Chapter Text
The battle had been going on like any other. Both sides viciously trying to tear into each other. Shots flew across the field, a mixture of blue and red. Vehicons were the main bodies strewn across the grass. Blue bled into green.
In the middle of it, were the two leaders. Exchanging punches while chaos rained around them. Each, elegant from millennia of war, dodged almost all of them. Any strikes that met were lucky shots. Until, a blast had hit the warlord from behind. In a lucky chance an Autobot soldier had gotten the time to shoot. The blast did little but bounce off and distract the target. The Prime took his chance.
Rushing forward, the Prime unsheathed his blade. With one good swipe, another deep cut had joined the endless scars on the warlord’s face. The sharp shriek of metal joined the noise of the battle. Bright blue marbled with purple gushed down his face as he roared with rage. The warloard attempted a counter-attack, twisting his blade and barreled forward. Just barely nicking a bright red shoulder. The Prime wrenched himself away to glare at the gray mech.
“Megatron, you stand in this war for no reason but to lengthen it! Why do you fight for nothing?” Optimus, the Prime, accused. His whole frame was stiff in rage, as though this was the first time he realized this fact.
Megatron sneered. Optics narrowing into thin red slits. He scoffed scathingly, “Surely you think that is not the sole reason?”
The warlord sprung back into action, raising his blaster. Optimus twisted his body and stepped to the left. The heat from it barely grazed his side. The two clashed again. Blades met with a loud clang of metal.
“What other reason is there, Megatron?” Megatron’s mouth twisted with offence. He ducked under the Prime’s blade to attack from the back. Optimus snapped back around, jolting back from a nearly devastating strike. Landing on steady pedes, he raised his own blaster, only to be met with the sight of Megatron’s own.
“I am no mindless fool, I have a goal for this!” The two faced each other, both not willing to lower their guns for a second. The rumble of fuel firing up filled the mechs' audials.
The sun was setting in the distance, painting the green grass with fire. Oranges danced in the sky while bots fought to their death. Splattering of blue, dents, cuts, everything. The Cybertronians finally put to rest on the ground were far from their own world. From their own home. Whatever reason Megatron had, it better be in the interest in Primus himself, otherwise it wasn’t worth it.
“Then, shall you tell me this reason? The reason behind so much death?” Red shone off the Prime. Like a blaze flickering in a forest. A sign of hope, of life.
The only spark that danced in the warlord’s optics was a blazing house fire. Dangerous, unneeded, preventable. The glint of the sun turning his armour shades of orange and red. In this light, he truly did look evil.
“This death was the reason. The death of the Autobot cause!” Megatron’s servo gestured with uncensored passion. The excitement from the idea clear in his optics. Optimus scowled behind his battle mask, his blaster roaring back to life. The warlord’s grin was sharp. “Are you not appeased to the idea? Do you truly believe you will survive this war?”
“This is not a war,” Optimus cut in, voice filled with appall, “this is a mindless fight. There’s nothing to be gained!”
“Yet you still fight?”
Both sides were silent. Blasters still raised, ready to fire. The battle roared on around them. And for a second, Optimus was glad he had hidden this from the innocent. Hidden this feral encounter. Hidden them from this sight.
Optimus vented heavily, “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. We are fighting for our--”
“ Freedom? What freedom will they have when they are strewn across the ground like the spare parts they are!” Megatron’s words were aggressive and confident, like he knew something the Prime didn’t. If there was one thing he had learned in this war, is that you never wanted to hear that tone. “Every single one of them!”
An image file popped up into his vision. Four smaller bots, even smaller than their own yellow scout, all together. They were smiling, with Optimus behind them. Humans were in the front. There was an enthusiastic child with yellow hair in the center. They were all happy. And for the first time in years, Optimus felt reassurance. Not every single one of them.
“Even those tiny--”
The Prime’s helm snapped up. When had he lowered it? His lines ran cold. His whole frame stiffened. The image was thrust out of his processor with a violent click.
No .
“-useless--”
The battle raged on. More soldiers fell. The sun was still shining just over the horizon.
“-playthings you call--”
Optimus slackened in shock, blaster lowering.
“-Rescue Bots!”
Helms snapped over. Optics from the Prime's own team were wide. There was a roar over the coms. The Decepticons have already known. Megatron smiled menacingly.
“I promise you that, Optimus Prime.” He paused, scanning the field. After finding what he was searching for, his optics met Optimus’. He didn’t know if he was imagining things. Didn’t know whether this was just a sick joke from his own processor.
But not even his own battle-ridden mind could make up the victorious look that lit up the warlord’s face.
He bellowed out in joy, “Decepticons, retreat!” Jets roared to life, Vehicons transforming and joining their leader in the sky. The dark sky, covered by clouds. The setting sun was covered. A sign of light, of hope, of life. A sign that was snuffed out like a Spark.
Optimus manually rebooted his systems. Battle Protocols screaming at him, demanding he raise his gun again because he wasn’t out of danger yet . They were swiped clean with the restart. When his processor was clear, he vented and turned back on his audio systems. Only, he was met with things he really did not want to hear right now.
:WHAT THE SLAG?:
:Rescue Bots?:
:Optimus what was he talking about?:
:No way! This is awesome!:
::”Uh oh… are you alright Optimus?”::
:Optimus report!:
Optimus winced. Protocols appeared, directions for calming a crowd. He waved them away with a mental servo. Inventing, he steeled himself for the future conversation that would surely come.
:Ratchet, prepare a groundbridge.:
Energy spiked around him. The familiar feeling of a bridge’s magnetic tug did little to calm him. The air was alive with the sound of it whirring. Turning on his pede, he was met with the sight of the vortex. Green, like the bloodied grass. Green like the fallen leaves. Green, like- like Bulkhead giving him a look.
The wrecker’s arms were crossed over his chest. His face was twisted in an array of emotions. Angry, scared, confused. Field pressed against his frame, with a furrowed optic ridge.
Bulkhead glowered at the Prime, “What did he mean by Rescue Bots , Optimus?”