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itzlunacrystal · 16 days

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A Cycle Unending: Snippet #1

The Matrix must have something to fuel it as it empowers its bearer. A strong frame or a powerful spark.

Orion Pax had neither of these when he took it, and his life became limited. Thus, to ensure that the Autobots would not be destroyed in his absence, he created a means to continue on, if only in spirit.

(I be thinking up more angst. Don't judge me its almost finals I'm stressed.)

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[PRIME-0]

To take the Matrix was an honor. That was what the priests told him.

Orion believed them. Optimus did as well.

“You will not last long. Your frame was too weak to accept this burden.” Alpha Trion stood by his side, holding Optimus’s shaking servos. The Master Archivist was right. Looking at his frame it was clear he did not have much time left. The Matrix was sucking him dry, ripping away vitality and youth with a viciousness that was not intended.

The relic needed a strong frame or a strong spark to fuel it. Optimus had neither. When he took the relic, his body was beaten from the first fires of war and his spark was weary from so many sorrows. There was nothing for the Matrix to consume, and thus it was beginning to devour him. Optimus could tell it did not want to, the relic almost seemed to weep as it worked.

But there was always a cost for power. And this… This was the consequence of his decision to accept the gift Primus bestowed.

“How long do you believe I have?” Optimus’s voice rumbled, deep, gruff, and worn. Over the course of a mere few stellar cycles, he had aged exponentially. Taking the Matrix left him spry and willing to take on the world at first. But with time, that strength faded into cold and uncaring wisdom that spoke of a grim truth.

He was going to die soon.

“A few stellar cycles at most. Your frame was only strong enough to withstand it for a vorn, and half that time has already passed.” Optimus bit his lower derma, anger and anguish building up in his vocalizer in a pained cry he refused to voice. The Matrix was too much, too powerful for his spark and frame to handle. It would bleed him until he had nothing to give and his people would have no one to lead them. Megatron would rule their world, and countless innocents would perish in his rage. It could not be allowed. Optimus could not leave his people so soon.

“I will not abandon my people. I will not leave them without a leader.” He spoke with conviction, his mind already running through any possibility that yet remained. He doubted he could preserve his life, but perhaps he could find a way to ensure his people endured.

“You won’t. There may yet be a way to ensure Cybertron always has a Prime to guard it.” Alpha Trion’s rumbling voice washed over him, soothing Optimus’s turbulent thoughts. If Alpha Trion believed there was a way, then Optimus was inclined to believe him. His master had not been wrong yet.

“What must I do to ensure this?” He could feel creases under his optics shift as he looked up at his mentor. He had not been marked by such things before. Age was catching up to him so quickly that he hardly had time to process it. There was not a single moment to waste.

“Come with me. We shall begin work immediately.” Alpha Trion pulled on his servos lightly, his field wide and almost desperate. Optimus vented deeply and nodded. Whatever was to come needed to be completed quickly. He could feel his strength fade with every passing cycle.

Time was not on his side.

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“You are sure this will work?” Optimus adjusted his glasses as he leaned on his cane. His vents came in tortured rasps, age having taken its toll. He could hardly see even with his glasses, but he still understood what he was looking at.

“Yes. The cycle has been completely automated. As long as those who come after you contribute what is required of them, there will always be one to carry the mantle.” Optimus nodded as he sensed Alpha Trion begin to shift away. A young life flared within his spark chamber, one he had been cultivating for the last few stellar cycles he had left. It had no other parent. The newspark was a piece of him and him alone.

For that reason, it would be weak. But because it was of him, it would be accepted by the relic he bore.

“Will they live longer than me?” He voiced his burning question, sorrow growing deep within him as he felt the newspark in his frame shift and flare. No one deserved this fate… but it was better that one line carry the burden rather than leave a whole world hanging by a thread, hoping one of their Primes would be worthy.

“No. Their frames will be stronger, but without an additional contribution of CNA, their sparks will not have the fortitude to withstand the Matrix for much longer than you.” A shaky vent escaped him as Optimus stepped forward and placed his servo on the glass of the tank in front of him. He hated that this was the fate he had condemned his line to. But who else would be able to shoulder the burden? Who else would have the knowledge and the wisdom to fight against Megatron effectively?

It had to be him. There was no other choice.

“Will they care for my loved ones as I do?” Worry grew within him as he thought about all those that he would be leaving behind. Elita-One, his dear Conjunx, would be without him soon enough. How long had it been since he’d seen her? He honestly couldn’t remember. Once he knew what the Matrix was doing to him, he pulled away from everyone. He didn’t want them to see him as he fell apart.

Ratchet, Jazz, Prowl, Ultra Magnus, Ironhide, Springer, Kup, Blaster… how many others would suffer in his absence? Would they even know he was gone when all was said and done?

Was it really worth it?

“They will be perfect copies in frame and memory, but every spark is unique, even ones split from a singular source.” Optimus sighed as he registered the answer given. There was no assurance that those who came after him would care for his loved ones as he did.

Yet another cost he had to pay for their people’s salvation.

“I understand.” His voice echoed in the cold underground lab. He dreaded the feeling of loneliness those who came after him would experience. Forged into such a clinical and lifeless place… it was horrific. Still, it was the only way to keep them safe until they could take up their inherited function.

Slag, he really was just as bad as the Council. Here he was, deciding the future of countless sparks, giving them a function they may or may not despise and predetermining their entire lives. How cruel he was…

“I’m so sorry. To all those who come after me, I pray that you may find it in your sparks to forgive me.” He leaned against the glass of the pod, tears gathering in his optics as he felt the newspark within him flutter in concern. It would not be long now. Soon, the cycle would begin.

He could only pray that it would have an end.

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[PRIME-1]

From the moment he opened his optics for the first time, Optimus saw the world differently.

He didn’t notice much at first. His inherited memory guided him into integrating into normal life perfectly. There was work to be done and he was young and excitable. He wanted nothing more than to live each cycle to the fullest and end the war as soon as possible. That was his design, and the memory left to him told him as such.

It felt so close to him. For in his optics, each cycle had the weight of an entire millennia. To his young mind, all he had to do was speak to Megatron and things would work themselves out. The original knew Megatron, and he was sure his inherited memory would afford him the diplomatic power he needed. He did not realize how different he was when he saw how deep the grudges between Cybertron’s citizens ran.

He learned he saw things differently when he looked at his fellows. They felt almost alien to him at times with how distant everything seemed for them. Ratchet would easily devote whole stellar cycles of his life to a single project or thought without hesitation simply because the time meant nothing to him. Jazz would wait in solitary positions or live undercover for vorns at a time when required, never flinching or hesitating. Optimus could hardly comprehend that level of dedication.

Blaster would put his very spark into communications and song, entire deca-cycles lost in a blur of rhythm and composition. Prowl would live and breathe his office and the work therein, never so much as stepping out unless summoned. Optimus did not doubt the officer would remain in his office for entire millennia if left to his own devices. Even Ultra Magnus’s actions left Optimus reeling. He could barely comprehend the level of dedication the commander put into filing and keeping things organized.

The things they saw as so minor, so very miniscule… Those things accounted for almost the entirety of Optimus’s lifespan. It was impossible for him to view the world as they did. Time was a precious thing for him, and every decision he made was all the greater because of it. He knew his time was limited, and so he did everything in his power to make the most of it. His fellows did not understand when he threw himself into battle to plead with Megatron, using the memories he was gifted to speak reason. There was no way they could comprehend how much it hurt him when he failed to succeed in his mission.

All those around him operated on such grand scales. They couldn’t understand why Optimus tried to move so quickly, why he pushed for offensive strikes and peace talks one after another without end. They tried to tell him to stop, to bide his time.

He couldn’t afford to do that. Six stellar cycles was all it took for his youth to have run its course.

His limbs began to lose their strength, his enthusiasm dimmed and quieted. As age began to creep upon him, he looked upon his creased face and began to understand. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t angry. He was content in his life running its natural course. His fellows would be horrified if they aged so rapidly, but they saw the world in millennia. Optimus viewed it all in cycles, each just as important as the last.

His time for proactive action was over. His duty was to ensure that everything stayed in one piece until it was time for the next one to take his place. His life had not been without meaning. He had gathered knowledge, and with his knowledge, the one who came after him would know better than to waste his limited life trying to speak to Megatron the way Optimus had.

He knew when the time was right. The cycle he found himself unable to walk without pain, he smiled in contentment and bid his inner circle farewell. He walked the same path he followed when he was freshly forged. Now world weary and aged, he entered the place he was created and collected one of the many datapads lining the walls. It was empty. They all were. Each was to be a record, a comprehensive collection to be consulted when the memory of the dead was too great to bear.

He settled in the only chair in the clinical space and wrote of his experiences. It was pleasant, a final farewell in a sense. His life had been short, but it had not been without meaning. He was the first, it was to be expected that he would fail.

As he finished his writing and put the pad away, he vented deeply. Part of him wanted to be afraid as he stepped into the pod that had given him life. But as liquid rose and his consciousness faded, he found himself content.

The cycle would continue.

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[PRIME-5]

Optimus had known it was going to happen eventually. Those who came before him tended to spend their final cycles concerned, worried that this exact scene would play out for them or their successor. Up until his life, there had been no need to really think about it. All of the friends the original made became their friends as well. There was nothing strange. It simply was. Even the lingering fear of connections the original held becoming problematic wasn’t much of a concern since most were scattered across the planet.

But of course, being the fifth, it seemed he was the unlucky mech who needed to face the Conjunx of Orion Pax.

“You aren’t him.” Elita-One stared him down with a stoic expression. Her field was held close and her optics flared with grief. Optimus didn’t even bother to lie. The memory he held told him it was a waste of effort.

“I felt our bond shatter into a million pieces five vorns ago.” Her servos clenched into fists and her frame shook as she tried in vain to remain composed. Optimus held no affection for the femme before him, but the original had loved her dearly enough to send her away as he faded. Optimus would not dare disrespect ties made long before his forging.

“And yet here you are. A perfect copy.” Her voice dipped into a sob, anguish building in her field in stuttered bursts. She was hurting despite how long it had been since the original passed away. Optimus’s fellows really did see things so very differently. What was five generations old to Optimus was a fresh wound to the femme before him.

“Tell me. How are you here? How is it that you bear his name and his face?” Elita’s lower derma wobbled as she gazed up at him, hope and anguish mixed into something so powerful Optimus almost wanted to weep alongside her. What was he to say? What would ease her pain?

There wasn’t anything he could do. The original was long dead, and Optimus was one of many.

“The Matrix was too powerful for him to carry. It is too great for all of our number.” The femme paused, watching as Optimus knelt down lower, showing her his face. Her expression fell as she saw him, understanding beginning to dawn in her optics.

“Someone had to carry this burden. And so he and all those who have and will come after him are given this great mantle.” Elita touched his face, her digits running along the creases that were already forming. Optimus was six stellar cycles of age, and with his prime behind him, he was beginning to deteriorate.

“We do not live long, but I and those who come after me will do everything in our power to fill the void he left behind with the vorn we are afforded.” Tears fell from Elita’s optics. Optimus smiled gently. He felt nothing for this femme, he could not be the mech she wanted. But he could be a friend, a companion until his time came and his successor would have to take up the mantle.

“This was the choice he made. We are products of his love for you and all of Cybertron. And so, until this world no longer needs a Prime, we shall use what little time we have to make things better.” He brought Elita into a hug, memory guiding him as he did so. Elita enjoyed tender touch, even if it came from one who was not her Conjunx.

“I am sorry I cannot give you the love you have lost… But if you would let us, we would be your companion until this cycle ends.” Elita sobbed and Optimus rubbed soothing circles onto her back. She was not his Conjunx, but she was part of his duty.

“I will stay with you until my time comes. Then, those who come after me shall take my place.” He spoke softly, allowing Elita to cry. She wept bitterly, cursing and hissing at the original until she could give nothing more. Optimus held her through it, a soft song escaping his vocalizer.

His life had no success when it came to ending the war. But a wound was healed, and his interactions with Elita-One lived in his memory as a beacon of hope. Stellar cycles passed, and when the time came for him to traverse the long path back to his birthplace…

He did not walk alone.

“Thank you for everything.” His murmur was lost as he entered the pod, the newspark that would take his place fluttering in his chassis. The last face he saw was Elita-One’s, and he took pride in knowing that she was able to smile as the liquid of the pod engulfed him.

#NOT YOU ADDING OPLITA #MY OPLITA HEART NOO #SOBSS #transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #elita one #alternate universe #lots of angst #clones #the matrix of leadership #orion pax

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