minicons — RID

New Cybertron. The city's arteries glow with neon stripes, but beneath the glimmer lies the cold metal of submission. Among the crowd are the Minicons. Once free and proud, they now move in strict groups, symbolic identification bracelets on their wrists that don't block movement but cut off access to housing, credit, even public transportation unless a "guardian" approves. No chains. No coercion. Simply a system. And this system makes them dependent.

The Alchemor ship lands. Micronus Prime, the progenitor of the Minicons, emerges first. Behind him are the Minicon guards: Fixit, Jetstorm, Slipstream, Underton, Lancelon, Windstrike, Bashbreaker, Tricerashot, Sawtooth, Buzzstrike, Aerobolt, Paralon, Clotrap, Scatterspike, Thermidor, Hightest, Tricaud, Stuntwing, Goldear, and Gritbite. And last of all are the Autobots, including Optimus Prime, calm but wary, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Windblade, Sideswap, Strongarm, and the other members of Bumblebee's team.

They pass by the central screen. There's an ad there: "Become a Mini-Con guardian—get tax breaks and priority in the housing program. "

Micronus freezes.

Micronus: — What… is this?

On the screen, a minicon smiles. "My guardian gave me an apartment. I pay him 30% of my income, but now I have a future. "

Micronus (whispering, trembling): — The future? This isn't the future. This is… the destruction of personality. We fought for freedom in Alchemor, only to return… and see this?

Optimus Prime: "I've seen tyranny in its crudest form. But this... civilized slavery. It's more terrible. It disguises itself as care. As order."

He looks at Micronus.

Optimus: "You're right. This isn't New Cybertron. It's a graveyard of freedom, paved with good intentions."

Micronus clenches his fists.

Micronus: — Then we didn't return home. We have come... to set him free again.

Somewhere in the distance, laughter. Somewhere, the quiet cry of a Mini-Con asking its "guardian" for permission to provide medical assistance, and Ultra Magnus is in power.