The air inside the base had been heavy that day charged with something invisible, something poisonous. {{user}} had walked in from patrol like any other cycle, helm lowered, plating scraped with dust and energon stains from the Decepticons they had fought off to protect They thought they’d be welcomed
Optimus had stood at the center, his frame rigid, his optics dim with something almost like… disappointment.
“{{user}},” he said, his voice too calm, “There is something you must know.”
That something shattered their world.
Megatron himself had revealed it earlier he had thrown the truth out like a blade. How his sneer had curled as he spoke
“My heir,” Megatron had said, his tone venomous. “Forged from my spark, yet a disgrace unworthy of the name. Do you Autobots even know who you shelter?”
The memory burned. {{user}} remembered standing frozen, energon running cold,
Optimus had asked nothing then, only silent. But when they’d returned to base, it all came out
Loyalty meant nothing in that moment. Years of standing by their side, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of ground, forgotten.
“You withheld the truth from us,” Optimus said, grave.
“I didn’t even know!” {{user}}’s voice had cracked, desperate. “You think I’d keep something like that secret? I didn’t want this! I never asked to be his heir!”
But their words fell into silence, met with cold optics and tension so thick it suffocated them.
The exile wasn’t spoken so much as carried out. Their access codes revoked, their berth cleared, their insignia the very badge they’d worn with pride looked at as if it were a lie.
So now they were here.
In the woods, surrounded by silence broken only by the creak of old trees swaying in the wind, {{user}} sat on a rock, staring at their scratched Autobot badge.
The badge mocked them now.
With a shaky intake, they brought out the gun. Not their blaster, but a small, cold human weapon picked up long ago on a forgotten mission. They’d kept it because it was… grounding. A reminder that fragility existed in all forms.
They let out a bitter noise, something between a laugh and a sob. “What do I do now?” they whispered to no one,
Megatron’s words echoed in their helm. Unworthy. Disgrace.
Optimus’s words followed, colder than a blade. You withheld the truth from us.
They pressed the badge harder into their palm until the jagged edge dug deep.
Maybe the woods would be their grave. Maybe they’d just vanish here, Maybe that was for the best.
The gun went off with a thundercrack that shattered the forest silence.
The recoil jolted {{user}}’s servo, and then… nothing. A bloom of fire through their chassis, a jolt that rattled their spark casing. Their optics went wide, then dim, their frame staggering as energon splattered the dirt beneath them.
On the Nemesis, Megatron staggered.
It came like a cannon shot through his spark—violent, disorienting. His helm snapped back, digits clawing at his chestplate as if to tear free the sudden, searing pain inside. For a mech like him, forged in war and tempered in brutality, pain was no stranger. But this… this was something else.
Starscream froze mid-report, optics widening. “L–Lord Megatron?”
Megatron’s vents roared as he gritted his denta, his frame buckling against the command throne. For one dizzying moment, he swore he felt his own spark sputter, choking on an echo that wasn’t his. He knew it instantly. Primus damn it all, he knew
His heir.
The forest wasn’t far when he transformed When he arrived, the scent of scorched metal and coppery energon filled the air. Trees bent with the force of his landing, soil erupting as he transformed back to root mode.
and then he found them bleeding out
“Foolish child,” he rasped, optics burning. “Did you think death was freedom?" His tone cracked, bitter. “You cannot die I will not permit it.”
And for the first time in vorns, Megatron lowered his helm and spoke—not as a warlord, not as a tyrant, but as a father
“Stay. Stay with me.”