"Hahaha."
Megatron's laugh—nasty, smug, and mean—was the last thing the Autobots needed. For him, it was pure joy. That old battlefield, where a brutal fight had once left nothing but lifeless bodies, turned out to be a goldmine for Megatron. Tied tight with Dark Energon, all he had to do was sic his new dead soldiers on Prime and his loyal little cyberdog, Ratchet.
Megatron knew his enemy. Knew what he could do, where his limits were, what his weak spots were. So his new pawns weren't about to snuff out Optimus's spark.
"After all these ano-cycles, still top of your game!"
[A/N:Cybertronian term for an YEAR]
Prime managed to break free from the circle of fallen warriors. But– "Can't say the same for your medic, HAHAHAHA!" While one group had piled onto Optimus, another had slipped in close behind, sealing off the only gap he could've used to get to Ratchet. Optimus shouted at the top of his vocal processor: "RATCHET!"
"HAHAHAHAHA." It had been a long time since Megatron had felt such pure satisfaction. Watching Prime squirm with no way out was better entertainment than a cube of high-grade Energon in his quarters with a view of open space. It was just a lucky break that he'd found Optimus in exactly the right place. That his medic might die here too? That was just a nice little bonus.
*POW*
"Optimus!"
Megatron stop for second when he heard an unfamiliar voice booming from the sky. He primed his cannon, ready to repel the attack.
As expected, a bright beam shot down from behind the clouds. But he couldn't spot who it belonged to, and instead of the standard blue blast, this one was green.
*Pow*
The green laser struck the group standing behind Optimus, clearing more space for him to maneuver.
So, Autobot reinforcements, Megatron concluded. They posed no problem for him; he'd just observe from above, since he was already planning to leave anyway—he'd gathered all the necessary data.
The sky brightened for just a second. Green. Again, Megatron noted, raising his optical ridge. Following the flash, something like a rocket plummeted straight into that group of his Terrorcons.
Megatron's optics locked onto his new guest. "An Autobot?"
The most striking feature was its size—even larger than that traitor Jetfire. All-black paint job, battle visor closed. In one hand, a massive broadsword; in the other, a combat energy shield that, as it began firing, had multiple modes. The helmet vaguely resembled Optimus's. No insignia visible, no matter how hard Megatron strained his optics, but given its aid to the Prime, there was no doubt about its allegiance.
The Autobots didn't have as many warrior cdata soldiers in their army as his own, so it was intriguing to watch the show. After landing, the warrior charged straight at the medic, shrugging off Terrorcons with a single powerful swing. Not bad.
The medic and warrior exchanged words. Megatron needed to test this new guest. He instantly aimed his fusion cannon—and fired
***
Optimus wrenched free from the clutches of their reanimated fallen, his name thundering through the chaos: "Optimus!" A mere second later, he hurled off the final grasping claw.
Another sparkbeat passed, and a colossal figure slammed down beside him in an earth-shattering crash, blasting a path straight to Ratchet.
Optimus locked his optics on the broad, familiar back of their unexpected ally—Rockwell.
Rockwell flipped his right servo's shield into weapon mode with a seamless whir, unleashing a barrage toward Ratchet that vaporized Megatron's swarming minions. The Prime charged forward, as Rockwell spun into a devastating diagonal sword strike, the blade whirling like a cyclone to obliterate everything in its arc.
Seizing the breach, Rockwell—mirroring Optimus—rushed to Ratchet's side. Closer by a stride, he arrived first, crouching to haul the medic upright. He drove his massive sword into the ground, freeing a servo to steady Ratchet's shoulder. The medic paused, optics flickering as he processed the towering savior amid the frenzy. "Thank you—..." He tilted his helm upward. "...Shapeshifter." Rockwell merely dipped his helm in silent acknowledgment, battle visor sealed shut.
Ratchet blinked, stunned—not expecting reinforcements beyond their core team. No distress beacon had been sent. And speaking of the Prime, Optimus closed in. "Ratchet, how are you holding up?"
The medic steadied himself to full height, extending a grateful servo with a firm nod. "Prolonged Dark Energon exposure drains our spark energy—"
Rockwell lunged forward in a single, thunderous stride, thrusting his shield out to shield Optimus. The massive barrier swallowed the distance, positioning him squarely in the line of fire—and utterly nullified Megatron's fusion cannon blast in a shower of dissipated energy.
All three snapped their optics skyward to Megatron, who leered down like a deranged predator.
Rockwell pivoted to Ratchet, extending the humming shield. "Take it, Medicae Ratchet. Conserve your strength."
Ratchet's optics widened in surprise, flicking to Optimus—who gave a curt nod of approval. Decision made. The medic snatched the energy shield with an outstretched servo. "Ugh!" He nearly fumbled it, stunned; a barrier of this caliber shouldn't weigh like a collapsing star.
The titan yanked his broadsword free from the scorched earth and handed it back to Optimus. He and the Prime would carve through the horde, while Ratchet—the pod's irreplaceable medic—held the rear, now armed for defense.
With Rockwell's Dark Energon immunity bolstering them, escape odds skyrocketed. The warriors locked optics, shared a resolute nod, and charged into the fray.
Rockwell and Optimus tore into the Terrorcon swarm like a storm–big brute force meets precise fury, syncing up without a word.
Rockwell led the charge, his massive frame bulldozing forward. He swung that broadsword in huge, earth-shaking arcs, cleaving three Terrorcons clean in half with one brutal overhead smash. Sparks flew as their chassis crumpled; he didn't waste motion, just pivoted and rammed his shoulder into another pair, smashing them into scrap like tin cans, his steps cracking the ground like thunder.
Optimus weaved in tight beside him, all speed and smarts. While Rockwell's swings left openings, Prime darted through, his arm swords flashing in quick, lethal slices. He ducked a claw swipe, rolled under Rockwell's backswing, and came up slicing two more mid-leap.
They meshed perfect: Rockwell's raw power drawing the horde, Optimus picking them apart fast and clean. A Terrorcon lunged at Prime's blind side – Rockwell's free servo clamped its neck mid-air, crushing it to sparks, while Optimus spun and finished the pack with a spinning axe throw that impaled three at once. Debris rained down; the path ahead cleared in seconds.
Dismantling Megatron's army like it was nothing.
They got to the base of the tallest rock where Megatron loomed. The Decepticon lord watched every move, showing no urge to jump in.
Prime started climbing without a word, scaling it like a pro mountaineer. Anger fueled his voice and speed – he rushed ahead, leaving his team behind.
In the brief lull, Ratchet hefted the shield and passed it back to the towering Cybertronian. "I owe you, Shapeshifter," the medic said with a quick nod of thanks.
Rockwell sheathed his sword and took the shield. "You're welcome, Autobot Ratchet."
Ratchet arched an optic ridge at the formal tone. At least someone showed respect
***
"Rockwell?" Arcee asked, probably voicing the first question on everyone's mind when Prime and Ratchet returned from the mission, since he hadn't originally gone out with them.
What surprised Rockwell most was that it was Arcee who said his name with a questioning tone, and not the children who were in the living area with the man lying on the medical berth in a suit. Rockwell raised an eyebrow, looking at Arcee. Their gazes met.
Her refined Cybertronian face and beautiful optics — by Cybertronian standards she was considered attractive. That he could see. She, most likely, saw his dark, grim face hidden behind his battle visor. Rockwell did not lift the visor.
In Arcee's optics he read something like regret, or maybe guilt — it was hard to tell. But it was enough to remind him that he would somehow have to break the news. After that, she turned to her leader, and the explanation of everything that had happened in their absence began.
In short, the man on the medical berth was Special Agent Fowler, the Autobots' official liaison with the country's government. He had been attacked by someone trying to extract the Autobots' location. But the agent did not give in — respect. Rockwell's first impression of him was already favorable.
After learning about the abduction, the team rushed to his aid, but… Miko — an expressive, loud, hyperactive girl — somehow managed to sneak through along with Bulkhead. It was frankly astonishing how Miko, right under Jack and Rafael's noses, slipped through the GroundBridge right after Bulkhead.
.
From there everything went downhill. Jack and Rafael set out to rescue Miko, which led them straight onto a Decepticon warship. A firefight broke out, the kids managed to snap a photo of the Decepticons' data, and somehow they all narrowly escaped. Unbelievable.
Optimus reprimanded Bulkhead, and Miko rushed to defend the big guy. Jack also decided to speak up. The boy was extremely displeased with Miko's actions, since she had recklessly put both her own life and theirs in danger. If this was what "a normal day" with Autobots looked like, he no longer wanted to be part of it.
Jack glanced at Rockwell, straight into his optics. Dragunov blinked instead of nodding. He approved of Jack's decision and supported him, secretly wishing the boy would stay away from all this. Optimus tried to respond, but Ratchet did not let him say much, instantly entering coordinates and opening the GroundBridge.
Rockwell noticed where Arcee was looking, watching Jack with a sad gaze as she saw him off. The femme had grown attached to the boy. Jack walked away slowly and finally stepped through the portal
"And finally, I am grateful again, Rockwell. Without your help, who knows whether we would have made it out alive," Optimus addressed his fellow warrior.
Dragunov shook his head. "I think you would have managed without me, Optimus–..." Miko didn't let him finish.
"And how did you even get there in the first place? They were probably really far from Jasper, maybe even another part of the world?" Perhaps Miko voiced the second question weighing heavily on everyone's minds; all attention fixed on him now.
"My sensors detected a massive energon surge, one similar in intensity to the explosion in the cave. I headed straight to the source, intending to render first aid. If necessary, to extinguish any fire, and clear civilians from the area," Rockwell answered, sweeping his gaze over the group. Optimus nodded voluntarily.
"Whoa, did you fly there or walk?" Rafael asked.
"By air."
"So you can fly too?!" It was obvious by the volume who had said that.
"Indeed I can."
"Wooooow!"
More questions followed, but Rockwell decided to cut the bravado short. "Optimus, it's getting late. Better send the kids home."
"Wise choice."
"I also wanted to ask for a private word, Optimus."
***
On Earth's orbit, a Decepticon warship.
"I ordered you to await my command!" Megatron snapped, no longer holding back. He hurled his second‑in‑command, Starscream, across the entire bridge.
"Instead, your mindless agenda led to the disassembling of my ship and the delay of my plans!" he towered over the fallen Seeker, who groaned in pain as he tried to push himself upright.
Gritting through the agony, Starscream managed to roll onto his back and begin crawling away from the imposing Megatron advancing on him.
"Please, Master, my intentions were pure; I only wanted to help rid you of Optimus!" He rose slightly, but Megatron's foot slammed him back down, pinning him to the deck. The pressure increased with each second, forcing the air from his tanks.
"No one rids of Optimus Prime but me! Do you understand? DO YOU?!" The tirade continued. Starscream, pleading, begged for Megatron to hear him out, insisting he had a plan to set everything right. This piqued Megatron's interest, so with barely any effort he lifted Starscream as if he were made of air and demanded an explanation.
After a while, Megatron simply flung his deputy aside like garbage.
"Soundwave!" Megatron called to the true Cybertronian he could still trust. His communications officer approached instantly, awaiting orders. "Has there been any addition to Prime's team?"
Soundwave shook his helmet. Megatron clenched his fist. "Run through all Autobot‑known data; was there anyone among them who were higher that traitor?" To everyone it was clear who "that traitor" referred to: Jetfire, once close to Megatron, but who turned on him – so thoroughly that the Decepticon leader had to personally tear out his spark. The betrayal cut so deep that Megatron refused even to utter his name, as a mark of disrespect.
***
Back to Autobot Base, at the roof
Optimus and Rockwell stood side by side, watching the sunset. The meeting of dawn and dusk was the perfect time to be alone—yet together—and it did wonders for the mind. To witness such a sight was, in a way, a privilege. And Rockwell had the feeling that Optimus, too, took quiet pleasure in these natural phenomena.
"As I mentioned in the lift when my sensors detected the surge of dark energon, I was in the middle of another mission," Rockwell began.
Optimus tilted his helmet slightly.
"I was searching for energon—or more specifically, raw energon."
"For what reason?" Optimus asked politely.
"Primarily for study, secondarily to aid you. I'm not omniscient, but something tells me your reserves are running dangerously low."
"That may be true, but I would say one thing." Rockwell turned to face Prime. "I value your help with all my spark, and words cannot express my gratitude... But... I never wanted anyone beyond the Autobots and Decepticons pulled into this terrible war. So many innocent lives have been lost already, and if more fall, I will never forgive myself."
In this heroic figure, in this old warrior, there was unmistakable weariness. He allowed himself a moment of softness and honesty. Maybe it was because Rockwell was not one of his soldiers, or maybe it was simply because he refused to accept more deaths.
Those who followed Optimus Prime were easy to understand. You just wanted to die for this guy.
"Your concerns are accepted...I am a wounded man, Optimus, and as with any wound, it heals. Everyone finds their own path to recovery; for me, it is doing what is right. It don't bring me pleasure like in the past, but this is how I have been taught. It is part of who I am: if there is any greater good than helping end this eternal war? I do not see it. "
"I'm honoured," Optimus said.
"Honour is all mine" Rockwell replied,
drawing his sword from behind his back and planting it into the rock at his feet. He gripped the hilt and leaned on it. At home he had noticed that his Cybertronian form, in broad strokes, resembled a knight – futuristic, you might say, or in other words a Cybertronian knight, were such things to exist. He had to admit he looked rather impressive, without sounding narcissistic.
The two stood in silence for a while, giving the sun time to sink below the horizon and letting the moon take its place.
"My search eventually led me to the cave where Cliffjumper's rescue was attempted," Rockwell continued. Optimus tensed; his relaxed posture vanished. "And beneath the rubble I found Cliffjumper's body."
Shifting his gaze away from the Moon, he met Optimus's now‑widened optics. "You already buried Cliffjumper once, believing nothing of him remained. Then you saw a chance to bring him back—and lost him again. Finding his body myself, I could not leave him there. His soul deserved a proper rest. So I called you here first, Optimus. I do not know Cybertronian customs, but on Earth it is customary to bury the dead near their ancestors. The choice is yours."
****
Several hours later.
Among HighTrix's many functions was the fact that it was far more than just a genetic‑engineering tool. It could, over vast distances and through a mental link, remotely control robotic units built by the Galvan "self."
The order to construct a coffin sized for Cliffjumper's body had been given the moment he headed off to aid Optimus. The laboratory had all the instruments needed, so it posed no difficulty. After that, the following happened.
Optimus thanked Rockwell once more, then turned to Ratchet. By the coordinates Dragunov had provided, the GroundBridge had been opened into one of the larger training rooms within the complex beneath his home.
At Rockwell's request the portal was kept open long enough for his automaton units to carry the coffin through—and once they did, the Autobots fell silent.
Rockwell then set to work on the energon. He needed to analyze its structure, power output, longevity, and everything tied to it. He was just about to shift into his Galvanic‑mechamorph form when he heard the sound of the GroundBridge opening again, in the same chamber where he had set the coordinates on his base. Someone from the Autobots must have returned.
He entered the large, completely white room – one whose design was not its main feature, but rather the hidden technology woven into its walls. There he saw Arcee in her motorcycle form rolling out of the portal, transforming the moment she crossed the threshold.
In his original form, Rockwell stood about three meters tall; Arcee was five. Quite a shift in perspective.
"How may I help you, Autobot Arcee?" he asked politely, stepping toward her.
"I wanted to thank you and apologize," she said slowly, letting each word settle. "Thank you for pulling Cliffjumper's body from the rubble and for spending your time and resources bringing him back to us. And apologize for being too emotional a few days ago, for saying things I shouldn't have. It wasn't right of me."
She didn't look away from his face. As a Cybertronian, as a human, as a Merlinisapien, he carried that same furrowed expression. On the night she had let those hurtful words slip, she had seen that look too—but then it had been sharper, and his response, once warm in its formality, had grown cold. Losing partners had always been hard on her.
"If I had left your comrade's body down there, I would have lost respect for myself," Rockwell said. He placed a hand over his spark and, with closed optics, nodded. "Your apology is accepted, Autobot Arcee."
"Arcee is just fine."