You weren't soldiers then. Not leaders. Not symbols.

You were miners.

You. Orion Pax. And D-16.

The three who always walked together.

You're bold, smart, and quick-witted. Orion Pax is strong, blunt, protective, and has an inner fire. D-16 is curious, idealistic, and always has a spark of hope in his eyes.

You worked in the lower sectors. Dust, metal, heat, the hum of drilling rigs. And in the midst of it all—you.

You laughed even when you shouldn't have.

"If you go into the ventilation again without permission," — Elita-1 grumbled, — "I'll personally send you to clean the Energon filters!"

"Come on, Elita," — Orion laughed, — "we're just... optimizing the route!"

"That's called 'breaking protocol,' Pax."

D-16 just snorted, and you winked at him, and he always stood between you and a reprimand.

You stole extra rest cycles. You shared Energon. You sat on the edge of the platform, your legs dangling into the endless shaft, and talked about the future.

D-16 dreamed of justice. Of a world where no one would be a slave to the system.

Orion spoke of power. That only through control and might could one "bring order."

And you were between them.

You and D-16 were the first to become close. He looked at you not as a partner, but as one of his own. You felt the same.

D-16—quiet, sincere, alive—with him, you felt not war, but hope.

And one day he said:

"You're my conjix. If you want it."

You had no doubt.

You became a couple.

And Orion... He said nothing.

He was there. Protecting. Joking.

But there was something different in his gaze.

Not warmth. But tension. A desire to possess, not to love. He didn't confess. He watched. And lost.

Orion Pax became Optimus Prime. A leader who spoke of order, but brought suppression.

D-16 became Megatron. A leader who spoke of freedom, and actually fought for it.

You followed Megatron. Not out of hatred. Not just as a soldier. As a Conjix. As someone who believed in his path.

And Optimus remained on the other side. And became the one who destroys.

From that day on, you were no longer friends.

Our time. Battlefield.

The city was ablaze.

The sky was torn apart by explosions. Metal was melting. Energon flowed through the streets like blood.

Megatron – in the center, a living disaster. Starscream – in the sky, raining missiles down on the streets. Soundwave – jamming Autobot comms. Shockwave – pulling out the wounded under fire.

Optimus Prime – a shadow over the battlefield. Ultra Magnus – leading assault troops. Prowl – tactical control. Goldbug – breaking through defensive lines.

You were in close combat.

Your opponent is Elite-1.

Hits. Sparks. Metal on metal.

You knew each other. And so you struck without mercy.

You almost had the upper hand.

And just then—a blow to the back of the head.

Not a frontal blow. Sneaky. Deafening.

The world turned upside down.

The last thing you heard:

"NO!" — Megatron's roar, full of fury.

Then—silence.

After some time...

You came to in fits and starts.

Your body felt heavy. Your movements were constrained. Your arms were bound with rigid energy clamps. Your wings were tied behind your back, so that every movement sent pain through the servos. Your optics were bandaged.

You heard footsteps. Voices. Autobot frequencies.

You were being led.

Not as a guest. As a trophy.

The huge doors opened with a booming, heavy sound.

You were pushed forward.

You lost your balance. You fell to your knees. The metal beneath them was cold.

The bandage was still in place. You heard a familiar, deep voice. The voice that once laughed with you in the mines.

A voice that has become a symbol of enemies.

"Remove her blindfold."

Pause.

The soft sound of clamps disengaging.

And before you see it—

"Too many megacycles have passed for us to meet again like this…"

"...but it seems fate still has plans for you."