Chapter Text
SPARK ROTATION AT 100% EFFICIENCY
NEW WEAPONS DETECTED.
GYROSCOPE AT 80%
REBOOTING...SELF REPAIR
FUEL LEVELS AT 80%
ERROR: T-COG INCOMBATIBILITY. REPLACE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
RESTARTING...
Primal coughed, slowly getting back to his pedes. His entire frame hurt, as if he was just one giant bruise, but he pushed through the pain. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he stumbled backwards, slowly rebooting his optics until he could see. The walls and floor were coated in dust, a faint smell of rust permeated the air, and one thing came to him: he had no idea where he was.
"Primal? Primal, are you okay?" someone asked him, but his audials were ringing so badly, he couldn't tell who it was. "I-I'm fine," he said, sitting back down as someone grabbed his shoulder pauldrons. "He's here! He's okay!" they called over his helm, and he ran a full diagnostics check. Slowly, his dizziness faded, his systems giving him a clean bill of health, and he could see who was holding him. And he had one question.
"Cheetor? Why do you look like that?"
The familiar voice of Rattrap barked a laugh from somewhere nearby, and Blackarachnia scoffed, "we should be asking you that question." Primal took Cheetor's servo, and was pulled back to his pedes, taking a look at the others. Their new forms were strange, mostly animal instead of machine, though bits and pieces of their protoform could be seen poking out, much like the Transformers of old. Even Primal himself had been changed, but by what, he couldn't remember, just that it was so very bright.
"So, we're clearly not beast or machine, so what are we?" Cheetor asked, clearly hoping that Primal had the answers like he always seemed to, but the Maximal was at a loss. He'd never even heard of any bot that looked like them, the closest they had were old legends of the Thirteen Primes, and even then, they were debatably real. "I don't know," he admitted, doing a headcount and his spark sank. "Where's Rhinox and Silverbolt?" Cheetor and Rattrap looked at each other in response, before Cheetor spoke, "I don't know. I was hoping they were with you." Primal shuttered his optics, pain overtaking his spark at the thought of what must have happened to them. "Let their sacrifices not be in vain, we have to get to the bottom of this," he said, and they nodded, except for Blackarachnia, who scoffed and crossed her arms. "You expect us to find out what happened when we're down two of our most vital members, and we have no clue where in the Pits we even are?" she growled, before rubbing her optics. "Sorry, I-sorry," she said, and Primal could tell that she clearly wasn't in a great headspace at the moment.
"We won't find out, unless we try, Blackarachnia. At least for Silverbolt?" he soothed, and she nodded, "For Silverbolt." Primal gave her a weak punch to her pauldron, before taking a closer look at where they were. It appeared to be an old base of some kind, the walls decaying with the years of neglect, though some shadows of it's former self clung to life. "There's an armory down the hall just there, but it's empty," Rattrap supplied, and Primal couldn't help but give an amused snort, "always hopeful for a weapon or two, Rattrap?"
He vented, deciding that their best course of action would be to scout the old base, taking note of anything the former tenants left behind. There were barracks, with rotting mesh fabrics, one of which had painted walls, and each of the rooms had personal memorabilia that had been abandoned. A small sparkling toy here, a datapad with an old novel there, things that weren't of much use, but still tugged at his spark to leave. The most spark-wrenching was a small container, two perfectly preserved rings left inside. He flashed back to the carving in the vessel, OP and E, wondering if it had been meant for one of them. Whichever one of the two, perhaps they never did get the chance to give them to their intended.
The rest of the base was the same. Old and decrepit, but suprisingly had enough power in it's backup generators that there were lights. The remaining Maximals met up in what was clearly the main room, a monitor station tucked against the wall, and reported on what they found. "Nothin' other than some empty energon cubes," Rattrap reported. Blackarachnia spoke up next, "just some broken datapads, and someone's unopened box of rust sticks." Primal vented, he too had found nothing of note. That left Cheetor. "What about you, kid?" Rattrap asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, no doubt because of the young Maximal's dour expression.
"I found nothing," he said, before suddenly breaking down. "I found nothing! I just wanted to go home, and now I can't even do that!" Primal pulled Cheetor into a hug, letting him cry into his shoulder. "I'm tired, Optimus," he sobbed, and Rattrap hugged him too. Only Blackarachnia didn't join their hug, clearly feeling as if she didn't belong. That, and something else had caught her attention. The face...on the wall there...
"Hate to break up the sob-fest," she said, before pointing at the wall in question, "but what is that?" The other three looked at it, and Primal's optics went wide. He recognized that symbol. It had adorned the outside of the Ark, leaving no doubt as to who this base had belonged to. This base, the belongings strewn through it's empty, decaying halls...
Was Autobot.
***
"This doesn't make sense," he muttered to himself, trying to keep his anxiety at bay. "We wake up in an Autobot base with new forms. We have no idea how we even got here," Primal sighed. Rattrap and Blackarachnia were trying to see if they couldn't find the exit, or if they had to make one, while Cheetor was sitting on some rubble, head in his servos. Primal was left to try and piece together a plan, but without Rhinox...
No, stop thinking like that, he mentally chastised himself. They needed him to be their leader, just like on Earth. Steeling his nerves, Primal walked back into the main room from the hallway, to the sound of horrible screeching. "Sounds like they got it open," Cheetor's broken voice said, and Primal nodded. "Let's go check it out," he said, Cheetor taking his servo, and Primal pulled him to his pedes. Sure enough, they had gotten the entrance open, revealing a long set of stairs, as well as a small sliver of dim light. No place to go but up, was the unspoken agreement between them, as they began to climb the stairs. The light was coming from a crack in a small, clearly hidden trapdoor, which also opened with a horrible screeching.
Primal stuck his helm out first, and saw nothing, but a dim roadway, streetlights giving their all to light the the area. "We're all clear," he called, climbing out. The buildings were unfamiliar, not meant for beast modes, crumbling with neglect. They fanned out slightly, investigating the immediate area, and finding nothing. Everything was just abandoned, as if everyone left at once, and Primal had a strong feeling that was indeed what had happened. An Autobot base hidden underground, old architecture, and off in the distance, the faint shape of what had once been a golden dome, left no doubts as to where they were. "We're under Cybertropolis," Primal said, looking up at the roof of the city, faintly spotting pipeworks for the infrastructure, "all of this, where we are, is the old city of Iacon." It was all coming back to him now, the Golden Dome, where the old Senate used to pass laws, as well as it the place where the Ark had made it's fateful voyage to Earth, the birthplace of Optimus Prime and Elita-1, even where Rodimus Prime had made his final act, before vanishing into the wilderness.
"Wow, I didn't know all of this was down here," Blackarachnia said, and Primal nodded. "It's in such good condition too..." He turned to face her. "Do you think you can make a web that can get us back up?" he asked, and she scoffed, rolling her optics with a smirk on her face. "That's too easy. I just have to find a high enough point," she said, a servo on her hip. "Let's get movin' then!" Rattrap shouted, and the four of them went off to find the highest point, which turned out to be one of the supports for Cybertropolis. "Blackarachnia, terrorize!"
She looked at herself in confusion, before trying again. "Terrorize!" Nothing. Primal frowned, as Cheetor and Rattrap called out the command code for their own transformations, and still nothing happened. Primal ex-vented, shuttering his optics, and activated his T-Cog. "Optimus Primal, Maximize!" He could hear it clicking, before a sharp pain stabbed through him, and a warning popped up on his HUD. ERROR: T-COG INCOMBATIBILITY. REPLACE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
Fear ran down his spinal strut, and the others turned to face him with looks of distress. None of them could transform, their T-Cogs no longer compatible with their new forms. Stay calm! Primal shouted at himself in his helm, as he attempted the transformation sequence. Not a single wire moved into place for his beast mode, and he silently began to panic. However, it was like a switch was flicked, and the world faded away.
"Find your center. Find what you are fighting for. You will be transformed," a voice whispered to him, and he had the nagging feeling that he'd heard it before. "Transform and transcend." Primal once again ex-vented, and reached into his own spark. His T-Cog clicked again, but it was different this time, a familiar warmth spreading through his being as the click turned into a hum, and his form shifted. Gears moved into place for his new form, wires undoing and retwisting themselves, and he was once again a beast. "This form will protect you from the enemy. The beast hides you, where She cannot see you."
Primal didn't know if it was him, or someone else, who told them how to transform, but they were told, and one by one, they took on their beast modes. And one by one, they followed the glowing green webbing of Blackarachnia, up to the service hatch, that would lead them to the surface. It opened silently, in comparison to Iacon's rusted hinges, Primal closing it behind them, and he had the feeling that they weren't done with seeing the buried city just yet. "Something's going on, and I wanna know what," Rattrap said, and Primal sighed, "I wish I knew what was going on too, Rattrap, but whatever it is, something or someone needs our help. It reached out to me." Unbidden, the image of a dragon flashed through his mind, red-orange-gold, with those deep, burning blue eyes. "Whatever it is, it has a task for us, and it needs us to see it through," he continued. "Does it have a name?" Cheetor asked, and he was about to say no, until a word formed, on the tip of his glossa, and he spoke. "It's called..."
"The Oracle."
END OF PROLOGUE