Chapter Text
"We've arrived, sir!"
The Autobot ship streaked through the stratosphere.
Seated in the cockpit, Lieutenant Jazz turned his gaze outside at his subordinate's words. Beyond the window, a massive city gradually came into view.
Praxus.
Once the heart of art and commerce under the rule of the Primes, a city that had birthed countless artists, magnates, and architects—a place that created both beauty and wealth.
But when the Primes disappeared, Praxus was faced with a choice. Would it accept Sentinel’s rule, or would it reject it?
Praxus chose to reject Sentinel. It declared its severance from Iacon, cutting itself off from the largest city and claiming autonomy, free from the Sentinel’s interference. A city that had once been the hub for countless travelers and traders-
From that moment, all exchanges between Iacon and Praxus ceased. While Iacon gradually became Sentinel’s stronghold, Praxus kept its distance, interacting only sparingly with other cities.
That was 50 cycles ago. If one included the 10 cycles Optimus had spent stabilizing Iacon, then it had been 60 cycles in total.
60 cycles later.
Praxus suddenly sealed itself off.
It gave no explanation—simply citing internal affairs and cutting off all information.
No one knew why. Sentinel was dead, Energon had returned. So why would Praxus choose isolation now?
When 10 more cycles had passed since Praxus had shut itself off-20 cycles after Sentinel's death-Iacon dispatched an envoy led by Jazz.
Everyone in Iacon had their theories about what might have happened to Praxus. And Jazz was one of those who felt sure of what he would find. Praxus was likely already in ruins-anarchy must have taken hold, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake.
It was a logical assumption. The fate of isolated cities often followed that path. But Jazz soon realized he was only half right, and half wrong.
Praxus was indeed desolate.
But there was order in Praxus.
The pedestrian pathways still functioned, appearing and disappearing in sync with foot traffic. Towering spires stretched toward the sky, glowing with light, and atop them, Cybertronians moved about effortlessly.
Though the city wasn’t as bustling as in its golden age, it was surprisingly well-organized. The streets were clean, the roads systematically maintained. Even the Cybertronians walking about seemed to follow strict pathways, as if operating in a meticulously structured system.
There was no sign of disorder. No signs of recent violence. The only thing that struck Jazz as strange was, that there was not a single Cybertronian moving in their alt mode.
But beyond that? There wasn’t anything overtly wrong.
"This is... different from what I expected."
Jazz activated his internal comms and reported in.
"This is Jazz. I've arrived in Praxus."
[No communication interference. Continue reporting.]
Prowl’s voice was rigid on the other end of the line. Jazz exhaled shortly and ordered the landing sequence.
A landing zone outside the city.
As the ship touched down with a soft thud, the Autobots opened the hatch. Dust rose into the air, and through it, figures emerged. Jazz stepped forward to meet them, expecting to see large, imposing soldiers.
But the ones who greeted them were anything but what he had anticipated.
They were all Cogless mechs.
Jazz froze.
'...Praxus refused Sentinel’s rule. So why are there Cogless mechs here?'
He adjusted his optics and took another careful look. There was no mistake. None of them had Cogs embedded in their chests.
It was a sight he recognized. There were plenty of Cogless mechs in Iacon. But these mechs were different.
They were soldiers. Armed soldiers.
A chill ran down Jazz’s spine.
'Don't tell me… did they come to the same conclusion—that removing Cogs is the way to enslave mechs?'
But something about this was off. In Iacon, Cogless mechs were merely laborers. They were never allowed to become soldiers. Never permitted to bear weapons.
But here? It was different.
These Cogless mechs were armed. And they stood tall.
Despite facing Autobot warriors twice their size, they did not shrink back.
"Are you the envoy from Iacon—Jazz?"
One of the soldiers spoke first. His voice was formal. Not overtly hostile, but cautious. Jazz took a slow breath before responding calmly.
"...Yes. I am here as Optimus Prime's envoy."
The soldiers exchanged brief glances before nodding.
"Follow us."
Their words were an invitation, but their violet optics held no warmth.
Jazz wasn’t surprised. Praxus had distrusted Sentinel and severed ties with Iacon. Now, were they questioning Optimus’ legitimacy as well?
Jazz asked no questions. This wasn’t the time for that. But the strange occurrences continued.
'Something is definitely wrong here...'
Cogless mechs filled the streets. Their numbers were staggering. In fact, more than 90% of the Cybertronians passing by were Cogless.
And they carried themselves with confidence.
Their expressions, their strides, their every movement was utterly unlike the Cogless mechs in Iacon. These mechs acted as they owned the city.
And the ones who still had Cogs…?
They were the ones who shrank away. Some lowered their heads and quickly stepped aside.
Then, Jazz witnessed something shocking.
A Cogless mech suddenly lashed out at a Cogged mech, yelling at him.
"What do you selfish bastards even know?!"
The Cogless mech's optics burned with resentment. The Cogged mech did not retaliate. Instead, he bowed his head. It wasn’t a momentary reaction of surprise. It was habit.
Jazz saw this clearly. And for the first time since setting foot in Praxus, his spark dropped with an unsettling realization.
"This is completely different from Iacon..."
The Autobots behind him were also visibly shaken.
This city had been flipped upside down. The roles had been reversed.
Jazz was now certain-something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
Had the Cogless revolted? Had they succeeded in overthrowing the system?
The Cogless mechs whispered as they passed by, casting wary glances at the Autobots. Their expressions held no curiosity.
Only wariness. Distrust.
And perhaps...
Hostility.
Jazz felt like he should say something.
But now wasn’t the time.
So, he silently followed the Cogless soldiers deeper into the city.
They finally arrived in front of a massive building.
The architecture was nothing like the generally uniform structures of Iacon. Instead, the cityscape was filled with diverse styles—pyramids, cubes, cones, and spheres.
Praxus had preserved its own unique culture.
The soldiers led Jazz into a spacious reception hall. He took a slow look around. The room was silent. And someone was already waiting for him.
She greeted him.
"Welcome, Jazz of Iacon."
Her voice flowed out from the gill-like slits on her neck, artificial and slightly eerie.
"......!"
"I am Siren. The administrator of this city."
Jazz studied the Cogless mech standing before him. She barely reached his chest in height, with violet optics and a peculiar red-and-white pattern covering her frame—resembling the dappled scales of a koi fish.
Her expression was difficult to read. It wasn’t warm, nor was it hostile.
It was simply... indifferent.
"......."
"......."
No words were exchanged.
Under normal circumstances, Jazz would have smoothly steered the conversation. Yet, something about their presence weighed on him. Their gaze, the way they watched him, made him hesitate.
Here, words had to be chosen carefully.
"......."
"......."
But despite Jazz’s effort to be cautious, Siren made no attempt to continue the conversation. She merely waited, her eyes fixed on him.
As the silence stretched past a minute, Jazz decided it was time to break it. Raising one hand, he leaned casually against a chair, adopting a light-hearted tone.
"Normally, I’d start with some casual conversation to lighten the mood. But it seems like that’s not what you want."
"......."
Siren did not deny it. Jazz took that as confirmation.
"We’re here to establish diplomatic relations. Optimus Prime wishes for Praxus and Iacon to foster a close alliance."
He spoke smoothly, his voice measured and diplomatic.
"Praxus has always been an important city to Iacon, and it will remain so. The era of dictatorship is over. Now is the time to build a new future together."
"......."
"Optimus Prime hopes that Praxus will lift its isolation and reopen its gates."
Yet Siren merely tilted her head slightly. Her violet optics did not flicker.
She seemed utterly unmoved.
"Is that so."
Her synthetic voice uttered the brief response. Jazz paused.
Normally, a diplomatic statement like that would evoke some kind of reaction—whether it was optimism, hesitation, or skepticism. But this femme?
She responded as if it meant nothing.
"…Yes, that is correct."
Feeling a growing discomfort, Jazz answered shortly, studying her expression. But Siren remained expressionless.
And yet, beyond that blank gaze, something lingered.
A faint, barely perceptible… hostility.
"......!"
Jazz finally realized it.
She wasn’t just indifferent of them. She resented them.
A silent alarm rang in Jazz’s mind. This was his first mission as a lieutenant, an official envoy for intercity diplomacy. And it was on the verge of failing.
'...No. I have to make this work.'
Failure was not an option.
Decepticons had become an increasing threat, especially after their conquest of Kaon. To counterbalance that power, Iacon needed strong alliances with other cities.
So Jazz pressed forward, speaking quickly.
"From what I’ve seen, there are many Cogless mechs in Praxus."
"......."
"If Praxus agrees to an alliance with Iacon, Optimus Prime is willing to provide Cogs for the Cogless population."
Jazz had expected this to be well received.
How many Cogless mechs had longed for transformation? How many had suffered feeling excluded from the society that valued alt modes?
But the response was far from what he anticipated.
They were indifferent. Some even seemed offended.
Siren was one of them.
"......."
She said nothing, but her optics now gleamed with unconcealed hostility. Jazz was taken aback.
What the hell is this atmosphere? Cogless mechs… rejecting Cogs? Not welcoming them?
Something was very wrong.
"…That is not the kind of gift prophet would appreciate."
Siren spoke slowly.
Jazz hesitated.
"...Prophet?"
Did she mean there is Praxus’ leader above her?
"With all due respect, is this 'prophet' truly the leader of this city?"
When Jazz asked, Siren nodded.
"…Where is she? I would like to meet her."
"She is busy. We cannot trouble her now with something like this."
Siren’s answer was firm. Jazz’s expression darkened.
He was Optimus Prime’s envoy—the representative of Iacon. This was supposed to be a diplomatic meeting to propose an official alliance. And yet, he wasn’t even being treated as a guest.
Growing frustrated, Jazz crossed his arms and let out a sigh.
"I am Primes' envoy. If you refuse to speak with me properly, then at the very least, I should know who your leader is."
A brief silence followed. They studied each other, as if measuring one another.
Finally, Siren spoke.
"Her name is Lunar."
Jazz repeated the unfamiliar name.
"Lunar?"
"The prophet who has helped us understand true equality."
Siren’s demeanor had changed. The cold, uncooperative stance was gone. Now, her face radiated reverence.
Jazz, sensing something deeply unusual, questioned her.
"...In what way?"
But instead of answering, Siren glanced at the clock. Then, she spoke.
"You will see soon enough."
At that moment, the surrounding screens flickered on. The signal stabilized. And then, a live broadcast of Praxus’ Grand Plaza filled the monitors.
On the screen, at the very center of the grand plaza, stood a Cogless mech surrounded by her escorts.
She was small and frail-looking, even among the Cogless. Her white plating was clean but covered in faint scratches, her violet optics are gentle—like a lamb.
She looked so harmless, so meek, that it was almost unbelievable that this was the leader of an entire city.
"She is Lunar."
As she introduced her, Siren stood from her seat and turned toward the screen. The other soldiers straightened their postures and focused their gazes on the broadcast.
On the screen, the plaza was filled with countless mechs-the vast majority Cogless-watching her in complete reverence.
Jazz thought to himself.
'...Is she really a leader?'
The leader of the great city of Praxus was a Cogless.
A strange premonition crept over him. This femme was not just a political leader. And this place was not just a city.
On the screen, the grand plaza came into full view.
And Lunar was there.
She stood upon the stage, standing proudly despite her lack of a Cog. She looked complete, as if she lacked nothing.
Then, she spoke.
"We have been oppressed since the moment we were born."
She gazed down upon the crowd, her voice clear and steady. The plaza fell into absolute silence, waiting for her words.
Those with Cogs. Those without. Those who could transform. Those who could not.
But in this moment, they all shared one thing-
They were watching her.
Lunar raised a hand.
"They told us we were incomplete. That because we were small, because we had only two wheels, because we could not fly—we were inferior."
She scanned the crowd, her violet optics glinting.
"From the moment of our creation, our ranks were decided. Our roles were assigned. Some were given wings to soar, others wheels to race, and others weapons to fight. Very few mechs ever had the privilege of choosing their own future. Everything was dictated by the function of our Cogs. We were never given the right to determine our own destiny. Our alt modes defined our lives. And that became our caste. But I ask you this."
Her fingers curled into a fist.
"Who gave them the right to judge us based on our ability to transform?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Mechs nodded. Lunar smiled softly.
"We must understand—the root of our oppression is not our alt modes. The root of our oppression... is transformation itself."
Jazz froze.
What the hell did she just say?
"They told us—without transformation, we were lesser. That if we could not shift our forms, we were defective. And so, I realized the truth."
Lunar spread her arms wide.
"Transformation has divided us. It has categorized us. It has forced us into hierarchy. Then tell me, what is the only path to true equality?"
Her voice resounded across the plaza. Each syllable sharp and unwavering.
"The answer is simple- to reject transformation."
Lunar lowered her hand and declared.
"We will create a world where transformation is no longer needed. A world where all exist in equal form. That is the path forward."
She pressed a hand against her chest.
"If your alt mode is not a four-wheeler, not a flier, not a combat form—are you lesser?"
Then she turned her hand outward, gesturing toward the crowd.
"Look around you. Are you truly worthless? Are you truly inferior? Are you truly meaningless? Are you just a pile of scrap, as they claim?"
A heavy silence fell over the plaza. No one answered 'yes'. Lunar spoke again.
"We exist. And that alone is enough. Our value is not defined by our transformation. Our existence—our strength—our will— These cannot be defined by any Cog."
She lowered her hand.
"And now, we must realize that the true equality... is to reject transformation."
She stepped forward, placing a hand over her spark, and declared.
"We must cast aside the chains of alt modes! Our forms must be equal! We will no longer be shackled by transformation!"
A sharp inhale came from the crowd. A few mechs trembled. Then, Lunar raised her hand one last time.
"Mark my words- I will perish all kind of transformation! You will realize that a world where no one transforms will be ten times more beautiful than this one!"
She proclaimed.
"Until the day we all stand as equals!"
And then-
The entire plaza knelt. A thunderous sound echoed through the ground. Lunar paused, scanning the crowd.
Her gaze settled on one Transformer near the front. The broadcast drone focused in.
The mech had a determined expression. He opened his chest. From within, a Cog gleamed blue.
With both hands, he grasped it-
And slowly, ripped it out.
Clank.
The Cog hit the ground, metal ringing across the plaza.
Another mech stepped forward and another Cog fell.
Then another.
One, two, three-
Then dozens.
Then hundreds.
Until the entire plaza was filled with the sound of Cogs crashing to the ground.
When it was over, no one had a Cog left. Lunar smiled.
A serene, almost angelic smile.
"We will erase the legacy of Functionism. We will create a world where transformation no longer exists. So that we may all be respected-just as we are."
"LUNAR!"
Someone in the crowd shouted.
And then a roar of voices followed.
"LUNAR!"
"LUNAR! LUNAR! LUNAR!"
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Even in the reception hall, the soldiers around Jazz shouted in unison.
Siren did not speak, but her hand pressed against her chest, her eyes filled with devotion.
Jazz swallowed hard.
"What... is this?"
This was not the revolution he knew.
He could understand the Cogless finding pride in themselves. He could understand them seeking to gain Cogs.
But to see those with Cogs willingly rip them out and cast them away-
"......."
A familiar chill ran down Jazz’s spine. He had felt this once before. When he had watched Megatron rise.
Jazz turned his gaze back to the crowd. They wore expressions of revelation. They gripped their empty Cog chambers in silent devotion.
This... wasn't just a speech. This was faith, and this was religion.
Lunar was not just a leader. She was a harbinger, and she was a prophet.
A guide who walked ahead, leading others down a path.
And that path was not one for the sane.