Warnings: slash relationships (non-graphic)
Pairing: Prowl/Jazz
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places, etc. belong to HasTak and other copyright holders. I make no profit from this.

Prologue - The Hub

The increasing violence of the convulsions was a bad sign and they all knew it. The priest raised his voice in a fresh prayer; the herald looked for an indication of whether he should announce this latest development; the medic shook his head grimly. Around them, the structure groaned unnaturally as though the building would collapse. A collapse was not their main fear, however: there were worse possibilities.

In the centre of the room Prime lay chained to a table, writhing incessantly as he fought to control the terrible forces that had been unleashed when the Allspark had been merged with the Matrix. It was killing him and there was nothing to be done about that, but so long as he still lived there was hope that their reality would not simply dissolve and take them with it.

That hope was tenuous now.

The only one who could approach safely through the unpredictable energy flares was the consort; when anyone else came within a few steps of Prime, they were forced back by the swirling tendrils of power. But Prime was weakening and the flares of wild power were strengthening.

"We'd be better to kill him." the military advisor muttered. "End this suffering and destroy the Matrix entirely. Disperse the energy."

"Can we be sure we can destroy it at all?" the aerial commander pointed out. "I thought that that was why it has survived to be passed from Prime to Prime?"

"A new Prime might be stronger." the historian considered. "It has worked before."

"Who would be fool enough to take it now, though?" the medic grunted.

"The Matrix has never been so powerful before." the priest agreed.

They fell silent as the current fit passed as abruptly as it had come, watching impassively as the consort gently rubbed warmed wax into the fresh scrapes on Prime's panels.

"What's his status?" the herald called, not daring to move any closer.

"He's doing the best he can." the consort told them, then added more softly. "He's so very tired."

The others remained silent. There was no arguing the point that Prime had already done more than could have been expected, given how badly all of this had gone. They had all been involved in the planning, and had all agreed to this course of action in spite of the risk. But they had been wrong about how much it would cost, and Prime was carrying the burden of that error.

Prime's body abruptly relaxed on the berth, falling still, and several of the onlookers wondered if he had finally given up. Beside him, the consort called his name softly and tenderly ran his hands over aching panels to soothe away the long groons of strain with gentle touches. It was an intimacy that should have demanded privacy, but the onlookers neither moved nor averted their gaze. There would be little privacy for Prime until this was resolved. And then they all focused their audials as Prime stirred to lucidity for only the third time since these fits had begun.

"It's... too much." Prime whispered, the sounds barely carrying across the room in spite of the carefully designed acoustics. "Can't co... control it. Burning me up."

"You can do it, Paximus." the consort told him confidently. "You've come this far, you can do this. You can save us. I believe in you."

Several of the others flinched. The consort's words rang true, but he notably did not attempt to claim that others had the same level of confidence. Prime seemed to realise that, raising one hand as far as the bindings would allow to reach out and caress his lover's face - the consort having obligingly leaned closer.

"Such faith." Prime sighed fondly, a brief burst of strength sustaining him. "I owe you so much."

"You owe me nothing." the consort denied, a faint trace of his old accent creeping into his careful emulation of Iaconian high-speech as emotion welled up. "I live for you."

Prime's hand fell away wearily.

"I know. But in this you... you cannot help me. I need... support of a... a different kind. I... I will bring them."

"Them?" the priest asked sharply. "Who? From where?"

"The ones who... can help... carry this burden..." Prime murmured, fading and starting to twitch.

"But who?" the herald insisted.

"Ratchet!" the consort groaned, clasping Prime's limp hand tightly. "The pain! I'm losing him!"

"Ask him who, Jazz!" the priest demanded. "We must know!"

"There's nothing I can do." the medic shook his head. "Nothing."

"Pax?" the consort's words could barely be heard through the murmur of other voices and the sound of Prime once again shifting restlessly against his bindings. "Hold on. You can do this. Don't give up."

"We have to kill him."

"Does he mean he's chosen a successor?"

"He said 'them'. What does that mean?"

"Pax, please. Stay with me." Jazz begged. "Please. Please don't leave me. Paximus? Pax?"

There was a flash of light, this one much brighter than those that had come before, and the building screamed as the foundations threatened to tear loose. Somewhere under the chaos and the shouting and Prime's own cries of pain, the consort could be heard crying the forbidden name, the name that Prime had been known by before he accepted the Matrix, the name it was no longer permissible to speak.

"Prowl!"

to be continued...