Chapter Text
The rail train hummed as it flew along the grav rails with the occasional clunking. Ratchet stood near one of the wide viewing panes, one hand clasped behind his back and the other holding an overhead handle, watching as Iacon passed by.
The city still looked like a battlefield, with the sprouts of new buildings popping up here and there. It was strange to see mechs moving across the surface peacefully, the air silent without the sound of artillery.
The leftover shells of old towers stood against the skyline, the upper halves torn open, charred and jagged. Streets were cracked and scared where war had ravaged them and bombs had blasted holes in the ground.
Entire city blocks were nothing more than heaps of twisted metal and shattered ruins. But life was continuing on, moving through the wreckage.
New housing units, plain and sturdy, had been assembled where bases once stood. Markets popped up where once stood old medical bases, stubborn and busy with shoppers.
Welder’s flashes sparked in the distance of a few sparse buildings as crews worked on rebuilding transit lines and energy conduits.
Ratchet was quiet, thoughts drifting as the train carried him past it all. His gaze lingered on each scar of the war left behind until the train reached the old senate district.
When the doors slid open, a heavy stream of citizens poured out onto the platform with him. After so long flanked by only familiar faces—teammates he saw more like family—it was almost unsettling to be surrounded by the others who had returned to Cybertron.
Many of the citizens seemed to be following Ratchet’s path to the senate plaza ahead, some muttering about the upcoming address under their breath.
Ratchet moved through the sea of mechs, painfully aware of the surrounding destruction now towering over him. Temporary staging had been erected across the square, a large platform, speaker arrays, barricades, camera stands, banners bearing a sigil of peace waving in the wind.
The plaza itself was already full, bustling and loud. Ratchet moved through the gathering toward the old senate building, scanning around for the entrance. While he was busy trying to find a guard to let him in, he caught snippets of conversation.
“They should be executed,” one mech muttered. “Every single one of them.”
“And begin another cycle of vengeance?” Another mech huffed indignantly. “I want it over. I want peace and quiet.”
“They razed half the planet! We had to flee to other planets!”
Nearby, an older femme shook her helm. “Punishment won’t bring anyone back.”
Ratchet hated that even now, he still couldn’t pick a side. It was assumed that being part of Optimus’s High Council meant he supported him wholeheartedly, but truth be told, somewhere deep inside him, he longed for justice.
The medic was let into the senate building by some sentries and was dropped into deafening silence as the towering doors shut behind him.
The space was dusty, but it still held the gilded grandeur of the pre-war ages. Vast golden columns climbed to the ceiling. The marble floors stretched out, covered in dusty footprints.
Eventually, Ratchet found the Prime at the end of the main hall, before the meeting chambers. He stood with his back to the entrance, not a guard in sight, facing an enormous pedestal where a statue was intended to stand. The last statues to occupy the spot had been one of Prima, then replaced by Sentinel when he had ruled. Now it stood empty.
For a long while, Ratchet said nothing. He felt like he’d be disturbing. Optimus could sense his nervous em-field nearby and spoke first. “I am unsure of what to repurpose the old senate building into.” Ratchet stepped forward slowly, glancing up at Optimus’s face. “It feels… Wrong to reuse it as the new municipal hall. Considering the history of what was done here.” The Prime folded his hands behind his back, digits flexing nervously.
Ratchet stopped beside him and stared at the empty pedestal’s placard. “But to destroy it would erase our history.”
Optimus was silent for a moment before giving a slow nod. “Perhaps then, it shall be turned into a museum.” His blue optics flickered with uncertainty. “We will not forget our history, and we can rebuild a new operations center elsewhere. Perhaps closer to the AllSpark.”
Ratchet folded his arms across his chest and gave the Prime a sidelong glance. “First speech since we’ve last been on Cybertron. You ready?”
Optimus’s posture sagged and he stared at the floor. “I have to be,” he said quietly. “It is my duty.”
Ratchet let out a short ex-vent, dry amusement. Optimus always had a way of making his anxieties seem professional. “Come on. They’re almost ready for us.”
↠✧↞
Outside the old senate building, the plaza had become a sea of metal bodies going farther than the optic could follow. Hundreds upon hundreds of mechs filled the plaza, shoulder to shoulder while waiting for the address.
Across Cybertron, screens had come alive with the broadcast. Factories paused their shifts, shopkeeps tuned in with their clients. Everyone was watching.
At the stage’s podium, a small mech stepped forward, voice amplified across the plaza. “Citizens of Cybertron. By the decree of the provisional High Council, the Prime shall now address the outcome of wartime adjudication.”
Applause rolled through the croud. The announcer stepped aside, and the broad doors of the old senate opened. Optimus emerged first, head held high. He descended the steps with a portion of his personal High Council in procession. Guards flanked either side of the stairs. Among the council members, Ironhide flanked Optimus, rifle held across his chest, optics scanning the masses with practiced suspicion.
The High Council moved to their seats arranged at the front of the crowd. Optimus alone approached the podium, Ironhide standing just off the stairs. He clutched the sides of the podium and waited for the crowd’s murmuring to settle.
Optimus straightened as the air fell silent. “Citizens of Cybertron.” His voice boomed across the plaza, deep and steady. “Today we gather in remembrance and responsibility.”
His gaze moved across the crowd, spotting a few of his loyal scouts and old teammates below. Optimus continued, “We have bore witness to suffering beyond measure. We have lost protectors, friends, mentors, and kin. Entire cities have been reduced to ruin. But no words I speak today can restore the trust and true unity that was taken from us.”
He paused, letting his words settle. “But the war is over. The guns have fallen silent. The banners of war have been taken down. Cybertron still stands. But it is not due to one leader, nor one army. But because of countless among you that endured what should never have been asked of you.”
“I applaud those who united with those you once saw as an enemy in the face of greater threat. I recognize those who rebuilt while under attack. I recognize those who carried others even as your own strength failed. Cybertron stands because of you.”
The crowd applauded at his words, a few cheers ringing in the air. Optimus raised a hand and silence settled. “Whatever judgement follows today, know this. We cannot remain prisoners to the war forever. If we devote our future only to revenge, then the war will continue.”
“We must grow beyond it. We must unite once more against the common enemy that threatens every spark alike-. Suffering, fear, cruelty, and needless death.”
A murmur moved through the crowd, a rare moment of agreement. Optimus scanned the crowd again as the silence returned. “Before I deliver final judgement regarding those once affiliated with the faction known as the Decepticons, I have asked the provisional High Council to speak.”
Optimus stood back on the stage, standing in the corner with his hands behind his back. He glanced at the rows of seating and nodded toward Ratchet.
The medic rose from his seat with visible hesitance, earning him an amused smile from the Prime. The medic stood before the podium with his shoulders square, head held high. “I still carry resentment,” he said bluntly. “For what was done to my people. For what was taken to me. To the damage caused.”
Many heads in the crowd nodded in agreement. Ratchet leaned forward, gripping the podium. “But I know this. If we continue to remain divided, if we shun each other for a side we once supported, then we preserve the very system that poisoned this world long before the first shot of war was fired.” His optics narrowed. “Sentinel ruled by separation. He thrived because of the enforced caste. By deciding who was worthy and who was not.”
Ratchet’s voice lowered, laced with contempt. “I have no appetite for leniency. But I have less appetite for repeating our mistakes. Of continuing the cycle of oppression.”
The applause that followed was loud. Ratchet stepped down and took his seat and some other councilors took the stage after him.
Hound outlined plans for labor restitution and reconstruction assignments. Jazz spoke on memorializing civilian losses and plans to gather as much census information as they could to ensure no one would be forgotten.
Ultra Magnus took the podium, stature rigid and his words delivered with a military precision. “Mercy is not the absence of accountability,” he declared. “Those who committed grave crimes will answer for them. Commanders who ordered massacres, sabotage, and have taken hostages and prisoners. All will be held accountable.”
The crowd murmured their approval. Magnus continued, “But justice without mercy is only revenge in disguise.” He swept a hand out toward the city beyond the crowds. “We need builders now more than prisoners. We need service, discipline, we need those who broke this world to help us repair it.” His gaze narrowed, jaw tight. “They are being given another chance. Not because they deserve it. But because we all deserve a chance to live.”
After Magnus, Elita rose. She stepped to the podium with a firm and quick pace, not even pausing before she began to speak. “We are not being asked to forget,” she said sharply. “No one gets to erase what happened.” Cheers answered her at once, matching her energy. “We remember every city lost. Every spark extinguished. Every family torn apart. We remember them and carry them with us.”
The crowd rippled with soft cheers. Elita’s voice softened only a fraction. “And we will honor our kin best by not becoming monuments to pain, but by becoming the future they were denied. We must live for them.”
The plaza erupted with cheers and shouts. As it died down, Elita leaned forward over the podium, pointing at the crowd. “In the end, every mech in this war, all of you, wanted the same thing. We wanted to live. We wanted a life where we weren't forced into roles.” She struck the podium with a palm. “We wanted to survive! To matter. To live without chains.”
The applause and cheering kicked back up. Mechs raised their fists and expressed their approval loudly. Elita bowed her head firmly before stepping back down from the podium.
Once all the councilors had been seated, the announcer stepped to the podium once more. They cleared their vocalizer before speaking. “With the statements of the provisional High Council having concluded, the Prime shall issue final judgement regarding all forces previously aligned with the faction formerly known as the Decepticons, and the terms by which peace shall proceed.” They bowed their helm and withdrew.
The plaza quieted to a dull hum before silence fell as the Prime approached the podium. Optimus interlaced his digits and placed them on the podium.
“People of Cybertron. The war has ended. Therefore, justice shall be served. All former Decepticon personnel who willingly surrender themselves to the authority of the provisional government shall be granted conditional amnesty.”
The first wave of murmuring began. Optimus raised his voice to be heard over the noise. “Those found responsible for atrocities, unlawful executions, torture, civilian targetting, sabotage of life-sustaining systems, and other war crimes shall all face trial.” The crowd murmured their approval at that.
Optimus inclined his helm. “Those not sentenced to imprisonment and rehabilitation shall be assigned vocational labor in reconstructive efforts. They shall be compensated fairly for that labor under civilian standards. They shall also be offered rehabilitative programs free of charge, intended to reintegrate them into a lawful society.”
The crowd had mixed feedback, approval and disagreement mixing together. Optimus continued, “Those who refuse surrender and do not answer for their crimes, or those who engage in organized resistance against the lawful authority of Cybertron, shall be subject to arrest, trial, and imprisonment under civil statutes.”
Optimus paused, seemingly unshaken. Ratchet watched on from below, knowing that the leader must feel more nervous than he let on. He always cared too much about how the others thought of him.
The plaza hushed as they awaited for the most anticipated announcement. “As for Megatron.” Optimus’s voice lowered but was no less firm. “Following extended adjudication by the High Council, military review, and extended legal authority, it has been determined that the immediate execution or indefinite punitive imprisonment shall not be enacted.”
The crowd went wild with activity. Shouts rose from each section, angry disbelief spreading throughout. Optimus raised his hands, gesturing for the volume to lower. “Megatron shall be permanently stripped of all military, political, and ideological authority. He shall never again hold command over any force, institution, or citizen of Cybertron.”
Some listened silently, others jeered. Optimus cleared his vocalizer and clutched the podium with noticeable tension. “He shall remain under continuous supervision and security monitoring at all times. He shall reside only within approved secure facilities and designated work sites.”
As the noise grew, Optimus’s voice rose once more. “He shall be assigned compulsory service in reconstruction efforts under guard. He shall stand trial for crimes proven under law, and he shall receive sentence accordingly where guilt is established.”
Voices called out across the plaza.
“Coward!”
“He’s gone soft!”
“My family died for this?!”
Others shouted in retaliation.
“We need peace!”
“Make it end!”
A line of guards tensed along the perimeter. Ironhide’s hand moved to the weapon at his side even if he knew Optimus would make him lower it.
Optimus was unmoving. “He shall further remain subject to additional restriction of movement, communication as determined necessary for public safety.” Optimus glanced at the audio engineers beside the stage and nodded toward them. Two mechs looked down at the consoles before looking up and giving a thumbs up.
Optimus’s voice became louder over the speakers. “Order in the plaza! Citizens will maintain order!”
Gradually, the noise lowered to a simmering hum of discontent. Optimus gave the tiniest sigh and resumed. “This judgement will satisfy many of you no more than the war itself did.” His gaze swept the crowd. “I know that. But to execute or imprison Megatron to let him rot would make me no better than him.”
The applause for that was sparse, but the few that agreed were very vocal in it. Optimus folded his hands once more and placed them gently on the podium. “Let it also be known that any individual or organization seeking to reignite factional based conflict through the promotion of Autobot or Decepticon militant propaganda shall be subject to civil prosecution.”
That made the audience hush. Optimus’s gaze narrowed as he scanned the shifting crowd. “The war’s end is not the end of danger. There will always be those who profit from suffering. Those who crave conflict. Those who are willing to drag us backward into chaos because peace offers them no power.”
Optimus’s voice deepened, rough with exhaustion. “Thus, we must stand together as one to defeat the greater evil. We are stronger united than divided.” Optimus straightened to full height, placing a hand over his chest. “There are no more Autobots. There are no more Decepticons.” The plaza held its breath. “There are only Cybertronians.”
It was quiet before one pair of hands began clapping. Then another not far from him. Then a few more farther back. Many among the plaza began to follow suit.
↠✧↞
Deep within the secure chambers of the old senate building, far from the noise of the plaza, Megatron stood before a display console as Optimus’s broadcast flickered across its surface.
This chamber, a place meant for gathering and meetings, had once been built to display power. Its ceilings rose high into shadow, only faint golden beams of sunlight pouring in from high set windows. Now it had been converted into an impromptu operational hub, littered with consoles and guards at each entrance.
On the screen, the final applause and chaos of the civil address rolled through the plaza. Megatron spun around slowly and paced the room, the sentries keeping their gazes on him.
The fury that had sustained the warlord through years of conflict had long since burned away, leaving only smouldering ash. Even when he had stood trial and was awarded his mercy, he still found it unbelievable. He had not anticipated that the mercy almost felt worse.
His gaze followed the cracks in the marble flooring as his thoughts turned inward, crueler than any sentence a court could issue. How many had died because he would not yield? How could he have let rage fuel him as it did? How did it dig itself into his processor and turn him into something unrecognizable? How many cities burned because he had believed that one more battle would finally award him the power he needed to be the new leader? To be worthy of the Matrix even when he knew all along he would never be good enough?
He had fought so hard, for what? Cybertron was wounded. Alive once more, but only just. He had become the one thing he had feared most. Weak. His name inspired fear, hatred, grief, and none of it could be used to control. It only made him the lowest of sum in many’s optics.
Megatron stopped pacing in the middle of the room. He tilted his head up and closed his optics. Once life had been simple. There had been no armies, no councils, no factions, no energon spilled.
There had once only been long conversations in dim archival corridors, impossible dreams spoken too late into the cycle. Once it had been miners Orion and D-16. Then it had been Archivist Orion and Megatronus. Both of those times had been easier. Even if it meant you were only important because you were a cog in a machine.
Megatron missed the mech he had been before rage became easier than hope. He missed the mech Orion had been before the Matrix stole his body and used him as a puppet. He missed a world that would never exist again. Simply because he painted himself in a light that would shine on him until the moment he went offline.
↠✧↞
Outside, the plaza had fallen into disorder and small riots. Crowds pressed against barricades, others tried to escape the chaos. Some demanded harsher punishment. Others called for calm and second chances.
Security teams moved quickly to contain surges for the stage and the senate building while broadcasts cut out.
The high council stood from their seats as guards formed around them in practiced formation. Chromia and Ironhide herded Optimus and the councilors toward the senate building hastily.
“This way,” Ironhide said gruffly.
Ratchet muttered a curse under his breath as he followed Ironhide’s gesture. He looked to Optimus, who’s strain became evident to those who knew him well. Hound held up one side of the small crowd until the councilors had all been stuffed inside the senate’s doors.
The corridors were cool, the air stale and stuffy. The unrest outside was white noise muffled by the walls. Prowl pushed open the gathering chamber’s doors as the council poured in.
Megatron looked down from staring at the ceiling, expression hardening as he caught the council’s gaze. A couple guards in the room moved to stand just behind Megatron, their gazes sharp.
Megatron paid them little attention. His optics were fixed on Optimus. There was no challenge in it. No fire. Only a numb void. He gave a bitter scoff. “Prime.” He bowed his helm slightly. “You have given me far more mercy than I deserve.”
The other mechs moved about, crossing the room to the opposite doors deeper into the senate. Optimus remained, meeting Megatron’s stare without hostility. “My intention from the very beginning was to preserve life,” he said. “I do no one any favors ending yours simply to appease the public.”
Megatron’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, jaw clenching and optics flickering. Before anyone could say more, Ratchet shouldered past Prowl and Jazz, irritation radiating off his field. The medic stood at Optimus’s side and gave him a once-over that drew the Prime’s attention. “Let’s go,” Ratchet said. “You look exhausted. You can stop stressing now. All the hard scrap is over.”
Optimus ex-vented softly and gave a tired nod. Ratchet reached up and took him by the shoulder and guided him toward the temporary resting quarters prepared for the council until further accommodations could be rebuilt. Ironhide and Chromia fell in behind them automatically as the last of the High Council filtered out of the room.
Megatron remained where he stood, staring at the spot Optimus had been. Even the feelings of betrayal, the hatred at Optimus for stealing Orion away from him, they all faded. Once his title as a warlord had been forcibly stripped from him, he had a striking clarity that made ‘Megatron’ feel like a far different person than the mech standing in a gathering room full of sentries there just to guard him.