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Part Of The Legend : Origins

Summary:

Optimus tries to reconstruct his life after getting expelled from the Academy. Ratchet is left bitter by the war. Bulkhead can't seem to fit along with his classmates. Bumblebee wants a chance to show he's unique. Prowl lives with the weight of guilt on his shoulders.

At least, until...


Become Part of the Legend! Join Seibertopia Tales Online!

When real is dragging you down, better take some time off and go explore the wonderful digital world of Seiberutopia Tales Online, Cybertron's #1 MMORPG. Fight rivals and monsters, go on epic (or not so epic Quests), search for treasures or just enjoy a relaxing time with friends and leisure activities.

And, who knows? Perhaps through your trials and tribulations, you'll meet the love of your life, renew with old acquaintances, make enemies for life, mend broken relationships, try to convince your friends not to commit real-life murder on your behalf, punch out legendary players in the face (repeatedly), learn to curse your (bad) luck, build yourself an unwitting harem, heal from your traumas, or find the family and home your Spark always wished to have...

Notes:

Ladies and gentlemen and other gendered beings, I welcome you *bows down*

Let's have a foreword before letting the ball rolls.

This story was my Nano project for 2018. An old idea I had for many years now, ever since I saw some SAO episodes for the first time in fact, but never acted on due to various reasons. When unsure of what to pick for Nano last november, I ended up thinking now would be as good time as any and I put myself to work, reworking the original plans until I got the current ones.
I had so many ideas and plans, so many notes -- like, almost a dozen pages worth of outline on Word, not to mention a dozen of Excel sheets with details. That should have rung my alarm bells right away. Because the story, once I started typing? It turned far more massive than I had first expected. By the end of November, I had officially reached Nano goal and went far beyond, reaching 70k worth of text. And the worse, though? Those 70k barely cover the first five points of the outline and only the five(six) 'main' characters, aka Team Optimus, whereas I had many more I wanted to add and play with. How the hell did that happen? X_X O_o

I won't lie, writing so much in so little time took a lot out of me, so I put writing the rest of the story on hold for now. That said, I wanted to still share what I wrote already, and here it is.

And you want to know the other funny/not funny thing? That story was first imagined as an honest to god comedy. I had plenty of ideas for humorous ficlets, including the Inevitable Gender Bending plot, Megatron the Angrily Clucking RobotHen (should I explain? ^^), the Ratchet Protection Squad (featuring, I must mention, a fem!Sunstreaker and her pet Insection Bob) putting the fear of Primus into people, and Optimus being goofy over learning that Primus' Champion Is My Therapist.

Instead, the 70k I wrote are... an angst feast. Seriously. All I seem to have written are Self-Esteem Issues, Bullying, referenced Trauma, implied Alcoholism, sexually transmitted diseases, and if I had continued further, comedy spots asides, I would have also included racism (though it might be in already, not sure anymore at this point), dubious ethics, gender issues and/or transphobia, and others 'niceties'. It sorta feels like no-one has a good beginning. Uh. Perhaps it's no wonder that fic turned the way it has after all <.<

*coughs*

But nevermind. The idea here was -- and still is, if I manage to get back into writing mood, which I haven't been in months -- to worldbuild and to show how the various characters came together as a team and family of choice, cue the unhappy beginning they're all in despite the fun summary. What can I say? I love worldbuilding; lots of my stories never go further than worldbuilding!

Anyway, I wish you a good reading. Have fun!

Chapter 1: Origins. Optimus 1

Chapter Text

Normally, Optimus had nothing against commercial breaks or pop ups while he was perusing through videos or accessing the Grid. While most were utter gibberish or thinly veiled attempts to brainwash you into buying products you didn’t need, there were still a few entertaining ones every now and then.

However, it was the fifth time in less than a cycle that this specific one ended up popping in his face, and it was becoming very old very fast.

Become Part of the Legend! Join Seibertopia Tales Online!

Grunting, Optimus closed the window even as the famous actor Hoist launched himself into a speech over his game avatar, a Lancer, taunting people as he did. “And you, what are you playing to?”

“Nothing,” Optimus muttered as he shuttered his optics for a moment and forced himself to relax. It wasn’t the ad’s fault, really it wasn’t. It just… brought too many memories back, some of which were still too painful to dwell upon.

“Oy, Opti! You’re done here?” Someone called over and Optimus sighed as he lighted his optics again and turned his seat to face Dirttrail. The tan and yellow mech has his arms crossed over his chest and was tapping his foot impatiently, his whole frame rattling in anticipation.

“I am,” Optimus confirmed, rising up and stretching his limbs. He hadn’t realized how stiff they had started to become. “Sorry, the computer is all yours,” he offered as he moved to the side, letting the smaller mech access to the only functional recreation terminal of their small, cramped ship.

“Finally! Thank, mech!” Dirttrail hooted and jumped into the seat without further invitation, long digits already tipping madly to open up his chosen Grid windows – and Optimus was unsurprised to see one of them was advertising mechs with, ah, a ‘relational’ kind of business. That was Dirttrail, after all; the other mech had never cared (and probably never would) if all his shipmates knew he was spending his free time (and shanix) to call phone interfacing operators.

At first, Optimus had protested; surely, Dirttrail’s occupation was, if not illegal, then at least punishable? But neither Proton Major, the ship’s captain, nor Racket, his de facto Second, had done more than raise an optic ridge or level a flat-look at Optimus when he had tried to breach the subject and Optimus had stumbled back out of the room, not daring to put in an official complaint over his superiors’ heads. That would have made living on the ship in relative harmony impossible, and making enemies out of his team was the last thing Optimus needed; he had enough of those already.

So… Optimus turned the other way when he saw Dirttrail heading for the Rec Room and pretended he had no idea what his teammate was up to while trying not to let his cheeks overheat from the embarrassment. He always made sure to only go when Dirttrail was on duty – or at least he tried to. Today was an exception, one brought up by the fact that Cordage had managed to injure himself while bending to lift containers, forcing Extensao, their medic, to start and operate him as he could (“I told him to come and see me for that cracked back strut ages ago, but did he listen? Noooo, of course! Stupid old pile of spare parts!”) and taking two of their number down from the regular work shifts.

Optimus had pulled a double himself before taking some time off, wanting to connect to the online part of the Iacon Archives to borrow and download a copy of an historical report he had heard a lot of good things about, check out if perhaps he had received new messages (of course he hadn’t; who would write to him nowadays, he thought bitterly?) and perhaps check out some ads for lodging; he still didn’t have a permanent address on Cybertron since… well, since.

They were scheduled to return in two decacycles, and Optimus still had no idea where he would be sleeping. Probably on the ship or, bar that, in the old barracks for maintenance personnel who were in-between assignments again, he thought dispassionately. It would be nice to have a place to call his once more. In a way, Optimus had looked forward that break and that search.

Sadly, since Dirttrail had finished his own shift not even a cycle after him, all his careful plans had fallen apart. The other mech had no patience, and since Optimus had had the computer to himself for a cycle already, surely he didn’t need it for more?
Optimus hadn’t seen the point in arguing.

Awkwardly, he shifted from foot to foot, trying to come up with something to say, anything. He needed to try and be closer to his team, he knew it. His therapist had suggested Optimus should try to open up to more people, and he was trying to follow the advice. But Dirttrail was… They had nothing in common, really, asides of both being Autobots and of both being assigned on a Space Bridge repair crew.

“I’ll… be going, then,” he finally said, hating how unsteady his voice sounded. Frag, why couldn’t he be more assertive?

Dirttrail hummed, not even letting his optics wander away from the screen. “Yeah, yeah.” He paused briefly, optics darting over his shoulders. “Say, my mech, you’re sure you don’t want me to try and hook you with that femme on Kammabi? I mean,” he added at Optimus’ stunned look, “You look like you could use some fun, and I swear, that femme, she has such great lips, knows how to use them too, especially on your…”

“I’m not interested,” Optimus responded swiftly and probably more coldly than he should have, but Dirttrail just shrugged.

“If you say so, mech. I just wanted to propose,” he turned back to the screen, cooing. “Alright, my pretties, now come to see Daddyyyyy!”

That was too much. Optimus didn’t run away, but he certainly walked very fast and made a point of closing the door behind him – not that Dirttrail seemed to notice or even appreciate; already, Optimus could hear him talk up to someone loudly through the door. He should let Cordage knows the noise isolation was getting shabby again – not that it would change much of anything, the red and blue mech sighed to himself. The Dion was a very old ship and it was full of little malfunctions that the crew kept repairing, only for them to pop up again and again a few orns later. Sometimes it amazed Optimus that the thing was still space worthy.

“Probably not for much longer,” Proton Major had conceded when Optimus had tentatively breached the subject with him last orn, as they were both making repairs on a section of the hull while the rest of the team was busy checking out the Space Bridge’s system. “We’re reaching the limit here; I know it as well as you. Give it a vorn, then we’ll probably suffer a critical malfunction. Perhaps that’ll decide the higher ups at Fortress Maximus to get us a new ship, but I wouldn’t bet on it, son,” he had said, biting down on a cy-gar with a look of distaste on his face. Optimus had (wisely?) said nothing.

It was no secret that the Autobots’ ship armada had suffered heavy losses during the Great War and that Ultra Magnus’ prioritized the attribution of new, well-warmed and well-maintained ships to the Elite Guard patrols tasked with the surveillance of the Commonwealth’s border and all the military groups beside. Space Bridge technicians, despite the important nature of their job, had to make do with ‘rusty old buckets’ like the Dion.

Proton Major seemed to be of two minds about it; he minded… but he also didn’t mind. Or at least, he minded that High Command wouldn’t let simple technicians have better, state-of-the-art ships, but he also didn’t really mind working on the Dion. “I served on the Dion since I was a ‘bot barely older than you, Optimus. I’m becoming old enough to seriously think about retirement and I can’t see myself serving on any other ship. It wouldn’t right, not at all. If my ship goes down, then I’ll end up taking my leave from the Autobots,” the old mustached mech had stated, looking straight into Optimus’ optics. “That’s an ending I can feel comfortable with. Don’t worry though; if it comes to that and your formation isn’t finished, I’m sure they’ll transfer you to another unit to finish your training. And if it is… well, given they named you a Prime, you’ll probably get your own ship to command. What you think, mechling? Excited by the idea?”

“… I don’t know, Sir,” Optimus had replied carefully. “It will be a big responsibility.” A responsibility he wasn’t sure he was ready to take, but he dared not say it aloud. Proton Major had just given him a joyless smile before lighting up his cy-gar.

“That it will be. Let’s see that you’re ready to face it up, hmm? Pass me that solder and watch how I do it, will you? I don’t know what they’re teaching you young ‘bots in that Academy, but you did a piss-poor job of welding those plates together! See, that’s how you should have done it…”

That had been a bard, but not a cruel one, and it had slide on Optimus’ plating like water. Proton Major hadn’t been and still wasn’t trying to hurt him, Optimus knew it. And really, the situation was… Well, jabs were expected. It was just so (un)funny.

Optimus was supposed to be a Prime and as such, have the highest rank on the ship; technically, he should have been the commanding officer… but he was also a complete novice when it came to Space Bridges. Sure, he had studied about them, but never before had he had the occasion to work on one and there were plenty of things related to their maintenance that didn’t pop up in the Academy classrooms. Plenty of things Optimus was slowly picking up as he worked under Proton Major, his official teacher on Maintenance before Optimus was deemed ready to take a command of his own among the technicians, thank to Ultra Magnus deciding that the red and blue mech could still serve the Autobots in some way, despite...

Slag, but how humiliating it was. Optimus’ only relief was that asides of Proton Major, nobody on the ship knew of his real rank; the old captain had chosen to keep it to himself, for which Optimus could only feel grateful. He didn’t want to think about what the rest of the crew would say if they knew. For all his efforts in trying to bond with them as a team, it just wasn’t working – not right, at least.

Proton Major was his teacher and superior officer officially, and Optimus felt himself obligated to keep him at arm-length, less someone would decide that their relationship was suspicious. The mustached mech didn’t share much of his past with Optimus either way. The Prime got along well enough with Cordage, who was almost as old as Proton Major though in poorer health (the back strut incident was only one malfunction among many; last time, the old mech had fissured a knee and before that, he had torn two cables in his shoulder), and he was respectful of medic Extensao, who was in turn kind to him, but… there was no close camaraderie here either. As for the other two members of the crew, Racket seemed to have taken a dislike of him on sight the moment they met, possibly thinking Optimus was here to steal his place as the ship’s Second and Dirttrail didn’t have much interest in hanging around what he considered a ‘dipstick’, unless he needed a fourth player for a cyber-poker game.

Adding the fact Optimus was technically an officer would have further doomed all of his (pitiful) attempts at building trust and teamwork with the crew of old mechs and misfits who saw no point in truly greeting an outsider in the fold.

Slowly, Optimus made his way to his quarters, taking careful note of all potential dysfunctions he could spot and adding them to the growing list of repairs he and the rest of the crew would need to handle in between two checks on the Space Bridges network. Three dead light bulbs, a leaking pipe of water running toward the washracks and a popped wall panel were witnessed before Optimus reached his destination; he even fixed the panel himself on the way, seeing no point in waiting for it to be done when it barely took a few cliks to fix. It even managed to take his mind off his current problems as he worked, which was a nice bonus.

After all, what was he supposed to do during the rest of his off cycle, he thought miserably as he let the door of his quarters slide back shut behind him? As far as quarters went, it was cramped – not exactly thought out for a mech of his size and more for the smaller, more energy-efficient frames of Minibots – and Optimus hadn’t put much effort into giving them a more ‘homely’ touch. A stack of datapad on a shelf atop the small desk, a cushion to ameliorate the comfort of the creaky chair (he hadn’t been able to resist – that thing was far too uncomfortable without one), a neatly folded pair of heat-regulating blankets he used whenever the ship’s environment-controlling systems had a hiccup (again) waiting at the foot of the berth, a frame containing the picture of a landscape filled with crystals on a wall, and another frame turned face down on the desk.

That was it.

Pitiful, really. Optimus had never been one to amass a lot of possessions to begin with, and he had had to part with a lot after the trial. Most of what remained, he preferred to keep in storage on Cybertron, thinking and arguing with himself it was better that way, that he didn’t need those things while his future was still so shaky, that he needed to find a new home before he transferred the rest of his stuff.

His optics wandered to the neat row of datapads. Honestly, they contained nothing he hadn’t read already, but his download had been interrupted by Dirttrail and he barely had five pages worth of the whole treaty out of several hundreds; Optimus really didn’t wish to read them only to discover he’d be interrupted in the middle of a sentence. Sighing, he reached for the pads. Well, he had brought those ones because they were his favorites; he could handle a new rereading of the Battle of Iacon. Then perhaps he’d catch on some recharge.

What else could he do anyway?