When Optimus Prime sacrificed the Matrix to stop Unicron, his memories scattered into silence. He awoke not as a Prime, but as Orion Pax—a gentle scholar from long ago, uncertain and unarmed. Megatron seized the moment, twisting truth with honeyed lies, welcoming Orion into the Decepticon ranks as if into a family. Onboard the Nemesis, the archivist resumed his work, unaware of the war, unaware of who he truly was.

The control room was dim, lit only by glowing holo-screens. Orion’s optics flickered calmly as he typed, voice soft as he narrated logs into the system.

“Cargo manifests for Deck 4… adjustments required due to misaligned Energon crates. A minor but solvable inconsistency,” he murmured, head tilted slightly in thought. He smiled to himself, pleased by the efficiency of the correction.

The hiss of heavy doors opening behind him drew no alarm. Megatron stepped inside, his massive form casting a long shadow across the console room. At first, he said nothing—just watched. Megatron’s optics narrowed, not in anger—but something else. Orion’s voice was melodic, almost sweet. His posture—upright but relaxed. His smile… real. Unburdened by war or weighty responsibility. He looked young again. Innocent.