Mtmte Fort Max x reader scenario where reader promises to protect him? The LL found them in a different universe where the autobots succeeded in creating their own phase sixers and reader was one of them. The reason they left their dimension behind was because they completed their task: slay all the decepticon phase sixers, but lost everything and everyone they ever cared about. Reader tells him that they’ve slain phase sixers before and they’ll slay even more if it makes Max feel safe.
My favorite autobot big boy FORTRESS MAXIMUS :D - HERE YOU GO!!!
Fortress Maximus x Gn! Alternate Universe! Phase Sixer! Reader.
(Scenario)
Scenario: Finally, peace had enveloped the universe. The Lost Light had accomplished the impossible: it had neutralized the last threats and found the legendary Knights of Cybertron. Yet, victory had a bitter taste. Too many familiar faces were absent, too many scars marked their structure. That illusion of serenity was shattered by a distorted distress signal, lost in the depths of the cosmos. Following that call, the ship would find itself at the edge of an unknown universe. And there, in the unknown depths, a figure as familiar as it was enigmatic awaited them: A Phase Sixer. But not just any Phase Sixer. An Autobot Phase Sixer.
Tw: The Fortress Maximus of the reader's universe dies, war is mentioned, and the reader violently k*lls all the Phase Sixers in their universe.
Length: 2.3k
Finding themselves in another universe was decidedly out of the ordinary, even by the standards of the Lost Light. After everything they'd faced and seen—vanished civilizations, Decepticons reborn as saints, a pacifist Megatron—this seemed like just another addition to the long list of 'Things we thought impossible, but happened anyway.'
After all, when had they ever stuck to anything ordinary? Aboard that ship, fate had developed a habit of delivering at least one catastrophe a day. Was this the result of Rodimus' chaotic leadership? Probably. But fortunately, Ultra Magnus and Drift were there to 'hold the pieces together with duct tape and a ton of regulations,' as some among the crew quipped.
What was irreparable, however, were the losses. Too many faces that didn't add up, too many betrayals etched like scars in the memories of those left behind. It all started that day. After the death of Optimus Prime.
That designation continued to echo, heavy as the burden of an entire galaxy. The Prime. The one who had managed to earn the respect even of his adversaries. Sitting in the command post, Rodimus drummed his digits nervously on the armrest while absentmindedly chewing an energon goodie, lost in thought. 'Someday I want to be like him. But the more I try, the more impossible it seems…'
A sudden sound brought him back to reality. "Rodimus."
Ultra Magnus's determined voice called him back. The silence of the deep cosmos enveloped them as the Lost Light moved at cruising speed; their mission seemed complete: Phase Sixers eliminated, Cybertron at peace. And yet…
"We've intercepted a distress call."
Rodimus didn't falter for a moment. "We're taking action."
Drift advanced slowly, his blades clinking lightly behind him. "Rodimus," he began gravely, "the call is coming from a multidimensional rift."
The atmosphere on the bridge became tense, almost electric. Even the constant hum of the ship's systems seemed to have died down, waiting for a response. Rodimus remained silent for a few moments, drumming his digits nervously before glancing resolutely at everyone.
"A distress call is a distress call." He finally broke the silence, his vocalizer surprisingly steady. "It doesn't matter where it comes from." He paused briefly, then added with a tired smile that failed to hide the uneasiness in his optics, "And anyway, when did we ever choose the safe route?"
Drift stared at him, his arms crossed and his gaze twisted with doubt. "Rodimus, this time is different. Dimensional tears don't follow the same rules as quantum jumps. We could be dealing with something completely—"
"We could also be dealing with someone who needs our help," Rodimus interrupted decisively, rising from his seat. "And we are Autobots. Helping isn't just what we do; it's who we are."
Ultra Magnus sighed, the sound of his vocalizer accompanied by a faint crackle of static. "Regulation 17-B, Section 4, Subsection…"
"Magnus, please, let's forget the rules for once." Rodimus ran a servo over his faceplate, the weight of exhaustion sagging his shoulders. "We've seen enough horrors in this war. If there's even a chance to do the right thing, we must take it."
In the control room, the distress signal continued to flash on the main monitor, its intermittent rhythm like a heartbeat on the verge of dying. The coordinates pointed to a precise destination: a dimensional rift that loomed on the screen like an abyss of unstable energy, a gaping wound in the fabric of reality itself.
"Start the engines." Rodimus's command rang out firmly as he turned to the crew. "Plot a course for those coordinates. And… let's prepare for whatever lies ahead."
The Lost Light slowly rotated, pointing its bow toward the dimensional rift. Rodimus seethed with uneasiness; he couldn't shake the thought of who or what might be on the other side.
When they arrived at their destination, the scene that greeted them was far from comfortable. Everything was eerily reminiscent of Garrus-9: the same twisted rock formations, the same canyons carved by the relentless winds of the cosmos. But everything was pervaded by death. No artificial light to illuminate the darkness, no trace of life energy. Only battered structures and battle scars etched into the planetary crust like deep claw wounds.
"It's as if someone took Garrus-9 and drained every last drop of life from it."
Drift advanced cautiously across this familiar yet unrecognizable terrain, his trusty blades emitting an unsettling resonance. "It's not just abandoned here… it's been desecrated."
Rodimus remained silent, his gaze fixed on a distant feature: a broken tower rising against the sky like a silent accusation. It had once been a maximum-security prison. Now there was no trace of the cells, nor of the imposing defenses. Only metal hulks and melted debris bore witness to what had happened.
Ultra Magnus broke the silence with his firm tone. "Scans complete. No lifeforms identified, however…" His vocalizer stopped abruptly as his circuits began to process something unexpected.
"What, 'however'?" Rodimus asked, his gaze alert and penetrating.
"There's an energy signature," Magnus replied, his vocalizer laced with a strange hesitation.
Fortress Maximus intervened with his usual authority. "What does that mean, exactly?" he asked, disrupting the fragile balance of the conversation. The giant Titan-class mech, always prepared for any eventuality, had already activated every weapon system before abandoning the Lost Light. The ominous hum of its weapons echoed in the void like a warning signal.
Garrus-9.
The mere name of the mech brought back moments of torment. Buried memories resurfaced for a violent instant, but Fort Max, with a deliberate effort, bent those emotional impulses under the weight of logic. 'One can never be too careful', he told himself, as he scanned the bleak landscape. His optics shone like searchlights, ready to capture any hidden threat.
"It's Cybertronian energy," Ultra Magnus clarified, his analysis precise but tinged with puzzlement. "However, something isn't right… there are anomalies I've never seen before."
Fort Max was silent for a moment before giving a slow nod of understanding.
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the wind whistling through the ruins like a wail. The four of them turned their audials up to maximum sensitivity, ready to pick up even the slightest rustle amid the surrounding desolation.
Drift was the first to break the palpable tension, his blades already drawn and ready for use. "I don't like this place at all," he said, giving voice to the sense of unease the others preferred to suppress.
They didn't even have time to respond when a dissonant vibration suddenly rippled through the ground beneath them. The group reacted instinctively, every metal fiber in their bodies springing to attention.
Fortress Maximus was the quickest. His weapons automatically reoriented, snapping into position with the precision of a killing machine. His rifle emitted a menacing buzz, already configured for the fearsome maximum lethality mode.
"Someone is approaching," Drift whispered as he tightened his grip on his twin blades, synchronized to the frantic rhythm of the pulses in his circuits. His optics narrowed, he scanned the horizon like a predator awaiting prey.
Rodimus raised his pistol, but the usual sarcasm that characterized his comments had evaporated, giving way to a tense, unironic grin. "Friend or foe?"
Ultra Magnus preferred not to waste unnecessary words. The metal of his weapon made a cold click as he prepared to fire.
"Friend."
A single word. Cold. Yet laden with a weight that made their circuits tremble more than any battle cry could.
Weapons still raised with steady, attentive hands, they slowly turned toward the source of the noise, ready to discover what had alerted them. What they saw left them breathless.
Behind them loomed the imposing figure of a Phase Sixer… but they looked nothing like the ones they had known in their old battles.
Your armor, once a shining symbol of invulnerability and supreme strength, now bore the unmistakable marks of centuries of battle and suffering:
Chipped, like glass cracked by a myriad of blows, it even bore visible etchings in the smallest details, as if cosmic entities had tried in vain to strip it of its essence.
And finally, it was faded, its paint worn by time, and it spoke of incessant battles, fought with obstinacy.
But it was your optics that captured their full attention:
Completely dull and lifeless, they were a dull shell that expressed only bewilderment. They should have embodied the flame that once burned tirelessly, but now there remained nothing but ashes.
The long scar that ran across your metal cheek seemed to etch not only your faceplate, but your very core, a silent reminder of past battles.
And finally, what truly shocked them: the Autobot emblems etched into your metal arms. Still clearly visible, those symbols were charged with memories, tangible representations of a loyalty that would proudly display before anyone's optics.
A Phase Sixer Autobot?
Was it really possible?!
Rodimus felt a slight tremor in the servo holding the pistol. No one had ever mentioned the existence of a Phase Sixer among their ranks. It defied all logic, every tale they knew…
Ultra Magnus was the first to break the silence of waiting, speaking in a deep, firm vocalizer: "Identify yourself." The tone was as cold as tempered metal, but a faint tremor betrayed his caution.
You didn't respond immediately. When he finally spoke, your vocalizer echoed like distant, slow thunder:
"I am the one who sent the signal."
Rodimus crossed his arms, but without loosening his grip on his gun. "What is… the reason for your emergency message?"
A deep sound, like a sigh distorted by a malfunctioning vocalizer, emanated from the colossal individual.
"My universe…"
Your vocalizer trailed off, leaving a void hanging in the air. Your servos clenched into fists and then slowly relaxed, as if struggling to formulate your thoughts.
"It's slowly dying…"
Fortress Maximus snapped to attention. "What do you mean?"
"As if reality itself were crumbling," you explained, your bright optics pulsing faintly with a hint of despair. "It's as if the fabric of the multiverse has been torn, dragging fragments from other dimensions into the void. I… I believe i'm among the last survivors. When i sent the signal, only you responded."
Rodimus frowned, confused and disturbed. It was difficult for him to comprehend the scope of such a tragedy.
"Wait… you mean your entire universe is… about to collapse?" he asked, almost a whisper choked with disbelief.
A slow, resigned nod of your helmet was the answer. Accompanied by your gaze, now tired and dull for decades.
Drift turned to Rodimus, concern etched into the features of the faceplate. "If what he says is true… it could put all the multiverses at risk, including ours."
Ultra Magnus finally lowered his weapon, but his tone was still as sharp as a blade. "We cannot afford to let our guard down… not in the presence of a Phase Sixer." His sensors carefully scanned your hulking form before him. "Not especially when Phase Sixers and Autobots have never been synonymous."
In response, you let out a broken laugh, laced with bitterness and exhaustion. "In your universe, perhaps. But in mine… things are different. We were created as a last resort to fight the Phase Sixer Decepticons."
You raised a massive arm, displaying the worn Autobot crest, barely visible amid the scars of countless battles. Your optics then lowered to the damaged servos, the trembling digits still bearing the weight of painful memories.
"In my world, the Autobots also developed a Phase Sixer program as a last resort," you continued, your vocalizer heavy and tinged with pain. "For a time… it worked. We were used to counter the advancing Decepticons and their own Phase Sixers. We fought with every fiber of our being to protect vulnerable planets…"
Another pause. The vocalizer produced a faint crackle of static—a sound like a sob being held back.
"… until the day they took away what I loved most."
Your dull optics settled on Fortress Maximus with agonizing intensity, as if each resurfacing memory inflicted a new wound.
"My Fortress Maximus. He was struck down by an enemy Phase Sixer during the siege of Crystal City. I… I didn't see him fall. But I felt the bond between us fading, his life signal dissolving in my connections."
With a slightly trembling servo, you touched the scar on your faceplate, an instinctive gesture, as if that memory still burned beneath the surface of his armor.
"When I returned to the field… there was nothing left to bury. Only his rifle."
Drift pressed his derma together, holding his breath, as Rodimus lowered the weapon he held completely, his faceplate rigid in an involuntary expression of pity.
"So I did what I was built to do," you continued, your vocalizer cracking with a harsh note of anger and pain. "I hunted down every single Phase Sixer Decepticon. One by one, I found them. I faced them. I destroyed them with my own servos. And when the last of them fell…"
You turned, looking up at the dappled, dark sky of Garrus-9, desolate in its shattered vastness.
"…I realized I had nothing left. No one to fight for anymore."
At that, Fortress Maximus let his defenses falter. It was only for a moment—a slight flicker in his optics, an involuntary relaxation of the metal structure—but that moment was enough.
You chose not to let that opportunity pass you by.
With measured, deliberate movements, you approached him. Drift started to intervene, but Rodimus stopped him with an almost imperceptible gesture.
Wait.
You lifted your left servo—the least compromised one—and placed it with incredible delicacy on Fortress Maximus's metal cheek. At the sudden contact, a slight shudder left Fort's derma.
Your gaze tightened, while your vocalizer manifested itself as an unwavering promise.
"No Phase Sixer—no being—will ever harm you again. I will destroy them before they can even speak your designation."
