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Proteus’ office is inconvenient to get to, located not far from the Grand Imperium but deep into his representative state and the High Council Pavilions. The entire district bears a similar liking to him, made to look huge, gilded, and jewelled.
Shockwave follows the coordinates to a fenced-in high-rise that he needs a serial code to access. To no surprise, Proteus’ administration is on the top floor, probably so he can claim he’s observant of what happens beneath him. Or at least, that’s the theory.
The level of surveillance he’s under is comparable to what he imagines one would experience on Garrus-1. There are eyes on him in the courtyard and in the lobby. The elevator car he rides up in has mirrors on every wall, so he’s forced to look at himself. Knowing there’s probably a visual security feed, he resists the urge to look for smudges or imperfections.
Instead, he uses the time to cycle through a few deep vents and release pressure from his air tanks. The fear of inexperience with Proteus sits dormant in the back of his mind, though it’s more for his students than it is for him. He at least has a rank to hide behind if the going gets tough, something he can’t say for people like Skids, Windcharger, or Glitch. They relied on him for his protection, and it was his carelessness that’s prompted this discussion. The best he can do is look confident now.
Proteus’ secretary is a flashy thing, one who greets him cordially and warns him about a short wait as Proteus quote, “cleans up a few internal matters on his end.” Shockwave takes his seat on a thickly padded chair, crossing one knee over the other as he tries to get comfortable.
The layout of the room makes it feel bigger than it is, with dark but neutral colours and clean lines leading toward the centre of the room. Yet, unlike the commercial space where he leases his office, Proteus has no magnet boards or promotion for the local community. The absence of any municipal connection hollows the room out, despite the architectural flourish from up above.
Shockwave never had a waiting room all to himself, unless you can call the bench outside of his office a ‘waiting room.’ Mechs have been free to come and go, employing the art of popping their heads in when they have a concern or just want to say hello. He’d forgive Proteus for going all-out on the room if it looked as though he were always busy, but there isn’t a single other spark in there with him. All the bells and whistles only make the room feel more unwelcoming.
In the absence of anything else to do, he watches the secretary as he works. He’s not a member of the disposable class but is in no way extraordinary in any other regard. Though he fields incoming calls and handles documents with care, it looks as though he invents problems to solve. The stacks of datapads on the desk are being arranged and moved around every other minute. The disposal bin moves from under the desk to the wall, and then back again. The room temperature is never comfortable, boomeranging between being too hot or too cold.
The receiver beeps not too long after, and the secretary takes the call with a look that Shockwave would call a grimace. As he nods along to whatever’s being said on the other end of the line, he meets Shockwave’s optics. His are blank.
He ends the call. His face is then split by a polite, but not genuine, smile.
“Senator Proteus will see you now,” he says, pointing in the direction of a hall.
He follows the pointed finger down a skinny corridor with only two doors. The one to his right is plain, whilst the one at the hall’s end has a gold trim on the frame. It’s not hard to guess which one belongs to Proteus.
Before he enters the room, he knocks. There comes a deep sound from within that could belong to Proteus, which is enough affirmation for him. The doors give way without him needing to pull.
He’s greeted by a burst of cool air upon entry. The interior is dark, so dark that his optics need to adjust to a wider aperture to see more than a few feet in front of him. Once able to focus, the room’s detail begins to overwhelm him.
The room’s most defining object is by far the large circular window behind Proteus’ desk, which has both cathedral and modern inspired elements. It’s also the only glimpse he has of the outside world, in an otherwise shady room.
A single outlet to his left provides light, showing him two couches and a low table where a large pitcher of refined energon waits. The office’s dimly lit corner is occupied by none other than Proteus. He’s lounging, with one arm draped against the couch’s back and the other holding a hand out so he can beckon Shockwave over with a slender finger.
“Senator Shockwave,” his voice is thick, “a pleasure. You responded to my initial message very quickly.” His hand drops to pat the empty spot next to him. “Come, sit.”
“No need, this should be over quickly.”
“I insist.”
Shockwave lingers by the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m really only interested in hearing the reason you have for imprisoning a member of my staff.”
“Let’s just say it’s complicated. Now sit down.” His voice hardens, changing the suggestion to a demand.
It isn’t too late to leave; his gut agrees that it would be the safer option. But if he leaves now, he’s shut out from negotiations. He already knows that bribery won’t work. Pure, morbid curiosity has revealed to him that anything Proteus says about “coincidences” is false. Skids is in his system, under a file reviewed by him, and any attempt to bypass said system won’t fare well for Shockwave’s reputation; even if Proteus himself has been slipping credits under the table since his election.
Orion was one thing--Proteus didn’t care much for him. Skids’ arrest is deliberate. Proteus wants him here. He wants the satisfaction of hearing him beg.
He’s already here, so part of that has come true. He doesn’t give himself up fully though, choosing to sit on the adjoining couch and out of Proteus’ reach. His company, of course, says nothing, drumming his fingers on the back of the couch where he’s seated. His mannerisms suggest something childish, though he’s anything but.
Shockwave wastes no time, leaning forward with his fins angled to the side. “What charge was he arrested on?” he asks.
“By my knowledge, he was flagged for suspicion at one of our roadside screenings. A quick background check told them all they needed to know.”
“Since when have we conducted those?”
Proteus looks as though he’s trying not to laugh. “You really should be paying more attention to the agenda; we voted on these changes in the last senatorial session.”
He sends a ping to his memory bank. “I don’t recall.”
“You were staring off into space when I asked to hear any objections. Frankly, I was surprised you remained quiet. You usually keep me under such heavy scrutiny.”
Nothing comes back from his banks to confirm what Proteus is saying but he won’t make the mistake of trusting him, especially not with the expression on his face right now. Nothing about it reads as annoyed or angered. It’s pleasure. He’s pleased to see Shockwave desperately try to counteract him, to no avail.
Skids, he reminds himself. He’s here for Skids, not to massage Proteus’ ego with a reaction.
“The checks: why did they arrest him?” he repeats. The words are practically spat out of his mouth.
Proteus upturns a hand at him, spreading his fingers so he can use them to count. “Oh, let’s see: fraternizing with ex-convicts, suspicious activity and purchases--did you know he has an abnormal count of empurata contacts? I found that particularly interesting. They all showed up on his comm. links.” He pulls his hand back, fingers curled into his palm like long strings of wire.
“Since when has friendship been a crime?”
“It’s not. Unless most of those friends are outspoken against us or have otherwise proven they’re unable to abide by the rules. Then I say better safe than sorry.”
Shockwave holds his firm expression.
Proteus continues without asking. “I suspected that he could be a part of the criminal underbelly we’ve been working to expose. Then, I looked up his file and I saw his tenure at the J.A.A.T. and thought to myself, ‘maybe Senator Shockwave knows a thing or two.’ After all, I don’t think you would willingly employ a mech that comes with those kinds of associations.”
“Skids has never been a cause for concern. All you’ve done is misinterpret the extent of his kindness. That may fault him in your optics, but it shows empathy in mine. You had no right to take him in.” He fights to keep the fire out of his voice, lest Proteus call him out on it again.
“It’s precautionary. No need to be offended,” says Proteus, calm as can be.
“So you’ll release him?”
Proteus’ top lip quirks. “Ah, that. Well, you see--”
Shockwave stands up, almost pushing the table back with his knees. The energon on its surface splashes up the sides of its container, leaving a pink smudge.
“Save it. If you’re not going to drop the charges then I have nothing more to say to you.”
Proteus drops the friendly demeanour and the media smile; Shockwave is surprised he even wore them for this encounter. What surfaces to fill the void is his apathy. It’s the look behind closed doors, the evidence where there is none. No one would believe Shockwave if he told them, because this face is reserved only for him.
“I wouldn’t advise that you leave,” he says coolly. “Skids would have to pass through the federal court system then. That might take a few days. Weeks, even. Who knows what that time in captivity could do to a mind as bright as his.”
Panic chills his body, passing a tremble through his fins. What a very particular thing to say about Skids.
No. Don’t focus on Skids. Don’t give Proteus the pleasure of knowing he’s onto something.
“What do you want?”
“For one, I’d like you to stay and have a drink, if that’s not too troubling.”
It sounds like torture, but again, he doesn't have much of a choice. Whatever mockery of a judicial system they have won’t treat Skids kindly. The future of the Academy is at risk if they manage to get him talking.
He reluctantly takes back his seat, dropping himself without much care. One of his back plates rides up on another, making his whole protoform itch. Though it also might be caused by the look Proteus is giving him as he reaches in front of him.
The liquid decanter Proteus grabs is clear, the emboss glass markings stretching down into a cylindrical base that holds high-grade. Proteus screws the knob and places it down on the table, filling an empty goblet mid-way.
“It’s been a while since we spoke alone,” Proteus says as he finishes pouring. His glass is next, filled to about the same point with the same supply.
“We have never been alone together.”
Proteus pushes the drink toward him. “A crime. You have a lot of bright ideas. I wish I could pick apart that brain of yours, if only for a day.”
Shockwave picks his drink up, as does Proteus. He raises it higher in a mock-toast. “I’m afraid we just aren’t compatible.”
“All the more reason to work on our communication.” Proteus follows his lead, then takes a long drink.
“You want something from me. What is it?” Shockwave drinks what’s been served to him. It massages his taste receptors as it goes down, giving him a pleasant warmth.
It’s a bit stupid, but he has no fear. Proteus wouldn’t drug him because he wouldn’t drug himself. Not even for a political ploy.
“Simply, your cooperation. I’m working on a proposal that could use your support.”
“So, you’re blackmailing me,” he says slowly.
Proteus widens his optics at the suggestion. “Not necessarily. I think you serve to benefit from this, if you keep yourself open-minded.”
He produces a slim datapad from an end table and keys in the password to unlock it, handing it to Shockwave. It’s warm to the touch, as though Proteus was holding it prior to his arrival.
From the draft agenda alone, he can see it’s hanging onto the coattails of one of their Senatorial debates, with a few of the initial points grabbing him immediately. Even with that basis, it’s easy to see the rest has been transcribed from the comforts of his home, a product of his casual and unapologetic classicism that the words have been marinating in until they have become black.
A tap reveals that the document is more than a few pages long.
“What am I doing here?” asks Shockwave, holding the datapad like it’s a stylus he’s borrowed and doesn’t know where to put back.
“I want you to read it and tell me what you think.”
“The whole thing?”
Proteus shrugs one shoulder as he mouths the rim of his glass. “You don’t have to, but I assumed you’d want to.”
“That may take a while.”
“I’m patient.”
The sky has since lost its murky pink colour, giving the city a chance to shine among the clusters of stars. Shockwave can hardly see its greatness from a vantage point like this, which distances them from the civilians down below. The only company they have up is the occasional jet as it passes by.
Besides the sounds of their engines, the room is deathly quiet. Proteus has no need to play music in the background to substitute the traffic outside. Nor does he need to play it to aid Shockwave’s comfort. Thus, Shockwave can hear him swallow. He can hear the pop of his plating as it adjusts and smoothes, pushing out skirts of heat. All of the noises are distracting; quiet on their own, but overpowering in this room he’s been locked inside of.
He’s not the most entertaining guest when he’s seated and reading. Proteus is only asking for his opinion on the topic, not the delivery, how he minces his words, or what paragraphs could be removed to improve concision and flow. Shockwave is deep into his headspace, sparing no conversation. He half-expected his host to leave him in lieu of more appealing schemes, but that’s just wishful thinking. No, Proteus is content to watch him as he gorges himself on energon.
“You’re very attractive in Rodion’s districts. The added push from their end could be sufficient enough to pass this,” says Proteus as Shockwave continues to read.
Shockwave nods, hearing him but not processing what he’s saying. He loses his train of thought, forced to return to the beginning of the sentence so he can make sense of it.
It occurs to him that this could be just another trap. These could be his death rites, made available to him before the door is kicked open and he’s apprehended for the crime of not kissing the ground that Proteus walks on. It wouldn’t be out of character for him. The longer he’s allowed to proceed untouched, the more his suspicion grows.
He keeps wanting to glance at the door, aware it would alert Proteus to his anxiety but knowing there would be a scrap of comfort from knowing it’s not about to be blown off its hinges.
Ultimately, though the proposal is lengthy, it’s not overly so. He combs through the important details as best he can, taking small sips of his drink to occupy his cavernous mind with something other than his suspicions about his colleague. In due time, his mind drifts to the contents of the work, mulling them over as he tries to capture what he’s read in one short summary. He’s reading about the use of force to retake what Proteus vaguely calls “secessionist territories” and to control gathering sizes, but can’t shake the nagging suspicion that there’s something more to it all.
“So, if I understand correctly, you want to authorize the use of military force?” says Shockwave, finishing his drink to quench his thirst.
“That’s a simple way of putting it, but yes.” Proteus gestures for the datapad, taking it back from Shockwave with a gentle yank.
“I don’t understand what makes this any different from what you’re already doing.”
“Most forces are only held accountable to municipal governments. It leads to inconsistency and informants and officers acting on their personal agendas. My solution is to federalize state militias. This would make sure we have oversight systems in place, so we can intervene if they aren’t performing their roles under contract.”
“Again, I couldn’t tell you the difference. You’ve heard my opinion on why force mentalities don’t work. Remember the outrage you sparked with your serial code proposal? You’re looking at a repeat performance.”
“We have approaches to counter-radicalization as well.”
“By doing what? Issuing more arrest warrants?”
“By doing what’s necessary.”
Shockwave levels his voice. “You know what I think of you, and of this. It’s always been horribly ineffective at accomplishing anything.”
“On the contrary: it lets us deploy personnel where we need to and tap into information databases so we can prevent attacks before they happen. Early intervention efforts have been successful in dropping homicide rates in Kaon and Vaporex.”
“Answer me honestly,” he leans in, “and say I sign off on this. What’s next?”
“Simple. With your permission, I’m going to divvy up Rodion’s share of officers and move them to where they can be of greater use. Don’t misunderstand me; I am very impressed with the jump in the incarceration rate and what it’s done for public safety, but now I think it’s excessive to keep them there. Since they’ve proven so capable, I’d love to post them in a place like Tarn. Or even Kaon, with Ratbat's blessing."
For a verbal explanation coming from Proteus, it’s rather tame. He’s not fooled though. Proteus already has access to militant force because of his (illegal) occupation of the federal system, courtesy of a divided Senate and the activation of War Powers. He owns everything. What he’s presented here is an unnecessary filler that serves no legal purpose. There has to be some ulterior motive for showing him it.
Then it hits him.
Rodion’s police. The arrests. He’s talking about Orion.
Shockwave suspected he knew, but this just makes it official. Not that anything was stopping him from going in and plucking Orion out of his district before; this is just a reminder that he can.
Senator Shockwave isn’t allowed to have friends. Proteus has long since cut the ties that bind him to anyone he truly cared about just by being his opponent. Now, he’s flaunting: flaunting what he could do and pretending he’s merciful when he doesn’t.
The only thing that offers him even a pint of reassurance, is that Proteus isn’t going as hard as he could. If he wanted to scare Shockwave into political sobriety, he would have made this a lot more personal. But instead of threatening to make Orion disappear, he chooses relocation as his vehicle.
Almost as if he sees Orion as just a good friend. Not as a co-conspirator. Not as a partner, someone Shockwave would do almost anything for.
Shockwave leans back on the couch, stretching his legs out. It’s a small mercy in an otherwise painful consideration. Even if Proteus makes true on this, the worst that would happen is they’d need to invest in off-grid long-distance communication. It could be a project for one of his students.
“You look like you’re about to pass out. Do you want to lie down?”
Never has a threat looked so genuinely concerned about his well-being. It’s then that Shockwave realizes he’s just been blankly staring ahead. From the looks of him, Proteus must think he’s hit a sore spot dead-on.
“No. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, thank you,” he says. He only expresses gratitude out of instinct but it, combined with his softer tone of voice, makes Proteus light up.
“You know, if my proposition is so worrisome, I could consider postponing it. I have reports on terrorism financing I could present instead if you need more time to think about it.”
“As much as I would appreciate that, Skids’ freedom is my top priority.”
“Oh, I understand,” he says, with a face that looks as though he’s humouring him, not tantamount to showing sympathy. “What if we discussed this tomorrow then? I could clear my appointments for the day.”
Tomorrow?
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Shockwave drops his hand. “Neither of us is going to back down on their opinion. Let’s just settle this now.”
“You underestimate me! I can be perfectly reasonable in the right environment. Just as I’m sure you can be rather emotional in the wrong one.”
Shockwave looks away.
“Come now, I was joking,” laughs Proteus. “You haven’t been drinking enough if that makes your lip curl.”
“Just tell me what you want.”
“What I want,” Proteus repeats with a thin smile. “Well, if this was a perfect world, I’d guarantee the safety of our people in these uncertain times.”
Shockwave could gag. Oh, how holier-than-thou of him.
“But for now, I’ll settle for your silence. No rebuttal when I present this; no offhand comments or rallying cries.” He raises a cautioning hand. “Rest assured, I won’t blame the outcome on you. If it doesn’t pass, no harm no foul. But if it does, your name won’t be attached. It won’t damage your reputation.”
“I’m not thinking about my image. I fundamentally disagree with what you’ve typed up there. It concerns the people that I work with every day.”
“They’ll forgive and forget. They always do.” He must see the sour look on Shockwave’s face, as his next words come lighter. “I know that’s hard for you to hear, but remember, you’re doing this for Skids.”
Fury courses through Shockwave’s lines, poisoning his energon with fire.
“ You took Skids in.”
“I did. And you know why.”
“There are easier ways to humiliate me.”
“But I think I like this one.” He crosses his hands over his knee. “You know, I wouldn’t have to resort to such methods if you were more open to my suggestions.”
“Perhaps I would be more open to your suggestions if you weren’t so cruel, Proteus.”
“Oh, you think I’m cruel?” He tilts his head down, optics pressed thin. His friendly pretence is wiped once more. “You have no idea. Skids is just the beginning if you continue to defy me.”
At least he’s acknowledging it now, instead of treating and treasuring him like he would a real opponent who doesn’t have both hands tied behind his back. This is all a mockery of those proceedings, so he can make the taste of victory that much sweeter by pretending he outsmarted Shockwave by his own wit and not the power vested in him by his bank account.
“Careful, Senator,” says Shockwave. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it sounds as though you’re extorting me.”
Proteus flips a smile onto his face.
“Of course not. But I highly urge you to rethink where you’ve set your priorities.”
“I work toward the greater good. What about you?”
“Who knows more about the greater good than me? Tell you what,” he stands up, offering Shockwave his hand, “I know you don’t like my plan. Perhaps we could work out another solution. You’re still free tomorrow, right?”
Why is Proteus so insistent on tomorrow? Shockwave eyes his hand warily. “That depends.”
“How about I send you my available time slots and you choose what’s most convenient.”
“I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Try. Your busy schedule can accommodate me, I’m sure.”
“And we would just be discussing this?”
“That’s right.”
“I would’ve thought you’d have better things to do.”
“Oh, I do.” Proteus flattens a hand on his chest. “You should be honoured. I'm making an exception for you.”
“Fine. Whatever. Tomorrow it is.” Shockwave glances at the door. It feels so far away. “If that’s all, we should call it a night.”
It’s an abrupt end, but he’s not sure how much longer he can entertain this game before he’s unable to keep up the facade and insults the other Senator to his face, with or without meaning to. It seems as though he’s the only one eager to leave, as voicing his desire seems to disappoint Proteus.
“I’m afraid so. That being said, you’re welcome to stick around.”
“It’s a long way home,” he replies, carefully choosing his words so that he doesn’t appear too eager to leave.
Luckily for him, it looks as though Proteus is not going to nail him to the wall right now, probably because he has a hostage audience tomorrow. He moves back a step to let Shockwave stand.
“No harm, no foul. I can hail you a transport if you’d like. It might be a few minutes though.”
“Sure.”
Proteus grabs both of their empty glasses in one hand, carrying them over to his desk as he walks Shockwave to the door. With his free hand, he types a command into the communicator on his arm.
“It’s just occurred to me that this is your first time visiting,” he says as he finishes up the message. “I wish I could have given you a warmer welcome.”
“Your office suits you,” is all Shockwave says. It’s certainly true.
Proteus holds the office door open to him. “I feel like such a lousy host. Though, I suppose I haven’t seen your office either.”
He’s trying to invite himself. Shockwave tries to avoid answering him by stepping out, though Proteus quickly follows suit.
“Yes, well,” he coughs, “I’m afraid I’m always busy with my students. My office doesn’t see much use.”
Behind him, he hears a grunt. “Don’t downplay your work, it isn’t flattering.” Which is a nicer way of saying don’t lie to me.
They’ve since exited the office’s lobby and entered the hallway. It looks as though Proteus is going to chaperone him as he leaves the building. Shockwave can practically feel him stepping on his heels, he’s walking so close to him.
Shockwave resets his vocalizer. “All I mean is, I’ve had to move my focus to other projects. You can still drop in during the visiting hours if it’s concerning something big, though I don’t see why you wouldn’t just stop me at The Grand Imperium and tell it to me there.”
“True, but I think it’s a lot more intimate to have a one-on-one conversation, wouldn’t you say? That, and it’s a lot more private.”
“You don’t think The Grand Imperium is safe?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s certainly a safer place than if I’d struck up a conversation with a commoner out in the open.”
Shockwave mouths a prayer he hopes will protect him as they enter the elevator. Though not a small space, Proteus takes up a lot of room both in body and in personality. All Shockwave can do is press himself into the corner and bide his time as Proteus segues into what he might call a humble brag. His patience thinning, Shockwave considers offlining his audio receptors.
The lobby is vacated when they pass through it. A good thing, considering Proteus decides them to place a hand on his lower back to push him forward and out the door with. Shockwave has not the time to comment, as the transport waits at the other end of the courtyard in plain sight.
All that he can grasp is the desire to go home and sink deep into recharge so he can figure out how to approach this rapidly developing problem. Foregoing any political etiquette, he hastens toward the escape, though not before Proteus is able to get one last word in.
“Tomorrow then. I’m looking forward to it.” He has both hands behind his back, appearing tall and professional to the pedestrians walking nearby.
“Sure.”
The hand leaves his back. Its placement was right, but the texture was wrong. Shockwave is used to calloused hands, occasionally cut or bloodied or dirty with the day’s work. On the contrary, Proteus’ well-manicured fingers feel less like the start of a comforting hold and more like a brand. He’s happy for them to leave him, even if they leave a burn behind.
Shockwave is boarding the transport when he receives an incoming message from who other than Proteus. Opening it, he sees a table of available hours throughout the day, enclosed inside a memo about their conversation that evening. The times range from wholly inconvenient to clashing with his office hours spent at the Academy. Out of the eight he provides, only one makes sense.
It’s right when he’s supposed to meet with Orion; the one hour in the week he’s had to shove commitments aside to make time for. The numbers flash in front of him, as if taunting.
He keeps his back turned so Proteus can’t hear him swear.