Work Text:
I.
Chairman Ultra Major, a large, wide-shouldered Elite Guardman, loitered in the vestibule outside the council's inner sanctum. Metroplex stood as the beacon of Iacon. The central tower of government. Bots of all wheels drove through the halls in an ever-busy circuit of functionality.
Powered Convoy Magnus announced his late arrival due to a situation regarding the construction of the new Elite Guard fortress. Most of this summit's agenda outlined new budgeting plans and energy routing for this adventurous project. A whole weapons arsenal located in a single fortress in the center of Iacon? Such measures did not bode well for the tension growing between the different hemispheres of Cybertron civilization.
The council is due to start within the next hour once everyone fills the gallery. Senatorial assistants, journalists, and common folk alike shuffled past Chairman Ultra Major, where he sat. Civilians and Warframe folks alike hurried by with work on their minds. The current ruling council made a new major step forward in Autobot and Destron relations.
Ultra Major believed, with his entire spark, that the rift between Autobot and Destron could be mended. With Cybertron falling apart at the seams, their people must stand as a united front against the space-faring sophont empires that existed in this galaxy, not just the conquering Quintessons.
There was one frame that Chairman Ultra sought before the morning summit. A mech that was only discussed in writing and formal emails. Chairman Ultra saw little of the bot in the news clips and article photographs, distant, blurry, yet dedicated volumes to the experience of witnessing this new upstart's philosophical debates.
"Hail, Chairman Ultra Major." A gravely deep voice in a polished Tarnian accent greeted the other.
Before the hulking guardsman approached a warbuild mech of considerable size, even among his brethren. An artillery build forcefully reformatted into a drilling escavator; his clipped wings replaced by tank treads. Cold-constructed in the first batch of experimental D-class soldiers at the end of the Quintesson War.
This curiosity of a mech pulled the council's attention like a black hole into his event horizon of manicured discussion over the current needs of warframes and veterans after repelling the Quintesson invasion.
This visionary came as a singular envoy for the current head of the Destron faction. Rumor has it that Megazarak plucked this upstart straight from the pits and into his right-hand mech. An impressionable, eager mech that strived to make a name for himself away from the tribulations of the hellish industrial conditions he and his ilk are forced to work.
"D-16! Survived the presses, I see?" Ultra Major craned his head up to meet the golden optics of the towering mech, a whole head taller than him (and Ultra is a very large mech). "It is pleasurable to finally greet you in the metal."
His grin spread. "I am honored and eternally grateful for your invitation to this summit. Would you be opposed to going over the points I wish to acknowledge during my summons?" The mech's presence weighed like the heft of youthful, wide-eyed idealism. "I overheard that most of this summit is dedicated to the budget of the Magnus'…newest construction project."
"Of course. I'm curious how you'd present the issue of the warframe veteran unrest in Tesaurus or the current conditions in Kaon, as many of your expositions have critiqued." Chairman Ultra Major drew upon many separate articles written by idealists and visionaries like D-16 in their underground forums.
D-16 held a cunning gleam in his golden optics. "You said it yourself in referencing "The Art of Persuasion" by Ulchtar."
"And, pray tell, D-16, what would that be?" Chairman Ultra Major's processor kicked up a gear. A discussion of a scholarly mind no longer tempered by the barrier of the interweb's screen and static-filled phone calls.
"Getting what you want from the opposition requires small steps. Presenting a solution to a problem that favors them and making small increments that involve positive societal reform as a by-product."
D-16 brought out a datapad from his subspace and combed through some files as he continued his train of thought. "I thought I'd propose structural refurbishments to the Hydrax Plateau Spaceport, Kaon Spaceport, and rework the industrial districts' highway network! I planned to paint them in favor of bolstering the infrastructure of our economy, while such refurbishments will give plenty of job opportunities to warframes and laborframes alike. Plus," D-16 presented his datapad to the other. "It will improve the local working environment for current warframes employed at the stations."
On the pad, Chairman Ultra read, were dozens and dozens of testimonies of the current dangerous conditions of dilapidated structures. Highlighted were testimonies of managers and higher-status mechs to appeal to the council's selective hearing.
"Brilliantly planned, D-16. I believe we shall help each other greatly in this endeavor. Shall we enter?" Chairman Ultra Major closes the tablet with a chuffed grin.
D-16 nods his head. "Onward, to our future."
II.
In some random oilhouse deep in the bowels of Iacon's outer rings, an establishment favored by working-class mechs lulled with hushed chatter. Mecha of all types found patronage in the bottom of their engex glasses among the roughed-up tables.
A smooth crooning soft wafted across the air of this dingy lounge. Some old Destron blues that resonated with the population that frequented the establishment. The radio nestled in some cupboard shelf amongst bottles of refined and fermented energon; some had dust obscuring the names of the nearly drained vintages.
Overhead of the bar, several screens broadcast games of lob-ball and C.U.B.E. The patrons who gathered at the bar chattered the loudest and rambunctiously knocked into each other every time their team scored.
Even in this sleepy evening, an unusual pair of bots sat together and mingled. A booth in the dim corner, lit by the little votive candle between them. Two whiskey glasses in their hands with a half-empty bottle of the house distillery. Two massive mechs crammed into some sagging booth, their shoulders and kibble high over the privacy barrier of the booth.
"I honestly shouldn't be surprised that you and Professor Shockwave already know each other. That is an oversight on my part." Ultra Major recounted. Ultra had offered to connect D-16 to a web much larger than he had, then to find out his friend already knew of the white-teal-and-mint Warframe scientist. "But enough of that. Explain to me this prose of yours."
"Which one?" D-16 cocked a brow. Even in the booth, his construction treads protruded above the high seats. The poor bot crammed himself into the seat to fit his heavy kibble across his body. "There are several essays I've published within the past year."
"What of the one you're currently writing? An addendum or sorts, correct?"
"Towards peace? I—heh—I don't know about that one, Chairman Ultra Major." D-16 sheepishly replied.
"D-16, my friend, look at this establishment around us. There's no need for fancy titles or ranks, please call me Ultra."
"Ah, as you say." D-16's bashful grin lit up the moody corner they inhabited. He unlocked his personal device, opened the drafted file, and presented it for Ultra to hold and peruse. "You see, Ultra, it's hardly an outline at this point. A polemic against the current thoughts of the upper classes. I plan on taking every political writing I've ever written, published, and unpublished, and collecting them into this treatise."
Chairman Ultra hummed and hawed, then returned the pad with a satisfied grin. "Might I inspire you to perhaps adjust it into an autobiography? Recounting your life in tandem with every page in chronological order, putting a mech behind the ideals."
D-16 considered the options. "I suppose…having my story told on my terms rather than these vultures that write articles to feed the quota rather than investigation of worth. I am not sure, Ultra."
"Give it a thought, would you?"
"I will."
Chairman Ultra drained his glass and poured D-16 and himself a fresh drink from the bottle. "You have something on your mind; your treads have been twitching this entire conversation."
"All this talk about philosophy and autobiographies, and I have no idea who you are. You weren't always a senator or a chairman." D-16 cheekily leaned in. "So who is Chairman Ultra behind the pauldrons?"
Chairman Ultra snorted. "If you must know…"
The night trailed on after that; several more drinks were shared between. Tidbits of life that passed through loose lips and swayed gestures. Up and down the conversation went, from politics to philosophy, then to themselves. Quiet laughter bloomed a core-deep warmth.
With their third bottle sufficiently drained, Chairman Ultra Major placed his servo on D-16's. The servo of a chairman, slender for ruffling through datapads and sweeping over keyboards, lay on top of a worker's servo. Calloused, scuffed, eternal dirt wedged into every crevice and joint.
D-16 rotated his servo, palm up, clasping their servos together. The pressure of their auras is tangible in the sensors alight across the sensitive pads. Ultra Major only spoke enough chiroliguistics to pass his exams; he did not know if D-16 knew it, or perhaps only an obscure dialect.
Even then, despite the silent language of fields, pure contentment passed through their joined palms.
The night grew hazy, and the ticking time of midnight to the early eaves of morning slipped by pleasantly.
III.
Ultra Major sighed into the cy-gar perched upon his lips. The haze of smoked energon wafted from the end. It felt good. Very good.
D-16 stirred next to him, lounging with his limbs splayed across the shared recharge slab. A deep groan reverberated from his voice box. The vibrations traveled through the metal slab. Ultra Major glanced over at his lover with glee reflected in his bleary lenses.
Several bottles of engex laid in the main room, abandoned and drained of their contents. The scent of static charge lingered in the air from fried circuits and rattled plates. Those same plates streaked with each other's paint.
D-16's optics flickered online, the haze of overindulgence evident. He waited a moment, then reached out to pluck the cy-gar from Ultra Major's intake, then sucked in deep. The medicated vapors swept into his air compressor and left a dizzy sensation as smoke billowed from the vents in his sides. He passed the cy-gar back.
"Interesting flavor. Rather fresh for a cy-gar in my opinion." D-16 rasped.
"That was the intake wash left in my mouth." Ultra Major's said.
D-16 barked out a laugh and rolled onto his back. Something sticky gushed from between his thighs with the laugh. A good kind of sticky. One he could make his lover clean up later. He reached towards the ceiling as if imagining some sort of hologram to appear before his fingertips.
"We did it." D-16 finally said. "The Hydrax Plateau Spaceport is under renovations, warframes are getting fulfilling jobs, and the council also recognized the warframe engineering union."
Ultra Magnus chuckled and took another deep inhale of the cy-gar. "Surely you've considered your next steps?"
"By the Allspark, I don't know. I never thought I'd actually get this far. I figured it would've taken nearly a thousand years to see something, and by then I would've known what to do next. But now?" D-16 rambled in his distinct Tarnian accent.
"Now? Now we celebrate. All of that can come tomorrow."
"Tomorrow. Right." D-16 whispered to the air. "Ugh, my tank is burning."
"Never took you for a lightweight."
"Oh shut it, it's not that. Whatever Protihex swill you gave me had to be at least fifty percent jet fuel. How are you not keeled over?"
"Loadbearer tolerance."
"I'll pretend to accept that excuse."
Ultra Major huffed. "Since you've clearly hadn't had enough, care for another round?"
"Propositioning me so soon? How scandalous." D-16 said as he stretched lazily.
"Or you can sulk in your dock."
A silence then settled between them. Perhaps it was the buzz of engex burning through his engine, or the wistfulness of tomorrow's dreams. The question tumbled out before D-16 could snap it back up.
"Ultra, have you ever thought about protoforms?"
Ultra's optics cycled, shocked out of the meditative reading he perused. "What of it, the frame or the hatchling? Has there been an issue regarding the fabrication of protoforms recently?"
"Adopting one or two of our own someday, plucked straight from the well."
"The well? That hasn't been fruitful in…in eons."
"I think that's what I want to do next. I want to travel to Vector Sigma, use the Allspark on it, and find a way to restore the hotspots across Cybertron and bring in a new generation without the need for factories and protoform molds."
Ultra Major hummed solemnly. "A noble goal, one that shall have few to none in opposition."
"We will have our own legacy. Our future, alive. A hunter for peace." D-16 said, dreamily. "Our future…"
"A mighty name. Such a protoform would be beyond luck to have a creator as ambitious and dreaming as you." Ultra Major leaned over and nuzzled his helm against D-16's.
"A sparkling would be very lucky to have a creator as strong and stalwart as you." D-16 returned the affection.
"Flirt. Your dreams fill my spark with such joy, I could part my plates right now and kindle."
"Is that a challenge, Ultra dear?"
"Care to find out?"
Raucous laughter bounced across the walls as they tangled back together in a clump of limbs and merriment.
IV.
D-16 barged into Ultra Prime's new office, frustration prickled at the edges of his aura.
"Prime." D-16 said with a scathing tone. "What a fantastic promotion."
It seemed that D-16 did not enter Ultra's office out of pleasure lately. Orbital cycles had passed since the victory at the Hydrax Plateau Spaceport, and at first, it was little things between the triumphs. Destrons are gaining ground in the senate before little bits slowed down. More roadblocks were dumped in their way.
To D-16, he felt the neglect with every cold dismissal. Megazarak prized D-16 on his contact with the Elite Guard until the contact went cold with every request and demand he made of his lover. Today, though, he would not be ignored.
Ultra Magnus took out a container of high-grade, two glasses, and proceeded to pour into both. Premium high-grade energon was stored innocently in his new desk-drawer when his own soldiers scraped by on bland scraps. While the majority of Cybertron lived under intense rationing.
D-16 scoffed at the cube offered to him and tossed his datapad on Ultra Prime's desk with the headlines blaring across the transparent screen. He took the cube anyway; he was starving.
"Fifteen dead," D-16 stated. "Fifteen dead, not a single officer punished. All the while, you're sitting comfortably as a Prime."
"What would you have me say?" Ultra Prime looked up from his monitor.
"Anything! Anything at all. Say you'll do an investigation, say you'll fix this. We worked so hard for this to just be swept into the bin to be forgotten. I worked too hard to rewrite the status quo so that this wouldn't happen!"
"Let me read this." Ultra Prime took the pad in hand and swiped through the article.
A Tarnian journalist, with different views from the Iaconite publishers that distribute across the golden city.
The first paragraph was damning.
"Fifteen dead and several dozen injured after a demonstration in front of Kaon's city hall went wrong. Eleven warframes, four civilian frames. All of them were workers with the union that oversaw the rebuilding of Kaon's dilapidated transportation network. Over a hundred sparks attended the demonstration. Journalists cannot say who started the riot, but the Elite Guard retaliated and used lethal force to subdue the crowd." Is what the journal read.
Ultra Prime put a servo to his intake with a sharp inhale.
"Tempers, they get heated." He finally said.
"Tempers? This is about tempers? Ultra, I was there. I got shot at, beaten, and arrested. I called you. I called you twenty times from the station, and you didn't pick up. You didn't ask if I was alright. You didn't notice. When I needed you when I was trying to save the sparks of my brethren, you ignored me."
"I could not reach my communication line; whatever calls were made were blocked. I got you out in the end, didn't I? I made the call in the morning when I finally received service and saw your messages."
"So you saw what happened and pretended? You ignored me on purpose!"
"I have responsibilities to my station."
"Station?" D-16 growled, deep and primal. "Ultra, those are your people. You are a Prime now; it is your duty to protect them."
"They are citizens, but they are not my people, as they are yours. My people are grounders. It was made very apparent now that Kaon is succeeding from Iacon and allying with Vos." UIltra responded, coldly. "Isn't that something of your doing?"
Something dark curled in D-16's spark that lashed across the weakened bond between the two mechs. It rattled like a beast in a cage, wounded and wrathful. His sharpened frame twitched as he opened his mouth to yell.
Suddenly, something flashed on the screen nearby. An Iacon news report.
"New decree from the council: Warframe Registration Act has proceeded to secondary considerations before it will be presented to The Council." The headline scrolled across the screen.
D-16's optics flared with barely tempered wrath. "I thought you were different. But you're just like the rest of them." D-16 hissed.
"I'm sorry it had to be—"
"Done? It had to be done? Sorry doesn't cut it." D-16's voice wavered as it crackled.
"D-16—"
He cut Ultra off. "Do not call me by that designation again." A furious rev of his turbines followed. "I have been gifted a new designation, a better one. By someone who values me and won't toss me away like you."
Ultra Prime's optics hardened.
"I am Megatron, right servo of Megazarak. If this is the decision you've made, then this partnership is done. Farewell, Ultra Prime. In another functioning, I pray our fates could've entwined differently."
The door slammed behind Megatron when he departed. Heavy silence gripped Ultra Prime with a sorrowful sneer.
"Yes." Ultra Prime said to the space across his desk. "I wish fate were different."
V.
Explosions. Gunfire. The wrath of civil war ravaged the metallic ground with scores of agony. Bodies of fallen soldiers become formidable hills of sullen gray. Empty faces striken in horrific grief with gnarled frames bent and melted. The dead lay to rot and rust, leaving a putrid layer of ashy dust to roll across the land.
Spires that scraped the clouds become a jungle of mangled steel upon which two souls meet. Towers once teeming with life become rubble and ramparts. Wires of fallen beasts and infrastructures stream across the shadowed ceiling like ribbons braided in colorful strands. Sunlight streams through the cracks of the toppled spire, a spotlight for two to approach, each with their servos on their firearms.
One waited for the other to speak, to move, to shatter this illusion of silence.
"Megatron, it is not too late to turn this war into something better." Ultra Magnus' voice is cool, laced with the grief of a thousand lives lost within the past week. He does not let it show. "End this madness, for the sake of Cybertron."
"The sake of Cybertron?" Megatron scoffs. "You come to me as my troops advance upon your city and beg for a ceasefire. You brought this upon yourself, Ultra Magnus, when you turned away from the warframes you promised to elevate. When you turned away from the tomorrow we envisioned, together."
"You're right. It is my fault." Ultra Magnus conceded. "I did not save you from the machinations of those who would see Cybertron ruined with themselves at the helm. The power of tyranny has turned you away from the path we sought together, Megatron. Megazarak has turned you into his perfect weapon; he never cared about you or any of the warframes. He's been using-"
"Ha! Always the hero, aren't you, Ultra? Trying to warn me of something I figured out a long time ago?" Megatron cut off Ultra Magnus. "Who were you when my ilk were incarcerated and smothered by the Autobot machine? Who was it that forced my brethren to install flight locks and bow ourselves under the Decepitcon Registration Act? A hero was never in your programming, Ultra Magnus."
Ultra Magnus summoned all his strength to step forward and open his arms. "Embrace me, one last time. I will bare my spark to you, everything, laid bare for you. See through my optics, and I will see yours. Grant me one last plea of progress for the sake of our—…your species."
Ultra Magnus gripped his charged rifle as Megatron's own primed with a whirling hum. Megatron's face curled into a smug grin as he unlatched the plasma rifle from his arsenal and tossed it to the side. He withdrew his blades and tossed those aside as well.
"Bare ourselves, Ultra Magnus? Let me in, and I will decree my judgment." He outstretched his palm, like a barbed trap primed to trap and sever.
Ultra Magnus took Megatron's servo in his and pulled the mech closer. Servos roamed frames intimately acquainted, yet the struggles of civil war created a map of the mech they once knew.
Something warred within Ultra Magnus, his greatest friend turned enemy. Baring his very being, his sparklight to this shade of his lover. But his own frame betrayed him, parting his windshield and letting the light bathe across the other.
Megatron plundered what he desired, ravaging the map of Ultra Magnus' frame he memorized so well. A bliss only they could elicit from one another.
Megatron's chestplates cracked and swung open, his wildly thrumming spark pulsated ferverently. Tendrils of the corona of his core whipped out, searching for its other piece. The one he yearned to claim, to conquer.
Deep into the bonded sparks, entwined and tangled like brambles. Thorns caught and snagged. Each knew how to tick off the other, to stab the knife, and twist it. How to patch the wound and purr affection. Their wandering histories that tumbled over one another from that fateful meeting that felt so long ago now.
A moment of reprieve dashed away by carnal lust. It is vicious, it is angst, it is every grievance deep in the very atoms of their frames. Teeth gnashed, and bit, lustful merging turned to vicious hunger. Tearing and shredding each other till bareness licked their open wounds.
It is ports and connectors, it is the deepest connection two mechs could create. Megatron desired more. A greed to consume everything that was his rejected companion.
But the fire of wrath exists for only so long till the fuel runs out. The gentleness of nostalgia, of desire. So primal in them that they cannot deny. It is the tears that stream from Ultra's wounds and the agony of every labored breath.
Megatron then disengaged a plug from the back of his helmet and fed the hardline cable all the way around to connect to the port in Ultra Magnus' helm. Together in processor and spark, nothing hidden. All their secrets and desires lay bare to one another.
Both mecha combed through the torrent of information, slamming into one another, barely able to decipher the different memories and thoughts as they came.
A moment of unbridled bliss tethered two frames, two sparks, resonating as one. Arcs of electricity danced across the merging of frames, binding in mind, body, tethered in threads of energy. A daze that blurred the edges of reality to the blissful fiction of what could have been.
Megatron pulled away and sealed himself shut. Ultra Magnus fell forward, clutching his sore spark, optics up and pleading. His trembling hand reached out. Yearning, returning, a moment longer in the tranquility.
Megatron snorted.
"If you truly wanted peace, Ultra Magnus, you should have listened to the cries of the 'lessers' before they had to kill to free themselves."
Ultra Magnus glared at the other, mouth tight in a grimace. "You've taken what you can from me."
"I will take everything I see fit. Cybertron will not be free from Autobot oppression until the infection is destroyed at its root: The Magnate and its autocratic council. When I have purged the filth from Cybertron's earth, a new dawn will herald the age cleansed of tyrants and chains."
With that, Megatron jumped and transformed into a jet and burst through the crack high above. His silhouette disappeared as a black dot into the descending reds and dark veil of dusk.
In that moment, a klaxon blared in Ultra Magnus' audial. An urgent message from their intelligence division splayed across his HUD. A melted hole, like a plasma cannon shot point-blank. An execution.
They found Megazarak's body.
VI.
A lab deep beneath Iacon. A green haze from the dim lights that route to this secret bunker turned medical room. Above, a war raged in its twilight hour. The Omega Sentinels cleaved paths through Decepticon troops, the nascent space-bridge network swatted the Decepticon front, and cut off the current legions from claiming resource-vital colonies.
Here, deep under tight winding tunnels, several people convened for a matter of utmost secrecy. Dai Atlas, commanding general of the ground forces and right hand of the Magnus, paced back and forth in this cramped hovel.
Perceptor and a discreet nurse monitored the screens hooked up to the patient's vitals. Spark rate: Elevated. Oil pressure: High. Energon: Diverted. An impossibility before them, actively emerging. The drone formulated a drip-bag of drug-infused energon while the last occupant of the bunker labored.
Ultra Magnus, weathered and scowling, lay on the slab, hooked up to machines like an audience around this accidental event. Cracks spread across his blue and white armor, battle scars, and charred burns. Most delicately, that somehow survived the ravages of war, the plating under his spark chamber softened to a dense rubbery state. His servos clenched into fists with a twitch of his optic, the only expression of discomfort he allowed himself.
"Emergence imminent." The nurse drones.
It was a messy affair. Ultra Magnus' plates parted, displaying his delicate internals to the open air, a beyond risky state even in the security of a hidden bunker. A clear, distended plastic protruded from the front of his chassis. The vestibule fogged on the inside, obscuring the object of everyone's concern.
A final contraction of the rubbery organ and the scalding hot ball of protomatter ejected into waiting servos with a splat of oil and suspension fluids. At the moment of ejection, several wires disconnected from the ball of protomatter while several still hung to its surface, connecting creator and creation.
A deafening stillness struck the air of the lab. Streaks of energon and oil splattered across the Magnus' blue chassis.
The nurse passed the infant protomatter into Ultra Magnus' arms. The nurse then dabbed at his oozing chassis with a towel as Ultra Magnus cupped the impossible in his servos.
A warm ball of protomatter cradled the crystalline pearl of an infant spark in its center. Gray and covered in slick lubricant. A being that held no field, but thrummed with life and yearning for connection. He gingerly traced the several stubborn wires and tubes that connected the protoform to himself; one fell away at the slight tug.
The infant field unfurled like a crystalline flower. Young, stumbling, and curious. Its nervous system won't develop for a few more months, not until the protomatter sphere morphs into a proper body shape. The tiny field, pure instinctual code, prodded at the nearby lifeforms.
[Creator—Progeny link detected. CNA 89.94% Match]
[Progeny Snuffing Contingency Mode: Active]
[Establish Spark Uplink? [yes] [no]]
In a moment of unguarded will. Ultra Magnus allowed the connection to form. The threads of wires connecting creation and creator buzzed alive, then fell away content. The moment to pass along this protoform passed in the blink of an optics, it was now bound to him.
[Inducing Carrier Protocols… 3… 2… 1…]
General Dai Atlas hovered in the far edges of the secret lab. The right hand of the Magnus, a celebrated student of Yoketron, watched with a longing in his spark. He did not believe the sudden panic that overtook the Magnus one random evening. The tenets of Yoketron's dojo decreed the reverence and protection of young sparks, regardless of source or code.
Such tenet strained against his dogma, upheld as the commanding general of the Autobot ground forces. Though unsaid, everyone knew the source of this sudden protoform. A warframe-sparked protoform lay in the Magnus' servos.
Perceptor bluntly wrote in his log of the event with uncanny clinical precision. His emotionally empty demeanor offered soft, socially acceptable congratulations followed by a barrage of clinical inquiries. The nurse gingerly removed the fresh pod from Ultra Magnus' servos, cleaned it off, and nestled it in an incubator.
Perceptor cleared his vocalizer. "Will there be a secondary creator?"
"For which record?" Ultra Magnus did not peel his focus from the orb coddled in the transparent incubator.
"The true events of this record must be written and later redacted as is the code. I speak of the second record I will publish to the public database. I will repeat: will there be a secondary creator?"
Ultra Magnus considered his options; his face fell neutral in conviction. "This protoform will be a clone I commissioned as a contingency made of my CNA. He will live amongst batch-mates and develop, believing he formed from a mold like the rest of his generation. Inform Alpha Trion of the existence of the protoform and request that he take it under his wing as an apprentice for the archives. Should he accept, allow him full access to the original, secondary, and tertiary record."
"Affirmative."
Dai Atlas spoke up in the bubble of silence. "Do you wish to hold the protoform a little longer?"
"Unwise," Perceptor interjected. "Ultra Magnus expressed the required distance. Prolonged exposure will solidify emotional carrier protocols and endanger future attempts at separation. As discussed previously, a budded protoform from the Magnus will raise suspicion and 67.2% probabilty of it being used against the Magnus."
Several emotions passed over Ultra Magnus' face till his brow furrowed.
"And if 'he' finds out about it?" Dai Atlas probed further.
"Should the second creator discover the existence of his progeny… current logistical rendering predicts 99.98% chance of retaliation and escalation."
The topic dropped after that.
VII.
Ultra Magnus drove through the suspended skyway over a factory floor as far and wide as the optics could see. His alt-mode trundled on at a leisurely pace as the guide ahead rambled on about current regrown statistics.
Beneath where Ultra Magnus' treads rolled, spark cores of all colors and configurations awaited their protoform. Workers installed the sparks into chambers, and those chambers into pre-molded bodies ready to wake up and join the Autobot world.
A soon-to-be post-war world where new-forged eyes lay upon crumbling towers and spires of scaffolding. Most were molded as construction laborframes to assist in the workforce once they graduate the crèche.
The ceasefire lasted longer than any admitted; tensions rose between thoughts that perhaps this was the end, or waiting for the raining raids of Decepticon bombers. So far, protoform manufacturing returned at 60% operational capacity.
Bright eyes switched on one-by-one as they gasped awake with sudden consciousness. Protoforms stumbled out of their pods in wonder and curiosity. Bright, strong sparks with plenty of growing to do. Their plating a motley scene of bright primaries and protoform gray. Some still had their protoform markings on their soft armor. Workers ushered them further into the facility.
"Right this way, Ultra Magnus." The factory worker spoke as they entered a separate corridor on this level of the facility. "As you can see, we have resumed the induction process with minimal defects. We should have a viable workforce within the next decade. To our left, we are approaching the custom-molded protoform area. Because of demand, we are the only facility that takes commissions at a minimal rate."
Ultra Magnus hummed accordingly. He droned out the rest of the tour as they came to the end of the suspended skyway. The guide transformed as they passed through the door and into this new sector of the building, mainly offices.
"This way, sir." The guide gestured to an elevator for even higher in the building.
Soon, the guide left Ultra Magnus at some waiting room at the end of the tour. A boring room to wait for his appointment at the facility. The only curiosity to note was the gate that accessed some deeper portion of the room. On the other side appeared to be a colourful play mat.
Ultra Magnus forced his expression neutral and observed the rebuilding Iacon from the window.
"…"
"Bwee! Klik, klik, chirrrr?" A tiny voice chirping in youngling binary rang out with unbridled cheer. Rapidly approaching pedes thumped on the ground towards the Magnus.
Ultra Magnus felt a visceral turn in his core at the excited binary. He turned quickly to see a small protoform pawing at the fence of this kindergarten.
A tiny thing, yet bigger than the majority of its classmates, stared up at the newcomer with massive golden optics. The faintest hint of cherry red dappled across its chest where the protoform gray gave way to the maturing colonies of chromataphore nanites. To Ultra Magnus' relief, the outlines of wheels appeared on the protoform's back.
But that crest on the protoform's helm and the triangle antenna protruding from the protoform's helm seemed too close a trait shared with the Magnus. Something told him this little one would be a heavy hauler like him.
With Ultra Magnus' attention grabbed, the protoform attempted to scale the fence in determined whirrs and chirps. Clawing for a grip and hoisting itself up. Its little feet danced with every stretch to grasp the lip of the fence.
Warframe claws, little digits naturally sharpened to a point. His wide grin flashed the pronounced canines in his little jaw. On closer inspection, it appeared the extra kibble on the protoform's back may just be shoulder-mounted canons or…flame-throwers?
Ultra Magnus leaned over the fence and plucked the scrappy little protoform by the scruff of his handlebar and tucked him neatly against his chest. The protoform settled down as its field radiated pure content. It's spark reached out to Ultra Magnus in its primitive language, only he could understand. Like strings plucked on a lyre, the protoform sang a stream of thought to its creator.
"Creator, holding, happy now! Not alone, returned." The bitlet chattered in binary.
"OR-102P4X, where did you—Ultra Magnus! Oh, what a surprise. I apologize, OR-102P4X has never eloped from the playroom like this." The nanny to this nursery hurried over to the barrier and stepped over the threshold. "Alpha Trion has expressed that he would like to mentor this one once he ages out of the nursery. I mean as information, sir, since you've shown interest in OR-102P4X's development."
Ultra Magnus cleared his vocalizer. "Yes, indeed. You should have access to his unredacted record."
"O-of course, sir. I apologize if my observation of OR-102P4X's attachment has compromised or insulted you, Ultra Magnus, sir."
"None at all, it is why I am here. He is scheduled for his appointment today, is he not?"
"Oh, yes, they are preparing the operating theater as we speak. An assistant should arrive shortly to collect OR-102P4X."
Several inquisitive peeps sounded from behind the caretaker. Binary squeaks of questions at the newcomer holding their batch-mate. Seeing his friends awake from their naps, OR-102P4X squirmed in Ultra Magnus' hold to be put back down.
Ultra Magnus watched as a gaggle of protoforms toddled into view, each with some quirk; all of them emerged prematurely for a proper cold-constructed protoform. Some had claws, others had wings and thrusters. A motley of optic colors spread over the group of protoforms waking up from their allotted nap, most notably being red and purple. Nearly all of them carried warframe traits.
The only nursery where OR-102P4X could develop into his undetermined frame without scrutiny. Should he have been coded any differently? A coding that would only express itself with time.
OR-102P4X toddled over to his playmates, each of the squealing and chirped with excitement.
An adjacent door opened, and a nurse-bot entered.
"Ultra Magnus?" The nurse said. "The surgeon will see you now."
…
OR-102P4X lay on the surgical table like a specimen to be dissected. Cold, unmoving, lifeless. Golden optics darkened in stasis. Despite the blast of an EMP and the steady stream of suppressants to its system, the protoform's face twitched and scrunched in terror roiling in its spark. It fought with everything it had to resist.
Ultra Magnus petted the protoform's helm and softened the fear. The protoform reached out through their creator-progeny bond for comfort, reassurance, anything, that they were not alone.
The surgeon prodded across the protoform's frame. Obviously, the canons must go. Despite appearances of being a sparked fire-rescue bot with water cannons, the chance of the alternate was too high. The surgeon then pulled the protoforms' lips back and acknowledged the sharp canines in his grin. They were passable as an Autobot. The claws are a different matter.
"He shows transformation seams in his servos and forearms." The surgeon stated.
"As would all ground-types?" Ultra Magnus said in an uncertain tone.
"My apologies, yes, quite. But observe here." The surgeon opens the fresh plates in the protoform's arms. "This formation is a clear sign of internal weaponry. By my experience, it seems to be a bladed item by the coding scan. Passable as many Autobots are sparked with some tool, but the risk of it being the alternate?"
Ultra Magnus paused. "I wish to observe the tool. Is he old enough to engage it?"
The surgeon turned around to type into a console, humming and hawing until he found the engaging codes in question. "It is very immature, but can be deployed." The surgeon replied.
At the press of a button, OR-102P4X's transformation cog whirred to life, and seams in his arms glowed with sudden activation. His little hand dissapeared and an axe made of plasma took its place.
The axe glowed blue with a haze of instability, and like the surgeon said, immaturity. It struggled to retain the shape with the power output that his little power core could not keep up with.
Ultra Magnus' brow furrowed. "Remove the blade seed, leave the port empty as is. He will receive an alternative at his upgrade ceremony."
"Very well. I shall return shortly. Please conclude all necessary 'business' so that the surgery shall begin. I hope to remain on schedule today."
Ultra Magnus did not respond. His massive servo caressed the top of the protoform's helm, petting affectionately. His own alloy and oil. He closed his optics and dove deep into his spark.
Ultra Magnus took hold of the threads that stitched him and his progeny together. In this metaphorical dreamscape, he caressed them, filled each thrumming string with affection, duty, and comfort before plucking each one away, severed.
Severed from his progeny. Cybertron took precedent over a bastard sparkling. The protoform reached for him in confusion, as his omnipresent existence faded from the protoform's mind. Till silence sat between the void where something once was.
Ultra Magnus blinked himself awake, straightened his back, and stepped away. For the first time in a while, the progenitor coding idled—muted—in the back of his processor with no progeny to obsess over.
The surgeon nodded to the Magnus. What needed to be done was done. In his servos, presented to the Magnus, were a pair of turquoise optics ready for installation.
Ultra Magnus left the surgical room and did not look back. He had an accord to sign and an enemy to exile.
VIII.
Ultra Magnus is a mech of duty and focus; he does not dream of "coulds" or "woulds" while sitting idly in his office. The door closed, and the radio tuned to some soft tune to fill the space of this clinically sterile office.
He blinked once, then twice. On the third blink, he swore he saw a small protoform in his youngling colors sitting at the lounge chair nestled into the corner of the office space. Little legs dangled and kicked idly as the protoform messed with some oversized tablet on its lap.
The protoform looked up from its datapad with big, round, golden jewels for optics and smiled. A wide grin that embodied their whole frame in exuding love through the creator-progeny bond. Big-rig wheels, so out of proportion to the small frame, spun as the protoform continued to play.
Paperwork of an alternative timeline pops up on his screen. Confirmations on colonized exoplanets and quarterly reports from the new sector of energon farming stations. With no war to drain life-force into, Cybertron flourished. Controlled, calculated Cybertron. Every decision made for the good of the people, healthy people, happy people.
Ultra Magnus got up from his seat. The little protoform perked up at the movement and hopped off the seat, abandoning the tablet.
A question arose in that sweet little voice. "Where're y' going?"
"For a walk. Come along, Orion." Ultra Magnus said.
The little protoform chirped and trotted to his side. They left the office and just walked. Orion chattered on and on about whatever topic passed through his processor. He skipped ahead to look out the windows, then ran back to Ultra when a stranger passed. He asked a million questions before they made it down the long stretch of hallway that made up the upper command office sector.
Orion perked up at something and dashed down the hall. He transformed, very clumsily, into his child-sized truck mode and sped off around the corner. His high-pitched horn squeaked in delight.
Before Ultra could speak, a familiar massive frame rounded the corner—Orion, still in alt-mode, tucked under his arm. The bitlet vibrated and spun his wheels with delight.
Megatron.
Mirth crickled across his crimson optics. "Figured I would find you here."
"Do not chastise me yet, sir. We barely left for our walk." Ultra Magnus replied.
Megatron bumped their foreheads together and nuzzled into each other's fields. "Is that so?"
They shared a brief kiss.
"Care to join us on our break?" Ultra Magnus said.
"I was hoping for company to that little joint on the corner from here," Megatron replied, giving another peck.
Orion squirmed in Megatron's grip, attempting to flee the ooey-gooey kissy nonsense. He managed to transform, but only his bottom half. His legs dangled from Megatron's grip as his front-cab remained tucked. His wheels spun helplessly as his engine revved, then went quiet.
"I'm stuck." Orion deadpanned.
Both Ultra Magnus and Megatron shared an amused chortle.
…
Ultra Magnus jolted from his daydream by several knocks against his office door. He opened the remote lock and allowed the newcomer in. The air punched from his air compressor as the doors slid to present a mech that wrenched his spark.
A large mech, only a head or two smaller than himself, entered with a sheepish grin on his baby blue faceplate. Broad ruby shoulders that narrowed into a blue pelvis and thick blue calves. Decals of bright yellow decorated the accents across his frame.
Ultra Magnus caught his reflection in the massive windshield pane that spanned the entirety of the mech's chest. He straightened his back as he greeted a pair of crystal Autobot blue optics searching his own. Blue triangle antennae canted up and alert, trained to never betray an innate emotion or response. Yet these seemed genuine with the slightest twitch of nerves.
Yes, he had this cadet's profile pulled up on his computer to read. Spoken highly of by Kup Minor and all his drill sergeants, they recommended this youngster for his scholarship to the Elite Guard. Scored highest in the entrance exam, with exemplary marks near equal to Ultra Magnus when he was a cadet himself.
"Cadet Optimus, how may I help you today?" Ultra Magnus asked.
"I've come to deliver this, sir. As a thank you for your support and scholarship. It's an honor to be selected and…I will do everything in my power to make you proud."
If he could, Ultra Magnus would vault his desk and embrace this mech. Take him in his arms and beg him not to go down this path of ruin that led Ultra here, that led to this cadet's existence. To hold his sparkling—
No.
[Remove; Program File: {CarrierProtocols.exe} [yes] [no]]
[Removing Code_Patches…]
[Program Deleted]
Cadet Optimus expectantly waited in front of his desk. The excitement in his optics; the youthful vigor in his field. A self-assured young bot. He looked just like that mech he met in the council's vestibule all those millions of years ago.
"Oh yes, your duty to polite order has been noted. It will be a great pleasure to have you study at the academy. May the Allspark give you courage, perseverance, and wisdom in your journey in the Elite Guard."
"My sincerest gratitude, Ultra Magnus, sir." Optimus nodded his head.
"Dismissed."
When Optimus exited his office, Ultra Magnus rested his helm in his servos. It had to be done. For the good of the people, a Magnus cannot have distractions that distract his attention from the commonwealth. A time of peace, he could've entertained raising a young protoform on his own.
But his protoform grew, in a creche with his peers, far away from Fortress Maximus. His darling bitlet raised in the sterile spartan creches just like any other newbuild forged into this era of strained peace.
That tenacious protoform that acquired foam canons and grapplers. His first intake form noted his desire to be a rescue bot, saving innocent civilians here on Cybertron and being a hero to everyone. Not for the glory, but for the fulfillment of his own spark, he did good to those who depended on him. A righteous little spark, even when he barely figured out how to transform.
Then, the next thing Ultra Magnus is told is that little protoform just molted into his adolescent armor and signed up for boot camp. He raced through training, surpassed his peers, and drilled the tenets of the Elite Guard into his processor. Top of his cohort.
But being a common soldier did not please him; he wanted more.
Of couse Optimus had to apply to the academy and achieve the highest score of that group as well. Outperformed so well that he scored nearly equal to Ultra Magnus himself. The bot that killed every single curve.
Ultra Magnus had to process what he read when the document and file were passed to his desk. A haunting face, a perfect record. The scholarship was already approved without his input, only requiring his signature as proof. The note from Sergeant Kup, giving his letter of recommendation for Magnus personally overseeing the mentoring of this bot, gave a certain indescribable twist to Ultra Magnus' tanks.
If only Ultra Magnus knew then that sending Optimus to the ass-end of the commonwealth to maintain spacebridge…that…
That in sending him away for his own protection, he handed his own alloy and oil right into the maw of the sparkeater's den.
If only he knew.
"…"
In another life, he wouldn't have signed with so much despair in his spark.
XI.
"My Lord." Shockwave's singular optic gleams through the static-filled screen. "I regret to inform you that I have been compromised and took the liberty to act of my own accord before I could be apprehended."
Megatron's face did not change. "Speak, Shockwave, what have you uncovered before your unfortunate dismissal?"
"Luckily, my worm remains undetected and data-mines rather fascinating information. It is a condensed file of dossiers with tags including Ultra Magnus and your designation, my lord. It is fully redacted and will take considerable time to decrypt. It is dated near the end of the war, and your designation appears many times." Shockwave said.
"I trust that this fool's chase will not detract from the task at hand," Megatron said, pointedly.
Shockwave nods his head in deference. "It shall not, my Lord, it is merely an object of curiosity. I have learned information of minimal consequence but possible leverage: the Earth Prime is a protoform commissioned by Ultra Magnus himself to succeed his station."
Megatron stares, unimpressed. But his expression relents. "It is humorous, I suppose. Before the war, Ultra Major and I discussed the possibility of having a protoform commissioned for us. Should our aligned goals be reached, that was."
Shockwave nodded solemnly. "As I recall." In the silence that followed, he continued. "I will have what you requested at servo in a short moment. Though, may I ask of your escapade upon the sentinel?"
"Omega Supreme? Horribly Autobot in nature and design. Though his schematics are immensely useful. Once you conclude your business, you are to travel to the Sol system for your next assignment. I am sure you will find this task rather appealing to your skillset, Shockwave."
"As you wish, Lord Megatron." Shockwave paused. "Ah, before I forget. May you indulge me a moment? One of my worms has pinged an urgent message."
Megatron, in a rare humor, nodded his head. "Proceed."
There is a giddy flare in Shockwave's single ruby optic. "I acted of my own discretion when I became compromised and disabled Ultra Magnus as I fled. He is currently on spark-support for his injuries. That infernal hammer is now in my possession."
Megatron's expression morphs to interest. "Speak further, Shockwave."
Shockwave continued. "Should that fool of a second-in-command assume office, his undoubtedly hot-temperedness will provide ample weakness to exploit. My time is now short, Lord Megatron. I shall see you soon. Be well, my Lord."
"I await your arrival."
X.
Shockwave avoided the battle at all costs. While his plan to hack the space-bridge grid from the inside only half succeeded, his plan B was to source the master-key from one of the few who possessed it: a maintenance prime.
That fully redacted file he acquired still sat in the back of his processing, slowly decoding as the fight drew on. His obsession with it remained inexplicable. Something deep in his coils told him it was a dossier of grave importance.
The cyber-ninja lunged for the gangly tank-bot, deploying his shurikens in a method to destabilize Shockwave. It doesn't work. Shockwave seized the ninja by his stabilizer and threw him away with the following momentum.
The file suddenly pinged. Decryption complete.
Shockwave froze in shock, his optic wide in disbelief. His attention snaps to the battle further away between…between…No. It can't be.
Megatron ignored all hails to his communication line. He had an enemy to pulverize.
"Don't fool yourself, Autobot! I will gain the activation codes one way or another!" Megatron shouted across the battlefield.
Optimus Prime cried out in agony as the hacked chip lodged into his frame and attacked relentlessly. It searches and pings. It created a short-range wireless connection between the warring commanders. It continued its delve into Optimus' processor.
Megatron's grin widened spectacularly. He charged up his plasma cannon and aimed it at the Prime's spark. The fruition of his toils soon at hand. Once he found those codes, he would dispatch the disoriented prime once and for all.
Vengeance just at the tip of his digits.
But before Optimus could reach around and pinch that little hacking tick off his frame, something odd pinged Megatron's HUD.
[Creator—Progeny link detected. CNA 79.85% Match]
[Progeny Snuffing Contingency Mode: Active]
[Establish Spark Uplink?[̷͓̈́y̵͓̓̾e̷̐͜͜͠ṡ̸͔̣͂]̸͚̞̓̚ ̸̟̈́̑͜[̸̤̾n̸̹̆o̶͎̺̓͝]̵͎̲̀̈́]
[̴̢̡̓Ë̶͖̝́̔r̶̤͠͝ŕ̵̻͎̉ỏ̴̬̿r̶͙̃̔]̸̥̈́̍
[Automatic Override Commencing…]
[Inducing Sire Protocols… 3… 2… 1…]
"What?" Optimus gasped.
A look of utter disbelief flashed across Optimus Prime's face. Words caught on his tongue as hundreds of tactical errors passed across his HUD. An eternity passed in the span of a fraction of a moment.
Megatron's expression exploded into shock. But it's too late. The torrential vortex in his canon reached critical. His concentration slipped, and the trigger…
A flash of light and the thundering boom of plasma seared through the air.
Megatron's cannon trailed with smoke as purple energy dissipated from the spent charge.
The bladed ion-axe clattered to the ground. Optimus Prime's frame followed shortly after.
A gaping hole, gnarled and singed at the edges. Through armor, underplating, circuits, and the toughest alloy over his spark. The soft, delicate light is exposed to the elements. No one moves, no one speaks. Optimus' right arm clattered to the ground, severed, several steps away.
Megatron crossed the space in four strides and fell to his knees. Two million years' worth of code passed through his tactical net. Two million years lost. Two earth years spent wishing agonizing death upon this spark. Upon this spark that frantically pulsed before his very optics. Exposed to the elements with a vaporized casing.
It's cream and sky blue. Core fragments jostled in the rapidly beating corona.
Murmurs ripple across the battlefield.
The fight ceased.
Megatron cradles Optimus' head as his other servo covered the exposed core. Questions, accusations, demands, and grief fly through both processors at lightning speed. There's so much energon, it won't stop pooling. It gushed up from the wound, from all the wounds that litter the prime's frame. It flooded the spark chamber, threatening to snuff the corona like a flame in water.
"I…I don't un…understand." Optimus' throat sputtered, and a burst oil line dribbled out from the corner of his mouth. His EM field flared out in rage, deceit, anguish, panic. Tags appear like a halo around Megatron's face: creator, protector, sire, progenitor, guardian. "I…don't…"
"Hush." Megatron gave the command.
Something innate in Optimus compelled him to comply.
"He hid you from me," Megatron whispered. Everyone heard it. "He hid you from himself."
Then, a massive shadow loomed over the battlefield, its hulking hull shining a deep blue and striking white as its thrusters aimed downwards. An overwhelming sound that engulfed the audials of everyone as it landed with a resounding boom. Dust flew in the air as light shot out as a thin beam, expanding as a gangway extruded from the Steelhaven's hull.
All optics scrutinized the silhouette carved from the floodlights. Broad-shouldered, antennae erect on his helm, unmistakably him.
Ultra Magnus strode down the gangway and locked optics with Megatron.
The future is dead.
Fin.