Carry On Wayward Son - Prologue

In a chamber deep in the heart of Iacon, a meeting took place that would decide the future of Cybertron.

This wasn’t nearly as heavy a statement as one might expect. Every meeting of the Council decided some aspect of Cybertron’s future, even if it was something as miniscule as whether to raise a certain tax a fraction of a percent or change the design of the capital city’s seal. Of late, however, almost every Council meeting held a solemn air, one that reminded every mech present that they played a hand in historic events… events that would have vast repercussions for Cybertron’s future.

Optimus Prime should have been present at this particular meeting. As the one who had captured Megatron and his double-agent within Autobot High Command, it should have been his privilege and honor to tell his story to the Council. But he had respectfully declined to stand before the Council, insisting that he was needed back on Earth to round up Starscream’s clones and recover the last few fragments of the Allspark.

Sentinel Prime wished this action could have tarnished Optimus’ reputation before the Council… but if anything it only elevated him in their optics. To them, their hero was not only dedicated to his work, but too modest to sing his own praises. They allowed him to return to that Allspark-forsaken organic world without complaint, and let Jazz give his report on the battle.

“...an’ the rest you know,” the cyber-ninja finished, a satisfied smile on his faceplate. “Might hafta hit Optimus an’ company up for all the details, though -- mech can only be in one place at a time, y’know?”

“We appreciate your report, Jazz,” Alpha Trion told him. “We will request a full report from Optimus Prime and his crew at a later date, but your version of events suffices for now.”

Sentinel snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Optimus should be here giving that report in person! Not gallivanting around on that dirtball-”

“That will be enough out of you, Sentinel,” the aged statesmech told him, his voice sharp. “Your actions as acting Magnus are already being called into question. Don’t dig your own tomb deeper.”

He flinched, head-pipes angling back in embarrassment, but tried to compose himself quickly. “You have to understand, Councilors, that I was acting in the best interests of the Autobots. Sometimes tough decisions have to be made during times of war-”

“I’d hardly call this little uprising a war,” Cliffjumper pointed out with a shrug. “And it’s over anyhow, so the Council has seen fit to rescind the measures you issued during your term as Magnus -- the curfew, the mandatory searches, the travel bans, everything.”

Sentinel’s head-pipes flicked back up, and his optics blazed angrily. “You had no right!”

“The Council has the right to decide when emergency measures may be ended,” Alpha Trion replied. “The crisis is over. Megatron and the vast majority of his Decepticons are in custody, and our forces are rounding up the last of them as we speak. It is time we allowed ordinary Cybertronians to return to their normal lives, without living in constant fear.”

Sentinel knew, logically, that Alpha Trion spoke the truth. But hearing that the Council planned to undo everything he’d accomplished rankled. “Fine. But you’d better not pull this stunt with every single law and edict I instate as Magnus.”

At that, Cliffjumper and Perceptor shared a look -- and while the scientist was as expressionless as ever, Cliffjumper actually had the audacity to smirk.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded. Cliffjumper had been the closest thing he had to a friend back in his boot-camp days -- to see him enjoying some joke at his expense was infuriating.

“You don’t have to worry about THAT,” Cliffjumper told him. “Because you’re not going to be acting Magnus much longer.”

Sentinel’s jaw dropped. “What the slag do you mean?” Surely they wouldn’t decide to promote Optimus Prime, that failure who hadn’t even graduated from the Academy, ahead of him… surely the universe wasn’t THAT dead-set against him...

“Ultra Magnus has awakened from stasis,” Perceptor replied, his flat modulated voice sending a creeped-out shiver up Sentinel’s spinal strut. “His repairs will be completed within the next two planetary cycles, at which time he will resume the office of Magnus.”

Jazz had the audacity to grin at that news, while Sentinel just gawked. After Shockwave’s attack on Ultra Magnus, most of the Autobots had assumed he was out of commission permanently. Hearing that he hadn’t succumbed to his wounds but had rallied and made a full recovery left him stunned… and made his spark churn with a tangle of conflicting emotions. Relief that Ultra Magnus was alive, yes, but also anger and disappointment that his own time as Magnus had been so short… and had ultimately been ineffective.

“You will, of course, step down graciously and return the Magnus Hammer once Ultra Magnus is ready to resume his duties.” Alpha Trion’s words were clearly a statement, even a command, rather than a question.

Sentinel ground his dental plates but nodded sharply. “I’ll step down… but Ratchet still has the Magnus Hammer.”

“Then he will be asked to return it as soon as Ultra Magnus is ready for it,” Alpha Trion replied. “In the meantime, Sentinel Prime, you will stand by and await your next assignment.”

He tried his hardest not to wince at that. If the Council was going to take this opportunity to kick him while he was down by giving him a scumbag assignment…

“Archivist Drivetrain, you are permitted to take the floor,” Percepter droned.

A skinny blue-violet mech with a cylindrical helm and a rectangular visor stepped up to the dias, and Sentinel and Jazz shifted aside to let him address the council. Drivetrain didn’t even look at Sentinel as he addressed the Council… though he didn’t even look at the Council, just kept his visor fixed on the datapads in his hands, so the Prime tried not to take TOO much offense at that.

“After Megatron’s, uh, capture, we took up the task of searching the archives for more information on his, uh, criminal history,” Drivetrain informed them. “We found some, uh, information that we felt the Council should be made aware of.”

Sentinel rolled his optics, earning an irritated look from Jazz. Why not just state the information straight-out instead of drawing things out for dramatic effect? The Council gave no sign of annoyance, however, and simply motioned for him to continue.

“According to our research,” Drivetrain went on, shuffling through his datapads, “during the Great War, Megatron sparked, uh, offspring.”

Sentinel’s head-pipes had drooped at the news that his time as Magnus was drawing to a close… but they jerked straight up at this bombshell. The Council erupted into surprised chatter, optics flashing, even the stoic Perceptor looking shocked at the revelation.

“You’re jivin’ us!” Jazz protested.

Drivetrain shook his head. “The sparkling in question was activated, uh, shortly before the end of the war. We have records of the, uh, protoform being activated and the spark transferred… but no information on the, uh, child actually being seen in the company of Megatron.”

Cliffjumper frowned. “If Megatron has offspring running around, this could be bad news. What if they decide to come break him out of prison? Or worse, take charge of the Decepticons in his place?”

“There is no evidence that a mechanism will behave in an identical fashion to their parental unit-” Perceptor began.

“Nevertheless, this matter must be attended to,” Alpha Trion noted. “Sentinel Prime, your mission is to investigate further. Find out if this rumored child of Megatron exists, and if so, find them and bring them before the Council.”

Sentinel nodded, his anger mollified for the moment. It could have been far worse -- at least he wasn’t stuck repairing space bridges or mucking out grease pits. And perhaps he could work this to his advantage. True, bringing the son or daughter of Megatron before the Council wasn’t quite as dramatic as arriving to Cybertron with Megatron, Shockwave, and Lugnut in cuffs, but it could still boost his prestige in the optics of the Council.

And of course, the child of Megatron couldn’t be allowed to run rampant through the galaxy, rallying their father’s remaining troops and rekindling the conflict all over again. He would find the spawn of Megatron, and he would bring them back in chains. He would protect Cybertron with all his spark… and show Optimus Prime that he, too, could be a hero.

“I accept this mission, Alpha Trion,” Sentinel replied, saluting sharply. “I will not rest until we’ve found the sparkling and solved this mystery once and for all!”

“Thank you, Sentinel Prime,” Alpha Trion intoned, nodding. “You and Jazz are dismissed… and Jazz, the Council expresses our condolences for the loss of your comrade.”

Jazz’s casual smile faded, and he gave a respectful bow. “Thanks, sir. Prowl died a hero, but… ain’t much of a consolation, t’ be honest.”

Perceptor raised a hand. “On the matter of Prowl’s deactivation… I must correct an error on Alpha Trion’s part. There have been… developments.”

“Developments?” Sentinel demanded, scowling. He hated it when he didn’t understand what was going on.

“The announcement of Prowl’s deactivation was premature,” Perceptor replied. “Against all odds… he is alive.”

***

Lights flicked on in the corridor outside Megatron’s cell, the illumination stabbing painfully into his optics before the sensors adjusted to the brightness. Normally the maximum-security wing of the Kalis Correctional Facility was kept darkened, ostensibly to conserve energy but mostly to demoralize its prisoners. The lights coming on could mean a few things -- another prisoner being dragged in, an accused mech being hauled out to face trial, a surprise inspection… or if the squeak of the fuel-cart wheels was any indication, a ration delivery.

Megatron frowned behind the mouthplate that had been bolted to the lower half of his face. Was it really that time already? The monotony of this place was wreaking havoc with his internal chronometer. Either that or it had been damaged during his capture -- all too possible, especially as his captors had made no effort to repair him before locking him away.

The hulking mech in the cell across from him growled and slammed a fist against the thick transparisteel wall, as if trying to attack him through their cell walls. Megatron might have responded to the threat, but he couldn’t even move -- not only was he in stasis cuffs, but his cell was so cramped that even if he had been free of his bonds, he wouldn’t have been able to so much as lie down. Either the Autobots were so terrified of him they wanted him totally immobilized, or they were trying to crush his spirit. Perhaps some of both.

The cart paused before his cell, and Megatron locked gazes with the squat yellow-and-green minibot pushing said cart. The mech stared at him a long while, optics bright with amazement.

Yes, gawk to your spark’s content, Megatron thought icily. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

The minibot’s expression of awe broke into a smirk, and he grabbed a cube from the cart and held it up for Megatron to see -- presumably his daily ration. Then the mech drank it down himself and pushed the cart further down the corridor.

Megatron tried to clench his fists in anger, but the stasis cuffs wouldn’t allow him to do more than twitch his fingers. Rage seared through him, and he wanted nothing more than to snap his cuffs and shatter the walls of his cell, to chase that little runt down and beat that smirk off his face…

Then a wave of exhaustion snuffed out his fury, and he shuttered his optics as his head slumped against the wall of his cell. He was so tired… anger took too much energy, and he couldn’t keep up the rage and hatred. He hadn’t refueled since he’d been locked in this cell, and the damages Optimus Prime had inflicted on him still burned with agony. He couldn’t even muster the energy to glare at the fuel-cart mech as he finished passing out rations to the prisoners (at least the Autobot ones) and scurried out.

He had failed. He had striven to rebuild his empire, and he had been thwarted by an upstart space bridge maintenance worker. The blow was humiliating, and knowing his most elite troops were either dead or also imprisoned was just as devastating a blow. And worse, he knew rescue wasn’t coming -- he’d flat-out ordered his Decepticons to stand down and await his command to invade Cybertron, an order that would never come now.

His thoughts drifted, his CPU shifting in and out of awareness as his chassis trembled with weakness. Memories rose to the surface, as if trying to drown out the misery of his current situation. There were memories of triumph, of battles won and enemies crushed… but also quieter moments, of the serenity of deep space, of a moment of contemplation before flying into battle…

And if his CPU reached back far enough, of a smaller form curled up against his torso, drowsing in recharge at his father’s side. A young mech, spark newly installed in his protoform, nestled trustingly against the mech who had sparked him, the warlord’s arm draped protectively around him even as their ship hurtled towards a rendezvous with destiny…

He forced his thoughts away from those memories. No… thinking of the little mech would do no good now. His son had been kidnapped megacycles ago, captured by slavers, and all efforts to find him had failed. The child was dead by now… and though Megatron had channelled his grief at the loss of his son into a burning rage that served him well on the battlefield, that rage would do nothing but drive him insane now.

But the memories wouldn’t be quieted. They continued to dominate his sluggish thoughts, and to haunt his dreams when he finally slipped into a fitful recharge.