Work Text:
The end of the solar cycle was always boring, it had been since he first became online. Every solar cycle would look the same, recharge, go to work, come back to his habsuite, refuel, recharge. It was time for a change.
He held a small device awkwardly, just a little bigger than his servo, unsure of where to place it. Jazz had obtained it for him, a sort of terminal that could connect with other bots in an anonymous line as a way to add some life to his boring routine without getting in trouble. He left Orion to debate himself about whether to do it or not. In the dimness of his habsuite, it looked so similar to a datapad yet more primitive. Its UI was limited to pure text and a few buttons amongst them one to open a new conversation. The empty screen stared back at him as he hesitantly observed the button.
A new screen opened, welcoming to a loading screen with blinking text that offered creating an account or signing in. After signing in, a pairing option appeared. It took a while before opening to a blank screen. At the top were two buttons, one on each side; a cross and a “send” button. He tapped the screen hoping for a keyboard to appear that never did.
“Okay, no keyboard,” he mumbled, looking around for somewhere to plug in a portable one but instead found a stylo stuck to its left side. “Huh.”
He scribbled something down just as a test, still doubting. It was a door he was unsure he was willing to open or escape if he chose to go through. But he knew the world expanded beyond the bright skyline of Iacon and its misleading perfection. If he were to know the world, he might have to lend the view of others to see it for what it was.
From: 1004682
To: 0023821
::To Whom Receives This:
I hope this message finds you well. You might not know me, nor do I know you. But if there's something you were to know of me, it is that I am a bot eager to know the truth of this world. Assuming from your possession of this device, we both share a distrust of the vision painted to us of what is outside of our reach.
If it were the case that you shared this sentiment and were willing to lend me your perspective on the world around you, I would be happy to read back from you. ::
After sending it, nothing happened. A few dots appeared and then, nothing. It might take some time, he thought, after all that’s what Jazz had said. He waited for it for a while, hoping the blueish-white void of the screen would answer back in any way. But it never did, leaving him to go recharge with a hole in his chest.
•
Like every other solar cycle, Orion stood up the moment his alarm went off, polished off a few scratches and made his way to the Archives. The endless hallways were so quiet in the absence of Jazz, the other few archivists were too busy to make conversation or even acknowledge him. An uncomfortable worry grew in his mind, one he tried covering up with the never-ending list of tasks he had to complete. Even picked up more than what he would usually do, in an attempt to drown the anxious thoughts under a pile of datapads and information.
And it must have worked, because by the time he got back to his habsuite, his processor had forgotten about the piece of equipment that was lying on his berth. His attempts to pull his mind away from its presence were noble but unsuccessful. Sooner or later he was staring at the black screen of the terminal, digit hovering over the start button. One failed attempt after the other, it took almost a mega-cycle for him to gather the courage to press the button. A new text greeted him: “You got (1) letter.”
His optics went wide, spark thrumming its way out of his chassis. Having waited for too long already, he pressed the text bubble and began reading the letter.
From: 0023821
To: 1004682
:: To The Curious Mind
Intriguing invitation you have offered me, one I will consider with caution. In this age of surveillance, trust can’t be earned in short order. If what you write is sincere, I will be willing to share my fragment of this deceiving world at the cost of your time. For the time being, what you share with me will be returned in equal measure as long as it stays reasonable to our rapport.
I’ll be waiting for your reply,
The One That Will Answer::
It took him several reads to finally settle down the growing hope that was biting at his spark. For some unknown reason, it felt like a victory.
•
A solar cycle became two, then three and after that came another. Time slowed down at the Archives as he waited for the next letter to arrive. Sometimes it would take a single solar cycle at least, in other cases he could wait an entire orbital cycle awaiting it. Each time it was worth the wait. Granted, it had taken time to get to the part he was most interested in. He came to know his mysterious writer as “The One That Will Answer”, each time signing with that same title. For the first orbital cycles, they remained highly cautious, vaguely answering questions with details so loosely defined that anybot could fit it. Conversations between them were mundane, not precisely what he had signed up for. But they would sprinkle just the right amount of information to keep Orion hooked. It took a whole stellar cycle to get them to be more precise. He was also to blame, taking his own anonymity seriously. Messaging always took some time, he would slip away occasionally, too buried in work to think of his next letter, leaving his reader to wonder whether they would know anything of him soon.
On the rare occasions he would have a moment away from the dullness of his job, away from his habsuite, he would wonder who held the other end of the letters. Had they ever crossed paths without knowing? For the first three stellar cycles, he suspected they were from Iacon, just like him. But as the lines of the image of who they were became more vivid, Iacon disappeared from the portrait. It intrigued him. His curiosity overflowing on one occasion, leading him to ask them directly if the city they described was Iacon, possibly revealing his own location. For the first time, the answer he got wasn’t ambiguous or convoluted. The answer was a simple no. Perhaps not the most informative response but it was a step forward. All the direct questions had been either dodged or answered so unclearly that he might as well gotten no answer. There was a delicate balance in their game of give and take that only a bot of such patience could play. Shedding the distrust took stellar cycles, and every tiny victory was the sweetest incentive to keep going. The wait for the next letter seemed endless sometimes, a new piece to add to the jigsaw puzzle. In the blurry picture, Orion found a friend. Details were always scarce, but he could find comfort in the triviality of their conversations. Spending mega cycles choosing what to say, what to ask, and hoping for answers. There could go orbital cycles of only talking of their boring jobs and dreading the next shift, to dissecting the ruling system of Cybertron.
A stellar cycle became two, and so forth. For centuries, in an inconsistent yet reliable flow, the letters always arrived at Orion. Fanning the flames of his desire for change.
•
It was still unclear to him how Jazz had got him permission to leave Iacon, much less how he got tickets for the next event at Kaon’s Pits. But after hearing about this gladiator who spoke of equality and freedom from Orion for the thousandth time, the investigator found a way. The match had been brutal in more than one sense, bots erupting in celebration and praises to the champion. Both gladiators and beast stood no chance against the silver mech, the same one Jazz and Orion had crossed paths with after sneaking into the backstage. The investigator’s charm had gotten them there so far, but face to face with an energon-stained mech they both stumbled with words. The mech was far more impressive being so close, the scars all over his frame brought some bashfulness to the archivist. So that cycle’s biggest mystery was how Orion had gotten himself a private conversation with Megatronus, Champion of Kaon.
A mech with a yellow visor poured a generous amount of bright blue energon into the smaller cube. The smoothness and the glimmer of the drink made Orion sink into the cushioned seat. Once done filling both cubes to the brim, the mech made a small bow and disappeared between the colourful beaded curtains that clattered against his plating.
On the other side of the table, he sat in silence. A wide but earnest smile, and those optics full of fascination that so often visited Orion on his recharge. He had seen them in the replays of his matches, but no close-up was nearly as impressive as the real ones. Hungrily waiting for the next thing that would escape his intake. Something predatory about his gaze kept him alert as Megatronus had ignored the cubes and the mech that had served them. Attentively observing the red and blue mech pick his cube in slow motion.
“Being a celebrity must be good,” Balancing the nearly overflowing cube was hard work but he managed to bring it to his intake without a spill.
“If you suggest I got this place by abusing my popularity, I will regret to inform you that you’ll be wrong.” Megatronus immediately returned, smile not changing. “I pay as everyone else does.”
“I didn’t mean it as an accusation,” his optics went wide as he left the cube back in place.
“You’re not the first bot of a higher class that wishes to meet me,” his tone was soft compared to the sharp angles that covered his frame. “If I am to be honest, I chose this place for your own comfort. Something more akin to you, perhaps.”
Orion let out a short laugh, “I’m an archivist, we are still considered low class.”
“Yet you come from Iacon, this,” he made a gesture with his servo, showing off the place. “It’s the closest Kaon can get to it.”
The place and Orion did share a thing in common: how out of place they were. In the sharp and grim atmosphere that engulfed Kaon, a bot as rounded and vibrant as he stuck out too much. Soft music played in the background. Quiet and peaceful, the oilhouse was private and comfortable, even if its luxurious aspect unsettled the Iaconian.
“It’s…nice. Really nice.” He shrugged with an apologetic smile. The way the bigger mech sprawled on the cushioned seat distracted in more ways than just intimidation.
Megatronus straightened his backstruts and pulled himself forward, “So tell me, little archivist, what brings you here? I can’t find a reason a bot like you would risk so much to get all the way here.”
“I am sure you have your theories, you are a smart mech.”
Megatronus huffed with a smirk, “Am I?”
“Yes,” he tried to sound the most matter of fact he could despite feeling the heat from his faceplate. “I am intrigued by your speeches and proposals, it’s nothing like what I have heard. Not out loud.”
“What I preach has been long due, I firmly stand by my words, this system is rotten.” There was this switch in his blue gaze, from flirtatious to dead serious. But Orion wasn’t willing to be intimidated so easily, or show it at least.
“I also came here to realise your presence is quite felt in Kaon, beyond the Arena’s walls.”
“What can I say? Kaon loves a good show and it’s tired of the oppressive leash the Council has on its bots.”
Orion smiled at his drink, which he held with both servos, “And even then, outside this sector, your message is barely a rumour.”
“I am aware the Council wishes to silence the noise.”
“That is true,” their blue optics met once more, “but there is more to it than that.”
“Is it?” Interest laced his tone.
“The higher classes have crossed you over as a ‘’bothersome anarchist’’, not something any of them is willing to listen to. And I'm not talking about the highest ranks, most bots my rank see you as trouble, nothing more to note.”
“I am very aware of my inflammatory effect, this revolution is an inconvenience at best for them. In their comfort, why would they bother?”
“What I mean to say is that I agree with your beliefs of injustice, change is needed. But if you aim to reach out of Kaon’s clasp, you will need to change your approach.”
He saw the silver mech readjust himself in his seat, “You make a convincing argument, Little Archivist. I’m listening.”
Some pride nested on Orion’s spark, “if you want to spread the message I would suggest measuring the aggressiveness down. I understand why it works in the Arena, but it might not have the same impact on more…”
“Civilised?” He raised an optic ridge, smirking at his.
“I was going to say nonbelligerent. Going to war should be the last resort, not the selling pitch.”
“You can not deny it certainly makes the most noise.” Megatronus raised his cube, making a silent toast before taking his first sip.
“It does, but it can discredit the rest of the discourse.”
Megatronus' piercing gaze retreated to his drink, which he started swirling. Testing how far he could go before spilling it.
“I’ll not cut short my message, the truth must be heard.” His tone was firm, in a convincing delivery. But his optics remained softer than they had started, “but if it is for the better good, I would gladly take your suggestions.”
•
For a mech with such way with words, Megatronus spoke less than Orion had expected him to during their conversation. The champion listened and spoke only briefly, making smart remarks about whatever they were going through. He was just too fixated on the smaller bot to comment, something he had noticed but ignored for the sake of not blushing. The way back to the train station was far more pleasant, something Orion attributed to the engex they had shared after refuelling. It made him loosen up enough to ignore the glances they got when their frames brushed a little too long to consider it an accident. They shared their comm links before Orion joined Jazz in the last train back to Iacon. A pair of blue optics observed Orion’s from outside the cabin with a yearning he wished to see again.
And he did. Because after that night he would find Megatronus at the top of his comm link conversations. The gladiator had more charm outside the Pits, one that drew the archivist further into his narrative. Every time he was greeted by the huge mech at Kaon’s station. Meetings at the same oilhouse were few before Megatronus left Kaon to dedicate himself fully to politics. But now in Iacon, their reunions were nearly daily. Although, things were less political on most occasions. Conversations got more personal. Their optics met for longer; they stopped needing to be high on engex to brush the plating of their sides. Sharing smiles that invited to something else they never named or reached. The breach between their seats became shorter with each meeting. Their digits would ‘’accidentally’’ touch when refuelling, but no one would say anything. Not even when they intertwined. Only Jazz pointed it out a few times when he had been there to witness it. Hundred times more had gone without someone to attest to it. Long walks at the back of the Archives far from the view of anybot would fill Orion’s breaks. Laughs and smiles that only they could savour. When he closed his optics, he could still see the scars on the silver plating, proudly adorning a mech that somehow had broken the intimidating appearance he had started with only to bring sweetness now.
Yet it didn’t go further than that. By the end of the cycle, Orion would return to his habsuite alone, haunted by the looks of that silver mech, answer any letters he might have received, and go to work the next morning.
•
Orion Pax would have most likely never imagined seeing the building where he had resided for centuries turned into rubble and molten metal. Optimus Prime only had to look right in front of him.
Being chosen as Prime was unexpected, his life turned around so quickly that he hadn’t been able to return to his habsuite in orbital cycles. Whether it had been intentional or just another casualty of the war, the place was left in shambles. Stepping carefully between the ruins, he searched for the smallest ray of familiarity. Bots had evacuated before the bombing that had been under the name of someone he considered a friend. Someone who had also changed his name and mind too apparently. The thought gnawed at his spark until he caught a glimpse of an all too familiar object. He kneeled between the wreckage, scratching at the surface until he managed to pull the device out. Its screen was shattered, the edges were chipped and full of scratches. It was smaller in his servo, they had both changed. But when his digit pressed its button, it was like it had been for years. And it responded, a single letter greeted him. His optics grew bigger by each klik that went by, scanning over and over again the letter, an unnatural shake taking over his frame.
From: 0023821
To: 1004682
:: To The Curious Mind
I hope this letter finds you well, as it might be the last one we shall share. Over the last centuries, our conversations were the anchor that kept my spark from extinguishing. In their simplicity lay the sole comfort I was allowed. Your visions of a better future away from the chains that bound us emboldened me, corroding the bars of my cage. So I thank you, for freeing me, for igniting the fire of the revolution in me. Now, I shall spread its flames across Cybertron, to find the peace we so dreamed about.
I hope I don’t live to regret not knowing your designation. May the future bring us together once more to build our vision.
Rise up, my dear muse, our time has come,
Megatron of Kaon::
——•••——
He had embraced the vastness of the universe as his chastisement and his home. There was peace in his solitude, but there were limits to how realistic it was to stay as far from Cybertron. If he didn’t intend to die, he would have to get fuel every so often. Being in neutral territory allowed him to have access to Cybertronian technology, and with his new frame, everyone was none the wiser. Most other species saw him just as any Cybertronian that came through fuel stations. Only bots kept a watchful eye, something he had no real answer about but respected nonetheless. He didn’t trust himself these days either.
This oilhouse was new to him, just like most others he had visited, rarely going back to the same one. It was adorned with all sorts of trinkets that hung over all the walls. He recognised a few as Cybertronians, striking him with a sense of nostalgia. The drink on his servo swirled slowly, sitting in a corner, there was little to do other than observe and try to identify the decorations. It was then that he noticed it. Amongst other more shiny or complex objects, the terminal was easy to miss.
His inspection continued, but his mind had stuck with the device. It had been millions of years since he had seen one. He still remembered what had occurred to him, something he regretted occasionally, he had bigger regrets to torment him. He remembered sending a last letter to his mysterious friend, hoping to hear something back. But orbital cycles had gone by and he had received no response. Anger had already been puppeteering him for a while, so grief moved in swiftly. He had still been young and reckless, slamming his terminal against the ground, fracturing its screen and rendering it useless to be forgotten in the back of his mind.
With a wave of his servo, he called one of the servers at the establishment. It took some time and more credits than he had anticipated, or that the device was worth, but in the end, he held the terminal in his possession. Shifty digits tapped the screen as it booted up. It took some memory to remember his key to his account but when it finally loaded, he was greeted by a large number of old unopened letters. All from the same sender.
Having already paid, he stood in silence and left.
•
From: 1004682
To: 0023821
:: To Megatronus of Kaon
In the infinite possibilities of this cosmos, I would have never thought that we would have matched by mere coincidence. Of such different worlds we came, and twice we collided. I see it now as Primus’ design, the path of something greater and the harmonious vision we both once shared.
In our ways, we can guide our world to something greater, together, finally. The thousand conversations we shared, they were all with a purpose.
Do not abandon our vision.
Yours,
Orion Pax::
From: 1004682
To: 0023821
::To Megatronus of Kaon
Heavy is my spark from the cycle you left my side, torn from me by a disaster I fail to piece together. I wonder how much these letters meant to you, your silence making me question your existence. Did the honest mech I sat next to for so long never exist? Did your words carry any meaning to you? The letters that bind us together before our frames did, did they mean anything to you? Did our dreams ever align or was it all a fraud?
Your silence aches me, and yet, I hold to the idea of you.
Sincerely,
Optimus Prime::
From:1004682
To: 0023821
::To Megatronus of Kaon
By each passing cycle, I find myself searching through the words we shared the lost image of you. The pieces warp and change before my optics, as the shattered view of that sweet and smart mech disappears. Submerging my mind in the memory of blue optics, smart and ambitious. Your name doesn't dare to leave my spark, even if the world forgot it was once how you were called. In every clash, I mourn the death of two bots. Two bots that could have been together making way for the world they described in hundreds of letters. Bots who I wished had held each other longer and found their peace united.
I mourn you from the day you left, and somehow I still wait for your return.
Bidding for your return,
Optimus Prime. ::
From: 1004682
To: 0023821
::To Megatron of Kaon
In recharge, I wonder if violence had always been a second nature that ran in the back of your processor. Or is it the ghost of your scars, chaining you to the only thing you knew for so long? What was that mech that held my servo after a long cycle of work? The poet who stood against injustice? The one who wished for the salvation of our people. The lines of that smile blur in my mind, the vision that we both had, was it you? Was it meant to escape my grasp?
In your silence and in your wrath, I can’t picture the bot you were.
And still, I wait,
Optimus Prime::
From: 1004682
To: 0023821
:: To Megatron of Kaon
I revisit those words, the ones that tied our destinies. I was blind to your rage as I was to the real ailment of our world once. Fueling your anger, I share the guilt of the loss of that poet I looked after. Too young to see the seething pain corrupting you, charmed by your words and that glow in your optics. Our fates intertwined for the demise of the world, I find myself as guilty as you. And after all the destruction, in the ruins of our world, I find imposible to hate the same mech I once loved.
You opened my optics once, and now in the ruins of our world, you are all I can see. ::
From: 1004682
To: 0023821
::To Megatron of Kaon
The longer this goes on, the war, the death, the pain, the more inevitable it seems. And I refuse to see a world without you. Why? Why must you haunt me? I’m the weakest child of Primus. Because I see what is needed to bring an end to it all, and I let it escape me. The thought of your death dims my spark, and why? I am less for clinging to the idea of that gladiator who fought for the truth? Why must things be like this? Why must we stay apart?
Will you still answer? ::
From: 1004682
To: 0023821
::To Megatron of Kaon
I still love you. Why?::
•
The Archives weren’t as glorious as they once were but the repairs were impressive. Its grandiose interior still visited him in recharge, memories of walking with someone dear plagued him with guilt. He wished to have more time to admire the building but having alerted the bots around it didn’t take long before he found himself surrounded. Apparently, the Autobots’ animosity towards him made their senses more acute than those of the neutrals, his new frame not fooling them. His cannon whispered with excitement at the barks of soldiers lining up at his back. But he remained still, observing the grand building that flooded him with memories of better times. Of long cycles of conversations with a young archivist who no longer existed. His smarts and kindness lost, and for what?
He found himself unable to care for the threats of mechs or when the stasis cuffs locked on his back. Having broken his self-imposed exile, there was no will in his spark or strength in his frame from the long trip. Whatever they did to him, it didn’t matter, he was as good as dead. He could sense the confusion amongst the bots that held him prisoner, but their voices were only distant echoes.
“I understand,” a voice broke at the end of the hall. It pulled his mind out of the pool of guilt it was submerged in. Steps were heard, the voice seemed more like an illusion, but something made him raise his optics from staring at the floor of his cell. They danced low towards the wall, away from the bars that kept him locked. Audials remained sharp, trying to relive that voice he couldn’t forget.
Someone was standing by the entrance, the shadow projected on the ground made it evident. Too big to be anybot, too familiar to be a stranger. A ghost, a delirium from being low in fuel. Perhaps he had been shot by the Autobots during their standstill. So he remained immobile.
“Megatron.” The voice called with a softness he had forgotten was possible, freezing him in place.
“You’re dead.” Everyone knew it, not long after he left Cybertron, Optimus Prime had committed the ultimate sacrifice and left to the All-Spark. So why did he sound so real?
“Listen to me.”
“No, you’re not real.” He had to see it for himself, expecting to see nothing or perhaps an impostor. But he was there, Optimus Prime. His blue optics lighted the dark row of cells, a thin veil of hope on their sadness. Of so many stellar cycles of fighting, facing each other so brutally; the comfort they brought was hard to embrace. He could feel his spark drumming in the deep of his chassis and still he asked, “Am I dead?”
The bars deactivated, only the strangeness separating them now. Unable to move, Prime was the first one to close it.
“No. I am here.” The words echoed in the small cell. “With you.”
Hesitantly, Megatron stood uneasy, disbelief made his face twitch. The cell was big enough to hold both and some space, yet this closeness was suffocating. Silence stretched its claws between them, sharing indecipherable stares.
“Why are you here?” Optimus gentleness was gone, more like the mech Megatron knew during the war, stoic and firm.
A fair question. And so he doubted about answering. The travel had been long and he had plenty of time to turn around, even fight back the Autobots who he would have been able to push back enough to escape the planet. But he didn’t.
“How are you still alive?” He didn’t try to hide his confusion in his voice, sorrow peaking through. The lights behind Optimus made his silhouette ethereal, as if in any moment he would merge with it and disappear.
“I need you to answer me first.”
He chose to risk it, against his better judgment, Megatron turned to pull the terminal out of his subspace. At any moment, the ghost of the Prime could disappear. But even if this was a lie, he found nothing else to lose.
Prime’s optics widened at the sight of the device, he was going still as Megatron extended the terminal towards him.
“I got your letters.” Optimus grabbed the terminal carefully, quietly staring at his red optics lost in the fight they carried for millennia. “There were so many things left unsaid. But you carrying my sins to the grave…”
He had to look away, the sorrow in those blue optics mangled his spark cutting his voice.
“I came to answer for the last time.”
The admission didn’t free him, only sank him more. And the silence that followed only made it worse.
It was the slow touch that pulled his servo away from his side that made him return his sight to the mech. Memories of smaller servos holding him like that after long matches came to him, somehow they felt the same.
“I’m glad you did.”
There wasn’t a single other thing other than sincerity in his tone. One that zapped all the strength of his war-made frame.
“I…” his voice betrayed him but a pressure in his servo came to his rescue. “I am glad too.”
In the coldness of the cell, their shared warmth was all the consolation he could aspire to. Its familiarity was intoxicating, calling a lost version of himself, one that never gave in to it. He had been a coward in his youth, too resentful with the world to listen to the most important bot in his life. To take the peaceful path, lost in anger and greed. And now he had in front of him all he ever truly wanted.
“Maybe in another world…” Megatron mumbled.
A second servo picked up the other.
“Well, this is a new Cybertron, it could be our other world.”
“Optimus…”
“I didn’t give up then, I will not do it now.” The authority in his tone left no doubt on the old mech’s spark. The distance between them disappeared with a last step of Prime. He could feel the blue gaze trailing the scars in his face. A part of him wished to protest, to push back and rot in that same cell. But he was unable to fight what his spark had yearned for so long. “Will you stay for me?”
He caressed the servos that held him in the way he should have done many stellar cycles before.
“I’m not the bot you once knew.”
“I disagree.” Optimus’ face was too close to his, his blue optics reflecting light on the grey metal. “You are the same bot I loved all along.”
Damn him if it was all a lie but he was willing to go along. With no words to help him, he made his move. In slow motion, he pressed his dermas against Optimus’.
Maybe one day he could learn to say I love you back.