Chapter Text
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New Spark POV
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It all happened so fast after I said yes to Primus.
In an instant, I was thrust into the middle of a transformation: “-REBORN ANEW. OPTIMUS PRIME” roared a chorus of voices, echoing like the pulse of a universe. My feet—no, pedes—touched the ground with a soft, weightless grace, like a balloon deflating gently after floating high. The Matrix of Leadership rested in my hands—no, servos—its radiant light dimming to a soft, steady glow.
I am a Transformer now. A Transformer. Not human.
I am Orion Pax.
When the light finally dimmed, no longer blinding me, I saw them—other Transformers standing in the room. For a moment, I couldn’t place who they were or where I was. But then, Orion Pax’s memories surged through me like a torrential waterfall, seamlessly integrating into my consciousness. In an instant, I remembered everything.
I had been summoned here to provide evidence of the crimes committed by Sentinel Prime, such as the shadow-play experiments. Zeta Prime, Sentinel’s successor, was coercing me to swear the truth upon the Matrix before the Senate Council—a Matrix he had poisoned in secret. The intent had been for Orion Pax to die under its touch, allowing Zeta to claim that Primus had punished the data clerk for falsehoods.
Yes. The Orion Pax of this world had died. That is why Primus placed my soul into Orion Pax’s spark the moment it flickered out.
And now, I was and am Optimus Prime.
The look on Zeta Prime’s face was nothing short of glorious. He was clearly short-circuiting, and so was everyone else in the room. Even the ever-stoic Ultra Magnus stood frozen, his jaw slack and optics wide, utterly unprepared for Alpha Trion’s protégé to be chosen by the Matrix.
“F-…False… False Prime!” Zeta shrieked, his voice slicing through the stunned silence and jolting everyone from their shock. “Guards! Guards! Arrest Orion Pax!”
The guards hesitated, their uncertainty palpable, but eventually, two of them broke free from their daze and began moving toward me.
I wasn’t the least bit worried.
I raised my hand just above my head, then swept it downward, clenching my fist.
“Kneel.”
In an instant, every mech standing in the room was forced to their knees under an immense, invisible pressure, as though gravity itself had turned against them. Cries and shouts filled the chamber as they struggled to rise, only to fail.
The mechs who had remained seated stared in stunned silence, untouched by the force. But the moment any of them attempted to stand, the crushing weight dragged them down as well.
I tilted my chin up, narrowing my gaze at Zeta Prime. From this position, he seemed far smaller, like an ant.
“Your head was too high,” I quipped.
His optics burned with rage, but behind the fiery glow, they flickered with something else—fear. His frame trembled, caught between the crushing invisible force and the weight of his own terror. I could see it, clear as day.
Locking my gaze onto his red-amber optics, I saw it all—his sins, flashing like a torrent of corrupted data across my vision. Each one laid bare, undeniable, and damning.
“False Prime, indeed,” I said, clicking my glossa in disdain at Zeta, my distaste evident. “I wonder if Primus would even consider taking your spark after all the crimes you’ve committed against Cybertronians, Zeta.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but with a simple flick of my fingers, I seized control of his vocalizers, silencing him completely.
“Uh-uh, I didn’t give you permission to speak,” I added, my voice cold and cutting.
“O…Orion…” Ultra Magnus called out, his voice strained as he knelt under the immeasurable force. Though he had stopped fighting it, he remained in a humbled position, his head bowed low.
I felt a pang of guilt for doing this to him, but I couldn’t ignore the truth. Some of the crimes committed by Zeta and Sentinel were his burden as well—born of his inaction and unwavering loyalty to the head of Command. Yet, Ultra Magnus wasn’t entirely beyond redemption. If guided well, his story could take a better path, whatever that may be. Wherever this alternate universe might lead us, I wanted to believe that possibility remained.
Still, I needed to be firm with him. I couldn’t let him believe I was the same weak, old data clerk who had once trailed after Alpha Trion like a devoted shadow.
After all, he wasn’t around anymore.
“The name is Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus,” I said, my voice steady, weighty, “as declared by the Matrix and Primus himself. …Or are you questioning me? The new Prime?”
A flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Why do I sound like the villain here? I wondered, my own words echoing back at me. The weight of my actions pressed against me, but there was no turning back now.
I know the real Optimus Prime would never do this, but damn it, sometimes you gotta play politics and some game of thrones on the side.
Ultra Magnus shifted his gaze toward Zeta, who was clawing uselessly at his vocalizers, desperate to speak. For a moment, Magnus seemed to consider his options. Then, with a heavy sigh, he shook his head, his resolve crumbling. Slowly, he lifted his optics to meet mine, defeated.
“No, Optimus Prime,” he said, his voice steady but subdued, finally acknowledging my title. “I… I understand my place.”
“Is there anyone else here to voice against my position? Speak now,” I demanded, my voice cutting through the silence.
A chorus of immediate replies filled the room, a resounding wave of "no."
With a simple wave of my hand, I released them from the crushing gravity, allowing them to rise. They stood cautiously, stretching and visibly relieved that the ordeal was over. Most kept their distance, their wary gazes flickering toward me with a mix of unease and reluctant respect.
When Zeta attempted to stand, I flicked my wrist, and he was immediately forced back to the ground. He glared up at me, surprise flickering across his features.
“No. Not you,” I said coldly, my optics locked on him.
He simmered in quiet rage, his defiance muted but unmistakable.
Good.
“Today, I declare to all of Cybertron that both the deceased Sentinel Prime and Zeta Prime are—and always were—false Primes!” I announced, my voice ringing with authority.
Gasps rippled through the room, but I paid them no mind, my optics locking onto certain members of the Senate Council.
“And those complicit in the false naming of a Prime will face prosecution,” I continued, my tone unwavering. “And I know who among you is responsible.”
I spotted a few of them trembling in their frames, their guilt practically radiating off them as their crimes flashed vividly before my optics.
To be honest, none of this would have been possible if I wasn’t now fully, 100% attuned to the Matrix—a gift bestowed upon me by Primus. The Matrix wasn’t just a vessel for the memories and knowledge of the true Primes who came before me, though that alone was invaluable. It carried other abilities, hidden strengths I was only beginning to uncover. Perks I would gladly use to prove Primus’ existence whenever necessary.
And perhaps, just perhaps… Megatron might end up liking me.
And Yes. I am a MOP fan.
***
“…You’re different now…” Ultra Magnus observed, his voice quiet yet weighted with realization.
“That’s what happens when an ancient artifact decides to remake you and grants you all the powers of a Prime,” I replied, matter-of-fact but not without a hint of irony.
We were in the Hall of Records, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of stored data. Ultra Magnus and I, along with several archivists, were combing through the restricted section, compiling folders detailing Zeta’s long list of illegal activities. At first, the archivists were jittery around me, unsure of how to act. But as the evidence of Zeta’s corruption piled up, their apprehension gave way to righteous fury. Empowered by the sheer injustice of it all, they worked with renewed determination, gathering more and more damning records.
Even Ultra Magnus was beginning to feel the weight of his inaction. I could hear him muttering curses under his breath as his grip tightened on a datapad, the screen creaking under the pressure.
“…Did you know all this, Or—I mean, Optimus Prime?”
“You can just call me, Optimus, Magnus,” I said as those two words were a mouthful in a casual and/or work setting. “And no, I didn’t. The Matrix showed me Zeta’s guilt when I glanced over him.”
“That’s—”
“You’re also guilty for ignoring the signs and for listening to their orders, blindly following them.” I pointed out and I could see him flinch in my peripheral vision. “If you had followed up your suspicions, you could have saved hundreds of Cybertronian lives sooner rather than later.”
My optics drew away from the datapad as I glanced at him whose fists were shaking. His head lowered in shame.
I sighed, the weight of my words settling heavily between us. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh, but Magnus needed to hear it. No one else—not Zeta, not Sentinel—could have chastised him like this; his high position had insulated him from accountability for far too long. Yet, his inaction had allowed the false Primes to corrupt everything they touched.
“Don’t fret, Magnus. I need you in these trying times,” I said, softening my tone to assure him that imprisonment wasn’t my intention.
Ultra Magnus shook his head, his voice heavy with remorse. “I should be put to trial.”
“No,” I said firmly, “you should be scolded for being a fool—which is what I’m doing now.” I met his gaze, unyielding but fair. “I can’t fault you for being solely ignorant. They fooled all of Cybertron. All we can do now is clean up the mess they left behind.”
Magnus sighed heavily, falling silent as he glared at the datapad in his hands. After a long moment, he lowered it, his expression grim.
“What about Megatron?” he asked.
Megatron.
Right now, our world was locked in a brutal civil war against Megatron of Tarn, once a freedom fighter, now the self-proclaimed Leader of the Decepticons after killing Megazarak. Over a year ago, Megatron had slain Sentinel Prime, and since then, his control had expanded to three major cities: Kaon, Tarn, and Vos.
Two of those cities housed critical energon mining operations. With those distributors under Decepticon control, Iacon had been forced to implement strict energon reserve protocols. Resources were dwindling. The comfort and luxury that the citizens of Iacon usually indulged in had diminished to more conservative restraints.
Megatron.
I didn’t want to fight him.
“Ultra Magnus,” I said, addressing him by his full designation, my tone firm. “I know we have troops stationed outside the cities under Megatron’s control. Who is commanding the fleet?”
Magnus straightened in his seat at the question, his professionalism overriding his earlier guilt. “That would be Commander Ironhide, my Prime,” he replied.
I noted the respectful use of the title and couldn’t help but feel a flicker of appreciation. Magnus was beginning to respect me more, but I knew the orders I was about to issue would test his loyalty—and they wouldn’t be easy for him to swallow.
“Have Ironhide retreat. Pull our forces back,” I ordered, my tone steady and resolute. “Then, have him—or someone more tactful—approach Megatron and his Decepticons with a truce. Barter for energon supplies, and in exchange, we’ll pay them with the appropriate amount of alt-mode kits.”
The moment the words left my mouth, Magnus shot to his pedes, his chair scraping harshly against the floor.
“Optimus! You cannot be serious!” he shouted, his voice reverberating through the Hall of Records. A few nearby archivists flinched, ducking their heads in unease. “Offering the enemy alt-mode kits? That would only make them more powerful!
“They are not the enemy, Magnus,” I said carefully, my voice firm but measured. Setting the datapad down on the desk, I held his gaze. “They are the product of a nation long corrupted. They were wronged, Magnus. They couldn’t stand by anymore.”
Magnus’ optics narrowed, his stance unyielding. “Megatron is a terrorist. He has committed war crimes—”
“—War crimes against the previous Primes’ rule,” I interjected, cutting him off. “If Sentinel hadn’t attempted to subjugate Tarn, seeking to silence Megatron by murdering him—because his words and ideals were spreading across Cybertron—then maybe Sentinel would still be alive today. And maybe it would have been me who brought down Primus’ wrath upon him.”
Magnus opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, leaning forward on the table, my optics locked on his.
“Listen, Magnus. You want to make up for everything that’s gone wrong these past mega cycles? Then you need to do it my way.” My voice was firm but carried a note of understanding. “I get that following the Primes has led you to regrets, but I can’t have that hesitation here—not when I’ve just barely started today. Watch me work before you decide not to follow my orders.”
I straightened slightly, keeping my tone steady. “I’ll take your advice, Magnus. I know Megatron has the potential to become an enemy. But right now, he is not the enemy. To him—and to the cities he’s liberated—we are.”
I let the words settle for a moment before continuing. “I want this bloodshed and discord to end just as much as you do. And that means not dismissing Megatron as some random terrorist who only wants to plunge Cybertron into chaos. Doesn’t his literature—his ideals—speak to something deeper than what he appears to be on the surface?”
Magnus fell into silence, truly pondering my words. A few nano-clicks passed, the air heavy between us, before I gestured toward him.
“You may go for today, Magnus,” I said, my tone calm but firm. “Ensure Ironhide receives my directive. I’ll stay here for a while longer.”
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and he bowed his head to me. “My Prime.” The words carried hesitation, but I could tell he intended to follow my orders, albeit reluctantly.
Trust was surely an expensive commodity these days.
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A/N: Hello, trying my hand on a Self-Insert Optimus Prime who is completely different from our usual optimistic Prime. Hope you at least enjoyed the first chapter. If you did, please leave kudos, bookmark, and comment below! :D I would appreciate the feedback!