I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C202 Atlas

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——————

The newly-created Cybertronian, Auron, blinked as his optics adjusted to the light. His massive frame shifted slightly, his servos humming softly as he moved for the first time. There was a moment of silence as he took in his surroundings, his gaze flickering from the dimly lit workshop to the unfamiliar faces before him.

Optimus knelt before him, his towering frame now at eye level with Auron. His optics softened as he saw the confusion and curiosity in Auron’s gaze. The young Cybertronian, despite his resemblance to Megatron, was nothing like him. He was innocent, unburdened by the darkness that had consumed his father.

Auron tilted his head slightly, his optics narrowing in confusion. “Auron…?” he repeated, his voice softer now, as though he was testing the name, feeling the weight of it. “What… am I supposed to be?”

Optimus reached out, placing a massive hand on Auron’s shoulder. “You are free to choose your path...”

Auron stared at Optimus for a long moment, processing his words. His optics flickered with a mix of emotions—confusion, curiosity, and a spark of hope. He didn’t fully understand his purpose yet, but there was something in Optimus’s voice that reassured him, something that told him he wasn’t alone.

Peter watched from across the room, his arms crossed as he observed the interaction between Optimus and Auron. The weight of what they had just done hung heavy on him. He knew the power of the AllSpark could create life, but giving that life to the son of Megatron… It was a decision that still made him uneasy.

He couldn’t help but feel a gnawing sense of doubt. What if Auron grew to become like his father? What if they had just brought another Megatron into the world?

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by Alfred’s voice, calm and collected as always. “You seem troubled, Master Peter.”

Peter glanced down at the small device on his wrist where Alfred’s voice emanated from. “Yeah, I’m just… I’m not sure we made the right call, Alfred,” he admitted, his voice low.

Alfred was silent for a moment, processing Peter’s concerns before responding. “It is natural to have doubts, given the circumstances. However, Auron is not his father. He is a blank slate, shaped by the influences around him. With Optimus’s guidance, I believe Auron will be just fine.”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair as he continued to watch Optimus and Auron. “I guess we’ll see,” he muttered. “I just hope we didn’t make a mistake.”

As Peter stood there, his mind still grappling with the gravity of the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a sliver of hope as well. Auron, despite being Megatron’s creation, had the chance to be something different, something better. And with Optimus by his side, guiding him, maybe—just maybe—they had given him a chance for a better future.

Optimus, sensing Peter’s internal struggle, turned his head slightly, meeting his gaze with a look of quiet reassurance. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “For trusting me with this.”

Peter nodded slowly, still not entirely sure if he had made the right decision, but willing to trust Optimus’s judgment. “Yeah… let’s hope it works out.”

————

Leaving Optimus to deal with Auron, Peter stood at the base of the Red Room, now a towering Cybertronian that had once been the heart of a covert facility. The transformation was still awe-inspiring, even after everything that had happened.

Peter, feeling the familiar hum of his rocket boots, took a deep breath before taking off into the air. The wind whipped past his face as he ascended, flying toward the colossal form’s shoulder.

When Peter finally landed on its broad shoulder, he took a moment to steady himself, staring at the massive figure that now regarded him with something akin to reverence.

It was strange. Peter had created life—something he hadn’t entirely planned or anticipated—but here it was, standing before him, waiting for him to speak.

“Uhh, hey? Can you talk?” Peter said aloud, unsure how to begin.

The Red Room’s optics flickered to life, glowing softly as it acknowledged Peter’s presence. Its voice, when it finally spoke, was deep and resonant, almost vibrating through the air around them. “Creator…” The reverence in its tone was unmistakable.

Peter winced slightly at the title. “Can we… maybe not use that word? Just call me Peter.”

The Red Room paused, as though processing Peter’s request, but then it spoke again, its voice still filled with deference. “But you are my creator. I exist because of you. How else should I address you?”

Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I get that, but I’m just a guy, y’know? Not some almighty being. Treat me like a normal person.”

There was another pause before the Red Room responded. “I do not know how to treat you as anything less than what you are to me. You gave me life. I cannot lower my respect for you.”

Peter frowned, feeling a slight unease settle in his chest. This was something he hadn’t anticipated. If every Cybertronian he created would treat him like this, how would that affect them? Would they all worship him like a deity, unable to see him as anything else?

He thought of Auron, who was still with Optimus. Peter hadn’t interacted with him yet, leaving him to Optimus for the time being. Would Auron be the same? He couldn’t imagine that being a healthy dynamic—he wasn’t looking to have a bunch of followers treating him like a god.

“Alright, well…” Peter shook his head, trying to shake off the discomfort. “I guess we’ll just figure that part out as we go.”

The Red Room, still watching him intently, waited for Peter to continue.

After a moment, Peter straightened, glancing around at the now-living base. “So… what do you want to be called?” he asked, feeling slightly ridiculous. “I mean, ‘Red Room’ isn’t exactly a name.”

The massive Cybertronian seemed to tilt its head slightly, as though considering Peter’s question. “A name…?” it repeated, its voice thoughtful. “I do not require a name. I am yours, Creator. To name myself would be disrespectful.”

Peter blinked. “Disrespectful?”

“Yes,” the Red Room said, its voice resolute. “A creation cannot name itself. That honor belongs to the creator.”

Peter’s hand rose to rub his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “Right, of course… I have to name you.”

There was a brief silence as Peter mulled over the situation. He muttered to himself, thinking of random names. “Red One? Nah, that’s not a name for a living being… Big Red? Nope, that sounds like gum…”

He continued to mutter, throwing out more ridiculous options until something clicked. “Atlas,” Peter muttered under his breath. He hadn’t intended it to be the final name, but something about it felt right.

The Red Room—Atlas—paused. There was a shift in its stance, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of its mouth. “Atlas…” it repeated, and this time, there was something different in its voice. It liked the name.

Peter grinned slightly, realizing he had hit on the right one. “Alright then,” he said, looking up at the massive figure. “Atlas it is.”

Atlas’s optics glowed brighter, as if the name had given him a newfound sense of identity. “Thank you, Creator. I am honored.”

Peter chuckled softly, though there was still a part of him that felt uneasy about the whole “creator” dynamic. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that, but for now, at least, things seemed… okay.

After a moment of silence, Peter looked back up at Atlas. “So, listen. I’m leaving this planet soon, and I was wondering…” He hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. “Would you want to come with me? Join my crew?”

Although the Red Room, now named Atlas, technically belonged to Peter, he felt strange not asking for its consent first. After all, it was a living being now.

The offer hung in the air for a moment, but Atlas’s response was immediate and resolute. “I would follow you anywhere, Creator. I never intended to leave your side.”

Peter smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest at Atlas’s loyalty. “Alright then,” he said, stepping back slightly. “Welcome to the crew, Atlas. Get yourself ready—we’ll be leaving this planet soon. I just need to tie up some loose ends first…”

Atlas nodded, his massive form shifting slightly as if preparing for what was to come. “I will be ready. Whenever you call, I will answer.”

Peter gave one final nod, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at the exchange. Despite the lingering unease, he couldn’t deny that having Atlas on his side would be a powerful advantage.

As Peter activated his rocket boots and descended from Atlas’s shoulder, he couldn’t help but think of how the Galaxy would react to his new ship.

…

With nothing else to do, Peter entered the Atlas and immediately noticed how much had changed. Everything was bigger. The once cramped halls and rooms had expanded in size, as if the base instinctively knew it needed to accommodate Cybertronians now. The ceilings were impossibly high, the doors wider, and even the control stations seemed more advanced, their interfaces glowing with a faint light.

People were still working throughout the ship, cleaning up from the battle that had taken place. Some soldiers and agents shot Peter curious glances as he walked by, but no one stopped him. They were all busy, tending to the post-battle duties, though it was clear they were still adjusting to the fact that their base had turned into a living being.

Peter took his time exploring, glancing into the various rooms and corridors that had all undergone some form of transformation. It was fascinating in its own way—Atlas had somehow retained its human origins while becoming something entirely new. Yet, despite the scale of the changes, there was something comforting about it. This was still the Red Room, in a sense. It was still his base, his home.

After a while, though, fatigue began to set in. The events of the last few days—the battle, Megatron’s death, the creation of Auron, and his conversation with Atlas—were all weighing heavily on him. He needed to rest. With that thought in mind, Peter made his way to his room.

But when he opened the door, he froze.

Lying on his bed were Mikaela and Natasha, both dressed in revealing nightwear. Mikaela, with her hair down and an almost mischievous look in her eyes, leaned against the headboard, while Natasha was lounging beside her, her usual composed demeanor replaced with something far more relaxed—and far more suggestive.

Peter blinked, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing. “Uhh… h-hello there?” he muttered under his breath, still standing in the doorway.

————

Meanwhile…

Across the base, in one of the more secluded rooms, Peggy Carter was having a very different kind of night. She sat at her desk, her posture tense, phone in hand as she engaged in a heated conversation with her superiors from the World Security Council.

“You called me to talk about this now?” Peggy snapped, barely holding back her frustration. “I’m dealing with the aftermath of a warzone, and you’re asking about alien bodies?”

The voice on the other end of the line, calm and measured as always, responded. “We need something, Peggy. The battle you were involved in was monumental, and yet we have nothing to show for it. Not a single Cybertronian or Jedi body, not even a piece of wreckage, was recovered by any of our teams.”

Peggy rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair as she rubbed her temples. “And you expect me to hand over one of the bodies, just like that?”

“That’s precisely what we expect,” came the reply. “You’re in the best position to acquire it, and Shield needs to be at the forefront of these technological advances. We can’t afford to fall behind...”

Peggy’s fingers drummed against the armrest. She understood the council’s desire to study Cybertronian technology—anyone with half a brain would—but this felt wrong. Especially when they suggested studying a Jedi, as if the Jedi were mere experiments to be poked and prodded.

“The Jedi are off-limits,” Peggy said firmly. “That’s not negotiable. Doing anything to them would cause a galaxy-wide crisis, not to mention destroy any trust we have with them.”

The voice on the other end hesitated. “Very well. But the Decepticons are another matter. They were the enemy, after all. And we need to understand what we’re up against.”

Peggy frowned. She still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of treating the Decepticons as mere machines to be dissected, but she knew where this conversation was heading. They wouldn’t stop pushing until they got something.

"Fine," she said, at last, her voice tinged with reluctance. "I’ll see what I can do about securing a Decepticon body for Shield to study. But don’t get your hopes up. I can try to sneak one out, but the chances of success are slim. Nothing happens in the Red Room without Peter knowing, and he’ll most likely have the final say…"

“Understood. We appreciate your cooperation, Director. This will benefit us all in the long run.”

Peggy ended the call with a sigh, staring at the phone in her hand for a moment before tossing it onto the desk. She leaned forward, resting her head in her hands as she tried to reconcile her decision. It was a compromise, one she wasn’t happy about, but it was better than allowing them access to the Jedi.

After a long, silent moment, she stood up, heading toward the command center. She’d have to find a way to get access to the Decepticon's bodies…

A/N: 2322 words :)🚨🚨