Chapter Text
The descent into the lowest sectors of Sector Seven was an immediate, dizzying abandonment of the familiar. They had been traveling for what felt like endless cycles, the only light source their combined utility lamps, which cast long, distorted shadows that danced and writhed like nervous ghosts in the ancient maintenance tunnels. Their journey had become an exercise in both precision and sheer brute force. Orion’s intimate knowledge of outdated, forgotten Council protocols allowed them to bypass the automated security layers; D-16’s pure, focused strength was necessary to pry open the heavy, fused maintenance panels that refused to cooperate, their ancient metal groaning under the strain.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. It smelled distinctly of ozone, stagnant coolant, and something else—something electrical, vital, and terrifyingly alive. The metallic screech of the upper-sector plasma lifts was long gone, replaced by a profound, echoing silence that pressed down on their audio receptors.
Finally, the long, sheer access shaft gave way to solid ground. They had reached the bottom. The darkness here was absolute, thick enough to completely swallow the beams of their strongest utility lamps without resistance. It felt less like a basement and more like a tomb.
"The coordinates point... right here," Orion whispered, the sound tight with anticipation, his vocalizer barely louder than the faint whir of his internal coolant fans. His usual composure had fractured, replaced by a nervous, magnetic pull he couldn’t fight. "D-16, my sensors are detecting high-level, stable quantum entanglement readings. This isn't just old, disused infrastructure. This is a massive, highly active focal point."
D-16 ran a heavy servo along the wall beside them. The metal wasn't cold, as abandoned structures usually were, but radiated a low, insistent hum, like the chest cavity of a gigantic, slumbering beast taking slow, rhythmic breaths. "A focal point for what?" he demanded, his own internal turbulence amplifying the anxiety he felt from Orion. He craved the action, the moment of seizure; the waiting and the oppressive quiet were unbearable. His raw Intent felt choked by the stillness.
Orion ignored the question, his optics tracing a complex sequence of arcane symbols etched deeply into the wall. He placed his hand on the final glyph, and with a sound like a planetary sigh—a deep, metallic whisper of resignation—a massive circular portal dissolved inward. It did not swing or slide; it simply ceased to exist, revealing a chamber bathed in an ethereal, pulsing emerald light that seemed to possess its own gravitational pull.
The chamber was overwhelming: a vast, circular cathedral dedicated to forgotten power. Its ceiling was lost in shadows, and its floor was tiled with ancient, geometric patterns that seemed to shift under the influence of the light. At its absolute center stood Vector Sigma, not as a terminal or a simple, serviceable computer, but as a colossal, living crystalline matrix, humming with the energy of creation itself.
Filaments of raw, unrefined Cybertronian life-essence—the pure, unadulterated soul of the planet—danced within the core’s structure, visible energy waiting to be harnessed.
D-16 felt the ache in his spark—the constant, agonizing emptiness that had been the defining, miserable feature of his existence—suddenly, violently ease. The core was singing to him, a siren song promising an end to the ache, calling him home to a perfect wholeness he had never known.
"This is it," Orion breathed, dropping the stack of data-slates he’d been clutching. The accumulated wisdom of cycles was instantly rendered meaningless by the presence of true, raw knowledge. He moved forward, propelled by a desperate intellectual hunger. "This is the source code. The ultimate lifeblood of Cybertron. D-16, if we can just access the terminal here, we can expose the Council, we can rewrite the code for justice, for equality—"
"Forget the code, Orion," D-16 snarled, a low, guttural resonance starting in his vocalizer, louder than any he had ever produced. His entire being was locked on the core. The raw, beautiful, terrifying potential for absolute control. "Look at the power! We can seize it! We can command the core. We can obliterate the Council, tear down every polished tower in Iacon, and rebuild this world in a single, magnificent cycle!"
Orion spun around, startled by the sheer, manic intensity in D-16’s optics. "D-16, no! We came for truth, not for—"
But the rational argument was too late, a fragile whisper against a gathering storm. D-16's internal Intent—the pure, burning need to act and impose his will on a chaotic, unjust world—was magnetically drawn to the core. He lunged forward, not toward the safe data access terminal, but straight for the physical energy matrix itself.
The instant D-16’s heavy servo clamped down on the crystalline core, the chamber erupted in blinding, agonizing emerald and violet light.
The power that flooded him was overwhelming, not cold or harsh, but the crushing warmth of Completeness. D-16 was instantly overwhelmed, his body seized by a flash of understanding that was both utterly terrifying and ecstatically right. The agonizing void that had been his life snapped shut, filled to bursting with divine essence.
He wasn't D-16 anymore; he was One.
The resulting shockwave of energy blasted Orion backward, his armor screaming as it impacted the floor, but the spiritual pull was stronger than any physical force. As D-16 merged with the core, the divine soul within it screamed in joyous agony for its missing half. Orion, caught in the epicenter, was dragged forward, his smaller frame pulled against his will by an overwhelming, primal magnetism.
You are my other half.
We are one.
You belong here.
This is where we begin our reign.
The unified soul sang directly into Orion's core processor, bypassing all conscious thought.
Orion struggled, fighting the painful, magnetic pull that felt like his very essence was being stretched, fused, and reformed against his will. His consciousness was instantly flooded with eons of uncensored history—the knowledge he had always craved—and, most crushingly of all, he was shown the terrifying Future of Unity.
In one horrifying, shared instant that spanned millions of years of potential existence, both D-16 and Orion witnessed their joined destiny.
They saw themselves, immense and shimmering with unchallengeable power, a perfect fusion of D-16's brutal, decisive strength and Orion's cold, logical wisdom. They were not leaders; they were Gods whose will was absolute law. They saw countless proto-forms bowing in perfect, perpetual, silent servitude. They saw their unified mind, now flawless, objective, and unchallengeable, making decisions of total, absolute control that resulted in the slow, agonizing extinction of joy, individuality, and freedom across the cosmos. They saw a future of perfect, eternal Tyranny. A universe governed by perfect, ruthless efficiency.
The vision was absolute, undeniable, and, chillingly, logically right. It was the only possible conclusion of their combined, unchallengeable power.
D-16, now fully merged, felt a terrifying acceptance. This was the ultimate Intent. The rightness of it burned away all weakness, all moral ambiguity. This is necessary. This is beautiful.
Orion, the still-resisting half, felt pure, unadulterated Horror. His entire life had been driven by Consciousness—the need for empathy, justice, and truth. This future was the ultimate, inescapable lie. He saw the death of every ideal he had ever held dear, executed by his own hands.
Orion's core circuits screamed in silent protest. He could not, would not, allow this future. He could not allow them to become this necessary, absolute evil.
With a spiritual exertion that ripped at his own processing matrix, Orion fought the pull, not with physical strength, but with the raw, desperate moral conviction of his spark. He tore himself away from the magnetic focus of the core, his system running on pure, terrified, catastrophic conviction.
He instinctively slammed his hand into the data access terminal—the only direct, hardwired connection to the core's master unit. He didn't know the exact programming language, but driven by absolute, final terror, he found the Matrix protocol—the ancient code reserved for the highest act of spiritual self-destruction—and unleashed the ultimate, overriding command.
He didn't just break the spiritual bond. He commanded the core to permanently sever their dual-soul connection. He destroyed the possibility of their reunion forever, sacrificing the wholeness of his own spirit to save existence from their tyranny.
The resulting energy spike was not an explosion, but a psychic scream that tore through the very fabric of their beings and resonated throughout the entire planet.
The physical transformation was immediate agony.
D-16's chassis, already molded by the core's power, was violently reformed. His rage and the catastrophic energy surge fused into a terrifying, massive new form, blocky and formidable. But where the core's influence had been, where his soul had momentarily been made whole, a crushing, burning Void now remained, sealed off by Orion's devastating command. The essence he craved was violently ripped away.
His voice changed, becoming metallic thunder that resonated with raw power and terrifying emptiness. He became Megatron. He was consumed by rage, not at the tyranny he had seen, but at the excruciating, devastating loss of his intended completeness. Orion's proto-form was also instantly reforged, gaining stature and authority. He had succeeded; he had saved the universe. But at the ultimate cost. He was immediately infused with the Matrix of Leadership, the ancient spiritual repository, but it was tainted by profound grief and unshakeable guilt. The Matrix felt heavy, cold, and sorrowful.
His voice became deep, profound, and cold, carrying the weight of a thousand fallen warriors and the crushing sorrow of his own action. He became Optimus Prime. He was haunted by the knowledge of what he had destroyed—his best friend, and his own chance at spiritual peace.
When the light finally died, the two new figures stood alone in the silent, ruined chamber. The core was dormant, exhausted. Megatron turned, his new optics blazing with red-hot, agonizing fury at the spiritual betrayal. "You cut me in half," he whispered, his voice shaking with titanic, barely contained violence. "You stole our destiny! You left me... empty!"
Optimus Prime stood tall, his new armor heavy and cold, a shell protecting him from the immense, crushing ache in his own spark. He did not meet Megatron's gaze, looking instead at the ruined core.
"I saved us," Optimus stated, his voice a profound, sorrowful rumble. "I saved the universe from you... from us."
The final, fatal ideological split was complete. One would be driven by the pain of the void; the other, by the crushing burden of an impossible consciousness. They turned their backs on the Vector Sigma chamber, walking away from each other toward the noise of the surface, ready to inflict their spiritual agony upon the rest of Cybertron.