Chapter Text
The battlefield was chaos—dust, smoke, and the searing glow of energon scattered across the cracked ground. Blaster fire cut through the air as Autobots and Decepticons clashed over something half-buried beneath the rubble: an ancient, pulsing relic no one truly understood.
“Megatron! Whatever lies within that artifact must not be unleashed!” Optimus voice rang clear, even above the roar of battle.
Megatron snarled, parrying a swing of the Prime’s energon axe with his fusion cannon, sparks flying between their locked weapons.
“Unleashed? You speak as if you know what it holds, prime. You fear what you cannot control!”
“I fear your greed will doom this world!”
Their strength was matched, but Megatron’s cannon twisted sharply, knocking Optimus back just enough for him to reach the relic. The thing pulsed violently—deep red, almost alive.
Before he could touch it, Optimus grabbed his arm, forcing the cannon away. “Don’t—!”
But the relic’s energy surged. A blinding light burst from the center, swallowing the battlefield in silence.
When the light faded, the sounds of war were gone.
Optimus groaned, optics flickering online. He pushed himself up from scorched earth—only, the earth was no longer scorched. The sky above was golden, unmarred by smoke or blaster fire.
And across from him, Megatron was stirring, armor dimmed, confusion etched in every line of his helm.
“…Megatron?”
The warlord’s optics narrowed as he scanned their surroundings. No Autobots. No Decepticons. Only the distant hum of machinery far too primitive to be Cybertron as they knew it.
“What have you done, Prime?”
Optimus frowned, stepping closer to the strange relic now lying dormant between them. “this... just teleported us, this isn't earth at all.”
Megatron’s optics glinted dangerously. “Obviously, prime. Then where—no… when—are we?”
...
The relic gave a faint pulse once more, like a spark still beating.
And for the first time in centuries, neither of them had an answer. The first thing Optimus felt was pain—a dull, grinding ache in his chest plating. Circuits buzzed faintly as he tried to push himself upright.
“By the AllSpark…” he murmured, voice rough with static. The world around him was dim, narrow walls rising high on either side—metallic, dented, and glowing faintly with old power conduits. The air smelled of oil and rust.
He blinked, trying to focus. This wasn’t the battlefield. A low growl caught his attention.
Megatron staggered out of the shadows, dragging one damaged arm against the wall for balance. Scorched metal lined his chassis, and one optic flickered, but his glare was unmistakable.
“Prime.”
Optimus steadied himself, energon leaking faintly from a gash near his shoulder. “You are injured.”
“And whose fault is that?” Megatron snapped, gesturing sharply. “You interfered, as always! You couldn’t let me claim what was rightfully mine.”
“Yours?” Optimus’ tone hardened. “Had you touched that relic, it may have destroyed us all.”
“It seems you accomplished that regardless,” Megatron hissed.
The two stared at one another across the dim alley, armor flickering with damage, the relic lying dead between them. Sparks fizzed in the silence.
Then Optimus’ optics narrowed. “…Do you hear that?”
Megatron frowned, turning his helm. Beyond the alleyway, faint sounds echoed—voices, machinery, the steady hum of a city alive. Not a battlefield. Not Earth.
“Impossible-” Megatron muttered, taking an unsteady step forward. “This… this architecture…” He reached out, brushing his claws against the wall’s worn engraving—ancient Cybertronian glyphs.
Optimus followed his gaze. The faint golden hue of the light above, the design of the conduits, the smell of refined energon in the air—
“Cybertron..” he breathed.
Megatron’s optics snapped toward him, sharp with disbelief. “You jest.”
Optimus glanced down the end of the alley, where glimpses of spires rose in the distance—bright and clean, unmarred by war. “No… Megatron. This is Cybertron.”
A long pause. The sound of the city beyond was too peaceful, too alive.
“…Then tell me, Prime.” Megatron said, voice low and edged, “where on Cybertron are we? Iacon? Or Kaon?”
Optimus’ optics dimmed slightly as he looked around. “I do not know.”
They both fell silent, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavier than their injuries.
Finally, Megatron scoffed, leaning against the wall with a painful grunt. “Perfect. Stranded with you in an era neither of us understands.”
Optimus knelt briefly, scanning the dormant relic. “We must conserve energy and find shelter before we attract attention.”
Megatron’s optics glinted dangerously. “You presume I will take orders from you, Prime?”
Optimus turned his helm slightly, his voice soft but commanding. “Then perish in the alley if you wish, Megatron. But I will not.”
For a moment, the silence stretched again—only the faint hum of the ancient city around them. Then, with a low snarl, Megatron pushed off the wall and followed.
Because even Megatron knew: whatever had happened, neither of them could survive this alone.