SACRIFICE YOU

⬵⤁

"The only sound is the battle cry,The battle cry,"

⬵⤁

Wheeljack stared at him. "You're insane."

"Perhaps, but if we can get this machinery to function, then we have a chance of saving Optimus Prime," Starscream reasoned. "His body may be destroyed but his spark and mind are still very much alive. If we transfer it to a new frame, then surely the Matrix of Leadership will follow. Then we will have our Prime."

"Listen, chief, as much as I want Optimus back, just because he's here doesn't mean we automatically win," Wheeljack pointed out.

"Yet it gives us an advantage," Ultra Magnus rebutted, the Wrecker a little surprised he was going to take Starscream's side on this. "Optimus is one of few mechs who are capable of facing Megatron in battle and securing victory. Regardless of where he is, if we are able to isolate his consciousness, we may be able to repair his body."

"Or, at the very least, give him a fully functioning new one," Starscream posited. "However, there is the question we are all avoiding - who will be the donor?"

Silence fell on the trio. Starscream was certain if Bulkhead or Bumblebee were also here, then they would be dumbfounded as well. Who would be insane enough to share their body with that of Optimus? Surely they could do it, however it would mean giving up their charges and attachments. It also meant that not just one life would be at risk - if Optimus died, then so would the original owner of the frame.

"Cyclonus?" Wheeljack proposed.

"We just took out his T-cog," Starscream huffed. "And we run the risk of Optimus being trapped with a Decepticon as a mental roommate, which would not bode well. Additionally, we cannot guarantee that the minds could share the frame equally; certainly one would be more dominating than the other. If Cyclonus were to gain control and return to Megatron, well, we'd be handing Prime to him on a silver platter!"

"A reasonable assumption, however that leaves us with few options," Ultra Magnus frowned. "But I will gladly relinquish my frame in order to preserve Optimus Prime, and provide us with the advantage we need."

"Maybe we should take some time to think on this," Wheeljack shot Starscream a dirty look. "Since this was just shoved on us less than a whole hour ago."

"Optimus does not have time," Starscream returned the look, his wings fluttering in the usual Seeker fashion to indicate his annoyance. "But I believe the Autobot cause would suffer a deficit with Ultra Magnus' contribution."

"So who-" Wheeljack stopped, then shook his helm. "No. No way."

"I have led this faction to the best of my ability," Starscream said, tone leaving no room for arguments as he spoke. "But I am not its leader. By some curse of Primus, as much as I crave leadership, I am not suited for the role in any form. This resistance needs its one true leader, Optimus Prime, in order to successfully defeat the Decepticons. Therefore, you require every available Autobot on board."

Ultra Magnus frowned at the Seeker. "Yet you are volunteering yourself."

Starscream placed a clawed servo over his spark. "I have never been an Autobot at spark; my nature is that of a Decepticon, and even as I defy Megatron at every turn, my manipulation was in the best interests of my faction. My leadership capabilities here are tainted by that fact. But I am no Megatron, nor am I Optimus Prime. Ultra Magnus is right; as many times as I have attempted to extinguish Megatron's spark, I have never come as close as Optimus Prime has. And I fear I never will."

The pair of Autobots stared at him, barely able to believe the words coming from the typically selfish former Decepticon. Just when Wheeljack had begin to begrudgingly respect 'Screamer and everything he had done for them . . .

"I doubt even our human friends would be pleased with the decision," Ultra Magnus was stating facts, though it was touching, "as it is apparent they have become quite attached to you and your leadership."

"They will cope," Starscream said dismissively. "In this dire situation, I believe this is the best solution - temporary or not. As long as we buy more time."

Wheeljack gazed at Starscream, then turned his attention to the broken machine.

"Give me a few hours," he said, scratching the back of his helm. "I'm almost 100% confident I can get it back in running order in no time. But until then . . ." his optics gazed back towards Starscream. "If you're sure about this, you need to tell at least Agent Fowler, if not announce the decision to all of Area 51."

"I was planning to do as much," Starscream promised, his servo dropping from his chest plates. "Alert me when the project is done. I will continue my duties as normal until then."

Earning a rare salute from the Wrecker and his superior, Starscream turned away, exiting the room in which the secret project was taking place.

He had deliberated for a while since coming up with the idea of the neuron refractor. It was not the most ideal, as he wished for nothing more than to destroy Megatron with his own servos, but this was essentially the same thing, yes? He thought so.

Still, there was a chance of this not working, and either he or Optimus, or both, could perish from this experiment. However, the Seeker had since forgotten about the value of his own life, instead dedicating his spark to the annihilation of the one who had taken everything from him. His cowardice had become determination.

Megatron had promised him so much, had shown him the beauty of what Cybertron could be, if they just followed his orders. He had followed blindly for so long, and he was ashamed to say that the veil had not been lifted until he was almost dead. Starscream, while a Decepticon at heart, understood Megatron was unfit to lead, and he would never serve such a tyrant again.

They would save Cybertron, and achieve what Megatron had only emptily promised: peace.

Coming to terms with his decision, Starscream straightened his back struts, ghosting from the room to seek out Agent Fowler. His wingtips brushed against the edges of the halls of Area 51, and he wondered if he would miss the sensation.

Well, if all went according to plan, he would not have to miss anything at all.

⬵⤁

Cyclonus stared at the hole in his abdomen, seething in quiet rage. Of all the mechs, and it had been a Seeker to authorize the removal of his T-cog, something so vile it could almost be considered a war crime. Now that he was no longer capable of transformation, he could not access his weapons systems or escape. Clever, vile Autobots. Even Megatron was not cruel enough to remove what was perhaps one of the most important biomechanisms of Cybertronian technology.

Ultra Magnus had thoroughly grilled him, yet the Decepticon refused to budge. It was not so much that he was protecting his master - no, Megatron would not assume he had the gall to do such a thing - but because he was so thoroughly enraged with the audacity of the enemy. He was difficult just to make them as miserable as him.

Now he was alone, in the dark, his claws scraping against the walls of his cage. Deep gouges rested all alongside him, an ode to his distressed time here. Humans came and went, but not with Energon. So not only were they taking away his most basic function, they were starving him out.

It would probably be for the best, he supposed. Then he would fall into a stasis lock; cannot answer questions if he was unconscious.

Still .  . . he supposed it could be worse. He could have lost more than his T-cog, and there was certainly more pain which could be inflicted on him aside from the increasing aches within his joints from energon deprivation. Certainly, his frame could endure the same pains which their dearest medic had endured during his time on the Nemesis. Revenge was not something out of the question for the Autobots, and yet they hesitated to inflict it.

Anger bubbled in his chest. Cowards.

The bitter second-in-command stared at the opposing wall of his cell, feeling his processor start to wander as the lack of stimulation left him with little else to do.

Cyclonus of Upper Tetrahex, born from privilege and retaining it for his entire life, was the antithesis of his master in background. He had been rich, not just from the wealth of his spark's status but also from a surprisingly peaceful business: real estate. For thousands of years his life was quiet, until a certain miner-turned-gladiator began to make a stir in Kaon.

The old-timers, which included himself, were initially against such protests. To go against a system which worked for so long, which ushered in Cybertron's Golden Age . . . preposterous! Yet as things became more unstable, he quietly retired from his real estate work, instead taking up the mantel of protecting an increasingly powerful figurehead who was neither a self-proclaimed Autobot or Decepticon: Glavatron. That was how he became a warrior; and how Megatron found him.

The archaic barbarian wanted nothing to do with the "young, naive" brightspark before him . . . so Megatron retaliated with annihilation. Cyclonus barely survived the bloodbath, spared only because Megatron saw potential in him. His leader had been weak, defeated by the Champion of Kaon after almost an entire day of solo battling one another. Cyclonus had played it smart, surrendering and laying down his blade as the energon of his former master dripped from the fusion cannon of his slayer.

Megatron was strong where Galvatron was weak. What better master was there to serve?

Such a mercy had been a one-time deal, though Cyclonus had not known that at the time. He suspected Megatron secretly despised him due to his former status, despite having surrendered every last credit he had to fuel the Decepticon machine. There was nothing which fueled the tyrant's ego more than stepping on one who had once been considered superior to him.

Red optics flashed with memory. Imagine his surprise when he discovered Galvatron's spark-twin was an Autobot, and with Team Prime no less, however he had yet to see her in this accursed base. It was an odd sense of irony, he supposed, that while Galvatron attempted to take advantage of the war, allowing both factions to tear each other apart whilst he waited to step in and take over after it was all said and done, she had elected to side with the Autobots. Optimus Prime was a better speaker than he had given him credit for.

Yet it still made sense that, despite her small and easily crushable form, she had survived so long. Galvatron and Arcee were ancient gladiators from a barbaric era, fighting every day to survive for just another klik. Megatron rarely spoke of either twin, but when he did, there were the barest hints of respect from one warrior to another.

Something he did not allot to even those who served him loyally - save for Soundwave, but the reason why was obvious there.

Cyclonus did not realize he had been gouging more grooves into the floor until he flexed his claws, hissing in displeasure as the knuckles ached in protest. A low energon warning flashed across his optics, however he ignored it. The idiots sent to check on him probably had no idea what energon was, only that he bled it.

However, something told him this was intentional. His T-cog had been removed with almost surgical-like precision; because a true medic had yet to check on him, he suspected they did not have one with them. Therefore, he concluded it was likely humans which performed the procedure - with the help of Starscream or another Autobot, possibly, but only a small organism like a human could manage such small incision sites.

Just the thought of those insects poking around under his protoform made his metal crawl.

Doors swished open as if the loathsome cockroaches knew he was thinking about them, Agent Fowler marching forward with a few other humans flanking his sides. They carried weapons with them, however he doubted they could do much damage. They fought with explosions and other Autobots; their guns would ping off Cybertronian-shielded armor like gnats.

Stopping just far enough from the bars of his cell that the Decepticon could not reach through and squish him, Agent Fowler gazed at him with an unwavering expression.

"Cyclonus. Ultra Magnus informed me that his interrogation was unsuccessful."

Anger pulsed through his energon veins at the blatant disrespect. He was a commander of the Decepticon army, a force to be feared!

"I have been trained to withstand what pathetic interrogation methods you and your Autobot scumbags have in your arsenal," Cyclonus replied. "It will take much more than demanding questions and the removal of my T-cog to get me to betray my faction!"

Agent Fowler kept a poker face, silently impressing Colonel Lennox beside him. He could see why the man had been assigned to negotiate and interact with the Autobots.

"You underestimate just how creative we humans can be," Fowler put his hands in his pockets. "If I could, I'd give you a thick file of what we've been known to do for punishments, torture, you name it. But instead, you'll just have to settle for a warning. We want to know what Megatron is planning - but if you don't cooperate, well . . ."

Cyclonus' optics narrowed. The human appeared genuinely reluctant to even mention what they would do to him. An obvious bluff, however the Decepticon hesitated. The human species had gotten this far for a reason . . . and they had exposure to the Autobots. Though Prime prided himself in using civil means of extracting information from the enemy, there were plenty of records indicating his men did not share the same sympathies.

There was also a point when Agent Fowler mentioned how creative humans could be. They had little experience with Cybertronians, meaning that whatever ways they decided to inflict pain on Cyclonus would be something he had never experienced. Though he would never admit it out loud, that scared him.

"I will never betray my master to you simple lifeforms," he hissed, deciding to call out Agent Fowler on his bluff.

Instead of switching tactics, or finally showing his hand, Fowler shrugged. "If that's how you want it to go," The human's dark eyes were staring unwaveringly into his optics, causing Cyclonus to hesitated for the briefest of moments. "I'll have the Special Ops team pay you a visit soon. Hope you're well rested - surgery site looks good too."

Signaling to the men who came with him, Agent Fowler turned on his heel and began walking away, Cyclonus watching them until they turned a corner.

"Sir . . . you think we can actually crack this guy?" Colonel Lennox questioned.

"No," Agent Fowler huffed, wiping his forehead. A thin film of sweat had begun to form, and he hoped Cyclonus had not noticed. "But if we can get him to believe we can . . . we might be able to before he realized we don't actually have any idea of what we're doing."

"I thought you were bluffing," William Lennox declared, though after receiving a sharp look from Fowler he laughed nervously. "Just a little. But then you had me convinced too."

"Yeah, well, let's hope it's got our grumpy prisoner on edge too," Agent Fowler paused and glanced down at his pager as it buzzed, receiving a message from Starscream. "And whadoya know, the big man himself wants a word - Starscream, not the president. I was about to give a report."

"I wish you the best of luck with that," Lennox sighed. "All of the 'bots have been on edge after Optimus was rescued."

"He's not looking good," Agent Fowler's mood dampened considerably. "But we need Prime to pull through. He has to. With his grit, Wheeljack's efficiency, and the work of our repair team, he should make it."

"What we need is a medic," Colonel Lennox was not afraid to say it, despite receiving a sharp look from his superior. His cool blue eyes looked back. "They need Ratchet."

"And you think we don't know that?" Fowler asked harshly. "We are painfully aware of that, and have been for the past three years. We've tried coming up with rescue missions, but with him under the influence of some substance we barely understand, there is no way we can effectively get him back!"

Ratchet's defection haunted the liaison. He laid awake at night wondering how things should have gone differently. He had been knocked out for the entirety of the mission, waking up and realizing two key players were missing from the base. As the adult, he should have been more careful. He should have woken up, been responsible. If he had been there, maybe Jack would not have been the one trapped. Maybe he could have gotten the drive faster and gotten out of there before the Decepticons had woken up.

It should have been him.

Colonel Lennox backed down as the Agent raised his voice, partially regretting his desperation-charged words. He knew Agent Fowler felt responsible for what had happened; he looked towards the Autobots as if they were his squadron, or platoon, and he had lost almost all of them in battle. He had been in charge of civilian children for God's sake, and one of them had been brutally tortured - and was no likely receiving the same treatment again.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, genuinely apologetic.

"Don't worry about it," Agent Fowler said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You're right, we do need a medic. But we've got to work with what we've got, and pull ourselves up by the bootstraps. It's what any of them would want."

Any of them. Optimus, Ratchet, Arcee, even Smokescreen.

The battle was not over yet, and he would not rest until it was.

⬵⤁

He was still floating.

Optimus remembered some of what had happened: he had seen Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and Starscream take him from the lake; there was pain, agony, yet he was alive. However, not long after he heard the voices of those he thought long deceased, and a light blasted across his vision. The Prime could have sworn he heard Alpha Trion call his name.

Now there was darkness, the occasional touch of pain brushing across his consciousness, then leaving as quickly as it had come. He even swore he heard voices, however they could also easily be a part of his imagination.

This was not death. A part of Optimus' intuition knew that this suspension of reality was not the cessation of life, but rather the in-between world in which he would either wake up, or not.

Which one do I want?

He supposed he did not have much of a choice - either his fellow Autobots would bring him back into the physical world, or they would allow his spark to pass on, hopefully with some peace. Whatever their decision was . . . would he regret it?

The Prime was tired. He had fought this war for so long, and he felt so hopeless. Megatron had surely taken over Cybertron and succeeded in destroying Earth, leaving what was left of Team Prime and the Autobot cause to dissipate and scatter into hidey-holes, possibly to live out the rest of their days as criminals. He would offline anyone who got in his way, and though there were plenty of even matches against the former Champion, only Optimus Prime had ever truly come close to defeating his old enemy.

He might be this universe's only salvation, and yet he just wanted to rest. Tired of battle and wishing for peace, it seemed impossible now that he would require extensive healing and repairs and Megatron had every advantage. He had the Omega Lock, Cybertron, Earth, an army . . .

Ratchet.

A new kind of pain pulsed through Optimus. Through everything, the one constant at his side had been the crass, bold, knowledgeable medic. He had repaired more than just Optimus' frame, and was an essential aspect of the team that was so deeply integrated the Prime took him for granted, and only realized this once the giant hole had been made. To see - to know - the medic turn against him cut him to his core.

Of course, the Dark Energon played a part, but it stood to reason that it merely enhanced Ratchet's own dark thoughts; coupled with Megatron's corruption, the dictator had twisted the mech into the perfect subordinate. He was everything Megatron coveted.

Optimus felt his chest jerk as an immature sob caused his muscle cables to twitch, and a burning pain radiated down his sternum. It was like he was taking a proper ventilation for the first time, his worn frame rejecting what had once been normalcy. The pain only compounded his sadness, and for one of the first times in his life he silently begged for it all to end.

I cannot do this . . . I am no longer worthy to be called a Prime. I have no place here. I am tired. I am worn. I want to go home.

He thought he closed his optics, despite already being suspended in darkness.

I am sorry, Primus. I have failed you.