[ti]Flashback[/ti]Cause Lost, Hope Lost {Closed-Optimus Prime}

[Deleted]

She had lost track, now. Of just how many long Vorns had passed since the outbreak of this war. Since she’d had such grand ideals of peace and freedom from the castes. Since Cybertron actually seemed worth fighting for. Now, it was dying. All of it. Her ideals, Cybertron, and everyone around her. Though, if she looked back, she realized that she hadn’t started losing hope when Cybertron began to die. No, it was long before that. When the original members of Squad Zero had been decimated. Hotwire, her trusted second, had been the first. The left side of her faceplate twitched. The scar that ran its length served as a constant reminder of him. He never had forgiven himself for not being able to fully repair her optic. She’d never found fault with his work, though. Medical supplies were in short order and the tide of war never allowed them to stop and rest for long. It carried them one battle to the next, mission after mission, death after death. She had lost track of those too. The missions. Not the deaths. The deaths weighed far too heavily on her to be forgotten. She remembered their faceplates all too well, though, sometimes, the designations escaped her.

It was another set of deaths that she was on her way to report. The original members of Squad Zero had all either died or been cycled out into other squads. The replacements had ranged from warriors who had already seen too much to green members of the Last Sparked. The cycle had continued. Bots were killed, injured, or reassigned, thereby entering and later leaving her command. Despite that, she still maintained a high success rate and fairly low casualty rate. Perhaps that was why it was so easy to remember each one she’d failed to bring back alive. No matter how few she’d lost in the grand scheme of all the deaths on Cybertron, they were still too many.

As she neared the command center in her vehicle mode, she constructed her report. She had set out over an orn previously with a full roster. Over that orn, through the series of missions carried out and battles fought, their numbers had dwindled. Some had been killed in combat. Others by Decepticon traps. And still others had been lucky enough to merely be injured and in need of an evac to the nearest Autobot medic’s location. Finally, Xero was forced to return to Command, only herself and one other bot surviving. That bot had been reassigned for the present. Xero herself would make the report and express the need for replacements if Squad Zero were to continue on. Even if it did not and she was reassigned, that would be fine. It might be a nice change of pace to act as a soldier rather than a commander. Either way, she would do as ordered.

She was still a good distance from Command when she met the first ring of security. She was halted by a call over her comm, spoken in Autobot code. The voice was commanding but not unpleasant.

::Come to a halt and present your identification.::

Xero complied, putting on her breaks. It was late in the cycle. They had most likely just changed the guard not too long before. This put her at ease. If they were as calm as they seemed at the moment, there had been no nearby activity on this shift. With that in mind, she transformed, rising from her compact vehicle form to stand on two pedes once again.

::Special Operations Officer Xero of Squad Zero:: the stating of her name was followed by a memorized serial code of identification, ::Reporting in.::

There was a pause. The sentry did not come into view. She could only assume that he had a clear view of her, though, and was busy matching her data. After a surprisingly brief pause, she was addressed again.

::Continue, Officer::

Xero gave a nod and transformed again. As soon as the last plate settled into place, she was off again, zooming through the twilight. Her alt form carried her quickly across Cybertron’s dead surface. A short distance later, she was stopped again and the process repeated. This time, a sentry made himself visible long enough to get a scan. Upon verification, she was allowed through. It was only after a third ring of security that she was able to come near the field command center. She transformed and walked towards the entrance, the metallic sound of her footsteps alerting those who waited by the door to her arrival. As soon as she was within range, she was detained for a thorough check. She frowned as she complied. Security was tighter than usual. It was always heavy, simply because of the nature of the location. Though, Command’s location changed regularly to keep the Decepticons from targeting it. That in and of itself was a security measure. And three rings of identification request was normal as well. But the extra precautions taken were what set her on edge.

She entered the command center, optics sweeping the area. Fortunately, her left one had decided that functionality was in order, and remained only slightly dimmer than the other. Of course. As soon as she was in one of the safest places and Autobot could be. She strode forward confidently. She had done this enough to know where to go to report. She focused her processor on the task at hand. Give the report of what had occurred on the mission, name the fallen, request new soldiers. Wash, rinse, repeat.

The base around her was bustling with activity as usual. Officers, soldiers, and medics alike rushed to their next destination or stood together in pairs or groups, sharing the latest occurrences of the war. Xero passed them without a word, occasionally returning a nod or lifted hand. She turned quickly down a hall, down the too-often traveled route to the only sometimes occupied, sparse offices of the commanders. Yet again, to face whatever superior might be present and able to take her report so that she could move on and reenter the battlefield. Her expression tightened. It seemed so pointless. Her spark was no longer in this. It was just motions. The fighting, the reports, all of it. Just what she did because it was all she knew how to do. A soldier who had once had a cause and not had no hope.

She came to a halt when she reached the offices. All of the doors of the occupied offices were shut, which meant no one was currently available to speak. The lights above the doors marked which were occupied and which weren’t. Xero vented softly, standing against one of the walls. She would wait a while, as was required, for an officer to be made available. Part of her was glad for the brief moment of stillness.

[Optimus Prime]

There was good reason that security was tighter than typical.

The Command Center held many individuals of high value within its walls, from Generals to tacticians, and oftentimes high ranking scientists and others that oversaw large slices of the war effort under their command. To have one of them taken out of active play, could cause instability for others that strode under their command, losing the shell of guidance and the leading hand that would drive them forward. This could easily cause individuals to scatter for other cover, or to make their own decisions that may not be as informed as a more veteran soldier's assistance. The untimely demise of one could cause unneeded death or lost ground in the war.

Alas... wonderful as it could be to watch a young tiny star among the ranks surge up and show promise and natural talent, the far more common reality was far less 'Hero's Story' and became a slaughterhouse. It is because of this ranks had to be upheld, lines had to be followed, and perimeters had to be guarded with upmost care less something slip between the cracks.

But it wasn't just these individuals at this location this day.

"Out of the way, this isn't the place to loiter!"

A gruff voice sounded out abruptly behind Xero, the tones gravely and worn down through time and exhaustion, yet still holding a leading edge that could promise bad things if wronged. The words were louder, commanding, slicing through the quiet hallway with the grace of a wrecking ball. The owner of this voice was a slightly above average sized Cybertronian whose frame was primarily white with bold streaks of red that flowed down along grey shoulders and forearms.

They were a grounder, as evident by the presence of wheels docked within their peds, and the leading edge of the other set visible within the red stripe of the shoulder paneling. It created a tread bumper that looked to be nicked and scratched into by more than just normal wear and tear on the planet's dead surface. The individual held within their hands a rifle, and while it was downturned to the side, its presence was still alarmingly unnatural in such a secured environment. This said, the emblem upon their armor explained it all, the Autobot icon framed by sharp lines that hooked up, indicating Elite Guard status.

The presence of the Elite Guard at such a location was not uncommon, but they tended to be on task and not ones to loiter around. Business was many of their mottos, and it seemed this one was dead set on getting Xero to move out of the way and keep going, when the sound of heavy footfalls thrummed from further down the hall.

Solid steps, those of a much larger frame and not one of average build. They struck down with a duo impact of the ped hitting first, and then the secondary plates and panels within the joint bearing weight with a follow-up clunk. It was unique, and lolled at ease and calm, carrying its owner up to see what the confrontation was. The view of the additional newcomer would be disrupted by the Elite Guard, up until the point the individual arched into range and became visible.

Optimus Prime.

The Prime stood tall, an imposing figure of power and strength that dwarfed any mass the Elite Guard had over the smaller Femme. Bold red armor struck out in the dimmer environment, accented with chrome that was most prominent on the Autobot insignia welded onto the shoulder flaring that was kept in pristine condition. The armor across his frame was a mix of boxy edges and sloping curves, some edging of cyan bio-lights nicked in upon upper arms and chest. His chest itself was plated in heavy grey panels, pieces that would eventually become the front of his Cybertronian alt. His helm was blue, edged with a silver crest up its front, and framed with branching finials on either side.

Optimus' notable armor faceplate was not up and in place, but this did not completely matter. The angle in which he had to observe them making the edge of his chest armor cover up some of the lower portion of his features. While he was an overall imposing sight, his field was even and calm, a low hum that betrayed nothing about his true emotion, but was more a presence, a power, a reassurance. It is with this, he finally spoke, a calm low baritone that rolled out over the area to offer a mild reprimand to the guard that was so hasty to clear a path.

"We are all on the same team here."

[Deleted]

Xero had shuttered her optics, taking the much needed moment of silence to rest her processor. For over an orn, every cycle had been full of the constant need for movement. Plan, watch, record, scout, attack, move. Another constant cycle. She waited patiently, not all that concerned by it. She wasn’t lazy, nor the type to avoid the battlefield. She was sparked a soldier. But, even she needed recovery time. And that was a rare commodity. She would give much to have one good recharge that wasn’t plagued by the worry of their camp being overrun by the enemy. But, that was impossible in this planet-wide civil war. The war that was killing the planet itself, as any bot with optics could see. Cybertron’s light was dimming. Soon, it would go out altogether. What would they do then? The object of the war would be gone. There would be no Cybertron to control. Where could they go?

Her line of thought was interrupted by a gruff voice from behind. She moved instinctively, whipping around to face what had startled her. She had simply been waiting, servos clasped behind her back, at ease, beside one of the doors, not realizing she would become so lost in thought as to be snuck up upon. She was more exhausted than she realized.

When her optics found the bot, they swept over them quickly, taking them in with the trained quickness of a soldier who was used to analyzing and making decisions in a split second. Elite Guard. Grounder frame, and big. Older bot, judging by his vocals. Obviously experienced. And obviously armed. That one gave her barely a moment’s pause. She wasn’t a base frequenter, and acted primarily on the field. Weaponry was simply a common part of every-cycle life.

She was just about to snap into a salute and step aside when she saw him.

Her processor actually stopped functioning for a moment before kicking into high gear. Only years of military training kept her mouth from falling open in surprise. She could not, however, stop her optics from widening just a fraction. She had never seen him up close. This legend among them. He was truly a colossus, utterly dwarfing her. She stared up at him. That explained it. Why security had been so tight. Their leader was present. The Prime was present. He was just as she had heard and as she expected. Towering above her, carrying himself with power and surety and calm. She barely even registered his words.

Without even really being aware of what she was doing, she snapped into a salute, her training taking over for her shocked processor. She had expected to simply make a report and leave, not meet the Prime himself.

[Optimus Prime]

The elite guard seemed to cow at the Prime's words, his aggressive stance stiffly folding back to try not to be an imposing figure above Xero any longer. But despite this compliance, he obviously wasn't committed to this action. Angled and squared off with her, holding the gun with a heavy hand and a willingness to use it as a blunt weapon if given an opportunity... He didn’t want to back down, not willingly, but he did it anyway because it was what the new Prime had wanted of him.

It would not be a far cry to assume and understand this guard had served under the previous Prime's rule, accustomed to being able to slam people out of the way that didn't deserve to be within such a high power's presence, let alone speak to them. The more recent Primes had carried themselves with far more prestige, too good to be among the 'common' types, and finding their role within the high tiers of society. It wasn't a very admirable stance.

This new one was different.

"Affirmative."

"Continue on, I do not believe I need to be defended within my own base."

The guard didn't seem thrilled about this either, his eyes narrowing momentarily to look at Xero again in distaste, as if she were some undercover Con, or scum that didn't deserve to be here, or that this entire thing was a hundred percent her fault... but... this was not his call to make. With resignation and defeat, he stiffly moved, taking a few steps forward before falling back into stride to patrol down the rest of the corridor. Just as he began moving off, a second guard passed.

They were a femme, brandishing the same rifle make, and holding the same Elite Guard emblem applied over bronze armor. She had been following the Prime, making sure no one would try to pull anything. Her frame was broad, built, strong and capable for battle just as the previous MECH. lA pair of large fan like blades settled upon her shoulders within wheel wells, crying out of a hovering alt mode that was built for maneuverability. She didn’t speak, she didn’t stop, hearing what had been said, and moving on with a soft nod within the Prime's direction and a tired glance at Xero.

The two guards continued down the path to scout ahead, while Optimus turned back to observe the black and pink Cybertronian.

Optimus was an observant individual, his calm gaze catching onto details, and plucking them out from a situation to try to read others. It is because of this, it was easy to tell she was awed, even if her jaw didn't drop to display as much in a cliché motion. The look she gave him was... painfully common, and the Prime didn't much know what to make of it yet, still growing accustomed to being so much larger than others, still settling into the role he had been given in life. Whether Prime was bestowed because he was in the right place at the right time, or if he truly deserved it was a subject for debate, but the fact was he stood as an imposing leader that acted both as commander, and religious legend due to the Matrix that was housed within his torso. People looked up to him, and he would act and do what was needed to not let them down.

"Were you here to report to Rove?"

Breaking his attention from Xero, cyan optics settled upon the door the femme stood before a moment, flicking over the glyphs etched onto its side, before peering back at her.

[Deleted]

Xero truly barely noticed the look the guard gave her. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have particularly cared. This was the most emotion she’d felt in a while. After being on the front lines for so very long, watching comrade after comrade fall, winning hollow victories and suffering losses that hardly seemed to matter anymore, she had fallen into a state of constant monotony. The planet was dying, they were dying, and the cause almost didn’t seem worth the continued struggle. Bright ideals had given way to hopelessness, hopelessness to despair, and despair to perpetual numbness. The disdain, anger, or sadness of others hardly caught her notice now. And it had been so long since she’d seen true happiness that she wasn’t sure it was even a thing anymore. Nothing had broken her current state of being for a long time.

But this, being faced with the Prime himself, gave her pause. Her expression fell back to its usual impassivity, though her optics still sparked with the respect and awe that had previously registered on her faceplate. This was something unexpected. And good. It had been immeasurably long since a truly good thing had happened to her. Just seeing him, being in his presence, feeling the calm radiating from him, she suddenly felt like what she had been continuously doing was still right. Like their continuous battling of the Decepticons wasn’t just a hopeless fool’s dream.

 
Then, her left optic flickered, pulling her from her stupor as it caused her vision to waver. Reality crashed into her again. She was still standing in a dark hallway during a war. Had still lost every soldier under her command and needed to beg for a new squad. Her gaze dropped from the Prime’s face and the childish awe left her almost completely, dwindling into a mere spark of the flame it had been. She was still caught in the futility of this war, the only escape from their collective fate being death.

When Optimus spoke, her optics returned to him. She straightened.

“Yes, sir. I have just returned from the battlefield,” her voice was weary but unwaveringly firm, “To report the deaths of the others of Squad Zero and request a new team be placed under my command so that we continue our stealth operations.”

She stood at ease, servos folded primly behind her back. It was no longer even painful to speak of the deaths of her comrades. She had made the same report so many times.

[Optimus Prime]

((I did some very minor assumptions, thinking shed follow him readily. If you would like me to edit, than by all means let me know!))


This one was different.

She had shown the awe and wonder like all the others had, she gawked in his presence and seemed to be lifted momentarily for the briefest of flickers, but like a flame in the breeze it could only last so long, and she sunk back down in a way that was foreign for him to see. Typically the wonderment lasted, not that he wanted it to, and would remain for a bit of time after he broke himself away to tend to other things. He never got to witness the deflation and the sadness and this small sliver of REALITY that almost felt hidden away from him.

Isolated.

Hollow.

He did not know who she was, he did not know of her personality, nor how she carried herself around authority and how much that correlated with how she would act among like-ranked company. This said, he didn’t think what he was sensing now was just an emotional state of being, and was more the result of what had happened, and what was still going on around them.

They were in a war. They were facing horrendous conflicts. Sentinel was dead, and everything that was known and cherished was burnt to the ground in combat. Individuals were tasked to follow orders, all under the name of a new Prime who held powerful ideals and strengths, but was still an unknown. This Prime had not served in authority nor had a strong name in the public eye until Megatronus' cry out for choice. It would be easy to be pulled into the hollow vacuum of sadness or a depressing state of hopelessness.

Optimus glanced momentarily up to Rove's door once again, peering at the glyphs of his name that had been etched in place for the life of the outpost. He considered what lay beyond the door for this Femme, and the backlash of what would come from there, and eventually weighed it not in her favor. If what he gleamed from her surface tells and tone was correct, than it could be the last clipping strike to an injured ankle to take her down.

She was trying so very hard to remain upright.

"It pains me that more have fallen, but some solace is to be gained in knowing you survived."

Soothing, calm, it was not hollow words and cookie cutter promises of sympathy and remorse. There was no inkling that what the Prime said had been fake, nor that he was simply declaring it as a courtesy to offer a half useless band-aid to the numbing feeling of being a sole survivor. What he said was sincere, and it showed, his even expression not changing much, but the subtlest of tells.

"Come. Walk with me."

Said after a subtle glance down the  hallway, he spoke not in a command, but almost like a friend asking another to come along with. With these words, his stance straightened up fully once again into a more proper position, one that looked trained, taught, a look a regality that all higher ranking officials seemed to harbor. He then rolled into a gradual stride, long footfalls dropping down with heavy thuds, not from any desire to make noise, but more a measure of the weight he was tasked to carry with such a large frame.

He made sure to walk with a slow enough step, that the femme would not feel rushed in any way in order to keep up to him, while also peering down in her direction.

"Tell me of your team?"

While they walked down the hall, back turned to the doorway she had been waiting at moments prior, a maintenance drone made his way over, and carefully removed Rove's nameplate from the door.

[Deleted]

Xero was slightly uncomfortable by the Prime’s scrutinizing. She had the sudden feeling that she was utterly transparent before him. Like the façade of strength that kept her in her position of leadership did nothing to shield the deadness within. She was a good soldier because it was what she knew how to do. She could go on autopilot, so to speak, and drift with the tides of the war. It was what she had been doing so far. Ignoring her own weariness and simply acting in the only way she knew how And she was rewarded. Because of her success, she was sent out again and again with new squadmates. But, now, she felt like the bot towering over her was completely unaffected by her outer appearance. It was likely that he knew nothing of her personally, and knew her only in the here and now. He had nothing to cloud his vision of her, she realized. It was likely that he truly did see through her, right into her very spark, where what made her who she was had been drowning for a long while.

When he spoke his words of solace, her optics widened again and her faceplate registered vague surprise. How long had it been since anyone had been gladdened by her survival? Enough to say so? She had always been a cog in the Autobot machine, that was her role. Cogs were lost and replaced, they were never truly grieved. Nor was anyone glad to see that one of them had managed to outlast the others. His sincere words took her aback enough that she began to follow him without registering his friendly request on more than a surface level.

Xero walked alongside the Prime, coming back to herself. She kept pace with him, walking at a moderate pace. She was aware of his care in making sure that she could keep up with him, and it left her again in a state of bemusement. The Autobot leader was again showing concern for her in a way that she was not used to. Surely, he had better things to do than take a stroll with a disenfranchised soldier. When he asked that she speak of her team, her optics flickered up toward him.

“With all due respect, which one, sir? Squad Zero has been comprised of many teams since its creation. If I recall correctly, this is my sixth return to request reinforcements.”

Her voice was monotone, the voice of one whose only communication with others came in the form of receiving, giving, or relaying orders. Tired, and lacking emotion. Her movements were sharp and precise, but, her gait still showed her exhaustion. Her left optic flickered again. It had been too long since her last tune-up. She would have to have it tended to before it worsened, perhaps to the point of becoming the factor that would lead to her demise on the battlefield.

“This last team was the only one that was completely wiped out…aside from me. They were all fairly young, and lacked the experience of the older soldiers...I couldn't...save them.”

Her vocals lost their monotone just a little, becoming sad.

At first, she had seen her ability to survive as a blessing. Now, though, it seemed more of a curse. How many more would she watch die while she somehow continued on? An explosion would strike and she would be far enough away to sustain only minor injuries. ‘Cons would attack out of nowhere and she would happen to be outside the perimeter at the time. An airstrike would be watched and she would be one of the few who found suitable cover. Again and again and again, she would be fortunate enough to escape with her life. She didn’t believe in luck. She had originally thought it may be the grace of Primus, but, she wasn’t sure she believed in that either anymore. Perhaps it was just instinct. All that she knew was that she was still alive, despite the odds. And that she could never save them all.

[Optimus Prime]

Everyone could read what Xero had just said in many different ways. They can blame the individuals for being too inexperienced and not obeying orders or having proper training to survive in the situations they were forced into, or they can blame the leader for not recognizing such things and directing the team in a way that was more favorable to their skills. Perhaps it was the missions themselves that higher command assigned that were the problem, command overestimating and shackling the leader to a goal that was outside of their reach.

It was easy to try to point fingers, to try to find the one individual at fault, and not recognize that it was simply a chain of events that landed this situation into being. No one general, no one squad commander, and no single individual would ever want to be thrown into the mill and torn apart in the name of war, and Optimus liked to believe those safe and sound behind Autobot lines, would not want to throw others to their deaths just to make a wild grab at something.

Risky excursions, high stake missions with a just as high chance of not returning... They were out there. Optimus himself had had the displeasure of needing to point at a task and demand it be accomplished at nearly any cost, but... those that went into it knew the risk. They knew the chances, and found value in what victory could bring to them if they were to succeed. They weren't thrown in by force to their deaths by a hopeless goal or sent there blindly thinking it would be easier than it was.

Optimus closed his eyes momentarily when Xero elaborated, clarifying that her team was not singular, but a series of losses that found themselves now at this all time low. He felt inconsiderate in a way for not being more aware, but... there were so many pieces of the puzzle moving at once, that he had to rely on Generals to manage the lower tiers, focusing on broad strokes and larger pictures of the war as a whole. Optimus didn't like being ignorant to such things, but it could not be helped.

"Many teams feature and reform under varied names. Keeping track of every one, is difficult, though it does not mean they hold no value."

Softer words, though still as sincere as before.

After he said this, his helm raised a bit, peering ahead so that he did not create undue tension by staring her down when she was at such a low point. Despite the way he did not look upon her directly, he still seemed friendly, and open to listen to what troubled her.

"There is no comparable pain to losing those that look to you to lead them."

The Prime felt his own pains with these words, knowing how many lives have been lost and cast down to the Well in the name of this war. It hurt to think how many followed him religiously, with hope in their sparks, only to be cut down in the battlefield and left to bleed out as just another casualty. The grief was real, and after losing so many, numbness starts to settle in. That numb feeling... it hurt more than the prior grief ever did...

"With every loss, do you feel more confident in your experiences, and what you can teach others, or were you planning to relinquish your command role for a soldier position?"

Optimus glanced down upon the femme when he asked this rather direct question, trying to judge her response, and how she carried herself. If she deflated under the idea, or if she became emboldened. Even if there was the tiniest ember to work with he could use it, that small flame of determination hidden somewhere beneath the despair.

[Deleted]

Xero’s expression was unchanging as her leader confirmed her thoughts. There were simply too many of them in this war to keep track of every one. Too many teams, too many bots, too many battles, too many missions. Bots fell where they stood every day, but who was to know outside of the few who knew them personally? What was it they had sacrificed themselves for? The continuation of the war? The success of a single mission? And then their names were lost in the lists of the designations of the fallen. War was chaos incarnate. No one could truly expect their commander to be able to know everything that occurred in it and every combatant who fought. He was the Prime, a titan among them, but he was not a god. At one time, in her more innocent youth, Xero might have equated the title to something like Godhood, but, now, she was far too practical to do so.

She was grateful for his presence, and the time he took to speak with her. She was a low-ranking officer, but, his efforts to relate to her, and to express that relation, did not go unappreciated. He understood what she was experiencing on a much grander scale than she would ever encounter. Not that she would want to. She did not care to even attempt to imagine the pain that must accompany the loss of hundreds of soldiers under her command, rather than just handfuls. The death toll was insurmountable now, and the grief and pain that would accompany it would have broken a lesser bot. She supposed that was part of the reason he had been chosen to be their leader, to be the Prime.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed, more softly than before, “The casualties we’ve accrued make me wonder if there will be a populace left to rise from the ashes if this ever ends…”

The worst part of the war was that there was no end in sight. Some might consider the Cybertronian’s longevity a mark of superiority. But, when that long life was consumed by a living hell with no end in sight, it was more of a curse. Xero had heard of bots who had finally reached their limit and purposefully slipped up in battle or simply ended it themselves rather than continue on in the war. After millions of stellar cycles of continuous fighting, she couldn’t find it within herself to condemn them as she had before. She herself would never take that route. Her innate need to perform her duty until the end would keep her going until she was finally bested. It kept her pushing through the exhaustion and pain to continue fighting day after day. She wondered, though, if she would ever reach that point of desperation in which death would be preferable to continuing on. After all, duty could only sustain a bot for so long.

The Prime’s next question caught her off guard, though, her expression did not show it. It was enough to make her pause and think, her pedes carrying her along of their own accord. Confident? No. Confidence wasn’t something she felt often anymore. She had a natural talent for leading and teaching, but, confidence in her abilities to do so had bled away alongside doubt. She felt the briefest flickers of these on occasion. Usually, though, she moved with war-brought numbness, simply doing what needed done.

“I confess that there is a part of me that desires to step down from my post, sir,” Xero replied, her tone softening, “To simply act as a soldier. It would be the easiest route, and, perhaps, the least painful,” she paused, formulating her words, “But, I was trained specifically for this sort of command. It is my duty to maintain it. And so I shall, until I am stripped of the post or added to the list of casualties,” she glanced up at him, wary of speaking to her commander so freely, but feeling that he had invited it with his question, “It seems impossible to be confident when we are surrounded by so much hopelessness. Our planet seems to die a bit more every day…I truly am not sure what I continue to fight for, beyond my duty to the Autobot faction…”

She trailed off, pain flashing through her optics. She could not deny, though, that it felt much better having spoken the words to someone, anyone, else. To voice the thoughts that troubled her now. She had not planned to, but, the words had flowed from her in a moment of desperation. Subconsciously, she reached out, seeking wisdom from this being that Primus himself had chosen as his champion.

[Optimus Prime]

As their numbers hemorrhaged away, it seemed like they were spiraling down into extinction with every passing day. Lives lost, cast aside, with none being created to fill the missing slots. That alone was a sobering realization, that if they could not resolve this war, then they may fade out into nothingness. However, if they could resolve it? If the Autobots found stability and pushed the Decepticons down, then new life could be brought back into active play.

The All-Spark could be returned.

Sending that away into the darkest points of space had been a risky move. It clipped away their ability to create new life, and if Optimus were to fall in battle, then there were very few and far between that even had an idea of which direction the shuttle was launched. That said, he still felt it was important. If they could just make more and more soldiers at a moments call, then those who were alive were just cannon fodder, both sides throwing bodies at one another to try to find resolution. With a finite number left? They had to be smart. Both sides had to VALUE the soldiers they had, and not blend and chop them up.

Optimus did not comment upon that directly, he would not assure her the All-Spark was safe, not wanting to open that door for discussion. Some knew he had sent it away, others thought that Primus was spiteful at the war and did not allow new life to be formed, the well dry. It was best to leave it as is, and not breach the topic. Because of this, he was thankful the conversation shifted, and Xero answered his question with care.

Xero's words hit home a bit more than perhaps she even intended, and it created a bit of a bridge between their two experiences. From an outsider, they walked upon very different tiers in this war and in life, but it did not mean they were dissimilar. Orion had not wished to become Prime, and did not want the title that was thrown upon him. It was this rank that was given to him without his will, that fractured the scholar and gladiator, and created what was now the war. This choice was out of his hands however, it was nothing he could decline, without even more backlash and turmoil. Orion could do nothing, but accept the cards that were given, and do his best to fill the role as others wanted him to.

Become what they want you to be as there is no other option.

"Obligation is a powerful motivator."

He said, a weight to his words as he spoke from personal experience.

"It can keep you on path, even when you wish to yield. However, it can only do so much."

Optimus' helm rose to look ahead as the hallway they strode down dissipated into a larger expanse. Cybertronian were walking to and fro, many too lost and bogged down in their own tasks and jobs to notice. Some sharing datapads with one another, others pushing dollies with supplies and ammunition. It was busy, only a few looking up to notice who had walked into the room. Sharp salutes, crisp stances as they went to attention, Optimus didn't pay it any heed, the notion numb at this point while he spoke in a lower tone to the Femme for her to hear alone.

"Look upon your peers and you can discern those that act upon automation, and those with ambition."

This was apparent rather readily. Those that offered salutes but had dulled eyes, a dead look to them, then there were those that seemed to hold more energy and effort, pointing out information on a datapad and discussing possibilities with them. You could see the individuals who have become drones, pushing supplies with a black expression of exhaustion, while others seemed to make it a personal goal to get the ammunition where it needed to go with zeal. It was sometimes obvious, other times more subtle, people learning to fake it, learning to hide, but it can be picked out if you took the time to look.

"I can offer many words. I can tell you of the bright future I see and want for our people. I can speak of my will to die for this, rather than surrendering to live under tyranny. I may be able to kindle some flame within you with well placed verbiage, but in the end, it is a choice for you, and you alone to make."

Optimus continued to walk, moving towards a new hallway that was separated from the populace of individuals again, the low rumble of conversation dulling as they went. He paused for a moment here, to let his words settle for her some, before he added on more, waiting till they had tucked back and away from prying eyes so that she would not be put on the spot and could speak freely.

"You must ask yourself, other than your obligation, why it is you are doing this. For if you do not know what guides you, than you have no hope of being able to guide others."

[Deleted]

Xero’s optics focused ahead as well as they entered the expansive room. She glanced around, instinctively checking her surroundings, despite knowing that she was in no danger at the moment. She was mostly overlooked, it seemed, those around them being far more interested on the Prime than the much smaller femme at his side. Those who did notice her spared her only a somewhat curious glance before going about their business. She didn’t return their looks, as her attention was caught by the bots that her leader had pointed out. Obligation and ambition. Two ends of a spectrum, it seemed.

He was correct. She could see those who seemed to actually have a functioning spark still beneath their chestplates. There was life in their optics, determination on their faces, and purpose in their movements. The only time she felt like that was when she was slagging ‘cons. No, that wasn’t quite true. It wasn’t determination that compelled her then, it was rage. It was the cold fury of a grudge born since the war began. And she couldn’t even say that there was life in her optics when she was fighting. To have life was to care to come out of the fight alive. She didn’t. Not anymore. Not really. Combat was a sequence of action and reaction. If she fell…she fell. Hopefully she took a number of the enemy down with her when she did.

As she looked at those around them, Xero knew which category she fell into. The looks of those who had passed the point of exhaustion and were simply functioning for the sake of functioning. Dragging themselves on day after day. Xero mentally paused as she realized that she was looking at herself in those bots. She was far from the only one who had fallen into that hopeless monotony. The facial plates above her eyes furrowed slightly over her nasal strut. Was this what the Autobots were to become? A group of disenfranchised warriors who straggled behind the few bright spots of hope within their ranks?

The Prime began to speak once more and Xero’s optics flickered up to him. His words took her aback. A bright future for a damned race who had brought about their own ruin? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever looked ahead into the future with hope of something better. A flash of envy that he could ran through her. That he could see that future with such clarity and surety that he, their leader, would die for it.

She was also struck by the knowledge that he knew very well just how dead inside she was. That there was no flame. If one had clung to existence, it burned so low that it may as well have died.
She was barely aware that they had moved out of the open space, which was out of character. For the first time in a very long time, she had fallen back into her own processor, thinking. It would be nice, more than nice, truly good, to feel alive again. To have a cause again. She was a solider, and always had been. Being without a cause was…hell. But the future he hinted at…she wasn’t sure she could believe it was possible. And, he was right, even his words may not be enough to shake that disbelief.

Despite that, it was his last assertion that struck hardest. If she did not have a cause, how could she lead others in this continuous war?

For the first time since accepting her post, she felt well and truly lost. Obligation was not enough, her commander said, there had to be more.

But what more could there be?

“…what do you see in our future, sir?” her voice was soft as she asked, hesitant, almost as if she were afraid to pose the question.

It was a question she desperately needed answered, she realized. Was there something more for them than a dead homeworld full of the rusting corpses of the fallen? Was there actually hope? Was there something worth fighting for?

She was tense as she waited for his answer, but, her optics had sparked with something…trepidation, perhaps. Or, maybe it was a small glimmer of hopefulness.

[Optimus Prime]

Xero was so hopeful; Optimus could see it in her eyes. She wanted him to say something inspirational, something to lift her up and show her the possibilities that lay in their future. He could do that, he really could, but... the idealistic approach seldom lasted long. Just as a printed picture degrades over time, she would find holes and the daunting battle ahead would make the image seem so faded and impossible to find. There was a cold reality that still had to be considered, and he would not line it in silver for one that was striving to take on a leadership role.

"I see pain."

The words were grim, and blunt, dropped out as a bold and rather sad fact. This would not be able to be ignored. From the most simplistic of drones, to the most trained of scholars, they could all see that pain and loss was in their future. So many more would die; so many more would fall and suffer. Whether they curl up on a battlefield and bleed out, or find their end at the hands of a foe's torture to rake information from their processor. Their people would cry in one unified scream as this war continued, and there was no hiding from this fact.

"But... beyond the darkness and our struggles, if we choose to fight on for what we believe in, I see opportunity for something new."

Honestly, true belief. Optimus' voice tended to be monotone and rather even, but for those that cared to listen close, they would be able to hear the small fluctuations that betrayed what lie beneath the stoic surface, and in turn, the hope that crept back in. He honestly could see opportunity for new growth and a unified future to form from the ashes. It would take time, a lot of time, and there would be a heavy cost, but at this point... it was fight for the hard earned possibility, or roll over and except a new form of servitude.

"We are being given a chance to start fresh. Old ideals formed of outdated concepts that were too secured in political shielding, are now gone. What an individual is created as, no longer defines the role they are destined to take, and power can be challenged if it does not suit the needs of the many."

The fact that they have all managed to adapt and transition to a state of war proves that anyone can change their path in life with sufficient enough motivation. One did not need to be a tank, or a weapon of some form, to survive in battle. Creativity, utilizing the tools you have, and adapting them on the fly... it proved the old ideals wrong countless times over. Optimus once upon a time had been only a data clerk after all.

"It is hard to say exactly what I expect to see in our future, for it is mostly concepts and ideals more so than a true image that I can share with you. Day by day the war changes our path-"

He continued to walk at a languid pace; being sure he didn't outpace her while she considered his words.

"-but with it my goals remain absolute."

[Deleted]

It was surprising to Xero, how grateful she was for his bluntness.

It meant that he was trustworthy. That he wasn’t going to try and spin things a certain way to lift her trampled spirits. He was inspirational without dishonesty. As one of those who had clung to Megatron’s teachings when he first began calling for equality, Xero had felt personally betrayed when he turned into the creature he did: A figure of destruction and death, whose platform had become built on greed and lies. It was a foolish feeling. She had never even personally met him. But, the betrayal remained.

This was so very different.

Optimus would not do the same to any of them. He had integrity, and honor. That was why he was a legend. And, when he said he saw pain, Xero understood what he spoke of. Whatever future they had, it would be a long, hard time in coming. It would be bought with energon and pain. How many more dead, how many more imprisoned and tortured, how many more would fall to hopelessness and despair, how many more would suffer the agony of watching those around them fall as they somehow, miraculously, survived?

After a while, it stopped feeling so miraculous.

But, after the pain, he said, there was hope. Hope that was bought at those terrible prices, but hope nonetheless. Freedom, as had been promised them. Freedom from the caste and the oppression. Freedom to live. It was an ideal, he was right. But it was enough.

Her expression cleared just slightly. It was what she had started fighting for at the beginning of the war. There was still hope for it. She had just lost sight of it on the battlefield.

 
“That is all I ever wanted, sir,” she said, just as quietly as before, “Since the beginning. To be free from the oppression that started all this,” she looked up at him again as they walked, “…what happens when our home is added to that price of these ideals, sir? Will we have a place to start again?”

Cybertron was dying, anyone with optics and a processor could see that. They were killing their planet. And that was perhaps worse than anything else that had happened. The war had taken so much from so many. And, now, it would devour their very world.

Maybe she wasn’t privy to the answer to this question. Maybe dealing with that particular situation was something the higher ups were doing and she was simply too far down the ranks to be informed. But, she had to ask.

[Optimus Prime]

"Our goal to be free has already been realized."

Optimus' brows rose a bit at this, glancing down at Xero while he continued.

"When facing so much turmoil, sometimes even the small victories become lost from sight."

Whether it was a clean victory or not, the fact was that the Council was gone, and the people were no longer bound by their rule. It didn't matter if Megatron and he decided to end the war this very second and rebuild what they had destroyed. It didn’t matter how they may try to revive the dead system. The brutal truth was that it was gone, and there would be no bringing back their tyranny... and if someone DID try to do so? The people would cut it down before it ever took root.

At the mention of Cybertron however, the lighter expression faded back to the hollow impassive look, the Prime's helm rising to peer back ahead while he considered what was said. It was so hard to say what would be left of their planet, if anything, after this was all said and done. Praxus was wiped off of the face of the world, and at every dawn another city could meet the same fate if defenses managed to miss the tells and clues that such a thing was being planned. But even if it was not a city wide abolishment, smaller sectors were being routinely pulverized day by day, eating away at the surface world like a plague.

"Our home will forever be our home, whether it shines with gold and silver, or if it smolders in ash."

Decisive, spoken as fact.

"I will fight with everything I have to keep Cybertron, and give us something to return to. Any other planet may function, but it would not feel like a real victory."

As long as they found ample amounts of Energon, and could continue research into alternative fuels for long term use, it was theoretically possible for them to simply take over a new uninhabited world, and build from scratch. Salvage metal from the ruined Cybertron, and work off of a clean slate, but... that truly was no victory. Even if they did decide they were going to try to fumble through the shattered remains and fix the very crumbled foundation of the cities, they would likely need to make an off world base for the majority of the population to live in due to the pure amounts of instability Cybertron seemed to be experiencing.

[Deleted]

Xero kept her expression neutral. She felt uneasy about the firm statement that freedom had been realized. This was not freedom. When the war began, the only choices she, a soldier, had been given were Autobot or Decepticon. Fleeing in cowardice while a war was waged for her home did not sit well with her. Now, as an Autobot, she fought alongside the others, day in and day out. The Council no longer held them all in thrall…but this was not freedom. They had traded the bonds of the Council for those of war.

Still, it did her spark good to see the light expression that briefly passed over his faceplates. She again felt that flood of relief, chasing away her darker thoughts. If anyone could lead them to victory, despite how very dark the future seemed, it was the Prime. Not even the returning gravity could chase away the feeling of comfort she’d gained from speaking with him.

“That is…true,” Xero agreed quietly.

Cybertron was Cybertron. Where else would they go? This was their home, dying though it was. To give it up would be a loss in and of itself. The point of this war was control of the planet, and both sides were failing miserably. She vented softly. She’d overstepped her position. Such high thoughts were for the leadership, not the grunts.

She glanced up at the Prime again, a flicker of her blue optics.

 
“Thank you for speaking with me, sir, I very much appreciate it.”

No one else had been present to aid a disenfranchised soldier. She’d returned to base expecting to be berated, stripped of her rank, even. A private conversation with the Autobot leader had not been anywhere in her processor. Things like that simply didn’t happen for bots like her. Until they did. Conversations of the will to fight, freedom, and the war itself weren’t often discussed around camp by soldiers. But, they were things that rested on her mind. She felt…like some of the weight from her shoulders had been removed. There was still a cause. Still someone to lead them. Still a home to fight for. She’d simply been too wrapped up in the fighting to see it.