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Optimus invented, steeling her resolve. She would not back down or cower, not from anyone and certainly not from this. She cycled her optics and stepped onto the podium, instant applause reaching her audials. Whether or not they were applauding because they wanted to or did it because they had to, that didn’t matter. Even if they didn’t want to listen, Optimus would make them.
She held up a single servo, and in an instant the auditorium fell silent. She nodded, setting her servos onto the railing. She retracted her battle mask, raising her voice to be thunderous and clear.
“My fellow Decepticons, one and all! All of us who were made to fight for and serve the Autobot regime, only to be tossed away at the soonest opportunity.” Optimus inclined his helm, looking around the crowd below at all the different faceplates. “I ask that you remember when you first donned the name of the Decepticons– what was it that you wanted? Why did you choose to fight in the name of Decepticons? Some mechs join in the name of avenging one close to them who was wronged, while others made the choice for their own sake. Some join simply because the Autobots are unjust, whether or not they’re able to live in that repressive society.”
Managing the resources of the Decepticons was no easy task. While Optimus no longer had the job of leading troops in battle — at least, not for now — she had quickly replaced the loss of that duty with several others. Diplomacy between the Autobots and other empires, assisting Strika with the structuring of New Kaon in order to ensure that the Decepticons remained content enough to not bother trying to start their own sector, writing and performing dozens of speechless all across the territory the Decepticons called their empire, strategizing their next moves whether it be raids or meetings, and of course documenting and managing the limited resources they now had access to. Sometimes Optimus wished to put her helm through the desk and go to sleep for twelve stellar cycles, but that was not an option. Optimus was not so vain as to think that the entirety of the Decepticons relied solely on her, but she was certain that the loss of her contributions would make things much harder for everyone else.
Heavy pedes clanged against the floor, and Optimus recognized them as Megatron’s without having to even look up from her data pad.
“Lord Megatron,” Optimus inclined her head in a silent bow. “Is something wrong?”
Megatron narrowed his optics, considering. “No,” he finally said. “Unless there is something you wish to report to me?”
“There is not,” Optimus shook her head. “I am simply helping to draft agreements between the refugees of New Kaon and Strika. The Decepticons there have been in an uproar over lack of energon imports. You may look over them now, if you’d like.”
Megatron waved a dismissive servo. “Send them to me when you are finished,” he said, walking over to stand beside her, looking out at the starry abyss the windows in her office provided. The Nemesis had a few rooms like this, serving more purpose for vanity than war. It suited a mech like Megatron, she felt. “If the Decepticons in New Kaon have a problem with my leadership, bring them to me. I will sort out their scruples.”
Optimus spoke carefully. “I wouldn’t want to waste your time and energy punishing every mech on New Kaon. Besides,” she finished with another page of the draft, pushing it to the side. “If there is only the threat of violence with no reward for compliance, eventually the Decepticons will stop fearing punishment entirely. There’s no point in obeying if the slightest dissent will get retribution. That will only encourage the Decepticons to revolt— we’re quite good at doing that, I hear.”
She earned an amused hum from Megatron. He nodded once.
“Very well. If it becomes a further issue, I expect you to report directly to me.”
“Of course, my lord.” Optimus bowed her head once more.
“Optimus,” Megatron laid a firm servo on her shoulder, gripping it tight enough to leave the smallest of dents. “I have a task for you.”
Optimus looked at him. “Oh?”
“I’m certain you recall Blitzwing and his surgery?”
Blitzwing. Optimus hadn’t heard that name in a while. They’d interacted most during the Great War, back when Optimus would swoop down from the skies to cover any assault he could not see coming, the countless megacycles spent in a room with him and several other lieutenants in Megatron’s High Command, hunched over a table as they planned their next move. Blitzwing had always been an amusing — if finicky — presence. He was particularly fond of invading Optimus’ personal space, but he had grown distant after the war. Optimus struggled to recall a moment in the last few stellar cycles where they’d said more than a few words to each other.
“I remember hearing about it from Blackarachnia,” Optimus said. “Did it go well?”
Megatron didn’t say anything. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Blitzwing is still online,” Megatron said eventually, “but he is unstable. He switches between cackling insanity and brutish force for seemingly no reason at all. He’s unfit for common Decepticon society.”
Optimus remained silent as she took the information in.
“I want you to act as his handler,” Megatron said. “You’re more affable to mechs than any of my other lieutenants could hope to be. It would be unfortunate to lose a loyal Decepticon to his own broken mind. You are to readjust him to Decepticon society and return him to the loyal lieutenant he used to be.”
Optimus nodded. “Yes, Lord Megatron.”
“See to it that it is done soon,” Megatron let go of her shoulder to grab the smooth metal of her jaw, his thumb caressing the chipped surface of her battle mask. Impossibly, he seemed to soften a touch— however much a warlord like Megatron could ‘soften.’ “I do not expect failure from you, Optimus.”
“I know,” Optimus felt his digits slowly pull away from her faceplate. “I will not fail.”
“See to it that you do not,” Megatron purred, stalking back to the entrance of her office, “and Optimus, when you are finished with your drafts, I expect you to meet me in my habsuite.”
With that, he left, already knowing Optimus’ answer. Optimus huffed, the mild flush staining her faceplate hidden by her mask.
Sometimes she felt like Megatron had gotten too comfortable being a mech no one would dare tell to shut up. Unfortunately, Optimus was not willing to risk her spark to try and provide such a service.
“As Cybertronians, it is our nature to transform, to adapt to our circumstances and rise above them, to right how we have been wronged. That ability to change, striving for a better future– it’s incredible, I’m sure you’d agree. Over the course of billions of years, Decepticons and Autobots have clashed long before those labels even existed. It is the power to change, to transform, that has continued our race all these years, and that potential is something no other species has.”
Optimus was guided to a dimly lit room and given a data pad containing Blitzwing’s medical information. He recognized the rooms as one of the old meetings rooms that had been used for more high-security operations back during the war. It came with soundproofed walls and a door that was impossible to unlock unless you knew the specific code.
Is this where they had been keeping Blitzwing while he recovered from the surgery?
Two other Decepticons went into an adjoined room while Optimus sat down at the table. He hadn’t been given much information beforehand, but he knew enough to hopefully make a good impression. From the sounds of it, Blitzwing had essentially been placed into solitary confinement while they recovered. This had the added benefit of no one seeing them in this new state, however it meant that Blitzwing likely hadn’t had any sustained social contact in solar cycles.
“Stupid—! Slag-eaters—!” A furious voice spat as it was dragged out of the other room.
It was Blitzwing. Duller than Optimus had ever seen him, now with small wings on his arms and two cannons instead of one on his back. The two Decepticons sat him down at the table, holding him there like a wild cybercat.
“Let them go,” Optimus commanded. The two Decepticons hesitated, but quickly obeyed at his hard stare. “Thank you. You may leave now.”
“Are you certain?” One of the Decepticons asked, nervously looking back at Blitzwing like he would bite at any second. “He’s unpredictable, you know. You should’ve seen how he left the last medic who came in here—“
“Last I checked, Lord Megatron ordered me to oversee his recovery, not you,” Optimus said, his voice firm and harsh as he narrowed his optics. “Unless you’re questioning his commands, I’d recommend you do as I said and leave me to do my job.”
Sufficiently cowed, the two Decepticons left, shutting the door and locking it behind them. Optimus exvented and turned back to Blitzwing.
His faceplate looked different from how Optimus remembered it. It was pure black with red optics and sharp red teeth. He cocked his helm.
“Who are you?” Blitzwing asked, their voice light and giggly.
“My name is Optimus,” he said. “Do you remember me?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Who knows!” Blitzwing cackled. “I’m crazy, aren’t I? Who’s to say I haven’t just made you up!”
“I’m quite real, though I understand if you don’t believe me,” Optimus said, faintly amused. He held out his servo. “In that case, I’d say it’s nice to meet you.”
Blitzwing stared at his servo suspiciously. Then, with a grin, they grabbed it and squeezed, like they were trying to pop a circuit. Optimus didn’t flinch or avert his optics as they tried to make him break. Blitzwing sighed dramatically, slumping their shoulders as they gave up.
“You’re no fun,” Blitzwing complained.
“I get that a lot,” Optimus said.
Then, there was a clicking sound as their faceplates spun, going from pure black to soft red. Two fierce optics glared fire at Optimus, square pupils set in a glower.
“Why are you even here?!” Blitzwing demanded, slamming his fist on the table. “Are you here to scramble my circuits some more like every pit-damned Decepticon that enters this room?”
Optimus hummed. “You seem pretty straightforward so I’ll be blunt. Megatron has assigned me to be your handler as I help you adjust back to Decepticon society and back to being one of his lieutenants. He hoped sending me here would ease the process for you.”
Blitzwing scoffed. “It’s not as if I can choose to not be a Decepticon. It’s that or die. Why are you really here?”
Optimus considered that. “I don’t know if you remember this, but we worked together well back in the war. I suppose I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll have me.”
Blitzwing scoffed, slamming his fist against the table again. “Like I’d be stupid enough to believe some slag like that! You should know there are no friends among Decepticons. It’s more likely you just want to use me.”
“Blitzwing, you’re currently trapped in a room while every bot around treats you like a wild cybercat,” Optimus said bluntly. “If I were to look for mechs to take advantage of to advance my already high position, it would not be you.”
Blitzwing blinked, surprised by Optimus’ words. Optimus took advantage of the brief moment of consideration. He retracted his battle mask and smiled.
“I want to help you, Blitzwing,” he promised, “and I don’t think you want to be stuck here with Decepticons who treat you like you’re not a living mech capable of hearing what they say about you. I don’t think you deserve that life.”
Blitzwing remained silent. Their face switched to cool blue.
“… I don’t exactly have any say in this matter,” they said sardonically. Optimus hummed.
“Be that as it may, your opinions here matter to me,” Optimus removed a small jar of Energon sticks from his subspace, an old treat Blitzwing used to enjoy. “I don’t know if you still like these, but I brought them just in case.” As a sign of goodwill, he made sure to take one himself first and take a bite. Blitzwing used to share them with Optimus whenever the two of them were alone together, either stuck in the throes of battle or just wandering about the halls of the Nemesis alone.
Cautiously, Blitzwing took one for themselves. “I don’t have much other choice,” they said. “I suppose I have no choice but to rely on you.”
Optimus smiled with all his teeth. “I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.”
“We could even say that us Decepticons, who adapt and change to survive our exile and right how we’ve been wronged, are more Cybertronian than any other Autobot. But what has been the reality? Our hopes, our dreams and desires— none of that matters to the Autobots. No one has ever considered us, not when we’ve fought their wars and lose our lives to them. Until millions of stellar cycles ago, we were unable to do anything but bear our fate and suffer the scorn of Autobots who we were made to serve. Our emotions were trampled on, and exploited for someone else’s sake.”
“Careful,” Optimus caught Blitzwing by the servos before they could fall, engaging her thrusters just enough to support the weight of two warmechs until Blitzwing was able to reengage their own.
“This is slagging impossible!” Blitz spat, furious optics now hidden behind a visor. Optimus had been able to deduce that their optics struggled with sight, particularly with seeing things close up. So she put in an order for a visor– Blitzwing had requested a bright red color.
“It’s definitely not fun,” Optimus said, faintly amused. She had been made with wings and with the knowledge of how to use them, so she didn’t struggle when it was time to take to the skies. She had definitely refined her flight patterns over the past million stellar cycles, though. “You’re doing well.”
It was oddly freeing to not have to be harsh. Unlike the young soldiers Optimus used to train, she didn’t have to use a more firm servo with Blitzwing. They had plenty of time for him to get a handle on flying, there was no looming threat of war that was certain to kill any who stepped pede on the battlefield. Though sometimes it was difficult to harden her spark to the young Decepticons who cried to her about her cruelty and asked for just a single concession, just for one day, Optimus refused. She had to train them to be strong enough to withstand the Autobots, their cruelty and violence, their assurance of their own superiority over the warframes who they had made to fight their battles. She knew that if even one of her troops survived, they would realize what she had done for them and thank her.
If any of her cadets felt she was too harsh or violent, she could always send them over to Strika and Lugnut for a few decacycles and see how forgiving she was by comparison. Her cadets usually came back quieter and more understanding after that.
“Not well enough for Lord Megatron,” Blitzwing snapped.
“That’s true,” Optimus said. “We should continue practicing until it is, in that case.”
It was a slow process, teaching Blitzwing to fly. He was a tank, used to having the ground beneath his pedes. Even when he was in the sky, there was a difference between hovering on unsure thrusters and actually being able to maneuver the air to your intent. Wings showed an impressive proficiency with it for a mech who had presumably never flown before, but he wasn’t at the front too often, at least not whenever Optimus was around. Regardless, Optimus aimed to teach all of Blitzwing’s alters how to fly, not just one or two. Too often Optimus would find herself leading Blitzwing along while he looked about as natural as an Autobot in a room full of Decepticons.
“It’s like dancing,” Optimus tried one day, recalling Zing’s fondness for it. “Whether you’re in your alt or root mode, it’s all about being quick and precise in your movements. You have to be sure– a meandering aircraft is a dead one.”
That didn’t get her anywhere, but it was a good effort. Perhaps a ‘tough love’ approach would be needed.
“Take my servo,” Optimus urged, holding out hers for Blitzwing to grab. “I want to show you something.”
The Nemesis had parked back on New Kaon for the time being, giving Optimus and Blitzwing gravity to assist in their flight training. Optimus knew Blitzwing hadn’t been able to see much of it since his surgery, so this was as good a time as any to show him a nice view of the settlement.
Wings narrowed his optic at her and scoffed. “Is it a pool of lava?” He groused, but nonetheless obeyed.
“No,” Optimus smiled beneath her mask, amused. The turbines on her wings roared to life, strong enough to carry both her and an uncertain triple changer.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Strika had a fortress built for herself to help her run the planet,” Optimus explained. “It’s not finished yet, but she’s already completed half of it. There’s a tower that gives you a wonderful view of the planet.”
Blitzwing remained skeptical, but allowed Optimus to lead him across the sky and to Strika’s stronghold. She should get back to drafting and writing agreements between the Decepticons of New Kaon and the cobbled-together governance they’d managed to scrounge together. Trying to rebuild society as a faction of functional exiles was hard, but it would be even more difficult if the Decepticons hadn’t managed to secure a foothold in Cybertron through the treaty.
There was very little the Autobots wouldn’t pay in exchange for the Magnus Hammer.
“Here we are,” Optimus said, touching down on the landing pad. She admired the construction, the sharp stalagmite-like architecture with black-purple metal, then turned to Blitzwing. They regarded the place with a level of intrigued skepticism. Optimus smiled, showing her teeth.
“Look,” she beckoned their attention, directing it towards the sight of the encampments. Their optic sparkled with surprise, so mesmerized they followed Optimus as she approached the edge. “It’s so soon after the war and they’ve already begun construction. It’s impressive.”
“Yes,” Wings said, voice tinted with delighted wonder, though it was smothered underneath his flat effect. “I thought we were all but offline already. That I was… well.”
“It is in a Cybertronian’s nature to survive in spite of strife and oppression,” Optimus said. “We will all survive. We will reclaim Cybertron.”
Blitzwing’s optic screamed disbelief, but he schooled his expression into quietly neutral instead. Optimus chuckled.
“It does seem hopeless,” she admitted, “but we’ll get there. Just like you and your flight training.”
And without any further words, Optimus placed her servo on their back and shoved them off the tower.
Their screaming eventually got too far away for Optimus to hear as they fell further and further down. She curiously peeked over the lunch pad, seeing their figure slowly get smaller and smaller. Decepticons – especially fliers – were made to withstand impact damage, especially fall damage, but there were limits to their capabilities. No doubt a fall from this height would offline Blitzwing.
As Blitzwing’s figure got further and further away, Optimus briefly considered swooping down to save him. But she noticed that he eventually stopped, without any telltale signs of an impact. Satisfied, Optimus nodded and stepped away from the edge.
Eventually Blitzwing shot up over the side, jamming his servo into Optimus’ face as he pointed an accusatory digit.
“You stupid piece of slag-eating scrap!” He roared, black smog emanating from his cannons and into the sky. “What was that for? Are you trying to take me offline?!”
Optimus looked at his posture. It was relaxed in the way that it was clearly natural for Blitzwing, his movements confident and lacking the stiltedness of his previous attempts at flying in his root mode.
Optimus retracted her mask and smiled, making her expression as warm and proud as possible. “You did it!”
Blitzwing froze. His head flinched back in surprise, a slight flush on it before it went away. “...what?”
Optimus gently pulled him back down to the ground. Stunned, Blitzwing let her. “I thought you could, but I was worried for a moment there. Consider it a test flight.”
Blitz stared at her, scoffing. “You didn’t have to push me off a tower to test me!”
“It’s similar to being on the battlefield. Fly or die,” Optimus offered. Blitzwing groaned, falling face-first onto the floor.
“No more towers,” Zing whined pitifully. Optimus took some mercy on them and made a mental note to get them some energon treats as a reward.
“That is the fate which we fought against and the fate that the Autobots resent us for resisting. Is that acceptable to you? No, it is completely unacceptable! We are not livestock! But do not be afraid, my fellow Decepticons, because I have faith. Faith in our power, faith in our cause, and faith that we can reclaim our own fates. I’m sure no Autobot has even considered it, that us Decepticons are the ones who make change happen. This power belongs to us, and I will not allow anyone else to use it.”
She’s beautiful.
She’s the only one crazy enough to talk to me!
She’s a viper, Wings hissed in the shared space of their processor. You’ve seen what I have. Her masks are pretty, but you’ve seen beneath them– there's nothing in those optics.
“You know Blitz won’t listen to that,” Zing giggled to themselves in the privacy of their own habsuite, where no bot would stop and stare at them for speaking to themselves. “Poor besotted Blitz! Just had to pick the most unavailable mech to crush on, hmmm?”
“Shut up,” Blitz snarled, a furious fuchsia blush on his face while smoke exhaled from his mouth. “Both of you shut up!”
Someone’s defensive over their taste in mechs. Wings mocked.
A fist-shaped indent was left on the side of their berth.
“The Decepticons will give every Cybertronian the future, and you all will act as the wings of every bot who is still fighting against the Autobot’s regime. Place your trust in your cause, and I promise that with our power to transform and fight, we will liberate Cybertron for all Decepticon kind!”
The room was quiet for several cycles as Optimus’ voice finished echoing off the walls. Then, a single applause. Like scraplets it spread until the whole room was filled with the sound, each mech clapping for fear of what would happen if they did not. Optimus smiled to them before covering her face once again, bidding the mechs who had attended goodbye as she walked back behind the curtain.
Megatron’s piercing gaze followed her. Optimus did not look around for his presence— she knew she’d find him watching her carefully from just behind the curtain.
With any luck, they would soon reclaim Cybertron for themselves, and Optimus’ words could become reality.
“–Will not tolerate another delay, do you understand me? If we do not have a product ready for sale by the end of the next calendar year–”
“Yes, yes, Powell, I understand,” Isaac sighed, sinking into his seat. “I’ll… come up with something.”
Powell sneered. “See to it that you do,” he scoffed, then ended the transmission. Isaac sighed again and turned to look at his inspirations. The harbingers of his mechanical empire.
He’d only managed to find the head of one, but he’d barely scratched the surface with the other robot! It was taller – maybe even taller than the grey one – and had impressive, miles-long wings, spanning an impressive length. It was little wonder why Isaac had to wait for his business to take off before he could secure the means to transport it to his tower… and to pay the few involved enough to forget what they’d seen. These two robots were Isaac’s little secret, his inspiration. He kept them in his inner workshop for a reason. Not even cleaners were allowed in here!
The taller robot — he’d dubbed it ‘Wingbot’ — hasn’t been stripped for parts as thoroughly as he’d deconstructed the grey head. Wingbot used to have three giant flat, movable finials on each side of its head. It was similar to the wings of a bird. Isaac had deconstructed those and turned them into cameras, drones, and other such things. It was impressive the kind of communicative and detection these alien robots had. Wingbot also possessed two prehensile, tentacle-like feelers on both sides of its hips with claws on the end of it. They used to be covered by what looked like hip armor, but Isaac had long since removed that to get a better look at the incredible engineering.
Perhaps it was time for Isaac to try his hand at reverse engineering Wingbot’s wings. The amount of knowledge he could glean from them…
His mind made up, Isaac set to work on developing the next step for his empire of machines.