm off with her own blaster by then. For most of the war, she never knew the Prime, but since arriving on Earth without Tailgate, then losing Cliffjumper, his support had been invaluable. He took the time to make sure she was alright, even when she had disobeyed him or snapped something harsh out of anger and grief. Never once had Optimus forced her to move on, only encouraging her out of the deep pit of despair she had dug herself into.
“You don’t remember it,” It was Jack’s turn to add something. “But the last thing you did as Prime, before losing your memories, was save our planet. A place you’re not even from, where most people won’t even know of your sacrifice.”
“Optimus risked his life to save our planet, and he’s not even human. We owe it to him.” Jack had said to his mom the night they all gathered to finalise their plan to get to Vector Sigma. It still baffled him now, how an alien, who by all accounts had no reason to care for Earth and its inhabitants while fighting their own war, would sacrifice his own life to keep them all safe. Jack had never really had a father figure, but if he had to choose one person to look up to (figuratively and literally) it would be Optimus Prime.
“You did it without hesitation. I don’t know what exactly makes a Prime, but I’d say that’s a solid reason.” Jack said with conviction, and Orion looked at him with an expression he had never seen on Optimus. Somehow, despite having the same exact face, neither bot looked the same. “You also believe that anymech can change, ‘bot or ‘con, you’re trying to save your planet and your species even so far away from home and scatter across galaxies.”
“Optimus also always treated us the same as he did the ‘bots, even if we’re smaller than you guys and no matter how often I followed you guys into the ground bridge.” Miko admitted the last part a little sheepishly, because she knew she shouldn’t go through, but all things Cybertronian were so interesting. Optimus encouraged her curiosity, albeit in a less dangerous way. “You were always so kind and understanding. You didn’t like my music much, but you never yelled at me or took away my guitar. You let us be us .” Because at her host parent’s place, Miko could never really be herself. Although she never spent much time with Optimus compared to Bulkhead, whenever they were in the same room, he had never chastised her for stimming vocally or physically, never yelled at her whenever she did follow them onto the battlefield (although his disappointed looks were somehow worse than yelling), and always listened whenever she had something to say even if Optimus has zero clue about demolition derbies and Creature Double Feature .
“This team, it’s a family.” Raphael piped up, one of his race cars clutched to his chest. He was still felt weak from the dark energon and nightmares from Megatron’s attack kept him up most nights, nightmares he couldn’t tell his mama about when she finally found the time to focus on him and not his siblings or work. “Optimus protects us all and keeps this family together, even if we argue and fall out.” Rafael was used to being bullied, being shoved aside and forgotten. Optimus, not matter how much he had on his mind, never seemed to forget about him. The moment Optimus had returned from fighting Megatron, infected with dark energon and weak, he had smiled at Raf. It had been such a gentle smile that the boy had been surprised. But what really blew Raf’s mind? Optimus had only attacked Megatron after the ‘con had hurt him. Him . Optimus protected Raf because they were family.
“See? There is more to you than meets the eye, Orion, believe us all when we say you are worthy of the title granted to you.” Ratchet insisted as he gently took Orion by the shoulders, hoping his friend might finally understand. “You will always be worthy, whether you recall your memories again or not. You have an innate nobility within you that I believe will shine through whether you call yourself Orion or Optimus.”
Blue optics looked towards the Matrix before turning back to Ratchet, an uncertainty still there, although chipped away by the words of the team. Ratchet would happily repeat himself each orn until the uncertainty crumbled into dust.
Suddenly, Ratchet was tugged forward, and he found himself enveloped in Orion’s embrace, large servos and strong arms that were not Orion’s holding Ratchet as close as he could possibly get. Initially surprised by the hug, Ratchet quickly relaxed into it and held him just as tight, not caring about the optics watching. A heavy weight then draped itself around them both, Ratchet only able to see a patch of green, then yellow arms curled around his middle, and Ratchet caught Arcee’s optic over Orion’s shoulder. Tinier footsteps signalled the children clambering over them all to join in on the group hug.
Everymech stayed close when they separated, nobot mentioning when Orion wiped his optics, giving him a moment to compose himself while the children returned to their platform, Miko choosing to perch on Bulkhead’s shoulder. Ratchet kept his servo on Orion’s pauldron, thumb tracing his insignia.
“Thank you, all of you. I… Your words are touching, even if I do not yet recall what you have talked about.” Orion spoke sincerely, touching his chassis and over his spark chamber. Although he had no memories of any of it, Orion felt the love and appreciate and respect from each ‘bot and human as they spoke. He did not know this group, however, he found no deception from them and his spark told Orion he could trust them all as much as he trusted Ratchet and Jazz and Elita.
“I do have one burning question. If we are on this planet and not Cybertron, does that mean…?” He could only trail off as his processor brought forth all that he has researched of warfare, both on Cybertron and in their neighbouring planets and colonies. Orion had never seen war himself, yet he could only imagine the state of their home, the death and destruction from previous conflicts substituting their own ruins into that of Iacon, Praxus, Kaon, Tarn.
As he looked around the group, none of them met his optic, a profound sense of mourning engulfing the room as their fields mixed. Arcee hugged herself while Bumblebee whined sadly. It was enough of an answer on its own, but Orion had to know.
“Cybertron is… dormant. Not quite dead, not quite alive.” Ratchet explained, tone as grief-filled as his EM field, optics holding an intense sadness to them, one Orion wished he could wipe away. His friend’s feelings of sorrow did not match the last few memories he had of Ratchet, the medic laughing at Orion as he got far too charged on Vosnian high grade that Jazz had sneaked into the archives to celebrate something or other.
Ratchet made his way back to the computers again, grabbing a hologram projector he’d brought from storage just for this. He knew this was going to be the hardest part of this conversation, one he could save for another orn, another stellar cycle. But Orion was as curious as they came, he’d find out one way or another, Ratchet would only be extending their misery. With the projector already programmed, Ratchet lowered the lights and placed the projector just above the Autobot insignia on the floor. Switching it on revealed a levitating globe, the gunmetal grey of a dying Primus, endless energon wells empty, life long since dead.
Orion reaction was immediate, audible and visible. A horrified gasp escaped his intake, optics going as wide as wheel rims. He rose from his seat, hesitantly approaching the projection as he took in each inch of the image for the first time. Orion’s servo reach out to touch the picture, hovering just over where the Iacon Hall of Records would have been, now a bombed out crater of nothing.
“Cybertron…” He said so quietly, slowly circling the projection to study it. Orion’s spark had clenched inside his chassis, a feeling of dread so deep that it made his frame hurt. He could not believe the image he was seeing. The Cybertron he knew was alight with life, glowing as Primus’ spark pulsed beneath its metal surface, not the desolate husk that stood before him. As he reached out to it, Orion wanted to weep. Instead, he looked to Ratchet once more, seeking the truth.
“Megatronus did this to our home?” Orion asked. It made no sense. It had to be some other mech. Megatronus loved Cybertron, they were going to heal it together.
“Not just him, but yes.” Ratchet answered slowly, like he didn’t want Orion to know. Looking back at the projection, Orion’s spark broke in two, as confusion and turmoil wracked his processor.
“All because I became Prime?”
“That is part of it.”
“But our plans, our dream…he couldn’t have…” Orion insisted, although he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince the others or himself. The way Megatronus had spent recharge cycle after recharge cycle telling Orion the ways in which he would improve Cybertron, weaving his words into a great tapestry that painted the most beautiful future for their home. The poetry the gladiator had created from their shared dream, that cast Cybertron back to a golden age, a proper one. Orion had readily agreed to it all, eager to see his planet made into something much more than it was, a world Primus would surely be proud of.
And yet, if he truly was this Optimus Prime, then that meant it was not solely Megatronus responsible for Cybertron’s ruin. He too had played a role in bringing their world to its extinction. They were going to fix Cybertron, not kill it. Free its people from the caste system and let all mecha be equal, to function without fearing for when their next energon would be.
How had everything gone so wrong? How could he fix it?
“Megatronus knew I didn’t want the Primacy, why would I ever want that?” Orion would never have stolen the title from his beloved, not when becoming Prime would have meant so much to their movement. A gladiator of Kaon, bearing the name of the Fallen, now a Prime? The power it would have given their revolution would have been exactly what they had needed. Orion would have supported Megatronus in any way possible, and had even encouraged the mech to go for the position. It would have been one powerful slap to the faceplates for the Council and its corruption. Never, in all their time together, had Orion thought about being the Prime instead. He just wanted to be an archivist, accidentally falling into the role of revolutionary, but never Prime.
“He was too power hungry, too jealous and unable to see that it didn’t matter if the Prime were him or you.” Ratchet hissed in the darkened room, his glowing optics alight with an anger Orion did not recognise. “I can only be thankful it was not Megatron who received the Matrix, knowing what he had done, had he had the power of the Prime, it could only be much worse.”
“What is he like?” Orion asked because he had to know. He just didn’t want to, Orion’s spark was already suffering enough.
“He is a tyrant, willing to kill mecha no matter what, especially if it furthers his own gain.” The anger burst into fury, a deep-rooted hatred lingering in Ratchet’s field like a miasma. His servos clenched shut tight, his denta grinding, tanks rolling as he recalled the atrocities done by or under Megatron’s designation. Beside him, Bee flinched at Ratchet’s next words.
“He ripped out Bumblebee’s voice box because he would not betray the Autobots, he crushed Elita’s spinal strut for protecting innocent sparklings, he poisoned Primus and doomed our planet to die because he did not get his own way.”
Orion listened in utter horror as Ratchet listed but a few of Megatronus’ awful deeds. They all made Orion’s spark weep, but one designation hit the most.
Elita…
It couldn’t be true. Orion could picture the blazing pink of his other love. The strength in her protoform, the scars littered across her armour, as she fought in the gladiatorial pits with the power of Prima himself. Elita was the reason Orion even met Megatronus. They had been friends first, a stronger bond between them than Orion had ever achieved. Megatronus would have killed for Elita, never–
“I… I cannot believe it… that is not Megatronus,” Orion wanted to yell, but his voice box crumbled under the strain of his emotions. Fresh wiper fluid welled up in front of his optics, obscuring his vision of the room, of the hologram of their destroyed planet. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true.
“We campaigned for freedom for all Cybertronians, to smelt the caste system into nothing so that all life, new and old, might choose who they wish to be!” Orion stressed, arms spread out as he gestured, emphasising his emotion, his fury, his confusion. He paced the room, like he often had done when he and Megatronus had discussed anything, but now they were the topic here. “He was a gladiator, he knew what it was like to be enslaved, to have no will of his own, not even a name. Megatronus, he– no, Ratchet… no…” The last few glyphs came out in a sob Orion couldn’t hold back, reality settling in as his spark was torn into tiny shreds. He buried his face in his servo, wanting to hide away from that reality.
“I wish it weren’t so…” Ratchet said in genuine, helm shaking slowly. As much as he hated Megatron and all that he had done, more than anything, he would never forgive the mech for breaking Orion’s spark. The anguish that never quite left their bond, the frequent moments of self-doubt and blame Optimus had, all Megatron’s doing. Ratchet was a healer, but this was one thing he had never been able to fix for his amica, the one mech he was supposed to care about most.
As he circled the projection again, Orion stopped with his back to the team and allowed the tears to fall while watching the remains of Cybertron float in front of his optics as he thought on everything he had been told. There was so much to unpack and come to terms with, so much to grieve and to get angry over, so much to try to forget, and yet it was hardly anything in the grand scheme of this war. Eons he had lost in saving an unknown planet when he had failed in saving their own. Eons he had to remember to be the Prime they all expected him to be.
Yet, for now, Orion let himself mourn in silence. As much as he truly wished to not believe what he had been told, Ratchet had no reason to lie. The look in each Autobot’s optics was enough to confirm it all. Megatronus, the battle-hardened gladiator with an affinity for poetry and holding servos, was gone, replaced by a mech Orion did not know. Part of him feared that maybe he had never really know Megatronus either. Had it all been a lie? Was their dream just a gilded cage of thoughts to keep Orion in a place where Megatronus could use him?
Temporarily, Orion put those thoughts and questions on hold, fearing if he dared entertain them that he might never find a way out of their depths. He had known Megatronus for a while, spent so much time with him, if he were to search through each and every interaction for signs of deception, Orion might be there just as long as the war he did not know.
A war he had a servo in starting despite all his wishes for peace…
An image unexpectedly flittered across his processor, one of Megatronus and Elita. The two gladiators hunkered down in their tiny quarters down in the barracks, a small oil lamp illuminating the room while they both played a game of tetra-chess. A game Orion had introduced to them both and, to his dismay, discovered they were far better players than himself. In this photo, Elita was glaring at their board with the same such intensity as she gave everything in her functioning, whilst Megatron looked only at her . The softest expression on such a terrifying gladiator, one that had to be real.
And yet– Elita was gone. Even though his processor did not remember it, his spark knew it was true as it tried to reach out for the missing mech and found nothing. Taken by the mech who had, once upon a time, looked at her like she was his own spark…
A burning desire for justice ignited in his chassis, not just for Bumblebee, not just for Elita, but for each and every mech who had believed in their cause and who had died for a tyrant who no longer cared for them. For Cybertron. And… for himself.
Orion understood what he had to do, what Primus chose him for.
“Ratchet.” Orion called gently, helm angled slightly and awaiting his friend’s response, although he did not turn to the group behind him just yet, keeping his optics on the hologram before him. His voice and just one glyph hushed out all other conversations in the room, commanding the attention of every bot and human in the room without effort. It was not a power Orion was used to, hardly anymech had listened to him before.
“Is Megatron still on this planet?”
“Yes, aboard his warship, the Nemesis .” Ratchet answered, scowling slightly in confusion, before asking, “Why?”
Orion turned, bright optics wet with unshed tears, haloed by the image of their dying home planet. He cast a long shadow over them all, watching them with a strikingly familiar gaze. Despite the low light of the hub, his faceplates were set in a righteous determination equal only to Optimus Prime. A hope that had gradually begun to disappear from Ratchet’s spark long into the war’s beginning burst into fruition at the sight.
“Megatron must be stopped, no matter the cost.”