MY BOOYYYY NOOOOOOO

Here

*throws this at you*

FINALLY DONE!

(Beast Wars Megatron’s voice is so fine 😌🦖)

Original audio: YT: JobbytheHong (timestamp: 18:29)

They’re so silly. I love them

I look forward for the day I finish watching Beast Wars :D

For now my fake fucking scenarios will suffice me for awhile

uhhhh

Elite’s demotion in a nutshell

Can I say? I absolutely adore him

I know little to nothing about Idw Megatron but the Blokees figurine of him-

LOOK AT HIM- HE'S SO CUTESY HANDSOME GOD

*cutely sits down*

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

caught in the undertow

Chapter(s): 3/?

Rating: E

Relationship(s): Orion Pax/Megatron, Optimus Prime/Megatron, Sentinel Prime/Bumblebee

Summary:

When Megatron, leader of the rebellion, escaped from prison, everybot knew one thing, and one thing only: he stole an innocent with him.

---

"I'm not a sheep, how dare you!" Orion hissed, bristling at the insult.

"Oh, really?" Megatron drawled. His red optics glanced up again, and Orion's glossa went dry.

Scrap.

Who knew the cruel and ruthless leader of the blasphemous rebellion was so... handsome?

STORY: START!

Act I, Scene IV: Primes Don’t Party

It was currently aft-crack at dawn and Helios had barely peeked over the horizon, and Sentinel was already suffering. He was stuck, unfortunately, at one of Ultra Magnus’ breakfast banquets that he liked to host for the other council members and the higher caste levels. 

The event itself was exclusive, very exclusive, and it showed in the way the large dining room of Ultra’s personal mansion was filled only halfway. 

Still, all these bots were at least caste level 35 or higher, so they were important figures that Sentinel had to painstakingly dig through his processor to remember, unless he wanted to commit a faux pas and embarrass Ultra again like he did last time. 

The ceiling was high and arched to accommodate for Cybertronians all shapes and sizes, though undoubtedly, Ultra himself was still the tallest and largest out of all of them. 

Paint jobs had been replenished and armor plates were buffed and polished just for that morning alone, which made Sentinel uncomfortably remember his own detailing that he went through a few solar cycles ago. 

He recalled the way both Bee and Orion had teased him about it, but he honestly hadn’t meant to be so… shiny around them. Though he knew that they would never actually shame him for who he was, it had been a little despairing to see the gap widen in between him and his friends that much more. 

He had tried his best to insist to Ultra that a detailing hadn’t been necessary, but his mentor had quickly reminded him why exactly a bot like Sentinel couldn’t neglect such things. 

Sentinel had been under Ultra’s wing long enough now to be able to school his expressions, so he was carefully blank-faced as he stared down at the cube of highly refined energon that had been given to him by one of the numerous maids that Ultra liked to keep around. 

The bot had been pretty, sweet, and had fluttered a servo down his arm as she drifted around him and gave him the cube, and he had flushed. 

But she was low caste, level 10 if his processor went through the database of Ultra’s staff correctly, and Sentinel knew if he even attempted to brush back, not only would he have an actual hell to pay at Ultra’s servo, but the guilt of taking advantage of someone that low level would probably take him out before his mentor could. 

The atmosphere was stuffy. His olfactory senses kept picking up the different perfumes and colognes Ultra’s guests had sprayed on, mixing into a sort of sickly cloud that he couldn’t discreetly cough away without fear of pissing anyone off. 

The air was filled with the sound of the careful clinking of glass cubes and cutlery, as well as the simpering tones of bots trying their best to impress Ultra, who sat at the head of the table and laughed heartily at whatever Mirage just said. 

Sentinel couldn’t help but glance again at his mentor, hoping for even a sense of sympathy from him, since Sentinel had made it quite known throughout their vorns together just how much he dreaded these events. 

But Ultra made no indication he returned Sentinel’s look, much less his need for empathy, and Sentinel swallowed. 

His gears felt stiff, uncomfortable, as he lifted his cube and took a sip. 

The energon that Ultra was so fond of was the highest refined kind, so it slid down Sentinel’s throat smoothly, with a soft, sweet taste that tingled his glossa at the very edges. He wasn’t particularly hungry or anything, but it at least gave him a sense of something to do. 

He didn’t understand why he had to keep attending these things. Out of everyone at the table, he was the farthest from Ultra, even though he was supposedly the future Prime of Cybertron. It was something all the guests seemed to like to mention to him, as if he wasn’t perfectly aware of the expectations set upon him. 

Slag. He really was a party pooper, just like Orion liked to tease him. 

“Enjoying your drink, my Prime?” 

Sentinel almost choked on his energon when there was a soft, purring voice that drifted from his right. When he glanced down, he tried to smile awkwardly at the appearance of Elita-1. She was one of the lower level guests present, caste level 36 if his processor was right. 

But she was similarly one of the most beautiful bots there, what with her gleaming, pink armor and her perfectly sculpted face. She was the current and only daughter of her father, a sickly mech who held the title of Baron. From what Sentinel could recall, she was supposedly far more qualified for the position than her sire, and was the subject of interest among the council during these solar cycles. 

All in all, a remarkable femme. Way more than Sentinel, anyway. 

After a moment of struggling at the appearance of her rather striking countenance and also - his optics darted down shamefully towards her chasses, where her bold, pink paint job had lines that accentuated the curves of her waist and hips - her tone, he finally set down his cube, cleared the static from his voicebox, and croaked, “sorry? Uh, yes, I mean…” 

He ex-vented quietly, his face hot with embarrassment, his cheek plates undoubtedly an unflattering shade of blue as he muttered, “yes, I’m enjoying it. There’s, er, really no need to call me Prime - I haven’t earned that title.” 

“Yet.” Elita’s optics glimmered with something as she leaned in closer. She smelled wonderful; like the jubiline berries that grew in one of Cybertron’s rescued planets, and she smiled, a small, confident thing that quirked at the corner of her full derma as she extended her own cube. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you, my Prime. There’s no one else quite like you. I have no doubt you’ll be an excellent Prime.” 

“Oh,” Sentinel said rather lamely, lifting his cube again and hesitantly clinking it against hers. It seemed to please her, as her smile widened, and he nodded, trying to ignore the way his spark sank at her insisting words. “Of course. Thank you, miss.” 

They drank. 

As they did, Sentinel couldn’t help but look to the side, trying not to let his displeasure show. He knew that Elita only meant the best, as Ultra did, and the council. They had seen greatness in him and decided that out of all the bots in Iacon, he was worthy of becoming a Prime once ready. 

But he couldn’t help but wonder if he was. 

It wasn’t as if he doubted Ultra or anything like that! After all, Ultra had saved him, and therefore deserved all of Sentinel’s loyalty. It was just that - Sentinel had been working for this for vorns, and he still didn’t feel any closer to being “Prime” or whatever. He wasn’t even sure what being Prime would do for him, actually. 

But it was clear everyone else believed in him fully. 

He squirmed lightly in his seat, sipping slowly at his energon. 

He just wanted to know why their belief in him was so uncomfortable. It was certainly different from the way Orion and Bee showed him their loyalty; with them, everything was warm, easy, and yes, at times so stressful that it felt like his paint would peel, but at the end of the solar cycle, he loved them, and he knew they loved him just as much. 

It was a lot. The Matrix of Leadership would one day be placed in Sentinel's servos, and then it would be his responsibility to carry on the legacy of the original Primes. He had to lead Iacon, he had to head the council, he had to replenish the energon that didn’t even flow anymore and instead just lie dormant in their crust. 

So much to do and he wasn't even close to being a Prime, yet. 

His helm was starting to hurt. 

Slag. 

“You seem quite preoccupied, my Prime,” Elita said, leaning closer from her seat to him. She was arching her spinal strut was arched like this, and his glossa went dry as she placed a servo so gently on his arm that he barely felt the brush of her digits against the plating, but his vision was suddenly filled with different sensory inputs as his processor practically screamed at him that she was touching him. “I can provide an audial, if you need. I’m rather good at listening, I’ve been told.” 

Sentinel took a moment to swallow once, twice, and it felt like he had drunk high-grade energon as he realized that she wasn’t going to stop with the my Prime nonsense any time soon. Despite that, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind too much, especially not when she was looking at him like he was the most delicious thing in that room, even with all the energon laid before them. 

“Friends!” Ultra Magnus called from the head of the table. 

It was enough for Sentinel to jerk where he sat and pull away from Elita, who he hadn't even realized he'd been slowly but surely inching towards. He felt shame bubble low in his abdomen as he settled more into his seat, purposefully avoiding Elita's gaze, as Ultra Magnus rose and smiled charmingly at the entirety of his guests. 

Ultra Magnus, in both spirit and body, was larger than life itself. His gleaming paint job of blue and accents of red shined the brightest underneath the numerous chandeliers of his dining hall. 

His armor was thick and bulky, but rather than making him look awkward, it simply made him appear strong, fortified, reliable. He was magnificent, and Sentinel couldn't help but admire him again, intimidated by the sheer amount of presence he took up in the room. 

“Thank you all again for attending today’s banquet. I’m sure you all enjoyed drinking me out of my home.” Ultra chuckled, and there were several titters of amusement throughout the hall as he smiled. “I would like to extend my gratitude especially to my fellow council members. As you all know, we have recently apprehended the leader of the Blasphemous Rebellion, the one who goes by Megatron.” 

Murmurs rose. Several of them shifted uncomfortably, perhaps recalling all of Megatron's crimes. It was hard not to feel the same. After all, the rebellion had been the one and only enemy that the covenant never managed to squash, despite all their attempts. 

Sentinel shuddered slightly, his cooling fans turning on as he tried not to think too hard about it. It made him feel nauseous knowing that he had gone behind Ultra's back and snuck Orion into Titan's Hold to speak with the aforementioned criminal. 

Primus, what would Ultra do if he ever found out? 

“The High Covenant worked efficiently and with dedication in order to at last, cut the head off the beast. Although we know it is in the best interest of all Cybertronians that we expedite Megatron's trial, I assure you, we are all working as quickly as possible to ensure he will come before us and jury without interrupting the sensitive nature of due process.” Ultra paused smiling slightly when there were murmurs of approval. 

“Finally,” Elita muttered from beside Sentinel. 

He almost twitched at her voice. 

“But to celebrate this monumental occasion, it has been decided amongst the High Covenant that a Revitalization Ceremony will take place within the next solar cycle!” Ultra said triumphantly, and this time, the reaction was far more boisterous. 

“Another one? So soon?” Krystal cried out in joy. 

“No way! I have to get another paint job for this,” Mirage crowed in delight. 

“I’m putting my bets on Hot Rod this time,” Blurr said, holding his chin plate in thought. 

As Ultra once again settled down and the dining hall swelled with bots talking over each other in their excitement as well as their predictions on who would win, Sentinel simply sat there, jaw slightly dropped, and his optics trying their best to capture the gaze of his mentor. 

What the frag is he talking about? Sentinel thought, his sensors telling him that his cooling fans were increasing their output even more, the whirring sound tingling at the back of his processor as he struggled to not march up there and practically beg for Ultra’s attention. 

The Revitalization Ceremony was not something the council, and so therefore Ultra, did frequently. It was first perpetuated by a race, the Iacon 5000, where mid caste bots entered and competed against each other for the glory of not only winning, but also getting the chance to become celebrated by the infamous ceremony, where they were granted the honor of becoming one of the city’s trailblazers. 

The trailblazer position was dangerous, deadly, and not easy. It was the only way a bot could climb ranks and achieve a caste level higher than they were born with, but it came with a heavy price. Every trailblazer left Cybertron in search of more energon elsewhere and were granted enough supplies to survive for vorns, but they were also barred from ever reentering society. A safety measure implemented by Ultra, who often warned the city of how numerous plagues and sicknesses floated in the universe, and therefore could potentially wipe out Cybertronians for good. 

And Ultra, the secretly kindhearted and soft mech that he was, hated hosting the Ceremony. He always talked about how good bots had to be sent out and expand Cybertron’s reach at the expense of never coming home, which often had him so upset that some solar cycles, Sentinel had to drag him back to his mansion from the office, since he always over indulged on high grade. 

So why was Ultra holding another one, especially so soon after the last? 

Sentinel’s processor whirled furiously as his system dug up the information from the last race. A mech named Tracks, caste level 26, had won outstandingly and was appropriately celebrated before the ceremony took place and he was shipped out to space for his mission. Sentinel, as only a trainee, didn’t have access to the logs of the trailblazers, but last he had heard, Tracks was doing well. 

It had only been three cycles since Tracks had left Cybertron. Nothing could have happened in that short amount of time. Why didn’t Ultra, who was close to Sentinel, tell him about this decision? Why didn’t any of the other council members? 

Sentinel’s helm suddenly snapped again to the front, as his gaze had been drifting along down the table, and he blinked several times as his face contorted and his disbelief stiffened his derms into a tight line. 

Unless there was a particularly devastating reason as to why Ultra made this decision. 

Don’t tell me… Sentinel thought, his servos clutching so tightly at the arms of his chair that he felt some of the metal dent easily underneath his digits. 

We’ve already run out of energon. 

Dread made Sentinel’s spark sink in his chassis.

No. 

That wasn’t possible. 

The mining output on Iacon had been the highest it’s ever been, and that wasn’t even including the other cities that also tried to mine for their energy source. There was no fragging way that they were running low again, not when Tracks had only been sent out a few cycles ago, and had sent back enough energon to please the council, something Sentinel had overheard numerous times by this point. 

He stared down at the half-full cube of energon in front of him. It gleamed brightly in spite of the sudden fuzziness of his vision. Was this some of the energon that Tracks had found from beyond Cybertron? How much of it had been lost in the refinement process for it to be so concentrated and so clear? 

The process of turning crude energon into something actually consumable was laborious and inefficient, Sentinel knew. At least 80% of the original volume was lost in the makings, and Sentinel’s spark lurched as he looked around himself, at all the cubes, at all the concentrated blue that started to burn his optics the longer he stared. 

How much of this energon was given to them by Tracks, who could no longer come home, and how much of it had been mined by miners? By his friends? 

Sentinel hated how much Bee and Orion had to work in those damned mines. The veins were explosive, a result of their planet being somewhat sentient, and therefore reluctant to allow bots to crawl within itself and chip away at its innards. It always resulted in some sort of injury; whether it was Bee’s worn and shaky servos, new scratches and abrasions on Orion’s armor, or most recently, dents along Orion’s spinal strut after he got caught in a vein collapsing. 

When Sentinel had received the news, he had nearly had a spark attack, and couldn’t even leave the meeting he had been in to check on his friend. 

If they had run out of energon, then yet another mech or femme had to leave their planet for good. Bee and Orion would have to work even more shifts, perpetuated by their odious leader, someone named Riley or Rocks. 

Sentinel was aware of how piercing his stare was as he continued to regard Ultra with a desperation that he could barely hold back from his derma, which had pursed into such a pathetic expression that he was ashamed of it. 

But maybe that pathetic look had some merit, because finally, Ultra Magnus’ optics drifted from Mirage, who he had been having a rather enthusiastic conversation with, and they glanced directly at his pupil. 

Ultra’s ridges tilted upwards slightly. 

The corner of Sentinel’s derma twitched, and that seemed to convince his mentor, who told a pouting Mirage what must have been an excuse to leave, as Ultra stood up, quietly walked over to the door that exited into the hallway, and he jerked his helm slightly as an indication to follow. 

Sentinel hastily stood up as well, grateful that the other bots were too caught up in their gossipping to recognize that their host had slipped away, only to stop when a servo, smaller than his own, laid itself on his arm. 

His sensors practically screamed at him, his optics wide and his mouth parted slightly, as Elita smiled faintly up at him from her seat. 

“Leaving so soon, my Prime?” She said in a light tone. She was teasing him, some part of his processor knew, jabbing at him with the my Prime nonsense, but a larger part of him couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when she continued to look at him like that. “Am I not entertaining enough for you?” 

His voicebox crackled with static as he sputtered, “not at all, miss! I just, uh, I have some - business to take care of.” 

Elita’s smile grew, and she purred, “Prime business, I presume?”

Sentinel’s spark skipped a beat. His glossa tasted dry and he was aware he was staring at her like an idiot, but it was hard not to. After all, with his schedule (both official trainee duties as well as secretly sneaking around with his friends), it meant he often didn’t get to converse with femmes, much less ones like Elita. 

But at the same time, he felt his arm flinch away from her touch, an involuntary movement that would have had him scolded by Ultra if he saw, especially since Sentinel always did have trouble with proper etiquette. 

If I were a Prime, I wouldn’t be begging for answers from Ultra like a sparkling, he thought to himself, but his derma moved to speak something else. “Of course. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you next time, Miss Elita.” 

Her optics glimmered as he drew away. “I look forward to it, Sentinel.” 

He rushed out of there, embarrassment following him like a phantom, and he couldn’t help but ex-vent a sigh of relief as soon as he was past the door and closing it behind him, putting a barrier between him and the chatter of the aristocrats. 

“You’re running like something set your aft on fire, Sentinel. Something you want to tell me?” 

Sentinel straightened and he swallowed simply on instinct as he looked up at his mentor. 

Ultra Magnus was leaning against the wall as he casually sipped at a cube of glowing energon, but it did nothing to diminish the pure power he continuously emitted no matter what he was doing. His cables bulged with strength underneath his armor, and he didn’t even deign to glance down at Sentinel, something that had him tilting his helm to the floor in shame. 

Ultra was displeased. 

“I’m sorry to distract you, my lord,” Sentinel mumbled, his wings barely holding back from twitching. He knew just how much Ultra disliked it when he fidgeted like a newly born sparkling, and his servos clenched themselves into fists behind his dorsal planes as he bowed. “I didn’t mean to - “ 

“And yet you did.” 

A coolant drop beaded and ran down the ridge of Sentinel’s nose as he froze where he stood. 

“I’m sorry,” Sentinel whispered again. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how shaky his voicebox was. The last time he had cried in front of Ultra, it had been an unpleasant experience, one he didn’t want to repeat. Not if he wanted to walk for the next few solar cycles. “I - I simply wanted to ask you a few questions about the ceremony.” 

“Hm.” Ultra grunted. There was the sound of glass clinking as well as the telltale gulp that meant he had just downed the rest of his energon. “You forget your place too easily, Sentinel. It disappoints me that I even have to explain it to you. Just how long must I wait until you become the Prime I expect you to be?” 

The words were cutting, curdled with Ultra’s anger, his dismissive aggression. It made shame welt like a virus beneath Sentinel’s plating, a reminder of just how far he was from actually becoming a Prime, and any small amount of irritation over not being informed of the ceremony decision died down, instead being replaced by the feeling of utter uselessness that he often experienced whenever he let Ultra down. 

“You dare to pull me from my own banquet, which I host out of the goodness of my spark, to ensure that my people and you consume enough energon to perform your duties,” Ultra continued. “All to question me on my own decisions. My decisions, Sentinel, of which I certainly don’t need to indulge the reasons of to anyone, much less you.” 

He accentuated the last, pointed syllable of his sentence with a small thud as he straightened up from the wall, and he took a step closer, enough so that he blocked the chandelier overhead from shedding light on Sentinel. 

Like this, it was clearer than ever the disparities between them - the height of Ultra, his power, his authority, all of which shadowed Sentinel’s own feeble being. It was a reminder of something that Sentinel had known ever since he had been named as Ultra’s prodigy. 

You belong to me, Ultra said with his optics. His gaze wasn’t even a glower, nor was it a glare. It just simply was. It was plain and devoid of any particular emotion, which was somehow even worse than his anger, which was something that Sentinel at least knew how to deal with internally. 

Here, now, Ultra looked at him like he was nothing more than a speck, and Sentinel had never felt so small. 

“It seems I have to remind you again exactly who you are,” Ultra said. 

“F-Forgive me, my lord,” Sentinel stuttered, cursing himself as he did. He couldn’t stop trembling, and he knew he looked pathetic with the coolant dripping down from his helm and down to his ridges, but he couldn’t help himself as he blurted out, “I just think that the ceremony is unnecessary!” 

Ultra didn’t move. In fact, his expression didn’t even change, but his voice was noticeably colder, gruffer, as he said, “Sentinel.” 

“Tracks left only three cycles ago,” Sentinel continued to ramble, his processor sending warning after warning that he was approaching dangerous territory, as with every word that was vomited from his dermas, Ultra’s ridges drew tighter with his distaste. “And he’s been sending enough energon for now! If we could just - just rally the miners, give them better motivation, then I think our mining output would be even greater. They respond greatly to even simple things like provisions, so if we - “ 

“Sentinel.” 

He stopped. 

Ultra knelt down to the ground, at an angle which meant that their faces were optic-level and his nose was invisible to Sentinel.

“Enough.” Ultra's voicebox was gentle, softened by what Sentinel knew was his disappointment. Just that one word told him everything he needed to know; his ideas were being dismissed, most likely due to some flaw in them that Ultra probably recognized instantly, since Sentinel was poor at doing the same. “You are to be a Prime. You are the future of Iacon, the upcoming leader of Cybertron. What good will it do you to question me?” 

“I - I wasn't questioning you,” Sentinel said weakly. When Ultra didn’t respond, Sentinel's voice became desperate, and he couldn't help himself as he jerked forward, so close that their helms nearly touched as he blurted out, “I swear on Primus, my lord! I - you're - you're right. Of course you are. I-I'm sorry for bringing it up.” 

Sentinel could feel himself deflate with every word. 

Of course Ultra was right. Why did Sentinel even try to ask him anything in the first place? It was foolish of him, not to mention disrespectful. It made him feel ill to think he could ever challenge his mentor, someone who had cared and looked after him for so long, and someone who had felt far more like a sire than his actual one. 

Sentinel drooped where he stood. 

“It’s good to see you realize how unnecessary your suggestions are.” Ultra ex-vented harshly, but his touch was light and reprimanding as his digits grabbed Sentinel's chinplate, forcing him to look up again and right into Ultra's intense stare. “But you still have a long way to go. From now on, your training will increase. Seven solar cycles per cycle, and your recharging will be reduced.” 

Sentinel gazed up at him, his mouth parted slightly as he struggled to comprehend what he just said. 

Training was a brutal regime that Sentinel dreaded every time it came up. He was already working so hard that his recharge was interrupted by his nightmares, but to do it even more? 

How would Sentinel survive? 

How would he make time to sneak out and see Bee and Orion? 

But Ultra was his mentor. His sire-figure. 

Sentinel trusted him more than anyone. 

If he thought that this was the best course of action, then Sentinel believed him, and so slowly, reluctantly, he nodded, and for the very first time since they started talking, Ultra smiled. 

“Good boy,” Ultra rumbled, and he stroked Sentinel's helm once, his smile widening when the mech purred and rubbed into his touch. “You will make a fine Prime one day.” 

“Thank you, my lord,” Sentinel said reverently. 

Ultra stood up, nodded once in dismissal, and then he was gone, slipping past the door and greeting his guests with a cheer that Sentinel had never seen around himself. 

He pushed his dorsal plates to the wall and slid down, crashing onto the floor so harshly that several sparks slid right off his armor. 

It always drained him to talk to Ultra. It was usually due to Sentinel making a mistake and therefore having to be punished accordingly, just like this time, and he sighed wearily as he buried his helm into his arms and tried to vent properly. 

When would he ever stop being such an idiot around his mentor? Why was he so stupid? Why… 

Private Comm Link (ID: #836192): Badassatron

Incoming message… 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Sentinel? ::

Sentinel shifted where he sat, his helm lifting reluctantly as his processor gently dinged and notified him of a new text from Bee. 

For a moment, Sentinel seriously thought about ignoring it. He wasn't in the mood for entertaining his friends, both of whom he never talked about in regards to his professional life, because they just wouldn't understand. He was in too much turmoil to talk, much less try to play off how terrible he felt in that klik, but he thought about how sweet Bee was any time they met, and so he dragged a servo down his face and slowly typed back. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Yeah. :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Orion got in trouble again. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Of course he did. :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Yeah :( we're not going to be given rations on the next pay cycle. ::

That had Sentinel standing up. 

He felt his ridges burrow into a frown as he urgently tried to think of why in the Pits Bee and Orion would be denied their energon. There was no way Orion did something that bad, right? 

But then again, he had also been the one to break into Titan's Hold just for the chance of gawking at Iacon's most wanted criminal, and Sentinel wearily told himself that it wasn't out of the cards entirely that Orion had probably committed some serious faux pas. 

Just thinking about Megatron had Sentinel shuddering, and he prayed to Primus that Orion hadn’t done something even near that level of illegal as he immediately eyed the servant who had just walked into the hall, pushing an entire cart of refined energon as she hummed to herself. 

Sentinel abhorred stealing; it was illegal and not dignifying for someone of his status, but he also thought about many things. Of the energon being so carelessly consumed and spilled in the room behind him, of the many mechs and femmes who were sent to space with no way of returning home, and of his friends, his miners, who worked so hard to provide for their people and yet now would be denied the fruits of their labor. 

Sentinel pursed his dermas in determination. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Damn that bot. It’s okay, I'll bring you both some cubes. Hopefully it can sustain you long enough until the next pay period. :: 

“Excuse me,” Sentinel said out loud, approaching the servant. 

She immediately flushed, her facial plates turning bright blue as she curtsied and said, “L-Lord Sentinel! It's an honor! How may I serve you?” 

Sentinel smiled at her, hoping that it was more charming than awkward, and he pointed at the cart, where there had to be at least three dozen cubes of highly refined energon. “You wouldn't mind if I swipe some of this, would you? I'm just so parched.” 

She flushed even more and fidgeted where she stood, her digits playing with each other. “Oh! Well, uh, these were meant to be delivered to the guests - b-but if you insist, my lord! I'm sure Lord Ultra wouldn't care, especially since you're you!” 

Sentinel's smile went brittle at the reminder of his mentor. No, Ultra would definitely care, since he was always reminded Sentinel of etiquette and how he could never act as someone below his station, which stealing definitely was. 

“Between you and me, I'd appreciate it if you could keep this private between us,” Sentinel said, his voice lowering as he leaned in close enough that his ex-vent brushed the top of the small bot's helm. He winked at her, fervently praying she would buy his blatantly fake flirting. “I just need to wind down a bit and this energon is perfect for helping me out. Your help would be greatly admired.” 

She looked near faint. “Yes! I mean, of course, my lord! Please take it! And if you need help in relaxing, as you put it…” 

He tried hard not to blank when she curtsied again, this time in such a way that her chassis was pushed out and her spinal strut curved in an obviously seductive manner. 

“I'll be sure to keep your offer in mind,” he lied through his dentae, and after shoveling as many cubes into his compartments as he could, he grinned at her when she left, hoping she wouldn't notice the strained way his derma cinched at the ends. 

Urgh. Sentinel already knew he was bad at amorous connections after embarrassing himself one too many times in front of Elita, but to think that his own flirting could wield such… disturbing results was more than a little disheartening. 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Thank you, Sen! Also, Orion wanted to ask if you could bring a little extra this time. ::

Sentinel glanced down at himself, his processor telling him how his weight had approximately increased by at least 1.5% from the sheer amount of energon he had tucked away. 

He snorted. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Fine. How long can you guys hold out until you need to refuel? ::

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Two and a half solar cycles? Do you think you can meet us at the mines entrance? Before the lift, on the surface. ::

Hm. That was a bit too tight for Sentinel's liking, especially since, as his spark squirmed uncomfortably, he now had a far more rigorous schedule than before, which had already been brutal. 

But two solar cycles from now was his etiquette day, and his instructor, a ditzy femme who went by the designation of Lowlight, was easy to give the slip if he played his cards right. 

Though if he tried to skirk his duties not even a full cycle after his rather poor conversation with Ultra, then who knew what his punishment would be.

Guilt mixed itself together into a slurry in his abdomen. Guilt of once again disobeying his mentor, the bot who had time and time again showed him kindness and discipline, but also guilt over not being able to provide for his friends, who clearly needed the help. 

Being a Prime means helping others, something in his processor said rather loudly. To his dismay, it sounded a lot like Orion, the cheeky afthole, and he felt himself smiling slightly, even if he often wanted to shake his friend for all the trouble he got into. 

That was right. Helping others, servicing his people - that was the right thing to do. It was more than uncomfortable to think about how displeased Ultra would be about this, how it felt like Sentinel was choosing his friends over his mentor, but that wasn’t true at all! He was staying loyal to both of them. He loved both of them. He would never dare to choose one over the other. 

It was fine. 

It would be fine. 

As long as Ultra didn’t find out, then Sentinel would be okay. 

Right? 

Act I, Scene V: If Primes Don’t Party, Then…

Orion had never been so sore before, and that was including the time a vein literally collapsed on top of him and he had to dig himself out since Ricks, the fragging slag-eater that he was, refused to “waste any resources on something that was clearly your fault”. 

He let out a harsh vent as for the first time in at least two solar cycles, the light of Helios filtered through his weary servo, which he held above his optics. It was a welcome sight to at last have a source of light that didn’t come from an artificial source, and from beside him, Bee groaned as they stumbled off of the lift. 

As always, they were the last two to leave. It was a result of Ricks continuously holding them back and reprimanding them for a poor job, though most of the time, it was clear that he just liked to harass them for issues that weren’t even there. Just a few kliks ago, Ricks had screamed at them both for drilling at a 47 degree angle instead of 45, and it had taken everything in Orion not to tackle him to the ground and shove dirt into his mouth. 

The only reason he hadn’t was because of Bee. Out of the two of them, he was smaller and had less endurance, and he had been practically swaying on his pedes by the time they finally put away their jetpacks. 

The idea of being punished with even more shifts and dragging Bee into it when it was so clear that he was only several kliks away from shutting down had wrangled Orion’s temper well enough, and his sensors urged him tiredly about his low energon levels as well as his pain processor overworking itself. 

“Pathetic,” Ricks sneered from behind them. He stomped forward, as he was of course, totally fine. As their team leader, he didn’t lift a single digit to help any of them while they worked their afts off, though Orion failed to see the logic of that. Ricks scoffed when Bee fell to his servos and patellas, his voicebox humming lowly with static. “You in particular, B-127! Honestly, how can a piece of scrap like you still have this job?” 

“Ricks,” Orion said tightly. He didn’t have enough energon in him to swing his fist like he wanted, but he certainly had enough to set a fierce glare at his team leader, who was eyeing him suspiciously, as if he were nothing more than slag on the road. “We just worked three shifts. Lay off.” 

“You worked three shifts because you’re liable,” Ricks said, haughtily repeating what Darkwing had said. “And if you don’t get that attitude in check, I have no problem assigning you to three more, Pax.” 

“I really don’t see that as necessary.” 

Orion made a small, surprised noise of relief when the familiar sound of heavy wings catching the air swooped down, and with a vibrating thud, gold and royal blue filled his vision. 

Sentinel straightened from his landing, his wings folding primly against his dorsal plates, but Orion knew his friend well; the twitching of them revealed just how irritated he actually was, though the aristocrat’s face was plenty pleasant. Too pleasant, actually, a testament to how hard he was covering up his distaste when Ricks’ jaw dropped in gobsmacked awe. 

“Lord S-Sentinel!” Ricks sputtered ineloquently. He seemed starstruck, which was even funnier considering the fact that he barely reached the middle of Sentinel’s femur plating. When Orion squinted, he could even see the faintest sign of a blush starting on Ricks’ face, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or roll his optics. “I-I-It’s an honor, sir!” 

“Charmed.” Sentinel’s voice indicated it was anything but. He placed his servos on his hips and said, “I overheard you scolding these two gentlebots. Is there a problem?” 

At this, Ricks’ facial plating contorted, and he was overflowing with glee as he nodded rapidly. If he had been excited before at Darkwing’s intervention, then he was practically vibrating now, and Orion could only stand there, a servo on Bee’s shoulder plate with a blank expression as Ricks said, “yes, oh, yes, my lord! These two are troublemakers! The worst of my bunch!” 

“Uh-huh,” Sentinel said in a tone that clearly said get on with it. “And what exactly have they done to warrant such severe punishment? From what I see, it looks like their digits have been worked down to their circuits already. I’m happy to listen, team leader, uh - “ 

“Ricks, sir!” Ricks offered too enthusiastically. 

Sentinel’s dermas pressed together. He seemed torn between annoyance and laughter, but if Orion knew him, and he did, then it was a mixture of both. Not laughter at the situation, but a brutal mirth towards Ricks, who was becoming more ridiculous by the klik. “Right. Ricks.” 

“They’ve made a complete mess of the energon deposits, sir!” Ricks huffed, turning around and glaring at both Orion and Bee. The latter of whom was practically lying face down on the ground by this point, the quiet whirring of his fans indicating that he was dangerously close to falling into emergency recharge. 

As Ricks continued to rant, Orion stared pointedly over his shoulder plate at Sentinel, who gave him a slight tilt of the helm. 

Wrap it up, Orion said with a twitch of his optic ridges. 

He’s hard to shake, Sentinel whined with a small frown of his derma. 

So work harder, Orion’s small chin jut said. 

Sentinel nodded minutely. Then, loudly, with a kind of blatant arrogance that he had an easy time slipping on around bots he didn’t like, he interrupted Ricks’ rambling about angles and different sediments with a bored, “team leader Ricks, I believe it’s more imperative that these miners retire and recharge as soon as possible.” 

“Wha - retire?” Ricks repeated. His optics nearly bulged out of his helm. “B-But - Lord Sentinel - you don’t seem to understand, these two slackers - “ 

“I understand plenty, actually,” Sentinel said. He wasn’t hiding his displeasure anymore, and he simply gave Ricks a cursory glance, one filled with so much disgust that it made even Orion feel a little offended. Who knew Sentinel could play the part of an aristocrat so well? “Off with you, Ricks. Your services are no longer needed.” 

Ricks was speechless. His derma opened and closed several times, and for a micro-klik, Orion thought he was about to argue with Sentinel, but eventually, he thought better of it. Whether it was because of his pathetic hero worship or because Sentinel was just that much higher in the caste than him, it had Ricks whirling around, shoving off his own jetpack, and pushing past Orion so harshly that he stumbled. 

“Hey!” Orion couldn’t help but snap. 

“Count yourself lucky, Pax,” Ricks said in a low voice to him. He was furious, that much was certain, and when Orion glanced down at his fists, he was unsurprised to see them clenched and shaky. “I don't know what you did to get his favor, but Lord Sentinel won’t always be here to protect you.” 

And with that, he was gone, storming off to be an afthole to some other poor spark. 

“Did any bot see that?” Sentinel asked after they waited for several moments in tense silence. 

Orion swept his optics around the area. There was nobody there, since all the other miners had cleared out long before their own shift ended. Ricks always liked to keep it that way, so he could freely yell at the both of them without any judgemental spectators. 

He shook his helm in a no. 

“Think he might blab?” Sentinel said, looking worried as he knelt down and tenderly brushed his digits against the top of Bee's helm, muttering to himself when Bee moaned feebly and tried to nuzzle his servo, though it was clear from his slow movements that he wasn't well. 

“No,” Orion said with an ex-vent. “And even if he does, no one's going to believe him.” 

Sentinel gave him a skeptical look but nodded anyway. 

It was important to Sentinel, Orion knew, that no one caught wind of exactly how close he was to Bee and Orion. Logically, it made sense, since miners were only caste level 0 and Sentinel was considered one of the best of the best at level 40. That didn't mean it didn't suck, though, since they always had to tiptoe around like this, out of fear that Sentinel would get torn apart by Ultra again for associating with the lower rings of their hierarchy. 

“Primus. What did he do to you two?” Sentinel sighed, looking weary as he settled down completely and stroked Bee's spinal strut, smiling despite himself when the smaller bot began to make a small humming noise at the touch. “Did you really work three shifts?” 

“Back to back,” Orion said, sitting down unceremoniously, making grabby motions at Sentinel, his vision already starting to get a bit hazy from how hard he impacted the ground. “Cough it up, my Prime. I’m only on 5% energon. Bee’s probably even lower.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Sentinel muttered petulantly, but he was opening his arm compartment anyway and pouring out dozens upon dozens of cubes right into Orion’s lap. 

He gaped down at them. These were way more than he had initially been thinking of, but more than that, these were expensive. Like, expensive to the point that he could work for vorns and he still wouldn’t be able to pay off even one cube. 

What in the Pits? Where did Sentinel get these? Actually, how did he even manage to sneak these all away without anyone raising a ridge? 

“Are you going to just sit there, staring like an idiot?” Sentinel huffed. He was already nudging Bee onto his side and was trying to push a cube past his derma. It was kind of working, except Bee was so sleepy that all he did was just mumble, mouth at the glass of the cube, and then still. Sentinel groaned. “Bee, come on, licking it won’t do anything!” 

Carefully, Orion lifted one of the numerous cubes from his lap and brought it up to his optics. Even just from a visual standpoint, it was so clear how much better this energon was compared to his usual rations. It was a brighter, near neon blue, and completely transparent, unlike the murkiness of the kind he got from pay day. 

It had a thicker consistency, too, something he noticed when he tipped the cube slightly and the energon clung to the sides of the cube. This was the pure stuff; completely concentrated energon that had gone through numerous cleansing processes in order to get the maximum yield. 

Orion took a sip. 

The taste was unlike anything he'd had before. Sharp and sweetened by - his sensors clicked slowly as energon began to circulate properly through his veins - bismuth. A flavor he had never had before, but instantly became his favorite anyway. 

Was this what it was like to be a high caste? He asked himself in awe as he practically chugged the next three cubes without sparing a moment to breathe, something that Sentinel shouted at him for. To be able to have access to this kind of fuel, to have the luxury of sweetening it with a foreign mineral - it was intoxicating, and Orion's energon reserves had never been happier as his system eagerly stored away as much of it as possible. 

“Whoa,” Bee said, perfectly encompassing Orion's current emotions as he finished licking at the innards of the cube that Sentinel had held to him, his glossa extending out and licking his derma, as if trying to get every last drop. “That was amazing! What is this stuff?” 

“It's energon,” Sentinel said, rolling his optics. 

“It's expensive energon,” Bee said in awe, sitting up properly and swiping another one from Orion's lap, sipping at it a little desperately. “This is so much better than the kind they give out at ration time!” 

“Yeah,” Sentinel muttered. He shifted where he sat, and Orion, who now didn't feel like on the brink of going offline, blinked several times as he realized something was off. 

Sentinel's armor, which had been bright and shining with its new paint job since the last time they saw each other, was scratched and worn. At the sharper edges of his chassis and shoulder plates, it was especially obvious, as the gold and blue had chipped away to reveal a much more vulnerable silver underneath. 

Similarly, it took Orion until then to realize that Sentinel was acting weird. He wasn't upset, per se, but he was definitely more subdued than normal, and he kept clenching and unclenching his left servo, his face twitching with minute winces that he glossed over too quickly for anyone who wasn't close to him to notice. 

But Orion had known Sentinel since they were mere sparklings, and he couldn't help the incredulous and justifiably enraged nature of his voice as he said, “Sentinel, what the frag happened to you!” 

Sentinel startled, his servo freezing as it tried to clench again, and Bee paused from stuffing yet another cube into his mouth. 

“What are you talking about?” Sentinel snapped, but it was already too late, and by this point, Bee was leaning in closer, scrutinizing the aristocrat with a small frown, and soon enough, a worried chirp escaped the miner’s dermas as he pressed a digit to one of the numerous dents on Sentinel’s chassis. Sentinel gritted his dentae and hissed out a quiet, but still audible, “ow.” 

“You’re hurt,” Orion said, abandoning the cubes as he crawled over and reached up to cup Sentinel’s cheek, frowning when he winced and tried to turn away, as if doing that would make the fresh bruise on his facial plate any less visible. “What happened?” 

“It’s just training.” Sentinel defended harshly, shaking his helm and pushing aside Orion’s servo as he did. “You don’t have to baby me, I can handle it.” 

“But you’ve never been injured from training before,” Bee said anxiously. He was tracing the dent on Sentinel’s armor with such a dejected look on his face that it physically hurt to glance at him. “Did… Did Ultra find out about Mega - “ 

“No,” Sentinel said firmly. He let out a vent and shook his helm, slumping slightly, his wings limp on his dorsal plates. He seemed more tired after his declaration, his optics half-shut and the glow of them dimmer than they usually were. “Look, just - don’t worry about it. There’s no way Ultra knows about M… Megatron, so don’t even joke about it. The training is just an extra precaution. Even though M-Megaton’s been detained, that doesn’t mean the rest of the rebels are going to be taken down quietly.” 

“Right,” Orion said, his voice unsure as he and Bee exchanged worried, furrowed looks. “Sure.” 

It was hard to believe Sentinel, not even because he was always a terrible liar, but simply because what he said didn’t make sense. Sentinel wasn’t part of the Elite Guard or even Ultra’s personal squadron, both of whom were tasked to capture rebels. Why would he have to go through more training if he wasn’t going to be out on the field? 

“Maybe I can help.” Bee tried to offer, his voice high-pitched with forced cheer as he cuddled closer to Sentinel, something all of them knew that the aristocrat secretly loved. “I can totally code for some better defensive tactics and send them to you! That way you won’t have to get hurt so much from your… training.” 

Bee’s enthusiastic suggestion ended with uncertainty, and Orion knew it wasn’t his imagination when Sentinel squirmed again. 

He wished Sentinel didn’t do this. Any time he or Bee ever tried to ask more about what he actually did as Ultra’s pupil, he just kind of… shut down. Stopped talking. Maybe it was just some protocol stuff that a miner like Orion didn’t know, but it never stopped bugging him how Sentinel was so tight-lipped about his secrets, like they would go around talking about it with other bots. 

It was even worse knowing that the thing Sentinel was keeping under wraps was about his own health. Though Orion didn’t doubt that training under Ultra was both an honor and difficult, he had never seen Sentinel like this, bruised and cut up, almost like he went through a battle rather than a spar. 

For once, Orion wondered if Ultra knew what he was doing, though that thought was quickly shaken away. He had no reason to question the Ultra Magnus, not when he was probably the most honorable bot that Orion knew, so instead, he simply frowned, pondering on whether or not Sentinel would be able to keep up with this new training schedule he was so vague about. 

“I’m fine, Bee,” Sentinel tried to comfort, but he was pretty awful at it, since he could only really pat Bee awkwardly on the shoulder and avoid optic contact. “It’s not serious, and Dr. Ratchet already gave me the green light.” 

“If you told us, we wouldn’t worry so much,” Orion said pointedly. 

“It’s classified,” Sentinel said immediately. 

“Classified my aft,” Orion muttered.

“And don’t even talk to me about injuries.” Sentinel’s gaze sharpened into a glare as he scowled fiercely at Orion, who held up his arms in a placating motion. “How could you be so stupid! Pissing off Darkwing like that, are you fragging serious? Now look at you both! I wouldn’t be surprised if someone mistook you as scrap with how banged up you are!” 

The sudden change in subject wasn’t lost on Orion, and he frowned deeply in frustration. It was obvious that Sentinel was agitated, though whether that was by Orion himself or something else, he didn’t know, though he intended to find out soon enough. Roping Bee into it would probably be easy, since the smaller bot was still eyeing Sentinel with worry.

For a micro-klik, Orion seriously considered calling bullscrap on Sentinel’s deflection. He hated it when his friends were hurt, hated it even more when they purposefully tried to cover it up by refusing to talk about it. 

But slowly, he ex-vented, and soothed the frustration that made his energon pump in anticipation and nerves. This wasn’t the time. If Sentinel wanted to be a stubborn jackaft about it, fine, but Orion would figure it out, and Sentinel would have hell to pay for lying to him. 

“Darkwing acts like he runs the place,” Orion said instead, crossing his arms and looking to the side, huffing as he thought about the mid caste bot. “Just because he’s a higher level doesn’t mean he can treat us like we’re made of slag.” 

Sentinel gave him an incredulous look. “He does run the place, what the frag, Orion? He’s literally your supervisor! You’re being ridiculous. Bee, tell him he’s being ridiculous.” 

“Well,” Bee said slowly. He fiddled with his digits and didn’t look up from where he was curled up in Sentinel’s lap, and instead began to sip nervously at a cube, his optics darting everywhere in an attempt to cover up his anxiety. “It - it wasn’t - it just wasn’t very nice of Darkwing to punch Orion, so I kind of get it.” 

“He punched - “ Sentinel began to shout, only to intake sharply as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He groaned, muttered something about how he needed new friends (which, you know, rude), and spoke with a kind of weariness that only ever came out around Orion. “You can’t act so recklessly, Orion. What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten here in time to stop Rocks - “ 

“Ricks,“ Orion said unhelpfully. 

Sentinel glared. “Whatever. What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten here in time to stop Ricks? Huh? I know he’s a slag-ful team leader, but he’s right, okay? I won’t always be here to protect you. I can’t stop every bad thing from happening.” 

Orion fell silent. 

He didn't know what to say in response, but more than that, he didn't know how to comprehend the feeling of bitterness that bubbled deep within his spark. 

It grinded his gears knowing Sentinel was right in some manner. There was no telling what Ricks would have done if he hadn't intervened in time, but Orion hated how the intervention had to take place at all. 

It wasn't fair. None of it. The hierarchy that they were all born into was so rigid and absolute that miners were always disregarded as nothing more than fodder. But Orion knew himself, and he knew Bee. He knew that they both had dreams and aspirations, and he knew they could be kind, that they were alive. 

Wasn't that enough to demand basic respect? Wasn't just being born enough? Why did it matter that they were birthed without cogs? Why was it that their occupations dictated everything else? 

We wouldn't have needed your help if we didn't have a caste in the first place, Orion wanted to say, but he banished the thought as soon as it happened. 

No. No, that was near blasphemous to think about. The caste had a purpose, just like every other bot did; it was to make sure their society was structured and organized, to ensure that those on top never grew too numerous, and so that trickle-down economics worked for their world, where energon was short in supply. 

So why was he so bothered? 

“Well, I might need your help again anyway,” Orion said, swallowing his ire and instead smiling crookedly at Sentinel, who only looked unimpressed. “Think you can give me a lift again?” 

“A lift? To where?” Sentinel said, his optics squinting in suspicion. 

This time, when Orion grinned, it was genuine, and he was sure he looked at least slightly manic, going by how both Bee and Sentinel made low chirps of concern when he said, “oh, just to visit my favorite prisoner of all time.” 

“Oh, Primus, help me,” Bee immediately whimpered. 

“I'm leaving,” Sentinel stated, but he couldn't actually, not with Bee still in his hold. Instead, he vented harshly, and snapped, “Orion Pax, you'll be the death of us all!” 

Orion laughed. 

“Why would you want to go see him again?” Bee pleaded. “I thought you promised it was a one time thing!” 

“And I thought you said it was the coolest stunt we've ever pulled off,” Orion said. 

Bee smiled sheepishly when Sentinel gave him a betrayed look. “Well, I mean, it was cool…” 

“About as cool as Helios,” Sentinel growled. “No. No! No way, no how. It was already a gigantic risk going once, but going again? It'll just increase the chance that we get caught! And anyway, I can't just give you a lift, thank you very much. They're hosting a Revitalization Ceremony tomorrow and I need to be there.” 

“What?” Both Bee and Orion exclaimed. 

Sentinel nodded, and Orion felt a little floored by the reveal. It wasn't like the ceremony directly affected him, since only middle caste Cybertronians were allowed to participate, but still. 

Hosting one so quickly after their last one was kind of impressive, and he sounded a little hesitant as he said, “but didn't Tracks just - ?” 

“Yes.” Sentinel stared at the ground. He didn't seem inclined to look back up, which was strange, as was the slight static in his voice as he said, “but it doesn't matter what I - well. Anyway, the race is happening tomorrow, and I have to be there. Ultra said how every member of his team, including any trainees, had to be present to show how unified the council is.” 

“Why do you even want to go, anyway?” Bee asked curiously. He seemed less shocked now that the chance of another break-in was unlikely. “Didn't you say you never want to see him again?” 

That much was true. Orion did say he never wanted to see Megatron again, and in all honesty, he wasn't even sure why he was pushing so hard for this, not when he knew going meant he'd at least have to talk to the rebel in order to explain what he was doing there. 

But then he glanced down at the ground again, at the pile of cubes that Sentinel had given him, and he thought about Megatron, about how small he had seemed in that cell, how cold it had been. How there was a chance, even if it was slight, that he wasn't being fed, and just like with the sparkling Orion had given all his energon to, his spark tugged at the thought. 

He couldn't stand for anyone, not even Megatron, suffering like that, and so he shuffled where he stood, and he said, “because I… want to make sure he's eating.” 

“Pardon me?” 

“Come again?” 

Both Sentinel and Bee's contorted faces and disbelieving questions almost made Orion regret telling them his true intentions, but he couldn't back down now, not when he was already in this deep. 

“Orion, do you know how absolutely fragging crazy you sound?” Sentinel said, sounding half-hysterical as he gestured wildly to the pile of energon. “I got those cubes for you and Bee, not for the most notorious criminal of the state!”

“But what if he isn't being fed?” Orion insisted. “He definitely didn’t seem like he had a lot of energy back when we talked!” 

Sentinel's facial plates were quickly going from confused to outraged. “And who cares if he isn't being fed! That's not your concern, and it isn't mine, either! We can't waste energon on someone like him!” 

“No bot deserves to starve, Sentinel!” Orion was getting loud by this point, but he couldn't find it in himself to curb the volume of his voicebox as he shook his helm and refused to step down. “I know he's a bad guy, and I know he's done a lot of horrible things - but he's alive, still! He should be treated with some level of dignity.” 

Sentinel’s face sagged. He held a servo to his eyes, almost like he couldn’t bear to look at Orion anymore. In that moment, it occurred to him what he sounded like; defending Megatron, insisting that he deserved better treatment. Almost like he cared. 

Almost like Orion was a traitor. 

But Orion's loyalties lied with Ultra and the council. His loyalties lied with his friends. There was no way in the Pits that Orion would even entertain the idea that he would betray his city, his people, and put someone like Megatron on top of all of that. 

Orion was just so bothered, so, so bothered by the idea that anyone, not just Megatron, could potentially be treated with such cruelty. 

“Sentinel.” Orion pleaded. He collapsed onto his patellas, ignoring the way dust settled into his joints and seams, and he reached up, clasping Sentinel's digits within his own. He tried to convey how warm he was, how he still loved their council and their leader, and when Sentinel finally sighed and carefully glanced at him, he knew he was doing at least something right. 

“You don't know for sure that he's being starved.” Sentinel seemed defeated, his words buried in his worry and his exhaustion. He didn't seem like the great and powerful Prime trainee; instead, he was just a mech who was tired, and Orion felt guilt prickle in his spark over how much stress he knew he was putting his friend through. “And even if he was, why do you care? Why? He killed dozens of our citizens, Orion. Innocent civilians. That kind of monster doesn't deserve anything but what the council decides as his fate.” 

Orion was speechless. 

Sentinel was right. 

Why did Orion care? 

Was it because of the way the room had been so cold, that frost had encrusted the grate of the vent he peered through? Was it because of how quiet the rebel leader had been, so stoic and so sturdy, even when he sat there in his own prison? Was it because of the sarcastic and biting words he used not out of rage-induced malice, but just for the sake of it? 

Or was it the small spark of amusement that had shined in his red optics, a twinkle that had thrown Orion off so much, that for a moment, he had thought Megatron looked breathtaking? 

Whatever it was, it beat strongly in Orion's chassis, right alongside his spark. It refused to acknowledge that starvation was simply part of Megatron's punishment, that he deserved it. That something made Orion want to do it all over again, to risk his life, all for the sake of ensuring that Megatron kept his. 

“I don't know,” Orion finally said. His volume level was low and full of static, one that he couldn't get rid of even when he cleared his throat and tried again. “I… I don’t know.” 

Sentinel stared. “What did he say to you in there, Orion? What could he have said for you to be like this?” 

Orion's processor whirled. 

What had Megatron said, indeed. 

In all honesty, their conversation had been brief and stiff, stinted by their radically different ideals. It had been easy to get aggravated by the rebel, to have his paint peel from indignation at his disregard for the council and his mocking of Ultra. But it had been so, so easy to recognize the strength of his conviction, of the ideas and views of someone who was so different from Orion that he was just achingly curious to know more. 

But he couldn't say that. 

No. 

Sentinel would never understand. 

If Orion was loyal to the council, then Sentinel was practically devoted; who knew what he would think if Orion confessed that he thought Megatron had been the most attractive mech he ever laid optics on? That Orion had, throughout his entire conversation with him, had been staring so obviously at Megatron's derma that he had been mortified by it? 

“I think we should go.” 

Orion made a small noise of surprise as he watched Bee finally stir from his position in Sentinel's lap. He pushed himself more upright, his servos clasped on top of Sentinel's femur panels to do so, and though his finials were bent back with anxiety, his voice was oddly confident as he repeated, “we should do it.” 

“Bee.” Orion breathed in awe. 

“Bee!” Sentinel snarled. 

Bee shook his helm, brushing away Sentinel's servo when he attempted to grab his wrist and pull him back from standing. Bee approached Orion, an unsure smile on his face, and he said, “you know how crazy I think you are, right?” 

Orion nodded. 

“And that what you're asking is for us to put our lives on the line, again, because there's only a teeny chance that Megatron might be suffering?” 

Orion nodded again. 

Bee nodded back, aborted the movement, and gave Orion a hug. It was warm, a little too tight since Bee was just like that when it came to his hugs, and Orion embraced him back just as fiercely, nuzzling the top of his helm as he did. 

“Orion's right, Sentinel,” Bee said, stepping back, though he didn't pull his servo out of Orion's loose grip. “I know you're right, too. Megatron's a bully and I hate bullies. But he… he doesn't deserve to starve to death. No one does.” 

He paused. 

“And I might have already memorized their entire network.” Bee admitted a little sheepishly. “So breaking in isn't going to be anywhere near as hard.”

“You did what?” Orion said in amazement. “Bee!” 

Bee giggled when Orion offered him a high five. 

Sentinel looked like he'd just swallowed a rock or two. He dragged both his servos down his face, and kept one pressed to his dermas as he said, in a completely miserable tone, “aw, Pits.” 

Orion laughed and so did Bee, the both of them rushing forward to hug Sentinel as he groaned and stood up, though it was slightly awkward since they really only came up to his hip joints. Despite the height difference, Sentinel hesitantly rested one servo on each of their shoulders, and Orion caught a glimpse of something gold moving at the corner of his optic, a twitch from Sentinel's wings as they reluctantly wrapped around them in a warm and metal touch. 

“The race is going to be held tomorrow as soon as Helios is at its peak.” Sentinel said with a rather loud grumble. Still, he squeezed Orion's shoulder gently, a message of sorry hidden somewhere within the motion. Orion smothered his grin into Sentinel's armor as the aristocrat continued to speak. “I still have to be there, but afterwards once the winner is announced and the reception starts, I… I guess I could give everyone the slip and come meet you guys.” 

“Thank you, Sentinel,” Orion muttered. 

Sentinel sighed. 

He continued to hold Orion's shoulder. 

Act I, Scene VI: Thoughts of a Poet

Megatron was tossed into his cell with all the gentleness one might expect from aftholes who looked at him like he was the rest on the bottom of their pede. So, not at all, and he fell to the hard and cold ground with a resounding clang, his sensors telling him that something along his dorsal plates had dented. 

He gritted his dentae and spat out the energon that had been slowly building up from the inside of his cheek after he bit it when his rather lovely interrogator punched him for the nth time after refusing yet again to answer his questions. 

His temperature regulator wasn't working, or at least not that well, and he shivered despite himself as he slowly drew himself into a sitting position and glared at the guards who had dared to push him so harshly back into his prison. 

He ex-vented, the harshness of it causing condensation to drift around him, and he smirked slightly when the both of the guards stepped back a little, clearly unnerved. 

“Stubborn.” Prowl didn't look up from behind the guards as he continued to click away at his datapad. He didn't even seem winded from all the abuse he'd just put Megatron through, as if it wasn't disconcerting to see someone of his own species spitting up their lifeblood and also shuddering at the cold. “They told me a lot about you, but I have to say, your determination to keep your derma shut is still impressive.” 

“Should I take that as a compliment, Enforcer Prowl?” Megatron smiled ruthlessly. He was aware that energon bled through his dentae and down the corner of his mouth, the sight of which seemed to unease one of the guards, a mech who shifted where he stood and looked away. “I'm flattered.” 

“Save it, rebel,” Prowl said. His voice was unimpressed as he tucked away the datapad into his subspace and approached the bars of the cell, glaring down at Megatron as he did. It was degrading that a mech like him could even do such a thing, since Megatron was well aware that if he could stand, he would tower over him. “Ultra Magnus’ patience wears thin. You can't hold out forever, not unless you want to die first.” 

Megatron didn't break away his optic contact. He didn't have to look down at himself to know just how fragged up he was. His armor was tough but it was denting in several places, and he had already bled too many times since the beginning of that solar cycle, when he'd been dragged from his recharge state into the interrogation room as they began to ‘question’ him. 

Though question was a strong word. Torture seemed like a better fit, and he slowly licked his glossa across the roof of his mouth, unsurprised to taste more energon leaking. 

His sensors were telling him that he was running low on his lifeblood to a dangerous degree. If he was going to make it through the next solar cycle, he needed energon and he needed it now, but Megatron knew better than to ask for any. 

After all, prisoners of Iacon never ate, and hatred simmered low and slow in his abdomen as he tilted his helm and observed Prowl with critical optics. 

He was one of the senior enforcers currently serving Ultra Magnus, something that Megatron had gleaned from the various scout notes that Shockwave had gathered before his capture. Prowl was an uptight and by-the-books mech, with absolutely no deviation from the protocols that Ultra and the council had programmed into the enforcer act. 

So basically, if Megatron wanted to eat, it certainly wasn't going to come from this afthole. 

“Tell Ultra I send my regards,” Megatron drawled instead. He settled quite nicely up against the wall opposite of the bars, and he knew how unnerving the scarlet lights of his optics were, especially when he slid them briefly over to the guards again, unable to quell his smirk when the femme one started shaking. 

“You're not worthy of his attention,” Prowl said dismissively, and with that, he was gone, the guards sweeping after him eagerly, the door to the hallway swinging closed firmly behind them, followed by the sound of something locking. 

Megatron was alone again. 

He ex-vented slowly and tried to become more compact against the wall, taking care not to put too much of his dented metal up against it so it could sap more of his heat out. 

His energon reserves were down to the last tenth of whatever he had left over, so at best, if he fell into recharge cycle, he could last another solar cycle at the very least. 

Enough time for his rebels to continue to move out and hide. 

He hoped that they wouldn't do anything foolish in his absence. He had made his orders very clear, to scatter and to lay low for the moment, but more importantly, to not rescue him. If they even tried, they would be walking right into Ultra's grasp, and the rebellion would truly be done for good if that happened. 

Though, he thought fondly, he supposed that they would try, anyway. Starscream in particular had been rather frightening when the scuffle began that eventually led to Megatron's capture, as the seeker had actually managed to take down at least five different Iacon enforcers before Megatron bellowed at him to leave and not look back. 

He could still recall the look on Starscream's face, one twisted with grief and anger, before at last he obeyed and did as told, something that rarely happened. 

It had been at least four cycles since Megatron saw Starscream, or any of the others from the rebellion. His communications processor had been disabled as soon as he'd been thrown onto Prowl's interrogation table, and without it, there was absolutely no contact with the outside world. 

Well. Mostly, anyway. 

Megatron let his gaze drift upwards and pin onto the vent graft, where the frost remained untouched, and yet on the other side, had once carried through the voice of a bot that Megatron had never met before. 

His processor had done its best to cycle through the dozens of files he had on Iacon and its people, but none of the voice clips he had saved matched the one from the bot who had stupidly broken into Titan's Hold just to, from what Megatron had gathered, talk to him. 

Still, their brief conversation had been enough to glean several things from the curious bot. He had been young, for one, his voice box clear of any static that came from age, and he had been too bold to be anything more than a couple vorns younger than Megatron himself. 

In all honesty, it had reminded Megatron of when he'd also been that age. Reckless, doing scrap that definitely would've gotten him into trouble, letting curiosity and arrogance take the better of him. 

But Megatron was older now, wiser from the vorns of leading his rebellion, and it had also been just as easy to assuage that the bot was a council loyalist. It was disappointing, as for a brief klik, Megatron had actually believed he was being rescued, but no matter. 

It wasn't like Megatron was relying on anyone but himself to get him out of this mess, so in all honesty, he was simply curious. 

He was curious about the bot who had enough balls to not only break into Titan's Hold, but to speak to Megatron, the one bot that the council condemned as someone who was basically the risen incarnate of Unicron himself. That little tidbit of propaganda had made Megatron laugh harder than he'd like to admit, but the message had been made clear regardless. 

To Iacon, Megatron was an untouchable, unthinkable threat. The worst of what Cybertron had offered. 

And yet that bot had, what, wanted to see him? Look at him like a spectacle? Prod him for answers that even Prowl couldn't get out of him? Megatron couldn’t understand him at all, and that was what had reluctant intrigue still floating around in his spark, even if he didn’t particularly care for it. 

Whatever it was that led that bot to him, to Megatron's displeasure, it had been enough to soothe his loneliness for the time being. 

Hah. 

Who knew that one day, Megatron would be so lonely that he craved the presence of a mech who stood loyal to everything he hated? 

His optics slipped closed, his recharge cycle already starting to slip into his processor, his frame slowly stopping its shivers as the cold crept silently into his nerves. 

Still, Megatron thought, the last edge of his consciousness drifting away. 

It would be nice to speak with him again. 

So I was thinking about death (as one does) when I remembered something from the Live Action One Piece

So I checked to see if I was hallucinating and;

Nope, I wasn't but you know what this can imply???

Luffy and Zoro could have meet earlier on.

So my brain is like 'ah yes, au where everything is the same but Zoro and Luffy had meet earlier when he was at the Goa Kingdom'

(I don't know how old zoro was when he left his village but I do want to set this after Ace had gone out to sea, so Luffy is about 15? I believe? And Zoro is like... 17)

(Also- is there a marine base at at Goa Kingdom-?? I know it's protected by the marines but a base there?)