Drum Roll, Please

Chapter 15: Aren't We All?

"How are we supposed to fix this?" Ratchet asked quietly, his optics downcast and his face morphed into shock.

Ultra Magnus stared into the empty, silent base, his optics still shining with the reflection of a ghost from his past. "Optimus may not be here, but his orders remain. The only way to put an end to this is to kill Summer."

Ratchet shook his helm. "Even if we could get to her, nobody would have the mental fortitude to pull the trigger. We knew Summer. She's a good kid in a bad situation. Optimus was wrong; you told me yourself, she wasn't happy about what she did."

"Regardless of whether or not Summer is in control, she is a threat. We have to neutralize her."

Ratchet shook his helm. "The others are traumatized."

"They are still soldiers. They will follow my orders now that I am in charge, just as they have followed Optimus in times of strife."

Ratchet laughed bitterly and stood up. "You are no Optimus Prime and you most certainly can't inspire anyone like he could."

Ultra Magnus pursed his derma and watched as the medic left, leaving him alone in the control room. Not long ago, he'd been fervently trying to contain his rowdy Autobot subordinates, but now they'd gone silent, retreated to their rooms, and spoken little more than a word. He knew how they felt. He wished they would come back out, be loud, and pretend like their cause had not just shattered around them.

The Autobot base was thick with hopelessness. Magnus could not deal with it. In the past, he had never needed to be the one dishing out hope. He followed orders. He followed Optimus. Hope followed too.

But now there were no more orders and Optimus was gone. The last words spoken by the Prime had been a defiant no before Megatron shut him up. That did not leave Ultra Magnus with the necessary instructions to carry out his will and halt Megatron's plans to watch as the Autobots crumbled from their recent defeat.

Magnus looked away, his optics falling. He didn't know what to do. It was an impossible situation.

He spotted a microphone laying next to the couch, unplugged and silent. A silhouette grew behind it, tightly clenching her fingers around the stick as her eyes bore into his angrily.

The song she had been singing was loud, obnoxious, and unequivocally represented Ultra Magnus's experiences with females on this planet.

But that wasn't exactly true.

If he had bothered to pay any attention to the lyrics, Ultra Magnus might have picked up on more than just his own feelings about uproarious behavior. The interpretative lens that he saw the world through was thick and swollen with his rigid ideals and rules. Music, especially loud music, could never conform to that.

The song screamed of anger and rebellion, two emotions that came from within, but were brought about by a supposed traitor. An enemy. The narrator calls for nothing from anyone but themselves, claiming that axes could be throw and death could come knocking, but they would stand strong regardless and do what they wanted.

It was childish and niave, and yet, as Ultra Magnus thought over it, he realized that the ideals behind the song bore a striking resemblance to the very foundation of Autobot beliefs.

No matter how powerful the Decepticons became or what threats laid on the horizon, the Autobots were always meant to fight back. To rebel against the rebels.

Looking for peace, morality, and justice.

And now, Optimus Prime, the beacon of those virtues, had been taken from them, defeated nearly effortlessly by Decepticons and their newest human addition. With him, he had taken the heart of their cause. The spirit of their soldiers.