Hero On The Rock by Vin_Dova
NOTE 1: There have been quite a few "sad, tired, depressed Optimus Prime" stories written ... I suppose this is my take on the subject (with a good, long fight at the end, of course!). This all happened in the bad-old days, a long time ago, when the factory shine hadn't yet rubbed off his paint and young Prime still had a thing or two to figure out.
NOTE 2: Insert standard legal disclaimer here. I don't own any of these names, characters or copyrights, and am not trying to make money or slander anyone by using them.
Hero On The Rock
Some day soon, he was going to say it. In spite of all the self-control and discipline, it was going to just slip out of his vocalizer. Something to the effect of, "Hey, I didn't ask for this job ... I didn't even ask for this chassis! So if you don't like the way I'm running things around here, go talk to A3 and tell him to find some other mech to turn into a hero." And if that didn't do enough to bring the entire room to a hushed silence, he might even hear himself add at the end, "Because I quit."
Optimus Prime shifted uneasily on his angled charging rack as he pictured the scene in his head. The rack creaked perilously. Like everything else in this slagging underground bunker, it was designed with the body-mass of a normal, full-size Autobot in mind ... the kind Optimus himself used to be, back in happier days. Now that he was a ten-meter-tall, eighteen-ton freak of robotic engineering, (Thank you again Alpha Trion!) just getting around the place without bumping his head or breaking something was an ordeal of caution and patience-Caution and patience were two things that the young Autobot commander was beginning to run short on -- and it did very little for the dignity or one's command when you tripped and bent a power conduit trying to get into the Operations Center briefing room for a department head meeting.
*That's it,* Optimus thought, *Next time we get the chance we're taking over a Decepticon installation to set up our base ... at least the furnishings will fit and I won't have to duck my head and turn sideways getting through every door-* Of course that would mean the Autobots would actually have to win a battle with the Decepticons ... something which had not been happening very often lately.
With a heavy, mechanical sigh of compressed air, Optimus finally powered up his locomotor drives, swung the creaking recharge rack upright and got to his feet. Enough rest; he had things to do ... whether he liked it or not. (Whether he'd asked for the job or not.) Stooped over, Prime opened to door to his small, almost bare cabin, stepped out into the passageway and closed the door behind him. He started off in the direction of CIC (the Combat Information Center), but then stopped in his tracks, and turned the other way.
The war could wait for him another fifteen minutes ... right now, he had some one he needed to see.
*****
The Repair Deck was full. Being even more careful than usual, Optimus gingerly tiptoed his way through passageways full of over-worked medics and groaning casualties. As they saw him walk by, many of the injured warriors called to him, reaching their hands out to salute or thank him. He tried his best to give them all a confident, solemn glance in the optics, a nod of the head, or a handshake, even as he struggled to get were he was going as quickly as possible. The last thing he ever wanted these poor mechs to think was that he was not grateful for their sacrifices ... even if he felt unworthy and overburdened by their trust-And then there were the other Autobots here and there ... casualties and medics alike who did *not* look at him with the same admiration as he passed by. Every time he came down here, there seemed to be a few more optics that narrowed and flared at his approach. He could almost read their thoughts ... perhaps because every time he saw another injured Autobot, the same thoughts occurred to him. *There he is ... that great, big bumbling, clumsy, awkward box of bolts that's supposed to be our great hero and leader. So says the Matrix. So says Alpha Trion-I wonder how many more battles we have to lose and how many more Autobots have to die before they find someone who actually knows what they're doing to put in charge?*
If Optimus Prime needed any more reason to feel ashamed of himself, he found it when he finally reached repair bay 21C.
Almost as soon as he opened the door, some young mechano-surgeon was trying to block his access ... but of course Optimus could already see over his shoulder, and there was nothing on Cybertron that would have kept him out of that room.
The entire repair bay was strewn with Transformer components and the tools needed to repair and replace them. On a rack in the middle of the room was a completely stripped-down Autobot chassis. If Optimus didn't know who the patient was and hadn't already visited her a dozen times, he would never have been able to recognize her.
*Elita-*
Almost every exterior panel ... even her faceplate -- had been removed. Her injuries from the last battle had been so severe that only a complete chassis-up rebuild could save her ... and even that might not be enough.
"Sir," the Medic stammered, "Sir ... I'm not sure you really ought to be here right now ... we're at a pretty critical phase in the rebuild."
"Has there been any high-level cerebral activity yet?" Optimus asked quietly, ignoring the medic's attempt to lead him away.
"Uh, very little Sir," The medic replied after a glance at monitor. "Just a few periodic spikes ... nothing lasting more than a few minutes. I don't think she's aware of what's-happening."
"Yet."
"Well, she was technically dead for 47 minutes after her power-grid failed, Sir. If she makes it though this without some cerebral damage, then I-I-"
"You'll be promoted to chief medical officer." Optimus remarked grimly ... and of course, he meant it, because Prime never said anything he didn't mean. As he looked down at what remained of Elita-One's once-beautiful and sleek form, Prime was again grateful for one particular element of his new body: the armored plate covering his face. He didn't need anyone else to see the pain and anguish he was feeling now. There was only one soul in the entire universe that understood what Optimus Prime's world had become ... the one beautiful, graceful, endlessly forgiving, and effortlessly inspiring robot that had been with him every step along the way - And now she was laying here in pieces before him because of another one of his mistakes.
*Forgive me My Love- I just wasn't fast enough. I just wasn't good enough. I try every day to live up to what's been asked of me-*
Just like Optimus, Elita had been ripped from the happy, simple life that they had known before the war. She too had been rebuilt against her will as a warrior, and given a new name, and the unwelcome responsibility of leading her people in the fight for freedom from tyranny. But where Optimus had struggled mightily with the weight of his new responsibilities, Elita seemed to take it all in stride. That was her power ... her special gift. One day, she was an adolescent robot named Ariel with nothing more weighty on her mind than up-coming school exams or what kind of polish to use on her new chrome trim-The next day, the entire world was asking her to be a leader and a warrior-and somehow, that is exactly what she became ... if not overnight, than at least nearly so.
Standing there right now, looking down at her shattered form, Optimus Prime simply didn't think he could go on living ... let alone leading, without Elita by his side.
"She'll make it through." Optimus spoke softly, touching the limp, nearly skeletonized hand of his childhood love. "She's a lot stronger than I am."
Suddenly, Elita's fingers twitched slightly, contracting to grip his own hand weakly for a moment before relaxing. Optimus squeezed her hand tightly.
"Did you see that?" He asked the medic, his vocalizer buzzing with hope. "She grabbed my hand ... I think she knows I'm here."
Both of them looked up at the monitor overhead. Only a small flutter of higher-brain function showed on the screen. The medic did not look very impressed, but he said nothing. There was no reason to take away all his commander's hope ... at least not yet.
After a minute, Optimus gently laid Elita's hand back down.
"I'll let you get back to work."
"Thank you Sir." The Medic replied, "I'll take good care of her."
"I know you will-" Optimus started back towards the door, but paused halfway there.
"I'm sorry ... I never got you name, Medic."
"Oh," The Medic, who had already turned back to his patient and extended a laser-scalpel from his forearm looked up. "They call me Ratchet-or, well, they *used to call me that* back where I was from. They don't call me anything here now...because I'm new, I suppose."
"...And everyone here is too busy with their own problems to even ask you your name," Optimus concluded, offering his hand. "Sorry about that."
Autobot Ratchet quickly retracted his scalpel and shook Prime's hand. As Optimus was stepping out the door, he called out to him quietly.
"Uh, Sir-"
"Yes Ratchet."
"About-Uh, being chief medical officer-" Ratchet gave a self-depreciating shrug of his shoulders.
"When she walks," Optimus replied with what he hoped sounded like optimism, "then we'll talk."
"Understood Sir. I'll do my best."
With a solemn nod, and one final pained look at his poor Elita, Optimus Prime closed the door to repair bay 21C and walked away.
*****
The CIC was always a hub of tension and quietly frantic activity, and this time was no different. The moment Optimus Prime's stooped figure was seen entering the room, he heard himself being paged on inter-Autobot radio.
"Prime-Prime, it's Magnus ... how soon can you get over here to CIC-"
"Is now soon enough?" Optimus replied out loud. Ultra Magnus spun around, surprised to hear the response to his call come from directly behind him.
"There you are, Sir ... we're all glad you're here. We've got a few situations developing right now." Magnus gestured to a bank of monitors in front of them, several of which where displaying live footage of Autobots and Decepticons skirmishing in the city above. Ultra Magnus was a good, honest, straightforward mech, but there was something about the way he had said, "we're all glad you're here" that bothered Optimus just a little. He didn't even need to look around the room to see that not every Autobot here was "glad" that their erstwhile leader had shown up to take charge.
"Alright, Magnus, talk to me." Optimus said, doing his best to sound confident and in control.
"Well, Sir ... first, I want you to know it's all being taken care of already. We had two perimeter breaches up in Central, but my team and I managed to reroute some patrols to the area, and we've got them boxed in good. Those Decepticons aren't getting anywhere but back out they way they came ... if they're lucky."
Optimus squinted his optics, looking from monitor to monitor. It all looked like chaos to him ... how anyone here could have the slightest clue what was going on out there ...let alone understand it enough to direct the fight successfully, was still beyond his ability to comprehend. He knew he had a lot left to learn.
"Why wasn't I notified of this before?"
Ultra Magnus seemed to hem and haw a bit, looking for a good answer that would satisfy both his superior and his own sense of integrity. In the end, what came out accomplished neither.
"Well Sir-Things were happening very fast there for a minute or two and-Well-"
Optimus waved a hand to gently cut him off. "And you knew that you could handle it all yourself in less time if you didn't have to stop and explain everything to me first."
Magnus said nothing, looking somewhat embarrassed. Nothing hurt more to an honest machine like him than to be confronted by a truth that he himself didn't have to courage to speak. Glancing at his combat-control team ... all still busy at their workstations, Ultra Magnus pulled Optimus aside for some semblance of privacy. He was one of the only Autobots tall enough to stand toe-to-toe with Prime and look him right in the eye. (Yet somehow, Optimus noted, Magnus never tripped on anything or bent an antenna going through a hatch.)
"Permission to speak freely Sir?"
"As always Magnus."
"Listen-I know we've been butting cranial units together over a lot of things, and I don't want you to get the wrong idea. In my book Sir, you're an outstanding war-fighter ... nobody here doubts that ... and I've got every bit of respect in the world for what you've done here so far. But there are certain things-CIC stuff, control of the big picture- Getting all the details right ... it all takes a lot of experience. Not a lot of brain-power mind you ... by the Matrix, I swear I'm as dumb as a box of rocks sometimes ... you've definitely got me by a league and a half on sheer smarts but-"
"I don't have the experience."
Magnus winced again.
"You're picking it up really fast Sir ... I mean, you're a natural, but-until you really get up to speed." Magnus lowered his voice even more and gestured over his shoulder. "I just don't want you to make a mistake in front these mechs ... you're gonna need their respect to get anything done once you really take charge, and if you lose them now, they're going to be very hard to get back in your corner."
Optimus tensed himself up, fighting the urge to lash out in anger, frustration and embarrassment. *Once you really take charge* -- Ultramagnus's words echoed cruelly in his head.
"Well, it's already a little too late for that now, isn't it?" Optimus finally replied, fighting to keep his voice quite and level. "I think I've already had my share of mistakes-In fact there's about a hundred of them down on the Repair Deck right now."
Magnus again had no words with which to reply.
"Show me how I'm supposed to get *their* respect back if I don't even know what's happening with my own warriors."
After a moment, Magnus stood back.
"I'm deeply sorry Sir. But I had to take action without you. There really wasn't any time."
After a long, seething moment, Optimus Prime quietly walked to the back of the room. Magnus went back to managing the battle at hand with his experienced crew of Autobot techno-warriors. When he finally looked around for his commander some time later, Prime was already gone.
*****
This was insanity. Complete, utter, total, grief, guilt, and ego-driven insanity and Optimus Prime knew it-and he was going to do it anyway.
The heavy security doors of the brig opened slowly at Prime's command, and he stepped through, addressing the warden standing watch at the front desk.
"How can I help you Sir," Autobot Kup said with a friendly growl.
"I believe we have a Decepticon prisoner here by the name of Chainsaw-"
Kup blinked.
"He's a bird of some kind," Optimus elaborated when no response came. "No humanoid form."
"Oooh!" Kup smiled, "You mean Buzzsaw! Yeah, yeah, we still got him here."
"What cell number?"
Kup scrolled down through a few menus and tables on his computer. "Uh, 213 ... solitary confinement. Last week he pecked out the optics of one of his cell mates, so I threw him into another cage by himself."
"Alright, I'll need the key card." Prime politely demanded.
Kup squinted warily at his commander.
"Okay-Are you gonna need any help? I gotta a couple "bots down here on watch."
"There will be no need for that." Prime replied swiftly. His hand was still held out for the key.
After a moment's hesitation, Kup retrieved the key card from his own subspace pocket, and handed it to Optimus.
"Alight, but if that dang bird starts makin' a big racket again ... you just gimme a holler and I'll gladly come down and kick its metal tail-feathers."
Optimus found Buzzsaw in his cell, perched on the edge of the rack, grooming himself-(Or herself, Optimus mused ... you really couldn't tell). Prime centered himself in front of the energy barrier and cleared his vocalizer loudly. The Decepticon bird did not look up.
"Decepticon Buzzsaw." Prime announced. The bird glanced up briefly at him and then stuck its beak back under its left wing.
"You're being released." Prime said. At the sound of the energy barrier being turned off, Buzzsaw finally looked up again, beady little eyes blazing. For a moment, his wings twitched as he considered making a sudden break for it, but then he saw the huge blaster-rifle that Optimus was holding at his side, and he thought better of it. An inquisitive squawk escaped his beak.
"You are going to deliver a message to you leader. Can you do that for me? Or would you rather rust away in solitary for the rest of you life-cycle?"
Buzzsaw made an agreeable, if wary grackle, and nodded his head.
Optimus stepped closer, entering the cell. "Start recording now," he commanded.
A tiny holographic camera popped out of Buzzsaw's forehead, and the Decepticon chirped as to say, "In three, two, one-Action." Optimus began to speak.
*****
Many miles away and few hours later, in the heart of the Decepticon fortress, Darkmount, Optimus Prime's message was being replayed.
"Megatron, I'll spare you the pleasantries. Here is my ultimatum: you will come, alone and unarmed the The Grand Arena, tomorrow at dawn. I will meet you atop the central battle stone, also alone and unarmed. If you fail to do so, be prepared to sink to the level of sheer cowardess in the eyes of all whom you command, as well as all with whom you do battle."
"That's right. I'm *calling you out* Megatron ... by the laws of ancient combat. And incase we weren't properly introduced last time we me; my name is Optimus Prime. I look forward to finding out whom among us is the stronger machine."
With that, the holographic image of Optimus Prime projected before Megatron shimmered and vanished. A thoughtful look came to the Decepticon commander's face and he swung around slowly in his chair to face his officers.
"Soundwave, have you authenticated this message?"
Soundwave nodded and made a humming noise in affirmation.
"Well, well-It looks like the boy hero has finally gone insane. Outstanding." Megatron grinned, leaning back in his chair. "I've been looking forward to seeing that one again."
"You're not actually going to participate in this little macho charade are you?" Starscream, the young Decepticon scientist, queried.
Megatron frowned at his youthful protégé. Starscream was a sharp mechanism no doubt, and a cunning fighter, but unfortunately, he wasn't yet much of a Decepticon.
"Starscream, the moment I let some miserable Autobot intimidate me, is the moment you can cut my head off and sit down in this chair." The assembled Decepticons chuckled darkly ... all except for Starscream. Megatron would have had to have been dead a whole month before any of them sat in that chair.
"Really, do you think I'm foolish enough to let myself be lead into a simple trap?" Megatron continued, "We will of course make every effort to secure the Arena from any potential ambush. However-if indeed this Optimus Prime character has truly lost his wits and wants to fight me in honorable single combat-By the ancient laws, no less ... then I shall see to it that he has the opportunity. But in either case, rest assured that no Autobot is going to leave the Grand Arena alive."
*****
The Grand Arena was still an amazing sight. A mile-wide gleaming steel and fero-crete coliseum, open to the starry sky above. At the peak of it's glory, a full one-eighth of the entire population of Cybertron would crowd in shoulder-to-shoulder to watch games sports, and contests and festivals that could last for weeks. In those days, if you weren't at the Grand Arena, it was only because you couldn't get a seat; and if you couldn't, you camped outside the walls until someone got low on energy, had to leave and sold you their gate-pass.
Optimus Prime remembered those days well. As a young Autobot athlete, he had dreamed of the chance to win glory within the walls of the arena. He had even aspired to take part in that most brutal of the games ... "Lord of the Rock." Near the center of the arena floor, stood The Rock, a mighty jade pillar forty-four meters tall and twenty-two meters in diameter. Into its sides, hundreds of square notches were carved ... to serve as hand and footholds for climbing. The idea was simple. Two wrestlers squared off on the smooth top of the rock. They would fight and grapple until one of the combatants fell, or was thrown, off the edge. If he could climb back up onto the top of the rock within three minutes, the fight would go on. If at any point, both fighters fell to the ground, whoever reached the top first would be declared the winner-It certainly didn't have the intellect or grace of other sports, like rocket-ball or roller-pong, but it was always a crowd favorite. Of course no Autobot had won the championship in the last twenty solar years of organized play, (And Megatron himself had held the undefeated title before turning from sports hero to fascist warlord) but that had never stopped Optimus from daydreaming back in simpler times.
Now, Optimus found himself alone on The Rock, at last ... awaiting his opponent-Or whatever Decepticon death-squad showed up instead to put an end to his heroic idealism. It was dawn now ... or whatever passed for it these days on Cybertron. (Since it was a "wandering planet" Cybertron relied on the orbit of a "reflector moon" ... a giant, spherical satellite built around a parabolic mirror, which harnessed and concentrated the feeble light of nearby stars to provide some natural illumination.)
He had been here for many hours already, of course. Afraid that he might succeed in talking himself out of this desperate act if he stayed within safe walls of the Autobot command bunker, Prime had snuck out quietly on his own the night before ... telling no one where he was going. As it was, he almost didn't go anyway ... one last visit to repair bay 21C and his dear beloved Elita had almost robbed his servos of the strength to stand-But by then, he had already removed the Matrix of Leadership from his chest, and left it in his private quarters -- along with an engraved steel letter of goodbye to his friends and loyal warriors. In the letter he named Elita-One as his successor if she lived and returned to full health, and Ultra Magnus, if she did not.
Sitting here now, thinking it over, Optimus Prime had few doubts, but heavy regrets. He had never asked for this task ... for this mantle of leadership. By Primus, he was strong, yes ... but he didn't have *that kind* of strength inside him ... he was sure of that now. Somehow, there had been a mistake. The Matrix had gone to the wrong machine; this great, hulking combat chassis must have been meant for some one else, not him. No matter what Alpha Trion or Elita, or anyone else told him, deep inside, he knew that he was not Optimus Prime-His name was-
"Orion Pax!"
The Autobot leader spun around and stood up at the sound of his old name being spoken by a frighteningly familiar voice. With a great double-clank of steel on stone, Megatron dropped down on the surface of the rock, right behind him. (Repulser-lift jammers surrounded the rock, keeping flying Decepticons from cheating if they had to climb back up. The two seekers that had quietly glided overhead to drop their leader off, lit their jets and sped away.)
"That's your name isn't it Autobot?" The Decepticon intoned severely, "Your real name."
Optimus collected himself, forcing down his momentary shock and fear. He had not met his nemesis face-to-face since that day at the power station.
"You can call me what you want Megatron. It doesn't matter much to me."
Megatron gave a quick, indulgent little smile. He was beginning to actually like this Autobot in a way; of course he was going to like him even better when he was dead.
"There was-a female with you that day wasn't there?" Megatron mused, "Your *special little friend* I think-Ariel.
There was something obscene in the way Megatron leered as he said that name, and it brought a fresh wave of anger and hatred to Optimus Prime's core. Megatron saw the emotion in his enemy's optics and pushed it again.
"Whatever happened to her anyway?" The Decepticon toyed, smiling sadistically. "So pretty-such a waste."
Optimus shook off the urge to attack right then and there.
"Enough small-talk. Let's settle the terms."
"What terms Autobot?"
"You said you'd come alone, and unarmed."
"And I have." Megatron stated, gesturing to his right arm, which was bare of its usual fusion cannon."
"What about them?" Optimus pointed to the grandstands, where a dozen Decepticon warriors had landed and taken their seats.
"Them? They're just here to watch ... a few are too young to remember the last games here ... when I was the champion."
"Well I hope I don't disappoint them then."
"Don't worry Pax, I won't finish you off too quickly. That wouldn't be much fun for anyone."
"And if I win?"
Megatron smirked and shrugged his massive chrome shoulders.
"If you win ... then you leave here with your life." He nodded his head to the other Decepticons. "They will not harm you. They'll be too busy fighting amongst themselves about who will be my successor-Not that that is going to happen, of course."
There was a brief silence. Optimus knew there was no turning back now. Whatever the outcome, what would be would be. He wasn't strong enough to lead the Autobots, but at least he might be strong enough to break their greatest enemy in single combat-or, more likely, die trying.
*They all wanted me to be a hero.* Optimus mused to himself broodingly. *I guess this is it.*
Megatron offered his hand.
"May the better machine win."
Optimus reached out and shook firmly.
"Don't worry. He will."
With that, by the Laws of Ancient Combat the two warriors took to their starting marks on The Rock's battle-scarred green surface and squared off. All around them, floodlights came on in series, and the booming voice of the automated Game-Master echoed through the Grand Arena.
"ONE SHALL STAND; ONE SHALL FALL-WARRIORS-BEGIN!"
Optimus was about to find out what made a world champion Lord of The Rock.
In a flash of silver, grey and chrome, Megatron had crossed the pedestal and was inside Prime's defensive circle. A sudden, hard crash of metal struck him low in the midsection and he felt himself being pushed up and back as if he'd been hit by bullet-train. He had time to take exactly one defensive hold on his opponent's shoulders (which Megatron expertly broke free of) and then the next thing Optimus knew, he was falling-
And falling-
Forty-Forty meters had never felt so far before. Perhaps because he'd never been thrown off a rock so quickly before, and because the battle-stones on which amateurs usually competed were only half as tall.
Finally, the ground rose up and Optimus collided with it, flat on his back. The shock knocked his sensors off-line for a second or two, and by the time they returned, he could here the sound of distant laughter. Then came Megatron's voice, as the Decepticon peered down over the edge of the rock at him.
"We'll call that "Lesson One.' Would you like to come back up for another?"
Optimus looked up at the time read-out hovering above the Rock. *Plenty of time-Just collect yourself, get all your gyros back in line, and get back up there.*
Slowly, with deliberate force, Optimus got back to his feet, stepped up the side of The Rock, and began to climb. By the time he got back to the top ... with a minute and a half to spare ... Megatron was back on his starting mark. Prime took his place, and The Game Master announced the start of the next round.
"Lesson Two" scarcely lasted any longer than the first. Yet again, Prime found himself falling helplessly on his back. Recovering to his knees, he looked up to see Megatron waving two fingers in a vee at him. A quick glance at the stands confirmed what his audio-receptors already told him: More Decepticons were arriving now. They began to cheer and shout. Optimus got to his feet again and began his climb up The Rock.
"You're disappointing me Orion!" Megatron crowed ... loud enough for the crowd to hear.
"Don't worry ... I've got a few more rounds left in me." Optimus replied quietly, taking his marks again. "Bring it on."
The third round lasted all of twenty-five seconds ... which was really a dramatic improvement over the first and second, although it ended the same way: A long, silent fall, followed by a short, painful crash and roar of laughter and applause. Still, Optimus got back on his feet and without hesitation climbed back up to try it again.
This time Optimus went for a different tactic: the offensive. He dived for Megatron's legs the instant the Game Master intoned, "BEGIN!" The Decepticon though, was not taken by surprise. He simply leaped up out of reach, turned a forward flip in mid-air and came down with a hard kick to back of Prime's leg. Optimus growled in pain and struggled to keep himself on balance.
"ILLEGAL MOVE" the booming voice of the Game Master announced. "PENALTY FOR THE CHAMPION."
Megatron cast an angry glance upwards, but there was no use arguing with a non-sentient computer. He returned to his starting mark, muttering to himself. In a penalty round, the fouled player could choose any starting position he wanted as long as his feet were out of his opponent's defensive circle. Optimus wisely limped his way around the perimeter of the rock until was directly behind Megatron. The round began, and Prime was at last able to get a good hold on his Decepticon antagonist ... pinning his arms to his chest. Megatron flipped himself forward with a primal growl so that he landed on his back with Prime beneath him. The Autobot did not let go, but Megatron had other tricks though, and his next move succeeded. Suddenly, the Decepticon was loose and Optimus was sliding fast towards the edge of fighting surface. One last shove, and he was falling yet again.
This time, Prime landed on his head and hands, bending an antenna. He rolled over reflexively and shudder ran down his metal body. For a good long moment, he lay still-and there was thunderous applause from the stands.
The applause trailed off though as Optimus pushed himself back up to his feet again with pained effort. Ignoring the hissing, jeering and booing that now pelted him, Optimus slowly pulled himself back up to the top of the rock with resolute strength.
It was really very strange, Optimus thought to himself on the way up ... maybe there was a glitch in his systems, but with every fall, with every new injury and pain, something deep inside him actually felt as if it was getting stronger. He knew then that this battle was far from over. Let Megatron do his worst ... so long as there was a single volt of power in his circuits Prime knew that he would climb right back up this wall again-And again, and again, as long as it took.
"Still not done learning yet?" Megatron leered at Optimus as he made his weary way back to his marks.
"Sorry. I'm a little slow. Clumsy too."
"Well, no more pity points for you."
"Bring it," Optimus challenged with a beckoning gesture of his hand-
And "bring it" Megatron did.
In the long and glorious history of The Rock, there were countless great matches where the fighting continued though hundreds of rounds; both wrestlers taking a terrible beating and yet somehow continuing to function. There had been few contests however that seemed this lopsided at first ... but yet kept going on and on.
One-hundred and nine times, Megatron threw Optimus Prime from the top of the rock, before Cybertron's second "day moon" rose into the sky; and one hundred and nine times, the Autobot warrior climbed back up gamely to take another beating. Every round though, seemed to last just a little bit longer than the one before. Despite his accumulated injuries, every time Optimus took his marks again, he seemed to move with a little bit more confidence, a little bit more skill. From every mistake ... from every missed hold or defeated assault ... he learned. He might make the same mistake two or three times more, but eventually the weakness would evaporate and Megatron would be forced to change to a new tactic.
The Decepticon leader, for one, had never seen anything like it in all his undefeated years atop this very rock. The Autobot was surely a fool; a rank amateur without a prayer in the name of Primus of winning a match against any seated professional ... let alone a champion like Megatron-and yet somehow, he endured. Against every law of mechanical engineering, this big, strong, clumsy, ugly Autobot juggernaut kept taking the worst that he could dish out (without, breaking the rules and giving away penalty rounds anyway) and coming back for more. It was inconceivable! And by the sheer volume of his individual defeats, this Orion Pax was slowly absorbing quite an education in the art of Rock Wrestling. Thirty rounds into the fight, he had actually started using his own crude versions of Megatron's favorite moves.
"Aren't you done yet?" The Decepticon hissed, as Optimus climbed back up for the one hundred and tenth time. Prime grinned behind his armored mask. If there was any small victory to sooth the pain that now wracked his entire body, it was the growing fatigue in Megatron's voice.
*He's getting tired. Ha! He doesn't know the half of it.*
Optimus chanced a quick look around the arena before the next round began. He hadn't bothered to for an hour ... but what he saw now took him by surprise.
Autobots.
Small, nervous-looking bands of Autobots had quietly snuck into the arena and were sitting out there, cheering him on. He could not hear them over the shouting and jeering of the several-hundred Decepticons that now dominated the rest of the stands, but he could make out the comforting blue flicker of their eyes.
Optimus hardened himself quickly though. If any of them thought he was going to let them stop this or pull him away the next time he fell down, they were sadly mistaken. He'd come this far, suffered this long ... there was no going back now ... no defeat, but death. He only hoped he could die well enough to honor them.
The one-hundred-and-eleventh round lasted nearly ten minutes. A good, solid contest; it was the longest so far. And Megatron had no gloating comment to give at the end of it as he watched Optimus pick himself back up once more. Megatron was definitely tiring, and the pace of the fight was gradually slowing down as he struggled to come up new tactics and moves that the Autobot challenger hadn't already learned to counter.
In the great matches of the past, between well-suited combatants, rock wrestling could at times develop into a slow-motion sport of mechanical agony. The two warriors, too tired to go on, but too stubborn to relent would grab each other in a mutual hold and lock into position, staining internally with all their might. One might move back an inch and then a minute later gain back a foot, and the round would go on for Primus only knew how long, until one was thrown.
By late afternoon, that was exactly the state that Megatron and Optimus Prime had come to. Around them, the arena was lined with hundreds of warriors, Autobot and Decepticon alike ... often sitting just a few meters apart but all locked in abject fascination. No one had seen anything like this is years ... certainly not since the beginning of the last Cybertronian War. An awesome drama was steadily unfolding before their wide-open optics. It was a classic conflict of two different paradigms of strength: Megatron, the great champion, holding the fine edge with unparalleled skill and nerve ... and Optimus Prime, the courageous, relentless challenger ... showing endurance and determination beyond what anyone could have thought possible.
They fought on, ceaselessly, as if nothing else mattered. As if nothing else *had ever* mattered, of ever would. Again Optimus fell, and again he rose back up. Again the two warriors locked themselves together- Other than the crushing, grinding, clanking symphony of their epic struggle atop the The Rock, a hushed silence filled the air. Only whispers passed between the bystanders; reverent whispers and expressions of awe.
It couldn't last forever, of course-Although at times, it seemed like it might.
By dusk, the crowd of spectators had swollen to several thousand ... and nearly a quarter of them Autobots, even though the Grand Arena was deep in the heart of Decepticon held territory. Gradually, the assembled Transformers began to point and nod their heads in hushed agreement. *It's going to end soon. The Autobot can barely stand ... and the Decepticon is so tired he's going to fall off the rock on his own soon. It HAS to end.*
Locked together atop The Rock, Optimus and Megatron stared into each other's optics with deadly concentration. They too, sensed the end was near, but neither one was yet willing to concede. They could clearly hear soft whirring of internal cooling fans that were struggling within each of them to keep over-worked circuits and servos from overheating. Before this day, Prime would have never believed he was capable of strength like this. By the look on Megatron's face, the Decepticon would never have believed it either.
*No one's ever stood up to him like before,* Prime noted to himself with absolute certainty. *He's so used the being the strongest, the fastest, the best ... he doesn't even remember what it's like to be challenged-and it scares the hell out of him.*
Optimus managed a pained grin of satisfaction underneath his mask. Megatron must was seen the glimmer in his optics, because he curled his lip viciously, flaring his eyes.
"You are dying," the Decepticon whispered hoarsely. "I can hear the fans in your chassis slowing down ... your fuel pump is started to cavitate-Listen."
Optimus didn't have to listen to empty rattle that was growing inside his chest ... nor did he have to waste energy running a self-diagnostic. He already knew he was dying-and it just didn't bother him very much. At this point, with this much pain, death didn't seem very frightening anymore ... or very important. In fact, right now, nothing seemed very important to Optimus Prime ... nothing except staying on his feet, and getting back up to the top of this rock when next he fell.
"Why?" Megatron breathlessly vocalized, "Why don't you just give up?"
Optimus would have loved to make a courageous response to aggravate his enemy at that point, but he simply didn't have the strength left to speak ... only just enough strength to hold on and keep pushing. His refusal to answer seemed to anger and frustrate Megatron even more.
"You. Cannot. Win." The Decepticon wheezed, enunciating each word one at a time with bottomless rage. His hands were beginning to shake.
Optimus looked down at where Megatron was gripping his upper arm. Slowly, millimeter-by-millimeter, his grip was slipping. Megatron saw what Prime was looking at and fought to tighten his hold. As he adjusted his fingers though, his grip just slipped further.
A low, mechanical grumble came up from deep inside Megatron's chest. He adjusted his hold again. Now, his very fingertips were pealing a thin layer of finish from Optimus Prime's arm, and yet still, they continued to slip.
Prime locked optics with his Decepticon opponent. Fighting for the extra amperage, he managed to find his voice again.
"Tired yet?"
There was only so much baiting Megatron could take.
Suddenly, the Decepticon released his grip on Optimus and jumped back in a crouch, roaring with animalistic rage that sounded more like the synthesized voice of a giant predatory cat than of a humanoid. Prime nearly fell on his face at the sudden release of pressure, and before he could regain what was left of his balance, Megatron was upon him again.
The Decepticon managed to spin his weary opponent halfway around, get on top of him and pin him down onto his knees with one arm behind his back. There was an audible crunch of buckling metal and a few small sparks jumped from Optimus Prime's shoulder-servo. It was a fantastic move ... executed with the all the skill and fury that had made Megatron a legend in his own time. The crowd of Decepticons roared in admiration.
Prime, though, wasn't quite finished yet.
Fighting back a wave-like power-surge that filled his vision and hearing with static, Optimus struggled to slip into a kneeling position-The slippery, abrupt edge of the The Rock was but a meter in front of him. With just a little bit of leverage, a little bit more strength-
A terrible, low, groaning shudder began atop the battle-stone. Working its way into a shrill, piercing buzz, it soon was soon drilling the air throughout the entire Arena. Two-thousand mechanical warriors sat on the edge of their seats listening to it-The stench of burning metal started wafting over on the breeze.
And then Optimus began to rise, pushing Megatron up with him as he went. On the strength of a single knee, with servos and actuators screaming and smoking pouring out of every vent on his body, the Autobot forced himself up into a low crouch-The Decepticon squeezed tighter, bringing more sparks from his opponent's ruptured shoulder.
For the first time, there was genuine fear on Megatron's face.
And then, Optimus Prime did it.
Half jumping, half falling, the Autobot tumbled forward off the edge of The Rock, bringing Megatron down with him. Even as they fell, the two did not separate. Megatron only released his grip when he collided headfirst onto the ground forty-four meters below.
The crowd went mad. Yelling, jeering, cheering, screaming ... the Arena was alive again as it had been in grandest of days gone by.
The two grappling heroes of The Rock rolled off one another and lay on their backs, shuddering for a moment ... but only a moment. There was no time to spare now ... the giant Game Master's clock above them was ticking. Whoever reached the top soonest-
Megatron was the first to get back on his feet. Staggering like an over-charged drunk, the Decepticon found his way to the sheer face of the battle stone and began to climb with slow, unsteady movements. His face was black with fuel and he had to wipe his optics in order to see.
Just below him, Optimus Prime crawled on his hands and knees, only standing when he reached the base of the rock. He too began to climb, though his right knee hung inert, and his left shoulder was still sparking.
Megatron kept the lead, but every few moments, he paused to look back down and breath a curse at his Autobot adversary who steadfastly kept with him. All around them, the Arena reverberated with the rhythmic stomping of hundreds of metal feet.
WHUMP-WHUMP! WHUMP-WHUMP! WHUMP-WHUMP!
Ten meters-Twenty meters-Thirty-Thirty-five-Forty-
At last, Megatron's outstretched hand curled over the top edge of The Rock. He looked out over at the audience, and received the cheers of his loyal Decepticons. The match was not over yet though ... before he could be declared the winner he must actually haul his entire body back up on the top of The Rock; the rules were very clear on this point.
Hooking his elbow up over the edge took another monumental effort and Megatron paused to look back down at his enemy's progress.
To his horror, he saw that Optimus Prime was actually gaining on him now.
"Impossible." Megatron muttered to himself ... and then the next moment, he found himself slipping. With a curse, the Decepticon leader barely managed to arrest his slide. He hung now only by the tips of his fingers ... his feet dangled uselessly below him.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd.
Meanwhile, Optimus Prime was already beyond pain. Beyond fatigue and beyond fear, the Autobot found himself slowly rising up the side of the battle-stone as if being lifted by an unseen force rather than by his own battered limbs. He knew that he had felt this force before ... and he knew now that he would feel it again someday because it resided deep inside his very own soul.
The top edge of The Rock loomed before him and Optimus reached out his hand. From close beside him, came an anguished scream.
"Nooooo!!!" Megatron wailed, hanging only by the tips of his fingers. "FALL!! ORION PAX, FALL!!
Optimus looked over at Megatron as he reached up with his other hand to take hold of the edge.
"My name-Is OPTIMUS PRIME.
Megatron's optics flared crimson and he let go with one hand ... shooting it out to grab hold of Optimus Prime's arm before he could get a hold of the edge. The Decepticon's black steel fingers were still shaking, but their crushing strength was desperate.
"Fall!" Megatron hissed, shaking Optimus Prime's arm. "Fall Damn you!"
Since both combatants were technically in contact with the fighting surface, Megatron was in fact, not breaking any rules; at least not any official ones anyway. Of course an act as desperate as this might have gotten him booed out of the stadium back in his days as a professional ... but this contest had long-since become a great deal more personal than that.
"FALL!" Megatron bellowed again, swinging Optimus Prime's limp arm against the chipped jade surface of The Rock. And although the Autobot's body shook like a life-less pile of scrap, his grip on the top edge stayed firm.
And then it finally came ... a great throbbing buzzer sounded above their heads.
Optimus Prime and Megatron both lifted their optics to the time read-out projected above The Rock. The clock had run out. From all around came the booming, lifeless voice of the Game Master.
"MATCH COMPLETE. CONTEST IS A DRAW."
An unmatched swell of emotion rose up within Optimus Prime's core ... a sudden and complete liberation from all the doubt and all the angst that had plagued him for what seemed like so long now. He might not have won the fight against Megatron, but he had done the impossible, never the less ... he had survived. And in so doing, he had won at least one major battle in the war against himself-And that, was worth all the pain, ten times over.
Just as Prime's circuits were glowing with elation and relief though, Megatron's were sizzling with shock and fury. The Decepticon let out what could only be described as a gargled death-cry of sickening pain and humiliation. With one last final burst of maniacal strength, he kicked away from the surface of the rock and tumbled backwards ... pulling Optimus along with him by the arm. Both warriors tumbled end-over-end; their spent bodies utterly limp. Forty-four meters below, they crashed to cold, hard ground like twin meteors-and were still.
A collective roar of amazement and admiration and excitement tore up and down the Grand Arena. The cacophonous symphony of several thousand pounding metallic feet and clapping metallic hands shook The Rock itself.
When the two exhausted combatants finally managed to get their optics and audio receptors back on line ... it was this joyous noise that greeted them. Autobots and Decepticons alike ... often-side-by-side ... were swarming the down off the bleachers and onto the field, crowding around their heroes with their red and blue eyes blazing.
With supreme effort, Optimus prime lifted his head a few centimeters off the ground and looked over at his Decepticon enemy, still just an arm's reach away.
His voice barely a whisper, Megatron cleared his vocalizer-Staring up at the perpetually starry sky above them, he began to laugh softly.
For no logic that Optimus could fathom, but for every reason that he valued, he too began to laugh. There was simply nothing else he could do. In the end, all of it was just a game, wasn't it? A silly, stupid, thick-headed game ... and the worst part (or perhaps it the best part) was that all these spectators, Autobots and Decepticons alike were going to go back to their bases now, after having shared a few hours of strange and dramatic camaraderie with one another, with both parties utterly convinced that their own leader had won the contest ... when in fact, it had ended in a draw. A few hours from now, they'd all be out trying to kill each other again. How could you not laugh at that?
Megatron finally turned his head and to look Optimus in the eye. There was a moment of strained silence and the laughter slowly drained away.
"Don't even think it." Megatron croaked hoarsely with a starkly unusual lack of cruelty or malice in voice. Perhaps, he was just too tired to care anymore.
"Don't think what?" Optimus managed to reply questioningly.
"Don't think that you've won a thing here today-Optimus Prime," Megatron finished, rolling his head back to look up at the sky again.
Optimus couldn't help but smile beneath his mask ... and this time, he wished the entire world could see it. The words that had just been spoken to him where probably the closest thing to a sincere compliment and congratulation that he would ever hear from Megatron's vocalizer.
*Optimus Prime, it is then. Now and for as long as this war lasts.*
*****
The well-lit ceiling of repair-bay 21C slowly materialized out of the static in Optimus Prime's optics. It took a very long moment before his central processor unit spooled up sufficiently for him to begin remembering just what had happened to him, and why he was on this repair rack. Once he became aware of the pain in his battered chassis, it all started coming back in slow-motion wave of nausea.
A low metallic groan escaped from behind his facemask. Somewhere nearby, someone whispered ... "Well, I think he's finally coming back around."
A blurry form loomed above him and gradually resolved itself into the Autobot medic Ratchet. He was grinning like a crazed roller-pong fan whose team had just won the Cybertronian championship.
"Good morning Sir" Ratchet chirped. "Can you hear me alright?"
Optimus nodded weakly.
"Good morning-Ratchet."
"How many fingers am I holding up?" The medic asked seriously, extending a single digit. Prime squinted his optics.
"Uh-Fifteen, I think."
Ratchet shook his head, and looked over at someone else in the room.
"Has he always had brain damage like that?"
"Since the first day I met him," a soft, hauntingly familiar voice replied.
Optimus Prime jerked his whole body on the repair rack, fighting to raise his head and look over at where the voice had come from.
"Elita!" He called out with a desperate need in his weak, gravely voice.
"I'm right over here Hot Shot," came the saucy, contented reply.
Optimus swung his optics to the right and fought them into focus. There beside him, just half and arm's-length away on her own repair rack, was the smiling red female Autobot known now by the name of Elita-One ... or at least half of her anyway.
"Primus above!" Optimus gasped with relief. "I'd thought I'd lost you, again."
"Oh, don't get excited ... you're not rid of me yet Partner. Although I might ask that you kindly avert your optics for the moment ... I probably *look* about the same way you *feel* right now.
"Actually, I've never felt better." Optimus beamed, "And I certainly haven't seen anything as good-looking as you around here for a while."
"Really now?" Elita smirked, gesturing to her still-truncated thorax and the rack on the wall that currently held her newly rebuilt hips and legs. "Which part of me do you like better? The top end or the bottom?"
Optimus Prime leaned his head back and laughed. A new wave of pain rolled up from his chest, but he fought it back with a grin.
"Actually, now that you mention it, I've always been partial to you're legs, Elita. They're much less sarcastic without the rest of you."
"I knew it." Elita huffed coyly, crossing her arms over her open chest compartment.
"Ahem." Ratchet finally interjected, clearing his voice loudly. "Uh, if you two would kindly excuse me for a moment, I think I just heard myself being paged over the com-link-I'll be right back."
With a wink, the Autobot medic turned on his heals and exited the room with both Prime and Elita's charts tucked under his arm. When the door closed behind him, there was a long, beautiful silence-Elita was the first break it.
"So-I heard you picked a fight." There was a quiet seriousness in her voice now.
"Yes," Optimus conceded, staring up at the ceiling. "With a big silver mech who pounded the living slag out of me." Now that they were alone, he knew it was time to answer for his reckless actions.
There was a short, somewhat, reproachful silence before Elita answered.
"I hope that didn't have anything to do with me."
It was now Optimus Prime's turn to be silent. Before he finally spoke again, he reached out his arm towards Elita and took her hand softly in his.
"Elita, I'm sorry-I did a very foolish thing."
Elita squeezed his hand back.
"Worked out well for you though," she quipped, "You certainly impressed a lot of mechs around here." *But not me* seemed to be the unspoken part of her statement.
Optimus shrunk back, stung deeply by the disappoinment in Elita's voice -- but knowing full well he deserved it. After a moment, Elita reached back out to him.
"Look, you may be fool sometimes, but at least you're *a brave fool*, Orion," She'd gently replied, using the name she only now called him in private. "And that's nothing to be ashamed of."
She looked at him then, her electric liquid blue eyes shimmering like the sea of an organic world, and Optimus was left without any words to say.
"I still love you," She whispered. "In case you were wondering."
Optimus released her hand to reach for face with a gentle caress.
*I love you too*, he thought, with more emotion than he had the power to vocalize. Before he could struggle out the words, Elita touched her own fingers to his facemask to stop him.
"Sshh. I like the strong silent type. Don't mess this up."
A blissful, warm silence grew between them then, their hands clenched together gently. Gradually, Optimus found himself slipping back away. His optics grew dim.
Just before he fell unconscious again, he whispered his reply, and there was nothing Elita could do to stop him.
"I love you too. Always...Always."
The End
About the Author (Incase anyone cares.): Ensign Dova (soon-to-be Lieutenant JG) is currently stationed at Naval Air Station Whiting Field, outside of Milton, Florida, where he flies the mighty, mighty Bell TH-57 Helicopter (or tries to!) and lives with his wife and their two cats. He writes junk like this whenever he gets the chance and would love to hear from you if you enjoyed it.