Archive of Our Own

Let’s suppose, for a moment, that all three children died. Let’s suppose it was an accident. Something so utterly mundane that not even the Autobots or their experience in a war could protect them. Let’s say a car crash. A simple, normal car. No Decepticon. Just a drunk driver, and three children that never could have reacted in time. All three die. Miko Nakadai. Rafael Esquivel. Jack Darby. They

The story is not happy. It never will be. No story that starts with a death has a truly happy course. Rafael wakes up in the slums of Kaon, trapped in the body of a mech with a visor, too long arms and a future body count in the thousands.
Jack wakes up in the mines, barely able to get away from the rockfall, trapped in a body he would recognize in a heartbeat if only he had a reflective surface, in the body of a mech who would become a tyrant and bleed a planet to death.

Miko wakes up in a ditch on a colony that would sneer at her, trapped in a body that wasn’t even remotely like hers, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to call herself a girl anymore, in the body of a mech who would one day die at the hands of those she once was a part of.
It would never be a happy story. Not for them, not for children of war.

Rafael hates every second of the slums. He is lonely. He cannot control his frame. His arms are too long, too spindly, his legs do not bend how he knows they should, and he feels his spark long for company. His limbs tremble constantly, and his chest aches, feels too empty. He misses Miko. He misses Jack. He misses the Autobots, Miss Darby, his own family, he even misses Fowler . He rarely speaks. His own voice makes him shiver.

Jack loathes the mines. He runs on two hours of recharge per day, and half a cube of low-grade energon that is not even remotely pure. He can feel his tank clogging up purely by looking at it. He loathes the overseer, he loathes his frame, he loathes the danger. He likes few things. He likes M-313, who always smiles at him encouragingly, who heals his wounds with a hidden welder. He likes the sense of camaraderie in the dorms. He speaks a lot. it helps him think, and it chases the sadness in the eyes of the new miners away. 

Miko despairs on Velocitron. She feels the stares, she hears the whispers, sees the sneers. She isn’t fast. She is sturdy. She is wrong . She is wrong, her body is wrong, and she wants to scream. She hates Velocitron, hates the bigotry that is so similar to the one she experienced on earth for being foreign. She loathes what it represents, and she takes solace in the stars that she can see at night, when she sits on the roofs of houses she would never be able to afford, takes solace in the knowledge that somewhere out there is a mech who she would befriend.

Rafael raids scrapyards, raids factories and then Hotspots. He steals parts, steals tools, and finally Sparks. He builds the loneliness away, builds himself companions, names them, makes himself as large a family as he can so the aching coldness of being alone doesn’t come back. He still doesn’t speak a lot, and instead he plays recordings, makes his voice a quilted mess of his past, present and future. 

Jack leaves the mines after a revolt. He doesn’t feel remorse, and a sharp grin, one that would terrify people when he still was a human, tears at his mouth. He laughs with an almost manic edge, and revels in seeing the Cybertronian sky for the first time, revels in air not laden with grime and dust, and for a fleeting moment he feels free. His spark beats loudly, and he readily ignores the droplets of electric blue on his hands if it means that he doesn’t have to be a slave in all but name anymore.

Miko runs. She always runs. She tries, always tries to be better, be faster, be someone else. She knows it’s no use. Not really. She is sturdy, not fast. She lives in reckless feats, in destruction and in the ways she inconveniences the worst bigots. She grins sharply, with teeth sharper than she remembers, calls herself a femmebot because she tries to cling to being a female, even if that feels wrong by now, after years and years of being a mech. She isn’t female, but it brings her comfort. 

Rafael cannot seem to escape Kaon. He always comes back, but he is not longer so hopelessly alone, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Not as much. He hopes so at least. He wanders the streets, he still steals. He steals energon, he steals information, he steals his existence. He steals, and steals and steals, and slowly he steals himself a life worth living. Rumble and Frenzy’s sharp grins remind him of Miko, Ravage’s thoughtfulness reminds him of Jack, and the way Ratbat and Lazerbeak fly around each other, hooting and laughing and simply acting like children makes him think of Smokescreen, of Bumblebee, of hours of childhood he cannot live through any longer. 

Jack’s freedom is short. The mine is over, is closed, is done for, but he isn’t. His Spark still beats, still makes his chest alive, makes him alive. He wants to scream, wants it to stop, wants to curl up and cry. He doesn’t. He is carted to the Pits, and he begins to understand why. He begins to understand why Megatron became who he became. He howls and spits and carves metal open with his new claws, smears his dentas with energon and is described as a beast. He wasn’t in the arena yet. They just remodeled him. Made him sharper. Made him angrier. Made him less himself. They may take his appearance, he swears to himself, but they won’t take his words. Out of pure spite, he begins to write. Begins to talk again. Makes himself a name. It’s not one he gives himself. It’s assigned to him, and it feels like a punch in the gut when he is shoved into the arena and introduced as Megatronus. He bares his teeth for the world to see and feels the anger grow.

Miko laughs, and laughs and laughs. A bigot lies at her feet, crushed and crumpled plating preventing movement, and her hands drip blue. She knows one of the mechs in the crowd, all sharp grins, tires and red . Her vengeful pleasure at kicking the teeth of the guy who told her that she couldn’t be a femmebot, nevermind a citizen dies a swift death at the sight, and she turns around, shoving people out of the way. She bares her teeth in a mockery of a grin, laughs again at the deep dent her handprint left in the shoulder of that one mech, energon smearing. She doesn’t like Velocitron. She knows she doesn’t fit in. She knows it. Doesn’t mean that she has to like the snide comments. She stomps into her ditch, the place she woke up in. She cobbled together plating and cloth and made it a home. It’s a shithole, but it’s her shithole. So when a way too familiar red mech knocks at the wall, she growls at him to get the fuck out. She doesn’t want to see Knockout. She wants the first mech of her old life to be Bulkhead.

Rafael eventually walks into the pits. He steals the places, as he usually does. He is darkly pleased at people parting before him and his companions as if they were the red sea, and he rather graciously took his stolen seat. He bares his teeth behind his visor, and watches. Mechs fall. Some get electrocuted. Some get decapitated. Then, they announce their best. He leans forward. Out comes his worst nightmare. Megatron. He isn’t Megatron yet, he doesn’t have the red optics, but everything else is there. He swallows.

Jack is once again thrown into the pit. He laughs hoarsely, knows the dirt from the mines and arena are taking their toll on his vocalizer. His voice gets deeper. So do the scars on his body. M-313 is not longer there to weld them. They just amass, get deeper, and he collects them like badges of pride. He collects them like he used to collect good grades, like the little slips of paper he got when he ran particularly fast at sport festivals. He hisses and laughs and howls as he tears into the wiring of others, and cries at the same time. He is ashamed of himself. He worries what his mother would think of him. He isn’t sure she would still embrace him if she got the chance. He looks around the arena after the last battle, and freezes when he spots a familiar face. Soundwave.

Miko is packing up. Velocitron is getting too hot for her, and so she stuffs her little belongings into her subspace, then takes the plates and cloths as well. She knows Velocitron is a colony. And the coordinates of Cybertron are as good as burned into her hard drive. She ignores Knockout when he sidles up to her. She doesn’t want to talk to him. If she is gonna talk to any mech she knows, she wants Bulkhead to be the first. Bulkhead. Not Knockout. The red mech stays behind with raised optical ridges when she hurries into the wild, only to take off into space. She wants to see Cybertron

Rafael stays at the pits despite his better judgement. He stays, fingers itching and companions looking on questioningly. He wants to know why Megatronus fights. He wants to know why he stays in this horrid place. So he goes down the stairs and waits. Waits, and asks. He isn’t prepared for the answer.

Jack looks at Soundwave, once more aware of how much more massive his own frame is. He mulls over the question. Finally, he talks. He stays, so that the young fighters, those who have nothing else, those who need hope, have someone to cling to. He fights so that his words get heard. He loathes the pits, but he sees their worth in giving him publicity. He needs it, because otherwise there will be countless more Megatrons. Countless more who swallow dirt and grit and die too early, countless more who are remodeled against their will and forced to fight. 

Miko hits Cybertron feet first, and for the first time her Spark feels calmer. She isn’t stared at, no one whispers. And for the first time, she doesn’t feel the need to cling to her old life as much. She feels like Cybertron could become a home in some way. She makes her way through the Sea of Rust, to Polyhex, to Kaon, to Iacon, and slowly ambles over the planet until eventually, the gates of the Wrecker Unit’s homeplace tower before her.

Rafael makes his home in the Pits. It’s a spur of the moment decision, and he heavily dislikes the feeling of energon stuck in his frame’s seams, but he copes. He makes himself sleeker, makes upgrades. Tentacles with sparking prongs and feelers for digging into technology. A harder visor. Sharp edged arms. He becomes a walking weapon, and he doesn’t mind it that much. He is dimly aware that meeting Megatronus is everything but good, nevermind listening to him, after all he knows what the mech would become. And yet, he thinks, that maybe he can change it at least a bit. Right now, Megatronus goes into the arena against his will, isn’t in it for the fighting alone. He fights so he can be heard. Rafael can respect that.

Megatronus. Megatronus. Always Megatronus. Never Jack. He starts to react to the former more than the latter. And he can’t find it in himself to cry about it. Jack is the name he got from his mother, but here, on Cybertron, so far back that June is not even a speck of a thought, he supposes he can go by a different name. Just for a while. He won’t become Megatron. Just Megatronus.

Miko is inducted into the Wreckers with little ceremony. They never really were a bunch for that, but a few words are spoken anyways. Shortly after, Miko is shown around, introduced. And, as fate wills, the first one is a familiar face. Bulkhead. A grin, an easy introduction. Then, a question.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m… Breakdown. I’m Breakdown.” The words feel right. He supposes that means he is not longer a femmebot.

The first fight. Megatronus told him what to expect. That he’d be assigned a name, like every single one of them, and then thrown in the ring, for the sheer amusement of others. He is assigned Soundwave. He feels like screaming and laughing both, but stops himself before he can. Strokes each of his Creations, then steps inside the Arena willingly. He stays inside the Pits on his own volition. And so Soundwave will step into the arena, and leave Rafael behind on his own volition.

Megatronus watches Soundwave. He watches the mech he knows would one day be amongst the most ruthless ones to survive the war, but while he can see the beginning of this, he also sees a young mech who doesn’t want to be lonely. The Pits are the last place where you find friendship, but he can understand the motivation. And it touches him in some way that is almost disgustingly sentimental that Soundwave would stay for him. He smiles at the thought, reminded of how he, Rafael and Miko befriended each other in a vaguely similar way.

Breakdown thrives amongst the Wreckers. He gains a reputation for being reckless, but for surviving the worst odds, and for being a horribly efficient team with Bulkhead. They chase off invaders, Sharkticons, always come back laughing. It feels more like home than Tokyo ever did. Now he stands on even ground with Bulkhead, and it feels freeing. Now he knows the inside jokes, can answer in kind, knows the feel of dirt underneath his own wheels, and how it feels to just let loose and clobber each other in a spar without being afraid of your own fragility. Breakdown thrives.

Soundwave is ruthless in the pits. He dredges up what he remembers from the skirmishes and battles he saw as a human, and uses every little underhanded tactic he saw Arcee use, the quick movements of Bumblebee that helped him stay hidden, the brutal swings of Megatron, and the deadly elegance of Wheeljack with his swords. He is an amalgamation of them all, and yet has a style wholly his own. He twirls and slices and shocks, uses every single limb he has to its full extent and becomes infamous for his quick takedowns. He knows it’s only a matter of time until he is pitted against Megatronus. They’re both Kaon’s prime gladiators.

Megatronus has a feral expression on his face when he is led into the arena again. This time, Soundwave’s predictions came true. They are fighting each other. Are supposed to slay each other. He doesn’t like it. But he fights regardless, carves up his one friend in the arena, because if he doesn’t he will die, and he doesn’t want to die. He wants to live, because if he doesn’t, then the miners will never escape the dust. Will never escape death by rockfall. He fights so others don’t have to, and the battle makes the crowd roar, makes them holler, howl in ecstasy. It makes him sick, but he continues. Soundwave rakes his own claws across his face, and he can taste the raw energon flow into his mouth. That will scar. He flicks out his latest weapon they installed without his consent, clashes his blades with Soundwave’s arms. A deadly dance, one that ends with a blade at Soundwave’s throat and sharpened arms at his own. He laughs at the draw. They both live.

Breakdown watches a gladiatorial match for the first time. It’s the single most interesting event on all of Cybertron. Kaon pits it’s two best gladiators, and for the first time in the history of the Pits both are left standing. A draw. Breakdown’s energon is rushing through his fuel lines, and he feels a feral grin mirroring Megatronus’ own on his faceplates. When he isn’t a bit over five feet tall and in danger of getting squashed by a pede he can wholly appreciate the grace of Megatronus in battle. It’s similar to how Megatron will fight, but here is an edge of desperation to it. Desperation that makes Breakdown think about how privileged he actually is, because he can choose his own battles. Next to him, Bulkhead harrumphs, hands him a cube.
“I don’t see the appeal in gladiator matches.”
“It’s the thrill of it, Bulk. They fight for their lives. And with this draw? They declared war on the status quo.”

Few moments are as quiet as now. Soundwave enjoys them to their fullest extent, spends them with his Creations. Ravage stretches across his legs, Lazerbeak curls up his chest, Rumble and Frenzy sit on his lap while trying to shove each other off, Ratbat drapes themself over his helm, making little purring noises. It’s the most relaxed you will ever catch him in the Pits. He doesn’t fall asleep, but it’s close to it. After the fight with Megatronus no one wants to mess with him. He likes that feeling. He continues to drift around in his mind, until Megatronus steps close, another close by. He pries open one optic, and glances up.

Megatronus goes outside of the Pits. They let him, they know that he has earned it. He revels in the open sky again, like he did when he got out of the mines. It’s different to see the open sky when you’re in the Pits, it’s like the cave roof in the mines. A meager illusion of freedom. It is here, looking at the sky that he meets him. He almost runs into the other mech, begins to apologize - and falters. The mech opposite of him is familiar. As familiar as the energon on his servos is, as familiar as the voice of his mother that he still remembers. He blinks, before finally introducing himself and apologizing. Orion Pax smiles at him. It’s the start of the end, but it doesn’t feel like that. He takes the other Mech with him, introduces him to Soundwave, shows him the little bit of writing he can do in his free time. The brilliant smile on Orion’s faceplates makes him respond in kind. The scars on his lips pull.

Breakdown still thrives in the Wrecker unit, but it starts to feel leaden. He saw the fight, and with it his privilege. Not just in being able to pick his own battles, but also that he can actually do what he wants. The fight and the words that Megatronus yelled during it make him feel heavy in a way he hasn’t felt since he left Velocitron. He begins to wonder if maybe change wouldn’t be the best. The caste system irks him. He pays closer attention to Megatronus, stumbles upon snippets of published writing from the mech. He thinks, and eventually he decides to take a few days off from the Wreckers to drown his thoughts in High Grade. It is in that first bar that he finds a remnant of Velocitron that he could have done without. Still as obnoxiously red as always, grin even sharper and a tongue sharper still. Knockout. Breakdown resigns himself to a long evening, because the red mech immediately sidles up to him, draws him into conversation. When he eventually crashes on his berth in his meager little apartment he decides that maybe Knockout isn’t that bad. 

Soundwave leaves the Pits with Megatronus. They leave with little ceremony, because they decide one day that the illusion isn’t enough anymore. They want proper freedom, and so they take it. It’s the start of the end, and he doesn’t mind. Megatronus slices down the heads of the overseers in the Pits, and Soundwave opens the password-protected lock. This day, the streets of Kaon are flooded with escaped gladiators, and he laughs loudly. They wanted freedom, and they took it, and he thinks he knows why the Decepticons did what they did. Fighting for your freedom from an oppressive and exploitive environment is glorious. It is at this moment he decides that he will follow Megatronus for a long time.

Megatronus has energon on his servos, and he doesn’t mind. The sky is his again, he isn't in the Pits anymore. Neither are the other gladiators. Today, the Pits are empty and the sand does not clump blue. Today, they run the streets and are free. He raises his fist in the air, yells. The other gladiators follow his lead, and he knows that the mechs in their towers will see this. They will know that the gladiators are no longer collared and kept in cells. They will know that they want their freedom. He smiles grimly, sharp dentas on display. Orion stands next to him, a determined expression on his face.

Breakdown watches. It’s his last day off. Knockout stands next to him, and together they watch the riots of Kaon. They watch a caste grab for freedom and seize it, and it makes Breakdown laugh in joy. Next to him, Knockout makes an intrigued noise, zeroes in on Megatronus standing at the front, fist smeared blue. It’s the beginning of the end, Breakdown knows this in some way, but right now he does not care. He knows it was luck in a very twisted way that he woke on Velocitron. Had he been on Cybertron, he would have ended up a miner or gladiator. But he woke on Velocitron. Despite that, he celebrates the freedom of a caste he barely escaped, celebrates the joy, Knockout always at his side. 

Soundwave keeps close to Megatronus. He watches and records as the mech holds speeches that rouse the people. He watches and celebrates with him, and guards the mech when he thinks that it is needed. He catalogues people, his Creations helping at every corner. He amasses information on the senators with everything he can, and soon he holds enough blackmail material on them that he could single handedly bring down the senate. He refrains. He holds the information until Megatronus needs it. And need it he will. He heard whispers of plans against them, plans to discredit them. 

Megatronus' speeches are loud and boisterous. They’re everything that Jack never was, and yet they’re fully what he wanted to be. He rallies the people, wants them to think. The current Prime and Senate are not their friends. They sit up in their high towers, look down at them. A late night discussion with Orion gives him the idea for a possible solution to their problem. The people do not listen to him as they would to a Prime. So why not try to make a bid for it? The idea is sound, but it makes his Spark ache, as if he had forgotten something.

Breakdown follows Megatronus’ speeches, even if that makes him few friends in the Wreckers. Bulkhead understands why he does it, but the others don’t. They don’t see the problems in society, and they also don’t understand why he hangs out with Knockout. The jokes he once was privy to are changing, and he feels left behind. Again. Like he did on Velocitron, and it makes him sick. He doesn’t confide in Bulkhead with this, not really. Instead, he tells his worries to Knockout, after a few bottles too many. He is waiting for the end to come, really. He knows this won’t end well. He tells Knockout that. People want change. He wants change. But people also radicalize themselves, and it worries him. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know. He just feels as slow as those first days on Velocitron.

Soundwave cannot follow inside the Senate. Instead, he sits in the dinghy apartment that he and Megatronus own, and watches the people on the streets. He watches, and thus notices the exact moment when Megatronus enters the Senate. He hopes this doesn’t fail. He has a bad feeling. 

Megatronus doesn't know what exactly went wrong, but he feels like he could scream. The Senate does not listen. It does not listen, puts him down as too angry for being a Prime, too much of a wild card and a revolutionary on top. They do not listen, and he wants to scream in fury. He holds his piece however, and steps back with an expression that could kill. He watches as Orion takes his place, lectures the Senate - and while he is proud of his friend, for finally not being such a doormat, this anger, this pure unbridled rage is surging up as well. Its intensity is almost foreign, and in the farthest corner of his mind he is horrified at what is happening, but before he can contemplate that emotion, he storms out, runs out of the Senate hall and simply out . He runs, does not pay attention, not, until he almost walks into a crumbling wall in the lowest levels of the Senate. He stops here, trembling with that foreign anger that has only grown since he left the hall, finally roars in rage he cannot recognize, punches the crumbling wall… And finds a monster. On a subconscious level he knew that one of the Primes fell, was corrupted by Unicron. But the thought of where and that he might ever stumble upon it was never in his mind. For a single, drawn out moment he has the horrifying realization that this is the reason the Senate is corrupt. Nothing grown on contaminated ground is healthy. 

Breakdown feels it in his struts. Today something is gonna change, but if that change is good or bad, he does not know. He does not know, and neither Bulkhead nor Knockout can calm him down. He knows he is agitated, annoys them both (and for once they're all sitting together amicably to see the bid for Primeacy), but he can't stop his fidgeting. He watches, and feels his Spark thrum in suspense. Something is going to change.

Soundwave will always remember the moment he feels that unbridled rage across the bond with Megatronus. That single moment where he knows it all went to pot, because he knows that this is the single step where it went wrong. He feels it in his struts, and as he gets up with suddenly aching limbs, he resigns himself to his future. He resigns himself to the knowledge of war. He resigns himself to seeing Optimus, to seeing Ratchet, Bumblebee, Arcee, Wheeljack, Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen on the other side of the battlefield. He already stole himself so much, but now he steals this single bit of happiness from Rafael, and he knows he has to change himself to survive what is coming. He knows it.

The steps on the Senate building's floor are loud. Louder than necessary, but he doesn't care. Behind him, Orion is running closer, signals for him to wait.

"Please, wait!" He snarls, turns around on his heel.

"Can it, Pax." He grinds his dentas together, feels the scars pull at the sneer. 

"We agreed that we wanted to get me into the position of Prime. And now you have it. I know you do." He shouts, and his optics burn.

"Megatronus, I-"

"THAT," he bellows, his optics burning hotter and hotter, rage making him blank out,

"IS NOT MY NAME!" He takes a step closer to Pax.

"I." Another.

"AM." Another.

"MEGATRON!" He snarls directly in the smaller mech's face, nearly crushes his shoulder under his clawed grip, before turning around and leaving the Senate.

Breakdown hears the shouting, the voice is loud enough that it's audible even from outside the room where the cameras are. His fuel feels as if it freezes in his fuel lines, and he finally knows why everything felt weird. Today the war starts. And he does not feel ready for it. Not even remotely.

Soundwave stands next to Megatron. Megatronus is dead. He isn’t sure how to feel about this, because he still remembers being terrified of the mech, remembers almost dying from dark energon and remembers how small he felt. Now they stand on even ground, but this boneless terror is still there in some way. Next to him, Ravage leans against his leg, a steady presence to ground him. He vents slowly, then looks at the table in front of him. They will go to war. They are planning for it. It’s time to prove his mettle as a tactician, as a recruiter, as a blackmailer. 

They already start to call him a warlord. Megatron feels like laughing at this, manically and hysterically. It wasn’t even a week, and they were already calling him that. He hasn’t initiated any major strikes yet, but Vos already swore itself to him. Soundwave made sure of that. And now, he has an armada of fliers in front of him, Starscream and his trine chief amongst them. They want a warlord? They shall get one. And he won’t feel remorse at it. They make him out as Unicron incarnate, he will deliver.

Breakdown joins the Autobots alongside Bulkhead. It’s a split-second decision, borne from habit and from comfort found in people. Knockout stays neutral for now, but he gets his medical license revoked in preparation. Breakdown watches with fear when Vos rises up to follow Megatron, when the first cities fall. He watches, and every time he is deployed in battle he feels worse and worse. The Autobots are not bad, not by far. He is still with Bulkhead, the Wreckers stay together, but he is regarded with by now disgustingly familiar suspicion. He would’ve been Miner Class. They wait for him to trip up. He knows they do. The commander he and Bulkhead serve under is a bigot from Iacon, is not Ultra Magnus, and with every word he feels the urge to smash the mech’s helm under his newly acquired hammer. He doesn’t dislike the Autobots, but he does not feel welcome.

It’s easy to fall into an apathetic mindset to commit the atrocities. For each and every single one of them. Jack forgot one thing. And that one thing brought him into ruin. Rafael freely left his humanity behind so he would not crumble in the war. And Miko… Miko despairs. Miko despairs, for the Autobots are not what she remembers. Are not what he remembers. None of them thrive. One sinks lower and lower, with processors where rust sneaks in. One grows quieter and quieter, closes away his voice so he won’t falter. One contemplates to end it all, for the place once seen as home is everything but that.

Breakdown despairs, and no one notices. Wheeljack always tries to ignore him, Bulkhead is preoccupied, and their Commander hates him. No one notices, aside from Knockout. Knockout, who is still a Neutral, Knockout who has revoked his medical license so he isn’t bound to the cybertronian equivalent of the hippocratic oath. Knockout who refuses to join sides until Breakdown knows where he belongs. Knockout who still visits him in barracks that watch him with a hawk’s eye, just waiting for him to attack someone. It makes his plating crawl, and more than once Knockout had to talk him down from drinking until he was so overcharged he’d have died from it. Bulkhead does not notice, and Breakdown can’t blame him. Kup died. Ironhide as well. Half the Wreckers died during the last rotation, and the Commander seems proud of it. It makes him seethe, and he feels ready to smash the mech to scrap. Knockout watches, but does not comment. Not until today.

“Why do you stay if it makes you want to drink yourself to death?” The question flows from Knockout’s glossa as easily as the question about the current weather. He is picking out the thin flakes of dried energon from under his claws, and does not look at Breakdown.

“Why stay if it makes you unhappy?”

“I… Bulkhead. He was my first friend. He… He helps.”

“Does he now? I don’t see him anywhere.”

“You know what I mean. But even he can’t stop the Commander. He can’t, he’s as low on the ladder as I am.” He vents, balls his servos into fists, trembles. They fall quiet.

“I don’t want this anymore. This… hate. I’m not miner class, but I could’ve been. The Commander hates us `low class´, and he shows it. I’m tired, Knockout.” He finally grinds out, voice wavering.

“Then leave. No one here would stop you.” Knockout glances up from his claws, looks up at him. His optics burn red.

“Least of all Bulkhead, if he really is your friend.” Breakdown thinks this over. Then sighs, and gets up. His subspace still contains his things from Velocitron. He never got them out. He does not have things to pack. 

“Fine. You got an idea of where to go?”

“Plenty.” They are not longer in the barracks in the morning. they leave behind the corpse of the Commander, shocked senseless and helm smashed in.

Soundwave looks at the two mechs in front of him, assesses them. Knockout, infamous for several ‘accidents’ involving high speeds, for electrocuting people he dislikes and for the murder of a Commanding Officer or the Wreckers. Breakdown, rather unassuming if you ignore his high number of high risk operations as a member of the Wreckers. Usually partnered with Bulkhead (and wasn’t that strange, considering how he knew their future would be?) and currently wanted for suspected murder of his last Commanding Officer when he belonged to the Wreckers. He tilts his head in thought, then nods at them. They will do. The last batch of recruits needs commanders, and they still lack a competent CMO. They will do. He guides them towards their quarters, hands them slightly cracked datapads. He doesn’t bother with verbal orders, instead he turns and slinks through the halls of their base. It’s not much, not if compared to the Nemesis. And that is another problem. They will need the ship soon, but he can’t find anything resembling it. It irks him that he can’t help Megatron with this, not really, and so he resigns himself to finding more recruits, to bolstering their numbers. He thinks of approaching Shockwave soon. He has enough dirt on the mech to permanently entice him to work on their side, and then they could have the army of Vehicons. He just needs to find that moment to approach the other mech. A moment that might come sooner than he predicted, if the way the war is going is any indication. They are winning for now, but at a disastrous cost. They lose more soldiers than they recruit, and he does not stand for that. And so, he leaves the base, Lazerbeak docked to his chest, and seeks out the mech that would build them armies, if they deliver him sound logic and incentive. And he has that.

He can think, for once. Megatron is sitting in the middle of his darkened room, servos cradling his helm, and he thinks. The rage is silent for once, and he feels like weeping instead. For the entire time since the Senate he hasn’t had the ability to think, was too angry for it, was too angry for anything and everything. Now he can, and he despairs. He strayed from the path, finally remembered what he had forgotten that day. He forgot what Ratchet told them. He forgot what Ratchet had said about how Optimus came to be a Prime. He forgot, and spelled his doom with it, spelled everyone’s doom with it. He does curl up in the end, closes his doors with locks strong enough to keep even Soundwave out for a while, and just cries. He cries until his optics burn, and cries because he just wants to be Jack again. He doesn’t know why he woke up again, but sometimes he wishes he didn’t dodge that rockfall. Sometimes he wishes he would’ve stopped defending himself in Kaon. Sometimes he wishes he simply stopped and let himself be stopped. Because now that isn’t possible anymore. He becomes angry at the drop of a hat, commands armies, and has to fight with himself every day to not stoop to the level of injuring his own troops. He howls and yells and wants to die, but masks it with practice he has from Kaon. Not just from there though. He still darkly remembers Vince, remembers how he tried to make his school years hell. He hopes that Vince stopped bullying after he died, but he doesn’t have high hopes. He quickly changes the lane of his thought though, he can feel the anger creep in again. He wants to stop that as long as he can. He wants to think as long as he can. He muses about the newest troops, about the newest Commanders. Breakdown and Knockout are familiar. He still remembers the griping of the red mech, how he had taken his own mother for a joyride alongside Fowler (he was still not over that), but also how he was a medic. Breakdown didn’t have that big of an impact on him, but the mech is still familiar in a way. He remembers how Breakdown died. Maybe he can prevent that. But for that, he needs to be able to think. And so, he gets up, and writes down possible contingency plans on a datapad. He needs to give this to Soundwave and Knockout both. He darkly remembers that at some point, when he still was Jack, Megatron was in a coma. Maybe that could help here. Just maybe.

The Decepticons are not as bad as Breakdown thought they would be. It still doesn’t feel that right, but it’s better than the sheer hate and bigotry he experienced amongst the Wreckers. He and Knockout make an effective team, and he cannot shake the exhilaration of fighting against Bulkhead as opposed to with him. It’s exhilarating, and he thinks that maybe he understands why these two were always fighting when he was still Miko. It gets his fuel pumping, and he is sure he looks like a maniac whenever they fight, but no one ever comments on it. And so he just hits the other mech with fervor, and feels validated whenever Bulkhead answers likewise. It’s a familiar dance by now, one they had for vorns and deca-vorns, and they still are evenly matched. Knockout is as exasperated as usual with him for this, but it’s never more than a brief annoyance on the red speedster’s side. He knows that Breakdown needs this, and lets them fight it out. It’s a familiar song and dance, and one he is loath to give up. And so, Knockout simply patches him up whenever he comes back, dripping blue and grinning like an idiot who got into the energon goodies. He sports a rather impressive collection of weld lines, and just as many scratches. 

“Just… Just let me buff them out, Breakdown. Just the scratches. Please.”

“Ah, leave ‘em. They ain’t hurting anyone.”

“They hurt me. You ruin your finish like that, Breakdown.”

“It’s jus’ finish, Knocks’.”

Finally. Finally they have their flagship and the army to man it. Trypticon lies in Stasis Lock, Shockwave clones the Vehicons, and Iacon falls. It’s enough to make him vent in relief. That is the majority of the problems taken care of. They have the army, they have their ship, and soon they will win. His Creations crowd around his legs as he slinks to the battlefield, intent on protecting him. He smirks beneath his visor, and catalogues every single frame he encounters on the ground, stacks the odds and losses. This was a win for the Decepticons, and he feels more secure in it. Said security is smashed soon after, because the battlefield is flush with Autobot High Command. Prime and Megatron face each other, Ultra Magnus commands the Wreckers with an expertise that the Commander killed by the Velocitron-Duo never would have experienced, and he notices multiple unmarked units slink through the shadows of the debris. He does not run. He never runs. Why should he, if he is still fast enough to reach his prey? Because that’s what they are. His prey. A prey that unfortunately strikes him harder than he would like. He folds over like wet cardboard when his chest burns and he hears Ravage scream. He hears Frenzy scream, hears Rumble scream, sees Ratbat be shot apart before his optics, sees it, feels it . He can’t move, and has to helplessly watch as they get slaughtered. He sees how a green mech tears out Rumble’s limbs, sees how a yellow femme rips off Ravages head, sees Frenzy die from shock at his twins’ death. He does not see the resulting madness. He blacks out in anguish, screams, screams until he feels his voice give out. He wants to die. This is too much.

Megatron roars in well-earned fury at the sight of Soundwave collapsing and screaming. What he doesn’t expect is Prime following his example. He doesn’t even get to move, because Prime gets to the bots first, and then… Then Megatron gets to see a side to Optimus that he never knew existed. Prime doesn’t even say anything. He just slugs them in the face, then takes the remains of Soundwave’s cassettes in a contrasting gentleness and puts them before Soundwave. Megatron steps back. These two are the Prime’s soldiers. They are his to deal with. He watches though. He watches as Optimus becomes enraged. He watches as Optimus tears into them. And he watches as Optimus tears out their limbs like they did for Frenzy. You don’t kill cassettes. Even he knows that. Even he knows that you don’t kill a cassette and leave the carrier alive. You don’t kill some and leave some. You kill them all or you kill none. It gratifies him to see that Optimus draws the line at this. He watches and records it all, because Soundwave needs to see this. Soundwave needs to see that even Prime draws the line, that this is one thing they all agree with. He watches and records, and the anger is mercifully quiet. At the end, Prime stands with his servos dripping blue, in a skewed mirror image of himself ages ago in Kaon. It makes him swallow a lump in his throat, makes the anger quiet. The fighting stopped breems ago, and they all just… look. they all watch, and the shouts and fire seems so distant now. They all have committed atrocities, yes, but this… this is a war crime. A war crime that no side condones. Today they part solemnly, with four casualties too many, and Megatron carries the guilt. He carries the guilt, because he started the war. He started this, and is the reason that Soundwave lost his Creations. The anger is silent, silent in the face of grief and guilt. He doesn’t want this. Not like this. Not on the back of cassettes that didn’t know any better, not on the back of Younglings that died too soon. Warfare is one thing, and he knows he is less than virtuous, but he draws the line somewhere. These two bots didn’t. And they paid for it.

Primus bleeds. Primus bleeds and bleeds and bleeds until he is dying, until Cybertron dies. The planet is well and truly ruined, war bled it dry, and made the people flee. Colonies are flooded, the war is taken to the stars, and Cybertron left alone, barely able to have a Spark Pulse anymore. Cybertron is left alone, the Nemesis trundles through the galaxy. The Autobots flee, the Decepticons follow. It’s a long time. And still, Cybertron bleeds, the wounds not scabbing or healing. They run too deep. Primus is dying. Four million years of war. Four million years too many, and no one knows how to stop it anymore, too entrenched in the bloodshed and horror. Breakdown and Knockout touch down on a small planet that Breakdown still remembers too well. The Autobots landed first, but Breakdown and Knockout are the first Decepticons. They land and watch, do not interact, but watch they do. Light years away the Nemesis comes closer, with a Warlord that howls in anguish at night, and a broken Communications Officer on board. Neither of these three is close to who they used to be. They remember. Oh, they remember. But while they wish, they cannot go back. Time only goes one way, and they missed their chance to prevent the war in full. They can only march forward now. In two subspaces datapads with contingency plans collect dust, unread. In one subspace lie mementos of Creations destroyed too early. In one, aged writing in English is treasured. In one, cloth, plates and scratched badges are eternally stored, never to be taken out. Three children died, then died again. Primus bleeds and dies, and watches the children die a third time.

Nevada is as dreary as Breakdown remembers. And just as dusty. Breakdown would laugh at Knockout’s stream of expletives every evening, if the dreadful dust wouldn’t get into his own undercarriage as well. Due to that, he holds his piece, and instead becomes one of the regulars at the car wash, Knockout close behind. Their Holoforms scare the locals, some part of them knows that they are different. Knockout is reedy, well groomed and has a grin just a tad too sharp. Breakdown likes that look on the mech. He himself has a more…heavyset form. Musclebound, broad, tall. He’s taller than a lot of people. His eyes are just a bit too golden to be natural, and while his hair is going grey, blue is there as well. A few, single strands however stay stubbornly pink. He doesn’t exactly mind. They both went for the easiest clothing they could simulate, but for an almost laughable reason, Breakdown adds a barely visible binder under his tank top. He may not be Miko anymore, but he can make a few nods to it. 

“Why are you always simulating that little bit of cloth? It’s unnecessary kibble.”

“I wasn’t always a mech, Knocks. Felt like a Femme for a while. Humans have a word for that. That’s why.” The red mech raises his optical ridges… no, they’re eyebrows right now.

“You, a femme? Can’t really see it, but you do you, I guess.” He huffs, then blinks and looks up.

“You… are a mech right now though, right? I didn’t accidentally call you something wrong, right?”

“Nah. Mech through an’ through right now. I’ll tell when it changes.” Breakdown grins. Talking to Knockout is easy. There is no expectation here. Just understanding.

“You wanna race?”

“Not much of a race, with how slow you are.”

Megatron leaves Starscream in command, and after the ages already spent in Command together, Soundwave can say with a lot of conviction that, while Starscream is not incompetent, he’s utterly ridiculous. Said ridiculousness still makes him efficient though, as seen in him being the one who manages to get a steady supply of Energon in, with a startling lack of casualties. He may not like the mech a lot, but he can defer to competent people. He darkly remembers that Starscream was prone to backstabbing, a thing he learned when he was still a human, and it’s one thing that stayed in his memory banks even after all this time. So he watches, watches and records, and evaluates. He does this every day in Megatron’s absence. Starscream continues to ride on the high odds of success, and so he leaves the mech be. Instead, he focuses on locating the Energon mines that would sustain them, and focuses on getting his mind in order. He does this a lot nowadays. It’s almost calming in it’s monotony, and he can confidently say that he doesn’t feel like an utter wreck anymore. For everyone he still appears as the stoic mech who swore a vow of silence, as the one who kills without remorse and who has the second highest body count amongst the Decepticons. They don’t know that he swore the vow because he still flinches at his own voice. They don’t know that he still has to instinctively hold back the urge to purge his systems after a kill, and they also don’t know that his kill count is not something he is proud of. They also don't know that he is abusing his connection to the internet to watch funny cat videos. To everyone he is still the terrifying Communications Officer and Third in Command. And he doesn’t care much about changing it. It makes people leave him alone.

The silence of deep space is almost oppressive, Megatron decides quickly. A silence that somehow still gives the anger fuel. He bellows his fury into space whenever he can, and it makes the anger swell down occasionally. It’s a song and dance he doesn’t like but does well despite it. He doesn’t fill the silence well, except with broken singing of old revolutionary chants, and the few earth songs he still remembers. The lyrics come broken, garbled by the cybertronian that is more instinct than english by now. He gets it sometimes, and the way his voice goes from an almost lilting baritone to a rasp of death still makes him startle. He sounds every inch the warlord he became. And yet, when he knows he is alone, he sings the hymns of his downfall, careless of his voice. Broken remnants of humanity long since shed, fragments of better times, of times when he and his mother sat together in the car and sang together, in the few moments they could get. He loved those times. He remembers them fondly still, and after a moment, he sighs before recalibrating his voice box. He is alone right now. He probably can do this for a moment. Just a moment.

“This is not the end, this is not the beginning, with a voice like a riot rocking every revision…”

Breakdown looked at his holoform again, before flitting outside of the crappy motel he and Knockout had used as a cover for the night. It’s been a few years since they landed. They still are regulars at the car wash, and they are still regarded with thinly veiled apprehension. Jasper is as welcoming to outsiders as ever. It almost makes Breakdown snort. Even over ten years before the exchange would ever happen, Jasper continues to be the driest of the dry towns, and just as welcoming as the desert itself. It almost makes him yearn for Tokyo again, but seeing a mini-Jack almost makes it worth it to drive around the town like a slaghead. He actually talked to him as well, and June too. And wasn’t that weird? He remembered her as that pretty headstrong lady who was against them spending time with the Autobots and who eventually got abducted by Knockout, but all he saw now was a tired lady who really could use some sleep. He almost offered to babysit right then and there, but then remembered the plans he and Knockout had made. Today is movie day. Earth movies, especially those in drive-in theaters, were as hilariously bad as he remembered, and somehow Knockout has developed an odd fascination for them. And because he was a fool, he always follows the red speedster. A fool in love is still a fool, and he wasn’t even trying to kid himself there. Instead, he sneaks up on his partner, and sweeps the distracted mech into a dance between the holoforms, grinning like an idiot. 

“What the- What are you doing?”

“Dancing, Knocks, dancing.” He laughs, and just enjoys that familiar warmth in his chest for a while. It would come to a headway soon, ten years were nothing in their lifespans, so they want to enjoy this night. And enjoy it they will.

“Now come on, we have a movie to get to.”

“I still don’t know why you insist on watching a movie for Sparklings .”

“Just wait, you’ll see.” He grins widely before dissolving his holoform and driving ahead.

Shortly after the movie starts, both of them blink, then look at each other’s Holoform.

“Please tell me that I’m not the only one who hears this.” Knockout sniggers, trying in earnest to keep his frame still.

“You aren’t. That horse right there sounds like the Big M.” Breakdown has no such reservations, instead opting to laugh out loud and annoy several people with the volume of that. It’s a good day. 

Soundwave stares the two errand Decepticons down. Both Breakdown and Knockout are standing in front of him like scolded children, trying to badly hide their sniggering. He is tempted to ask them what the fuck is going on, but refrains in favor of his staring. It makes them fidget, and eventually grumble about them just having had a date night, but one night out of almost ten years isn’t bad, isn’t it? Apparently they could provide detailed protocols about the movement of the Autobots, which parts they avoid and which they regularly visit. He considers this for a moment, then nods. They’re off the hook for now. As long as they wouldn’t end up turning the Nemesis into a sparkling garden, he’s fine with it. He conveys this by showing them an image of a sparkling that’s crossed out. That should do it.

Megatron’s arrival from deep space to Earth is as relieving as it is haunting. He has a gargantuan clump of Dark Energon in tow, and it makes him shiver. It also racks up his aggression by a big margin. His patience wears thin, and his reaction to Starscream snivelling before him makes him snarl. A violet haze already coats his vision, clears only for a moment when he feels his frame stab itself into the Spark with that damnable crystal. He roars in his mindscape, feels ice cold servos clutch his processor, ram their claws inside. Another mistake. Trying to kill himself in Deep Space failed. Instead he found a hunk of crystalized terror, and now it’s inside of him. He snarls, audibly this time, and stomps outside. This won’t go well. It won’t. He stomps through the Nemesis, tries to burn out the mental image of Cliffjumper being resurrected, tries to burn out the mental image of Arcee’s horror out of his mind. He can’t get distracted. Not now. Not at this key point. Not when they can finally turn the war. (What is he fooling himself with? He is always thinking about them. He cannot forget them, and now that Unicron has his claws in him, he won’t be able to think clearly for even the small windows he usually has. He hopes that Knockout and Soundwave read the Datapads. He sincerely hopes so.)

Steve does not like the Dark Energon. He also doesn’t like the Nemesis. Steve dislikes a lot of things, now that he thinks about it. Humans are pretty low on that list, as far as things go, mainly because he only really had contact with a few. He supposes they’re okay, as far as organics go. They certainly rate higher on his list of ‘I can live with this’ than squirrels and raccoons. One raccoon got into his undercarriage once. That transformation was one he could’ve done without, but done is done, he supposes. Back to the business at hand though. Steve does not like the Dark Energon, and looks at it warily, alongside Breakdown and Soundwave. It’s a bit daunting to stand next to people this high in command. He isn’t sure how to feel about this, to be honest. What he also isn’t sure about is Lord Megatron’s mental integrity. The mech seems a bit unstable, from what he can see. Steve doesn’t think that the Dark Energon is very conductive towards said mental integrity. He probably should talk to Knockout. Before he gets sent out again, and the possibility of dying rises by about 300 percent. He really should have defected at some point, or at least gone neutral. But noo, he still works in this scrapheap others call a ship. Sometimes he wishes he had proper optics, if only so he could roll them at others.

So. This just happened. Steve can probably cross off ‘encounter with Optimus Prime’ from his bucket list soon. He can cross off ‘‘Encounter with the two-wheeler and ex-Wrecker of Team Prime and survive’. He never really had a bucket list, but he might as well make one. Make the most of your time, and all that. He vents slowly, and starts doing just that while he holds as still as he can as Breakdown is welding his legs on again.

“You got lucky there. Bulkhead’s a tough one. I’d know.”

“And so do I, considering that I weld you back together after every encounter. Try to keep that down, yes?”

“I… Yes, Commander Knockout.” Steve wheezes out, suddenly very glad about his survival. That Ex-Wrecker was infamous for his feud with Commander Breakdown, but the knowledge that these fights ended with the blue mech having the same problem he does now is daunting. He does not like that knowledge. On the other hand, he can now brag in the Vehicon barracks for surviving what Commander Breakdown does. Pros and cons, he supposes.

“When am I fit for duty again?”

“Three days. Just a wager, but that’s how long it takes for my own welding lines to stop pulling, so I’m gonna clear you for that long.” Commander Breakdown intersects, and Steve is suddenly privy to a scene he did not consider. Logically he knows that the red CMO and the blue Ex-Wrecker are Conjunx Endura, but… no. just no. 

“Commanders, can you please let me leave first?” Steve hates his life. A lot.

Soundwave pities that Vehicon sometimes. Currently he does, considering the increasingly desperate comms for an emergency Groundbridge from the MedBay. He knows the CMO. And he knows Breakdown. Those two are disgustingly sweet towards each other. He vents, then opens the requested Bridge. He waves at the Vehicon before pointing towards the barracks. He was not going to deal with this. Not today, and also not tomorrow. As far as he will know, this Vehicon is still in the MedBay and that’s that. Instead, he focuses on the current requests from Megatron concerning a bridge. Dark Energon zombies. He feels more and more like he’s living in a bad horror movie flick. Honestly. Zombies. Death seems cheap. Very cheap. He wants a redo on this, please and thank you. Since Primus doesn’t seem to be in the mood however, he just opens the bridge with a noise resembling a sigh, before leveling a stare at Megatron. He doesn’t look good. Admittedly, the Pits are their own level of horror and left him with scars, but he looks as if he couldn’t recharge in days. If this continues, he will get Knockout and force Megatron to sleep. And he will do that. Some forced stasis to sleep never hurt anyone. 

Breakdown cherishes being outside again. Finally. If he drives above the speed limit and ribbs Knockout while doing so, that’s his business. They’re countries apart, but hey, com-links help there. He chuckles slowly when he spots Bulkhead, rubs his servos eagerly. The sight of… His past life is a bit startling, but the memories of that day come, if a bit sluggish.

“-smarter than you let on!” He hears, and takes that as his cue to step up.

“But even dumber than he looks.” The words have the intended effect, and he can feel his fans kick into gear. Battle is gonna come soon. Very soon.

“Breakdown!?” He laughs at the almost resigned sound.

“Miss me?”

“Like rust in my undercarriage.” Ooooh, he is making a fist. Breakdown grins a bit. This is gonna be fun. 

“Wait, you know this lunkhead?” He squints at the girl, then the events of that day come back to him.

“And you have a pet. ” He moves for the nearby pillar, grabs it, and mentally apologizes to the kid. But needs must.

“Does it play catch?” The stone breaks easily, and is barely a weight in his hands. He rears back, then throws the hunk of stone.

“Catch!” As expected, Bulkhead shields the girl, and the shattering stone pillar creates a lot of dust.

“Miko, stay down!” Aww, he cares. How adorable. Predictable. Touching. On the topic of touching, time for some hands-on business. He catches Bulkhead around the middle, hurls them both over the edge with this, before twisting and slamming the larger green mech into the fresco that was just photographed seconds ago.

“Oops. I hope the pretty picture wasn’t too important.” He shrugs, not apologetic the least for this, before starting to run and transform. He had a date with Knockout, for Primus’ sake, and most likely another job later to get this artifact. No time to chat here.

Soundwave is standing guard, optics fixed on the hulking form of the Prime. If all things go well, the Energon Harvester will be in their hands soon, and then there’d be a bit of quiet time, time he direly needs. Starscream is getting screechy again, and that is never a good thing. He squints behind his visor when Knockout throws a barely hidden flirt at Prime, then rolls his eyes. What was he even wondering? That mech may be in a committed relationship with Breakdown, but that never stopped him before. He dreads thinking about what these two got up to on Earth during the time where they were the only Decepticons around. At least there are no Sparklings around, that would have been a minor disaster. He still darkly remembers that young recruit called Wildbreak, that one already acted too much like Knockout for his comfort. He suppresses a shudder, then steps in front of the garage door when he hears the children approach. Time to get that Energon Harvester.

In hindsight, spending the majority of your formative years inside a gladiatorial arena was not a good idea, Megatron supposes. It’s especially not a good idea when it leads to having to sit in High Command sessions with Starscream. The mech is competent, no question, but the mech aggravates him, makes the rage surge and the purple haze grow. His hands are coated in energon, and Starscream in scars and scrapes and welding marks. He doesn’t like what he is becoming, he doesn’t like his rage, but he also dislikes Starscream riling him up. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to stop it. The haze whispers, makes him forget his logic trees, makes him prone to violent outbursts, makes his helm ache and optics burn. He wants it to stop, but oh, he knows it’s too late. He has the blood of Unicron in his Spark. And what Unicron touches, he won’t let go.

Well… Starscream is as bitchy as usual, and now Breakdown already regrets handing that rather lethal relic over to the Seeker. He kinda pities the poor Vehicon that just got killed for the sake of pure intimidation, and winces a bit when the Seeker gestures at him and Knockout with the thrice damned orb. He quietly swears that the Seeker will end up speared if he tries to attack Knockout, already eying Knockout’s prod. It was not made for that, but if needs be, he’d spear the rail thin mech like a roast chicken. That wouldn’t even take a lot of strength if he is gauging it correctly. And usually he is. He got good at that. He squints at the Seeker, before turning around. Bulkhead. His face worms itself into a feral grin as he transforms his servo, before nodding at Knockout. Time to take out a pest. He is once again in awe of how fast his Conjunx can get, even on pedes, but that minor distraction costs him. Bulkhead, slow, reliable and never changing Bulkhead dodges , and suddenly his hammer dents the one face he always tried to keep it from. He just turns around in a minor panic when voltage surges through him, and he is distantly aware of the guttural noises he is making while his frame collapses. Scrap. The prod is jammed, he can feel how his Spark is working itself up, knows that he actually might get a minor Spark attack if it isn’t removed any time soon. That Bulkhead becomes the new target of the Energon Harvester is something he doesn’t really notice, not until he sees the fist of the Wrecker embed the Seeker’s helm in the boulders and crush the Harvester. The resulting explosion could’ve been called beautiful, if it didn’t contain their very lifeblood. So much energon, wasted. The voltage surging through him lets up from one moment to the next, and a slight grin plays on his lips when Knockout twirls it rather self-satisfied. That is the moment Bulkhead crashes to the ground, and they turn to the green mech.

“He’s a glutton for punishment.” Knockout surmises, and Breakdown can feel himself laugh hoarsely in agreement. That is pretty true after all. Then, a Groundbridge. He quickly takes stock, then grimaces. Great. Two-wheeler, Arcee. Prime. Bumblebee. Pretty much every top fighter available. As they open fire, he shields his face, looks at his Conjunx.

“Fight?”

“Hm… Drive.” That’s that, then. They turn tail. Better live another day.

None of the three live. Not really. Breakdown tries. He tries too viciously, too greedy. He knows when he will die, and clings to life in spite of that. He clings and clings and doesn’t see how he worries his Conjunx with his behavior. Breakdown lives every day as if he couldn’t die because he knows when he will. Soundwave does not sleep, not until he absolutely has to. Apathy is the prefered poison to sleeping and feeling the holes where family should be. Hopelessness brims in his fuel lines, and he feels wrong. He stole his life together, and still he steals. He feels as if he steals the right to live at all. He feels as if he stole Soundwave altogether. Megatron rages in the confines of his mind, fighting a losing battle against his own body, against the rust eating him inside out. He would cry but can’t, not anymore, and so he screams. He screams until his world crumbles, and until the heartbeat of a forbidden God pulses in his audials.

Megatron walks through the groundbridge, searing purple optics zeroing in on Optimus standing right before it. He towers over almost everyone, easily at that, and the idea of the weapons of pretty much everyone being pointed at him does not scare him. He has seen worse. He has lived worse. He looks around with a nostalgic curiosity, images almost faded coming back to life in his mind.
“So this is where the magic happens. Quaint.” He remarks, before hearing footsteps. Rafael. So much smaller than he remembers, and definitely healthier.
“Ah, you’re looking much better than the last time I saw you, little one. Humans…” He tapers off, in thought.
“Resilient.”
“C’mon Raf, he isn’t worth it.” He’d almost laugh at that. Oh, the irony. He looks at the human he used to be, and there it is. Even millions of years apart, they still have the same look in their eyes. It fills him with something that approaches vindication.
“And you. I never forget a face, not even that of a human.” How could he? That used to be his own. Miko’s threat interrupts his train of thought.
“If you double cross anyone, MINE is the face you’ll never forget! NEVER!” Ah, still such a hothead.

June sees. She sees more than her son would like, and she sees too little in her own opinion. She sees when Jack flinches at sudden movement, how he suddenly is more vicious towards spiders. She knows that he can become angry. She has seen it in herself, she has seen it in his father before he died. She has seen it, and she understands. Oh, how she understands. That doesn't stop her from exploding when she sees the robots for the first time, and when she sees Rafael's state. She sees, and she acts. She helps, but is unhappy. She is even unhappier when the Autobots invite the leader of the enemy faction. She doesn't know what to expect from him, because purely by the stories she catches from hushed whispers, he is responsible for Rafael's state, and a monster. A monster that bled a planet dry, and who lost every shred of humanity he had. She doesn't know what to expect, and so when he steps through the bridge, she watches. And sees it. She sees the way he stands, the little movements. How he looks at the children. She sees it, sees all the little mannerisms that are so much, so achingly like Jack, like her husband, and for a moment her own anger rises up, only to die down quickly. She sees, and when she notices Jack's glare, looks back at the warlord, she sees an expression she knows from the mirror. June sees. She sees, and her thoughts begin to take a life of their own.

Megatron comes back with someone who both is and isn’t Optimus Prime. It makes Soundwave’s processor ache and he loathes it. It’s a blast to the past in all the worst ways. He remembers the beginning of the Decepticon movement with clarity that would put other cybertronians to shame in every aspect, and he remembers how Orion Pax was. He remembers and catalogues how Optimus is now. How much Orion he is. How much he will tear at Megatron’s fragile balance, how much he will destroy Megatron when he inevitably remembers. And he will. Oh, how he will. Soundwave remembers that Orion becomes Optimus again, and he thinks of the unique perspective he will have, having seen the fallout of this from both sides of the war. It simultaneously elates and terrifies him. He watches, and he sees when Starscream comes back, when he makes Optimus second-guess. He sees when Jack makes Orion Optimus again. And he cannot find it in himself to be surprised or even sad about the loss. It was meant to be like this. So why cry over spilled milk, to use the saying he heard a thousand times as a human child?

It's today. The date hangs above Breakdown's head like a noose, and it's pulling ever tighter, bit by bit until it feels as if his neck struts are breaking. They aren't, of course not, but it feels like they do. Knockout eyes him from the side, but he doesn't ask. It's probably better that way. His servos shake when he squares his shoulders to go through, to his death. He knows. He knew it was coming, but oh, he tried to shove it away. Dreadwing eyes him as well, but ignores it once they go through. Airachnid is waiting. Death is waiting. He hopes it will be quick.

He runs through the Groundbridge with a deafening roar, fusion cannon whining. Airachnid flinches back from Breakdown when she sees him, and moments later the charge built up in his cannon releases, hits. Megatron bares his teeth at the arachnicon, snarls. Breakdown is slowly getting up on the side, shaking and bleeding, but still ready to fight. He looks at Megatron in a way that reminds him achingly of Miko, back when he was still Jack, and for a moment it is as if time stands still. The moment is broken by Airachnid getting up with an enraged screech, and in a move he practiced oh so many times in the Pits, he slams her into the ground as she advances, claws closing over her voice box in an imitation of how they did on Bumblebee's throat at Tyger Pax. His dentas scrape over his scarred lips, he can hear Breakdown move to his side, and on pure impulse, he decides to talk.

"You once told Arcee that, should she extinguish your spark, that she should make it hurt. That you would extend that courtesy towards her." He hums, a feral grin on his faceplate.

"She answered that she isn't like you. Too bad that I am." Realization dawns on her face, right before his claws snap shut around her neck.

Soundwave watches when the groundbridge opens again. Breakdown comes through first, lacking an arm and bleeding all over the floor, but alive. Next comes Dreadwing, who looks shaken, and finally Megatron, who has a corpse slung over his shoulders with energon splattered all over him and dentas bared. He wonders why the Warlord wanted to go out, wanted to go after the others. Now he knows, and he feels his plating bristle at the sight of the arachnicon. The prone frame crashes into the ground, and the sight of a mauled throat and ripped open spark-casing is a sight familiar. He recognizes the handiwork of pitbound mechs intimately, and Megatron's even more than that. He tilts his helm, spots the small signs from ages ago, how Megatron holds himself, how the energon paints his frame. He compares. Nods. Points at the corpse, and gets an order to dispose of it. Knockout is going to have something new to play with, he decides, before looking at Breakdown, who flanks Megatron, and for a moment it feels as if his memories are superimposed above it. Connections flare to life, and behind his visor, his optics widen. This is familiar. Too familiar. He doesn't dare hope, doesn't dare to hope that he isn't the only one.

"I was supposed to die today." He sighs as he sits down on their shared berth, and not a second later he hears a clatter and Knockout storms inside with murder and shock written across his faceplate.

"What?"

"I was supposed to die today." He moans, and buries his own face in his servos.

"Remember when I told you that I used to be a femme?" His plates rattle in the equivalent of shuddering.

"I already died once, Knockout. I died, and I know I did." He feels the gentle servos of his Conjunx pry open his own servos, exposing his face, contorted in a grimace of grief and exhaustion.

"I died. I died as a squishy human, because I got run over by a car, and next thing I know I'm on Velocitron because Primus is a grade A Glitch." He howls, clutching Knockout's servos.

"I remember how my heart stopped. I remember that horrible cold seeping into my limbs, and next thing I know I'm a mech where I used to be a femme." His plates rattle louder, and he tries to curl up. Knockout moves along, slings his arms around him.

"I died, and then I have to find out that Primus somehow sent me into the past. Into the body of a mech I know died, because Airachnid killed him." His throat aches.

"You knew your death date." Knockout rasps, optics wide.

"You knew the when and how, and that time rarely bends. You knew that until then you wouldn't die." Horror is evident in his words.

"I did. And today all of that got challenged, because Megatron rushed in to save me. And for one moment it felt as if I was that human femme again, not yet an adult, and as if one of my friends was with me." The embrace becomes tighter, and Knockout rests his chin on Breakdown's shoulder.

"I don't know how to move on from here. So long I thought that I'd die today, and that nothing would matter afterwards, but here I am."

"We will figure it out. Together. We always did."

"Megatron wasn't always your name, was it?" He whirls around at the sudden intrusion into his quarters. For one moment he gets ready to send Breakdown out with a reprimand, but that dies the moment he sees the look on the still injured mech's faceplate. Knockout can be heard running closer down the hall, and Megatron can barely force out a "what" before the smaller mech continues.

"I remember when you still called yourself Megatronus down in the pits. I watched the match against Soundwave." The blue mech grumbles, then squints at the warlord.

"But that wasn't your first name either, right, Jack?" He smirks, and for a moment Megatron's world grinds to a standstill. He can hear his energon rushing through his audible, and that smirk... that smirk is so horribly familiar. His vents stutter, and so unlike himself, he stumbles backwards.

"How... who..." his claws clench around the air as if looking for something to steady himself. Then, just as Knockout barges in, panic on his white faceplate, Megatron speaks again, voice breaking.

"How do you know that name? How do you know about this?"

"Can't keep me down, just like you." Breakdown replies, coming out of the doorframe.

"The Hatchet used to be very annoyed by me." A self satisfied if a bit rueful expression.

"A few were. Hard not to if you barge in everywhere while being a squishy." The grin becomes wider.

"Welcome to Bot-swana." Oh. Oh.

"Miko?"

Soundwave does not dare hope. He saw the moments after Breakdown's rescue, saw the movements, the actions, the gazes. He saw, and for a singular moment he hoped that he wasn't the only one. He squashes this quickly, all too aware of how much fate likes to crush him and his. On his chest, Lazerbeak is sending nudges through the bond, trying to get him to divulge his thoughts. He sends back the equivalent of a gentle hug followed by a headshake, before the door to the bridge opens. Megatron comes in, followed by Knockout and Breakdown, with the latter carrying his Conjunx who looks a bit shaken. He tilts his head, gets ready to play off an audio... and stops. Megatron has an expression he hasn't seen in years, in millions of years. From back in the pits. When he still told stories. When he told stories that felt too familiar, if distorted by a voice he had feared as a child, but one that now meant comfort in routines. The warlord looks at him, then starts to speak. He speaks of fate. Of cruelty, of war, and of three who got pulled in. Too young to fight and yet involved. Of how they won, and of how they died a scant week later. He can feel his internal mechanics whirr, feels hope rise - and Megatron does not disappoint. An expression as foreign as it is familiar, and a name said almost painfully silent. Lazerbeak undocks on their own, pushes him towards his... his friend. Breakdown joins them a moment later, engines and voice box rumbling with laughter bordering on tears. He wasn't alone anymore. Soundwave wasn't alone. They all got through.

They slot together awkwardly, like puzzle pieces that should fit, but were stuck to a wrong piece for so long that they're damaged. They need to learn again how to work together, how to know each other. Their memories of each other are faded with time and sentimentality, and it's a process they can't accelerate. Breakdown is lost, still reeling from unexpected survival in a way Miko never had. Soundwave is grieving and restless, and still abhors his own voice, flinches every time he talks. Megatron is afraid of his own mind, knows of the rust sneaking in, of how his thoughts warp and change. He is angrier than before.. It takes them all a while until they understand each other better again. Knockout watches them, arms crossed and mind running at top speed. He is there, when Megatron tells of how the day at the Senate went. He is there, and his energon feels like ice when he blurts out his hypothesis. He wishes that Megatron would have denied it.

Knockout was not trained to be a processor surgeon. He was a general medic, and was technically trained as a beauty surgeon. He wasn’t qualified to do this. And yet, here he stands, over the opened helm of Megatron, and feeling ill at the sight of the rust. At the sight of the corruption that snuck in over four million years ago. The rust is purple in places. Dark Energon making it worse. Knockout isn’t trained for it. He goes for his tools.

The sound of a Groundbridge opening makes Megatron turn, a borderline nasty smirk on his faceplate. His arms are still crossed behind his back, and he seems almost leisurely in his assurance. Behind him, the other high ranking officers of the Decepticons shift, definitely more nervous.

"Ah, Prime. I shouldn't have worried." The sight of almost the entirety of Team Prime exiting the Groundbridge, weapons drawn, makes the smirk widen. It pulls and twists his scars.

"Always so reliable ." He tilts his head a bit.

"As you can see, I am not alone." I finally gestures, arms sweeping around.

"And I come with the offer... of a Truce." He bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile.

Jack stares up at the veritable gaggle of Decepticons in front of the team. They didn't expect them. At all. That was the only reason they even were allowed to come along. Almost in automatic response to the presence of the warlord, he can feel his spine straighten, feels his face becoming blank. When Miko makes a move to advance he catches her by the neck of her shirt, lips pulling up in a snarl.

"Stay." He doesn't say more. He doesn't have to. Not when Megatron looks at them with an expression eerily similar to his own.

"We are facing a common threat, Prime." A gesture to Breakdown, who steps forward with earth shattering steps and takes off that eye patch. The hole is gruesome.

"MECH. Stole my optic, 'n they're comin' for the rest too. Almost got offed by Airachnid. Lord Megatron took care of it, but no ten minutes after we left, with everythin' we could salvage, these vultures came. Took the last scraps." He sounds angry. Rightfully so.

"Vultures doesn't even come close, Breakdown. They were vivisecting you. That optic was taken out with you fully aware. Not even I am that depraved. I have standards." And that was, as far as Jack could tell, true. He knew them. He truly did. Not like this, yes, but this genuine anger and revulsion is familiar in its execution.

"I propose a truce, with the common goal to hunt this... MECH down." Megatron takes the wheel again, and it strikes Jack that the warlord seems to actually mean it. No weapons are drawn. The fusion cannon isn't humming to life. He just stands there. 

"Why should we believe you, huh? Last time you guys teamed up, Optimus lost his memories and you stole him from us!" Miko yells, and Jack flinches at the sheer volume.

"Who's to say you won't repeat that?" The warlord turns. And smiles. It's sharp. Sharp and terrifying.

"I remember you. Do you plan to make good on your threat? If so, I will look forward to it." He doesn't answer the question. He doesn't have to. Jack knows that he won't try that again. Pure gut instinct says he won't. (He is right.)

Optimus hesitates. Not long. But he does. After a moment however, he replies. 

"We accept." The words are solemn, and in some way ground breaking. The moment they leave his mouth, he can see the almost manic glee in Megatron's optics, the way Knockout and Breakdown slump in relaxation, the way that Soundwave stops standing like a statue. He doesn't know if this is the right choice. But he knows that they need this truce. That they need to repair the bridges burnt and the friendships broken. The sound of shuffling catches his attention  and when he turns, he can see Miko clawing at Jack's arms, being held back by the boy in question. 

"Let. Me. Go!" She doesn't sound happy. He understands it, but this truce is necessary. 

"Miko!" He startles. Jack snarled the name. He never had experienced the teens' anger before. Not truly. But this, this reminds him of the mech in front of him. And by the look on the other's face, he knows it as well.

"She would have made an excellent gladiator. She does not give up." To others it might sound condescending, but to him? Who learned Pit Kaoni and the art of fighting dirty at the other's side? To him it's startlingly nostalgic. It reminds him of when he still was Orion. It reminds him of easier times.

"She wouldn't have thrived in the Pit, old friend." It slips out in Pit Kaoni. He doesn't quite notice. And he also doesn't quite care.