Chapter Text
Maybe Primus really does exist, because how in the f-
“What are you doing out here?” Alchemist asked.
His tone was calm, but the surprise was unmistakable.
Of everyone Thundercracker might have run into, Alchemist had not been on the list.
“I –” Thundercracker started, his voice catching for half a klik before he forced himself to continue. “I just got lost. I’ve never walked around during the dark cycle before.”
His wings shifted uneasily, plating brushing against itself in a soft, nervous scrape. He hadn’t expected to encounter a pack of Primes. He knew they met during the night, Starscream always disappeared around this time, but being stopped by three of them at once during recharge hours was something else entirely.
It was terrifying.
Still, as much as Thundercracker didn’t want Alchemist to see him like this, he was grateful it wasn’t the Big Four of the Thirteen. That would have been far worse.
“Where were you trying to go?” Alchemist asked, motioning for the other Primes to continue ahead without him.
“The training chambers,” Thundercracker replied quickly. “I wanted to get familiar with the future plans.”
He started to move past him.
“You’re sure you know where you’re going?” Alchemist asked, concern slipping into his voice.
Thundercracker stopped.
He turned, meeting Alchemist’s optics. “Yes.”
His voice was steady now, controlled.
Alchemist studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright then. See you later.”
“Yeah,” Thundercracker echoed.
The moment the words left his mouth, he bolted down the hallway. He didn’t want Alchemist watching him, especially not during the night cycle. Still, as he rounded the corner, he caught a glimpse of Alchemist in the edge of his optic, standing there and watching him leave. It was already enough that Alchemist knows him.
Alchemist remained where he was until Thundercracker disappeared from view. Then he turned the corner to find Solus and Nexus waiting, casually leaning against the wall as if nothing unusual had happened.
“You know he probably lied about the ‘lost in the dark’ part, right?” Solus said, amusement lacing her voice.
“Probably,” Alchemist replied, “but there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“You could’ve mentioned it,” Nexus said, “That would’ve been better for all of us.”
“He has his reasons,” Alchemist said calmly, “and it’s his right not to talk about them.”
“Oh, about that,” Solus said suddenly, energy flaring like she’d just finished recharging, “anything on Vos from your little trip?”
“You took him to the surface?” Nexus asked, clearly surprised.
“Yes,” Alchemist said, turning his gaze to Solus. “And you should’ve called me to tell me Prima would be waiting in my office.”
Solus rolled her optics, “Nothing bad happened.”
“What about the part where Prima now knows I took him there?” Alchemist shot back, staring her down.
“You telling Prima has nothing to do with her,” Nexus chuckled.
“Maybe,” Alchemist said, rubbing his temples, “but now I have to be more careful with everything.”
“It’s not like you’re taking him to the surface again,” Nexus said.
Solus glanced at Nexus amused, “That’s optimistic of you.”
Alchemist didn’t respond. He was exhausted, drained by paperwork, meetings, and everything that came with them. All he wanted now was to recharge.
“So,” Solus said, breaking the silence, “what about Vos? Did he say anything?”
“Vos…” Alchemist murmured. “Functionism by the book.”
“That’s it?” Nexus asked.
“It would’ve been foolish of Thundercracker to reveal everything to a Prime,” Alchemist replied, “especially after I did something that could get him out of here.”
“Do you think Prima knows more?” Solus asked, stopping in front of Alchemist’s door and leaning against the wall.
Alchemist paused, confused. “Why would he?”
“Isn’t he,” Nexus began carefully, “talking to Starscream?”
“He’s second-in-command,” Alchemist said evenly.
“Wouldn’t that information go to Zeta or Megatronus?” Solus argued. “That’s more their area. Prima isn’t really involved, at least not yet.”
“Starscream likely knows about the mission,” Alchemist said. “Three cycles after Iacon 5000, Prima and Megatronus included. He was probably reviewing details, considering the mission was planned before the Vosians arrived. Back when we were all just… speculating about how they fly.”
“That’s a stretch,” Nexus said. “It’s too early.”
Alchemist met his gaze. “If Thundercracker doesn’t want to talk about Vos, I doubt Starscream does either.”
Solus shrugged and pushed herself off the wall. “See you tomorrow.”
“Unlikely,” Alchemist replied with a soft laugh. “I’m staying in my berth the entire cycle.”
They parted with a quiet chuckle, each going their separate way.
Alchemist pushed open the door to his office and stepped inside. It wasn’t that he was a workaholic, far from it. He had simply moved his berth here for convenience. Before, getting to recharge meant unnecessary walking, wasted time, wasted energy. And with the Quintessons now coveting energon, conserving every bit of it had become more of a necessity than a preference.
His berth rested along the far wall, carefully tucked behind a cluster of tall, overgrown plants. The Primes knew he recharged here, of course, but that didn’t mean the entire HQ needed to be aware of it. The foliage concealed it well, unless someone deliberately looked for it, it blended into the surroundings almost seamlessly.
As he passed the wall of greenery, something caught his attention. A hornet pod was beginning to form, still little more than a stem with the faintest suggestion of growth. It would take time, as they always did.
Alchemist paused for a moment, watching it.
He wished, briefly, that he could read minds. Or better yet, travel to Vos himself. But after the Quintessons, that region had been marked off-limits to the Primes. Too far, too unstable. If something went wrong, control would be impossible to regain. And with Iacon hidden beneath the surface, secrecy had become their greatest defense.
For now Zeta said long ago.
That “for now” had stretched into vorns.
With a quiet exhale, Alchemist lowered himself onto his berth. His thoughts drifted, circling back, as they often did, to Thundercracker.
Getting closer to him was… delicate.
Thundercracker still regarded him as a superior, that much was clear. But there had been a shift. Subtle, but undeniable. The formality was slipping, “yes, sir” had become a simple “yeah.” Small, almost insignificant to anyone else, but to Alchemist, it meant something.
It meant progress.
He closed his optics.
He was on the right path. Time would tell.
--------
Starscream lowered himself into the chair across from Prima, wings settling stiffly behind him. He said nothing, simply waited, guarded for Prima to begin.
Prima, however, did not speak.
He sat there, momentarily frozen, optics fixed on Starscream as if trying to reconcile expectation with reality. He had been certain Starscream would leave without a word, without an explanation.
He had been wrong.
Silence stretched between them.
Starscream’s talons tapped lightly against the armrest, a quiet, irregular rhythm betraying his growing impatience. He was already on edge. Being here, in this office, in this atmosphere, it was too much. Too heavy. He wanted out. Wanted to go back down to Iacon, where he could exist without constant scrutiny.
Where he could just be. Free. Without anyone controlling his every step. Without anyone watching over.
Prima finally moved.
He turned away, beginning to shuffle through a stack of datapads and old documents scattered across his desk. The motion felt slightly rushed, slightly uncharacteristic. Whatever he was looking for, he had prepared it in advance, but now it seemed buried beneath everything else.
“About that night…” Prima began, voice quieter than usual as he continued searching. “Everything I said, it wasn’t directed at you. You were simply… there. Wrong place, wrong time.” He paused briefly, optics lowering. “And I want to sincerely apologize for that.”
Starscream blinked.
Confusion flickered across his expression, sharp and unguarded for just a moment.
“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” he asked, his tone cooling almost immediately, flattening into something distant.
“No,” Prima replied quickly. “Just, give me a moment. I know it’s here. It was right here a joor ago…”
A hologram projector.
An older model, bulkier than modern designs, its surface dulled with age and faint scratches marking its casing. It looked fragile, outdated… but not obsolete.
Prima handled it carefully, almost reverently, as he placed it at the center of the table. His movements slowed, deliberate now, as though the weight of what he was about to show mattered.
“A hologram?” Starscream said, unimpressed, one wing twitching slightly.
“Give it a klik,” Prima replied. “It’s been about 70 vorns since this was made.”
A burst of light expanded outward, stabilizing into layered projections that filled the space above the table.
Starscream’s initial expectation was immediate and dismissive. A lecture. A curated display about the Primes, their legacy, their righteousness. Something meant to correct him.
He was wrong.
The hologram shifted, expanding further, maps, schematics, structured plans unfolding in overlapping layers. Detailed. Methodical.
Strategies. Not for control, but for dismantling it.
His optics narrowed as he leaned slightly forward.
Plans outlining the eradication of functionism. Not vague ideas, actual steps. Deployment structures. Political restructuring. Social integration frameworks. Everything that you can think of when doing something like this.
Regions were highlighted, Kaon. Tarn. Vos. The other half of Cybertron. Even the smallest cities that no one knows about.
“I remember you saying we didn’t care,” Prima spoke again, softer now. “I can’t speak for the others, but I did.”
He gestured toward the hologram, toward the vast network of work laid bare in front of Starscream.
“I created these after we eliminated the functionism in Iacon,” he continued. “Every plan you see here was for every other place on Cybertron, especially the big 3, being Kaon, Tarn and Vos. I carefully designed them for different places, and with multiple back ups. I didn’t care about public image or recognition, that’s why I wasn’t present as often, even before the Quintessons appeared.”
Starscream didn’t respond.
He was still studying the projections, scanning through them rapidly. There were flaws in some, gaps in others, but nothing irreparable. The foundation was solid.
It was actually possible.
“And all of this would have moved forward,” Prima added, his voice tightening slightly, “if…”
If I hadn’t voted yes on the creation of the Quintessons, things might’ve been different. I was the last vote. The deciding one. This rests on me more than anyone else.
And I know words won’t fix anything. An apology doesn’t undo what’s been done to you. Not over the past fifty vorns, not even before that.
It also got worse.
I tried to handle both. I did. I told myself I could manage it, fix this, contain them, balance everything at once. But that didn’t last. It couldn’t. Eventually, a choice had to be made, and I had to focus on the Quintessons. Entirely.
So everything about functionism and getting rid of it fell behind.
I’m not expecting forgiveness. I just wanted you to know what actually happened. You deserve to know the truth more than anyone else.
“The Quintessons weren’t in the way,” Starscream said, finishing Prima’s sentence.
It’s too much for him. I will tell him later.
“Yes,” Prima said quietly, “until they appeared.”
Starscream didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained fixed on the hologram, optics flickering as he processed what he was seeing.
It was doable, especially with the level of authority the Primes had held at the time and still do.
“Was this everything?” Starscream asked at last, his voice measured as his optics moved across the projections.
“Not really,” Prima replied.
That made Starscream look up.
Their gazes met, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Prima’s optics, soft, baby blue, looked the same as they had that night. Calm. Steady. Searching. There was no pity in them, no condescension.
Just regret.
And something else, something unspoken, like words caught just beneath the surface.
It felt like he wanted to say more. Like this wasn’t what he had originally planned to tell him.
“You weren’t chosen just because of the leaderboards,” Prima said finally.
Starscream’s wings shifted slightly at that.
“That’s a longer story,” Prima continued, his tone thoughtful, almost uncertain. “I’d have to confirm the details with Megs– Megatronus. I don’t remember all of it clearly.”
Starscream said nothing, but his attention sharpened.
“I wanted to ask you to reconsider your decision to leave,” Prima said. “We need a second-in-command for the Seekers. Soundwave and Shockwave aren’t suited for that role. You are. Having you there would be better for all of us.”
He paused, letting the words settle.
“You’re free to go,” he added more quietly. “I’m not trying to force you to stay. I just want you to think it over.”
A brief silence followed.
“That’s all,” Prima said calmly.
Starscream looked at him for a moment longer, then back at the hologram. The light from it cast shifting reflections across his frame, illuminating edges, softening others.
It all made sense.
In a way he hadn’t expected it to.
The room fell quiet again.
Starscream had a lot he could say. A lot he wanted to say. Everything he had gone through, every moment, every decision, every loss. From stepping into VACA, to everything that followed, to letting go of somemech he had truly cared about.
It was all there, sitting just beneath the surface, waiting to be said.
And he could say it. Nothing was stopping him. There was no need.
Not here. Not now.
For once, he didn’t act on impulse. Didn’t let the words spill out just because they could.
Starscream held them back.
“I’ll think about it,” Starscream said at last, his voice even as he stood.
The chair shifted slightly as he stepped away, wings adjusting behind him. He turned toward the door, already moving.
“Oh, just one more thing,” Prima added.
Starscream paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
“The situation with Zeta remains the same,” Prima said. “He’ll need regular reports from here. Take as much time as you need to make the decision, but he expects to see improvement.”
Starscream gave a short nod. “Got it.”
He didn’t linger after that.
The doors slid open with a quiet hum, and he stepped out into the corridor. A moment later, they closed behind him, sealing the room and everything said within it.
The silence felt nice, much calmer than before.
Starscream exhaled slowly as he started walking, his pace unhurried this time. His thoughts were already circling back, replaying the conversation piece by piece, turning over every word, every detail.
He needed time alone. And without meaning to, his mind settled on a place.
The rooftop.
Or whatever that place is called.