(Cybertronian Calendar year 3021, Planet Number 82, Milky Way galaxy)

 

“Optimus Prime, Data entry #223. 

 

We had arrived on some sort of organic world rich with raw energon. Gleeful at our discovery, we set out to store as much as possible, all while awaiting Decepticon offensives. Days passed by like winds in the sea of rust, each more cautious than the last.

 

Megatron soon arrived, commanding a fleet of warships and dreadnoughts at his fingertips. The Autobots stood no chance. Our aerial capabilities were limited, and the energon taken was meant for Cybertron’s rebirth. We risked every moment of our fleeting lives to ensure a way home.

 

Yet… it was all in vain.”

 

The Autobot leader ended his latest entry there, sending it deep into his personal files. He sits upon a pile of corpses, made from three seekers. A dark cloud engulfs the normally blue sky, smoke whizzing from fires across the open battlefield. Autobots and Decepticons lay deceased in various mutilated shapes, missing sparks and oozing liquid energon from limbs blown off their bodies or the joints leaking themselves while spewing electric streams. Entire battleships burned in scorching flames, melting down piece by piece laying on their sides. Some bots desperately held on to life, crawling on the rough terrain while their lives slowly dissipated. None, however, would make it.

 

And then there was Optimus Prime. Alone without friends, witnessing the aftermath of his final stand against Megatron. Countless friends died, Energon reserves destroyed, and the ark obliterated to atoms. With no way home, he sits amidst chaos’ dirty work, silently anticipating stasis mode.

 

The red, white, and blue powerhouse gazed down on burnt ground, his cracked right yellow eye leaking oil. Multiple stab wounds and blaster hits permeated his upper body, exposed gears and severed wires visible on the outside. Cracks littered across his one window chest, some pieces falling bit by bit. His left arm was gone, destroyed by a warship cannon during a moment of orbital bombardment. The right arm held his black Ion Blaster, pointed down and tightly gripped. Both of his legs were covered with dirt and scratches, his right one having gashes on the lower legs’ sides. Lastly, while both yellow eyes were mostly intact, his left antenna and signature faceplate perished during combat.

 

Hell invaded this world, and he was the last witness.

 

The Autobot leader rose up, storing his Ion Blaster in his back compartment. Then with reason and determination, he walked on soft ground, leaving massive imprints behind. 

 

His left arm’s damaged socket sparked, leaking oil which left a trail. But that didn’t matter now. Someone had survived somewhere, be they Autobot or Decepticon. However low the possibilities are, his friends-at least one of them-must be out there. Giving up now would mean laying everything down despite all of his efforts to maintain it.

 

No…..

 

Giving up meant letting her down as well.

 

“Optimus!” 

 

A voice in the distance, familiar to him. One he’s heard for eons….

 

“Optimus!” The voice of Megatron, his life-long rival. The greatest leader of the Decepticons, self-proclaimed emperor of Cybertron. Nay, emperor of the galaxy.

 

“Hear me, Optimus!” Now that same emperor who dominated most of this Great War lies on the floor, torn in half. His upper body remained intact, which typically meant a high survival rate among Cybertronians. Lucky him.

 

“Megatron,” Optimus gazed down at his fallen opponent, pitifully crawling towards him. The mighty Megatron, opposite to all but strength, now a pitiful excuse for a leader.

 

Megatron bellowed a hearty laugh, unfazed by his current predicament. “Did you really think I’d die so soon?” He said, rising on both gray hands.

 

“You know me too well, Optimus. Despite all your attempts at my destruction, I still function,” Megatron gloated from below like a proud goblin. “I still function because of my ingenuity, something you’ll never truly understand.”

 

“I understand plenty to send you away permanently,” Optimus disagreed, still upright on his blue feet. “Your face…your cause…..your entire meaningless battle…..has inflicted me immense exhaustion. And now you shall die.”

 

Again, Megatron laughed, cackling as if his impending doom meant nothing. “And yet you’re still talking. How many times is it now, Orion?” The gleeful tyrant saw his righteous rival flinch at the use of his old name. “Vows of my destruction only work if you follow through. You still haven’t fulfilled the last three.”

 

“Then I shall do just that,” Optimus bent down on one knee, grabbing Megatron by the neck. With all his strength, he lifted his bisected opponent till soulless crimson optics met gentle yellow orbs. Megatron grabbed Prime’s arm with both hands, piercing into red metal plating.

 

“This little stunt won’t prove anything, Optimus,” Megatron grinned smugly. “You still can’t kill me.”

 

“And what makes you think so?” Optimus begged to differ, tightening his grip. 

 

“Must I say it out loud? Shouldn’t you, the greatest leader of the Autobots, know exactly what I mean?” 

 

“Do you mean my compassion, my sense of justice, my resolve to protect every part of this universe from your destructive hands?” Optimus said.

 

“Exactly, Orion. See? You do know me well,” Megatron slyly replied.

 

“No, Megatron,” the Autobot leader shook his head. “You may have known Orion Pax…”

 

His eerie words were occupied by his right hand converting into a titanium sword, impaling Megatron’s neck. With a twist of the blade, Oil trailed down his blade, some of it dripping onto the ground. Megatron’s arms droop to his side, lifeless as puppet limbs. 

 

Optimus watches his opponent’s body being ripped from the head, detached completely as it plunged down on its back. Megatron’s severed head too falls below, allowing Optimus to promptly crush it under his feet. Then without hesitation, he punctures Megatron’s body at its center, destroying the Decepticon symbol in the process. He felt the blade penetrating his core, shattering its E-stone into pieces. 

 

“But you’ve never understood Optimus prime,” he said, pulling the sword out entirely.

 

He’s….done it. He’s truly done it. 

 

Megatron has finally fallen.

 

As energon bluer than water drips from Prime’s sword, an unfamiliar yet soothing feeling arose within. No, a feeling long since dormant after the war began three thousand years ago.

 

Finality. Closure. And more importantly….

 

Peace. 

 

The clouds above open wide, letting the sun finally shine its warm rays. 

 

A fitting sign for things to come.

[Transformers: Kiss Players]