Optimus’ optic twitched just slightly as he sat in the meeting room, listening as other political figures talked about things Optimus found entirely uninteresting. He was forced to be here by the council, but even they could not force the Prime to participate.

The polished metal of the walls reflected the soft amber light from the ceiling fixtures, sometning meant to be soothing that Optimus found grating in the moment. The table was wide enough to seat an entire assembly of senators, diplomats, and archivists. And yet Optimus was only focused on the wall in front of him.

Someone near the far end, some silver-plated mech whose name Optimus didnt care to recall, was outlining a proposal to amend the Civic Balance Act, specifically to restrict the powers of the his court. Words like “checks” and “accountability” and “prevention” punctuated the speech, each one pinging somewhere in the background of Optimus’ processor.

He said nothing, just sat there like a statue. Unmoving, silent.His elbows rested on the table, his massive frame motionless except for the faint flick of his finials every so often. The war had been over for vorns, but the habit of complete stillness when contemplating had never left him.

“…it’s not about disrespect to the office, Prime,” another delegate said, turning their optics toward him in a careful, diplomatic angle. “It’s about preventing any future misuse of that office. You, of all Cybertronians, know the dangers of centralized authority.”

A dozen pairs of optics watched him, waiting. But the council could summon him to this chamber without summoning his will to speak.

He looked at them, not at the individuals, not at the emotions on their faces, but at the collective shape of them. A living diagram of Cybertron’s future politics. He wondered how many of these same mechs had once cheered the beginning of the war, or profited from it in the shadows.

Instead, he simply inclined his helm a fraction, the smallest acknowledgement possible.

The speaker faltered.

Optimus’ voice came low, deliberate, and unhurried. “You are not touching my court.” He said with the finality of ‘this conversation is over.’ He was known to be protective over those in his court, a fact the current politicians would be well to remember.