The Matrix Of Leadership - Tumblr Posts

Innocent Abominations

Optimus can feel it, he can feel the twisted nature of the Terrans. Logically he knows they are good, they are kind and wonderful sparklings who need only love and guidance to grow. But Primus... the Matrix screams that they. Must. Die.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

They were a dying race, that much was clear. The youngest amongst them was Bumblebee, and he had not even lived to see the height of Cybertron's glory. He was forged during the war and only knew its wrath. Such was their reality, where their youngest had been in existence for millennia. Without the Allspark, their people were doomed to extinction, a slow and agonizing end to a species that once dominated their corner of the galaxy and forged wonders greater than any others of their time.

As such, the enframing of newsparks should have been cause for increadible celebration... and yet, as Optimus looked upon the two sparklings that were bound to the human spawn born of Dorothy, he found himself conflicted. His spark sang with joy at the revelation of new life, regardless of its Earthly origin. The Terrans were forged on Earth, but all their scans showed they were most certainly Cybertronian down to the core of their CNA. The bonds they held with the humans were unusual, along with their ability to live without energon to fuel them, however aside from those oddities, they were normal. Twitch and Thrash were wonderfully innocent, both so very kind and untainted by the curse of war.

The parts of Optimus that remained Orion demanded he spend time with the new little lives that frolicked around him. However as he looked upon them, another part of his being, the places where the Matrix dug into his spark... they revolted in disgust. The Terrans were to the part of him that was changed to be a Prime, a disgrace, a taint, a threat. The Matrix prodded, it made its demands, and while it seemed hesitant, it grew adamant as it urged him onward, pushing him to draw his axe and end the sparklings before they could grow and become and anathema worthy of note. His nature from his time as Orion screamed in outrage at that idea, and thus, Optimus found himself forever at war with himself.

Twitch was such an excitable sparkling, so eager to learn and willing to mature. She would become a fantastic leader and a wise teacher given time. Thrash was similarly enthusiastic, but he was calmer, more inclined toward the calmer things in life, at least that is what Optimus predicted should the sparkling be given time. They were young, and while they learned much from humanity, they needed to recall their origins, to know their progenitor race. That was what the parts of Orion preached. At the same time, the Matrix grew increasingly upset the more he spoke with the Terrans, its anger and primal disgust growing more with every interaction. He needed to keep them safe, but he could not be near them, not while he was so volatile.

Thus, he gave the sparklings Bumblebee to be their teacher, and for their own safety, Optimus left. He threw himself into his work, unwilling to interact with the little Terrans for fear of the Matrix's anger growing hotter. He could sense them, every moment of every cycle... their presence on Earth forever lingering at the back of his processors for reasons he could not decipher. Why did the Matrix despise them? He did not know, the relic within him offered no answers. Still he tried to be there for the Terrans as much as he could by hiding them from G.H.O.S.T and periodically prodding Megatron until he would go visit them.

His careful time away ensured that the odd times he interacted with Thrash and Twitch, he remained composed. Combat protocols still ran beneath his plating, screaming and demanding activation, but it was manageable. He could still smile and offer the two Terrans words of wisdom and small amounts of affection. But touch? His whole being blanched when the Terrans came too near. He tried to keep Megatron and Bumblebee between him and the Terrans whenever possible. He couldn't be trusted around them, not when he was so very torn. Megatron found his behavior odd and questioned him a time or two, but usually Optimus's excuses worked and he was able to slip away without too much suspicion.

He could handle it. Just so long as the Terrans stayed a safe distance away, he could pretend, he could maintain a smile and not be drowned in the all encompassing desire to see them obliterated. Never more did he wish Ratchet were with him, or even a medic like First Aid or Ambulon. Someone, anyone, he just needed an explanation, or some sort of reason as to why he felt the way he did. The Matrix offered no answers despite the fact that his desire to raise young directly conflicted with its disgust toward the new sparklings. He knew no one would understand, he knew none would have an answer, and so he continued keeping to himself, doing everything in his power to destroy the pinpricks of primal hatred that constantly rattled his being.

Bumblebee: The Terrans are progressing well in their training. They have trouble focusing, and I admit that it is very irritating, but for their age, they are performing well.

Optimus: That is good to hear.

Bumblebee: I haven't seen you in a while Optimus, and I am sure the Terrans would love to hear from you again. They haven't seen you since the incident with Soundwave.

Optimus: No. I cannot do that. I cannot be near them.

Bumblebee: What? Optimus is something wrong?

Optimus: No, nothing that should concern you... just keep working with the Terrans. I will do my best to convince Megatron to visit in my stead. He is better acquainted with the Terrans anyway.

Bumblebee: But Sir-!

Optimus: Thank you for giving me your report Bumblebee. I hope to hear again from you soon.

It was hard enough keeping suspicion off him with just two Terrans constantly leaving his plating itching and some part of his being shifting unsettlingly. But then three more had to be forged, three more blessings that had Optimus's spark screaming in agony as his natures combatted. He had to grit his denta and clamp his field down tight enough to ache as he greeted the newsparks and learned their designations while planning for their attack against Mandroid. The humans didn't know. They didn't know what lurked amongst them. Neither did his fellows. They couldn't see, they couldn't sense the Terrans for what they were.

À̷̡̢̛̖̼͈̑̐̓́b̵̖͕͖͒̈̓́̌̚ớ̴̧̧̤̻̝͓͎̰̥̙̟͈͗͂̈́̄̀̈́͐̒ͅm̷̖̹͗̀̅͑̐͂i̷̤̗̰̳̞̜̦͕̲̐͋̑͜n̴̡̹̹̯̫̪̥̫̗̗͐̑̿͛̍̌̀́̑͆̕͝ͅä̸̧̦͖́̈̀̋t̷͎̱̠̻̰͇̹̱̫̓̈́̾̃́̀̈́͊̈̓͊̐͋i̸͇͙̮͚̪̽̓̀̊̉͑͒͐͋͒͂͘͜͠ŏ̴̱͍̳͇͕̮̠̞͈ͅṉ̶̤̺͇̼̠̳͉̘̟͚̜͑̔͋̏̿̓͑͌̿̄s̶̛͕̹̙̻̈́̒̉́̎̿̓̃̀͒̓͘. Ḯ̶̬͍̬͖͎̪͈̄̈̈̆͂̋̐͑̈́́͠ṇ̴͎͎̪̤͔̮͎͈͉̪̘́̃n̵̦͑̚̕͝ō̷̧̘͉͍͚̬̗̊̊͒̇̀́͝ͅc̶̛͙̰̳̮͕̃̉̀̾̂̇́̿̾̑́̌͂̾ȩ̵̡̛̝̻̺̜̰̮̪͈̠͙̖̀̋̐̉͜͜n̵̢͓͙̪̪̯̪̠̰̪̦̳̈̾͂̍͌̈͋͝͝ͅt̵̢̬͍͔͉̥͉͓͕̲̥͙̟̀ ̷͉͍̺̑́́̈́̓͜m̴̢̢͚̹̥̝̘̪̟̀ǫ̸͕̣̪̗͙̗͎̝̞̠͌̅͌̓͌̄̀̏̆́͑̅͋̏̚ͅǹ̷̨͍͈̱̄̿̎͂̍̓ͅs̵̛̯̆͛͊̽͒̋̑͂͆̌̔̅̚͠t̶̟͔̼̖̜̺̲̬̩͖̺͍̦̊́͊ẽ̸̬̻̯̫͙͕̞̱͋͗̀͋̔̈́̀̈́̊̀͘͘͜͝ŗ̶̯͔̩͇͂̄̂̈́̈́̄͒̎͊́̕̚̚͠͝ṣ̷̬̘̰̠̹̔̌̄͗̎̈́͗͑̈́͘.̴̡̤̻̲̗͔̋ͅ

His optics locked onto Hashtag as she walked, scanning her endlessly for weaknesses. His audials forever perked as he observed Jawbreaker, primed and ready to find the slightest hint of aggression. His axe burned within its compartment as he watched Nightshade frolic with joy, innocently pleased to be alive. Combat protocols itched with such intensity that he had to dig his digits into his own plating with ever leap into the air Twitch took. And he had to clamp his field down so harshly ever time Thrash even looked in his direction that he could tell Megatron knew something was wrong. He wanted, no, he NEEDED to end this threat. The vermin were spreading, their taint growing as they spawned more of their number. The humans were unwitting hosts, housing parasites that were going to devour them.

The taint was spreading, and the parts of him that remained Orion could no longer fight against the Matrix's truth. All that kept him from killing the Terrans right then and there was the more heretical threat in the form of mandroid. The Terrans managed to live a day longer and it was entirely because Megatron noted his barely contained bloodlust and sent them away.

Megatron took him back to headquarters and tried to prod. But Optimus said nothing, merely twitching every now and then as he retreated to his quarters. It BURNED. His plating itched every moment of every cycle he tried to keep himself composed. Any word of the Terrans nearly had him flinging himself into a rage. The Matrix ordered that they must die. While that which remained of Orion screamed in denial and desperation, it meant nothing against the all encompassing pinpricks that ran across his frame at all hours. It took time, but the desire only grew worse. With his last bout of empathy for the little things, he reached out to Megatron with a simple order.

Optimus: You must guard the Terrans, Megatron.

Megatron: Optimus, what's going on with you? You've been off since the moment the Terrans were forged.

Optimus: If you wish for those things to continue living, you must watch them, protect them, keep them away from ME.

Megatron: Optimus-

Optimus: It burns and aches, the Matrix has made its demand. I cannot keep it contained. Those things... those innocent little abominations... I cannot be near them.

Megatron: What in Primus's name has gotten into you? What has that relic done?

Optimus: Those things... the Terrans... it hates them, it despises them. It wishes them DEAD. If you care for them, do not let our paths cross. They will not leave my grasp unharmed next we meet.

Megatron: This isn't like you. I've never seen you like this before Optimus. Whatever this is, we can deal with it. It would be difficult, but Shockwave or Starscream may have knowledge of where our medics are.

Optimus: I am out of time Megatron. They are not like us, they are tainted. I will kill them the next time they are near. Do not let them near me. Do not make me kill those sparklings.

Megatron was shocked, but he listened. He did what he could to help by taking over reports from Bumblebee and taking up residence with the Malto family for their own safety. The Maltos were rightfully concerned, especially when Megatron began to forbid the Terrans from wandering without his supervision. They didn't understand, and if possible, Megatron intended to keep it that way. Bumblebee was quickly brought into the loop and together they kept dutiful watch, always tracking the Terrans and even getting Arcee and Elita involved in tender to the Terrans when possible.

The threat was growing, and they could sense it as a new presence made itself known night after night not long after they set their watch.

Optimus tried to stay away. He tried to keep calm. He TRIED to ignore the call. But nightmares haunted his every recharge cycles, visions of the Unmaker sending force an army of his spawn... his Terran abominations. His whole frame burned and agony assaulted his spark as the Matrix pulsed, sending shocks through his body as it demanded action. It showed him visions over and over again, causing Optimus to hide in his quarters as much as physically possible for the sake of his fellows. It meant little though when G.H.O.S.T began to make their moves and Optimus found himself creeping out of his quarters in the dead of night.

The call was too strong. He could not stop himself as night after night he tread silently through the forest, taking care to keep himself out of sight as he approached the Malto home. He did not wish to harm the humans, no, he merely needed to remove the parasites. He stayed at the edge of the tree line, watching, waiting, preparing himself for an opportunity to snatch away one of the abominations and destroy it. But he could not act, he could not move, not while Megatron and Bumblebee kept their optics locked onto him at the edge of the forest every night, ensuring he remained at bay. The Matrix would not stand for him harming his own. No... just the Terrans, just the abominations needed to be removed.

It became endless habit for him to stalk the edges of the woods around the Malto home, his gaze locked onto where the Terrans rested. Periodically he would try to step out, to make progress and come nearer, but Megatron and Bumblebee were dutiful. The moment their gazes locked onto him, he hurried back into the forest, waiting for an opportunity. It helped to be on the hunt, it caused the burning to fade as duty settled instead. But even that grew to be insufficient with time. He needed to eliminate the threat, there was no other option. And so slowly but surely over the course of weeks, he came nearer and nearer before allowing himself to retreat in response to Megatron and Bumblebee raising their weapons in his direction.

Nearer and nearer, bit by bit. Soon he would have his chance. Soon he could put an end to the threat. Soon... Soon...

H̶̡̘̭̭̀̀̅̇̀̐͐̐͝ẽ̶̮͇̖̠͚͕͋̾̀̈́ ̷͉̮̝̞̫͈̅̂͒͛̎̂͌͘ć̴̥̬͝ö̷̢̖̠̣́͒̀̔̂́̈́̊̕͘ų̴̡̧̜̭̤̖͖̬̇͐́̔̚l̵̢̺̦̣̦̠̘̭̮̀̃̔̀̕̕͜ḑ̷̥͔̰̦͓̳̏͊̊ ̷̧̥̳̖̼̹̒ͅḿ̷̥̲̰̩̤̦͉̻̠͔̂̿͑a̴̠̙̩̦̿ǩ̶̞͚̪̝͎͔̘̲͙̺̬͐̇͑̐̃̉̑̏ē̶̢͉̣̥̭̘͚̭̟̣͚͑̈̿̓̾̀͑̈́͐͌ ̴̛͔̝͚͖̣͙͓͈̦͎́̓̀̈́͂̊̀̏i̵̫̩̪̺̗̜͕̿͌̒ͅt̷͍͉̭͓͔̒̔̓ ̷̗̗͈͓̥̲̈́̾̎͊̿̐̈́̚̚͠͝š̴̰̈́t̶͎͉̗͕̏̏̑̏͋̓̆̀͜ő̴̘̦̋̒̍̔̊̒̄̈́͝p̶̡̦̳͉̞̳͍̒̓̌̊̂̊͌͋̕ ̵̣̘̰̲͍̭̱͊̋̉̊̋̈́̕h̶̬̰̯̺̓̏̀ự̷̪̺̀̍̐̐̎͌͆̚͘͝ṙ̷̢̺͖͗͌̇̂͛̌̈̊t̴̡̰̼̣̘̯̠̝͙̍̀̂̽̂̚ĩ̵̖͈̝͐͆͊̈́̕͠n̸͇̺̠̝͙̅̐g̷̜̼͈̥̓̂͌͐̂̎̎̐͝

Forbidden Sight

With the threat of the Fallen forcing Bumblebee to act and Megatron long since out of the picture, he is left with no choice but to seek out the aid of the divine. Unfortunately, meeting the divine is not all it is cracked up to be, and sometimes the price is not worth the sacrifice.

(Please note: This is LONG and there is body horror going on so do be aware.)

“No, I am not going down there again.” Ratchet clutched his dented arm possessively, his optics flaring in fear of all things. Bumblebee stilled as the Doctor’s plating flared, his servo doing a terrible job covering obvious digit shaped imprints. What could have possibly caused such damage?

“Ratchet, you are the only one who knows the way. You went with Optimus when he-” Ratchet cut him off with a look of pure terror and grief that ran so deep it was clear to see in his body, field, and expression. Bumblebee couldn’t help but stare in shock as the Doctor shook his helm frantically.

“No. No. I will give you the path I mapped, but I will never go down there. Not again.” Something had shaken him to the core. Ratchet was never like this, at least not around anyone who could see or hear what he was dealing with.

Bumblebee took a moment to meet the gazes of his team. They were worried. They looked to him for guidance. None of them said a word, but Windblade’s dipped wings and Strongarm’s nervous twitching told him everything he needed to know.

None were looking forward to the journey ahead, even in light of its necessity.

“Ratchet…” He trailed off as everyone fell silent. Guilt radiated in Ratchet’s field, but he did not budge. He wouldn’t be guiding them, no matter how much Bumblebee pleaded.

In order to defeat the Fallen, they needed information that no living mech, save for perhaps Megatron, possessed. With Megatron lost to the stars, Soundwave stuck in the shadowzone, and other possible sources similarly scattered or deceased, there really was only one choice. It was a faint hope, but Optimus had made the journey to Primus’s core long ago in search of both an end to the war and a way to restore their world. There were none left alive who knew the exact details of what went on that cycle, but Ratchet and a small cohort had journeyed with Orion Pax and they knew that when he emerged, he was greater than he was before.

Orion Pax gained knowledge on that dark cycle. Bumblebee’s hope was that he could do the same.

Optimus was gone, dead, and given to the Well. There was no one else except Ratchet, who might have had the faintest idea as to how to get to Primus’s core safely. And yet he was shaking, terrified to the point of being unable to move, regardless of how badly his field flared with the desire to flee. Something had happened, and that fact did not give Bumblebee any confidence.

“I… I will wait for you here. But Bumblebee, you must listen to me.” Ratchet released his death grip on his damaged arm, leaving it free for all to see. Sideswipe cursed softly somewhere behind him, but Bumblebee could only stare at the damage in horror.

Deep, dark, and dangerous dents that turned into tears ran across Ratchet’s arm. Rust and dried energon bordered the wound, nonlethal, but a testament to something powerful down in the depths. There were four clear imprints, huge and imposing digit marks—dug into metal that for all intents and purposes, appeared delicate now. If Bumblebee looked closely, he could see a fifth imprint running along the underside of Ratchet’s arm.

Ratchet had been grabbed by something. And whatever that horror was, it had destroyed the long maintained stoicism of a mech that had never so much as flinched in the face of danger, save for the sake of another.

“Don’t touch him. Don’t even try to damage him. He will not hesitate to leave a far greater mark.” Ratchet’s entire being spoke of desperation. His plea rang with true terror, not unlike the horror that had been evident in his voice when the Unmaker woke. Still, this was deeper, more… personal.

“I understand.” Bumblebee didn’t bother trying to convince Ratchet to come. He was dead set on remaining, and based on his reaction, it was a miracle he wasn’t already high tailing it all the way back to Iacon.

“Here are the coordinates of the tunnel entrance and mapped paths I recorded.” Ratchet sent a message over a private link, a file quickly blaring red across Bumblebee’s vision. He accepted it easily and shared the information with his team.

“Be careful. You won’t like what you see.” Ratchet stepped away, his gaze turning anywhere except the giant hole in the ground leading down to the core of their planet. Bumblebee nodded and gestured for his team to follow. There was no more time to waste and he couldn’t afford to think too deeply on Ratchet’s warning.

Bumblebee half expected to have to rock climb down the Well in order to get to his target, but according to Ratchet’s map, there was a path for him to follow. It did take him and Drift arguing over the thing for half a groon before they found the entrance, but once the journey began, any mirth evaporated in an instant.

“I don’t like this…” Strongarm muttered, breaking the silence for only a moment before it became suffocating once more. She shivered, and not even Sideswipe was willing to talk as they delved into the depths. Bumblebee did his best to lead confidently, but the road was long and there were things that shifted in the dark the deeper they went. The entire area felt oddly… holy, but only in the vaguest sense.

Controlled seemed like a better word. The path was controlled. Everything was methodical, placed with purpose, even if Bumblebee was unable to parse it out. Drift and Windblade made a few awed comments off and on, but as the light dimmed and the tunnels became more cavernous, his team refused to speak. Bumblebee couldn’t blame them, especially not when there were pedeprints in the dust from mecha who traveled with Optimus Prime millennia ago.

This place carried too much history to be disrupted for longer than absolutely required.

“We are almost to the core. Stay together, and don’t touch anything. This is a place for Primes and Primes alone.” Bumblebee shivered instinctually as his internal map alerted him to the fact that they were close. It was hard to keep track of the time so deep beneath the surface, but he assumed they had been on the move for around a cycle. He expected the trip to take longer. Wasn’t Primus at the very core of their world?

The tunnels made no sense. They hurt to think about.

“Sweet Primus…” Sideswipe cursed, but it was lost in the void as they stepped through a final arch, quickly finding themselves basked in the light of their maker, or at least, his core. Bumblebee had to pause and look on in both awe and a degree of existential dread as cogs larger than life turned in a rhythmic manner, adhering to laws and designs long forgotten by any living being save for the one who ordered their continued functioning.

A thin pathway led closer to the core, one large enough for a mech or two depending on frame type. A few stray Predacon corpses long rusted littered the ground, dark energon leaking from their battered frames. They were lifeless, but they were a reminder of the battle hard fought and won.

“Everyone, keep a ways behind me. If something goes wrong, one of you needs to get out of here and regroup with Ratchet and my old teammates.” He held out an arm, not thinking too deeply on the motion as he cautiously moved forward. He could sense his team moving slowly a few dozen feet behind him, watching him like techno-hawks as he followed the curved pathway toward where he assumed he could address the slumbering god of Cybertron, or at least attempt to commune with the Primes of old.

Everything seemed to pulse and hum around him as he walked. And yet, there was no noise. Not a sound, not a creak, not even his own pedesteps as the light of Primus washed over him in waves. He might have been imagining it, but everything about the area felt intelligent, even alive. If mythology was to be believed, then his senses would be correct. However, it only served to unsettle him as he noted the marks of small pedes moving forward and far larger pedes heading toward the entrance.

How long had it been since the soil was disturbed? Were these Optimus’s marks? Or had someone else made the journey down to Primus to cry out to their absent god? He didn’t think so. The marks matched Optimus’s specs. That thought bothered him, although he could not pinpoint why. The dust should have moved. Something should have changed. Despite that, the echoes of a darker time remained engraved in the very path he walked.

He stepped cautiously, his optics drawn to a series of cables and connectors hanging down from where Primus’s core reached an accessible level. He momentarily wondered if Optimus’s body was stuck amongst those of the Predacons, or caught in wires beneath the thin path he carefully tread. Was the body of his leader hanging limply, forgotten by all but the void that embraced him?

Bumblebee wished that were the case. By Primus he wished that were the case when he finally ascended, following the path as close as it came to Primus’s core.

He wanted to purge as he set optics upon the tattered mess that hung from countless wires and cables. There was no denying who it was. No other mech bore red and blue so proudly or carried a relic of a forgotten age within his spark chamber. He was thinner now, seriously emaciated with rust and dried gore of all kinds spattered across his frame at various intervals. His plating hung off him at odd angles, some pieces even missing altogether. His left finial was broken and the optic on the same side was damaged to the point of almost appearing crushed.

The connectors attached to him dug beneath armor and protoform alike, bloating his frame in strange, unusual places. Blue tinted ooze dripped from unnatural wounds, falling down into the void beneath. The cables seemed to slither into him, creeping into every seam and strut, pulsing with the waves of Primus’s light. The Matrix glowed in time with it all, seemingly content even as its bearer hung lifelessly.

“Optimus, I’m so sorry.” His digits shook, and it took all his willpower to not turn away and purge as he stared at what remained of his mentor, his leader, and the only fatherly character he had ever known. The Prime was not honored in death, not like this. His body hung up like some sort of twisted trophy.

It wasn’t right. Optimus deserved better than this.

“I wish I could bury you properly, but this will have to do.” He stepped forward, doing his best to not look at the deep gashes along Optimus’s back where his jetpack had once been. He could see cables slithering there, sliding deep and along Optimus’s spine. He fought the urge to gag as he readied himself to act.

He would take the Matrix out of Optimus’s chassis and use it to find a way to commune with the Primes of old. His leader’s body would then be cut free, and he could rest without being strung up like a tormented attempt at taxidermy. It was the least he could do. After everything, Optimus should be allowed to pass without being held up in a grim state of disrepair.

“I wish you weren’t like this… I wish things were different.” He found himself murmuring softly as his digits barely brushed against the relic. However, his movement seemed to stir it, and Bumblebee leapt back with a yelp as the Matrix became encased in arcs of electricity. Optimus’s body convulsed, the cables holding it up twitching and shifting as the body was lifted higher, away from Bumblebee’s reach.

“Bee!” Sideswipe was the first to move forward, with the rest of the team following behind him. Bumblebee wished he could curse and ward them all off as what remained of his leader contorted in horrible ways. The legs squirmed, kicking at nothing, as power rippled through the living corpse. The arms tensed up, digits twitching madly as the body’s optics began to flare without rhyme or reason.

His spark flared in its chamber, terrified as the corpse gave another unfortunate spasm, a deafening crack echoing amidst the eerie silence. The entire chamber seemed to lurch in a spiritual way before the lights all dimmed, Primus’s very core lowering in intensity. Nothing happened for a klik, and Bumblebee was half tempted to try and reach out again as the body fell still. Maybe it was just… lingering processor function acting up. Perhaps the Matrix was trying to awaken a host that had long since gone offline. There were always possibilities-

“Bumblebee.” The garbled designation in that oh-so-familiar voice shook him, freezing Bumblebee in place as the corpse’s helm raised. The lone functional optic blazed bright enough to blind a mech as it settled on Bumblebee and his team. There was no way Optimus was alive. He couldn’t be. That… the thing hanging from wire and cables was a corpse. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real.

“You have come to seek wisdom.” The corpse shuddered, its staticky voice steadying with every glyph uttered. Its helm tilted, the lone functional optic cycling in on Bumblebee in what could have been interest if it weren’t for the fact that there was no spark to power the frame that continued to defy reality.

“You come for my knowledge, that which has been lost to you, dear children.” The cables holding the corpse shifted, growing as more came down from the void. They slithered and writhed beneath the corpse’s plating, allowing the body to lower closer, almost to the point of being within touching distance. The blazing optic that illuminated the entire chamber flickered off and on, its gaze seemingly so glued to Bumblebee that it felt like fire on his plating. Yet, at the same time, it seemed the corpse was looking right through him, not seeing so much as observing.

“Little Orion came to me long ago. He too sought out my guidance.” The living corpse shifted, its arms moving in haphazard, jagged movements. Its digits twitched, seemingly trying to gesture and grasp at nonexistent objects. It hurt to watch as ooze leaked from between cracks, forced out by movement that should not have been possible. A few of the cables loosened, allowing the corpse to move a degree. It leaned forward, its tattered frame straining as its derma failed to match the syllables of the glyphs being uttered.

It was sickening. Bumblebee wanted to retch and flee, but his very spark lurched in his chassis, frozen before the entity that wore his father figure’s frame like a suit. There was no escape. Not for him, not for his terrified team.

“What will you give for that which you seek?” The corpse’s neck cracked and energon so old that it was little more than a tank churning goo dripped from torn ligaments and connectors. The corpse remained focused on him, a smile beginning to form on its face, cracking the delicate facial plating that once gave Optimus his classical reputation.

It reached out. Its arms gestured to Bumblebee as the light of Primus’s core pulsed behind it, shadowing it while also making it impossible to look away. It was a mockery of all Optimus was, and Bumblebee couldn’t help the rage that began to pool in his spark alongside the dread.

“What will you offer when my Champion gave me everything?” The Matrix flared, power arcing off it as the entity spoke. The corpse’s helm tilted a little too far to be possible for a normal mech, almost shifting a full ninety degrees. It grinned, its arms pulled close to itself as viscera and torn cables seeped out from between cracks in the corpse’s armor.

This thing was not Optimus. It merely wore his frame and mimicked his voice. Bumblebee’s desire to flee quickly found itself overshadowed by grim determination. Whatever the entity was, it could not be allowed to continue desecrating the frame of his leader and father.

“Who are you?” A slight tremor entered his voice as he spoke. His team huddled close to each other, stepping back from Bumblebee as the thing descended lower, its smile wide enough to tear through facial plating with ease. Bumblebee could see molar derma showing through the gashes that formed as the thing pushed Optimus’s body beyond its limits.

“I am the one below, he who formed your sparks from fire and starlight.” The entity’s smile softened, although it did nothing to take away from the rotted scent that emanated from the corpse. Rusted metal, stagnant energon, and the rancid smell of corroding internal fluids long since left to rot. That one optic blazed with renewed fury as Primus’s core brightened for a moment, joining the entity, the god as it, he spoke.

“I ask you again, what will you offer? How much are you willing to give for victory?” The cables slithered ever deeper into battered protoform, puppeting limbs as the god of all Cybertronians hung within the confines of Optimus’s corpse. Bumblebee’s digits shook as the being known as Primus continued to stare through the optic of his father.

This was so very wrong. What use would a god have for a mortal frame? Why would Primus do this to his chosen? Why would he demand sacrifices when already they had given all they could?

“I… I will give whatever is required.” He clenched his jaw, steeling himself for whatever was to come as Primus continued to stare, uncaring, unnatural, and yet so very loving all at once. His team’s fields flared in horror, and distantly he was aware of Windblade and Drift dropping to their knees in submission, be it out of fear or reverent respect. Strongarm and Sideswipe continued to step away, terrified as more cables wrapped around Optimus’s frame, supporting it so that the god could pilot it more freely.

“How noble of you. Optimus tended to you well. I can sense his touch, feel his influence all throughout your very being.” The corpse moved, the cables dragging it through the chamber as it did a slow circle around Bumblebee and his team. The god kept a safe distance away, remaining half submerged in shadow at any given moment as the spotlight that was Optimus’s optic continued to illuminate Bumblebee and those with him.

“I was right to let him keep you.” The voice echoed from all around and yet nowhere at once. Primus hung directly above Bumblebee for a moment, the corpse of Optimus Prime dripping fluids that made him want to gag. He resisted the urge, trying with all his might to not show how frightened he was as the god returned to his former position in front of the core, seemingly content.

“What does that mean?” The implications of the god’s words were startling to say the least. He spoke as though he controlled Optimus as easily as he did now, moving his body and commanding his voice. Would Optimus have left him if Primus had not ordained the Prime’s acquisition of Bumblebee after the destruction of his home city? Did Optimus have no free will? Or was the god toying with him just as Unicron had all those years ago?

“Nothing to you. It is of no consequence.” The god continued to smile in that sickly way that was only found on corpses where the mortician simply couldn’t manage to make the expression look natural. Optimus’s other finial snapped and fell into the void below as Primus contorted Optimus’s frame again, forcing it to jerkingly return to a somewhat comfortable position resting within the wires.

It didn’t look comfortable at all, not with wires and cables threatening to burst from every line and seam. If Optimus were alive, Bumblebee had no doubt that he would be in agony. He sincerely hoped his father figure wasn’t still functioning, trapped by some divine will within his frame as it twisted and shifted in ways it wasn’t meant to.

“Why are you doing this? Why can’t you let him rest?” Anger returned in full force as Bumblebee shook. Why did the monster that called himself a god have to do this to his chosen? Had Optimus not served enough?

He got his answer as the god paused, and then laughed.

It was a deep guttural and almost pained sound, one that bordered on a wheeze and the buzz of radio static all at once. Fluid must have been gathering in Optimus’s vocalizer all throughout his time rotting in the Well. The laughter merely emphasized that fact.

“Sweet child, have you no optics to see? Look upon this form, see that which it is and what it represents.” The god haphazardly threw Optimus’s arms open in a mock mimicry of an embrace. Primus smiled even wider, shattering further pieces of Optimus’s face as he forced it to match his design. He must have seen himself as benevolent and holy. He did not seem to understand the sheer horror of a god speaking through the deceased and rotted frame of a Prime.

“That means nothing to me.” Bumblebee stood defiantly, his door wings locked in place as he forced his hydraulics to stiffen. He refused to shake, to show weakness in front of an entity that bordered on maliciousness at every moment.

“A pity. No others have ever matched this one, my dear Optimus.” Primus spoke and almost lovingly forced Optimus’s arms to wrap around himself. The god tenderly caressed the Matrix, lovingly looking down upon it with what would have been an adoring expression if not for the rust that crept along the corpse’s face.

He looked so serene, and strangely enough, even holy. In Bumblebee’s mind, what he saw before him was a true depiction of their god. A rotting power of the old world who in turn chose new champions to pilot, corrode, and ultimately make just like him. Broken, and so very divine.

“So strong, so dutiful, so very faithful.” A look of pure joy spread on the corpse’s face. A piece of Optimus’s shoulder plating broke away and fell into the darkness. Primus did not react as he forced the arms of the corpse to stretch beyond their limits, as if to embrace the god’s chosen Prime with even more adoration.

“Always obedient and kind. He was, he is perfect. A true beacon for all my wayward creations.” The frame shuddered, almost like a clockwork engine as it let off steam. Energon long unused began to sizzle as the spotlight that was the god’s borrowed optic again returned to Bumblebee.

His team shook behind him. Sideswipe and Strongarm had long since fallen, their plating rattling as they unknowingly found themselves bowing. Bumblebee refused to budge. He clenched his servos into fists, unwilling to show the god before him just how frightened he was. Primus could destroy him in an instant, he was sure of it.

“How could I relinquish such perfection? He gives himself to me so very freely. Total submission, true supplication. Much unlike others who have come before and after him.” Again, the corpse moved forward, coming closer and closer to Bumblebee until it hung only a little ways off. He could almost touch his father’s broken face if he so desired.

But what truly set him off was not the proximity of the living corpse. Rather, it was the red and white paint that had been transferred onto the left servo of Primus’s borrowed vessel.

“You, did you-?” Realization dawned on him like a lighting strike. The corpse merely tilted its helm with its ever present smile.

“You think of the doctor, my Champion’s dearest friend. Yes, the damage was done by this borrowed servo. He dared to try and take what belongs to me and me alone.” Primus clenched the corpse’s fist, cables bulging within the limb in question as they were forcefully bloated with energon to facilitate movement. Bumblebee bit his lower derma as images of Ratchet’s terror and possible experience conjured in his processor. This thing had hurt him, that much was clear.

“He might have been a fine vessel once. But he is too tainted, no longer pure. Wise perhaps, and dutiful indeed. But he would never heed my call.” Primus reached up to cup his, or rather Optimus’s face. Weathered servos touched scuffed and dirty facial plates with all the delicateness one would give a porcelain doll. Bumblebee wanted to recoil in horror as the implications hit him. No mech should be subject to whatever in the name of the Thirteen this was.

“Optimus… my beloved Optimus. His faith has been a delight after so many ages of silence.” Primus maneuvered his borrowed servos down, brushing up against thin and frail armor plates. The singular functional optic Primus had to use trailed every movement, watching those servos which he controlled as they caressed the body the god inhabited. It was disturbing to watch. It almost looked like some sort of convoluted assault with how pleased the god looked as he forced Optimus’s body to examine itself.

“He gave himself to me willingly. Anything to win his little war. He called himself a sacrifice, but I have named him my Chosen.” The body shivered in what looked to be pleasure. Bumblebee couldn’t help the gag that he let out at the sight. The corpse merely continued to grin as it forced Optimus’s body to embrace itself, prompting a series of cables to burst and oozing energon to slide from new wounds.

“He obeyed my every command, listening to my whispers and calls for my brother’s return to slumber. He was so dutiful that he chose me over all others, even the likes of you.” The god laughed again, a sweet chortle that did not match Optimus in any capacity. Then, as if that weren’t enough, its helm tilted again, this time even further than before. Something snapped as Primus forced the corpse to comply with his wishes, ensuring the rotted frame’s helm all but swiveled into an impossible one hundred and eighty degree angle.

Anger swelled in his spark at the mere idea of Optimus throwing everything away for some dying deity. It wasn’t like him. Optimus was a Prime for the people. He would never cast away everything just for… some god who hardly cared. But what truly shook Bumblebee were the tears that began to fall from the singular functioning optic Optimus’s body still possessed. The tears were discolored due to rust and other contaminants, but they were real, and he highly doubted it was Primus who ordered Optimus’s coolant stores to empty themselves.

“He gave himself back to me entirely, and yet as he fell, he thought of you.” Bumblebee took a step back as Primus’s tone turned sharper, edging on something akin to agitation if not hatred. The god rattled, his borrowed frame shaking as the smile fell away.

“You and your fellow companions, his little playthings meant to guide and serve.” The god’s helm swiveled back into proper position, another unsettled crack echoing as something or other broke in Optimus’s battered frame.

“Be quiet. You don’t know him.” Bumblebee shot back, wrath, anguish, and everything else he had been doing his best to bottle up swelling to the surface of his mind and spark. Primus didn’t know slag. He had not been there as their people died off during the great war. He had not so much as offered one vague prophecy through his Prime throughout all the time Optimus carried the Matrix. He had no right to speak on the behalf of a mech who gave everything for their world.

“But don’t I?” Primus’s tone was sweet like freshly purified energex, but he did not smile.

“I know his spark. I lived within him throughout your entire war. His thoughts were mine to glean and his affections mine to allow or deny.” The corpse was moved, again shifting away from its lighted position and into shadow. Bumblebee couldn’t see it as Primus maneuvered through the dark, silence reigning for a long klik. The urge to activate his weapons was almost suffocating as he scanned the darkness, desperately trying to pinpoint the lurking threat.

His team didn’t so much as twitch as they remained in various states of terrified worship. Their optics flicked around, following Bumblebee’s lead as they too tried to track the threat. Not a spark spoke, not when the core of their world pulsed so calmly, serenely even. There was no acknowledgement of the body that hung in living chains, lurking in the dark and almost certainly observing.

“Do you miss him? Does this voice make you wish he were here?” The corpse called out, this time without any undertone of Primus’s interference. It sounded almost exactly like Optimus, and it came from all around. He had to fight back the instinctual urge to cry as the familiar gruff softness reached his audials.

It wasn’t Optimus. That wasn’t his father. Optimus Prime was dead and a god was making a mockery of him.

“Come. Come greet him.” He turned around, facing the way he came to try and determine where the voice was coming from. But when he returned to his previous position, the corpse was a mere few feet away, far closer than ever before. He let out an undignified scream as the corpse leaned in, its arms outstretched.

How had it moved so fast?

“You must come closer. He cannot hear you so far away.” The tone of the thing was sing-songy, but Bumblebee shook his helm rapidly in primal terror. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t HIM. The thing that smiled and watched him with one wide and far too bright optic was not his leader. The mech he wished he openly called father would have never done this. Optimus would have never beckoned him like some sort of… creature.

He stepped back, his bravery falling in the face of true fear. His venting hitched and he prepared to run as the corpse tilted its helm again, a snarl forming on its features for the first time since it began to speak.

“Why do you flee from me? Am I not your maker?” The thing lurched forward, its movements so stiff and unnatural the Bumblebee scrambled back just in time to dodge its attempts to grab him. The god seethed and Bumblebee’s team quickly floundered in their attempts to get to their pedes as a wrathful field pressed against them from all sides.

“Come here.” Primus looked enraged. His borrowed face contorted into anger so rarely seen on Optimus in life that to Bumblebee it looked like the mech he once called his leader was possessed by the Unmaker himself. The god looked a klik away from forcing his borrowed frame into combat before he stuttered, power arcing off him until at last, he stilled.

“You… must… run.” The voice of the corpse whirled to life once more, but unlike the clear sound that Primus produced despite the state of his borrowed frame, this sound was pained. It came in a wheeze that gurgled and croaked, finally matching the tears that stained the corpse’s face.

“Leave. Go before he can take you.” The body looked up, and the movement was smooth, evidently practiced. The optic that settled on Bumblebee was not nearly as bright. Rather, it was dim and flickering, sickly in the purest sense. It was a light that should not have been there with how badly the frame it was emanating from was damaged.

Bumblebee’s processor scrambled for an answer, but the conclusion was obvious. He didn’t want to believe it. A part of him hoped that his leader was at peace, if only in spark. But seeing the desperate expression on Optimus’s face… he knew who it was that spoke to him, and he wanted to kick, scream, and cry all at once as the body spasmed and control returned to the god of their world.

“How dare you.” The corpse bore no expression now. Only the words came out with a thick vile venom that stung just to listen to. The ground began to shake as Primus’s core pulsed rapidly, wires convulsing and ancient gears stalling for nanokliks at a time.

“How dare you taint him.” The voice rose in volume, no longer sounding like Optimus at all. A maelstrom of sound and sensation assaulted him from every conceivable angle as voices that were few and yet singular at the same time all converged on him. Energon and thick viscous fluid exploded out of Optimus’s throat as Primus’s speech shattered more and more of its components.

“He belongs to me.” The corpse stiffened, its singular optic blazing so brightly that smoke rose from places, prompting more tears to fall. But instead of smiting him as Bumblebee expected, the god instead fell still once more, his borrowed optic flickering as something seemed to change.

“He is innocent. Merely a child.” Optimus, the real Optimus spoke out in the gloom. His words were slow and agonizing, grating just to listen to. But Bumblebee found himself crying all the same as his leader began to plead, desperation evident in every glyph he uttered.

“I serve. I serve willingly.” He sounded like he was in agony.

“Glory to the one below. He who slumbers and gives us life.” Prayers flowed from his torn derma, regardless of the absolute torment he was likely enduring. Optimus held his servos in a loose symbol of the Primacy, his gaze unsteady as he spoke.

“Praise be to His holy station. His will is our demand.” He did not look up, but his stuttered venting spoke of life forced to continue operating regardless of its viability. Bumblebee couldn’t find the strength to wipe away his tears, not when his Prime pleaded for his very existence.

“There is no greater purpose than to offer Him our loyalty. For He is the truth where lies fester.” The prayers continued for kliks. There was no pause between them, nor did Optimus look up even once. Eventually, the prayers changed and strange glyphs that made no sense began to emerge in something akin to a babble. Bumblebee couldn’t tell if Optimus was too pained to continue or if something deeper was happening, but ultimately, the shaking stopped and everything returned to its previous state.

“What will you give to achieve victory?” The question was repeated and Bumblebee was not given time to move before the corpse swept down, grabbing his face with one monstrous servo so tightly that he could feel his jaw creaking. That lone optic all but blinded him as the god held him in place, all but lifting him off the ground as Primus demanded his answer.

“Would you give me your spark?” The servo that was not holding him still wandered to Bumblebee’s chassis, sweeping over his plating in a seemingly fond manner. He wanted to curl in on himself in shame, horror, and something that had long since evolved beyond terror. However, he was helpless to stop the god as he ran his borrowed digits along transformation seams, his expression hopeful as if he expected Bumblebee to open for him.

“If not yours, would you give me theirs?” Seeing his lack of reaction, Primus looked over his shoulder, down at Bumblebee’s team. He flailed, but the death grip the god had on his face was all but unbearable. Fear ran so deeply in his spark he couldn’t find a way to produce words. Linguistic codes were gone, far out of reach as he stared, meeting Primus’s gaze properly for the first time.

He saw his team reflected for a moment in that lone optic as it flickered and struggled to remain online. They were terrified, but similarly frozen. They were at the mercy of their god, and they had no say in the matter once he decided what to do.

“I am not a cruel maker. I am willing to make deals.” Digits reached up, dirty from energon, rust, and years of contamination. They brushed his derma, tracing around his optics and facial features like a lover would. He wheezed, tears falling from his optics with greater ferocity than ever as the god watched him with that strange apathy and love all balled together into a disgusting mix that left him wishing it could all be over.

Primus continued to touch him for a long few moments, a hum bubbling in his borrowed throat. Bumblebee sobbed softly all the while. This wasn’t right. Optimus was his father. All of this was wrong on a fundamental level. He only wanted information, a way to save their people. Why this? Why did it have to be like this?

“Ah… it seems the debt has been paid by another.” Suddenly, without warming, Primus let go of his face. Bumblebee fell to his knees gasping in sheer relief as the corpse pulled back, slowly returning to its original position.

“There shall be no sacrifice from you this cycle.” It spoke soothingly, as if nothing at all had happened during their interaction. Primus smiled in that divine manner that should have been comforting but only served to remind Bumblebee that this entity was a god more than capable of violence.

“You shall have your victory, when the time is right.” Weathered arms stretched out as the corpse performed a mock bow, at least as much as it could with the way it was bound.

“I will lend him to you for a time, at least until the threat is removed.” It straightened, more cables coming from the walls of the chamber to connect to Optimus’s battered frame. Bumblebee continued to shakily vent, observing in silence as the god pulled his puppet back, far out of reach.

“Go now. Tell the doctor and prepare yourselves.” Optimus’s arms were crossed over his chassis, an almost respectful position if it weren’t for the sheer amount of damage inflicted all over him from Primus’s attempts at controlling a mortal frame. Optimus’s lone optic flickered and glanced around for a moment before Primus uttered a final statement that haunted Bumblebee throughout his return journey.

“I know he was too afraid to stand before his god once again.”

Huh.

So what if he was?

Bumblebee couldn’t say he blamed Ratchet for much of anything anymore. He couldn't help but wonder if getting Megatron would have been the easier decision. At least the warlord wouldn’t condemn his spark to the void if he failed to show proper respect. At worst, he would be disemboweled. And quite frankly, compared to Primus’s little attempts at touch, he would prefer that any cycle of the vorn.

“I told you not to touch him.” Ratchet’s first comment was simple, but without any malice. Bumblebee all but collapsed into his arms, the aching marks on his face clear to see.

Ratchet didn’t comment after that.

No one did.

What happened that cycle was never spoken about, at least not in public. Bumblebee did his best to forget, especially when Primus seemed to keep up his end of his supposed… deal.

Optimus came back, pristine and shiny as if he’d never been dead to begin with. He showed no signs of distress or the vaguest recollection of events down in the Well. He played it all off as if he had been peacefully deceased and promptly returned to existence at the drop of a hat. But after everything, Bumblebee now knew the faint look in his optics, the shadow that followed him wherever he went.

Primus was watching. There was no escape from the god of Cybertronians and his precious Champion.

Over and over again Bumblebee found himself haunted, hearing the words replay again and again in his mind whenever Optimus’s optics met his.

”The debt has been paid by another.”

By the Thirteen. Just what had Optimus given to ensure no others suffered as he did?