"Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality."
—Emily Dickinson
Optimus Prime was Orion Pax was the Peace Hunter. Optimus Prime knew who he was. What he was. What he was here for. He knew who he knew — his friends. His enemies. Those that had been and those that were here now. Optimus Prime knew all of that and held to it as a drive down a Nevada highway went from serene to strange.
It started slowly at first, beginning with mirages and ripples in the wind. The Star Saber began to give off a low, distinct thrum as the Autobot proceeded further down the road. When the ripples and mirages became too much to ignore, the Prime came to a halt. He checked for observers but found, to his relief, that he was alone for miles. Thus, the Peterbilt big rig smoothly transformed into a thirty-six foot tall Cybertronian with a magnificent blade on his back. That blade thrummed loudly now and gave off a pulsing rhythm of light. Optimus Prime unsheathed his weapon and held it aloft.
A touch that is far-reaching. Touch back.
Alpha Trion did not speak to him from the Oneness of the All-Spark this time. It was a different voice, another tone altogether. Optimus gazed on, as if his blade was a scrying ball and found himself staring past it, staring into the distorting ripples that were not the Nevada wind. Around him, the ripples intensified until the Prime could no longer see the familiar landscape stretching across the horizon. The world grew blurry, unreal. It was no longer solid and he fancied that he hung in the void of space again. Not space. The space-bridge ruins are not here.
Touch back. Touch and touch back.
It wasn't a request. It was an impulse, a command and something more than that. Optimus felt himself sheath the Star Saber. He felt himself reach out into the rippling void around him. In him. Through him. For a split second that lasted an eon, he heard a thousand realities.
A reality wherein Cybertron never went dark.
A reality wherein he did not remember himself as the Prime, but as Orion Pax.
A reality wherein Unicron the Destroyer ravaged his way across the stars.
A reality wherein his worst fear was realized — that reality wherein Optimus Prime was corrupted, tainted as Megatron had been.
A reality wherein he took a human shape.
A reality —
The ripples became a torrent, an unbeatable river that bade him to let it carry him. He swam through it, wondering how it was that this force had not yet torn him asunder. The realities blazed by, imprinting bits of themselves on his memory as possibilities and as utter fantasies. Touch back
He touched back.
Reality coalesced in an unworld, a place that was not and a time that was not. Light and shadow formed like a division. Behind him, the wiles of Life and before him, the oneness of Death that was not Death. It was Oneness. It was the All-Spark. The impulse came again to touch and touch back. The Prime obeyed and his reward was another concept. It was one that shook him, one that disturbed him in ways Megatron never could.
It was an idea. An idea that immortality was never a guarantee. Wherein Oneness was a conjecture. A possibility. Wherein mortality had another kind of meaning.
Take my hand, Optimus
Join me
...with the All-Spark
Optimus reached out, turned away and reached out again in a confused muddle of crossroads. He knew the yearning for peace, for everlasting unity. He had always said it to those under his command. All of Cybertron had known the motto and those that adhered to it were as himself, be they scattered across the cosmos or those already One with the All-Spark. But this was worlds away.
Worlds different.
The ripples and currents began to calm. The world coalesced around him. The Prime felt a sensation of falling. He felt his peds hit a firm surface, imprinting an unusual mark upon that which he'd landed upon. Optimus blinked. The myriad realities were gone. Nevada was gone. The Omega One base was nowhere in sight. Behind him lay an ocean. Before him stood forest and mountain the likes of which he did not know.
The realities danced like madness, capered on the edge of his mind.
The idea of mortality without assurance slithered an uncertainty into him. These things warred, fighting for dominance against the logic of what he ought to do. What ought he do? He heard the evidence of habitation not far off. It was a small settlement, barely more than a village in all honesty. He smelled something on the air. Something that reminded him of destruction, corpses. Rusted metal. Decaying organics. Smelled the idea of mortality.
Optimus Prime did not know when or where he was. There was time to find out. There was time to find the source of that disturbing smell. What caused it. Why this idea of pervasive mortality was allowed.
He touched.
And was touched back.
Optimus Prime was Orion Pax was the Peace Hunter. Optimus Prime knew who he was. What he was. What he was here for. He knew who he knew — his friends. His enemies. Those that had been and those that were here now. Optimus Prime knew all of that and held to it as a drive down a Nevada highway went from serene to strange.
It started slowly at first, beginning with mirages and ripples in the wind. The Star Saber began to give off a low, distinct thrum as the Autobot proceeded further down the road. When the ripples and mirages became too much to ignore, the Prime came to a halt. He checked for observers but found, to his relief, that he was alone for miles. Thus, the Peterbilt big rig smoothly transformed into a thirty-six foot tall Cybertronian with a magnificent blade on his back. That blade thrummed loudly now and gave off a pulsing rhythm of light. Optimus Prime unsheathed his weapon and held it aloft.
A touch that is far-reaching. Touch back.
Alpha Trion did not speak to him from the Oneness of the All-Spark this time. It was a different voice, another tone altogether. Optimus gazed on, as if his blade was a scrying ball and found himself staring past it, staring into the distorting ripples that were not the Nevada wind. Around him, the ripples intensified until the Prime could no longer see the familiar landscape stretching across the horizon. The world grew blurry, unreal. It was no longer solid and he fancied that he hung in the void of space again. Not space. The space-bridge ruins are not here.
Touch back. Touch and touch back.
It wasn't a request. It was an impulse, a command and something more than that. Optimus felt himself sheath the Star Saber. He felt himself reach out into the rippling void around him. In him. Through him. For a split second that lasted an eon, he heard a thousand realities.
A reality wherein Cybertron never went dark.
A reality wherein he did not remember himself as the Prime, but as Orion Pax.
A reality wherein Unicron the Destroyer ravaged his way across the stars.
A reality wherein his worst fear was realized — that reality wherein Optimus Prime was corrupted, tainted as Megatron had been.
A reality wherein he took a human shape.
A reality —
The ripples became a torrent, an unbeatable river that bade him to let it carry him. He swam through it, wondering how it was that this force had not yet torn him asunder. The realities blazed by, imprinting bits of themselves on his memory as possibilities and as utter fantasies. Touch back
He touched back.
Reality coalesced in an unworld, a place that was not and a time that was not. Light and shadow formed like a division. Behind him, the wiles of Life and before him, the oneness of Death that was not Death. It was Oneness. It was the All-Spark. The impulse came again to touch and touch back. The Prime obeyed and his reward was another concept. It was one that shook him, one that disturbed him in ways Megatron never could.
It was an idea. An idea that immortality was never a guarantee. Wherein Oneness was a conjecture. A possibility. Wherein mortality had another kind of meaning.
Take my hand, Optimus
Join me
...with the All-Spark
Optimus reached out, turned away and reached out again in a confused muddle of crossroads. He knew the yearning for peace, for everlasting unity. He had always said it to those under his command. All of Cybertron had known the motto and those that adhered to it were as himself, be they scattered across the cosmos or those already One with the All-Spark. But this was worlds away.
Worlds different.
The ripples and currents began to calm. The world coalesced around him. The Prime felt a sensation of falling. He felt his peds hit a firm surface, imprinting an unusual mark upon that which he'd landed upon. Optimus blinked. The myriad realities were gone. Nevada was gone. The Omega One base was nowhere in sight. Behind him lay an ocean. Before him stood forest and mountain the likes of which he did not know.
The realities danced like madness, capered on the edge of his mind.
The idea of mortality without assurance slithered an uncertainty into him. These things warred, fighting for dominance against the logic of what he ought to do. What ought he do? He heard the evidence of habitation not far off. It was a small settlement, barely more than a village in all honesty. He smelled something on the air. Something that reminded him of destruction, corpses. Rusted metal. Decaying organics. Smelled the idea of mortality.
Optimus Prime did not know when or where he was. There was time to find out. There was time to find the source of that disturbing smell. What caused it. Why this idea of pervasive mortality was allowed.
He touched.
And was touched back.