The Fall (But Slower)

by Smatterbrained

Summary:

The gray mech locked optics with him. The scrutinizing crimson, winged helm, large chassis, and angled shoulderplates all came together to form a powerful figure. Orion almost couldn’t equate this bot with the one who had been kneeling at Darkwing’s pedes just a few solar-cycles previous.

Did he know..?

“I know what you did,” the mech rumbled.

“Ah.”

*

Megatronus is a miner, just trying to keep his numbers up, and his helm down. This becomes more difficult when he befriends Orion Pax– fellow miner, and self-described anti-functionalism-pacifist. Nobody could guess that their meeting would spiral into the most brutal and long-standing conflict in Cybertronian history.

Notes:

How the war starts. It’s like if the IDW and TF1 had a horrible angsty child that was also the worst doomed yaoi slowburn I could conjure.

Note that this will have a lot of my own headcanons about what different bots were up to pre-war, and my own geography for Cybertron, which may conflict with some continuities.

Check notes at the end for time-unit definitions (cause I couldn't find a lot that agree)

Chapter 1: The First Stone

Megatronus set his hydraulic excavator down against the mine wall, the smooth cavern turned ragged and hot by the bodies of his fellow miners. He peered quickly over his shoulder, confirming the overseer, Darkwing, was busy beating someone else into scrap metal– hyperbole, except when it wasn’t. 

His sonar module was glitching again, frag, it’d been telling him there was energon ahead only to find empty dirt. His numbers were already dropping. Another cycle of this and he’d be in the demotion zone, if they even let him keep his job. He wouldn’t be the first bot in the megacycle to be let go over trivial things.

Without proper sight, he found a seam in the side of his torso and wrenched the casing apart. His internals were all a mess of wires and grime under the dirty plating, which was just itching to snap shut again. He kept one servo on it to keep it from doing so, while the other dug into the circuitry. His digits were a little large for the job, but he managed to find the module anyway, wincing as he pulled the tiny box out.

He flicked the switch. Off, waited a klik, on, then shoved it back in, letting his plating snap back into place and settle.

Then for the worst part. What he wouldn’t give to have the module built directly into his helm like the older models. With a grunt, he manually rebooted his whole sensory array. It was the only way to reset the connection. His vision went static. An uncomfortable energy rippled through his lines. He reset his optics to find new energon readings to his right, and absolutely none where he had previously been digging.

He heard the strike before he felt it. A resounding clang followed closely by pain of bludgeoning across his helm.

“D-16! There should be an excavator in your servo!” Darkwing’s voice was more a violent cacophony of sounds than speech, only emphasized by the sharp walls of the mine throwing it around and mixing it in with the drilling of a dozen workers. Every bot in the shaft could hear the reprimand. He knew if he’d turn to face them, he’d see no friendly face looking back. It was common practice to pretend not to hear when another bot was being slagged, some sentiment between courtesy and self preservation.

There was an excuse on the tip of Megatronus’s glossa, even if it would do nothing. A nameless protocol requested access to initialize. Fight, it urged. Instead he turned wordlessly and reached for his excavator.

Only for Darkwing’s pede to slam down onto his servo and the drill, crushing the metal of both. Megatronus grit his dentae around the yelp that threatened to escape his intake, finally forcing his helm up to face Darkwing properly.

“You don’t care for your equipment. You can dig with your servos the rest of this shift.”

The other mech towered over him, gleeful malevolence painted clearly on his faceplates even behind his mask and visor. A vision erupted from deep within the back of his processor. The visor shattered, the mask ripped off entirely, reduced to twisted metal around his face. Megatronus’s fists dripping with burning fuschia. That hidden smirk wiped from his faceplates. Forever.

A sharp ting broke through the focus Darkwing had on Megatronus. A pebble dropped to the stone floor where they stood. Finally, mercifully, Darkwing’s pede released his servo as he whipped around to confront the cavern.

“Who threw that?!” Darkwing stormed off, searching for the offender.

Megatronus vented deep relief, instantly soured when he flexed his digits. The damage had been well and truly done. None would consider the circuitry of his servos delicate, and yet, there were few other words for the tiny gears and hydraulics that made them up. The intricate rotors of his digits sent sharp impulses at any movement, and even in the dim light he could see the metal in his joints bent and misaligned. He could already imagine his place on the leaderboard dropping as he gingerly hefted his damaged excavator back into position, sending more of that jarring pain into his servo with every pulse of the machine as it jacked through Cybertron’s crust.

Not that it was much different from any of the other pain in his aching joints.

*

“I’m a pacifist.” Orion Pax stated, wiping down his excavator. He was sitting on a bench in the lockers beside a scoffing Elita-one.

“Pacifists don’t throw stones,” she shook her helm, twisting her own cleaning rag around her machine. Orion craned his neck cables, noting the clearly superior technique and quickly copying it.

“I can assure you, a simple probe into the records says otherwise.” Only after that did he seem to be aware of his surroundings, scanning the room. Bots scattered around, drying solvent off their chassis or putting away their tools. None paid them any mind.

Elita’s brow ridge hit the brim of her helm. “Remind me to avoid you. The records? What in the pit were you doing in there? How?”

Orion tutted. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“You’re a pacifist.”

“Exactly.”

Elita sighed long, shuttering her optics. “Listen Pax, you’re new here, so I’ll give you a bit of free advice– next will cost you shanix. If a bot’s getting a dressing down, you mind your own business. If Darkwing saw you–”

“I’m new to this mine. Not mining. Every mine has a Darkwing. That’s why minding my business is the last thing I’d do.” He smiled. She’d call it cocky if there wasn’t a nervous scrunch in his optics.

“Yeah, well, I guess there’s a reason no one ratted on you. We all saw you throw the pebble.”

The crinkle smoothed out of his faceplates, and Elita’s spark spun just that bit lighter despite herself.

“So who was that bot? D–sixtee–”

“Don’t,” Elita raised her servo in a warning gesture. “That’s his serial number. Darkwing makes a point of forgetting bots’ designations, or never remembering them in the first place.”

“I’m surprised he’d go after a bot like him. He’s pretty big for a mining mech.”

“And you’re small for a miner.”

“Point.” He conceded with a bent helm. “For a nanoklik I thought he might just hit the fragger back.”

“Yeah, well, Megatronus never went as far as hitting back, but the last time he stood up for himself cost him most of his savings.”

“Darkwing robbed him?"

“No. It just cost every shanix he had to get his mechanics up and working again at the repair shop. I’m quite frankly not sure how he managed to drag himself out of the mine after that. I thought he was offlined.”

“And you just left him?!”

“Hey. You don’t know what it’s like–”

“I’m a miner too!”

“Yeah? Well I’ve never met a miner with your disposition. Whatever mine you came from? There’s no way it’s anything like ours. Pacifism? Camaraderie? You’re damn lucky no one outed you about the pebble. This place does things to mechs.”

Elita found herself standing. Her fans had kicked on at some point to cool down her reactor. She met Orion’s gaze with her own.

Those blue optics burned bright, even against the harsh fluorescents of the locker room, brow ridge pinched, intake tilted in a near snarl. His servos were clenched into shaking fists.

For a moment Elita’s fight or flight protocol’s– the same ones Darkwing, or any superior incited in her, threatened to engage.

And just as quickly, Orion’s faceplates smoothed into passivity. He sighed and stood. Elita’s stabilizing servo twitched a step back, before standing ground. He was small, she could take him. Orion’s optics squeezed into that previous uncertainty, field pulsing regret.

“I apologize,” Orion said, sounding suddenly tired. He extended a servo, and she nervously took it in a handshake. “It was nice meeting you, Elita.”

He stepped around her, excavator in servo to return to its locker to charge.

Elita willed her frame to relax before doing the same.

*

“There’s not a lot I can do without equipment, Megatronus.” Ratchet leaned over the damaged servo for a better look. He wouldn’t be able to diagnose any specific damage without disassembling the digits, but even that wouldn’t be of much use without a way to fix it.

“You’re saying…” Megatronus started slowly, as though putting off the words would make them untrue. Ratchet was never one for being delicate.

“You need a professional. I can’t fix this.”

“Ratchet, you know I can’t afford another body shop.” Megatronus slowly closed his servo.

“Stop that!” Ratchet put his servo over Megatronus’s, coaxing it firmly flat.

“What’s the point?” Megatronus growled, but he didn't move his servo again. “It’s not like it’ll heal on its own with the way I have to use it! It’s scrap metal!”

“Just because you’ll have to move it tomorrow doesn’t mean you aggravate it now!”

Megatronus slumped back in his chair. Ratchet followed suit. They were taking up one of the tables in what was supposed to be a rec room. It was rarely used. Bots off work were either recharging or overcharging at an oil house. There wasn’t energy for anything else. And besides, the room was unofficially Ratchet’s office at this point. Not that he was a real doctor. No one ever mentioned that to him though. The care he provided was real enough, and he did it for free. That was more than enough to excuse the terrible bedside manner.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get worse,” Ratched huffed, rifling through a ratty bag he brought with him. Megatronus’s plating rose at the statement, then settled down, instead opting to level a glare.

“How so?”

“That mech saved you from digging with your servos,” Ratchet tapped one of his bent digits. “Namely that servo.” He found what he was looking for, a screwdriver that worked on most bots’ digits. He gestured for Megatronus’s servo again. “I’m going to take apart your digits and try to flatten these rings.”

Megatronus perked up just that bit. “You’ll fix it?”

“Bu-bu-bup!” Ratchet held up the screwdriver. “I doubt this will fix it, in fact, it may make it worse,” he muttered under his breath. “But it should ease your movements. Return some range and maybe take away some of the pain. But, this will hurt.”

Megatronus slumped again, but some level of relief flowed from his field, despite Ratchet’s warning.

“Work your magic, doc.”

Ratchet directed his annoyance at the name, setting his screwdriver in the first bolt’s slot. He waited a moment for Megatronus to steel himself, before beginning the turn. Already a processor-ache was settling into his helm, just knowing he was unlikely to catch any recharge that night-cycle.

“Who was the bot?” Megatronus asked.

It took Ratchet a moment to recall their conversation from the moment previous. “Ah, the stone-thrower, yes. He’s a new mech, joined a few solar-cycles ago.”

“That describes several mechs.”

Most of them would not last the stellar-cycle. It took a certain spark to survive down here.

“The red one, blue helm, silver crest. I didn’t catch his designation.”

“Is he stupid or just defective?”

“Defective and or stupid he may be, I wouldn’t go speaking badly of him after what he did for you.”

“He’s going to get himself offlined.”

“Very likely,” Ratchet sighed.

The first bolt of the index finger came loose, but the bent metal kept it from detaching. Ratchet gave Megatronus a look meant to convey sympathy and a wordless ‘brace yourself,’ before yanking the thing apart. Megatronus hissed, before biting down on his free servo, venting heavily. Ratchet would give just about anything for access to some pain blockers. Even some of the correct cabling could allow him to disable the pain receptors through the processor, invasive as it may be, it would certainly be preferable to a painful operation. He had asked for these things. Once.

*

Ratchet worked in mostly silence after that, a smattering of conversation to distract from his hammering out of the rings meant to be in Megatronus’s digits. When all was said and done, the servo no longer looked mangled, though certainly still damaged.

“How’s it feel?” Ratchet asked after tightening the last bolt.

He finally glanced up from his work. Megatronus looked how he felt, dark rings under his optics, and pinpricks of coolant gathered on his faceplates. After the first digit, he hadn’t made another sound, but the pain was written all across his frame.

He gingerly lifted his servo, balling it into fist, then smoothing it out. He tried each digit alone, then smirked and pointed his middle digit up to the ceiling, where they both imagined Darkwing recharged. Somewhere high above them.

“Much better, doc.”

“How many times have I told you to use my designation?”

Megatronus’s smirk faltered, before becoming something softer.

“I’m sorry, Ratchet. I really do appreciate it.” He tapped his digit to the table surface. “Let me buy you a high-grade next time we have a short shift.”

“I know you don’t have the shanix for it,” he scoffed, returning his tools to his bag, before wiping up the small smatter of energon from a twisted line. “Do you still feel any pain in your servo?” He said, shifting the subject back.

“I won’t lie and say no,” Megatronus smiled a little ruefully.

“How’s the range of motion?”

“Not fully returned either, but um…” Megatronus stood up, tense, and it was deeply strange to see a mech as big as him unsure. “I’m not exaggerating when I say, I owe you my life.”

Ratchet’s engines hiccupped. “Yeah, well,” he scratched the back of his helm, rising too with his little makeshift medical pouch slung over his shoulder. “You and just about every bot in this damn mine.”

“I’ll repay you someday.”

“Yeah, yeah, repay me by getting in less trouble.”

“You know I wasn’t making trouble.”

“Fine. Repay me by finding that bot with the pebble, and thank him instead. How about you keep him alive? As a personal challenge.” He turned and headed out the door. “We could all stand to stick a little closer together if you ask me.”

*

Orion let his helm drop forward against the wall of the washracks, savoring the warm solvent sluicing dirt from his plates. The pressure was better here than at the last mine, but he had to admit– loathed to admit–

That Elita was right.

It had only been two solar-cycles and he could already say with confidence that this mine was indeed worse than the one he had come from. It was more mechs crushed into one space, deeper shafts, hotter working conditions as they burrowed closer to Cybertron’s mantle. Even the dirt and rock was packed together more tightly, and still they expected the same rate of energon retrieval.

But it would be temporary. Not because he expected to make the shanix that would eventually buy his freedom like many of his fellow miners dreamed. He had no such illusions, in fact, he was sure this mine was one excuse away from being overhauled just as the last one was. ‘Automated workers!’ The new signage had brightly proclaimed. Cold constructs built for the job. Orion couldn’t quite believe it. Not that the Ioconian elites wouldn’t try it, but that the cold constructs would really work any better than the current mining force. No bot with a spark would degrade themselves to these positions any more than the miners who were already doing so.

Automated his aft. As far as he was concerned, they were already the autobots they were seeking to replace them with.

A mech settled in the space beside him, switching the solvent on. It was probably time to vacate then. No faster way to a bot’s slaglist than taking up a place at the washracks for too long.

The bot sighed, gunmetal gray chassis deflating after the long cycle’s work. Orion turned, surprised. Of the hundreds of bots stationed, it was Megatronus who happened to take up the space beside him.

The gray mech locked optics with him, the scrutinizing crimson, winged helm, large chassis, and angled shoulderplates all came together to form a powerful figure. He almost couldn’t equate this bot with the one who had been kneeling at Darkwing’s pedes just a few solar-cycles previous.

Did he know..?

“I know what you did,” the mech rumbled.

“Ah . ”

He tamped down the intense compulsion to apologize. It must have come across in his field, though he tried to keep that close as well.

“I don’t want your apologies, or your pity.” Megatronus ducked his helm under the solvent, continuing his shower, practical. “I’ve come to give you my… thanks, and to get your designation.”

Orion let surprise color his field, brow ridge rising.

“Orion Pax,” he tentatively offered his servo. The other took it. The one that had been trampled, Orion noted. He was glad to see it looking less mangled.

“Megatronus,” the other said.

“Yes, I asked Elita-one about you.”

Megatronus’s expression soured, returning to washing.

“Don’t get along?”

“Never knew a bot more full of herself.”

Orion shrugged, “I’m not sure about that. And she was nice enough.”

“Hey, if stuck-up’s your type.”

“No!” He waved his servos, disconcerted, his faceplates flushing pink just to spite him.

Megatronus watched his reaction, stone-faced just a nanoklik before cracking a smile. He didn’t seem like a mech who smiled a lot, but it really suited him. His optics shone warm and bright, his nose– which looked like it had actually been broken and badly reset, crinkled. His whole frame curved with the expression, ease flowing through it.

“Ah, you’re messing with me.” Orion had definitely been staring too long.

“If that’s how you want to interpret it,” Megatronus shrugged, an edge of teasing to his tone.

A bot sidled up to the washracks entrance to wait, frag. Not wanting to end the conversation, “say, you want to go up a level? Ironhide told me there’s an oilhouse up there.” The idea was sudden, but Orion found himself looking forward to it already. He had tried to ask Elita up there– didn’t want to go alone, but her refusal had been sharp enough to put him off from asking anyone else.

This place does things to mechs.

Megatronus dug tiny bits of dirt out of the rotor at his knee as he contemplated it. Already progress. Elita’s rejection had been immediate.

“I don’t have the shanix.” Regret colored both their fields, quickly shifting to surprise, then mirth.

“I’ll cover you,” Orion said, chuckling at the mirrored reactions. If anything, it only convinced him further that they should get to know each other.

Megatronus offlined his optics a moment, before shutting off the solvent.

“Fine. But I’ll owe you.”

“Oh there’s really no need.” Orion had some saved up. He’d been fortunate enough to never have any major accidents, and the last mine had given a measly severance when it shuttered to them. Nothing to live off of, but certainly a leg up over his fellow miners here.

“I insist,” Megatronus said. “And we are not going to the Level Eight. That place cuts its energon. I know a much better one, and the owner knows me.”

Orion beamed, deciding then and there to make sure Megatronus never paid him back.

“Lead the way.”

*

It’d been stellar-cycles since Megatronus had made the pilgrimage to Shocky’s. Three border checks and two elevator trains later, they arrived on the correct level. It wasn’t the surface. He’d actually never been. But they were only two levels below it, and he could finally present the oilhouse to Orion with a flourish. It’d been redone since he’d last been there. Much sleeker, a new purple finish and lots of neon signs directing street goers to the delights within. From the look on Orion’s faceplates, the signs were performing their function well.

The place was even livelier than he remembered. Mechs and femmes all dancing to the tune of a live synthlectric quartet. The other end housed one of two bars, this one quieter and somewhat shielded from the clubbier side of the oilhouse.

The pair sidled up to it, taking stools side-by-side. Given how busy the place was, service took a moment, but when it finally arrived, Megatronus couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his faceplates.

“Megatronus!” Shockwave hopped over the bar counter to lock servos and pull him into a good-natured embrace. Shockwave squeezed a little too hard on his bad servo, but he made sure to give no indication of the pain flaring up his lines. “It’s been stellar-cycles, how the hell are you?”

“Been better, been worse, Shockwave. The oilhouse is looking better than ever.”

Shockwave beamed, placing his servos on his hips and puffing out his chassis in pride.

“It’s been hard work of course, but worth every klik.” He turned and wheeled back behind the counter. “So what can I get you tonight? On the house.”

“First I’d like to introduce my friend.” Megatronus leaned back, gesturing to Orion.

“I didn’t even see you behind the big bot’s chassis!” Shockwave laughed, then took Orion’s servo in a quick shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Orion smiled.

“So, what can I get you both to drink? Like I said, on the house.”

“Is that a sound business model?” Orion asked, optics crinkled.

“It is when it only extends to old old friends,” Shockwave said. “Megs and I go way back.”

“Megs?”

Megatronus waved Orion off. “We met while on the same construction job.”

“Construction? Both of you?”

Shockwave shot Megatronus a pointed look.

“He’s not a cyberrat, Shockwave. He saved my hide from our overseer just last solar-cycle. Threw a rock at him to get his attention off me.”

Shockwave’s optics did a quick flick around the bar. No one was near, so he leaned way in, lowering his volume. “For your audials only. I saved shanix and scrap metal working construction. Megs helped with the latter. Eventually the shanix went to the lot and the initial energon and oil stores, and the scrap metal became the building.”

Orion eyed the structure, incredulous.

“Don’t worry, it’s sound. Built it with my own two servos, and replaced most of it later anyway.”

“And your function?” Orion asked, then quickly waved his servos at the flicker in Shockwave’s field. “Not that I believe in them! I just mean, construction, then business owner?”

Megatronus understood the confusion. Shockwave was the only mech he knew who’d managed the impossible– to change one’s place in the caste system.

Shockwave’s brow ridge knit, contemplative. “Logically, if one’s caste is defined by one’s frame, then all a bot has to do is get it changed.”

“Shockwave’s a good builder and a better businessmech, as it turns out,” Megatron smirked. “But that’s why you can’t tell anyone about it. The consequences...”

Orion nodded gravely, and Megatronus tried not to think about the mechs the elites liked to parade around– the ones who’d had their faces and servos taken from them, the optics that weren’t dead but held no emotion behind them. The mechs who hadn’t stayed in their place.

The two ordered, Megatronus opting for his usual bitter high-grade with nickel shavings, Orion sprang for something sweet and syrupy, but not exactly sickly. Megatronus still made a jab at it, which Orion brushed off good-naturedly.

“So how’d you two meet?” Shockwave asked, eyeing them like there might be more to the nature of their relationship. Megatronus rolled his optics and elaborated on the story— Darkwing and the pebble and their meeting in the washracks.

“And your servo?” Shockwave asked, expression pinched.

Megatronus flexed it, a grimace crossing his face.

“Ratchet did all he could, but it’s still no good. Honestly, I’ve needed a tune-up since before the last time I laid optics on you.” He had a quick thought, “you wouldn’t know any medics who’d work for cheap do you? Even a butcher’s got to be better than nothing. Do you know anyone?”

Shockwave leaned back, toweling off a cube long past dry, thinking deeply on it.

“I don’t, not for cheap, but you know who may? Breakdown.”

“Construction Breakdown?”

“Do you know any others?”

“No,” Megatronus leaned back, indignant. “But why would someone like him know someone who could fix this?” He flexed his damaged servo, anticipating the wash of pain in response.

Shockwave leaned in again, beckoning the two close, even closer than when he was disclosing his own past. “He’s been in here lately, after jobs.”

“Naturally.”

“Well, unnaturally, or so some would call it, he’s had this little red mech on his arm.”

“His arm?” Orion asked.

“Okay, not on his arm, not quite, but they’re close.”

“And what does that have to do with anything,” Megatronus rumbled.

“I’ve seen the mech before, on a billboard in Velocitron.”

“The last time you were there was nearly half a vorn ago!”

Shockwave tapped the side of his helm where that powerful processor of his resided. Construction had been beneath him. Even bartending and business-running was beneath him. Pity his frame held him back from ever entering the public spotlight. Some of the conversations Megatronus had had with the mech– he could’ve been one of the great minds of Cybertron.

“My point is, the sign was advertising his medical practice.”

Megatronus sat up straight at that.

A construction worker, and a doctor.

Even if they were friends, and not the ‘something more,’ Shockwave seemed to believe they were, it was taboo.

“So you’re saying, if the mech is willing to berth a construction-bot, he might just be willing to fix a miner-bot for cheap.”

“Or you could blackmail him if he isn’t,” Shockwave shrugged.

Orion’s faceplates read scandal. Megatronus gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“He’s joking Orion.”

“I’m not.” Shockwave smiled.

Orion recovered from that hiccup quickly, soon asking lots of odd questions about running a business. The only thing more powerful than his moral compass was his bottomless curiosity.

“Why?” Shockwave quirked his helm. “Thinking of getting into business yourself?”

“Oh, no.” Orion picked at a nick in his arm, exposed silver under red paint. “I could never. I don’t have the frame for it.”

Shockwave scoffed, “that didn’t stop me, and it shouldn’t stop you. Besides, you’re smaller than what most would recognize as mining class. A few tweaks and you could be up top in no time.”

Orion’s faceplates twisted, before disappearing behind his cube. His distaste didn’t escape Megatronus, and it certainly would not pass Shockwave by.

“You display disdain?”

Orion shuttered his optics. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend. I just– I don’t want to change my frame to get ahead.” He slumped. “I just wish I could do what I want despite it. I want that for everyone.”

As Shockwave considered this, Megatronus realized that he was the only bot who’s fans kicked on when he thought.

“Logical,” Shockwave concluded. “Cybertronian society would benefit as a whole if bots’ talents could be placed beyond what their outer shell dictated.”

“And bots would be happier if they could be allowed to pursue their passions, and have the energy to do so.” Orion tossed back.

Shockwave assented with a smile. “Yes, that would benefit Cybertron as well.”

*

It took a few more drinks before Shockwave finally let Orion pay for one, and only because he insisted. Megatronus made no such offer, instead opting to stay one drink behind his companion. Despite his smaller size, he found Orion mostly capable of holding his high-grade, speaking only slightly more impassioned, about things slightly less relevant. At some point Shockwave had to go tend to other patrons, and as much as his spark panged at the departure, he felt lighter doing what he set out for: getting to know Orion better.

“And that’s why I think Alpha Trion is the best councilmember,” Orion swirled his drink like he had said something clever.

“Because his helm is a rhombus?”

“No! Were you even listening?”

“Yes, but I got a little derailed when you called him rhombus-helm, and said it was your favorite shape.”

“Okay, but my actual point, which you clearly missed, is that he’s actually spoken out against the functionalists.”

“What the hell is a functionalist?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just. What. I have no idea what that word you said is. You’re talking nonsense, Pax.”

“Functionalism.” He waved a servo like it was a totally normal word that everyone knew. “It’s the system where your frame determines what you do, and your place in society.” 

“But that’s just… society.” His processor struggled with the definition— why it was needed. It just was.

Orion’s lipplates quirked in one corner. He took another sip of his drink before continuing. “But what if it wasn’t.”

“If what wasn’t?”

“What if instead of your frame determining what you do, you did. What if you could run a business with a so-called construction frame, or paint with a server’s frame. What if you could do whatever you damn-well wanted with a miner’s frame, and the only limit was the scope of your ambition?”

“But it doesn’t make sense!” Megatronus found himself feeling frantic. “We do what we do best. A miner mines, servers serve, a construction bot—“

“Stays slaving away in construction even though it’s clear he’s smarter than anyone else in the building?”

Megatronus’s gaze shifted to where Shockwave was, just then serving a customer— some small-time city official and his conjunx. No, it didn’t make sense.

“That’s what I’m saying, and it’s what Alpha Trion is saying too. He thinks bots should be able to choose their own destiny. He’s the least evil person in government, and they’re hiding that from us.”

“Who is they?” 

“The elites! The other members of the council.” He lowered his volume settings. “ Prime. ”

“You know you sound absolutely deranged, right? Sentinel Prime? ”

Orion seemed to think on this a moment, then shrugged. “Don’t you think if the system was perfect you’d know it?”

“I never said it was perfect.”

“But they do.”

“Again with the they.”

“Megatronus!” Orion got a firm grip on Megatronus’s shoulderplating, his digits were warm where they connected. His optics were a wild blazing blue. For a moment he was sure those optics could see right through him. He wondered briefly if his spark was that same shade. If he tore open Orion’s chassis, right down to the chamber, would he be greeted by that same swirling cyan?

“I think I need to purge my tanks,” Orion said, all passion fizzling out.

*

Orion leaned heavily against Megatronus on the way back to the mine, having quickly said a goodbye to Shockwave. The violet mech pinged his comm channel with a link to Breakdown’s, insisting he give the other bot a call.

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Shockwave said.

Damn the mech , Megatronus thought with a twitch up in his lipplates as they turned away. Always right.

Only a few steps down the street and Orion’s pede caught on an upturned section of sidewalk. Megatronus placed a steadying servo on the other’s shoulder, just long enough for him to regain his footing. Something buzzing and warm clouded Orion’s field.

“You had too many, didn’t you, Orion?”

He grumbled, swatting at Megatronus’s chassis. “Who asked you?”

“I could carry you.”

“Frag off,” Orion laughed, leaning on him more despite his biting words.

They soon arrived at the station that would take them back down to the mine. For better, but usually worse, there were always less checks going down than up. Less hassle on the way back, for which Megatronus was grateful now, but undeniably bitter about the rest of the time.

Orion leaned his helm against Megatronus’s shoulderplate, drowsy from the high-grade. Orion’s reactor must’ve been amped from the overcharge, the way his plating radiated heat where they touched.

He considered draping an arm around the other bot, then thought better of it.

“Megatronus?”

He didn’t respond immediately, slowly turning his helm to be greeted again by those blue optics. They were dimmed, but hadn’t quite lost their previous intensity.

“Yes, Orion?”

“Do you ever feel like you were meant for more than this?”

Megatronus vented sharply, but did not answer.

He understood the feeling perfectly.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed the slightly different direction I went with for Shockwave. I know he's usually a senator before the empurata, but I like the idea of that massive genius being 'trapped' in a body meant for a lower caste. I like the idea of him having to figure out a workaround. And.. the eventual repercussions.. of course. This will not be his last appearance.

Chapter 2: Servo and Pede

Orion woke from recharge with an aching processor and a spark swirling with possibility.

The mines cured the latter sentiment. Mostly. Warm and fuzzies were hardly at home deep in Cybertron’s crust, surrounded by shifting, laboring bodies. But then he would catch a glimpse of gunmetal gray chassis, standing taller than any other bot, and the feeling would return.

It’d been a long time since he’d had a friend.

*

Megatronus’s sonar module pinged the destabilization of the mine before the threatening rumble even broke out over him and his colleagues. For once, the damn program was working and for that, he was instantly grateful.

“Mine collapse!” He bellowed, sprinting for the closing channel, and scanning the area to make sure the others were doing the same. Well, to make sure two bots were doing the same.

Ratchet was ahead of him, arm in arm with Arcee. It was unclear who was guiding who, but his bet was on the femme.

A flash of red in the corner of his optic.

“Orion!”

He wheeled around, dodging other miners as they passed him by. Keep him alive. Ratchet’s words rattled around in his processor.

“What the hell are you doing, Orion!”

The mech was sitting by the cave wall, another step forward told him why.

“My pede is stuck!”

Megatronus faltered, then smashed a chunk of rock out of the air before it could hit Orion’s helm.

“We need to go!”

“I know!” Orion cried, yanking on the limb. It didn’t budge. “Go. I’ll be fine!”

It’s as bold a lie as he’d ever heard. Fury bubbled and raged in his tanks.

“I’m sorry, Orion,” he said, raising his excavator. Orion’s big blue optics widened in uncertainty, then understanding. He nodded, leaning back for a cleaner cut.

*

Smaller bots bled less, Megatronus noted humorlessly. Nothing like the gallons that had poured from his own frame after his beatdown a stellar-cycle before.

Orion cried out when the excavator came down on his pede, and vented harshly as Megatronus helped him to his remaining stabilizing servo, doing his best to keep him in a hobbling sprint as the mine walls continued to fall around them. At this rate they wouldn’t make it.

“Can you transform?”

“Not without my pede.”

“Just hold on to me then.” Megatronus quickly shifted to his alt mode, a compact truck on treads. He made sure he felt Orion’s servos on one of his holds before putting metal to the pedal. His engines roared in acceleration, and he couldn’t deny that the rush sent a dizzying thrill through his tanks. It had been stellar-cycles since he had last cut loose.

They burst from the narrowing tunnel in a shower of sparks and grinding gears. Dozens of faces turned toward them, a mixture of indifference and relief. Ratchet quickly stood from where he sat beside one of the new miners— already injured.

“Ratchet, his pede!” Megatronus transformed back to root-mode and knelt by Orion.

“I’m fine.” Orion hissed, clearly anything but, and already trying to sit up.

“Do you lie compulsively, or are you trying to be difficult?” Megatronus forced him back down, and thankfully, he let him.

“He’s losing energon fast,” Ratchet said, joining Megatronus with his bare-bones first aid kit. And he’s right. The pink flow hadn’t stopped all the while when they were escaping. Even then the dirt greedily drank it up, filtering it back down into the mines they were trying to dig it from.

“I don’t have clamps. Pinch this line here.”

Megatronus did as instructed, blunted digits holding the bleeding line shut.

“Did everyone else make it out?” Orion asked, optics flicking between the two bots.

“Not sure,” Ratchet said. 

“Anyone more injured?” Orion looked around, scanning for those who might be in more dire need, and damn if that motion didn’t incite equal parts anger and fascination in Megatronus.

“What’s your designation, kid?” Ratchet asked.

“Orion Pax,” he sucked in a vent when the medic stemmed another line, tying it off in a quick motion. “Who’re you?” Orion grit out.

“The designation’s Ratchet, and I have a word of advice for you.”

“You and everyone else, apparently.”

Ratchet leveled a look at Megatronus that conveyed every bit of long suffering he shared.

“Kid, down here, a bot as shiny as you’s got to look after himself. It’s the only way you survive.”

Orion bristled at that, the same blaze from the previous night returning to his optics. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, despite Megatronus’s warning servo on his shoulderplate. “I’ve been a miner for stellar-cycles before this, and I roamed the Wastes before that, and I have every intention of continuing on for many vorns after this. And the one thing I’ve learned through all of it, is that, yes, we do survive by looking out for ourselves and ourselves alone, but we only thrive when we look out for each other!” He vented harshly, dentae pressed so hard against each other the metal creaked.

Megatronus fell back on his haunches, suddenly realizing that the entire floor had gone quiet, every bot’s optics trained on Orion.

Whose faceplate instantly smoothed out. Close as he was, Megatronus could still feel furious conviction rippling across his field, but to any bot further away, the change was radical.

Orion vented a long sigh, then invented deeply, his chassis rising with it.

“Megatronus saved my life,” Orion pointed to him. 

His instinct was to flatten under the attention, so he took a page from Orion’s datapad, and buoyed himself on it instead, assuming his full height kneeling, and daring any bot to look him in the optic. Because Orion was foolhardy, and sentimental, and optimistic, and every other descriptor that misconstrued his selflessness as weakness.

But he was also right.

And he decided then and there that any bot who wanted to tell Orion he was stupid for being kind would have to go through him.

“I lived because he didn’t just look out for himself,” Orion continued. “And I know none of you have known me long, if at all, so I understand if you don’t want to believe me. But things are about to get a lot worse.”

There was a ripple across the bots crowded around. 

“And I’m telling you this now, because it’s going to be important– no, essential, that we have each others’ backs.”

There’s a bark of indignation from one of the bots near the back, but no one else objected to Orion’s words. Megatronus took this as his cue to push Orion back down so Ratchet could keep working without him aggravating his energon flow.

“That’s the last of the lines,” the doctor said.

Megatronus exvented a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “How bad is it, Ratchet?”

The medic sputtered, the answer obvious. “He’s lost his entire pede! There’s nothing more I can do for him!” He took Orion’s stabilizing servo and peered into the shredded metal another time. “And not only is the pede gone, but the rotors that connected it to his stabilizing servo are completely unsalvageable. He needs a real doctor, and a body shop that can manufacture new parts.”

And then it hit him.

“Breakdown,” he said aloud, pinging the bot’s comm.

.:Can we meet?:.

*

“I take it this isn’t a social visit,” Breakdown said, eyeing the two mechs across from him in the diner booth they were seated in.

Megatronus hated the blatant distrust in the other mech’s voice– hated that it was completely justified. Shame sat thick in his lines.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.”

He’d carried Orion on his back. The hundreds of mechs they’d passed on their way had either looked down in pity, or pretended they hadn’t seen them at all. The dirty chassis, the lost pede. The story wrote itself.

“What are you asking?” Breakdown’s field flared a nervousness far greater than the usual anxiety he tended to exude.

“His pede needs a repair.”

“But I’m not-“

“And I know about the doctor you’ve been seeing.”

Breakdown’s spinal strut pulled taut, optics going as wide as they could.

“How do you know about that?” His digits gripped the table, denting the cheap metal.

“Woah there,” Orion cut in. His field exuded a calm confidence, even as he looked anything but. He had to be in pain. Just the way he carried himself made that obvious. Coolant beaded on his faceplates and his servo kept flexing open and closed, a distraction. “We’re not going to tell anyone, just asking for a favor— or, well, I have some shanix, but I just can’t afford anyone expensive.”

Breakdown relaxed fractionally, though he still eyed them with suspicion. “I can’t guarantee he’ll agree to help.” But his optics flicked upwards and left. He was comming someone.

“That’s all we can ask,” Orion vented, at the same time Megatronus narrowed his optics.

Breakdown’s comm exchange took kliks, having a back and forth. The blue mech was easy to read, expressions flowing unobstructed across his orange faceplate. First he worried his lower lipplate, then he lit up, then dropped. Then he took on a distinctly neutral expression. He met Megatronus’s optics.

“So?”

“I think he’ll do it. I’m trying to see if I can get him to do it for free.” Breakdown stood, gesturing that they follow.

Megtronus hefted Orion onto his back again, and they exited the diner, no doubt with the owner’s angry glare on their backplates for failing to order anything.

He was unsure what to expect when Breakdown led them, but he was surprised to find himself going around to the back of an interface parlor, and descending through a basement door.

They sank into darkness, Megatronus relying on a steadying servo to the wall, and the sound of Breakdown’s pedesteps to guide him until his optics adjusted. Breakdown halted at one final door at the bottom.

“Just do me a favor, and let me do the talking.”

Megatronus nodded, adjusting his grip on Orion. Breakdown opened the door, letting harsh white light pour over them. The room was a weathered gray, furnished with two medical berths and a long counter at the back. Some of the metal walls were rusted, and there was a shutter across another, but the tools laid out on the counter were gleaming pale silver. In the midst of it all, there was a small red mech, even shinier than his tools.

“Megatronus, Orion Pax, this is Knockout.”

On cue, Knockout spun with a flourish, clearly having a flare for the dramatic.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” His voice was a deep timbre, tinged with an underlying arrogance. His wheels— steel belted, gold rimmed, racing quality, bounced. He didn’t extend a servo to shake. “Breakdown’s told me all about your predicament, and seeing as how you’re all friends, I’ll help you out this once, but don’t be bringing all your little mining pals here. Capeesh?”

Megatronus let the relief pouring from his field shift to gratitude and hoped it sufficiently masked his disdain at Knockout’s tone. He knew when he was being talked down to. He set Orion on one of the berths as Knockout got ready. Breakdown was putting on gloves. He raised a brow.

“Knockout’s teaching me to be an assistant,” he shrugged.

“You two are really serious then.” It wasn’t a question.

Energon rose to Breakdown’s faceplates, giving Knockout a look that the other mech returned.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Knockout didn’t meet Megatronus’s optics as he said it, but no one missed the way he let a digit trail down the handle of his laser-scalpel. The thought of the little red mech threatening him nearly brought a chuckle up from his voicebox, but then, as a doctor, wasn’t he the one with real power?

“I don’t care if two mechs from different castes are getting up to whatever they want. And you certainly don’t have to worry about me telling anyone.”

“What about him?” Knockout gestured to Orion, who tilted his helm in a good natured smile.

“I think it’s great,” Orion said. And that response was no surprise to Megatronus. “How’d you two meet, anyway?”

Knockout smirked at Breakdown. “I guess we’ve never gotten to share all that with anyone else.” He tapped Orion’s chassis, indicating he lay down, and propping his stabilizing servo up. He flicked a magnifier over his right optic and peered into the shredded casing. “Who did this patch job? The bot tied the lines shut.” His tone made his disgust clear.

“We don’t have a licensed medic in the mines. We made do.”

Knockout clearly grasped the danger in Megatronus’s tone. He vented. “Well, they did a fine enough job stopping the bleeding. Clamping would have been better of course, but I can’t deny that the way they left the shocks but removed the rotors will make this operation much simpler.” He froze for a moment, looking Orion in the optics for the first time. “You’re not on any pain blockers, are you?”

Orion tapped the berth nervously, his smile suddenly looking more strained. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Knockout’s field pulsed anger, turning abruptly back to the counter and rifling through one of the drawers. He produced a cartridge and a small device with a hypoplatic needle. “I find the insinuation that I would operate on an unsedated patient an insult. Line, please.”

“Pardon?”

“Your wrist, or elbow joint. Somewhere I can access your lines.”

“What about the exposed ones at his pede?” Megatronus suggested.

“Not sure if those are circulating,” he replied like it was a stupid question. Orion offered his wrist, bending his servo as far back as it could go to expose the rotors and lines there. Knockout took it in a firm grip and eased the needle in. The injection was quick, and the change in Orion’s field was immediate, the edges going soft, relief pouring out.

“See now? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Thanks doc,” Orion slumped back into the berth, and Knockout didn’t object to the nickname like Ratchet would’ve– probably feeling he was well and fully deserving of the title. The self-satisfied hum from Knockout’s field eased Megatronus some too. He was sure now that even if the doctor was a little full of himself and bought into some classist structures, he brought real pride to his work. It was clear he worked with the same vigor he took care of his finish with. He’d hold himself to a high enough standard.

“You can sit somewhere,” Breakdown said. “I think this will take a few cycles.”

Megatronus did so. He briefly considered comming Ratchet to see if they were missed. Technically their shift hadn’t been over, running off the moment Breakdown had agreed to meet, but then, it wouldn’t matter if they were missed. Megatronus wouldn’t be leaving Orion’s side anytime soon.

He sent a silent prayer to Primus– who he was increasingly certain was not listening, that Darkwing wouldn’t notice the absence.

*

With the pain blockers mingling with the energon in his lines, it took real concentration for Orion to keep himself awake. It would be rude, and as it turned out, Knockout loved to talk.

“We met on Velocitron– that’s where I’m from,” the doctor started, cutting the jagged edges off his stabilizing servo. He thankfully couldn’t feel it.

“I was on assignment there,” Breakdown added. “I’d gotten into a specialized kind of welding, so the construction company had been sending me off-world sometimes.”

“Yes, dear, can you hold the pan here so I can deposit the dead metal?”

Breakdown did so, and something in Orion’s spark spun faster. Dear. They really were a couple.

“I race in my off time on Velocitron. It started as a hobby, but I became quite good at it, enough for the big leagues.”

“And I was hired to build a new racetrack there.”

Knockout seemed like the kind of mech who would take interruption badly, but he smiled fondly every time Breakdown did it.

“I was training late one night at the new track which I… may have mistaken for being finished.” He switched off the laser scalpel. “New metal, please.”

“In reality,” Breakdown said, passing the metal along. “I had stayed behind my team and was still doing some welds on the supports, and the crew hadn’t actually finished the damn road yet.”

“You miss reading one dumb sign,” the doctor pouted, swapping his magnifier for optic protection, and his scalpel for a welder.

“Not so dumb when you hit an uneven panel of track at half a mach.”

Knockout winced, the memory clearly still fresh.

“The crash mangled my mechanics. My reputation in the circuit was still new. I could hardly move, certainly not before the morning crew was due back. I would’ve been a laughing stock!”

“When I saw him barrel into the wall I was so scared I was gonna get in trouble.” Breakdown rubbed the back of his helm, sheepish. “He begged me to take him back to his habsuite without anyone seeing.”

“I wouldn’t call it begging .” Knockout whined, indignant. “At least not in front of company.”

“That’s basically how I started as his assistant though.” He mock-whispered to Orion. “He wouldn’t let me leave. ”

“I paid you!”

“Firstly, I didn’t want your money, and second, I did a great job.”

Knockout admired his own finish. “Yes, I’d agree.”

“Good enough to get him to conjunx me.”

“You two are conjunxed?” Orion couldn’t keep the glee out of his vocalizer.

“Well, not in the eyes of the powers that be,” Knockout admitted. “But I can say with confidence, that over the megacycle he helped me back on my pedes, I found myself…well…smitten, and I mean, our sparks are now linked.”

“I didn’t think he was all that.”

“Admit it, you thought I was hot.”

“Well, yes, but you were so insufferable about it.”

“I’ll show you insufferable!” The medic barked, but there was no bite behind it. “That’s the short of it though. Despite his protests, he was so kind the whole time. I was such an aft at first. I blamed him and then expected him to make it up to me. Now I know it was never his responsibility, but he did it anyway.”

“And I’d do it all again,” Breakdown said, thumbing Knockout’s shoulderplate.

“You two are sickening,” Megatronus’s helm had fallen into his servos at one point, shaking his helm. Maybe they were, but Orion could only laugh. They deserved their moment in the sun.

“That should do for your stabilizing servo,” Knockout said, giving it a tap with clawed digits. Orion looked to find his stabilizing servo completed down to the ankle joint. “I need to replace the motors, the pede, and reconnect all the lines and neural pathways that are supposed to be there. The replacements, darling.”

Breakdown lifted the shutter on the side of the room to reveal a variety of new parts hooked to a wall.

“Usually I’d send clients to my body shop guy. He would custom-build the pieces to match, but he’s not cheap.” He selected several rings and a silver pede from the wall. “This will work fine though. I can sand it to make sure it won’t disrupt your transformation. It just won’t match.”

“That’s alright. As long as I can function,” Orion said. He didn’t really look at his pedes anyway, and he certainly wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be able to run and leap for joy. It’s not pretty,” and Knockout’s field pulsed deep disappointment at that, “but you’ll be working just as well as before, if not better.”

“I can live with that.”

*

It took two more cycles, but Knockout eventually had the pede connected and all the lines flowing through correctly.

“Let me see you move.”

Orion complied, rotating his pede, bending it this way and that.

“Good, the neural pathways have taken too. Can you stand?”

Orion swiveled on the berth, and placed his pedes on the floor. Without a moment’s hesitation he took a step. 

And immediately crumpled.

Megatronus rushed forward, catching him before he could hit the ground.

“Take it easy!” Knockout made a placating motion. “Keep one servo on the berth.”

“Sorry, doc.” Orion leaned heavily against Megatronus, and he immediately returned to the previous night-cycle– Orion pushed up close against him, the warmth from Orion’s reactor cutting right through his plating.

And then it was gone, Orion taking his first step, then another. For a klik, one servo remained on Megatronus’s pauldron. Another step, and that was gone too.

Orion laughed, delight pouring off his field. He jumped up and landed in a squat, before returning to his full height– only a meter taller than Knockout.

“Knockout, I can’t thank you enough.” His digits twitched as he faced the doctor, like he wanted to shake his servo and didn’t know what to do otherwise. “Do I… owe you? I have some shanix.”

Knockout shook his helm. “I doubt it would be anywhere close to enough.” His voicebox was dripping with derision, but even Megatronus could appreciate the gesture.

“Then, can I use it to pay you to fix Megatronus’s servo?”

Megatronus froze, he’d forgotten that he needed that.

“It’s okay, Orion. He’s been more than generous already.”

But Orion only pushed past him. There was no aggression, but all three mechs felt the urgency in his field.

“Just two stellar-cycles ago our overseer crushed his servo!”

Knockout peered down at it. “It doesn’t look mangled or anything.”

“And yet you could tell which one it was,” Orion said smugly.

Knockout’s helm snapped to him, aggravation clear.

“Fine,” Knockout turned back to Megatronus. “Give it here.” Knockout reengaged his magnifier, taking Megatronus’s servo in a surprisingly gentle grip. “Your miner medic patched this too, didn’t he?”

He nodded, brow furrowing, waiting for some insult. Knockout grumbled, but no insult came.

“Range of motion?”

“Stiff, but manageable.”

“Close your fist?”

Megatronus did as instructed. It was close, but the gap was still obvious.

“Pain levels?”

“It’d be more manageable if my job didn’t involve holding a shaking excavator all day.”

Knockout’s optics narrowed, turning Megatronus’s servo in every direction. A sharp pain flared all the way up his arm when he rotated the limb 180 degrees. He couldn’t stop the groan that slipped from his voicebox.

All the while Knockout’s field grew increasingly agitated, until finally–

“Fine!” The doctor threw his arms in the air, doing a quick frustrated circle around the medical suite. “Whatever, I didn’t want to spend tonight out on the town anyways! I wanted to spend my solar-cycle disassembling servos!”

Megatronus stepped back from the medic, wary. Breakdown shrugged beside him. “Don’t worry Megs, that means he’s gonna do it. He just needs to get his little glitch energy out first. Makes the whole procedure easier for everyone.”

*

Knockout took apart his digits far more efficiently than Ratchet could have ever dreamed, and the pain blockers certainly helped. Many a mech would find their servos in pieces to be disconcerting. Megatronus hardly minded. If anything, Orion was more distraught than he was, refusing to sit down where his servo would be out of view. They both watched intently as Knockout removed not just the rotors, but all the little supporting hydraulics, all without disrupting his still-healing lines. He flattened the rotors further with a press– far more elegant than Ratchet’s hammering, and reshaped and replaced other pieces as necessary. More than once a clump of dirt fell from the hollow of his digits, and Knockout would level a glare, as though Megatronus planted them there on purpose.

“I remember when Knocks did my first detail. It was like this, but for my whole frame. And when I say my whole frame, I mean my whole fra–”

“I think they get it, Breakdown.”

“The things he found–”

“I try. Every. Single. Solar-cycle. To forget it.” He gave a full-frame shudder. “I don’t know how you worker bots survive like that.”

Megatronus feared the answer was simple, but for the benefit of their company, he decided not to let it pass his vocalizer.

*

Their shift was truly well and done when they finally exited Knockout’s shady medical practice.

Orion watched Megatronus open and close his servo over and over again, fascinated. It was probably similar to how he felt with his new pede. A bot doesn’t appreciate what he has until it’s been taken for a bit.

“I think my injured servo feels better than my other does now.”

“Or that’s the pain blocker talking.” Orion let some of his newfound energy seep into his steps, walking with a bounce. Personally, his new pede didn’t feel any better than his old one, and the new rotors and hardware still felt foreign on his frame. He hoped the feeling would fade with time and use.

He picked up a nervous flare from Megatronus.

“What’s wrong?”

The bot’s face was a shadow, lipplates twisted, optics narrowed.

“Megatronus?”

He vented in response, finally meeting Orion’s gaze. “Darkwing.”

“Oh, our shifts.” He let his helm hang, studying the ground as it passed under them.

“Don’t do that, Orion. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Fine. I won’t tell you that you didn’t have to do that. You already know.” He looked back at Megatronus, pouring as much sincerity into his cadence and field as he could. “So I’ll just thank you instead.”

Megatronus stared at him a while, the rings in his narrowed red optics contracting and dilating. 

“We could always just leave, y’know,” Orion said, watching carefully for the other’s reaction. He got it. Megatronus sputtered, almost tripping as he walked.

“What could you possibly mean, Orion Pax?”

Orion laughed like it was obvious. To him, it was. “I have everything I own here in my subspace. I’ll bet shanix you have yours too.”

He didn’t disagree.

“We could go find another mine, hell, why not go into construction?”

“It’s impossible. The caste.”

“But you did it before.”

“That was different. There was a labor shortage in the sector at the time. That’s just not true anymore.”

Orion deflated. “Megatronus, they’re going to shut down the mine anyway.”

He shot up at that, like he’d been punched. “What?”

“They did it to the last mine I worked at. They replaced us all with cold-constructs. This mine was one incident away from the same.”

“The collapse.”

Orion nodded, wincing at Megatronus’s tone.

“Whatever life you were building there, it’s not going to last. We should get ahead of it before—“

“No, no, no, they—they couldn’t do that to us, not after everything. All I’ve—“ He stopped then, helm in his servos, venting quicker than he should’ve been.

Orion tried to comfort him with a servo on his backplates. “You weren’t planning on staying there forever, were you?”

“Yes?” Megatronus clutched his chassis above where his sparkchamber was. “No? I don’t know.” He got louder with every word, and Orion looked around to make sure no one was around to hear.

More than anything, he wanted to pull the other bot into his arms, put every drop of empathy and compassion he had into that embrace so that Megatronus would know, more than ever, that someone understood— was there for him.

He thumbed the plating on his back instead. It quickly rose, then settled under his touch.

“I’m sorry I pushed,” Orion murmured, regret heavy in his lines. “We can go back.”

*

Darkwing, mercifully, was not lurking around the mines waiting for them. Maybe he had assumed they’d been buried in rubble like so many before them. It would’ve been an easy presumption.

But was waiting in Megatronus’s dreams.

One servo on his throat, the other curled into a fist striking over and over into his broken and bloody chassis, fuschia stark against gunmetal gray. All the while a dozen miners drill on like nothing was happening. 

All for trying to explain that his excavator was jammed.

He dug his digits into the plating of Darkwing’s arm, trying to pull himself up in his grip, anything to reduce the pressure on his neck cables and get even a little more energon to his processor. His vision was going fuzzy, but the pain was only intensifying.

“You little glitch!” Darkwing bellowed, throwing him through a cave wall. “You dented my plating!”

Megatronus’s optics onlined in flickering light. He could just barely make out four little crescents in his arm plating.

He gulped deep vents, putting all his weight against the wall to pull himself to shaking stabilizing servos. Darkwing wasn’t going to stop. The anger pulsing off his field was more intense than he had ever felt before— a visceral seething force that seemed to push Megatronus back where he stood. The righteous indignation, the deep-seated notion that he was better than him— always was and would be, that it was a crime to put his digits on him after having his own plating caved in by the other’s fists.

He coughed up energon, slick and hot, dribbling down his faceplate. He wiped it with a servo, and looked up at his attacker. Darkwing stalked slowly, his pedes shaking the ground with every step.

He couldn’t speak reasonably, he couldn’t fight without a thousand Darkwings descending on him later.

He ran.

Tried to.

He ducked under Darkwing’s outstretched servo at the last moment, the servo that promised to punch, tear, shred. He made it two steps before he was slagged across the helm with Darkwing’s electro-baton. 

The world went black again, coming back online just in time to see Darkwing fall upon him, pinning him bodily to the cave floor. He dropped the baton. It’s just his fists and claws, but he put his whole frame’s force into it, ripping at Megatronus’s plating, denting the metal and protoform beneath. A dozen new warnings pop up on his HUD. He struggled fruitlessly, knowing he could throw the other off if he’d been well rested, properly fed, undamaged, but as he was, it only strengthened Darkwing’s fury. He wrestled with his own fading consciousness, sure that if he let go he’d never wake again. He filled his vents again and again, panic and energon filling every crevice of his frame as darkness overtook the world.

Megatronus onlined in dimness to cyan optics blinking up at him, and a protocol he couldn’t identify trying to initialize. It attempted a boot up in the aftermath of most of his thoughts surrounding Darkwing. Warm servos burned on his plating, shaking him awake.

“Megatronus!” Orion whispered sharply.

Megatronus blinked back, and the shaking stopped.

“You were making… sounds.”

Megatronus could only faintly discern the twisted grimace on Orion’s face.

“Were you dreaming?”

He hesitated a moment. It had only been three solar-cycles since their first meeting, but he could already tell that Orion wouldn’t drop the subject until he had an answer.

“Nightmare,” he vented.

“I’m having a nightmare right now,” Elita said from her pod to their right. “I’m having a nightmare that I’m going to have to rip out two mech’s sparkchambers if they don’t go somewhere else and let me get some shut-optic.

His distaste for the self-important mech was often eclipsed by his respect for her. Right then he was feeling both in equal measures.

The pair stepped out from the hall where all the miner’s pods were. It should have been berths, but then, that would’ve taken up too much space.

“Was it Darkwing?” Orion’s whisper bounced around the vacant locker room. Usually a mech would have to speak up among the flowing washracks and ruckus of dozens of bots clanging around, cleaning and returning their excavators to the lockers. Without it, their voices sounded far too loud.

It was more muffled in the unused rec room, and only then did Megatronus answer.

“Yes.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Nope, not really.”

Orion nodded, and Megatronus was grateful. He’d been feeling that a lot lately– despite everything, grateful.

Orion put a servo over his own, the fixed one. Warmth flowed through them both, emotion pulsing across fields more easily with the contact. Orion gave off comfort, sympathy, an odd contentedness, and beneath it all, something he’d been sensing the whole time since they’d met, but never once been able to identify, a deep yawning loneliness.

Something he’d felt in himself for a stellar-cycle now.

He cleared static from his vocalizer, gave Orion’s servo a little squeeze. “He beat me within an inch of my life. Almost everyone’s avoided me since.” And sure, there was definitely a less blunt way to put it, but Megatronus wanted the admission done as quickly and emotionlessly as possible. He didn’t look at Orion.

Empathy poured across his field.

“It’s not the same,” Orion started, pinpricks of solvent in the corner of his optics. “I swear I’m not trying to equate them, but I know a bit of how you feel.” He wiped the fluid away, chuckling at his own emotion. “In truth, I’m not sure how I ended up in mining. I onlined in the Wastes, showed up starving and probably pretty banged up at the last mine. They handed me an excavator and told me to start drilling, so I did.”

“You have a…” The words he meant to say suddenly felt dirty on his glossa, but he pushed on. “A miner’s frame, just smaller.”

“Yes. I theorize something happened to my protoform in development. It probably had something to do with it ending up in the Wastes, and the travel after onlining likely didn’t help.” Orion shrugged helplessly, uncertainty rippling across his field and their shared contact. “All the miners there found my sudden appearance off putting I think, and then my size just didn’t help. They didn’t like a lot of my ideas either.” He laughed nervously. “I was obviously not happy when they shut down the mine, but I was also pretty glad to have a reason to move on.”

Megatronus hummed his understanding. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to open up to Orion, to explain exactly what it was like to online again in bloody darkness. Every time he offlined his optics he found himself back in that moment, blind, cold, and utterly alone– the rest of the miners long since retired to their pods. He still felt the debilitating pain, phantom and so completely real. He had pulled himself from the abandoned mineshaft servo over servo, crawling like a worm along the chilled stone, leaking energon the entire way. The body shop had hammered out the worst concavities and patched anything they decided he couldn’t function without, but he hadn’t had the shanix even then to get the care he needed.

He remembered Darkwing’s reaction to his survival. His optics widening behind the visor, and then a tilt to his helm, angled in like he was imagining what else Megatronus could survive. If he could live through that, what other torments could he endure? What would the limit actually be?

He couldn’t possibly put the ordeal into words.

Instead he placed his other servo atop Orion’s and his own, looking away again. “I’m glad you’re here, Orion Pax.”

Notes:

KOBD was actually my first transformers ship (courtesy of tfp like 2 years ago.) There's basically a whole other fic hiding there in Knockout's little story. I LOVE writing them though, very fun. Their banter feels so natural. And maybe KO's generosity felt unlikely, don’t get me wrong, I think he was always on the self-serving side, but I like to think he could be compassionate before it all shriveled up under Megatron’s boot.

Oh yeah also FUCK Darkwing he sucks

Chapter 3: Riot

Clearing the rubble took nearly a megacycle of near-constant backstrut-breaking work. Orion spent the whole time thinking about how stupid he was going to feel when they finished the job only to be replaced by a new workforce.

“Pax you cannot keep whining about that,” Elita snapped. “You’re going to make us all deaf in the audials.

He was taking his post-shift fuel with Elita, Ironhide, and Megatronus today. The pair had looked at Orion skeptically when he’d sat with Megatronus in tow, but they didn’t say anything.

“I’d bet shanix on it,” Orion said.

Ironhide’s helm perked up at that, obviously considering the wager.

“To be clear,” Orion had to nip this in the bud. “I am not actually willing to bet on it, not because I’m wrong, but because I will feel bad taking your shanix when it turns out I’m right.”

“Sure,” Elita said. She turned to Megatronus, who stopped mid-sip of his cube. “You can’t possibly be allowing this fear-mongering.”

“You’re asking me?” He seemed surprised she was even acknowledging him.

“Who else? You’ve basically been his keeper since he got here.”

“I have no control over what he does!”

“That’s true,” Orion cut in. “I’m a free spark.”

Ironhide barked a laugh. “‘Til the rent’s due, that is!”

No one laughed with him. It hit a bit too close to home.

“Okay then, Orion Pessimist ,” Elita said. “What’s your plan if the mine does get shut down?”

“Move on to the next mine, I guess.” Or get a serving job at Shocky’s. “Worst case scenario I can always go back to the Wastes.”

Megatronus raised a brow ridge. “Didn’t you almost starve to death there?”

“Details,” Orion waved him off. “I’m much smarter now.”

“I shudder to think what you were before, then.”

“Hey!” Orion pointed an accusatory digit at Megatronus. “You’re supposed to have my back.”

Megatronus shrugged. “Part of that is keeping you humble.”

Orion grumbled and returned his attention to his cube, knowing his field was pulsing fondness, even as he tried to keep it close. Wouldn’t want to disrupt their tablemates.

Ironhide looked between the two of them. “So… are y’all an item, or…?” In that twangy accent of his.

Orion rolled his optics with a good-natured, “No.” Just as Megatronus vehemently denied it. “No!”

Orion glared at Megatronus as his spark dropped somewhat, and he hated that he couldn’t understand why. “Don’t make it sound so terrible– or so loud.”

The other looked around the table, embarrassment clear. He took a sip from his cube, optics anywhere but on him.

*

When the mine was finally cleared of debris and they commenced their first normal workday in a megacycle, Elita felt her line-pressure drop dramatically. After her shift she was going to kill Pax. It was the least he deserved for all his morbid predictions, and it would certainly make her feel better.

The shift was as dull as all the others before it, and just as fruitless, a pitiful shanix commission for once again topping the leaderboard, as she always did. She emerged into the compound that made up the entrance of the mine with all the same aches as any other solar-cycle– the same growing processor-ache too.

But something wasn’t right. Mechs weren’t flowing through the space to their various assigned locker rooms and pods, instead clumping around in the structure, fields meshing together into one uncertain mass. In the center of it all was a tall gleaming mech, frame painted cobalt blues, yellow, and a muted red. He held his helm proud, and above all, was clean. He stuck sorely out of place, flanked by a dozen guards and Darkwing.

She’d seen him before, she was suddenly certain, and with a wash of fear and the distinct sensation of her line-pressure cranking back up, she realized where– the holovids. It was Senator Decimus, from the council.

“Miners of Sector C-12!” The unsettled murmurs hushed in an outward ripple. “As you know, the hub has been facing challenges, and as always, we seek to streamline in every way that we can…”

The rest of his speech passed over her in a blur, that prattling self-important tone being punctuated by the undercurrent of an ever-growing restlessness from the crowd. Even without Pax’s warning, she already knew what the end-point would be. She backed away from the crowd– mob, soon enough. She was scheduled to take her post-shift fuel then, and figured she might as well. It could very likely be her last for a long spell.

*

Try as he might, Megatronus couldn’t take a single step from his spot among the miners.

The mine was closed– or worse, not closed, automated, just like Orion said.

He could hardly spare a thought for the mech. Would he be smug? No, probably not. He was in the same boat as them, and he hadn’t seemed pleased at all at his own prediction, only resigned.

Resigned. Not at all invested the way Megatronus or the hundred other bots watching this farce were. He’d been working maybe two megacycles, if that. He wouldn’t understand the way Megatronus’s tanks burned with anger, the way his spark twisted with dizzying fear. He’d never understand. When a job was your work, your food source, your berth, your social circle, most likely someday your final resting place– it eventually ceased to be a job, and became your life.

And to have that taken away.

Decimus’s empty optics bore nothing but derision for them, even as thanked them and promised new lives, reassignments–

“The Senate takes care of its people.” Decimus proclaimed. Lies. Lies.

More bots around him started to rile up, putting two and two together and getting slag, and he still couldn’t move his pedes. The unsolicited protocol– the Darkwing protocol, as he had started calling it, roused, requesting resources from his already straining central-processor. He denied it again. His servos twitched, all the energy had to go somewhere, and he had half an idea about where.

“There’s plenty of fuel to go around, yet most of us here are damn near running on empty!” A mech called from the crowd. They echoed his call, a cheer, a battlecry. Megatronus’s spark cried out with them, ratcheting up his reactor core temperature. His servos itched to crush metal. The protocol requested initialization again. Fight. He bit down as hard as he could, steam shooting from his vents.

What was there damn left to lose?

A flash of red paint, bright where it wasn't nicked silver and dirty. He zeroed in on it– a lifeline– the center of the damn universe as far as he was concerned.

.:Megatronus??:. Orion’s face across the crowd was pinched, worry written clear. .:Megatronus. We need to go:.

Right, they’d exchanged comms the day after Shocky’s, hadn’t used them, because when would they have had the chance, sharing quarters, and a workplace?

Megatronus didn’t comm words, couldn’t piece together a sentence even if he wanted to, but he pinged Orion back. A look of relief passed across his face, and then he found him in the crowd. Orion started towards him, shoving past mechs and femmes, the chaos only growing.

A shot rang out across the compound. Graying metal hit the floor. Fuschia splattered.

Decimus nodded his approval at the job well done.

Orion’s servo wrapped around his own. His pedes finally started responding. Only then did he register that his first move should’ve been to reset his motor processor.

He stopped short, turning to the chaos again. Mechs were throwing things at the delegation. The guards were hefting their blasters. 

The tugging at his servo stopped. He faced Orion and knew he saw it too. He was mapping the situation the same as him, his logic unit spitting out a parallel of his own conclusion.

Optics wide with horror. “They’re all going to be slaughtered.”

Megatronus twisted his servo in Orion’s grip and took his wrist, yanking him away.

“We can’t go!” Orion planted his pedes. Megatronus just continued on, processor blank.

“We can’t leave them! Megatronus, I can’t!”

They were nearly at the hall that led to their quarters. From there they could take a tunnel up, then an elevator train. They’d endure every check between planetary layers, but eventually make it to the surface, or as close as they could ever get. Megatronus wasn’t going to die in darkness, and he wouldn’t let Orion either.

“Megatronus!” He clawed at his arm. He hardly felt it. “Megatronus, I’m begging you! We can’t let them die!”

He finally snapped, but he didn’t stop, dragging him from the main room, starting down the hall. “There’s nothing we can do, Pax!” His digits tightened. Orion’s plating crumpled just that bit, and he forced himself to ease some. “This isn’t like the time in the mines. You can’t save them with a pebble.”

“A pebble…” Orion’s volume dropped to a whisper, to himself, and Megatronus prayed that was the end of it. Any moment now, the miners would push just that bit too far, and screams would erupt among blaster fire. The whole slagging sector C-12 would be wiped off the map for good, and they’d be far, far away.

Orion suddenly twisted in his grip, only instead of grabbing Megatronus’s wrist back, he ducked, and ran—

“Orion!”

And yanked down the emergency fire switch.

One of the few safety precautions the mine actually sported, and only because a fire would spread upwards, up the layers, maybe even to the surface. The smoke of their buried sins wouldn’t be confined, and so, in the event of a fire, the lever could be pulled.

And dump a metric 20 tons of foam across the entire compound.

“Megatronus, PA system?”

He stared back blankly. They were both standing up to their mid-sections in foam, he felt a dollop slide down his helm. From experience, it would be even higher in the main room.

The screaming did start then, but blaster fire didn’t.

“The PA system, Megatronus, do you have the access code?”

The jump from gravity to absurdity was almost too much. He shook himself of it and rummaged through his data banks. He wasn’t supposed to have the code, but he did, having seen it once over Darkwing’s stupid broad shoulder. He commed it. Orion inputted it, and dove in without hesitation.

“Minerbots!” The system crackled and rang with Orion’s voice. The din fell. “This job— any job the goddamn functionalists could offer you isn’t worth it. Not offlining.” He took a deep vent. “I don’t like it either. I actually think it’s all fragging bullslag, what they’ve got us doing, what they’re doing to us. They want to use us, then automate us, and offline us without the rest of Cybertron being the wiser, and I say don’t let them. ”

Megatronus could only watch helplessly, hopelessly fascinated. The angry field pulses, the blazing optics, the way every rotor in Orion’s body fought against what the system was trying to force down their intakes. He heard Orion’s words and didn’t hear a single lie.

It was like the first sip of clean energon, the first drop of solvent from the tap, a world purified one syllable at a time if that’s what it took.

“Do as they say, but not as they mean. Leave this mine. Transform and roll out of this Primus-forsaken hellhole! It will be hard, but I promise you it will someday be worth it.” Solvent budded at Orion’s optic, and he flicked it away, brow ridge furrowing, determined. “If there aren’t a million, a billion bots out there who feel the same way we do, then I can guarantee there’s at least a few hundred. And they’re all right here.”

Orion stared at the PA receiver for a moment, then replaced it on the stand, the motion sending an echoing click across the entire mine.

A beat of silence.

The voices from the other room started up again, and sure, they were angry, but the aggression had reduced to a bubbling simmer.

Blaster fire still never came.

Megatronus snapped himself from his awe. “Can we please go now?” He hissed, urgent.

Orion nodded, following him down the corridor, through meters of foam.

“Too bad they called the shutdown before our fueling.” Orion’s tone was light. He was joking. How could he be joking right now?

“Was probably on purpose.”

“Yeah.”

Neither tried to break the silence after that. Megatronus kept a sharp audial out for signs of trouble. Even if the miners had decided to stand down, which he wasn’t sure they had, there was little to stop the delegation from deciding they wanted their massacre after all. Eventually the foam bubbled away.

The light from the tunnel shone ahead. It wasn’t real light, not from the sun, but it poured down from above all the same. By the time Megatronus mounted the ladder, he still didn’t know what he planned to do next, but he was whole and truly done with sector C-12. The thought had been put entirely from his processor. There was no more descending to the depths and hoping the ceiling wouldn’t cave in. If the elites wanted to take that from him, let them.

The Darkwing protocol popped up on his HUD, requesting resources.

“What the—“

The whine of a jet engine burst into audial range. He’d heard it a hundred times now, whistling down rocky corridors, trailing in the deep dark to deliver a cruel mind’s terrible retribution.

“D-16!” Darkwing barreled into him with the full force of his jet thrusters, crumpling Megatronus’s metal where he met. The two skidded down the corridor past the ladder, plating throwing sparks against the stone floor. Searing pain exploded across his receptors, his processor shunted it to the back channels.

Requesting resources…

“No!” Megatronus got his digits into the grooves of Darkwing’s plating, fixing a good grip and leveraging their positions into reverse. He threw the other down, rolling to a stop. He pulled himself to his pedes, as Darkwing spun and slid back on his stabilizing servos.

“You’ve ruined everything, you piece of slag!”

The punch came swift, aimed right for the helm. Megatronus dropped down, letting it only graze. He took a step to the side, allowing Darkwing to slide by. Two sides of his processor were warring. One half— it was usually the louder one, said to drop to his knees and find those correct words that would placate Darkwing and his terrible violence.

The other side said that only violence could match violence, a flame curling inside of him saying, “if he won’t stop, make him.” This part had been growing steadily in volume for a long time.

Visor shattered, mask twisted, black servos dripping fuschia. This is how it ends.

Megatronus mentally bucked against the vision, denied the protocol again.

“Megatronus, behind you!”

He moved too late, as Darkwing slammed into him, throwing them both to the floor. His nose cracked against the stone, again, and warm energon dribbled down his lipplates. Darkwing grabbed him by the forehelm, pulling his helm back, meaning to smash it into the floor once more.

“Leave him alone!” The weight suddenly disappeared. Two frames tumbled to the floor beside him, immediately scrambling for dominance.

“You!” Darkwing bellowed. “Your voice!”

Orion kicked him in the chest, every rotor in the action, sending him reeling back. It didn’t push Darkwing far, but far enough for Orion to throw himself out of immediate reach and onto his pedes. Darkwing did the same— red optics flicking between the two behind his visor, trying to decide who to go after next.

“You!” He leveled a clawed digit at Orion. “You made those miners stand down. And you,” he pointed at Megatronus. “Have always been a little glitch. You think you’re above your place.”

“I—“ Megatronus had gone to say ‘I don’t.’ Instinctive. It had been on the tip of his glossa. He felt something deep within his frame harden, every circuit and strut going taut.

“I am.” He stood straighter, and just barely registered the delight that flickered across Orion’s face. “And I’m done pretending I’m not. You think you’re better because of your alt-mode and that’s it.”

“That’s all that matters!” Darkwing took a meaningful step forward, frame poised. 

“No,” Orion said. “It doesn’t matter at all. You’re just a bully and a thug looking for an excuse.”

Darkwing roared, and lunged at Orion. Both bots went down. Megatronus leapt after them, throwing Darkwing off, but not before he could get a few swings in. Megatronus didn’t take a moment to assess the damage, just started hitting, not thinking of hurting, just trying to make Darkwing stop. The other extended his electro-baton and jammed it into Megatronus’s backplates. Pain surged through his frame, every neural on the verge of eruption. Darkwing took the opportunity to hurl Megatronus to the side. He hit cold floor, twitching, immobile. Every movement sent violent electricity up his lines. He watched in staticky horror as Darkwing turned from him, and back towards Orion.

Orion’s shoulderplate was caved in, the vents on one side of his helm were crushed, spurting energon. He had scrounged up a pipe, staring Darkwing down, daring him to try and offline him, because it wouldn’t be without a fight.

He wanted to tell him to run, to get himself as far away from this place as he could. He didn’t belong here, not the way Megatronus did. He wasn’t meant to die in the depths and rust away forgotten. It didn’t matter what he was made for, it wasn’t for this.

“You’ve interfered in the affairs of your betters for the last time, miners.” Darkwing advanced on Orion, gave a look back, making sure Megatronus was watching, before charging forward at incredible speed. Even from here, he could hear the air being crushed from Orion’s intake, saw kibble fly off his frame from the impact. Orion’s makeshift weapon hit meekly against Darkwing’s arm, making a dent, but nothing close to what would be needed. He saw Darkwing’s claws sink into Orion’s chassis and start ripping into the metal there, closer and closer to the spark chamber he was increasingly sure he was aiming for. He saw the fear in those blue optics, and then the way they narrowed when Orion decided that he would offline courageously.

Orion was going to die, and Megatronus was going to watch— unless—

Megatronus flicked a digit, and electric fire shot up his lines. He ground his dentae together, around the pain, around the scream that threatened to erupt from his intake. He forced his entire arm up, servo on the floor as he rolled himself onto his front, all fours under him. He pressed up, and nearly passed out, pain blackening his vision, joints shaking violently. Darkwing wasn’t letting up, and Megatronus wasn’t going to make it.

Initialize protocol?

The answer was overwhelmingly singular across his processor.

Yes.

COMBAT PROTOCOL ENGAGING 

Without a second thought, Megatronus flew forward. It all happened like this:

Darkwing startled at the clang of Megatronus’s pedes against the floor, and he finally got his first proper look at Orion. His chassis was a split gurgling pit of fuscha, but his optics were online, and they were widening at him, a small relieved smile spreading across his bloodied faceplate. In a single fluid motion, Megatronus leapt forward, attached his excavator off his back, and onlined it, the whirring shredding blade roaring to life around his fist.

He plunged it right through Darkwing’s frame, back to front.

Energon splattered the corridor, and Megatronus fell to his servos and knees, over Darkwing’s graying frame, and Orion. He offlined the excavator before it could eat through the floor, and just stayed there, venting heavily through decreasing cascades of pain, his helm less than a meter from Orion’s own. Their exvents mingled. Orion finally let himself go limp too, a small whisper escaping his intake.

“What have you done, Megatronus?”

“He was going to kill you.” The combat protocol— he now knew its designation, disengaged, but it had been sequenced, rooted in his processor. If he wasn’t careful, a single stray thought could activate it at any time. If he kept using it, it could eventually be as easy as fueling or triggering his transformation.

“You killed him.”

A thrill shot through him at the words. The aftermath of the fight left energon thrumming through his lines, spark a whirling disk. He instantly hated himself for it. Cooling energon was slowly going sticky on his arm where it continued to be lodged through Darkwing’s spark chamber. He’d never felt more alive. He was hyper-aware of every place his plating was touching Orion’s.

“There was no other way.”

That blaze returned to Orion’s optics, even as the hole in his chassis oozed energon. He opened his intake to argue.

“WHAT IN THE PIT HAPPENED HERE?!” Senator Decimus’s cry rang out across the corridor.

Megatronus froze, staring down Decimus’s entire delegation. He quickly dropped the excavator, finally pulling his servo from Darkwing’s chassis. The dead frame fell to the side, and a gasp rose from the assembled bots.

“He’s— he’s dead!” A guard cried, pointing.

“He was—“ Megatronus started, panic setting in. “He was going to kill—“

“The miner killed his overseer!” Another guard yelled, leveling his blaster at Megatronus’s helm.

He instinctively leaned over Orion, who was trying to sit up despite the gaping hole. He pushed him back down, and pinged Ratchet. If he was lucky the mech wouldn’t have jumped mine yet.

“I’m telling you,” Megatronus said, trying his best to push the aggression from his voicebox. “That mech was going to kill us—“

“And you think that gives you the right to question your betters?” Senator Decimus spat in his self-righteous treble, the same as when he lectured the miners. “You murdered another mech in cold blood.”

“It was self-defense!” Orion’s voice rang out. “We were just trying to leave!”

“Arrest them both, hmm?”

Megatronus’s logic unit took precedence quickly, compiling data and quickly chugging out a conclusion. If they were arrested, Orion would die. They wouldn’t even have to kill him. Orion had a brave face on now, but through these kliks the energon flow hadn’t stemmed in the slightest. The chaos of the arrest would only make it worse.

.:I’m sorry:. He commed Orion. He felt the other’s field flare up in response. A servo grabbed his wrist and then slipped away as he stood. He didn’t spare him another glance as the guards surged forward.

“I killed him.” Megatronus shouted, reclaiming his excavator from the floor. The guards startled back. He threw his field out to the gathering, projecting every inch of false confidence he could force himself to feel. His actions, his own stupid protocol had gotten them into this situation. He would get Orion out.

“I wasn’t happy to do it, but I did it.” He stepped over him, brandishing the excavator. He actually stood taller than most of the guards, he realized with the smallest pang of satisfaction, maybe he would’ve even been able to take some of them out before they killed him.

He took a few more steps forward, placing him firmly in front of the delegation, each guard a hair-trigger-motion away from putting a blaster-bolt in his chassis. He extended his servo with the excavator, and dropped the machine at their pedes. The second it crunched against the floor, the guards were upon him. It took deliberate effort to stay pliant under their servos, when every part of him was saying to buck them off, to rip through frames, right through to Decimus. 

Visor shattered, mask twisted—

His servos, now being stasis-cuffed behind him, were dripping fuscha, but aside from that, the vision— the impulse had nowhere to go. There was nothing to fulfill. Darkwing was offline, his servos were stained, and there was nothing but dizzying uncertainty ahead of him.

Orion was saying something to him from his place on the floor as the guards shoved him past. He couldn’t hear. Static strummed through his processor, only interrupted by the freshly minted combat protocol requesting resources.

Chapter 4: Deep Dark Future

The cycle after Decimus’s delegation hauled Megatronus away was the worst pain Orion had been in his entire functioning. Emotional, physical— his processor was struggling to separate mental anguish from real. It fired across his receptors all the same. It was even worse than onlining confused and alone and hurting in the wastes, because at least then he hadn’t felt the loss.

He replayed those last moments in his processor, just to feel it all over again, like pressing on an open wound.

Darkwing digging deep into his chassis, shredding plating and protoform alike, Megatronus twitching in the corner. His processor had tried to push the pain to the background relays as quickly as it had come in, letting him feebly kick and hit to the best of his abilities, but even so, he was nearly blinded by his agony. Darkwing’s field had been a writhing raging mass, pulsing such malevolence it had been nearly suffocating. He had wondered fleetingly if he was suffering even a fraction of what Megatronus had suffered all that time ago, before the mech in question had lunged forward and struck Darkwing through the spark chamber.

Energon had splattered across his face. Even now it was still drying where it had landed.

Darkwing’s spark had spun, supernova, a dying gasp, then petered out into nothing.

His salvation, at the cost of another bot’s life. Even Darkwing deserved to live.

Close as he had been, he had felt Darkwing’s field scream, then completely vanish in flickering waves, leaving an echoing vacancy in its wake. He had felt Megatronus’s too. First it had been surprise, fear, desperation, something single-minded like an excavator indiscriminately tunneling for energon. He’d hit his mark, and curled over their bodies. The fear had remained, but overwhelmingly, he’d sensed relief.

A mech was dead, and Megatronus was pulsing bright waves of relief, victory— nothing so crass as joy, but a near enough thing. Very little of the horror he himself had felt. That only came with the delegation.

And then they were dragging Megatronus away, and he was letting them, and surely he had to know they’d put him to death.

So he had begged— not the delegation, but Megatronus.

“Please live. Megatronus, you need to LIVE. Whatever they put you through you need to get through it. You’re strong! We can get through this!”

He hadn’t been thinking about the words spilling from his intake, and they’d all sounded pathetic in the open air. Megatronus had looked distant. Barely spared him a look. He wasn’t even sure he’d heard him.

Orion hoped that was a front, something to protect them both.

He had to live.

Ratchet appeared soon after, creeping down the corridor. He stepped carefully around droplets of energon, until they finally became too numerous, and he just gave up with a sigh.

Orion didn’t move all the while. Even if he hadn’t been worried about jostling the delicate clots that were forming, he had no energy to do so. There was nothing he could do. There never was. He looked back on his life and only saw a long string of half-failures and ineptitudes. Cybertron was fragged . The functionalists had an iron grip on the processors and sparks of everyone, his conversations with Megatronus were enough to convince him so.

What the hell could he do?

“Hey, kid.” Ratchet dropped by Orion’s side.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” Orion quipped despite himself.

Ratchet gave a weak huff of laughter. “That’s entirely up to you.” He started right away, tying lines where he could, cauterizing some of the smaller wounds too.

“Where’d you get the blowtorch?”

“Me and a bunch of the others are looting the place, on the D.L. Of course,” he added at Orion’s stricken face. “No one in charge really cares anyway. I think they’re under the impression cold-constructs don’t have needs.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Pit no! I’ve never met a cold-constructed mech, but if they got a spark like us, they gotta feel like us too, right?”

Orion laughed, feeling lighter. “Yeah.”

“I feel bad about taking their stuff, but we gotta think about ourselves too.” He nodded at his work. “Best I can do. Whoever fixed your pede, you might want to get them looking at that too.”

Orion’s soft smile faltered. “I don’t think they’ll want to see me again.”

“Don’t, or won’t?”

“I don’t understand.”

“This is a dire time, kid. If you’re worried about imposing, you just can’t! You gotta take care of yourself.”

Orion propped himself up. “You said that the other solar-cycle. I thought you were being isolationist.”

“No, no, and also, enough of your fancy words. What I’m saying is that you have to stay alive. You need to take care of yourself first before you can think of others. No good you can do as a grayed-out-corpse.”

Orion thought back to his own words to Megatronus. They rang familiar. Live. Ratchet stood up, looking towards the ladder up.

“So…” Orion started. “You wouldn’t happen to have a place I could crash at, would you?”

*

Megatronus’s cell was darker than any mineshaft he’d been thrown into. Those had often been pitch-black, devoid of natural light, but at least he’d usually had the benefit of another dozen miners throwing light around from the guidance systems on the ends of each of their excavators.

The cell lacked this. His only light source shimmered in from the tiniest seam where the door had shut behind him, and it cast no real light.

He waited.

Time passed all wobbly and strange. Only his chronometer told him just how off his estimates were, down here in the dark. Solar-cycles went by with only his thoughts for company, and the ever-growing fear that he had chosen wrong.

He fed his options through his logic unit again and again. If he had resisted, he and Orion would have died. There were few versions of those events where even one of them survived, and none where they would both have stayed online.

So he’d live with his decision for as long as he had left, all the while keeping a sharp optic out for means of escape.

*

“It’s a bit of a friend of a friend situation, so please don’t make yourself too comfortable.” Ratchet said, leading Orion through an opening that on first glance, he didn’t even register as big enough to be a door. They were three levels up from the mines, only one below Shoky’s.

“So whose…” he hesitated to say habsuite, as they emerged into a misshapen room, punctuated by a floor-level berth, some scrap metal, and a portable kitchen.

“I know Arcee, who knows Cliffjumper. It’s his place.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. You probably won’t be bumping into the mech much though. He works long shifts.”

“What’s his function?” He thought on his word choice for a nano-klik. “Well, I don’t mean function. What does he do for a living?”

“No one cares about your semantics, kid. And quite frankly, I have no idea what he does. I’m under the impression it’s something shady, the way he avoids my questions.”

Orion took a seat on the floor, and crossed his arms. The effort made his chassis ache. “I’m not sure you’re old enough to be calling me kid .”

“Wanna bet?” Ratchet sat across from him and started cleaning his tools. “I’ve been working in that mine for around 600,000 stellar-cycles. I was sparked before the quintessons attacked, before Sentinel Prime was Prime. I was down there even before your so-called Functionalism took proper root.”

Orion raised a brow ridge.

“Yes, I acknowledge the fragged up system. You think I want to be mining?”

“I was starting to think you wanted to be a medic.”

Ratchet chuckled, but his optics were avoiding Orion’s. “Yeah. That’d be really stupid, right?”

“No!” Orion startled himself with the alarm in his own voicebox. He retreated and reset his vocalizer, mildly embarrassed. “No. I mean, you already are, aren’t you?”

“Stupid?” There was a teasing edge to Ratchet’s response.

“No. You’re already a medic.”

Ratchet’s small fleeting smile in response slipped off his face as quickly as it appeared. “Don’t patronize me, kid.”

“But you— you are one! You’ve saved me twice now. You fixed Megatronus’s servo. You—“

“Failed to save more people than I can count.” Ratchet stared uselessly at his servos and the dull instruments loosely held in them. Orion wondered passingly how many times he’d been in that same position after a failed resuscitation.

Orion felt just as useless at that moment. Ratchet’s field was pulsing muted sorrow.

After a moment’s hesitation, Orion placed a servo on Ratchet’s pauldron, and pushed as much confidence into his field as he could. He desperately wanted Ratchet to not only hear his words, but believe them.

“I bet you remember every single death under your servos.

Ratchet nodded. Shame fell off him in waves.

“And you remember each in detail?”

Ratchet glared at him, but didn’t dispute it.

“I bet you know exactly what you would’ve done differently if you’d been in a full medical suite, instead of in the bottom of a mineshaft.”

Ratchet’s optics widened.

“How many more would you have been able to save?”

Ratchet ground his dentae, optics shuttering. He didn’t respond, but Orion could just about hear the circuits in his processor firing.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, kid. We still need to get the hole in your chassis patched up, and all that–” he gestured to Orion’s crushed vents and the dent in his pauldron. “–Other stuff.”

*

Megatronus’s chronometer read three solar-cycles into his imprisonment when they finally came for him. He’d had all that time to run the situation through his processor from every angle, to think about what kind of defense he would put up depending on what they did next. Trial, execution, imprisonment, maybe they’d even put him back in the mines, somehow with even less rights than he’d started with. Maybe they’d put him down there and never let him come up again.

Maybe they’d just leave him in this cell. To be forgotten.

When the door finally wrenched open, Megatronus was so tuned to silence that the sound was nearly painful against his audials.

“This the slagger?” One guard said to her companion.

“You D-16?” The other barked.

Megatronus didn’t deign that an answer, distantly wondering what would happen if he said no. He merely stood, letting them check his stasis-cuffs. Once they were sure he was secure, they shoved him down the hall, a step ahead of them. He took deep vents in time to his steps, trying with some difficulty to remain calm. He was not a violent mech. If they saw that, maybe they’d realize it had been Darkwing who incited the violence.

They guided him down a smaller hallway, then stopped behind him. He turned back, alarmed.

“What’s—“

The femme’s fist came out of nowhere, slamming down onto his helm. He got his pedes under him before he could fall too far off balance, and retreated a step.

“Darkwing was a friend of ours.” The mech glowered, cracking his knuckle-joints.

“How long do we have?” The femme asked.

“Long enough,” the other smirked darkly.

“I didn’t mean to kill him—“

“You calling him weak?” The mech’s swing glanced off Megatronus’s pauldron.

“I mean I didn’t want to—“

“And now you’re talking back.” The femme whipped her stabilizing servo up in a kick, and this time the hit landed. Megatronus’s back slammed into the wall at the end of the corridor, air ripping from his vents. Pain exploded all along his struts, both tempered and dulled by the burst of anger that came with it.

“I didn’t want to kill him!” He coughed out, vocalizer staticky. He threw himself to the side to dodge another kick from the femme. His shoulderplate bounced against the floor, and he only managed to get himself halfway to his pedes, propped up on his cuffed servos, when the mech kicked up into his chassis. The air left his vents again, and he hunched over, spitting up energon.

“Get him to his pedes.”

The mech hauled him back up by the pauldrons so he was facing the femme. She flexed her fists, eyeing his helm with a sinister flicker.

“I’ll try not to enjoy this.”

They were going to kill him.

Hot fury zipped up his lines. He had his combat protocols initiated before the thought even fully materialized in his processor. He hardly needed it. He dodged once more, letting the femme land a hit on her companion. He took a step forward, dropped down onto his haunches, before launching himself upwards, driving his helm into her chassis. He could hear the air being forced from her vents as she hit the floor with a clatter. The mech’s clumsy fist flew over his helm. Megatronus wasted no time rounding on him, driving his pede into the mech’s side in a mirror of the femme’s own earlier kick.

Only when the pair lay spitting solvent and energon did he register the sound of bots marching towards them down the hall.

The squad rounded the corner. Their leader took the measly nano-klik to assess the scene. It painted a striking picture.

“Seize him!”

Megatronus took a single step back, but there was nowhere to go. He could go passively once again and try to plead his case, but the damage was done. Even he knew that there was no world where his word beat out his attackers’.

He planted his pedes, took a single vent, and charged.

*

Whatever Megatronus was attending was not something so elegant as a trial, but not exactly as cut and dry as a flat-out execution either. He did so with several more dents than before, and a gaping blaster-hole through his left thigh. A small stuttering medic had patched it outside the justice-hall doors, just enough to stop him from leaking energon onto their nice carpets. That’d have been a shame.

They only let him speak once, and not even to explain his version of events.

“Are you D-16?”

“Yes.”

And that had been it.

There were four bots presiding, all tall grim-faced paragons of so-called justice. They listened to the guards’ version of events, and had someone read an account Senator Decimus had written— the mech couldn’t even be bothered to attend personally.

“Don’t I get to say something?” Megatronus cut in. Everything described was light-years from the truth. The guards had woven a story about a peaceful prison transfer, until the violent miner-bot attacked them out of nowhere.

“He would’ve killed us both if that squad hadn’t come along just then!”

And the way he fought back hadn’t helped. Even with his servos cuffed, he’d been able to topple the first three. It had taken an electro-baton and that blaster to the thigh to take him down.

Decimus’s account had been even worse. And the bot hadn’t even seen the death! But he’d rambled his own overblown horror all the same. The last line read:

“The brute has no reverence for the sparks of others. I saw it in his cold, red optics.”

Megatronus was denied a say.

The justices plugged into their bench to confer and spit out a verdict. Their conference was supposed to be private, but as close as he was to their bench, he couldn’t help but be hit with the occasional stray thought. He caught flashes of the gallows, soaked in energon, empurata, deviant bots who had their faces and servos taken from them. 

He could tell the moment they came to their decision, though he couldn’t quite tell what it was. Only that it was the third justice, Regimus’s idea, and it seemed to excite him.

“D-16.” The first justice trilled. “For the crime of first-degree murder, resisting arrest—“

“But I didn’t—“ the guard behind him whacked him over the helm.

“For assaulting two guards, and resisting arrest again. We the justices of sector C-12 sentence you to death.”

Megatronus’s tanks churned dangerously. He wasn’t surprised, but even building the possibility up in his mind didn’t prepare him to hear it aloud. He quickly ran an emotion-suppressing protocol before anything could show in his face or field.

“However,” Regimus piped up, steepling his digits. “We have decided to sentence you to death, by way of gladiatorial combat.” He smiled, showing all his dentae. “It would be a shame to put your talents to waste.”

*

Knockout didn’t seem pleased to find Orion and Ratchet on his doorstep.

“What was my one condition?” Knockout threw his servos up into the air. “I said don’t bring your little friends around!”

“You don’t have to lift a digit,” Orion forced a smile. “I didn’t bring him here for help, I brought him to help.”

“I don’t follow.”

Ratchet crossed his arms, rolling his optics. “Do you have rust for audials, or are you just stupid?”

Knockout sputtered.

“Excuse my friend, Doctor. But he’s a medic, and I was hoping we could use your facility to fix all…” he gestured to the barely patched hole in his chassis. “This.”

Understanding dawned on Knockout’s faceplates. “This is the mech who did those patch jobs.” His expression pinched. “I have some notes.”

“Before you issue them, I just want you to look at my setup.” Ratchet said.

“Fine, fine.” He waved a dismissive servo. “Where is it?”

Ratchet opened his medical kit. Knockout’s face fell.

*

“No, no. You need to shut down any signal pulses before you weld a neural.” Knockout had begrudgingly let them in, and decided he was going to play backseat surgeon the whole time.

“Please don’t argue over my gaping chassis-hole. You’ll make my line-pressure spike.” Orion was mostly joking. Being pain-free for the first time since acquiring the injury made trivial things like stress fall into the background.

“Quiet you, unless you want this hack to wire your neurals wrong.”

“Hey! Don’t talk back to my patient like that!”

“Like you have any bedside manner to speak of!”

Orion sighed, and tried to let the remaining tension leave his frame. It wasn’t the doctors he was worried about. He knew between the two he was in good servos.

Megatronus .

Was he okay? Was he in pain?

Was he already offline?

Orion quickly severed that particular processor-thread and vowed to himself to find out the second he could get off the operating slab. All his comms had pinged back undelivered. Some kind of interference was blocking his messages.

“Yes, that’s the stuff. Here, you keep that.”

“What?” Ratchet’s surprise brought Orion back to the present. Knockout was handing him some kind of cable.

“This end can attach to most circuits you’ll encounter. It’ll plug into processors too. You can use it for reroutes like this, or even pain reduction.”

“And you’re just giving it to me?”

Knockout’s intake twisted. “Consider it a bribe, as in, I never want to see your face, or any of your friends’ faces, or the faces of the authorities around here ever. Do I make myself clear this time?” He glared at Orion.

“Crystal.” Ratchet plugged into the area he was patching. Orion couldn’t tell what he was doing, but felt some sliver of assurance when Knockout only hummed his approval.

*

Megatronus’s trial was over by the time Orion made it to the gates of C-12’s hall of justice.

“But it was scheduled for 0520!”

The guard, a lumbering mech double Orion’s height shrugged his massive pauldrons. “If enough hearings go quickly, they can get moved up.”

“But what if I needed to witness it– make sure it’s fair?”

The guard only stared at him blankly.

“Well— well what was the verdict?” The panic was naked in his voice.

The guard slowly pulled a datapad from his subspace and flicked through it. After a few kliks, he turned the device around for Orion to read.

The air quickly stuttered from his vents.

“They’re going to kill him? But it was self-defense!”

The big mech just shrugged again.

“Aren’t you angry about any of this at all? The bots you guard are planning to put an innocent mech to death. That’s not justice! That’s murder!”

“I suppose that’s why they’re the justices, and we’re the workers.” The mech rumbled, expression pained. “If it was simple to understand, it would make sense to us too.”

Orion didn’t even know what to say to that, his intake opening and closing like a cyberfish. “No, but– but it is simple. They’re wrong.”

“It may seem that way to us, but it’s perfectly correct to them. They don’t make mistakes.”

“I’m not saying they made a mistake! I’m saying they are usurping justice specifically to protect their own self-interests!”

The mech shrugged again, and Orion felt his fuel pump kick into overdrive, throwing his line pressure into nearly unbearable margins. He turned on his pede before he could do something he’d regret. Nothing he could do if they threw him in prison too.

*

The archives were dark, and completely silent except for Orion’s pede-steps. He’d never gotten to actually go to them during usual business hours. Despite his distaste for the opulence of Ioconian architecture, it never failed to take his breath away. The shimmering walls, crystal windows, and high vaulted ceilings that just seemed to disappear upwards into the cavernous darkness could only be described as beautiful. On second amendment, it wasn’t that he disliked the decadence, he just wished everyone could experience it the way the elites did.

He tip-toed right up to the section on Cybertronian law. He didn’t care what anyone had to say about it, the justices were wrong, and there had to be something in the historical record that agreed with him on that. Cybertron was rotting from the inside out, but he had to believe that there was someone with some authority that wouldn’t willingly put a mech to death for the simple crime of self-defense. There had to be a law that could help him.

He’d skimmed the section before, and already knew what shelf he’d start on. Someday he hoped he’d be able to read it all, for the single reason that he wanted to. In the distant world he dreamed of– the one where functionalism lay dead and twitching, he thought he’d like to be an archivist. Sure, he didn’t have nearly as many data ports as the average archivist frame– he’d read over the charts in the medicine/science section, but he liked to think his passion for it would someday be able to make up for it. He’d already purged a dozen non-essential systems from his processor just to make room for more data, and he had plans to install an auxiliary data storage unit with his savings. He wasn’t too far off.

*

Several cycles later, and he was no closer to an escape for Megatronus. He took some comfort– and alarm, in the fact that it would probably take him several megacycles under good conditions to actually sift through all the knowledge in the law section. There may be salvation yet in those datapads, but equally likely, Megatronus might already be killed by the time he found it.

Death by gladiatorial combat.

The words on that datapad still came out fuzzy when Orion recalled them. He’d never personally been to the Pits of Kaon, but he knew from his research and whispers between miners that it wasn’t a good place to be.

But that got him thinking about the Pits, about gladiators, about custom.

What if I’ve been working the wrong angle?

He scurried to the history section– or would it be sports? Hardly taking the time to put the law section to rights. It was easy to locate a datapad chronicling gladiatorial combat through the ages.

The practice had existed for millions of solar-cycles as a way of punishment, deciding squabbles, and entertainment– a profession. Up until very recently there had been a widely known code of conduct that ruled the sport, only publicly overhauled in the last thousand stellar-cycles to make way for its use as punishment. Maybe…

He read the datapad back to front, processed the entire code, the entire history.

There was no easy out, no grand law disqualifying its use as punishment for self-defense– there actually weren’t any laws where it was ruled out, except for those broken by bots under a stellar-cycle old.

But there was a single caveat, one that he hoped would be enough to… he wasn’t sure, do something?

The code stated: Any bot sentenced to death by way of gladiatorial combat would be freed if they won one-thousand death matches.

And it wasn’t just ancient custom, it had been used in the last hundred stellar-cycles.

He’d be back. He’d find something better, something actually useful for Megatronus. He knew the mech could be ferocious. Darkwing’s death was enough proof of that. He saw no world where Megatronus could win enough to buy his freedom, but maybe the very concept of a light at the end of the tunnel might be enough to keep him alive.

Just long enough.

Orion’s spark nearly leapt up his intake when light suddenly flooded the archives with a distant click. The night-cycle had spun on by and he hadn’t noticed. He bolted for the access hatch, not bothering to re-shelve the datapad this time.

He managed to get back to Cliffjumper’s habsuite before dawn broke across Cybertron. He hadn’t stopped running the whole way back to Kaon.

Notes:

The idea of most of tfp team prime living together makes me giggle. It wasn't even on purpose. I liked the rapport Arcee and Ratchet had in tfa, and then I thought about her knowing Cliff and it kinda just solidified from there. I also think Ratchet and KO knowing each other pre-war makes the events of tfp wayyy funnier.

Chapter 5: The Pits

Megatronus knew he was at the Pits before the prison-truck even stopped. The constant down, down, downward motion, and the stench. Rust, old garbage, and rotten energon permeated the air, even through the thick truck walls.

Maybe he’d even be alive long enough to get used to it.

The transport came to a rattling stop, abrupt enough that he clanged against one of the prisoners seated beside him. He tried to offer a sympathetic grimace as way of apology, but quickly decided avoiding optic-contact would be better. The mech was humming some garbled tune to himself, all the more audible with part of his faceplate missing. The mech bore sharp dentae, and an intensely distant gleam to his optics. Megatronus tried his best to keep face-forward as the guards unloaded them, leading them off in a little linked chain. His plates crawled just knowing the other bot was behind his exposed back, but he had no time to worry about that particular issue, when one of the guards stuck his pede out and tripped him.

He fell helm-first into the muck of the Pits, taking three bots with him, including the one at his back. He couldn’t even stop his fall well with the way his servos were cuffed.

“That’s for Darkwing!” The guard spat on him as he rose from the mud. It dripped from his faceplates in oozing globs.

The mech ahead of him hissed, mouthing "you’re dead.” Fear sloshed around in his tanks, but he kept his field close. No faster way to get slagged than to let everyone know you were scared of getting slagged.

He stumbled back to his pedes, and the procession continued. The crust that made up the sky above him didn’t betray even a sliver of light from the surface. The doors he was being led to seemed even darker than the mines.

*

If seeing the document signing Megatronus’s life away to the Pits had been bad, seeing his name on the combat roster was hell.

D-16 / Megatronus vs. X-367 / Oilslick

Orion quelled the intense urge to find Oilslick’s record. He shouldn’t wish that Megatronus’s opponent was weaker, less likely to win. He shouldn’t hope that Oilslick was someone who deserved to be offlined either, but he found himself wanting both. Knowing whether or not his selfish hopes were true wouldn’t do a thing.

Unless…

He turned away from the fighting arena’s billboard and raced to the nearest records terminal. His next moves wouldn’t be cheap. He might have to bribe the terminal-bot to get access to Oilslick’s full record, and he’d definitely have to bribe a guard to speak to Megatronus. 

But it would be well worth it.

*

Megatronus was trying to take in every sensation that passed through him, turning each carefully over in his processor. The cool metal beneath that made up the cell floor, the grime slowly seeping into his transformation seams, the cries echoing down the corridor into his audials, even the stasis-cuffs still tight around his wrists.

He had to savor all these sensations, because they would very likely be his last.

The realization should have scared him, actually, it did— it would’ve— if his processor hadn’t had the fear in a vice-grip. New emotion-suppressing subroutines were being built and initialized every klik, each with the sole purpose of containing the thick terror that threatened to spill from him. His logic unit had decided, and he agreed, that remaining calm was the safest course of action.

He didn’t know what to expect out in the ring. No one had told him anything, and the few holovids he could recall seeing once or twice were hardly illuminating. They actually did more harm than good, ratcheting up the fear response in his processor when he thought back to those snippets. They were the ‘best of’ kinds of vids, featuring only the most extreme, and gruesome deaths from the Pit’s most ferocious warriors.

Pede-steps drew close down the corridor. They probably weren’t coming for him, not yet, but the thought sent a jolt of panic through him all the same.

“You have five kliks, you hear? That’s it.” The owner of the voice rounded a corner into view. It was a guard, and a step behind him—

“Orion?” Megatronus flew to his feet.

The guard scowled, banging his baton against the bars. “You stay back there.” And to Orion. “Don’t get any funny ideas. Five kliks.”

Orion nodded, then ran up to the bars the moment the guard backed out of sight. They both knew he was just around the corner, but for a moment, he could almost imagine they were completely alone. His gaze slid down Orion’s chassis, stopping on the silver metal where Darkwing had torn him apart. Seeing him walking, venting, whole , something he didn’t realize he’d been holding released.

“Megatronus—“

“What the hell are you doing here?” He funneled his fear into anger, immediately regretting the bite in his tone. “Sorry,” he said. “But, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t have much time. I’m trying to do everything I can. It’s not much, but I have some information.”

“Information.” It should have been a question, but it came across more blankly.

“For starters, about your fight.”

Megatronus perked up at that.

“I can tell you how it’s structured, what the rules will be, and I know some things about your opponent.” He dove right in, not waiting for the other’s acknowledgment. He quickly explained that it would be a match to the death. There actually weren’t any rules, but there were restrictions on certain weapons, specifically guns, and cannons. He’d get to pick a weapon before the match if he hadn’t brought his own. “I recommend the electro-scythe. It has good range, and historically the best track record for wins.” Megatronus filed that away, but wasn’t sure what he’d pick without seeing the full breadth of options.

Listening to Orion– maybe it was what he was saying, but he couldn’t help but feel some of his fear slip away. When Orion explained the process, he did it like it was something routine, like he thought Megatronus might actually survive the whole ordeal.

“And lastly, your opponent.” Orion’s intake twisted into a grimace.

Megatronus felt his joints lock up in anticipation.

“The good news is that it seems like… he’s not a good bot.”

And that wasn’t really something that Megatronus had considered. If he was going to live through the match, another mech would have to die.

It didn’t bother him as much as it seemed to bother Orion.

“The bad news is that he probably has some amount of combat experience. He was sentenced for robbing a store and killing the clerk.”

“Maybe it was self-defense.” Megatronus grumbled. He wanted to cross his arms, but the cuffs wouldn’t let them do anything but sit awkwardly in front of him.

“That’s not funny, Megatronus.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

Orion sighed, expression sympathetic. It was too close to the looks the other miners always gave him when he was getting slagged.

“Sorry,” Orion said. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure.”

“One klik left.” The guard called.

“Okay, okay, I saw the security vids. Oilslick looks top-heavy. He also got shot in the arm.” His gaze flicked down to Megatronus’s own blaster-wound. “Use that. And… it’s not a solution. I’ll find something better, I promise, but there is a way out.”

“Excuse me?” Megatronus couldn’t stop himself from marching up to the bars to peer closer into Orion’s optics.

“There’s a clause to your sentence: if you win one-thousand matches you go free .”

Megatronus stared, dumbfounded. “How is that in any way helpful to me? I’ll be offlined before—”

“I’m not saying you have to win one-thousand times. I’m saying you just have to win as long as possible, because they won’t kill you otherwise. You just need to live long enough for me to find you another way out.”

It wasn’t a plan, it was—

“That’s just dumb blind hope! Do you seriously think there’s a way out of this for me?”

A more timid mech might have recoiled at the outburst. He might be a prisoner, but he still wasn’t small. Orion just got that heartbreak look in his optics again, before hardening.

“Maybe it is dumb blind hope.” He matched Megatronus, stomping up to the bars. “Do you have a single better idea?”

Megatronus held the gaze for a beat, then deflated, his shoulders dropping. “Fine. We’ll do your plan. I’ll win the match. And the next, and the next.”

They were less than a meter apart, only separated by the bars. Megatronus could feel the heat thrumming from the other’s reactor. Orion’s servo twitched, a minute hesitation, before darting out the rest on the way and covering one of Megatronus’s own.

“And I’ll watch. And when you win, I’ll go back to the archives and find something .” Orion squeezed, then retreated. His servo felt ice cold in his absence.

“Time’s up.” The guard said.

Megatronus watched their retreating backs, trying to catalog every inch of Orion’s plating. He let himself believe, just that small bit, that maybe this wasn’t his last cycle alive.

But he still burned the visual into his memory banks all the same.

*

It took a kind of resolve Orion didn’t even know he had to force himself to leave the cells below the Pit. It could have been funny, the way his plating had trembled upon first entering, even as he reminded himself over and over that it was no deeper than any mine he had been in. The overwhelming presence of the place had threatened to push into every crevice of his frame, like some kind of possession.

That’s exactly what it was, when you were in the Pits, they owned you.

But he forced himself down, step over step. If Megatronus had to be here for the rest of his foreseeable life, then Orion could stand it for a measly cycle.

And then he had seen Megatronus, and that terrible plate-crawling feeling had been eclipsed by the joy of seeing his friend again, and he had forgotten that he’d actually have to leave.

Orion paid admission for the fight. Megatronus was only a starter. Those weren’t projected to be the dramatic bloodbaths the masses usually wanted. The warmup rounds between new prisoners tended to consist of pathetic flailing, and an eventual lucky shot delivered to an opponent who didn’t know better to block. A small spurt of energon and a single scared bot left standing, who’d just have to do it all again the next night-cycle, until they were the unlucky one.

There was still a cycle before any of the fights, and several before Megatronus’s. He was early enough to get a good seat, right behind the expensive section of the stands. Most bots would still be at their jobs. Following that thread, he’d have to get a new job soon. The idea of it seemed so trivial in the face of Megatronus’s predicament, but it really was only a matter of time before Cliffjumper’s generosity ran out. He actually hadn’t bumped into the mech yet, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know there was another bot living in his habsuite, even if it was only to defrag on the floor.

The vast cavern of the Pit’s arena echoed strangely with so few bots in it. There were some, early like he was, chasing the better seats, like he wasn’t. There were cleaners, preparing the space for the night’s events, concession-stand attendants arranging their wares for the hoards of bots that were due to attend, and the occasional guard wandering the stands. He’d heard the arena could get rowdy when one of the big matches concluded. A riot had almost started last stellar-cycle when the then-current champion, Slagbyte– that couldn’t be his real designation, had gone down. The losses in bets alone were enough to whip the crowd into a frenzy. It had gotten even worse when the challenger let the applause go to his helm, daring the shifting bots in the elite box to a match.

Needless to say, that was the end of his career.

Bots slowly filtered into the stands. The arena was only about half-full when the matches began. Megatronus’s would be the last of the openers. Orion’s terror and relief warred with each other. He wanted to put off that match. He didn’t want it to happen at all.

The first fight was between a green SUV, sentenced for smuggling terbium out of the mine he managed, and a brown hauler, sentenced for arson. They announced the designation and crime of each prisoner. It was a good fear tactic. Orion hated it.

He also hated the way his processor was already weighing the odds between the two, sitting in clammy anticipation of what would happen next. He’d seen death. The time in C-12 hadn’t been his first mine collapse, and in the past, some of his colleagues hadn’t been so lucky. He could still recall the way the bot's servo had twitched. It was the only part of him that hadn’t been crushed by rock.

But Orion knew with shuddering certainty that this wouldn’t be like the mine collapse. This would be much more like Darkwing . Orion didn’t hate anyone. It was a very active choice. He almost hated Darkwing, but his spark still broke when he saw the light fade from his optics.

His fuel pump picked up just at the recall. He didn’t know how he was going to react to the match, but he wouldn’t let himself turn away. It was an ugly history in the making, and he wouldn’t be blind to it.

The hauler entered the ring with an obvious nervousness, shoulders hunched. He flinched when the crowd roared, hugging his weapon, a mace, closer to his frame. The SUV had to be pushed into the ring. As expected, he was much smaller than the hauler. He was shaking violently, almost dropping the electro-scythe he’d picked. His optics darted around the crowd, searching the faces there.

“No one’s going to save you, P-263! Tell me mechs and femmes, do you feel bad for this thief?” The announcer was a tall black and gold mech, standing on a platform above the ring. He had horns mounted on his helm, each about half as tall as Orion himself. His digits, curled around a suspended microphone, were wickedly sharp. His voice could only be described as percussive. It rang across the arena in a commanding boom, capturing the fervent energy of his audience, and tempering it into something more directed. “While you’ve been slaving away in your mines, your construction sites, your cashier stands, fields, and dockyards, this cyberleech has been stealing away your hard-earned profits! I repeat, do you feel sorry for him?!”

The crowd roared their denial, the mechs on either side of Orion even getting to their pedes to spit their venom.

The strategy was brilliant.

Because these mechs? They deserved their rage. They were being cheated, not by the SUV quivering on the pit floor, but the elites above them watching from the box.

But now, instead of that fury going towards its rightful target, it was being thrown at a fellow victim. He was going to be torn apart, and the crowd would be vindicated.

The announcer began the match without any more preamble. The hauler immediately charged forward, swinging his mace with a desperately fierce cry. The SUV took a step back and immediately tripped. Boos rang out across the arena. The hauler swung down, just barely blocked by the shaft of his opponent’s electro-scythe. The weapons got tangled, and the SUV took the opportunity to ditch, transforming into his alt-mode, tearing across the ring. The boos only got louder.

“Transform and fight!” The mech to Orion’s left screamed.

He didn’t transform, but he took a sharp turn and rammed into the hauler. He was ready though, and now armed with both weapons. He swung the mace again, putting a huge dent in the SUV’s roof. And again, even as the SUV continued pushing him back. This time energon pricked at the surface. They both slammed into the wall of the arena, right under Orion’s section. The impact rocked him, but he quickly regained balance.

When he looked back down, the hauler had switched to the electro-scythe. He held it close to the blade and drove it into the SUV’s hood, shredding the metal with a sharp crackle. The SUV screamed and leapt back, returning to root mode. His chassis was all mangled where the hood component rested. His protoform was fully exposed, and different parts of his frame were hanging out in awkward half-transformation where they didn’t fit together anymore. He coughed up energon, almost stumbling to his knees.

The hauler pushed off the wall, clearly damaged from the charge, but nowhere near as bad as his opponent. He tested the scythe’s grip, then the mace’s, giving it a couple experimental swings. He dropped the scythe, and bore down on his enemy.

Every step he took forward, the SUV took back. Orion couldn’t hear the words, but he was pleading now, helm bowed, servos placating. The hauler didn’t react in much of any way. A sadistic mech may have reveled in it, but he seemed more resigned to his role than anything, his lipplates a tight thin line.

The SUV must have realized the hauler wasn’t going to stop, and that he was soon going to run out of floor to back up, so he made a break for it, sprinting to the side as quickly as his new limp would let him. The hauler sprang forward the two steps it took and swung the mace down. This time, it caught the SUV on the helm. He went down, and the hauler went after, pinning him and swinging again and again. They were angled away, so Orion couldn’t see the mech’s helm crunch under the weapon, but he heard it, and there was no missing the energon pooling out. He just kept bludgeoning until the SUV went completely limp, already graying. 

The hauler rose onto wobbly pedes, and lifted the bloodied mace over his helm. The announcer called the victory, and the crowd went absolutely wild. Their combined fields coalesced into a feverish, amorphous mania that had Orion’s tanks rolling. His processor was doing loops. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t had the time for energon earlier. He would have certainly purged it.

Orion watched the next five matches as though he were a specter of himself. He lived the two cycles it took in a detached reality within himself, where he didn’t really feel anything about the events. Logically he knew it had to be some kind of emotion-suppressing protocol, something that had been developing between his first mine collapse and Darkwing’s death, all the while updating as needed and building supportive subroutines. A few more events like those and it may eventually become a useful thing that didn’t make him feel like he was slowly melting into the floor.

“And for our final opener, we have Oilslick and Megatronus!”

The protocol shattered instantly.

“He’s vicious, he’s carnivorous, you love to hate him, give it up for Oilslick! Champion of the openers for the last ten solar-cycles! One more victory and he’ll be moving up to bronze league.”

Orion’s vents shuddered to a complete stop.

It hadn’t occurred to him that Oilslick might’ve already fought.

The audience screamed its approval as Oilslick came strolling out from his side of the ring. He’d picked an electro-scythe just like the SUV. He raised it to the crowd, then banged it twice on the floor. He was a lanky mech with a bulky chassis, long arms, and sharp claws. He had a deep green paint job with pale accents, chipped all over, but recently cleaned, and the blaster hole was patched.

Whoever was in charge wouldn’t bother fixing a mech they weren’t betting on.

“And our final challenger, deep from the depths of the mines here in Kaon, before emerging to kill an innocent mech,”

“That’s not true!” Orion jumped up, shouting, but he was barely audible over the din. The mech beside him gave him an odd look, but no one else heard. “He’s lying…” it was pointless.

“I give you, Megatronus!”

Would he be scared? He must be scared. Would he look scared?

Orion gripped his knees to the point of denting, optics unblinking and laser-focused on that other entrance.

Megatronus marched out, his gunmetal chassis shining pale under the floodlights, even dirty as he was. His shoulders were squared, his posture perfect. He limped almost imperceptibly. It must’ve taken effort with the hole still clearly visible in his thigh. Megatronus’s piercing red optics slid over the crowd in what most would identify as defiance. Orion wondered if he was looking for him.

He hadn’t picked an electro-scythe. Orion actually didn’t know what he would call the weapon, only that it sat close on its arm, had vicious teeth like a saw, and when he revved it up with a single confident pull it roared like—

*

The weapon, a volt-saw, according to the handler, felt perfectly at home on Megatronus’s arm.

It was a lot like a hydraulic excavator.

The announcer laughed, raucous. “The miner’s got some fire in him! But will it be enough to give our champ Oilslick a run for his shanix?”

The resounding roar came from all sides, and every angle except beneath him.

How could it, when they were already the lowest?

Megatronus’s spark raced, and his tanks bubbled ominously. His reactor core had been kicked into overdrive since the conclusion of the first match. It’d been almost impossible to stop from imagining himself as both victim and perpetrator. Energon dripping off his excavator, buried in a chassis. His own shredded frame, slowly bleeding out in the mines. Either. Both at once. There was no scenario that wasn’t paralyzing. Even if he won, there was no winning. He’d just have another death on his servos, and more matches slated for the next solar-cycle.

He forced himself to stay grounded. There was energon on the floor by his pede, he zeroed in on it. He wouldn’t let his own smattered lifeblood be the only remnant of him. He was Megatronus of Kaon, damnit , just as the announcer said. He had killed a mech, though he was anything but innocent. And he would kill another. He wasn’t a miner anymore. He had to make peace with that. He was a gladiator, and if he wanted to remain as such, and not become spare parts to be slagged, he’d better start acting like it.

While Oilslick was making goo-goo eyes at the crowd, Megatronus was curling his digits in a new grip around the volt-saw, sizing him up. Oilslick’s arm was fixed, but he was top heavy, just as Orion said. He also had better reach, both from his weapon and longer arms, but they were definitely weaker than his own.

He was cocky too. And that just might be enough.

“Hey Oilslick!”

The mech in question turned from his adoring fans, irritated. “What?”

“May the better mech win.” Megatronus forced a sharp smile onto his face, every denta bared.

Oilslick’s faceplate twitched.

Good, off kilter.

Then Oilslick returned the smile, cruelty stretched around it. “I’m gonna make you regret ever being sparked!”

The son of a glitch had all the vindictive trappings of a Darkwing, but none of the presence. He would not be cowed by him.

Megatronus gave a shrug, dropping his defensive position for just that moment. Just to show he didn’t care. He tilted his helm back, supercilious. “I’d like to see you try.”

Oilslick all but foamed at the intake. The announcer had to intervene.

“Ha! They can match slag-talk, I’ll give ‘em that! Now are you ready?”

The crowd roared one last time. The bell rang. 

The combat protocol pinged, and Megatronus hesitated. It had all been too quick the last two times he’d relied on it. Too unpredictable. He dismissed it.

Oilslick charged.

Megatronus let him get within range, dodging the first strike easily, and retaliating with one of his own, aiming for his exposed side. Oilslick was quicker than expected though, slipping away, throwing a kick out. It didn’t connect fully, but it did throw Megatronus completely off balance. He landed heavy on his bad stabilizing servo. It buckled a little with a zap of pain right up to his internals. Oilslick whirled around again, electro-scythe fully extended. Megatronus threw himself back as hard as he could, but couldn’t dodge the crackling blade. It sheared through his pauldron like oilcake.

“Oh!” The announcer exclaimed, a practiced wince in his voice. “And Oilslick draws first energon, let’s see if…” And his voice was drowned out by the pounding of his own lines in his helm.

Think. Think! 

There was no time. Oilslick swung again, and Megatronus only just deflected it with his volt-saw, before pushing himself out of range once again. He was trapped— or would be soon. Couldn’t get close without getting diced, couldn’t keep away cause eventually he would get tired and lose the war of attrition just because his reach was worse. Panic flared through his lines, and Oilslick must’ve felt it, his look of concentration shifting to one of cruel delight as he pursued, swinging harder, growing bolder.

His combat protocol pinged again and he activated it without thinking twice. If it was between recklessness or death, he knew which he’d pick.

And suddenly every option he had previously considered looked so laughably limited. Weak points— the box on the shaft feeding electricity to the scythe, the way Oilslick left himself completely open on each swing, every single gap in his armor— it all catalogued neatly in what he was now recognizing as a secondary module formatting off his logic unit, some kind of tactical unit. Must’ve initialized after his fight in the courthouse.

He took his final, contemplative, backwards step, before roaring, springing forward just as Oilslick’s swing left him most open. The action startled his opponent, badly enough that he delayed in closing the gap. Just long enough. Megatronus planted his pede and punched in with the volt-saw. It ripped through Oilslick’s side, throwing parts all around, but not nearly deep enough to be fatal. The momentum of the weapon forced Megatronus to follow the motion all the way through, but he kicked out as he performed it, right into the place he had just shredded apart.

Oilslick wheezed, high-pitched and strangled. He staggered back a few steps, gripping his side, before gritting his dentae, and throwing himself back forward. He lashed out with the electro-scythe. It crested in a high arc over his helm. It might’ve cut Megatronus right down the middle—

If he hadn’t taken an immediate sidestep and cut the whole damn arm off.

It hit the pit floor with a sharp clatter, the electro-scythe still throwing off waves of electricity. Oilslick looked bewildered a moment, before growling and just throwing himself at Megatronus. His tac-unit hadn’t anticipated that . The only logical thing would’ve been to get away.

The air left his vents under Oilslick’s frame as they both hit the ground hard. They scrambled for dominance. It should’ve been easy with his opponent down an arm, but Oilslick had started on top. He used the weight on the volt-saw to leverage Megatronus’s arm down under his knee, so he could tear at his internals with his remaining clawed fist. He dug right into the less-protected seam in his flank, severing fuel lines, even ripping out a cable. Agony shredded through him, and he couldn’t tamp down the cry. Megatronus punched up at his helm, but Oilslick caught the swing and pinned the servo.

“You put up a good fight, miner,” he leaned in far too close. “But this is Oilslick’s show now.”

And like the third-person-referencing wasn’t freaky enough, he dove down the rest of the way and dug his dentae into Megatronus’s neck cabling like some kind of turbowolf with its prey.

Megatronus bucked, trying in vain to get the mech off. His tac-unit was pinging him to bring his fuel-pump down, and something warm, warm, was gushing from his throat, and sticking to his plating, and leaving his lines empty and aching, and–

Use the volt-saw, the tac-unit screamed, among half-a-dozen other popups on his HUD.

The thing was still running, and he instantly understood, angling it just that bit so that it dug through the floor like an excavator. The movement completely upset Oilslick’s stabilizing servo resting on it. The mech canted to the side, and it was only a matter of Megatronus throwing his weight the rest of the way, sending the bot bowling off him with an alarmed flare of his field.

Every instinct said to stay still and stem the flow of energon from his neck cables. His tac-unit said finish this now.

He scrambled to his pedes and charged. Oilslick rolled back and triggered a quick spray of— well— oil. Megatronus stumbled on it and slid past, letting Oilslick seize the moment to reclaim his scythe. Megatronus regained his footing and lunged forward. Oilslick brought up the scythe, but not fast enough. He deflected it in a shower of sparks. The blade flew to the side, and the churning teeth of the saw met living metal, shredding through Oilslick’s plating, through his protoform, his internals, his fuel pump. Pink energon and bits of metal sprayed Megatronus’s front, almost blinding him. But he had to see. Had to be sure that the job was really done. The saw met the floor and continued on downwards. He flicked it offline when Oilslick stopped twitching. It had dug a meter into the ground.

The crowd went absolutely wild. The announcer was saying something, but it was completely drowned out by their screaming. Every part of him felt numb under their scrutiny. The attention was an impossible weight on his back, one he could never hope to bear. Rise and face them, the tac-unit whispered as it disengaged from his primary processing.

The hydraulics of his stabilizing servos shook in their housing, but the crowd would never know it. The place where Oilslick’s scythe had met its mark in his pauldron ached as he raised the volt-saw over his helm, but for all his effort, it looked like he was sparked to do it. Now, more than ever, complete confidence was necessary. Nerve was a tool, just as much as his volt-saw, or his tac-unit, or even his two servos. He was online and whole, he was triumphant, and the crowd was just eating it up .

Something fast and whirring filled his chassis, filled his frame, set something in his spark and processor ablaze. His optics flicked across the crowd, and he imagined those blue optics looking back. He knew Orion was in the audience, even if he couldn’t see him.

He raised the volt-saw higher, and bellowed, “I STILL FUNCTION!”

The crowd screamed, a singular response to his call. Even up there, they were only that little bit higher. They suffered, and they slaved. They lived, and they died. But today, this solar-cycle– this nanoklik, they all still functioned, and that was something that couldn’t be stolen.

As the attendants shepherded him away, he took one last long look. Maybe he could do this. Just until Orion found a better way.

Notes:

So Oilslick is an actual deception. I stole his design from tfa: the arrival comic. (I guess for him to end up in the deceptions he had to actually survive that match. I like to think someone scrounged up parts and remade him by accident. Maybe that's why he has that fishbowl on his head.)

Chapter 6: Maker Breaker

Megatronus deflated as soon as he was properly out of the limelight. Without the crowd buoying him up he felt overwhelmingly hollow. The confidence had seemed so real to him under their attention, but alone, in the mostly-silence of his darkened cell, every part of him aching, he could see it for what it was– a front, another strategy from his tac-unit. A clever one that he would have to take up the next day, and the next.

Megatronus could hear the distant roar of the crowd even from the deep dark place they’d put him after slapping flimsy med-patches on the worst of his wounds. He loathed not knowing what was going on up top, even as the fear ebbed from his lines now that he was removed. It took a few kliks, but his line-pressure and spark rate were both dropping into more acceptable parameters. Several protocols were disengaging. A good defrag, and his processor would run much more efficiently.

He didn’t know that mech— the one who stood tall, who didn’t tremble, who understood the enormity of the crowd’s attention and bore it, the one who could give them that half of the conversation they ached to complete.

He didn’t know who the hell that was, but down here, servos once again cuffed, in the cold stinking guts of the Pits, he shed him entirely. He sat at the back of his cell, staring vacantly, trying in equal parts to relive the persona and suppress the memory, and it just kept gushing up.

He onlined an emotion-suppressing protocol and let it smooth out those desperate pulses in his field. He didn’t need the sorrow, or the fear. The anger, though, that was good.

That was what that other mech was.

Not the sloppy anger of someone who felt owed, but the cold, constant fury of someone who saw something so crystal, and so equally far away. He didn’t quite understand it. That mech hadn’t wanted to kill Oilslick. Oilslick meant nothing at all to him.

He wanted to kill something greater. Not even another mech.

An idea.

An existence.

No. He didn’t understand it at all.

He would’ve been lying if he said he wasn't disappointed Orion didn’t visit afterwards. It was painfully obvious in retrospect— how much did his earlier visit run him? He tried not to wonder. He also pointedly did not ask himself what Orion was up to. Was he okay? He’d gotten his injuries from Darkwing patched. That was good. Even if his bloody and gouged chassis appeared in his processor, unbidden, his logic unit would sweep it away in moments. Orion was fine. At the very least, he was better than Megatronus, and that would have to be good enough.

A quick movement in the periphery of his vision dragged him from his musings. His audials said cyberrat, it was so light on its pedes.

His optics weren’t so sure.

Whatever it was, it had disappeared.

The goddamn Pits.

*

Orion left as soon as Megatronus won, passing at least a hundred bots on their way in. He saw one of them quickly snatch up his seat with the premium view. Good for them. He couldn’t stomach any more than he already had.

The night-cycle was still young. Every oil house and interface parlor he passed on his way to Cliffjumper’s was packed wall to wall from the looks of them. Smoke and noise poured from the windows. He supposed it made sense. Those on this level would certainly make more than a miner, but not nearly enough for any upward mobility. Just enough to squander on cheap luxuries.

Orion pushed through the busted sheet metal that constituted for Cliffjumper’s door.

A red bot he didn’t recognize.

“Oh.” He was still holding the door. He could just back out. “Hi. Are you Cliffjumper?”

“Ah, you must be Orion!” The red mech— Cliffjumper said. He surged forward, clasping Orion’s servos in his own. His grip was warm and firm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Orion smiled, and tried his best to will the nervousness from his frame. “Really? I wish I could say the same. Thank you for letting me stay here.”

Cliffjumper shrugged, good natured, and ambled over to the hunk of scrap on the floor that they’d been using as a couch. Ratchet recharged on it during the night-cycle. As the bot with the least standing, Orion had opted for the floor. Cliffjumper took a seat.

“Well, it’s not much of a habsuite. Stay as long as you need. Ratchet vouches for you, and Arcee vouches for Ratchet.”

Orion chuckled. “Ratchet didn’t have much of a choice. He’d just finished telling me I needed to impose on others more.”

Cliffjumper’s field pulsed something appreciative. “That would track. Doc-bot seems to have a hard time leaving anyone suffering.” He leaned back on the couch as Orion joined him. “So. You’re free from C-12. What’s next?”

Orion sighed. “Not quite sure. I thought I might find another mine, but I don’t see much point in it. They’re just going to keep closing them. And…”

Cliffjumper cocked his helm. “And?”

“I need to stay close to Megatronus. I’m not leaving Kaon.”

“I heard about your predicament.” He said, letting a comforting servo land on Orion’s pauldron. “I’m sorry.”

Orion gave a sad smile, and finally felt the thing he’d been avoiding since it’d happened. Megatronus was going to live another solar-cycle. There was still a cycle until the archives closed again. There was nothing to do at the moment, no distraction to keep him from processing. “It’s my fault, really. Megatronus did everything he could. He did… something horrible . Killing Darkwing, but he wouldn’t have had to do it if I hadn’t stopped the riot.”

“I heard about that part too. It sounds like Darkwing had it coming.”

Orion couldn’t stop the anger from bubbling up. Cliffjumper’s servo came off his pauldron at the strong field flare.

“I don’t care if he had it coming!” Because honestly, he did. But– “Megatronus shouldn’t have had to do it! No one should. We’re supposed to have a structure that protects bots like us!”

Cliffjumper nodded slowly, appraisingly. “Sounds like you have a bone to pick with the functionalists.”

“You bet I– wait.” He looked at Cliffjumper, as though for the first time. “You said functionalists.”

“Yeah. It’s the system where alt-modes–”

“I know what it means.” Orion rubbed the side of his helm. “You’re just one of the first bots I’ve met who actually acknowledges all that.”

“Really? I know Ratchet doesn’t like ‘em much either. You should talk to him about it.”

“I did. He seemed resigned.”

Cliffjumper thought on that for a klik. Orion didn’t really know what to do with himself. His processor drifted back to Megatronus. He’d been injured in his match. Would they fix him? Probably not. At least, not until he won a little more. Could he sneak Ratchet down? Bribe another guard?

“Stopping the riot, by the way. I don’t think that was any kind of mistake.”

Orion looked to him again, puzzled.

“You said if you hadn’t stopped the riot, your friend wouldn’t have had to kill your overseer, but, you need to know it was the right thing. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“And you’d do it again?”

Something sharp flashed through Orion, but he didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Cliffjumper gave a little approving huff. He continued to look Orion over, something unsaid thick in the air. Cliffjumper opened his intake to speak, and then—

“Hey Cliff, we’re back!” Arcee pushed through the door, Ratchet in tow. They looked tired and dirty, but Arcee was buzzing with upbeat energy.

“Hey yourself.” Cliffjumper got up, giving Arcee a quick embrace. Ratchet’s optics flicked between Orion and the others. “Don’t look at me like that, doc-bot. Orion and I were just getting acquainted.”

Ratchet’s expression only took on a more suspicious quality, but his pauldrons relaxed.

“Orion. Hi.” Arcee waved. “I’m not sure we’ve properly met.” She stepped away from Cliffjumper and shook Orion’s servo. Her pale pink paintjob shimmered oddly under the flickering habsuite lights. She was only a meter taller than him.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

Arcee took a step back. “I also wanted to thank you for what you did the other day. With the foam and the P.A. system. Ratchet said that was you?”

Orion smiled in acknowledgment and tried to kick the flare of sadness that came with it. It was worth it. And he would do it again.

Arcee smiled brightly. “Oh man. You should’ve seen the look on the delegation’s faces! I’ve never seen a posh group of bots ever look that stumped before.” She barked a laugh. “I’ll be saving that little image in my memory banks forever.” She tapped her helm.

“I’d pay to see that.” Cliffjumper said, chuckling.

Orion wanted to know what Cliffjumper was going to say, but the moment was lost. He let it go.

*

The moment the lights went out, and security completed its final sweep, Orion was back in the archives. He decided to stick to the government and law section for the foreseeable future. He was skeptical he’d be able to find any other useful material in the datapads on gladiators, and honestly, the more of those he read, the more nervous he got about Megatronus’s position. Most of the title screens on those pads depicted some mech tearing another apart, and each time, all he could imagine was Megatronus in the victim’s place. It would only take a single mistake and then—

Orion forcibly terminated that line of thinking. It wouldn’t help either of them.

*

Every vent Megatronus pulled in through his battered hardware was an uphill battle. The thing he was facing down was uncharacteristically viscous compared to the other bots he’d had to fight so far. Maybe it made sense though. After all, it was his tenth battle. For Oilslick’s tenth, he’d had to face Megatronus.

He hesitated to call the bot a bot. It had a creepy animalistic alt-mode. Something like a shock-snake. The mech would slither around, moving unnaturally fast, before jumping up in root mode and dealing some damage, then hopping right back into alt and slithering away. He couldn’t even retaliate well, its plating was so thick. The only exception had been when it tried to attack in alt, coiling around him and squeezing until he felt his vents cave in some. Only the thing had stayed still so long that Megatronus had managed to find a seam and just about dismember an entire segment of the thing. It didn’t try a tactic like that again.

He kept a sharp optic on it as it circled him, each searching for the other’s weak points. The snake didn’t need to look hard. No one had repaired him since he’d arrived. He’d hoped they might send in a medic preceding this tenth match, like they had for Oilslick, but apparently they weren’t ready to make the investment. Not only was his pauldron still sliced up from his match with Oilslick, but he still had the blaster-wound in his thigh, a missing chassis-plate from a lucky SUV solar-cycles before, and various cuts and dents from the other seven previous matches. They didn’t let him fuel much, either. So even his self-repair systems were essentially non-functional. It was a wonder he was standing.

Because Orion was counting on him.

Right?

He hadn’t seen anything of the mech since before his first match.

Maybe he’s realized how useless his hope is. Maybe he’s forgotten.

The snake lunged again, and Megatronus blocked the strike. It glanced off his volt-saw and slithered away.

His exhaustion was going to catch up soon. He had to end it before he made some sloppy fatal mistake. He quickly rebooted his tac-unit. It reiterated the options he already had, but displayed no grand unseen strategy that would save him.

Frag.

“Looks like our champ of the last megacycle might finally be stumped with this one,” The announcer yelled into his mic. “Just look at Scalescrew go! You’ve never seen a mech like him folks!”

It was true. He hadn’t. He’d never even seen a shocksnake in person before, much less a mech modeled after one. His tac-unit had nothing of substance for him, except that what he was doing now wasn’t working.

The snake charged again. It transformed. Megatronus’s instinct was to block. This time he grabbed.

Surprise flared out from the other mech as Megatronus’s servos gripped firmly past the daggered claws, around its wrists. He planted his pedes and threw the weight over himself. The mech went easier than he expected. The frame almost felt hollow.

It landed with a thud, and Megatronus threw himself after it, landing on top and pinning it firmly down. He raised the volt-saw, only for the thing to change back to a snake and writhe against him, spitting static and solvent. Its jaw unhinged, intake wide, and bit down on Megatronus’s arm. He cried out. Razor-sharp fangs pierced his plating, right down into the hydraulics. It hurt like a glitch, but that would’ve been fine.

Liquid, thick and hot pumped into his lines. Poison! His processor screamed. It burned as it raced through him. His arm was already losing feeling. Another klik of this and–

With the last of his fading strength, he tightened his grip on the snake’s slippery plating. He revved his volt-saw once and jammed it into an exposed seam. The thing made a noise like metal tearing as it spewed energon. Megatronus’s processor started going fuzzy and he took that as a sign to push harder. The snake pulsed one last time, and then the volt-saw came out the other end, throwing fuschia all around. It lay dead under his frame. Warm, wet energon seeping into the cracks in his own plating.

He was faintly aware of the crowd flaring up around him in wild victory. He knew he should stand to take up the appearance of sharing in it, only his lines were still burning, and the world was going sideways.

His helm hit the dull metal of the pit floor, his frame twitching and going limp. And he knew that this was the end.

*

Megatronus’s vision returned, grainy and glitching, the dim halls of the Pits whizzing by. Bots were speaking all around them, their fields a mix of panic and apathy. Something was jutting into his backplates, and he dimly registered that he was on a rolling stretcher. He felt a pinch, and connected the sensation to a femme forcing some kind of solution drip into the lines at his arm-joint.

“What’s happening?” He asked, only it came out as an unintelligible rasp. He reset his vocalizer and tried again, but it didn’t come out any better. He tried to sit up, and a large servo pushed him back down. He followed it, and was surprised to find the announcer on the other end.

“Easy, easy.” This close, his voice lost the presence, but still retained a satisfying resonant quality. “No need to go busting yourself up more before they even fix you.”

The entourage wheeled into a dingy room, lit with flickering fluorescents, and sparsely furnished with dinged up medical berths and equipment. To his left, a hulking yellow mech was having a spear wrenched out of his plating. It escaped him with a sharp grunt, and the hole was quickly patched. Past the room was another, larger, darker room. He made out a smelting fire, and losers’ frames being dismantled before the door to it swung shut.

The announcer’s servo shifted up to Megatronus’s pauldron, steady, but not at all comforting. “D-16.” He gave the pauldron a pat. “Megatronus. Can I call you Megatronus?”

It’s my designation? He pointedly did not respond with.

“I don’t say this often, but I see big things in your future, Megatronus. You could be a real heavy hitter. That shocksnake— what was his name… who cares? My money was on him, but hey, even I’m wrong sometimes.” The announcer chuckled. It was something dark, and bore great weight. “Just think. You could be the next Dealtor, the next Slagbyte. I can make you a champion. ” He smiled. It looked hungry. Megatronus’s scattered processor didn’t think to point out that Dealtor and Slagbyte were offline . But then, the proposal sounded better than anything else on his plate. “Submit to me. ” The announcer whispered. His servo gripping tight.

Megatronus’s plating shuddered and recoiled, first in fear at the unsettling display, then anger. He pushed through the pain, rolling that servo off his pauldron. The sheer presumption of it all— of his status, his weakness, his reliance on something supposedly greater than himself. He wouldn’t voice it. He kept his field close so he wouldn’t broadcast it either. He wouldn’t submit to this mech, but he couldn’t afford to make him an enemy either.

The announcer caught on quickly. His field turned sharp. A sneer colored his faceplates. ”You think you’re the first to believe he could make it here without me?” He laughed, and this time it cut deep, with all the presence of his display in the arena. “You’ve got size, showmanship— that whole ‘I function’ thing. Fantastic. Your tactical-unit, lacking but easily remedied.” He leaned way in, firmly past an acceptable distance. The air from his vents fluttered across Megatronus’s plating. “I make mechs.” His servo returned to his pauldron, before skirting down to his joint where the antidote dripped into his lines. “I break mechs.” He wound around the tube once, then abruptly yanked it out. Megatronus hissed. The announcer gave a little huff of laughter. He circled the stretcher, swinging the medical tube in a loose grip.

Megatronus’s HUD flared crimson. The antidote hadn’t completed its job. The poison, unfettered, raced back down his lines, its burning just as intense as before. His fuel pump was stuttering, energon going thick and lazy in his lines. He clenched his servos into fists over and over again against the pain and anger.

“I’ve seen a thousand bots die a thousand ways,” the announcer drawled. “Poison. The Camien variety. It’s not a common death in the Pits, but still more often than you’d think. Your pump is stalling. You feel your lines slowing. Your frame gasps for its lifeblood. The heat isn’t dispersing, so your fans are kicking up to compensate.”

They were. Their vibration felt sharp in his shaking frame. When had he started shaking?

“Usually the mech expires because the lines stop delivering fresh energon to the processor. Like a fire starved of oxygen. No energy to burn. You suffocate. You go out. Fwishhh.” The announcer’s golden optics hadn’t left Megatronus’s even once through his whole speech. They only grew more intense as he continued. Especially now. A blaze– the opposite of Orion’s, sparkled there. Hungry and wanting, a predator stalking its prey. “Something tells me, Megatronus, that you aren’t ready to let your fire go out just yet. ”

The internals in Megatronus’s chassis were constricting under an unknown pressure. It was like the thirst for energon, only so much more immediate. It was the shocksnake crumpling his plating in on itself. It was the gaping maw of a mine collapsing and crushing all those within. He took quick, shallow vents, but they did nothing to ease it. He tried to move– willed his servo to take the antidote back, his digit only twitched.

“Your lines?” The announcer brandished the tube. “They’re mine. Your fuel pump? Mine. Your processor? Belongs to me. I’d wager you have less than five vents left in you. Use them to swear your loyalty. ”

Megatronus didn’t comply. He kept his dentae pressed together, and focused the last of his strength on pouring every inch of malice into his gaze.

Live.

He blinked in surprise. Orion’s voice. Buried deep. He hadn’t processed the words when they were dragging him away, but he had heard them. They were etched into his memory banks, returning to the forefront now.

Whatever they put you through you need to get through it.

Please.

“Say it.” The announcer’s servos were on his chassis now, sharp digits digging into his plating. The unflappable mech actually looked mad. His golden optics were tinging orange, and his field was a simmering, bubbling rage, even as he held the smile steady– but strained– on his faceplates.

He’d knelt at the pedes of a bad mech before. He could do it again. At least this one was offering something.

“Loyalty,” Megatronus breathed. “I swear it.”

The announcer’s suffocating field retreated, as did the mech himself. He extracted his digits from Megatronus’s plating, lightly, delicately. None of the violence of before remained on his surface, but having seen it, it now colored every one of his movements. The mech was just as dangerous as the ones he oversaw, only elevated, working with impunity. He casually tossed the tube to his cowering assistant, who went to work replacing it in Megatronus’s line. He gave his pauldron one last friendly pat before departing.

“Good mech.”

The antidote swept the joint-locking pain instantly.

Humiliation remained.

Somewhere between his spark and his fuel pump, corrosive shame curled. Finding and identifying the emotion only worsened it.

“Pit standards, Pit standards. That’s what you’ll be brought up to.” Megatronus craned his neckcables, trying to find the origin of the voice. It was almost tinny, traveling with a series of clicks and whirs. A sharp sting burst across his left pede. He looked down and wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing.

It wasn’t shaped like a bot, but its shriek grated horribly across his audials when he tried to shake it off. It was tiny, all shiny silver metal, and razor-sharp appendages. It had huge orange optics, almost bigger than its body.

“Quit it! Whatever thing you think I am, I’m not!”

“What are you then? What are you doing?” He fought the intense urge to throw the thing off.

“It’s Scalpel. Medic. I’m fixing you. Ungrateful miner-bot.” It – he? Muttered something to himself that Megatronus couldn’t make out. It didn’t seem nice. He went right back to his repairs. The stinging returned with a flash of yellow sparking. Welding then. “Flatline! Assist!”

“Can’t.” A purple and red bot replied. “Incoming.”

A mech, blue and white plating, yellow and red accents, came pushed in by a handler. He didn’t speak, but his aggravation was clear in his movements.

“No, you can’t go back to your cell. Your internals were punctured!” The handler huffed. “Don’t think I won’t use this!” He brandished a small black device. Megatronus didn’t know what it was, but the mech stopped resisting, allowing himself to be led to a medical berth.

“Self-repairs: satisfactory.” The mech stated in a deep semi-monotone. The quality of his voice was different from any other bot’s he had ever heard. It ascended and descended in harmonic tones, all the demanding reach of Darkwing’s voice with none of the cacophony, almost pleasant to the audials. He had a visor and battlemask like Darkwing too. For that reason alone, his distaste was instant.

“Self-repairs: not satisfactory.” Flatline strode over, wielding a scanner. Its blue light passed over the mech, sending out high-pitched beeps at different points. It was particularly active over the center of the chassis. “When are you going to let me reformat that subspace compartment of yours? It’s entirely too large and looks like it's been wired by a madmech. You’re essentially bleeding energy into the compartment with those exposed transistors.”

“Subspace reformat: unnecessary. Compartment is to my specifications.”

“What could you possibly need to keep in there? There’s no way it isn’t impeding you in matches.”

“Risks: within acceptable parameters. Fix puncture wound.” He laid himself out on the medical berth, and angled himself so Flatline would have the best access to the damage. The hole in his side gave a weak spurt of energon at the movement. Flatline wasted no time getting to work.

“Oi! I asked you a question!” The spidery thing— Scalpel, clicked two spiky limbs together impatiently. “Declaron— the announcer,” he added at Megatronus’s puzzlement. “Said you can leave your systems as is, or I can upgrade with combat in mind.”

Megatronus’s optics widened. He had a choice?

Scalpel looked at him expectantly. He clicked his limbs again.

Megatronus nodded. “Combat then.” He paused a moment. “And Declaron said something about updating my tac-unit?”

*

Descending into the Pits the second time was no more pleasant than the first. Orion closed off some of his vents, entering the dank space, but he was sure he’d be stinking of the place the next solar-cycle.

“This way,” the guard motioned. And he’d been this way before, but he didn’t say anything. Even if he hadn’t catalogued the halls extensively, he had made a point to remember the path he had taken; just in case he ever had to navigate it alone.

A few more turns Orion recognized, and then one he didn’t. The guard didn’t look back as he led him. He’d done nothing to indicate he meant harm– aside from his hostile attitude to begin with, but Orion increased his danger sensitivity to maximum anyway. He had all his shanix tucked away in his subspace. He could get robbed, or–

He tried not to think about it. They were in another wing now. They passed some bots, another guard shepherding some gladiators. And then they were in a long row of cells. Each containing a fierce-looking mech. None of the headliners, but they all stared back with sharp, angry optics.

“Here,” the guard said, stopping in front of a particular cell. Orion opened his intake to protest, as this was a different place than the last that Megatronus had been kept, and the mech’s silhouette wasn’t quite right, but then he turned and—

“Megatronus!” He rushed up to the bars. They were cold under his servos.

He was different. Not in any way that mattered. His face was the same. So was his helm. But his pauldrons were more angled. The plates extruding to protect his elbow-joints were longer. Even the plating on his chassis and stabilizing servos looked a little thicker. And most of all…

“You’re fixed!” Orion exclaimed. He got a better look. “You’re clean!”

The hostile, angry look Megatronus had been sporting slipped off his faceplates. His shoulderplates sagged. He eyed the guard as he approached the bars, but no one objected.

“Orion.” Megatronus’s voice was almost a whisper. It was laced with something Orion avoided defining. Whatever it was, it made his spark shudder. He kept his field close.

“We have half a cycle,” Orion said. “They seem less concerned about security now that you’ve made bronze.”

“Figures.” Megatronus rubbed the back of his neckcables. His field pulsed muted distress.

“What happened?” Orion leaned even closer into the bars, so that his helm was almost wedged between them. He wanted them gone. He wanted to–

He didn’t know what he’d do if they were gone.

He’d been doing a lot of not thinking lately. He could do a little more.

“They installed a shock-bit. Somewhere around here.” He gestured to the back of his helm and neckcables. “Hurt like a glitch.”

Orion’s optics widened. “They what?”

“All the gladiators bronze and up have them. Keeps us in line I guess. Apparently they can shock you into unconsciousness. Haven’t seen it happen yet though.” He said it so dispassionately that it could only be deliberate.

Something inside Orion twisted so hard it actually hurt.  

“I’m sorry.” Orion murmured.

A hot pulse of anger fell off Megatronus. “Why are you sorry? You’re not one of the fraggers who did it.”

“Yeah but…” He couldn’t meet Megatronus’s optics. He took his servo instead. The digits were actually clawed now. He frowned, but thumbed one pointy digit anyway. “I’ve been in the archives every night-cycle. Dusk to dawn. I haven’t found anything. I’m starting to think–” He choked back the sad desperate noise that whirred in his voicebox. He reset his vocalizer. “To think there might not be a legal way out of this.”

He met the other’s optics with the admission. He expected some kind of hurt, fear– something, but his expression remained unchanged. Megatronus’s grip only tightened.

“It’s okay, Orion. I already knew.”

“You–” His tanks churned. That anger, so hated within himself, thrummed through his frame. “I–”

“I know that look, Orion. Don’t. I’m not giving up.” The mech stood a little taller, confidence in his field. Orion wasn’t sure if it was genuine, but he didn’t dare prod it.

“Then I won’t either. I’m going back later. And if there’s nothing in the entire archives, I’ll– I’ll think of something else.” And it came out so lamely, but voicing it soothed his own simmering lines.

“I appreciate it. You’ve done so much for me… more than anyone else ever has, I think.” Orion’s spark whirred faster at that. “But it’s enough. You’ve done enough.” And it dimmed again. Megatronus squeezed his servo meaningfully. “You’ve already brought me my freedom.”

“Wha–”

“I’m going to win those thousand matches.”

“You’re– what?!” He couldn’t imagine how Megatronus had drawn that conclusion. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can do it, Orion. It’s the only way.” And his expression and field held steady and oh Primus he was serious.

“You can’t! The odds are all against you. You– you know those previous matches were all opener rounds, right? It won’t be so easy going forward.”

“Orion. It’s never been easy. But honestly, I’ve never felt better odds in my life.”

Orion swallowed dry. “How so?”

“You remember the mines. I haven’t had a single day of my functioning where I wasn’t afraid all of Cybertron was going to collapse on me. Going into that arena with the volt-saw is no different from going into C-12 with my excavator.”

“Except there was no one actively trying to kill you in the mines.”

“Darkwing.”

Orion stiffened.

“I don’t have a choice. You know that right? There’s no around, only through.”

Orion’s helm rested against the cool metal of the bars. “I don’t like that you have to kill.” He said quietly.

Megatronus’s brow ridge furrowed, then relaxed. He let a long vent escape, and slid down to sit on the floor. Orion followed, sitting cross-legged in front of him, unsure. Their servos were still joined.

“Tell me about the archives.” Megatronus said.

“The archives?” Orion had no idea where this thread was going. He drummed a digit nervously on his stabilizing servo.

“We still have twenty-five kliks. Back at Shocky’s you mentioned that you used to visit even before all of this.” He tilted his helm. “Why?”

“They fascinate me,” Orion answered truthfully. “All that information… It’s captivating. My favorite section is history.” He smiled. “But I could spend stellar-cycles in any of them. Sometimes I…” He trailed off, suddenly very self-conscious.”

Megatronus quirked a brow and let the silence between them settle.

“I’ve never actually told anyone this…” Would he laugh? Orion couldn’t picture it. He actually couldn’t imagine Megatronus laughing at all. He’d never laughed in the short time Orion knew him. Would he ever…?  

“Never told anyone what?” Megatronus’s voice was so soft. It didn’t really match his angular frame blinking red from the shadows.

Orion reset his vocalizer. “I always dreamed of adding to them. The archives. As soon as I learned about them and what they contained, the only thing I really wanted to be was an archivist. I wanted to witness history and record it.” He smiled sheepishly. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” Megatronus said. He thought for a moment. “Can you tell me about functionalism?”

Orion’s brows hit the brim of his helm. Of everything to ask. “Yes, of course!” He scratched the back of his neckcables. “You never seemed interested in all that before.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot. I never had time for that in C-12. We were always either drilling or recharging. But the past megacycle– especially after everything that happened… I’ve just been trying to make sense of it all. The way we were living down there, it never felt right. But if that wasn’t right. Then what is? Is there a right way to live?”

Orion tried very hard to keep it in, but despite it all, there was no suppressing the elation that blossomed across his faceplates.

“Well…”

*

Twenty-five kliks could pass very quickly under certain circumstances. Orion was so animated in his detailing, and he knew so much. Megatronus could recognize that now that he was ready to listen.

Orion wove a history. He gave a brief description of the few articles about the Silver Age, then the murder of their Prime at the servos of the Quintessons, and the ensuing war that destroyed their society.

“And then Sentinel Prime, well, he wasn’t Prime then– but he allegedly swoops in and kicks the Quintessons’ tailpipes, turning the tide of the war. Primus acknowledges his brave and brilliant spark– I slag you not, the texts say that– and he’s made Prime.”

“Things were good at first. I mean– not good. The war had just ended. But there were massive resources for a tiny remaining population, which meant that even though everyone was horrifically traumatized, there was more than enough for everyone. Society flourished. The Golden Age was born.” Orion sighed, letting his helm rest on his servo.

“The population increased. No one could agree on how resources should be distributed. They try dealing things out evenly, everyone starves, not to death, but enough to hurt, so they decide to try things differently. The records can’t agree if it was a vote, or if Sentinel just decrees it, but suddenly everyone decides they have better odds making it alone. Businesses conduct themselves however they like. They say a relaxed attitude would lead to the most innovation, maybe new ways to produce energon for everyone.” Orion huffed a big sarcastic vent of air.

“That’s how you get functionalism. The powerful get even more power. Then they decide certain groups of bots are meant to do a certain thing, and that’s the only thing they’re ever allowed to do. No one dares tell them otherwise. That’s how you get cold constructs in the mines. We’re at the bottom fighting for scraps, and they decide that’s still asking for too much, so they made a class of bots who aren’t even classified as people. Fragged up, right?”

*

Later, much later, when the din of the Pits had settled as much as they ever did in the dead of the night-cycle, thoughts of elites, and functionalism swirled in his processor.

Was there another way? He’d never thought to think it. Back when Orion first spoke of it at Shocky’s, it had sounded so absurd he might as well have been telling a fairytale, or speaking an alien language.

When he said functionalism, the word hadn’t even had a tagged definition in his processor. He’d understood function and functional , but it had done little to illuminate its purpose in the lexecon. And then Orion had expanded on it, and it still hadn’t made sense. A bot did as their frame dictated. In theory, it made perfect sense for an optimal society. Even theologically it made sense. Why would Primus put a processor– or a spark, in a frame that didn’t align with their purpose?

But then he thought about Shockwave, who was brilliant, or Ratchet, with his clever servos. He thought about Orion, who wanted nothing more than to be an archivist, and could describe the entire history of the current society at length.

And suddenly the system didn’t make any sense at all.

The cells provided to the bronze-level gladiators came with a floor-level berth. As Megatronus reclined on his, he turned these truths over in his processor, slowly, carefully.

What would he be if he hadn’t had to be a miner?

He sat back up so quickly his entire frame jolted. Pain still came easily in the wake of his new modifications. Even his tac-unit hurt after the way new stratagems had been stuffed into it during the manual update.

What the hell would he be?

His processor went completely blank.

What could he be?

*

Orion brought an almost furious energy to his riffling that night-cycle. Something about his conversation with Megatronus had him heated. 

He’d never told anyone about the archivist dream. Megatronus hadn’t laughed. He’d asked about his research.

He had to deliberately calm his racing spark, and really concentrate on his search. As rigorous as he had been in the past megacycle, along with all his personal research from before the incident, he was starting to brush up against the limits of his allocated data storage. He really didn’t have the capacity of a standard archivist.

He thought back to the datapad detailing their anatomy. Between fifteen to twenty dataports, ten times the sensory contact points, and ten zettabytes of memory storage. Orion had maybe 500 petabytes. He’d already started to implement the archivists’ mental organization systems, though a lot of their methods relied on their seemingly-limitless memory. But maybe if he could alter their methods to better suit him…

An archivist usually based their organization around the archive they linked themself to, especially since they usually worked to contribute to the collection. They processed and categorized data under files corresponding to datapads. Orion didn’t think that was a good idea considering the nomadic nature of his life thus far, but he also had limits on the amount of data. He couldn’t just save everything.

Maybe a hybrid method?

Yes. That could work.

Going forward, he’d summarize instead of memorize the information he gathered. He’d have to trust himself not to omit anything important, and link datapad names by contents, and hope he’d be able to revisit them should he need the data within. He could process and file what he already had at a later date.

He was working through a datapad chronicling Iacon’s history of capital punishment– which he personally would have filed under history, not legal, but whatever, when a soft sliding noise echoed in the distance. He froze, then adjusted his optic settings to peer into the echoing darkness of the archives.

It might’ve been nothing. But he calculated the distance to the access hatch anyways. It would take him thirteen nanokliks to make it there, two to close it behind him, three kliks to follow the hatch out of the building, and a little under a cycle to get back down to Kaon, depending on the elevator-trains.

Nothing emerged from the darkness, no sound, no evidence of something lurking, so he went back to work, but kept his danger sensors on alert.

Two datapads later, and he was reading a somewhat tedious casefile on a bot who killed in self-defense. It wasn’t exactly the same as Megatronus. This bot was defending her habsuite from an aggressive mech of equal standing in society, which was doubtlessly what separated her from Megatronus’s case, but she did get off on the charge.

The sliding noise again.

And much closer.

Orion stood this time. His fuel pump was going so strong that he could hear it over the emptiness of the archives.

Nothing.

He took a step back, then another, towards the hatch.

More nothing.

Another step back.

“HALT!” The voice rang clear across the archives, with the arrival of heavy pedesteps hurtling towards him. Orion didn’t bother facing the sound, just burst into a sprint. Thirteen nanokliks to the hatch. Ten. Six. Two–

Something barreled into him from the side, red, white, and blue, shining mutely under the archive’s darkness, and massive. Orion fell on his front, the mech bodily on top of him. The impact punched all the air from his vents, and threatened to rupture his tanks. He tried to turn, to scratch and bite at his attacker, whoever it was, but they were much stronger.

“Quit resisting!” The mech said.

Orion responded by kicking him in– he actually couldn’t tell where, but the sharp wheeze the mech gave told him it was somewhere important.

“Ultra Magnus! Stand down!” A second voice snapped, and damn the one was bad enough and– and he recognized that voice from somewhere.

“Sir. I don’t recommend–”

“That is an order.”  

The mech above him sighed, then took his weight off. Orion scrambled forward a few paces, before turning, sitting, but ready to spring and attack or flee, and he finally got a good look at his attackers–

He reset his optics once, then a second time for good measure. He nearly ran a full processor diagnostic scan, because there was no way that Alpha Trion was standing in front of him.

“Standing down,” the mech– Ultra Magnus, said. Then he fixed a scrutinizing glower on Orion. “Try to hurt Alpha Trion and I will use force.”

Orion didn’t respond, just stared dumbfounded. He’d seen plenty of holovids of him, usually in the background of other official broadcasts as a symbol of legitimacy, and even more of him in various datapads, but to see the mech in person.

“Alpha Trion…” He internally chastised himself for the naked reverence in his voice, but he could hardly help it. He could do little to stop the excited bubbling in his lines. “Alpha Trion!” He scrambled to his pedes and took a step forward. Magnus leveled his blaster at Orion. “I’m– It’s an honor to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” the old mech rumbled. “Tell me, what is your designation?”

Orion hesitated. If they had that, then they could hunt him down even if he managed to escape. But then again, if they had wanted to arrest him, surely they would have done so already.

“Orion Pax,” he said. He tamped down the urge to apologise for breaking into the archives. He wasn’t sorry, actually, but it was usually what an authority figure wanted to hear.

“Orion Pax,” his name sounded so rich on Alpha Trion’s glossa. He said it so slowly, carefully. “You’ve been quite busy here, haven’t you, Orion?”

“I–” The protest died on arrival. His pauldrons slumped. “You could tell?”

Alpha Trion smiled slightly. “I most likely wouldn’t have noticed, but you made one mistake.”

“What mistake?”

The other mech reached into his subspace and produced a datapad. Gladiatorial Combat Through the Ages . It was the datapad he had left unshelved a megacycle previous.

“After that I decided to take some time and chronicle your progress through our library.”

“I checked every single datapad’s access date log,” Ultra Magnus said. The mech sounded proud.

“You’ve made an incredible progression. You’ve been doing this for, say, twelve solar-cycles?”

“Twelve solar-cycles in a row,” Magnus cut in. “You’ve been doing it much longer though, haven’t you?”

Orion didn’t respond immediately. Were they trying to get him to incriminate himself? “I don’t understand,” he said. “Am I in trouble?”

“Yes,” Magnus said, at the same time that Alpha Trion said, “No.”

Magnus’s helm snapped in Alpha Trion’s direction. “You can’t be serious! The amount of code violations–”

“I hardly think–”

“But fire safety!”

Alpha Trion gave him a sharp look.

“Sorry, sir.”

“How do you like our library, Orion Pax?”

“The archives?” Alpha Trion wanted his opinion? “They’re amazing— um, there’re a few datapads I’ve found filed under the wrong sections...” He glanced back at The History of Capital Punishment. “But I’d spend every moment here if I could.”

“And why can’t you?”

Magnus scoffed to the side. The answer was obvious.

“I’m from Kaon. I’m a miner.” He looked down at his own dirty, chipped plating. He still had the mismatched pede and the silver welds on his chassis where Darkwing had torn into him. “I only snuck in here now because I need to find a way to get my friend acquitted.”

Alpha Trion scratched his chin. “A predicament. What is he accused of?”

“He killed our overseer. It was self-defense though.” Orion reflexively touched the chassis welds. “He saved my life.”

Alpha Trion followed Orion’s servo. “C-12, wasn’t it?”

Orion nodded.

“I heard about that. I was unhappy with Decimus’s handling of it.”

Orion perked up. His spark started spinning quicker with something that felt dangerously like hope. “He’s going to be killed. Gladiatorial combat. They’re going to kill him. Can you do anything about it?” If Alpha Trion stepped in, surely no one could object. If he could save Megatronus–

“I’m sorry Orion Pax. I cannot.”

And he was watching the delegation drag Megatronus away all over again. “But– but you–” he clenched his servos. “You’re Alpha Trion. If anyone can do something about it, it’s you!”

Alpha Trion sighed, and it looked like he aged an eon from that gesture alone.

“My standing with the council is not what it once was.”

“That’s sensitive information, sir!” 

“And it is mine to divulge, Ultra Magnus.”

“Sir!” He stood at attention.

“They’ve grown weary of my protests. My power was always symbolic, one of deference for my part in the defeat of the Quintessons, and the wars before that, and the counseling since, and while they still value that symbol, they value my opinions significantly less so. I fear that your friend’s life cannot be spared by me.”

Anger flared through Orion’s frame. Magnus must’ve felt it in his field, because his blaster, which had lowered slowly over the course of the conversation, returned to Orion’s chassis.

“Then– then–” Orion looked around the archives, searched inward, then finally returned to Alpha Trion’s optics. “Then I’ll find a way to save him myself! I’ll read through the entirety of the archives. I’ll yell my findings off the rooftops. I’ll- I’ll tear functionalism down to its foundations if I have to! I’m not the only one who’s sick of the way things are. You fought the Quintessons. I read the datapads chronicling the war. Are we any better now than when we were under their pedes?”

“Technically, the Quintessons didn’t have pedes,” Magnus said.

“Not the point,” Orion replied. He returned to Alpha Trion. “Will you stop me?”

Alpha Trion stroked his large chin again. Magnus and Orion waited in steely silence.

After a long pause, Alpha Trion tapped his staff lightly against the floor. “Yes, yes… that could work,” he muttered.

Magnus and Orion exchanged a look.

“Orion Pax, this may sound strange, but, have you ever considered becoming an archivist?”

Orion’s intake opened. It closed. It cycled like that for a few nanokliks. Then he forcibly relaxed his frame. “The thought… had crossed my processor. Maybe once or twice.” He narrowed his optics. “Why?”

“You’re out of work, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you are inclined towards research?”

“Yes, but my frame—“

“Pah!” Alpha Trion waved his servo. “An easy fix. And haven’t you said it yourself? Functionalism isn’t something to laud. You should lead by example. Become a great archivist, show all of Cybertron what a lowly miner-bot can do.” He finished his deliverance with a trembling fist, not unlike Orion’s own. His optics were white-hot, and laser-focused on him. Belatedly, Orion realized he was waiting for a response. 

Alter my frame? Become an archivist? It sounded like a dream come true.

It was the scariest prospect he’d ever been offered.

“Will I still be able to go to Kaon?”

“Yes.”

Orion looked at his own servo. He flexed it, imagining it changed.

“My memory banks?”

“They’d be upgraded.”

“Dataports?”

“Doubled. Your contact points too”

“Quadrupled, I’d say,” said Magnus with a hint of disdain.

“What about my processor?”

Alpha Trion tilted his helm. “I don’t follow?”

“Would it be altered?”

“Of course not. Your thoughts are your own.”

He could be lying but…

“Do you think this is the best way to save my friend?”

“It may be your only way,” Alpha Trion said solemnly.

Orion curled his servo in a fist one last time, before meeting Alpha Trion’s optics. Their white fire reflected his own cyan.

“I’ll do it.”

*

Megatronus was tossed a rag and some polish the cycle before his first bronze match. Later, when he was approaching the arena, Declaron found him and clapped him on the pauldron, sickeningly friendly.

“Nice shine. Good. This is your debut, so make it flashy!”

“What about the last ten rounds?”

“No,” he waved his servo. “Those stands weren’t even half-full. And you were hardly recognizable under all the dirt. This is your debut.”

Megatronus nodded mutely, wanting the interaction done with. Declaron made his plating crawl.

He stepped forward towards the arena, hoping the other would remember his duties as announcer and make his exit.

“One last thing.” The servo tightened on his pauldron. “Your designation is Megatron now.”

His processor didn’t quite register the words. “What?”

“Megatronus— it just does not roll off the glossa. Meg-a-tron-us. Four syllables. The audience is an impatient bunch. Quite frankly, two syllables would be better. Or one, but Meg doesn’t quite have that sinister ring we’re going for.”

“But it’s my designation—“

“And the last thing we’d want is to draw attention to its similarity to the late Megatronus Prime. Some fans might find it blasphemous. It’s bad for business.”

“But—“

That angry smile expression from the medbay returned. “You swore your loyalty. You do as I say, Megatron.” He jabbed a digit at Megatronus’s chassis for good measure. It left a little black streak of paint transfer. He then turned on his heel struts and marched back towards the elevator to his announcer platform. Megatronus watched his retreating back with simmering hatred.

A few kliks later, that same voice came cascading down from its platform, all its menacing undertone scrubbed clean. “Femmes, and mechs! Bots of all kinds! Welcome to the Pits!” He always started the bronze rounds this way, since more than half the audience only arrived just then. The crowd roared its usual approval. He said a few more things to whip them up, and then, “For our first bronze round this evening, I give you… Megatron!”

On cue Megatronus strode out into the arena, volt-saw on his arm. He held his helm high, his shoulderplates at an intimidating angle. Every inch of his silver plating shone under the floodlights.

He was different now, he realized. The audience’s reception was enough evidence of that. They’d bayed and screamed when he had made his first debut, and every entrance since, but that had been nothing like the explosion of sound that erupted from them now.

Make it flashy.

He grasped the cord to start the saw and ripped it back. The machine powered on with a roar of its own, and the crowd’s frenzy ratcheted up that much higher.

*

Megatronus finished the match hunched over graying metal, fuschia-soaked, and venting hard. It was a position he was getting used to.

A quick hush across the crowd.

And then cheering like a wave crashing across rusty cliffs. It was nothing he’d ever felt in his life, a rushing high, a frothing, boiling energy that seethed around him, a gusting whirl that threatened to pick him up and carry him away. His spark sang with it, spinning so hard he was afraid it might burst from his chest. He had never– not once, cared for the bloodsport advertised, but this… the crashing, churning synergy burned electric in him.

He leaned on his front pede into a graceful rise, leaving the gore of his opponent beneath. He hauled the volt-saw up after him, over his helm, summoning the words from deep within.

“I STILL FUNCTION!”

After a beat, he let the saw fall to his side, his stance wide and proud. He stared the audience back, defiance and acknowledgement heavy in his chassis as they screamed.

Something was calling back. A chant was forming amongst the spectators. It started faint and scattered, but quickly coalesced into a unified cry. It took half a klik for him to make it out.

“Megatron!”

“Megatron!”

“Megatron!”

His helm followed the movement of the chant as it spread across the arena, as more bots took it up. They were banging their fists, stomping their pedes. They put their whole frames into the chorus.

“MEGATRON!”

“MEGATRON!”

“MEGATRON!”

And it wasn’t his name, but it was close enough. It wasn’t a life, but it was living. The bots calling him didn’t know him, but he wouldn’t be snuffed from existence, nameless and unremembered, as he had once feared. He wouldn’t die in the dark.

It rolled off the glossa better anyway.

Notes:

This thang ended up so longggg omg. It used to be two chapters and then I squished them together. Anywho, hope you enjoyed lmao. This was a crazy one to write, and involved way more political research than I expected XD Also v excited that Soundwave has officially entered the chat,, tho he won't be back for a lil while

Chapter 7: Fountain

Notes:

Wanted to start this chapter by thanking everyone for all the amazing comments :,) I started writing this thing because the BRAINWORMS were making me insane, but I am continuing because of all the kind words.. and the brainworms. That's all. I have a lot more planned, and I'm super excited about it. Thanks for starting this journey with me.

Orion arrived to consciousness slowly, blinking away the echoes of a recharge that hadn’t involved any kind of defrag. A dreamless sleep. He didn’t feel rested at all.

He brought a servo up to his face. It did respond, but came back pinging an intense numbness. Resetting his optics, he dispersed the static, and took a proper look around. The room was dim, only lit by various machines spitting their light around him. Medical devices, many plugged into him or the berth he laid on. He resisted the urge to pull at them, and sat back.

What had he been told…?

“Here’s Ultra Magnus’s comm channel. Message him when you wake.”

Yes. Alpha Trion had said—

Alpha Trion!

Everything came rushing back. The machines registered the spike in his readings and beeped back accordingly.

He’d followed Alpha Trion from the archives, Magnus on their heels.

“Wait, we're doing this now?” Orion had asked.

“Is there a better time?” Alpha Trion replied.

Orion thought about it, then shook his helm.

They met no one on their way out of the archives late as it was, even though they used the main entrance, and damn if Orion wouldn’t remember the feeling of passing through those doors for the rest of his functioning.

It was a simple thing to hop into the vehicle waiting at the steps, no checkpoint, no ID. He briefly wondered if the vehicle was actually a bot.

“West Sides Clinic, please,” Alpha Trion said to the empty driver’s seat.

Bot, then.

The small ship started with a rumble, taking to the air. It was a short journey. Orion spent most of it fluctuating between nervousness and excitement. Would he feel different? Would he be different?

Alpha Trion must have commed ahead, and been very familiar with the staff. He was taken to a medical suite with little preamble, and briefed on the procedure by a stoic medic named Pulse. 

“You’re putting me under?” He asked.

She nodded. “It’s essentially a complete overhaul of your systems. We risk complications if you stay online. Your internals need to be running on as low a setting as possible.”

Back in the present he squeezed his servo. The numbness was starting to give way to a slight prickling, though he was unsure if that would give way to real pain. The pads of his digits had more texture. Contact points maybe? He catalogued the shapes and realized everything stood out more prominently. His digits were definitely different, but so were his optics.

He commed Ultra Magnus. The bot immediately entered the suite, flicking the light on behind him. Orion winced a bit as his new optics adjusted.

“Were you waiting outside the whole time?” Orion checked his chronometer. Almost an entire solar-cycle had passed since he’d been put under.

Magnus gave a curt nod, and then pulled a chair up beside the berth. “How are you feeling?” His voice had the same clinical quality as a medic.

“Tingly.”

“Yes, that will pass. Pulse said it would take time for everything to settle. She said to take these in the meantime.” He handed Orion a small container of pain blockers.

He took them gratefully, and opened his subspace to store them. It was smaller than before, and empty.

He looked up at Magnus in a panic. “What did they do with–”

Magnus pulled a small basket from the foot of the berth, and anxiety smoothed out of his frame.

“Later, we can go back to your habsuite and get the rest of your things.”

“Oh,” Orion said sheepishly. “I don’t have more things… or a habsuite.”

Magnus just stared at him blankly for a klik. Orion thought he might say something, but in the end he just blinked and moved on like the exchange had never happened. “I’ll take you to your new habsuite once you’ve been discharged, next solar-cycle.”

“Thanks Magnus.” Orion sank back down onto the berth, feeling recharge calling to him again. “I know I’m in good servos.” He yawned, optics dimming. Ultra Magnus didn’t verbally acknowledge his words, or even smile, but his small nod and returning gaze somehow seemed to contain meaning.

*

His new frame took some getting used to. Most of his specs were the same— height, helm, length of different limbs, even his alt-mode was mostly unchanged, just smoothed a little bit so it wouldn’t be painfully obviously meant for hauling. He weighed a little more, and quickly discovered the source, a ten zettabyte memory block housed in his chassis. It was why his subspace had to be reduced. He immediately— before he was even discharged, moved all his archives research onto it and started organizing it the way he had always wanted to.

Later, Magnus took him to his new habsuite. It was on the hundred-and-first floor of a building on the surface.

“It’s— it’s way too much, Magnus.”

The mech gave him a puzzled look. “Statistically, it is exactly median compared to where most archivists live. I picked it out myself.”

“Oh. Thank you, but…” Orion looked around the place again. It had a huge window overlooking the entire east side of Iacon, a fully-furnished kitchen space to make flavored energons, and a cabinet where it was implied he was supposed to keep energon he wasn’t consuming immediately. There was a datascreen bigger than himself where he could project datapads for work, or holovids just for fun, and there was a berth and washracks which were each in their own separate rooms.  

“The building also has a gym, a detailer, a bar, a terrace, and an all-access oilbath facility.”

Orion’s processor went a little dizzy with the scope of it.

“I don’t think I can live here.”

Magnus’s brow ridge furrowed. “Of course you can. It’s already been paid for, and with your new frame, no one would take any issue with it.”

“That’s…” entirely not the issue, Orion wanted to say.

“It’s settled then. I’ll escort you to the archives tomorrow to meet with Alpha Trion and get your assignment.” He backed out of the room with something that wasn’t quite haste. The door slid shut behind him, and Orion was alone.

Completely alone, in this too-large habsuite.

It was so silent too. The walls were thick. The apartment was so far above the din of the city that the only real disruption was the occasional fly-by from a flight alt-mode.

Orion walked up to the glass. Iacon was a sprawling glowing metropolis below him. He was facing east. If he craned his vision to the right, he could just make out the darkened surface that made up the border to Kaon. From here it looked like Iacon’s dark shadow, somehow both beneath them, and looming.

To the left was Iacon’s glittering palaces, their platforms at his optic-level. Of course there was an even higher place to be than the surface.

He couldn’t stay here. At least, he couldn't be here at this moment. He needed air.

It was a cinch to take the elevator down to ground level. No one even tossed him a second look. He still reeled when he caught his reflection in different shiny surfaces, or when he deigned to look down at his arms. They’d repainted him. It was a close match to his old shade, but not perfect. His red paint was hex: c61e33 before. Now it was a slightly brighter cc2136. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed with his old optics, but the updates took in everything. He was so lustrous now too. He was expected to get a cleaning, wax, and detail every megacycle to maintain it, and that was if he didn’t get in any trouble to scuff it up in the first place.

As he walked the bright streets, bots continued to not notice him in any way. The few glances he did get were either ones of complete apathy, or glimmering appreciation. The few times he’d gotten that look had always left his fight or flight protocols twitching for activation. Before, bots were appreciating that he was small, and hypothetically wouldn’t have been able to fight back. Now, he supposed bots were appreciating– what, his paint job? He shook his helm. How can bots look a complete stranger over that way? He’d have to at least be acquainted before he could imagine–

He shook his helm again and quickly diverged into an oilhouse. This early in the solar-cycle– Magnus insisted they depart at a withering 0600 cycles, the oilhouse screens were mostly displaying mid-grade energon varieties, though it still had a few cheeky high-grade additions at the very bottom.

Orion spent way too long looking over the board. He knew there were other ways energon could be refined and prepared, he knew it could be flavored, he’d had flavored engex at Shocky’s, but he’d never seen so many options before. Half of the varieties he didn’t even recognize.

“You gonna order something? Or are you just here for the light reading material?”

His attention snapped down to the bot manning the bar. He was a bulky charcoal-colored mech with red highlights, about Orion’s height. That was something else about the surface. He was used to being small amongst the worker bots of the lower layers. Here, he was a fairly average height.

“Sorry,” Orion said. “I haven’t been here before.”

“That much I know. I’d remember if you were a regular. The name’s Trailbreaker. What can I get you?”

He was a little nervous about spending, but Magnus had assured him that he’d be getting a salary. The amount wasn’t anything to sneeze at either. He wasn’t actually sure what he’d be able to spend that much on. The thought made him shift uncomfortably.

“I’m Orion Pax. How does the sodium borate taste?”

Trailbreaker’s face screwed a bit. “Bitter. If that’s what you like, I’d recommend it.”

Orion thought about Megatronus and his bitter high-grade and nickel shavings at Shocky’s. He’d probably like the sodium borate.

“I usually go for something sweet,” Orion said.

“Well, then I can either do some kind of sucralose, or maybe you’d prefer an ethylene glycol? That one’s actually great cause it also helps refill your antifreeze tank.”

“Let’s do that, then. I’ve never had it.”

“Really?” Trailbreaker’s optics widened just that bit behind his visor. “Well then, it is my honor to introduce you, my friend.”

Orion took a proper seat at the bar. Surface mechs were so friendly. Even Shockwave had kept a protective edge in each of their interactions.

What would Megatronus think of all this?

The seat next to him suddenly seemed achingly vacant.

“Here you go.” The drink sloshed a little as Trailbreaker slid it to him. “If you like it, it’s called a frozen swirl.”

Orion could see why. The different ingredients weren’t quite mixed, so the blue and white formed a little spiral. He took a sip. It was overwhelmingly sweet.

“Ah, sorry.” Trailbreaker said at his grimace. “You’re supposed to use the garnish stick thingy to stir it. The ingredients don’t taste good apart. That’s just for presentation.”

“Oh.” Orion mixed the liquids and tried it again. He lit up. “Oh!”

“Good, right? Personally I think the mix works better with high-grade. I like the way it offsets the burn, but a rough mid-grade like the one here does pretty good too.”

“Rough?”

“Well, this one is only double-filtered. Usually we serve triple, but I prefer the way this one tastes with the glycol. I got some triple-filtered recs if you want though.”

Orion shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He’d actually never had anything higher than single-filtered. Trailbreaker didn’t need to know that.

“So, did you catch the race last night?”

“Race?”

“Oh, you don’t follow sports then?”

The most he knew about was gladiatorial combat, and not for the reasons Trailbreaker would assume.

“I’m a bit new here, that’s all. How was the race?”

“Meh, it’s just one of the preliminaries for the Iacon 5000– you must know about that one at least! Where’re you from?”

He had heard about the Iacon 5000. Some of the other miners had spoken about it last stellar-cycle when it had been happening then.

Trying to deflect the second question, because answering honestly would only raise more, he asked, “who won?”

“Blurr of course. I was personally rooting for Jazz. He’s a little green, but I’d like to see where his career goes. He seems like a really great guy in interviews. At least he qualified.”

Orion nodded along. He didn’t really know who any of these bots were, but Trailbreaker spoke like they were all common knowledge. Maybe this was just what surface bots spoke about. They seemed like they’d have the time for it.

“So where’re you from?”

Scrap.

“Um… one of the colonies, uh, Velocitron.”

“Velocitron? Then you should definitely know more about racing.”

Frag!

“Well, I guess I was always too wrapped up in my work to take notice. I’m here to work in Iacon’s archives.” He scratched the back of his helm sheepishly, hoping it came off as the normal kind of nervousness, instead of the oh slag my cover’s blown and they’re going to lobotomize me and I’m FRAGGED–

“Oh, neat!” Trailbreaker said. “So you’re an archivist.”

Orion nodded, covering his anxiety with another sip of his drink.

*

Eventually Trailbreaker left to tend to other patrons, and Orion slid away from the bar and out the door, tossing some shanix on the counter. The solar-cycle was still just getting started. It wasn’t even noon yet. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He wasn’t ready to go back to his habsuite, but he wasn’t really feeling like doing much else. What he really wanted was to sneak into the archives, or check on Megatronus, except he wasn’t supposed to sneak in, it was his job now, and Kaon…

He looked towards the border. He couldn’t risk it just yet. He needed to make sure Alpha Trion had finished all his alterations of the identity change, otherwise he’d definitely be caught.

He wandered the streets some more as Rigil Kentaurus, the first of their suns, wheeled slowly overhead.

There were so many shops, selling things no bot actually needed. Decorations for habsuites, all kinds of things to attach to the frame to follow the latest trends, there were even places renting out minibots who’d follow their masters around and perform miscellaneous tasks. It was a far cry from the parlors of below, hocking their small bursts of pleasure in the forms of engex or interface. A day ago, he wouldn’t have been able to conceive affording any of this. He still couldn’t, and he didn’t really want it.

He walked a little further until he reached a huge plaza at the end of the street. It was ringed with dazzling white and gold buildings, occasionally broken up by other streets. The center was occupied by a massive fountain, triple tiered, adorned with gold detailing, and topped with the towering statues of the fourteen Primes, Sentinel and all his predecessors.

Energon flowed from the fountain's spigots, its fuchsia hue unmistakable. Orion’s wonder had been steadily curdling through his wanderings, thinking why, why, why? Why would Iacon keep this to themselves, when they could just share with Kaon and improve so many lives? The energon fountain was just the biggest slap to the face. It wasn’t even for a purpose. There was a big ‘no drinking’ sign with a camera mounted on top of it.

Orion clenched his fists over and over, taking deep vents in an attempt to bring his vitals down. Frag the Primes, frag Sentinel for letting this happen. Frag the whole council.

“Hey.” A servo fell on that place between his pauldron and neckcables. He turned to look– that voice was so familiar… “Don’t turn. Just leave. This place is about to get very dangerous.”

It clicked in his processor. “Arcee?” He turned, despite her warning. “What are you doing here?”

The femme in question took a step back, optics wide and disbelieving. “Orion?” She blinked a few times. “I could ask you the same thing!” She looked him up and down. “And your frame!”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “Wait. Why’s this place about to be dangerous–”

As he said it a massive explosion rocked the plaza. Arcee took another step back to brace against it. Orion was actually toppled. He scrambled back to his pedes. “What’s happening?!”

Smoke plumed vibrant red, rising high into the sky, revealing that the explosion had actually done very little damage. There weren’t even any other bots in the immediate blast zone. Arcee must’ve been redirecting them. The Primes all remained standing, except when his gaze continued up, Cliffjumper was mounting Sentinel’s red-stained helm, every camera trained on him.

“Frag the council! Frag the functionalists!” He pulled something from his subspace and struck it against the rubber of the tire in his pede. It lit– a match then. “If you’re one of us, if you’re sick of this slag too, you’ll know where to find us!” He flicked the match, and launched himself from the golden pedestal, switching to alt-mode as he hit the ground. Arcee followed suit.

The match circled in the air. Orion watched its arc, understanding dawning quickly. He swapped to alt, even remembering Pulse’s order to take it easy, and floored it.

That flickering light hit the energon pumping through the fountain. It fizzled in the liquid for a beat. Orion’s tires squealed against the pavement.

The fountain went up in a brilliant burst of hot white fire.

He had to make an effort to watch his rear and dodge flaming debris and it crashed around him. His joints ached with the strain. Shock ruptured through the air a moment later, the explosion screaming in his audials. The wave threw him from his wheels, and he transformed again in an effort to minimize damage. The pavement scraped a huge swath of paint off his front, but other than that, he came to a stop mostly unscathed.

He caught his breath on the ground. That burst of energy had overheated him significantly. Guess it was good he had that frozen swirl then.

He sat still, venting deeply until Cliffjumper and Arcee’s engines disappeared into the returning din of the city, until the whine of sirens grew a little close for comfort. He got himself back on his shaking stabilizing servos and reoriented. The fountain was still burning, the Primes were warped and twisted where they weren’t gone completely. The energon was completely burned up. What a waste. But then, if no one was going to get to drink it, it probably didn’t matter if it existed at all.

In the backdrop of it all, something that hadn’t been there before, were flaming words. They were written in the slangy shorthand unique to Kaon’s underbelly. This was how Cliffjumper intended his call to be received. It was brilliant. Even if anyone up top could understand it, it was very unlikely that any of them would grasp the meaning of the words.

Where the Pits meet carbon pure.

On cue, a news-copter circled overhead, taking in the damage and the message. Soon every Cybertronian on the planet, if not every Cybertronian anywhere, would know. There was no way the council could censor an act of this magnitude.

“Oi! You there!”

Orion turned to the voice. Scrap. Lingered too long. He let the Praxian cop and his partner approach.

“Prowl, go easy on the mech. He’s probably in shock.”

“Quiet Tumbler. For all we know he’s in cahoots!”

“Do bots say cahoots? Besides, it’s obvious he’s a civilian, just look at him.”

Prowl grumbled, eyeing Orion with intense suspicion. Tumbler gave a sympathetic shrug.

“We’ll have this done as quick as possible, then you can go see the medic.” Tumbler pointed to the ambulance that had pulled up and was now transforming into a sleek white femme.

Orion nodded, trying his best to play the part of shell-shocked victim.

“Please tell us what you saw,” Tumbler coaxed, slowly leading Orion to the medic.

Orion took a deep vent, then spun a tale about the scary worker bot who grabbed him— because they definitely had that on tape, and the other who blew up the fountain.

“Did she say anything?”

“She said it was about to get dangerous.”

“And did you say anything back?” Prowl cut in. His permanent glower contrasted nicely with Tumbler’s reassuring demeanor.

“I— I think I asked her why? And then… you know.”

“I do, I do.” Tumbler put a comforting servo on his backplates. “Did you happen to see what direction they went in?”

Orion rubbed his helm for dramatic effect. “I’m not quite sure, I got a little thrown around.” Plausible deniability. “That way I think,” he lied, pointing in the opposite direction.

Tumbler nodded. “Thank you. Your witness account is duly noted, and will no doubt help us in the capture.”

Better not.

“Doesn’t really matter which way they went,” Prowl muttered, mostly to himself. “We’ve got traps set across the entire Kaon border.”

“Wow. How’d you mobilize so fast?” Orion asked mildly.

“New protections,” Tumbler said. “We’ve been gathering intel of labor-class unrest for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you do something about it?”

“This is us doing something about it,” Prowl barked.

“That isn’t…” What he meant was, why wouldn’t you try to listen to them, but then, he suddenly had much more pressing matters to attend to. Maybe Cliffjumper and Arcee already knew about the trap set, but if they didn’t…

He let Tumbler show him to the medic, then slipped away when their backs were turned. Running down the streets, he suddenly realized he had no way to contact them.

Unless…

.:Ratchet?:.  

Please please please.

.:Kid? Where’ve you been, it’s been–:.

.:Do you have Arcee and Cliffjumper’s comms? They’re in danger!:.

Ratchet’s returning comm pinged confused concern, and a wordless contact attachment.

*

Arcee followed Cliff carefully, but quickly through the narrow back alleys of Iacon. It only made her desperately wish for Kaon, which was essentially just one massive back alley.

.:Don’t worry Cee, we’re almost at the border:.

That was somewhat comforting. She was ready to kick back with a cube of cheap high-grade and be done with the whole thing.

It had felt good though, watching those blank golden eyes go up in smoke.

Was Orion okay? He’d escaped the impact zone, but she’d lost sight of him after he tumbled out of his alt-mode. Even if she was suspicious of the mech– hell, he could blow their whole cover if it turned out he was suspect, she didn’t want him to be hurt. He’d seemed nice, genuine. That being said, she had literally no idea how he’d ended up on the surface with a shiny mid-caste frame.

Actually, it hadn’t even looked that different from before. Maybe he had been mid-caste all along, engaging in some kind of economic tourism. That would’ve been the strangest explanation, cause who the hell would willingly subject themselves to it, but then, who knew what the higher-caste mechs got up to for the sake of staving off boredom.

.:Arcee? Cliffjumper? You’re in danger:. The comm crackled across her HUD. It had Orion’s signature. Arcee stuttered a bit in her movement.

.:You getting this Cliff??:.

.:Sure am:.

She hopped back on the joint connection. .:What is this Orion? Explain yourself:.

.:I will. Promise. Do you know there’s a trap set at the border??:.

She jumped over to Cliff’s line. .:Do we know about that?:.

Cliffjumper’s silence was telling. .:No:.

Arcee thought about it. .:He could be lying:.

.:Why would he lie?:.

.:Didn’t you see? He was at the plaza. He had a mid-caste frame:.

They hadn’t slowed all the while. The border grew closer with every passing nanoklik.

.:Cliff?:.

…

.:Cliff??:.

He hit the brakes and came to an abrupt stop, switching to root-mode. Arcee had to quickly transform not to crash into him.

“Are you sure it was him?” Cliff said. 

“Yes. He answered to his designation and everything. He knew me.”

Cliffjumper let his servos rest on his hips. He got that contemplative look on his face. It was the same one he’d had on the entire megacycle they spent together planning their protest.

“I don’t trust him,” she said. All her conversations with Orion suddenly felt poisonous in her processor. Had it all been a lie? He had seemed real. Cliff had later spoken to her about bringing him into the fold. But now…

“I do.” Cliffjumper said.

“What?”

“You were down in the mines with him, right? Didn’t he almost die in a collapse? He stopped that riot, and his friend is in the Pits. Doesn’t sound like a mid-caste to me.”

“I’m telling you! That’s exactly what he was! Maybe– maybe he was a plant meant to root out bots with anti-functionalist sentiment, and now that he’s found us they’ve told him ‘ job well done’ and given him a cozy desk job!”

“That doesn’t even make sense. How could they give him the promotion before they caught us?”

“I don’t know!” She threw her servos into the air, frustration brimming in her field.

“Okay, okay.” He took one of those servos. It was somewhat grounding, but also a little patronizing. She shot him a scathing look, and he quickly withdrew. “I think we should at least hear him out. Maybe he has a good explanation, and to heed his warning, all we have to do is not cross the border.”

“Which is the only place where we're guaranteed safety.” She said it steadily, lest he accuse her of speaking from anger, which she definitely was, but he hardly had the right to remark on it when he said and did much stupider things from his heedless courage.

“Guaranteed is a stretch. I don’t really think we’ll be truly safe anywhere. And if he is a traitor, then he knows exactly where we’re going anyway.” And damn if he wasn’t right. “I think we should get to the bottom of this.”

She glared at him for a little while, carefully considering each of his points. He was right. Orion being a traitor or a mole didn’t really make sense, especially if he broke from character just as he was beginning to earn their trust. But even discarding the theory, nothing made sense.

Arcee nodded. Cliff jumped back on the shared channel.

.:What do you suggest, Orion?:.

*

Orion told them to meet behind a warehouse at the outskirts of the sector he lived in, and actually arrived second.

Cliffjumper didn’t trust him. Even though he smiled when they saw each other again, it looked a little strained.

“Where’s Arcee?” Orion asked, apprehension creeping into his lines. “She didn’t get caught did she?”

“No,” Cliffjumper said. “She’s… around.”

Orion didn’t really have anything to say to his cryptic response. “Okay…” He searched the warehouse rooftops, but there was no sign of her. “I suppose you have some questions.”

“You bet,” Cliffjumper responded, his friendliness toothed.

“I’ve only had this frame since yesterday.”

“Mole!” Arcee yelled from above. She leapt into a combat stance. Orion yelped and only just managed to dodge her strike from the air.

“Hey! It’s not what you think!” He rolled away from another attack, before scampering back up and running a circle around Cliffjumper. “I was in the archives three night-cycles ago. Alpha Trion caught me and offered me a job, and yes it sounds insane to me too!”

The chase stopped. Orion chanced a look back to find that Cliffjumper had grabbed Arcee by the waist and was holding her aloft. She wasn’t struggling, but must’ve been, if the paint transfers on Cliff’s arms were any evidence.

“See, Arcee. He did have an explanation.”

“Sounds fake to me.”

“Notice how no one followed me here?” Orion said, growing desperate and maybe a little angry. “I dislike the functionalists just as much as you. If you’d told me about all this I probably would’ve helped you.”

“Told you,” Cliff said smugly, setting Arcee down. She punched him lightly in the side.

“And yet you join them,” Arcee said, continuing to stare him down.

“I let Alpha Trion change me because he said I could help Megatronus this way. The more influence the better. You think anyone would listen to me as a stunted miner? Just cause I’ve decided to live among them doesn’t mean I believe what they believe.” A smile slid across his faceplates as he turned back to Cliffjumper. “You once gave me shelter when I needed it most. Let me return the favor?”

*

They waited until the night-cycle set in before making their way to Orion’s habsuite. They took the back entrance, which meant climbing one-hundred-and-one flights of stairs.

“I’m not sure avoiding capture is worth this,” Arcee said, venting heavily. The only one of them who wasn’t, was Cliffjumper, and even his fans had kicked in a little.

“Two more flights,” Orion huffed.

Otherwise, they made it without incident. Orion didn’t present the place with any kind of flourish. He was fairly self-conscious about the grandness of it, but that didn’t stop him from collapsing onto the couch.

“I told them it was too much. Though I’m a little happier about it now that you’re both going to have to fit.”

Arcee immediately began slinking around the place, opening cabinets and things.

“Sorry, I don’t have any energon in storage yet.” He’d have to change that. First thing, the next solar-cycle. He picked up the remote. “Do you want to see the coverage?”

Arcee didn’t stop snooping around. Cliffjumper threw himself onto the couch. Orion bounced a bit with the impact. Taking that as a yes, he flicked the news on.

“–Still an ongoing mechhunt for the two suspects, believed to be construction-bots.”

Cliffjumper barked a laugh. “Shows what they know! Cee’s a minerbot, and I’m supposed to be working docks. Take that functionalism!” He flipped his middle digit in the direction of the Iacon palaces.

Orion smiled. “That’s what you wanted to tell me about way back in your habsuite, wasn’t it? All this.” He gestured vaguely to the fire on the screen.

“You said you might’ve helped us if you’d known. Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” Orion said, without hesitation. “I might’ve… wanted to tweak the plan a bit, but I agree, functionalism has to go. Even before Megatronus got taken…” He trailed off, looking towards the shadow of Kaon. What would he think of all this? It’s such a strange predicament. Megatronus wasn’t the most humorous mech, but he tended to have something dry and witty on the tip of his glossa.

Arcee gave up searching for evidence of his treason, and finally landed on the couch between them. “Cliff calls us the FFFF: Freedom Fighters From Functionalism.”

“Work in progress,” Cliffjumper quickly added.

“Might need some better branding,” Orion said.

“Working on it.” Cliffjumper nodded to the repeating footage of the Primes burning.

“All of Iacon weeps for this monumental loss–”

“What do you think of the Primes?” Orion asked suddenly, not to either bot in particular.

“I don’t have anything against the first thirteen personally,” Arcee said. “Sentinel’s no good though. He should’ve stopped all this before it got bad.”

“Primes are supposed to be a guiding light, right? Servo of Primus stuff? I’m starting to think maybe it’s more of a spiritual thing than real power,” Cliffjumper said. “What about you?”

“Sentinel Prime will be overseeing the reconstruction of the fountain, but first, a candlelight vigil for the fourteen Primes.”

“They’re mourning a hunk of metal,” Orion threw up his servos. “No one even died. People go offline every day in Kaon, without a single person giving a damn.” He turned to the two bots. “And to answer your question, I don’t believe in Primes. Their divinity’s made up, and Sentinel’s the proof. He hasn’t even said anything about the injustice, all of that’s been Alpha Trion!” He slumped back, rage simmering. It took him a moment to realize Cliff and Arcee were staring at him.

“I think… that’s the most blasphemous thing I’ve ever heard,” Arcee said.

“I think you really need to get involved in the cause,” Cliffjumper added.

Chapter 8: Untitled Unknowns

Notes:

Happy holidays y'all!! Hope you enjoy the chap and thanks again for all the amazing comments rahhh!!

“I’m confused,” Megatron said honestly. This was usually something he didn’t do— speak honestly. Especially not with his present company. It had been two megacycles without so much as a peep from Orion. That was twenty fights. And now he was speaking honestly with Declaron.

They were in his office, all cool gray metal, not dissimilar from the Pit halls themselves, only much cleaner. It all shone bright with constant maintenance, and proper lighting. His view didn’t look out to the surface, but at least he had one under the artificial sun.

Megatron was sitting in a rather dinky chair, across from Declaron’s imposing one. A sleek black desk separated the two.

“You’re confused?” Declaron cocked his helm. How his horns didn’t throw him off balance, Megatron would never know.

“Just, um… nevermind. I’m sure you’ll get to whatever you wanted to speak to me about.” He sniffed the small glass of high-grade Declaron had poured for him. It smelled like the good stuff, but he couldn’t be sure it hadn’t been tampered with…

“I wouldn’t poison quality engex, y’know?” He smiled, predatory. “Only the swill.”

Megatron nodded vacantly. Joke or not, it wasn’t funny. He took a small sip, and didn’t drop dead, so he let the motion stand in for conversation until Declaron was ready to actually talk.

“To be transparent with you, I’m confused too.”

Megatron raised a brow ridge.

“Here I am this morning, minding my business, taking calls from different prisons and government officials, getting new fodder in for you and yours, when I get the strangest transmission.”

Megatron didn’t know if Declaron wanted a response. He let silence weigh between them.

“Tell me why Alpha Trion’s bodyguard is requesting I give you time off?”

“What?” Megatron couldn’t help but stand. This conversation just lost every hope of being sensical.

“That’s what I said!” Declaron smacked the table with a wide servo. Megatron tried not to flinch.

“Was there no additional information?”

“See for yourself.” Declaron turned a datapad to him. There was a shared schedule block.

Prisoner D-16 requested for meeting from 0800 to 1200.

Declaron looked to him. He could only shake his helm, perplexed. 

“Yes, I thought as much. You’re not special.” Declaron sat back, taking the datapad with him. He drummed a sharp digit on the desk.

Megatron took another sip of the high-grade. It really was nice stuff, certainly went down smoother than any energon he’d ever gotten to have before.

“How are you liking it here at the Pits?”

Megatron’s processor just about short-circuited. What kind of question is that? He didn’t really know how to say anything else without triggering that smiley rage he was coming to know and fear. He fought, he trained, he used the washracks and polished. He’d get jabbed with the butt of a weapon when being herded by guards. He got pushed and threatened by other prisoners, but he gave as good as he got. A bot started a fight with him in the halls once, and Declaron solved the issue by throwing them into a death-match against each other later that night-cycle. Megatron had killed the fragger with some difficulty, and that had been the last of it.

“They’re… fine,” he settled on.

Declaron didn’t react in a strong way, he just steepled his digits. “Actually, I didn’t mean to ask for your opinion. It’s just as dull as the rest of you. What I meant was, what are you going to say to this…” He checked the datapad again. “Ultra Magnus.”

“I don’t know why he even wants to see me.”

Declaron mimicked a beeping noise. “Erp, wrong.” He pressed a button on a small black box.

Megatron screamed as white hot pain flared through his lines. The shock-bit– he hadn’t imagined– glass was shattering somewhere nearby. He was on his servos and knees. The electricity was subsiding, but pain still flickered. He was venting heavily. His optics came back online, and he was looking at Declaron’s pedes.

The mech crouched down, the little black box still loosely held between two digits. “You broke my good crystal.” His optics flicked over to the shattered cube. “I’d shock you for that alone, but I think I’ve made my point.”

Megatron willed himself to be as still as possible, because if he let himself so much as twitch, he couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t be to wrap two servos around Declaron’s throat.

“Now here’s what I think is going on. Alpha Trion, he hates the Pits.” He said it as though the concept was a foreign one. “He’s tried to get them shut down multiple times. He probably would’ve too if I hadn’t had the brilliant foresight to get half the councilors in my corner.” He stroked his chin. “So here’s what I think is going on. Alpha Trion’s fishing for accounts to back up his ban this time. He wants you to go prattling on about how you’re being mistreated, how the Pits are a living hell. You need to give him nothing– less than nothing! Tell him you love it here. I don’t care how much it hurts your spark to lie–”

It didn’t hurt Megatron in the slightest. But lying for Declaron made him actually want back in the arena, if only to blow off some steam.

“You have to tell him it's a paradise on Cybertron if that’s what it takes… Okay that doesn’t sound believable. Fine. Tell him what you told me. Tell him it’s fine. You’re smart enough for that, aren’t you?” He fingered the little black button.

Megatron grit his dentae together, before forcing out, “fine.”

A beat of silence, and then, “good, good.” Declaron stood back up, returning to his desk. “Off you go, then. I’ve cancelled your fight for tonight so you can clean up.”

Megatron pulled himself up, keeping his movements as unbothered as possible.

“And Megatron?”

He turned.

“You know what’ll happen if you mess this up.”

He really didn’t, but he wasn’t planning to find out.

*

The mech waiting to escort Megatron out of the Pits the next solar-cycle was somehow even larger than Declaron, which was saying something. Even the guards who brought him to the entrance looked scared. With his big frame, and bigger gun, Megatron couldn’t really blame them.

“Are you Megatronus?”

He nodded.

The mech turned his attention to the guards. “I will have him back by 1200, as informed.” He returned to Megatron. “Follow.”

*

The two walked in silence for nearly half a cycle through different downtrodden sectors of Kaon. As the Pits slowly disappeared in his periphery, his processor wandered to escape. He promised himself if he saw an opportunity, he’d take it. He’d slip the guard, no matter how close he held his digit on the trigger, evade recapture, find Orion, and…

He didn’t really know what he’d do after that, but Orion would probably have some ideas. Finding him? He wasn’t sure about that either, except…

.:Orion, can you hear me?:.

He wasn’t sure what had been blocking his comms since capture, but if it was the Pits themselves then he should be able to–

.:Loud and clear!:. Orion chirped back. .:Can you see me?:.

See?

“Over here!” Orion was bouncing on his pedes at the end of the sidewalk, and oh, this could be bad. He had no idea what he was doing. If he tried something crazy and the guard got antsy–

“Magnus.” Orion strode right up to the pair. “What’d you say to the mech? He looks like he’s attending a funeral.”

“You two know each other?” Megatron asked, incredulous. He looked between them, searching for some hint of reason, then his gaze settled properly on Orion. “And your frame.” His servo reached out to touch, to confirm it was real, before he thought better of it and pulled back.

“Yeah,” Orion wrung his servos, not quite meeting his optics. “I’ve been getting that a lot lately. I can explain over some energon?” He gestured to the oilhouse they were stopped by.

*

Ultra Magnus insisted on the private party room in the back, and stood like a ghost at the door as he and Orion took their seats.

“Is he going to be there the whole time?” Megatron chanced.

“I’m ensuring Orion’s safety, and your containment.” Magnus narrowed his optics. “While I sympathize with your situation, your escape under my watch would jeopardize Alpha Trion’s reputation.” The hum of his blaster stood in for any kind of threat.

“So he really does work for Alpha Trion.”

Orion nodded. “And I guess I do too now.”

Megatron looked at Orion for a long long klik. Long enough that Orion started drumming a digit on the table. That was a habit of Orion’s that he was only starting to notice now that it was shared with Declaron. He knew it was nervousness that drove Orion’s action, but the parallel sent a twinge of unease through him.

He finally loosed a definitive exvent. The hilarity of the situation was not lost on him. The vent broke down into a small huff of laughter, only, it didn’t stop there. His vents seized with it, a sharp stuttering laugh threatening to erupt from him. He hunched over, trying to calm his traitorous frame, and it just wouldn’t listen.

“Megatronus? Are you okay?” One of Orion’s servos tentatively came to rest on Megatron’s pauldron. He put his own servo over it, cupping it, and his hysteria burst across the connection there, loud, and brilliantly vibrant, and oh my Primus he even has more contact points. What the hell?

Orion’s wavering relief was just as strongly felt. Poor mech thought I was losing my mind. He gave up fighting it, and threw his helm back. He laughed, his whole frame shaking with the force of it. In his periphery, Magnus hefted his blaster, and Megatron couldn’t even care. Orion’s tense smile softened, and soon he was chuckling with him. Their servos had shifted onto the table, and the glee in Orion’s field reflected his expression.

Happiness was all but nonexistent in the Pits, but he felt it here, now.

After Megatron got a hold of himself, Orion told the story, and hearing it only made Megatron want to burst into hysterics all over again. He steeled himself, listening quietly, but not humorlessly.

“And just like that, he offered you a job?” Megatron stretched back with an incredulous smile, and a drink. Orion had ordered it ahead of his arrival, some kind of bitter mix with crystalline mineral mixed in. Sodium borate, he’d been told, was delicious, and the crystals offered a satisfying crunch between sips. If the energon he usually had had any kind of texture, it was because a cyberrat had probably fallen into the energon processor.

“Yeah, a new habsuite too. You should see the place! It’s actually ridiculous. The only thing keeping me feeling sane about the whole situation is Arcee and Cliffjumper.”

Megatron remembered Arcee. She was one of the few bots who didn’t completely discount him after Darkwing’s beating.

“You’ve been visiting them then?” He was only a little bitter that he’d been seeing them, but not him. He quashed the feeling.

“Not exactly…”

“He’s been harboring them in his habsuite,” Ultra Magnus said, disappointment and resignation heavy in his tone. “Did you know Orion is a terrible liar?”

“I’m extremely aware.” Megatron replied with a snort.

“Enough of that.” Orion said, swatting at Megatron. “I don’t need you two talking smack right in front of me. You hear about Primes’ Plaza?”

“Idle gossip here and there.” Declaron had actually dedicated that night’s matches to the Primes in the wake of the destruction. “I heard it blew up?” He wasn’t sure how much of that was true though, and how much was overblown rumor.

“Yeah, well that was Arcee and Cliff.”

“What?” Megatron looked to Magnus for guidance. He may not have been a mech he trusted, but at this moment, he felt like they were the only sane ones in the room.

“They’ve been hiding out with me.” Orion continued. “Magnus wasn’t supposed to know, cause I didn’t want to implicate anyone, but he has a problem with knocking.”

“I don’t have a problem with knocking! I am a firm believer in privacy. You have a problem with not locking your door.”

“I’ve never had a door before!” Orion threw his servos in the air, playful desperation in his field. “I’m working on it! Sue me!”

“I do not believe that qualifies as grounds for litigious action.”

Orion shook his helm, amusement playing on his lips. “Aye. What am I going to do with you, Magnus?”

Even with Magnus’s stilted language usage, and awkward demeanor, the way they played off each other was so natural. That had to be on Orion’s end. He was just so easygoing. He was just like that with everybody—

Everybody.

Megatron watched, spark twisting oddly as he watched their banter. He thought that they had easy banter, they had this special rapport. To think that Orion was just this friendly with everyone…

He forcibly cut that thread from unraveling. It was a stupid thought. The whole thing— that he deserved Orion’s singular attention, or that he had it.

Only, when the mine was getting shut down, and all the bots were unknowingly corralling themselves in the compound, Orion had gone back for him. When Megatron had been sentenced to the Pits, and there was no hope of survival, Orion had snuck into the archives for him. Now he had a shiny new frame, a willing bodyguard who he could banter with, and all of Iacon’s surface to take, he came back for him.

And in the end, maybe it didn’t matter whether or not Megatron was all Orion had, because in the end, the reverse was achingly true.

“Oh,” Orion said, attention suddenly back on Megatron. “I brought you this.” He opened his subspace and pulled out a datapad. “I don’t know if you get bored in there. Maybe you don’t, but…” He trailed off, and handed him the device, his big blue optics trained on his reaction.

Megatron booted it up and scrolled through the contents. It was a massive collection of different works, ranging from nonfiction to stories, short and long, entire novels, all the way to poetry. “This is…” He’d never had time for reading. He was only literate because the orientation chip the government had provided him included the neo-cybex dictionary, but he’d always wondered… “Thank you Orion.” He breathed, immediately clicking on the short collection of stories at the very top, written over a millenia by some ancient bot by the name of Axion. He read a few sentences, just to get the feeling of it. They came slowly at first— a reasonable outcome considering the longest thing he’d had to read so far had been various caution signs in the mines.

“I loaded up all the most famous works, and then all the stuff Alpha Trion thinks are the best, and the ones Magnus likes—“

“I recommended Theorem of Code of Ethics by Spewblast, Structures of Reason by Logislator, and Aesthetics of a Well-Kept Armoire by Handlebar. You can thank me later.” Magnus actually had the audacity to look pleased with himself.

“And I, of course, added all my favorites,” Orion continued. “As well as a few I’ve been meaning to get to. There’re some texts that brush on Functionalism there too, since you asked last time. I’ve had a hard time tracking down anything cumulative on it though. I think any work like that’s been censored. I’ve also marked everything, so you’ll know exactly who recommended what.” His optics darted pointedly in Magnus’s direction. If the mech noticed, he didn’t react.

Megatron didn’t know what to say. He held the datapad close to his chest, spark spinning quick. He looked at Orion again, hoping to somehow convey the depth of his gratitude through his expression, only to be greeted by one of Orion’s own. Megatron wasn’t quite sure what he was registering across the other mech’s faceplates. It was something undefined, a little like fondness, and his optics were so, so wide.

Realizing he’d been caught, Orion’s expression shifted to something else. It was that same smile he wore when he lied, big and dumb, and fake.

“What’s wrong Orion?”

His smile strained a bit, before he sighed, tapping his digit again. “I’m sorry. I haven’t found a way out yet.”

“You can’t keep apologizing for that.”

Orion’s lips formed a tight thin line. His brow ridges knit. “I know.” He looked up guiltily, his lips quirking a little. “I’m also sorry I haven’t been visiting.”

“It’s…” he stopped short of okay. Orion didn’t owe him his presence, but, “I’ve missed you.” He admitted, so quiet that it was almost inaudible.

“I missed you too.” His optics were big and imploring. “Primus… Megatronus—“

He had to stop himself from correcting Orion.

“I walk the surface, and everything is so plentiful, and beautiful. No one’s suspicious of each other, or worried about where their next fueling will come from. There’s actual time to think, and do, and the suns are so warm, but—“ his vocalizer crackled static. He had to reset it. “It’s not right, the way it’s the few. There’s so few people up top. I mean, I could probably spend the next hundred years meeting bots up there, and still not know all of them, but it’s not everyone. It’s not the miners, and construction-bots, or whatever else, and it’s not— it’s not y—“ his vocalizer hissed, the audio breaking down. He cursed, resetting it again. “You just need to see it someday. Alright? Promise me you will?”

It wasn’t something he could reasonably promise. Only a fool or a liar would. “Yes Orion. I will.”

The responding smile made the lie worth it. Relief poured across their shared connection.

They chatted a while longer about topics a little less pressing or emotionally taxing. Megatron told him a little about his life in the Pits, though he tried to stay as detached as possible as he did so. He left out most of the parts about Declaron. He couldn’t possibly mention the mech without that thick shame curling through him, but he did tell Orion about the name change.

Orion gasped. “He can’t do that!”

Megatron shrugged, swirling his energon a little. It was his third. Despite the way his emotions were all hanging sideways, he hadn’t felt better physically in stellar-cycles. It was an odd feeling— being well fueled.

“Do you want me to keep calling you Megatronus then?”

The question was a little surprising, though he was unsure why. After a moment of consideration, he nodded. “Yes. I think I would like that.”

The conversation eventually wandered back to Orion’s research and his position in the archives.

“Everyone’s so nice. It’s almost creepy. I keep waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under me. A few solar-cycles ago, my supervisor took me aside to ask about my research and actually tell me I was doing a good job.” Orion chuckled. “But all I could think about was the time a mine overseer cornered me and shook me down for all my shanix.”

“Who?” Magnus asked sharply. Megatron had almost forgotten he was there.

“Oh, it’s okay. That was ages ago.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the mech said, his digits creaking around his blaster. Was he upset? “That’s a violation of command code 36-alpha: a bot in a position of authority will not extort or otherwise threaten their subordinates for monetary gain, or any other self-benefit.” He narrowed his optics. “Give me his designation. I will order an audit and survey of his command. We must make sure he isn’t doing this to any other bots.”

In his own strange way, Magnus really did care. That made Megatron feel a little better, knowing someone was watching over Orion in his absence. 

Orion told him, and Magnus jotted the name down on a datapad, which looked comically small in his servos.

“Oh, and as part of my research I’ve been getting to interview Alpha Trion about his time in the Quintessons War and what Cybertron was like before it.”

“Before it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it sounds crazy that things could’ve really been that different, but you have to remember, it was a war spanning a million stellar-cycles. Could you imagine that? A war lasting one million stellar-cycles?”

Megatron shook his helm.

“I mean, just take, um… femmes and mechs! According to Alpha Trion there was no such thing. We were all just bots! They brought the gender binary with them! I mean, we all have the same— ahem, equipment, after all.”

Megatron smirked slightly. “Ironic that the organics were the ones to introduce a binary to a race whose processors run on ones and zeroes.”

Orion’s face split into a grin. “Right? It’s fascinating.”

*

Much too soon, Magnus was reminding them of the time. 

“It took us twenty-six kliks to walk here. So I’d like to give us thirty to get back.”

“Magnus, ever practical.” Orion stood. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Not the whole way though,” Magnus chided. “The guards may recognize you.”

Orion huffed, but agreed. He had to do a bit of a trot to keep up, but wouldn’t let that stop the flow of conversation.

“How’d you like the sodium borate additive?” Orion asked, bouncing a bit on his heel blocks.

“Was that the first one?”

“Yeah.”

“It was good. How’d you know?”

Orion did a little skip. “You take your energon bitter.”

A simple, true fact that Orion had bothered to remember.

“I’ll have to get some more recommendations from Trailbreaker for next time.”

Megatron grimaced, and it must’ve come through in his field, because Orion spun around and started walking backwards to properly study him. “What’s wrong?”

“It just… probably won’t be a good idea for us to meet again for a while.” And saying it was like cutting off a limb, but he just couldn’t risk it, not with how tetchy Declaron was.

Orion’s expression fell. “Why not?”

“The mech who runs the place, he wouldn’t like it.”

“But he can’t refuse! Not when Alpha Trion’s asking— wait…” Orion’s brow furrowed. “Megatronus, has he been mistreating you?”

He resisted the urge to roll his optics, for lack of other reaction. “It’s the Pits, Orion. It was never going to be a picnic.”

“Has he hurt you?”

“Please don’t worry, Orion. He’s got nothing on Darkwing.”

And that only made Orion’s brow furrow more, if such a thing were possible.

“Orion.”

The mech glared at him.

“Orion. Please don’t make this into a thing.”

“When have I done that?”

C-12 riot.

Megatron huffed. “I’m just asking you not to get involved. You’ll just upset him more.”

Orion’s optics intensified momentarily, then petered off. “I wasn’t going to.” Then added, “not with him, anyway.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “You’re plotting something.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m not plotting anything.” His voice had a slight trill, sing-songy and innocent. “I’m just helping some other bots out a bit.”

“Arcee and Cliffjumper are bad influences on you.”

Magnus nodded in his periphery. 

“They have ideas for real change. I’m not missing it for the world.” He tilted his helm, almost looking rueful. “Who knows. Maybe it’ll lead to your freedom too.”

“You know, when we were discussing the shortcomings of your archival endeavors, this wasn’t really the alternative I was envisioning.”

Orion shrugged. “This was always the natural progression of my work, Megatronus. And they’re not just talking about blowing up some dusty monument, we’re talking full scale revolution. The system’s been broken since the Quintessons, and it’s more obvious than ever that the council’s too busy with their helms up their tailpipes to do anything about it.” 

“Alpha Trion, he hates the Pits.” Declaron had said. “He’s tried to get them shut down multiple times. He probably would’ve too if I hadn’t had the brilliant foresight to get half the councilors in my corner.

“At least half are as corrupt as pistons after an acid bath.”

“Exactly— wait. How do you know that?”

“The ringleader I was talking about, he practically told me so himself.”

Magnus was talking very keen interest in the conversation. He could very nearly hear his processor whirring as they spoke.

“I knew it!” Orion snapped. “Those fraggers!”

“Language,” Magnus chastised. “My audials are not waste compactors.”

“I know I’m half your size and all, but I am a grown mech.”

“What is your plan?” Megatron asked. His goal wasn’t to stop the brewing argument, but the side-effect was a bonus. 

Orion’s gaze swept across the streets. There were dozens of bots milling around, or walking with their own purpose. Not necessarily eavesdropping, but not guaranteed in the other way either.

He turned back to Megatron and winked. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

*

Declaron made him fight two matches that night-cycle, “to make up for yesterday,” he’d said, as though it had been a real loss for him.

The first had actually been easy. He was willing to chalk that up to a combination of luck, and improved performance from full fuel tanks, but then the second round gave him the usual grief. First must’ve been a dud then.

He left the match with a huge chunk of missing plating on his midsection, and a puncture in a critical line. Flatline had to apply a coagulant just to keep him from bleeding out on the medical berth, and it really was good that he’d had so much fuel with Orion, cause he probably would have offlined otherwise.

He collapsed onto his shabby floor-level berth the second he was through the cell door. Recharge was easily within his grasp, after the solar-cycle he’d had, but instead he took a look around and pulled the datapad out from under the corner of the berth where he’d stashed it. He flicked it on, and lowered the brightness way down so that a passing guard wouldn’t notice its light.

Axion’s collection of short stories failed to captivate him. They were flowery, pretty words, describing a Cybertron long since passed. He clicked out and scrolled a bit, then realized he could sort by tags and see only what Orion had recommended. There were lots of historical works, as promised, as well as a bunch of other non-fictional pieces, novels, and shorts. He kept scrolling. Orion had added so much. At the very bottom was a collection of poems, titled Unknowns through Time, all written by anonymous bots from across the ages. He selected it, thinking that the shorter bursts of words would be easier to consume and practice on. The first read:

 

Untitled

 

Glimmering baubles shimmer high

One hundred suspended rivets

The sky, were it polymetal

The streets, were they lines

 

The people,

were they our own spinning light

Tear the spark from a lover

Call it love

 

The phrases, while short and structurally simple, were not easy to consume after all. He read the poem, written circa the Quintessons War, three more times, and didn’t come any closer to grasping it. He ran the two stanzas directly through his logic unit, with focus on cross-referencing it with his neo-cybex dictionary in search of all synonyms, and still came up mostly empty. He could grasp the analogy, if that was what it was. Imagine a mass— the sky, the streets, the people, were all components of one bot, but beyond that…

A little red icon appeared soundlessly in the upper corner of the datapad. Megatron tapped it, confused. It opened up to a–

A message board.

With a received message.

From Orion.

He almost forgot to breathe, he was so excited. He opened the chat.

.:Megatronus? Are you getting me?:.

And then a bubble to indicate he was typing a second message. Megatron replied quickly.

.:Yes– how is this possible?:.

.:I didn’t mention it before, because I wasn’t sure the signal would get through to the Pits, but I had a long-range communications chip installed in the datapad:.

Megatron thought for a moment. There were so many things he wanted to say. He settled on, .:Do you know what this poem means?:. He forwarded the text.

Orion must’ve been reading it, cause it took him a moment to reply. .:What do you think it means?:.

Like he’d be asking if he had any inkling. The question felt condescending on first read, but the more he thought on it, the more he could imagine Orion’s waggling brows and pursed smile, containing his glee, and decided to take the question at face value.

.:I think I understand the metaphor:. He answered honestly. .:And it was written during the Quintessons War. I don’t really get what it’s saying though:.

.:Well, one of the things about poetry is that it’ll mean something different to each person, but just take the first line. Most agree that ‘glimmering baubles’ describes the hydrogen plasm blasts that leveled the ancient city of Vidocon:.

.:Those are the ruins Iacon’s built on:.

.:Yeah. It was our capital then too, and Cybertronian command leveled it so that the Quintessons couldn’t get into the Heart of Cybertron. They blocked off the entrance. It took us nearly one-hundred-thousand stellar-cycles to dig it back up once the war ended, and the blasts killed more than a billion bots:.

.:It’s about–:. Megatron thought about it some more, reread the poem a few more times. .:The sacrifice, I suppose. It’s an obvious tragedy. I don’t really know why anyone had to point that out though:.

.:Ah, see, this is where it gets interesting. I asked you what you thought it was about because I didn’t want to taint your interpretation. Everyone deserves to have a clear first impression, but let me tell you what I think. I believe the author was there, in the room when the decision to level Vidocon was made. Could you imagine the detachment it would take to do something on so devastating a scale? The author was trying to bring the horror out of that detached place and make it real again, to shine a light on the devastating irony of it. For that author, the decision was as painfully absurd as, to quote, ‘Tear the spark from a lover / Call it love.’ They saved our people at the cost of a billion lives:.

.:Are they saying it shouldn’t have been done, then? If the Quintessons had gotten into Vector Sigma… I mean, that would’ve been it. That would’ve been the end of Cybertron:.

.:I don’t know:. Orion messaged. .:I just don’t know if I could’ve done it:.

Megatron carefully parsed this. He imagined himself on a commander’s platform, digit hovering over a button, all of Iacon at his pedes, techno-organic cruisers hovering with all their terrible might.

He felt the detachment. He didn’t care for Iacon, or its people. He couldn’t quite get his reality matrix to materialize the glittering towers.

But if Orion was down there… What then?

.:I don’t know either:. He sent back, trying to shake the quandary from his helm. It’s not like he’d ever have to make a call like that anyway. He liked the poem though, in this new light. It was a puzzle, made up of snippets of emotional fact, the author’s truest thoughts and feelings, unencumbered by something so trivial as easy clarity.

.:Did you get to read any others?:. Orion asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

.:Not yet:.

.:It’s a great collection. Super varied. Some are kind of weird, actually, but I wanted you to get the whole scope:.

.:Do you have a favorite?:.

Orion didn’t reply for a long moment.

.:Read them, and then try and guess ;-) :.

Non-answer aside, .:what the heck is ;-) ??:.

.:A winky face. You never seen one? I was being coy:.

Megatron studied it further, turning the whole datapad to do so. He smirked, an idea forming.

.:Here’s what I think of your winky face >:-( :.

.: :-P :.

Megatron stifled the beginning of a laugh, and they chatted a little longer. Eventually Orion had to go recharge, and Megatron was left to read a few more poems. Orion was right, some of them were weird, and even fewer were easy to understand. He’d have to bring the most notable ones up in conversation later. He’d have Orion explain a few more, just until he started getting the hang of them on his own. Like anything else, he figured it was something that would get better with practice.

For the first time in stellar-cycles, he drifted off feeling something like comfort.

 

Notes:

I will admit, I am no poet. It is an art that has been somewhat wasted on me my whole life (though now I’m trying to get into it.) I was devastated to realize that in order to write Megatron’s arc, I would have to write poetry. Hopefully it was a fun read, regardless of how well I do or don't write poetry, though I actually think I did a decent job lol

Chapter 9: Rally

Notes:

Happy 2025, I'm scared!!

Orion rose early from his recharge on the couch, buzzing giddiness from his conversations with Megatronus the past several night-cycles, and a touch of anticipation at the events to come.

“I’m off to Trailbreaker’s!” He called out as he stepped through the door. He let Cliff and Arcee have the berthroom. He wasn't quite sure what their relationship was, but figured there were two of them and one of him, and took the couch for himself.

Trailbreaker greeted him with a smile. “Orion! What can I get you?”

Orion sidled up to the bar, sparing the menu a quick glance. “What sweet mix haven’t I tried yet?”

Trailbreaker’s optics flicked to the side, searching his memory banks. After a moment, “you still have the Magma, the LeadTwist, the Icepick, and the Jazz.”

“The Jazz?”

Trailbreaker shrugged. “I get to name them, and I like Jazz. It’s blue, white, and red. You want to try it or not?” He said, annoyed.

“Sure,” Orion replied, letting humor color his tone. A klik later, and he had it in his servo. He took a sip— mixing it first this time to create a light purple hue. He perked up. “This might be my favorite one yet!”

Trailbreaker chuckled, shaking his helm. “You’ve said that about every single one so far, Pax.”

“Eh, who asked you.” Orion stuck out his glossa, then took another sip. It really was good.

He finished his cube, and then ordered two more to go for Arcee and Cliffjumper.

“Been taking a lot to go lately,” Trailbreaker said, waggling his brow ridges under the visor. “Got a special bot coming ‘round lately?”

Orion rolled his optics, a smile playing on his lips. “No, Trailbreaker. Just some friends… visiting from Velocitron.”

If the other noticed the pause, he didn’t say anything. “If you say so. Hey! You should bring them around sometime.”

“Maybe,” Orion lied. “See you.” He raised a cube as he slipped out the door.

Cliffjumper and Arcee were up and about when he got back.

“Did you get me my Limestone Crush?” Arcee asked brightly from her place at Orion’s table.

“Naturally.” He placed it in front of her, which was difficult to do without covering any of the datapads or holotablets strewn about the tabletop. Wouldn’t do to spill energon on the plans.

He handed Cliff his monstrosity of a drink. The mech had tried a bunch of different additives over the four megacycles, and eventually decided he liked all of them… at the same time. Trailbreaker just about had a spark attack when Orion had first requested it. Progress made though. Now he only grimaced a bit when Orion ordered it.

“I’m really going to miss this when we have to return to Kaon,” Arcee said, staring sadly at her cube.

“We’ll pack enough that you won’t have to miss it for a long time.” Orion sat down across from her. As much as he hated the necessity, it warmed his spark to be able to provide for his friends. Watching them sip happily on their cubes, knowing they were safe and clean in his habsuite was something he’d never dreamed could be possible. He’d even managed to sneak them down to the oilbath in the dead of the night-cycle to all try it out together for the first time.

“You all set on the plan?” Cliff asked.

Orion nodded, warm feelings trading out for sterner stuff. The time was upon them, and they were nearly ready.

Where the Pits meet carbon pure.

“I’ll be back at 1600.” He said, making sure he had everything he needed in subspace. 

The pair reflected his own determined little smile back at him. They’d be ready.

*

Orion walked through the archive doors, that feeling of awe overtaking him once again. No matter how many times he got to do it, the wonder never fully dissipated. Especially during the day-cycle. The crystal making up the doors and towering windows sparkled bright with refracted sunlight, all constructed with intricately small segments of tempered glass, throwing shimmering rainbows around the atrium of the archives.

He waved hello to the mech who worked the front desk, then continued down to the history section. This early into his new job, he was in the orientation phase, meaning his main assignment was simply to read through the relevant material and get acclimated. Some bots have apparently spent vorns in this stage alone. Orion was determined to get through it quickly. He loved getting to read his entire shift, but he was itching to start going out and collecting new work for the record. Alpha Trion had assured him that if he was persistent, he could start doing it by the next stellar-cycle.

His shift passed peacefully, productively. He loaded an entire shelf of datapads onto a cart and hauled them to his office. He’d be able to get through all of them by the end of the solar-cycle.

At some point Jazz of all bots arrived at the archives.

.:You can direct him to his work:. Alpha Trion commed. .:It’ll be a good test for you:.

Orion headed down to greet him, quite unsure of what was happening, or what he was supposed to do, but he could recognize the bot from Trailbreaker’s description. He was blue, white, and red, but he had a lot of black plating too. He’d have to take that up with Trailbreaker.

“Jazz?” He approached, extending a servo. The mech took it in a friendly shake.

“That’s me.” Jazz flashed a winning smile. “And who might you be?”

“Orion Pax.” He took a step back. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m lookin' for these datapads.” Jazz handed him a holotablet of his own with three titles scribbled down. He wrote in a looping cursive. It was a little hard to read.

“These’ll most likely be in the linguistics section.” He started walking towards the wing that housed them, Jazz following in his periphery. The selection the mech was after made him antsy. They were all about Kaonite slang usage and etymology. It might’ve been a coincidence, but the timing, the message on the wall…

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Jazz said. “You new?”

“Yeah,” Orion answered. He did his best to keep his voice upbeat and friendly, and mostly succeeded. “Do you come here a lot then? I’ll be honest, I only knew that you raced.”

Jazz chuckled. “I work in media and culture, so I do a lotta travel, but I split most my time 'tween Praxus and here– and the racetrack, of course.” They arrived in linguistics. Jazz bounced on his heelblocks as Orion searched the catalogue. Then he was tapping his pede, then doing a snappy little rhythm with his digits. The mech didn’t seem to know how to stand still. “You listen to any music, Orion?”

Orion pulled the first datapad from the shelf. “Not really, but not for lack of interest.”

Jazz snapped his digits again, thinking. “I’d peg you as a Camien enjoyer. Their music's more harmonic than some o' the stuff you got mainstream here. If you give me your comm I could send you some.”

Orion did so, even as he found himself a little blindsided at the offer. Jazz pinged him to check the connection, and gave him a thumbs up when it successfully went through.

“What do you want these for anyway?” Orion chanced, keeping his tone conversational. The mech didn’t seem like he meant any harm, but attitudes could be deceiving.

Something flickered across the exposed part of Jazz’s face, just the smallest jump in his lipplates, but Orion’s new optics caught it. “We don’t have a lot on Kaon in the Praxian archives. Seemed like a damn shame. That’s all.” The way he said it set off alarm bells in Orion’s processor. Everything Jazz had said so far was with such brightness, his field had been so easygoing. Now it was drawn in tight, his words carefully devoid of any particular emotion.

Orion wanted to ask so badly. It was on the tip of his glossa. Jazz must’ve known he was thinking it.

Frag it. “Does this have anything to do with Primes’ Plaza?”

Jazz gave him a sidelong look. He was wading into dangerous territory, even if the mech would have absolutely no reason to suspect his curiosity was anything but.

“Most of the bots here on the surface won’t admit it, but I can.” Jazz said. “Kaon is about to become very important.” His helm was fixed forward, as though he were seeing that distant future. He shrugged, a precise casualness. “Can ya blame me for studying up?”

“Not at all,” Orion said.

He found the last datapad, and handed the stack to Jazz. They arrived back at the atrium in a tense silence. He couldn’t leave it this way. The thought left his neurals all twitchy.

“Have you ever been to Trailbreaker’s?” Orion asked. “It’s an oilhouse here on Iacon’s surface.”

“No?” Jazz’s field unclamped in a roiling confusion. “Why?”

“They serve a drink named after you there.” Orion smiled, willing his own field to remain friendly. “The owner’s a big fan of yours. The drink’s pretty good too, if you like sweet things. He’d probably give you one for free in exchange for an autograph.”

Jazz looked at him for a short while before smiling, and reaching his free servo out to shake again. “Thanks for the tip, Orion. I’ll send you those Camien songs later.”

Orion watched his retreating back, cold dread trickling through his lines. Kaon was going to be important, and he had the unsettling sense that this mech would be too. Which side he would be on though…

He finished his shift and made his way up to Alpha Trion’s office. It resided on the top floor of the archives, in an area inaccessible to the public. He gave the door a little knock, and it slid open. Magnus was sitting stiffly on the couch on the side, he raised his helm, and closed his intake. As though he’d been mid-sentence.

“I thought you’d be heading out by now, Orion Pax.” Alpha Trion didn’t look up at him, finishing whatever he was writing.

“Well… I will be…” He wrung his servos nervously, before catching himself and forcing them down by his sides. He cleared his vocalizer. “I need a favor.”

Alpha Trion dragged his attention away from his work, a cautious brow lifting. “Yes?”

Orion swallowed. “I need you to authorize me bringing some datapads down to Kaon’s archive.”

Magnus gave an incredulous look. “Kaon has an archive?”

Essentially in name only. Orion had been delighted to discover it back before C-12, then sorely disappointed at the limited selection. It was essentially a shack, with a few stacks of dusty datapads.

“It’s not even anything from our archive. I just need to bring some of my, um, personal belongings down there, and I don’t want border agents checking my transport storage.”

“So, you’re asking me to be complicit in fraud?”

“You don’t need to know it’s fraud,” Orion said, lowering his helm.

“You’re plotting something!” Magnus leapt to his pedes, jabbing an accusing digit in Orion’s direction. “Sir, he’s up to something!”

“I should hope so.” Alpha Trion’s optics twinkled with something like humor. “I’ll write you the pass. I don’t want to know what you’re doing with it. And Ultra Magnus–” He turned to his bodyguard. “I want you to go with him.”

“But, sir!” Magnus all but pleaded. “Not only would my involvement be a direct circumvention of our laws, but I also must insist that you stop sending me away from your side. My job is to protect you. I can’t do that if you keep wasting my skills on less important assignments.” He shot Orion a look so sharp it could curdle energon.

Alpha Trion left Magnus venting his anger for a nanoklik, then turned back to Orion. “Would you leave us for a moment, Orion? I must have a private word with Ultra Magnus.”

Orion’s gaze flicked between the two mechs, before he nodded, and took a few slow steps back, slipping out the door. It slid shut behind him.

He couldn’t hear any of the conversation, and had no idea how long it would take. He spent the next twelve kliks leaning against the wall, thinking it over. By the time the door opened again, he was ready to assure Magnus and Alpha Trion that he was fine going down to Kaon alone. He certainly would be able to manage it, and had been planning to do so anyway. He couldn’t deny that having Magnus’s strength and authority at his back would’ve made him feel better, but he also had no desire to expose the mech to their plot.

Orion stepped back into the office, intake opening to tell Alpha Trion exactly that, when–

“I’ll be ready to accompany you whenever you’re ready,” Magnus said, optics meeting Orion’s own, in an intense, unwavering gaze.

“Oh,” Orion said. “Okay then.”

*

Cliff and Arcee greeted Orion with steady, determined expressions, and nervous buzzing fields. He’d miss them. He hadn’t had to spend a night-cycle alone in his habsuite yet. He already knew it’d feel wrong.

Magnus entered after him, and the pair flared their alarm.

“He’s here to help,” Orion said, his servos placating.

Magnus nodded his greeting. They’d only met the one time when he’d accidentally discovered their existence. It had been awkward then, and it was awkward now.

“Hey Magnus, how goes it?” Arcee chirped.

Answering honestly– which was the only way Magnus ever would, Orion assumed, would probably not have gone well, so he just didn’t answer, instead opting to pull the transport storage into the living room.

“That’s the bucket we’ll be travelling in?” Cliff asked, a little skeptical.

“It’s usually used to store datapads and delicate artifacts,” Orion said. It even had fragile objects scrawled across the side. That would help sell it. “We can just take the padding out, and you guys should fit okay.” He winced apologetically. “It’ll be a little cramped though.”

Cliffjumper peered inside. “I’ve been stuck in smaller,” he flashed Arcee a sly smile, “with much less pleasant bots.”

She only rolled her optics, swatting his shoulder good-naturedly.

They loaded up, along with some canisters of energon, and energon additive, shut the whole thing, and started on their way. Magnus offered to push, which was helpful since Orion could hardly see over the transport anyway. He actually didn’t know how he was planning to do this without his help. The thought caused a small spike of guilt. He chanced a look up at Magnus. He wore the same stoic expression as always, if not a little stormier than usual.

They walked some kliks, before hopping on a bus, and arriving a short distance from Kaon’s border.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all this, Magnus.”

The mech looked down at him.

“If we do get caught, I’ll take all the blame. There’s no reason for you to know what’s in here, okay?”

Magnus averted his gaze somewhere off into the middle distance, optics cycling. He vented, long, some of that stormy look dissipating. “I need you to understand, Orion, my objections do not come from a place of dislike. I actually quite respect what you’re doing here.”

Orion blinked. This was not the response he had been expecting.

“If my reputation were not tied to Alpha Trion, perhaps…” he huffed. “Regardless, my point is, anything short of the law, it will not be allowed to harm you.” His expression steeled. “Not while I’m here.”

Orion stared, a little slack-jawed. He wasn’t really sure what to say. “Thanks… Magnus.” He smiled, a little weakly. “I hope you know I got your back too.”

Some mechs would’ve laughed. Magnus didn’t. He just gave his usual curt nod, and they continued the rest of the way to the border.

*

“We’re going to have to take a look inside,” the guard said, prodding the transport with the end of his blaster.

“You can’t,” Orion said. “Don’t you see the writing? Fragile.”

“We’ll be careful,” the guard replied, waving a second officer over.

“No, I mean, fragile. Any kind of exposure to the sun or air could destroy millions in priceless artifacts!” He tried playing the part of harried archivist.

The guard raised a brow. “What’re priceless artifacts doing on their way down to Kaon?” He edged over to the side where it opened from, a servo on the handle. “Put in the code.”

Magnus took a big step towards the guard. His hulking frame cast a shadow over him. Orion could admit it, the mech sure knew how to use his size as a threat. “By demanding the search of this container, you break code 93-beta-5, subsection c, and trust me, I will report it. Either step aside, or you get your supervisor.” Somehow he loomed even harder on that last part, and the guard took a stuttering step back.

“No, no! It’s fine.” The guard waved them past the booth. “You’re free to go.”

Orion waited until they were well out of earshot, and then some, before cracking a smile. “Magnus, that was amazing!”

“He wasn’t even breaking code 93-beta-5, subsection c. That does pertain to the illegal search of transports, but not in relation to border crossings.” The lie seemed to perturb him.

“Well…” he searched for something that might make him feel a little better. “That’ll teach him for not reading up on the laws, huh?” He gave Magnus a friendly little elbow.

Magnus looked at him a moment, and then, so slight Orion almost missed it, there was just the smallest twitch up in his lipplates. Orion did a double take, his face spliting into a grin, joy swirling up through his lines. It was so intense, Magnus actually canted a bit to the side with the field flare. 

He made Ultra Magnus smile.

*

They stopped by Cliffjumper’s shabby habsuite to drop off the transport and energon. Magnus wanted to say something about building codes, Orion could tell. The place was probably about as habitable as the inside of a mine, with its shoddy foundation, and shoddier roof. The place looked especially run-down after staying in his new habsuite. It was essentially a hovel.

Ratchet was waiting for them. He strode right up and started looking the three of them over, eventually settling on Orion, turning him this way and that. Orion protested, but Ratchet was hearing none of it, eventually nodding his approval and letting him go.

“It’s good to see you too, Ratchet.”

“I want you to know that I think this is stupid, and we’re all going to end up dead.”

“We?”

“Yes.” He hefted his med-kit into subspace. “I’m coming with you.”

Cliff grabbed a few things, and led them off. He lived on the very outskirts of the city proper, so it was easy enough to slip into the ruins of some long dead town towards their destination. 

“Where’re we going?” Magnus asked quietly, speaking only to Orion.

“You couldn’t understand the message on the wall, could you?”

Magnus shook his helm, brows furrowing.

“Where the Pits meet carbon pure. That’s what it says, but even if a surface bot could figure that, they probably still wouldn’t know what it means.”

“No.”

“At the very bottom level of Kaon, there’s a river of diamond. At one point, it passes exactly through where the Pits are, five levels up.”

Magnus’s brows only furrowed more. “But how do you know when to meet?”

“That’s the brilliant thing,” Orion said. “The reason surface bots don’t know about it, the reason it doesn’t show up on any of their fancy maps, is that it only flows twice a stellar-cycle, when the factory at the source of the river dumps its waste.”

Understanding dawned across Magnus’s field. “And one of those instances is tonight.”

“Bingo.” Orion snapped his digits.

The ruins soon gave way to a wasteland, huge swaths of Cybertron’s original crust, dug up, and processed for all it had. The material would’ve been repurposed into the new surface, and the one after that, each stacking on the other until there was nothing left for the dregs but to leave or die.

“Some choice for a meetup,” Ratchet grumbled.

“Trust me,” Cliff replied, continuing onwards. “Just a little further.”

They entered a new ruin. The buildings were organized differently than the usual grids of modern city planning. Orion searched for a source, and was surprised to find a huge structure rising to meet them on the horizon.

“What is that?” Orion squinted his optics. The shape was so familiar…

“Is that an arena?” Magnus stopped short, and now that he said it, there was no way it was anything else. The massive building was a stumpy cylinder, partially collapsed, but looked stable enough. In the distance, glittering diamond flowed towards it, forming a semi-moat around it. The river was only at about half-capacity now, but by the time the meeting ended, it would be quite a bit higher.

Cliffjumper smiled wide. “I found this place by complete chance while scavenging, but anyone with a topographical map, and basic knowledge of lower Kaon can find it. Pretty perfect, huh?”

“You did good, Cliff.” Arcee punched him lightly. 

They entered through a smaller side entrance. Cliff hit a switch, and the arena was bathed in flickering white light. Orion got a quick glimpse of the stands, and there were already a few mechs milling around.

“I think it’ll be good to start us off in about half a cycle, let the arena fill up a little more,” Cliff directed. “In the meantime, Arcee, Orion, could you keep an optic out for police?”

Orion was about to agree, but Magnus stepped in. “Shouldn’t it be Orion, and me? I’ll have a better chance at spotting enforcers. I know quite a bit about how they conduct themselves.”

Cliffjumper grimaced. “Scrap, you’re right, but I could really use your help setting up the mics. You’re the only one tall enough.”

“I can multitask.” Magnus followed Cliff and Ratchet, tossing Orion one last surveying look. And then on the private line, .:Comm me if you have any problems:.

“Guess it’s just you and me, Pax,” Arcee said, turning to him with servos on her hips. “The cops won’t know what hit ‘em.” She punched a fist into her cupped palm.

“You know, I don’t think Cliff meant for us to fight them.” At least, he really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Aw, don’t be like that Orion. We can take ‘em, even if we’re kinda runty.” She hopped into a combat stance, dancing back and forth on her pedes. “Bop-bop!” She mimed punching him.

Orion laughed, even as he couldn’t help but flinch back.

“Woah mech, sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

He put up a halting servo. “Don’t be. And don’t worry. If it comes down to it, I promise I’ll have your back.”

Arcee smiled brightly, sincere. “And I’ve got yours.”

They positioned themselves on the bottom of the stands opposite the main entrance. It wasn’t a subtle position, but it gave them a good view of all the entries and exits, and made them look more like spectators than lookouts. Bots kept milling in. They actually recognized a few. There were at least a few dozen from C-12 alone. Arcee waved to each of them as they filtered in. Orion angled himself behind her so he wouldn’t be easily noticed, but Elita still picked him out, storming right up with Ironhide in tow.

“Pax?” Disbelief was plain on her face. It quickly shifted to resigned anger. “Explanation. Now.”

“Long story short, I’m working behind enemy lines.”

She seemed to accept this after a long, appraising look, opting to sit right behind the two of them.

“She’s more upset she didn’t thinka it.” Ironhide said. “Try not ta take it personally.”

“Why are you even here?” Elita asked, accusation still dancing on her glossa. “You said you were a pacifist.”

“Still am.”

“They blew up Primes’ Plaza!”

“Peacefully— in a way.” Orion rolled his optics. “It’s just a place. No one got hurt.”

“You really think we’ll be able to do anything useful here without someone getting hurt? Don’t you think if the revolution could be won with pretty words it would’ve been won by now?”

“Hey!” Arcee threw her arm between the two of them, trying to break it up. “There’s no need to be so hostile Elita. Orion’s a big part of the FFFF.”

“What the hell does that even stand for?”

“Freedom Fighters From Functionalism.” Arcee answered.

Elita blew air from her vents. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You come up with something better!”

“Maybe I will!”

“Why ain’t we all gettin’ along here?” Ironhide said, exasperated. “We all want the same thing.”

“Some of us just want it more than others,” Elita hissed.

“Okay, that’s it!” Arcee stood, servos curling into firsts.

“Woah!” Now it was Orion’s turn to get in the middle.

“Oh, sorry Orion,” Elita crooned, insincere. “Was that too violent for you?”

“Do you even know what pacifism is?” Orion asked, patience waning rapidly.

Elita warily considered the question, understanding she could be walking into a trap. She narrowed her optics. “What do you think it is?”

Orion, relieved she was standing down, released a vent. “Pacifism, broadly, is the belief that violence shouldn’t be used by anyone, whether that be by governmental institutions or interpersonally, to solve disputes, or otherwise gain.”

“And where does revolution fall into all that?”

“You’ll get different opinions depending on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”  

Orion considered this. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d thought on the topic, but he’d never really had to articulate himself. The only one he might’ve been inclined to discuss this with was Megatronus, and it just… hadn’t come up yet.

“Many pacifists, myself included, believe that violence can be used in defense of the self, or others.”

“Meaning?”

He didn’t miss the way all three bots leaned in around him. 

“In my optics, the whole functionalist system is one gross act of continuous mass violence.” He shrugged. “I’m allowed to defend myself.”

“So, what,” Ironhide started, skeptical, “we’re allowed to lash out just because we feel like we’re bein’ hurt?”

“Not what I said.” Orion tilted his helm. “I said we can defend ourselves. We do what we feel we must to stop the violence—“

Elita opened her intake.

“I’m not saying we go around offlining bots for the cause. I’m saying we need to strategically bring awareness to the public about the injustice being done here. Once we have enough on our side, we won’t even need to be violent to make our voices heard.” He shook his helm angrily. “There has to be a way to stop the violence while staying firm to our ideals.”

“You mean, your ideals,” Elita said.

“Our ideals.” Arcee crossed her arms. “You’re going to be hearing a lot of ideas tonight. About half of them are his.” She leaned in real close to the other femme, her vents blowing steam. “And if you got a problem with that, then you’re in the wrong place.”

For nearly an entire klik the two of them locked optics, tension roiling between them.

Finally, Elita tore her gaze away. “Fine. I’ll hear you out. But if this turns into a whine-sesh, I’m gone.”

“I appreciate that, Elita.”

And she looked at him really skeptically at that, but wisely decided not to pursue it.

.:Thank you, Arcee:. Orion commed on their private channel.

.:Anytime, OP:.

Despite being his very first skeptic, Arcee had very quickly turned around, and had become a good confident. Maybe not quite a close one, not yet. But someday soon, very likely.

The throng slowly ramped up. Occasionally he caught more of the vaguely familiar frames of C-12 miners, but it was mostly bots he’d never seen before, all of them scuffed up and run down. So far, none of them looked suspicious. If anything, he was probably the most suspicious-looking bot there. His own plating looked garishly shiny in comparison. He suddenly wished he’d taken the time to sand it down a bit, an absurd thought in most contexts, but he just knew he stuck out like a screw among nails.

He caught a flash of bright white plating among the crowd, black helm, red and blue accents. He stood suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Arcee said, standing after him.

Orion cycled his optics. “That’s Jazz. I met him at the archives today.”

“Is he going to be a problem?”

“I’m… not sure.” He hopped down to the floor between the stands and the stage, sinking into the crowd. “Let me talk to him. I’ll comm if there’s trouble.”

Arcee nodded, taking back her seat.

Orion set off, weaving between the arriving bots. Some of them did look at him strangely, but none of them said anything. He kept that shiny black helm in his sights, until he was tapping his pauldron. The mech spun around, on high alert.

“Orion?” Jazz’s field immediately relaxed at the friendly face, then tensed all over again when he realized who was getting his attention. “What are you doing here?”

“Funny,” Orion said, cocking a brow. “That’s what I was going to ask you.”

“Justa klik,” he ran a servo over his helm, distress clear. “Wait, so today at the archives…” he lit up, barking a sharp laugh. “Oh my Primus. I thought you were onto me for being an anti-functionalist sympathizer!”

Orion reflected his mirth. “I was worried about what you were using those datapads for. I guess I didn’t need to.”

“You got that right. So you were able to decode the message too?”

“You could say that…” Orion rubbed the back of his neckcables, not really willing to explain everything to Jazz just then.

“Orion?”

He knew that voice.

“Shockwave!” It seemed like everyone was showing up to this thing. He clasped the mech’s servo in his own, pulling him in like he’d once seen Megatronus do. “How are you?”

“Business is satisfactory. Heard about Megatronus though. You must be aware of it.”

“Yes,” Orion said. “I was there when it happened.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. He was a good mech.”

Orion felt himself twitch. “He’s not offline yet, Shockwave.”

“True.” He must’ve been calculating the odds. A pang went through him, knowing Shockwave had already discounted his chances of survival.

Orion hastily changed the subject. “Can you believe how many bots have shown up so far?”

Shockwave’s optics cycled, and his fans kicked on. “I can! The broadcast of the attack reached an estimated 86% of the Cybertronian population. Of that, 93% are below the poverty line, and 28% of that are sympathetic to the cause. Take that 22.4%, and factor in the ability to actually participate, intimidation factor, and the ability to understand the message, and you’re sitting at a hearty point 0.0008%.”

“That doesn’t sound like a lot.”

“At our population of 37 billion, that’s 296 thousand bots.”

“Ah.”

“And I see you took my advice.” Shockwave winked, looking over his shiny red plating.

“It was the best way to help Megatronus.” Orion said. That pang of self-consciousness at his new frame was smaller this time. It would probably dull the more he had to acknowledge it.

Shockwave smiled. “You’re a good friend, Pax.”

“... Thanks.”

Orion eventually took his leave, hearing Jazz strike up conversation with Shockwave behind him.

“That’s quite the calculation there, my mech. I’d love to hear some more about how you pulled the data.”

“It’s actually quite simple if you tap into Cybertron’s public data net…” Shockwave’s reply faded into the din as Orion returned to Arcee.

“Good friend,” was he? Megatronus was still in the Pits, meanwhile Orion was running around in his glossy new frame, playing archivist.

“Went well then?” Arcee said, patting Orion’s vacant seat.

He took it. “Yeah. Everything fine here?”

The mic on stage squealed to life. Bots all around covered their audials.

“I suppose that means we’re starting soon?” Arcee said, wincing a little.

“I want to go check on them.” Orion stood. “Can you keep watch alone?”

“She’s not alone,” Ironhide said. “Ain’t that right, Elita?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Elita waved him off. “Do what you have to. We’ll hold down the fort here.”

Orion picked his way up to the stage, feeling exposed on the raised platform. Magnus, Ratchet, and Cliffjumper were all in different states of frustration, messing with tangled wires.

“I’m a miner, not an electrician.” Ratchet snapped, fiddling with the tiny components of the mic-box. He still managed it anyway, all the correct lights clicking on with the last component attached. He slapped the panel closed. “Happy?”

“Delighted, doc-bot.” Cliff trilled.

Ratchet grumbled at the name, but didn’t say anything, dusting off his servos.

“Are we starting then?” Orion asked.

Cliffjumper scanned the arena. “That’s… a lot of bots.” He turned to Orion. “Anyone who shouldn’t be here?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Good.” Cliff took the microphone Ratchet offered him, tapping it twice. The sound echoed across the arena. Magnus slipped off the stage, making his way towards Arcee. “Attention, attention. Welcome to the first meeting of the Freedom Fighters From Functionalism!”

Orion grimaced a little, they really had to pick a better name.

Some whoops, and a smattering of claps rose up from the crowd.

“We blew up Primes’ Plaza. The bots up top, the council, Prime, they think that message was for them, but you all know better. That message was for you, and it looks like it’s been received.”

Louder cheering at that.

Cliffjumper continued his speech, Orion and Ratchet at his back. Eventually Arcee ambled her way up, just as Cliff was getting to the part about C-12. 

“They install non-existent safety measures, then get mad when we don’t go offline. They steal our livelihoods, then try to slaughter us for speaking up. They chase us into the dark like cyberrats, then sentence us capital punishment when we steal their scraps! Does that sound fair?”

A resounding “NO!” from the crowd. They were getting fired up now. Cliffjumper was great at delivering, but Orion had argued that the message had to be something more eloquent than ‘frag the council, frag the functionalists.’ He’d written most of the speech. 

“But you didn’t come here just to hear some words, did you? We all suffer under functionalism, now what are we going to do about it?” Cliffjumper stepped to the side, exposing Orion to the stands. “For that, I turn to the savior of C-12, though few would know it. When Decimus’s delegation was itching to massacre the entire mine staff, he stepped in and pulled the fire-alarm, diffusing the situation. In return, the delegation beat him.” And that part wasn’t true, but Cliffjumper had insisted on the lie. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been hurt, and it had all but been condoned by Decimus. “Orion?” Cliff ceded the floor to him. Orion had been against this part. His frame didn’t lend credence to the campaign.

“Orion, you wrote the speech. You stopped us from crossing the border.” Cliff had said. “You saved the movement, and I know you have good ideas. Share them.”

He walked ahead of Cliff, taking the microphone gingerly from his outstretched servo. “My name is Orion Pax.” He took a deep, steadying vent. “Here’s the plan.”

 

Notes:

Wow that chapter ended up with way more Jazz than initially expected, and I wrote this before the brainworms for him actually set in ahaa. Of this chapter tho, Elita was prolly the most interesting to write. I feel like her characterization gets mashed up with Arcee's a lot, and vice versa. The *girl* bot is either responsible and stern, or outwardly doting. Either way it's a mom thing going on, and I don't think I like it :/ So I made her mean. Not mean cause I want to demonize her. I actually really like her, but mean because she's had a tough life so far, and I think she's got a lot of trust she'd have to build before being comfortable with others. (Not to say I dislike when female characters are motherly, just as I don't mind male characters being fatherly, but sometimes it feels like that's the only role female characters get) Anywhooo...

Chapter 10: Cold

Notes:

You're gonna meet a new bot, and he might be a little annoying/woobified at first. It's for a reason. Give it a chance :3

Declaron was on the warpath, and mercy on the poor stupid bot who got in his way. Megatron had strategically extended his time in the sparring gym that afternoon, hoping that by the time his handler escorted him back to his cell, the mech would either be cooled down, or there’d be less chance of bumping into him. As it was, the halls were silent save for his heavy pedesteps, just itching for someone to take his wrath out on.

“Is there something going on?” Megatron asked mildly, lunging for another strike at Blitzwing’s ill-guarded flank. The mech was his chosen sparring partner of the day, and so far his favorite. Not because fighting him was strategically informative, but because of the information he possessed. Turns out a lot of the higher-tiered gladiators were ex-military members, sentenced for a failed coup.

Blitzwing brought up his longsword, narrowly deflecting the strike of Megatron’s powered down volt-saw. “Just whispers,” he said in that odd accent of his. “Zey do not tell us what happens outside.”

Megatron avoided rolling his optics. He knew that much. Blitzwing feigned, before aiming for his less-protected left side. It wouldn’t work. He angled his forearm so that the blade skidded across the armor, glancing harmlessly off. Megatron took the opening to get in close and bodyslam his opponent. Blitzwing fell to the mats with a dull clamor, Megatron quickly following to pin him and put the volt-saw to his throat, signalling his victory.

“I concede,” Blitzwing said, a little winded. Megatron stood back up, taking the other’s servo and dragging him up after.

“Seawing!” Megatron called to his handler, who was eyeing him warily from the side.

“...Yes?”

“What’s got Declaron all riled up?”

Seawing glanced at the door. “Uh…” Another shriek from Declaron, echoing down the hall. “Not sure if I’m supposed to be telling you this,” he muttered. “But, uh, someone…” His optics darted around, before he leaned in slightly. “Someone deconstructed main street, so the latest prisoner shipment’s been delayed.”

Blitzwing’s brow ridges hit the brim of his helm.

“What do you mean, deconstructed?” Megatron’s voice came out with a bit of an edge, causing Seawing to skirt a step back, before remembering his position and hefting his blaster. “Sorry, sorry.” Megatron moved slowly, placatingly. It could get frustrating to pretend he wasn’t dangerous– no one would fall for it anyway, but it didn’t hurt to try. He pinched his nose. “Just… how?”

It paid off. Seawing relaxed. “Heck if I know. It’s not the only nonsense happening out there. I mean, hell, that’s not even the only street that’s disappeared. Main street on every level is gone. A bunch of streets in Iacon are too.”

“But why?”

Seawing could only shrug.

Later, back in his cell, he pulled the datapad out, tapped out the code, and accessed the message board.

.:Orion?:.

He clicked back to the library while he waited. He’d read a couple of the historical records,  Gladiatorial Combat Through the Ages , and one of the novels– a cheesy romance. He’d thought it’d been courtesy of the populars list, only to find it had been on Orion’s personal list. It was well-written, but highly unrealistic, all swoony, and contrived. The two leads were mechs of different social standings, one a lowly construction-bot, the other a middle-caste advisor. In the story they meet by chance, and overcome the difference through love. The advisor would’ve been demoted, and the construction-bot would’ve been mutilated and reprogrammed. Not realistic at all. He’d only started reading it because he didn’t know what it was, and had only finished it out of blatant curiosity. What did Orion see in it? He supposed he could ask.

He was working through the poems still too, albeit slower than he consumed anything else. Orion had led him through a few more, but they still came inchmeal.

 

Pink shame

 

Dark dredges drifting

Bolts over processor

Cable over spark

Optics meeting optics

 

Empty tanks

Concave and shuddering

Half-ration energon

Plain and pink in my servo

 

He didn’t get it at first. He usually didn’t, not yet. He reread it a few more times, then considered the title. He hadn’t understood the practice initially, but Orion had insisted that the title of a poem was often a line in of itself. He read it again, pink in the energon, and shame in the words. Dredges of society, bolts and cables over processors and sparks, valued more for their frames than their personhoods. Good. He got the first stanza… probably.

Empty tanks. Whose? Author, or dredges? Maybe both? Energon…in my servo. Yes! A meagre half-ration in the author’s possession, saving grace, and shame. Megatron chuckled to himself, gleeful at his success. The author, only slightly better off than his suffering peers, feeling shame at the fact. That was the meaning. Another puzzle, solved and understood.

How would Orion feel about that poem? Probably bad. The picture of Orion, miner-turned-elite…ish, lamenting his own elevated standing.

He wouldn’t mention it then.

.:Megatronus! How are you doing?:. Orion’s message popped up on the board. Megatron perked up. If only thinking of the mech could summon him half the time.

.:Oh. Living the dream:.

Orion would find that funny. He could imagine the huffed laugh, and the sad, sad optics.

.:You hear anything about the roads?:. Megatron continued.

.:Yeah. That was us:.

.:Hilarious:.

.:No, I mean, that was the anti-functionalists I’m working with. We deconstructed the roads as a form of protest. We’ll be putting a statement out about it later:.

Of course. Of course he was behind it. Why wouldn’t he be?

.:That’s insane. You know you’re insane, right? How does that even work?:.

.:Most of the bots who showed up to the rally the other solar-cycle are laborers. A huge chunk were actually in construction. Oh! You need to meet Scrapper. His team did most of the work. They’re a really talented crew:. A short pause. .:I wish you could’ve been at the meeting, Megatronus. So many bots showed up. I always knew change was possible… but…:.

.:You never thought you’d actually see it?:.

.:Heh. You know me too well:.

.:Still got a long ways to go, though:.

.:Of course:.

Another pause.

.:Orion, you’re not about to apologize again, are you?:.

.:Was it that obvious?:.

.:Yes:.

*

“The matter of these– these rabble-rousers must be brought to the table!” Senator Decimus slammed his fist down on the desk. The other seven councilmembers startled at his outburst, but they recovered quickly. Only Alpha Trion sat unaffected, the mech infuriating and unflappable as ever. Decimus wasn’t even sure if he was online.

“Now, there’s no need to get violent, Senator,” said the bot to his right. That would be Senator Proteus. Of all the council members, Proteus of Helex was most agreeable in Decimus’s optics. He’d had plenty a good conversation with the mech, even engaging in a few turbofoxing hunts that had actually been more than just political peasantry. His ideas were something he could get behind, even if he sometimes overstepped, as he was just now.

Decimus shot Proteus a sharp look. The bot held his gaze for a moment before sitting back, clasping his servos together.

“I do agree with Senator Decimus, however.” Proteus continued. “These thugs need to be brought to heel. Do we have any idea who they are?”

“Bring it out, hmm?” Decimus beckoned to his attendant. He was handed the holotablet to display to the council. “This was nailed to the gate before the elevator-train up to the palaces.”

Senator Ratbat squinted at the slab. “How did they even get to that point without being spotted?”

“I don’t know. My chief of security is investigating personally.” Damn councilors. If he knew anything, he’d tell them. “Just read the holotablet.”

“Decimus of Iacon, councilors of Cybertron and her colonies, Sentinel Prime,” Proteus read. “The FFFF demands that the council lifts article fifty-two through sixty-five from our laws. Do this or the roads will only be the first thing we withhold.” Proteus straightened away from the tablet, chuckling. “And this is supposed to scare us?”

“Does anyone even know what those articles are?” Ratbat sneered.

“Those pertain to the codification of functionalism,” Proteus said, finally bothering to look troubled. “I signed those into law myself about half a megaannum ago, just after Sentinel Prime ascended.”

“Where is Prime, anyway?” Senator Starscream’s shrill voice cut through the room. The Vos seeker usually didn’t have anything even remotely useful to add to the discussion, but he did raise a fair point this time.

“I sent for him,” Decimus said. “He should be–”

The chamber doors burst open, every helm turning. Even Alpha Trion’s optics flickered online.

“Apologies for the tardiness, folks!” Sentinel Prime flashed a winning smile, strutting into the room like he owned the place, every inch of blue and golden plating bright under the white lights. “Could you believe it? I was mobbed outside the gates.”

“We can believe it, Prime, when you insist on such sparse security,” Starscream hissed.

“Care to say that to her face?” Prime asked, Airachnid ghosting in behind him, closing the doors.

Starscream’s intake clamped decidedly shut, and even Decimus couldn’t fault him. The sleek black femme unsettled even his plating, with her extra limbs and many optics, and the feeling of being watched, even if she was facing away.

“The matter at hand?” Proteus chastised, and Decimus’s gratitude for the level-headed mech increased.

“Did you receive the report, Prime?”

“Yes, yes,” he waved his servo dismissively. “I don’t know why you called me here though. Find them, arrest them, right? Or do I have to walk you through it?”

“I don’t think violence is the answer here, councilors.” From Senator Dai Atlas of Tarn, this was absolutely no surprise. Where Alpha Trion was frustrating, Atlas was insufferable. Did he ever get tired of bleating his feeble rhetoric? Decimus would never know.

“Senator, I don’t think–”

“Did it even occur to any of you to actually consider what these bots are demanding?” Atlas asked.

“Hm, did it ever occur to us to negotiate with terrorists?” Prime tapped his chin twice. “No. I don’t think so? Councilors?”

“I agree with Sentinel Prime,” Proteus said. Decimus and Ratbat nodded their enthusiastic agreement. Starscream steepled his digits in an unusual show of thoughtfulness. This surprised Decimus. Of the lot, he was usually among the first to call for a militaristic approach, if only to keep his air force-based city-state relevant. The last three councilors, Sherma, Momus, and Crosscut all appeared unsure. Momus had always been suspect, but Decimus used to be able to rely on Sherma. Something really had to be done about their corrupting circle.

“Well,” Prime said, leaning casually against the desk where he was supposed to be seated. “This really seems like an Iacon problem. Those roads are all within Iacon, and your stewardship, Kaon.” He looked to the rest of the councilors. “Decimus should be trusted to manage his own charges, no?”

The undecided muttered their agreement. Only Dai Atlas remained stony. “I think you’re making a mistake, Senator.”

“You hear what they’re demanding, don’t you, Senator?” Ratbat said. “You can already tell there’s no reasoning with them. They’ll only listen to force.”

“They haven’t even hurt anyone.” Atlas said, his glare a force of its own.

“Not yet at least,” Proteus said. “Just look at these demands! They want us to completely circumvent the proper channels. Could you really ask us to dismiss our laws for some hooligans?”

“First you call them rabble-rousers, thugs, terrorists, then hooligans.” Atlas said. “Which one is it, Proteus? Should they be treated as inconsequential? Or are they a threat? If it’s the former, then why bother hunting them? If it’s the latter, why provoke them? This is a matter that can be resolved civilly, I’m sure of it.”

“They started it!” Ratbat screeched. “They nailed their demands to our door. They destroyed public property, and that’s just their first step. If we ignore this, and they do something worse– if they, Primus forbid, offline someone, that’s on our servos.”

Decimus couldn’t have said it better himself. “I’ll call for a mechhunt immediately. We’ll put the city on lockdown, offer rewards for tips. I won’t let them get away with this.”

Atlas sighed, frown set deep on his weathered face. “Don’t be surprised when this all goes sideways. When it does, that will be on all of you.”

“No.”

Decimus, and all the others– even Prime, turned sharply to Alpha Trion, and that strong field flare. These days the mech rarely spoke in their meetings, and they’d been better for it. Decimus respected him. He had to. Same as Sentinel, he’d saved them all from the Quintessons, and moreso, the public respected him. The last senator to challenge him publicly had lost his career in the ensuing mudslide, and Decimus was not planning to follow those pedesteps.

“No…?” Decimus faltered.

Alpha Trion’s optics went bright, brilliant white. “If you attack these protestors, I foresee terrible retribution.”

“If they are violent, then all the more reason to–”

“Not from them,” Alpha Trion cut Proteus off. “From everyone. As I have been warning you for centuries, the Cybertronian people can only take so much before there is a response. This is that response.” His gaze swept over the councilors, stunned speechless. Even Prime had nothing to say. Alpha Trion nodded serenely, before his optics dimmed again, field retreating. A nanoklik later, and it was as though he never spoke at all.

“I will… take that under strong advice,” Decimus said, floundering a little. He turned to the others. “Anything else?”

The resounding “no” from the room left little to be desired. The meeting adjourned; councilors filed out until it was only Decimus, Proteus, and Prime. 

It was often hard being one of three bots who had any sort of sense– who actually cared for Cybertronian society, but he bore his station with pride.

“You know what needs to be done, right Senator Decimus?” Prime said lowly.

He had an inkling. He hopped onto his comm with his head of security.

*

“Ironhide’s crew just got in, I’ve sent for Ratchet. It’s not looking good.” Arcee said, ducking into the ruin they were treating as their headquarters.

“What happened?” Orion hopped up, heading to the staging area. “Where are they?”

In lieu of an answer, Arcee led him quickly to another ruin they were using as a medical station. They’d picked it because of all the buildings, this one alone had no leaks in the roof.

Elita was already by Ironhide’s side. When they arrived, her helm snapped up, her blue optics blazing cold fury. Sharp guilt tore through him. Elita was going to blame him. He’d been the one to create the dismantlement schedule. It had been on his order that Ironhide had gone out. He–

“They’re going to pay.” Elita said, her voice wavering with a barely-contained rage. “The next fragging cop I see–”

“Elita, get a grip. Getting yourself slagged for revenge isn’t going to help him,” Ratchet said, hooking something up to Ironhide’s internals. The day after the rally in the arena, Orion had gone up to the surface with a long list of medical supplies, and had purchased two of everything. Now, more than ever, he was grateful for the mind-boggling quantity of shanix his job was paying him.

“What happened?” Orion strode up. Elita’s anger wasn’t directed at him, and that made it just that bit more bearable. Past her, Ironhide was shifting, online, but not quite aware of what was happening. His venting emerged ragged, pained. Orion winced at each stuttering breath.

“Iacon deployed military police, that’s what happened!” Elita snapped. She turned away, taking Ironhide’s servo in a gentle grip. “We were finishing taking apart the beams for the overhead pass on southside when a whole squadron descended on us. They told us to surrender, but we obviously just started running.” Her helm hung solemnly. “They opened fire, and…”

Ratchet finished his examination, manually closing up Ironhide’s internals. “Elita, he’s going to be okay.” He gave Ironhide’s plating a light pat. “He’s got a very strong spark.”

Elita sniffed a little, even as her expression remained stern. “I know that!”

Orion smiled slightly at the display. Elita could be prickly, but he was happy to see that she cared about Ironhide as much as he clearly cared about her. He turned away, frowning. Alpha Trion had briefed him on the council meeting, he’d thought…

No. He had been a fool to think they would listen to Alpha Trion’s warning.

He commed Cliffjumper. .:We need to rethink our strategy:.

.:Strong agree, Pax, but we’ve got something else you should come see:.

*

Orion ran to meet Cliff in their makeshift welcome center, where they took in any new recruits. It was a bit of a distance from everything else, mostly so that if the authorities found their way there, everyone else would have time to scatter– Magnus’s idea, actually, right after he had finished his scathing review of the rest of the ruins.

“What is it, Cliff? What’s wrong?” He arrived, breathless.

“I didn’t say anything was wrong.” Cliff was standing with his servos on his hips, every bit as casual as he’d been the solar-cycle they met.

“Ironhide’s critical, you know?” Orion said, his volume setting increasing. “The blaster bolt missed his spark by milimeters.”

“Orion.” Cliff’s demeanor dropped its previous casualness. “You know how seriously I take that.”

He catalogued the other’s expression a moment, before letting his pauldrons droop. “Sorry, Cliff. I know you do. It’s just…” Elita’s cold fury, thankfully not directed at him, but it should’ve been.  

“I get it pardner, it’s a lot.” Cliff slung a friendly arm over his shoulderplates, walking him slowly to the back of the center. “It’s hard sending bots out– sending our friends out, knowing about the dangers. But we can’t spare them the risk, not when there are so much bigger things at stake.”

He was right of course. Orion hadn’t hesitated once, having helped dismantle a few roads himself, the likelihood of danger just as high as anyone else’s. Magnus had been against it, the one time he’d found out, but of course–

“I can’t send anyone out to do something I wouldn’t do myself.” His gaze had held steady, and Magnus had finally backed down, unable to refute the logic.

Orion let out a long exvent. “So what is it? Why’d you call me here?”

The pair arrived at a room in the back. It was an informal meeting spot, usually used to vet recruits in semi-privacy. Cliff opened the door to reveal a yellow bot, a little shorter than Orion, with a miner’s frame, and a big serial number printed on his right leg.

“Orion. I want you to meet B-127.”

“Nice to meet you,” Orion said, extending a servo. The bot took it tentatively, his optics wide and searching.

“Cliffjumper says you’re one of the co-founders of the FFFF,” B-127 started, sounding completely taken with awe. The title– co-founder, still felt odd in Orion’s audials, but Cliff had insisted, as he did on all things he was dead-set on. “He told me all about your cause, and about functionalism, and I saw the footage of the plaza explosion by accident on an overseer’s holotablet, and I came to the rally, and oh my Primus, I swear, it changed my life, I–”

Orion put up a servo, processor spinning a little. “One thing at a time, Bee– wait, do you have a designation? Or do you just go by your serial number?”

“Designation, designation… oh!” His face lit up. “Like Orion, or Cliffjumper? I… forgot about that. No, I don’t have one, but maybe I’ll come up with one. Bee is fine though! I–” 

“Excuse me, Bee, but–” he looked at Cliff a little helplessly. The bot was just brimming with energy, with no sign of stopping. Cliff only gave a good natured shrug before turning to the yellow bot.

“Bee, why don’t you tell him what you told me?”

“Oh, well, earlier today I woke up, and then I had my energon ration, and then I snuck out from my shift– did you know it’s hard to shimmy up a waste disposal chute? But I can do it cause I’m so small–”

“No, Bee.” Cliff was smiling a little, despite the exasperation. “Tell him where you work.”

“Oh! Sorry Cliffjumper.” He wiggled a little on his pedes, turning back to Orion with a look that could only be described as chastened. “I work in mine C-12. They say I’m a cold-construct?”

It took Orion about twenty nanokliks to close his intake and shake off the shock. He blinked a few times before a huge grin spread across his face. Bee looked a little apprehensive, even as his smile remained steady. “You’re– you’re a cold-construct!” he grasped Bee’s shoulders. He was here, real.

“Yes?” Nervousness fluttered out from his field. “That’s what I just said.”

“I knew it! Ha!” he laughed, joy coursing through him for the first time in solar-cycles. His field met Bee’s own, and some of the tension dropped from his frame. Cold-constructs were bots, just like anyone else. They— “Bee, tell me, do you like mining?”

Bee’s pede tapped an antsy little tune. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not a trick question. Whatever your answer is, you’re not in trouble. I just want to know.”

“Oh!” He wrung his servos. “Well, I– for starters, I don’t mine, exactly. I mean, I work in the mine, but I sort the waste, with the furnace. You get all kinds of cool stuff there. Rocks, broken equipment… other… broken things.”

Orion raised a concerned brow, already quite sure what those things could be. “Alright Bee. How do you like working there?” he asked more gently.

“I actually quite liked it for a while! I got to do the job I was made for every day, and if I did a good job they give me energon, and if I did a really good job, they’d shock me right here.” He pointed to the joint between his pelvis and thigh. “Oh no! Not that kind of shock.” He added at Orion’s horrified expression. “It actually feels quite good.”

He was no medic, but even he knew that the joint there ran some of the key neurals involved in interface. The fact that they would use that–

Orion swallowed down the wave of nausea and forced his expression into something more encouraging. “Please, go on, Bee.”

“Like I was saying, all that was alright with me for a while, I mean, it’s all I’ve ever known. I woke up with a sorting stick in my servo, and I’ve been at it ever since. They never even told me there was stuff up here, or that there was an… up here.” He punctuated this with a quick glance around the room. “This really is a nice place.”

It really wasn’t, but Orion wasn’t going to say anything.

“But then, about a megacycle ago, I was wrangling some scrap that just wouldn’t fit into the furnace, when a big hunk flew off and hit me right in the helm!” He rubbed the spot, chuckling a little. “I don’t know what it was, but everything suddenly felt… I really don’t know how to describe it. But the furnace room was just really small, and I had this super strong urge to, I dunno– know things! So I looked up the garbage chute, cause I realized that stuff falling down there was probably coming from somewhere, and I waited until a moment when I knew it’d be quiet for a while, and crawled on up.” Bee stood still for a long moment, a big vacant smile on his face, before he blinked, coming back to present. “And now I’m here!”

Orion shot Cliff a long look, exchanging something wordless and unanimous.

Cold-constructs just jumped to the top of their priorities.

*

Orion collapsed into his berth after a long meeting between himself, Cliffjumper, Arcee, and Ratchet. As a member of the informal command of FFFF, he’d wanted to get a plan in motion as soon as possible, only to quickly realize that they were missing far too much information to do anything yet. They’d all agreed that the cold-constructs had some kind of mental block between their essential functioning and everything else. Except, only Ratchet had anything close to the language to understand it, and even he seemed unsure.

“I’ve never studied the processor. All I know is from salvaged diagrams.” He’d eyed Bee through the window. They’d asked him to stay close by in case they had any questions. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with what you’re asking.”

“We need a look inside. I’m telling you, there’s something seriously wrong with the cold-constructs,” Cliffjumper had said.

“I don’t refute that, but I’m not a real doctor. I’ve never opened up a processor.” He lowered his voice into a severe hiss. “I could irreversibly destroy his brain module!”

“No, no. You’re right.” Orion thought for a moment, before snapping his digits. “What about Knockout?”

“He said he never wanted to see us again, remember?”

“Ah, that was because we were broke.” He smiled. “We have shanix now.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Back in the present, Orion flipped on his berth, drawing his datapad out of subspace. He went to the message board and pinged Megatronus. His reply came quickly.

.:Yes?:.

His spark did one of those quick little jumps he’d been forcefully choosing not to examine.

.:I met a cold-construct today:.

.:Really. What are they like?:.

Strange. Quite strange.

.:Very talkative. I think he was lonely:.

.:How do you figure?:.

.:He didn’t mention any other bots, hell, he only snapped out of whatever programming he had because he got hit in the helm. He didn’t even know there was a surface:.

.:Primus. And I thought we had it bad:.

.:We do, Megatronus:.

.:Heh. True:.

…

.:Ironhide got attacked dismantling a road today:.

.:I don’t know what you were expecting, Orion. It’s dangerous work:.

.:I know that!:. Orion sat stewing over it. He’d managed to shelf his feelings to deal with Bee, but he could only hold them back so long. .:Doesn’t mean I like it. Doesn’t mean I need to be the one sending them out:.

.:Someone has to. And if you’re dedicated to the cause, it’s going to be you:.

.:I hate that:.

…

.:Maybe this is your Vidocon:.

.:That’s not funny:.

.:I don’t know what to say, Orion. I’m sorry Ironhide got hurt, but you need to accept that it happened:.

.:I have! It happened, and it was horrible, and I don’t want it to ever happen again:. His helm fell into his servos. He scrubbed his face, hard enough that little stars crackled in his visual processing before he returned to the datapad. .:But it will. Won’t it?:.

.:I’m sorry Orion:.

.:Now who’s apologizing?:.

*

When Knockout first heard the insistent banging on the door to his practice, he thought maybe it’d be another drop in. His practice had been getting a little busier, maybe soon he’d be able to move to a real office, and hire a couple of helping servos. That’d show Pharma who the two-byte hack was. Yeah, he could make it in Iacon. Suck on a tailpipe.

“Coming, coming!” He opened the door to reveal Orion, that amateur doc-bot, Ratchet, and another yellow one. He put the pieces together quickly. “I’d be upset,” he said, oh-so-coolly. “But I should have expected this, seeing as how you couldn’t follow my instructions last time.”

Orion only smiled, the absolutely insufferable mech, and produced a pouch from subspace. He shook it once, and Knockout would’ve been a fool to miss the distinctive click of shanix.

He had the yellow bot, Bee, down on a medical berth faster than you could say “practical cranial mechopsy.”

“So what brings you in here today…?”

“His name’s Bee.”

“Bee. Yes, nice to meet you. I’m Knockout.” There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the bot.

“We need a look inside his processor,” Ratchet snapped, grumpy as ever.

“Why? Has he been glitching or something? I’m not operating if you don’t give me a reason.”

Orion smiled, his expression warm for some reason. Probably because he was insane. Knockout didn’t really know much about the mech, but each time, things just kept getting stranger. This time he was rolling in with a new frame and a small fortune, and Knockout wouldn’t ask questions, but he would narrow his optics and ensure that he wasn’t being asked to do anything that would violate his Hippomechanical Oath.

“Understand, I’m not asking you to change anything, but–”

“There’s something seriously wrong with his processor,” Ratchet cut Orion off. “You’ll know it when you see it. I’m sure of it.”

Knockout looked between the three of them, Orion, and Ratchet, then the patient. “Do you mind if I speak to Bee… privately?”

Orion and Ratchet exchanged a look. “Okay,” Orion acquiesced. “You call if you need us, okay Bee?” He gave a thumbs up, which Bee quickly copied with a little smile.

Once they were alone, Knockout turned to the bot properly. “Alright, what’s going on? Why’d they bring you here? Does something hurt?”

“Uhhh, I dunno.” Bee said brightly. “Orion told me you were going to take a look in my brain, find out why it changed.”

“Changed?” Was he a victim of shadowplay or something? Not that he knew about that. Haha. Nope. Leave him out of it.

The bot spun a short tale about getting injured on the job, and suddenly yearning for the unknown. He didn’t say it in so few words, but Knockout got the picture.

“But that sounds like…” He wasn’t entirely sure. He beckoned Orion, and Ratchet back in. “I’ll do it. But this whole thing reeks.

“Thank you,” Orion said.

Ten kliks later and the bot was unconscious, his helm popped open, and his brain module on his auxiliary operating table. Knockout flicked a higher magnification over his optic. 

“Nothing seems wrong on preliminary examination,” Knockout said. Orion recoiled a little, his intake twisting. “What’s wrong? Never seen a brain on a table before?”

“No, can’t say I have.” Orion was starting to look a little queasy.

“Yeah, well, you get used to… what in the Pit?” Knockout flicked up another level of magnification, leaning way in.

“What? What is it?” Orion craned his neckcables, and Knockout had to resist the urge to body-check him out of his personal space.

“It’s…” he really didn’t know how to describe it, only to say that if he hadn't had iron tanks from his many stellar-cycles of work as a surgeon, he might’ve purged them. “I’ll have to examine further, but… it appears as though there is a rubber barrier in place stopping neural relays between almost every section of his processor.”

“ Is ?”

“Yes, see here?” The two leaned in, before he waved his servo. “What am I saying, you won’t be able to see it.”

“No, I see it.” Ratchet’s optics cycled. “It’s this blue filling, right?”

“Yes. Now look at this.” He pointed at the seam between primary processing and the motivator. “There’s a crack.”

Ratchet cycled his optic again, squinting. He put out his servo. Understanding his meaning, Knockout passed over his magnifier. For the amount of shanix Orion was offering, he’d put up with anything.

“But—“ Ratchet sputtered. “It’s tiny!” He took the magnifier off, facing Knockout properly. “You’re telling me a crack that small is the difference between being a drone, and how he is now?”

“Precisely that,” Knockout said. “I’d say a fraction of a percent of the normal processing is currently occurring, but it’s enough.” He couldn’t help but smile at that last part, show a little dentae. The power of the Cybertronian spark never ceased to amaze.

“Take it out,” Orion said, somehow looking both steely, and like he was about to be sick. “Take it out, now.”

“You said I wouldn’t do any altering here. I—“

“We’re not leaving him like this.” And the way Orion said it made Knockout’s plating rise. He wasn’t being threatening. He wasn’t actually sure the mech could do threatening, but his voice took on this deeply resonant quality– a commanding quality. For a moment the whole medical suite seemed to bend around him. Knockout’s servos twitched towards the processor on the table, just a fraction. Not enough for the others to notice, but he did.

“Yes, yes, Orion. You’re right of course.” He let the sarcastic edge in his voice cover up any sort of reaction that might’ve remained. “I wouldn’t dream of letting him stay this way. It’s just a very serious procedure. Even with my talent, it wouldn’t do to rush into things.”

Calm settled over Orion’s field. In a way, it was just as commanding as his voice had been. “I understand, doctor. And I trust you to do your very best.” He looked sadly at Bee’s still frame. “It’s the least he deserves.”

*

The first thought Bee had coming back online was, my helm hurts.

His second was, or would that be my processor?

And his third, wait. These words aren’t echoing the right way, with some modicum of alarm. They weren’t echoing at all, because they weren’t passing his intake.

“Did you guys hear any of that?” He sat bolt upright. The shiny one shrieked and just about put a fist through the grouchy one’s faceplate.

“Settle down,” the gentle one— Orion was his name, that was right, said to the others, before turning to Bee. The weight of that gaze, those blue optics, the smile that was warm and reassuring, he basked under it, just a moment. A steadying servo alighted gently on his pauldron. “How are you feeling, Bee?”

How was he feeling? His helm— processor— something hurt, but nothing unmanageable. His limbs tingled a bit— he didn’t know how long he’d been offline for. His mind, oh, but his mind…

“I can— I don’t know how else to put it. I can think! There are words in my head and they come out, but not always.” He smiled. “Is that weird?”

“It’s not weird, it’s wonderful!” Orion said, and the cant in his voice had something in Bee’s chassis spinning fast, so fast it was making him breathless. It felt like bright shimmering light.

“Don’t overtax yourself,” the shiny one said, easing him back down. “I’m going to check all your vitals, make sure you’re all in working order before you go.”

“Sorry,” Bee said, searching the room. “But where are we?”

“Somewhere safe,” Orion said.

“Specifically, in my medical suite.” The shiny one was rearranging his implements. They were sharp and shone bright under the white lights. It didn’t really sell Orion’s claim.

Orion lowered himself to Bee’s optic level. “There was something wrong with your processor, something that was put there before you came online. It made it so you couldn’t think for yourself. Knockout here removed it. You should be thinking clearly now.” His brow furrowed. “Are you?”

“Yes… yes! That’s exactly what it is!” At some point his servos had come up to grip Orion’s arm. He catalogued the smooth texture of the plating with a clarity he’d never had before. He drew back his own servo, and examined it. Gray and yellow, some light scratches, and one big chip near his thumb. He clenched it into a fist, before opening it again, wiggling his digits. So many components, little pieces residing under solid plating. He could see the faint glow of lines woven into his rotors. He never once thought about his servo, the fact that he had it, or the fact that he was the one moving it. A thought, and a digit curled. Another, and it uncurled. He returned it to Orion’s arm, pressing his digits into the plating as hard as he could without denting something. “I’m… I’m alive.”

“Yes, Bee. You are.”

“I—” He thought back to the tunnels, the recharge pods, the hundreds of bodies, each containing processors and sparks of their own. He’d never once spoken to any of them– it was a crime punishable by offlining, or at the very least a shock– the bad kind, or a good slagging. “I’m not the only one. There are others, hundreds of cold-constructs down there!”

“Yes,” Orion said. “That was what we were going to discuss next.”

 

Notes:

Idk why I decided Elita and Ironhide should be bffs. Just kinda happened. I think they're both /srs enough to vibe. Also, Bee had no place in my story outline. I did not expect him to show up in here, partially because he’s usually a young character and I felt like he wouldn’t be around for the start of the war. Except then this idea struck like lightning and i HAD to do it, and I’m so glad I did.

Chapter 11: Poetry and Sound

Notes:

I think this chap is my longest yet! Reehee!!

.:They completely blocked every part of his processor from reaching the other parts. Knockout says that he was lucky he could even remember his own serial number:.

.:Primus:. The thought should’ve unsettled Megatron, but these days, very little did. Not anymore. He could feel the horror he should’ve been experiencing, only distant, hidden. 

.:No:. Orion commed .:Primus had no involvement here. This was evil:.

.:Maybe so, but Primus made the bots who made him. And the spark must’ve come from somewhere. No. Primus is real. He just hates us:.

.:I can’t believe in a Primus who’d let this happen:.

.:Orion. Do you not believe in Primus?:. 

.:Uhh, not really. No:.

.:??? Then where do you think we all came from??:. Of everything he’d learned about Orion, this was somehow the most– and the least surprising revelation. It was his upbeat demeanor that had convinced Megatron that, like everyone else, he must believe in a kind and caring Primus, his gentle guiding servos, the allspark, the happy ending.

But the more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Maybe Orion was an optimist for believing that change was even possible, but he’d always made it crystal clear that it would come from within. That if change were to happen, it would have to be fought for and won.

.:Not sure where we came from:. Orion commed .:There are no records other than the creation stories. But do you seriously expect me to believe that we were created by an all-powerful mechanical god who then transformed into Cybertron? If that were the case, why wouldn’t there be any evidence? Who made him??? Leaves a lot unanswered, I think:.

.:It’s not supposed to be about answers, Orion. You have to have faith in our creator:.

.:You’re thinking about it now though, aren’t you? You’re doubting because I have a point:.

.:I’m not having this conversation with you:.

.:You’re not one to shy away from tough subjects:.

.:That’s not why. When you bring me evidence of our ‘real’ origins, then I’ll listen, but for now, Primus is the best we’ve got:.

.:Ah. You’re settling then:.

.:That is not what I’m doing:. Megatron typed, somewhat aggressively.

.:I’m just kidding anyway. It’s nice to imagine that there is someone watching over us. I personally consider myself more of an agnostic than atheist anyway:.

…

.:I’m sorry Megatronus. I didn’t mean to push you:.

.:You didn’t. It’s okay:.

…

.:Any new poems stump you today?:.

.:Not… exactly:.

.:Cryptic. What does that mean?:.

.:Here:. Megatron forwarded an attachment.

 

Primus

 

The steel of his light

Doesn’t reach in the ground

Where I heft great machinery

And I find myself drowned

 

Bring up traces of his proof

Built to find him– to kill me

Absence in his absence

Life given for free

 

The way he is used

We both are the same

Silence a weapon

My death in his name

 

Orion spent a long time– too long, reading it. As the nanokliks ticked by, second thoughts began to bloom. Too soon. Definitely too soon. He dug his claws into the side of the berth, suddenly finding his chassis tight. Needed more edits, or maybe a whole rewrite. It–

.:Megatronus, this is beautiful:.

.:You think so?:.

.:Yes! You wrote this didn’t you? It’s definitely not in the archive I gave you:.

.:I did, yes:.

.:Super topical too. Heh. Even if I don’t believe in Primus, it does a great job describing how it feels to have the functionalists keep using his name to justify their actions:.

.:I’m glad that came across:.

.:Do you have any more?:.

The tension faded from his frame. Orion wasn’t judging. Of course he wasn’t. This was no different than hearing Orion’s archivist dream. Only, Orion was smart, well-read, and a revolutionary. His dream couldn’t be silly. He was fully capable of achieving those things, because he was already doing them.

.:Megatronus?:.

.:No. That’s the only one I’ve finished so far:.

.:So far?:.

.:Well. I have some more ideas. Little things, bursts of thought. But none of them have fully materialized yet:.

.:Can I read them when you’re done?:.

Even with the doubt clawing at him, the strong sense that he really didn’t know what he was doing, there wasn’t any world where he’d be able to say no to Orion.

.:Of course. As soon as they’re done:.

.:I’d be happy to proofread any of it too– hey, you ever thought of publishing?:.

.:Hmm:. Even if no one actually read it aside from Orion, the very idea of his work existing outside of his cell walls had something stirring in him. .:Yes. I think I’d like tha–:.

“Hey! What do you have there?” A guard smacked the bars of his cell. Megatron quickly shut the datapad down and pushed it under the berth where it’d been hiding for the past few megacycles. “No, don’t try and hide it! Hey!” The guard called down the hall. “I need backup over here!”

Scrap, scrap, FRAG. Megatron stood up from the berth, quickly opening and shutting his subspace with his back turned to the entrance, hoping that the motion would trick the guard into thinking he was hiding contraband there. It seemed to work.

“Whatever you got there, give it up.” The guard stepped into his cell, blaster leveled at Megatron’s chassis.

“I don’t have anything,” he said lowly, taking a step back, then another. He was up against the wall.

“Then you won’t have a problem opening your subspace for me.”

“There’s nothing in there.”

“Prove it.”

“You don’t have the right to search me!” 

“You don’t have any rights, period. Open the damn subspace.”

“Make me,” he snarled, flaring his plating to look bigger. The guard took a single step back, terrified— if his quivering field was anything to go off of.

“Primus, you’re such an idiot Slugstack.” A second guard, backed by several others, marched up to the cell. He pulled something from his own subspace, the small black box.

“Wait–” Megatron lunged forward, his servo outstretched, before that same wrenching pain of shock coursed through the web of his lines, engaging every neural, every contact point. He violently seized up, hitting the ground with a resounding clang.

His joints stayed locked even after the electricity fizzled off. He pushed all of his strength into one arm— a feeble attempt to push himself up, but it only twitched. Somewhere in his periphery the guards entered the cell.

The second guard rolled him over with his pede, while the first forced his subspace open, the hinges on the compartment almost snapping.

“There’s nothing in here.”

“That’s what I said.” Megatron grit out between dentae and a cramping jaw. 

“Then– then why did you resist?” The second guard backed off with an annoyed grunt, motioning to the others to do the same. “Are you defective or something?”

“Oh, he’s not defective.” Declaron’s resonant voice parted the squad as he entered the cell, ducking a bit to clear his golden horns of the low door. Megatron forced himself up onto unsteady pedes, wariness, and readiness simmering in his lines, his combat protocols just itching to be toggled on.

“He’s smart,” Declaron continued. “Too smart for you lugs, and much too smart for his own good.” He met Megatron’s gaze head on, holding it as he said, “search the cell. Top to bottom.”

Megatron could only stand seething as the squad tore the room apart. There wasn’t much. It didn’t take long at all for one of them to stick their grubby digits between the slats of the berth and retrieve the datapad.

“Tsk, tsk,” Declaron tutted as it was handed to him. “And after everything I’ve done for you.” He flicked it on. “You stab me in the back.” He clicked at the screen, no doubt finding himself stuck at the passcode. He turned it to Megatron. “Put it in.”

“No.”

That smiley rage sparked across his faceplates. “I’m sorry,” he scoffed. “My audials must be glitching, because I thought I just heard you refuse.”

“It’s not your audials, sir. He just–”

“I KNOW WHAT HE SAID!” He rounded on the poor stupid guard, clawed digits extending. Metal tearing, fuschia splattering on the wall. The mech screamed, clutching his face. Megatron could make out four bright lines behind the balled servos.

Declaron stood, his plating flared, field supernova, his intake was curled into a hideous snarl.

He took a deep vent, and recomposed himself, brushing a bit at his plating to get it to settle. “My apologies, folks. I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that.” He let a short chuckle loose, before turning to Megatron. If there were anywhere left to go, he might’ve taken a step away, but his back was already pressed against the wall.

“You see what you’ve made me do?” He tapped the datapad. “What is this, anyway? Your line of communication to Alpha Trion? So you can cry to him about how we’re mistreating you?” He laughed. “Seventy-eight fights now, you’ve fought for me– for yourself really. Three of which I intervened afterwards; my medical staff saved your life. I didn’t have to have your parts scraped off the floor after the business with the shock-snake, or when that bulldozer from Tarn ripped out your fuel pump, or when that orange femme put that axe through you! I could’ve let you die on that arena floor, and guess what?” He stalked up to Megatron, smile fixed in place, wide and manic. “I would’ve been better for it. The whole world would be. Another murderer dead, Cybertron wouldn’t give a single fragging damn.”

Orion would, his processor, however faintly, supplied.

“Last chance, Megatron. Code now,” he presented the datapad, “or I have these fine fellows throw you in the smelter.” His grin spread wider. “Right. Now.”

The room past the medical suite, dark behind swinging double doors. A raging fire, dead, dismantled bots strewn across the floor.

“You have five nanokliks. Five, four, three, two, one–”

“Gladiatorial code of conduct: you can’t kill me. I have to die in combat, in the arena.” Megatron said, voice rising. It was one of the few things he’d flagged as useful from his reading of Gladiatorial Combat Through the Ages .

The guards reaching for him stopped, looking to Declaron for confirmation. The mech in question fixed Megatron with a long glare. His optic twitched.

“Ha!” Declaron smacked a servo over his chassis, as though to contain something there. He laughed, long and loud, until his staggering hiccups were echoing all through the cell block. He slung an arm around Megatron’s shoulders. “Too smart for your own good, indeed.” He turned to the others. “He’s right, of course.” 

“I-I am?”

“Yes!” He gave Megatron’s plating a friendly pat, before withdrawing. “Still going to kill you though.”

“But–”

“Just a moment.” Declaron put a digit up, his optics flicking to the left, comming someone. “Alright. I’ve just set the schedule for tomorrow’s fight lineup.”

Megatron looked at him imploringly, dread trickling down his lines.

“Congratulations Megatron! You’re officially being promoted to gold.” Declaron’s optics crinkled. “Good for you. You’ll be going up against our current Pit champion. He’s been going strong at the top of gold for stellar-cycles now. You should see him, he’s really quite good.”

Of course Megatron knew who he was referring to. One couldn’t go five kliks without mention of the mech. He was Pit legend.

“Tomorrow, you get to fight Soundwave.”

*

Three cycles and counting, Orion couldn’t help but scrub a servo over his face, and wonder when revolution had become a series of long meetings. As it was, he could hardly concentrate on anything Cliff was saying, not after how his conversation with Megatronus had ended. He’d sent a few more messages since, but each time he checked, the message board had just indicated that the other was still typing.

He’d been typing for cycles, if the datapad were telling the truth. More likely, something had probably spooked him, and he’d been forced to power down and hide it before he could hit send. Yep. That was definitely what had happened.

When the meeting finally let out– they’d been discussing possible strategies to get into the mines and disable all of the cold-constructs’ mental blocks, to no avail, Ratchet pulled Orion aside, settling a steadying servo on his pauldron.

“Something’s bothering you.” It wasn’t a question.

Orion didn’t answer for a long moment, just trying his best to return Ratchet’s unwavering gaze. After half a klik, he cleared his vocalizer. “It’s nothing.” He pulled away, only for that grip to tighten. Orion quirked a brow ridge in silent question.

“Is it the cold-constructs?” Ratchet asked. “We only just started the planning. We’ll think of something eventually, you know.”

Orion sighed. “I know.”

“So was that it?”

He considered the out. It’d be easy to give a sharp nod and be done with it. He’d rarely had a problem with lying, except…

He couldn’t deny it. He was starting to find that lying was no longer easy, not when it was to the bots he could now confidently call his friends.

“I was disheartened that we couldn’t think of anything… but no. That wasn’t it.”

“Out with it then.”

Orion averted his gaze. “Megatronus suddenly stopped answering messages last night-cycle. That’s all. It’s probably nothing.”

Ratchet’s whole demeanor softened considerably. It was a bit of a startling transformation, the way his pauldrons slumped, and the lines in his faceplate eased. “Probably,” Ratchet echoed back, “but it’s okay to worry about your friend. You… do know that, right?”

“It’s distracting me, Ratchet. I can’t be thinking about that. Not when there are things at stake here that I can actually do something about.”

Ratchet’s optics narrowed. “You’re a goddamn thinking feeling mech, Orion. No one seriously expects you to just pretend that you’re not worried about Megatronus. Hell, now you’ve got me worried. He’s my friend too, y’know.”

Orion huffed, that thing that had his processor all up in knots loosening just a fraction. Of course. Ratchet was Megatronus’s friend too. 

The medic drummed a digit on Orion’s pauldron, voicebox whirring a soft hum, mulling something over. Orion didn’t really know what to do with that. His mind wandered back to the message board. Probably nothing. Probably nothing.

Before he could rescind his field, it jumped with the faintest pulse of anguish.

Ratchet’s optics darted back to Orion. His engine rumbled ominously. “That cinches it. We have nothing scheduled for the afternoon.” His servo fell from Orion’s pauldron, down to his wrist. “We’re going to the Pits.”

“We’re– what?”

“You heard me, Pax, and I don’t like repeating myself. We’re going to march up there, you’re going to buy us those stupid overpriced tickets, and we’re going to watch the matches until we see our friend.”

Orion gave a definitive nod, spark warming at the kind gesture.

*

The Pits were the usual madhouse, bots streaming in from all corners of Kaon to blow off steam watching other bots tear each other to shreds. More than once, Ratchet had to yank Orion out of the path of a much bigger mech as they made their way to the ticketing booth. Things weren’t any more calm in the arena, but at least most of the bots were seated. No more risk of trampling.

The two settled in their seats, not nearly as close to the action as last time, which Orion actually didn’t mind in the slightest. The newcomer rounds were drawing to a close– a swift one, as a lithe mech took the helm off his larger opponent with an axe. As the helmless frame fell to the ground, so too did the victor, trembling, to his knees. Even at a distance, Orion could see the way he stared at his energon-soaked servos. Haunted.

The announcer stepped forward on his raised platform, microphone in servo, welcoming mechs and femmes to the carnage with a smile. Orion didn’t hear him. His gaze remained fixed on the shaking mech in the Pit as he was shoved out of the limelight. Even when he disappeared into the gaping maw of the tunnels below, Orion couldn’t stop watching that darkened portal.

“Megatronus is bronze, right?” Ratchet’s question pulled his focus back.

Orion nodded. “He’s going to be silver soon though. Apparently mechs that make it this far in bronze usually make it the whole way.”

“We should see him soon then.”

“Yes.” Orion drummed an anxious digit on his knee-joint.

“Nervous tic?” Ratchet asked.

“Hm?”

“That.” Ratchet pointed to the tapping digit, which instantly stilled. “Sorry,” Ratchet frowned, “I didn’t mean you had to stop. I just noticed you doing it all through the meeting earlier. That’s all. I was wondering if you noticed.”

“Not really.” He felt his cheeks warm, his engine clicking, embarrassed.

Ratchet’s gaze slid over Orion’s frame, probably cataloging anything, everything strange. He was a medic after all, even if he protested it. “Forget I said anything,” Ratchet said, settling back with a grimace as the first bronze match commenced.

These matches definitely demonstrated a higher level of combat skill, though there was still the occasional bot who was clearly there by chance. These were felled quickly, and with an impressive smattering of energon. It made Orion want to purge his tanks just thinking about it– thinking about the way that it could just as easily have been Megatronus in any one of their places.

No. No. Megatronus was strong. Stronger than anyone else Orion had ever met. He had to prevail.

And then the bronze rounds were over. He’d spent the entirety of the past cycle sure that Megatronus would appear any klik. He was expecting shimmering gray plating, angled shoulderplates, and flashing red optics. Instead he got that infuriating announcer telling them that they were on to the silver rounds, and “We’re gonna need a little more enthusiasm than that! Let me hear your cheering, folks!” and the audience’s screamed response.

“Maybe– maybe he’s made silver.” Ratchet gave Orion what was clearly meant to be a reassuring smile, but came across as more strained than anything.

Orion returned it, even knowing how weak it must’ve looked. Wordlessly, the two mechs turned back to the floor. Orion couldn’t help but flinch with every act of carnage, but even so, watching was better than letting his processor draw the natural conclusion of its current thread.

The interrupted conversation. The cessation of messages. His absence from the bronze rounds. He shook these things from his helm, forcing the emptied neurals to focus on the violence instead. Every spilled drop of energon, each shredded rotor, all the little components spraying around the arena were taken in and analyzed uselessly for the sole purpose of distracting him from one simple fact.

That Megatronus was most likely offline.

*

By the time the silver rounds wound to a close, Orion was numb with it. He still shied away from the Pit with the killing blow, but there was hardly any uptick in his fuel pump, at least, not any higher than it had already been since the bloodshed started.

“Maybe he has the solar-cycle off, Orion. This doesn’t mean he’s offline.”

But Orion could only stare vacantly at the energon-soaked floor. The victor had already marched off– not sustaining much injury, leaving his opponent in two pieces. Very soon the waste disposal bots would descend on the Pit to drag the parts off stage.

And then there’d be nothing left. Nothing at all to indicate that a living, venting mech had once stood there. He’d be gone. Just like–

“Or he could’ve been badly injured,” Ratchet continued. “That’d explain it. He could be recovering right now. He could be back.”

Orion slowly shook his helm, horror trickling in at a cyber-snail’s pace. “I never should’ve given him that datapad,” he said faintly.

“Datapad?”

Orion nodded mutely. “To talk… and read.” He swallowed dry. “They probably found it, and killed him. That’s why–” his vocalizer whirred threateningly. If he wasn’t careful, it would glitch on his next words. “That’s why he’s not here,” he whispered, feeling pinpricks of solvent in the corners of his optics.

“Maybe–”

Orion shook his helm again, quickly this time, cutting the medic off. His core temperature was cranking up at a worrying rate. He opened his intake, taking in a deep vent of air, but it didn’t really help. His processor raced at a million kilometers a klik, all those shoved-off threads finishing their rapid-fire connections. Everything that had transpired since his meeting with Megatronus, every decision made, he scanned through them all, even shunting a portion of it into his new datablock just to get it done faster. 

They met, they got to know each other, Orion had made that call– to stop the riot, Megatronus had had to defend him, he missed the sentencing, he couldn’t find a way to free him.

“I failed him,” Orion wheezed, the enormity of that statement clamming up his processes. He couldn’t move, couldn’t vent; even his fuel pump came to a stuttering stop.

“Orion breathe.” Ratchet’s servo lighted gently on his backplates, the soothing gesture only adding more unneeded sensory input onto his overheating processor. “Listen to me, if you don’t terminate those threads, you’re headed for a full crash.”

Orion heard the words, but couldn’t make sense of them.

“Orion!” Ratchet vacated his seat to kneel in front of him, his servos on Orion’s knee-rotors. Despite the naked panic in Ratchet’s optics, he remained steady, pushing every ounce of confidence into his voice. “Orion, it’s not your fault. If he’s offline– listen– if he’s offline, it’s not your fault. You didn’t kill him, and I know just as much as anyone, as he definitely knew, that you’ve been putting every spare nanoklik into trying to save him. He couldn’t have asked for a better friend than you.”

No effect. The words couldn’t penetrate the heavy wall of I failed, I failed, I failed–

“Orion!” Ratchet growled. “Terminate the damn threads! I’m not dragging your crashed-out frame back to base!” Blunted digits dug into Orion’s sensitive knee-rotors, pushing the statement into the physical. Orion yelped, the thread disrupting, just long enough for him to register the order. His optics widened a fraction, before he forced them offline, heaving the entirety of his active processing into the defrag queue. With the backlog gone, Orion started his fuel pump back up, taking a deep vent in. His core temperature immediately dropped back into acceptable– if a bit elevated, parameters.

Until he took recharge, the thread would remain in background. Even from the queue, it would continue to prick up into his active processing, just waiting to be reinitiated. Orion forced it down, finally onlining his optics to meet Ratchet’s steely gaze.

“Feeling better?” Ratchet said, patronizing. Like Orion had been throwing a tantrum. It made it hard to thank the mech, even as every instinct told him it was owed.

“Feeling at all.” And he couldn’t keep the naked exhaustion out of his voice. “Thank you, Ratchet.”

The medic’s expression remained unwaveringly stern, until something changed there, and he melted, his entire frame relaxing with a huffed vent. “Good enough.” He rose from his kneel, joints creaking, and Orion understood that his earlier bite had been an act. The mech was a medic at spark, but he was trained as a miner. He didn’t do bedside manner. He didn’t know how to regulate his emotions when practicing. 

Ratchet gave a small, reassuring smile. “What do you say we get out of here?”

Orion nodded, rising onto unsteady pedes. He had no desire to see the singular gold match that played out each night-cycle. He preferred to get back to base and into a deep defrag as soon as possible, otherwise he risked those threads creeping back up again. Just to combat until then, he forced every stray thought of Megatronus down into background. He’d be at a mental standstill until he onlined next solar-cycle.

“And for our next and final match, featuring our gold headliner, six-hundred-fifty-seven wins and counting, I give you… Soundwave!”

Orion’s gaze wandered down to the arena floor, just in time to see the blue mech strut out into its center. Unlike most of the silver headliners he’d seen that night, Soundwave didn’t make any kind of self-announcement, nor did he have any visible weapons. His boxy chassis didn’t allude to any particular ability either. But even without any outward declaration of force or intention, he owned the space, his posture angled in a manner that told onlookers he was threatening, but not threatened. It reminded Orion of a turbowolf on the hunt, leaning in hungry anticipation of sinking its claws into a quarry it’d been tracking.

Preemptively, he felt a pang for the bot who’d be facing him.

Ratchet motioned Orion follow up the steps to exit, and he did so, knowing the less time he remained here, the better.

“And facing our champion for his debut into gold, he tore through the bronze rounds, he’s the miner from Kaon, you love to hate him– I give you… Megatron!”

Orion spun around so fast he almost dislodged a cranial gyroscope. That couldn’t be right. He had to have misheard. He–

A nanoklik later, and the mech himself emerged from the darkness of the tunnel. He held himself as he always did, with flawless posture, angled shoulderplates, and his helm held high. He was unharmed, and whole, those red optics bright and clear as they scrutinized the arena, sliding over the roaring stands.

Megatronus was alive.

And now Orion was going to have to watch him be killed.

*

Megatron was mutely surprised to find that he didn’t feel any different now than he had walking into any other match. These solar-cycles, he was never anxious leading up to a fight. He had long accepted that they were events he couldn’t change the reality of, so he didn’t try, and didn’t tax himself thinking on them much either. This was the case the night-cycle leading up to the gold match– which he had spent in solitary confinement instead of in his own cell, so he had been unsure if he would be differently affected.

He was glad to find he wasn’t.

With practiced ease, he revved the volt-saw, holding it high over his helm. The crowd cheered, though not as much as usual. Regardless of any faith he had built in his abilities, it was doubtless that the odds were stacked against him. Many words had been used to describe Megatron in the holofeeds: strong, resourceful, brutal.

Far more were used to describe Soundwave. A few included: indomitable, force of nature, destruction incarnate.

He’d heard whispers of his ability too, though nothing substantial enough to go off of.

His opponent turned to face him slowly– creepily, his processor supplied, the blank visor and battlemask betraying nothing. He didn’t posture, he barely took up a fighting stance, just maintained that awkward hunched position. Staring down the mech, every previous match suddenly registered trivial. This would be the fight of his life, and while, quite frankly, even the most generous prediction left him offlined in pain for all of Kaon to see, he resolved to fight denta and claw.

He owed it to Orion to give it everything he had.

Megatron crouched into his own ready position, left pede forward, right servo wrapped tightly around the volt-saw.

The start bell rang, and Soundwave tore forward with frightening speed. Megatron had half a nanoklik to react, bringing his volt-saw up to block whatever strike his opponent would use, only Soundwave dodged at the last picoklik, quickly weaving, getting Megatron’s right arm in a vice-like grip, and wrenching. Searing pain ripped through him as his shoulder-rotor was completely dislocated from its socket. He kicked in the mech’s direction, only to miss when he sidestepped. He caught Megatron’s swinging fist as it came at his helm, and leaned out of range when he sliced the place Soundwave had been only a nanoklik previous.

Getting nowhere, and quickly losing momentum, Megatron retreated. Soundwave did so as well, though Megatron couldn’t figure out why. He had him on the ropes. It would only get easier to offline him the more he pursued, but he wouldn’t waste the chance. He braced his dislocated arm against the volt-saw, and bit his other fist against the imminent pain. In one swift motion, he threw his entire weight down onto the saw, forcing his rotors to pop back into place. A small whine slipped between his dentae, but no one would ever hear it. Not over the audience’s jeering.

Megatron rolled that shoulder, grimacing against the remaining prickling. Satisfied, he met Soundwave’s visor head-on, optics settling where he approximated Soundwave’s own. He leaned back, letting a forced sneer color his faceplates. If the usual tactics didn’t work, Megatron could fall back on the psychological. Most of these strategies, he’d stumbled on entirely by accident, but none were beneath him. There was no way he’d be able to intimidate Soundwave with his words, but maybe he could throw him off. Anything to discompose him, even the smallest amount.

“You ever read the poem about the turbofox and the cybervole?” He called to his opponent, taking a strong step towards him, even as fear crept up his lines.

Soundwave’s plating flattened fractionally, more from mild confusion than anything, Megatron was sure. The mech cocked his helm to the side, almost inquisitive, as he matched Megatron’s advancement.

“He leaps from foliage / the single bound / finds the throat / steals the sound,” Megatron recited the first stanza, only the smallest waver in his voice.

Soundwave leapt forward the moment Megatron’s intake closed. He readied his volt-saw, and his vocalizer. “I love you dearly / says the fox to the vole / you fill my tanks / you keep me full.” He dodged another of Soundwave’s attempts at grappling his arm, angling the saw to cut down, he sheared millimeters off Soundwave’s shoulderplating. Alarm rippled off the mech as he twisted away, out of easy range.

Whatever the poetry was doing, it was working.

With new vigor, Megatron launched himself at Soundwave, letting his strikes take shape the moment his tac-unit spat them out. “I love you too / the other replied / you keep me honest / though I’ve died.” He feigned and struck. The mech was able to counter this time, just barely, parrying Megatron’s blow, and throwing his whole weight into a swift kick in the chassis. 

Megatron reeled back, realizing his mistake, and quickly loading up the final stanza. Why the hell does this work? His intention had only been to introduce a little confusion, but his words seemed to be dulling whatever edge his opponent had initially held. “Feeling deep in his gut / the turbofox laughed / We are in agreement / one whole two halves.”

He and Orion had discussed this one over messages, Orion believing the poem described how nature acted uniquely from bots, without malice. Megatron had argued that it struck as something more personal, a metaphor describing an abusive relationship the author found themself in. Orion had replied slowly, properly considering the new take. 

.:I’d never considered that angle before!:. His response came back bright. .:Too bad it’s from the Anonymous collection. I’d love to know what they intended:.

Megatron had smirked to himself .:Weren’t you the one who said a poem would mean something different to each bot?:.

.:Heh, got me there:. A pause .:You’re getting a lot better at this!:.

.:Had a good teacher:. Megatron replied honestly. Orion had been so patient, taking the time to walk him through every poem he’d asked about.

Megatron brought the blunt end of the volt-saw down on Soundwave’s helm. A sharp crack rang around the arena, and the mech stumbled back. Megatron lunged after him, understanding the opening for what it was, and considering a new theory for how Soundwave operated. He recited poetry through his processor in his assault, running tactical directly to his motor relays. No foreground consideration at all.

Soundwave hissed static. Megatron braced for an offensive.

Two panels on either side of Soundwave’s chassis slid back, depressurizing with a burst of steam. Two tentacles flew from the ports at lightning speed, furious black teeth spinning in a drilling motion. They went right for his chassis, both connecting instantly and boring into his internals. He swiped down with the volt-saw, hyper-aware that if he got critically injured, Declaron would not be authorizing his repair this time. The tentacles pulled back from danger, dragging shredded metal and slick fuschia out with them. His HUD blared orange alert. They got his tanks. The damage wasn’t enough to kill him, not even close, but if he jostled it enough it could tear into something much more serious.

He had to end this quickly.

As though hearing the thought, Soundwave crouched into a new ready stance, tentacles poised and whirring on either side of him. He charged. Megatron grimaced and did the same.

They clashed in the middle, Soundwave’s tentacles deftly dodging the volt-saw. One looped around his arm, coils constricting. He heard the weak crunch of hydraulics crushing under the pressure as the volt-saw came to a stuttering stop. He grit his dentae and slashed at Soundwave’s middle with his free arm. His claws met their mark, tearing through the surprisingly weak armor. Soundwave bit back a scream before it could reach the audience, but Megatron heard it.

“Not as indomitable as we thought, hm?” he sneered, putting more weight behind his servo, pressing his claws deeper into Soundwave’s internals.

A tentacle darted up from behind, wrapping twice around Megatron’s neckcables and squeezing, pulling him back. Megatron’s servo was instantly there, clawing at the writhing cord as it constricted tighter around his throat, cutting off those integral lines to his processor. Futile. Knowing the grave importance of its task, the tentacle didn’t waver even as he tore at it. It wouldn’t matter whether the appendage survived as long as its master did.

With the last of its energy, his tac-unit spit out a strategy. He leapt up, curled his stabilizing servos in, and kicked at that vulnerable middle. Pedes met shredded metal, and Soundwave screamed. Megatron’s plating rattled with the audial-splitting sound, and all around them, the audience recoiled, as Soundwave went reeling back, tentacles retreating with him.

Megatron gasped, vents and fuel pump cycling to dispel heat and get energon flow back in his processor. Sparing no extra moment, he continued his forward assault. Soundwave whipped his tentacles at Megatron, trying to trip or otherwise delay him, but as stuttering and sluggish as they’d become, they were easy to dodge. One lashed at his helm, and he caught it in his servo, digging claws into the segmented metal. He wrapped it around his wrist, using it to pull the other in. The mech’s visor– thought to be expressionless, flashed white with alarm, as he dug his pedes into the floor in a mad scrabble to escape.

“Where do you think you're going?” The mania bubbling in his tanks touched his faceplates, his intake splitting into a wild grin as he yanked Soundwave in. The mech stumbled, but did not fall, leaning into the motion for one final assault. He leapt forward, free tentacle spinning with those razor teeth. Megatron dodged, kicking Soundwave as he passed. He hit the floor hard, skidding in a shower of shredded parts.

Megatron was on him instantly, pinning him in a straddle. The mech craned his helm to face him just in time for Megatron to get a firm grip on his neckcables. They creaked ominously under the pressure, and it was only a matter of time before the life was crushed from him. Front on the ground, there was no way for Soundwave to defend without the strength to throw Megatron off. Even the tentacles’ attacks came weaker, one trapped under him, and the other dangerously low on fuel. Above them the crowd had stilled, atmosphere tight as a bowstring.

“Is this your champion?!” He roared up at them. No one called back, his question only stunning them into further silence. Fine by him. As long as they knew. As long as Declaron knew that he would not be disposed of easily. 

“Another murderer dead, Cybertron wouldn’t give a single fragging damn.” Declaron had said.

Not anymore.

Something came crackling in his audial, faint at first, until it solidified .:pr-proposal:.

Megatron looked down at the struggling mech, the signature clearly his. It shouldn’t have been possible with the Pits blocking all comms, but then again, .:I thought so. You are a telepath:.

The mech hesitated a fraction, before giving the faintest of nods, difficult with Megatron’s servo still locked around his throat.

.:Shame. You still have to die:.

.:Proposal:. The desperation sang loud in the message, but so did the sincerity, even as the message deteriorated with the mech’s processor. .:Proposal: my life for loyalty:.

That only enraged Megatron, who squeezed even more tightly .:Like I’d believe that:.

.:Loyalty: true:. This message came with the briefest flash of memory. Megatron genuinely didn’t understand what Soundwave was trying to convey for a moment until the picture came linked with Megatron’s own memory of Orion .:They–:. The comm sputtered .:–need me:.

No sympathy, sympathy gets you killed, even as a sharp pang cut through his spark. He understood the memory now, the four minibots staring up with naked adoration.

The visor’s light flickered, his field was fading. Soon, his spark would go out for good.

.:Plan:. Soundwave attached another memory, this time the outline of a schematic, one of the entire Pits, specific red pathways highlighted.

Pathways to escape.

Megatron let the consideration turn over in his processor just a nanoklik. If he was lying— if it was a trick, it could be his last mistake.

But if it wasn’t…

He smirked. It was worth the risk. And if it were deception, he could just kill him all over again.

He released Soundwave’s neckcables just as the visor threatened to offline for good. His opponent lay still a moment, and Megatron distantly worried he had decided too late. He remained crouched over the other until he could be sure. It would dictate his next actions.

The visor reinitiated in a burst of blue light, before shifting back to red. His whole frame shuddered under him, plating flaring and flattening back into a non-threatening position, as the mech wheezed, reclaiming his breath. Even from his vulnerable position, Soundwave relaxed completely, leaving himself at Megatron’s mercy.

Hoping that he wasn’t making a mistake, Megatron rose to his pedes, dragging Soundwave up after him. The next few kliks might be tricky. Thanks to Gladiatorial Combat Through the Ages , he knew there was precedent for sparing opponents at the victor’s discretion. He’d even heard that Soundwave had occasionally done so. Whether that would stand in the face of his tenuous position with Declaron, was yet to be seen.

The collective field of the masses shifted, confusion roiling off them. Declaron had yet to comment. A quick glance up showed him stunned speechless. He sputtered back to life when Megatron’s optics met his, fury present on his faceplates, and… something else. Something he hadn’t seen before.

“Well then… in a stunning— just stunning turn of events, I believe Megatron has bested our champion!” His voice returned to its usual vibrancy quick enough, but he would’ve been deaf to miss the waver.

“Soundwave concedes to me!” He wanted to make that abundantly clear. Soundwave bowed his helm respectfully, only confirming his declaration.

After a beat, the crowd erupted, heavy applause interspersed with an amount of jeering— bots angry that Soundwave was online— that they had been denied their proper conclusion. He could imagine Declaron’s rebuke later, but he couldn’t let it bother him. He’d won. Not just against Soundwave, but against Declaron. The match should’ve killed him. It hadn’t.

Megatron marched off stage once the signal was received from his handler, Soundwave close on his heels. He left Declaron to conclude the spectacle.

He wasn’t barred from the medbay like he’d been worried he would be. Flatline and Scalpel admitted him with a near muteness— maybe awe in their fields. They didn’t seem to know what to think, only that there were no orders to follow.

“Flatline, repair Soundwave, Scalpel, me,” he said, resolution heavy in his lines. If there were no orders, they could defer to him.

Scalpel’s tiny intake opened, as though in protest, before it snapped shut at Megatron’s flashing optics. He grumbled a bit, though it came out as more of a chittering, as he started on the punctures in Megatron’s tanks and chassis.

“You’re lucky it’s only a graze,” Scalpel muttered. “Any closer and you would’ve bled out all your fuel in nanokliks. Full shutdown a klik later.”

Megatron chanced a look, wondering what Soundwave’s reaction to that tidbit might’ve been, but all he got was that impassive mask. He didn’t even seem upset.

“Goddamn it Soundwave,” Flatline hissed. “Just let me reformat the fragging subspace! It’s been bothering me for stellar-cycles. You’re driving me insane!”

Remembering that argument from his first time in the medbay, and understanding the subspace’s purpose now, he intervened, “Flatline, leave it.” His tone, pitched low and tinged threateningly, left little argument.

Flatline held his gaze for a single nanoklik before his optics flicked away, continuing his work without comment.

Megatron was mostly repaired by the time those imposing pedesteps approached from the hall. He recognized them before Declaron even entered the room. Not waiting for permission, Megatron rose from the medical berth to face him. This wouldn’t be a repeat of the first time. Soundwave perked up, but didn’t do the same.

“So,” Declaron started, frame rigid, even as he attempted an air of casual dominance, “you survived.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed.” Megatron stood tall, ready for anything. He wouldn’t deny the possibility of the black box making a reappearance. There was no way to defend against that, but they were at a crossroads. They both knew it.

“You think I won’t still kill you?” Declaron’s smile took on an edge.

Megatron matched it, chancing a step forward. Declaron started back, before realizing his error, and planting his pedes.

“I’m sure you’ll try.” Megatron cocked his helm, optics glimmering. “And I’ll put on one hell of a show stopping you.”

Declaron’s gaze sharpened, comprehending perfectly. “Then we understand each other.”

Megatron shook his helm. “No. I doubt we ever will. But it’s close enough.”

Declaron’s servo clenched, and for a moment Megatron was sure he’d taken it too far. But then he relaxed, barking a laugh. “You’re funny Megatron, funnier than I give you credit for.” He slapped his thigh. “Like I’d try to kill my brand new headliner.”

Megatron’s optics widened a fraction, but he kept his stance the same, unwavering.

“No, you and I, we’re going to make a lot of money.”

“You’re going to make a lot of money.”

“Semantics. Come. Stop looking so serious. We should be celebrating!” His optics flicked left, comming someone, before turning back to Megatron. “I’m having my assistant bring the good engex. Scalpel, finish his repairs, use the nice wax for the finish this time.”

“What about Soundwave?”

“For the loser?” Declaron’s brow ridge hit the brim of his helm. “Sure, why not! Six-hundred-something consecutive wins should earn something. And hey,” he rapped on Megatron’s shoulderplating, “great move, ‘he concedes,’ all that slag. People will just be chomping at the bit for the rematch.”

“Rematch?” No one missed the edge in Megatron’s voice.

“Hey, not for a long, long time.” Declaron waved his servos placatingly. “Got to build up anticipation for that kind of thing.”

Besides the point.

.:I will lose:. Soundwave commed. Whether that was a prediction, or a promise, Megatron was not entirely sure, but in the wake of his pledge, he decided to assume the latter.

Declaron’s assistant scurried in with the engex. The announcer nodded, popping the cube open with a spray of foam. He poured two cubes, passing one to Megatron. “To future victories, may they be many.” Declaron put his cube to his lipplates. Megatron motioned to do the same.

.:Poison:. Soundwave commed.

Megatron stiffened, but only let it show for a moment, before pretending to take a sip and putting the cube aside, as though he thought little of it. “Only the swill,” Declaron had promised. Yeah, right.

“So, what are your plans for me? Since we agree I wasn’t meant to make it this far?”

“Hm,” Declaron tapped his chin, pretending to actually consider the future. “Well, there’s no use in rescinding your gold status. That was supposed to take you three-hundred fights, but I digress.” His gaze flicked down. “Aren’t you going to finish your cube?”

“No,” Megatron tipped his helm, dangerous intent. “I’m not.”

Declaron’s field buzzed. He was nervous, wasn’t he?

.:Declaron: terrified:. Soundwave confirmed.

Megatron shot him a sharp look .:I’m going to need  you to stay out of my processor:.

Soundwave dipped his helm .:understood:.

Unsure if he could actually enforce that, he decided to accept it for now. The mech had already proven useful more than once in the few kliks they’d been allied. Besides, he was too high off his victory to stay upset. Declaron terrified? It’d be refreshing to get actual insight into the glitch’s processor.

.:What’s he planning, Soundwave?:.

.:Nothing. He still thinks he can get you to drink:.

.:He’s going to be sorely disappointed:.

.:Affirmative, master:.

The title sent a jolt all through Megatron’s frame, leaving him deeply uncomfortable. Reflexively, he almost commed back to refute it.

Weakness, a voice inside him screamed. Seize this power, keep it close. You’ll be needing it.

He left the comm-line, turning back to Declaron. He didn’t pick up the cube again. “So, I assume I’ll be getting a new cell?”

*

Orion and Ratchet left the Pits in twin shock, neither exchanging a word all the way back down to the bottom level.

Megatronus was alive.

Better than alive, he was triumphant, powerful. Soundwave had been the definitive worst thing that could’ve happened to Megatronus in there, and not only had he survived, but he had conquered. He didn’t even need to kill Soundwave, somehow coming to a wordless understanding.

It had been magnificent to witness, there was no better way Orion could think to put it. 

Passing the threshold of the FFFF welcome center, Ratchet finally cut into Orion’s thoughts, “so… that was…”

Orion nodded mutely.

Ratchet smiled, though there was a nervous scrunch in his faceplates. “Told you he was alive.”

Orion huffed a laugh. “That you did.” He put a servo on the medic’s pauldron. “I should have listened.”

“Maybe,” Ratchet shrugged, “but I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.” He sagged. “You must’ve known I didn’t believe my words either.”

“You were only trying to help.”

“Lousy job I did.”

“No.” Orion gave Ratchet’s pauldron a light squeeze. “You have no idea how much you helped me tonight. Seriously.”

Ratchet’s engine hiccuped. He scratched the back of his neckcables, averting his optics. “Yeah, well…” He looked back at Orion, expression pinched, before it smoothed over. A strong flare of false indifference overtook Ratchet’s field. “Just doing my job. As a— as a medic.”

A beat, and Orion beamed. The joy in his field was so strong, Ratchet actually took a step back, optics wide, and dumbfounded. “Now what’s all that about?” His tone almost hostile.

“You’re finally calling yourself a medic!” Orion’s spark spun just as quickly as it had at Megatronus’s victory, only, where that had been with an edge of apprehension, here it was pure, unbound glee.

“Of course I am!” Ratchet snapped. “It’s not like I can call myself a miner anymore.”

“Why do I feel like you’re not actually upset about that?”

“Because you’re an obsessive, nosy, overly-perceptive mech who doesn’t know how to mind his own business!” He jabbed a digit at Orion’s chassis, leaving the smallest streak of paint transfer.

Despite the biting words, Orion was confident he didn’t mean them in the slightest, or rather, he did, but not in the negative way he was spitting them.

“Okay doc, now diagnose me with something nice.”

“Frag all the way off, Orion.”

And Orion couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

*

Cycles later, Orion was lying in berth, reading off his datapad, and slowly settling under the crushing silence of his stupidly big apartment.

It hadn’t been as bad when Arcee and Cliff were living with him, and even their absence had been manageable with Megatronus’s nightly messages. This was when he’d usually be using this same datapad to talk, a routine they’d fallen into consistently over the last five megacycles.

He didn’t even know why he bothered living in the apartment when FFFF headquarters had set up a dormitory situation for those who had nowhere to go. Mostly guilt, he supposed. Plenty of bots would trip over themselves for an opportunity to live in such luxury. Squandering it felt like a betrayal. Besides, it really wasn’t feasible to commute from the lowest level to the surface every solar-cycle. Not only would it be taxing— a nearly two cycle endeavor each way— even if he got to be in the fast lines, but he also worried the activity could be pinged as suspicious.

He read the same sentence over again for the fifth time. He’d had a long commute for his good mood to deteriorate, and his ability to concentrate hadn’t been far behind.

When would he get to speak to Megatronus again? Would he get to speak to him again? He tried to shake these thoughts from his helm, but they just kept popping back up, unbidden. The massive defrag queue from his near-crash probably didn’t help. Only a recharge would at this point.

But even as he offlined his optics, recharge wouldn’t find him.

He wasn’t a great planner, not the way Shockwave was able to build a business, or in the way Megatronus could win fights. He’d had a few moments he could almost be proud of— if they hadn’t ended so disastrously. Stopping the C-12 riot, and smuggling Megatronus the datapad, chief among them. Those things— they were good things. He’d saved lives, and found a way to contact his friend, but in the end, in both those instances, Megatronus had suffered. At least, he was pretty sure about the datapad. Now his processor was wandering back to ideas of seeing Megatronus again, and he kept terminating those threads, because doubtlessly he’d only hurt Megatronus more.

It was inevitable.

As though in answer to his wallowing, a comm pinged on his HUD. He accessed it instantly, anything to hold his attention. He’d been expecting Cliff, or Arcee. Maybe Magnus or Ratchet.

He didn’t know who it was for a moment.

.:Orion, do you read me?:.  

Orion cycled his optics once, twice, in disbelief. Clear as day, though wrapped in the signal of another, was Megatronus’s signature. His spark nearly spun out of his chassis,

.:Yes! Yes I read you!:.

Megatronus pinged his satisfaction .:Thank Primus. We weren’t sure this would work:. A pause .:Okay. I was skeptical. I don’t think Soundwave had any doubts:.

.:Soundwave??:.

.:Yes. I’m routing my comms through him. Just be aware that anything we say, he will also hear:.

Was that a warning not to reveal anything damning?

.:Understood, I think. And thank you Soundwave, for making this possible. Even if you… um, tried to kill Megatronus today:.

Soundwave sent a stoic acknowledgement of both points.

.:He’s not big on words:. Megatronus commed .:Wait— how do you know we fought?:.

.:I was in the stands today. After you stopped answering my messages last night-cycle I went to make sure you were still online:.

.:Sorry Orion. Didn’t mean to scare you like that:.

.:I’m just glad you’re okay. What happened?:.

A longer pause .:Declaron found the datapad… I lost the archive you made me. I’m sor—:.

.:Don’t apologize! Please! I’m the one who’s sorry. If I hadn’t given it to you, you never would’ve—:.

.:Had the opportunity to learn so much, even from here in the Pits. Never apologize for that. I may have feared Declaron when I first arrived, but I can say with confidence that is not the case anymore. And I have you to thank:.

.:Megatronus…:.

.:I only regret that I’ve lost the datapad and its contents. I’m going to miss my night-cycle reading:.

.:It… doesn’t have to end:.

.:?:.

.:If Soundwave was okay with it, I could transmit texts through him to you:.

.:He’s amenable. We have an… arrangement:.

.:An arrangement?:.

.:His services in exchange for his life. He works for me now:.

Orion’s tanks fizzed a little. That… didn’t really feel right to him, but then again, anything to help Megatronus survive. And it wasn’t like he didn’t trust him to be fair.

.:I heard you reciting Tanks in your match today:.

.:Heh. I only did it at first to try and psych him out. Turned out his ability is telepathy, and recitation stopped him from being able to predict my next move:.

.:Interjection:. Soundwave cut into the comm. It was inflected like a statement, but the way he paused for Megatronus’s approval made it into a question.

.:Yes?:. Megatronus answered.

.:Clarifying statement: description as telepath is a simplification:.

.:How does it work then?:. Megatronus replied.

.:Everything has sound. My audials and processor take in much more than any other bot. Simply put, I can hear the ones and zeroes in your brain:.

Was that creepy? Yes. That was absolutely creepy.

.:What about these comms?:. Megatronus asked.

.:Take your signal, piggyback off my own, wrap in Declaron’s comm signature to bypass Pit defenses:.

.:Wow:. Orion couldn’t help but say.

.:Yes, quite impressive, isn’t he?:.

.:Very:.

.:So:. Megatronus started, .:I believe before Declaron interrupted us, we were discussing publishing some of my work…:.

 

Notes:

Obviously imagine the characters however you like, but in *my* mind, this soundwave looks most similar to his classic design– just also with tentacles. I actually saw they did something like that in the RID show, so maybe something like that? Except less bulky. I also don’t really imagine the full visor, though I do like that concept too. Rah whatever, ignore me :P or lookit some of the doodles of him I’ve done on tumblr @smatterbrained

Chapter 12: Best Laid Plans

Orion was the last to arrive at the FFFF command meeting, making it five kliks after the allotted start time. Elita gave him a hard stare. He was coming to learn that she took things like punctuality very seriously– only slightly less so than Ultra Magnus. To her left, Ironhide tipped his helm in greeting, his injuries healing up nicely, but still remnant by way of unpainted plating. Cliff and Arcee were locked in private conversation, Bee listening intently from the side. The mech wasn’t officially in their little command club, but his knowledge of C-12’s new configuration had already proven useful to their planning. It helped that everyone seemed keen to keep a watchful optic on him.

“Well, well.” Ratchet put down the object he was fiddling with. “Look who decided to join us.”

“Elevator-train got delayed?” Orion chanced.

“You can’t say that every meeting, Pax,” Elita scoffed. “Either figure out the train schedule, or just don’t show up.”

“Hey, go easy on the mech. Can’t be easy commuting all the way from the surface,” Cliff said, voice dripping with sarcasm, and mischief dancing in his optics.

Orion understood the tone, but the jest still hit home. “Sorry guys. I’ll work on it.”

“You always say that one too!”

Orion winced. It was true. Usually it was just train delays, but this time he’d gotten himself held up all by himself, dashing out his door late after spending too long setting up Megatronus’s new pseudonym. He’d just barely managed to send the information to Soundwave before realizing he’d be late.

“What’s done is done.” Cliff motioned for him to sit. “Let’s just get this meeting going.”

“What’s first on the docket?” Orion asked, taking his usual place at Cliff’s left.

“Well, we still haven’t heard any direct response from the council– at least, not verbally,” Cliff added at Elita’s sharp gaze. She obviously hadn’t forgotten the bungle with Ironhide either. “We need to discuss where we want to take that next. We haven’t stopped dismantling the roads of course, even if they put them back together pretty fast, and we have been transmitting our demands publicly so that everyone knows why, but I think if we don’t stop soon, the public will get more irritated with us than the council.”

“And what about the cold-constructs?” Bee asked hesitantly. He’d become much more reserved since getting his processor fixed. He still looked at everything with wide, searching optics, eager to devour any information on his new world, but he was much more self-conscious too. Even when he was quiet, there were usually at least ten new questions on the tip of his glossa. Orion had been trying to encourage him to get back that old confidence, but it was going to be slow going.

“We still haven’t come up with a way to save them,” Ratchet said, suddenly sounding very tired. “I’ve been studying up.” He placed the object he’d been fiddling with on the table for everyone to see– a scale model of a processor. “But I just don’t have the skill to do the necessary operations.”

“But after Knockout’s you said you thought you could!” Bee’s digits dug into the table’s surface, before he looked down, horrified, clamping his intake shut.

Ratchet sighed, putting a servo over Bee’s. The mech flinched, before letting himself relax. Even from where Orion was sitting, he could feel Ratchet’s field reaching out in soothing waves to comfort him. “I know, Bee. If it were just a few, in a stable, clean environment, maybe I’d be willing to try, but…” He let the rest of the sentence hang.

“But what?” Bee said, voice small.

“There’s hundreds of you guys, and we have no reliable way of getting in, or getting them out. I mean, maybe if we smuggled them out, one by one–”

“That could take stellar-cycles,” Orion said. “We can’t possibly leave it that long.”

“Might be that, or leaving them forever, OP,” Arcee said, brow ridge pinched.

Everyone looked at the table sadly, only Bee making any attempt to meet the others’ optics, before his helm hung too.

A knock at the door pulled them from the joint misery that was threatening to turn into a feedback loop of despairing fields.

“There’s no lock!” Cliff called. “Come in.”

Orion was surprised to see Jazz push through the door, followed closely by Shockwave.

“Woah,” Jazz staggered back. “What’s got you bots so down?”

“Do you know about the situation with the cold-constructs?” Orion asked. They’d tried to keep the whole thing under wraps, but word was already spreading across the FFFF. It wasn’t like Bee’s appearance around base was subtle, and he had liked to talk.

“Yeah,” Jazz said.

At the same time, Shockwave nodded. “That’s actually what we’re here about.”

Orion quirked a brow.

“Wait,” Ratchet held up a servo, “have we met?”

“Duh,” Cliffjumper rolled his optics. “That’s Jazz.”

Ratchet’s expression made it clear he had no idea who that was.

“The racer?”

Ratchet’s intake opened as though he were about to call Cliffjumper something nasty.

“I do other things too,” Jazz said, taking a tentative step forward.

“Jazz researches media and culture,” Orion said, trying to preempt any brewing spats. “He does also race, quite well I believe.”

“Aw Orion, you don’t have to say all that.”

Orion shrugged. “And Shockwave is a bartender several levels up, but I’m not kidding when I say he’s the smartest bot I’ve ever met.”

Shockwave wasn’t nearly as bashful as Jazz. “Thank you for the introduction, Orion. Good to see you again.”

Orion dipped his helm in reciprocal acknowledgement. 

“You said something about the cold-constructs?” Bee asked, fragile hope coloring his field.

“Sure did!” Jazz slid into one of the few remaining empty chairs. “You don’t mind if I… thanks,” he said at Cliff’s easy nod. “Shocks and I met at your rally, kept in touch– Orion wasn’t joking about the intelligence by the way. You should see the processor on the mech. We were brainstorming up some ideas to help the cause when we heard about the thing with the cold-constructs.” He gestured to his partner. “You wanna take it from here, Shocks?”

Shockwave remained standing, but took a step closer to the table. “I’ve deduced how the functionalists keep the cold-constructs docile,” he started, his fans kicking on. “They use a rubber partition to–”

“We’ve figured that much,” Ratchet groused. “How do you think Bee here’s walking around doing what he wants?”

“Ah,” Shockwave said, looking a little disappointed for a nanoklik before perking up again. “But have you figured out a way to free them?”

“Aside from performing processor surgery on each of them?”

“Yes.”

Everyone looked up at that. Satisfied he had their attention, Shockwave pressed on. “I’ve developed a nanite,” he pulled a slim tube from subspace, buzzing with something unknown, “that can eat through rubber.”

Orion’s optics widened. “You’re saying…”

“Yep,” Jazz said. “We release them in the mine, and well…” He blew air from his vents, mimicking an explosion with his servo.

“That could–”

“Kill them all?” Ratchet crossed his arms. “Do I need to remind you lugs that rubber is used in just about every bot? You ever met a miner without tires, or– hell, any bot anywhere without seals, hoses, or gaskets?”

Shockwave shot a look that almost seemed like disappointment. “A fair point, if you had let me finish.”

Ratchet glared a moment, before letting himself relax back into his seat. “Go on.”

“After making my hypothesis, I had Jazz sneak into C-12 and retrieve a… sample.”

“He means a brain. They definitely stole a brain,” Cliff stage-whispered to Arcee.

Shockwave shrugged. “Small price to pay. After analyzing the sample–”

“Brain.”

“Brain,” Shockwave acquiesced. “I discovered the functionalists’ fatal flaw.”

A long moment passed before everyone realized he wasn’t continuing.

“Well?” Elita snapped. “Don’t keep us in suspense!”

“Just wanted to pause, and let you realize if no one had interrupted, you would already have the answer by now,” Shockwave said, looking a little smug.

Some of the bots huffed, but Orion could see the humor in Shockwave’s optics.

“Ah, just tell ‘em, Shocks,” Jazz said, stifling a laugh. “You should see your faces though.”

“Alright.” Shockwave chuckled, placing the tube on the table. “What the functionalists discovered in their construction, was that normal rubber, while very insulating, if not insulated enough to reliably block all neural exchanges, so they developed a new kind of rubber, one with a different enough composition that these nanobots can distinguish the two.”

Orion nodded, understanding, as delight spooled out from his field, a grin spreading across his faceplates. “That’s amazing!”

Shockwave nodded. “Much appreciated, Orion.”

“How soon?” Bee piped up, servos fidgeting on the table. “How soon until we can save them?”

“Soon,” Shockwave promised.

“The easy part will be getting into C-12, and setting the nanites off,” Jazz said. “It would only take a few of us to do it. The hard part will be getting the cold-constructs out once their processors are free.” His voice took on a more pressing tone. “If we aren’t extremely careful the whole situation could go supernova just like that.” He snapped his digits, swiveling to lounge in his seat.

“I have a potential solution,” Shockwave started. This in itself was no surprise to Orion. The mech clearly had no greater joy than a well-crafted plan, and a good idea approved and executed. What did surprise Orion was the apprehension clear in Shockwave’s vocalizer. 

“What’s the idea?” Orion asked, trying his best to sound supportive.

“I propose this idea knowing full well the risks that it carries, and I understand if you all decide it isn’t worth attempting.” He looked over the gathered bots, gravity heavy in his expression and field. “But I have yet to think of a single idea with higher probabilities of success.”

“No harm in hearing it,” Cliff said, tone easy, but field tense.

“True,” Shockwave said, relaxing fractionally. “Alright then. Here’s what I propose.”

*

The biggest change Megatron found between bronze and gold was the freedom. As pitiful the amount given was, it felt like a lead block being taken off his backplates. Sure, he was limited to the confines of the gold wing of the cells, but that included free range to the washracks, a full training suite, a heavily guarded cafeteria, and most noticeably, other inmates’ cells– each with their own door.

The greatest freedom of all, privacy.

Not true privacy, of course. The security camera in the corner of each room glinted at him, as though taunting, but the false privacy was enough to almost trick Megatron’s processor into believing the cells were more like habsuites.

Megatron turned all this over in his processor, staring dead-on at the camera, almost challenging its gaze. The cell– because it was a cell, and he would do well to remember that, was sparsely furnished, containing an elevated berth, a small table, and a single chair, which he was sitting in. Leagues better than his previous accommodations– even leagues better than his situation in C-12, but it was still a cell. Still a cell. Don’t forget.

He turned back inwards to the poem he was constructing. It was trickier without a datapad, but he’d always had a fairly well-organized processor. It wasn’t too difficult to keep the poem clear in his mind, adding bits, removing bits. Soon he’d have Soundwave upload it under the pseudonym Orion had made for him. He’d already published a few of his works, though not to great response. It made sense. No one had any particular reason to be drawn to his voice, completely anonymous as it was. He’d had a hard time coming up with the name to write under. He wanted something intentional, but not self-important.

“What about ‘Voice from Kaon?” Orion had suggested. “Well, it’d actually be presented like this: VoicefromKaon, but people will understand it.”

Megatron had liked it immediately, and not just because it was Orion suggesting it. The name felt true to the message. He was a single voice from Kaon. Whatever importance he carried could be determined by his quality of work, nothing more. It was like the Pits. Work well or die. Less dire, maybe, but similarly principled.

.:Master:. Came Soundwave’s inflectionless ping. Megatron would probably never get used to the way the mech addressed him.

.:Yes?:. Megatron replied to Soundwave’s unasked question.

.:Request: join me in my quarters:.

.:For what purpose?:. As much as Megatron appreciated the mech’s skills and strength at his back, he found him a little creepy, preferring not to be alone around him. He wasn’t even sure if he was honoring the request to stay out of his processor. He could probably take him if necessary, but didn’t feel entirely confident in the event of a rematch. Even without his ability, the mech was formidable.

.:Discussion of plans:. Soundwave commed.

.:You can come to mine:.

.:And introductions:.

Megatron cocked a brow. Maybe the minibots? He rose to his pedes, curiosity mounting. Soundwave was in the cell next door. He pinged his acceptance of the offer, and made the ten-step journey. The door slid aside before Megatron could even knock.

Soundwave bowed his helm in greeting, stepping aside to reveal four bots he’d only ever seen fleetingly around the Pits– decidedly not the minibots. Megatron suppressed his twinge of disappointment.

“These bots: fellow gold fighters,” .:and worthy of your assessment; potentially useful for the plan:. Soundwave added over comms. .:All have fought, and been spared by me. Mechs: formidable and malleable:.

Megatron narrowed his optics at the presumption. He didn’t like Soundwave acting on his behalf without consulting him.

.:And the camera?:.

.:Camera: not a problem:.

He accepted that with a small nod, turning back to the four mechs.

The shortest of the bunch, a seeker, purple, black, and silver plating almost slippery with shine, spoke up first. He took a quick step– more of a hop, forward, his sharp wings fluttering before he forced them still.

“Megatron.” He tipped his helm, just barely, sharp gaze never leaving Megatron’s own. “I’m Skywarp.”

“Lugnut!” The second mech bellowed, before having the good grace to look embarrassed, his five optics darting around the room sheepishly. He was the largest of the bunch, probably Ultra Magnus’s height.

“Overlord,” the third mech said coolly. Something like a smirk colored his faceplates. “Big fan.” And the way he said that might’ve caused his plating to rise if he hadn’t had such a vice on his reactions.

Megatron turned to the last mech. For the previous three, it had been obvious what each of their alt-modes had been, but the mech before him, silver and gold, red accents, was shaped differently than any he had seen before. “And you?

“Me Grimlock!” The mech banged his fist against his chest. “Soundwave beat Grimlock. Megatron beat Soundwave.” He banged his chest again. “You Grimlock’s leader now!”

Overlord rolled his optics in the periphery.

“And the rest of you?” Megatron rumbled, letting an edge color his vocalizer. Bolstered by Grimlock’s… enthusiastic backing, he let his plating flare subtly, his shoulderplates angling, and his gaze becoming that bit sharper. Lugnut’s optics widened. Skywarp skittered back a step. Only Overlord remained impassive, as though viewing Megatron as little more than amusing.

“Megatron, your greatness!” Lugnut dropped to one knee, helm bowed in reverence. “I apologize. I should never have doubted Soundwave’s praise of you.” His helm bowed further, nearly touching the floor. “I pledge my loyalty undying.”

Taken aback only a nanoklik, Megatron forced his frame to loosen, resisting the urge to turn to Soundwave for explanation. These moments were important. “I accept,” he said, not quite sure he was making the right decision. “Rise.”

Lugnut did so, his whole demeanor shifting to one of awe. That could get annoying quickly.

Megatron turned to Overlord and Skywarp. The latter ducked his helm in a sloppy bow. Not with reverence, like Lugnut, but more in fear, which flashed across his field almost too quick for Megatron to perceive.

“You’re strong. You have ideas,” Skywarp said quickly, meeting Megatron’s gaze. “I want out of here. And I think you’re the mech who can get me that.”

Good enough. Megatron nodded, but made sure to keep his field strong. Betray me, and die. That’s the message he wanted to come across.

Overlord chuckled as Megatron rounded on him. He could just barely contain the lick of true anger that flared up in response. “And you?” It was an effort to keep the bite from his words.

Overlord sneered. “Seen too many bots win one big match and think they’re the best thing since triple-filtered energon. I won’t follow a mech destined to walk us right to the slagmaker.” He took a step forward, right in Megatron’s face. He could feel the air from his vents. “I’m going to need some proof before I go around acting like you’re Primus’s gift to Cybertron.”

Megatron cocked a brow, sizing the other up. “What exactly did you have in mind?” he said, his engine revving once in threat.

Overlord’s optics lit up with sinister glee. “You’re gold now.” He smiled, his voice dripping with slimy charm. “You should join me and some others in the training room next night-cycle for some… extra practice.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “When?”

Overlord turned his back, headed to the door, and Megatron wanted to tackle him where he stood just for that. “We meet every megacycle. Next meeting’s tomorrow, 2500.” He looked over his shoulder, his intake pulled into a smile– or maybe a snarl. The only thing for sure was that his dentae gleamed wickedly under the overbright fluorescents. “Don’t be late.” And with that, the door slid aside, and he was gone, down the hall. The door snapped closed behind him.

Megatron let his rage simmer for half a klik, before he turned back slowly, facing the four mechs who remained. Skywarp carefully avoided his optics, but the others were all watching his reaction curiously. He wasn’t sure what exactly they were seeing.

“Megatron: does not have to prove himself to Overlord,” Soundwave said, breaking the silence.

A puff of air escaped Megatron’s vents. “Of that, I am aware, however,” he swept his gaze over the gathered mechs, “I will be beating him. If only for my own satisfaction,” he added, his intake quirking up just slightly.

He dismissed the remaining mechs shortly after that, confirming that he would be in touch.

That just left him and Soundwave. 

“What happens in the training room?” he asked, finally facing him.

“Underground fighting club,” Soundwave said. “Just to let off some steam,” he continued in a voice that was distinctly not his own.

“Was that a recording of Overlord?”

“Affirmative.”

The two of them stood in buzzing silence for a long klik, before Soundwave broke it once more.

“Megatron: upset?”

He blinked in surprise. This was the first time he’d heard anything resembling emotion from the mech– even if it was the mere use of inflection. “I– hm… I would have preferred some warning.” He crossed his arms. “That’s all.”

Soundwave relaxed, just the smallest bit. He probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching the other so intently. Soundwave must’ve been telling the truth about staying out of his processor, otherwise he should’ve known this already.

He smiled slightly. “When you said introductions, I was actually expecting to meet your minibots.”

Soundwave’s visor shifted to a bright pink, a flash of… something, before returning to red. “You… wish to?”

Megatron couldn’t help but feel he was being scrutinized. The visor didn’t waver from him, and he was sure if it wasn’t there, he’d be facing intense, cycling optics.

“Yes, I would.”

Soundwave continued to study him for a long moment. Long enough that Megatron almost told him to just forget it, before the telepath simply nodded, taking a step back and letting his subspace snap open. The hinges were on the bottom. Unusual. “Cassettes: eject.”

Four thin rectangles sprung free, a bright whoop accompanying the first of them, as they all transformed. He recognized them from the flash of memory that had been shared. Noticing him, the group stiffened instantly.

“Boss-bot?” The blue one said, taking a few steps back. He was shaped like a mech, and the tallest of the bunch– coming up just below Megatron’s knee-rotor. “There’s another bot here.”

“Affirmative.”

“Okay…” 

“Designation: Megatron.” 

“Oh.”

All four pairs of optics met his.

“Designations: Rumble.” He pointed to the blue one, who was outwardly fearful. “Frenzy.” The red and black one, staring in awe. “Ravage.” The cybercat, with naked distrust. “Laserbeak.” The raptor, who’s expression was inscrutable.

“Is it true?” Frenzy came bounding up. “Did you really beat boss-bot?”

Rumble pulled him back at the last moment, coming close despite his rising plating, and fear-tinged field. “Be careful, bolt-brain! He might step on you!”

The other two approached warily, their movements showing that they were ready to protect the others if need be. Megatron might’ve laughed at the gesture, if his spark hadn’t been warmed. 

“We only thrive when we look out for each other!” Orion had once said, seemingly so long ago. Whatever these five bots had, it was that innate thing that Orion had been seeking. Strong enough for Rumble to force himself up close to Megatron, just because he was worried for his– peer? Friend? Brother? He wasn’t sure. Strong enough to bring the mighty Soundwave to his knees, all but begging for his life just because four little minibots relied on him.

Megatron didn’t know if he had the kind of strength it took to do that– to appeal to his enemy to spare his life, so he might save others’.

Orion.

Would he be able to beg if someone had a blade to Orion’s throat?

He shook his helm, terminating the thread before his processor could spit out an answer.

His impulse was to lower himself to one knee to meet their optic-level, but felt that could easily be demeaning, so he remained standing, regarding them evenly, though he was unsure of the right thing to say. “I did defeat Soundwave. He works for me now.”

The four exchanged looks, seeming to come to some wordless conclusion. Maybe comming?

Finally, they turned their attention back. Rumble cleared his vocalizer, the apparent leader of the bunch. “Then– then we work for you too.”

Megatron nodded his acceptance. “I’ll need to know what each of your abilities are then.” He smiled down at them, a bit sharp, but not unkind. He was glad to get all the allies he could. “We will likely need them when we escape.”

From the responding expressions, it was the right thing to say, and not what they were expecting in the slightest.

*

Orion watched with fondness, even as neural-deep tension simmered in his lines. Bee took the racetrack for a fiftieth loop, hardly slowing at all. Arcee, and Cliffjumper flagged behind. The only one who kept pace was Jazz.

“C’mon Bee!” Ratchet shouted from the stands. “Show that upper-cruster who’s boss!”

“Ratchet, isn’t there some less… polarizing insult you can think of?” Orion said, wincing. “It’s not fair to Jazz. Not after he was nice enough to sneak us into the racetrack.”

“Wouldn’t have to sneak in if there were class equality,” Ratchet grumbled.

.:Naw:. Jazz commed on a channel between the three of them. .:I am an upper-cruster. No shame in that. It’s just a fact:.

.:You… heard that?:. Ratchet replied sheepishly.

.:I have surprisingly good audials. You’d balk at some o’ the things I’ve heard:.

.:I believe you:. Orion said.

Jazz and Bee zipped across the finish line. As close as it was, Orion actually couldn’t tell who’d won. Bee transformed as he came skidding to a stop, doing a clumsy roll before finally slowing to a halt. He hopped back up onto his pedes, breathless.

“Who won?” Bee shouted to the stands.

“You were going too fast!” Orion called back down. “I couldn’t tell!”

Jazz hit his transformation seamlessly, spinning once in alt, before returning to root in a graceful slide of parts. He whooped, clapping his servos. “I haven’t had a race that good since the Iacon preliminaries!”

“Did you beat me?” Bee asked.

“Nope!” Jazz shook his head, smiling wide. “You won by a bolt.”

Bee’s optics went wide.

“Didn’t you qualify for the Iacon 5000?” Orion asked, making his way down to the track.

“Sure did,” Jazz trilled, field brimming with self-satisfaction. “Bee could go pro if he wanted.”

“If he was allowed.” Ratchet barbed.

“Yes,” Jazz said, more subdued. “If he was allowed.”

The group headed back to base shortly later, Orion lagging, lost in thought.

“Hey!” Bee’s expression was bright, but his field was skittish.

“Hello Bee.” Orion smiled. “You aren’t walking with the others?”

“Oh, yes– yes, you’re right,” Bee said, and quickened his pace to rejoin them.

Orion had been trying to put the bot at ease, but recently, almost anything was enough to set him all jittery. Orion gently grabbed the bot’s shoulder before he could make his getaway, and Bee almost jumped out of his plating. Orion jerked his servo back. “That isn’t to say I don’t want your company, Bee.”

“Oh! Well, thank you– thanks!” He slowed down, walking stiffly by Orion’s side. He could almost hear the words aching to burst from Bee’s intake.

“I like the horns,” Orion said, resisting the urge to feel the point of one under his digit. He’d had those cute little rounded things before. He wasn’t entirely sure when the change had happened.

“Thanks! I said I liked Cliff’s and one thing led to another… He said they make me look tougher!”

“He’s right.”

“But not too tough, right? I don’t want to be scary to my friends.”

“Not at all, it’s the perfect amount.”

Bee’s smile could light up a room. His field was vibrating with joy. Orion could actually feel his plating waver with the resonance, and was once again reminded abruptly that Bee wasn’t really a mature Cybertronian. Though he had an adult frame, he had onlined in C-12. He couldn’t remember anything from before that, which had been little more than eight megacycles ago. He still classified as a new-spark in every way except physically, no matter how he came into being. His younger mentally only confirmed it.

“Your racing was impressive too,” Orion said.

“Aw, really?” Bee looked away, servos fidgeting. This was a habit they shared, but where Orion scorned it in himself, he found it endearing in Bee.

“Of course,” Orion said, a thought suddenly striking him. “Is everything okay, Bee?”

The bot looked up at him with wide optics. Something like fear flashed across his field, before it was quashed back into fizzling happiness. “Why wouldn’t it be?” His smile was strained. Orion would’ve been a fool to miss it.

“How’s the base while I’m gone? I’m not around as often as I’d like.”

“Oh, the base is fine! Some enforcers were down in the area last megacycle, but we just redirected them to that little ruin to the west and tricked them into thinking there were… what’s it… squatters. Yes.”

Orion had heard about that. He’d been equal parts horrified and relieved– unsure of what he could’ve done, but wishing he’d been there anyway.

But it wasn’t the base that was bothering Bee, at least, he was fairly certain.

“Your quarters alright?”

“Yep! I only have to share with four other bots, and two of ‘em are Ratchet and Ironhide.”

“Fuel?”

“Delicious! And I get to fuel twice a day, isn’t that crazy?”

Orion wracked his processor for something else that might be bothering Bee, before landing on the only remaining thing. “Bee, how are the bots?”

That fear again, a single pulse, and overridden at lightning speed. Got you.

“Oh, you know…” Bee looked off to the side, immediately finding the gravel of the road interesting. “All you guys have been great. Cliff, Arcee, Ratchet, Ironhide, you, of course… even Elita.” He chuckled.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The wheels mounted on Bee’s shoulders bounced up.

“What about the other bots?”

And they fell.

Orion waited patiently, and Bee didn’t answer. Kliks passed in tense silence, and Orion knew Bee hated it as much as he did.

“Bee?”

“Sorry, what were we talking about?”

Orion narrowed his optics. “Don’t dodge the question,” at Bee’s wince, “please.”

Bee sighed, and for a brief nanoklik, he looked his frame’s age, before his face scrunched back into its usual nervous expression. “I don’t want anyone in trouble.”

“Bee,” he placed a tentative servo on the bot’s shoulderplate, “you’re not in trouble.”

“Not me.”

“Then who?” Orion tried his best to hide it, but preemptive anger was flooding his lines, and he hated it. Bee squirmed, and Orion knew he hadn’t done a good enough job masking it.

“It’s okay Orion, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Orion. Please don’t make this into a thing.” That was what Megatronus had once said. “I’m just asking you not to get involved. You’ll just upset him more.” And that had stung, but he had respected the mech’s wishes, not because he had wanted to, but because Megatronus had been right.

But now…

Orion willed himself to feel the authority befitting a leader of the FFFF. Down here, he could do something. And he would.

He thought back to Magnus on the same day. “We must make sure he isn’t doing this to any other bots,” about the overseer that had shaken Orion down for shanix so long ago. In retrospect, he understood exactly what Magnus had been doing, but back then he’d needed that assurance to allow Magnus to do what he thought was right. It was what he used now.

“Whoever’s bothering you, Bee,” he kept his voice firm, but friendly, “I need to know who it is, and what they’re doing.” Bee stiffened, coming to a complete stop. “Not just because they’re clearly bothering you, but because they might be doing the same thing to someone else.”

Bee’s whole frame went up another level of tense, his field crackling electric something. Not quite anger, but not its usual deference either. Certainly not the fear that had wracked him previously.

“Right.” Bee’s whole demeanor shifted, optics hardening. This, he understood too. It was one thing to defend yourself– and an entirely other thing to defend someone else. “It’s these two bots– well, I’ve heard it from a lot of bots, but these are the only two who say it to my face.”

“Who?”

“I think… his name was Sunstreaker, and his brother, they uh…” He trailed off.

“What’d they do, Bee? This is important.”

“They locked me in a closet, and then spent a while um… telling me all about how I was a cold-construct, and how I’m not– not real.” Bee sniffled. “They said I’m not real. That my processor is just a bunch of wires and gears tricking me into thinking I’m real.” He hiccuped, and Orion could see pinpricks of solvent in his optics.

Bee started to shake, almost knocking Orion back with the full depth of his emotion. For the first time since he’d met the bot, his field fully unclamped, pummeling him with a sea of fear, sorrow, loneliness and gaping uncertainty.

Orion had no words for it, so he did the only thing he could think to do, and opened his arms.

Bee dove into the offered embrace in an instant, helm fitting right under Orion’s chin. He pulled the other close, pushing as much comfort into his field as possible, running a servo gently across Bee’s backplating. The bot shuddered, and Orion could feel the warm trickle of optic fluid against his chassis.

Then quietly, so quietly Orion almost missed it, “am I real?” Bee whispered.

“Yes,” was Orion’s instant hushed reply. He squeezed Bee a little tighter against himself. “As real as me or anyone else.” He thumbed Bee’s plating. “And I’m so happy you’re here.”

Bee sucked in a long vent and sobbed, digits digging into Orion’s backplating. They remained like that for a while, before Bee calmed down, and Orion could coax him to continue the walk down to the base. He offered a servo, and Bee took it.

No contact points.

Those fragging functionalists.

They wandered home in an easy silence. At some point Bee started leaning on him. By the time they walked through FFFF doors, Orion was carrying him on his back. The emotional load had been taxing enough to send him to recharge. The defrag queue needed for that…

“Orion!” Cliff waved him over. “Where’s B– oh.”

Ratchet stalked over, and Orion felt a smidge of apprehension at the angry field that met him. “What’d you do?” The medic looked Bee over, searching for anything that might give cause to Ratchet’s innate distrust.

“We just had an emotional conversation, Ratchet. No harm done.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics, before taking a step back, satisfied for the time being. He sighed. “Bee hasn’t been recharging well.”

Ah.

“I guess that’s why…”

“Yes.” Ratchet nodded. His expression softened. “Whatever you said,” he smiled, “Bee really trusts you.”

Orion’s spark sang at the praise, warming him all through his frame.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The feeling soured. He’d heard of the pair. They’d coasted in with the others at that first rally, and been causing problems ever since. Bad attitudes— didn’t work well with others, but effective. Orion usually let Cliff and Arcee manage them. They were much more comfortable dealing with abrasive personalities, dishing it out just as good as they got. Last he heard, their workaround was to send the twins out solo on some of the less-risky jobs. They’d wreaked havoc on their assigned roads. It’d been good enough for Orion.

Until now.

Anger wouldn’t rule him. He wouldn’t let it. 

But he wouldn’t let them get away with it either.

“Cliff, Arcee?” He called the pair over. They did so, Arcee stopping a moment to croon over Bee. 

“What’s up OP?”

Orion steeled his resolve. “Tell me everything about Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.”

*

Another thing about being promoted to gold was that Megatron didn’t actually fight as many matches. Certainly not as many public ones. Soundwave had warned him to expect private event bookings soon enough though. 

He stretched the rotor in his arm, gently pulling it over his helm as he strode down the hall towards the training room. It was a klik til the time given by Overlord, and he wouldn’t be late. Sure, the mech might just go assuming that he actually considered the meeting important, but it would be even worse if his tardiness started any kind of rumor about cowardice.

The door to the training room slid open, and Megatron entered, Soundwave at his heels.

A few dozen pairs of optics met his. Definitely more bots than he’d expected. The closer he strode to the center, the more sure he became that just about every gold fighter had come.

.:Is this the usual attendance?:. He commed Soundwave.

.:Negative:.

They were expecting something then. Something from him. A show, a fight.

Fine by him.

A moment later and Overlord emerged from the opposite side of the crowd, bodily shoving bots aside. The rest wisely cleared a path.

“Megatron!” He called, voice dripping with condescension. “How nice of you to finally join us!”

“Finally?” Megatron crossed his arms.

“Yeah,” Overlord stopped and matched his pose. “Finally. I told you 2400.” He chuckled. “Thought you were getting cold pedes.”

A round of nervous laughter was had by the audience.

“You said 2500,” Megatron said simply, though anger zipped up his lines.

“Did I?” Overlord took a step closer, right into Megatron’s personal bubble. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Megatron smirked. “Soundwave?”

Soundwave whirred softly, before Overlord’s voice emerged from somewhere within him, crackling with noise, but unmistakable. “We meet every megacycle. Next meeting’s tomorrow, 2500.” A click, and the recording stopped.

“I stand corrected,” Overlord grit out, smile staying firm, but forced on his faceplates. Just like Declaron.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean anything by it,” Megatron lowered his helm, threat clear, “right?”

“An honest mistake.” Overlord shrugged, reclaiming his levity.

“Now,” Megatron clapped his servos together. Their makeshift audience all snapped to face him. “Let’s not keep the people waiting.” He met the collective gaze. “It’s a fight you want, right?”

A scattering of nods and affirmative grunts.

“You wanted proof, Overlord.” He leveled a pointed digit at the mech’s chassis, before rotating his servo, and beckoning him closer. “Come get it.”

Overlord’s intake opened to argue, before his optics flashed, and he closed it into a sharp smile. “Works for me, but how about we make things a little… interesting.”

Megatron cocked a brow.

“You win, then fine. I’ll go the way of Soundwave, or Lugnut, I’ll ‘pledge loyalty undying.’” He made air quotes at the last part.

“And if you win?”

“Then I want you.”

And there was an intent there– barely perceptible, not even consciously confirmable, that set Megatron’s plating rising before he terminated the impulse.

He’d have to be offlined before that happened.

He met Overlord’s hard gaze with one of his own. For now he’d take it at face value. “I accept.”

“No weapons, no offlining… probably.” He extended a servo, blunted digits. More bludgeon than appendage. “Let’s shake on it.”

Megatron eyed the servo skeptically, then extended his own. The air hung heavy, crackling with tension as their servos clasped.

“Begin!” Overlord barked, taking a huge step back, and wrenching Megatron after him.

It would’ve pulled him off balance.

If he hadn’t been expecting exactly that.

He’d had his tac-unit fired up since he’d walked through that door. He’d understood the invitation for the trap it was, and the servoshake was no different. His processor had catalogued the threat and spat out a dozen different counters.

He picked the first, falling into the momentum of the yank, and barreling into Overlord’s midsection. Despite the trappings of the audience, and his earlier posturing, this wasn’t a fight for entertainment, and he wouldn’t drag it out if possible. There were flashier options among what his tac-unit provided, but none so efficient. They hit the floor hard, Overlord’s helm crashing loudly against the steel floor. The training mats had been stacked in a messy pile off to the side.

Overlord wrapped his stabilizing servos around Megatron’s waist, trying to wrench him to the side. In retaliation, Megatron brought his two servos down on the other’s chassis, denting the metal. Overlord retched.

Got him somewhere important, Megatron thought with satisfaction, bringing his fists down again and again. The fourth time, Overlord caught those fists, struggling to hold them, before redirecting Megatron’s weight to the side. Using the momentum, he flipped them over, and slag that’s bad.

“My turn!” Overlord wasted no time trying to cave Megatron’s face in. 

In answer, Megatron drove his pointed digits into his less-protected flank, ripping at cables and wires. Not what he was looking for– he knew it was there.

Overlord grabbed the offending servo, pulling it from his internals with a weak spurt of energon, and pinning it to the floor. “Not going to find the primary line, mech.” Then the other one. “I’m not built like most bots.”

Megatron whispered something.

Overlord leaned in close. “That your surrender?”

And Megatron rammed his helm into Overlord’s face. Hard.

Overlord howled, reeling back. He released Megatron’s servos, and Megatron took the opportunity to regain his ground. He followed the helmbutt with a fist, and a sharp crack echoed across the training room. Fuschia misted in the air as Overlord went down, Megatron following. He wrapped two servos around Overlord’s neckcables– similar to his defeat of Soundwave.

The audience held its breath.

He looked down at Overlord’s face. His nose was bent, energon streaming from it, across his lips, dribbling down his chin.

Megatron cracked a sharp smile, his own misaligned nose scrunching. “Now we match.”

“Frag you!” Overlord screamed, vocalizer going static under Megatron’s grip. He tried to leverage his stabilizing servos under Megatron to throw him off, but he only pressed closer, making the angle of attack impossible. Realizing his time was running out, Overlord began struggling in true panic, scrabbling at his chassis, his neckcables, his faceplates. One of those servos came too close, and Megatron bit it, dentae slicing through delicate hydraulics. Harder, and a digit came clean off. He spat it out, and it skittered across the metal floor.

“What the hell!” Overlord bellowed— tried to. It came out fried.

This is taking too long.

It was a cinch to find the primary lines in Overlord’s neckcabling. Didn’t matter how different the bot was built. There were only so many places it could be. He thumbed one, and the dramatics ceased. Red optics met red optics. Understanding bloomed.

“Concede,” Megatron hissed. He hadn’t noticed when the audience had fallen silent, a pin drop would’ve been loud in the space.

Overlord’s optics flickered, and he made a quick jab for Megatron’s throat. Megatron’s intake twitched, the only semblance of emotion passing across his faceplates before he dug a pointed digit in the left primary line. Not enough to sever, but enough to bleed. Overlord gasped.

Megatron leaned in close. He didn’t miss the way that the action brought every inch of hot plating up against Overlord’s, the way he could feel the other’s internals pettering with waning life under his touch.

“I will kill you, Overlord. Don’t think I won’t. And especially don’t think I’ll care.” He pressed his digit in further.

“Declaron—“

“Won’t care either. If he even finds out.” Megatron smirked, shifting his attention to the gathered bots, then to Soundwave.

“Surveillance?” he asked.

“Dealt with,” Soundwave replied.

“We can be honest for a moment, can’t we?” He turned back to the audience. “Declaron, he’s a good businessmech— a great tyrant. He wants you to think he’s reasonable. More importantly, he wants you to think there’s no better way than his.”

The assembled bots shifted uncomfortably.

“Don’t cower, he can’t hear you. So if any of this makes its way back to him, I’ll know.” Just a small threat, just in case. “I’ve suffered at his servos– we all have, and I’m sick of it. Aren’t you? When is it enough?”

Overlord gurgled, and Megatron gave a warning squeeze.

“Well, let me tell you something. I’m escaping this hellhole. And I’m not going alone. Anyone who wants to come with me can.” He paused, letting the possibility linger. It sounded improbable, he was sure. Just as improbable as when he had first heard it, but Soundwave had been adamant, his minibots’ reconnaissance solid, and Megatron was strong, of will and frame, and by Primus, he would get the backing he needed. “And then, if you’re feeling just as angry as me, once we’re free of this place, well… maybe then we can accomplish something great. Something real.”  

Soundwave knew what he was talking about. He’d heard enough of his conversations with Orion at this point. Megatron’s own mind was made up. Once he escaped, that was it. He was going to join up with the FFFF, with Orion. They were going to do it. They were going to bring down the Functionalists. 

Together.

And if he could show up with an army of gladiatorial pros— majority ex-military, that would help.

He maintained the collective gaze for a long klik, then nodded once, looking back down at his opponent. Overlord’s helm was turned to the side, in deference, maybe, breathing short and shallow.

“Well?” Megatron asked, thumbing that line again.

Overlord’s gaze snapped up, optics wide and flickering. He saw anger there— anger, and fear. Yes.

“I concede,” Overlord rasped out, his plating flattening to a neutral position.

Megatron considered him, then finally let go, huffing his satisfaction. Unlike with Soundwave, he didn’t help the other up. Overlord stayed on the ground, only going limp when Megatron turned his back.

“If anyone wants to join us,” he strode to the door, “let Soundwave know.”

A meek chorus of ascents, and Megatron left the training room behind.

Notes:

Overlord is such a bitch I love to hate him in every continuity (but especially the IDW,, I do not forgive him for what he did in MTMTE/LL)

Chapter 13: Revolt

Notes:

Note: There's a term in this chap that I'm p sure I made up. A "tender" in my continuity refers to a bot whose job it is to take care of the hot spots/new-sparks when they emerge. In my world it's the closest thing bots have to a parent. I also have an idea about how sparking/sparklings would exist as well. It's not entirely original, and I probably won't get into it in this fic. One thing that really interests me about transformers though is the way their society generally doesn't have family units the way we do, but I digress. Tender ~ parent.

Orion tried and failed for solar-cycles to think of a way to bring the twins to heel, losing recharge over it all the while. Finally, fed up with their resistance to reason, he offhandedly mentioned the whole mess the Ultra Magnus, and let the situation implode in on itself.

It took a coordinated effort to lock them in a room with the mech, but when they emerged, docile after three cycles, Orion could tell it was well worth it.

Their frames sagged, optics dull, as they wandered off… somewhere. Magnus exited shortly after, looking quite the same, maybe holding himself even higher than usual.

“Where are they going?” Orion asked.

“They’re going to find Bee and apologize.”

“What did you do?” He didn’t bother to hide his awe.

“Read them my prepared lecture, with attached powerpoint, on appropriate conduct.”

“You made a three-cycle presentation just for this?”

“Did I… oh, no, no, I made it for myself a few stellar-cycles ago.”

Orion shook his helm, smile fond. Already, he was coming to rely on Magnus as a constant in his life. He’d mourn the day their lives would finally take them on their separate paths.

“I hear today’s the solar-cycle you free the cold-constructs,” Magnus prompted.

“Yes.” Orion let gravity sink into his lines. “I’m actually heading for the coordination meeting now.”

“Coordination?”

“Well, we’ve already discussed the plan back to front. Now we just have to send it off to the chain of command.”

“Hmm,” Magnus crossed his arms. “Can I see your hierarchical organization chart?”

“Our what?”

“Hierarchical organization chart.”

“Uhh, well, we don’t have one,” Orion put up one digit, “and I don’t know what that is.” He put up another.

“Then how do you know how orders will be passed along?”

“Magnus, did you used to be in the military?”

Ultra Magnus stiffened. “As a matter of fact, yes. Look at me, I’m a war frame.”

Orion considered this. It made sense. “Then why do you work security?”

“When it comes to the government, there’s a lot of overlap, but to answer your question, the military got heavily reduced once it became apparent that the Quintessons were gone for good. Combine that with the attempted coup last vorn, and everyone felt much safer disbanding a bunch of us.” He said it more impassionately than he said most things, which told Orion he probably had an opinion on the matter.

“You disagree with the decision, don’t you?”

Magnus’s massive shoulders rose in a small shrug. “It’s not my place to pass judgement.”

Orion hummed his disapproval. “Usually, I’d keep digging until I found out what your actual opinion is, but I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.” He thought for a moment. “You want to come? Maybe you could make one of those organization charts.”

The meeting passed somewhat haphazardly, more confusion than Orion would like, and a lot of wrangling miners. Their participation was the most important, but also the most dangerous, so they had to do some convincing. Eventually, enough agreed to the plan. Magnus spent the whole time furiously typing on his datapad, brow furrowed, not looking up even once at the dramatics.

When they finally let out, he followed Orion and the rest of the command squad. Cliff and Arcee hardly batted an optic, but some of the bots less familiar took his presence less easily. Ironhide’s plating flared in alarm on first sighting, and Elita refused to take her optics off him. Bee asked him a couple questions, already more chipper. The twins must’ve apologized after all.

Eventually they broke off. Magnus was only down in the first place to deal with the twins. Orion walked him to the welcome center, which doubled as the exit from the ruins.

“See you at work tomorrow.” Orion waved, but Magnus didn’t continue off.

“I don’t like the role you’ll be playing in the plan, Orion.”

Orion frowned. The statement took him off guard, but it wasn’t exactly unexpected. “There aren’t exactly many bots who can do my part.”

“Just let Jazz and Bee take care of it. They don’t need you to set the charges.”

Magnus,” he pinched his nose, irritation surfacing. He hated it in himself. He wouldn’t succumb to anger. “We’ve had this conversation a million times—“

“Twice.”

“Enough times that you know how I’m going to respond.”

“Yes. You’re going to do it anyway.”

“Because?”

“Because you won’t send anyone to do what you wouldn’t do yourself.”

“Exactly. See? We don’t need to have this discussion.”

“You don’t need to prove yourself to these bots, Orion. They believe in you. You don’t need to put yourself in unnecessary danger like this.”

“Magnus, it’s not nearly as complicated as that.”

The mech only held his steely expression.

“I’m doing it because I want to.” He turned on his heel. There were precious cycles until go-time.

“Orion!”

He turned back around from his position across the room, fixing Magnus with his disapproval. Whatever Magnus saw there, his plating ruffled a moment, before smoothing back down. His shoulders sank fractionally.

“Please be careful.”

Orion blinked in surprise. Then smiled, small, and genuine. “I will.”

Magnus hopped to attention, and raised his servo in a salute.

“I actually quite respect what you’re doing here,” Magnus had once said, and Orion knew it was all genuine.

Orion flicked a salute back, and turned out the door.

*

Maybe Magnus was right, Orion thought with a light touch of humor.

Okay, maybe not right, but he couldn’t deny that there were many things he’d prefer to be doing right now instead of crawling through the dusty access vents of mine C-12. 

This is the easy part, Orion reminded himself as Bee directed them down the right corridor. The three of them dropped down into the hallway proper. None of the other FFFF members could’ve done it. Even Arcee was too big to fit, and besides, they had a much more dangerous assignment. While Orion’s mission seemed dire— sneak into C-12, set off the nanites, lead the miners out, it was really quite trivial. Especially under Jazz’s guidance. Where the hell did the mech learn to creep around like he did? A small shift in his gait, and he could walk soundlessly, blend into shadows like he was one, sense bots coming even though they were out of sight and audible range. That last one was probably the horns. They looked like sensors of some kind. He’d have to ask him.

.:How much further?:. Orion commed on their shared channel.

.:Didn’t you work here?:. Jazz replied.

.:For maybe… two megacycles? They’ve changed a bunch of it though:.

.:I’m guessing this wasn’t here before:.

They ran up against a barred door, keeping them from progressing to the recharge hall.

.:No:. And close as they all were, they didn’t need to see Orion’s expression to know he was pissed. His field did enough of the talking.

Jazz slipped back a dataport cover and jacked into the lock electrically. His visor flashed yellow with the action, his field projecting his concentration. After sixteen nanokliks the lock popped open.

“Where did you learn to do that?” 

“I work in media and culture– information really, only, some places ain’t as willin’ to part with their data as your lovely archives are.” Jazz slipped through the door, pinging Orion and Bee a datapacket. “I’ve sent you both the passkeys.”

Orion nodded. “I’ll get the east recharge hall. Can you do south, Bee?”

Bee nodded, determined, and they split ways.

He hoped Bee would be able to handle the task. He’d been quickly materializing as a reliable bot, and there were none more insistent on the mission than he. Despite this, worry wriggled under Orion’s plating– crawled through his lines. Jazz he could trust. Despite not knowing the mech well, he was clearly a professional. Bee had earned Orion’s trust in intent, but not in execution. Who knew what emotions could rear their ugly helms at the sight of his comrades.

Orion shunted these thoughts into background processing, focusing on the task at hand. There wasn’t a lot of security, or anything so dire as patrols to avoid, just a few cameras that were easy enough to evade. He quickly arrived at his destination.

He slipped inside after putting in the password, then reached into subspace for the nanite containers.

It was cinch to lay them out at ten meter increments. Soon they were poised. He commed the whole command team.

All that was left was to wait.

.:Anyone else super creeped out?:. Jazz commed the two of them.

Orion scanned the room. More than a hundred recharging frames, still as death, so similar to how he and Megatronus had once been, and yet–

.:Yep:. Orion replied.

.:I wanted to say no:. Bee said, .:But yeah, it really is. I can’t believe I actually used to recharge like this:.

.:You and me both:.

.:That’s right, Pax, you were once a miner, right?:. came Jazz’s reply.

Cliff had told the story of him saving C-12, but not that fact. But then again, Jazz had already proven to be more perceptive than most.

.:Yeah:.

.:I can understand why you wouldn’t wanna broadcast that:.

.:I’m not ashamed of my origins, Jazz:.

.:Not what I was referring to. You getta single cyberrat in those ranks, and the consequences…:.

.:Don’t remind me:.

.:What happens?:. Bee cut in, his comm crackly, a sign of distress.

.:I don’t know if you need to know tha–:.

.:He’s not a newspark, Orion:.  

.:He’s only been online for a few mecacycles, Jazz:.

.:How ‘bout we ask him?:.

Orion huffed. .:Fine. Bee?:.

.:Yes. I want to know:.

.:OP, Jazz, Bee, we got our guys in position:. Cliff’s comm swept across the line.

Orion took a deep vent. No time like the present then. .:I’m in position:.

.:Me too:. Bee said.

.:Ditto:. Jazz trilled.

.:Alright. I’ll ping you when it’s time:. And Cliff left the channel.

Orion was left with brief silence, and the sudden feeling lancing all through his systems that something was about to go terribly wrong.

*

Megatron leaned all casual-like on the wall of the corridor leading into the arena. He was up in five kliks, at least according to the schedule. The feeling settling over his frame was deeply strange, something about being alone, despite the roar of the crowd one room over. Wouldn’t last long though– not with those familiar pede-steps making their way towards him.

He spoke before the other could, even if it wasn’t wise. He barely turned to face him. “Aren’t you supposed to be running this thing?”

Declaron sneered, an ugly vent escaping him. “I see. A couple victories under you, and you think you’re hot slag.”

Megatron shrugged, keeping his field and stance unbothered. Once again, stupid, and he knew it. But he wouldn’t be here much longer. Soon Declaron would be nothing more than a rotten fading thought in his memory banks, left to the dust of the Pits.

“The event can wait. I’m here to remind you that you’re not all that.” Declaron strode up, just a pace away. It was something all the would-be bullies did, he realized. Get up nice and close, to show you’re more afraid of them than they are of you. It wouldn’t work. Megatron didn’t flinch.

They stood like that for a klik, Declaron’s optics flicking back and forth, searching for some kind of weakness, some uncertainty.

“What the hell happened in the training room? What did you do?” Declaron all but snarled. A servo darted forward, grabbing a fistful of the plating meant to protect his neckcables, pulling him closer. Megatron did flinch then. Didn’t like those claws so close to his critical lines. Declaron smirked, assured of his authority. “That’s right. I could do it. I could just…” His servo skittered closer to those neckcables. “Tear those lines out of your stupid chassis. Watch you bleed out on the floor, right here. I could do it over there too.” He gestured to the arena. “Right there in front of all of them. No one would lift a servo to stop me.”

Megatron’s optics hardened, his own servo darted up, grabbing Declaron’s. Panic surged from the announcer’s field, before it was clamped back down. The smile remained, but his optics didn’t match the expression at all, wide, and flickering with fear.

“What if I stopped you?” Megatron asked, voice a silky rumble, a clear threat.

“What– you–” For the first time ever, Declaron stumbled with his words. “No.” He tried pulling his servo back. Megatron didn’t budge. “You overgrown bucket of bolts!” he spat. “Don’t you know who you’re dealing with?”

“Yes,” Megatron hissed. “An egomaniacal tyrant with a superiority complex, and sadism streak the width of the Rust Sea.” He stepped closer with the words, close enough that Declaron should be feeling his vents on his plating, the easy fury in his field. Close enough that Megatron could see every alarmed dilation of Declaron’s optics. The mech was scared– actually scared, even as he looked down at him with a waning smile on his lipplates.

For a moment, nothing happened at all. Megatron unwavering, Declaron too fearful to move. Then he blinked like he remembered himself, smile returning to its usual force. “Right then.” A clicking sound– Megatron noticed it too late, and that familiar white-blinding pain of the shock-bit coursed through his systems. He muted his vocalizer this time, but couldn’t stop his joints from locking up. Declaron laughed, once again easygoing, raising his stabilizing servo and kicking Megatron to the floor. He landed on his back in a harsh clatter, electricity still pummeling his senses. Nothing but the pain– he wasn’t even sure he was still venting, only vaguely aware of Declaron somewhere above him.

“That’s better.” A shadow fell over him. Megatron tried to online his optics fully– take in the situation, but the pulsing current interrupted his system, causing his vision to short in and out. Terror surged through his lines, roiled with the pulse of his spark– right next to the humiliation. He prayed to Primus or anyone who was listening that it didn’t come through in his field, as scattered as he was.

“Yes. Much better.” A light pressure on the plating at his middle– or was it a hard pressure? None of his sensors or neurals were working right, he could tell that much. Vision flickered. Declaron was straddling him, peering down at his face. The look of curiosity there could almost be innocent if it were on any other mech.

“Don’t look away from me, you glitch.”

A servo grabbed his chin, sharp digits digging into his faceplates, forcing Megatron to look at him properly. The rough motion didn’t mesh nicely with the current. He would’ve screamed if his vocalizer had been online. Distantly, he felt his chest heaving with harsh vents, burning air ripping in and out of his intake, barely keeping up with his rapidly overheating frame.

“Do you want it to stop?”

Vent in, vent out. His cables were held so taut they threatened damage.

“I asked you a question.” Those digits dug deeper into soft faceplates. That too would damage soon. The pain was enough to elicit a whine from Megatron’s vocalizer.

When did that come back online? He thought through the daze of pain and humiliation. He muted it again as he fought that well of shame back down, his dentae clenched tight.

“ANSWER ME. Do you want the suffering to stop?” Declaron’s hiss was pain against his audials, just like the digits digging into his jaw, or the electricity spearing through his lines. Megatron couldn’t stop the helpless nod as pinpricks of solvent welled in the corners of his optics. Shame exploded through his frame, and there was no way Declaron missed it. Not with the way his signature smile bloomed genuine for the first time since the whole interaction started.

And just like that the current evaporated. The absence of agony was euphoria. With a shaking vent, Megatron collapsed back, his helm hitting the floor. Declaron’s servo went with his chin a moment, before releasing its grip. He gave Megatron’s cheek an amicable pat, but made no move to stand up.

“Don’t you see how much easier it is when you just do as I say?” Declaron laughed, friendly demeanor in full terrible force. “We could’ve avoided this whole mess.”

Megatron kept his intake shut, his arms limp, even as he had a scathing retort on the tip of his glossa, and the deep need to tear Declaron apart where he sat.

“That’s how this whole thing’s supposed to work, since you’re slow on the uptake. Not that I’m surprised.” Declaron gave an easy shrug, the wheels in his massive shoulders bouncing once. “I could say jump, you’d say ‘how high?’ I could say service my fragging ports, and you’d respond ‘servo or glossa?’ I say go out there and do your damn job, you thank me for the opportunity. And it wouldn’t kill you to give a yes sir.”

Something chirped in the distance. Declaron huffed. “Saved by the bell. We can sort this out later.” He stood, brushing himself off– like Megatron was grime against his plating.

Only once Declaron was a few paces away did Megatron deign to follow, his neurals whining at the motion. Every strut and cable ached, aftershocks of pain dancing lightly across his frame.

“Now,” Declaron pointed down the hall, out where the arena was. “Go and give them a show.”

Megatron narrowed his optics, logic and emotional centers fighting against each other in his processor. Three easy strides and he’d have Declaron in his servos, so easily torn apart where he stood, even with his height and wicked sharp digits of his own. Declaron’s armor was decorative. It’d crumple like tin.

“Yes.” He fought his glitching vocalizer. “Sir.”

“Good mech.” And Declaron turned on his heels.

A few kliks later and his voice cascaded down from its platform. “The new champion of Kaon, I give you…”

His servo clenched into a fist against the last flashes of electric pain.

“Megatron!”

*

.:Go time:. Cliff said across the channel. Steeling his nerves, Orion hit two switches, one for the activation of the nanites, the other for the deactivation of stasis. Anticlimactic. For a klik the room remained in steady stillness, aside from the bright humming of nanites.

And then all at once, every bot in the hall staggered online. There was no better word for the display than creepy, the way that all their optics blinked on in an instant, the synchronized power up of internal systems. He knew he was supposed to step in– to lead them out, to help them understand the complexity of their new processes, but he had no idea when. 

Now, he figured, when most of them were out of their pods. Still unsure, he cleared his vocalizer. A hundred pairs of optics snapped up to face him.

“Hi, hello.” He waved. Lame start, lame start– but friendly, right? Friendly was good. He got a couple of waves in return, but mostly dazed, confused looks back. “Do you all know where you are?”

“We… I…” one near the front mumbled back, field fear-tinged. “What are your orders, sir?”

Orion took a step forward, then stopped abruptly when the closest bots flinched. “Sorry, sorry.” Orion slowly put out his servos, trying to show he was no threat, had no weapon. “No orders. I’m here to get you out.”

The bots jerked up at that, but they didn’t look sure at all. Their confusion clouded the air of the hall, tense.

“No– no orders?” the same bot rubbed his helm. Suddenly, he perked. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Your minds…” He tried to think of a good way to put it, so that they’d understand, but not be overwhelmed. “They were being dampened. You weren’t able to think your own thoughts. We fixed them, and I’m here to get you out.”

“No, no! The overseers wouldn’t like that, no.” The bot hugged himself, and the sentiment was clearly shared by most. “Back to the pods. It’s recharge time. We’re good. We’re recharging.” He darted back to his pod, the action causing a ripple among the assembled, each exchanging looks and determining the same thing.

“Wait, no, you don’t have to stay here! Your overseers are distracted. They won’t stop us.” If everything was to plan, they were currently busy with the massive protest of miners at the main entrance, but it wouldn’t last long. Only until enforcers arrived on the scene.

.:Guys, how’s progress:. Cliff’s voice was outwardly calm, but Orion could detect the edge in the crackle.

.:What’s wrong Cliff?:.

.:Nothing yet:.

.:Yet?:.

.:Don’t worry about it, Pax. How’re the cold-constructs:.

.:They’re not listening to me:. Orion said, trying to keep the panic from his comm.

.:Me neither:. Jazz said.

Slag, that was bad.

.:We’re almost out:. Bee said. .:We’ll be at the meeting point in four kliks:.

.:What?:. Jazz’s disbelief was obvious even over comms. Orion couldn't help but second the sentiment.

.:Bee? How?:.

Bee’s reply came hesitantly. Orion’s brow furrowed.

.:Bee. Whatever it is, we need to know. You won’t be in trouble:.

.:I told them I was an overseer. They’re following my directions:.

Maybe unethical, but…

.:Good idea Bee. See you topside:. Orion cut the comm. Whatever the morality of that was, getting the cold-constructs out was more important.

Orion winced internally at what he had to do, taking a deep breath to steal himself. He clapped his servos. The bots froze in place. “Alright everyone! Here’re your orders!”

*

Every cable of Cliff’s frame held taut, even as he issued commands with a steady vocalizer. At least, he really hoped it came off that way. The situation hadn’t devolved into a fight, not yet.

But it would very soon.

His gaze slid across the slew of ex-miners, many holding signs, all of them hurling insults at the overseers. Had to be cathartic. He sure knew he’d find it satisfying if he ever got to confront his old boss. 

A small group of guards shifted closer to a sparser section of their formation. Cliff pinged the closest bots, and they quickly got their reinforcements. The guards had electro-batons, and shock-prods. The miners only had their signs and their servos. When it finally did fall apart it was going to be bad. The only thing stopping the guards was the clear advantage the miners had in numbers. None of them would risk it with the odds stacked this way, but it was doubtless that they’d called for reinforcements.

Hurry, Orion.

Orion. He wished Orion were here. For all the mech claimed to be insignificant, his ideas were anything but. His words were anything but. The mech had a presence, even if he himself couldn’t recognize it.

Cliffjumper could. He’d tried holding his own little rallies before, but none of them had gotten a fraction of the response the one Orion directed had gotten. When he’d mentioned that fact, Orion had brushed the whole thing off, saying Cliff had been the one to give the speech.

Cliff knew better. Orion had written it. He’d planned the whole damn thing. Sure, he and Arcee had blown the fountain, sent the message, but Orion had been the one to save them. There was a reason bots didn’t do slag like that, they were supposed to be caught.

A servo on his backplates startled him. He turned to Arcee, steady expression, grave field.

“We’re going to have to pull out soon,” Cliff said.

“Orion will pull through.”

Yes. Yes he would. He always did. Just like the riot, and the fountain, and the rally. They’d just have to trust in him.

*

“Sir, are we supposed to be going this way?” The bot still trembled as he said it, but at least he felt like he could say it. Orion had done his very best to make it clear he wasn’t going to hurt them, even opening his subspace to show he was unarmed. A bit of a risk, since it undermined his ‘authority,’ but one he was willing to take.

“Yes, um, H.” The whole no designations thing was awkward to manage. He hoped he’d be able to coax them to come up with some soon. “Just a little further.” Soon they’d be at the back entrance, and then there’d be the long trek to FFFF base. Another risk. They could be followed, or easily outed if one of the cold-constructs decided to go back, but there really wasn’t any other option.

“Where are we going?” H asked, still shaking, but less.

“Somewhere better.” Orion replied, processor more occupied with the route than the interaction. 

A light at the end of the tunnel. Orion smiled, even as an alarm went off in the distance. Bee was waving from the exit. The bots’ fields relaxed somewhat, clearly recognizing Bee as one of their own.

“Is Jazz there?” Orion called to him.

“Not yet.”

Not good.

He hopped on the comms. .:Jazz? Do you read me?:.

.:Got a little problem here:. The comm cut off quickly. Either Jazz had done it himself, or something had happened.

Making a split-nanoklik decision, Orion turned to Bee. “Can you manage the cold-constructs here on your own?”

Bee searched his expression for a moment, then smiled in determined understanding, a quick curt nod. “You can count on me. You get Jazz.”

Orion nodded back, hearing all he needed. “Bee’s in charge,” he said to his own cohort. H looked stricken at the changeover. He’d get over it. Without any more hesitation, he dove back into the mine, pride in his periphery. Bee was shaping up indeed.

His pedesteps were light, but Orion still winced as they echoed around the stony halls, all so familiar, and yet so distant. C-12 was already a fading memory, even though he’d only left it behind a gigacycle ago.

He knew the route Jazz was supposed to take, and followed it backwards, fear creeping up his lines all the while. Usually he was able to reason his way out of panic– at least long enough to get through, but there was no good reason for Jazz’s delay. He ran faster, tanks sloshing ominously.

He rounded a corner, and almost smacked face-first into a metal bar. He stopped just short, kicking up dust on the dirty floors. 

“Orion!” Jazz stood from his place at the panel on the other side. The whole thing had been cracked open, unspooling wires. Jazz was jacked into it.

“It’s not opening?” Orion could see the problem now. Some kind of security gate. Jazz and Orion could get through. They were small enough. The bulky frames of the miners were a whole other story.

“I dunno what kinda security this stupid singular grate has, but it’s not budging.” His tone was even– bouncy even, in that way it always was, but his field held the same panic as Orion’s.

“I don’t think this is the only one.” The alarm. He didn’t know what had tripped it, but he did know that this grate hadn’t been there before.

.:Orion:. Cliff cut in .:A bunch of guards are turning towards the mine. I think they’re onto you:.

“Frag!”

Jazz winced at Orion’s outburst, but he didn’t disagree.

.:Cliff, begin a retreat:.

.:We’re not leaving until you’re out, Orion:.

.:We’re cut off from the back entrance. Your retreat might draw them back out of the mine:.

.:And if it doesn’t??:.

.:Enforcers will be there soon. Either they get all of us, or just some of us, with the very slim chance that they get none of us. But you have to listen to me:.

Static hung heavy on the line, and then, .:Can’t argue with that. Retreating. But only a little:.

Orion wasn’t one for praying, but of all times…

“Okay, bots!” Orion slipped between the bars. “Follow me!”

Jazz fell into step with him, the cold-constructs not far behind.

.:So how bad is this situation, really? Just between the two o’ us:. Jazz asked on a private channel.

.:You know, you never did send me that Camien music:.

Jazz snapped up at him, incredulous, before a bewildered smile bloomed across his faceplates. .:That’s what you’re gonna focus on?:.

.:Seems as good as anything else. Rather think about music than how likely I am to get slagged today:. Even if the sentiment was right at home in the mines.

Jazz shrugged .:You said it, mech. Very well:. And music started softly. Orion was confused at first. He’d been expecting it across their private channel, but instead it was playing in the open air, and in surprisingly good quality. As though understanding the question, .:I got a lot of mods. Some more practical than others:.

Orion looked back to see some of the bots walking on beat, or waving slightly to the music. .:Seems practical to me:.

Jazz’s returning chuckle was harshly interrupted by Cliff, his comm cutting in and out. .:The– goddamn– fragging enforcers– here!:. 

Orion and Jazz exchanged a look, before bursting into a sprint. The cold-constructs followed, and soon they were approaching the entrance. Screams, and blaster-fire, and metal on metal tore through Orion’s audials. Another step, and the battle came into view, panic seizing every rotor. Guards on one side with their electro-batons, enforcers on the other, black and white plating punctuated by bright light from the barrels of blasters. Set to stun, and more terrifying for it, because that meant they could be dragged back, and–

And in the middle, were his own bots. Down to the left, he could just make out Arcee and Cliff, herding everyone to a small outcrop for some hope of cover. It would delay, but it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would.

Orion swallowed down the panic and nausea, preparing himself to charge the guards from the back. He opened his comms. One last transmission. He owed it to say goodbye.

*

Megatron had his opponent on the ropes, some unholy amalgamation of organic and inorganic, a seething, writhing thing. The angles were all wrong. If he were inclined, he might’ve purged. 

With the lingering pain skittering across his neurals, it was already hard enough to concentrate. It became even more difficult when Soundwave started pinging him.

If he survived this match, he was going to slag the mech. He had to be trying to get him deactivated.

Frustrated, and unable to think of any other way to get him to stop, he opened the comm channel. .:What could possibly be so important to distract me in the middle of my match?:.

As though to validate his point, the creature stuck millimeters from where Megatron was standing. He dove to the side, doing a quick roll to pop up on the thing’s blind side. He tried for a slash of the volt saw, but it made no dent on the durasteel armor. So the purple was plating. Noted.

.:Message: urgent:. And without even waiting for Megatron’s response, Soundwave forwarded a comm. It was Orion.

.:Megatronus,:. The comm was filled with noise, and steeped with fear– that same fear from the riot. Nothing but Darkwing and fuschia between them. Megatron had to stop himself from reflexively responding. It was a one-way connection. .:I’m at mine C-12. We were freeing the cold-constructs, but–but it’s all gone wrong:. Megatron’s spark fell. Dread flooded his lines. .:In case I don’t make it, I– I– frag…:. A short pause. Megatron used it to dodge another strike, and counter. He hit yellow surface this time, and it gave. Yellow is soft. Noted.

.:If I don’t make it, I just want you to know how good of a friend you’ve been to me:. A friend. Yes. .:The time I’ve gotten to know you has been some of the best of my life. And I need you to promise me that you will survive, and go on, and get out of the Pits, and live:. The comm crackled again with the impression of an explosion. .:I need to go. I’m sor– no. You don’t want to hear that. Thank you…:. One last hesitation. .:I love you:.

Megatron’s optics went wide. He almost missed the thing’s next attack, only just parrying it off his volt-saw.

I love you.

The comm line died, Orion– Primus please, not with it.

The thing swatted, catching Megatron fully across the helm. He went flying across the arena, crashing hard against the opposite wall. Something in him burst, painful, not fatal. He coughed up a small spattering of energon, forcing himself back to his pedes.

He restarted his tac-unit. Always smart after a big hit, and especially smart after a shock like that.

Orion.

He partitioned the tac-unit to run two different tactical analyses. The thing was rapidly falling further down in his priorities.

Orion.

The name echoed in his processor like a prayer of its own. The tac-unit spat out the solution Megatron was already considering. The only one really. He charged the creature, and pinged Soundwave back.

.:Start preparations now:.

.:Sir?:.

.:We’re escaping– with a slight change:.

.:How long?:.

The tac-unit spit out the other half of the solution. Megatron allowed himself a small smirk as he barreled forward, driving the spinning edge of the saw into the soft yellow of the beast. It screamed, guttural, spitting up pink and blue. The former was clearly energon. He didn’t want to know what the latter was, and made sure to avoid it as finished his takedown.

The thing hit the ground a klik later, giving a pathetic twitch, before stilling for good.

.:Phase one now. The rest in two kliks:.

Soundwave pinged his immediate ascent, and Megatron decided he wasn’t going to slag the mech after all. He climbed the body of the thing as the crowd went wild. It squished awkwardly under his pedes, but he made it look natural, arriving at the top.

He raised the volt-saw, roaring his triumph. “I still function!”

He let the crowd scream its approval. He had to time this right. Any moment, and Declaron would be wresting attention back. 

“Are you all having fun?” He called up. More cheering agreement. “Good, good. What else do bots do for fun around here? Do you overcharge? Interface?” The crowd hushed at that. Suddenly it wasn’t so fun, but they weren’t shying away, either.

“Alright!” Declaron’s smooth voice crested over the masses. “Let’s give Megatron a big round of–”

“I wasn’t finished!” Megatron didn’t bother looking up to see how he took that. “Can we all be honest for a moment? This is all fragging bullslag– what they’ve got us doing. What they’re doing to us.” His gaze flicked across the arena, registering every look of shock. In the distance he could feel Declaron’s furious optics boring into him. “Can’t you see? They’re using us! Pitting us against each other! Every solar-cycle, you come in here, and he,” Megatron pointed at Declaron, “tells you exactly why a bot is being slagged. Stealing, destroying, killing– does he ever ask us why? You think I wanted to hurt another mech? My overseer had me and my best friend on Mortilus’s door, claws in his spark chamber, and I was expected not to kill him?”

The collective field of the audience physically shifted, frenzy, to confusion, to anticipation, to bubbling anger.

“Megatron. I think that’s quite enou–”

“He wants to silence me. Silence all of us with this distraction wrapped in bloody entertainment. I say don’t let him!”

“I’m warning you–”

“What are you going to do, Declaron?” He turned fully to look up at the mech. “Shock me with that bit of metal in my helm? Try it.”

Declaron pulled the black box from his subspace and pressed it. Nothing happened. Phase one complete. The look on Declaron’s face was priceless. He pinged Soundwave his satisfaction.

“Now who wants to take back their freedom?”

The audience shouted back.

“I SAID WHO WANTS TO TAKE BACK THEIR FREEDOM?”

Even louder.

Megatron grinned, kicking a loose bit of thing up into his servo. He hefted it, and hocked it. The piece squelched against Declaron’s helm, knocking the mech back. He stumbled a few paces, wiping blue slime from his optics. Another step, and his pede missed the platform.

He hit the arena floor in a clatter.

And the Pit erupted into absolute chaos.

*

Orion pressed his frame close to the outcrop as blaster-fire roared over his helm. He had a bunch of scratches and paint transfers from where he’d grappled with the guards. His plating was all blackened and tingly on his left stabilizing servo where one had gotten him with the electro-baton. He’d managed to suitably startle the guards, but hadn’t thought much further than that. He and the cold-constructs only made it to the outcrop thanks to the cover fire Cliff had been laying.

“Where the hell did you get a gun?” he asked Cliff.

“Are you telling me you didn’t bring one?” Cliff searched their comrades. “Anyone got a blaster for Orion?”

“I don’t want–”

“I gotchu!” A gun made a lazy arc in the air. Orion had to scramble to catch it.

“Thanks Jazz!” Cliff called.

The handle was smooth and cold in his servos. His tanks clenched.

“Primus,” Elita hissed. “Just set it to stun and have the moral crisis later!”

That snapped him from it. Other bots were counting on him. He did as instructed and poked his helm up over the rubble, pointing the gun in the right direction– and missing entirely. 

“I’m giving you shooting lessons when we get back to base,” Elita said.

Orion didn’t take the time to argue. He was coming to learn when it was a lost cause with the femme.

“Incoming!” Ironhide called.

Something whistled overhead, and a dozen screams ripped through the battlefield.

“Slag! They got some kind of EMP cannon!” Arcee shouted.

Orion cycled his optics. His would be better than what most of the bots here had. He made out the black tank alt-mode, charging up for a second blast. A few more of those and they’d be down enough mechs that the guards and enforcers could easily overwhelm them, guns or no.

“I’m gonna take out that tank.”

“What?” Orion snapped to Jazz, ready to argue against  it, but the mech was already creeping to the far side of the outcrop, his signature and field dropping off Orion’s sensors. His paint had shifted to more muted colors. Orion would’ve had a very difficult time picking him out if he hadn’t already known he was there.

.:How’d you do that?:.

.:Remember those mods I mentioned?:.

The barrel of the cannon started humming again.

Jazz cursed over their comms. .:Gimme just a few kliks:. And he severed the line.

A moment later and the EMP howled again. This time Orion was slightly more prepared, letting his logic unit track the bolt and calculate the approximate target. .:Bots in these coordinates, SCATTER:.

They did so. Some still got hit, but it was significantly less than the first time.

.:Orion, they got a tactician on the field:. Jazz commed.

.:Scrap:.

.:’S not necessarily a bad thing. If I take him out, the enforcers will fall to chaos:.

.:What about the cannon?:.

.:I can only do one. They’ll be onto me:. A pause .:It’s your call:.

Panic ticked up in Orion’s systems before he shunted it to background processing. “Cliff! Jazz can either take out the cannon, or the on-site tac-officer. What should he do?”

Cliff fired another round, and got the answering cry from a guard, before turning back to Orion. “You’re in charge OP. You decide.”

In charge? When had that been decided?

His processes threatened to clam up again. He forced it back down. Not the damn time. Not when so many were counting on him. Not now dammit.

.:Jazz. Take out the tac-officer. Please don’t offline him:.

.:Gotta make it a challenge, eh?:. Humor rippled through the comm as it dropped again.

“Cliff, take the– take my blaster. I’ll keep an eye on the cannon.” He made dedicated space in the datablock for more processing power. The cannon shot a few more times, and Orion was able to give most of the bots enough time to scatter. For a few kliks the battle held steady.

.:Orion, get out of there NOW:. Jazz’s comm was strained.

.:Jazz! Are you okay??:.

.:The chute!!:.

The– Orion whipped his helm around. The… oh slag.

A sheet of metal burst up from behind them, revealing the auxiliary chute that was used for excess disposal. It’d been buried in the rubble. He’d forgotten all about it, especially since it only went back into the mine. Whoever was in command hadn’t forgotten. Hordes of enforcers came teaming from the hole.

Oh primus fragging slag.

“RUN!” Orion screamed– commanded to his bots. Even as he knew it didn’t matter. They were being flushed out from the outcrop. Fellow miners, forged and constructed alike, were dropping like electro-flies all around him. He felt the sting of a stun-bolt on his arm. It fell numb and useless to his side.

He’d doomed them all. Doomed them all with his pretty words of companionship and revolution. All his friends, all these constructs who were supposed to be breathing their first vent of free air– they were all going to be offlined or worse.

All his fault.

“Stand down and drop your weapons miners!” A mech strode up onto a ridge, overlooking the battle. Black and white finish, red chevron, doorwings. It only took a moment for Orion to recognize him as the enforcer that’d questioned him back at the fountain, Prowl. Further inspection, and his tanks froze. He had an unconscious Jazz tucked under his arm.

“Like frag we are!” Ironhide snarled back up at him, kicking a guard back.

In response, Prowl only flicked something on his blaster and pressed the barrel to Jazz’s helm.

That gun wasn’t set to stun anymore, was it?

Everyone stilled, understanding.

Orion took a step forward. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but there had to be something– his stupid fake frame had to count for something. Another step. A servo clamped down on his pauldron.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t fragging do it,” Arcee hissed into his audial. “You know what they’ll do if they find out.”

Mutilation. Reprogramming. Alpha Trion wouldn’t be able to save him.

“I need to try.” He pulled himself from her grasp.

“OP, no.” She dove after him, tackling him to the ground. Every enemy blaster trained on the two as they grappled, but didn’t fire. In the edge of his vision, he could see Prowl watching intently.

“What’re you doing?” Cliff exclaimed, reaching down to do… something. Orion wasn’t sure whose side he was on.

“He’s trying to take the fall!” Arcee said.

And he didn’t have to be on two pedes to do it. “That’s right!” he yelled up to the enforcers– to Prowl. “You think a bunch of miner-bots planned this? It was me! They’re just doing what I told them!”

Some of the assembled bots recoiled at the declaration. Arcee only growled. “Yeah, right!” She got Orion in a good hold, and he couldn’t wiggle his way out. He vented pathetically on the ground.

“We planned this together,” Arcee shouted. “And we did it because this has all gone on long enough! Do you even know what’s being done to the cold-constructs here?”

“They’re drones, you idiot!” Some guard scoffed from the side.

“They’re bots just like the rest of us!” Orion retorted. “Their fragging processors were forcibly partitioned!” He pointed to the construct closest. “You, tell them how you feel.”

“Is– is that an order?”

“Please?”

The mech’s optics were wide as he looked around for some kind of confirmation. Orion tried to look encouraging from his place on the ground.

“I’m– I’m scared.” Solvent welled up and ran down his faceplates. “I want to leave.”

“That’s why we did it!” Arcee said. “All of us. Because enough is enough. We’re all living, breathing bots, and we deserve to be treated as such!”

Orion’s pride for his friends was only faintly outmatched by his fear for them.

Prowl didn’t outright dismiss them the way Orion was expecting, but he still vented and reset his vocalizer all the same. “Units, take them into custody. Use force if necess–” His order was cut off by a swift pede to the face, the resounding clang bouncing around the battleground. In his distraction, Prowl hadn’t noticed Jazz coming back online until it was too late. The mech twisted in his grip, taking the blaster with him. 

“‘Til the last mech!” Jazz flicked the blaster controls, and fired three stun-bolts into Prowl’s side. The tac-officer went down with a choked-off shout. Jazz dove after him.

FFFF bots all around him surged forward with a battlecry, as Orion’s fear tempered into something sharper. Resigned, brilliant pride swelled in his chassis. They were going to offline together then. He charged with the others. He didn’t have the blaster anymore, and that was fine by him. He leapt at the closest enforcer, scrabbling across his chassis. The mech cussed him out, failing to get a good grip. He fired twice, but missed both times. Orion could be quick when he wanted. 

A stun-bolt hit him square on the backplates, he arched with the current, feeling his systems locking painfully, before going limp. A nanoklik later and he couldn’t feel much at all. His vision flickered, but didn’t go out. He was on the ground.

“You’re welcome for the save,” the second enforcer groused at the first.

“Yeah, yeah.” The other crouched, pulling stasis-cuffs from subspace. “I think this is one of their leaders.” He turned Orion onto his back, snapping the cuffs around his wrists, and whatever limited movement he had left disappeared. For all his skirting against the law, he’d never found himself in this position.

Looking around, he wouldn’t be the only one soon. Cliff was already being tackled by enforcers, the glint of cuffs in their servos. Elita and Ironhide were still putting up the good fight, but anyone could see that they were surrounded. One stray bolt and–

The end of an electro-baton dug into his chassis, delivering a sharp jolt. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” The enforcer was glaring down at him. “I said, where is your headquarters?”

Bee, and the other cold-constructs, and all the other bots who didn’t participate because they weren’t miners. So many. Enough that they could continue the revolution. Even with this setback, they could go on. Hopefully they’d be able to. Maybe Shockwave could take up the helm. He had the qualities–

“Answer the damn question!” Another shock.

“Frag. You.” He grit out once the pain had subsided enough.

The enforcer’s field flared rage. He brought up his pede, slamming it into Orion’s knee-rotor. He couldn’t hear his own scream through the agony of metal crunching.

“Leave him alone!” Arcee shouted, landing beside him with her own set of cuffs locked to her wrists. 

“You want what he’s having, femme-bot?”

Have to get the attention off her. He didn’t like that glint in the enforcer’s optics. “You want to know the location of our headquarters?” 

“OP, don’t.”

“Shut it!” the enforcer snarled.

“I’ll tell you,” Orion said, his voice sounding weak even to his own audials.

“I’d love to hear it.”

“Closer.”

The guard leaned in. Orion beckoned with an incline of his helm. Closer.

“It’s up your tailpipe!” He bashed his helm into the enforcer’s face.

The mech hissed and reeled back. “You fragging glitch!” He steadied himself, then delivered a swift kick to Orion’s exposed flank. He bit back another cry. His vents came out a shuddering whine, something internal not working as it should.

“Shotscreen, that’s enough,” some other enforcer said.

“Look what he did to my face!” Another kick. He heard Arcee’s vents hitch, but she didn’t say anything this time, hopefully understanding that he’d only do something worse to draw the attention back. Another kick. Orion wanted to curl into a ball, but the stasis-cuffs wouldn’t let him do even that.

“Shotscreen, stop it! We can deal with him back at HQ.”

“I’m not waiting!” Two servos grasped him by the shoulders, and he was pulled roughly up onto his pedes, the left one immediately giving out into a tangle of wires, but he was held standing. The enforcer pulled his fist back, aimed right for the face. “Fragging rebel scum. I’ll enjoy this.”

Orion screwed his optics shut. He could take the beating if it’d keep attention on him. And then they could drag his frame to the precinct with all his friends, torture and hack the information out of him, and then they could all get smelted together. Hopefully Shockwave would think to move the base. Scratch that, of course he would. He was Shockwave.

An explosion rocked the battlefield before the hit could land.

“What the hell?”

Orion onlined his optics. He cycled them twice to make sure what he was seeing was real.

A huge swath of guards at the back had been hit with an EMP.

“Can someone tell Blackbolt not to fire on our own guys?”

“That wasn’t me!” The EMP cannon transformed into root mode, looking just as bewildered as the rest of them. “There!”

Orion turned to where he was pointing. More than a dozen fighter jets cut through the sky.

“It’s the military!”

“But they’re firing on us!”

It was true. The whole aerial squadron opened fire, raining EMP shots down on guards and enforcers alike. The only place coming out unscathed was the center where all Orion’s bots were corralled.

“I think they’re here to help us,” Arcee said, sounding just as disbelieving as Orion felt.

“But who–”

A powerful engine roared just beyond the hill, paling even the jet turbines. It was barreling closer at frightening speed, and it wasn’t alone. Orion recognized it before it even plowed over the crest, and his spark just about burst when the gunmetal gray hauler flew into view. Tank treads spun in the air, before coming down hard on an entire squad of enforcers. Their frames crunched sickeningly under the force, and Orion couldn’t help but wince, even as his spark spun faster.

Megatronus transformed in a dazzling slide of parts, shifting right into a stance to swing his volt-saw, carving through any enforcers unlucky enough to be near him.

Orion watched those red optics scan the battlefield, which was kicking back up with the influx of combatants. Even Orion’s own bots were getting their fight back. Elita and Ironhide pushed back, freeing their own as they went. Elita spotted him, motioned like she was going to make her way over, only to step back, expression wary. Orion followed it. Megatronus had locked onto him, and was carving a quick path through, sprint only slowed when the occasional enforcer was stupid enough to get in the way. 

The enforcer standing over him– Shotscreen, took aim. His blaster was set to live rounds.

“Megatronus!” Orion craned his neckcables the small amount he was allowed, and bit the enforcer’s stabilizing servo. His dentae sunk into the battle-grade plating, and it probably didn’t even hurt the cop, but he shrieked anyway, shaking his pede to throw Orion off, not at all focusing on the mech barreling towards him with a furious snarl.

Megatronus cut off that stabilizing servo with a quick swipe of the volt-saw, bringing his own pede up to kick the mech across the battlefield with terrifying force. He went skidding, struck some rubble, and didn’t move again.

“Megatronus…” Orion couldn’t help but smile. Even with the carnage and the pain, he smiled. None of it would touch him. Nothing could. Not with Megatronus standing over him.

The mech’s vents were a near roar, his chassis rising and falling in heavy cycles. His red gaze was a tangible thing, taking in the scope of the battlefield. Those optics flicked to the left, a sure sign of comming, before his attention finally trailed down, as though he were seeing Orion for the first time.

Megatronus’s whole expression relaxed, even if his frame didn’t. He knelt down, servos hovering like he wasn’t sure where to put them. They finally settled on Orion’s arm, his sight on the mangled knee-rotor, then the caved in plating at his flank.

“Who did this to you?” His voice shook with fury, his field a visceral thing, red-hot where it met Orion’s. Orion couldn’t help but shiver, even if that seething rage wasn’t directed at him.

“I think you already got him.”

Megatronus spared a glance at the graying enforcer– Orion’s tanks lurched at the sight. Morality crisis later. He’d promised Elita . Before Megatronus returned his attention to Orion. “I’m going to pick you up. We’re going to– can we go back to those headquarters you were telling me about?”

“Yeah. There’s space. We just have to make sure no one follows us.”

Megatronus smirked. “I think my bots can handle that.” And without preamble, he slid his arms under Orion’s stabilizing servos and back, awkward for a moment with the volt-saw, then lifting him like he weighed nothing, holding him close to his chassis, and– wow, that was something. Orion let the pain of motion wipe it from his foreground processing. Later.

“Gladiators, FFFF, rebels, to me! Seekers, lay cover!” Megatronus led by example, beginning his retreat. The gladiators followed easily, and the FFFF bots weren’t far behind– not once they saw Orion in his arms. “Don’t leave any of our bots! If you got a working frame, use it to carry survivors!”

Orion sighed relief as gladiators chased off enforcers to get to his bots. More had been hit by the EMPs or stun-bolts than not. A big purple warframe trailed Megatronus with Arcee under one arm, and Cliff under the other.

“Damn OP. When you call for backup you don’t mess around,” Cliff said, rapidly returning to his usual jovial self. Orion wanted to chastise him, but he could only smile. The battle was all but won, the straggling enforcers either on the run, or putting up the meekest of resistance. 

“You should’ve told us,” Arcee said. Orion imagined she’d try to swat him if she hadn’t been locked in stasis-cuffs.

“To be fair, he didn’t know,” Megatronus chuckled softly.

“How is this even possible,” Orion breathed. He hadn’t questioned it at first, taking it for the divine intervention it must’ve been, but now…

“Soundwave and I were planning an escape. I meant to tell you, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

“And the rest of these guys?”

“Most of them are fellow gladiators. A lot of them are interested in the cause, as well as escape. Some civilians too.”

“Civilians?”

“Master roused their fervor with an eloquent speech!” the purple warframe exclaimed. “They followed from the arena in droves!”

.:Master?:. Orion commed, his displeasure apparent in his field.

.:A necessity in the arena to maintain a hierarchy. Trust me. I don’t like it either:.

.:Of course. Sorry. Didn’t mean to doubt:.

.:Was that doubt?:.

Orion laughed .:No:.

.:Then don’t apologize:.

.:You gave a speech?:.

.:Don’t sound so surprised:.

.:I’m not at all. I just wish I’d been there to hear it:.

.:Yes, well… it was mostly inspired by yours– what you said back at the C-12 riot all those megacycles ago:.

.:Megatronus…:.  

“Care to share with the rest of the troops?” Elita trotted up alongside their entourage.

“Hello Elita,” Megatronus said, voice clipped.

“Where’s Ironhide?” Orion asked.

“At the back wrangling some cold-constructs.”

Right. “How bad are the casualties?”

“Hard to say. There weren’t a lot of live rounds, so actually a lot lower than we’d feared.”

“Thank Primus.” Orion let his helm fall back against Megatronus. His frame was warm against him.

“Since when do you believe in Primus?” Megatronus snarked.

Orion knew he was supposed to rise to that challenge, but he couldn’t will himself to do it, not with how content he was suddenly feeling. “I missed you,” he said. 

It was almost funny the way that Megatronus stiffened under him.

“You know, actually, you guys can switch back to comms whenever you want,” Elita scoffed.

*

Megatron and Orion commed– rather animatedly, for the next several kliks as they made their way to base, occasionally interrupted by one bot or another.

.:Survey complete: no one following:.

Megatron pinged his approval back at Soundwave, before shifting his focus back to Orion. The mech’s optics had been steadily dimming throughout their conversation.

.:You can recharge, Orion. I got you:.

Warmth fluttered up Megatron’s lines at the soft responding smile. Not much longer, and the mech stopped fighting sleep, letting himself go limp in Megatron’s arms.

Megatron considered the mech– so practiced in hiding his stress, but still so different in recharge. That line he hadn’t realized was a crease between his brows eased; the edge in his field mellowed into lazy contentment. It irked him somewhat that the others up front got to see this too, even if Megatron knew it was Orion’s trust in him that allowed it.

“You sure have been busy,” Elita said, breaking his reverie.

Megatron shrugged off any annoyance he might’ve reflexively felt. “It’s not like I was planning to stay in the Pits forever.”

“Fair enough.” She narrowed her optics, scrutinizing. “What are your plans, now that you’re free?”

Megatron huffed. “Not free. None of us are free.”

Elita didn’t exactly smile at that, but the hum of her field told him she agreed.

“But to answer your question, I’m joining you. Orion’s goal is my goal.”

They both stared down at the mech in question.

“And what are your intentions towards him?”

Megatron couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or take offense. He settled on rolling his optics. “What are you, his tender?”

She blew air from her vents. “Whatever. I don’t actually care.”

“I do,” Cliff said. “I want to hear your answer.”

“Aw, leave him alone Cliff,” Arcee chided. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Hey, not complaining. Not after you saved all our afts. Just curious.”

“We’re friends.”

“...And?”

“That’s it.”

“He was really worried about you, y’know?”

Megatron altered his stride to face this… Cliff, yes. Orion had mentioned him as one of the other founders of the FFFF… Cliffjumper. That was his designation.

“Didn’t talk about it often– I mean, he’s a friendly mech, but keeps things close, wouldn’t you know it.” Cliff chuckled. “But we all knew about you. He wasn’t subtle. Always reading and re-reading those messages of yours, checking the fight logs from the Pits over and over. You’d think the mech’s obsessed.”

“Cliff…” Arcee said. “I’m not sure you need to be airing out all of OP’s personal business.”

“I think he should know. Not like OP’s going to say anything.”

But he had. I love you. The last words Orion had ever thought he’d get to say to Megatron– emotions stifled by the comm, of course, but said none-the-less. He’d let those words fuel his rampage to C-12, but hadn’t lent any real thought to them. He’d been too… not scared, he didn’t get scared anymore. Not in battle. Not for himself. Only when–

Only when it came to Orion.

Afraid of losing him, afraid of hurting him, afraid of…

I love you.

He looked down at the mech in question, so peaceful in recharge, even as he lay vulnerable– cuffed and injured, energon drying on his plating where it was dented and shredded.

Why was he afraid of those words?

 

Notes:

I NEEDED to throw in the corny ‘who did this to you.’ I’m usually p good about tropes in my work, but CMON. It’s at home there. If there were EVER a time heeheee. This is prolly my fave chap so far. Definitely one I'm proud of. Hope you enjoyed! Lemme know what u thought >:)

Chapter 14: Kaon

Notes:

I added the torture and hacking tags cause there’s mentions of those things in this chapter, and because those things will happen in a later chapter LOL, but yeah, only mentions in this chap. I’ll put a warning before that chap where it actually is a thing.

.:Doc?:. Cliff’s comm pulled Ratchet from his very important task of taking inventory. Very important, and not at all a calculated distraction from the terror that gripped his tanks knowing his fellow miners– his friends were all out there risking their lives.

Without him. 

Damn the bots. “Too important to risk, my aft,” Ratchet muttered to himself. Cliff comming was not a good sign.

.:What?:. Ratchet commed back, maybe a little too harshly.

.:Yeesh. Nevermind:. Cliff was joking around. Ratchet let his cables loosen that bit. If he was joking, that was a better sign.

.:Is everyone there okay?:.

A pause.

.:Answer me dammit!:.

.:Fine, fine! Don’t blow a gasket. Here’s the casualty report Arcee and ‘Hide have cobbled together. Things went a little sideways, but we made it out okay:.

Ratchet opened the report. There were some noted deactivations, and a few bots reported missing. His spark lurched a bit at Jazz’s designation filed under that column. He shook it from his helm, and moved on to the injuries section. Orion was right there at the top. Not critical, and he could probably thank Primus for that. However, there were other bots who were critical.

They’d be back at base soon. He got right to work setting up the makeshift medical suite.

*

Terror washed through Orion’s lines as he came back online, his optics slow to boot up, and audials fritzing. The only real sense he had was the pain flaring from his knee-rotor and the vivid memories of the enforcer looming over him, furious smile, and crackling electro-baton promising more pain for him and all his comrades. He must’ve blacked out from the pain– he was in custody, wasn’t he? He was going to have to watch as–

“Orion. Orion, take deep vents. I’ve got you, remember?”

But that was Megatronus’s voice, and Megatronus was–

He forced his optics online.

Megatronus was right beside him, kneeling by the medical berth he was laid out on, one servo holding his chassis down, the other curled around his own servo. Comfort and reassurance hummed across the contact points there.

“Will you stop thrashing if I let go?”

Mortification brought heat to his faceplates. “I was thrashing? Wait.” Orion looked around. They were in the FFFF medical suite. “How did we get here? How did you…?”

“You don’t remember?”

Orion thought back, checking his recent memory files. Nothing. “Just a klik.” He shifted his files around. Just cause they weren’t where they were supposed to be didn’t mean… “Ah.” He found them filed away in his data brick. Must’ve gotten stored incorrectly in the chaos. It all came flooding back. “Oh.” The hopelessness, the last stand, and then Megatronus, in all his wonderful gladiatorial glory– like something straight out of the archives’ fictional section. He felt the heat at his faceplates only get worse.

“You remember, then?”

Orion nodded, not trusting his vocalizer to stay steady, keeping his field drawn in tight. Except it wouldn’t really matter, because their servos were still linked. He scrubbed his face, embarrassment washing between them.

Megatronus only laughed, bright, and quite unbothered, all things considered.

Orion leaned into the connection. “What happened after I passed out?”

“You didn’t miss too much. Got back, got Ratchet to work. He’s got a little help now, though.” He inclined his helm to the two new bots hurrying around the suite. One was purple and red, the other… “Yes, Scalpel looks weird. We all know it. He won’t admit it. Seems rude to push the subject. Just don’t let either of them upgrade you unless you’re absolutely sure of what you’re getting into.”

Orion nodded. “Right…”

“There’s good news, and bad news. Going to let them tell you though.”

“Who?”

Arcee and Cliff strode up.

“Hey OP.” Arcee crouched next to the berth, voice warm. Cliff took a seat at the end. Ratchet glared from across the suite.

“What’s the news?”

Cliff smiled. “I’m happy to report that there wasn’t a single death among the cold-constructs. I don’t think they fought as hard, so the enforcers weren’t as concerned with them.” His smile only grew. “We did it Orion. They’re integrating great. We freed them.”

“That’s amazing!” Everything they could’ve hoped for and more, really. It shouldn’t have been possible. But of course, it couldn’t last. “What’s the bad news?”

“We lost a few bots, of course. I don’t think it was anyone you knew personally.”

Arcee lowered her helm. “They were miners. Some of them were my friends.”

“I’m sorry,” Orion said, trying to project a comforting field.

“That’s unfortunately not everything though.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well… okay, I can’t tell if this one is bad or not. But… ugh how do I put this.” Cliff glared over Orion’s shoulder. “You want to tell him, Megatronus?”

Megatronus blew air from his vents. It tickled Orion’s plating. “So, I might have stirred up a bit of a revolt from the Pits.”

“Okay…?” Orion said.

“Kaon’s basically on fire,” Arcee snapped.

“What?”

“It’s not on fire,” Megatronus said.

Arcee and Cliff both looked at him skeptically. Megatronus sighed. “Fine. So maybe I whipped up the audience– hey,” at the way Arcee cocked a brow. “It helped me break out and save your afts. Besides, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“How do you mean?” Cliff narrowed his optics.

“Just watch the holos! Enforcers are losing their damn minds trying to contain the mass outrage across all of Kaon. They’re stretched to their limits. Now is our time to strike.” Megatronus’s optics flared crimson. The others seemed uneasy at the display. Orion couldn’t care less about how scary it might’ve looked. This was his friend, and he was happy to see him so fired up.

“So you’re joining us?” Orion said, not bothering to tamp down the naked hope.

“Didn’t I already… no, you were in recharge. Yes. I am joining you.” He gave Orion’s servo a little squeeze. “Not like there’s much for me anywhere else.”

“So… when you say strike, what did you have in mind?”

Megatronus smirked. “A takeover.”

“Of… what?”

“Kaon.”

Orion blinked twice. “Of Kaon… you mean…” His optics went wide. “You mean the whole thing. You’re serious?”

“There’s never going to be a better opportunity.”

“Woah, woah,” Arcee waved her servos, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Since when were we planning to take over Kaon?”

“We weren’t,” Orion said. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“It is,” Megatronus insisted. “You told me how the council reacted to you dismantling the roads. I saw what happened today. If we do this, it’ll force them to take us seriously.”

“But how many people will get hurt? Even if we have chaos, and surprise, and promising numbers on our side, this won’t be easy. It’ll be a battle. C-12 went wrong, but it wasn’t supposed to be violent.”

“Then we find a way to minimize risk– but we don’t pass up a golden opportunity to achieve our goals.”

“Our goals,” Cliff snorted, “you just got here.”

Megatronus rose to his pedes, dentae bared. “Maybe so, but I haven’t had a single solar-cycle since I came online where I didn’t have to mine or kill to stay alive. I challenge you to find someone more dedicated to this cause’s ideals than me.”

“Orion, can you please explain why taking over Kaon goes against everything we believe in?”

“Now wait a klik.” Orion pushed himself up onto his elbows. His knee-rotor gave a painful twinge at the movement. Megatronus must’ve felt it.

“You lie back down,” he growled. “Where’s Ratchet?” 

“Wait,” Orion raised an arm so Megatronus would stop trying to push him back down onto the berth. “Who says he’s wrong? It’s not like the city isn’t already being ruled by a complete scumbag. You’re looking at this wrong. We wouldn’t be taking over Kaon, we’d be freeing it.”

“You were just arguing against it a klik ago,” Cliff said.

“I’m not actually against the idea itself. Megatronus is right. We always knew this revolution was going to require drastic action. We need to be taken seriously.” Orion turned the concept over in his mind. “I’m not against pushing out the enforcers. I’m against the level of violence I think that would take.”

“There’s going to be violence, Orion,” Megatronus said.

“None we can avoid.”

“So we’re back to square one,” Arcee sighed.

“Not necessarily,” Jazz said, sliding into the medical suite with his usual smooth gait, and a glitching visor.

“Jazz!” Cliff strode over, clapping him on the back. Jazz stumbled, before righting himself.

“We’ve been worried sick ever since you went missing!” Cliff laughed. “Thought the cops got you for sure.”

“C’mon, mech. It’ll take more than a fragging cyber-pig to keep me down.”

“That’s the truth.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was missing?” Orion hissed.

“We were getting to it, OP,” Arcee said. “You just woke up.”

“Where were you?” Orion asked. “What happened? I saw you tackle that tac-officer over the crest, and then you were just… gone.”

“Yeah, funny that. Hurt like a glitch when we hit the rocks on the other side, but hey,” he pulled something out of subspace, his smile a tinge manic, “it ended up being pretty good luck for me.” He brandished the datachip between two digits. It glimmered ominously under the medbay lights.

Orion narrowed his optics. “What’s on there?”

Jazz’s visor flashed cyan, his intake curled up into a toothy smile. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single thing that tac-officer knew. And let me tell you– the fragger knew a lot. He was high up. Lieutenant Prowl, second in command of the whole Kaon subdivision.”

“What was he doing in Iacon when the fountain blew then?”

“Wha– hm. Lemme check.”

Orion couldn’t tell what he was doing with the visor in the way, but he must’ve been consulting his memory-bank. Kept a local copy then.

“Ah. Since the suspects were supposedly Kaonite, he was sent up to work that angle.” A pause. “Oh, looks like he recognized you today too. That’s not good.”

“And you didn’t do something about that?” Megatronus growled.

“Me? What’d you want me to do? Kill the mech?”

“Did you?” Orion asked, wary.

“Meh. Figured you’d be mad if I did.”

“You’d be right.”

“You couldn’t have deleted the memory or something?” Megatronus said.

“Nah mech. What do I look like? A mnemosurgeon? Copy, paste. That’s all I do.”

“How… how did you get that intel?” Orion asked, trying his best to keep the edge from his voice. It wasn’t like the tac-officer would just hand it over. He was suddenly very aware of all the dents and white paint transfers standing out on Jazz’s knuckles. Those weren’t there before.

And Jazz had been gone for a long time, if Orion’s chronometer was anything to go by.

In answer, Jazz’s face– the part that was visible, dropped all its usual expression. His field didn’t exactly turn hostile, nor did it retract, but it took on an impassive, almost dead quality. His visor flashed a glitching purple, before returning to blue.

“Jazz. What did you do?”

“Orion. I really don’t like seein’ you all glum like this. The cop’s gonna be fine, and I now have the exact data we need to take Kaon. We won’t have to hurt a single spark.” Jazz smiled, but it was strained. “I think that’s all you wanna know.”

And Orion wanted to take the easy out so badly. His already taxed processor ached for it– to give the quick nod that would let him push it from his mind.

But he couldn’t, could he? He was co-founder of the FFFF, quickly becoming leader– though he felt overwhelmingly unqualified for the post. It was his duty to make the tough calls.

He had an inkling, and it was a struggle to make himself meet Jazz’s visor as he aired it. “You tortured him, didn’t you?”

Orion could hear Jazz swallow, before he spoke softly, “yeah.”

“We don’t do that.”

“If I thought there was any other way–”

“We don’t do that.”

Jazz stiffened, his intake becoming a thin line.

“I get it. Information is important. It can save lives. When we take Kaon, it probably will save lives.” Orion scrubbed his face. “But we don’t trade pain. That wasn’t self-defense.”

Jazz looked like he wanted to argue, but he only reset his vocalizer. “I understand.”

“Good.” Orion finally let himself fall back on the berth, completely drained. “Let’s not let it be in vain then. Cliff, can you gather our command team for a meeting? We need to get our strategy together as soon as possible.”

“What about you, Orion? We can’t well have the meeting here. Ratchet’s glaring enough as it is.”

“Arcee? Can you ask one of the medics if they’re done with the other patients yet?”

Arcee nodded. “I’m sure they can find the time for you.”

Cliff and Arcee went off on their assignments. Megatronus didn’t budge. Jazz stood awkwardly for a little while, before going to leave, field pulsing muted dejection.

“Jazz, wait.” Orion reached out a servo, but it fell short.

The mech stopped, looking back over his shoulder. His lips were pressed into a small frown.

“I hope you know I don’t say any of that lightly. I know you had the best intentions.” He offered a weak smile. “I know it couldn’t have been easy, either.”

Jazz returned a shaky laugh. “Sure wasn’t. And I ain’t just saying that cause he managed to fragment my processor.”

“He what?”

“Scrap, did I say that out loud? It’s not too bad. Just need a couple cycles of reorganization and defrag. An’ don’t worry, I understand now. The ideals you need to hold up.” He turned to face Orion more fully. “I respect them, and I respect you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

And with that, he spun back on his heel, slipping out the door, before Orion could even remember himself and demand he stay to see Ratchet.

Fragmented Processor, Primus. Orion sighed, long and deep, even as it aggravated his caved-in side.

“What are you thinking about, Orion?” Megatronus’s deep rumble soothed the tangled web of his thoughts.

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a leader.”

Megatronus snorted. “I don’t think it’s something you were made to do, but then, isn’t that the whole point?”

“The point?”

“Anti-functionalism means doing the things you weren’t made to do. It means fighting for the right to do what you weren’t made to do.” Megatronus quirked his helm. “Can you think of a single better way to demonstrate those points than by leading?”

“It’s just– I never went in with the intention– I didn’t think I’d be–”

“Hey. It’s not like you have to do this alone.” He smiled. “I’m here now.”

“And you got the rest of us.” Ratchet sidled up with his med-kit– a proper med-kit. “Alright. Let’s see the damage.”

“Took you long enough,” Megatronus said, not kindly.

“You know how much wrangling I had to do to stop your butchers from going and implanting internal weapons’ systems during their repairs? I don’t know where they even got the parts!”

“What’s wrong with that? Our work is dangerous. You should be thanking them.”

“Yeah? Well it’s my medbay, and I need them to stick to the agreed upon repairs. This isn’t the Pits anymore. You can’t just go installing slag however you want.”

“Fine.” Megatronus waved him off. “Can you please just deal with Orion? I don’t even think he’s on pain blockers.” 

Both mechs fixed Orion with a withering look.

“Any why– pray tell, didn’t you mention this, Orion?” Ratchet’s tone was deadly smooth. It sent little flicks of terror up Orion’s lines.

“Didn’t seem important?” He gave a helpless little smile. Megatronus would protect him, right?

“You fragging slag-sucking little miscreant! How in the Pit am I supposed to do my job when you won’t alert me when something’s wrong?”

“You were busy! It’s not important!

“You keep saying that,” Ratchet pulled a cartridge and a hypoplatic needle from his med-kit, fitting the two together. “But you greatly underestimate your own worth.” He wrestled one of Orion’s arms into a position to expose the lines at the rotor, easing the needle in gently, despite his rough handling. None of the mechs missed the way fuzzy relief seeped out of Orion’s field. He couldn’t even hold it back.

“See? Better when you’re not being a complete self-sacrificing idiot.”

“Megatronus, are you going to let him be mean to your beloved FFFF leader?”

Ratchet tutted. “No one’s exempt from medical. Megatronus can’t save you.”

Orion stuck out his glossa.

“Need any tuneups, boss?” Scalpel popped up on the side of the berth. Orion only just managed to mute his vocalizer before a yelp of alarm would’ve escaped him.

Megatronus gave him an amused glance, before focusing on Scalpel. “Not at the moment. Just do as Ratchet instructs.”

The silvery little mech scuttled off, grumbling about inventory.

“Now, do you want to be online or offline while I start hammering out these dents in your chassis?” Ratchet asked.

“Whichever’s faster,” Orion replied, even as he was finding himself drifting off.

“Offline it is.” Ratchet slid aside a dataport and plugged in. The room started to go dark a klik later. The last thing he saw before everything went offline were the two bright points of Megatronus’s red optics, unwavering in their intensity. Orion tried to give Megatronus’s servo one last squeeze. He wouldn’t ask the mech to stay by his side, but he couldn’t help but hope he would do it anyway.

*

Megatron waited until Orion’s servo went completely limp, before lowering it gently to the berth by his side. He stood and spoke to Ratchet. “My comm remains the same. Ping me before you bring him online, or if anything happens.”

“You’re not staying?”

Megatron had felt the squeeze on his servo, the deep-seated something in Orion’s field that told him he shouldn’t go. Ratchet would’ve been a fool not to see either. But still, Megatron shook his helm. “As much as I’d like to, I have some matters of importance to attend to.”

“Can’t they wait–”

“They cannot.” He’d seen the way Overlord and some of the others had been eyeing the FFFF grounds– the FFFF bots. He wasn’t stupid. If he didn’t act soon, his tenuous authority would be overruled, and then there’d be no telling what kind of damage they could do.

And that was discounting the outright predation he’d seen in Overlord’s optics. 

He donned a quick step towards the ruins Cliff had given his bots as shelter— another shabby run-down building. Really no different from any of the others.

He walked in silent contemplation. It was a far enough distance that transforming would’ve been acceptable, but Megatron needed the moment to become him again. Megatron, champion of the Pits, the strong face that would lead the gladiators.

And then there were the thoughts of Orion. 

Orion, Orion. As difficult as ever. Never letting himself take the easy route, that’s for sure. He shook his helm, half fond, half exasperated. He disagreed with what Orion had told Jazz, and only kept his intake shut because he could tell when the mech had gone and fully made up his mind. Like Jazz, he could respect the ideals behind it, but not the reality. Something he’d bring up later once Orion was firmly back on his two pedes. He’d see reason in the end.

So lost in thought, he almost didn’t hear the bulky communications truck roll in quickly on his left. He felt the muted alarm from the Soundwave’s field before he even onlined his vocalizer. “Disturbance in communal hall. Perpetrator: Overlord.”

“Frag.” Megatron quickly folded into alt and sped off after him. It was a winding path, littered with half-moved rubble, and so many bots. Megatron could only guess the reason for why Orion wouldn’t have just brought all of them to C-12. The enforcers wouldn’t have stood a chance.

He slammed the door to the communal hall aside, not really thinking about the alarm he could’ve caused. It didn’t matter in the end.

“Overlord!” he snarled, stalking up to the mech.

“Megs! Elita here was just telling me about your time in C-12. A fascinating tale— if I was lying.”

The femme in question dangled in the air, scratching uselessly where Overlord’s servo was clamped around her neckcables.

“Put her down.” Megatron’s voice was ice-cold, and laced with threat.

“And here I was starting to think the little red one was the only bot who had your attention.” He dropped Elita, who only just managed to land on her pedes, retching as she drew air into her vents. “Quite a miserable bunch we’re allied with. Seems beneath us, don’t you think?” He smirked. “Your shiny little upper-cruster’s got to be a pretty good lay–”

Megatron’s fist was in Overlord’s dentae before the mech could finish the sentence. He didn’t have a single thought for their horrified observers. He only saw red. Overlord didn’t go down easily, grappling at Megatron’s plating for some kind of leverage, but he was no match for the brute strength of Megatron’s fury.

The outlet might’ve been welcome. He hadn’t gotten the chance to slag anything after cataloging Orion’s wounds. Really, that offlined enforcer had gotten off too easy. He should’ve been made to feel it. Now he could only think of dented plating, a shredded knee-rotor, and Overlord’s cocky, punchable faceplate, looking down at him like he was something small– like whatever it was between him and Orion was small.

Maybe it was. All the more reason to take his frustration out on the mech. Maybe he should thank him for making himself such an easy target.

Megatron didn’t stop when Overlord ceased his struggle beneath him. That only came at Elita’s sharp bark of “enough!”

Megatron froze, his fist was pulled back for another hit. He reset his optics. Overlord’s shoulders and helm were smeared with energon, the thick fluid oozing from his nose, his intake, the dents across his frame.

But his chassis still rose and fell, his field fluxing between pain and gratification. The fragger was still alive, and he was happy– Megatron could only guess why. He sneered his disgust, standing from his straddle. Overlord didn’t move. Megatron pinged Soundwave to find someone to drag him back to their designated building, and finally took in the room they were in.

Elita stood close-by, her plating flaring aggressively, and she wasn’t the only one. About two dozen bots stood in an awkward circle around the carnage, none daring to step into the radius of splattered energon he’d created. Some of them held blasters. Most were pointed at the near-unconscious Overlord.

Some were pointed at him.

A lick of anger swirled up his lines– of all the injustices, he saves their afts, and this is how they repay him–

“Everyone lower your weapons,” Elita snapped. The voice of a commander suited her nicely. “And especially don’t point them at the mech on our side.” 

As the bots around him sheepishly lowered or stowed their blasters, Megatron took a few calming vents, and tried to look at the situation from outside his own perspective. It’s what Orion would’ve told him to do. Those kliks must’ve been scary to the assembled bots, one hulking frame beating the other to slag. He didn’t have even a hint of empathy for the bloodied mech at his pedes, but he was able to conjure up some for the captive audience.

Elita made her way over to his side, stride confident even as she forced herself close to Overlord’s frame. She rubbed her neckcables once, then crossed her arms. 

“What happened?” Megatron asked. He didn’t bother keeping his tone gentle. Elita wouldn’t appreciate being patronized, that much he knew of the femme.

“Swaggered in like he owned the place. Shoved some bots out of their seats, said the best should go to the strongest, then challenged anyone to tell him otherwise.”

“I’m guessing you met him at his challenge?”

“Primus no,” she shook her helm. “As much as I’d have loved to beat him myself, I’m not stupid. I called Orion to call you, but he didn’t answer his comm.”

“Orion’s in medical stasis while Ratchet repairs him.”

Elita finally tore her gaze from Overlord. “Then shouldn’t you be by his side?”

Megatron rolled his optics. “I told you once, a gigacycle ago, I’m not his keeper. That remains true.”

Elita didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push the topic further. “Anyway, I only stepped in when he started harassing one of the cold-constructs. The construct couldn’t handle it. I thought– I knew I could. I goaded him, I told him how I knew you at C-12, that was it.” Her brow furrowed further. “I managed to keep out of range for a little bit, but he’s faster than he looks. Damn long stabilizing servos.” She gave Overlord’s pede a swift kick. He groaned, but didn’t move.

Megatron considered all of this. Soundwave probably intercepted the message Elita had sent Orion.

Damn Overlord. It wasn’t a good look for his own bots to go around attacking Orion’s.

“What are you going to do with him?” Elita asked.

He had to make an example of the mech, of course. Another incident like this and it would be a pattern. He wouldn’t put Orion in the position to have to deal with the fallout of that.

“What do you want done with him?” Megatron asked back. It was only fair, after all.

“Don’t suppose he might just do us a favor and offline, will he?”

Megatron chuckled. “Unfortunately, no. However,” he turned to face her seriously, “that could be arranged if that is the punishment you see fit.”

Elita wasn’t the most expressive bot. In his stellar-cycles mining beside her, he’d only seen the limited range of her frustration, annoyance, and very occasionally, a sad sort of contentment. Today, for the very first time, he saw her look surprised.

Then her optics narrowed, clearly considering it. He’d be loath to lose such an unquestionably powerful warrior, but what he said, he meant. At any rate, power meant nothing when it couldn’t be correctly directed.

Elita huffed. “Orion wouldn’t approve.”

“Orion doesn’t need to know.”

She blew air from her vents, “yeah right,” murmured under her breath. “If it’s really up to me, I say we imprison him for the time being, then let command decide together.”

Elita was much more reasonable than he had ever given her credit for. Only one problem. “Do we have a prison?”

“We could always convert a ruin…” she trailed off, likely coming to the same conclusion as Megatron, that there probably wasn’t any structure in the makeshift base that could possibly contain him.

Unless…

He opened his comm, pinging Flatline to meet him at the communal hall with his medical supplies. Ratchet was busy after all.

“We’ll put him into forced stasis.”

Elita opened her intake, then thoughtfully closed it, considering. Finally, “yes. Just until we take Kaon and get our servos on a real prison.”

Megatron nodded, humming his agreement.

*

The command table was going to start getting cramped if they added any more bots, but Orion couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the sight. From his left, wrapping around, was Cliff, Arcee, Bee, Ratchet, Elita, Ironhide, Jazz, Shockwave, Soundwave, and of course, Megatronus.

Then Cliff cleared his vocalizer, and Orion’s giddiness evaporated into something weightier. Every bot in the room was looking to him, because he was supposed to be the leader.

He took a deep vent, then activated the makeshift holoprojector, something Shockwave and Ratchet had jerry-rigged. “Alright. You probably all know what we’re here to discuss, but for those who don’t, welcome to the tactical meeting for our operation to take Kaon.” And being able to say that was deeply strange too. No one looked shocked though, that was good.

He went on to describe what Jazz and Bee had discovered in their scouting of Kaon’s upper layers. Things were a mess. Enforcers were spread thin trying to reign in the growing riots, and the looting. The situation wouldn’t last long though, if Shockwave’s assessment was correct.

“We need to act this solar-cycle, or we’ll lose the edge the chaos gives us. Jazz? How do we push out the enforcers?”

Jazz took over the presentation with a sheepish smile. “Enforcers’ headquarters are here, here, and here.” He mapped out a triangle. “It’s where they have their weapons, their berths, their fuel, and all the rest of their resources.” He quickly flicked to his memory banks before continuing, flicking a bunch of little dots across the map. “And this is approximately where every officer is working to push back the riots.”

“Woah, woah,” Cliff waved his servo, “how could you possibly know that?”

“Soundwave and I hacked Kaon’s surveillance net, and I was able to fill in the gaps with Prowl’s tactical analysis for the situation. He has an ungodly amount of contingency plans.”

Too bad a mech like that was working against them. And speaking of…

“Jazz?” Orion asked, “is Prowl going to be out of commission for a while?”

Jazz’s smile, which had been steadily growing easier, turned strained again. “Most likely. Why?”

“Given the circumstances, it’s not a bad thing. This’ll probably be much more feasible with him out of the way.”

“That’s a driving factor for why we need to do this today,” Shockwave rumbled. “And I have a plan.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Orion said. “Let’s hear it then.”

“It’s likely that there are very few enforcers left at their headquarters. If we can cut off power, and steal all their supplies, that will force them to go to the surface for new materials and recharge, which as some of us know, is a long trip.” 

The group shared a chuckle. That was definitely a thinly veiled dig at Orion’s tardiness.

“I calculate that doing this will lessen the enforcers efficiency by 44%. We can bring that number up to 78% by stopping the elevator trains.”

“How can we do that?”

“I have a contact,” Cliff said. “Wouldn’t even be sabotage. Just regular old worker interference.”

“But doing all that won’t just make them leave, right?” Arcee said, digits steepled.

“They will leave, actually. I predict that these actions will result in a 98% chance of a full scale retreat.” Shockwave said.

“Why do I feel like there’s a but?” Megatronus rumbled, optics narrowed.

“Because I calculate with equal probability that their forces will regroup with Iacon’s on the surface, and return for a full scale assault. 67% chance that they bring the military as well.”

“They’ll crush us!” Ratchet exclaimed.

“My bots could take ‘em.” Megatron cracked his knuckle-rotors. “We’d only have to do it once to prove the point.”

“Possible,” Shockwave said, “but not necessary. I discovered something in… before I was a businessmech.”

He only stopped short of talking about his time in construction, Orion was sure. Wouldn’t do to broadcast that anymore than it was for Orion to broadcast his past. He was glad one of them was being smart about it.

“I found an intricate system of mechanics around the entire border of Kaon. Old. My hypothesis is that it dates back to Quintessons War.”

“What is it?”

“After some study, I realized it was a defensive shield. A strong one too. Wouldn’t take much to repair it.”

“I get it!” Orion snapped his digits. “Once the enforcers retreat, we throw up the shield!”

“Precisely,” Shockwave said. His field threw out a small pulse of irritation at the interruption, but he was still smiling.

“Okay. Here’s what I’m thinking then,” Orion said, the prospect of a fully realized plan outweighing most of his anxiety. “Jazz, you, Arcee, and Elita, each of you lead an effort against the enforcers’ headquarters. Take Bee, and every small bot you can find. Keep it stealth as long as possible, but take some heavy hitters to keep the perimeter and intervene if things go sideways.

“Shockwave, you, Ratchet, and anyone else you think you need, go down and get that shield operational. You have until the enforcers pull out. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Shockwave tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll take Scrapper’s team.”

“Cliff, talk to your contact. Get those elevator-trains parked.”

“Got it.” Cliff gave a thumbs up.

“Soundwave?” He felt weird addressing the mech, who inclined his helm just fractionally. He’s a mech just like everyone else. So what if he can read my thoughts– oh right. Hi Soundwave. If he heard any of that, he didn’t react. “Can you manage comms? We’ll all be spread pretty far out. It’s likely that some of us will be too far out of range, but you can transmit, right?”

Sounwave nodded. “Signal range: thirty-thousand kilometers.”

Orion’s jaw just about dropped, and he wasn’t the only one. “That’s– that’s– you can comm anyone in Cybertron? Remotely?”

Soundwave only nodded again.

“Alright. You got comms then. Everyone, make sure to share your comm code with Soundwave before you leave. If you fall out of range, ping him and he’ll forward it.”

“What about me?” Ironhide asked.

“And me?” Megatronus said, almost sounding disappointed. “Unless you had something better in mind, I was thinking I could take my bots out and make sure the enforcers leave.”

Orion didn’t really like the way he said that. But it’s Megatronus. Silly. At any rate, he had other ideas. He shook his helm. “I actually did have something better in mind. Ratchet says if I go help with the enforcers’ headquarters with my injuries he’ll– and I quote ‘offline me himself if I’m sure I want to go to an early smelting.’” The mech in question was glaring daggers. “But that doesn’t mean I’m useless. Kaon’s going to need a lot of rebuilding and support after today. I want you and Ironhide to help me. We’re going to set up aid stations, and make plans to rebuild what needs rebuilding. Taking the FFFF full scale means full scale infrastructure.”

“And that’s why he’s the leader.” Cliff elbowed Arcee. 

“Orion, is that really the best idea right now?” Megatronus asked. “I think we need to be prioritizing security. Relief efforts won’t mean anything if the enforcers don’t get pushed out of Kaon.”

“I think we need to keep our approach as unaggressive as possible. We can have some bots on standby, but if this goes sideways, and your bots are out there, it’s likely someone will get hurt.”

“Yes. The enforcers.” Megatronus’s voice was rising. He caught himself, taking a quick vent. “Fine. I understand. How about a compromise? I take some of my bots out to keep an optic on things, but we won’t engage unless absolutely necessary.”

“To save lives.”

“To save lives,” Megatronus echoed back.

“Everyone got their assignments then?”

Bots all around the table nodded.

“Great. Everyone roll out. This starts now. Ironhide and Soundwave, gather bots to help the relief effort. I’ll meet you at the welcome center. Everyone else, you know what to do.” He let his field swell out as he stood, pulsing pride as the assembled bots got up and left with swift, steady steps. Cliff gave him a little salute as he passed, Elita gave a nod. He got a couple of waves. After a moment it was just him, Bee, and Megatronus.

“Yes, Bee?”

The bot looked a little nervous, but definitely less than he had in the past. He took a quick little vent. “I was wondering if I could change my assignment.”

“To what?” Orion let a palm rest on Bee’s shoulderplates, filling his field with calm, steady pulses.

“I want to rally the other cold-constructs to help with the relief efforts.” He rubbed the back of his neckcables. “They’re not ready to fight, or sneak, or anything else like that, but I’ve been talking to a lot of them, and a lot of them really want to help.” Bee chuckled, looking a little bashful. “To a lot of them– you’re their savior, I mean, you helped lead most of them out personally, and I… might’ve told them a few things about what you did for me, and what you’ve been doing down here, and well…” He couldn’t meet Orion’s optics. “They want to be just like you.” A long pause. “I… want to be like you.”

Orion’s spark pulsed equal parts terror and honor. He tried to let the latter of the two overtake his field. “Bee, I’m– I’m touched that you would say that, but… you– you don’t have to be like me.”

Bee’s face fell. “But I–”

Orion shook his helm. “I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to be like you. The things I’ve seen you do in your short few megacycles here– it’s more than some bots do in their entire millenia of functioning.” Orion poured every ounce of pride he had into his field. The bot was so strong, climbing servo over servo up a trash chute out of the darkness with his processor in pieces– even then knowing and wanting something more for himself, and the kin he never even got to know.

“Orion.” Bee looked ready to cry, optics going all shiny with solvent. “I–”

Orion knew what he wanted. He opened his arms.

Bee dove forward into them, wrapping Orion in a tight hug, and now he was crying, but unlike the time with the twins, his field was flicking out shiny peels of happiness. After a long klik, Bee finally pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his servo.

“You go get the cold-constructs. Meet us at the welcome center as soon as possible. Anyone who wants to help, okay?”

Bee nodded, his expression morphing into determination, before he darted off. Orion finally turned to Megatronus.

“You handled that well,” Megatronus said.

“I was just telling him the truth. Anyone could do the same.”

“No. They couldn’t Orion.”

Orion rolled his optics. “You’re not about to get all praisy on me too, are you?”

Megatronus huffed. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Between Bee and me, only one of us has seen you overcharged enough to just about purge.”

Orion laughed, loud and easy. Despite the engex, he remembered it crystal clear. The buzz of the bar, talking Megatonus’s audial off, warm plating against his on the walk home. “That was a great night.”

Megatronus smiled softly. “It was.” He sounded sad.

Orion wanted nothing more than for that bittersweet edge to soften. He imagined reaching out, taking Megatronus’s servos in his own, pulling him in, and–

He blinked the thought away, before brightening with a new idea. “Let’s go out tonight!”

Megatronus quirked a brow. “Out?”

“Yeah! After today we won’t have to sneak around anymore–” okay that sounded wrong. “My point is, after we free Kaon, we can just go to a normal bar and have a normal time.” He beamed. “Just like the old days.”

“You say that like we’re old timers or something. That was only a little more than a gigacycle ago.”

He shrugged “Felt longer with you gone, I guess.” Maybe a little too vulnerable. Megatronus hadn’t said anything about that comm message when he thought he was going to die. I love you. Why hadn’t Megatronus said anything? Why hasn’t Orion said anything??

“Was too busy killing things and getting the scrap beaten out of me to think about the time, I believe.”

Orion frowned. “Right.”

Megatronus barked a laugh. “At least you’re not needlessly apologizing anymore.”

Orion’s frown only deepened. He couldn’t make optic contact. All that suffering… it could’ve been avoided if–

He startled when a digit gently tipped his chin up. “Orion, look at me.” He did so. Megatronus was so close.

“Your processor is going a thousand kilometers a klik, thinking of all the ways you could’ve saved me, but it’s not necessary.” He let his servo drop from Orion’s chin. “You already did.”

“I didn’t do anything, Megatronus. You saved yourself.” He turned his helm again, whispering, “you’re stronger than me.”

“Physically. That’s all.” He gave Orion’s shoulderplate a compassionate pat.

Soundwave pinged both of them.

“Some subordinate, telling me what to do,” Megatronus grumbled.

“You should consider relinquishing your deal with him,” Orion said.

“Why?” Megatronus tilted his helm. “Did he do something?”

“No, no. I mean, you escaped the Pits. You should set him free.”

Megatronus’s intake flattened into a line. “You have your bots, I have mine, and I don’t particularly trust mine to stay in line without a little hierarchy.”

“Maybe after we take Kaon? You’ll consider it?”

“Maybe after we end functionalism, how about that?”

“So I guess you don’t think the cause is impossible anymore?”

“Why else would I be here?”

“Camaraderie?”

“You and your ideals.”

Orion punched his arm lightly. “Bots here actually like my ideals.”

“Shows what they know.”

“Hey!”

Megatronus laughed. “Kidding.”

“Ah, I see.” Orion tapped nervously across his thigh. “We shouldn’t keep Soundwave waiting.”

Megatronus scowled. “I hate when you’re right.”

“You do?” He was pretty sure he was joking again.

“Not really.”

Orion smirked, looping his arm in Megatronus’s own, tugging him to the door. “Walk and talk?”

“Now there’s a good idea.”

Orion beamed.

*

Kaon was theirs by next morning’s light, and Orion got to enjoy it on the surface. Everything went to Shockwave’s plan, of course. There wasn’t a single casualty among their own, and for that, Orion was infinitely grateful. There was one skirmish between Jazz’s squad and the enforcers defending their HQ, but they’d gotten the retreat order before the fight could break out in earnest. Orion would’ve paid money to see the enforcers’ faces when the shields went up. Too bad he’d had to spend all the excitement at their own HQ fielding orders with Soundwave.

Now he was directing Scrapper’s crew towards the damage from the initial riots, watching as Arcee and Cliff handed out energon to the needy. It warmed Orion to the core.

Or it would’ve.

Megatronus was still unaccounted for. Soundwave had gone after him.

And now neither were responding.

*

Megatron ripped the Pit’s main door off its hinges with one purposeful wrench. The fight was over. Soundwave was pinging him updates. Megatron flicked them off his HUD as quickly as they popped up.

In the end they hadn’t needed him or his gladiators. That was a good thing, so why did it fill him with empty rage? 

So he’d sent his bots back to base, and gone to the Pits, because something had been bothering him since his escape, and he had to know.

His steps echoed strangely in the space, so used to the cry of an audience as he strode across the arena floor. No more. No audience, no spotlight, no spitting opponent.

No Declaron.

Not on his suspended platform, still swinging ominously above, or on the floor, where he’d fallen and lain still.

It had been too much to hope that the mech would stay dead.

The very thought of him out there, walking whole, free, after all he’d done. After the way he’d pressed Megatron to the floor, and owned him like a cyber-animal–

A pede alighted somewhere behind Megatron. He whirled around, fists balled, stance ready.

Soundwave stopped in his tracks, taking up a non-threatening position. Megatron relaxed, but couldn’t stop his irritation from surfacing. “I was going to come back.”

“Orion: would not stop asking your location.”

“Didn’t mean you had to come looking.”

“Megatron: was not answering comms.”

Megatron crossed his arms. Even without inflection, Soundwave’s words made him sound infantile. “Tell Orion I’ll be back soon.”

“Affirmative.” 

The two stood silently for a moment. Any other bot would’ve asked what the hell Megatron was doing. Soundwave never would. Megatron could stand there in the Pit’s arena for cycles, and Soundwave would remain, still, impassive, waiting for an order, or a dismissal, or maybe an explanation.

Above all, if the mech was judging, he sure wasn’t showing it.

“Do you know where Declaron is?”

Soundwave tilted his helm. “Declaron: one level up, in his habsuite.”

Megatron didn’t bother asking how he knew. Probably heard him from all the way down here. “Lead the way.”

*

There was a private elevator between the Pits and the next level. Soundwave tore the access hatch away, then bowed slightly to let Megatron pass first.

Neither mech spoke for the first half of the ride up. The lift was slower than a usual elevator train. The timer on the wall indicated it was going to take nearly ten kliks. For five of those, they remained in steely silence. Megatron hardly noticed, the anger in his lines slowly ratcheting up to a boiling rage. He clenched his servos against it. He wasn’t a gladiator anymore. He didn’t need to let himself be ruled by anger.

Only that wasn’t true, was it? For every Declaron dethroned, there were twenty more waiting in the wings. He was just a cog in a horrible machine. Being free from Declaron didn’t mean freedom.

So he kept his anger close, and focused on it instead of what he was planning to do when he did see Declaron again.

“Query: plan?”

It was a neutral question that belied a deeper concern.

“Soundwave, have you really been staying out of my processor?”

The mech went even stiffer than usual at the question. “Occasional lapses: unavoidable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Thoughts: loud. Ignoring them: difficult, but becoming easier with practice.”

“Is it possible to completely ignore them?” 

A pause.

“Negative. To be unable to hear them, would have to relinquish entire ability.” His digits pressed together, thumb and pointer, the only indication of his stress. “That outcome: not personally desirable.”

“Keep it,” Megatron scoffed. “As long as you were serious about leaving my mind alone.”

“I swore.” Soundwave said, leaning forward slightly, voice almost pressed. He seemed to realize himself, leaning back into a neutral position. “Additionally, I… come to respect… your vision.” It was probably the most expressive he’s ever heard the mech. “Hearing your thoughts, I understand. And I stand beside you, of my own volition.” His visor flashed a deeper red. “Functionalists: require termination.”

The lift trilled, and the doors parted, revealing a foyer. What a luxury, having a personal elevator between one’s place of work and their habsuite. What luxury to have a habsuite.

Megatron crept into the room, Soundwave ghosting behind him.

.:Where is he?:. Megatron commed.

.:One floor up:.

Megatron nodded once, taking the indicated path. The habsuite was just like Declaron, black, gold, and silver, gaudy with excessive ornamentation. There were framed images of himself all about, on the announcer’s platform, on turbofox hunts, a couple of portraits, and lots of him shaking servos with the rich and powerful. They continued silently up the stairs, coming face to face with a mounted helm on the landing.

.:Is that…:.

.:Slagbyte: champion before me, affirmative:.

Megatron let the disgust ripple out from his field. This probably would’ve been him someday if he’d stayed.

.:That doesn’t seem legal:.

.:Prisoners and gladiators: not classified as people. Mounting: legal:. A short pause .:But distasteful:.

Megatron snorted lightly. They reached the second floor. Soundwave pointed down one of the corridors. They entered the indicated room, and there he was. Declaron was on his berth in recharge, a cable hooked into one arm, the faint hint of medical hanging in the air. Must’ve been recovering from his tumble, or whatever else had happened during the revolt. Megatron didn’t care. He was much more fixated on Declaron’s other arm, under which a lithe mech was recharging.

.:Declaron has a conjunx?:. He didn’t bother hiding his surprise– or his alarm. This hadn’t factored into his plans. Not that he really had any.

.:Negative:. Soundwave commed back. The smaller mech stirred, blearily rubbing his optics, blinking once, twice, then stretching wide with panic.

“Who are– what are– Declaron!” He shouted, shaking the other awake. 

Declaron bolted upright, before recognizing the situation. He opened his intake, closed it, then opened it again. “How the hell did you get in here? How’d you get past my guards?” His voice was rising with fear. The air was saturated with his terrified field. Megatron basked in it, taking one threatening step forward. Declaron yelped, shuffling back on the berth. He tipped over the edge, falling to the floor with a clang. The medical line popped free.

“Don’t hurt me!” The lithe mech squealed, backing up off the berth, flattening to the wall. “I’m just a cortesian!”

Ah, that made more sense. He glanced at Soundwave. He nodded, confirming the claim. “Go.” Megatron pointed over his shoulder towards the door. The mech slid across the wall a little until he had no choice to break off. He bolted for the door, quick on his pedes like Megatron might change his mind and reach out for him. He didn’t, and the mech’s pedesteps quickly faded down the hall.

.:Cortesian: likely to summon guards:. Soundwave commed.

Megatron turned back to Declaron. He still didn’t know what he was planning, only that it had to be quick.

“So– so what?” Declaron sputtered, forcing himself up to his pedes. “You’re mad? You’re here to kill me?”

Megatron only realized with those words, that that was exactly what he was intending to do. He took another step forward, slowly circling the berth. “Yes.”

“No, no, no, no, no– you– you can’t. You– guards!” He shouted, making a break for the door. Megatron grabbed him easily by the arm, yanking him back and throwing him against the wall. He scrambled to his pedes, turning to the closest window and trying to pry it open. It didn’t budge. He whirled around just in time for Megatron to catch him by the throat, lifting him by the neckcables. His voicebox went staticy under his palm, words coming out garbled. His two servos came around Megatron’s wrist, trying to hold himself aloft in the grip. He was begging, Megatron realized. “–Anything, I’ll give you anything. You want shanix? I have lots in that safe! Power? Hey– we can be friends now, just please–!”

Megatron tightened his servo.

Declaron straddling him, his servo gripping his chin hard enough to dent, electricity coursing through his lines.

Humiliation scoring every strut, leaving its sickly trail through his entire frame.

Orion had seen him at his most desperate, and all of Kaon had seen him close to death.

Only one mech had seen him at his lowest.

He squeezed even harder, Declaron’s neckcables groaning under his grip. The flow of energon to his processor was long since cut off, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t dying fast enough. Megatron brought up his other servo, claws splayed- claws Declaron had put on him, and drove it into Declaron’s chassis, pushing through the metal like it was cheap tin. The mech sputtered under his grasp, his vocalizer spitting pain. His press forward was slowed when he hit the solid sphere of a sparkchamber, but he didn’t stop. Not when he felt his spark's yellow light nipping at his digits, not when its hectic spin started to writhe beneath him, not when Declaron screamed like a wounded cyber-animal.

Five digits drove into the dying radiance of his lifeforce, shattering it into a million fragments. Declaron’s optics blazed neon, and then they flickered offline. His servos stopped their mad scrabble against Megatron’s wrist. His frame went limp, already starting to gray at the edges.

Without Declaron’s struggle, the room was deathly silent. No guards. Maybe the courtesan was smarter than he looked.

He pulled his servo from Declaron’s chassis with a sickly wet noise. Energon smattered across the floor, and he let the frame drop into a cluttered heap. He’d been expecting– hoping, that he would feel something in watching the mech crumple, even the tiniest thing like zipping thrill up his lines, like with Darkwing, or Overlord. He’d even take horror at his own actions, disgust at the energon drenching his servos, seeping into every seam.

The grayed metal didn’t even register as a body anymore. He stared at it, and felt nothing at all.

“Recover shanix?” Soundwave tilted his helm towards a painting on the opposite wall. A safe?

Megatron didn’t really want to. That money felt dirty. He wanted nothing of Declaron’s, even as he knew it was exactly these kinds of impractical thoughts that needed to be stamped out.

“We earned him that shanix.” He strode over, ripping both the painting, and the safe door off the wall. “Might as well take what’s ours.”

Soundwave took the portion that was handed to him, storing it in his limited remaining subspace.

“Is that going to bother your cassettes?”

Soundwave shook his helm. “Negative. Cassettes: thank you for the allowance.”

Megatron stared blankly.

“They jest.”

Megatron snorted, starting down to the lift with his portion. “Do they usually get an allowance?”

“Negative. Shanix: too scarce. However, occasionally, before Pits: Affirmative.”

They entered the elevator once more.

“What were you before the Pits?” Megatron asked. “Military? Like the others?”

“Negative. I was… alone… for some time. Outcast for unusual abilities.” He placed a servo over his subspace. “Ravage: found me on the streets. We found others.” His visor flashed darkly. “Cybertron: not safe for minibots, animal-builds.”

Megatron could imagine. Orion had told him about the shops on the surface, hocking this and that, and living minibots to do their master’s bidding.

“We’ll make it safe,” Megatron said, his servo curling into a tight fist. Declaron’s energon cracked where it was starting to dry on his rotors. Safe for the cassettes, for outliers, for the miners, and other workers. Safe for himself.

Safe for Orion, and his dreams.

“And I will help you.” Soundwave said, conviction flowing out of his field, steady, unwavering.

It perfectly matched his own.

 

Notes:

noooo bbg don't lose yourself to ur hatred/anger/humiliation ur so sexy ahaaa.. (rubs my little hands together like a supervillain)
Also not Jazz hacking and torturing Prowl lmaooo. Heck of a first meeting, huh? I write this shit as a JazzProwl shipper btw. Not gonna get into how their relationship progresses from there in this fic– wouldn’t be adverse to writing one just about them in this continuity I got. I really just want to get across that these two are basically willing to do whatever it takes for their cause– and show why they might not be so keen on sharing with OP again in the future. Prowl gets that though. That’s why their whole *thing* will work, despite the insane first meeting lmao.

Chapter 15: Small Victories

Orion pinged Megatronus and Soundwave for the fiftieth time. He’d gotten the single message from Soundwave .:Megatron: back soon:. But without any further explanation, it had done little to sooth his peace of mind.

No answer.

He plastered a fake smile on his face, continuing to pass out energon to the steady stream of bots. They were going to run out soon. Luckily, Bee and Jazz had already scouted out a few more warehouses of the stuff. They’d be back in business the next solar-cycle. They’d even strong-armed the right city officials into agreeing to help— after they’d assured them they weren’t planning anything insane, of course.

“I can take over again,” Arcee said, slipping into the empty seat next to Orion at the stand.

Orion thanked her and stood, shaking out a couple of his joints, stiff from sitting so long. He probably should’ve said no to Arcee’s offer. Handing out energon was the only thing keeping him from properly worrying about Megatronus.

Megatronus, and Soundwave, and– oh slag. Alpha Trion and Magnus had to be wondering about him. Even if they hadn’t heard about the disaster at C-12, they would definitely notice when he missed work in about a cycle.

He walked along Kaon’s surface. It was much more luxurious than any of its lower levels, but wasn’t quite the shining beacon Iacon was either, glinting– taunting in the distance past the defensive shielding. Where Iacon was all white and gold elegance, glittering glass towers, Kaon was moulded of strong iron beams, thick slabs of cement, plastered with neon signs. Iacon was undeniably beautiful, but Kaon was beautiful in its own way. Iacon often felt overwhelmingly impassive— stripped of personality. Kaon was anything but, like a living breathing being of its own.

He sidled up to a balcony that overlooked the gaping maw of the undercity. There were few places a bot could see all the way down the peeling layers. It reminded him of the geodes he’d occasionally find and crack open while mining. He remembered when those had been novel, their glimmering shifting insides belying their gray exterior.

It reminded him of Megatronus.

Megatronus…

He pinged the mech for the fifty-first time. When he got his servos on the bastard–

.:On your six:.

Orion whipped around to find Megatronus walking towards him, stride long, expression casual as anything. 

“I was worried about you, you aft!” Orion marched over, servos clenched by his sides. His relief was only outweighed by his anger, hanging heavy in his field. “I thought you were offlined or something!”

Megatronus quirked a brow. “I can guarantee you, if I were to be offlined, it wouldn’t be quietly.”

“Like that makes me feel better.”

“It should,” the mech shrugged. “Wouldn’t you rather know about it?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t offline at all!” Orion threw his servos in the air, turning on his pede back to the balcony. He leaned his elbows on the rail, scrubbing his face. Hot air rose in soft bursts from the massive hole, the opening a vent to cool Kaon’s underbelly. He let Cybertron’s breath dance across his frame.

He felt Megatronus sidle up beside him, his field gently brushing against his. He could feel its soft waves try to smooth out Orion’s own crackling pulses. An apology, in a way.

Orion scowled, pulling his field in. He wouldn’t accept it. Even if he wanted nothing more than to sink into the grounding presence. 

“I’m sorry,” Megatronus said. “I wasn’t thinking, okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Better. Orion let his frame relax fractionally, but nothing more. “Where were you, anyway?”

Megatronus didn’t answer for a while. His field fizzed a little. Orion could already tell he wouldn’t like the answer.

A klik passed, and Orion had to wonder if he was even going to get one.

“I just needed to clear my processor. That’s all. It’s been… a change, leaving the Pits, working with you all.” Orion finally looked at him. He was staring out into the distance, red optics cycling with an intensity he was quickly growing used to. He too had his elbows leaning on the balcony, his chin resting on a servo. “It’s like another world, Orion. I realize it really hasn’t been that long, but… but I can tell my very coding has changed since starting in there.” His other servo came down to rest on the balcony’s railing, gripping it tight. “It changed me.”

Orion didn’t say anything. Megatronus wasn’t done. He waited.

Finally, that piercing gaze swung around, locking on Orion. His optics were blazing crimson, the white rings of his irises dilating as they focused on him. Orion didn’t find anger, or scrutiny there. Those optics looked sad. 

They looked scared.

“I think I’m losing myself, Orion.”

“No…” Something in Orion broke. His field flowed from him of its own accord, as he took an easy step forward, wrapping his arms around Megatronus’s middle. His nose stung with unshed tears. Distantly he was aware of the other’s surprise washing over him, and then those large servos coming around to hug him back. “You’re hurting, but you’re still you.” Megatronus didn’t respond– didn’t seem to hear him. “You listening?” He pulled his helm back from where it rested at the bottom of the other’s chest to find those optics. He brought a tentative servo up to the wing on the side of his helm. Megatronus flinched back. Orion stopped short.

“I’m sorry,” Orion whispered, more mouthed than said, pulling his servo back. Megatronus caught it in his own before it could fully retreat. Contact points met. The depth of Megatronus’s emotion was a writhing, struggling thing. Somewhere beneath, stirring up the storm, cold conviction warred with self-hated, shame, loathing. It broke Orion’s spark.

“How could you think that about yourself?” Orion squeezed Megatronus’s servo meaningfully, pushing every ounce of sincerity across the connection. “You’re strong. Stronger than any bot I’ve ever known. But more than that, you’re not whatever monster you think you are. You had to do some things that you’re ashamed of, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Apologizing again?”

A laugh was forced from Orion’s chest, raw and mirthless. “Yes. I suppose I am.” He let his helm rest against Megatronus’s middle again. “You’re a good mech.”

“I’ve killed people, Orion.”

“Those days are behind you. You won’t have to kill again.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Orion pulled back again at that, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“This revolution is far from over. There will be more killing.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be the one doing it.”

“It’s us or them.”

Orion shook his helm. “It may feel that way, but in the end, we’re all just bots. We need to stay true to our ideals, and work to turn as many as possible to recognize them.”

“Ever the optimist.”

“What can I say? I’m a cube-half-full kinda mech.”

Megatronus chuckled, finally sounding less burdened. His field reflected that, those ragged edges mellowing, a shaky contentment reigning. Orion wanted to stay clinging to Megatronus for longer, but he could rapidly sense his reason for doing so disappearing. A selfish part of him wished Megatronus had stayed upset long enough for him to enjoy this.

He disengaged, taking a small step back to study Megatronus’s face properly. His optics were shimmering faintly with building solvent– tears. He had a small smile on his lips, appearing less confident for the aggravated lines under his optics. He looked tired.

“I was going to say we should go for that drink now that Kaon’s free, but honestly, you look ready for recharge.” Orion said.

“Oh please,” Megatronus scoffed. "I didn’t even get to fight anyone. We’re going for that drink.”

Orion beamed. He was hoping Megatronus would say something like that. He briefly contemplated asking the others if they wanted to join. It would be the right thing to do. After all, they’d won this thing together, but when he flicked his optics to the comms on his HUD, he found himself seized. It was selfishness, he realized belatedly, but maybe he deserved a little, just the smallest bit.

He grabbed Megatronus by the servo, dragging him off down the street to one of the surface bars Jazz had recommended. He spared only a moment to let command know to expect his absence. Hopefully they’d find their own way to celebrate. He commed as much, and then muted the whole message board, resting his full attention to the mech behind him. The responding smile set his spark ablaze.

*

Maccadam’s was every bit as good as Jazz had described. The bots patronizing the place were definitely closer to the upper-caste side, but not as potently as Orion had worried for the surface. He even saw a couple working-class bots, and a couple miners from the FFFF celebrating the victory. Orion waved when they noticed him, but didn’t stop to talk. Luckily, they didn’t try to come up to him either.

Orion led Megatronus up to the bar, taking two seats by the window. He could make out Iacon’s border from where they sat, only about a city-block from the establishment. They both took up their menus. Orion spent a few kliks reading over, trying to parse what was sweet, and what wasn’t. It wasn’t any easier than navigating Trailbreaker’s. These menus all assumed he knew what these things were supposed to taste like. It irked him.

Megatronus bumped his shoulder with his own. “What do you think I’ll like from here?”

Orion scanned the menu anew, still finding nothing familiar. He flagged down the bartender, a small orange femme.

“Excuse me, would you mind telling me a bit about what’s good here?” Orion asked, flashing a winning smile.

“First time at Maccadam’s?” She asked brightly. “Lucky you. We have the best fuel selection on all of Cybertron. Let me guess,” she rapped her digits on the countertop. “You should have the honeysuckle,” she pointed at Orion, “and you,” she turned to Megatronus, “ah! I got just the thing.” She disappeared somewhere below the counter.

The two exchanged a look. Orion hadn’t even been able to get a word in. He shrugged. “Worst case scenario, it doesn’t taste good and we try something else.”

“You’ll like it!” The femme popped back up with two sloshing drinks. The golden-brown one winking at him under the barlights looked delicious. “Satisfaction guaranteed or your shanix back.” She plopped them on the counter. The gold one was for him.

“Thank you–”

She whisked away to help another patron before he could get her name.

“Well?” Megatronus took his drink up in hand, raising it. His was a deep red color, almost black where light didn’t dance through it.

Orion raised his too. “What should we toast to?”

“Hmm,” Megatronus hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose, to the movement?”

Orion considered this. “How about… to the future?

Megatronus smiled. “To the future then.”

Their cubes clinked brightly. Even with the din of the bar and its many patrons, it was easy to let them all fall away until it was only Megatronus there in front of him. He took a sip. The flavor was different than anything he’d ever had before, better too, warm and sweet, and much smoother than even triple-filtered. He couldn’t stop the happy sigh that escaped him. He was aware of Megatronus watching over the rim of his cube, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Good then?” Megatrons asked.

Orion flicked his shoulder. “Try yours.”

Megatronus did so, starting to roll his optics, before the taste hit his receptors. Orion didn’t have to feel the bloom of his field to know it was good.

“Wow,” Megatronus said, inspecting the drink with raised brows.

“Can I try?” Orion wiggled his digits.

“You won’t like it.” Megatronus passed the glass over, gesturing for Orion’s own. They swapped.

Orion took a small sip. The drink burned more than his own, harsh bitterness mellowed by the smallest hint of something sweetly sour. “Wow.” He said, disgust clear in his voice.

“Told you,” Megatronus laughed. They swapped back. Orion took a quick draw from his cube, washing away the taste. “I don’t know how you drink that,” Megatronus said. “It’s sickly.”

“And I don’t know how your intake doesn’t go raw from whatever that is.”

“Guess we’re just different people,” Megatronus said, taking another sip.

“But not too different, right?”

Megatronus looked at him strangely, before smiling. “No. Never.”

*

A few cycles later, and Megatron was somewhere contentedly past tipsiness. He’d felt the comfortable buzz he was used to only a few kliks after finishing the first drink. A few more– the bartender brought them something different every time, and he was– wow, he might actually be drunk, he realized distantly. Never been that before. Not with the way most lower-level establishments cut their engex. That, combined with his own size, and infrequent patronage, was enough to guarantee he’d never gotten to this point in all his functioning. It was strange, the way the lights all shimmered. The music hummed in the background, blurred quite the same way as the swaying patrons. At any rate, the only thing in his sights was Orion.

He was animatedly describing what he liked most about Megatron’s latest poem. Maybe it was right, the way his spark spun faster with the analysis– the way Orion managed to understand exactly what he was trying to say.

 

Home

 

Cyber-ants march towards the cause

Straight little line held behind the spark

Helms kept forward note not the flaws

Homeward-bound in swallowed dark

 

“I ‘specially like that first part, cyber-ants march towards the cause. It gives the impression of militarism— military might, but juxta– what is it, juxtaposes it with cyber-ants. Weak, insignificant. Really, really clever.” The slur in Orion’s words had been steadily growing as the cycles slid by.

Megatron chuckled, hiccuping a little. “Catch the part about the–”

“The dark?” Orion blinked up at him brightly, like he expected marks for excellence. “Are they crawling home, or back into ignorance? Is ignorance comfort?” 

“Guess you did.”

“How’s the response been on the net?”

Megatron swirled his drink. This one was a deep turquoise. Kind of made him think about the wiper fluid the flight frames used on their cockpits for that extra shine between matches. Didn’t taste like how that stuff smelled though. He’d have to ask about the ingredients used for future reference. He had a feeling that the femme that’d been serving them wouldn’t be forthcoming, however. She kept darting away before he could ask her anything.

“Not much of a response, actually. I mean, it’s only a few poems. I wouldn’t expect them to get a lot of attention.”

“The work is good though. Like, really, really good.”

“Yes,” Megatron laughed, “you’ve said as much.”

“Like really, really, really good.”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

“What? You’ve gotten so popular that you snub your first fan?” Orion scoffed. “Megatronus! Megatronus!” he mimicked the shouts from the arena, only–

“They call me Megatron in there.”

“Shows what they know.”

Right. Because Megatronus was his real designation, wasn’t it? It was so odd, the way that he’d grown unused to the name. The only place it sounded at home was on Orion’s glossa. The FFFF bots used it too. They must’ve been hearing it as such this whole time, because Orion had been talking about him, if Cliffjumper was to be trusted. 

That had Megatron’s processes all tangled up like a match gone-wrong never could. He tried to wash it down with another harsh sip of his drink. It burned deliciously. Orion really had no taste.

“Hey, you’ve gone quiet.” Orion poked his flank. He flinched, but managed to reign the reaction in before anything else could come of it. Usually that would spawn a whole thing from Orion, the worries, and the double-guessing. He was glad to see that the engex had Orion skating over those micro-reactions. “Say, have you connected your writing persona to your gladiatorial persona?” Orion asked, tapping his chin. “I bet that would pull people in, at least enough for them to actually read the work. What do you think?”

“No. Absolutely not,” Megatron snapped.

“Aw, c’mon… why?”

“It’s not–” it’s not good, was what he wanted to say. Not ready, if he were being generous.

“Meh,” Orion said, as though he could hear Megatron’s thoughts. “You’ll always feel that way, at least, until you actually take the leap. 

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” Megatron swirled his drink again. He wasn’t quite as coordinated as he’d hoped. It sloshed dangerously close to the rim. “It’s important that I maintain authority over the gladiators. I’m not sure they’ll want to follow someone who—“

“Writes poetry?”

“Yeah.”

Orion scoffed, a little loud. “That’s ridiculous! Poetry is a powerful art form. It takes a forceful will, and a precise understanding of our language, and its connection to emotion. It takes a more than respectable amount of skill!”

“That’s just not how it’ll be seen. It’ll be… it’s stuff for upper-crusted weaklings.”

Orion raised a brow. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Hardly,” he waved a dismissive servo. “If you even were a true surface-bot, you’re far from weak.”

“I’m far from a poet, too.” Orion smiled behind his cube. “I just read the stuff.”

“But you do it so well,” Megatron drawled.

“However, I must cede this particular arena to you, Megatronus,” he said, inclining his helm. “Truly, the student has become the master.”

His tanks sloshed a bit at that. The words, the accompanying reverence in Orion’s voice— his field. He said all those things, and he meant them completely. 

The master.

Something ugly reared its helm at the word, at the deference given. Soundwave’s deferential bow, Overlord, under him. Declaron’s throat compressing beneath his palm. Fuschia and a swirling cyan spark chamber glistening in his servos.  

Where the hell did that come from?

The urge, wriggling and cancerous, to rip something apart, surged to the forefront of his mind. To gain, is to take. Gaining without taking, taking without violence—

Orion’s big optics blinked up at him, shining blue like the sky he’d gotten to see that solar-cycle for the very first time. There’d been nothing to compare those optics to down the layers. The closest being the neon signs that dotted the streets, indicating cheap interface and cheaper engex— maybe those special blue crystals among pink energon, the extra potent strains— but even those were not a perfect match. He only understood those optics standing out under the open sky, seeing the real sun stretch its light across Cybertron’s atmosphere, photons being scattered by the gas matter.

No taking. No violence. Megatron gained because Orion gave. This wasn’t the Pits anymore. He didn’t have to fight.

He only needed to ask.

*

They stumbled back down to FFFF headquarters together, Megatron trying his best to take point and lead them home. The whole swirling experience reminded him– with some small amount of fondness, of the end of their outing to Shocky’s so long ago.

There were some noted improvements though. For starters, no more enforcers meant no more checkpoints. They made it down to the ruins in a third of the time. Second was that Orion had graduated from simply leaning against Megatron’s arm for stability, and Megatron no longer felt pressed to keep his touches from lingering. Orion hadn’t said anything otherwise, after all. He’d have to trust he’d say something if he was uncomfortable, and besides, he really doubted it would be an issue.

I love you.

That particular phrase liked to pop into his foreground processing at the most inconvenient times. Just then, Orion was neatly tucked under his arm, part of Megatron’s own attempt to keep Orion from stumbling off the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic. The mech in turn had wound an arm around Megatron’s much bigger one, pulling the limb in close, letting the length of it rest against his chassis. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it, damn the mech.

I love you.

Some kind of response– an acknowledgement– a request to visit the topic, rested heavy on his glossa. The words desperately wanted to burst from his intake in a grasping, disorganized jumble. He felt his chassis tight with the unsaid admission– that those three tiny words had impacted him so fiercely. 

“Orion.”

The mech in question leaned back to look him in the optics. It only brought his arm into firmer contact with glossy red plating. Less glossy now thanks to battle damage. Maybe Orion could teach him to buff the way he liked. He’d been getting better at maintenance in the Pits. He could–

“Yes, Megatronus?”

What the hell did you mean by that? I love you. What did you mean? Were you simply scared? Desperate to leave your mark? Were you hopeless, grasping for whatever words you had left? Did you even think about how it would affect me?

Megatron violently shunted all of that into background processing. Could probably make great material for a new poem, but for now–

“Can I teach you to spar? For self-defence?” was all he could force past his lips. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, not even close to what he needed to air, but for the time being, it was the best he could do.

“C’mon Megatronus, you know even with all the training on Cybertron I wouldn’t stand a chance against you.”

Megatron blew air from his vents. “I know that. It’s not about winning. It’s about self-defence– holding off your enemy long enough so that I can show up.”

Orion mocked a swoon. “My knight in shining plating. Should I expect you to always be close by in case I’m in trouble?”

The immediate answer Megatron’s processor provided was ‘yes.’ Instead, Megatron scowled, “so that someone can show up. One of my gladiators should always be in range. Even your bots seem mostly capable,” he admitted with no small amount of annoyance. C-12 shouldn’t have gone that bad. “Will you let me teach you to spar, or not?”

Orion’s bubbling laughter cut through his irritation like oilcake. “Yes. Of course, Megatronus. I would be honored.”

And the way he said it was so painfully earnest.

“That the champion of Kaon would personally train little old me–”

“Don’t push it.”

Orion flashed a slag-eating grin, but it did nothing to wipe that glimmering honest excitement from his optics.

*

Orion was practically stumbling over himself as they finally walked through the welcome center. Somewhere between the– how many cubes had he had? He lost count somewhere after five– five cubes of engex, and the thirty klik walk, Orion was mostly sober, but exhausted. He barely even registered the place he was still linked to Megatronus. How delightful, walking Kaon’s freed streets arm in arm with Megatronus. It was like he’d offlined and gone to that promised and perfect after the religious had spouted about.

Regardless, he was ready to fall face-first into his berth, only–

He jolted fully awake. Right. His berth was all the way up on Iacon’s surface, the one place he was definitely barred from. Even without the shields, Prowl knew who he was. It was only a matter of time before some kind of warrant was out for his arrest. Jazz had said as much.

At least he could finally take comfort knowing exactly where he belonged.

Sighing, he opened and unmuted his comm board.

Oh, wow. He had not been expecting to find that many unanswered messages. He scrolled down on his HUD. He’d, of course, been expecting the polite answers after he told them where he was going, but that had been cycles ago. Just about every member of the command team had pinged him at least once. Somewhat urgently too. What the hell?

He opened the comm with Cliffjumper .:Hello?:.

Cliff’s response was swift, and sent immediate pain lancing through his processor. .:Get to the command building ASAP!:.

Orion acknowledged this, pointedly ignoring his frame’s own incessant pinging that he recharge. Hadn’t he gotten enough sleep when he’d been getting his knee-rotor fixed?

“Megatronus,” he tugged on the mech’s arm. “There’s something going on. We need to get to the command center.”

Megatronus gave a sharp nod and sped up his pace. “Soundwave says as much as well.”

Orion broke into a jog to keep up, feeling as though all the engex was burning out of his lines. Didn’t stop him from tripping over nothing. Megatronus skidded to a stop, turning to make sure he was alright.

“You go,” Orion waved him off. “Tell them I’m coming.”

“Tell them yourself.” In one swift motion, Megatronus looped his arm around Orion’s midsection, picking him up like a sack of bolts. 

Orion squawked indignantly. “Put me down!”

In response, Megatronus only shifted his frame so that Orion was cradled in both arms instead of tucked under his side. Slightly better, but still.

Orion pointedly ignored the way the position brought him right up next to Megatronus’s face. He could feel his vents– only picking up slightly with the act of running, fluttering across his plating. He could smell his bitter high-grade from before. Tasted bad, felt correct dancing on his breath. Tasted bad, but maybe better if it was off Megatronus’s glossa, instead of from a cube–

He terminated that thread, and pulled his field close to his frame before any of those thoughts could be transmitted. Megatronus didn’t seem to notice. A klik later, and he slowed outside the command building. Thankfully, he righted Orion on his pedes before they walked in. All that talk of the importance of maintaining authority had been truthful. Megatronus knew how important it could be to present a dignified image.

Orion pushed aside another set of doors, Megatron just a step behind them, and they were in the command room. The entire team was assembled. Despite the late hour, not a single one of them looked anything less than hyper-present, the reason for which became immediately clear.

Orion snapped to complete sober and awake awareness in a matter of picokliks.

“Alpha Trion!” He walked right up, only distantly aware of the varying reactions from the assembled mechs. Some of them, like Cliff, and Arcee, knew about the connection, even if they were having a hard time integrating it visually into their reality matrices. Others, like Jazz, were very clearly mere nanokliks from having a full mental crash over what was happening.

“You– and he– the council– Alpha–” And then Jazz shut his intake, took a very deep breath, before slapping a pleasant– almost dumb smile across his face. “Would somebot care to explain why Orion and Alpha Trion know each other?” he said, oh-so-sweetly.”

“Alpha Trion is Orion’s friend, and former employer.” Magnus said, because yes, of course he was here too, and judging the whole situation if his emotionless voice was anything to go off of.

“Wait, former?” Orion asked, drumming his digits nervously against his thigh.

Alpha Trion nodded serenely. “I came to tell you in person, that unfortunately, you are now known as a high-profile member of the FFFF, and are being classified as an S-rank criminal, priority-alpha capture target.

“What about the others?” Orion asked. Whatever the council deemed him, he could bear it, but his friends…

“The enforcers have obviously managed to identify the gladiators, Cliffjumper, Arcee, Elita, and Ironhide, as well as several dozen other C-12 miners as conspirators.”

“But how?” Elita hissed. “We’re nobodies! Why would they care?”

“It woulda been easy to cross reference the C-12 logs with image captures of the protestors,” Jazz said. “I bet it was that damn tac-officer Prowl. He had captures of all of us. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m on that list of conspirators too.”

Alpha Trion shook his helm. “Not publicly, no.”

Megatronus sucked in a sharp vent behind him. “They know about Orion.”

“Yeah,” Elita huffed. “That’s the first thing he said. Were you even listen–”

“No,” Megatronus growled, and the deep rumble sent a sharp zip up Orion’s lines. “If they used the records, they know that Orion was once a miner.”

The room sobered at that. It would explain why they wanted Orion so bad while ignoring Jazz. They didn’t want to punish high-caste bots– but only the real ones were exempt.

“No,” Alpha Trion rumbled. His voice was almost soothing. “I erased all records of Orion Pax the miner. There is no way to find the truth unless one already knew.”

“I wouldn’t put it past the mech,” Jazz said darkly. “You haven’t been in his processor. You don’t know–”

“That’s enough, Jazz,” Elita snapped, servos on her hips. “It’s like you can’t go a nanoklik without singing the bot’s praises.”

Jazz held his ground for a long moment, brows knit, field rippling anger. It was almost laughable, the little media and culture mech with his hackles up, staring down the rugged miner like he could take a bite out of her.

And then the tension disappeared– like it’d never been there at all. Jazz straightened up, field retreating so fast it left a tangible vacancy, a happy harmless smile back on his face. “Just don’t want y’all to go underestimatin’ him. That’s all.” He plopped himself backward into a waiting chair, sprawling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“So that’s the news?” Orion said, trying to tear the conversation away from whatever that was. “We’re all wanted criminals, and I’m fired?”

“Not quite,” Alpha Trion said, stroking his chin. “I have it on good authority that the council is going to attempt to open negotiations for the, quote, release of Kaon, if they don’t find a way through these shields by the end of the megacycle.”

“Really?” Orion couldn’t stop the joy from seeping into his voice. Negotiations! What a world.

“So let me get this straight,” Megatronus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re saying they’ve essentially labeled us terrorists, but if they can’t kill said terrorists in seven solar-cycles, they will simply roll over and negotiate with us?”

“I’d hardly describe it as ‘rolling over,’” Magnus muttered.

“Ultra Magnus is correct,” Alpha Trion said. “Despite your clear victory, they will still view themselves in the position of power. They will be expecting massive concessions from you.”

“They’ll be looking to return us to the status quo,” Orion growled.

“Indeed.”

“We won’t let them,” Megatronus said, curling his servos into fists.

“Agreed,” Orion said, buoyed by Megatronus’s confidence. “We’d sooner keep the shields up indefinitely.”

Alpha Trion nodded, even as he said, “no. You cannot.”

Every gaze hardened at the statement.

“Your rations, I’m sure, are significant, but not infinite.”

“Excuse me, Alpha Trion, but you’re wrong,” Orion said. “This is Kaon. We have no less than five energon mines. In fact, two of them are still being run by cold-constructs we need to free.”

“And who will mine after you free them?” Alpha Trion’s intake was pulled into a tight grim line, but his curiosity seemed genuine.

“Are you suggesting we keep them down there?” Orion asked, horrified. He could see Bee’s plating flaring in his periphery.

“No,” Alpha Trion replied easily. “But it is a question you must consider. Once you’ve freed the laborers from the system, who will be left to get energon?”

“Whoever’s willing. Me, if necessary. I’d happily walk back down there with my excavator if it meant no bot would ever have to be forced again.”

“The problem wasn’t the job,” Ratchet said, a sharp edge in his voice. “It’s not pleasant, but it is necessary. I was a miner long before any of you newsparks took up the excavator. There was a time, stellar-cycles ago, when mining and labor across the board wasn’t classified the way it is now. Sure, it had always been seen as lesser work, but it wasn’t seen to be done by lesser bots. We worked five solar-cycles of the megacycle, for eight cycle shifts. We had better pay– well, the same pay, but shanix went further back then. Living in the barracks was something you did when you were new-sparked and had no savings. I had my own habsuite for vorns. I was happy.

“Then the worth of a shanix weakened, but our wages never increased. Lots of us took up more shifts to afford rent, or energon. Then the mining company offered us energon rations, and opened the barracks to all, rent free, and lots of us took them up on the offer. It seemed like a good idea. It seemed temporary. Only, we never did move out. We became required to put in more work for the same rations, and well… most of us here have lived it. If you can call that living.”

Ratchet stared off into the distance for a klik, brow furrowed, lost in thought, before he blinked back to awareness. “Ah. But my point is, the way things were before all of that, it wasn’t bad. I had a steady job with good benefits, and full safety measures. I had a habsuite of my own, and a vibrant community that stretched beyond the mines. That’s what we need to offer. That’s how we keep Kaon.”

“Everyone relies on energon. The wages need to be proportional to the service a bot provides,” Orion said.

He got back a bunch of scattered nods, Alpha Trion among them. The old mech actually looked pleased.

“Okay then,” Orion said, relaxing a little. “We have seven solar-cycles to prepare for negotiations.”

“We should also take extra precaution to make sure the shields stay up,” Shockwave said. “I have no doubts of their integrity, but we should have security around the controls, and some kind of survey of our borders.” He turned to Alpha Trion. “How did you two get past the walls?”

“That’s classified–”

Alpha Trion cut Magnus off. “There are tunnels beneath Kaon’s borders. Secret, long buried, for the most part.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Jazz asked.

“No,” Alpha Trion replied, voice thoughtful. “I’m one of very few aware of them.”

“But if the functionalists–”

“They won’t.” Alpha Trion’s tone left little room for argument. And then he stood. “I must return to Iacon now. There is a council meeting in less than two cycles. My absence will be questioned.”

“Wait!” Orion trailed Alpha Trion and Magnus out the door. “I was– I was kind of hoping you’d stay.” He tried not to sound too sad about the loss.

“Walk with me to the border, Orion Pax?” 

“I– yes. Of course,” Orion said.

“Alone.”

Orion turned sheepishly back to the rest of the command team, not far behind. Please? His expression hopefully read.

“We’ll begin discussing negotiations and border strength,” Shockwave said coolly, returning to the command room. Everyone else reluctantly followed. 

Everyone except Megatronus.

“I won’t be long,” he said, trying not to sound too desperate. 

Oddly enough, Megatronus’s gaze settled on Magnus. “If he comes to harm under your watch…”

Magnus didn’t rise to the threat, only inclining his helm in quiet acknowledgement. The trio left the building. Orion could feel Megatronus’s optics on his retreating backplates.

They walked in unsettled silence for several kliks, before Alpha Trion finally spoke. “You’ve been busy.”

Orion couldn’t tell if that was approval or disapproval lacing the mech’s tone. “Yes,” he replied, unsure of what else to say.

“You know why I cannot stay, correct?”

Not really. “Iacon needs you?”

“Harm reduction,” Alpha Trion responded. “Right now, I believe that Iacon has much more ability to hurt you, than you have to hurt them.”

Orion couldn’t help but feel insulted.

“That is not to say that I don’t think your cause could do irreparable damage to Cybertron.”

For the first time, true anger flashed through Orion at the mech. Magnus must’ve sensed it, because he bristled, but ground gained, he didn’t heft his weapon. 

“Irreparable damage? What kind of damage could we possibly bring about by pushing for our rights? Unless that is the damage.” He laughed mirthlessly, thinking all the way back to their first encounter. “You said you wouldn’t stop me when I fought functionalism.”

“I said no such thing. Only that I would help you become a great archivist.” He let silence linger. “But you are correct. That is what I meant, and I mean it still. I have no intentions of stopping you. Quite the opposite really.”

“Then you should join us,” Orion urged. “People respect you! Just think of what it would do– what kind of legitimacy it would lend to have Alpha Trion stand beside us in this fight! There are politicians that have lost entire careers standing against you. Imagine what you could do if you put up a real fight.”

Alpha Trion only shook his helm sadly. “Maybe, Orion Pax.” And then much more quietly, “but I fear that my time is coming to a close.”

“Sir!” Magnus said, servos splayed like he expected his charge to topple any moment.

“Wha– are you dying?” Orion asked, panic edging into his vocalizer. Was that what he meant?

“Not exactly, not yet.” And Orion could relax a bit at that, but it did little to sooth the undercurrent of tension all through his frame. “It’s just a feeling, and a truth. My joints ache all the time no matter what I do. There are days I wake up and my thoughts come slower. I was already old when I participated in the Quintesson War.” He let a heavy servo envelop Orion’s shoulder. “This isn’t my fight. And I say that from my own selfishness, my own observations across my functioning, and what I’ve seen just tonight.” He sighed. “It’s been too many solar-cycles of old selfish mechs dictating Cybertron’s course. You bots– you, Orion, are the future.” A pause. “And I’m tired. So, very tired.”

The border was coming up quickly. This deep down the layers, it appeared as a massive wall, gray, completely devoid of any decoration or personality. It rose up until it met the ceiling where the next layer began. Close to it as they were, Orion felt like he was trapped in a massive box.

“What will you do in Iacon?” Orion asked quietly. His words echoed oddly in the vast empty space.

“I will try and sway sympathy towards your cause. There are few high up– but not none, who believe in equal rights. For starters, I will try to bring those people together on the council. If we can provide a unified front against Proteus, Decimus, and Sentinel, we’ll have a much better chance of negotiating favorable terms for the FFFF.”

Orion didn’t like the thought of having to leave so much out of his servos, but if he trusted anyone to do this, it would be Alpha Trion. “Thank you,” he said. “And sorry for what I said before.” He had a hard time forcing his optics to meet the other’s. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You did,” Alpha Trion said, much to Orion’s shame. “But I do not begrudge it. My opinion of you, and my respect for you remain much the same.”

There’d been way too much talk of respecting Orion lately. It was starting to get under his plating, but he forced himself not to say anything, instead bowing his helm in deference.

“There’s no need for that, Orion Pax.”

Orion lifted his gaze once more. “When will I see you two again?”

“You will see me at the negotiations, I believe. But Ultra Magnus will be staying with you.”

“I will?” Magnus’s optics snapped wide. “But sir! I must remain by your side, especially since–”

“I’m not dying. Not yet, anyway.” His optics twinkled a little mischievously, before hardening. “Please remember what we discussed, Ultra Magnus. Remember why I need you here, and not by my side.”

Magnus looked utterly stricken. A hilarious expression on the mech, if it hadn’t hurt Orion to see. In the time they’d spent together, he firmly considered the mech his friend. He wasn’t sure if it would help, but he tried to project calm in his field. Calm, and maybe a little hope. He wanted Magnus by his side. He hadn’t thought it possible, but now…

“You’re asking me to defect from the security forces.” It was a statement, but it felt like a question. There was pain in Magnus’s voice.

Alpha Trion softened, those determined lines smoothing the smallest bit. “Yes. And I am asking. You don’t have to do it.”

“But if I didn’t… that would be a failure of my duties.”

“Yes.”

Orion wanted to protest that. If anything, refusal would be sticking to his duties. He wanted Magnus to stay, but not at the expense of the mech’s– not happiness, directive, maybe?

“You can’t ask him to do that,” Orion said. “I can’t–”

“I can,” Alpha Trion said, voice firm, but not unkind. “He knows his duties, and his loyalties. He has a choice, and it is between duty and his own comfort. Just not the way you think.”

He didn’t understand what he meant by that. All he could do was stand there between the ensuing staring contest. Bright white against cobalt blue. Kliks dragged by. Magnus’s optics cycled, faceplate twitching. Alpha Trion never wavered.

Finally, Magnus broke away, forcing air from his vents in a heated huff. He offlined his optics, helm tilted back, before they flickered back on, looking down at Orion, searching.

Maybe he found it. Magnus didn’t relax, but some of the tension leached from his field. “Very well.” He recomposed himself, resetting his vocalizer. “Orion Pax, I, Ultra Magnus of Iacon, accept my duty to protect you, with honor and pride. At the expense of my mind, frame, and spark, I swear to follow you always in service, to protect your ideals and dignity with the will and courage befitting.” He knelt, helm bowed. “If you will accept my oath.”

Orion could only stand with his intake hanging open– like an idiot. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that kind of declaration. Especially since–

“Isn’t that the oath of the Primes’ High Guard?”

Magnus went a little stiff at that. “Yes, I– ahem. Lost myself a little there.” He raised his helm. “But the sentiment remains the same.”

“Ultra Magnus has spoken. How do you respond, Orion Pax?”

The whole situation suddenly felt a whole lot more formal than he’d been expecting. He didn’t like seeing his friend like this.

He swallowed it down. “I accept. Thank you, Ultra Magnus.”

The mech in question rose back up to his full height.

“Soundwave graciously gave me his comm codes. I will contact you with any updates,” Alpha Trion said, then turned to the wall. He placed his servo on its rough surface, running it along the rusted gray metal, until he found what he was looking for. He pressed, and a bright rectangle glowed in the wall, just a meter taller than Ultra Magnus. He stepped back, and the rectangle recessed, and slid aside. A door, Orion realized. With one last nod to both of them, Alpha Trion disappeared past it. A moment later, and the door disappeared, as though it was never there.

Ultra Magnus stood stock still in the absence, before giving a curt noise of acknowledgement. He only turned back to base when Orion did so, following close, just as he said he would.

Orion smiled to himself, even as he felt a little guilty at being pleased. “I’ll want your opinions on the negotiations, Magnus. You’ll have a lot of insight into the minds of the Iaconian elite, I bet.

“Yes sir.”

Orion felt a jolt up through his systems at that. Leave it to Magnus to be stuffy about chain of command. He could tell even now that arguing the point would be a losing battle.

 

Notes:

Happy Valentine's Day lol

Chapter 16: Seekers and Self-Defense

Notes:

Officially passed 100k yowza!!! Never written anything this long before lol

Megatron didn’t have anything against Magnus, despite some of the things that the mech had said during their first meeting.

So why did the way the mech trailed Orion everywhere send him into a rage?

No, not a rage. He doesn’t rage. He wasn’t in the Pits anymore.

But he couldn’t deny that Magnus’s presence had been slowly wearing him down, and it’d only been two solar-cycles. Every meeting, every excursion, even when they were simply refueling together at the cafeteria, that blasted mech was there too, just at his heel, at his side, like some kind of massive shadow— or a turbo-hound.

“Megatron: upset?” Soundwave’s rumbling monotone echoed across the berthroom they shared. Like with everyone else, the FFFF had set up four bot recharge spaces for all of them. He had tried to let his bots squabble amongst themselves about who got what, but eventually that got too destructive– and quite frankly, irritating, and had Soundwave assign rooms. They were supposed to have two others in here with them, but none ever showed up. Whether that was Soundwave’s doing, or the refusal of said bots, he didn’t know, or deign to find out.

He suspected the former though. Doubly so with the way his cassettes quickly took over the extra space, like they were now. Soundwave had Ravage in his lap, stroking his helm gently. Laserbeak was roosting somewhere in the dark and battered rafters. Rumble and Frenzy were on the berth to the left, drawing crudely with some forgotten datapad. Soon they’d all retreat to Soundwave’s subspace for recharge, but more often than not, they liked to be out and about when they could. Megatron suspected that this arrangement was pretty normal back in the Pits. His presence was the only difference.

Orion now had a room down here too, barred from Iacon as he was. He pointedly hadn’t asked about that arrangement.

Probably shared a damn room with Magnus too.

He realized he’d never answered Soundwave’s question. “‘M fine.” He rolled on his side, trying in vain to let recharge claim him.

“Request: permission to make statement related to Megatron’s personal thoughts?”

It took a nanoklik for him to detangle the meaning of the question.

“You said you’d stay out of my mind.”

Ravage’s helm lifted from Soundwave’s knee, optics thin slits, like he was worried about how Megatron would react.

“Megatron: thinking very loudly about deactivating Magnus.”

He should’ve felt anger at that, but he just couldn’t bring himself to refute it, and he couldn’t hear any judgement in Soundwave’s monotone. It wasn’t an accusation, just an observation.

“What of it, Soundwave?”

“Recommendation: ask Orion to share company, alone.”

Could it really be that simple?

Megatron grunted, deciding to give the recommendation some thought.

“Boss-boss!” Franzy exclaimed, using the odd title the cassettes had bestowed upon him. He felt vibrations through the berth where a small frame leapt onto its surface.

“Frenzy: leave Megatron alone,” Soundwave commanded.

“Just one little thing,” Frenzy whined.

The whole scene was strangely domestic, and even more strange, Megatron was reluctant to break it. He turned slightly to look at the minibot. “Yes?”

“Boss said we’re doing this revolution thing for real. Like, tearing things down, starting over. Armies, and other cool stuff.”

“An exaggeration,” Soundwave said. “...Maybe.”

“Yes,” Megatron said coolly, not knowing where this could be headed.

“Well, I thought that our super cool army should have a symbol,” Frenzy said, with much more enthusiasm than the late night-cycle warranted. He flipped the datapad around so Megatron could see.

It took a moment for the drawing’s sharp angles to form the rudimentary picture. When it did, Megatron laughed. “That’s Soundwave’s helm, isn’t it?”

“I told you boss-boss would notice!” Rumble pouted. “He’s too smart for you.”

“I’ll just redraw it.” Frenzy hopped down from the berth, planning to do so just then.

“Bolt-brain, he knows what you’re trying to do now.”

“I’ll show you who’s a bolt-brain!”

The pair’s bickering shouldn’t have been conducive to recharge, but he found himself drifting off as their spat continued. He chuckled lightly to himself. The drawing wasn’t half bad. Needed some cleaning, some tweaking. Probably wouldn’t make a good logo anyway. A little more aggressive than anything Orion would agree to.

But something about it almost felt right.

*

“Orion, would you like me to teach you some sparring moves today?”

Orion pulled his focus from work. He’d been attempting to dress up the stipulations they’d written into something that sounded less likely to be rejected outright. He’d hoped they could collaborate on this part too, but command had unanimously agreed that he was the best at this sort of thing. It was difficult. Not only had they included all of the obvious demands, but a bunch that there was no chance of ever getting agreed upon. The more he worked, the more he became sure that these negotiations with the council were going to end up falling through.

Sparring though, right, they’d discussed it.

“I’d like that, Megatronus.” It’d be a good break.

“When are you done with this?” He tapped Orion’s datapad with a clawed digit.

“Probably in about a cycle, but then I’m letting Elita teach me to shoot. I should be free at 1400 though?” He smiled softly up at Megatronus.

“Sure. My bots cleared out a couple of ruins to make training rooms. I’ll come get you from the shooting range then?”

“I could also meet you there, if you told me where. You don’t have to come all the way to get me.”

“Yes, well, I was hoping it could just be the two of us.” He glanced pointedly at Magnus. “And I don’t think you should be walking around the gladiator barracks alone.”

Orion couldn’t deny that the idea of getting some time away from Magnus was appealing. He liked the mech, but damn could he hover.

He thought about the incoming energon shipment from another discovered warehouse, and got an idea. “I’ll think of something for him to do.” Orion let his intake twitch into a faint smirk.

As he watched Megatronus’s retreating back, he suddenly felt a lot more motivated to finish this draft.

*

Megatron arrived early to the shooting range. Only by five kliks. He hadn’t really had much else to do. He’d sparred with Blitzwing and some of the other military folks, beaten them soundly, gone to the washracks– some wriggling thing in him said he should be embarrassed of his dusty plating, refueled, and still had half a cycle to spare.

So he arrived quietly, not to disturb Orion’s session with Elita, leaned against the doorway, and watched.

He zeroed in on Orion’s face, scrunched up in concentration as he held the blaster straight ahead. It looked like some variety of a laser rifle. Maybe overkill for self-defense, but Megatron didn’t disapprove. Past them, the target had some scattered holes in and around it, and then one big one right in the center of its chest, like someone had hit it over and over again.

Orion fired.

And missed the entire target by a meter.

“No! That’s not–” Elita cut herself off, taking a physical step back, and cycling her vents. This probably wasn’t the first time, because instead of getting all worked up at her outburst, Orion just waited patiently with a wry smile. “Okay. I’m good. Now what did I tell you?”

“I’m lining up the sight. I’m holding it the way you showed me, and I’m keeping calm. What could I possibly have missed?” Orion said in an almost-whine.

“Well for starters, the target.”

Megatron had to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle his laughter, only for it to drop from his vocalizer completely when Elita hunched down a bit so her helm was at the same level as Orion’s, and draped herself across his back, bringing her servos up to guide his.

“You have to account for recoil. It’s different from blaster to blaster, but with this one, I find that you need to aim a few centimeters below your target.”

“I’m not sure that accounts for me firing a whole meter off.”

“No. That happened because you offlined your optics.”

“I did?”

“You did, bolt-brain.”

Orion snorted, while Megatron’s internal temperature continued to crank up in muted anger.

“It’s not even set to kill, so I don’t know why you would be shying away like that.”

“I’m not exactly fond of loud noises.”

“Find me someone who is.”

“Fair point.”

Elita tipped his aim just a little higher. “Okay, see how it’s just a centimeter below my mark?”

Ah, so the big hole in the chest was from Elita’s flawless aim.

“Yeah?” Orion said.

“Focus on that. And keep your optics online.”

Orion nodded, and Elita finally backed off. His servos shook a little as he struggled to keep the alignment. He took a deep vent, then another.

“Any solar-cycle now would be good,” Elita said.

One more breath, he fired. A small puff of debris ruptured from the target as the sharp noise of the blaster rang around the room. 

“Hey!” Elita’s voice broke through the quickly approaching silence. She actually sounded happy. 

Megatron looked at the same time as Orion. It wasn’t the dead-center shot Elita had mastered, but it wasn’t so far off. Only four centimeters.

“I kept my optics open that time!”

“You didn’t flinch either.”

“Thank you Elita!” And to Megatron’s surprise, Orion threw himself at her, wrapping her in a big hug. Her face twisted in surprise, and Megatron waited for that inevitable moment where she’d turn to anger and throw him off.

It never came.

She didn’t look happy about it, but she did… soften as the nanokliks dragged on. She never returned the embrace, but she leaned into it, ever so slightly.

Megatron cleared his vocalizer. Orion pulled back from the hug, face splitting into a grin. “Megatronus!” He bounded up. Megatron caught Elita’s scrutinizing gaze over Orion’s shoulder.

“Did you see the shot?” Orion pointed back at the target.

“I did,” he replied, noting that Orion was still carrying the gun, but being very careful to point the barrel down and away. He’d done that when he’d hugged Elita too. He could be a bit distracted sometimes, but it was clear that that trait did not extend to firearms.

“You ready to go, then?”

“Just a nanoklik,” Orion said. “Elita?” He held the blaster out, still angling it down as he walked back towards her.

“No, that’s yours, Orion. I brought it for you to keep.”

Turned away from Megatron, he couldn’t see Orion’s reaction, but he could hear the unease in his voice. “I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t want this.” He offered it again.

“This is a violent conflict, Orion. You may not like it, but you need to be ready for all eventualities. Including the ones where you fight.”

Megatron couldn’t help but agree with the femme. It was almost irritating the way his opinion of her fluxed between approval and distaste. What an enigma.

“Can I at least keep it here at the range?” Orion asked, starting to look a little desperate.

Elita shook her helm. “It’s collapsable. Fits in subspace. Try it.”

“Megatronus, do you want to hold onto this for me?”

Megatron laughed. “Like I would know any better how to use it.”

“Really?” Elita said. This was the second time he’d seen her looking surprised, then her brow furrowed. “No, I guess not. I’d assumed because of the Pits…” She met his optics. “You should come to the next session Orion and I have.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Hellooo,” Orion flicked his optics pointedly at the blaster still in his grip. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Really, Orion? You’re going to shun such a generous gift?” Megatron crossed his arms.

His words had the desired effect. Orion stiffened, embarrassed, before sheepishly turning back to Elita. “Sorry,” he winced a little, “could you show me how to collapse it?”

“Yeah, yeah, give it here.” And her voice was thick with annoyance, but Megatron didn’t miss the way her intake quirked like she was holding back a smile.

*

“Hit me.”

“What?” Orion wasn’t sure he’d heard Megatronus correctly.

“The first part of sparring is good form. And I won’t know if you have that if you don’t hit me.”

“I know how to punch. It’s not like I’ve never been in a fight before.”

“Okay, then hit me. You won’t hurt me.”

Orion eyed the plating of Megatronus’s chest with some scrutiny. Not skepticism– that would be foolish. He still didn’t like the idea. He curled his servo into a fist. “Okay…”

“Thumb goes outside the fist.”

“Hm?” Orion looked at his servo, and adjusted it. “Better?”

“Yes. Otherwise you’ll break something.”

“And then Ratchet will offline both of us,” Orion laughed.

“Exactly. Now hit me.”

“Fine!” Orion stepped forward, throwing his fist against Megatronus.

It was like hitting a wall. The mech didn’t budge, and a shock of pain travelled all up his struts. He yelped, shaking out his servo. The pain didn’t linger long, but he hoped Megatronus wouldn’t expect him to do it again.

“Again.”

Orion groaned, and pointedly didn’t ball his servo.

“Only this time, I want you to stand like this.” Megatronus settled into a stance, his pedes resting chest-length apart, and perpendicular, left pede forward.

Despite his protests, Orion mimicked it, or tried to.

“More like this,” Megatronus rumbled, hooking a digit under his thigh, pulling his stabilizing servo forward a few centimeters. The contact sent an electric trill all through his frame. He tamped down the shiver that threatened to bloom up his lines. Megatronus looked at him oddly, but thankfully didn’t say anything.

“And then when you punch, you move more than just your arm, it needs to be your whole chassis. Your chest moves like this,” he demonstrated, twisting as he punched air. “And your other arm pulls back like this to bring further momentum to the movement.” He demonstrated again, this time emphasizing his other arm.

“Oh, I see. Like this?” Orion copied to the best of his ability.

“Yes,” Megatronus rumbled, almost a purr.

Another thrill up his lines. Primus, he had to get a grip.

“Now hit me.”

Orion shifted his stance. “I’m not really sure I want to do that again.”

“Just once more, for my sake. Then we can move on to some blocks.”

“Fine.”

Orion hit him again– it didn’t hurt so much the second time. He hoped it was because the punch was better, but couldn’t help but feel like Megatronus was softening the impact somehow. Then blocks. Those were a little easier, and luckily, Megatronus didn’t try punching him, at least not really. A couple of slow hits, just to test if Orion knew what to do.

“You’re improving quickly. Maybe you’re not completely hopeless.”

Orion laughed. It was so easy around Megatronus. “Yep, soon I’ll be the sharpshooting master, and the king of combat,” he deadpanned. “All of Cybertron will tremble before me.” 

“I’m sure,” Megatronus chuckled. “Now there are a couple hold escapes I want to teach you. Might help next time you’re stuck on the wrong side of the law.”

“Holds?”

“C’mere.” He held out an arm. Orion wasn’t really sure what he was planning as he went to stand about a meter in front of Megatronus. “Turn around.”

He did so, confusion mounting, until Megatronus brought one arm down to angle around his neck, and the other under the first to lock it in. A little bit of pressure and it’d be a proper chokehold. Even loose as the grip was, Orion knew there’d be no getting out of it unless Megatronus let him. That feeling returned to his lines, only this time, it wasn’t a trill. It settled and pooled. He wasn’t in his frame anymore, both floating and sinking at once.

He tried to pull himself together when Megatronus started talking, something about how he’d been put in a similar hold in one of his fights. Something, something, weak point, rotors, big, big servo resting on the back of his helm, poised to push and cut off energon-flow to his processor. Could do other things, could–

For the first time in stellar-cycles his interface equipment pinged interest without already being in the appropriate situation. The alert on his HUD startled him so badly he jerked a bit in the grip, and oh Primus that only made it worse.

“Are you okay, Orion?”

He nodded sharply, not trusting his vocalizer to form the words without static.

“So how would you escape this hold?”

It was like getting caught out by his overseer for slacking off. The very comparison was enough to knock whatever insane fantasy was brewing straight out of his processor. He scrubbed it for anything that had actually gotten through to him during Megatronus’s explanation.

“I– I would…” He quickly consulted his memory files. Luckily they were recording where his active processing was not. “I’d try to reach your face, claw out your optics.” He angled his arm back, trying to demonstrate, but Megatronus’s arm was so thick he couldn’t actually reach them.

“Before that,” Megatronus said, the timbre of the voice travelling right through where their frames were connected. Not helpful.

“Right. Loosen up a bit?”

Megatronus did so.

“I’d try to get my arm here,” he wriggled it between Megatronus’s arm and his own helm, “so that you couldn’t cut off my energon supply.”

“Good. And then if that fails?”

“The optics.”

“Then?”

“Arm-rotors.” Orion put his servo there. “Then knee-rotors.” He angled his pede where he’d hypothetically kick.

“And if all else fails?”

“Shred the cables here.” Orion hovered his servo millimeters from that place where thigh met pelvis.

“Very sensitive,” Megatronus rumbled, and dear Primus he definitely doesn’t know he’s doing that. “If done correctly, hurts like a glitch. Debilitating for most, no matter how big their frame. If done wrong, well… you might just give them ideas. That’s why it’s a last resort.”

Key interface neurals, right. He pulled his servo back.

“Knock, knock,” some mech said aloud at the far end of the training gym. “Oh.” The flight frame flattened back. “Am I interrupting something?”

Orion’s instinct was to jump away from Megatronus and deny– deny what? He wasn’t sure. Megatronus didn’t share the instinct, uncrossing his arms in a languid slide.

“You know, Skywarp.” His tone was poised– deadly. “I locked the door for a reason.”

That definitely made it sound like they were doing something.

“How did you even get in here?”

“Er…” Skywarp hopped from pede to pede, before sighing. In a burst of light, he disappeared, apparating mere meters from them with a vop! Orion had to cycle his optics twice to be sure they weren’t lying to him.

Megatronus took it in stride. “And why didn’t you mention this sooner? Why even stay in the Pits?”

“They put some kinda inhibitor thingamajig with the shock-bit.” He angled his helm to demonstrate. “Luckily that FFFF guy– what’s his name– Shockwave got it out. Good as new.”

“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. My boss wants to talk to you.”

“I’m your boss,” Megatronus hissed.

“Uhhh, my other boss.”

Megatronus didn’t look impressed. “You couldn’t wait the cycle it’d have taken for us to finish training?”

Skywarp nodded slowly, like he suspected some kind of lie. “Right.” His wings flicked a little. “So the thing about my boss– other boss, is that he’s not a very patient mech.”

“Funny,” Megatronus said. “Neither am I. If you could get to the point?”

“Come meet him.” Skywarp swung his helm in the direction of the exit.

“Probably couldn’t hurt,” Orion said, tugging Megatronus by the arm.

“Oh,” Skywarp stopped mid-stride, standing oddly on one stabilizing servo. “He only wants to speak to Megatron.”

A low growl emanated, and it took Orion a moment to realize it was coming from Megatronus. “He goes where I go.”

Skywarp must’ve known it was a losing battle. He sighed, muttering a few choice words to himself.

.:Do you trust him?:. Orion commed Megatronus.

.:No further than I could throw him:.

.:I don’t know. I think you could throw him pretty far:.

.:Heh. True. Then no. Plain and simple. I’ve already commed Soundwave to tail us:.

.:Good idea. I’ll have Jazz and Bee do the same:.

.:Don’t know how much help those two will be. They’re quite small:.

Orion shot him a pointed look, skepticism clear.

.:No, you’re right. It’d be foolish to underestimate Jazz for his size:.

.:Bee is proving quite capable as well. He’s come such a long way:.

.:You’re quite fond of him, aren’t you?:.

.:Well, yes. He’s grown since I’ve met him:.

.:Hate to think how small he might’ve been before:.

.:You know that’s not what I meant:.

.:I know I accused Elita of being your tender, but you really are Bee’s:.

Orion blushed a little .:I’m no tender:.

.:Once again, I ask you to look at the purpose of our cause. Just because it isn’t your function– and besides, Bee looks up to you. You’re the one that said he was like a newspark:.

.:So you’re saying I shouldn’t be putting him in danger?:.

Megatronus paused. .:I suppose that is what I’ve been inadvertently arguing. No then. He has the right to take risks, in fact, I would say that it is all of our duties to do so– to push back against functionalist oppressors. None of us are free until all of us are free:.

.:Couldn’t agree more:.

They were past the FFFF welcome center then, quickly heading up the levels.

“Where are you taking us, Skywarp?” Megatronus called.

“There’s an oilhouse on the second level that the boss can tolerate.”

.:Tolerate?:. Megatronus commed. .:What kind of mech is he exactly?:.

.:Guess we’ll find out:.

*

The oilhouse was tucked away in a narrow street, coming into view as the trio rounded a corner. Even with his less refined sensibilities– miner, gladiator, not a purveyor– Megatron could tell that this place would’ve been considered stylish, classy even. The face of the building was dark slate, with silver trim and hardware. It lacked the usual neon lights, instead opting for bright white typography to advertise its goods. Skywarp, suddenly taking on some kind of uncharacteristic gentlemechly act, darted ahead and held the door for them.

The place was empty– mostly. He caught glimpses of staff bustling about, but there were no other patrons, save for two seekers at a far table.

“I’m just saying, Skyfire wouldn’t like this, Star,” the blue one said, servos on his hips, disappointment clear in his expression.

“That’s why you’re not going to tell him!” the red one spat back, jabbing a digit at the former’s chassis. His voice was high, not pleasant to the audials. Megatron disliked this mech already.

The red one noticed their approach. “Finally!” He leaned back in his chair, an ugly sneer on his faceplates, and that small hope that the blue one was the ‘boss’ they were there to meet vanished. “Come, sit.” He gestured to the empty seats at the table. The places were set for four mechs, obviously not accounting for Orion.

“Your lackey can wait over there,” the mech flicked a digit. Megatron’s engine revved of its own accord, fury mounting.

“Yeah, Screamer,” Skywarp winced, “I’m not sure I’d go insulting Orion like that if I were you.”

“Who’s Orion?”

“Hello,” Orion piped up from Megatron’s side, firm, but not unfriendly. “I’m Orion Pax. Co-leader of the FFFF.”

“Leader of the FFFF,” Megatron growled. “And I’m Megatron of Kaon, leader of the gladiators, and very short on patience.”

The red one stared at him sidelong for a dragging klik, optics cycling like he was thinking, before he broke out with a dismissive chuckle. “I’m afraid we’ve all gotten off on the wrong pede. Thundercracker?” He gestured meaningfully at the table arrangements.

The blue one— Thundercracker, sighed and lumbered off, returning quickly with a chair. The waitstaff weren’t far behind with the accoutrements.

“Please,” the red one purred, “take a seat.”

“Thanks,” Orion said tentatively. They both sat across from the seekers. Skywarp positioned himself adjacent to both parties. A moment later, and servers descended on the table with towering trays of energon, small cubes, liquid and solid form. They dressed the table, disappearing as quickly as they arrived. The whole display was rather over the top, in Megatron’s opinion. At best it was a gesture of goodwill, at worst, a blatant attempt to bribe his sensibilities. He narrowed his optics as Orion thanked the seeker and politely nibbled on one of the small solid cubes. It wobbled, gelatinous. He’d heard of energon in this form, but never tried it— something usually exclusive to the rich.

“Megatronus,” Orion whispered brightly. “You got to try this!” He shifted the tray over.

“Megatronus?” The red one frowned. “I thought you were Megatron.”

“You can call me Megatron,” he said icily. “I will note, you have yet to introduce yourself.”

“Ah.” The seeker drummed his digits against the tabletop. They were slim— delicate. To his trained optic they looked like claws that had been deliberately blunted, probably once looked similar to what Skywarp had. “I am Senator Starscream of the city-state of Vos.” He puffed out his lithe chassis as he said it, like he wanted applause for his station alone.

“And what do you want?” Megatron asked.

“Oh, but I want what you want.” Starscream dropped that menacing quality, seeming to all senses to be sincere. Megatron would’ve been a fool to believe it. “I’ve been following your career with some interest.”

“Really?” Megatron scoffed. “I only left the Pits a few solar-cycles ago.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand,” Starscream drawled. “I’ve had an optic on you ever since that fight with the shock-snake. Even then I could tell you were something special.” His optics flicked insinuatingly over his frame, an intense red to rival his own, only a little more pink-tinged. Megatron felt himself balking at the action, his plating ruffling before he forced it smooth again. Orion flashed a questioning glance, concern rippling in his field. 

“See, I just had to meet you, had to learn more of your goals. I was thrilled to hear about your escape from the Pits— the very beginning of your ascent to your full potential. I’d be remiss— no, a fool to ignore you at this moment in your career. You and I, we could do great things!”

And that— that brought him instantly back to Declaron’s medical bay. Threatening field, pretty words, ugly smile, uglier spark. That’s what Starscream was doing. It was intimidation and ingratiation all at once. In the end, he was a politician— similar to Declaron in a way. His whole business was navigating channels of power and the bots who defined them, worming his way in so he’d come out on top. Which meant everything he did here was in equal parts to win Megatron over, and bring him to heel.

He smirked. Where did the ogling fall in? Did he seriously think Megatron wanted that kind of attention? It wasn’t really worth thinking about, not with how confident he was suddenly feeling.

“And pray-tell, Senator Starscream, what my goals are?”

“You tell me,” Starscream trilled.

“We’re expected to start negotiations with your council in five solar-cycles,” Orion cut in, voice clipped. “Is this part of that, or something more personal?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say personal,” Starscream said. “But to answer your question, I am here on behalf of Vos, not those doddering fools on the council.” He plucked a cube of liquid engex with a delicate servo, languidly swirling the contents. “There are things you can do for Vos, and there are things I can do for you. We could both benefit greatly from an alliance.”

“And yet you still fail to tell me why you’re here— or rather, what you want from us.”

“But I did!” Starscream raised his cube. “I want what you want, to take Iacon, to take Cybertron! I want to show those dusty relics that our people are ready to move out from under their pedes. We’re more than meets the optic! They see you, Megatron, and they see a stupid, brutish savage. They look at me, they see the same. Oh, they’d never say it to my face, not to the de-facto leader of Vos, but they don’t trust military frames any more than they trust the low-caste worker. How else do you explain so many of my seekers in the arena? My very own trine-mate?” He gestured to Skywarp. “If they had any respect at all, they would’ve thought to let me handle my own bots. Instead they threaten me– us. They do anything in their power to weaken my city-state’s security. Halve the military! The fools, the simpletons. Like we don’t have hundreds of hostile planets just waiting to cross the threshold into expansion. Like Cybertron won’t be the first planet on their list to colonize. We’re weak, Megatron, and I’m not talking about you and me. We’re the cure.” The creaking of the cube was audible in Starscream’s grasp. He noticed it, loosening his grip somewhat to swirl its contents again. His voice went quiet, but not soft. “What do you say to that, Megatron of Kaon?”

He was addressing him like a councilor, Megatron realized. The thought rattled in his processor, not quite settling, but not upsetting him either. Leader of Kaon. He couldn’t deny the appeal of the concept. Kaon had no senator– merely another one of Iacon’s holdings, despite its size being large enough to class it a city-state of its own. High worker-caste population. That was the difference.

Senator Megatron of Kaon. Now that had a ring to it. For the first time, his processor opened to the possibility of the after. If they actually managed to pull this off, Kaon would be a city-state. They would have influence on Cybertron’s course. Their movement– 

“Did you say ‘take Iacon?’” Orion asked, brows knit.

Starscream’s gaze flicked to him, as though he’d forgotten he was there. To Megatron’s shame, he had too, so caught up in Starscream’s words. Caught, yes. Channels of power, telling Megatron exactly what he wanted to hear to get his cooperation. Of course he would try to fill his processor with delusion of grandeur. Of course. Thank Primus for Orion. He had to stay wary, not let himself get caught in Starscream’s web.

“Is that not your intent?” Starscream drawled. “I’d imagine not this megacycle. These negotiations could net you independence, but I should hope the scope of your ambition doesn’t end there.” He made optic contact with Megatron on that last word. Like a personal challenge. He found himself bristling against it.

“No, of course not,” Megatron growled, then caught himself again with the flicker of a sly smile on Starscream’s lipplates. 

“No,” Orion agreed. “Independence from Iacon is the first step to greater change. We can do much more with the resources that would get us. We could change Cybertron from the inside out, multiple fronts. We’d be taken seriously.” Orion leaned back, servos clasped in front of him. “And we could be taken even more seriously if it is, in fact, a political alliance you are offering.”

“But why stop there?” Starscream edged forwards in his seat. “My forces make up one-third of Cybertron’s remaining military. Your forces in Kaon– you haven’t even started proper recruitment– with our strength combined, and some proper strategy, the element of surprise, we could conquer Iacon. Planning and force, Cybertron’s capital could be ours in a megacycle.” Starscream’s voice was trembling with excitement, his optics blazing neon red-violet. “We have the power to change our world. Those fools on the council just don’t know it yet. I hear them talk, have their petty squabbles, useless vendettas. I was speaking to them just today, over what to do about you.” He tisked. “They may pretend to respect you, but it's a lie. They just want things to return to their usual places. The places they supposedly belong.”

Megatron was torn between Starscream’s words and the knowledge that they couldn’t possibly be genuine. Unless they were, that small voice whispered. Cybertron theirs… bent to his will, Orion on one side, Starscream on the other, the caste system– Decimus and his cronies, bleeding out at his pedes. Could it be done? Or was he being used? Could it be both?

“What do you really want, Starscream?” Orion’s helm was tilted forward, optics narrowed in intense scrutinization.

“I told you—“

“Yes, in a way, you did. You claim you want what we want, while admitting that you actually want to conquer Cybertron.”

“Now, Orion—“

“You go and invite only Megatronus— I fully trust him to negotiate on the FFFF’s behalf, but you’ve done nothing this evening except try to manipulate him into your scheme of domination. You’re trying to use us.”

“No, no!” Starscream’s plating ruffled, scandalized expression sliding over the hint of panic that had come through in a lapse. “No, you misunderstand, Orion. I only want to help. I promise you that there is none who better understands your goals.”

“Okay then,” Orion said with that sharp smile he always donned when he knew he was about to make a very good point, “what are our goals?”

“I already told you!” Starscream squawked. 

“No, you’ve been repeating back what we’ve been telling you. The truth is, I don’t think you understand our cause at all.”

“You want power– vengeance– no, freedom, you fight for freedom. See? I understand you.”

“You’re so obvious, Senator Starscream,” Orion drawled. “Power, vengeance. Those are what you’re after, and you want to use us to get it.” He turned to Megatron. “Are we done here?”

Megatron was once again amazed by Orion Pax. He was completely correct, of course. Where Megatron had found himself drawn in, Orion saw right through. Not only that, but he still had the humility to defer to Megatron, because he’d been the one to be invited.

There was only one issue.

“I think we should work with him, Orion.”

“What?” Orion reeled back, caught completely off guard. “Why?”

“Because having the Vosian airforce at our backs could completely change the balance of power.” 

Starscream smirked in his periphery. Megatron swung his gaze around to face him as he spoke. “But that doesn’t mean we just roll over and let him use us for his own ends.”

“Psh!” Starscream waved a dismissive servo. “Who’s using who? I have an army. You’ve got a rag-tag cohort of outlaws and rejects! I shouldn’t have to be crawling down here, asking for this alliance. If anything, it should be the other way around! What could you possibly have to offer me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Orion’s lip curled, “maybe someone stupid enough to take the fall if your little scheme didn’t pan out?”

“How dare you!” Starscream leapt up to his pedes, shaking the table. A tray of energon goodies toppled.

“Hey!” Skywarp yelped, catching a stray cube before it could splatter on the floor.

Starscream stalked around the table. Megatron and Orion stood to meet him. He was suddenly aware of how small Orion was compared to the rest of the mechs in the room, and angled himself protectively around him, trying to be subtle. Not subtle enough, apparently.

Starscream chuckled lightly, crossing his arms. The cannons mounted on his pauldrons glinted under the dim oilhouse lights. “What? Think I’m going to hurt your little leader? Weren’t you listening? I’m not a brute.”

Megatron matched Starscream’s stance. He crossed his arms, flaring his plating aggressively, mustering up every bit of the gladiator within himself. “Then maybe you should stop acting like one.”

“Says the gladiator!”

“Oh,” Megatron quirked his helm, an ugly sneer playing on his lips. “So that’s what you really think.”

Starscream’s intake gaped. “That’s not what I— I never said—“

“You clearly don’t respect us,” Orion snapped. “If you really wanted to help, you would simply say you’ll be backing us in negotiations. But that’s not what this is about, is it? All this talk of conquest rubs me the wrong way.”

Megatron was much more concerned with the first issue. Despite his initial claims of equal partnership, everything said since only worked to undermine the notion. He clenched his fists at the deception. “We’re done here,” he growled, turning before he could lash out. 

“Are you serious?!” Starscream trailed them out of the oilhouse. Megatron didn’t spare him a glance, placing a firm servo on Orion’s pauldron as they continued down the street. “I’m offering you Cybertron on a silver platter, and you spit in my faceplates! You’re not the leader Skywarp told me about. You’re pathetic!”

Megatron jerked around on impulse, his free servo twitching to– to do something. A small weight around his arm stopped him. He was met with Orion’s blue optics. “He’s not worth it.”

Megatron’s engine growled, but he forced himself to continue forward, down the street.

Starscream barked a laugh, “yeah! Keep walking! You don’t know what you’re getting into!” He laughed again, but this time, it sounded almost sad. “Prime and his cronies are going to disassemble you piece by piece.”

You’re on the council too!” Orion retorted, only barely turning his helm.

“In name.” Megatron didn’t have to look back to hear the sneer. “Well, I’ll still be here when you see reason.” Starscream paused, then added in a whisper, “if there’s anything left.”

 

Notes:

Yep, definitely the last we'll see of that guy,, haha,, also things heating up in the megop department. Sorry if it's torture,, but I wasn't kidding about that slowburn tag. I promise there will be eventual payoff!!

Chapter 17: Negotiations

The next few solar-cycles passed with enjoyable routine. Orion would wake up– he shared a habsuite with Magnus, Jazz, and Bee, who had requested the room change when Orion had moved down to Kaon. He would take his morning energon in the communal hall, do a shift at an energon station a few levels up, have a meeting with command, then train with Elita and Megatronus. This time of day always left him feeling light of spark, like he had a flight alt. His aim was still crummy– Megatronus had already surpassed him in that, but was making progress. Sparring was similar. Megatronus always ended up telling him he was improving, though he had a hard time believing it. He supposed he made up for it by leading well– trying to.

But despite those nagging doubts, he found himself happier than he could ever remember. It was this same sentiment, twisting iron-cold that had his tanks clenching dread when the council finally messaged them with proposed negotiations.

It was everything he could’ve hoped for, an invitation to Iacon’s elevated palace to discuss the future.

But it also signalled change.

Change isn’t a bad thing. He had to remind himself of this over and over as he walked to the command center. It was change that got them here in the first place. Change is good. Change is good.

He wouldn’t have to hope that recharge with Magnus, and Bee, energon with Ratchet, Arcee, and Cliff, strategy with Shockwave, and Jazz, and Training with Elita, and Megatronus, would be waiting on the other side. He would make it happen.

He had to remind himself that he could.

And that he didn’t have to do it alone.

The mantra didn’t stop Starscream’s words from wriggling in his audial. “If there’s anything left.” Orion was fairly certain the senator had only been trying to scare them into an alliance. It made sense. What was left after flattery? Fear.

But the way that last part had been tacked on, half-whispered. It had sounded like the first honest thing Starscream had said that entire time.

Orion pushed through the door into the command center, Magnus not far behind. He’d had a small chat about personal space. It hadn’t stopped the mech from following him around, but at least now he tried to pretend not to be.

“Everyone got the council’s message?” Orion said, taking his seat.

“Not much of a message,” Elita scoffed. “It just says We invite you for negotiations tomorrow at 0900 at the Crystal Tower.” She leaned back in her seat. “How do we even know this is legit?”

“Prime’s signature: verified,” Soundwave said, and there was no argument for that. The tension in the room cranked up by a noticeable margin.

Orion stood. These moments were critical. “Team, this is what we’ve been preparing for these last seven solar-cycles. We’ve got our demands, our talking points. We’ve been shoring up our allies in Iacon. They’re opening negotiations because we’ve backed them into a corner. They can’t think of any other way to make us stop.” He couldn’t help but smile a bit on that last part. “Maybe they don’t agree to our terms, and then we come back here. We’ll simply take the long route, and turn Kaon into the anti-functionalist society we know it could be. As far as worst case scenarios go, it’s not too shabby.”

“On the contrary,” Shockwave said, face screwing a bit, “I predict a 34% chance that this is a trap.”

The tension that had been easing away returned full force. Orion’s spark lurched a bit in its casing. “Trap?”

“Yes. It makes logical sense. And it’s what I would do if I was them.”

“Can’t exactly expect the council to be smart as you, Shocks,” Jazz said. There was a collective chuckle at that.

Shockwave rolled his optics. “Regardless, we cannot ignore the possibility.”

“He’s right,” Megatronus said, leaning forward. “We should plan for that eventuality. I’ll be going, of course. And I’ll bring a squad of my best fighters.”

“I–” Orion cut himself off. He wanted to object, partially because he didn’t like the idea of posing such an aggressive front. Mostly because he didn’t like the idea of Megatronus in the council’s crosshairs. It was selfish, and with that realization, he couldn’t think of any real objection. “Okay. Yes. Good idea. Who else is coming?”

“Jazz and I will come,” Shockwave said.

“Yes, that will be good for negotiations.”

“And in case they do try something,” Jazz said, a tad menacingly.

“I’m coming too,” Ratchet said.

“No,” Orion said. “You’re too important. If something does go wrong, we need you back here.”

“I’m not having that!” Ratchet barked. “What if you can’t get back, or– I don’t know! You’re not sidelining me again! C-12 was the last time. I’m coming.”

“But–”

“You think I’ll be dead weight? Is that it?”

“I didn’t–”

“Well I won’t be. Look!” Ratchet stood up and brandished his servos. In an instant they toggled away, to be replaced by laser scalpels. “Had Flatline install them.”

“Woah!” Bee’s face lit up. “That’s so cool. I want some!”

“Yeah, I guess they are pretty cool.” Ratchet’s face didn’t so much as twitch, but Orion would’ve been a fool to miss how pleased he sounded with himself.

Orion pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s no convincing you to stay behind?”

“Not on your life.” Ratchet flashed a slag-eating grin.

“You know that’ll make Flatline CMO while you’re gone.”

That smile slid off Ratchet’s face at that, but he didn’t waver.

“Alright. Who else?”

It didn’t take long for everyone else to volunteer. He desperately wanted Bee to stay behind. For all his maturing, the idea sent a shudder down his struts.

“They need to see that a cold-construct is no different from the forged.”

And that had been that.

“Okay, but someone has to stay behind and lead here while the rest of us are gone,” Orion said, sighing.

For a long time, no one budged.

“Alright. Cliffjumper, Arcee, Soundwave. You three should stay behind.”

“That’s no fair!” Arcee jumped up.

Cliff wasn’t far behind. “Yeah, what gives?”

“I know. You deserve to see these negotiations through, but you two have spent the most time wrangling the troops– or, not troops. You know what I mean. They listen to you, and we need someone back here.”

They eventually relented.

“But I want the play-by-play,” Arcee said mock-threateningly. “I want a very detailed description of the exact look on Prime’s faceplate when he realizes he’s going to lose out to a bunch of low-caste bots.”

Orion laughed. “I can do that.”

“Then you got a deal partner,” Cliff chuckled.

Soundwave accepted his role without complaint, fielding orders and keeping an optic on the remaining gladiators.

“Well… okay then. Those are the main talking points. Can I leave the specifics to you, Jazz, Shockwave?”

The two mechs nodded, Jazz punctuating his with a, “yessir.”

*

Orion wasn’t wandering aimlessly. He wasn’t wandering aimlessly around the FFFF grounds because that was not befitting of a leader. When someone asked him what he was doing, he’d just tell them he was thinking.

Even if his processor was oddly blank.

It wasn’t exactly a lie. He was trying to think, so it was just about the same thing.

Thinking or not thinking, it was embarrassing as hell when he jumped a meter in the air at Megatronus’s servo lighting on his pauldron. The muted shriek didn’t help a lot either.

“Sorry.” Megatronus took a step back, digits splayed in a non-threatening gesture. His optics were wide and apologetic, but his intake was quirked that small bit that told him he was suppressing an amused smile.

Orion sighed, shaking his helm. “Alright. Laugh it up.”

Megatronus pouted. “It’s not fun if you tell me to do it.”

“Too bad.” Orion started walking again. Megatronus followed a step behind, so it couldn’t really be called wandering anymore. It was leading, even if he still didn’t have a destination in mind.

“Want to spar?” Megatronus asked.

It took Orion a moment to notice they were heading in the vague direction of the training ground. He nodded. “One last spar.”

“You make it sound like we’re never going to get to do it again.” He didn’t have to look to hear the frown in his voice.

“No, you’re right. Of course we will.”

Megatronus stopped walking. Orion turned back to face him. His brows were knit. He could actually feel the concern roiling off him. Orion rolled his optics. “I mean it, Megatronus. I know we will.”

“Well, yes.” Megatronus cracked a smile. “I wouldn’t let it be any other way.”

It was almost a declaration, masked in humor. Orion tried to let the assurance ease him, but it only worked to amplify that ugly knotted thing in his chest. He pushed his exhaustion to the forefront to try and hide it, but he must not have done a good enough job. Megatronus only slipped back to a frown.

“You don’t need a spar today,” he said with definitive confidence. “Follow me.”

Orion stared blankly for a moment as Megatronus folded into alt and rolled off. He physically shook off his funk and followed.

They quickly left the FFFF grounds behind, driving across the threadbare plains of Kaon’s lowest layer. They kicked up dust as they went, the rusted surface devoid of inhabitants for centuries. As much as it filled Orion’s spark with some kind of melancholy, it was almost beautiful, the way the artificial lights built into the ceiling crust glanced off the worn metal, the pillars of light in the distance from the real sun piercing all the way down through Cybertron’s vents. Gaping holes, out looking in, and vice-versa. He couldn’t look at those for longer than a few klliks before his optic sensors started pinging imminent damage.

They drove in a comfortable silence. It could have been easy for the things unsaid to consume, but as quickly as they built within him, they ebbed away. He didn’t spare a thought for their end destination, or even consider whether he thought Megatronus had one. In the end it all felt laughably inconsequential. He’d follow Megatronus into Unicron’s maw without a second thought.

His chronometer read nearly thirty kliks when Megatronus finally rolled to a stop, transforming. Orion followed suit, staring in awe.

“Megatronus, what is this place?” he asked, a little bewildered.

The ruin sprawled before them wasn’t anything like the ones the FFFF were sheltering in. For starters, these had to be at least a megaannum older, and that was a conservative estimate. The metal of the structures was all warped and rusted, no good for shelter now, but still identifiable. Orion walked amongst the buildings, his and Megatronus’s pedesteps echoing strangely in the space. They approached a space that seemed to be some kind of town center, wide plaza with a rudimentary vendor layout. He ran a light servo over a worn statue of a probably long-deactivated bot, then looked to Megatronus, who quickly– too quickly, averted his gaze. Caught staring. Orion smiled slightly. “What is this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Megatronus said. “When we– when the gladiators and I first got here I had a hard time recharging.”

“You should’ve told me,” Orion cut in.

Megatronus waved him off. “Regardless, I did some patrols of the area. Made me feel better knowing the lay of the land. My sleep got better after that, but during one of those drives, I found this place.” He swept a servo across the vista. “I knew I had to bring you here, history nerd that you are–”

“Hey,” but there was no bite behind it.

Megatronus gave a dry, pointed stare. “Well? What can you glean from this?”

“You want to know now?”

“I understand you’ll need more time to do proper research, but I want to know what my archivist can figure out on first glance. I’ve never actually gotten to see you work.”

Orion pointedly did not acknowledge the rush of heat through his lines at the phrase, “my archivist,” and instead focused back on the ruins, cataloging the architecture, the state of the rust, the location. He cross referenced all that with his databanks. The process was soothing, almost rhythmic, something he could lose himself in, if he hadn’t felt the excitement starting to simmer though him. The feeling must have seeped out through his field, because he could feel Megatronus’s answering approval.

The basic construction practices, the architecture style, its position on the lowest level, and most damning of all, the state of the rust, all lead to a stark conclusion– one that had him cycling his optics and rechecking all his work. It didn’t seem possible.

“What is it?” When he didn’t answer, “Orion?”

“It’s…” He cycled his optics again, pulling himself from the data block. “Eons, Megatronus. I can’t pinpoint an exact time period, but this ruin is at least a billion stellar-cycles old.

Megatronus only blinked once. His vocalizer gave a faint whirring click, before he must’ve reset it. “Huh.” He sounded a little strangled.

Something was bubbling up in Orion, he hadn’t felt like this since his first time in the archives, so long ago. “This place existed before the Quintessons! Before Alpha Trion, or Prime, or anyone else on the council. Primus… this place existed before the first layer got built. This town would’ve stood under the open sky!”

“Would’ve rusted quicker,” Megatronus murmured.

Orion could only laugh, a bright, true thing. “Silver linings!” And with that, he started down another street. Now that he knew the scope of the ruin’s importance, he wanted to explore every centimeter. He knew he wouldn’t have time that solar-cycle, or likely any time soon after, but maybe after, after. Maybe once the negotiations were ironed out and the upcoming work whittled down to something more manageable, he could drag Megatronus back down here to look at ancient rusted metal. He could write a journal on the place– his first ever original research piece. That was what it was all for, in the end. He didn’t want to be a governor, or leader, or senator, or whatever else. His place was here, or wherever history was to be learned– not created.

That thought had him feeling a little lighter. An after, the after. The fight wouldn’t last forever, and he would have Megatronus by his side the whole way

“Thank you, Megatronus,” he said as they ambled out of the ruins. They’d spent nearly three cycles wandering, only, it couldn’t be called wandering. Even if there was no clear destination, there was a purpose. His processor had been going a million kilometers a klik, completely in its element, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Megatronus only smiled. It stood in for whatever awkward, sappy thing Orion was sure waited on Megatronus’s glossa.

“I think I’m ready now,” Orion said.

“I know you are.”

Orion snorted. There it was. He knew what could wipe away that little self-satisfied smirk. “And there’s no one I’d rather have by my side.”

It worked. Megatronus’s optics flashed crimson, and he stared long like he wanted to say something, before breaking his gaze away. In a smooth motion, he folded neatly back into alt, hauler-treads homeward-bound.

*

Orion was beautiful. That was the simple, and vexing thought that plagued Megatron all through the drive back to base, through their remaining preparations, his failed attempts at recharge, their settling into formation the next solar-cycle. He couldn’t help but think it as he revved his engine once, taking up his position at the entourage’s flank, watching the mech in question transform and start off, just a bit behind Magnus, who insisted on leading in case it was, in fact, a trap.

The thought Orion was beautiful, was something that had slammed near painfully into his processor’s forefront watching the mech bound around the ancient ruins, cataloging this and that. Megatron didn’t have a clue what he was looking for, or what exactly he was seeing. Personally, the realization of the ruin’s age had taken him aback, but whatever glittering thing it had awakened in Orion– damn near resurrected in him, was not something he easily understood.

Maybe he could get Orion to explain it. After.

It had been a startling change, the way those familiar lines of concern– the knit between his brows, the scrunch in his optics, had all smoothed out, making way for a bright smile, and a cycling gaze, not quite the same way he got when he was all fired up by injustice, and all the more amazing for it.

He easily could have watched him for solar-cycles. He could’ve made a life just following Orion around, cataloging every way he expressed his excitement and wonder.

It didn’t even matter that it wasn’t directed at him.

“Megatronus? You with us?” Elita’s clipped, but not unconcerned snipe brought him out of his musings. He quickly registered that he’d been veering just slightly, and course corrected.

“Yes, thank you, Elita.” He was pleased to find his response held no kind of bite. It had taken some time, but the cycles spent with her in the shooting range had really softened himself to her. He understood her better now, the way she wore her anger as a shield, a thick wall of distrust to make sure no one could ever get close enough to hurt her– whether that be accidental, or intentional, or by leaving. He couldn’t bring himself to hate her anymore. Not with the way he saw those same qualities scoring themselves into his mind.

“We’re coming up on the border,” Shockwave said. “I’ve given Soundwave, Cliffjumper, and Arcee sole remote access. That way no one will be able to lower the shields from the outside.”

“Still think they’re going to try something?” Orion asked.

Shockwave let his silence stand in for a real answer, then continued, “a small section of shielding will go down in three, two, one–”

The shield wasn’t easily visible until they got close. At Shockwave’s words, a small rectangle slid away, the strange sheen the outside world had taken on disappearing. Their entourage crossed the threshold, and Megatron could see the section return in his rearview.

“Welcome to Iacon,” Orion chirped.

“Well, not quite yet,” Jazz said. The usual border checkpoint had actually been swallowed by the shield, much to Megatron’s satisfaction, but they could all see the makeshift barricade approaching in their path.

“Everyone be ready,” Orion said, voice taking on an edge.

.:Aerial squadron forward:. Megatron commanded. He felt a lot better knowing he had bots in the sky, even if one of them was Lugnut, who insisted on singing his praises at every opportunity.

.:As you command, Megatron, sir. Your greatness spans—:.

Megatron, tired of trying to curb the mech, simply muted the channel, even if it wasn’t fair to the other members of the squadron stuck on the shared connection.

“Some bots are coming out to meet us,” Jazz said.

It was true. A large group broke off from the barricade, in an escort formation.

“Don’t stop,” Shockwave said. “Slowing will only open us to potential attack. If they truly are an escort, they’ll flank our procession.”

They did. Moving in closer, Megatron could make out the entourage. Mostly made up of enforcer grounders, but there were a few military flight alts, led by a black air razor.

Which swooped down, a little close for comfort, but not close enough to warrant retaliation.

“I see you’ve found a different set of idealists to ally yourself with, Magnus,” a deep feminine voice hissed from the black copter.

“I am just—“ Magnus cut off his own heated reply, resetting his vocalizer. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”

The copter scoffed. “You’ll have to when your little pet terrorists blow up another monument.”

“You don’t know anything about them,” Magnus said. His voice was even, but held the slightest edge of reverent fury. Good on the mech. Megatron didn’t know he had it in him.

“Prime’s making a huge mistake, negotiating with you.”

“Are you saying Sentinel is wrong?” Magnus said, sounding more smug than one could have imagined possible.

The copter’s flight path stuttered, and she let herself hover away, still in formation, but out of easy audio range. Megatron could hear her cursing as she went.

“Good on ya, Magnus! You tell her what’s up!” Jazz exclaimed, doing a little hop in alt.

Megatron could share the sentiment, but not the enthusiasm. He kept a watchful optic on their escort, as well as the quickly approaching barricade. He thought he’d feel a little safer once they passed it, but zooming past the threshold only sent a whole new wave of trepidation through his frame. He was in Iacon. In Iacon. Once, to him, an unattainable beacon, now the home of his greatest foes. Entering the hunter’s den, their group suddenly felt laughably vulnerable. There was some solace knowing that if the council tried something, Kaon would remain shuttered to them. After the debacle with Starscream he’d tapped Shockwave and Jazz for some much needed tutoring on the political state of Cybertron. 

He drank in that information like a mech starving. Iacon was the center of power, primarily because of its holdings of natural metals and minerals needed in every aspect of their society— all but energon. That came from Kaon, further solidifying Iacon’s seat of power when they took stewardship of the province. Vos had its airforce, Praxus had its history and science, and so on and so forth, but it was energon that made the whole world run, and the singular place that had that in abundance was Kaon.

So there was no way Iacon would fire on its new leaders.

He hoped.

Driving through Iacon’s streets, it was fascinating to see all of what Orion had described to him. He took in the glimmering towers, the perfect roads, each lined with gold, its prim and proper citizens, all looking their best. There wasn’t a single thing out of place.

Well, except for them, he supposed. It must’ve been a sight. Magnus had recommended they all put on a bit of shine for the occasion, saying it would legitimize their procession, but there really wasn’t a lot to go around. In comparison to Iacon, they looked downright dirty. He caught glimpses of himself in shiny passing windows, and had to tamp down the reflexive embarrassment. Bots were staring, half shielded through doorways, or out of windows. He felt like an insecticon under a microscope.

.:Anyone else getting the creeps?:. Ratchet said into the communal channel. Elita and a few others pinged their agreement. Megatron refrained, though he’d just been thinking it.

“Go back to the mines, vagrants!” The shout was accompanied by a whizzing object. Megatron swerved at the last nanoklik to avoid it. The empty cube shattered on the pavement.

“It’s just some heckler, ignore it,” Elita snapped. He only realized then that he’d been starting a turn towards the source. To do what? He pointedly did not search for the answer, even as he manually powered down his combat protocols. Kept the tac-unit active though. The thing only got offlined when he recharged these solar-cycles.

“Brace yourselves!” Orion called. Megatron dodged another piece of debris, an empty carton of flavoring. He cycled his visual sensors, taking in the image of about five dozen protesters coming up.

.:Do we fire?:. Lugnut asked hopefully.

.:Absolutely not!:. Orion answered.

.:Master?:. Lugnut asked again.

.:Don’t fire:. Megatron concurred, with no small amount of effort. Oh how he wanted to give the go-ahead. That would show those pampered upper-crusters. The thought, that these bots considered themselves so high above that Megatron couldn’t even be allowed to drive these same streets–  

He felt that familiar anger swirling all up his lines. If he had servos he’d be clenching them against it. The closest he could do was count every segment of road he passed. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. Part of a crate glanced off his hood, leaving a small scrape in his finish. He thought back to the arena, where such an act was only prolonging the inevitable, horrible end. Those times had been simpler. When his anger had been armor, not a liability, and he had been able to quench it with fresh energon.

“Pit-spawn murderer!” Another cube barely missed him. A fan, then, he groused sarcastically. His engine growled, and he saw the offender skitter back in his rearview.

“Airachnid!” Magnus shouted up at the black copter. “Don’t you have a route that doesn’t take us past aggressors?”

“Bots have a right to protest.” Megatron could feel the smirk in her vocalizer.

“Article fifteen, subsection five of the diplomat’s code–”

“You’re delusional if you think you’re diplomats!” Airachnid spat, cutting Magnus off. “And no one gives a cyber-rat’s aft about your codes.”

“Oh,” Magnus said mildly. “I’m sure the council would love to know the opinion of Sentinel’s chief bodyguard.”

“It’s Prime to you!” Airachnid retorted.

“Of course,” Magnus replied, but something in the way he said that made it feel like he’d won the interaction. That thought softened the blow when another piece of something glanced off his roof.

.:How are you faring, Megatronus?:. Orion commed across their private line.

.:What about you?:. Megatron commed back. After all, Orion was much smaller, thinner plating.

.:Not a scratch. I’m asking cause you’re taking the brunt of it:.

.:I’m basically a tank:. Megatron replied honestly. .:That’s why I’m on the side:.

.:True, true. And, uh… good job not attacking that mech earlier:.

Some small amount of mortification burned through him. .:That obvious, huh?:.

.:Can’t say I blame you. I want to give those bots a piece of my mind too. I… I don’t like them hurting you:.

Megatron let his amusement stretch over the line. .:Like they could:.

.:Yes, I suppose. It also helps when I remember that these bots only know what the council tells them. They never get to see the reality for themselves, and it’s not like anyone they’re going to meet up here is going to tell them:.

.:It’s no excuse:. Megatron replied, a tad darkly.

.:No:. Orion concurred. .:It’s not:.

They left that section of protesters behind, and Megatron used the time to reign in his fury. Talking to Orion had done a lot to cool him down. The quiet road was now helping too. He could see the glittering council tower fast approaching. Soon, their journey would come to an end, and they would be dealing with a new, potentially far more infuriating set of bots.

“Home stretch!” Orion chirped.

They left the closed off streets of the residences and businesses, coming across a wide plaza that looked like it surrounded the entirety of the base off the council tower. The space had a new statue or hologram at continuous intervals. They also passed benches, and trimmed hedges of that self-replicating non-sentient living metal that was so hated down the levels. Sure, here, it looked pretty, but without constant maintenance, the stuff would quickly overgrow the whole area. Only surface-bots would have something so decadent and careless.

A glint in the periphery of his visual sensors was the only warning he got. “Missile!” Megatron bellowed, throwing all power to his engine, and blasting forward the rest of the distance between him and Orion. Thick plating, thin plating. Megatron could take it. Orion couldn’t. The world went black.

*

By the time Orion actually saw the missile, Megatronus’s hauler alt was already between him and it. Bright gray plating slammed into him with the energy of the blast, and visual went completely static. The pain came a moment later, agony lancing him to the core. His own plating was singed with the heat of it all. When the rest of his sensors came back online he found himself wedged between Megatronus and the pedestal of some statue. He couldn’t feel the other’s field.

“Megatronus!” He knocked on his plating, praying for some reaction. His treads only continued their lazy spin through the air. He pushed the thought of Megatronus offlining from his mind. As much as it vyed to be the only thing he could focus on, there were other things at play. Somewhere above, blaster fire was singing through the air. He could hear Magnus grunt somewhere to his left.

.:Is everyone okay?:. He commed the shared channel, panic clear.

.:Everyone’s online ‘cept Megatronus:. Jazz said, wincing a little.

.:Where are you?:. Magnus commed, panic matching Orion’s own.

“Over here!” He called. “I’m stuck!”

A moment later and Magnus’s servo appeared on Megatronus’s upper flank, wrenching the hauler back.

“Careful!” Orion barked. “Is he okay?”

Magnus didn’t answer, taking care to ease Megatronus’s frame away more carefully.

“Magnus!”

“Apologies,” the mech said. “He’s… not well.”

“Frag,” Orion tried to jump to his pedes the moment the weight was mostly off of him, but immediately stumbled forward. He would’ve fallen flat on his face, but Magnus caught him, pulling him up awkwardly into his arms.

Ratchet ran up. “Your stabilizing-servos!”

Orion looked down. His frame was mangled from the pelvis down. Yep. That explained the pain.   There was no way he’d be walking or rolling out of here on his own. “Check Megatronus!” He ordered. 

“But your–”

Orion cut Ratchet off. “Is he online or not?” And that left little argument. Ratchet’s optics went wide, before he went around to the other side of Megatronus’s frame, pulling out a few instruments as he went. It looked bad. The entire right side of treads was mangled, and most of his plating was scorched. “Put me down next to him, Magnus.”

“Too risky. You can’t maneuver.”

“He was protecting me. I can’t just leave him like this!” His fault, his fault. Suddenly, the yawning chasm of things unsaid unspooled in his chassis.

“You’re not. Let’s just– we can stay close. Okay, sir?”

Leave it to Magnus to make Orion feel like a petulant newspark. “Fine,” he said, resigned.

Magnus took a quick sidestep, deftly avoiding a blaster-bolt meant for either one of them, then onlined a shield mounted on his arm. Orion finally took in the quickly-unfolding battle. The aerial squadron was locked in combat with some unknown assailants, and much to Orion’s surprise, airachnid’s escort was on their side, holding the aggressors back. Some of her grounders were helping reinforce their bots down here too. Luckily, Megatronus was the only one out of commission, though none of them had come out exactly clean.

He needed answers. “What’s happening!” He shouted up at Airachnid.

“Vosian terrorists!” She called down. “Must not be happy about the imminent alliance.”

“Senator Starscream!” Magnus hissed.

Orion considered the possibility. He certainly wouldn’t put this kind of thing past the seeker, especially with how their own negotiations had ended, but something about the whole thing seemed off…

An EMP blast sailed overhead, right into the thick of the aerial squadron. Blitzwing shrieked, careening down into the plaza, along with several others, Airachnid chief among them.

“I’m hit!” And then she swerved off towards the towers and disappeared.

“Anyone else think something here feels off?” Elita said as he backed over to Orion and Magnus. Ironhide followed, covering her back.

Magnus’s helm snapped down to her, optics wide. “Oh… oh Primus… you don’t think the council…”

“You said it, not me.” She fired another round into a circling enemy jet.

“Shockwave is going to be so smug,” Jazz bounded up. Their circle was getting tighter. That was bad.

“Comm Soundwave. Tell base what’s happening,” Orion ordered.

“Can’t mech. They’re jamming our signal,” Jazz said.

“How’s that possible?” Orion said. “Soundwave’s range–”

“Doesn’t matter if the frequency is blocked,” Shockwave said, lumbering over. “Good thing they didn’t account for other frequencies. Jazz, fire up the subwoofers!”

Jazz flashed a bright smile, understanding instantly. “Everyone offline your audials for the next half klik. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Orion did so. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel the vibrations of the message ringing through him. Their opposition didn’t fare well either. All around them, jets came crashing down. The grounders boxing them in got blown back, all of them covering their audials, too scrambled to think to offline them.

The barrage finally ended. Orion’s audials came back online. “Now’s our chance! Grab our bots and go.”

Magnus passed him over to Elita, and managed to get a grip on Megatronus. “This would be easier if he was in root.”

“Just a nano.” Ratchet reached his whole arm into some crevice of the mech, then snatched it back as a transformation triggered. If Megatronus had looked bad in alt, Orion could only suck in a gasp seeing the damage in root. His right stabilizing and arm were just as mangled as the treads had been. His plating was still black with soot in most places. Only his helm came away looking mostly normal. Probably because it’d been tucked away in alt.

Orion reached out as Magnus hauled Megatronus up over his shoulder. Just as quickly, Elita yanked him away, starting out of the plaza.

“Let’s go!” he called up to the aerial squad. Lugnut started spouting something about Megatron, but did a good job covering their retreat. “You think Soundwave got our message?” Orion asked Jazz.

“If anyone could,” Jazz said, sounding a lot lighter than the situation warranted. Orion couldn’t tell if he appreciated it or not. “Don’t matter either way though. He knows if he doesn’t hear from us every cycle that something happened.”

“Where do we go?” Ratchet said. Orion only realized then that the medic was sitting on Magnus’s other shoulder, leaning over to do something to Megatronus’s chassis. “Can we even make it back to the border?”

“I can guide y’all there,” Jazz said. “But actually making it’s another matter. If this really is Iacon then they’re gonna have the home turf, and numbers on their side.”

“In a small group, however, the stealth approach may be our only chance,” Shockwave added. They made it back to the cover of the city. The aerial squad ducked down with them so they wouldn’t immediately give away the position from above. “I say we split into two groups. Our chances of escape are much better that way.”

“We’re not doing that,” Orion said. “All or none.”

Shockwave’s expression was unimpressed. “Our collective chances of success increase if we split up.”

Orion thought on it a moment, then sighed. “Fine. But I’m staying with Magnus and Megatronus.”

“I thought as much,” Shockwave said.

“And I’m going with Orion!” Bee said.

“Okay, we’ll split by–”

Orion was cut off by another missile, impact radius meters from their group.

“Fragging idiots!” Ratchet shouted. “They’re firing on their own civilians!” 

It was true, bots from Iacon scattered in the streets, unsure of if the danger came from above, or in front of them.

“They get away with it cause they’re blaming it on terrorists,” Orion said, fury mounting. “They don’t give a scrap who they kill as long as they get us in the end!”

“We’ll split,” Shockwave said, running. “I’ll go with–”

Another missile. Everyone managed to dodge it, but when Orion shook off the impact and took in the surroundings, his tanks felt like they were dropping into his pedes.

“Oh. Oh no,” Orion said.

An army marched forward from every direction. The only place clear was the skies.

“Frag– FRAG!” Orion shouted.

Every direction, civilians in the crossfire, jet engines approaching.

“Surrender!” An authoritative voice cut through it all. “Surrender, and we will be lenient!” Orion craned his neck to find Sentinel Prime perched behind a platoon of soldiers. It was C-12 all over again.

“We didn’t attack anyone!” Orion called back, then redirected to the cowering civilians. “We’re being framed! We came to negotiate.”

“Lies from terrorists!” Prime retorted. “Seize them!”

“Won’t seize anyone…” Megatronus slurred, stirring a little. Orion could hear his systems booting back up, his field crackling to life. Relief crashed over Orion, even as terror ate him from the inside out. He felt Megatronus’s field mingle with his, the calm, the storm. His optics snapped wide open in a blaze of crimson. He lurched up in Magnus’s grip, pushing himself down back onto his own pedes as he took in the situation, Orion’s wounds, the approaching soldiers, the open skies. Orion could practically hear his tac-unit working overtime.

“Lugnut!” Megatronus bellowed upward. “Your squad grabs everyone it can carry, now! And you don’t turn back for anything!”

The seekers dropped down, transforming and snatching his bots off the ground like a turbo-hawk might its prey. Lugnut came in to grab Megatronus, but he waved him off. “Magnus and Orion.”

“But–”

“NOW!” he roared, and the purple bomber had him out of Elita’s arms and into firm grasp quicker than Orion could get another word out. Magnus made an undignified sound to his right as his pedes left the ground. He found Megatronus again in the fray. He’d pulled the volt-saw off his back– Orion’s tanks lurched at the sight of the thing– and was back to shearing through Iaconian soldiers like he’d never left the Pits. One managed to sneak up on his damaged side.

“Your right, Megatronus!”

Megatronus whirled around, bringing the full force of his swing down on the mech, before sparing a glance at Orion. For just a single hanging nanoklik, he saw the snarling fury melt away into… something else. His optics went wide, cycling. He looked… vulnerable.

With a jolt, Orion remembered the weight in his subspace. He reached in, drawing out Elita’s– his blaster. He double-checked it was set to stun, then took aim at the bots surrounding Megatronus and Elita.

It was okay to fight. It was okay. If there were ever a better case for self-defense. If there were ever a time.

Did these soldiers know the full scope of the situation? Did they know the FFFF was being framed? Would it matter? Did it matter?

He lined up a mech in his sights.

Set to stun. Set to stun. It wouldn’t even do long-term damage. He tried to imagine the target instead. Elita’s guiding servo. Elita who was down there fighting because of him. He tried to remember C-12. He’d been able to fire then. What was the difference now?

He knew, even as he tried not to, he knew. With the training, he knew he’d actually be able to hit something.

His servo was shaking. He commanded his digit to pull the trigger but it wouldn’t fire. It wouldn’t fire.

A mech managed to grab Megatronus from the back, thrusting an electro baton between the seams of his already-damaged plating. Orion could hear the wounded sound he made all the way up in the sky. 

“Magnus– Magnus do you have your blaster?” He hated to ask something of a bot what he couldn’t do himself. Some mech Magnus had pledged himself to.

Magnus’s voice came out solemn, “we’re out of range, sir.”

Orion wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t.

Megatronus disappeared somewhere under a swarm of soldiers. He didn’t know where Elita had gone, but could only assume the same fate. He scanned the street for her, and only found Sentinel Prime’s blue optics, trained on their retreat. 

Prime’s intake was quirked up, in a small, self-satisfied smile. He caught Orion’s gaze. His smile only grew, and he mouthed something, “you’re next.”

And then a building rose up between their retreat and the mess of the street.

Megatronus was out of sight.

Orion’s throat went tight with deeper panic. “We need to go back.” He turned in Lugnut’s grip to better face his bots. “We just left them! We have to go back!”

“Our glorious leader said not to turn back for anything,” Lugnut said, somehow tightening his grip on Orion.

“Yeah?” Orion grunted at the way it further agitated his damaged plating. “Well your glorious leader is about to get offlined unless we do something about it!”

“Not necessarily,” Shockwave said. “They won’t kill him immediately. They’ll likely opt for a public execution.”

“Like that makes me feel better!”

“It should. It gives us time to regroup and stage a rescue.”

Shockwave’s calm logic, usually reassuring, felt overwhelmingly cold at that moment. An angry bubble welled in his chassis. He wanted to scream his rage at the mech— at all of them— at Sentinel.

He forced himself to take deep vents. Megatronus was not okay. But he probably wasn’t dead. Same with Elita. He had to take solace in that. He had to be a leader.

“Okay,” and he was impressed with his own ability to keep his voice even. “What’s our next move? Should we try to get back to Kaon?”

“I doubt there’s anywhere else on Cybertron that’ll be safe for us,” Shockwave said.

“Hey, uh… guys?”

“Yes, Bee?”

“Is it just me, or are those fighter jets getting closer?”

Magnus and the others had their weapons ready this time. Once the jets came in range they were met with a flurry of blaster-bolts. They got a few, who hit the ground in a hail of parts. Orion didn’t have time to parse his feelings on this or check their own, because a moment later, Lugnut roared in pain. Orion looked down to see a harpoon lanced through his pede. He followed the line to find it attached to a winch on the ground. They were being reeled in.

Lugnut pushed more power to thrusters, fighting forward a few meters, before the one attached to the lanced pede gave out.

“Lugnut, drop me,” Magnus ordered. “You’ll have enough thrust to break away.”

“Do not,” Orion countered. “There’s got to be another way.”

“Megatron said to carry both of you,” Lugnut grunted. And Orion knew he must be wearing, because he didn’t even go on about Megatronus’s greatness.

Magnus fired a few shots at the line and the bots trying to pull them in. One hit, but then they activated a shield, and the line was just too small a target. A few more kliks and they’d be within reach.

A battlecry and a blur of yellow. Orion didn’t know what he was seeing, until Lugnut rocketed forward, and he could make out Bee falling. His servos were toggled out for knives. He’d severed the line, Orion realized.

“Bee, no!” He reached out, even as he knew it was too late. Maybe worst of all, Bee looked… content. Like there was nothing better than being able to sacrifice himself for Orion. And he couldn’t even honor that, because a moment later, an EMP rocketed into Lugnut’s side, blasting all three of them, and they were falling, numb. Everything went static for a klik. When his vision came back online he was slung over somebots shoulder– by the huffing, probably Ratchet, and they were running down a busy street. Magnus was limping behind, pulling Lugnut by the pede. The rest of his bots had themselves angled to easily return fire, but with the build of the street, it would be laughably easy to get boxed in.

“Ratch? Where’s Bee?”

He felt the medic grunt under him. “Don’t know.”

“Ratchet–”

“I’m worried too!” Ratchet snapped. “But we need to trust him to take care of himself right now. We don’t have the concern to spare.”

Another EMP whizzed past.

“Case in point.”

They ducked into an alley.

“Who’s leading us?”

“Shockwave.”

And then they stopped.

“We’ve lost ‘em for a few kliks,” Jazz said. “We need a plan.”

“Transmit positions?” Shockwave said.

“What’s happening?” Orion tried to shift so he could actually see the conversation. Ratchet compromised by turning halfway.

“I hacked the Iaconian datanet while we were running. So I know where everyone is,” Jazz preened.

“Where’re the others?”

The smile slid off his face. “I– Orion, I’m sorry. I just don’t know. They’ve disappeared.”

“Oh.” Orion went numb all over again, only this time, it wasn’t from any EMP blast. He couldn’t tell if it was worse than the agony.

And then something hardened in him. Numbness gave way to conviction, though it still held a home in his core. “It won’t be in vain, and we won’t let it be the end. Jazz, do you see any pathway back to Kaon?”

“No. The whole city is crawling with military and enforcers.”

A thought occurred. “Magnus. What about the tunnels you and Alpha Trion took?”

“I–” Magnus looked panicked. “It’s a secret!”

And Orion hated pulling this card. He mustered up every bit of authority he had. “Magnus, you pledged to me. We need those tunnels. There’s no other way out.”

Magnus’s optics went wide. He nodded. “The tunnels– they span all across Iacon. But I only know the entrance under the council tower.”

Orion checked his comm board. “We’re not blocked anymore. Jazz, contact base. Tell them the situation.”

Jazz lit up, realizing what Orion was saying. Orion didn’t spare a moment to be satisfied.

.:Alpha Trion:. he commed.

The answer came quickly. He didn’t know what the mech might sound like panicked, but he could feel the frantic energy over the connection .:Orion, what is your status?:.

.:Sentinel attacked us. We’re hiding out. There’s no way back to Kaon:.

.:Don’t linger on the comms. They’re probably monitoring:.

.:Okay, but do you remember the last time I saw you?:. It was hard to convey meaning without giving the whole game away to any potential evesdroppers.

Alpha Trion seemed to take his meaning. .:Ah. What do you need?:.

.:A coordinate that I can access from Iacon proper:.

.:If they are listening, you know they’ll be waiting for you there:.

.:Then give me more than one:.

He could feel the mech’s approval over the comm– could imagine the satisfied rumble that would’ve come with it. Without further preamble, five coordinates came over the line, and then the connection severed.

“Alright, I got five coordinates that should lead us into the tunnels.”

“But how do we access ‘em?” Ironhide asked.

“Magnus?”

“Yes, I can take care of that.”

“Jazz, I’m sending the coordinates. I leave it to you to pick the safest route.”

Jazz tipped his helm, then went blank for a moment as he thought. “Alright y’all, follow me.”

*

The night-cycle fell when they finally drew close.

“I don’t think they intercepted the comm. This area doesn’t have any more military than any other area,” Jazz said. “It’s just down this street.”

It was a wonder they were able to move without detection this long. Almost suspicious. Their group, made partially of miners, didn’t exactly lend subtlety. Though there was always the possibility that bystanders saw Magnus and just assumed it was all part of a military operation.

They rounded the corner, and light immediately blared in all their faces. The wind from waiting helicopters blasted overhead, and Orion could just make out Prime’s silhouette against the light.

He clapped sarcastically. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Their procession immediately rounded to make an escape, only to find that it was completely blocked off.

“You didn’t actually think we wouldn’t overhear your little call with Alpha Trion, did you?” Prime laughed, usually a warm inviting sound over the holovids– so very cold and cruel here. Orion had always known it was fake, understood the system and its masters. It was still a strange dissonance to finally see it unmasked. “We’ve been watching that traitor for centuries. Always complaining over this and that. Geezer just doesn’t understand how things work. Or, well, don’t work.” He punctuated this with another sharp smile. “Seize them.”

“With pleasure.” Airachnid slid forward on her extra legs, the motion even creepier in the dark.

“If you all want to offline–” Shockwave said, taking a large step forward, and pulling open his subspace. “Be my guest.”

Orion wasn’t sure what he was seeing in Shockwave’s chassis, all the wires and blinking lights.

“He has a bomb!” Prime shrieked, jumping back.

“Not just any bomb,” Shockwave smirked. “It’s a plasm-bomb. I built it myself. And while that may have you assume it’s not on par with what you find on the black market, I can assure you, it’s much, much worse. I’ll make the leveling of Vidocon look like afternoon energon.”

Orion couldn’t tell if he meant it.

“You can’t be serious!” Prime shouted. “You’ll kill your own bots!”

“You’re going to kill us anyway,” Shockwave grinned, a touch manic. “At least this way the FFFF will have the upper servo, and Cybertron will learn what happens to bots that go back on their word.”

Prime could only stand with his intake hanging open, and then, “you’re bluffing.”

Shockwave only wordlessly reached for some mechanism on the bomb.

“Okay, okay! Stop! What do you want?”

“The return of our bots, safe passage to Kaon, and Kaon being made its own city-state.”

“But—“

“You lost your chance to negotiate when you attacked us! This is the deal you get.”

“Kaon can’t be a city-state! Who the hell would run it? You?”

“Him,” Shockwave pointed to Orion, who forced himself not to shrink under the attention. Hard to look dignified with his stabilizing-servos all mangled. Could only hope he managed it.

“Wait a klik.” Airachnid narrowed her optics. “That doesn’t look like any plasm-bomb I’ve ever seen.”

“Home-made. New model. You really want to chance it?”

“You won’t make fools of us!” Prime shouted. “Take them down!”

Airachnid dove forward, her soldiers close behind. One way or another, Orion prepared for the inevitable end. Maybe, at the very least, he’d get to see the others– see Megatronus one last time.

Suddenly, Shockwave had his pauldron in a denting grip. He was pulled in close.

“The movement needs you more than it needs me. Never forget why you’re doing this, and…” He smiled. The quirk in his lips almost looked self-deprecating. His optics were blazing their bright amber. “Remember me as I was.”

“Shockwave? What do you–”

Before he could finish the question, the world slipped out from under him. Everything– the soldiers, the streets, Prime, Shockwave himself– all bent in a violent swirl of green, until they were indistinguishable from each other. He and the others were all falling in every direction at once, a profound feeling of weightlessness and panic flooding every line. He almost purged, with the way nausea overtook him. If Ratchet hadn’t been holding him, he might’ve collapsed to his pedes– if there was even anywhere to fall.

And just as quick as it had started, the world snapped back into place, only, they weren’t in that alley anymore. He wasn’t actually sure where they were, only that it was still Iacon, from the shape of the buildings. Ratchet fell to his knees under him, but made sure not to drop Orion. All around him, members of their party groaned.

“I can’t believe it,” Jazz rasped. “I can't believe it worked.”

“What worked?” Orion wheezed, everything graduating to a tight, uncomfortable feeling. He turned to better face Jazz. “What just happened?”

“Spacebridge,” Jazz said. “Shockwave was bluffing. He turned himself into a spacebridge. He just used it to teleport all of us.”

Orion blinked once. The anger took another nanoklik to catch up. “Then– then why– why did he only use it then?” He laughed, and there wasn’t a drop of humor behind it. “Bee, Elita, Megatronus… Why didn’t he use it then? Why didn’t he use it after the first missile?”

“Because aside from the fact that it’s near-untested, and could very well have been a bomb for all intents and purposes, there are drawbacks.” And Jazz didn’t sound patronizing as another might’ve. He only sounded tired. “First, he had no way of determining a destination, and second, it leaves him behind.”

Orion helm snapped around. “Shockwave…”

Shockwave, Bee, Elita, Megatronus.

How many more did he have to lose today?

“Disturbance in this quadrant!” a distant voice barked. “Mobilize!”

Orion could have cried. He didn’t even look like the only one. But it couldn’t be in vain. It couldn’t.

“Jazz,” he sounded despondent to his own audials. “Do you see a way out?”

Jazz heaved himself to his pedes. “Gimme a klik.”

“I said disengage, you simpleton!” another voice shrieked from around the corner. Orion jolted. It sounded… familiar. “You, back– back! You, come with me. If it’s who I think it is…”

While his bots were starting to panic, an unusual calm washed over Orion. Ratchet pushed himself to his pedes, ready to flee.

“Orion,” Jazz said, “follow me—“

“Wait.” Orion held up a servo. Maybe he was making another mistake— one in a line of many— but what they’d been doing wasn’t working. Maybe…

A seeker rounded that corner, with two others at his back. He could see Magnus bristling in his periphery. Orion wasn’t sure if he should be crying with relief, or laughing at the irony.

“Starscream,” Orion said.

“That’s Senator Starscream to you, Orion Pax.” And the way he said that wasn’t in the least bit friendly, but it wasn’t outright hostile either. “Well?” He said to the group’s blank look. “Are you coming, or not?”

“Excuse me?” Magnus said, genuinely confused.

“Let me make it simple enough for you lugnuts to understand,” Starscream drawled.

“My name is Lugnut,” Lugnut said.

Starscream’s optic twitched, his face going hilariously blank, before he resumed an expression much closer to pleasantness, though Orion had a hard time believing it. “You can either stay out here on the streets, and you can eventually get caught, tortured and executed by Sentinel, or you can come with me, I harbor you in my embassy, and we can resume our negotiations.” He looked at Orion meaningfully. He’d told everyone about the failed talks those solar-cycles previous. 

The last thing he wanted was to have to rely on the generosity of Starscream of all bots. Skywarp gave a stupid little wave to the senator’s left.

“Fine,” Orion sighed, resigned, battered, running on the dregs of hope. Maybe this time they’d really find luck’s end– or beginning. What choice did they really have? He met Starscream’s gaze head on. If he did this, it would be with the confidence of a leader, even if he was far past feeling it. “Let’s talk.”

Notes:

Hope u got tricked by the chapter title LOL,, sorry, had to be evil again. The nice times couldn't last. It has to get worse before it can get better before it can get worse again. And you may notice I added a chapter count!! I'm not done writing, but getting there. There is also a chance that it'll be inaccurate, but not by a lot I think. Anywho, wow! getting there...

Chapter 18: Mind Over Matter

Notes:

Warning for actual hacking and torture in this chapter!! Mostly mental though, so no blood/gore or anything like that.

Megatron onlined in darkness, aching in every joint, sticky with energon. His breathing came out fast and ragged. Panicked– panicked because for one hanging moment, he was back at the very bottom of C-12, pulling himself up servo over servo, positive he’d offline in that darkness every nanoklik, agony lancing every movement from Darkwing’s beating. He was going to die. He was going to die in the dark.

“Megatronus, are you awake? Megatronus… um, sir?” A small servo brushed the edge of his pauldron. 

There was no one else back then. It brought new skittering pain across that surface, but in that moment, it was so very grounding. He gritted his dentae, counting his vents to bring the rate of them down. With some effort, he got his functions working within normal parameters. It was only then that he realized he was in stasis-cuffs. This wasn’t C-12, it was a cell.

He reset his vocalizer. “Bee? Is that you?”

“Megatronus!” The bot sobbed, throwing himself against Megatron. It was too dark to see him, but he definitely felt the impact. He hissed his pain.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry.” Bee moved back a little, sheepish. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I saw how hurt you got.”

“It’s fine,” Megatron rumbled, forcing the echoes of pain from his field. It wouldn’t help to get the bot worked up. It was funny, how much Bee fretted like Orion. “Is there anyone else here with us?”

“No, at least, I didn’t see anyone.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“What? I don’t— oh!” Bee laughed a little, light and fluttery. He sounded like he’d been crying. “No, no. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Megatron chuckled a little, then grew somber. “Bee, what happened after I got captured?”

“We didn’t get too far before we were attacked again. They, um, harpooned the big buy… what’s his designation, Lugnut. They were pulling him in, so I jumped down and cut the line. That’s the last thing before they caught me.”

“Did you see Orion? Was he okay?”

“Last thing I saw they were getting away. Orion was as okay as the last time you saw him. Well, except he was pretty torn up about you and Elita getting captured, of course.”

Megatron briefly wondered if it made him a bad person to be secretly pleased by that.

“Did I do the right thing, Megatronus?” Bee’s voice sounded small. “I thought he’d be proud of me. I had Flatline install knives, like how Ratchet had scalpels, and I cut the rope. I thought he’d be happy with me.”

“You did the right thing, Bee. You did the exact right thing.”

“You didn’t see the look in his optics.” Bee curled into himself by Megatron’s side. “I don’t know if he was angry, or if he was going to cry. I didn’t like it.”

Megatron searched in vain for the words that would soothe Bee, tried and failed. He didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t even lend a comforting servo with the way they were cuffed together in front of him. Bee’s hiccuping sob cut through the silence like a knife, right to the spark. He wasn’t Orion. Whatever instinct led him to those perfect comforting words just didn’t exist in Megatron’s processor.

“Do you want to hear a poem?”

“Hm?” Bee sniffled. Megatron felt him rub his nose. At least he wasn’t crying anymore. “I forgot you had those.”

“Yes,” Megatron said, snorting slightly. “Would you like to hear one or not?” While the words were biting, his tone was anything but.

“Yes please.” Bee burrowed further into his side. Luckily this time it didn’t aggravate his injuries.

Megatron thought a little, trying to decide which to recite. It didn’t take him long to settle on one. He drew in a vent, preparing.

 

“Scoring rending twice thrice quarters

Shorn gray metallic torn up mortars

Lifeblood pooling in muted streams

Roaring current halting all dreams

 

Groundless mantle shake stomping pede

Last vent lost when a bot lies dead

Scream your bloodlust for his or mine

Smattered pink for a listless shine 

 

Hot white bursts leave audials ringing

Plating shredded bright hum stinging

Lines lit fusing fury forward

Servo clenched true in duty toward

 

Casing rent boldest sparkfelt bared

Liberated bot won’t be spared

Last vent lost blazes across sky

We fight we burn we live we die”

 

He finished with a hum, and the slightest unsettling of his neurals. Maybe a touch dark. Probably not what Bee needed after all. He was still awake, still breathing evenly. He could practically hear the whirring of his processor, taking in and reconfiguring the complex information.

“What does it mean?”

Megatron briefly wondered if this was how Orion first felt when trying to explain the art so long ago. It was hard to find the words— yet again, wasn’t sure how to articulate himself beyond you just get it!

“What do you think it means?”

Bee’s bright blue optics blinked up at him in the dark. So cyan. Only a shade off from Orion’s. “It’s about killing and dying. Violence, I think?”

“Good,” Megatron rumbled. “What else?”

Bee thought some more. Then finally, “I don’t know,” in that small nervous voice.

“That’s okay,” Megatron said. “It took me a while to get poetry. You know, Orion had to teach me. He spent a lot of time explaining what each poem meant.”

“I do like it though,” Bee chirped. “It sounds pretty.”

“Thank you. Do you want me to explain it?”

He felt Bee nod next to him. “Yes. Please?”

“It’s about the difference between violence for something, and violence for nothing. Pain and sacrifice are meaningless when it’s not for a real cause, and then the opposite is true too. After fighting for others’ bloody entertainment so long, getting my servos dirty for a real goal feels refreshing. Alive.”

“Did you write that?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“Orion mentioned you wrote, and then… it just seems personal, that’s all.”

“I guess it is. I did write it. What I was trying to get at, though, is that it’s an honor to sacrifice yourself for a greater cause. And there is none greater than Orion’s.” He angled himself to reciprocate Bee’s makeshift hug. “You did exactly as I would’ve done.”

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t say something I don’t mean.”

Bee sniffled again. “Thanks, Megatronus. That means a lot coming from you.”

Megatron felt himself surprised by that. He didn’t know the little bot regarded him that way.

“Sorry ‘bout all that though.” Bee pulled away, putting a respectable distance back between them. Megatron could feel his flickering embarrassment. Then he steeled. “I surveyed the room while you were offline. The door’s across from us, but I couldn’t feel any panel from the inside or any kind of vent. I think we’re really stuck.”

“I’ll find a way,” Megatron replied. He would. He only had to regain his strength enough to do something about it.

“What about the FFFF?”

“What about them?”

“Do you think they’ll save us?”

Megatron considered it. He trusted Orion and Soundwave to try their best to stage a rescue– if Orion escaped– he must’ve. Any other outcome wasn’t worth considering. If Soundwave could find a way to Iacon– also not out of the question.

But they’d captured him. Megatron. There were no two ways to cut it. He was their strongest, and he’d been captured. As much as he trusted Orion and Soundwave’s intentions, there was no one he could truly rely on outside of himself.

“We need to operate under the assumption that there’s no rescue coming– not because there isn’t one,” he added at the stricken pulse in Bee’s field, “but because you need to prepare for the absolute worst eventuality.”

“Right. Right,” Bee said, forcing himself calm. It didn’t quite take. He could feel the bot trembling.

“Bee?”

“I– Megatronus, I’m scared.”

Another one of those phrases Megatron didn’t know how to reply to. Orion would.

Orion.

Megatron wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t felt true fear for himself since that first time he took up the volt-saw. It wasn’t worth considering how an eventuality could hurt, it only mattered how a bot prepared.

Orion would know what to say. He could imagine the words now, that sympathetic smile, open arms. An idea sparked.

“Orion would tell you– he’d… he’d say it’s good enough to be brave, Bee.” Megatron let a measured vent escape through his intake, channeling the words. “You don’t have to be fearless. You just have to be brave. See the thing– the unknown, and make the best call you can. This fight’s going to throw things at you– at all of us– things we’ve never had to deal with before.” He settled back, sensing Bee’s field calming, and finding himself satisfied with that. “You just have to do your best. He’ll be proud of you for that alone.”

*

“We’re saving our friends, and then we talk, Senator Starscream.”

The mech in question looked ready to blow a fuse. Both the FFFF and Vosian delegations were all assembled around a table in a surprisingly tastefully decorated great room. “You don’t have a stabilizing-servo to stand on here Orion Pax, and I mean that both metaphorically, and in the most literal sense possible.”

Points for humor, Orion thought, but refused to say, as Ratchet dismantled another rotor in one of his mangled stabilizing-servos.

“I will remind you,” Ratchet said, “that Orion is on pain blockers, and shouldn’t be having this discussion at all.” Then under his breath, “probably isn’t even legal.”

“It’s not,” Magnus tacked on. “Article C-512–”

“Enough, enough,” Starscream waved a servo. “Primus you bots are insufferable–”

“Probably the first honest thing you’ve said this solar-cycle,” Ratchet griped.

“Do you want me to hand your sorry afts back to Sentinel?!” Starscream shrieked. “Don’t forget who saved who!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure he’d be thrilled by that fact,” Orion said.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Nope,” Orion flashed a slag-eating grin, easy now that the pain was gone. Maybe he should’ve been more disturbed by the twisted metal of his mangled stabilizing-servos, but he just couldn’t hop off the wave of pain-free euphoria he was riding. “Just stating a simple fact. Even now, the chronometer’s ticking. Prime probably already knows we’re here. Now he just has to decide what he’s going to do about it.”

“All the more reason for you to swallow your pride, and–”

“Starscream,” Orion leaned forward across the table, much to Ratchet’s chagrin. The lick of humor he’d felt earlier dropped completely from his processing, leaving only the best of his threatening intent. The pain-blockers really must’ve been messing with him. He wasn’t intimidated by Starscream in the slightest. “My bots have limited time, and I have limited patience. Here’s what’s going to happen, Senator. You’re going to use your contacts to find out where they’re being kept, we’re going to stage a rescue, and then we can discuss a real alliance. Consider this the show of good faith you failed to provide during the first round of negotiations.”

If Starscream looked angry before, he was incensed now. There was actual steam swirling up from his vents. He could feel Magnus tense in the corner, along with everyone else in the room. His bots versus Starscream’s seekers. They had a handful of Megatron’s best gladiators and Magnus. He liked his odds.

Starscream must’ve agreed, because he forced his flared plating back down into something less threatening, drumming angular digits against the table, considering the words. It probably hadn’t been smart to rile the mech up, but Orion was starting to learn that aggression was the only thing he actually responded to. Infuriating that such a mech could be on the council. Worse still, that he was probably far from the worst bot on it.

Finally, Starscream threw his servos up with a helpless trill, “only one problem with that, Orion Pax–” the name was spat like a curse– “I have no idea where they could possibly be keeping your little friends.”

“That’s why I said ‘use your contacts,’ and not pull it magically out of your aft!”

“Orion, would you like to sit back down?” Ratchet was distinctly unimpressed. Orion looked down to find one of his lines had pinched and split in his frustration. Luckily nothing critical, but the energon was starting to trickle down onto the chair.

“Great!” Starscream squawked. “And now you’re going to smear your filthy fluids all over the place!”

“Calm down,” Ratchet said. “I got it.” A nanoklik later and the line was clamped. “Can you please finish these negotiations so I can do these repairs in peace?”

Orion cocked a brow in Starscream’s direction. “I don’t know. Can we?”

“I told you! I don’t have a location, and I’m not risking my contacts getting you one. Besides, they’ll probably be offlined before I even manage to scrounge one up!”

Offline. No. He wouldn’t accept it. Couldn’t.

“I swear, Starscream,” and he hated the way his tone darkened, turning sour and rising with twisting fear. “If my bots get killed because you refuse to–”

“Star?” Skywarp blipped back into the room, startling everyone.

“Can’t you see the rabble-rouser is busy threatening me?” Starscream hissed. “What could you possibly need?”

“Uh…” the purple seeker wrung his servos. “There’s a uh… femme. One of Orion’s.”

Orion sat bolt upright. “Elita?”

“That’s her!” Skywarp did a little snap clap with his digits. “Should I bring her in?”

“Why are you asking him?” Starscream hissed, genuinely offended.

“Oh, sorry Star. Just seemed right.”

“Just bring her in!”

Skywarp disappeared in a burst of purple light, before skittering back through the door a klik later, Elita close behind. 

“Elita!” He nearly toppled, forgetting the state of his stabilizing-servos. She rolled her optics, almost fond, though she looked tired. “I thought Prime’s soldiers got you.”

“Managed to give them the slip. It’s not over until they have the stasis-cuffs on you.”

Orion laughed. He’d missed her, but couldn’t let himself bask in it. “Did anyone else–”

“No,” she said, shaking her helm, expression stern, but optics sad. “Megatron, Bee, and Shockwave are all in custody,” she turned angry– no, intentional. “But I know where they are, and it’s not good. We have to set out immediately if we want them back.”

Her tone was dead-set solemnity. It turned his lines ice-cold with fear.

“Where are they, Elita?”

“The Institute.”

For a moment, time froze. Orion felt like his processor was dropping down into his tanks. Bots were speaking around him, urgent, but disorganized, one on top of the other. Even Starscream seemed stricken by the concept, snapping something at Elita, who was dishing it right back.

Mutilation, torture, reprogramming.

Empurata, shadowplay. Punishment worse than offlining. No. He couldn’t let it happen.

“Enough!” Orion barked. The room instantly went silent. He didn’t have to muster the leader within him this time. The steady voice came easy. Lives were on the line. Megatronus’s life was on the line. He couldn’t fail. “Here’s exactly what you’re all going to do.”

*

Megatron cracked an optic open. Pedesteps down the hall.

“Bee. It’s time.”

Megatron heaved himself up. Bee helped prop his movement at the last nanoklik when he teetered. Not a good sign. He positioned himself on one side of the door, Bee on the other. They’d only get one shot at this.

He could hear guards talking as they approached. None of the words. Couldn’t tell how many. He tensed, bracing himself for the inevitable pain that this attack would cost. His self-repair hadn’t done nearly enough. Couldn’t. All the mechanics of his right side were heat damaged and partially crushed. Those would require a medic.

“There’s five,” Bee whispered.

“How can you tell?”

“I just can.”

Megatron nodded. “Plan doesn’t change.”

They waited in shared silence, taut as a bowstring.

The chime of a code, and the door slid aside. The instant the first guard passed the threshold with his weapon, Megatron barreled forward. Bee was correct. Five guards waited, and Megatron plowed over three of them, knocking them down with his greater mass. A fourth swung against his bad side, and the expected agony slashed through him. He grit his dentae together, forcing every screaming neural forward. Pain was temporary.

“Now!” he roared.

Bee ran up his backplates, using the height to launch himself down onto that guard, both pedes slamming into his face with a sickening crunch, and accompanying spurt of energon. He grabbed the guard’s electro-baton as they both went down, jamming it directly into the middle of the fifth. When the dust cleared, they stood above the five guards, venting heavily, but no more injured, and triumphant. Bee darted down to start rifling through subspaces, but couldn’t break the locks. Megatron grunted, leaning down and pulling the compartment open easily as he would the seal of a cube of energon. Lucky first try. A passkey glinted up at him. He took it, sliding it across Bee’s stasis-cuff lock. They fell away, and he returned the favor. Megatron rubbed his wrists, then picked up an electro-baton. Bee toggled his fists into knives.

“More guards will be here soon,” Megatron said, starting down the corridor. Bee followed close behind. He was surprised to find that he felt safer knowing the bot was at his back. Orion had been right about him all along. As always.

*

Bee felt much safer knowing Megatronus was leading the charge. Did it make him a coward? Despite the darkened plating on his right, and the imprisonment that attested to the opposite, Megatronus seemed nothing less than an indomitable wall of power– a force that wouldn’t be bested by somebot mortal. More than that, Orion trusted him, and Bee trusted Orion. Practically every moment of free time Orion had back at base was spent with Megatronus after C-12, not that there was much of that. There was always something to be done. Orion said as much, and he was always leading by example. Reserved, but encouraging. Always letting his actions speak louder than his words, but generous with advice when Bee needed it. Always an online audial. Orion was the only one Bee felt fully comfortable around. Of course there was the rest of command, who were always encouraging him too, but there was some resonant quality to Orion’s speech, his movements, that bade Bee listen, watch.

Another turn of the hall. The place was like a labyrinth, but Bee didn’t have any trouble keeping it straight in his processor. He was good with directions. He only wished he’d been online to see the route the guards had taken to put him there.

Megatronus started to take a left.

“I think we should go right.”

Megatronus gave a questioning helm tilt. “Why?”

Bee swallowed down his anxiety. Megatronus was listening. He looked scary, but he wasn’t scary. Not after the way he’d comforted him in the cell. “I think we should try to move in an overall fixed direction. That way we might eventually find an exit. Right will take us in more of the west direction we’ve been doing most.” He ended a little nervously, forcing himself to keep optic contact. Megatronus spent a few nanokliks considering, but quickly gave a nod, wordlessly taking Bee’s suggestion. Bee’s spark surged a little at that. Megatronus! Listening to him! He tried not to get giddy with it. Serious, serious. They were in the heart of enemy territory. 

Megatronus followed his strategy from there on out, not needing to ask Bee which way was which. Made sense. Bee was going off the gyroscope model that all miners were equipped with, and Megatronus was once a miner too.

The corridors all looked identical. Just rows and rows of numbered doors. He couldn’t help but wonder if they all contained prisoners.

As though sensing the thought, Megatronus cut into his thoughts, “keep an optic for something that looks like a control room. It’s unlikely with this direction, but if these rooms have prisoners, it could help our escape to free them.”

“And it’s the right thing to do.”

Megatronus looked back at him, expression odd. Then he huffed a small laugh. “Yes. That too.”

All at once, the white corridors went red, a bright alarm blaring. Bee jumped three meters into the air.

“Guess they found the guards,” Megatronus grumbled, taking another decisive turn right, then he straightened up, helm cocked, optics cycling. “They know where we are.”

Bee filtered the alarm out of his audio input. What sounded like two dozen sets of pedes were thundering towards them. He stiffened. Fear gripped him like a vice.

Megatronus only stood still. For a moment, Bee was sure he must be paralyzed with fear as well. Then he rounded on his heel, jumping and smashing the security camera blinking at them. A quick scan seemed to satisfy him. Then he had two servos around Bee’s waist. Bee jolted in surprise as he was lifted to the ceiling– to a grate.

“Open it,” Megatronus said. “But try not to disturb it.”

Bee understood. “But what about you?”

“Better one than both of us.” And there was no arguing with that. Bee used the tip of a knife to unscrew a bolt, then slid the grate aside, pulling himself up and in. With some difficulty he twisted himself around to push it back into place. Megatronus blinked up at him. The pedesteps grew closer. “Go,” he hissed.

“Run!” Bee said back.

“Vents don’t talk,” Megatronus said, then he was turning his attention back to the hall. A moment later the squad burst into view.

Megatronus planted his pedes, on first glance confident, unbeatable, but past that, even Bee could see he was shaking with exhaustion.

And still he stood fast. Bee knew he should start moving– escape so that Megatronus’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain, but he had to know what happened. Had to witness it.

Megatronus charged, taking out two guards on impact. Then he was swinging the electro-baton, striking with such electrical force that the thing just gave up and snapped after the fourth hit. Then he was down to fists. They hit him with their own batons, and he just wouldn’t stop. Injured, and outnumbered, and hopelessly trapped behind enemy lines, and he was still fighting.

He’d spent a decent amount of time with Megatronus, by proxy. He understood why Orion liked talking to him. He’d been privy to more than one passionate discussion about poetry, or the state of Cybertron. He hadn’t really understood the admiration until just then.

Megatronus roared his pain when a particular guard’s baton found its way between blackened plating, but where a lesser bot would’ve fallen, he pressed on, taking that sparking baton in servo and breaking it in a crushing grip. The guard went much the same way. Fuschia spattered the floor and his frame. He didn’t waver, throwing the dying mech against the others, and charging again. He wasn’t going to win, but this fight was going to cost them. Another guard fired a stun-bolt into his chassis. He managed to dodge the subsequent ones, but the numbness was spreading. A guard tackled him. His injured side smacked the ground hard. Five more guards dove to pin him down. He wasn’t getting back up.

Bee wanted nothing more than to jump from his hiding place, give Megatronus that second wind he so desperately needed. But that would be a betrayal in of itself. He forced his frame to start crawling down the vent, while the guards were still distracted putting out the rest of Megatronus’s fight. Bee caught Megatronus’s gaze one last time. He wasn’t sure the mech was seeing him through the grates. His optics were wild, irises spinning white fury. He snapped his dentae, animalistic, missing a guard’s careless servo by millimeters. And then he passed the vent, letting Megatronus slide out of sight. He was shaking all over, out of fear, out of desperate anger, but he made himself crawl forward. He would escape and bring others. He would save Megatronus, and make Orion proud.

*

Megatron onlined again to a bright ting, ting, ting, tapping his helm. It was disturbing, the way he kept falling in and out of consciousness. Last thing he remembered, Bee was looking down at him through the vent, with those sad, scared optics, and pain in every strut. The pain remained, but he could tell he wasn’t in that corridor anymore, nor was he in another cell.

“Wakey, wakey.” Someone tapped him again. “I know you’re online.”

Megatron considered pretending to be offline still, weighed the pros and cons, but decided against it. Whoever it was couldn’t be well-intentioned. In an instant he bucked up all at once, giving a fierce battle-cry, ready to take his captor by storm– only, he didn’t move, and no sound escaped his lips. A picoklik later and he properly catalogued the situation. He was strapped down to a slab. There was something in his intake, gagging him. He bit down hard, but it didn’t give, only creaked faintly. The restraints were much the same, thick bands of metal. He revved his engine once. The voice chuckled, its owner stepping into view, blocking the overhead light. He was a thin mech, orange helm, white face, a pair of goggles mounted on the brim, and cruel yellow optics. He wore a sharp smile that stretched his faceplates unnaturally.

“I guess you still got some fight in you. I would have assumed you’d gotten your fill with the guards.” He tapped Megatron’s helm again. “I’d almost say I’m impressed.”

Megatron growled in lieu of words.

“Yes, you’re right. I won’t waste your time. I must say though, Megatron, I’m very excited to work on you. Your friend thinks so highly of you, and I just had such fun breaking him.”

Megatron didn’t have time to wonder what the mech meant. A moment later he was forcing his helm to the side, pointing him towards the slab next to them. Two bots were scurrying around a limp frame. He could make out a pile of parts being carted away, a welding torch blasting yellow sparks, blocking detail. Then it ceased, the surgeon leaned back, and Megatron’s tanks dropped seeing just who it was.

Shockwave’s frame, but he was missing a servo– missing his entire face. Replaced with some mockery of a helm. Hexagonal, big yellow optic. It wasn’t even Shockwave anymore.

“Yes,” the mech over him crooned, stroking his cheek. “Some of my finer work. Well, not the frame. Not my department. But the mind– oh, but the mind.”

Fury welled up in Megatron, supernova. His friend–

He wrenched against the restraints again. This bastard killed his friend. It didn’t matter if he would go on to walk or talk. He knew what shadowplay was. He knew Shockwave wasn’t the same.

“Shh, shh, relax…” the mech drawled, pressing his helm further to the side. “The more you struggle, the more this will hurt. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Megatron didn’t give a damn about something so trivial as pain, not when faced with this. He pushed against the hold on his helm, not sure what the mech was doing, and not caring to find out, only he couldn’t get any leverage. Though he was bigger, the mech had the advantage of his whole frame’s weight. He heard a faint chuckle above him, and then a digit trailing along the back of his neckcables– not far from where the shock-bit had once been installed. The sensation sent a violent shudder down his lines, invasive.

“Yes, there,” the mech whispered, and then five points of agony lanced through the back of his neckcables, angled upward, hitting his processor. He could feel it, both the physical sensation, and mental one. One that told him he wasn’t alone in his mind anymore.

Megatron snarled. In his mind he was already free, servos on that mech, claws tearing him apart, into the frame, into the spark. Declaron, Darkwing, every opponent that offlined by his servos in the Pits– they all flashed to the forefront. To him, this mech had already joined their ranks– would. His tac-unit had already catalogued a dozen weaknesses, the mech was built so weak. Wouldn’t last a moment in the real world– Megatron’s world.

“What noise in your processor!” the mech– Trepan, that was the tagged designation– exclaimed, out into the room, and all around him in his mind. “They were right to call me here. What pride, what arrogance, such churning violence. You’ll have much better use for this, won’t you sir?”

The sound of pedesteps was difficult to latch onto over the chaos of a second mind, but when he did, he followed with his optics, almost disbelieving what he saw.

“This him?” Sentinel Prime asked, ducking a bit to make it under the door. He was taller than Megatron, taller than even Declaron had been. He was blue and gold plating, haughty superiority, bright blue optics that shone without any of their holovid friendliness under the low light. He smiled, all dentae.

“Yes, sir,” Trepan gave a little bow, somehow without jostling his piercing digits. ​”This is the Champion of Kaon.”

“Champion of Kaon, Champion of Iacon,” Prime chuckled. “It’s nice to put a designation to a face, wouldn’t you say, Megatron?”

He didn’t dignify that with a response, especially when it’d only come out garbled. He wrenched against the restraints again, even as he knew they’d hold tight. He couldn’t lash out, couldn’t even speak. 

GET OUT! Megatron pushed every ounce of authoritative fury into his mind. A wall of violent code barreled into Trepan’s consciousness, and instinctively, he recoiled. For a blissful nanoklik, the invading mind reared back, stopped touching him.

“Something wrong?” came Sentinel’s voice.

Trepan’s mortification, his fear, flared up. Megatron could sense that this had never happened before.

Just as quickly as the lapse came, it cut off sharply. A moment later, and arcing electricity was pumping into his flank, taking the pain that already existed all across his frame and jacking it up to a thousand. Megatron tried to scream against it, but he couldn’t even have that release. He felt Trepan’s satisfaction though, in his field and his mind. The pain eased, and he was left venting heavily, that familiar, but thought long-dead humiliation scoring every strut. Trepan zeroed in on a memory that had popped up, opening it and running the file. To Megatron’s horror, it was Declaron straddling him, those sickly words, the ownership, and the shame. His own forced nod, the pinprick of solvent in his optics. He’d killed Declaron, killed him dammit. And yet, here he was, haunting Megatron in his own mind, a datafile for any mnemosurgeon to open and rewind. He was right back in the Pits– it was happening again.  

“No sir,” Trepan said. “I’ve got it all under control. In fact,” Megatron could feel the smile, “you may want to see this.”

“Is it safe?”

“Of course,” Trepan trilled. “The connection is all through me. Even if he were to try something like that again, which would be very foolish, I’d take the consequences.”

“Who am I to say no? I do love watching you work.”

He could feel Trepan’s excitement at the prospect, heard the retraction of port covers for the one-way hardline. A moment later, and another consciousness was entering his mind, not so much in it, as on the periphery, an observer, but no less invasive for it.

Trepan played the clip again. Prime loosed a raucous laugh. “Ah, good old Declaron. Tragic, what happened to him. Of course, that’s what’s expected when you make your home amongst the lower-caste.”

Another unbidden memory.

“What’s this?” Trepan said, opening it.

Servo piercing chassis, golden sparklight, begging, and a dying gasp. A frame that didn’t register as a person anymore. Not even the smallest flicker of emotion.

“Ah,” Sentinel said mildly. “So that’s what happened. Like I said, home amongst the lower-caste.”

“See? That’s what I’m here to fix,” Trepan said, both to Prime, and Megatron. “Consider me another medic, administering a treatment. You’re the disease. I’m the cure.” If possible, he felt those five needle-points dig even deeper into his processor. Megatron hissed around the gag. “Now do us both a favor, and do try to loosen up. Like I said, less painful, and, well, I’d hate to break something unintentional.”

“Or do,” Prime said, pulling his cord from Trepan’s port and turning on his pede. Megatron couldn’t help but gasp his relief at one less intrusion. “I want him for my forces, Trepan. I don’t care what you have to break. Make it happen.” And then he was gone.

Megatron’s hatred, fury, and humiliation all simmered together, cranking higher with every agonizing klik. He was going to kill Sentinel. It was clear Trepan didn’t believe him. That was okay. It didn’t make it any less true. Trepan next. Didn’t matter that Sentinel was Prime. Surely even Primus himself made mistakes, if he was even real, a prospect that Megatron found himself confronting more every solar-cycle. He’d kill them all, cleanse this world of the things that sought to tear him and his down. He’d make the world something he and Orion could live in. Had to.

“Now, who’s this Orion?” Trepan asked. “This that Orion Pax that’s got the council so worked up?” He probed Megatron’s memories, searching. “I’d so like to get my servos on him.” Trepan licked his lips. “Seems as though you’d like much the same.”

Another furious snarl. 

“Hush.” Trepan stroked his cheek again. “Don’t worry. You won’t even remember him after this. Won’t have to think about how he doesn’t want you back.”

He– what kind of response was there against that? When he couldn’t even be sure if it was true or not? And wait– I don’t want him.

“Sure,” Trepan drawled. “Then you probably won’t mind if I do this.”

A burst of agony in his processor, but nothing seemed to change, not until he examined closer. A memory deleted.

“You and Orion, discussing… hm, a poem?” Trepan barked a laugh, so dismissive. “The mighty champion of the Pit reads poetry?”

And he wasn’t ashamed of it, wouldn’t be. 

“All this has to go, for starters.” Trepan moved further back in the timeline. Past the sparring, the C-12 revolt, all the little messages and visits, right back to C-12 again– before Darkwing, all of it. Right back to the pebble and the washracks. Their first meeting.

“See, this here, this is where the trouble all started. You were good, Megatron. You had a good record, hit deadlines, made quota. Wasn’t that better?”

They were shutting down the mines– forcing us to be dependent. You were making slaves of us!

“Semantics,” Trepan said. “You didn’t mind before you met this rebel-rouser. He’s the problem.”

Of course they minded. Felt desperate against it. They just didn’t have the words. Orion gave me the words.

“And I’m taking them away.”

Another snap of sharp, flaring pain, an obvious void where another memory used to be.

Stop! Stop it!

“The champion of Kaon begging?” Trepan tisked. “Wouldn’t have expected it from you, at least, if I hadn’t already seen this.” He highlighted that memory with Declaron once more, so despised.

Fury was welling within him, right next to the fear. He hadn’t felt fear for himself since starting in the Pits. He could feel Trepan dipping into that fear, reveling in it, could sense the intention as he hovered over another memory. “The task can seem daunting at first,” Trepan said. “Finding and pruning all those errant qualities, but it’s really quite rewarding work. Sparked to do it, and doing it ever since. My function, as it were. Alright,” he sighed. “Enough stalling, I suppose. Would you prefer to start with the first meeting, and work to present, or the reverse?” 

Megatron didn’t answer, only racing around his own mind, searching in vain for any defense to what was about to happen. He didn’t have to online his optics to know the perverse smile was there. 

“Ah, to hell with it. Let’s start randomly. The confusion that mounts near the end of the procedure tends to be entertaining.”

Metaphorical digit on the trigger, every inner function of Megatron’s being seized around it. If he couldn’t remember anything else, he’d remember this, encode it into every neural of his being:

He was going to kill every last functionalist.

*

Bee was very good at sneaking. This was a fact he was becoming more familiar with— comfortable with, even. He had a skill. He was useful.  

He couldn’t help but be a little giddy at the prospect, even as the gravity of the situation remained heavy on his pauldrons. Right. No time for self-congratulation. Not when Megatronus was counting on him.

He had found the edge of the compound, that place where all the ducts stopped, a wall, but not one he could penetrate. He’d tried to send a message, but the comm had bounced right back. Some kind of barrier in place. He’d been failing. Something bad was going to happen to Megatronus, and it was all going to be his fault, because he couldn’t call backup.

But then he’d remembered the offhand comment, the one about a command center.

There had been no time for doubt, not a single nanoklik to lose. He’d turned from the wall, back into the spark of the place he’d been so desperate to escape. He didn’t follow his tracks backwards, well, at first he did, for lack of any better ideas, but then he’d seen a patrol, and decided to hell with the risk, and followed their path inwards. That brought him to a breakroom, which brought him to more guards, which led him to follow a particularly large, and well equipped patrol. Wherever they were going, it must’ve been important.

Bee followed, quick, efficient, silent as a cyber-mouse. They passed through a door. For a nanoklik, Bee’s spark fell. The vent seemed to cut off, same as the wall to the outside, but then he shimmied closer, and saw that the vent actually opened into the room, only covered by a measly grate. 

Once the sounds of patrol faded, he used his knife-servo to unscrew the bolts, and gingerly lifted the grate back into the vent.

It wasn’t a command center. In retrospect, he didn’t really know what he would’ve done if he had found one. 

This was better anyway. He hopped down into the electrical room, gaze sliding over all the gauges and switches, the humming boxes. So many to choose from, so little time. He toggled out his fists, feeling something close to glee.

*

Megatron’s mind was on fire. His memories were all askew, out of place. Confusion roiled through him, but he remembered his directive. Where the blade in his processor deigned to cut, Megatron would take the data and move it somewhere else. It was a tactic he’d picked up sometime during the ordeal. It infuriated the presence, and that was enough for him. Preserve the mind, find a way out, KILL. There was no room for anything else. Somewhere along the way, the presence had gone into his settings and jacked his pain sensitivity up to their maximum. A distraction tactic, something to put the fight out in him. It wouldn’t work, but damn, if it didn’t scatter his thoughts, shred them really. Every neural, inside and out was screaming for it all to stop. Kill me, some part of him whispered, much to the invader’s satisfaction. Then he’d find and quash that thought too. It was kill, not be killed. He would stick to the directive.

His body was heaving, fans whirring fast as they could. Distantly, he felt his claws scraping into the metal of the slab. All around him the room hummed with electricity. This too, was distracting. If he checked his settings, he was sure he’d find all of those set to maximum, just like the pain. Distraction upon distraction, just like everything else on this damn planet. The pain and the toil, the mines, the gladiator ring, it was as much exploitation as it was distraction. Couldn’t think about how things were unfair if you were too busy fighting for your next energon ration. In the end, his life was just one massive, terrible circle.

“Just another sign that my work is far from done,” the presence– Trepan, how could he forget? Trepan sighed.

And then that noise all around him wound down. He didn’t notice it at first, wouldn’t have noticed at all if his sensitivity wasn’t so high. Trepan sucked in a sharp vent, engine stuttering. His presence in Megatron’s mind was rippling alarm. Megatron onlined his optics. Everything came in searing light, but that too was flickering, dying. In a matter of nanokliks he was glad for the sensitivity, because otherwise he’d be hard-pressed to see anything. Trepan was flicking his own optics left, comming someone, and not happy with the response. His frown twisted further, and he yanked his servo free of Megatron’s brain.

Megatron gasped in pain and relief. For the first time in cycles, his mind was his own again. Still scattered, but no longer under active attack. He flailed internally for a nanoklik, then grasped the directive. He rebooted his tac-unit, cordoned all the foreground processing and forced it back for later. Whatever he’d been so desperate to defend could wait to be parsed. Only the here and now mattered.

He tested his restraints. They held against his press, but the electric thrum that reinforced them was dead. They might have continued to hold a lesser mech. They might’ve held a more injured, less angry Megatron. He smirked. Trepan could see it in the dark, the light of Megatron’s furious crimson optics glowing across both their faces.

“What are–”

All at once, Megatron surged up, throwing his entire weight– entire being against the metal pinning him, would’ve roared, but the gag still sat between his dentae. For a nanoklik, the restraints held firm, then they groaned. A look of pure horror swept across Trepan’s face, and then he was running as fast as his pedes would take him. The sight was the last bit of motivation he needed. Metal snapped, Megatron tore free, quickly clawing the gag and the restraints around his stabilizing-servos away. He spat once, though he doubted the taste would ever fully leave. His mind still screamed, but at least now he had somewhere to direct it. Trepan lunged out the door, disappearing. He made to follow– would’ve, but the sound of pedes came thundering down the hall, and he knew he only had moments before security would be on him again. 

One last longing look at the door Trepan left through. Every neural in his frame told him to pursue, catch, kill.  

He grabbed what was left of Shockwave, and ran.

*

Elita crouched at the edge of a building roof, waiting with baited breath. 

A building shouldn’t have felt menacing, especially not such an unremarkable one. Maybe that was why, though. Iaconian buildings were so bright– too bright, really. Gold and gaudy like their Prime, opulent and rich, like their inhabitants.

The institute was an ugly squat circle, gray, so boring, one would forget they ever saw it.

.:Are you all in position?:. She hissed over comms. 

She got a handful of affirmatives, a few negative, but soons. Only Primus knew why Orion put her in charge, or why everyone else let him. She’d stopped trying to understand why Orion did anything a long time ago, only that he usually seemed to be right, if a bit optimistic– a lot optimistic. It made her want to gag or roll her optics half the time. The other half–

Well. She’d also stopped trying to understand the jump in her spark when he addressed her. It didn’t happen always, not even often, but there was this certain way he’d say things, look at her, that small crinkle in his optics and genuine smile. He was happy to see her. Her. Few bots were ever happy to see her. Ironhide maybe, and that’s because he was the same kind of stubborn, and like had to recognize like. She didn’t hate herself. Neither did Ironhide. So they decided to be friends. 

The remaining negatives turned to affirmatives over the comms. .:Alright:. she said .:Guard change is in two kliks. On my signal:.

Maybe it was only because she’d been the one to track the others to this location. That could be the reason she was in charge. She’d asked, of course, but then–

“I just believe you’re the right choice.” He’d smiled, so enigmatic, it made her want to shake his screws loose. Might’ve, but Ratchet was actively restructuring his stabilizing-servos, and that may as well have been a death sentence. The mech had only gotten crotchetier since leaving the mines, and yet, he seemed lighter too. So strange.

She ran the other options through her processor. The title of command could really only have gone to Magnus, Ironhide, Jazz, or herself. She knew Orion wanted to lead the operation, but Ratchet had threatened forced-stasis, and that had been enough to quash that possibility.

Magnus was authoritative, but not fully integrated into the FFFF, or a natural leader. He also didn’t seem to work well with Vosian seekers, which Starscream had been oh-so-generous enough to provide for the operation– though only the former Pit-bots, for plausible deniability. Ironhide was a solid choice, in Elita’s opinion, but she supposed Orion knew her better, with all the shooting lessons. 

Jazz was the only real contender. She didn’t have a clue why Orion didn’t choose him. He was confident, kept good morale, quick on his pedes or with a quip. Maybe didn’t take things seriously enough for her taste, but always seemed to know the right thing to say. She just didn’t know.

Maybe she could ask again later. Right now, it wasn’t really worth thinking about.

.:Ten nanokliks:. she commed. .:Detonator set?:.

.:Yep:. Ironhide replied.

.:Let’s light this candle:.

*

An explosion rocked through the building. I didn’t do that, Bee thought, sprinting down a dark corridor. He knew the direction to the outer wall, but also knew that it wouldn’t matter if there wasn’t a way through it. The explosion rattled from the right. He altered his course accordingly.

*

Megatron followed the rumble of explosion like a lifeline. It had to be the FFFF. He didn’t know what he’d do if it wasn’t, wouldn’t even entertain the thought, though his tac-unit sputtered against such a dismissal. He hated operating under a last-ditch assumption. Things weren’t true because they had to be. They just were.

Or weren’t.

But he couldn’t deny the way his frame ached– screamed at him. Even now, every neural whined that if he would only put down his burden and rest, even just a moment, it would all feel so much better. He longed to give in. It would be so easy.

But he couldn’t take the easy route. If he let himself rest, he wouldn’t get up again. Of that, he was certain.

And moreso, something was calling to him. Something deep in his scattered mind said that there was something waiting for him past these walls, some blinking jewel in the distance, calling his designation. He didn’t know what it was, only that it was important, it was his, and he couldn’t let anything keep him from it.

He turned a corner, and a troop of guards swarmed the hallway before him. There wasn’t time to turn back. Couldn’t even want to. He lowered his helm, forced himself into an even faster sprint. No tact. The only thing left was brute force. He saw his own reflection in the guards’ terrified optics when they realized he wasn’t stopping. They hit him with their batons and he didn’t even feel it. Not in a way that mattered. What was the glancing pain of electro-baton on top of everything he’d already been through? The fire in his mind? 

He barreled through, trampling those unfortunate enough to be in his direct path. He pressed on. No more patrols, not even a door. Just hallway after hallway. He kept his bearings, reduced himself to a compass and a pair of stabilizing-servos. The one that’d gotten hit by that very first missile still stung worse than his other injuries, but not worse than his processor. He was venting hard, each breath more difficult than the last.

Have to keep going. Keep going because the moment you stop–

Another turn, one last corridor, and then the monotonous gray, the darkness, gave way to brilliant light. His optics burned, and he shuttered them, unable to grasp the settings on the electronics themselves. He stumbled out into the street, disoriented, half-blind. A screaming cacophony enveloped him. He blinked again. A firefight. Instinctively, he stepped back into the safety of the building, only to startle at his own actions. He wouldn’t go back. If it was death by a blaster-bolt, or walking on his own two pedes back into that hell, he would pick the gun every time. 

He pulled Shockwave’s frame close to his own, and dashed out into the street, towards the voices he recognized. 

Recognized, but not the one he was waiting for, that bright chiming… he couldn’t remember.

“Megatronus!” a femme– no, Elita called. He followed blindly until he bumped into something. A servo steadied on his pauldron. He jumped back from the touch.

“Easy,” Elita said, like she was soothing a wild cyber-animal. The tone didn’t become her. “Jazz has Bee. We got what we came for. Magnus, take Shockwave, we’re moving out!” The commander’s voice suited her much better. The weight in his servos lessened to nothing. He forced an optic open, saw Magnus taking Shockwave into a gentle, but firm grip. Magnus grimaced as his gaze swept over the damage.

“Megatronus,” Elita snapped. “Can you drive?”

No, was the answer he longed to give. His knee-rotors were ready to buckle, but it wasn’t over. He wouldn’t be weak.

And he couldn’t collapse, not until…

He didn’t know. Just that he couldn’t.

“Megatronus?”

In lieu of words, he transformed– almost screamed as he did it, it hurt so bad. All kinds of grit and tears in the transformation seams made it agony, but once it was done, it was done. He revved his engine once, and followed Elita’s hauler alt with his own. 

A short eternity later, made longer by strategic pauses to lose any tail, and they rolled into an alley. The others transformed. They expected him to do the same. His treads burned. His plating felt like it was under a hail of acid rain. He took a deep vent, then forced the start of the sequence. It stalled halfway through. Everyone could see it. Elita put her servos out as though to steady him, and that gave him the motivation he needed to complete it. He growled as he returned to root, his dentae clenching so hard they threatened damage. He stumbled once, then righted himself, millimeters before Elita’s digits would’ve brushed his plating.

She studied his face for a dragging moment, before following the others through the door on the side of the alley, down a tunnel, then another corridor. Every step was a battle, every nanoklik a test of will. He’d gotten this far, he wouldn’t break. He pointedly ignored his frayed mind, knew the moment he lingered that it would all fall apart, just like his frame. Finally they stepped into an elevator. He didn’t even let himself lean against its wall, because he knew he would sag and fall. The door chimed. He was the last to step out.

His pedes rang far too loud in the cavernous atrium. From the energy of the others’ he could tell that this was their final destination. He searched the space, though he had no idea what he was looking for, only that it was missing.

“We’re back!” Elita called. The sound echoed around the room, stinging Megatron’s already sensitive audials. He needed a defrag, probably a medic, but the last thing he could imagine standing was someone else prodding at him, touching him in any way.

“Habsuite?” he rasped, glitching with static.

Elita narrowed her optics at him, brow furrowed. “Ratchet’s going to want you to see him first.”

He opened his intake to insist, when–

“Megatronus!”

Megatron perked up all at once, the voice clicking into the missing place. Not missing, not gone. He followed that voice to see a bright red bot running towards him, battered, with a bit of a limp, but blessedly alive– happy even.

When the bot barreled into his side, he barely even registered the pain, just the warm plating against his, and a field that held as much joy as desperation. He was saying something in that wonderful, familiar voice, quick, and spilling, “missed you, missed you, so, so scared I’d never see you again.”  

Megatron smiled. He knew this mech. “Orion,” he rumbled, feeling his systems shut down. It was okay now. He was safe.

The world went black.

 

Notes:

Technically it is Friday where I am,, uploading a bit early tho cause I'll be busy tomorrow, and y'all deserve it after the cliffhanger I left you on haha. Will note that there's a chance I will miss next week cause I'm super busy rn, so I won't have a lot of time to write, and I want everything sorted storywise before the last few chapters :))) but we'll see. Maybe I will make it. Just a warning so you'll know why if I don't :P

Chapter 19: Survivor's Guilt

Notes:

We're back!!

Orion didn’t try to dodge Megatronus’s crumpling frame. He did his best to brace it, slow the fall in any way. It worked. Megatronus didn’t come crashing to the floor, instead his greater weight pushed both of them down, down, until Orion was flattened under him. Not painful, but he couldn’t find a way to wriggle out.

“Megatronus?” No response. “Megatronus!”

“He’s alive,” Elita said. “But he seriously overtaxed himself getting here.”

“Why didn’t someone carry him?”

“He’s a fully developed mech, Orion. If he says he can handle himself, I believe him. And he could. He did.” Elita was right, of course. “Magnus, move Megatronus,” she commanded. The mech in question lumbered down the stairs, leaning down to get Megatronus under the arms and haul him over his shoulder. He started back up towards the room Ratchet had claimed as his med-bay.

Orion let Elita pull him back up to his pedes. “Jazz and Bee made it back a few kliks ago.” He said. A jolt. “Where’s Shockwave?”

Elita’s whole face twisted. She was reluctant to tell him. Elita was never reluctant. She was blunt as they came. It was something Orion found equal parts refreshing and upsetting.

“Elita, what’s wrong?”

She glanced to the side, pulled in a long vent, before forcing herself to meet his optics again. “Magnus brought him up to the med-bay–”

“Let’s go then!’’ Orion darted in the direction. He was about to go there anyway. Megatronus needed him too. 

“Wait!” Elita caught his wrist. Orion turned back around. She wasn’t just frowning now. Her expression could only be called stricken.

“What?” Orion said, panic welling. “Is he dying? Already offline?” He twisted his wrist, grabbing her back, taking her servo in both of his. “Tell me.”

“It was the Institute, Orion. He’s–” Her voice hadn’t glitched, but she reset her vocalizer anyway. “It’s empurata, Orion, possibly shadowplay, too. He’s– he’s not going to be the same.”

“No,” Orion whispered. He pulled away, turning and racing up the stairs. He took them two at a time. From the quiet in the hall, he could tell that Elita hadn’t followed.

He burst through the door, passing Megatronus on one berth– that was something to agonize over later– sprinting to the other occupied slab, approaching a bulky purple frame. No one was attending it, Ratchet was currently scanning Megatronus, so there was nothing to block the sight– the terrible sight.

“No…” Orion stopped short of touching Shockwave’s frame. Was it even Shockwave? For a moment he’d felt relief, sure that they’d had gotten the wrong bot. The hexagonal helm with its single, massive optic was so visually dissonant that it couldn’t have possibly been him, but then his gaze travelled down, and the frame itself was unmistakable. Missing a servo, and some pieces of kibble, but impossible to deny. He sank by the slab’s side, taking that remaining servo in his own. He didn’t know why he’d been expecting it to be cold. It thrummed with warm life. Not conscious, but very much alive.

“I’m sorry, Shockwave.”

“Don’t be sorry before you even know how bad it is,” Ratchet said, cutting through the bleak silence.

Orion wasn’t in the mood for placation. “It’s my fault,” he replied icily.

“It’s not.”

“It is!” Orion didn’t stand to face him, just pressed his helm into the side of the medical slab. “I was supposed to lead him to freedom, not–”

“Shockwave knew the risks!”

Orion still didn’t turn, but the proximity of Ratchet’s simmering field told him he’d abandoned Megatronus’s side to grouse closer to him. Orion matched it with his own anger, not at Ratchet, but at himself. “So did I!” he screamed into the unyielding metal. He couldn’t face a friend, not when he left another faceless. Hot tears pricked in the corners of his optics. His nose stung. “He told me how likely an ambush was, but I was so blinded by my own hope that I led us all right into it! Don’t you get it, Ratchet? I killed him.”

“He’s not dead!” Though Ratchet’s tone was angry, his field was going soft. Sympathetic. It made Orion want to purge. The other was right behind him, hovering concern. Concern for him. He didn’t deserve it. “He’s not dead, and it’s not your fault. He saved you, accepted your leadership,” each of those facts cut through Orion more sharply than any blade, “and you completely dismiss his sacrifice, saying it was somehow your doing! Are you really that selfish, or are you just a complete bolt-brain?”

“Never! I– what?” That had Orion up on his pedes, finally facing him. “No, I– I’m the leader. I’m supposed to lead, and today, I led wrong.” He looked down at the floor. “I almost got everyone killed.”

“And you learned from that. At least, I’d hope.” Ratchet had his servos on his hips, tapping an impatient digit.

“Learned?”

“That you can’t trust those upper-crusters.”

“I never trusted them.”

“You trusted them enough to think you could negotiate with them– hey,” when Orion opened his intake to argue, “we all did, and now we know better.” Ratchet finally turned away, releasing Orion from his scrutinizing gaze. “Shockwave would want you to move forward, not let his sacrifice be in vain. Heck, he’ll probably tell you so himself when he comes back online.”

Orion snorted slightly. It was true. He wouldn’t find Orion’s moping very logical. He’d rather have results than his tears. “When will you start working on him?”

“I already did a preliminary. He’s stable. They didn’t actually– well, damage isn’t the right word. He’s plenty damaged, but not in any way that threatens his functioning. I’ll do what I can once I get Megatronus in the clear.”

Right. He’d gone and led Megatronus into danger too. 

“Bu-bu-bup! What did we just discuss? Megatronus wouldn’t want you sulking either.”

That was true too. The amount of times he’d been chastised for apologizing. Even if it really was his fault this once. 

Orion sighed, pulling a chair up close to Megatronus’s berth, making sure he wouldn’t be in Ratchet’s way as he worked. The medic didn’t say anything. Orion hovered over Megatronus for a long klik, unsure. Finally, he took Megatronus’s undamaged servo in his own, gingerly holding it, rubbing gentle circles into the smooth black metal.

“You should tell him how you feel.”

Orion lifted his helm, suddenly weary. “Tell him what? He’s my friend.”

“I’m your friend.”

Orion narrowed his optics. Something stirred in his spark, bright and foreign, bottomless and frightening.

“Or don’t. But you do need to recharge. That one’s doctor’s orders.”

“Sure, sure…” Orion mumbled, already feeling sleep creeping into his processor. Just for a few kliks. Then he’d force himself back to his pedes, and start planning their next steps. Maybe he wasn’t the right mech to lead, but so far, no one else had volunteered for the position.

*

“And that is why I, Starscream, should lead this operation!” The seeker finished his egomaniacal speech with a haughty puff of his chassis. Off to his side, Orion could see Thundercracker drop his helm into his servo.

How he wished for Megatronus by his side. Not that he wasn’t grateful for those he did have. Jazz and Elita had absolutely no problem rebuking the senator’s points with a certain viciousness, and the rest went a long way in steadying him with their presences.

“Need I remind you that this is a joint operation?” Orion cocked a brow. By now he was familiar with Starscream’s power-lust.

“Of course, but the operation itself needs a singular leader. Otherwise who will the troops know to turn to? Furthermore, at the moment, it is my bots doing the brunt of the work, at least, until yours can make the trek up. Have you even contacted them?”

“Of course!” Orion said. “But it’s hard to move so many bots up without being detected.”

“When they’re as clunky as your camp,” Starscream muttered.

“We don’t need your little insults right now,” Elita snarked. “We need you to start putting the operation over your own vanity.”

“When did practicality become vanity?” Starscream placed a servo over his chassis, like he was offended. “I am simply the best option to lead.”

“Starscream: not the practical choice.”

“Soundwave?” Orion turned so fast he almost pulled a cable, and there the mech was in all his off putting glory, only, he wasn’t so off putting after having to deal with Starscream. He may as well have been a beacon.

“Who the hell let him in?” Starscream hissed. “No one’s supposed to pass through that door without my say so!”

“I did.” A white bot, red and blue accents, entered. He was lucky the doorways were so tall, otherwise he might not have fit through. When he stood back at full height he was bigger than Megatronus by a considerable margin.

Starscream scrambled to his pedes. His wings were angled as high as they could go, his expression equal parts joy and terror. “Skyfire! What an unexpected surprise!” His voice hit an even higher octave than usual.

“You really thought you could distract me with that assignment?”

“What distraction? You said it was important.”

“You said it was important! That’s the only reason I took it on!”

“Can we speak privately?” Starscream walked the few steps it took to grasp Skyfire’s arm and drag him back through the door. Everyone in the room watched the exchange a little slack-jawed.

“Does… someone want to explain what’s going on?” Ironhide said.

“I knew Sky wouldn’t buy the ruse for long,” Thundercracker said, sinking further into his chair.

“I missed the mech,” Skywarp said, spinning in his. “He always brought me treats.”

“That’s cause he had to win us over.”

“Nah. He’s not like that. He even visited me in the Pits once.”

“Hello?” Jazz snapped his digits.

“Oh,” Skywarp’s helm snapped up. “Skyfire is Screamer’s intended. Primus knows why. He could do so much better.”

“Warp!”

“What? We were both thinking it!”

Orion let the two’s ensuing fight blend in his periphery. “Soundwave?”

The mech inclined his helm, finally approaching. “Megatron’s location?”

Some of the other bots in the room recoiled. Orion had long since stopped finding Soundwave truly unsettling. “He’s in the med-bay. He was captured yesterday. He escaped, then collapsed. Hasn’t woken since.”

Soundwave hunched to meet his optics– at least, Orion assumed as much. It was hard to tell with the visor in the way. “Show me.”

“Wait a klik.” Elita strode up. “Weren’t you supposed to be watching the gladiators? Who’s going to keep them in line now that you’re here?”

“Gladiators: all downstairs: awaiting Megatron’s orders.” The telepath turned back to Orion. “Show me,” he repeated.

There was no arguing with that. “Okay…” Orion started back towards Ratchet’s makeshift medbay. “You all want to go check over the gladiators? Maybe make sure Starscream doesn’t blow a gasket when he finds out?”

Jazz gave a thumbs up. Orion finally motioned Soundwave follow. Their journey was silent. Orion could feel the other’s gaze on his back the whole way.

What would he think when he saw Megatronus’s unconscious frame? Megatronus had once assured him that Soundwave was loyal– never gone so far as calling them friends, but in the fleeting moments the three of them were together and Orion could properly observe, it was improbably clear that that’s what they were. What their vocalizers didn’t say, their fields spoke at volume. Megatronus tended to keep his free-flowing around Orion. The relaxation he exhibited around Soundwave was unmistakable. Soundwave did not often let his field have free reign, but those times Orion stumbled close, he’d been surprised at what he’d felt.

Grave admiration. Profound respect. It had killed any of Orion’s doubts of Soundwave’s loyalty. The field told him clear as day that the mech would follow Megatronus to the end, of that, they were in agreement.

Soundwave hadn’t reacted when he’d been told Megatronus’s status. What about when he discovered it was his fault? He–

He felt Soundwave’s field prickle behind him. It sent a violent shiver up his backstruts. “Soundwave?” He turned, and almost stumbled forward in fear.

The mech, usually so impassive, no visible face, or expression, looked furious. His whole frame was angled down, plating flared, like the first time Orion had seen him in the Pits, so many solar-cycles ago. His visor was blazing crimson.

“Soundwave?” Orion took a nervous step back, listening intently for any disturbance. “What’s wrong?”

“Your fault.” Soundwave’s monotone came out as a hiss, an accusation and question all in one.

Dread sparked through his lines like lightning. How– Telepathy. Soundwave was a telepath, which meant he heard. “Soundwave, wait!” He took another step back. “I can explain!” Could he? Did he even deserve the chance? If he were a better leader– a better friend, he could have found another way, one that didn’t end with Megatronus on a medical slab, with Shockwave faceless and mentally savaged. Orion opened his intake to explain this– that he did deserve punishment, didn’t deserve to lead, but had to, at least until he could make himself obsolete, when all the menace in Soundwave’s demeanor fell away at once. The change was instant, disorienting. One moment he’d been advancing in all his gladiatorial glory, the next he was impassive, unreadable Soundwave once again. Orion cycled his optics, suddenly unsure if he’d seen it at all, wondering if his stressed processor had just made the whole thing up.

And then Soundwave was passing him in the hall, taking those last steps to the medbay, must’ve known the location from Orion’s thoughts. He didn’t follow for some kliks, just venting hard, trying to bring his line-pressure into more reasonable margins. He didn’t understand. It was his fault. Soundwave was right.

Standing uselessly in the hall wasn’t going to illuminate anything. He went after him. There would be some time before he’d have to continue negotiating with Starscream, after all.

Orion hovered in the doorway. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t what he saw. Soundwave took his place in that seat he’d been occupying before, hunched over his leader. Their helms weren’t touching, but it was a near thing. It looked… tender. Orion suddenly felt like he was intruding, and… something else. His spark gave a muted pang at the display. Megatronus and Soundwave must’ve been closer than he’d thought. He brushed the notion away. He didn’t have the right to feel any way about it. Soundwave hadn’t been the one to put Megatronus on the slab.

Ratchet strode up, trying to look unbothered, but was hurried to Orion’s familiar optic. “What’s going on?” 

“He’s brought the gladiators. We’re going to restart negotiations soon. I think this is the push we need to show Starscream we mean business.”

Ratchet nodded, humming his contemplation.

“What are their statuses?”

Ratchet sighed. “They’re both stable in frame, as you left them, but I finally got a chance to do a preliminary probe into Shockwave’s processor.”

Orion grimaced. “And?” He tried to keep the worry from his vocalizer and failed miserably.

“I–” Ratchet pinched his nose. His field emitted something like agony. “Primus, Orion, I– I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Try.”

“They’ve– he’s got all his memories, everything’s still there, on the surface. If you didn’t know him, you’d say he’s a perfectly functioning mech, but it’s all wrong. It’s like– like it’s all been sterilized. There’s data, but no emotional string between it. Things are supposed to be woven. When you go into a processor there’s supposed to be the hard data, and the emotional data. That’s what keeps a bot together, it’s what gives them personality, their loves and hates. Without it, a bot just…”

“Ratchet, what does it mean?”

“He’s alive, he’s sentient. He’ll remember all of this, but there won’t be any emotion behind any of it. I… don’t know what he’ll be like when he wakes up, but he won’t be the same. He’ll never be the same.”

“Primus…” Orion felt like his spark was being swallowed whole. He was sinking into the floor, dizzy with the ramifications. “And… and Megatronus?” he forced out. They’d been sent to the same place. Primus. “Did you–”

“Yes. I probed his processor too. Whatever they were doing to him, they clearly didn’t finish, but they did something. It’s well– it’s a bit of a mess. Like someone fought a battle in there.” 

“What does that mean? Is he going to be okay, or not? Will he be… I mean, he should’ve been awake by now!”

“Kid, I’m not going to lie and say that I know anything for certain.” Ratchet let a servo rest on Orion’s pauldron. His field couldn’t exactly be called soothing, but he was trying, and maybe that had to be enough. “We just have to do the best we can.”

“Request: habsuite for Megatron and I.” Soundwave’s interjection startled Orion right out of his consuming worry, only for a whole new situation to arise.

“What in the Pit are you doing?!” Ratchet barked. Soundwave had Megatronus in his arms, carrying him to the door.

“Megatron: will not want to online in a medbay.”

“And how could you possibly know that?”

“He’s a telepath,” Orion said gently, clasping Ratchet’s pauldron before he could do something rash with the wrench in his servo. Orion turned to Soundwave. “You sure it’s a good idea?”

“Affirmative.”

“Alright,” Orion said, leading them out.

“You’re just going to let him waltz out of here with him?”

“I’ll ping you the room later. You can still check on him.”

And they left Ratchet and his medbay behind. Orion purposely took the longer route, avoiding the more public spaces of the embassy. Megatronus wouldn’t want to be seen like this either.

Finally they arrived at a room that fit the specs. Empty, with enough room for Megatronus and Soundwave. It was a bit further from Orion’s own habsuite than he would’ve liked, but he supposed he’d deal somehow. He reset the code so Soundwave could put in his own, and opened the door. He watched intently as Soundwave settled Megatronus on the furthest of the two berths, setting him down gently, arranging his limbs.

“I’ll be visiting here a lot, I… hope you know.”

Soundwave looked back over his shoulder. It resembled a glower, marking his displeasure, even as he said nothing.

“You said Megatronus would prefer to wake here, like you knew.” Orion took a few tentative steps into the room. The lights were off. Like entering a hunter’s den. “You can hear his mind, can’t you?”

Soundwave sat stock-still. For a moment, Orion wasn’t sure he was going to get a response. And then, “confirmative.”

“Is he going to be okay? Is his mind– is he going to be the same? Will he– does he– does he remember me?” And oh, it was selfish of him. There were many more important things for Megatronus to remember, things to feel, especially after being the one to lead him into danger in the first place, but he had to know.

Soundwave cocked his helm, regarding him curiously. Orion made no attempt to curb his thoughts, unsure if he’d even be able to do it. He didn’t know what Soundwave was looking for, or what he found, but it must’ve been enough. “Megatron’s memories of Orion: majority: scattered, but not lost. Processor: fragmented, but not irreparable. He fought.” Soundwave turned back to Megatronus, touching a single digit to his servo. “He won.”

Orion sagged in relief. His knee-rotors actually buckled, but he managed to turn the fall into a careful transition to sitting on the floor. He didn’t have the energy for anything else, letting his face drop into his servos. “Thank Primus.”

“Thank Megatron,” Soundwave intoned. The way he said it, he sounded reverent. The mech had a point. Orion never believed in Primus anyway, and it certainly wasn’t a deity that had saved him. It hadn’t been Orion either.

“Yeah,” Orion whispered. “Thank Megatronus.”

*

The negotiations didn’t go any better with the presence of the gladiators. Their ideas were too different. Starscream was too stubborn. 

“I’m saying we have to make allies. We can do a lot more by leveraging political power than with violence,” Orion said, exasperated.

“Take it from the mech that actually has to talk to these councilors on a regular basis,” Starscream drawled. “The only thing these bots respond to is violence. The only way these bots respond is with violence.”

“But it isn’t just the councilors we need to think about! This is about the image we present to the people, and what they want. We turn the public against the council, we have everything. If we lash out, we become the very monsters the council claims we are.”

“Doesn’t matter if they already believe that anyways! Sentinel and his cronies have had a megaannum to brainwash everyone in Iacon, quite frankly, in all of Cybertron. We need to bust the door down, drag them off their pedestals, even if they go kicking and screaming.” Starscream wet his lip as he said it. “Just take the way they treated you and yours! You come for a good-faith negotiation, they point a barrel at your faceplates! They try to pit us against each other… Vosian terrorists, my aft. They take two of your best bots, and rip their minds apart!” Starscream chuckled condescendingly. “And you’re just going to let all of that slide?”

Orion stood, slamming his palms against the tabletop. “How dare you use what happened to Megatronus and Shockwave like this! Toying with emotion may be an acceptable thing among senators, but it isn’t here!” He forced himself to sit back down. “And we aren’t in this for vengeance. The best way to get back at them is to show them how little they matter. We’re not speaking to them. We’re speaking to the people. They know what’s right.”

“Such naivete.” Starscream picked at his digit-rotors. “The people care about what’s easy, what serves them. And what serves them, is for us to go away. They want the status quo just as much as their councilors. They were elected by those people, after all.” He leaned forward in his seat, his optics shaded by the brim of his helm under the bright lights. It gave his face a menacing quality. Dark spectre with two bright points of crimson. “The only way to make sure the status quo dies is to kill it ourselves. That’s how you get your precious freedom.”

*

“He’s impossible,” Orion hissed, hunched over his cube. Bee sat close next to him, gave his shoulder a comforting little pat. The bot had been much clingier since getting back. Orion could understand the sentiment, feeling much the same. He let his field give a small pulse in response.

“We can all agree he’s insufferable,” Elita said. “But have you ever considered that in some respects, he’s not entirely wrong?”

“He’s trying to blatantly manipulate us!”

“Don’t worry, we’re not blind. We see that, Orion. But… he’s not wrong about the strategy. I’m not sure there’s a way to do this without violence.”

“There’s always a way!” Orion snapped. “We’re not here trying to start a war! And I’m not– I’m not willing to risk you guys again.” He looked down at his cube. “We’ve lost so much already.”

“How are Shocks and Megs?” Jazz asked, taking an idle sip of energon. Orion knew him well enough to know he was masking his concern with casualness. It still didn’t sit right with him.

Ratchet explained the status of both, much to Orion’s relief. It hurt to hear it all again, and hurt worse to see the reactions of his colleagues, but he was grateful he wasn’t the one to have to break the news.

Jazz steepled his digits. “So Megs isn’t waking up, and Shocks is in forced stasis?”

“Yes,” Ratchet said. “We found him that way, and I’m hesitant to bring him up. At least until this operation is done. I’d want to be in a more stable environment.”

Jazz considered this. Sometimes Orion wished he didn’t have the visor. It would help to be able to see the mech’s optics. “Y’know… it could really help our planning to have Shocks back with us. You said his memories and intellect were intact. We could really use him right now.”

Use… “He’s not a tool, Jazz.”

“No,” Jazz said, voice sharp-edged. “He’s a mech. One who would want to help in any way possible. That’s the Shockwave I knew. Now I’m being told he’s not the same, but he’s alive. Doesn’t he have the right to make his own choices? Can’t he choose to help us? The Shockwave I know wouldn’t have hesitated a single nanoklik.”

“I’m sorry Jazz.” Orion forced his frame to relax. “That wasn’t fair of me. You’re right… I just… maybe I’m just worried about what we’ll find when we bring him back online.” Scared to face the consequences of his leadership. At least when he was offline he could pretend that maybe Shockwave would come back the same.

“It’s fine, mech.” Jazz’s helm tilted down, like he was studying the table. “I’m worried too.”

“Regardless,” Elita cut in, completely displacing the dour mood, “we can’t just keep telling Starscream his plan is slag. If we want these negotiations to go our way we need a plan of our own.” She locked on Orion, not giving him any kind of place to hide. Her blue optics narrowed, as though she were seeing his core. “What are our goals? How do we reach them while sticking to our principles? If we insist on keeping our values, Orion, we have to be able to back them up.”

She was right, naturally. Orion thought back to one of their early interactions, back at the arena for that first meeting after the fountain blew. She’s been so resistant back then, so dismissive of the whole thing. At some point she’d taken the cause in earnest, made it her own and defended it, putting every ounce of her own resolve into it. She wasn’t a bot that shied from command. She never gave any less than her best, and expected everyone to do the same. In the megacycles they’d been working together, he’d come to fiercely respect her, maybe only second to Megatronus.

“I’ll think on it,” he said. “There’s got to be a way. Taking the palace by force can’t be our only option.”

No one spoke. That was a reply in itself. Orion couldn’t help but hear the disagreement.

*

Orion hesitated outside Megatronus and Soundwave’s habsuite. He’s told Soundwave he’d be coming. The mech hadn’t protested, though the glower stuck in his mind. What the hell was he doing, hesitating like this? He was a leader, and Megatronus’s friend. He had just as much right as Soundwave to visit. He steeled himself, poised his servo to press the request-entry chime.

The door slid open before he could. He was met with Soundwave’s looming frame. For what felt like the longest klik in Orion’s functioning, the two just stared at each other, neither wavering. Orion wasn’t even thinking much, just waiting for Soundwave to make a move, or let him in.

Finally, Soundwave stepped aside. Orion took the invitation before Soundwave could change his mind. The door hissed shut behind him.

“Think we could get the… ah, the lights?” He could just barely make out the faint shimmer of Megatronus’s biolights. He stumbled towards them, managing not to trip on anything. The room only brightened a bit when he was already seated at Megatronus’s side on the edge of the berth. He could make out the shape of his face, his recovering frame. After Ratchet’s work, the remaining damage was only superficial, or something that his self-repair would eventually work out. Could still be a glitch-and-a-half to make it the rest of the way. Orion would know. He was still limping after Ratchet restructured his stabilizing-servos, though they were already much better than even the solar-cycle previous.

His servo hesitated over Megatronus’s frame. Though he wanted nothing more than to take that limp servo in his own, he was afraid of the void he’d find when their contact points met. Well, not quite void. Like the night-cycle previous, he expected he would find yawning nothingness, punctuated occasionally with fizzling… something. Like the pinpricks a frame feels when a component goes numb.

He thumbed one of the many scratches on his chassis. He remembered this one from before the council’s attack. Probably a souvenir from the Pits. He wondered if he’d be able to buff it out. Maybe if– when– when Megatronus came back online, he could offer to do it for him. He’d gotten fairly good at buffing himself when he’d been living the archivist life in Iacon. Had to do it damn near every solar-cycle. It had started as a chore, but eventually, the practice had grown on him. It was less about vanity, and more about the physical feeling for him. The rotary-polisher that’d come with his habsuite felt so nice on his plating, and he had to admit there was a certain satisfaction that came with the removal of a scratch. He’d bet shanix that Starscream had a buffer. Probably had a whole cabinet full. He could probably get one of his trine to retrieve one. The two seekers always seemed more than willing to do things that’d mess with their trinemate, especially Skywarp.

“Why won’t you wake up, Megatronus?” he whispered, stroking down the mech’s arm. Maybe it was wrong. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed if he was awake. Sure, Megatronus hadn’t yet rejected any of his touches, but those had only been casual holds, brief grazes. This was much more deliberate– self-indulgent, really. Yes, Megatronus was here, a real, physical frame under his palm. The Institute had gotten him, but he was here now. He’d saved himself.

Orion resisted the urge to stroke Megatronus’s cheek, knowing that would be too far. What he really wanted was to move that arm, tuck himself under it, right up against his side. He wanted to press himself there and never leave. He wanted Megatronus to wake up and hold him back, tell him everything was alright. He might have lost Shockwave, they might be in a strange, precarious situation in this embassy, but Orion knew it would be so much more bearable if Megatronus would only wake up. “You’d know what to do, wouldn’t you?” Something was welling up within him. His face twisted a bit with it, nose stinging, solvent pricking in his optics. Whenever something went bad, Megatronus always fixed it. Darkwing, C-12 riot… though those instances always ended up involving more violence than he would’ve liked, Orion knew for certain that he would not be online that solar-cycle if not for Megatronus’s intervention. What did Megatronus get in return? Pain. Every time he followed Orion, he got hurt. Who knows? Maybe if they’d accepted Starscream’s help back then, they wouldn’t be in this situation now.

“We can do this your way next time.” He finally gave in, laying on his side. He didn’t tuck himself under Megatronus’s arm like he wanted, instead keeping outside of it. He didn’t release his hold on it though, couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

He really should’ve been getting back to his habsuite then. Negotiations were done for the solar-cycle, and wouldn’t be resuming until the next. His own bots and Starscream’s would all be retiring. It’d do well to be rested. Especially if he wanted to come up with a better plan than Starscream’s. He had to. There had to be a better way…

Maybe he could blame it on the recharge. He hadn’t slept well the night-cycle previous. Not with the worry and the guilt. He knew how to mitigate one of those, at least.

He rolled over. “Can I stay, Soundwave? Just tonight. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep otherwise.”

The mech regarded him coolly, settling on his own berth and looking ready for recharge himself. Eventually, he slumped a little, letting out a noise like a resigned sigh. “Orion: can do what he wants.”

Orion wasn’t expecting enthusiasm anyway. He let gratitude flow from his field as he positioned himself more comfortably. He set his field to steady pulses, at least strong enough that they’d be the first thing Megatronus would feel if he happened to wake, and prepared for recharge to claim him. It would be a fitful sleep, he could already tell, but it would be an improvement to what he’d had before. It would have to be enough.

*

A sharp crack of light glared into the habsuite between two slats of blinds, falling directly into Soundwave’s optics. He cycled them, letting the ring of his irises contract until a manageable amount of brightness was pouring through to his processor. Though he was unused to the intense light of the three suns the surface sported, it should not have been enough to wake him.

He looked to the side where Megatron, his friend and master, slept. Orion was tucked up tight against his side, under his arm. Soundwave had a brief sense of mirth. All of Orion’s mental protests, giving way to his own instinct in recharge. He’d probably wake sputtering, embarrassed. That dampened Soundwave’s humor. Bots usually didn’t like their displays of weakness witnessed, and they tended to project onto him in particular. Not that he expected anything explosive from Orion. He understood Megatron’s affection for the bot. For all his optimistic fervor, he was surprisingly even-keel most of the time, and his presence as a leader was almost as impressive as Megatron’s– at least, when he wasn’t blubbering like a newspark.

At the moment, Orion was dreaming. Soundwave could make out a frame’s shifting form in Orion’s mind, disappearing beneath a soldier’s swarm over and over. First it was Bee, then it was Shockwave, then Megatron. Orion kept reaching out, missing their servo by a centimeter. Then he’d pull out his blaster, point it at the aggressors. Fail. He couldn’t even pull the trigger. The frame would be dragged away.

Soundwave tried not to judge. Not only was he not particularly inclined, but it was a petty, and fleeting practice in the face of reality. Judgement didn’t matter in a world that didn’t care about deserving.

And then there was Megatron, who so prized his lack of judgement. Over and over, he let Soundwave see the darker side of him, understood that he was seeing into the core of his mind, and decided he could live with it, because Soundwave didn’t judge.

Even if it wasn’t quite the truth. But he would never let Megatron know that.

Orion failed for the fiftieth time, gun in his trembling servo, digit on the trigger. The Bee-Shockwave-Megatron got swallowed up.

Pathetic, Soundwave thought, but would never say.

But even this should not have been enough to wake him. Only two things could. A notice on HUD pinging danger, or a change in Megatron’s condition.

Mind flickering, Soundwave strained his audials past the ones and zeroes of Orion’s pitiful dream, past the chatter he could hear throughout the building, past the constant thrum of Iacon itself.

Megatron was dreaming.

It was nearly inaudible, buried deep in his background processing, using only a fraction of his brain. Soundwave instinctively started zeroing in, preparing to apply the necessary filters to bring the dream into stark contrast with the waking world, something he could properly hear.

He stopped himself. “ Stay out of my processor,” Megatron had once ordered. And Soundwave had obeyed. He still heard snippets, of course. Megatron thought the same way he spoke, bold, authoritative, unignorable. There were doubts in his mind, but where they existed, Megatron rooted them out like a virus, facing them head on and quashing, just as he did his enemies in the Pits.

Soundwave forced himself to settle back down on his berth. The morning was still new. There were a few more cycles before Orion would force himself awake, and he owed it to his cassettes to get as much recharge as he could. Even now, Frenzy was protesting over their shared connection, squirming in his subspace. Just a few more kliks, Boss.

Affirmative, Soundwave assured, forcibly offlining his optics. He knew it could be hard for his bots to ignore the visual feed when it was coming in. They could have this. They’d earned it after returning to him so quickly the solar-cycle previous, when he’d forced them all back in at Orion’s sudden appearance.

“Aw, I kinda wanna meet this Orion,” Rumble had whined.

“No you don’t!” Frenzy had exclaimed, practically diving back into the subspace. “He seems like a complete goody-two-pedes!” He’d then popped his helm back out. “Now Jazz, that’s a mech I’d wanna hang with. Hey!” He’d poked the wall of Soundwave’s subspace. It had tickled. “Can you play that mix he made you?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave had said, impatience bleeding into his field. “If you return.”

“Yes!” Frenzy had pumped his tiny fist, folding back into a cassette. Rumble had followed less enthusiastically, clearly only interested in the promise of reward. Ravage and Laserbeak returned immediately after, only delayed when the others had blocked the way. 

Soundwave palmed the glass of his subspace, knowing his cassettes felt his affection, reflecting it back. Soon, he thought. Soon you can come and go as you please. As soon as Megatron wakes and cleanses this world for us.

*

Two more solar-cycles came and went, with little promise of progress on any front. Starscream remained infuriating, Megatronus remained asleep, and Orion failed to come up with a plan.

“We can’t stay in standstill like this!” Starscream had shrieked at the end of a particularly grueling meeting. “It’s only a matter of time before Sentinel makes his move, and we had best be ready when he does.”

Even his own bots had agreed to some degree.

“We can’t keep waiting for Megatronus,” Elita had said, expression severe. Leave it to her to get to the spark of it. Jazz hadn’t been fully honest since the incident with Prowl, and the rest didn’t want to voice their opinions for one reason or another. Magnus was too principled. Bee too enamoured. 

He’d wanted to argue with her. He’d opened his intake, then snapped it shut.

She was right.

He’d been recharging with Megatronus every night-cycle. He didn’t know why, only that he couldn’t sleep otherwise. Some wriggling part of his mind hoped that it was helping, that Megatronus would sense him there– hear his words, and wake. 

It was delusional, he knew, even as he curled up next to the sleeping frame, outside the arm. He always woke up tucked under it. He liked to imagine it was Megatronus doing so. He knew it was his own subconscious, seeking the other out. He should’ve been ashamed. He was taking advantage of a sleeping mech to soothe his own spark. He kept waiting for Soundwave to say something– do something. He thought back to the hallway, when Soundwave had thought it was his fault. He almost wished he had been punished, but that was his own guilt talking. It wasn’t fair to Soundwave to expect him to police Orion.

Time was running out. Orion knew that. Sentinel, or Starscream, or even his own bots would soon give out on him. Someone was going to make a move, and it had to be him, otherwise this whole thing was going to go up like a line of energon. Bots all around, chomping at the bit for a drop, anything to sate the bloodlust. It made Orion want to curl up and scream.

He only took Megatronus’s arm in a tighter grip, holding it against his face. “Megatronus…” he whispered into gunmetal gray plating. “I need you.”

*

Megatron watched Orion fall. Or was he rising? He reached, he missed. The bot’s expression was stricken, fear written all over. Not for himself, never for himself. Orion was scared for him. No one had ever been worried for him before, certainly not since before his beating at Darkwing’s servos, maybe never at all. 

Orion was becoming a speck in the distance. Don’t go where I can’t follow! Please!

His mind on fire, Trepan laughing, and then it was Declaron, then Darkwing, then Sentinel. Burning shame lanced through him. He gagged on it, it tasted so foul on his glossa. He clawed at his chest, like he could dig the rancid emotion out. He pulled his servo back, sticky with energon.

“Megatronus?”  

He looked back down, and there was Orion, laying on his back, choking on his own energon, his chassis a gaping hole.

“Megatronus, please.”

No, no, no– he hadn’t– he hadn’t meant to– hadn’t done it. How could he undo it? Could he? He scrambled, trying to hold the bleeding hole closed. It wouldn’t work. They both knew it.

“Megatronus,” Orion sounded close to crying. He took Megatron by the arm, holding it tight. “Please come back to me.”

I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m here!

Orion stroked his arm. It felt nice, even as it left a streak of energon across his plating. “Please wake up.”

He– he was awake. What?

“Megatronus, I need you.”

Something wasn’t right. This never happened, he thought all at once. Orion had been like this once, but that had been Darkwing’s doing, not his. Megatron hadn’t– grief gave way to bubbling relief. The world he was in suddenly felt void of detail, so two-dimensional it was like a personal insult, fuzzy white at the edges, and rapidly expanding.

This is a dream, he realized. A dream. He could feel the surface of it, the place where fiction met reality. That thin world fell away. His optics fluttered. For a gasping nanoklik he was nowhere, surrounded by dark nothingness, his senses dulled, but rapidly returning.

He was flat on his back. His joints were stiff with self-repair, and lack of use. His left arm was trapped in something. For a petrifying moment, he thought he was back on that slab, immoble because he was restrained.

The restraint let out a soft hiccup. “Megatronus, please… wake up.”

“Orion?” he rasped. His throat felt raw. He licked the inside of his dry intake, tasted the phantom remnants of the gag, though it was long gone. He grimaced.

“Megatronus?” Orion lifted his helm, his optics unfocused and cycling. His face was slack like he was processing complex information. Over his shoulder, Soundwave perked up.

“Megatronus!” Orion cried out, joy and desperation exploding from his field. A nano later, and the bot was hurling himself into Megatron’s chest, damn near smashing their helms together, then clinging to Megatron’s neck like a lifeline. Megatron only hesitated a moment, before he was tentatively wrapping his arms around his frame, first scared, remnants of the dream echoing in his processor, before memories came flooding back, and it became a deliberate effort not to crush Orion against himself.

“Orion,” he breathed shakily. He thumbed scuffed red plating, taking comfort in the familiar shape of the frame. 

Orion leaned back, and Megatron hated the loss. He was being studied, blue optics searching his face, an anxious field. “Do you… do you remember me?”

Remember… he knew this face, knew his name and shape. And then the greatest truth of them all: he loved this mech. Did this mech love him too? The tangled emotional ties left in the wake of severed memories made him think yes, and yet, wavering trepidation haunted every neural. 

Five lancing needles, a mech exerting his will in his own mind, a burst of agony. “Then you won’t mind if I do this.” Painful void. The knowledge that something was missing, but the inability to deign what.

Orion’s field gave a pulse of muted fear. He’d paused too long. “Of course I remember you.” It was close enough to the truth.

Orion’s answering smile was the rising sun, brilliant in its emergence. It was like his first time seeing open sky. He didn’t know how he’d ever survived without it. 

He could hardly believe he’d almost lost all of this to the council and their butcher. Something dark swirled in his spark, the solemn promise he’d made to himself.

Kill every last functionalist.

“What happened since I… fell.” He checked his chronometer, optics going wide at the solar-cycles missed. A little more alarmed, “where are we?”

Orion leaned back on his heelblocks. “Don’t panic, but we’re in the Vosian embassy. With Starscream.”

“The senator?”

“I had a hard time believing it too, but he saved us. After Shockwave got captured we were at the end of our rope. We would’ve all been caught if he hadn’t stepped in and hidden us here.”

“Is it safe?”

“Seems so. At least Prime hasn’t sent anyone after us yet.”

Megatron turned to Soundwave, the question echoing.

“Premises: safe from outside threats… for now.”

“Starscream?” Orion said, looking stricken again.

“Affirmative. He has no current intent to do harm and yet… he schemes.”

Like Megatron had any idea what that meant. “Warn me if any of these schemes become more than just ideas.”

“As you command.”

“We’ve been negotiating with him,” Orion said, sounding disappointed with himself. “That’s what we’ve been doing since you’ve been offline. I wish I could say we’ve come to an agreement, but that just isn’t the case.”

“You need me.”

“Yes.” Orion tilted his helm, just enough to meet his optics, like he was ashamed. “I didn’t want you to wake up to me floundering– not again, but… he just doesn’t listen to reason, and I can’t think of anything to say that will convince him.”

“Convince him of what? I assure you, there is no argument you can’t win when you put your mind to it.” He snorted. “Trust me, I know.”

“We need to convince him there’s a better way, that we can overturn functionalism without violence.”

The first emotion Megatron felt at that was anger, an ugly chasm like an open wound. With some measure of difficulty he managed to direct it away from Orion. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know. He’d never been beaten to scrap by an overseer, or fed through the mechanism that was the Pits, or had a madmech dig through his mind at the Prime’s behest. Even now, his processor flared dull pain. He wasn’t sure what he could do to negate it, could only hope it’d fade on its own.

Violence was the only language these bots listened to. He knew this as well as he knew his own frame. 

Orion would understand. He’d have to. He’d see why bots like Decimus and Sentinel couldn’t go on to spread their vile rhetoric. He’d killed Darkwing, and Declaron. Sentinel would not escape the same fate.

“Where is everyone now?”

“Oh, everyone’s turned in for the night-cycle. We’ll be continuing negotiations tomorrow, hopefully for the last solar-cycle,” Orion added under his breath.

“Gather them now.”

“Now? What are you going to say? Starscream refuses to see reason. He wants to be leader, and he wants–”

A voice crackled out from Soundwave– not his own. Starscream’s. A recording then. “You don’t understand, Skyfire– look at me– Sky, we need them. This may be our last chance before it’s too late.”

“Too late? What the hell are you talking about, Star?” Megatron didn’t recognize this second voice.

“Don’t you see the way Sentinel’s squeezing us? Every stellar-cycle the council does more and more to reign in our influence. Commissions less of our forces, votes for less resources. You know it. I know it– just this vorn we had to close the hotspot by the Spires! He’s bleeding us! I’ve tried everything– everything. The mech won’t see reason? We remove the mech, and I truly believe that this FFFF thing is our best shot at doing it.”

The recording ended. Megatron set his jaw with grim satisfaction. This was going to be easier than he thought.

“Why didn’t you show me that, Soundwave? We could’ve–”

“Parties have been summoned.” Soundwave tilted his helm. “Meeting in the great room: ten kliks… certain parties… may pose difficulty.”

“You’re having a meeting right now?” Orion sputtered. “It’s late!”

“But necessary.” Megatron swung his stabilizing-servos off the berth, relishing the ache of movement as he rose to his full height. He’d let all this go on for too long, and besides, nothing destroyed a bot’s defenses like a strong offense when they least expected it. He’d learned that much in the Pits. He figured it applied to negotiation as well. Though he loathed to make a deal with the likes of Starscream, it was becoming painfully obvious that it may be their only way forward.

A moment later, and he was out the door.

“Let me show you the way at least,” Orion said, jogging ahead.

It didn’t occur to him that had no idea where he was going. He followed easily, as bots emerged from their habsuites. A disgruntled-looking Elita stepped out of a doorway, first glaring, before her face went slack in disbelief, like she’d forgotten then remembered that he’d been injured at all.

When he parted the doors to the great room, about half the expected bots were assembled. 

“Where’s Starscream?” he bellowed. 

“Tell your lackey that—“ the red seeker cut himself off the moment his gaze lighted on Megatron’s face. “I— I thought you were in stasis. I thought—“

“You thought wrong.” Megatron took his seat across from Starscream, who was still standing and looked nervous to do anything else. Orion stood confused at his right. “We’re getting this done, and we’re getting it done now. I want our bots in position by first light tomorrow.”

“Well I— well, finally! A mech of focus!” Starscream sat. “I knew you’d see optic to optic.”

“I doubt that,” Megatron chuckled darkly, “but I’m sure we can find use for each other. Listen closely.” He steepled black clawed digits. “Here’s what’s going to happen.”

 

Notes:

Thanks for the patience! Posting this before Friday cause I'm gonna be busy again next week, and I want this chapter and the next out before that hits. After that I'll just be left with the finale (finale chapters, depending on how many it takes for that whole arc) which I think will upload around the 11th. Depends how long it'll take to write, but I'm basically down to the last 10k!! Which is nuts to me!! (But I'll save the disbelief for the actual end, lol) And thank you Marbimus (Marby2000 on Tumblr) for cheering me on! I also quite literally would not be into Transformers if not for them haha.

Chapter 20: The First and the Last

Notes:

Hello there is SEX in this chapter. You've been warned. If you wanna read it still, but skip the sex, it's from "'My habsuite is three doors down,'" to "Orion cracked an optic open an undetermined length of time later" uhhh otherwise, hope u enjoy :P

Orion listened intently as Megatronus outlined his plan. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but… well, he didn’t feel good leaving that meeting.

He walked mutely down the hall, tanks lurching ominously with every step. Voices drifted around him, worried, eager. One finally reached out, a servo on his pauldron. He spun around, startled.

“What happened?” Elita asked, looking more severe than usual.

“I— what do you mean? Megatronus is back,” he said blankly.

“What do I mean?” Elita shook her helm like she couldn’t believe it. “You didn’t say a word! You just let Megatronus outline the exact plan that we’ve been fighting this entire time!”

“I didn’t— what do you care? I thought you’d be happy. You were the one saying Starscream wasn’t wrong,”

“What I care is that I’m following you, not Starscream. What I care is that when Megatronus decides winning is more important than the values you preach, you’ll stand up to him! He’s going to have us storm Iacon palace tomorrow. People are going to get hurt. Are you okay with that?”

“No! Of course not!” He could feel some of that old heated anger flaring up. The first time he met her in the mines, so long ago, came to mind. He’d gotten heated then, and she’d recoiled. None of that this time. She only raised her brows, straightened to her full height with her servos on her hips. Despite it all, the indignation, he liked this better. He hadn’t expected her to be surprised when he’d picked her as his stand-in— his second, really. In the end, it hadn’t really been a choice, and moments like these confirmed it. For the first time since the meeting let out, he felt like himself again. He could rely on her as an axis to navigate on, even-keel.

“I’m going to talk to him,” Orion said, turning on his pede. Aching pain still lanced up his right knee-rotor, but he managed to keep the limp out. Now was not the time to appear weak, especially not in front of Starscream. He felt Elita’s stare on his retreating back, didn’t linger to feel whatever emotion danced on her field, not sure if he could handle disapproval if he found it.

Megatronus was speaking in low tones with his top gladiators. Starscream stood casually a few paces to the left, eavesdropping as subtly as he could manage, which was not at all.

Soundwave noticed him first, quirking his helm over Megatronus’s shoulder. Megatronus’s gaze followed the motion, lighting on Orion.

“Can we talk, Megatronus?”

“Of course.” Megatronus said, almost sounding fond. The tone dropped when he turned back to his bots. “You got all of that?”

Some nods, and an enthusiastic “Yes, sir!” from Lugnut, and Megatronus broke from the group. His full attention was a physical thing. For the only time since their first meeting, Orion felt nervous under it. He suppressed the urge to fidget.

“What is it, Orion?”

“In private?”

Megatronus cocked a brow, then swung his frame in a follow me kind of gesture. Orion did so, finally glancing back at Elita. She hadn’t stopped watching him. She had her arms crossed over her chest, piercing blue gaze on his, like she was peering right into his soul. He passed the threshold, letting her fall from sight.

They walked in tense silence for a few kliks as Orion gathered what he wanted to say. He drummed a nervous tune on his thigh. “Storm Iacon palace, disable the military, capture Prime and his council. Deactivate them, if necessary.” Megatronus’s words from the meeting sent a shiver down his backstruts.

He couldn’t understand it, wouldn’t. Violence for violence. Was Starscream right? Was that all these bots thought about? Was it really the only way Megatronus saw forward?

His friend had been through something– been going through something, all the way back before they met, with Darkwing, and Orion hadn’t been able to help him. Thought he had been. Gotten Megatronus to open up, and been listened to in return. He remembered that first night, so long ago, when they’d spoken about their pasts in the rec room, that contact, the emotion. Was it wrong that he wanted that again? He balled his fists, clench, unclench. It always seemed to help him mitigate his emotion. It wasn’t helping then.

“I can feel your field fritzing from here,” Megatronus rumbled. Orion hadn’t noticed when he’d stopped walking. They were only a meter apart, facing each other. “You don’t like this, do you?”

When had everyone gotten so good at reading him? He looked to the side, not quite able to meet Megatronus’s gaze. “You know I don’t.”

“Why?” Megatronus’s voice was sharp and light, as curious as he was accusatory. Orion snapped from his contemplation to meet fierce red optics, finally feeling his own anger burn through his lines.

“You know why! Primus, Megatronus, you’re talking about violent revolution. Bots are going to get killed!”

“Yes. Their bots, the functionalists, that slagger Prime and his cronies! Isn’t that what we want? The death of functionalism? I want it, and I know you want it too.”

Orion took a step forward, jabbed his digit. “That doesn’t mean we slaughter the bots who stand in our way!”

“The death of functionalism is the death of the council!” Megatronus threw his arms in the air, took a frustrated step back. “You think a single one of those fraggers will just let us tear down their system? Functionalism isn’t something that just popped into existence one solar-cycle. It was built. Brick by brick on the backs of generations of Cybertronians. Well guess what? I’m not going to let it be built on me. I’m tearing it down, and I’ll tear down anyone that stands in my way!”

Orion felt his optics cycling wide. Megatronus’s field was fluxing anger and intense resolution. His optics blazed wild crimson. The sound of his breath and whirring fans were the only things cutting through the silence.

“You can’t mean that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“You’re talking about killing innocent bots.”

Megatronus scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“What about the military bots you’re going to mow down to get to the palace? What about civilians in the crossfire? What about our own bots taking on the risk?”

“Last I checked, it’s my gladiators who will be shouldering the brunt. They made their choice, and so did the functionalists’ military. They chose wrong.”

“Maybe they didn’t have the chance to choose. Ever think of that? You were in the dark until you met me! You knew it was wrong in your spark, but you didn’t know what it meant–”

“You want me to thank you, Pax? Thank you for the privilege of understanding the true shape of our world? For saving me?” Megatronus’s lip curled back in an ugly sneer. “Bringing me into the light?”

“No!” Orion took another step forward, starting to feel crazy. Arguing with Megatronus was like chasing the horizon. “I don’t want your thanks. I just need you to acknowledge that the military bots– hey! Don’t walk away from me!”

Megatronus had started an angry march down the hall. The last flickers of his field before he passed out of range were boiling fury. Orion chased after him. “Megatronus, I was talking to you!”

Megatronus glared over his shoulder, pulsed a strong field flare of violent intent, but didn’t break his stride. It reminded him of Soundwave. “And like a good lower-caste bot I have to listen?”

That was enough to stop Orion in his tracks. “I– what?” He blinked twice. Megatronus made it to the end of the hall, then took the corner, walking out of sight, leaving Orion standing confused.

What the hell?

*

It took half a cycle for Megatron to cool down enough for his fans to click off. He needed to break something. His neurals itched for it. He clenched his fists, digging his claws into his palms.

He’d wanted to hit Orion– almost done it– might’ve– no, wouldn’t. He wasn’t in the Pits anymore. He didn’t have to be ruled by anger, could only hope that Orion hadn’t deigned his intent.

But the directive, the need. He roared, throwing his fist against the wall. The fancy alloy plastering it gave easily, exposing the tougher steel that actually formed the structure. It did little to ease his fury, didn’t even hurt, not like his processor did.

“You were in the dark until you met me.”

Megatron’s back hit the wall. He slid all the way down until he was sitting on the floor. Distantly, he was aware that he needed to keep moving before someone discovered him, or else his tenuous authority would crumble. Tenuous? No. He was Megatron, damnit. Champion of Kaon. His leadership was forged from spilled energon, his own and countless others’. What did Orion understand? He’d never… he’d…

Megatron thought back, sifted through still-mending memories. His self-repair was slowly pulling bits of hidden code back into place. With every passing cycle his mind became more clear.

Orion Pax. Memories involving him came back the most damaged. He rubbed his helm. Those had been the memories Trepan had been after, the inception point. He’d defended them, torn his own mind apart to do so. They must’ve been important.

When had they met? Why did they know each other?

He growled in frustration. Things came back too slowly. He remembered leading Orion through the streets from Shocky’s, a bleeding stabilizing-servo, a fist through a frame, conversations about poetry, a datapad in the Pits, a light in the dark.

A swirling cyan spark chamber with optics to match. A bright smile that left the energon in his lines singing.

Orion was something to be cherished, and he’d almost thrown him against the wall.

His mind, so fiercely guarded, didn’t feel like his own. Someone had been inside it, rummaged around and tried to reshape it. Had.

His processor pulsed a new wave of pain. No, not new. Nothing he couldn’t manage. He pushed himself to his pedes, and forced thoughts of Orion from his mind. He still had a revolution to run.

*

Orion stood in the hall for far longer than was socially acceptable, only moving when he finally heard voices drifting towards him. He didn’t particularly want to interact with any of Megatronus or Starscream’s bots.

He definitely didn’t want to encounter his own. Not with the questions they’d ask.

He wandered the corridors, and couldn’t help but think about his outing with Megatronus to the ruins.

He wondered if he’d ever be that happy again.

The comms started rolling in a few kliks later. First it was Elita, who he ignored. Then Ironhide, then Jazz. He finally snapped when Magnus hopped on the line. The mech only commed when something important was happening.

.:Report:. Orion tried to use the formal language Magnus liked. It usually achieved better results, and eliminated the possibility of him going on one of his policy rants.

.:Request of presence in the west wing:. And then the comm cut. That was the area he and his bots had taken for themselves. He quit his wandering to carve a quick path across the embassy. Luckily no one got in his way. A short walk later and he was pushing the doors open to their makeshift meeting place, the lounge at the end of the west wing. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to be surprised to see Alpha Trion.

Orion opened his intake, and nothing came out. A thousand different things slammed to the forefront of his mind at once. A polite greeting for his mentor, a furious snarl for the mech who’d helped lead him down this fragged up path. He took a deep invent, parsing all of this, and then, “hello Alpha Trion. What are you doing here?” Good, very good. Somehow he’d managed to expel every ounce of hostility from his voice.

“You don’t seem happy to see me,” the old mech said, shifting a bit in his seat.

Orion clenched his dentae together hard enough that nothing could slip out of its own volition. He took a few more steadying breaths. “Did you know you were being monitored by Prime?”

“I told you it was a possibility.”

He had, it was true. “And you weren’t followed here?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Orion Pax, are you sure it is me you are angry with?” Alpha Trion stood, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so.

“I’m not–” Orion cut himself off, scrubbing his face as he hissed steam. “You’re right. I am angry.” 

“I am sorry my coordinates led you into Sentinel’s clutches. I’m sorry that your friend–”

“Don’t.” Orion raised his helm, meeting Alpha Trion’s gaze head-on. “That was a lose-lose situation. One that I put my bots into.”

“Orion,” Elita said. “You didn’t–”

“I did!” Orion snapped. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.” He took a step forward. This time Magnus hardly reacted between them, only regarded them both with an even– if a bit of a nervous gaze. “Why didn’t you stay in Kaon? Why didn’t you ride with us into Iacon?” He was starting to sound a little desperate, all those little pieces of choked off emotion forming into something ugly. He took the last few steps, grasped one of Alpha Trion’s servos in his own. The old mech’s bewilderment cascaded over the link, though Orion could only guess why. “You would have ridden with us, and they never would’ve fired. Shockwave… Megatronus, Bee, they never would’ve been taken.” His sadness turned darker. He hated it in himself. “Do you expect us to fail? Are you… are you just using us? Why won’t you stand beside us?”

Alpha Trion’s confused disbelief fell away to sorrow. Sparkfelt remorse like a yawning pool opened between them. The mech left his cane leaning against the chair behind him to put his other servo over both of theirs. It only made the regret sharper.

“Orion Pax. I am sorry that I did not come with you that day.”

Something in Orion broke. A choked out sob and a moment later, he was in Alpha Trion’s arms, being held close. Somewhere to his right, he could sense Magnus shooing everyone out of the room.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, didn’t want to check his chronometer. When Orion eventually stepped away he felt hollow, like his inner working had all been scooped out, leaving nothing but a shell. He collapsed into the chair opposite Alpha Trion, who mirrored him. For a long moment, they just sat in silence.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Orion raised his helm, swiped at the tracks of solvent on his face. That ugly thing swirled in his spark again, but he forced it down. He picked at some flaking piece of paint on his arm. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I’ve never known you to shy away from difficult topics.”

That might’ve relit the anger in him, but he was spent. “Yeah, well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“I think you’re tired. You’ve taken on immeasurable responsibility, and are handling it better than most. But nobody is perfect, and you need to come to terms with that.”

“I’m no leader.” He resisted the urge to drop his helm into his servos. He wouldn’t hide from this truth. “The fact of the matter is, I’m just an idealistic fool. There are a dozen, if not hundreds of bots better suited for the job.”

“I much prefer the term optimistic when describing you. And you’re wrong. Maybe there are bots better suited to lead, but they’ve chosen you. The real truth is that you either need to fully dedicate yourself to this, or walk away, but you cannot continue to view yourself as some interim leader.”

“But there’s got to be some kind of end, right?”

“There’s always an end.”

Orion stiffened. “Don’t say it like that— like I’m going to die or something.”

Alpha Trion shrugged. “Sometimes even death isn’t the end, but I digress. I’ve given you enough to think about, and none of it was what I came here to discuss.”

Orion perked up a bit, equal parts interest and trepidation.

Alpha Trion clasped his servos together. “I know you have no cause to trust me after the way the last few solar-cycles have gone, but I promise you, as misguided as my absence was, it wasn’t for nothing.” He pulled a datapad from subspace and slid it across the table. 

“What are— are these the schematics to Iacon Palace?”

“Yes, and not only that, but the entire underground system.”

Orion swiped, finding even more blueprints, a whole mess of tunnels. “Alpha Trion—“

“And,” Alpha Trion tipped his helm forward. “I’ve gotten us help.”

“Who?” It would be too much to hope that the rest of the FFFF was somehow in Iacon, though he knew Jazz was working towards it.

“There are senators on the council who do not share Sentinel’s opinion, aside from Starscream and myself, you know.” A smile ghosted across Alpha Trion’s lips. “Tomorrow there will be an emergency council meeting, in secret. In reality, it’s a ruse to get all of the proponents of functionalism in one place. That would be Proteus, Decimus, Ratbat, and Sentinel. We have fewer enemies than we think.”

“So we can sneak into the palace right under their noses and arrest them?”

“Precisely.” Alpha Trion looked pleased with himself, if a touch sad. Orion hadn’t felt better in cycles.

“I can’t believe this.” He held the datapad close, like it might just disappear. “Thank you.”

“No.” Alpha Trion tipped his helm again in a gesture resembling a modest bow. Orion sat straighter despite himself. “Thank you. You, after all, are the leader, and the only reason any of this is happening.” He looked to the ceiling, optics closed. Orion had never seen the mech looking relaxed before. “You are realizing a dream I have held dear for a megaannum.”

“And you’ll be there?”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the universe.”

Orion smiled. The anger had evaporated the lines, leaving him a little sheepish. He never liked that part of himself.

His mood soured when he remembered the task ahead of him, but at least after tomorrow, it would be over, or at least let them begin the road to the future.

“Tomorrow isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

“Most unlikely, but I suspect it will hold some surprises.” Alpha Trion quirked a brow. “You’ve never been to the Heart of Cybertron, have you?”

Orion couldn’t help but chuckle. “When would I have ever had the opportunity?”

“You will tomorrow. The new entrance is overlooked by the council chamber.”

“Hm, I’m not exactly a religious mech.”

“But it is where our life-force stems from, regardless of faith.”

“True. Like a battery.”

“Like a spark, if you ask some.” That mischievous twinkle in the old mech’s optics. Orion rolled his, before letting the humor drop off.

“It’s not what I meant though. Even with half the council on our side, it’s not like the rest are just going to surrender, right?” Orion ran a digit nervously along the edge of the datapad. “There’s probably going to be fighting.”

“Maybe. But nothing serious if you can arrest the senators before their respective forces can bail them out.”

“What about Prime? He fought in the Quintessons War. He’s Prime, for crying out loud! He’s not going to go down easily.”

“I thought you weren’t religious.”

“I’m not.” Orion leaned back, he hadn’t even realized he’d been getting worked up. “But they can’t be calling him Prime for nothing.”

Alpha Trion made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “Sentinel is no Prime.”

“What do you mean?”

“That he was not chosen by Primus.”

“Well… yeah.”

Alpha Trion sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, before meeting Orion’s gaze head on. Any humor he’d previously held was devoid from his white optics. “You can choose to believe me or not, but Primus is real, and since the creation of our species, has chosen every Prime who has led.” He curled his servo into fist. “Sentinel was not chosen, and he has made a mockery of the title. He’s not a leader. He’s a ruler– a tyrant, bending Cybertron into his own image.”

Orion snorted. “And why didn’t our oh-so-powerful-and-real god choose a new Prime before he could take power, hm? If Primus really was real, that probably would’ve solved a lot of our problems.”

Alpha Trion shook his helm slowly, sadly. “I don’t know. Maybe we took too long unearthing the Heart of Cybertron from Vidocon’s rubble. Maybe the council didn’t create the right conditions for a new Prime to emerge. Maybe no one was worthy.”

“Forgive me, but I have a hard time believing any of this.”

“Like I said, believe what you want.” He sighed. “Zeta was the last real Prime. He died that night-cycle in Vidocon, fighting off the Quintessons before the blasts.” Another sigh, and unfocused optics like he was seeing that past. “He was a close friend of mine.” Then more quietly. “He was worthy.”

“Then why didn’t you tell anyone? If he really is a fake, then wouldn’t everyone have the right to know?”

“I know.” Alpha Trion clasped his servos together, his face a stone wall. “The war had just ended.” He closed his optics, helm bowed again, this time, in shame. “I was tired. I was so tired, Orion Pax.”

Orion stood, servos on the table, leaning all the way forward. “Tell them now. If you truly believe that Primes are real, and Sentinel is fake, then everyone deserves to know.”

“It isn’t so simple. You can’t just spring something so monumental on the public. It has to be done carefully, or else society as we know it could crumble.”

“Maybe it should.”

Alpha Trion exvented. “I understand, but how many would die in the ensuing chaos?”

Orion froze.

“There will always be those who wish to maintain the status quo, and we must do our best to keep ourselves and others in constant progress. We must do better by our fellow bots. You can’t just burn everything to the ground. That’s not how you build a future.”

The future. The future could be jump started that very next solar-cycle. Would, if Orion had anything to say about it. His spark hiccuped in its casing. He’d have to talk to Megatronus about this new plan. He wanted to talk to Megatronus. Something had gone wrong in that last conversation, and as much as he wanted to blame himself– did blame himself, he wasn’t entirely at fault. Megatronus had said some confusing things, like… he didn’t quite have his memories together.

Orion jumped away from the table. “I have to go!” He started towards the door. “There isn’t much time before launch!”

*

Megatron tried not to think about the mech. He’d searched his memories, he’d seen what he needed to see.

That Orion Pax wasn’t willing to do what it took for victory.

And yet, it was as though coming to that conclusion only opened the floodgates for opposition to rush through. He’d been expecting to feel vindicated, hitting Orion where it hurt most, biting words, meant to rend to the core. He had, but it hadn’t lasted. When satisfaction wore off, all he was left with was the datafile of sad, confused optics, and something crumbling hollow in his spark.

Starscream was busy animatedly explaining one of his battle tactics, some method for bombing Iacon that he’d apparently drawn up ages ago, and seemed gleeful to finally get the chance to use. 

Orion won’t like it, some wriggling voice in his processor said.

Why did that leave a sour taste in his intake? He shouldn’t care less what the bot thought. He’d built himself from the ground up. When he’d gotten thrown into the Pits, he’d broken himself out. When he’d been strapped to Trepan’s table, he’d wrenched himself free, pushed through the Institute alone.

Where had Orion been?

Starscream made some inane noise, imitating the sound of his own jet engines as they’d descend on the city, wicked gleam in his optics.

Waiting for him. That was where Orion had been. Somewhere on the outside, trying his damndest to bring Megatron back, even as they both knew it was futile.

But it hadn’t been. Orion couldn’t save him, and yet, somehow he had. The very knowledge that someone was waiting for him, that cared for him and believed in him had been enough. He’d broken himself out, torn himself free, because he knew Orion would be waiting on the other side. Even now, after everything, he was still waiting.

And Megatron had almost thrown all of that away.

“This meeting is being put on hold,” he said, perfectly calm to those on the outside, anything but within. He rested a servo on Soundwave as he passed. “Keep discussing tactics. Eliminate the stupid ones for my later consideration. You’re in my stead.”

Soundwave inclined his helm in deference, and Megatron knew it would be handled. He swept out the door to the tune of Starscream’s indignant protests. He didn’t know where Orion might be now, but he knew he’d find him eventually. 

Had to.

*

Megatron realized quickly that he actually had no clue where Orion was. He tried the hall where he left him, and some of the surrounding area, but it had been cycles since. It was foolish to think he’d still be standing there.

He thought about comming Soundwave. There was no doubt that his friend knew what he sought, and yet, it felt too vulnerable to put into words.

Not when he didn’t even know what he was planning when he did find him.

He clenched his fists as he searched– those same fists that had dealt so much damage, would continue to do so, would tear Prime’s damn helm off, as far as he was concerned. He was unclean, imagined wisps of energon staining his plating, Trepan’s legacy leaving chaos in his mind.

.:Orion: was just in meeting room requesting Megatron’s location:.

He could curse the telepath’s ability, or he could use it. He chose the latter. .:And what did you tell him?:.

.:That he could likely meet you in the west wing:.

Megatron pinged an affirmative, but pointedly did not thank him, altering his course. His march slowed. Now that he had a location, he couldn’t hide behind his search.

He was going to speak with Orion. He was going to–

He didn’t know.

How couldn’t he know? He wanted something from the mech, reconciliation, comprehension. He wanted Orion to look him in the optics and understand him. He wanted…

He wanted.

He stopped in his tracks.

“Won’t have to think about how he doesn’t want you back.” Trepan had said. It had made his plating crawl, his rejection of the claim had been quick, but not immediate. The thought had felt blasphemous even in the privacy of his own mind.

He wanted Orion.

His tanks flipped in his chassis, spark suddenly feeling like it was going to spin right out of his chest. He dug his digits into the plating over it, like he could claw out the traitorous thing, because the simple truth was that–

Orion couldn’t… did he? Cycles spent servo in servo, discussing poetry, and freedom, and the future, and everything else under the suns. A mech who could’ve had everything he wanted, a home on the surface, a job in the archives, and still, he came back. He remembered the way Orion had flung himself forward when he’d woken, could still feel the place his arms had wrapped around him, and realized it wasn’t nearly close enough.

He started his march once more. Whatever the future held, he wouldn’t let himself shy away from it.

*

The last door before the west wing shouldn't have felt oppressive, bearing down on him. Megatron wouldn’t acknowledge that it did, and pushed it aside with ease.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting to find. For some reason he hadn’t been expecting what he should’ve been expecting: that Orion would be standing there, plain as daylight, arms crossed, and expression hopeful, but guarded. Megatron hated it immediately, that Orion had to be guarded around him.

He let the door fall closed, and stepped fully into the room. He hadn’t been over here yet. It was some kind of atrium before the rest of the hall. 

He opened his intake to speak, but Orion beat him to it. “This is a public space, join me in the office?”

Megatron nodded mutely, intake suddenly dry with the evaporated words. He followed Orion into a nearby room. It was furnished like the rest of the damn embassy, tastefully gaudy, somehow. There was a desk, and a long couch with assembled chairs and a low table. He looked to these instead of the bot before him, who was starting to pace at the opposite end. Typical Orion behavior, fidgeting because he was nervous. That knowledge alone made him feel better.

He thought about what he could say. He wouldn’t apologize, not for his ideas, not for something he stood by. Maybe something was owed, but with new clarity, he knew that wasn’t what he was there about.

In three easy strides Megatron put himself confidently in Orion’s personal space. The other stopped pacing. He could feel his skittering vents across his plating. “I’m sick of pretending I don’t want anything,” Megatron said. His voice sounded far too loud in the following silence.

“What do you mean?”

Megatron looked to the ceiling, like Primus might just light down and save him from stripping himself bare. Finally, he forced himself to meet Orion’s gaze. He was a gladiator, a warrior– a leader. It was damn time he started acting like it.

“Don’t hate me for this.”

“I could never–”

He pulled Orion in, servo on his helm, leaned down. Their lips met. A question, a plea.

Orion froze under his touch. For a dragging klik Megatron’s fear flared up– fear like the first time he took up the volt-saw– all-gripping terror like Orion saying ‘I love you,’ though he had difficulty remembering why it had been said in the first place. And then miraculously, Orion was kissing back, giving that same firm pressure, soft press as his blue optics slid shut. Orion’s field fluttered, coming down from its anxious prickling, into something mellower, relaxed even, though still caught sparks of trepidation. 

“I’ve wanted this…” Orion was leaning back, optics half-shuttered. “For so long.”

Megatron groaned, and dove right back in, catching Orion’s lips in another kiss. This time those lips parted, and Megatron took the invitation, sliding his glossa past, starting a gentle push-pull. Somewhere along the way, Orion’s servos settled on his hips, tracing up along his flank. His servos were warm, just like the rest of him, warmer than usual, like his reactor was working overtime. He liked knowing this was getting to Orion as much as it was getting to him. He let his own servos wander, feeling along one short finial down his neckcables, as Orion started backing him to the desk. He couldn’t help but laugh against Orion’s intake, the mech was so eager. With some difficulty he pulled back, took Orion’s servos in his own.

“Berth,” he whispered brightly, afraid that he’d somehow shatter the moment. He tilted down, letting his forehelm rest against Orion’s. “The things I want to do to you…”

Orion full-frame shivered. Megatron could feel the raging lust over their contact points. He let every last wriggling doubt melt away.

“My habsuite is three doors down,” Orion said.

*

Orion quickly led Megatronus out of the office, all the while feeling giddy like a newspark. He knew Megatronus could feel it, every hot bolt of want that rocketed over the shared connection. His HUD was pinging so many requests it was a miracle he didn’t pop his panels trotting down the hall. After what felt like an eon, but couldn’t have been longer than thirty nanokliks, the door to his habsuite slid shut. The room immediately blasted to full brightness, and he finally got a good look at Megatronus, who was diving for the controls to turn the lights down. He had a handsome flush across his strong cheekplates. His crimson optics were dilated like he was overcharged on fine triple-filtered. He managed to get the lights to a nice ambient quarter setting, but almost seemed to regret it when his gaze locked back onto Orion’s.

“Primus,” was all Megatronus said, reverent, like it really was a god he was looking at.

“That’s not my name, y’know.”

Megatronus rolled his optics, not a care in the world, and stalked right back up into Orion’s space. He basked in the radiating heat. At some point both their fans had clicked on on a low setting, and a small wisp of steam had started from Megatronus’s primary exhaust.

Megatronus reached out a servo, like he might touch the glass of Orion’s chassis, then stopped short by a centimeter, his expression questioning. “May I?”

“By Primus, if you don’t–”

And that was all Megatronus needed before he was pushing Orion back the rest of the way to the berth. The back of his knee-rotors hit the edge, and he let himself fall, Megatronus not far behind.

“I’m glad this berth will be getting some kind of use,” Orion said, flashing his signature slag-eating grin.

“Oh shut up,” Megatronus said, fondness etched into every syllable.

“Make me.”

Megatronus surged forward once more, crouching over Orion as he took his intake. His servos finally did trace the glass of Orion’s windshield, all along the surface of it, before travelling down to the lines of his middle. Megatronus’s kneeguard brushed between his thighs, and his interface equipment pinged him for the fiftieth time. Which would’ve been great–

If Megatronus didn’t seem dead set on taking his time.

The kiss was languid– if a bit hungry, and the touches sensual, slow. Orion smirked internally, twisting his helm to pull Megatronus’s bottom lip between his dentae, giving a light, sucking bite. Megatronus’s engine revved, seeing Orion’s challenge and meeting it, and broke the kiss to mouth along his jaw, to his neckcables. His servos wandered further down as Orion’s did the same. That lesson on self-defense from all those solar-cycles previous came to his mind, unbidden, and he found that place between pelvis and thigh, only, instead of shredding, he stroked the cables there. Thumb-press gentle, but insistent.

A noise between a groan, and something much more vulnerable escaped Megatronus’s vocalizer. His pelvis canted forward of its own volition before the mech caught himself, small bursts of electricity crackled along the plating. Orion could feel more than see the narrowed optics, before Megatronus redoubled his efforts, scraping his dentae lightly against Orion’s neckcables. The servo, which Orion had hoped might reciprocate, missed his panels entirely, stroking down his thigh, feeling the beveled edge. It had enough of an effect though. There was no way Megatronus missed the shaky answering exvent.

“You like that?” he rumbled, and the question went all the way down to his equipment.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to drag this out all night-cycle.” It sounded like a whine even to his own audials.

Megatronus laughed, despite sounding just as desperate. “Whatever you want, Orion. You only need ask.”

“Spike me. Please.”

Megatronus seemed almost surprised at the brazenness, before his expression melted back to a smile. Orion narrowed his optics. He was plotting something.

“What–”

But then Megatronus was crawling down and off the berth, dragging Orion back with him until he was seated on the edge, and Megatronus was kneeling between his thighs.

“Do you trust me?”

Orion blinked twice, the question was so absurd. “With my life.”

Megatronus’s lips parted a bit in naked wonder. Orion could even sense it in his field, before it was fading back to lust and… something much deeper.

“Lie back.”

Orion did so, tentatively, propping himself up on his elbows so he could see.

See as Megatronus dipped his helm, servos settling again on his thighs, and licked all the way up Orion’s panel. Smooth, warm glossa, laving metal. A big puff of steam escaped Orion’s vents, and it took everything in him not to let his panel snap open that very instant. Megatronus didn’t pull back for any smart taunt, only meeting Orion’s optics in a brazen challenge, and continuing to mouth along the hot metal. It was a game, Orion was sure. Megatronus could’ve asked for his array, but he didn’t. Orion shook with the effort, but he wouldn’t give. Refused.

Trust me. He would.

Then Megatronus’s optics scrunched with secret humor, and he stroked into that same sensitive place between pelvis and thigh Orion had teased earlier, and the pleasure of it all did have the panel popping open of its own accord, sliding back and out of the way.

Orion didn’t have a nanoklik to be mortified, not with the way Megatronus was staring at the barred array with something like adoration and naked hunger.

“May I?” he whispered again. Orion didn’t know what he was agreeing to, only that he was nodding.

Megatronus kissed the inside of his thigh, before licking right up across his valve and spike-housing in one unbroken motion. Orion let out a near yelp, acutely aware of the sudden surge of electricity through him, and then a warm intake was teasing his spike out, getting it to pressurize enough to take it in in an obscene gesture of tongue and lip. The drag of it all was too good. His helm fell back with a deep sigh as Megatronus took up a slow rhythm, keeping his lips firm as he slid the spike in and out. Orion’s digits dug into the softer material of the berth, for lack of anything better to do. It couldn’t last long– it couldn’t, because at this rate he’d be overloading sooner than later, and he wanted a closed loop when it happened.

“Spike?” he choked out, pushing himself back up, hoping his meaning would come across.

Megatronus pulled back and off, to both Orion’s relief, and regret. He rested his cheek against Orion’s thigh, casual as anything, like he wasn’t turning Orion to a shuddering mess bit by bit. “You ever done open-loop interface?”

“I’ve self-serviced,” Orion said, a touch defensive.

“So no,” Megatronus smirked. “I told you to trust me. Can you?”

Orion nodded. “But why would anyone do open? Don’t you want the charge to go full circle? You don’t get anything from this.”

“Aside from self-satisfaction?” Megatronus grinned, sharp, before licking up the underside of Orion’s spike. His digits pressed harder into the berth’s surface. “Your frame is small. Two-fold, it’ll loosen you up a bit, and set some charge aside for later.” He winked. “Is that enough explanation for your archival sensibilities?”

Orion felt his cheeks burn. He nodded again, not trusting his vocalizer, letting his thighs fall apart further.

“Good,” Megatronus purred. Orion had to throw an arm over his face to save his embarrassment. Megatronus shifted at his array, pulling his stabilizing-servos over his shoulders. Orion didn’t try to see what else he was doing, and paid dearly when all at once, a servo took his spike, while Megatronus’s glossa pressed into his valve. A moan tore from his vocalizer, high-pitched and fluttering, but undeniable. It only spurred Megatronus on further. He timed his movements together, glossa thrusting deepest when his digits curled around the spike’s base. 

It was too much. It was all too much. Orion could feel his charge rocketing skyward at an unprecedented rate, leaving arching trails of electricity sparking across his plating. He dug his heelblocks into the other’s backplates for any kind of release of tension, but it only pressed Megatronus in closer. He writhed with that clever glossa, that deft servo. There was no way Megatronus hadn’t done this before, it was so expert, like Orion was an instrument he’d spent his whole life training to play. His vocalizer went static. He wanted to tell him to stop, and give more in equal measure, but settled on trust.

Trust. He said he’d trust, and he would. In the blinding haze of electric pleasure, it was the only real thing left, just him and Megatronus and the trust between them. 

He forced a servo to unclench from the berth, and instead move down and cup the back of Megatronus’s helm, move with him in quiet encouragement. The mech groaned at the touch– the simple touch, and the vibration went right into his valve, all up his lines.

Orion gasped, “I’m close.”

He could almost hear the answering words, some snide remark. Megatronus was pleased with himself. He could sense that much through his field, but he didn’t get a moment to dwell on it when that glossa pulled from his valve, took his node between his lips, sucking on it like he did his spike, perfect, and firm, and so so sensitive.

Orion overloaded with a staticky scream, his back arching all the way up off the berth. The charge had nowhere to go, bucking and wild, taking every neural by storm. 

*

If Megatron had put his entire speculation unit to it, he could never have imagined the exquisite kind of sound Orion would make in the throes of overload. It hadn’t taken much, just the well-timed placement of his glossa on that pulsing node. Was it wrong to be strategic? He hadn’t given the thing a lick of attention, so when the moment came, he knew the sensation would take Orion’s processes like a tidal fury.

That servo on his helm had squeezed, using Megatron like a lifeline, something he couldn’t help but wish he’d done sooner. He liked Orion insistent as much as he liked him pliant, and he was so very pliant now.

He hadn’t overloaded into reboot, which was good. Maybe a goal for later, but it would’ve disrupted the selfish reason for the open-loop overload, dissipating the charge. Orion’s frame was still all twitchy and static with it, electricity occasionally sparking across the surface of his plating. His brow was pinched, intake parted to cool faster. Orion is beautiful, the thought stuck again, only this time there was no shame behind it. No need to hide it. He admired his relaxed frame openly as his senses came back online. Red plating shimmering with heat, tiny finials flicking, bared array– valve dripping with lubricant, twitching around nothing. Waiting for him.

Eventually Orion’s spike started to depressurize, as expected, and Megatron coaxed it back into its housing with his glossa. His own interface equipment was begging to be onlined, but he forced the urge down. He could be patient.

Orion’s optics blinked open, cycling into the correct focus, locking on Megatron.

“Mega–” his vocalizer fritzed out. He looked hilariously surprised, bringing a limp servo up to his neckcables. There was the clicking of a reset. “Up with me?”

Megatron took his meaning, crawling back onto the berth, and dragging them both up to the headboard, bracketing himself over Orion. The other pulled him the rest of the way down, kissing him again, and he felt a little thrill knowing that Orion would be tasting himself on his glossa. An idea sparked. He brought his servo down, mindful of the talons, dipping two digits into that waiting, wet valve. Orion whimpered against his lips, a shiver wracking through him. Orion pulled back slightly to whisper, “sensitive.”

Right, of course. Open-loops could be tricky. He quickly removed his digits, apology in his field, but not quite enough to offset the mischief. He pressed those digits against Orion’s intake, and he opened easily, taking them in and sucking them clean. His engine revved at the sight, that glossa, working over him. He wet his lips, just thinking about what else it could do.

He pushed the thought aside, remembering the next steps for oversensitive equipment. He brought his servo down again– not missing the flicker in Orion’s field– but not distrust. Never distrust. And smoothed along his thigh. Up and down. Nice sensory information to recalibrate Orion’s settings.

“Kiss me more?”

Megatron would never deny him. He crouched down again, kissing without breaking his motions. They remained like that for several kliks, just lost in the senses. Orion had taken to tracing the looping detail on his chest, over and over. He’d been complimented on it before. Back in C-12, before Darking’s beating, so long ago. Nice bit of ornamentation. Hard to come by, and rarely a forged quality. Traced once more, like something to be cherished– like Megatron was something to be cherished.

“I think I’m ready,” Orion breathed.

Didn’t want to risk hurting him again. “Touch yourself.”

The tracing stopped. He felt Orion’s vents flutter. He looked down, and saw him circling the rim of his valve. Seemed to be taking it well.

“Touch your node.”

He did so, gently stroking, and then pressing firmer. Orion hissed, his breathing coming out shaky.

“Give it a few more kliks, then.”

“No,” Orion said, bless him. “I’m ready.”

Megatron cocked a brow. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Orion grinned, “or are you just putting off showing your spike?”

“Think you can goad me?” He laughed. “It won’t work.”

“Maybe it’s small.”

Megatron growled, almost genuine. “Fine.” He finally let his spike-panel slide aside, ceasing the endless pinging. His spike pressurized instantly, right into Orion’s waiting grip.

“Well?” Megatron bit out.

“Yes,” Orion sighed happily. “This will do.”

Megatron would’ve rolled his optics, if Orion hadn’t chosen that moment to lightly squeeze. He vented a harsh breath, watching near-helplessly as Orion relinquished his hold, smeared his servo with his own lubricant, then began a slow slide across it. His stabilizing-servos almost melted under him. Just the knowledge that it was Orion doing this. Beautiful, wonderful, brilliant Orion, stroking his spike. The very thought was something he would’ve deemed blasphemous even a solar-cycle previous. An inane fantasy meant to rend their perfectly good friendship asunder.

Orion did a twisting move that forced a gasp out of him. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Only thinking about you.”

“I believe you,” Orion said. “Would you like me to– ah– return the favor?” He was staring openly at his own servo and Megatron’s spike. He didn’t miss the way he wet his lip.

“No,” Megatron ground out, though there was little he would like more. “Any more stored charge could be– hrn,” he gasped again at another of Orion’s clever little moves. He could feel the mirth in his field. “Could be dangerous.”

“Well then. When you put it that way.” Orion shuffled under Megatron, somehow without slowing his servo. He bracketed his thighs on either side of Megatron’s hips, knees angled far apart, positioning himself. “I’m ready if you are.”

Megatron groaned, forcibly restraining himself from sinking into that waiting valve all at once. It would’ve been so easy. Chances were, Orion would’ve even liked it. He put on a tough face, with his quippy jokes, but under it all, he was shaking with need. They both were. But on the smallest chance Orion was jumping the gun, he took it slow. Would do anything to guarantee this wasn’t a one night-cycle show.

He let Orion guide him forward. He eased himself in, torturously unrushed, even as every instinct said to slam in. Take, take, take. Orion let out another little wounded noise about halfway through, but urged him on anyway between fast, but measured breaths. The crackle of charge reemerged on Orion’s plating, light, and promising. Finally, after a short eternity, he bottomed out, his pelvis gently bumping the back of his thighs.

“You okay?” Megatron said, strained.

Orion nodded sharply. “Just need a klik. Adjust.”

“Take as long as you need.” He busied himself studying Orion’s face. He looked pained, but he had to trust that he wouldn’t lie. Hadn’t lied in megacycles, as far as he could tell. He stroked along Orion’s jaw, enjoying the texture of smooth polymetal. He leaned in, kissed him gently, just lips touching lips. He felt the curve of Orion’s smile against his own. He smoothed down his side, feeling the hum of the motor beneath plating, the cables, the wires, a million different parts of Orion he hadn’t seen yet– teased yet. Something to think about next time when they could take it slow.

The spark…

Someday.

“I love you, Megatronus.”

Those words took on physical weight, pressed against his intake, forced to swallow, forced to pitch them right down into the churning maw of his own scattered psyche. If he’d been scared telegraphing his intentions, this set his whole emotional complex ablaze with terror. He felt himself seizing, vocalizer thick with things unsaid. He wanted to say it back. He needed, more than anything–

“Hey, it’s okay.” Orion was now thumbing under Megatron’s optic, and to his shame, it came away wet. When had he started crying? “You don’t need to say it back. You never have to. I know.”

Did he?

He let his helm drop into the crook of Orion’s neck, anything to escape that all-seeing gaze. “If anything ever happened to you…” he murmured against Orion’s neckcables.

“Nothing’s going to–”

“I would tear Cybertron to its core.”

Orion went still under him.

“I know that’s not what you want to hear. I know.” His chassis shook– weak, weak, But his vocalizer did not betray him. He pulled back, forcing his emotions to settle into their usual boxes. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Orion smiled, almost looking ready to cry himself. “I know.” He leaned up, and kissed Megatron again. Chaste at first, but then a glossa was sliding– he didn’t know whose first– and Orion was biting his lip, and he was biting back. The whole thing turned heated. Orion bucked up against him, instantly reminding him where they were connected, and where they had started. Megatron thumbed his node, circling it firmly, before tracing his valve where it stretched around him.

“Ready?”

“Frag–” Orion whined. “Yes.”

Megatron smoothed down Orion’s flanks, settling on his hips, pulling out halfway, before giving an experimental thrust.

“Yes,” Orion hissed.

Megatron didn’t need more encouragement. He started a pace, halfway thrusts, quick, but not harsh, to start off. Orion scraped at the headboard, unsure where to put his servos.

“More.”

He gave it, ramping up, snapping his hips unapologetically, knowing he could keep the bruising speed. Orion’s vents sped up, measured. His thighs squeezed tighter around his hips.

“Contact– contact points,” Orion forced out, splaying his servos on either side of his helm. Megatron accepted the open invitation, twining their digits, and pinning those servos firmly against the berth. Orion’s emotions flooded the connection, his lust, his love, his fear, his adoration. None of it came as a shock, but it threw Megatron off regardless. That and Orion’s desperate private cry for more, more, more!

Megatron was happy to oblige. He scooted up, angling his hips further down. Orion cried out, back arching, just like the first time, and he knew Orion felt his self-satisfaction– his triumph. It wasn’t a game, but he still intended to win.

“Megatronus,” Orion moaned, low and intimate, and he knew he’d never hear that name the same way again. It shot all up his lines, taking like flame to a fuse. They were both teetering towards the edge. Too soon, too soon. They would do this again, they had to, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it to last.

“Megatronus, don’t you dare.”

Contact-points. Right. He flashed Orion a sheepish apologetic smile as he slowed his thrusts, slowed until the flame was simmering blue, and there was only the obscene sound of lubricant shifting between them. Orion tried in vain to move and regain the friction. Finally he gave up, letting the tension leach away, letting the electricity die, coolant shimmering all across his plating.

“You’re a real forge of a glitch,” Orion vented hard, fans at full blast. “You know that?” The words were biting, and the venom was there, but Megatron knew better than to take it seriously.

“But think about how good it’ll be when I finally let you overload.”

“Let me?”

“I’m suffering too, aren’t I?” And he was. The restraint was considerable, but it didn’t take long for him to decide that the charge had died enough. He started again in earnest all at once, pulling way back, and shoving all the way in with a single confident thrust. Orion cursed his designation, but with the accompanying moan, he wasn’t buying it.

As they raced to that horizon line a second time, Megatron knew he wouldn’t have the strength to abate the charge more than once. Orion was too perfect, helm thrown back in pliant ecstasy, heaving plating, valve tight, and throbbing, begging for release. 

Begging.

“Do you want me to overload you?” Megatron managed to force out through his own haze of pleasure.

“Yes,” Orion hissed, finally unrestrained.

“Ask me.”

“You’re a port-sucking fragger.”

“When it’s your ports,” Megatron growled in his audial.

“Yes,” Orion breathed, wonderment, lust, and fury, all in one. “Yours– yours forever. Only me.”

Megatron cried out. He understood. Of course he understood. Leave it to Orion to say the one thing he hadn’t been expecting. There was no stopping the barreling charge now. With his last conscious thought, he thumbed up Orion’s node, pulling the mech tumbling into overload with him.

*

Orion cracked an optic open an undetermined length of time later, feeling, for all intents and purposes, like he’d just raced the Iacon 5000. He tried to move, and his frame just gave a happy tired little ping back, so he just stopped fighting it, instead taking in the sight.

He smiled. Megatronus was sprawled to his right, one arm thrown over him, so he really couldn’t have moved even if his frame hadn’t been so taxed. He was just glad that other had thought to land to the side and not directly on top of him.

It seemed Megatronus was still out, fragged right into reboot. His smile shifted to a smirk, self-satisfied and fond. He ran a servo along the edge of one of those wings on his helm, something he’d noticed immediately all the way back in the washracks when they’d first met. They framed his face nicely, bringing out his strong cheekplates, and he relished being able to finally admire the mech outright.

It took several more kliks before the soft sound of Megatronus’s boot-up cut through the whirring of fans. Orion’s had only just powered off, finally deeming his frame cool enough. Megatronus’s optics onlined, cycled a few times, taking in the scene, and then he was smiling too, gentle, full of naked adoration. It had Orion’s spark leaping in his chest.

“Hey,” Orion whispered.

“H–” and then Megatronus’s vocalizer fritzed out to static. The telltale click of a reset. “Hey yourself.” His arm curled around Orion more tightly, dragging him in so he could rest his helm on Orion’s chest. Orion shifted his servo up to stroke the top of that helm. Megatronus’s engine gave an answering purr, reverberating all through both of their systems.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Orion asked, thinking lazily back to that time. He couldn’t help but consider the way everything had unraveled from there. Despite it all, he couldn’t want it any other way, because it had led to this.

Megatronus didn’t answer. For a moment, Orion wondered if he’d drifted off, only his optics were still online and cycling. His brow was pinched. 

“Megatronus?” Something clenched in his chest, horror dawned, wiping out every fuzzy feeling in his frame. “Megatronus, do you not remember?”

Orion tried to sit up, and Megatronus just held him closer, buried his face against Orion’s plating, so his voice came out muffled as he said, “I don’t, but it doesn’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?” Orion didn’t bother trying to fight Megatronus off, even as he felt staying could only be a violation. How much had been erased?

Megatronus thumbed his pauldron. “Because I remember enough.” He looked up, those crimson optics shining intensely in the ambient light. “Enough to know that I… need you.”

Orion thought on that when Megatronus didn’t continue. Despite his elation, love for the mech, he couldn’t help but feel like he was taking advantage.

“Hardline with me,” he said.

Megatronus blinked his surprise, then furrowed his brow.

“It won’t be the same as remembering, but… you can see what happened. Through my optics.” He slid back a dataport, offered it. Megatronus looked at it like he might a weapon, wide-opticed and guarded. Orion remembered the Institute, and understood. “It’s a one-way. I won’t be able to see your mind.” He was almost disappointed to find that that made Megatronus relax. “I’d never do anything to hurt you,” he whispered, stroking his helm again as the other considered it.

Megatronus met his gaze one more time, and then wordlessly turned his arm to proffer his own port. Orion took his meaning, sliding it back and unspooling the jack, plugging into himself. He didn’t know if it helped or hurt that he was so relaxed. He’d never done this before, though he’d read plenty on it. He should’ve had more than enough information.

Megatronus entered his mind the way he made most of his entrances, all at once, with all of his being. Pain struck through Orion’s mind, and he winced, taking hold of Megatronus’s arm for some kind of grounding. He felt the other’s wordless apology before it even left his lips, as they both tried to curb the sudden influx. He wasn’t surprised to find that Megatronus’s consciousness was a massive, consuming thing as he poked around the space. He felt Megatronus prod, and then opened a datafile near the surface. Orion felt a twinge at that. Though he didn’t have anything to hide, he should’ve asked. That thought wisped around Megatronus, and he closed the file, apologetic again. A two-way would’ve been better, then they wouldn’t have both been confined to one processor, but even this way, Orion could feel Megatronus’s thoughts as they drifted through his mind. Like his sated relaxation, his simmering adoration, his curiosity– the same that led him to open that file, because some part of him wanted to know what it felt like to be on the other side of a mental intrusion. That impulse had Orion’s tanks churning ominously, and then he pushed the feeling down. There was nothing to fear from Megatronus.

Megatronus’s mental presence prickled in response to that thought, then smoothed. Orion decided to disregard it. It couldn’t have been easy for him either, and naturally, everyone was entitled to their intrusive thoughts. Orion pulled up all memories of Megatronus, and started playing them from the beginning. He opened the first, feeling Megatronus watching with him, could remember the exact way the stone felt in his palm as he hefted it to throw at Darkwing’s back. He could tell the memory made the other uncomfortable, the picture of himself crouched at a dead mech’s pedes, but he deserved to see it all from the beginning. Memory Orion hocked the stone. A sharp ting cut through the sounds of a dozen bots drilling.

“Who threw that?” Past Darkwing spat.

The two settled in to watch. Orion felt Megatronus pull him closer still, fluxing something between distress and contentment.

*

It took cycles for them to chug through the memories, and that was with Megatron telling Orion to skip the majority that he had actually retained. Wow, they really hadn’t known each other all that long.  

About halfway through, Soundwave started pinging him. Nothing alarming, and not all that often, just enough to tell Megatron that it was time. Daylight would be on them soon, and he knew as well as anyone how crucial the next cycles would be, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop Orion’s tide of memories. It was like having a lost piece of himself returned, like realizing he’d been walking around missing a limb, being told most bots had four, not three.

And then there was giving up Orion, warm frame, adoration scoring every memory played, something unconditional, all-consuming. He could feel the mech’s loving servos smooth down his arm as they lost themselves to the recordings, never wanting to leave.

They sat in comfortable silence when the last memory from the ill-fated negotiations’ trek finished playing out, just letting the soothing mental sensation bounce back and forth between them. 

Two-way would be even better, he could feel Orion think, not really intended to be heard, but not hidden either.

Maybe… maybe someday, Megatron thought back. He was surprised to find he meant it. As loath as he was to admit that Trepan had affected him, he was more loath to believe that it was something he’d never get over. He would. There didn’t have to be a barrier between him and Orion, not forever, anyway.

Orion, Orion… forever. He angled his helm up to kiss him again. The sensation was odd with the hardline, he could feel Orion, and what Orion was feeling all at once. He decided he liked it. That, and the bottomless love that the other was pushing into his systems, almost a tangible thing, leaving him tingly all over. Now that he had it, he didn’t know what he would do without it.

Soundwave pinged him again, and it was a pointed effort not to accept the comm just to reprimand him. Of all bots, Soundwave was probably the least deserving, maybe just behind Orion. Worst of all, he wasn’t wrong. The time for action was coming, and then–

“You don’t have to worry about this,” Orion said. Megatron could feel the way he was preparing to get up too. “I’ll be with you. Every step of the way.”

“Of course,” Megatron huffed. “You started this, after all.”

Something in Orion flickered. “Yes, but… leadership. I never wanted it.”

Megatron wondered if he’d ever felt the same. At this moment, he couldn’t think of anything he’d relish more than wiping the smirks off all those upper-crusters’ faces, watching him lead their coalition into the Palace. Maybe fragging Orion again. He knew the other caught that stray thought when he chuckled beside him, then turned sterner. 

“Here,” Orion highlighted a datapacket. “This was what I actually came to talk to you about, though I’m not complaining about how we got sidetracked.”

Now it was Megatron’s turn to chuckle. He took the data back to his own processor and opened it. He was surprised to find memories of schematics, the tunnels in Iacon, and–

“Sentinel Pri– Sentinel’s not a Prime?!” Fury like nothing he’d felt in ages tore through him. He felt Orion mentally recoil, and forced himself to reign it in, though it hardly helped. “When I get my servos on that fragger–”

“Don’t kill him.”

Megatron just stared blankly for a long klik, because there was no way–

“I know what you’re thinking, Megatronus.” He stroked his face. “I’m giving you these plans because there’s another way. Don’t kill him, unless you absolutely have to.” Sadness pulsed through him. “Unless there’s no other choice.”

How could Megatron explain the depth of his hatred? The way he’d been in his mind, humiliated him, seen him at his worst, just like Declaron, and Darkwing. 

“You don’t have to explain it, Megatronus. I know I can never fully understand what you’ve been through, and I’m not asking you to do this because it’s the right thing. I’m asking you to do it for me.”

The deep-seated urge to tear something apart surfaced once more. He released Orion, rolling onto his back, keeping his servos firmly to himself. Didn’t bother disconnecting the jack though. He wasn’t ashamed of his anger– wanted Orion to feel its bite.

This time Orion didn’t recoil, turning cool and steady in his thoughts. “The future is upon us, Megatronus. We can’t start the new era with an execution.”

“We need a warning. They need to know what happens when they try to silence us.”

“No,” Orion shook his helm. “They need to know that they can do better. That we can do better. And besides.” He took Megatron’s servo in his once more. “You’ve done enough killing. You don’t need to do it anymore.”

Didn’t need— could it really be that simple? Could his mind be his own again? It seemed too good to be true, that he might someday be free of his darker urges. He sighed. “Let’s say I don’t kill him, though let’s be honest, he deserves it—“

“It’s not about whether or not he deserves it. You shouldn’t have to be the one to do it.”

“Regardless, if not death, what do we do with him? All our so-called rulers? You can’t expect them to go free.”

“No, of course not. Arrest, trial, imprisonment. That’s justice.”

“What if I don’t want justice?” Megatron murmured, more to himself than Orion.

“I understand that, Megatronus. I think more than most. The question is if you’re going to allow it.”

“Allow it,” he said flatly.

“The way I see it, you have a choice.” Orion rolled over, climbing up onto his chest, tracing those loops engraved in his chassis. “After tomorrow, the future will be what we make it. We can build it together.” He smiled, so much hope in those blue optics. Then he smirked, conspiratorial. “And what better revenge is there than showing how little we care about them? By giving them no say in how any of our futures unfold?”

Orion, always knowing exactly what to say. Megatron deflated, letting his helm hit the berth.

“Oh,” Orion flicked his optics left. “Elita’s comming me.”

“You seem to talk to her a lot,” Megatron couldn’t help but say.

Orion quirked a brow. “Are you… jealous?”

Megatron shot him a look, trying to say it was a ridiculous notion, while his private thoughts in the affirmative got transmitted over the connection. Orion laughed, wiggling up closer to his face. “You know you don’t have to be, right?” He punctuated this with another kiss, which Megatron greedily accepted, like it might seal the fragile new thing they had here. Then Orion pulled away with an irritated frown. “We actually do need to get going though. Your troops still think we’re storming the place.”

“I suppose that would be strategically ill-advised, with everything we know now.”

“Agreed.” Orion reached up to disconnect the jack, telegraphing his motion mentally so Megatron would have time to retreat to his own processor.

“Wait,” Megatron said, blocking Orion’s servo. “Wait.”

Orion tipped his helm in silent question. Without another word, Megatron made a copy of his tactical data, compressed it, and pushed it over the connection. It took Orion a moment to open and understand what he was receiving. When he did he blinked in disbelief.

“I… what do I do with this?”

“Do you have a tactical-unit?”

“No.”

A quick scan confirmed it. Megatron dug back in his own mind and found the initialization sequence. He found it hard to believe after all the scuffles and close saves, Orion had never been prompted to create one. He sent that over too. “Initialize a tac-unit. Load the data. Your background processes will do the rest.”

“I don’t know if I want this.”

“Please.” Megatron wasn’t taken to begging. Loathed it every time he did, but this was different. Their next moves were going to be dangerous, and even the smallest thing to help Orion survive was a blessing. He furrowed his brow. “Do this for me, and I won’t kill Sentinel.”

Orion perked up all at once. “Really?”

Megatron grumbled, “not unless I have no other choice.”

“Thank you.” Orion wrapped his arms around Megatron’s neck, starting the initialization that very instant. Megatron watched him load the data for a bit, before his processor started to ache, and he disconnected. Soundwave pinged him again. This time he answered. 

.:Standby. Meeting with everyone in ten kliks:.

“What about the washracks?”

Megatron sighed fondly. .:Make that twenty:.

 

Notes:

Not to spoil my own story, but this is the chapter where if you stop reading here, you can pretend everything is okay forever :))) It's alright though. I'm not sure exactly how long til I get the next chap up since I'm gonna be busy, so you'll have time to marinate in megop being happy for a lil while. We're definitely gonna finish this thang before the end of April tho, so yippie!!

Chapter 21: Revolution

Notes:

Final chapter, here goes (and it's 10k, so settle in) also I made a playlist of the songs I was listening to most while writing. If you want to replicate the vibes in my brain for maximum pain (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7bwfKlN3wPyx34UEBD7PUj?si=NaRyEyPuTVSB11wzP73-rw)

The meeting went off without a hitch. Everyone received their assignments, there were no protests, and well, Orion was by his side this time. Truly. Every time Starscream even opened his intake to argue, Orion clocked it, either saying something before he could, or pinging him to do the same. The two of them worked in perfect, bureaucratic tandem, and it warmed his spark to see it.

The meeting ended, leaving bots to busy about before the chronometer hit zero. Orion sidled up to him, grasping his pauldron, pulling him down to his level. Only when they were optic to optic did Megatron realize what he was doing, and only then did Orion seem to consider if it was a good idea, pausing centimeters from his lips.

Megatron rolled his optics, closed the gap. There was hardly anyone left to witness it anyway, and of those who were there, he didn’t care. Starscream and Elita? Let them see.

Orion pulled back, smiling. “Jazz thinks he’s found a way to bring up the rest of the FFFF.”

“Good,” Megatron said with his own pointed smile. “The more the merrier.”

And off Orion went, giving a little wave before he passed the threshold.

A beat of silence, and then, “well isn’t that just an adorable sight.”

He should’ve known Starscream would try to get the last word in.

He shed any remaining softness from his stance and field, turning with threatening intent. “Can I help you, Senator?”

“As always, you have it backwards,” Starscream tutted. “May I show you something?” He tilted his helm, took a few meaningful steps towards doors that led to the side of the building he’d never been invited to: the seeker side.

Maybe it was foolish to follow, but in the end, he did need this mech, wouldn’t do to tick him off entirely, though he wanted to.

The room on the other side was another cavernous chamber. There wasn’t much in it, just some ornament, and an elevated chair on the far side. Belatedly, Megatron realized what it was: a makeshift throne room.

“What is it you wanted to speak about, Starscream?”

The seeker pivoted on his heel-strut. “Not so much speak,” he chuckled, then snapped his digits. Starscream’s trinemates came trotting out of another door, carrying something between them. The whole thing was very dramatic. Megatron was suddenly certain that the whole thing had been rehearsed at least once.

“I have a gift for you,” Starscream trilled as the two seekers presented it to him. A long black object, shiny and cylindrical. He’d never seen anything quite like it. “It’s a fusion cannon, one of Vos’s latest, and most powerful designs, built by our best and brightest– some input from yours truly,” he preened, “well?”

It was an effort to keep the fascination off his face. He let skepticism take its place. “Why?”

Starscream floundered. “What do you mean, why? To win! Go on, try it on.”

Skywarp lifted one end so it was aligned with his arm. He took it from there, grasping the barrel and clicking it into that place left empty by the volt-saw. For a moment his systems went static, his sensory array adapting to the new component. An uncomfortable energy rippled through his lines.

And then the system synced and booted up. He’d been concerned about the weight, but the machine was deceptively light, no heavier than the volt-saw had been, and already thrumming with power.

“It’s at full charge,” Starscream’s shrill voice cut through his wonderment, “but I will have you know that it’ll increase your energon requirements.”

“Trade-offs,” Megatron rumbled.

“Exactly. I knew you’d get it.”

Megatron eyed him suspiciously. It was too simple, too straightforward. What was the seeker’s angle? He turned his arm, marvelling at the easy weight, almost a comfort after the volt-saw’s absence. 

Sometimes it was easier to just be direct.

“And what’s the real trade-off?” Megatron asked.

Starscream tilted his helm, innocent as anything. “I haven’t a clue what you mean.”

“What do you expect to gain from this?”

“You are dense, aren’t you?”

Megatron’s jaw tensed. He didn’t dignify that with a response.

Starscream sighed, shuttering his optics. “Here’s the way I see it. Sentinel Prime is old, and stupid, and cruel. I’m here because we need someone young, and clever, and maybe not cruel, but certainly ruthless enough to do what needs to be done… and I think you’re that someone.” That ruby-red gaze returned to him, bright with piercing resolution. “Don’t you get it?” he sneered, gesturing to the cannon. “I’m betting on you.”

Megatron cocked a brow ridge. “And Orion?”

“Orion’s a bleeding spark. He’s good if you like weepy, virtuous bots all fired up, but he’s never going to pull the trigger.” He took a step closer. “And I mean that literally.”

Megatron considered this. Even as fury simmered in his lines at every new insult Starscream had for Orion, he made himself consider it.

“You’re going to fight Sentinel today. Here’s my request. Grind him to dust. Take this gun, and blast him to pieces. Shove it right into his still-spinning spark, and make him beg like the feeble-minded fool that he is.” Starscream took another step closer, brought his servos up like he might touch him, then thought better of it. His optics were blazing, his fans had actually clicked on. “Make him feel it.”

Megatron narrowed his optics, considered the cannon on his arm. The whole display should’ve been unsettling, but he couldn’t help but thrill a little at the request, though he’d never let Starscream know it.

His promise to Orion weighed heavier.

“We shall see.” After all, there was always the possibility Sentinel may… force his servo. He strode out the door.

*

“OP!” Arcee leapt forward, wrapped her arms around Orion’s neck. He almost fell back with the force of it.

Cliff wasn’t far behind, ambling casually in, openly taking in the opulence. He let out a low whistle, then chuckled. “Nice digs.”

Orion laughed softly, happy to be reunited with the rest of his crew. “That’s what Jazz said too.”

*

The upside of being majority ex-miners was that none of them took issue with the claustrophobia of the tunnels. Orion would go so far as to call them roomy after mining down in the dark, and squeezing into a dozen different ventilation systems to get into places he didn’t belong.

Some of the gladiators had a harder time, not to mention the way that many of their frames scraped up uncomfortably against the ceilings. 

“How much further?” Orion whispered sharply.

“Not much,” Jazz said, guiding them around another turn.

“Can we really get into the council chamber this way?” Elita asked.

“Yep. These tunnels lead right to it. Problem will be the bottleneck.”

“That’s why the strongest go first,” Megatronus said.

Orion nodded as they crept forward. He could make out the exact place where the gray metal of the streets gave way to the finery of the palace. That, and the consistent upward motion. Soon, the tunnels weren’t even all that dark. Where they’d previously only been lit by the occasional wall-mounted emergency light, there were now cracks— or rather, windows out. At one point Orion looked out and saw the entirety of Iacon’s sprawl, the same way the councilors would.

It was… well, he couldn’t excuse the excess, couldn’t excuse the way these bots lived in unapologetic splendor while his languished in the dark.

But it was beautiful.

The architecture, the way everything circled the contour of the palace grounds, but above all, the bustle of the city. Just from here he could see a thousand— thousands of bots darting this way and that, in alt or root, just…

Living their lives.

And for one hanging nanoklik, Orion felt regret, knowing he was about to throw all of this into chaos.

“You’re not getting second thoughts, are you?” Elita said with a glare.

Orion shook the notion off, like drops of solvent after the washracks. “No.”

Elita gave him a friendly smack on his pauldron, continuing the way up.

Up and up and up. Orion’s struts burned, not unlike the time he’d had to climb all those stairs with Cliff and Arcee. Too bad no one had thought to install a secret elevator. 

As they ascended, so too did the tension. It spawned from his spark, crawling under his plating and leaving him jittery with it. They were going to arrest the senate. The thought was so absurd that it was almost nullified and tossed out by his reality matrix as another of his idle fantasies. It had been so easy to disassociate from the concept during their planning, say the words, but not quite internalize their weight. They were going to end functionalism. Right here, right now. 

The procession stopped, and it took him a moment to realize it was because Megatron had stopped.

Because they were at a door. 

Not any door either. Sure, it looked perfectly mundane from their side, but through it, they could hear fierce debate amongst councilors. 

“I don’t care what you have to do! I want those insurgents found!”

Orion recognized that voice, might’ve had a hard time placing it, because it usually sounded so even over the holovids. He knew better now, after that voice had ordered their capture in the alley.

“Sentinel,” Megatronus growled. His servo creaked as it curled into a tight fist. Orion’s intake went dry, knowing the intent. He cleared his throat, and Megatronus’s gaze, bright crimson, snapped to his. 

It only took a moment of optic-contact, but he knew Megatronus got the message. He flicked his optics derisively, letting Orion know he remembered, and then turned back to the door, awaiting the signal.

“Sounds like Senator Decimus’s failing,” Starscream groused from the other side of the door, muffled, but undeniable. Any klik now, he was going to say the phrase that would tell them that the room was cleared of threats.

“It’s not!” Decimus shouted, indignant. “I told you, my intelligence states that they were last seen on the premises of your embassy.”

“That just tells me that your ‘intelligence’ is as unintelligent as you are.” Orion could picture the self-satisfied way Starscream would curl his digits and preen as he delivered that barb.

“I still think we’re going about this all wrong,” another voice said. Orion recognized this as Dai Atlas. He respected what he knew of the mech. He was in on the scheme, after all. Orion was still nervous that some of the gladiators would have a hard time– or not think to care, about making the distinction between the corrupt and the good. “These bots have as much right as any of us to make their voices heard. It’s our duty as representatives to speak for them as well,” Dai Atlas continued, furthering Orion’s respect for the mech.

“It’s our responsibility to save our constituents the headache of dealing with these upstarts!” Proteus exclaimed, with a clatter of standing.

“Fight nightfall as much as you want,” Starscream drawled, “the new dawn always comes.”

The signal! Orion stood to the side. Megatronus’s engine revved, and he kicked in the door. 

*

The functionalist councilors scattered like cyber-rats cast into the light, vermin that they were.

It warmed Starscream’s spark to see it, manic glee, bubbling vindication as Megatron stormed through the door, fusion cannon leveled at their idiotic, terrified faces. Decimus and Proteus were already begging, the stupid oafs. Ratbat had gone silent, for once, wide, terrified optics searching for an out. He wouldn’t find any.

Prime was backing up slowly, lips pulled into a not-quite-smile. 

Starscream’s backstruts prickled a warning. In all his years of heading a military state, he’d learned a few things, chief among them: if the enemy wasn’t panicking, something was terribly wrong.

“Seize him!” Starscream shrieked, pointing at the retreating Prime. No one listened. It was just him and those blasted insurgents. His own seekers had been forced to circle several tens of kilometers south, for fear of detection. Even at mach 3, it would take them at least five more kliks to make it to the palace.

“Seize me yourself!” Prime exclaimed, almost sounding excited. Some of the gladiators exchanged looks. Starscream felt himself stiffen at the challenge. For an eerie moment, he was sure that nothing was going to happen, and the Prime was going to saunter right out, unopposed.

“With pleasure!” Megatron bellowed, charging with all fifty tons of his silver frame. The idiot didn’t even use the cannon— what a waste, just colliding directly into Prime, throwing them both dangerously close to the balcony that overlooked the Heart of Cybertron. If they both simply teetered over the edge and fell in, that would be fine by him. Prime’s death was going to leave a power vacuum, and he had the clear sense that Megatron wasn’t going to just roll over and let the better mech lead. He’d already thought up a few schemes to… deal with Megatron once the dust settled, but if they both just perished here— a scenario so perfect he hadn’t even dared dream it, all the better.

Prime forced out a laugh, activated his chosen weapon: a double-bladed sword, and missed Megatron’s chassis by millimeters as he struck. 

Starscream considered that luck could be made as well as gifted. There was nothing to say he couldn’t meddle. They were both so close anyway, they really only required a small push…

Another tingle up his backstruts. For a klik, he couldn’t understand the feeling, so entranced by the battle and his own plans, and then he turned to the source.

A red visor from a tilted helm. He’d forgotten about Soundwave, Megatron’s shadow. Starscream had hoped to turn him to his own side, but abandoned the idea once the mech’s devotion had become clear. Fragging zealot.  

Soundwave took a menacing step forward, like he’d heard the thought, like… Starscream swallowed dry. There was no way he could know what he was thinking, no way–

“Fire on Megatron, you die.” Creepy voice too, all layered monotone.

For a moment there was only shock, and then Starscream was puffing up his chassis, taking on an indignant look, to all senses at ease, expression like armor from vorns of practice. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Soundwave continued to stare.

Anger rose in him, “and besides!” he threw his servos in the air, “I don’t see you helping him!”

Soundwave settled back, and Starscream was embarrassed to find that the distance made him feel better.

“Megatron: would not want me to.”

*

Megatron would be lying to himself if he claimed the fight wasn’t exhilarating. It had all the energon-racing, pump-thrumming thrill of a Pit fight, with none of the humiliation of acting for the pleasure of others. No longer an announcer’s puppet. The audience was his comrades, his enemies. This time when he won, he would truly be a victor. It wouldn’t be a pat on the back, a scrap ration, and a malicious promise of future fights. Sentinel’s place was beneath his pedes. This fight would reveal that to the world. This time, it mattered.

He’d fought at least a dozen bots who’d chosen a weapon like Sentinel’s. It wasn’t difficult to predict how he’d use it. He dodged a swipe, and countered with a strike of his servo like it was venting. He could feel Sentinel’s humor evaporating to frustration, then fear, as Megatron countered over and over, not even onlining the cannon. He didn’t need it. That’s how little Sentinel meant to him.

In his increasing erraticism, Sentinel misstepped. Megatron was conditioned to draw out fights against such weak opponents, give the audience their shanix-worth, but this wasn’t that. When Sentinel went to close the clumsy opening, Megatron took the opportunity to drop down, and kick the offending pede out from under him.

The mech caught hold of the banister, not quite touching the ground. Megatron lunged forward, using Sentinel’s own weapon and the weight of his frame to pin him against the banister. 

“What’s wrong?” Megatron leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. “Never had a real opponent before?”

Sentinel sneered. “Please, I was killing Quintessons by the platoon when you were just a twinkle in Primus’s optic. You should be thanking me!”

“That just makes it worse!” Orion appeared by his side, simmering anger in his field. “You experienced their oppression, had to fight for your freedom because you know what it’s like without it, and you still chose to shape our world as you did.” Orion’s helm tilted down, optics blazing. “You remade Cybertron in their image.”

Sentinel’s field took on genuine anger. “They were making us into slaves!”

“What do you think you’ve been doing?!” Megatron roared, pulling back, and slamming Sentinel against the railing again. Prime’s internals rattled in their casing as the air was forced out in a startled wheeze. 

“Let’s just get him out of here,” Orion said, turning heel towards the door.

Megatron got a good grip around Sentinel’s servos, preparing to herd him out, when a sharp uptick in his field had him hesitate.

“What?” Megatron growled.

“Now,” Sentinel said, smiling slightly.

There was less than a nano to parse what that meant. One moment they were standing, the next, every bot except Sentinel was slammed to the floor, magnetized by some unknown mechanism. Megatron tried to pry himself up, but it was as though he were welded down. Above him, Sentinel chuckled. With the way Megatron’s helm was stuck on its side, he could see him, just barely out of the corner of his optic.

“What a mess,” Sentinel drawled, walking somewhere out of Megatron’s line of sight.

“What the frag is this, Prime?!” Starscream squawked. 

“Screamer. Not surprised to find you had a servo in this.” A kick, and Starscream yelped in pain. Megatron didn’t care for the seeker, but he found himself angry at the action anyway. These were his bots, damnit. Another kick.

“Stop it!” Orion shouted, shifting a bit on the floor.

A low growl started in Megatron’s throat as those pedesteps started towards the both of them.

“So who’s the real leader here?” Sentinel stopped between the two of them, scrutinizing. “It couldn’t possibly be you.” He canted his helm towards Orion, then back to Megatron. “I couldn’t imagine the big bad scourge of Kaon taking orders from a skinny little data clerk.”

Megatron let his tac-unit run solutions. He was only barely able to temper his anger, knowing that he would find a way. 

“We’re equals,” Orion said, reigning in a fury of his own. His field roiled with it. “Partners.”

“Orion. Shut up,” Megatron bit out. Damn if he didn’t love hearing Orion voice his convictions, but right now, they couldn’t afford to give Sentinel anything.

“Partners!” Sentinel laughed. “Don’t tell me, is that why–” he cut himself off with his own returning laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” Megatron couldn’t even stop himself from asking. 

“Megatron, Megatron– or should I call you D-16?” Sentinel punctuated that little insult with a smile. “I’ve been in your mind. Do you know what I saw?”

He didn’t let himself answer, only ran the tac-unit again. This time, it spat out a solution, but he’d need time. His hydraulics just weren’t powerful enough. He quietly started diverting power to his right arm. He’d only get one shot at this.

“I saw someone desperate for revenge. I saw bottomless rage, and a bot who didn’t know a thing about himself outside of his need for vindication.”

“That’s not true,” Orion said, voice shaking with anger. “Even if Megatronus wasn’t the best mech I’ve ever known, he’s still infinitely better than a tyrant like you.”

“Is that so?” Sentinel crouched down so he could better look Orion in the optics. A sudden surge of dread washed over Megatron. “Have you ever been in his mind? Have you ever felt his feelings? Thought his thoughts?”

Orion didn’t answer. The hardline had been one-way, and in that moment, Megatron was regretting it. 

“I know him better than you ever will,” Sentinel said.

“Tell yourself that, if you like,” Orion snapped back.

“Oh I will. Are you aware of what he’s done? What he’s going to do? You’re data-caste. Did you know he wants to tear our entire world to the ground?”

“I hope he does.”

“Did you know he’s killed?”

“He was a gladiator, you idiot!”

Sentinel didn’t seem to have another rebuke for that, until he glanced back over his shoulder, met Megatron’s optics, and they both knew he wasn’t done. 

“Did you know about my good friend Declaron.”

“I don’t care about any friends of yours,” Orion said lowly.

“Did you know he was found dead, defenseless in his berthroom, with a hole where his spark used to be?”

Orion’s brow furrowed, and he wasn’t stupid either. He put two and two together. “Megatronus wouldn’t.”

Megatron willed the power diversion faster. 80 percent, almost there…

“He did.” The glee coming off Sentinel’s field made him want to purge. “I saw it in his mind.”

Megatron waited for Orion’s reaction with measured vents. 96 percent. He swore, if he survived this, he was going to let Flatline reformat his lines.

“I don’t care what you say you saw,” Orion said. “I don’t care if it’s true. You shouldn’t have been in there.”

Power hit 100 percent. He could already tell that this wouldn’t be the end of that particular thread. Orion was nothing if not persistent, but he could worry about that later. With little preamble, he swung his charged up arm, felt the vice of the magnetized floor resist, and then give. Something snapped in his hydraulics from the sheer force, and he fired into the support beams of the palace.

For a moment, nothing changed. The beams took the hit, and a rumble swept across the structure. Sentinel braced, and then relaxed when it passed. The grin on his face was worse than any torture.

“As I was saying—“

A high-pitched sizzling noise was the only warning before the palace walls lit up in a brilliant explosion. He could only reason that he’d hit a fuel line, and now the whole thing was going up. Some bot yelped. He didn’t have a nano to wonder who, because the magnetization gave out at the exact time as the floor did, sending everyone careening to the side. His shot worked better than he could’ve hoped. 

The shouts of dozens of their bots, and the scrape of metal on metal. He swung his helm around as he found a grip on the tilted floor, some crack between tiling, and jammed his digits in. It hurt like a glitch, but his hydraulics held, and he was left half standing, half swinging across the slanted surface. The ting-ting-ting of slender pedesteps. He looked up, to find the many optics of Airachnid, and the picture of her carrying her leader to freedom.

“Hey!” With his free arm, he aimed the fusion cannon, remembered every klik of training Elita had given him, and fired. It missed the target, and the blowback stung his damaged hydraulics, but took out the section of ruined building she was aiming for. With a loud yelp, she lost her footing, and tumbled down, Sentinel close behind. 

.:Megatronus, we’ve fallen to ground level. Where are you?:. Orion commed.

.:Watch out. Airachnid and Sentinel are heading down there:.

He received an affirmative ping, then let go of his hold, letting gravity take him down into the chasm of the ruined side of the building. Maybe dangerous to do so blind, but he couldn’t waste the time the councilors could use to wreak havoc, or call in their forces. His pedes found a protruding girder, then a long ledge of broken flooring, then he picked up those sharp pedesteps of the spider, and followed the sound down. 

He must’ve passed thirteen levels when the gunfire came into audial-range. He dropped faster, forgoing any remnants of caution. He charged up the cannon. A persistent whirring, a promising humm. He leapt down to the last level, and came into contact with full pandemonium. The golden guards of Sentinel’s own forces were swarming into the large, but broken down chamber. His own bots were holding their own. Orion’s too, he had to concede. While the gladiators were favoring their fists or rudimentary weapons, the FFFF had blasters, and decent aim. 

Among it all, he couldn’t spot Orion.

.:Where are you?:. he commed, not at all succeeding in burying his panic. He didn’t panic— never in battle. Never unless it was Orion. He searched wildly, and never got a glimpse of that distinct shade of red. 

.:On your nine:.  

Megatron looked, and there he was, crouched behind some rubble, giving a stupid little wave despite the carnage, though he wasn’t smiling. Soundwave and Elita were each crouched on either side of him, the femme with her laser-rifle, picking off golden soldiers, Soundwave just stooping threateningly, daring anyone to come closer. Megatron sprinted over, firing twice to lay ground cover.

“What’s the situation?” He snapped.

“I think we’re surrounded,” Orion said.

“Negative,” Soundwave intoned. “Seekers: two kliks out.”

Megatron nodded, considering. “Tell everyone we only need to hold out that long. Then the seekers can throw them off-guard. That’s our chance to overwhelm them and take back the fight.”

“You sure we shouldn’t just retreat?” Orion swept his gaze over the chaos, looking nervous. 

Megatron blinked his confusion. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your nerve.”

Orion’s expression hardened. “I’m worried about casualties.

“Command: sent.”

Megatron nodded his approval.

“It’s now or never, Pax,” Elita said, for once, echoing Megatron’s thoughts perfectly. “If we pull out now, they’ll be on high alert. We’ll never get a better shot at this.” As though emphasizing her point, she fired two rounds into oncoming guards. Orion grimaced, almost imperceptibly, and Megatron couldn’t help but remember Starscream’s words. “He’s never going to pull the trigger.” Orion had accomplished so much in the short few gigacycles they’d known each other, but this was something Megatron was going to have to do alone. As though hearing the thought– and he probably had, Soundwave stood, sidling up next to him.

“Plan?”

“Create teams for each target. Manage the operation here. I’ll take care of Sentinel.” He turned then to do so, taking a step away from the debris that shielded them.

A lone servo darted out, grasping his wrist. His first impulse was irritation– any kind of distraction from his target, but then he looked back, and of course, it was Orion, big optics, field heavy with trepidation. “Be careful.”

Megatron nodded, then stormed out.

He immediately came under fire, which was only negated by shots from his own side. Chancing a look back, he saw Elita, and Orion, peering over the rubble, two smoking barrels between them. He didn’t stop to make his appreciation known.

Charging Sentinel the second time was harder, only because of the black air-razor. Every time he got too close, she was there, anticipating every move. Her dedication was almost admirable. Unfortunately, that dedication meant they could be locked in battle for ages. Where he was strong, she was fast. He took another jab to the protoform between plates, and turned it into fury, obliterating the torn-up steel flooring where she’d stood only a picoklik before. 

“I don’t want you,” he snarled, “just your master.”

“You think you’re the first so-called revolutionary I’ve dealt with?” she spat back. “They’ll forget your designation by the end of the meganuum.”

“Yours first,” he swung and missed again. Her projection models were too fine-tuned. He’d never land a hit on her this way.

He wouldn’t have to. .:Seekers:. was the only warning Soundwave gave before the whistle of fighter-jets descended on the tower, and he threw himself away from the gaping hole the golden warriors were pouring through. His audials rang from the impact of explosion, and he had the single nanoklik to hope that Sentinel had made it, just so he could deal with him himself.

Not kill. Not kill. He’d promised.

He picked himself up, frame tingling all over from the intense heat, and feeling more alive for it. He pulled in a vent of dusty air, and relished the sting as bits of particle caught in his filters. His bots were rushing forward, no doubt directed by Soundwave, seizing golden guards and any other combatants that might remain. In his periphery he caught a flash of bright pink against black, and knew Elita was doing her best to bash in Airachnid’s faceplate. 

He mounted the rubble at the makeshift entrance, and took in Iacon’s gleaming towers, spiralling vistas, the gaping maw of Cybertron’s heart, right in front of him. It was like climbing that slagged beast, right before the riot that would gain him his freedom from the Pits, only a thousand times more potent. It was almost as though he were Prime, and not the pathetic blue-gold figure stumbling away from him.

“Where do you think you’re going, Sentinel?” he called, breaking into a jog to make up the difference. They were running along the edge of the Heart’s entrance. When he cast his gaze over it, he only found darkness where the dizzying drop faded to nothing. It wasn’t like peering down into Cybertron’s vents. This was something much deeper. From here, he could almost believe it really did go to the planet’s core.

One last easy step, and he caught Sentinel’s pauldron in his fist, squeezing tight to make his point, yanking him back and throwing him to the ground.

It took every neural of self-control to keep from falling after him, pinning him down, and beating his faceplates in ‘till there was nothing left. As it was, the mech only hit metal and wheezed, scrabbling for a way to pull himself back up. One arm had been damaged, his weapon was gone. Megatron sneered, placed a pede against his flank and kicked him back to the ground, aimed the cannon at his spark. 

“Please,” Sentinel whined. “Please don’t–”

“Don’t what?” Megatron stood tall, knew his field hung heavy with intent. There was nothing he wanted more…

“Please! I’ll do anything! I’m– I’m sorry!” Sentinel scrabbled at his pedes.

His bloodlust didn’t die, but simmered down. There wasn’t anything here worth killing.

“You’re pathetic,” he said, watching Sentinel beg. It was only a matter of waiting now. Any klik, his bots would come and take the sorry excuse away. Orion could have his peace, Megatron was resigned to keeping his fury. There was a better way. He didn’t have to resort to his baser instincts. 

“Megatronus!” Orion was sprinting towards him, stumbled to a slow, then a stop, only a few paces short of the both of them. His digits were splayed, placating. His optics were wide and searching, like he hadn’t a clue what Megatron was going to do next.

Sentinel Prime was inching away in his periphery, crawling on a mangled arm, because he knew his era was over. Megatron’s was just beginning.

“Don’t worry,” Megatron lowered his cannon. “He’s not worth it.” How he’d ever considered the mech a threat. He’d loomed so large in his mind– ever since Trepan. The cannon itched where it connected to his protoform. There was still a part of him that wanted to do as Starscream had asked. 

But then, there was Orion, full of so much hope. His field was just emanating love, and joy, and Megatron realized all at once that he really could have this. The war wasn’t over, but the battle was won. Maybe the real work was only just beginning, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d finally reached the crest of an ever-growing hill.

In the thrill of the victory, he didn’t quite register the whirring of transformation mechanics until Orion’s optics went all terror-wide. “Look out!” And he was being pushed aside.

Time. Funny thing, that. That night at Maccadam’s, for instance: despite lasting cycles by his chronometer’s readout, it had felt like nanokliks. Meanwhile, the Pits had dragged on forever.

The two subsequent nanokliks put that time to shame. He’d turned, seen Sentinel’s arm raised, his servo swapped away for his built-in cannon. The bright light of the shot had already burst in his vision, sending white spots all through his visual processing. Orion’s servos were on his flank, shoving him bodily with every ounce of strength his smaller frame carried. Megatron was stumbling back, maybe a meter, maybe less.

And Orion was in the space he’d vacated.

Sentinel’s aim was true. He’d only been a few meters away. Even Orion would’ve been able to hit that target.

It was Orion’s expression that really struck in his memory. He didn’t look pained, or scared, just surprised, like he hadn’t actually considered the shot’s weight, the way it would shear through his plating like rust in the wind. Oil, and bits of metal, and glorious flickers of sparklight, sprayed out from his frame, back, back, and then he was tumbling over the edge, into Cybertron’s heart. 

Megatron’s paralysis only lasted those two nanokliks, but by the time he’d flung himself to that ledge, thrown an arm out to grab, taken a proper look, Orion was already out of reach, dropping down into the depths.

He clenched that fist uselessly, feeling for a servo that wasn’t there. Would never be there again.

If he squinted his optics, cranked up their sensitivity, he could just make out the smallest glimmer of fading sparklight.

Orion was gone.

Orion was gone.

Gone, gone–

He heard Sentinel’s cannon charge up for a second shot.

Megatron knew fury like he knew his own designation.

It was time Cybertron knew it too.

*

I’m dead, Orion thought. He couldn’t move so much as a rotor, and when he cracked an optic open and online, there was only endless darkness.

But then, dead mechs weren’t supposed to be in this much pain.

He tried to access his comm channel. There was no way he was walking out of here, but if he was alive, there was hope, and if anyone could hear him, it would be Soundwave, who would then hopefully tell Megatronus.

Megatronus.

He tried to push those final moments away in his mind, Megatronus’s face, his… confusion, the dawning recognition of what had happened.

That last desperate nano where he’d thrown himself to the edge of the heart, servo outstretched. Orion had been afraid for a moment that Megatronus would just throw himself in after. 

His comm array flickered on his HUD for a moment, then died. Something in him was too broken to transmit. 

Would he ever be found? He had to hope that someone would come looking. Megatronus, surely, but then, maybe he was supposed to be dead? Maybe he’d fallen too far? The Heart of Cybertron was supposed to go all the way down to the core. While Orion doubted that, he didn’t doubt that the hole went deep if it was to earn its mysticism. 

He couldn’t give up hope, but he also couldn’t do anything else. He tried again, and again, and his frame continued to lay unresponsive.

His optics felt heavy, his lines were all fuzzy. He was falling into recharge, he realized, just as he remembered that it probably wasn’t a good idea. But then, the pain was fading, and who was he to fight that? Just a few kliks, then he’d try again…

*

Bee hadn’t understood why everyone was so afraid of the military, until they’d shown up. Rows and rows of stone-faced bots, each as tall as the gladiators, with none of the personality. And now they were both fighting each other. No one paid much attention to Bee, or the rest of the FFFF. Elita had taken charge after Orion…

Well, that didn’t matter, because Bee was planning to fix it. He didn’t know how far the Heart went down, but it had to end eventually, and Orion would be waiting at the bottom, and he could pull him back up, and get Ratchet to put him back together, and then maybe Megatronus would stop.

Cycles since the fall, and Megatronus’s rampage hadn’t ended. Hadn’t even slowed. It’d started with Sentinel, of course, and in all honesty, even Bee had been happy to see him go. Maybe not the way he went though. Once Megatronus had gotten his servos on him, that had been that. He’d hefted him up over his helm, and ripped him in two. The energon from his frame had burst outward, smattering across Megatronus’s plating, staining him fuschia. He’d dropped the corpse aside, and delivered some rousing speech. Bee hadn’t heard a word of it, too transfixed by the drip, drip of Sentinel’s energon trickling down into the Heart. And then he’d been too busy cataloging the tiny plates that made up the walls down into it, thinking about where he’d put his pedes as he made his way down. Soon as he was able to slip away from the others. He didn’t dare mention it– knew they’d stop him. They were already discussing the future, like Orion wouldn’t be there. Like he was already…

But it wasn’t worth considering. Orion had been through worse before– maybe not worse, but bad. Bad in ways that made Bee think it had to have been over, but then it hadn’t been. Orion got slowed, and hurt, and banged up, but he always pushed on. He always came back.

A low rattle shook the building they were sheltering in. Megatronus and his bots must’ve blown up another city block, or another platoon of military bots. Bee couldn’t even see the sky anymore, it was so choked full of smoke.

Orion would know how to fix this.

*

When Orion came back online again, something was different. The pain remained, but somehow seemed more manageable. When he flicked a digit, it responded. 

He onlined his optics, and saw blue light dancing on the edge of his visual.

With nothing better to do, he heaved himself onto his front, and started crawling towards it. His frame wouldn’t allow for anything but steady servo over servo movement. He was traveling down some long corridor, sloping gently up.

He wondered faintly if he would offline down here after all. For all he knew, the light was nothing but some illusion for the fading, one last visual before the Well of Allsparks, if such a thing truly existed.

And yet, the light steadily grew brighter. Eventually it became so bright that he had to lower his optical settings for fear of burnout. It was like peering up at the suns through Cybertron’s vents, only a magnitude more intense. Warmed him like the suns would too. Some strange energy flicked across his plating, foreign, and yet, utterly at home. A few more pulls, and he found himself in some fathomless chamber– or maybe it was the outside? It seemed to go on forever, blue like the sky, warm like the sun, enveloping the way that only the core could be. He lowered his sensitivity further, and was able to make out the shape of a massive consol, hooked up to an even bigger orb– the source of the light. All around him, billions of strands of data flowed in and out of it, every color on the spectrum, every thought on Cybertron. 

Orion pulled in a sharp breath. He had to be dead after all.

“YOU HAVE FINALLY ARRIVED.” Something shifted in the orb, like a massive optic turning its focus to him, or a brain, concentrating its full calculative power towards his being. He felt infantesimal under it, but not threatened. This wasn’t a predator with its prey, nor some impassive infinity. Orion gazed upon it, and all he could conjure was awe, because this had to be–

He blinked twice, rebooted his processes. He wasn’t religious. He didn’t believe in Primus.

Code skittered all around him, across the walls, across his plating, as if he were only another conductor for the massive computer. After a nanoklik, Orion was able to identify the shifting bytes as mirth.

“AND YET.”

And yet, indeed. Either he was dreaming, or dead, or… this really was the Primus of myth.

“THIS IS NO DREAM.” Orion felt the energy in the room pulse and turn serious. That crackling humor pulled taut enough to snap, and Orion was caught in the middle of it.

“What do you want from me?” he half-cried, half-laughed. It was all too absurd. “You’re Primus, and I’m not dead.” He perked up. “Can you send me back?”

He felt the room’s code twist in curiosity. 

“We were– well, you probably saw it. We were about to change things.”

“YOU HAVE.”

Orion frowned. They had, hadn’t they. Why did that thought fill him with dread? “Is everyone okay up there? I didn’t get to see. You say things have changed. That’s good, right?”

The computer hummed like it was thinking. Sitting in code, Orion realized the thing had gotten caught on the word ‘good,’ the noun, adjective, adverb, all tagged a hundred different ways. The quantified ‘good’ didn’t quite register. He could feel Primus falling into a loop of echoing data.

“Never mind good!” he exclaimed. Primus didn’t seem intent on providing real answers anyway. “I need to help them. Can you send me back?”

“ORION PAX IS DEAD.”

He’d known that, hadn’t he? In the end, the statement was woefully underwhelming. He smoothed over the top of his helm, and continued to feel nothing about it. He felt online, though he realized suddenly that the pain had faded away to nothing. 

He looked around. There should’ve been more energon.

“What now?”

For a long klik, there was nothing but the steady thrum of the chamber, and the rhythmic beeping from the computer.

“EACH PRIME IS GIVEN THE FRAME BEST TO SERVE THEIR PEOPLE.”

All at once energy, lightning thick, poured into his frame, like liquid metal filling a mould. 

“THIS BURDEN IS YOURS.”

Pain like nothing he’d ever known overtook every millimeter, strut, and neural. Orion tried to retreat into the promise of dream. This couldn’t be real. It can’t be real because I’m dead. Primus said I’m dead.

He wasn’t. He knew it. He wished he didn’t.

“IT’S BEEN A MEGANUUM SINCE A WARFRAME.”

His shape was changing, he tried to hold against it.

“Warframe?” he forced out between grit dentae. Tight fear wrapped around his spark.  “The functionalists?” But that couldn’t be right. Their reach spanned far, but he knew at this very moment, Megatronus was cutting it off at the helm, and once the functionalist threat was gone, what could possibly be left to threaten them?

“The Quintessons?” Panic welled up. Not another Quintessons War. The destruction from that was what led to this whole crisis in the first place. A million stellar-cycles of war. He couldn’t bear it.

“YOU CAN,” Primus declared, “BUT NO.”

The realization came to him slowly, dawning horror unraveling out from his spark in sickly trails. “No,” he whispered, tears pricking in the corners of his optics. “No, no, not him. He wouldn’t– couldn’t– I’ll– I’ll stop him!”

“YOU MUST.”

The horror dug in its roots, twisting in him, tangling his processor up in terrible knots. “That’s not what I meant.” He was despairing, he realized.

“DO NOT LOSE HOPE… OPTIMUS PRIME.”

He’d felt the energy pooling around his pedes, building to an unbearable pressure beneath him. With those words from Primus, it released in an explosion of glorious light. White like the allspark, blue like his own optics. It washed over him, comforting and agonizing all at once, tearing him apart and piecing him back together with all the gentleness of a lover. Distantly, he felt the words spill from his intake, “please, I’m not the one– I’m not him,” Optimus Prime, that wasn’t him. He wasn’t the leader everyone insisted he was. A real leader could’ve seen Megatronus before it had all fallen apart. He could’ve stopped him before things had reached this point– made him see reason– hope, without violence. “I can’t,” he gasped, solvent flowing freely. He could feel it trailing down his face, his jaw. He was being stretched by the force of a god, his frame was changing– it wasn’t his, like waking up in the archivist’s body, only worse by a magnitude. The energy wound through him, foreign like an electro-baton between his plating, loving, like those water memory files of his tender slipping energon-candies between his lips. Coming home, and wrenching apart all at once.

“BY THE POWER VESTED IN ME, I, PRIMUS, BESTOW THE MATRIX OF LEADERSHIP.” The words emanated from all around him, every centimeter of pulsing wall of the chamber, as though from Cybertron itself. The Matrix appeared before him, and of their own accord, his chest-plates opened to allow it.

Energy reverberated all through him, adding another fracture. He didn’t want this, the power forcing its way between his plating– plating that didn’t even feel like his own anymore, but he was helpless to fight it off. There was no way to do so. The worst of it, was that Primus felt remorseful, like it really was sorry that it was doing this.

“Do you really think I can stop him?” He barely registered the voice as his own. It was deeper. It wavered, but not in the octave he was used to.

“IF ANYONE CAN.”

“Can I help him?” he asked, even more quietly.

The energy in the room seemed to approve of the question. “THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD.”

He forced back a hiccuping sob. The pain in his frame was starting to ebb– the frame that wasn’t— couldn’t be his. He flexed a servo, and it did indeed move, but the shape of it, the size of it, was wrong. He looked down at his chassis, his stabilizing-servos, and everything there screamed foreign.

Primus didn’t say anything else, but wasn’t silent in the face of his terror either. The room emanated a deep humm, proceeding the wash of a comforting field, gentle pressure against an open wound. The energy under his pedes built to a crescendo, and then he was being launched out of the chamber with the force of a diving jet.

*

Megatron stood on the ruined balcony of Iacon palace, grim satisfaction swimming through his lines. Far above his helm, Starscream’s seekers cut through the thick smoke hanging in the air, preparing for another air raid on the Towers’ holdouts. All the elites left in Iacon had swarmed there like vermin, holed up where they thought Megatron wouldn’t be able to reach.

Couldn’t… yet. While the air force destroyed their shields from above, his grounders were digging from beneath. The rest of his forces were putting out the rest of the military’s fight. Iacon and Vos held the most strength there, and once the former fell, that would be it. Iacon would be his.

The Towers wouldn’t hold much longer. He distantly wondered if it was even worth the trip to see the light fade from their optics personally, but knew there wasn’t anything more pressing for him to do anyway. He wouldn’t feel anything as he blasted them to pieces. The frames wouldn’t register. None had, not even Sentinel’s. His spark guttered out, and he’d felt the slick wet of his energon, but that had been it. Tubes and wires. That was all that remained. No dying frame could ever compare–

He would not think of Orion. Wouldn’t think about how every death at his servos in the subsequent cycles was just some tiny little action he could stuff into the place Orion had once filled. Wouldn’t think about the way the world had seemed to stop spinning. 

The way he’d felt alive and dead, all at once, every vivid flaring emotion, crushing in his mind. When compared to Orion’s, all other deaths would pale in comparison.

“Megatronus.”

He whipped around at the designation, raised his cannon to the source. Alpha Trion strode in, to the optics, strong, even as he leaned heavy on a cane.

“That’s not my name,” he said. “Megatronus is dead.”

Alpha Trion only narrowed his optics slightly, and Megatron realized he hated the mech. He chuckled a bit with the knowledge, let the cannon’s humm hang between them.

“It’s not too late,” Alpha Trion said, meeting Megatron’s optics like he could see right through him. A new wave of contempt roiled through his systems. For all his appearances of wisdom, Megatron knew better. Alpha Trion was an old fool, who led other fools down a fool’s path. All talk, no backstruts to speak of. Had to get Orion to do his dirty work.

“Megatronus, I understand that–”

Megatron fired. Alpha Trion looked down at the smoking hole in his chassis, didn’t so much as blink, much less balk, and silently collapsed to his knees, then all fours, then flat on the ground. Megatron could only watch with detached resignation. There was a part of him that wanted to lean down, explain exactly what he thought of the old mech’s words in the last moments of his life, but couldn’t find it in himself. Just wasn’t worth it.

“I warned you,” Alpha Trion whispered into his own energon. Megatron had to strain his audials to hear the words, and in doing so, registered a new sound, a pitched whine, a growing rumble emanating through the building, up to his pedes. “You’re not the one,” Alpha Trion finished, guttering out.

He commed Soundwave, .:Are the Towers going down?:. He couldn’t think of any other cause. He prepared his anger for if he found that they’d made the final push without alerting him.

.:Negative:. There was no emotion attached to the comm, but Soundwave’s lack of continuation told him that he didn’t know what it was either.

He followed his audials to the Heart. If he squinted his optics, he could make out a faint blue glow, getting stronger.

He hopped over the balcony, dug his claws into the wall to slow his fall. His pedes hit the ground, and he crouched a bit with the impact.

.:The Heart:. Soundwave commed, .:Something is coming:.

Megatron pinged an affirmative, knew his warriors would be at his back soon. Not that it mattered. Primus himself could rise from the depths, and Megatron wouldn’t flinch. Force of conviction didn’t matter. The strong lived, the weak died.

Megatron curled his servos into fists, readied the cannon. The noise grew to a roar. Megatron dropped down into a fighting stance.

Red, blue, silver, backed by a sharp burst of glorious blue light, cyan like–

The figure dropped in front of him, pulled itself to its full height– optic-level with Megatron. The size was wrong, the form too, but the shapes, the stance, the face. And then that so-familiar field unfurled, brushed against his, slotting up into those spaces left empty, and it had to be.

He almost lost his footing, staggering forward, needing to feel that plating under his servos. Had to know it was real. His speech came out a staticky gasp, every ounce of desperate pain uncurling in his spark.

“Orion?”

*

“It can’t be, can it?” Megatronus thumbed his cheek. Orion didn’t have the wherewithal to lean into it. The touch should have been comforting.

For kilometers around them, in every direction, all he could see was destruction. And not just the collapsed palace that he’d left behind, but… everything. Iacon city as he’d known it– gone, ruined crumpled buildings in its stead, grayed with charr, smoking. 

“What happened here?” he asked, feeling hollow for it, already knowing the answer.

Megatronus’s expression didn’t change. He only looked around, as though he wasn’t immediately sure what the question was about. His optics widened slightly in understanding, before landing back on Orion. His grip slid down Orion’s arm, finding his servos. Megatronus’s flaring conviction rushed over the connection. Not a lick of shame in its wake.

“Orion. I respect you too much to lie to you.” He squeezed Orion’s servos, a wild flare in his optics. “The elites are a disease that cannot simply be curbed. We can’t let a single one of them live. We need to start over.”

Optimus took a horrified step back, his servos falling out of Megatron’s own. Megatron. Because this was not the mech he knew. 

“How many innocent people will die?” He asked, breathless, and praying he was wrong.

Megatron’s optics dialed wide, and for a fluttering moment, Optimus thought maybe he’d got through to him. Then that laugh, and his spark sank.

“Amazing,” Megatron chuckled darkly. “Even after everything. You still defend them.”

“They’re people!”

“They killed you!” Megatron roared.

“Sentinel killed me.” The sentence should’ve been too absurd to say straight, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his spark. “How many people have you killed, Megatron?” He dreaded the answer.

“You’ll fight me for them, but you’d never fight them for me. Would you?” Megatron said, taking a step back, red optics narrowing, field roiling with a dozen different emotions. Chief among them: confusion, hurt, disgust.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

Megatron’s optics went wide again, as though wounded, just a moment, before narrowing once more, finally settling on the Matrix, just visible under the glass of his chassis.

“You don’t believe in Primus.” His field tempered into something dangerous, and single minded.

“You don’t kill civilians.”

“I do,” Megatron sucked in a steadying breath, met Orion’s optics with all the ferocity he might a Pit-opponent, “whatever it takes.” Before Orion could blink, Megatron brought up a pede, swift as lightning, and kicked him into a building.

Combat-protocols roared to life as he reoriented himself in the ruin. Up was up, down was down, and when Megatron came crashing in after him, he knew to use the top of his forearm to deflect Megatron’s next blow. The tac-unit told him to counter. He hesitated on the open shot to Megatron’s face. The other did not return the favor, grappling Orion to the ground and immediately attacking his helm. Orion twisted, throwing them both to the side, and kicking Megatron away. They both leapt up to their pedes. Megatron didn’t hesitate to charge again, throwing them both out the building and into the streets. 

There were bots around– Megatron’s bots. Soundwave was leading a small army. Orion had a nanoklik to despair, when Elita came bursting up from… somewhere, a storm-drain maybe, leading the FFFF. 

“I told you!” Bee exclaimed. “He’s alive!”

“Back away from Orion!” Elita leveled her blaster at Megatron’s helm.

“Stay out of it!” Megatron bellowed, to Elita, and his own bots, who’d been inching closer. 

Orion took the moment of distraction, and transformed, throwing Megatron off. His instinct was to flee, but instead, he put his pedal to the floor, slamming Megatron into a wall with a sickening crunch.

“Stop this madness!” Orion said, easing off a little.

“I’d sooner die.” Megatron coughed up energon, angled his arm. Orion didn’t realize the barrel of the cannon was pressed into his chassis until it was too late. Pain burst up through him, and he reeled back, quickly transforming to root. There was a hole in his middle.

He put out his servos, placating. “I don’t want this!”

“Fantasy is over, Prime,” he spat the word like a curse, got back to his pedes, and lunged. “This is what I want.” Orion tried to dodge, but something in him was broken. He was too slow. Megatron got in range, and shoved his whole servo into the wound in his middle, clawed in him for anything vital. Orion felt him brush against his fuel pump, and panicked, getting Megatron’s arm in a good grip, and wrenched. It had to hurt, but the other only sneered like it amused him, and pushed harder. Orion twisted the arm further in turn, and something cracked. Megatron’s arm went dead inside him, and he took the opportunity to bring up a stabilizing-servo and kick him away. They were both left barely standing, venting heavily, spilling fuschia into the rubble.

“It didn’t have to end this way.” Orion’s optics were pleading, field desperate. He could feel it falling apart at the seams– Primus’s haunting words. War. Megatron had to know it.

“This isn’t over,” Megatron hissed, bringing up his cannon. It hummed with charge. Someone was yelling from the FFFF side. It fired, aimed for his helm. Orion braced for the worst. 

No pain. The moment passed. He took in the situation, but it came through hazy, yellow. He blinked. It wasn’t a servo blocking his face, but an axe. He followed it down to his arm. It was… his? Megatron looked just as mystified, before his expression went solemn again– betrayed all over. Like Orion had any control over what his frame had become. He raised the cannon and fired again. Orion deflected it, this time, deliberately, throwing himself at his opponent, against every instinct he had. This was bigger than them. This was Iacon, and Cybertron. Megatron had to see reason, because if he didn’t then–

Megatron feigned, countered, threw Orion over shoulder, back onto the ground. Orion rolled before the next strike could hit where his helm had been only a nano previous. Megatron was trying to kill him, he realized, dazedly. Megatron wants to kill me.

He shouted, forced himself forward, swung the axe. It cleaved the cannon in two, stopped centimeters from Megatron’s neck.

And he could kill him. There was nowhere for Megatron to escape to. He could push the blade just that bit further, and take his helm off his chassis.

“Do it,” Megatron snarled. When had solvent started down Megatron’s cheeks? He didn’t look any less fearsome for it.

He wouldn’t— couldn’t. The axe trembled.

“Of course,” Megatron rumbled. That tone had once been comforting. It still was. He was… disappointed? But he said it in such a way– resigned, comprehending that this was the axis the world turned on. Like there were immutable truths, and Orion's inability to kill him was just another. No less deniable than gravity.

Megatron brought his servo up– Orion almost flinched, and gently pushed the axe away from his neck. Took a careful step back, towards his bots. He was limping heavily, leaving thick drops of energon as he went. Soundwave didn’t offer any support, but positioned himself as though he might catch Megatron if he stumbled, and then they turned away.

“Gladiators! Seekers! To me!” he bellowed. And they obeyed, retreating with him, down the street, casual, like the world broke every day, like the ground wasn’t falling out from beneath Orion’s pedes. Megatron looked over his shoulder, just once before he slid out of sight. His expression was cold derision– hatred. His crimson optics burned with it, the curve of his lips was turned down in disgust.

And then he was gone, disappeared into the smoke and dust with his forces.

Orion shivered, fell to his knees.

Black.

*

When Orion cracked an optic open, he found intense light, and the dull hope that the past solar-cycle had all been a bad dream. 

The hope was quickly dashed when he pushed himself up onto his elbows, and took in the expanse of his frame. Still too big, kibble all wrong– built more like a truck than a hauler, and the Matrix glowing gently under his windshield. 

It was pulsing comfort at him, like a bot. He didn’t know if it helped, or if he wanted to tear the thing out.

“You’re awake,” Elita said, sitting up in a chair. From the way she blinked, and her sluggish field, Orion could only assume that she’d fallen asleep, waiting. 

“What happened?” he asked, trying to sit up further.

“Don’t,” Elita put out her servos like she might force him back down. “Ratchet will kill you. Your fuel pump was breached, you know.”

He found the welds in his middle, still silver. He supposed he should look into getting that painted, but couldn’t seem to find the point.

“What happened?” he repeated, letting himself slump back down.

“Before, or after you let Megatronus get away?”

“It’s Megatron.”

“I know,” she said.

“Then why’d you–”

“Because that’s what you called him.”

“What have I done?” He scrubbed over his optics, saw sparks when he pressed too hard.

“It’s what he did.” She leaned forward, servos clasped tight. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“He won’t see reason.”

“No. He won’t.”

“I couldn’t kill him.”

She didn’t answer, only let her frown deepen.

“Orion!” Bee bounded in, chased by Ratchet.

“I said not to disturb my patients!” He swung the wrench, missed– deliberately, Orion was sure, then let the fight drain from him as he stopped by Orion’s berthside. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.” It was true. Physically, he felt no pain.

“I wasn’t asking about your frame. Even with the fancy upgrade, I know the blocker I have you on is strong enough to tranq a raging combiner. I’m asking about this.” He tapped Orion’s windshield.

“The Matrix?”

“No, slag you!” He did a frustrated little circle before returning. “I mean your spark.”

Orion seized at the thought of talking about that. Megatron had done worse than cut into his fuel pump, he just… every thought concerning the mech came back blank. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be mad, or sad, or feel responsible. He did feel responsible. He could look back at the past gigacycles and see a dozen– a hundred different places he could’ve changed things, undone this reality. They were supposed to build the future together–

“I know that look,” Ratchet said, tapping his wrench against Orion’s helm. It was too light to hurt, but Orion still gave a half-hearted glare.

“I think… I failed.”

“You think nothing!” Another tap from the wrench, this time harder. “Do you know how many bots you saved today? Even if most of them are total afts. Megatron was going to rip Iacon down to the foundations! You stopped that.”

“I should have stopped it,” he said quietly.

“Is he deaf?” Ratchet asked the room. “What did I just say?”

“Before,” Orion continued. “I should have stopped it from getting this far.”

No one had anything to say to that. 

“You should get some rest, Orion.” Elita put a stiff, but comforting servo on his shoulder. “I think you have a city to run.”

“I don’t think I’m Orion anymore.” He held a servo over his windshield, received another warm pulse from the Matrix. It didn’t help the hollow feeling, that dull horror. “I think… I’m Optimus Prime, now.”

*

Megatron and his bots returned to Kaon. Not to the bowels of the city-state the FFFF had hidden in, but to the surface. Seekers and gladiators crowded the space, drinking their fill of engex at the bars, dancing wildly into the night. Megatron may have lost, but he promised them brutal retribution, and they had loved it.  

“Have you seen the holofeeds?!” Starscream’s piercing shriek ruptured any remaining good mood Megatron still had from the speech.

He didn’t deign that with a response, just glared in the seeker’s direction.

“The elites are flocking to Orion like a bunch of fanatics. They’re calling him Prime.”  

Megatron scoffed and stood, suddenly feeling the urge to slag something. Starscream must’ve felt the violent field flare, because he startled back, on edge.

“There’s no such thing as Primes,” Megatron growled.

“But you saw the bauble. What if–”

“Are you afraid, Starscream?”

The seeker’s wings fluttered slightly. “No.”

Megatron grinned, but there was no humor behind it. “Who knows. Maybe we are fighting Primus’s chosen emissary, but do you know what?” He tilted his helm, optics gleaming dangerously. “I don’t care.” The cycles he’d been idle were dragging already. His bots could continue to celebrate the night away, but he found he had no patience for it. .:Soundwave:. He commed.

Soundwave pinged back, as always, on standby.

.:Meeting in 10 kliks. We’re planning a full-scale assault on Iacon:.

.:Recommendation: bring Shockwave out of stasis:.

Megatron approved it, and knew it would be done. 

“So then, Starscream,” the other stiffened under his renewed attention, “how about it?”

“Fight the emissary of Primus?” Starscream drawled. A nervous twitch did not escape Megatron’s notice. “I suppose even that would not lie outside your ambition.”

“Indeed,” Megatron smiled, and this time, it was real. “Can you keep pace?”

“Better than your Orion ever could.” Starscream matched his malevolent grin. 

Megatron searched for his anger at the bold declaration, and only found fatalistic acceptance. It was always going to end this way, wasn’t it? He almost found himself reveling in that future– the one that saw him beating Orion– Optimus– Prime, into submission. He laughed, raucous and true. The future would be what he made it. Cleansed of every last one of Prime’s followers, false or not. Words weren’t enough. Fists before poetry. Violence over ideals.

“I hope you can.”

He meant it.

 

Notes:

AHHHHH it's finally done omg. I actually cannot believe it, this thing has been such a journey, first time publishing fanfic, and the longest thing I've ever written period. A few of you have commented/messaged letting me know that you're interested in reading more from this continuity, which I'm glad to hear, because I have a few more fics in me about all this. Chief among them, an end of war megop fic bc I'm not done torturing them ig. I've already started writing the damn thing, but I'm probably going to take a bit of a publishing break first to focus on a bunch of life stuff I've been neglecting, LOL. But anyway, thank you all for coming on this journey with me! All the comments and kind words have been amazing, and super motivating for getting this thing done <3 Anywho, If you liked the ending, please let me know what you think!! Til next time o7

Notes:

If you liked the chapter (or have critique), drop a comment! You can also find me @smatterbrained on Tumblr where I draw megop/transformers stuff (including some visuals from this fic!!) I've got the whole fic planned, and intend to update weeklyish (usually Fridays)

Time units used:

Nanoklik: second
Klik: minute
Cycle: hour
Decacycle: 10 hours
Solar-cycle: day
Megacycle: 10 days
Gigacycle: 3 months
Stellar-cycle: year
Vorn: 82 years

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of SCU: Smatter Cinematic Universe (Transformers)