Y/n hadn't moved.
Not a twitch. Not a flicker in their glow. The energon in their body swirled sluggishly, barely pulsing. The Autobots were starting to think something was wrong, medically wrong, but Ratchet had confirmed it: vitals stable. It must have been just Y/n sleeping.
But it wasn't that.
Y/n wasn't sleeping.
They were sinking.
Inside the container, the light was cold and clinical. It didn't hurt, but it didn't comfort either. Nothing did.
They were curled tightly into themselves, like if they stayed small enough, they might disappear.
Their mind, once a chaotic storm of mischief, confusion, and hunger, had gone quiet. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. Just numb.
Y/n: I ate them. I devoured them. Didn't even think twice. Didn't even care if they wanted to be mourned. If they had names.
Their eye burned dimly as the memories crawled up again.
They didn't even know how many Cybertronians they had consumed, torn from the battlefield, broken and twitching, or already gone cold.
They hadn't felt guilt then. Just hunger. Endless, gnawing hunger.
But now, with nothing to distract them, nothing to do… all those moments clawed at their insides.
Y/n:… Monsters don't mourn their meals…
They could still taste some of them. They never did mourn any of the bodies they devoured.
And now, locked away in this glass coffin, they couldn't even move.
Couldn't run. Couldn't hide. Couldn't lose themselves in chaos or flirtation. No more teasing Prime. No more irritating Ratchet. No more playful threats to Miko or Jack.
Just this.
Silence.
Stillness.
And a hunger that only got louder.
Their body trembled slightly. The craving was getting unbearable. They weren't just tired anymore they were starving. Not for attention.
For anything, anything to devour, to make it energon.
Raw. Pure. Like the kind that made them.
And yet… they hated themselves for even wanting it.
Y/n: I didn't ask to be this. I didn't want to be this…
Being called Primus's creation, a miracle, a divine weapon, it made them sick.
They didn't feel holy. They felt wrong. A crawling, squirming, gluttonous thing, dressed in purity, built to be something sacred. But all they'd ever done was devour.
They hated the way the Autobots looked at them like they were fragile and terrifying.
They hated that the Decepticons saw a god in them.
They hated that part of them liked it.
And most of all, they hated that no matter what they wanted...
They couldn't stop hungering.
Their eye flickered, just for a moment, staring at the floor... No, through it.
If they could get out…
No. No. Stop.
But the thought lingered, twitching in their mind like static.
Just one body. Just one corpse. Enough to quiet the noise. Enough to breathe.
But they were contained. Trapped. The Autobots knew better now. The glass was reinforced, the seals too strong. They couldn't trick anyone into letting them out.
Not this time.
So they curled tighter, their voice like a whisper of static.
Y/n:… I can't take this…
The light in their core shimmered erratically. They were losing control. Not lashing out, fading.
Starving
And a twisted part of them welcomed it.
Y/n:… I never wanted to be Primus's anything…
They had leaned into the role everyone expected. The flirty menace. The unpredictable trickster. A wild card made of pure energon, slinking through war-torn halls with a grin and an offhanded comment that could fluster a Prime.
It had been a game, the flirting, the chaos, the jokes. It had made them feel untouchable. Like if they were loud enough, bright enough, nobody would look too closely. Nobody would see.
Because underneath it all…
They were starving.
They were frightened.
And they were so very tired.
But now, the mask had cracked. And not in a dramatic shatter. No.
It had peeled away slowly, like skin blistering under pressure. Piece by piece. Until all that remained was rawness.
No sass.
No charm.
No flare.
The silence made it worse. Without an audience, without someone to bounce off of, their tricks didn't matter. Their mask served no purpose. And once it was gone…
They realized they didn't know what was underneath.
Y/n:… Who the hell even am I?
They used to like the way others flinched when they teased.
They used to feel powerful when their voice made even a Decepticon hesitate.
But now, all they could hear in their own tone was how hollow it had been. How fake. How desperate.
Desperate not to be seen as the weapon.
Desperate not to be seen as the god.
Desperate not to be seen as a monster.
And yet… they were.
Not because of what they were made of. Not even because of what they had done.
But because that voice in their head, the one that craved more, had never gone silent.
It just got better at wearing a smile.
They shook slightly, limbs twitching in the thick, syrupy stasis of their own contained form. They no longer shimmered like before. Their surface had dulled. Dried.
Their form began to lose its shape, parts of them warping between humanoid and puddle, limbs forming in and out as they spiraled internally.
The voice they once used to purr innuendos and cut with sass now cracked like static. Unused. Unneeded.
Y/n:… They loved the act. But I didn't love it.
The wall didn't answer.
The cameras blinked silently.
And for the first time since arriving, Y/n wasn't performing.
They weren't anyone's charming enigma. They weren't anyone's nightmare. They weren't even "Primus's mistake" anymore.
They were just… Y/n.
And they didn't know who that really was. Except the horrible things they have done, they were nothing except one constant.
Hunger
Optimus: Y/n....
Thats all he said, voice firm enough to demand attention. Optimus was never good at talking or emotions.
Y/n didn't respond.
Their eye didn't flicker. Their form didn't twitch. They simply remained still, cocooned in the flickering glow of their own degradation.
But inside, something snapped.
Not in anger. Not in rage.
In grief.
Because hearing him, his voice, his calm, commanding certainty, that broke something different. Something deeper.
Optimus: You have not spoken in six days. You have not moved. Ratchet is concerned.
Still, silence.
The Prime's reflection shimmered faintly on the glass, tall and unyielding, bathed in cold white light. His optics searched the withering figure inside.
He'd always seen more than he let on. Too much, sometimes. Y/n hated that.
Because where the others only saw the performance, Prime had looked through it. He listened even when they lied with a wink and a smirk. And now… now there was nothing to lie with.
Y/n:…What do you want, Prime?
Their voice sounded wrong. Like something dug up and half-dead. Nothing of the smooth, silken edge they'd once wielded like a blade.
Optimus: To know if you still wish to live.
There it was.
No sugar. No softness.
Just that one brutal question.
Y/n didn't look up. Didn't even breathe.
Y/n:… No.
The word was honest. The only honest thing they could still offer. Optimus's eyes squinted, in thought, frustration, who knows.
A pause. The hum of the base's systems filled the void for a moment, flickering between them like static.
Y/n: I don't want to be this. I don't want to exist just to consume. I can't stop it, it's always there, in my head. The hunger. It never goes away.
Their body twitched. Glitched. A ripple ran through their unstable frame like a tremor.
Y/n: I remember every one of them now. I remember their faces. The ones I didn't even let cool before I absorbed them. I didn't care. I just wanted to feed. I laughed while doing it. I smiled.
Their voice cracked, dissolving into something close to a sob, static and fluid and broken.
Y/n: …And you people call me divine.
Optimus stepped closer. His face unreadable, but not uncaring.
Optimus: I have never believed divinity is without flaw. Nor does flaw erase value.
That made Y/n laugh, short, ragged, bitter.
Y/n: You put me in a glass box like I'm going to snap. Like I'm going to devour you the second I get out. And you're right. Because I can feel it. If you released me right now, I don't know if I could stop myself.... Or maybe you put me in here, to keep me like the Decepticons want. To have your God on a leash.
They dragged trembling fingers down their own face, energy crackling dully.
Y/n: Is that what you came here to see, Prime? The truth? The rot under the glow?
Optimus: I came to see you.
Another long pause.
Y/n:… Then you're too late. That part of me never really existed... or maybe it did..... I don't know.
Optimus didn't speak right away.
He just stood there, towering, silent, still. watching the fading glow of the being inside the glass. Not as a soldier. Not as a commander.
But as someone who knew what it meant to carry the unbearable.
Finally, quietly:
Optimus:… Then we will stay. Until whatever part of you remains decides otherwise.
The words didn't strike like lightning.
They settled, soft and slow, like dust on a battlefield. Like the kind of silence that comes after screaming for too long.
Y/n's form shuddered, just barely. The kind of movement that wasn't deliberate. It was instinct, some deep, flickering thread that hadn't yet burned out.
Y/n: Why?
The question was so small. So soft. It barely made sound. But it wasn't rhetorical.
They weren't accusing. They were asking.
Because they didn't understand.
Optimus lowered his helm, gaze steady.
Optimus: Because you are not alone.
Another pause. Another truth that didn't try to wrap itself in comfort. It didn't promise that everything would be okay. It didn't offer salvation.
Just presence.
Y/n: I'm dangerous.
Optimus: I am as well.
Y/n let out something between a laugh and a sob, the sound static-torn and pitiful.
Y/n: You don't starve for what I do.
Optimus: I have starved for peace. For freedom. For mercy. Cravings, too, can be weapons. If we allow them.
He stepped closer, one hand resting on the glass. The barrier didn't give. Didn't bend. But something in the room shifted, almost imperceptibly.
Optimus: Your hunger is not a choice. But your actions… they are. They always have been.
Y/n finally looked up.
It wasn't a dramatic moment. It wasn't even brave.
Their single glowing eye just… lifted. Flickered faintly.
Y/n: I don't want to do this anymore, fight both sides.
Optimus nodded, slow.
Optimus: Then we will learn to do something else.
Y/n: You make it sound simple.
Optimus: It is not.
He was never one to lie. Especially not like that. Not even to make someone feel better.
And somehow… that helped more than anything.
Y/n's body shifted again, less violently. Their shape stabilized, slightly. The glow still flickered, but not with the same chaotic panic as before.
Y/n: If I attack yo-…
Optimus: Then I will stop you.
Y/n: You'd kill me?
Optimus: I will protect those I must. But I do not wish to harm you.
He leaned in closer, optics focused.
Optimus: You are not a weapon. You are not a god. You are not what they made you toput. Those are merely parts of you, the real you... Y/n.
Y/n: Then what am I?
Optimus: A companion.
The word hit harder than any title they'd ever been given.
No prophecy. No terror. No control.
Just… companion.
Y/n's hand moved to the glass, shakily, and pressed to where his had been moments before. Their form wavered. Still hungry. Still hurting.
But something tiny inside them reached out. Optimus sat at the computer typing absentmindedly, not the usual work routine. He was just there.... to be there.
Y/n curled up again, this time shifting to stare at Optimus as they typed away. They don't know when they will be released, if they'll be released, or what will happen if they are released.
For now they had to think a bit.