Latest Posts by i-would-like-to-be-an-a-i - Page 5

Them to Adele? It’s so joeover.

Follow my tik tok for more edits c:

did it mean anything to you

Megatron blasted by his past and dark future

(A sudden motivation just came to me before I proceed to work on my thesis 😔)

More beast wars. Cheetor and Tigatron

uhhhh

Season 1 | Episode 5 | Chain of Command

Backshots...? No, I could never strike my enemy whilst he isn't looking. It would be most dishonorable

I drew this out of pure stress, anger and self indulgence pls scroll if you don't wanna see it please-

//CheeBee nsfw art below 🔽 (sort of? I think? It is mostly censored in a sense)//

Kinda glad I only got this far before calming down

Who the hell gave me the ability to draw???

Here are my thoughts while I did this if yall want;

Idk why but I'd imagine Bumblebee being like really quite and only making like small noises here and there when interfacing, idk it's like the opposite of the him being loud all the time, but that's my interpretation anyway.

Another thing is I'm a big sucker for like- characters that are like half animal ? to be like- animalistic in a sense? Cheetor of course, the nicest bot I've witness (I do apologise for putting you and Bee in this uh... situation- my bad lol) is trying his damn best to keep the urges down as to not to scare or hurt Bee when interfacing and Bumblebee, while he does appreciate the gesture (he thinks it's cute heh) constantly tells him that it's alright and he can take it. Honestly what's the worse that could happen??? (there's angst potential there I've realised but I'm not getting into it right now)

Are they good at it? Bumblebee probably does, before the war broke out anyway. Cheetor? I'd doubt it, but he is willing to learn, with Bumblebee helping along the way

Yeah I uh... I should probably stop before I write an entire fanfic ahaha... I'd probably write one. One day. Maybe...

Okay uh... this is alot, I'm embarrassed to post this and hopefully I tag this right or Tumblr would get me. Anyways see yall =)

Backshots...? No, I could never strike my enemy whilst he isn't looking. It would be most dishonorable

It’s clear.

here have this as well. hi tigatron hii hii

featuring some crappy writing I did while bored

closeup which IS a newer version

I like how their optics dim to blink when in root mode. And how Cheetor has freckles in root mode.

"Alright!... Thanks :)"

He has such a cute smile ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod

caught in the undertow

Chapter: 4/?

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Megatron/Orion Pax, Megatron/Optimus Prime, Sentinel Prime/Bumblebee (B-127)

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 VII: Thoughts of a Nobody

Orion couldn’t recharge. 

It was something that happened pretty often, if he was being honest, and definitely another bullet point on Sentinel’s list of Reasons Why Orion Will Cause Me To Die Early. It wasn’t like Orion wanted to have a slaggy sleep schedule, but he was decidedly restless as he finally gave up and climbed out of his recharge bay. 

He had to be quiet while he slipped past the other miners currently recharging. He did hesitate in front of Bee, who was snoring quietly with his helm slumped inelegantly, but decided against waking him up. The poor mech had to endure three shifts back to back, so Orion slipped away, ignoring the nagging voice at the back of his processor (which disturbingly sounded too much like Sentinel) that Orion also worked those shifts and needed to recharge. 

It irked him more than he wanted to admit how careful he had to be as he passed dozens of rows of miners. He wasn’t a quiet mech to begin with, and he stifled a groan when his pede banged quite spectacularly on a steel bench, only barely muffling a curse behind his servo, which he clasped to his dermas. 

If the miners weren’t assigned this joke of a habsuite, then Orion wouldn’t have even been in this ridiculous situation. Habsuite was a very strong word to describe what Orion and the other miners liked to call the stacks. 

The stacks were the hundreds of shoddily built buildings that littered the slums of Iacon. Each floor was crammed with recharge bays, not even berths, not even private quarters or washracks. One stack building could situate about a thousand miners at a single time, which meant efficiency and less costs, but it also meant Orion couldn’t even sneak out of his damn recharge bay without potentially waking up dozens of other bots. 

Orion ex-vented harshly as he finally made his way to the lift and jammed for the top floor. As he watched the numbers rise, he couldn’t help but cross his arms and lean against the back metal of the elevator, hating it all. 

He loathed the stacks, the public washracks, and the fact that Bee often got made fun of because he liked to recharge with a poorly made toy that he had had with him since he was a sparkling on the streets. Orion did his best to defend him any time some dumbaft tried to say something, but… 

He stepped out of the lift and walked up two flights of stairs. 

Technically, the roof was off limits, so the elevator never went higher than the 98th floor. But safety protocols were practically obsolete in this part of the city, so it wasn’t like anybot would care. And Orion also kind of broke the crappy lock on the door as soon as he had been able to, so wasted effort and all that. 

He swung open the door and immediately vented in the sharp, chilly air. 

At this time of night, Iacon was a glimmering city of lights at the edge of the slums. They twinkled gently, like gems plastered against the otherwise darkness of their underground commonwealth, and Orion leaned against the edge of the stack, the dilapidated concrete digging into his plating as he did. 

His chronometer told him that it was just another half joor before Helios rose and bathed them in light. Without their sun, it was cold, not biting, but chilly enough that he absentmindedly wrapped his servos around his joints and hugged himself. 

He stared blankly at the rectangle of light that highlighted the row of stacks before him. It was a billboard, one of the few things the council kept up with in the slums, and it glowed brightly with a heroic picture of Ultra Magnus as he raised a triumphant fist and glared down at the viewer with victorious eyes. 

The Covenant remains strong. Rebels, let your sparks quake. The words were plastered quite obnoxiously in the empty space beside Ultra’s helm, and when Orion made a soft clicking noise at the back of his voicebox, he wondered, guiltily, if Megatron was also cold. 

Of course he was. That was a silly question. The cell that Megatron had been in had been well below freezing temperatures, to the point that Orion shuddered just from remembering it. He recalled the frost that clung desperately to the vent grate, and how his vents had only huffed out clouds of warmth as his system desperately worked to maintain his homeostasis.

Though, the more Orion pondered on it, the more he realized… No. Had Megatron been cold? He hadn’t been shivering at all, even when he was sitting down, with most of his body pressed up against what had to be freezing metal. He hadn’t jerked or moved around a lot either to warm up, and Orion couldn’t fathom sitting there, miserable, cold, hungry - 

“Stop,” Orion muttered to himself. 

He was being ridiculous again, and this time, he didn’t need Sentinel’s disembodied voice to nag him about it, thank you. Ugh, what was wrong with him? Why was he so bothered? Why couldn’t he get the image of Megatron out of his processor? 

Megatron, who hadn’t shivered at all even though he had to be freezing, maybe as a sign of his incredible physical resilience, or perhaps his mental one. Megatron, who had spoken so softly and so calmly, his sarcasm drawling on his glossa, his words practically a purr that caressed Orion’s audials. 

Megatron, who… who told Orion to leave. Because the guards were coming. 

Orion’s optics blinked slowly, unseeing the billboard anymore as he gripped the edge of the concrete and dug in his digits so hard that pain shot up his servos, but he couldn’t care less as he realized that Megatron had told him to leave. 

Bee and Sentinel had already warned him by that point, so why had Megatron urged him as well? 

Had he been trying to… protect him? 

“Orion?” 

Orion nearly jumped out of his plates as he spun around and felt his helm almost rattle his optics as he saw Bee standing a good distance away, half his frame still obscured by the door, which he shied behind. 

“Bee,” Orion stuttered, his vocalizer filled with static. He cleared his throat once, twice, and luckily, most of the white noise was gone as he smiled gently at his friend and said, “what're you doing up?” 

“You were gone,” Bee said simply, as if that was reason enough to leave his recharge bay. It was obvious how tired he still was, his optics dim and his movements slow and unsure as he wandered closer, but there was still a smile on his face as he walked right into Orion's arm and nuzzled his chassis, a purr emitting from Bee's voicebox as he did. “It's cold up here.” 

“Yeah,” Orion said quietly, rubbing a servo across and down Bee's helm. He glanced up at the billboard again, blinking at the brightness of it. He wondered if Megatron was looking at the same board, and felt unsettled by it. He shifted slightly and said, “sorry, we should get back. You need the rest.” 

Bee shook his helm slowly. When he spoke, his words were muffled against Orion’s paint, and he mumbled, “I want Sentinel here with us.” 

“He can't,” Orion tried to say as gently as possible. 

Bee sagged. “I know.” 

“We could comm him if you want.” Orion offered. 

“No,” Bee said, pulling away from Orion and looking rather miserable as he sat down, his dorsals to the back of the concrete ledge. He drew his patellas up to his chassis and hugged them, his finials drooping as he said, “he was so… beat up. I don't want to bother him. I feel like he isn't getting enough recharge.” 

Orion settled down next to him, offering his digits, which Bee immediately began to play with, his own smaller digits tracing the joints of Orion's servo with barely concealed interest. 

For all of Bee's lack of observation, he was surprisingly astute when it came to more serious matters, and Orion had to agree that Sentinel had definitely looked a little worse for the wear that solar cycle. And though Sentinel wasn't a typical aristocrat who actually cared too much about his armor, Orion still had never seen him so tired or worn. 

It was disturbing. 

“Orion,” Bee said in a tiny voice. 

Orion hummed in response, too deep in his thoughts to do otherwise. 

“What did Megatron say to you? Really?” 

The question caught him off guard. He sat there, stunned, his optics trained on Bee, who despite his small voice, didn't seem inclined to look away. Orion's glossa felt dry, and he ran it along his molar dentae, and he considered not saying anything at all, since he knew that Bee wouldn't push. 

But Bee always had his back, ever since they had met as two sparklings, born without cogs and abandoned in the slums. There had never been a moment where Bee doubted him or pushed him away, and so Orion felt himself slump a little, his helm starting to ache as he held it in a servo and chewed on his bottom derma. 

“He was nice,” Orion said finally. 

“Nice?” 

“Nice.” Orion repeated. He thought about it for a moment, and said, “well, maybe not kind, but he wasn’t - he wasn’t a monster, Bee, and he wasn’t some kind of demon that crawled out of a nightmare. He was just sitting there, talking to me, and yeah, we kind of argued a bit, but he didn’t threaten to kill me or rip out my spark or something stupid like that.” 

He paused. 

“It’s just hard for me to hate him when he didn’t act like Ultra said he would,” Orion muttered. 

“He’s offlined at least hundreds of bots,” Bee said, but he didn’t sound accusatory. He was thinking, his optics staring intensely at Orion’s servo, which he still held in his lap. “And he hates the council. The council protects us, Orion.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Orion looked away. 

The billboard continued to blind him. He couldn’t stop roaming his gaze at Ultra, at his accusatory glare, like he was casting judgment on whoever was looking at the board. It was meant to serve as a reminder to the rebellion, to show them that Ultra had triumphed and captured their leader, so why was it so hard to look at? 

Why was it so hard to hate Megatron? 

Orion abhorred the rebellion and their violence, and he certainly didn’t agree with the brutality that Megatron led his forces. But somehow, some way, Orion couldn’t connect the idea of Megatron, a cruel and ruthless killer, with Megatron, the bot who had taunted Orion with amusement and similarly, urged him to leave, to stop him from getting caught. 

He was so confused. 

The billboard continued to hum lowly with its power, and Ultra Magnus’ glower remained accusatory. It was almost like he was calling Orion a traitor. 

“I just wish Sentinel would become Prime already,” Bee mumbled, his pedes rocking slowly on the hard and cold ground. He always did that whenever he was particularly nervous, and Orion pulled him closer, resting his cheek on the top of his helm. “I want him to get the Matrix. Then we wouldn't have to work so much and maybe we could even visit his house!” 

Orion kept quiet. He didn’t want to accidentally burst Bee’s bubble, since it was quite easy to get him down if he was this close to teetering on the edge of excitement. Though Orion wanted all those things, even though he wanted Sentinel to become a Prime he could proudly call his own, and even though Orion wanted him to have the Matrix, he didn’t know if he could confidently say it would happen. 

It wasn’t a result of a lack of confidence in Sentinel, since there was honestly no mech who was better suited for the job. For all of Sentinel’s whininess and hidden insecurities, he was strong, compassionate, and yeah, a bit of a nagger, but he always had Orion’s back. He had been training for his entire life to become a Prime, so he knew nothing else, and Orion knew just how much Sentinel worked to ensure he would be a good leader. 

It was the part about the Matrix that kept Orion’s trepidation from blooming into excitement. 

The Matrix of Leadership had always been many things - a symbol of leadership, Primus’ personal favor, the ultimate sign of a Prime… But most of all, it was the one and only thing that had energon flowing naturally throughout Cybertron. After it had been lost, it had taken Ultra and the council literally generations to finally find someone worthy to present himself to Primus. AKA Sentinel. 

But no one really knew what Primus was really like. How could they? He was an untouchable being, literally, and no one had been able to communicate with him ever since the original 13 Primes disappeared. In all honesty, Orion wasn’t even sure he was alive, considering the fact that he was literally Cybertron but the lifeblood of said planet had long run dry. 

If Primus wasn’t alive, didn’t that mean that there was no hope of the Matrix returning? Wouldn’t Orion and countless others have to continue toiling away in the mines for forever, until finally their sparks gave out and they fell offline right then and there? Or, even worse. Primus was alive, but deemed Sentinel unworthy. 

The idea was horrifying. Not even because of the fact that miners would have to continue to endure the exploding veins and awful supervisors, but because Orion knew that if that ever happened, Sentinel would die. He would be completely crushed, and he would waste away into nothing, because Sentinel didn’t know anything else but how to be a Prime. 

Orion buried his nose to the top of Bee’s helm. 

For the first time in years, he prayed, and in his prayer, he said this: Primus. Please find worth in my friend. Please choose him. Please love him. 

“Sleepy?” Orion whispered instead of saying all these things out loud. He didn’t want to risk stressing Bee out, not when he was already crumbling under all the pressures of both Ricks and Orion’s antics. 

“Mhm,” Bee mumbled in agreement. 

“Come on,” Orion said, getting up and guiding Bee back to the door. “Let’s go.” 

Just before they slipped back inside, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder plate one last time. 

Ultra’s gaze never strayed. 

Act I, Scene VIII: Metal Weiner! Get Your Hot, Fresh, Metal Weiner! 

“Welcome, citizens, to the Iacon 5000!” 

The stadium roared with both high and low caste bots alike, their voices overlapping into a cacophony of noise and cheers as the lights flared and flashed colorful strobes, which were somehow brighter than Helios as it hovered over the opening to the surface in gentle waves of pink and yellow light. 

Orion was pretty sure he had turned down his audial sensitivity as much as he could without being completely deaf, but he still winced when the booming voice of the announcer rang throughout the air and threatened to knock him flat onto his aft. 

Going to the race had been a push and pull between him and Bee, since Orion had no interest in attending. After all, he had something much more important to attend to afterwards, but Bee had wanted them both to go in support of Sentinel, which Orion privately thought was full of scrap, since Sentinel couldn’t even talk to them even if he wanted to. 

Sentinel was already considered the cream of the crop even amongst the other aristocrats, but he was also Ultra Magnus’ one and only protege. If word got out that he spent time with miners, the fall out would be inescapable, even if Orion hated that they couldn’t even hang out together like normal friends would. 

But Sentinel loved his job and his mentor, and so Orion had no idea what the frag Bee meant by support when they were going to be two within a sea of low caste members, but after Orion drank in the sight of Bee’s slightly sunken cheeks and the darkness under his optics, he reluctantly left behind the dream of catching up on recharge and went along. 

“Wow! That almost blew out my auditory inputs!” Bee shouted from beside him, since shouting was the only way to communicate in the stadium. Even then, and with his derma incredibly close to Orion’s helm, he was barely audible. “Can you see Sentinel anywhere?” 

“No,” Orion yelled back just as another wave of cheers swept through the area. 

As they settled into the stands, Orion tried not to groan as his pede was stepped on for the nth time that afternoon. It was just too crowded in the low caste side of the stadium, since miners made up the largest part of their population and were given less than half of the arena to stand in. 

Oh, right, to stand in, since they weren’t allowed to sit. It wasn’t like they spent most of their solar cycles busting their afts to mine, but whatever, Orion was too tired to think too deeply about it as overhead, dozens of transformers began to shoot through the sky, some of them even doing fancy maneuvers as they flew. 

“Look!” Bee gasped in exhilaration, standing too close to the rails for Orion’s comfort and nearly tipping over in his thrill as he pointed at a jet. “There’s Powerglide! A-And Blades! And - oh my Primus, is that Aetherlock?” 

“Bee, you’ll fall.” Orion choked on his laugh as he reached out and clasped Bee firmly and steadily by the shoulder plate. Bee didn’t seem to mind the touch, as he only oohed and aahed as the transformers who had ground alt modes began to roll out as well, with their fanfare being various flames or sparks emitted from their pipes as they did. 

As they both watched the exhibition show, a familiar car caught Orion's optic, and he couldn’t help himself as he suddenly blurted out, “holy frag, that’s Hot Rod!” 

Hot Rod was easily recognizable by his sleek, aerodynamic alt mode that practically seared itself into Orion’s processor with how bright the red and orange paint job was. He was glossy and polished, which was crazy because Hot Rod was a youth who was only caste level 12, so paying for that detailing must have absolutely sucked. 

Though there had never been a time where Orion and Hot Rod crossed paths, the mid level bot was considered a rising star, even with only being a little less than 20 vorns old. His attitude and brashness didn't match his designation within the caste system, something that had been practically thrown into everybot’s face when during the last race, he had been narrowly beaten only by Tracks. 

To think he was coming back to race again was amazing. The Iacon 5000 wasn't open to any bot lower than tier 10 or higher than tier 25, so Orion wasn't sure about the specifics, but he knew it wasn't cheap to pay for an entry. Most bots only did it once before they had to skip at least a few races to try again. 

Admittedly, Orion had been a bit miffed that Tracks had won last time since he was a bit of an afthole, so his previous apathy from this morning vanished as he leaned as close to the railing as Bee and whistled his support. 

“You've got this, Hot Rod!” Orion yelled, his words drowned out by all the other miners around him that similarly screamed the names of their favorite mid bots. “Come on!” 

“The betting pool will close in approximately five kliks,” the announcer spoke over the speakers. 

“I wish I had some credit,” Bee said wistfully as he eyed the board, where stakes and bets were broadcasted. Hot Rod was so far way in the lead with several thousand bots placing credit on his name, and there was a sizable gap between him and the next highest bidded contestant, Chromia. “Do you think Sentinel would bet for me if I asked?” 

“I think he'd tell us to stuff it.” Orion laughed, though he did consider the idea. 

But Sentinel abhorred betting, calling it a waste of credits, and it was at that moment that Orion realized something was glinting very faintly from the top of the stadium, to his right. He squinted and tilted his helm, trying to figure out what that tiny shape was, only for his dermas to part slightly as he recognized those tight shoulders, and huge wings, and - oh, good Primus - blue and gold paint job. 

“Bee?” Orion said faintly. 

“CRUSH THEM ALL TO A PULP!” Bee screamed as he almost fell over the railing again, shaking his fist in victory as Hot Rod revved and did several drifts across the field, nearly taking out Swerve in the process as he did, resulting in a lot of yelling. “YEAH!” 

“Bee,” Orion hissed. 

“Oh my Primus, why does Drift look so cool,” Bee said dreamily. 

“No, Bee - look!” 

Orion dragged Bee back away from the railing and pointed urgently at the very familiar shape that continued to stand at the top edge of the stadium, where said figure was beginning to roll his helm. Even though Orion was too far away to hear or make out the words, he could still see the way dermas moved quite rapidly, as if the bot were giving himself a pep talk. 

Orion knew those tics. Hell, he practically helped develop those tics after that one incident when they were all sparklings and Orion had accidentally gotten them almost arrested for trying to break into the archives. 

“Oh,” Bee said weakly. 

“Yeah,” Orion said. “Oh.” 

“Citizens of Iacon!” The announcer boomed. His voice was so loud that it shook the very stands they stood on, and the roars of cheers from before turned into absolute screams and shouts as bots began to look up and recognize the distinct shape of a mech in the sky. “May I present to you - our future Prime, our soon to be leader, the symbol of Cybertron… SENTINEL!” 

The stadium trembled on its foundations as aristocrats and low caste bots alike raised their servos and jumped in their near hysterical excitement as Sentinel, the absolute slagger who didn’t tell his friends about this at all, jumped off the ledge, and immediately, his wings snapped out and caught the draft. 

His thrusters activated at the same time, and soon he was sweeping around the stadium, a grin on his facial plates as he reached out and slapped the digits of any bot he zipped past, which only enhanced the franticness of everybot’s excitement. 

But Orion knew Sentinel more than he knew himself, and for the micro-klik where Sentinel was in their section and flying past them, he saw the small twitch at the end of Sentinel’s derma, as well as the squint of his optics. 

He was nervous. More than nervous, actually - he was anxious, and when he made his round and began to shoot towards the middle of the field, he fumbled slightly as he landed on the hoverbot that waited patiently for him, his pede almost slipping off the edge, though his wings extended to compensate and managed to balance him in time. 

“He didn’t tell us he was going to be presenting the race this time,” Bee whispered from beside Orion, whose finial twitched as his processor clicked in rapid thought. 

“No,” Orion said slowly. “He didn't.” 

It was yet another incident of Sentinel keeping things from them. For a moment, Orion felt real irritation, borderline anger, swell inside of him, threatening him to do something stupid, like comm the idiot and demand to know why he kept refusing to tell them stuff. 

But it also served to remind Orion that he hadn't been exactly forthcoming with his friends, either. He had been deliberately skirting around the topic of Megatron whenever he came up, and he certainly hadn't said a word about how - well - Orion thought that the rebel was the hottest piece of slag on this side of Helios. 

He schooled his features to make sure Bee wouldn't catch even a glimpse of it, even if his cooling fans turned on and betrayed his thoughts. 

Fine, Sentinel, Orion thought, watching as his friend fumbled slightly with the microphone that had been tossed to him. I won't bother you for now. Ugh. 

“Hello, Iacon,” Sentinel said, his voice slightly unsure as he finally turned on the damn mic and immediately, his voice washed over the crowd, and he flinched at how loud it was. He laughed a little at the resulting cheers, though his strained smile revealed that he was more stressed than pleased as he said, “thank you all for showing your unwavering support as we navigate through yet another Iacon 5000. Of course, we couldn't have thrown this momentous occasion without our beloved council! Big applause, please!” 

Fanfare and confetti shot through the air on flittering flakes of colored metal and sparks as Sentinel gestured broadly to the elite box seats of the stadium. 

The multiple camera drones eagerly flew closer to get shots of all the different council members - the only ones recognizable to Orion being Blurr and Chromdome - before all lenses panned to, of course, Ultra Magnus. 

He looked every bit as imposing and powerful as the billboard from last night had suggested, but at least this time, he wasn't glaring down at everyone like they were scum. He was smiling, even, a look that softened him significantly as he raised a servo and waved, nodding his head at Sentinel, who beamed. 

“He looks like he's having a nice time,” Bee muttered. 

“He kind of looks like he's about to puke on his pedes,” Orion said in an unsure voice as he raised his optic ridges when Sentinel nearly fumbled the mic and dropped it. 

“My friends, my Cybertronian brethren. This race is yet another reminder of how it has been approximately three hundred vorns since we lost the original Primes,” Sentinel said, looking more settled on his platform as he slowly moved through the air. He seemed genuinely remorseful as the stadium became silent, and even Ultra Magnus dipped his chin in remembrance as Sentinel continued. “Three hundred vorns since we lost the Matrix of Leadership, and three hundred vorns since energon stopped flowing. It breaks my spark to have to remember all those that we have lost, and especially, my spark reaches out to my mentor, Ultra Magnus, who had to endure these personal losses himself.” 

Projections of the Primes filtered through the air, shimmering a light, powder blue that sparkled in the light of Helios, and there were murmurs of both awe and sympathy as Ultra looked to the side, seemingly unable to bear the sight of any of his lost friends. 

Sometimes, Orion forgot how young Ultra really was, so to think he had to go through the loss of his entire family was so… sad. Though Orion didn't have access to the library, Sentinel had always done his best to sneak out datapads for Bee and Orion for at least some semblance of an education, so Orion knew enough. 

Three hundred vorns ago, Ultra, the one and only apprentice of the leading Primes that Primus had given birth to, suffered the ultimate blow as all thirteen of them vanished. He never got an answer as to what happened, and he didn't even get to mourn them properly before he had to step up and try to shoulder the mantle of senate without them. 

Orion felt a pang of sympathy in his gut as he observed the visor and helm of the Prime projection closest to him, Megatronus. He had apparently been the closest to Ultra out of all of them, and Orion quickly darted his optics back up to said bot, his sympathy turning into an ache of sadness at the way Ultra refused to look at any of the projections. 

“But this race is a reminder that Iacon still stands strong!” Sentinel said, tearing through the somberness and waving away the projections, raising his arms as he gestured to all of the crowd. “We all still stand here, upholding the legacy of the Primes who protected us, and this race will continue to celebrate the strength of Iacon from the past as well as today!” 

At that moment, Sentinel made optic contact with Orion. It was an accident, and it didn't last more than a micro-klik, but it was still significant, enough for them to exchange a brief conversation. 

Are you okay? Orion questioned with a tilt of his helm. 

We'll talk later, Sentinel's tightened dermas said. 

“Racers, to your marks!” Sentinel shouted, his voice barely able to overtake the roar of exhilaration from everybody else as he flew higher up, now hovering near the level of Ultra and the other council members. “Are you ready?” 

Various whistles and cheers rang throughout the stadium as all the mid caste bots began to transform into their alt modes. Arms became wings, helms disappeared, and Orion couldn't help but stare in awe at the multitude of grounders and fliers, all different and unique in their shapes and colors. 

“Wow.” Bee breathed in awe. He had a hand to his chassis, his digit tips pressing lightly against his empty cog well, and his voice was wistful as he said, “they all look amazing.” 

“Yeah,” Orion said, unable to stop himself from doing the same. His digits gingerly brushed against the edges of his own cog well, the emptiness of it reminding him all too much of his misfortune. It made him despair to think that a simple CNA disorder could have taken away an ability that was innate to everybody else. “They look awesome.” 

“Begin!” Sentinel shouted, his servo shifting into a blaster that he shot a single time into the sky. 

Just like that, the racers were off, and it was brilliant. 

As rollers and fliers alike tore through the sky and the road, Sentinel floated up to the senate box and hopped off the platform bot, taking his place right behind Ultra, settling into his seat. The two of them briefly exchanged words, but it seemed like a pleasant enough talk, since Sentinel beamed and Ultra reached over to give him a small brush on the helm. 

“Alright, folks, let's see if our camera drones can keep up with the speed of our racers, here!” The announcer laughed bellowingly into his mic as more projections filled the stadium, all of them focusing on different angles and bots. The one right in front of Orion and Bee seemed to focus on Hot Rod, which caused Bee to cheer so loudly that Orion held onto him in fear of him toppling over. “It looks like Chromia is in the lead! I'm not surprised, it looks like she really greased those joints for this round! If I remember right, it's been three Revitalization Ceremonies since she last competed!” 

As the stadium grew more and more rambunctious from the race, Orion privately pulled up his list of comm links, and only hesitated a little before he began typing. 

Private Comm Link (ID: #628317): Sentinel Prime? No, Sentinel Prick

Outgoing message…

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Having a good time? :: 

Orion glanced up in time to see Sentinel’s aborted jerk. Though the aristocrat didn’t look down to glare at him like Orion knew he was dying to do, there was a pinched expression on his face, like he had smelled something particularly bad. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Shut up. Don’t comm me, I’m busy. ::

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Too bad. Who do you think’s going to win? ::

Sentinel didn’t write back. 

Orion snorted to himself and wrapped a servo around Bee’s waist, keeping him from tipping over into the stands below them as Chromia got bashed in the side by someone. 

“Looks like there’s some heat between Chromia and Drift!” The announcer shouted. “Drift’s got the upper servo - ooh, big hit! Ouch! Oh, wait, but Chromia - whoa! Uh, medic on scene!” 

There was a collective groan of sympathetic pain from mechs all around the stadium as Chromia, who transformed only her leg from her alt mode, delivered a swift and rather vicious kick right at Drift’s intimate panel after he changed swiftly into his root mode and practically jumped on top of her. 

Orion grimaced and watched as Drift crumbled to the ground in a heap, Chromia immediately jetting off as soon as she was free, and the med team on standby was rushing in, headed by a doctor who looked like he was about to blow a fuse as he shouted about how stupid Drift was and also how he hated his job. 

“If you were looking to carry Drift’s sparklings, you might have to put your fantasies on hold for a few more vorns yet!” The announcer cackled. The crowd exploded in hoots and hollers, with some screaming their affirmations that they did in fact want to carry Drift’s bitlets. 

Drift had enough energy to feebly lift his middle digit at the hovering camera drone nearby. 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Damn. At least you can cross off Drift as a potential winner. :: 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: It’s for the best. I’d rather not lose him anyway, he’s a good engineer. :: 

:: … Chromia will probably win. ::

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: You sure you’re not just saying that? Didn’t you have the biggest crush on her a few vorns ago? :: 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: ORION! :: 

Orion chuckled to himself as he could practically hear Sentinel’s embarrassed indignation across their link. 

“Sentinel says he thinks Chromia will win,” Orion whispered to Bee, bending down slightly to get closer to his audial. 

“Chromia?” Bee repeated, tilting his helm slightly towards his friend as he narrowed his optics in thought. “She’s awesome, but there’s no way she’s going to beat Hot Rod. Look, he’s catching up!” 

True to Bee’s word, multiple camera drones fixated their lens on a single roller, a sleek, red and orange vehicle who revved his engine so loudly that it startled the green truck in front of him. When the truck jumped and swerved too hard, Hot Rod blasted right past him, and his delighted laugh filled the stadium as he quickly shot from fifteenth to ninth place. 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Bee says you’re stupid and wrong. Also Hot Rod might beat your girl yet. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Don’t call her my girl, Orion, what the frag is wrong with you? And there’s no way Bee said that, I don’t think I’ve ever even heard him say the word stupid before. You’re such a slagging liar. ::

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: You know what they say! Denial is definitive. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: I’ve literally never heard anyone say that before. Shut up and watch the race. :: 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: So mean! :: 

As the race continued and the atmosphere in the stadium only got more and more on edge, Orion couldn’t help but think about what Sentinel had said about Drift. The Revitalization Ceremony happened so infrequently that most of the time, Orion didn’t think too hard about it, but Sentinel’s offhand comment was digging at him. 

With Drift out of the race, it was true that he wouldn’t be able to win anymore, and therefore he couldn’t be sent off of Cybertron in search of more energon. It was disturbing to think about, actually, especially since no trailblazer was allowed back home. 

Ultra always cited the fact that since Cybertron wasn’t as explorative as it used to be, the dangers of illnesses and rare, space-borne viruses was too high of a risk to take a chance with. It made sense, especially since Orion vaguely remembered reading about rust plague in one of the datapads Sentinel had snuck him, but it was still a bit uncomfortable. 

Those trailblazers were doing some of the hardest work for Iacon, and yet they couldn’t come back home to even celebrate their accomplishments. It reminded Orion too much of himself, a miner who also tried his best to provide for his city, and yet he always felt… left behind. 

He thought about Tracks, who had won the last Iacon 5000. He had been a mid caste bot who had worked as a ration distributor, so Orion had the misfortune of running into him sometimes whenever it was pay sol. Tracks had been an arrogant bastard who ran his mouth more than he should have, but he hadn’t been cruel per se, just a bit of a spikehead. 

Orion had been annoyed at first that Tracks had won the race and therefore shot up in ranks and was celebrated before leaving, but it occurred to him then that he would never see Tracks again. They never got along or anything, but it was still disconcerting to realize that Tracks was working just as hard as Orion, but unlike him, he didn’t even have a home to return to anymore. 

Sentinel had said he would rather not lose Drift, since he was a good engineer. But what about Chromia, who was an architect? Or Hot Rod, who was an archivist? 

I wish no one would win, Orion thought vaguely, only to feel ashamed of it. 

The race was a symbolic show of union between the caste system, one of the only events where both aristocrats, mid castes, and lows all gathered together in one space and celebrated something together. It was wrong of him to wish for a race that had no winner, but as he gazed at the projections, he couldn’t help but drink in the sight of Hot Rod, a mech who was only a few vorns younger than him and yet had a good chance of leaving and never returning. 

Orion already had a hard enough time staying away from Bee or Sentinel for too long. The idea of being apart from them for forever jolted fear through his spark, and he knew he was confusing Bee when he sidled a little closer and hugged him. 

“Orion?” Bee asked. 

“Nothing,” Orion said in a strained voice. “Just watch the race.” 

“AND DARKWING IS OUT OF THE RUNNING!” The announcer bellowed, sounding frenzied and in awe as Hot Rod somehow managed to keep his momentum, shift into his root form, and then use Darkwing as a launchpad to shoot himself through the crushing gates that indicated the race was on its last leg. Darkwing, the sorry fragger, immediately crashed as the gates changed shape, and he slumped to the ground in a heap of metal. “Ooh, better luck next time!” 

“Deserved,” both Bee and Orion said. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Deserved. :: 

“And we’re down to our last twenty racers, everybot!” The announcer issued, the camera drones now focusing only on the top twenty. Amongst them, Hot Rod was gaining speed and quickly rolling past Swerve, Blades, even - “AND HOT ROD TAKES THE LEAD! I REPEAT, HOT ROD HAS JUST DRIVEN PAST CHROMIA, WHO UNTIL NOW, HAS NOT FALLEN FROM FIRST PLACE!” 

“OH MY PRIMUS!” Bee shouted. He was practically jumping up and down by this point, like many other bots were, and his optics were wide with anticipation as the finish line approached. “He’s doing it! Orion!” 

“I can see,” Orion said in slight awe. 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: You don’t think Hot Rod will win, do you? :: 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Why? I thought you were rooting for him. I can hear Bee’s screams from here. ::

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Shut up, he’s excited. It’s cute. And I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t realize until now that if he wins, it means he won’t be able to come back. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: … Yeah. It’s… It’s unfortunate. ::

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Unfortunate? It’s more than that, Sen. He literally can’t ever come home or see his friends or family again. It’s messed up. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: I know that, you don’t have to remind me. I already tried to - :: 

:: … :: 

:: Look, I get it, it fragging sucks. But what can we do about it? :: 

Orion tried not to get frustrated. He knew that Sentinel meant well, and in all honesty, he wasn’t exactly wrong, either. There really wasn’t anything they could do short of telling the council off, but that was such a bad idea that even Orion knew he couldn’t pull it off. 

But that didn’t stop the feeling of utter dread as, with a finality that only suited his personality, Hot Rod ripped past the finish line, grabbed a camera drone, and practically shook it in his excitement as he roared alongside the attendees. 

“AND HOT ROD’S GOT IT! HE WON! OH MY PRIMUS!” The announcer howled. “FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY, A MECH YOUNGER THAN 22 VORNS WON! GIVE IT UP FOR HOT ROD!” 

“HE DID IT!” Bee shouted. 

“HE DID IT!” The entire stadium cheered. 

“... He did it,” Orion echoed. 

Hot Rod did it. He was going to be celebrated and praised by not only the city, but by Ultra himself. He would be pampered and fed like a king until the ceremony took place, where he would kneel in front of Ultra and be given the title of trailblazer, caste level 39. 

He was no longer an archivist. He was a winner, an ascender, someone who climbed past their ranks, and… no one would ever see him again. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Orion? :: 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: … Yeah. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: I’m, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. :: 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: It’s fine, Sen. Don’t worry about it. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: … :: 

The crowd was deafening on Orion’s overwhelmed audials and processor. The lack of recharge must have been getting to him, because he clung to Bee a little too hard as bots began to file out from their stands or seats, eager to attend the giant party that Ultra hosted after every mansion. 

When Orion glanced up, he could see Ultra looking at the projection of Hot Rod’s triumphant grin with interest, and his spark sputtered with its unease. 

“Orion, are you okay?” Bee asked, his voice cutting through Orion’s anxiety as he reached up and balanced him. Bee’s face, which had been beaming in excitement only moments before, was now peering up at him with barely concealed worry. “Should - should I get one of the medics to look at you?” 

“No, it’s okay,” Orion immediately rasped, trying to soothe Bee’s concern by reaching out and running a servo down his helm. It only half-worked, since Bee leaned into the touch, but his frown of distress didn’t become any less severe. “Sorry, I think I’m just tired.” 

“We don’t have to go to Titan’s today,” Bee said, his voice dropping to a whisper as the miners around them began to trickle away, most talking about how great the race had been, and others complaining that they wished they could attend the reception. “Not if you’re not feeling good. Let me comm Sentinel - “ 

Orion shook his helm. “I’m okay, I promise. We shouldn’t put it off. Today’s a good time to go, and I don’t want to have to put it off, not when… Not when there’s a life on the line.” 

Bee stared at him, biting his derma. Even though he didn’t say anything, it was clear what he was thinking: even if that life is Megatron’s? 

Yes, Orion thought. Even then. 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: We’re going to start heading towards the medbay. Meet you there in twenty. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Orion… :: 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: 

:: What? ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: You stubborn… Fine. I’ll see you there. :: 

:: I’ll - I’ll say hi to Hot Rod at the reception, first. I’ll tell him you wish him well. :: 

:: Okay? :: 

Orion couldn’t help but smile as he glanced back up at the senate box, where already, most of the council members had left, presumably to go join all the other aristocrats and mid castes at the party. Sentinel remained, and though he seemed normal, Orion knew him enough to notice the way Sentinel was tapping the arm of his chair rather urgently as he steadily refused to make optic contact. 

Sentinel was nervous again, but not the kind of anxiety he got from performing in front of a crowd. It was the kind he got whenever he knew he messed up, and even though in this particular situation Orion wasn’t actually mad at him, it still warmed his spark to know how much Sentinel cared, and it further warmed him when Bee made a small chirp of worry and nuzzled his neck cables, mumbling something about how Orion needed to recharge more. 

It was hard to be upset when his friends gave him enough love to forget about his troubles, and so when at last, Sentinel tipped his chin down and swept his gaze at the both of the miners, Orion’s smile was wide and genuine. 

See you soon, Orion dipped his helm. 

See you soon, Sentinel bowed his chin in response. 

With that, both Bee and Orion slipped away, the race and the reception left behind. 

Orion only mourned over how he couldn’t tell Hot Rod good luck in person. 

Act I, Scene IX: Don’t Bite the Hand That Feeds You (Or Do, He Might Like It)

“Why didn’t you tell us you were presenting the race this time?” 

“That was so cool how you flew through the air!” 

Orion’s accusatory jab mixed with Bee’s crow of delight. They were both hanging like limp sparklings in Sentinel’s arms as he maneuvered through the air quite easily and began to circle Titan’s Hold in a wide loop, making sure that there were no guards that were standing on lookout. 

“Was there a point in telling you?” Sentinel said irritably, jostling Orion slightly like a reprimand, which immediately had him squirming and trying to poke at his ticklish spots. Unfortunately, Sentinel remained surprisingly steady, and shot him an annoyed look before addressing Bee with a much softer tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Bee. At least someone did.” 

“Hey, I enjoyed it,” Orion said rather unconvincingly. He frowned as they got closer to the prison, realizing that there were a lot less guards than last time. Actually, there were none, and he made a small noise of surprise when Sentinel didn’t stick as close to the ceiling this time as he crept past the opening. “What the - where are all the sentries?” 

“They’re at the reception. The reception which I had to sneak out of because of reasons that would get me arrested if Ultra ever found out,” Sentinel said darkly, but when they reached the surveillance room and he hopped back onto the ground, he was gentle as he set both his friends down and rolled his shoulders. “Scrap. I probably overdid it at the race exhibition, I knew I should have oiled my gears a bit more.” 

“Lean down,” Orion said, gesturing to him to come closer. 

As Sentinel carefully clamored down to the ground and relaxed his wings so Orion could properly reach his shoulders, Bee walked over to the console and immediately began to type, his voicebox humming in his excitement as he began to go through commands so quickly that Orion couldn’t even tell what he was doing by that point. 

“Your cables are all fragged,” Orion said in exasperated fondness as he dug his digits into a particularly hard knot, laughing when Sentinel yipped in pain and barked at him that he was being too harsh. “Don’t be such a sparkling! Hold on, let me just…” 

“Slag!” Sentinel cursed, his entire frame flinching as Orion muttered in concentration and began to rub relentlessly at another knot, this one somehow bigger than the last. Just how hard was Sentinel working to develop all these kinks in the few joors that they haven’t seen each other? “Are you trying to kill me?” 

“Huh,” Bee said faintly from in front of them. He had paused, his servos hovering slightly above the keyboard projection. His finials waved around slightly, and he leaned in closer to the screen as he said, “that’s… different.” 

“What’s wrong?” Orion asked, ignoring the way Sentinel squealed like an actual bitlet when he massaged over another knot. “Don’t tell me that they changed the framework. There’s no way.” 

“No, no.” Bee was quick to assure, shooting Orion an apologetic smile over his shoulder. “It’s just that there’s a new program in here that definitely wasn’t last time. It… looks like it’s called Protocol: Baby Wheels? What the heck?” 

“Oh,” Sentinel choked out, his face scrunched up in pain, his voicebox similarly filled with static as he managed to gasp out, “that’s - ow, ow! - the program that - fragging OW, Orion! - they turn on when no one’s here. It’s - HOLY PRIMUS, CHILL - supposed to be a hundred percent automated and keep things working. Should have multiple failsafes so nothing goes wrong. YOWCH!” 

“Well, for a program that’s supposed to be in charge of an entire prison, it’s pretty easy to disable by a third party,” Bee said cheerfully as he clicked several things and just like that, the screen glowed an obnoxious green. “Woohoo! Got it. Hah, look, I can make all the cameras dance!” 

He dragged his digit across the projection, and the dozens of live feeds followed the direction, jerking back and forth as he began to hum Happy Emergence while he did. 

“Good job,” Orion said earnestly, finally releasing Sentinel in favor of going over and hugging Bee quickly, smothering a grin into his forehelm when the smaller bot giggled and bumped it against his chin. “It’s a good thing we decided to come today, then, so no bot can bother us.” 

“At the expense of Bee showing me just how easily this place can get hacked.” Sentinel grunted from his position on the floor, where he had melted into a puddle as soon as Orion had let go of him. Judging by how sprawled out his limbs were, it didn’t seem like he was going to get up anytime soon, which he proved by lazily waving his servo in the air. “Hurry up and go feed the slagger. Just be back in thirty kliks, I can’t risk being gone from the reception for longer than that.” 

Right, Orion thought, the mention of Megatron suddenly sobering him. It had been easy to forget exactly why they were doing so monumentally stupid again, especially since Sentinel and Bee were often the blams to Orion’s wounds from the mines, and so he let out a slow vent as he approached the grate in the wall. 

“Here,” Bee said, jogging over and helping Orion up. “Sentinel?” 

“Ugh.” Sentinel grumbled, but he slowly stood up and trudged over, easily carrying the rest of Orion’s weight with one servo, and soon enough, he was back inside the cramped and dusty little tunnel, wrinkling his nose as a piece of grime landed right on top of it. “Go. Don’t be stupid.” 

“When am I ever?” Orion retorted. 

Sentinel’s silence was answer enough, and Orion wished he had enough room to turn around and throw something at him. Instead, he began to move forward, though this time, he was confident as to where he was going, his processor eagerly pulling up the stored away files from his long term memory to show him which direction. 

“Orion,” Sentinel’s voice suddenly echoed behind him. 

“Yeah?” Orion called back. 

“Don’t forget who he is. And don’t forget who you are,” Sentinel said. He spoke softly, and the metal walls of the vent made it sound like he was all around Orion, and the undercurrent of warning wasn’t lost on him. Don’t forget what he’s done. He isn’t like you or me, Sentinel’s hidden message said. “Come back to us.” 

“... Yeah,” Orion said. He brushed off the unease that made his spark squirm. Of course he wouldn’t forget what Megatron had done. Sentinel didn’t need to remind him of that. “See you soon.” 

He continued onward. 

The tunnel was as disgusting and dusty as he remembered, but it felt different somehow. Maybe it was the way he couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding from Sentinel’s words, even when he knew that Sentinel hadn’t meant anything malicious by them. Maybe it was the way he felt heavier than usual, since his arm compartments were full with at least a dozen cubes of highly refined energon. 

Or, he thought as he approached those small, dim rays of light, maybe it was because he knew what lied up ahead, and this time, he didn’t feel fear. Only curiosity. 

He sidled up to the grate as comfortably as he could without being right on top of it, and he peered down, squinting to try and get his optics to adjust to the low level of light. Below, Megatron was there, as large and as imposing as ever, but when looked at more closely, it was obvious that he was recharging. 

His helm was tilted down slightly and he had an arm propped up on a patella as his chassis moved ever so slowly with every vent that he took. There was no sign of his red optics being online, either, since the only light that Orion could see was colored a very dim purple, the same light that dotted the hallways of the building. 

For a moment, Orion thought about turning back. Now that he was actually in this situation, it was straight past the word absurd, and practically slammed right into stupid. The openings in the grate were way too small for his digits to poke through, much less a cube. And even if he did manage to push one between the bars, there was a good chance it would just spill all over the ground and Megatron. 

Somehow, Orion didn’t think that Megatron would be pleased by that. 

He shivered, his temperature gauge warning him that the environment was too cold for someone of his build, and he impatiently waved off the notification. He instead thought about it for a moment, and after once again enduring a voice in his processor that told him he was being an idiot, he slowly reached out and began to undo the screws of the grate. 

It was annoying. His digits were slightly shaky from the cold and he was quickly losing feeling in them. They were also hardly the digits of someone who worked in precision, like a doctor or a detailer, and instead belonged to a miner. Basically, his digits were fat and stocky, and he felt like his servos were about to fall off as he finally managed to fiddle with the last screw and as quietly as he could, pushed at the grate. 

It swung open reluctantly, its hinges rusted and frozen over by the frost, and it was a good thing he was used to dangling for his life, because it was easy to use the square of metal as a bit of a makeshift ladder until his pedes and legs were in the air and only his servos clutched at the grate. When he landed, he winced a bit at the noise, but surprisingly, Megatron didn’t stir. 

He must be tired, Orion thought, slowly approaching the rebel. 

It wasn’t possible to face him other than directly, since his dorsal plates were pressed into a corner. A means of protecting himself, maybe, though from what, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like there were any dangers from being inside a highly secured cell, and when he was finally close enough to nudge one of Megatron’s pedes with his own, he stopped. 

He’s so handsome, something primal and idiotic in his processor purred as he slowly crouched, taking care not to make any excess noise and startle the larger mech into waking up. Something told him that that wouldn’t exactly be the best idea, so for the moment, he simply hovered there, his helm tilted slightly as he drank in the sight.

Like this, it was hard to imagine Megatron as the fearsome leader who spearheaded a rebellion that threatened to dismantle the entire senate of their world. He seemed younger, gentler. It occurred to Orion that he didn’t even know how old Megatron was, but with his face so relaxed and his shoulders loose, he concluded that the rebel couldn’t be that much older than him. 

Geeze. Imagine being so young and yet being so… different. Well, homicidal, was the correct term, but Orion couldn’t exactly connect that to this peaceful image of Megatron. If he really was close to Orion’s age, then that meant that they were both around the same vorns when Megatron first emerged as a threat and began to commit all his crimes. 

What happened for someone like him to lose himself so quickly? 

Orion’s digits twitched, and before he could shut down the aching curiosity of his processor, he was reaching out, making sure to keep his touch as light as possible as he brushed his thumb against the soft metal of Megatron’s cheek. 

Huh, Orion thought in fascination, leaning in closer to better peer at the sharpness of Megatron’s cheeks and his jaw. It felt like Orion’s spark was about to jump out of his chassis, and he was grateful that no one was there to witness what was undoubtedly an incredibly embarrassing cerulean on his cheeks as he continued to touch. He runs really warm. His protoform is actually kind of soft - 

“Oh!” Orion couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him as without warning, servos much larger than his, servos that were still bound, snatched at his wrist, yanked him fiercely, and smashed him so hard onto the ground that his vision dotted for a micro-klik, his dorsal plates smarting from the pain. 

He blinked several times, his processor unsure of what just happened, and his pain sensors pinged several notifications at him. At the cold concrete that pressed distressingly hard against his back, the way his shoulder joint creaked after his arm had been slammed up and above his helm, and the scrape he felt starting to leak small bits of energon that had appeared on his pede.

He looked up, and he was stunned by what he saw. 

Megatron’s helm hovered close over his own, so close that their nasal bridges were almost touching. His dermas were dragged into a snarl, and his red optics were so bright that they nearly blinded Orion. His legs were parted and caged in Orion on either side of his waist, and the miner couldn’t help but think about how warm Megatron was, even with the freezing temperature of the cell. 

“Who are you,” Megatron rumbled. He spat it out as a command rather than a question, and when Orion tried to shift slightly, Megatron’s servos, both of which were squeezing Orion’s wrist above his helm, tightened their hold. “Who sent you!” 

“What the frag are you talking about, you bucket of bolts!” Orion spouted, his shock quickly turning into indignance as he wriggled again, arching his dorsal plates to try and throw the rebel off, but of course it didn’t work, not on a bot as huge as Megatron. Ugh. “Get off of me, are you fragging crazy?” 

Megatron’s optics shuttered. His helm dipped, so close that it brushed the brow of Orion’s, and he didn’t know what else to do but shudder at the barest hint of a touch, and his patellas felt suspiciously weak as Megatron slowly onlined his optics again, and this time, they were a much tamer shade of red as they slowly roamed Orion’s facial plates, as if trying to sear all of it into his memory. 

“... Sheep?” Megatron finally said after several moments of them puffing breaths of condensation into each other’s faces. 

Orion scoffed, his spark beating dangerously quick in his chassis as he turned his helm to the side, unable to keep Megatron’s intense gaze for any longer. He convinced himself that he was shaking because of the cold, though that definitely wasn’t true, since Megatron ran so warm that even when they weren’t touching except for their servos, he heated him well enough. 

“My designation is Orion,” he muttered a little petulantly. 

“And was I supposed to know that before or after reading your mind?” Megatron asked, his words sarcastic but carrying a faint undercurrent of amusement. His voice, no longer growling with his alarm or anger, was softer, more of a purr than a roar, and Orion wanted to punch him. 

“You didn’t have to tackle me like some kind of animal!” Orion snapped. 

“What else should I have done, then? Let some stranger continue to feel me up in my sleep?” Megatron rolled his optics, ignoring the way Orion sputtered that he had not been feeling him up, what the frag? “I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors, now was I?” 

“Who else would it be, you aft?” Orion couldn’t help but retort. Definitely not one of his smarter ideas considering he was literally at the mercy of the rebel leader, but to his surprise, Megatron didn’t spit back in frustration. 

Instead, the larger bot ex-vented something closer to a huff of laughter rather than anger, and with a twitch of his optic ridges, he rasped, “ah, you’re right. Who else would be stupid enough to break into Titan’s Hold, crawl through the vents, and try to surprise a criminal who’s recharging?” 

Orion flushed, and he couldn't even deny the way coolant beaded at his neck cables simply from how embarrassed he was. Which was stupid just by itself; what was he embarrassed about, exactly? Because Megatron was being annoying? 

It dawned on him that he was definitely not reacting like any sane bot would. He was quite literally at the mercy of the number one criminal of Iacon, and even though Megatron's servos were bound, Orion had no doubt that if he really wanted to, he could tear Orion to pieces right then and there. 

But he didn't. 

He sat there, hovering over him, with his vents brushing ever so gently against the top of Orion's helm. He was warm, almost to the point of excessiveness, and so large that Orion was practically dwarfed by him. He smelled not luxurious or comforting, but of copper and something deeper, something that reminded Orion of smoldering heat and intensity, and he felt dazed. 

Even though it had only been a few solar cycles since Orion last saw him, he couldn’t stop himself from tracing the entirety of Megatron’s handsome face as much as he could. His helm outlined his strong facial plates in such a way that it only pronounced his sharp jaw and cheeks even more. 

Even his optics, still that alarming shade of ruby, had simmered down into something of a softer shade, one that didn’t give him an expression that befitted a rebel, but rather someone who was just - just - 

“You’re hurt,” Orion blurted out, slightly horrified as he realized that there was definitely a large bruise swelling unpleasantly dark right around Megatron’s right optic. It encircled the lens, dragging below into his cheek and then up, all the way to his optic ridge. 

Megatron’s face twitched. His dermas quirked slightly at the ends, like he was trying to hold back a laugh, and his helm tilted slightly as he said, “are you shocked, sheep?” 

“Of course I am!” Orion snapped. He wiggled where he was still pinned onto the floor, but Megatron seemed to have no interest in letting him go. Instead, the rebel simply hummed and continued to observe him as if he were some fascinating specimen, and Orion could feel heat pool into his cheeks. “Dude, can you focus? You’re bruised, and it doesn’t exactly look like it’s about to clear up anytime soon.” 

Megatron huffed. “Sorry to break it to you, but I’m afraid that Titan’s Hold isn’t some five star hotel where I can kick back my pedes and relax. Did you think that they would just hold me here like some sort of hostage? I’m a prisoner, in case your thick helm forgot already.” 

Orion was horrified. He couldn’t stop staring at Megatron’s bruise, which was a sickly blue color that indicated his inner energon veins had burst and were struggling to heal themselves. There was no slagging way that Megatron meant what he was implying, but what else was there to conclude? 

Orion highly doubted that Megatron would punch himself for the sake of it, and not to mention, it wasn’t even impossible with the servo-suppressors. The fact that the bruise had developed this quick and this deeply meant that it had to happen recently, most likely last night if Orion had to guess, since he had such high experience when it came to bruises (thanks, Darkwing). 

“Get up,” Orion said harshly, and this time, he accentuated it with a swift kick from his pede, though it hardly made a difference, as his legs weren't as long as Megatron’s, so instead he just kind of nudged the rebel’s hip more than anything. 

“Bossy,” Megatron nagged, but his servos only tightened slightly around Orion’s wrist before he finally drew away. 

He was definitely limping when he staggered to his pedes and stumbled back to his usual corner of the cell. When he sat down, it was inelegant and with a loud crash, and Orion’s audials definitely picked up on a slight grunt of pain when the rebel slumped. 

“Thanks for the new scuff marks,” Orion grumbled, getting up from his sprawled position on the floor, rubbing a servo on the back of his neck, grimacing as something twinged. “Couldn’t go easy on me? I’m not built for brutality like you, you know.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I decide to tackle you like an animal,” Megatron drawled mockingly, but his gaze was piercing and intrigued as it swept over Orion’s frame. It lingered on his chassis, where his cog well remained empty, and Orion bristled, ready to tell him off, only to stop himself when Megatron suddenly said, “you’re a miner.” 

“You should add observant to your list of crimes,” Orion said stiffly as he got up and didn’t get any closer. 

Though they had been obscenely close only micro-kliks ago, Orion had no desire to be within Megatron’s breathing space again. His paint crawled from the memory of it, and he could only barely suppress his shudders as he recalled how warm Megatron had been. 

Of course, Megatron had no idea about Orion’s quickly spiraling thoughts, and instead, he only hummed and said, “petty. I suppose I should have expected as much from someone who has a spike big enough to break into Titan’s Hold.” 

Orion actively decided not to dwell on the fact that he almost shivered at the word spike that fell so easily from Megatron’s glossa. No, sir, he would not think about it at all, even if his processor eagerly tucked the memory into his hard drive. 

“What are you doing here, sheep?” Megatron asked. He tilted his helm back, and from that angle, even when he was sitting, it was almost like he was looking down on Orion, which immediately made him want to punch the jerk again. “You know how dangerous this is. I don’t imagine that you’re that eager to find out what enforcers do to rats like you, are you?” 

Orion grinded his dentae so hard that it was a wonder sparks didn’t fly. He bit down on his glossa, vented in deeply, and reminded himself that even though Megatron had to be one of the biggest afts he had ever met, he was still alive, and therefore deserved to stay alive.

Or, at least, until the trial said otherwise. But thinking about the impending court adjourning made something bubble uncomfortably within Orion’s abdomen, and so instead he gritted out, “my designation is Orion Pax, you fragger. And I came here because I’m crazy and for some reason thought you were being starved, but since you have enough energy to annoy me, I guess I was wrong, so I’m leaving now.” 

He whirled around, completely intent on marching away and hopping back up to reach the vent, but just as he was about to, he was stopped when there was a soft, barely audible noise from behind him. It sounded like a sharp vent, one made out of surprise, and Orion found he couldn’t move as Megatron spoke so softly that it was almost impossible to hear: 

“You came for me?” 

Orion swallowed. His glossa was dry and tasted bitter, and he slowly turned around again. He wasn’t sure what expression he had on his face, but whatever it was, it had Megatron’s facial plates stunned, and Orion spread his servos helplessly as he said in a hoarse voice, “did I have a reason to?” 

Megatron didn’t say anything right away, and instead, his helm hesitatingly jerked once in some feeble attempt at a nod. He glanced to the side, and his words were significantly lower, heavier as it was freed from any mocking amusement, and he said, “my fuel tanks are… low.” 

“How long has it been since you last ate?” Orion whispered, stepping closer, unable to block his neural network from signaling his pedes to walk. He kneeled in front of Megatron, and he had to tilt his chin up to look at him, to once again face that damn bruise. “Tell me.” 

There was a quiet noise, almost like a rolling growl, and Orion was startled as he recognized it as an engine’s purr. It had taken him a moment to realize what it was since he only really ever heard one on projection, and he couldn’t stop his vent from hitching as Megatron slowly muttered, “two cycles.” 

“Two - two cycles?” Orion sputtered, his processor almost short circuiting from the thought. That meant that Megatron had gone at least fourteen solar cycles without refueling. Orion often called it quits on reserving his rations on the fourth sol, so trying to hold out for fourteen was so unfathomable that it nearly knocked him right onto his aft again. “But - the enforcers should be feeding you! All captives in Iacon are protected under our judicial law!” 

Megatron’s dermas pursed in displeasure, and his optic ridges burrowed into a fierce frown. When he spoke, it was a growl of reprimanding and a harsh, grating anger. “And they shouldn’t be beating their prisoners either, but things never happen the way you want them to, do they?” 

Orion was floored. 

His processor was whirling into overdrive by this point, condensation billowing out his vents as he tried to comprehend what Megatron practically shoved into his face right now. 

The enforcers weren't feeding him? They were hurting him? 

What kind of fragging bullscrap was going on? How was this possible? But… then again, he thought furiously, a lot of bots hated Megatron, and not without reason. Maybe they were angry with him, obscenely, and took it out on him as a result. That was so wrong on so many levels that Orion felt slightly sick thinking about it, actually. 

He had to put a stop to this. How, he didn't know, but he would, and so he steeled himself, opened his arm compartment, and plucked the first cube of high refined energon, holding it out close to Megatron's dermas. 

“Here,” he said. He nudged it closer. “Drink.” 

Megatron blinked at the cube. “You seriously snuck in energon because you - are you stupid? How did you even know I wasn't eating?” 

Orion grimaced. “I didn't. Not until you confirmed it, anyway. Now drink.” 

Megatron looked at him incredulously. “What, you expect me to just let you servo feed me like I'm a sparkling? Should I call you carrier from now on, too?” 

Orion's face burned, and he snatched his digits back, cradling the cube close to his chassis. He couldn't decide if he wanted to chuck the damn thing at Megatron's face and be done with it, or leave and never come back. His voice was sharp and embarrassed as he hissed, “you’re the one making it weird! Just - settle down, okay?” 

Megatron grunted, and when he didn’t protest again, Orion slid closer again. Once more, that smell of copper and smoldering heat filled his olfactory sensor, and he practically beat his neural network into submission to not send energon to his cheeks, what the frag, and he despaired when he realized that the angle was just too steep. The rebel was too far, and Orion too short. 

So, with a giant ex-vent that suggested he was about to do the world’s most difficult task, Orion settled right in between Megatron’s legs, caging himself willingly within the rebel this time, and with one servo resting on the ground, he leaned up, his patellas protesting about the hard floor as he lifted the cube. 

It was slightly horrifying being in such a position, but Orion didn’t know what else to do short of straddling him, and that was not happening. It was a bit of a strain trying to make sure they didn’t touch, and energon pulsed rapidly in his veins as he blatantly ignored the notifications in his processor that kept reminding him that he was storing away all this memory into his hard drive. 

Regardless, at this proximity and angle, the cube could be held at the perfect height for Megatron’s dermas, and there was a distinctly unreadable expression on his face as he hesitated, jerked his helm slightly, before finally, he closed the rest of the small distance and licked at the glass. 

“You’re supposed to drink it,” Orion murmured. The heat of Megatron’s frame was a bit too much for him, and his spark beat dangerously in his chassis as he drank in the sight of Megatron’s dermas, which were slightly glossy from the energon. 

“Have to make sure you haven’t poisoned it,” Megatron muttered. 

Orion shot him an irritated look. “Yeah, because I snuck in here just to kill you with a spoiled cube.” 

Megatron’s optic ridges twitched, and he finally took his first sip, a drop almost immediately dripping out the corner of his mouth as he did. He wasn’t drinking too fast, which was good since Orion personally knew that fueling too quickly after starving was a bad idea, and he took the quiet moment to look over the rebel again. 

The more he stared, the more he saw, and he didn’t like the bits and pieces his processor was picking up on. Megatron was even worse than the last time they had met, and it wasn’t like he had exactly been in the best condition then, either. His armor wasn’t just scuffed, it was scratched and cut to the Pits, with dried smears of energon staining the steel.

It hit Orion on the helm that the last time he had seen the splatters of energon, he had just assumed that it had belonged to somebot else, that Megatron had injured some poor mech or femme and no one had bothered to wash him up afterwards. But what if that had also been Megatron’s energon? Had he been slowly bleeding to death all this time? 

“This is high quality,” Megatron rasped as he finished swallowing the last mouthful. He didn’t seem to notice the drop that still clung to the corner of his dermas, which Orion dutifully told himself to ignore. “You can’t get this with your salary.” 

Orion threw him a nasty glare. He tucked away the empty tube and brought out another one, waving it impatiently in front of Megatron’s intake, and his voice was clipped and annoyed as he said, “I don’t get a salary at all, thanks. And before you ask, no, I didn’t steal. This is a gift from my friend.” 

“Your friend.” Megatron deadpanned. He seemed unimpressed, but he was leaning forward and lapping at the cube again, and Orion had to look away, unnerved by the sight of Megatron’s glossa working so hard to catch every last drop. “So was he the one who stole all this, then?” 

“No.” Orion rolled his optics. He paused. “Maybe. But he just borrowed them from Ultra, so I’m sure it’s fine. He’s his pupil so I don’t think Ultra would care.” 

Megatron vented sharply, and he tore his face away from the cube. He was frowning again, and this time, his voice was a dangerous snarl as he spat, “what did you just say? Ultra Magnus’ pupil?” 

Oh, frag, Orion thought to himself frantically. That had slipped out of him without his permission; he’d been too distracted by the way Megatron had looked licking the inside of the cube, and he cursed his processor to all hell as he sputtered, “that’s, uh, I - “ 

“You’re friends with Sentinel?” Megatron said, his derma curling with displeasure. “I knew you were a council loyalist, but this really takes the fragging cake.” 

Orion scowled fiercely, and he snatched back the half-full energon cube, tempted to dump it over Megatron’s stupid, attractive helm. “Quit being such a jerk! So what if he’s my friend? He’s kind, and funny, and yeah, he’s a bit of an aft, but you’re even more annoying than he is!” 

Megatron laughed. It was grating and full of disbelief more than mirth, and his optics glittered dangerously as he said, “do you even know what exactly he stands for, sheep?” 

“He stands for everything you’re not,” Orion spat. 

“Exactly. That’s why he’s a disgrace, and you’re an even bigger one for lowering yourself to be associated with someone like him.” Megatron paused. He growled, his dentae gritted in frustration, and he looked like he was in pain as he ground out, “come back. I need more energon.” 

Orion’s jaw dropped, and he really did almost throw the cube at Megatron’s facial plates this time. Was the fragger serious? First, he threw Orion down onto the ground like some heinous beast, then he insulted his friend, and now he was demanding to be fed again like some spoiled, pampered prince? 

Orion had dealt with a lot of disrespect in his life, but this was beyond the pale, and his voice was colder than the air around them as he said, “not until you take back what you said.” 

Megatron’s engine roared in irritation, and he scoffed, his words biting as he snapped back, “demanding things from me already? No wonder you’re friends with a future Prime.” 

He hissed the word Prime like it was a curse, and Orion was this close to losing his mind. He didn’t understand Megatron’s problem; politically, of course they were on the opposite spectrum, but why, oh, why did he have to be such an aft about it? Especially when in this situation, Orion wasn’t the one who had his damn servos cuffed and couldn’t even feed himself! 

“I’m leaving,” Orion announced, standing up. 

“Fine,” Megatron snarled. 

“Fine!” Orion hissed. 

For a moment, they didn’t say anything, their vents harsh and heavy with their own indignations. Orion really did want to just turn around, hoist himself back up, and never come back. But then he looked at Megatron’s bruise again, at the scuff marks on his armor, and at the energon stains that didn’t belong to anyone but himself, and Orion cursed his own bleeding spark, he wanted to strangle himself for being so weak as he swore, fell to the ground with a clang, and shoved the cube back towards Megatron. 

“Drink,” Orion said in a snipping tone. 

“I thought you were leaving,” Megatron said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Primus help me, I’m going to kill him, Orion thought. “Just shut up and drink!” 

“If I didn’t have these servo-suppressants on, I would choke you just for that alone,” Megatron growled. 

“Well, I’m sure you can get to that as soon as you leave.” Orion rolled his optics. 

That, out of everything, seemed to give Megatron pause. He squinted at him, as if not quite comprehending what he just said, and his voice was full of suspicion as well as trepidation as he said, “what do you mean leave?”

Orion huffed. “What, you really expect me to just believe you’ll sit here doing absolutely nothing? You probably have some stupidly reckless plan to get out of here. And when that happens, I’ll make sure to lock my door so you don’t come and choke me out.” 

Megatron blinked. His derms twitched, like he was torn between laughing or frowning. “I’m still not going to apologize.” 

Orion figured. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous he felt for demanding such a thing from Megatron. The rebel had done far more heinous things that he hadn’t apologized for, so why would he say sorry for something like this? But Orion could be just as stubborn, so instead, he just said, “I know. I’m not going to apologize, either. You hate the council, fine. Whatever. But I’m not going to be sorry for believing in them. Not when they protect me from bots like - “ 

“From bots like me.” Megatron finished. His words were hard and flat, and Orion pursed his dermas. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “From bots like you. Now drink.” 

Megatron didn’t move. Then, slowly, reluctantly, he leaned forward, and he licked. 

The next few kliks were spent like that, neither of them willing to budge, and neither of them willing to talk about it. The silence, unfortunately, meant that Orion spent a bit too much time focusing on the way Megatron’s glossa swiped over his dermas repeatedly to catch any stray droplets, and he had to look away when his processor oh so helpfully told him that his charge was increasing. 

Shut up, Orion hissed to his notifications, stamping them out as quickly as he could, though that didn’t mean he could just ignore the way he could smell his own charge, a familiar scent of ozone that often caught him whenever he had to listen to other miners getting into each other’s recharge bays and messing around. 

Slag, he thought. He was seriously messed up in the helm. 

“I’m surprised you had time to come down here.” Megatron grunted unexpectedly. He didn’t look up from the cube, and his breath was dangerously warm as it brushed against Orion’s digits that continued to hold the energon up. “You miners and your schedules. You barely even have time to recharge, much less do anything else.” 

Orion slowly released an ex-vent. It seemed like Megatron at least wasn’t angry anymore, which was good. That being said, the conversation was a bit of a surprise, since Orion had just assumed they would sit in silence until Megatron’s fuel reserves were full. “Yeah, usually. But today everyone’s shifts were taken off.” 

“Everyone?” Megatron drawled, clearly not believing him as he finished the cube and tilted his helm for another one. Greedy bastard. “As if the upper caste would ever let you all get a break.” 

Orion was inclined to agree with him there, even if it was a bit unsettling to find that he actually thought the same thing as Megatron did. He plucked out another cube from his compartment, held it up, and said, “it’s required that during the sols for the Revitalization Ceremony, every bot is given a break, at least until the trailblazer is sent off.” 

“What?” 

Orion startled, almost dropping the cube as Megatron surged forward, his helm nearly knocking right into his from how fast he moved and how Orion’s frame didn’t even have the time to react and jerk out of the way. 

“The ceremony,” Orion repeated, blinking at the sudden proximity between them. If Megatron got any closer, their noses would touch, and the thought of it was a little dizzying. “You know, where the race happens first and then the winner - “ 

“I know about the ceremony, sheep,” Megatron rumbled. He seemed conflicted, his gaze sliding over to the side as he frowned deeply in thought. He at least settled back down into his usual position, propping his arm up on a raised patella, and he spoke softly, as if he were distracted: “Who won this time?” 

“Hot Rod,” Orion said slowly. Why was Megatron so interested in the ceremony? 

“Hot Rod!” Megatron laughed. It was more of a bark of surprise than an actual chuckle, but a smirk tugged on his dermas anyway. Orion was rather scandalized by how good a smirk looked on him. “That youth? He’s far too young. Younger than you, even.” 

“Hey!” Orion bristled. “He’s eighteen vorns, so he’s only younger than me by four! And he turns nineteen tomorrow, so screw you.” 

“Hm.” Megatron scoffed, uninterested. “Well, perhaps you might decide to celebrate his emergence day tonight instead. I highly doubt he'll live long enough to see it, anyway.” 

Orion’s spark skidded to a stop, and he was sure that he felt like he’d just been punched in the throat. His voicebox clicked urgently, unable to get rid of the static that suddenly thickened his vocalizer to the point that all he could do was make a buzzing noise of alarm. 

Hot Rod - he - what? 

“Is that a threat, Megatron?” Orion spat, feeling like an absolute idiot as he clambered to his pedes and glared at the bot that he had, stupidly, begun to think wasn't as bad as Ultra Magnus and the council claimed. Orion's processor was this close to blue screening from the overload of thoughts he was trying to sort through, and he knew it wasn't his imagination as he choked out, “how could you say that? Hot Rod didn't do anything wrong! And you said it yourself, he's young, so why? What is the matter with you to try and harm someone who's - “ 

“Sheep,” Megatron interrupted. He wasn't smiling, but something about the way he spoke suggested that he was close to it. He didn't even react strongly to Orion’s growing voice of anger, and instead, he simply tilted his helm slightly, and said, “your council really is skilled at their propaganda.” 

Orion felt like he was getting whiplash from the conversation, and he had half the mind to leave as he said, “what are you - “ 

“I suppose I can't blame you for instantly assuming I was threatening to kill Hot Rod of all mechs when that was what you were raised on.” Megatron continued, his chin raised as he stared at the vent. He seemed a little lost in his thoughts, uncaring for Orion's tumultuous emotions, and Orion wanted to kick him so badly that it physically pained him to hold back. “Big, bad, rebellion who only knows how to destroy and maim. Kill and be killed, fight and cause war.” 

Megatron snorted. 

Orion didn't know what was going on. He couldn't comprehend the biting, chilly sarcasm of Megatron's words, not when he was still reeling from what he said about Hot Rod. It was all too much, especially since Orion couldn't understand why Megatron spoke of his own rebellion in such a heinous manner. 

He was trying to imply something. The hypocrisy of Orion's accusations, the unfairness of it… Orion slowly let out a vent. He didn't want to argue, and he wanted to leave now more than ever, but he knew he had to stay, had to figure out the enigma that was Megatron, if only because if he didn't, he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Megatron jerked. He blinked. “What?” 

“I’m sorry,” Orion repeated, running a servo down his face and venting heavily when he saw Megatron’s confused expression. “Look, you’re a complete aft, but it wasn’t right for me to just - assume that you meant something malicious by what you said. Just explain to me what you were actually saying.” 

When Megatron didn’t speak, Orion hastily tacked on a small but steady, “please.” 

For a few kliks, it really seemed like Megatron wouldn’t speak again, and Orion didn’t know what to do except sit there and stare. The condensation from their combined vents were starting to cause small drops of water to appear on Megatron’s chassis, and it made him look like he was sweating coolant, which only made Orion feel that much awkward as his processor squawked about how he should lick it off. 

I think I’m going crazy, Orion thought to himself just as Megatron made a soft, inquisitive sound, and looked at him like he was the world’s most confusing puzzle. It was a bit insulting, really, since Orion had been genuine with his apology, but then again, Megatron didn’t seem the type to run into apologies much, since he was more of a kill now, ask questions never sort of mech. 

Or supposedly, anyway. 

“The ceremony is an illusion,” Megatron finally spoke. His words were slow, careful, as if he was choosing them deliberately and cautiously. His scarlet gaze was narrowed, his optics half-lidded, and he leaned down slightly, as if trying to make sure that Orion was paying attention. “The archives - “ 

“The archives?” Orion interrupted in confusion. 

Megatron sent him a glare that obviously meant shut up. “The archives might have the information you need. You can try and find something there.” 

Orion wanted to throw his servos up in exasperation. “But you’re here, why can’t you tell me now?” 

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “You literally just accused me of attempted murder about five kliks ago. You haven’t exactly shown me that you trust me or anything I say.” 

Orion felt guilt prickle in his spark at that, and he ducked his helm, staring at his servos as he squeezed them into fists in his lap. As much as Megatron’s words had been dry and plain without any accusation, it still made him squirm to think that he had made such a mistake. 

Orion prided himself on always trying to see the best in bots, so for him to have done that was, well. 

Embarrassing. A bit mortifying, actually, and he was sure it showed on his face when he mumbled out another quick, “sorry.” 

Megatron huffed. It was a sound of mirth rather than anger, and when Orion peeked at him, he was smiling. A real smile, not just a smirk or a snarky grin, and he was - wow. His dentae had sharper canines than normal, but they glinted in the low light of the cell. His optics were smaller from the way his cheeks moved, and when he spoke, it was soft, maybe even warm as he said, “you’re strange.” 

Orion blinked. “Uh. Thank you?” 

“You should go soon.” Megatron suggested, nodding to Orion’s still open arm compartment, where there were at least six more cubes left. “As much as I want you to leave those behind, it’ll raise too many questions. The guards will be returning from the reception soon enough.” 

“But you told me that the enforcers aren’t feeding you.” Orion protested, his throat clicking anxiously as he forced himself to say those words, to say something he never thought was possible. “I can’t just leave you nothing! Do you even know how slow the criminal system is here? Even if they tried to expedite your trial, you could be here for orns!” 

Megatron’s smile grew, and he looked inordinately pleased with himself as he purred, “so come back.” 

Orion froze. 

“What?” He stuttered. His spark was pounding in his chassis, and he was pretty sure he could hear his veins pumping with the sudden spike in energon levels as he stared like an idiot at Megatron. “I - what?” 

“Didn’t think it through?” Megatron tilted his helm in a coy manner. What the frag. “Like you said, I’ll be here for orns, maybe longer. Your judicial system is a joke, and with the way things are going, I really might die before I even get to stand trial. And the enforcers definitely won’t care either way since they can’t even spare me low refined energon just to keep me alive.” 

“Right,” Orion said. He didn’t want to admit just how breathy his voice was, but judging by the knowing glint in Megatron’s optics, he knew well enough, the piece of slag. Orion wanted to hit him for it, but instead, mortifyingly, Orion felt himself nodding, like he was in a trance. “I’ll… I’ll come back.” 

“Good boy,” Megatron purred, and oh, Primus, Orion felt like he was going to melt at that smoldering tone and gaze. “Now, go. Look at the archives. And if you have the right answer when you come back, I might be inclined to reward you for it.” 

“You slagger.” Orion choked out, even as he stumbled to his pedes and shakily reached for the grate, shooting Megatron an infuriated look as he did. “You’re an aft, you know that?” 

Megatron laughed. 

“Goodbye, Megatron,” Orion mumbled, hoping that the heat from his facial plates wouldn’t melt the frost around the grate as he pulled himself back up into the vent. 

“Goodbye, Orion.” Megatron’s voice echoed from below him. 

Slag, Orion thought hysterically as he shimmied back towards his friends. 

I’m so fragged. 

Compilation of Bumblebee and Cheetor saying each others name for 5 minutes and 20 seconds

:D

Hot Rod please don't try and fuck yourself this is a kids show

“don🦍t believe anything your brain tells you after 9 pm” wrong. the prime time for decision making is when you🦍re sleep deprived

^example of what life would be like if we used gorillas instead of apostrophes

"Always got your back." "No matter what."

Transformers One (2024)

bakes my nemesis into a cookie because i miss him :^(

*slowly opens door*

Obedient Servant from Hamilton as Megatron and Optimus

Megatron as Aaron Burr and Optimus as Alexander

K bye

*leaves*

Why is he posing like that

On YouTube! All the episodes + the specials are there

Love how Hot Rod immediately jumped to shield Cheetor and Bumblebee

Love him

Love how Hot Rod immediately jumped to shield Cheetor and Bumblebee

Love him

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. 

Transformers One movie novelization is a fever dream

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

personal headcanon: Orion fell in love with D-16 and had planned on confessing to him but lost the opportunity do so through the events of the movie BUT even as Optimus and Megatron he still held feelings for him.

Just imagining Megatron pinning Optimus down punching him in chest repeatedly trying to break the glass. There are tears in his eyes as another punch finally cracks it.

“Give him back,” Megatron cries out in anger.

Optimus doesn’t move to stop him only looking up at his old friend with concern and pity. Megatron bangs both his servos on top of the cracking glass and lets out a broken cry.

“Give me Orion back, give him back.”

Optimus knows he should throw Megatron off but he can’t bring himself to stop him. He wants to reach out, hold him, and reassure him that he never left but…

The punches turn in desperate clawing as Megatron tries to force Optimus’s plating off. Trying to get to the Matrix of leadership nestled inside.

“Once I rip this damn thing out I can finally see you again,” Megatron rambled.

Optimus didn’t respond he knew what would happen if he spoke. Megatron would scream at him to shut up. Go on about how he didn’t want him using Orion’s voice. So he just let Megatron continue to bang at the glass.

I currently have a Cheebee wip in the works so here's the traditional version first;

Wherever you are on Cybertron is where I'll be.