Kevin Smith

Day One.

Optimus Prime awoke from his 'rest' period. He unhooked the cable from the side of his head. He stretched his joints a little and let out what can only be described as a robotic yawn! Since the Autobots won the war with the Decepticons over 15,000 years ago, life had been easy. Almost all of the Autobots took up training in a new skill. Architects, doctors and so on. It wasn't that easy to start with though! They had spent so many years fighting, trying something new was hard. Optimus had a medical lesson this morning! But it did please him, like many of the others, to be doing something constructive instead of destructive.

The Autobots had to rebuild Cybertron, and many planets throughout the universe that had suffered at the hands of the many Decepticon and then Cybertronian leaders, but despite this, peace was theirs at last. As he strode towards the door, his internal communicator bleeped. He stopped, and pressed a panel on his arm to reveal a compartment inside. A small aerial raised from his wrist and a little screen inside flashed to life. "Prime here."

"Optimus," said Ironhide, as his face appeared on the screen,

"there's a problem in sector 2 of Iacon. Jazz has reported finding three dead Transformers." Ironhide looked grim. There hadn't been a death on Cybertron for over 10,000 years, the last being due to an explosion in a fuel plant on the distant side of the planet.

"Does he know what caused the deaths?" asked Prime, very concerned about what he'd heard.

"No, Prime. He reported that they were very badly corroded. It looks like they've been deactivated for quite some time."

"Impossible!" yelled Prime. "Sector 2 is a very busy part of Iacon. We both know that the War Museum draws large crowds, particularly the new generation. Someone would have noticed them!"

"I know, Optimus. I've already assigned Hound and Crackdown to see if they can sniff out the cause."

"Let me know of any progress."

"Will do, Prime. Ironhide out." The screen blinked off, leaving an Autobot symbol in its place. Prime tapped another button inside and the face of Ratchet appeared.

"Ratchet, have you heard?"

"Yes, Optimus," Ratchet sighed. For thousands of years, his only work had been giving life, constructing new bodies for Autobots deactivated during the war and upgrading the surviving Autobot warriors. He hadn't seen a death for a very long time. It disheartened him to think of seeing it again.

"Have Wideload transport the bodies to you as soon as possible. I want to know how this
happened."

"I'll get right on it, Optimus Prime."

Optimus pressed the same button again and Ratchet's face disappeared, leaving a blank screen. The aerial vanished into Prime's wrist, and he closed the panel. Hmmm, he thought, what could be the cause of this?

Day Three.

"Optimus Prime, do you think I don't know what this means? If this is a viral infection, similar to Corrodia Gravis, then we could be in trouble. The last reported case of Corrodia Gravis was the Dinobot Snarl, who had it over 30,000 years ago. We managed to cure him,
but his wasn't the infectious disease. If all three of the recent cases had the infectious type, which I believe is likely, then we're in danger of becoming infected ourselves." Ratchet sat down after pacing the conference room. Optimus stared straight ahead in disbelief. He
lifted his head, and his optics flashed a brilliant blue.

"We know that it can't be cured by transferring to a compatible Transformer like we were meant to do with Snarl, because it would infect the 'host' too. What about transferring to a biological host instead, like we actually did with Snarl after Starscream betrayed us?" asked Optimus, his training as a medic showing dividends.

"We're getting a little ahead of ourselves here, Optimus. We don't know if anyone else has contracted it yet." Ratchet tried to sound hopeful, but inside he feared that if his results were right this outbreak could be far worse than he was letting Prime believe.

Day Five.

The medical bays, many of which had been unused for centuries, were full. Many of the leisure sites had been converted to try to cope with the casualties. At first it was a small number, ten or fifteen infected. By the next day, over 150. Yesterday, nearly 1,400. Over
10,000 Transformers had come into the medical bays today. Every medic was sealed in a protective layer, so as not to infect themselves. Over 5,000 Transformers had died so far. Optimus Prime stood with Ratchet over a patient.

"Hey, Prime," said the voice weakly, "it's not so bad. Pretty soon I'm going to be a part of you. Do you think I've been good enough to go to the Matrix, Optimus?" He tried to speak again, but his vocal box was being consumed by the virus. His optics flickered, dimmed, and
then became dark.

"Yes, Jazz, you have," Optimus whispered. A small droplet of oil ran down his face-plate. Jazz had been one of his best friends for millions of years. He thought back to their first meeting. Their first battle. The moment they awoke on Earth. The moment they won the
war. The oil began to flow.

Day Seven.

Cybertron was deserted. Optimus stood atop the same platform as he had many years ago. He thought back. It was the day when he announced that the war was over. The last group of Decepticons had surrendered. He looked down, imagining all the faces he saw all those years ago: Ultra Magnus, Hot Rod, Jazz, Prowl, Grimlock, Springer, Omega Supreme. The list went on. They were all gone now. All consumed. Ratchet emerged from the door behind him.

"Well, Optimus, I guess this is it," he said sadly.

"Yes, old friend." He looked down at his own hand. Two of his fingers were missing. A large portion of his metal skin was gone from his arm, revealing the delicate circuitry and hydraulics underneath. Some of the wires sparked occasionally, as they were consumed. Ratchet, too, was dying. Despite their best efforts, they had become infected. Over 12,000,000 Autobots had died over the last six days. Almost more than were killed in the millions of years of war. The virus was working at an ultra-fast pace. Anyone who caught it was dead
within hours. They had tried everything: Nucleon, merging with another organism, transferring the minds elsewhere, even using the power of the Matrix. Nothing. The virus spread, consuming flesh as well as metallics. It had mutated. Now, nothing could stop it.

They both sat down. They were all that was left. It was amazing that Ratchet had survived as long as he did. He'd been replacing his infected parts for the past three days. Today, he gave up. He couldn't keep rebuilding himself forever. Most of his lower body was intact, but his upper body was decaying rapidly. You could almost watch it rusting away. He had lost an arm, and the majority of his head was bare wires. As he looked ahead, he said, "Goodbye, Optim..." His voice trailed away. His optics flickered and died.

"Goodbye, Ratchet," said Optimus. He waited to join him.

Day Eight.

Prime sat, looking out at the cities that lay before him. He thought of everything that had happened. He had fought for years to rid the universe of a great evil. He'd won. And for what? To be consumed - again! If he still had his mouth section, he'd have smiled at the irony of it all. If fact, there wasn't much left of him at all. From the stomach down was dust. It seemed that the Matrix was fighting the virus. Prime didn't want to go on alone. He had died many times before. He longed for the peace. He used what little strength he had left to eject the Matrix from his chest. The casing spun across the floor in front of him. He watched as the orb inside glowed, as if it were angry that it had been denied its final rest. Optimus shut his optics. Darkness enveloped him.

Optimus Prime awoke in his rest chamber. He sat upright. Spats of oil were present on his forehead. He took in his surroundings and realised where he was. "Ha!" he shouted out loud. It had all been a dream! He laughed some more. One of the many things he had gained from his bonding with HiQ, thousands of years ago, was the human capacity to dream. He got up, stretched his joints and let out the robotic equivalent of a yawn. He made his way to the door. As he got there, his internal communicator beeped. He flipped open the panel on his arm, and Ironhide's face appeared on the screen.

"Prime here."

"Prime, Jazz has reported finding three dead Transformers in sector 2 of Iacon."

"Noooooooo!!" screamed Optimus.

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