Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cover Art by chaosphoneix

Not once in all of his functioning has he ever felt so small. The streets of Iacon always made him feel above average, while the Hall of Records felt more like a second home to him—even if there were times where things felt just a little too small. However it’s as he wanders through the streets of Kaon towards one of the mines that he realizes just how big the world is outside of where he has experienced thus far. Much larger than the Wilds he spent his early functioning in and Iacon where the rest of it was spent.

And it wasn’t just the massive industrial buildings that towered over him—though they did not help matters. He found himself constantly on alert and afraid that one of the many miners making their way to work would accidentally crush him, a feat that could potentially come easily with how massive the Warframes were compared to how he is now. A few of them have already come pretty close to doing so, based on the few accidental shoves he received because he unknowingly got in their way when keeping his optics up to gawk at the towering buildings. It made him want to stretch himself out to at least have them more aware of him, but he refrained out of fear that he would forget to compress himself for the comfort of those in Iacon.

After taking a moment to exvent and connect to the Communication Grid to regain his bearings, Orion Pax took his time to watch the stream of miners march their way towards a particularly imposing dark purple building with spires that pierced the sky. His spark thrummed when he checked the Communication Grid once more to make sure he was going in the right direction.

And even though he knows he needs to keep his full attention on his surroundings, he couldn’t help but keep his optics focused on the large building that was his destination followed by the map he had pulled up from the Communication Grid that acted as his lifeline while in such a foreign city.

Had he actually been paying attention then maybe he would have avoided the massive wall of silver that had unknowingly stepped in his path, and perhaps he would have been put down a completely different path—the path that he knows was already laid out before him.

Instead, as he found himself sitting on his aft and staring up at the mech he wound up crashing into, Orion couldn’t help the sense of unease that went through him as the miner turned to gaze down at him with bright red optics and a frown that appeared to be permanently marred on his faceplates.

If he didn’t feel small before, he felt downright diminutive from the way the miner stared at him. 

It reminded him of the times when he would read about the Age of Expansion that came after Nova Magnus was deposed, of the level of destructive potential held within the Warframes that fought in those very wars. It amazed him how they have chosen to work in the mines, but he also figured any bot would be weary of war after non-stop fighting for millions of stellar cycles.

The large silver Warframe continued to stare down at him with those bright red optics, almost as if he was trying to get a look into Orion’s spark, before he briefly reached a servo out to Orion.

“D-16, we need to make haste,” a different Warframe called out, one who had red accents and tank treads.

As if pulled from whatever had invaded his programming, the silver Warframe turned away from Orion and quickly moved to follow the older mech where they both went into one of the many large nondescript buildings that were bunched up within the sprawling city.

For a moment he remained sitting there, processing just what happened as the streets started to finally empty out and he was left alone in the massive city.

Feeling even smaller than before, he quickly brought himself back up to his peds and prepared to continue on towards his destination; that was until the tip of his ped connected with a lone datapad that lay on the ground in front of him.

Curious and not one who would normally leave such precious treasures lying around, he reached down and picked up the datapad. One of his digits hovers over it, the temptation to take a small peak into what could be contained in this mysterious pad almost took over, until he remembered he had to bring the reports to Overseer Fastback.

Orion took a moment to cycle his vents before putting the datapad in his subspace, his attention now focused once more on his destination as he forced his peds to take him towards the imposing purple building where he would give the reports to Fastback.

And then he can return home to Iacon and the Hall of Records, where he would then return to his simple and mundane function.

As Orion stood by his desk after turning his assignment back over to Altri so he could forward it to Powered Convoy Magnus, he briefly considered the datapad he picked up from Kaon. The curiosity continued to burn his processor as it sat heavy in his subspace, until he finally couldn’t take it anymore as he reached in and pulled the datapad out.

His optics went from the smooth surface of the touchscreen, the thickness adding a heavy weight and unexpected durability to the pad that sat in his servos. If he didn’t know any better then he would have assumed it was actually something he picked up from a construction site as opposed to something held by a miner.

The screen lit up as he tapped at the pad, bathing his faceplate in a purple glow as he took in the white glyphs that relayed the orders for the day—however a single tab caught his attention more than the orders that were relayed to the original owner of this datapad. His curiosity continued to nibble at the back of his processor, even if he was not planning on ignoring it this time around.

He scanned the new set of glyphs that appeared after tapping the small icon in the top corner of the screen, until the realization hit him as he read the glyphs.

This was supposed to be notes for the miners to record to then turn over to their overseers, but this was obviously not that. Instead, it was a string of glyphs put together to create an image that made him at a loss for words. 

“D-16,” he whispered, as if the designation was something precious that he is not worthy of speaking. The name rolled off of his glossa in a way that had his spark thrumming as he read what the miner wrote for a third and even a fourth time.

It was during his seventh read-through, absolutely tearing apart the raw emotions thrown into this lone ode and drinking in the imagery that the miner put into this work of pure art, that he felt something tap his shoulder.

Almost on instinct, he pressed the datapad over his chest—the screen pressed against the barrier that kept his spark hidden away.

“Did I spook you, dear Orion?” 

For a brief moment he frowned at the way his friend spoke his designation, but he quickly hid it with a smile as he turned to look at Ultra Prime. 

“Had I known you were coming then I would not have allowed myself to become so distracted,” he greeted, making sure to stay as polite as possible as he kept the datapad close. Though he figured he would have to remind his friend about how he would rather be addressed.

Before he could even say that he would rather not be called “Dear,” Ultra was already speaking about his day-cycle as he sat on Orion’s desk.

“Zeta has been digging through old proposals that PC has already rejected, and get this! You remember how the Decepticon movement started to get traction just after our second Golden Age? Well Zeta and I have been a little worried about Megazarak gathering more and more followers, because you know those Warframes can get pretty violent.”

Orion briefly raised an optical ridge as he thought about his recent trip to Kaon. None of the miners showed any true hostility now that he thinks back on it—in truth they were simply trying to go to work and do their jobs, just like Orion. And Orion had gotten in their way a few times, so of course they would be a little cross with him but not overtly aggressive. 

Still, he hummed to acknowledge what Ultra was saying as he glanced at the datapad in servo. 

He briefly wondered if he could get away with reading the ode a few more times while Ultra continued to discuss his woes with him.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Ultra brings up why he thinks he should be selected as Powered Convoy’s successor as opposed to Zeta.

“Well Zeta found the proposal Councilmech Proteus brought to PC, and we both agree that it’s for the best. Has Alpha Trion told you about that proposal?”

Orion blinked and looked up.

“You mean the Decepticon Registration Act? Didn’t Powered Convoy shut that down out of worry that it would alienate and even drive the Destrons away? The very same Destrons who helped depose Nova Magnus during the Great Purge?” He asked.

Surely Ultra would know this was not the right path for dealing with the terrorist organization.

“The very same, but Zeta is trying to rewrite the proposal so it’s optional instead of mandatory. He’s hoping that this will create a clear line between Destron and Decepticon.”

He frowned at the thought.

While in theory it seemed like a much better proposal than what Proteus suggested, he knows that in practice it could get out of hand as innocent Warframes might be accused of aligning themselves with the Decepticons when they want nothing to do with either faction.

“And do you agree with Zeta? That Powered Convoy should pass Proteus’s proposal?” 

Ultra shook his helm which briefly sent hope through Orion’s spark.

Perhaps his friend had grown past his original stance when it came to Warframes in general.

But that spark of hope died in an instant when Ultra opened his intake and spoke; “Frankly I think they’re both too lenient with the Decepticons and Warframes in general.”

Orion shook his helm.

He should have known that Ultra wouldn’t change so easily, though perhaps if he read what D-16 wrote then it would be a different story.

Maybe it will even change his perspective on Warframes in general, though definitely not the Decepticons—Orion doubts any of them will change their mindset about Megazarak and his extreme methods of trying to break the system they have in place.

“Do you want to take a look at what I was reading before you interrupted me?” He asked, holding the datapad out to his friend.

Ultra blinked and looked between Orion and the datapad, his optic ridge raising ever so slightly as he took the pad from Orion’s servos.

“Isn’t this a miner’s datapad? Where did you get this from?” He asked.

“I was actually sent to Kaon to deliver a report to Fastback, but I briefly got lost and accidentally bumped into one of the miners. He dropped this datapad and I was planning on returning it, but you know how curious I can get,” Orion admitted with a sheepish smile on his faceplates, “And I’m glad I kept it because, and this is to my pure shock and delight, the miner appears to have a pretty creative hobby.”

He watched as Ultra scanned the glyphs, reading the ode that had Orion captivated for what he realized to be the past few cycles. Not quite a megacycle, but it goes to show just how much he could pull apart from an ode that was directed at their god.

And he hoped that Ultra would see what he saw when reading what D-16 wrote, because surely it would show him that Warframes weren’t made exclusively for fighting and hard labor.

Ultra frowned as he set the datapad down on Orion’s desk instead of handing it back to him.

“The violent language the miner selected is not what I would call creative, more destructive. The fact that he calls the mines a carcass for him to continue to strip until his servos bled, until it has all run dry?”

Orion shook his head.

“It is commonly believed that Cybertron is actually the body of Primus, the one who created all of us.”

“That’s just a story, there’s no evidence that Primus was even real.” 

He considered countering that there probably was evidence in the past, until Nova Magnus had it all destroyed because he saw it as “Unnecessary” for Cybertronian society.

Something that got in the way of the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy that the Functionalists of old loved to tote around, because it’s more evidence that Primus held an equal amount of love for all of his creations as opposed to only loving those with specific functions.

Leaving the rest to be pressed into hard labor that those in the upper castes did not wish to do.

Instead, he reached and took the datapad back as he read over D-16’s words again.

“Perhaps it’s better that we agree to disagree here,” he said, already prepared to provide a peace offering as he put the datapad back in his subspace to read it again at a later time.

Especially since something told him that if he left it on his desk then a small accident could happen, like Ultra moves in such a fashion that it would knock the datapad down where he would then accidentally step on it.

“I believe it’s better that you learn to see things from my perspective, it will help you prepare yourself for the Ritus,” Ultra said as he reached for Orion’s servos, a soft smile on his faceplates as he brought them up to his intake.

Orion knew better than to pull away, but it still sent an unpleasant jolt when his friend pressed a kiss to his servos.

For a brief moment he wanted to suggest that they change the nature of their engagement once more, but he decided it was not worth the ache in his processor to hear Ultra go over just why they needed to go through the Ritus. Even if he would rather have Ultra as an Amica, he knows that it would cause a great disappointment for those who have been following this courtship that has lasted for a few million stellar cycles now.

And he isn’t sure if he could face the looks of disappointment everyone would give him for seemingly changing his mind after being in such a committed engagement for a long time.

“Perhaps it would be, but for now we will have to agree to disagree until one of us encounters something that changes our perspective,” Orion said diplomatically, deciding that it was not worth it to get into yet another argument with his friend. It’s already bad enough that Ultra brought up Proteus’s proposal, but now they’re starting to move into a territory where they would start to verbally jab at each other—and not in a fashion that Orion would consider to be intellectual.

He briefly thought back to the miner he encountered and started to wonder if maybe he could be someone who would provide more stimulating conversation as opposed to making him feel bad for simply disagreeing with a popular viewpoint.

Ultra frowned as he ran a digit over Orion’s servos, refusing to release them as he reached into his subspace.

“As much as I would love to counter your point, I’m afraid I don’t have much time. This was supposed to be a quick visit so I could give you this gift, but I always find it harder and harder to leave you behind,” he said, finally smiling as he pressed the aforementioned gift into Orion’s servos, watching him expectantly.

Orion looked at the box, careful to keep his expression schooled as he put it into his subspace. While he knew Ultra was expecting him to open this gift immediately, thankfully his friend gave him the perfect out to not open it right then and there.

“I thank you for this kind gesture. I will open this when I return to my habsuite,” he said, his processor remembering all of the unwrapped gifts that sat in a single storage room. A stark reminder that he will soon have to go through all of them and find a way to discreetly dispose of them without Ultra catching wind of this.

He doesn’t like the idea of throwing away gifts, but in recent times his friend has made his courting gifts things that just do not catch Orion’s fancy. Gone were the cycles where Ultra would give something far more thoughtful, like datapads or even simple energon treats. Now he gets nothing but frivolous items that act as wastes of space and time, but things that Ultra seems to personally enjoy. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if this newest gift was something like an impractical accessory or even a set of paints that Orion could use to decorate himself with—things that he personally never really cared for.

His friend frowned again as he finally slid off of Orion’s desk.

“I hope to see this gift put to use when I see you next.”

“If I have time then perhaps,” Orion said. For a moment he remained tense until he finally saw his friend leave, his frame finally relaxing as he pulled the miner’s datapad from his subspace once more. He smiled as he started to read the ode once more.

While Ultra doesn’t seem to understand where Orion is coming from, perhaps one of his other friends would find an appreciation for this particular work.

He will have to check and see if he can get his and Ratchet’s schedules to line up after all.

Two solar cycles since he lost his datapad. D-16 couldn’t wrap his processor around where it went or what could have happened to it. All he knows is that Fastback would have some strong words with him over the fact that he lost his datapad, but Fastback was the least of his worries.

Instead, he was more concerned about the ode he wrote—he still needed to read over and edit it properly, to then show it to his mentor for any further edits, and then present it to the other miners who had an interest in his writing.

But now he was going to disappoint all of them because he was an idiot and lost his datapad.

How is he supposed to get his work done properly? How is he even going to get paid for this decacycle’s work if he can’t turn in his datapad?

D-16 didn’t have time to think or even search again as he joined Terminus in the large auditorium where Fastback would be giving them their assignments for the cycle.

His clawed servos tapped impatiently against each other, betraying his nerves as he kept his optics towards the stage where Fastback was waiting for all the miners to take their places.

“Is something wrong?” Terminus asked, ever the patient and serene one as he pressed a single digit on D-16’s shoulder.

He took the opportunity to calmly exvent before he looked up at his mentor.

“I still haven’t found my datapad, and we’re coming close to the end of this quarter. If I don’t find it soon then I won’t get my rations.”

“It isn’t payment you’re really worried about, is it?” Observant as always, Terminus knew how to get to the root of the issue as he pulled his own datapad out and tapped on the screen to activate it. “Fortunately I’ve been keeping a record of what work you have done for this quarter, I just need to transfer it to your new datapad and you will get your rations,” he explained. “So tell me, what is really bothering you?”

“I had something written in the notes that I was hoping to have you look over, especially since the next meeting is soon,” he finally explained.

His mentor had a warm smile on his faceplates as he prepared to give some form of reassurance to D-16, but that was the moment when Fastback called for everyone’s attention.

“After reviewing the reports sent by the Council, I regret to inform you that we failed to reach our quota this decacycle. It has also come to my attention that a few of you have been misusing your datapads for things outside of your function as miners.”

D-16 froze.

Did the overseers pick up his datapad? Did they read his writing?

He knew he should have been more cautious. He should have transferred his ode to a different datapad and then wipe it from the one he lost, and now they will all face retribution because of his carelessness.

“So until further notice, we will be confiscating all of your datapads and you will have to work double shifts to make up for all of your slacking!”

For a brief moment there was outrage as his fellow miners started to shout and ask how they can expect to be paid their rations if they don’t have datapads to prove that they have been working, but D-16 did not join them in those protests as he realized what it means when they get their datapads confiscated. 

It will become apparent to everyone that it would be his fault that they would all be forced to work double shifts, as he does not have a datapad to turn over. And while he knows his fellow writers would not judge him too harshly for his error, he is certain that the rest of the miners would not view him favorably and even blame him for everything that went wrong on this cycle.

“Here.”

D-16 blinked when he felt something get pressed into his servos.

He turned to look at Terminus before freezing when he saw his mentor hand him a datapad.

“Terminus?”

“As far as anyone here is concerned, this is your datapad. In my old age, I have forgotten and misplaced my datapad far too many times, it was a matter of time until an overseer found it.”

D-16 shook his helm as he tried to give the datapad back. “Terminus, I can’t just-”

His mentor continued to give him that easy and relaxed smile as he refused to take the datapad, instead waiting patiently for their turn to turn in the datapads. 

“They are not right for taking this away from us, but for as long as we continue functioning then we will still create many wonderful things. They may take our datapads and our ability to express ourselves utilizing them, but they can never take the spark of creativity from us. Even if we have to go back to the oral tradition of our predecessors, we will always find a way.”

D-16 nodded as he held the datapad to his chest, right over where his designation—a mere serial number—was engraved for as long as he could remember.

He will never forget what he owes to Terminus for as long as he continues to function, for as long as he continues to toil away in these mines.

“Watch me, Primus. For we are troopers.”

Chapter Text

The loss of all their datapads stung in a way D-16 never realized could be possible. While he expected an eventual push to work more shifts to meet some arbitrary quota the Council declared, he never thought they would be forced to do so completely blind to the potential dangers of each mine shaft based on observations recorded in their datapads. Followed by just how long they worked this shift, which would then be calculated to determine how much they would get for their rations.

But now they had none of that—instead they would have to rely on the honor system of their overseers. They would have to hope that their overseers would pay attention to how hard they worked, notice how their servos would bleed after each shift, and reward them appropriately for the labor they provide.

Even as he worked his shifts that continued to feel longer and longer with each passing solar-cycle, he found his processor continued to work out more and more poems. It was as if losing his datapad freed him from the confines of actually writing his words down. The stories Terminus told him of the days long before the Great Purge, when the Warframes initially rejected the written words the Civvies tried to push on them because they believed that oral tradition should never be forced away.

It’s on this particular shift that D-16 received inspiration from an unexpected source.

“Don’t stop mining, your work is of vital importance. Every last one of us are the cogs that allow for the Great Autobot Machine to continue moving,” one of the overseers said as a means of encouragement for all the miners present.

But D-16 felt it had the opposite effect.

“What do you do with a broken cog?” He mumbled quietly to himself, careful to not let anyone present overhear him. As he mulled those words over in his processor, he could already tell that he had the frame for perhaps his most controversial poem. But he found he did not care about causing a potential uproar, because it was the truth—it was how he really felt deep down as he pressed his drill into the wall that stood in front of him.

“The overseers call us cogs, but what do you do with a broken cog?”

The wall in front of him crumbled away as those behind him collected the pieces in the minecarts, to then bring them to where they would be sifted through for the smallest traces of energon within, and finally brought to the refinery.

“Do we still fit in the great machine, or are we to be discarded?”

His drill made a loud CLANG when it hit a piece of metal, an obvious dead-end that forced him to move to a different wall. He signaled for those behind him to pack up and move to the next drilling location as he cleaned the drill only to hiss when he noticed his digits were dripping bright pink energon.

“We toil away cycle by cycle, until our servos leak with energon.”

D-16 exvented as he finished cleaning his drill and made his way to the next drill site. For a brief moment he thought back to when he first came online. When he and the rest of his batch were immediately shipped off of Cybertron and to a place that was filled with nothing but explosions and the sound of his fellow mechs getting torn to shreds by whatever monstrosity they were fighting. The only thing that went through any of their processors at the time was fight and survive.

The mines weren’t so different if he thought about it, his optics briefly moving to look at where Terminus went with his own drill. He found himself wincing when he noticed the lack of support his mentor had and, for a brief moment, he considered putting his drill down and moving to act as his mentor’s spotter. But he knew if he did that then it would get Terminus in more trouble—and he did not want his mentor to suffer more hardships.

“From battlefields to mines, all to feed this great machine.”

Venom started to leak into his voice as he continued to recite this new poem, each word being etched into his processor as he kept it saved deep in his memory banks. He did not want to lose this feeling, this fire in his spark as he verbally drilled into the very notion that he’s nothing more than a cog—a broken cog at that.

“Cogs in the Great Autobot Machine, that is all we are to the elite,” he spat, briefly meeting optics with Fastback. For a moment a flash of understanding and rage crossed over the overseer’s faceplates, and that was something D-16 relished as he continued to recite his poem.

His challenge.

“So what do you do with a broken cog? A cog that continues to be crushed?”

He could see security officers making their way towards him, but he was determined to finish reciting his poem—especially when he realized he had an audience listening to his words.

It brought a brief smile to his faceplates as he pulled the drill away from the wall.

“A broken cog has no use, and so I wait for that day.”

He brought the drill up and faced the security bots.

“I wait and toil in the mines, until they deem me too broken to fit their machine.”

One of the security bots held up his baton, warning D-16 and the rest of the miners to not make a single move or else he would retaliate.

“D-16, Overseer Fastback has reported that you are out of line. Put the drill down and come quietly.”

For a brief moment he considered doing what he was told, especially as his fellow miners watched him carefully. Exhaustion clear on their faceplates as they practically begged him to just do what he’s told. They already have to work more shifts because of the arbitrary quota that they failed to reach, and now there’s no guarantee that they will get properly compensated for the labor they’re doing. It would be easier in the end to go along with it, to prevent his fellow miners from being punished for his words.

And yet, there was also a niggling truth in the back of his processor. He knew that Fastback was likely looking for an excuse to punish all of them further, and it would not matter what D-16 did in this moment because they would all continue to suffer at the servos of the elite who stood above all of them. So why shouldn’t he fight back? After all, he still needs to survive—and how best to survive than to fight?

He briefly locked optics with Terminus who stepped out of the mineshaft to see what the commotion was.

For a moment he wished he could apologize to his mentor, but he could not afford that thought as he raised the drill and stared the security bots down.

“Make me.”

The security bot with the baton did not hesitate as he rushed forward, his servo raised in preparation to strike D-16 down. Unfortunately this brought D-16 back to his days on the battlefield, when it was just him and those from his batch of Warframes who were suddenly dropped straight into fighting only a couple megacycles after they first came online.

Out of over seven hundred units, only twenty survived that first battle.

And out of those twenty from the first battle, only six survived the war.

And out of those six who were brought back to Cybertron to work in the mines?

D-16 was quick to press the drill right up against the security bot’s spark chamber—taking advantage of the opening that has proved fatal time and time again for his brethren until the survivors learned to purge any and all weak points—and quickly activated it, watching with immense satisfaction as the drill broke straight through the security bot’s spark chamber.

Pink energon splashed from the new hole in the bot’s chest cavity, splattering all over D-16’s faceplates as he turned to the other security bot and grinned. As if asking if he wants a turn.

But that moment of pure euphoria washed away within a few nanokliks when he saw the look of horror Terminus had on his faceplates, followed by Fastback sounding the alarm and ordering all security officers to detain him; by any means possible.

Even if it means breaking his frame beyond repair or snuffing his spark out.

He turned his attention to Terminus again, as if asking him what he should do.

But all he got was a single word mouthed from his mentor.

Run.

Whatever hesitation he would have had immediately went away when Terminus mouthed that single word, followed by the sound of alarms ringing through the mines and security bots running to detain him. He grabbed his drill and fled into one of the mineshafts, his peds pounding against the ground as he looked at the stabilizing poles that kept the mine from collapsing.

D-16 realized that, as he heard those pursuing him continuing the chase, he would likely be doomed no matter what happened. Whether the mines collapsed on himself or if he was caught, but he knew he would rather take fate into his own servos than allow anyone else to decide what will happen to him. So with the drill covered in the pink energon that came from the security bot, he struck at one of the stabilizing poles before running deeper in and hitting a second and a third pole.

The familiar rumbling of a collapsing mineshaft spurred him to run faster, to go as deep as he possibly can to avoid the imminent cave-in that could disable or even offline him. And even if he wasn’t offlined from the crushing weight of rocks and debris crushing him, he surely would from lack of fuel in his systems. But surely that would be preferable to whatever punishment Fastback had in store for him.

With a deep invent, he pitched himself forward into the unknown darkness that would simultaneously become his new home and his final resting place.

Fastback ran a servo over his faceplate as he stood before the collapsed mineshaft.

His security officers had long since cleared out the miners, though not without a fight breaking out thanks to the actions of D-16. He should have known that D-16 would have caused an issue like the rest from his batch—all seven hundred of them had some form of a glitch in their programming according to the generals of old.

“I should have had him melted down with the rest from his batch,” he grumbled, his optics turning towards the only miner who remained. “Why did I let you talk me into sparing him?”

Terminus remained quiet from where he stood between the guards.

“I thought you were done forming attachments, not after the wars you fought and the sheer number of miners you saw die down there.”

The old Warframe quietly shook his head.

“There’s a reason D-16 has survived this long, and I believe he is destined for great things—things that only Primus knows.”

Fastback scoffed.

“You are getting too old for this, but I highly doubt D-16 will find a way to survive the Underworld for long and if he does, then he will be put on trial for offlining a security bot,” he said, turning to look back at the rubble which blocked them from going into the mine to search for the wayward miner. “A spark for a spark, that’s the likely sentence he will get for his crime.”

He waited for the aging miner to speak, wondering just what kind of excuse he will try to pull from his aft. There is no shielding D-16 this time, and they all know it. He knew the datapad D-16 turned in actually belonged to Terminus, but he let it slide just that once because he was certain D-16 would have learned his lesson.

But that stunt with him speaking out of line.

He needed to face some form of punishment.

“The Gladiator Pits.”

“Oh? What do the Pits have to do with any of this?” Fastback asked, his curiosity piqued as he turned to look at Terminus once more.

“You could spin it at the trial. Claim he still carries too much aggression from his time in the wars, that he was bound to snap at some point while in the mines. D-16 was built for fighting and needs to let out his aggression before he can return to work in the mines. I'm sure whoever oversees the trial will agree with this sentiment,” he explained.

Fastback brought one of his servos to his chin, tapping a single digit on his intake as he processed what Terminus suggested. While he knew this was yet another ploy to try and shield D-16, he found that he had no true argument against this idea. He just needs to present it in a palatable fashion for whichever Prime is selected to oversee the trial, unless…

He turned towards one of the security bots and nodded.

“Put in a request for Ultra Prime to oversee D-16’s trial after we locate him,” he ordered.

Because out of the two Primes, Ultra would likely be the easiest to convince to send D-16 to the Gladiatorial Pits as opposed to Zeta.

As soon as the security bot left, he turned his attention back on Terminus.

“I will see if I can allot you one final conversation with D-16, but I can’t make any promises. Just promise me you will stop putting yourself in the line of fire like this.”

All he got in response to his request was a smile.

“I will only stop when it no longer becomes a necessity.”

He should have known Terminus would have said something like that, but it’s the closest he can get to a promise from the old miner.

“You’re dismissed, I will let you know the moment we find D-16.”

Fastback did not turn around to look at Terminus, but he did briefly turn his helm to take in the slumped over form of the old miner. He never would have expected that this elder was once a great warrior who has won countless battles during the Second Golden Age, or that he even personally assisted Devron and Powered Convoy in deposing the corrupt Nova Magnus.

“You are wasted here in the mines, so why did you not seek out a good retirement after assisting Devron and Powered Convoy?” He asked the moment he was alone.

Because shouldn’t someone as decorated as Terminus be set for the rest of his functioning?

Knowing that he likely would never get his answer, Fastback turned his attention back to the collapsed shaft.

Briefly he found himself hoping that D-16 would be alright and fully functioning—only because he isn’t sure how he would be able to handle the devastation on Terminus’s faceplates if all they could retrieve was a fully greyed out frame that lacked a sparkbeat.

“Primus if you really have a plan for D-16, then you better make it so he lives to see your plan to fruition.”

D-16 had no way of knowing how long he found himself stranded in the Underworld. For a time he was completely surrounded by darkness and were it not for the ground beneath his peds then he would not know which way was up or down. But as things settled around him, he noticed a subtle hint of blue light buried deep in the walls that surrounded him.

For a time he was completely taken in by the beauty that surrounded him, but he also knew he could not stay right where he was.

Staying would mean offlining by lack of fuel, and so he would have to wander around to find a place that had enough energon for him to survive off of until he could find his way out of here.

But where could he go? To return to the surface would mean facing certain doom, but he also knew he could not remain here in the Underworld for the rest of his functioning.

Perhaps he should instead take his situation one step at a time, figure out how he can live for another solar cycle.

With a decision made, he pressed a servo against the wall and started to follow the lines of blue lights further in the cave as he reminisced on the lessons Terminus gave him in the event he somehow got trapped in the mines without getting crushed. The first step was to follow the lights until he reached a more open area which would hopefully be more stable, and from there he would have to search for a source of energon to tide him over until either he finds his own way out or a rescue party locates him.

Though he doubts a rescue party will be sent after him, which leaves him finding his own way out from the Underworld. Though the likelihood of him being able to climb up and out from the Underworld on his own was incredibly slim, unless he could…

D-16 paused as he looked down at the flight locks that had been installed on him the moment he returned to Cybertron to start working in the mines.

A part of him wondered if he would still remember how to fly were he to remove these locks after millions of stellar cycles, but he also feels deep in his spark that the moment he starts flying again he will quickly remember what it felt like. But he also knows the moment he tastes flight again after so long, he will never let them shackle him this way ever again.

He stopped when that thought crossed his processor.

Why should he?

Why should he allow them to shackle him once more? Why should these flight locks stay?

Throwing hesitation to the wind, he grabbed his drill and adjusted it to the lowest possible setting and brought the tip to where the flight locks were rooted in his thrusters. He quickly invented and braced himself as he activated the drill, wincing when it briefly went too deep and he could see a small trickle of energon leaking from his leg.

But he did not stop as he moved to his other leg, this time he was able to stop the drill before it could go too deep.

With his work done, he stood on unsteady peds as he slowly continued his walk towards a more open space where he could first (hopefully) find a decent source of energon, and then work out the rust in his flight capabilities.

While he could not tell how long he had been walking, it could be anywhere from a few kliks to a full blown solar cycle, he soon came across an opening and could fortunately see a large glowing pool of bright blue energon. Never in all of his functioning has he ever seen this much energon, and a part of him wonders what would happen if he and the rest of his miners had uncovered this sooner.

Would they even get a taste of it?

Or would it immediately be sequestered off for the elites, pushed into the refineries to make it more palatable for civilian tanks?

Who is he kidding, not a single miner would even get a single drop from this pool of energon.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Terminus knew of its existence, but kept it hidden so any stranded miners could use it to fuel themselves until they could somehow find a way out. And could he blame Terminus for keeping it a secret?

Not at all.

D-16 sat by the pool of energon and looked up at the ceiling of the cavern, unable to take his optics off of the string of blue lights that painted a picture that reminded him of the starry skies he and his batchmates got to witness when they were shipped off of Cybertron the moment they came online.

A part of him wonders what any of them would have done had they found themselves in the same situation as him.

Would D-147 have fought back sooner?

Maybe D-95 wouldn’t have started writing like D-16 has.

He is certain D-1 would have loved to see this cavern, and perhaps D-62 and D-700 would have tried to push them all into the pool of energon purely for the fun of it.

“I’m sure we would have all taken different paths at some point, were we all still together,” he mumbled as he leaned back to continue staring at the faux stars.

Reminiscing and taking this opportunity to simply…relax.

Ultra Prime stood tall within the Tripticon Detention Facility, already moving with the overseers to where the small trial would take place. A part of him wondered just how this miner could have survived a deca-cycle in the Underworld, but said miner refuses to say anything.

Warframes and their blasted pride, he wouldn’t be surprised if this miner was actually a Decepticon or even a sympathizer—but he had no way of confirming this fact because PC still refuses to listen to Zeta’s idea of bringing Proteus’s proposal back.

“Now that everyone is gathered here,” Fastback began, a stern look on his faceplates as he looked at the miner who stood there quietly in stasis cuffs, “D-16 stands before us with the crimes of offlining a security officer. Under normal circumstances the appropriate retribution is execution, however in light of your prior service during Cybertron’s Second Golden Age,” he trailed off.

Ultra brought a servo to his chin, knowing that this wasn’t like Fastback at all.

Based on what he heard from Zeta who normally oversaw these sorts of affairs, Fastback was always quick to select the most severe punishment possible for any miner who stepped out of line—and this was the first time a miner actually offlined a security officer. So why was Fastback showing mercy this time?

“You will be sent to the Gladiatorial Pits to hopefully work out your aggression for fifty million stellar cycles. If you manage to survive and wish to return, then you will be permitted to return to your post in the mines. Or you can opt to remain as a Gladiator, but only if you are still functioning.”

‘There it is,’ Ultra thought with a smile. He should have known Fastback would have disguised a truly cruel punishment as a form of mercy, because no Gladiator has lasted longer than ten million stellar cycles—and this miner is expected to last fifty million? Not even Scourge reached ten million, and he was believed to be one of the most promising Gladiators in all of the Pits.

“I approve of this sentence,” Ultra said when Fastback turned to him, as if asking for his approval.

As if he needs Ultra’s approval for something this mundane—really he should have requested Zeta instead, but Ultra will take anything to potentially pull himself ahead of Zeta.

As he watched the miner get dragged out, a part of him pondered on the idea of taking Orion to watch a Gladiatorial Fight. Perhaps if this miner survives when he gets a chance to take Orion, then his Conjunx-to-be would finally see Warframes for what they really are.

Violent brutes who are programmed for fighting only, not frivolous things like poetry.

He will have to find the perfect opportunity to present the tickets as a courting gift.

He did not know what to expect when he was brought to the Pits. For a moment he expected to be immediately thrown into a fight with crowds cheering for the fighters to quickly spill energon, but instead it was eerily quiet.

No cheering crowds, no noise from the other Gladiators, nothing.

D-16 soon knew why no one was saying anything based on the way they were looking at him—assessing him, as if trying to gauge his capabilities.

The stares were soon followed by whispers.

“Isn’t that a D-Unit? Didn’t think there were any left.”

“Weren’t they all forged with some odd glitch? Thought it would have been a fatal one.”

“Well I’m sure he’ll last longer than Shockwave, think this will finally be his last one?”

D-16 proceeded to tune the rest of them out as he was led to his new quarters, only to blink when he saw a smaller than average Warframe standing there.

The look of shock on his faceplates quickly shifted to one of resignation, as if he knew this would eventually happen.

“I see they’re already prepared.”

The mech had a frown on his faceplates that were matched by his drooping antenna-like finials. His optics look like they had long since gone dim with acceptance of whatever fate he thought was in store for him; and from the way his frame lacked any real paint outside of a faded teal and hints of red, he had given up on remaining online for much longer.

“Prepared for what?” D-16 asked, moving to sit on one of the two berths, though he couldn’t help noticing that the one he sat on was a newer addition.

“Didn’t you hear the other gladiators? They’re making bets that this will be my last fight.”

D-16 frowned, remembering the gladiators talking about someone with the designation Shockwave. He looked his roommate over and could quickly understand why they would think that about this mech, especially since he looked less built for fighting and more for something else.

“So what’s your designation?” Shockwave asked as he perched himself on the second berth.

“D-16.”

His companion winced.

“You still go by your serial number? I thought everyone had a proper designation by now, even if some of us got it from a humiliating moment…” he trailed off, running a servo over his face as he leaned back against the wall. “You accidentally cause a planet-wide quake within the mines one time and you get labeled for the rest of your functioning.”

“I don’t remember that happening here on Cybertron, and I’ve been in the mines since we quit expanding after coming into conflict with the Quintessons.”

Shockwave chuckled. “No no, this was over on Animatron. The energon we mined from there was not like what you find here on Cybertron, a lot stronger than the high grade produced here.”

“Refined or unrefined? Because I don’t think anything is stronger than unrefined energon from Cybertron,” D-16 said, smiling when he got another laugh out of his new roommate. He then got back up on his peds and walked over to Shockwave, briefly offering a servo. “Do you like poetry at all?” He decided to ask.

“Not my favorite form of literature, I’m personally more fond of scientific research and political theories. Did you know that the reason why Velocitron elects their leaders based on a race didn’t originate from a cultural love of speed? In fact, they elected leaders based on speed because there was a time when Velocitron was full of predatory creatures that could outpace the average Cybertronian, so speed became a requirement and from there it evolved until they created a culture centered around speed.”

“I can’t say I’m fully interested in science, but I have been hoping to get my servos on some more political texts,” D-16 admitted with a sheepish smile. It was unfortunate that access to any sort of reading material was difficult to come by in the mines, but maybe Shockwave has some hidden away somewhere? Or even some of his own personal notes and ideas?

As if noticing the burning curiosity, Shockwave smiled as he knocked on a single panel in the wall by his berth. “It isn’t much, just whatever I could grab when my superiors weren’t paying attention,” he said, sliding the panel aside to show a tragically small pile of datapads. “My dream is to one day go into the Hall of Records and study as much as I possibly can, until I gain enough knowledge to join the Council so I can give a proper voice and representation to all Warframes.”

For a brief moment his smile remained, until it finally fell along with his finials.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that will ever happen. I don’t know if there will come a time when a Warframe is able to join the Council, let alone step a single ped into the Hall of Records.”

As if to remind them of Shockwave’s ultimate fate, the door slid open and two guards stepped in.

“Shockwave, it’s time for your match.”

His newfound and soon to be former roommate gave a resigned smile as he slipped from the berth and started to walk forward, his shoulders and finials drooped with resignation as he prepared to step through the threshold and into the jaws of death.

For a single klik D-16 stood there, watching all of this go down, until he shook his head and took one step forward.

“Wait! Am I allowed to take his place?” He asked.

The guards stopped and looked between D-16 and Shockwave before they both shrugged.

“No one has ever offered to volunteer for a fight, let me comm Ringmaster,” one of the guards said, bringing a single digit to the side of his helm. The silence hung in the air as they all waited until he finally nodded and lowered his servo. “Ringmaster gave the go-ahead, he’s actually curious to see how a D-Unit fights.”

D-16 nodded and stepped past Shockwave before turning and giving his new roommate a smile.

“You get to survive another cycle, just promise me you won’t ever give up again.”

While his new roommate and possible friend didn’t say anything, he could see a look of genuine shock on his faceplates. Though there was something else under that shock, something that he could not quite identify as he followed the guards out of the room and towards the arena.

Perhaps he will learn just what that look was later, for now he needs to survive his first cycle in the arena.

And survive he did.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Orion didn’t bother to dignify a response as he kept his faceplate buried in his servos, only to then throw that notion out the window as he groaned sharply.

“You have no idea, he’s trying to drag me to the Gladiator Pits! All because I thought, just maybe, Warframes were able to do more than what they’re programmed for.”

When his friend didn’t say anything, Orion reached for the datapad he picked up from his trip in Kaon and slid it over. His silent request to just read it was quickly answered as Ratchet grabbed the datapad and started to read the poem.

He hoped that his closest friend wouldn’t react the way Ultra did, but he started to have his doubts when he couldn’t quite read Ratchet’s EM field.

“I will be honest, I’m not that good when it comes to literature outside of medical texts. And yet, it’s pretty obvious that this Warframe has some very strong emotions and the capacity to express them outside of what’s expected of him.”

Even if he used a battle mask to hide his face, Orion knew his EM field would have quickly betrayed the relief and joy he felt when his friend gave his thoughts as he returned the datapad.

A brief part of him wondered if maybe he had some kind of hidden malfunction in his processor, but now he knew it was actually Ultra who was too rigid in his belief.

“I’m glad you understand. You should have heard what Ultra said when I showed him the poem.”

His closest friend rolled his optics, “I wouldn’t be surprised, rumor has it he believes it’s an inevitability for all Warframes to eventually pledge themselves to Megazarak and those blasted Decepticons.”

“Don’t you think Megazarak has a point though? With the current state of affairs here on Cybertron, the Warframes don’t really have a lot of opportunities outside of the mines or the pits. Haven’t you wondered if some of them might want to try something that isn’t related to physical labor or even fighting?” Orion asked, already closing his optics as he imagined D-16 sitting in the Hall of Records with a pile of datapads surrounding him as he constructed another poem.

While he doesn’t know much about the mech other than his appearance and his choice of words in the one piece of writing he has read, he could somehow picture what it would look like to witness D-16 work.

“Someone like Megazarak was bound to make an appearance eventually, but I wouldn’t put much stock in his words. There’s something off about him, especially with how he calls his Decepticons to arms at any given opportunity—they’re probably waiting for the chance to offline an important enough mech to cause needless chaos, and then he can attempt to seize power for himself.”

Orion tapped a single digit on the table as he mulled over Ratchet’s words.

“That is true, and his actions will only make things worse for the Warframes,” he grumbled, reading over the poem contained within the datapad once more. “It won’t be long until the Destrons start getting mistaken for Decepticons, and the moment they’re all painted under the same banner?”

From there, the belief that Warframes were only built for fighting would fester even deeper in the roots of Cybertronian society. The seeds of distrust that had already been planted when the Decepticons first emerged from within the Destrons would continue to grow and take over, until everyone within the Autobot Commonwealth agreed with the ridiculous notion that Warframes were only built to fight and destroy.

It makes him wonder about Megazarak and his contradictions. He claims he’s trying to fight for a change in their social order, and yet his actions are instead reinforcing what those in Iacon with a more civilian build already believe. What does Megazarak gain from all of this?

What does he gain for having everyone believe in that ridiculous notion, when Orion knows for a fact that it was far from the truth.

“He was made for warfare, and yet he created something beautiful,” Orion mumbled softly to himself as he traced a digit over the datapad until a stroke of inspiration hit him.

Even if he likely would never see D-16 ever again, perhaps it wouldn’t be wrong to create a response to this simple ode?

“Pax? What’s going through your processor now?”

Orion grinned at Ratchet as he opened a new file in the datapad.

“Nothing too crazy, but I was thinking of crafting a response to this ode,” he explained, already tapping away before stopping as he considered a title.

“I think I’ll call it Made to Create…”

Chapter Text

“It looks like someone might have found some texts that were saved from the Age of Wrath,” Orion said with a smile as read over the latest report from Barricade. While he knew it likely wouldn’t be much, especially since any records of the invaders from beyond the sky had been so thoroughly wiped, he hoped that this might give them more insight on the identity of those that invaded so long ago.

“A rare find, and I find myself doubtful the owner of the text will be willing to hand it over without some form of compensation,” Altri hummed from where he stood, his servos already moving rapidly over the terminal as he reviewed the gaps that have slowly begun to fill back in.

Billions of stellar cycles worth of gaps to fill, but they both had hope that they could repair what was destroyed by Nova Magnus.

“Do you need me to go and pay the owner a visit? I could find a way to convince them to donate this find with minimal loss in our own funding,” Orion offered as he reached into his subspace for a datapad with a list of texts Ratchet requested copies of for his own studies—not too much longer and his friend will be able to open his own clinic.

He only got a chuckle in response as Altri shut the terminal off and raised an optical ridge at Orion. “I distinctly remember what happened the last time I allowed you to wander off to collect texts from a particularly unruly individual.”

“I didn’t bite him that hard, plus I believe I was particularly effective in convincing him to donate the text for a fair price.”

For a moment Altri stared at him before shaking his helm.

“Can you promise me that you won’t resort to biting or any other form of violence when handling this mission?” He asked.

“I mean, I didn’t bite Fastback when delivering those reports,” Orion offered.

His mentor continued to stare at him with the raised optical ridge as he ran a digit over the fibres that were stuck to his face. “That is different and you know it. Delivering reports requires you to merely hand something over with very limited conversation, plus this was at the Magnus’s request. Collecting a text from a mech, especially one that’s to be donated to the Hall of Records, is not the same.”

For a moment Orion thought to bring up how life was far more simple when he still lived out in the Wilds, when all he had to worry about was his own survival. Where biting was seen as an acceptable response to get whatever he needed or wanted from the wildlife he lived with.

Something that worked in both ways until he and his old neighbors learned to respect each other.

But he stopped himself and pressed a servo to the back of his helm.

“I’m certain I can manage it this time, I’m not that same feral mech you found many stellar cycles ago,” he said. After all, he likely would have bitten Ultra the moment he started with the ridiculous courting gifts instead of politely taking them to then give them away at a later time.

Altri merely hummed to himself as he ran a servo through the fibre-beard while shaking his helm. “Perhaps the next one, as I have already decided to assign Smokescreen to this. Besides, I need you to help me organize the most recent haul of donations brought in, a majority of which are old records that Devron was able to finally get written down.”

Orion could feel his optics light up when he heard the last bit.

“You mean we finally have some records from the Warframes?” He asked.

“We do, unfortunately they had a difficult time putting a specific date to their own recollection thanks to their oral tradition. So we will have to find a way to somehow fit it all in a more coherent timeline, but not before we try to separate what is potentially mythology and folktales from what could reasonably be actual historical events,” Altri said, already motioning for Orion to follow him deeper into the archives.

With an eager smile, Orion quickly followed Altri—though he did briefly turn around when he heard the chime of someone entering and winced when he saw Ultra had stepped in to talk with one of the other clerks who typically worked towards the front of the Hall. Though he figured the other clerks would tell Ultra that he was far too busy to entertain the possibility of an outing, especially one that would take him all the way to Kaon to watch a gladiatorial fight.

At the idea of being dragged off to watch something incredibly brutal, his mood quickly soured as he followed his caretaker into the deeper parts of the archives where none without a specialized research pass could enter.

Meaning he would be free from Ultra for a good few megacycles, perhaps even for the entire solar cycle.

“You know, if you wish to fulfill your social obligations then you need only ask,” Altri spoke up, likely noticing Orion’s mood had suddenly soured.

Orion blinked and quickly shook it off as he tried to put a smile back on his faceplates.

“I’ve already spent time with Ratchet earlier, plus I know how important our work is here. I actually enjoy it tremendously and can’t imagine myself doing anything else,” he admitted, though he knew it was partially a lie as he thought back to when he first came online. But it was for the best that he somehow integrated himself into society, because his old life may have not been sustainable for himself.

Right?

“If you are certain,” his caretaker trailed off as they made their way further in and farther from Ultra.

Of course, Orion should have known his luck would have run out when he found himself on a private transport that Ultra had rented out to take them both to Kaon.

He had tried to delay this trip as much as possible, especially since they had not even made it halfway through the collection that Devron was able to scrounge together for them, followed by the records Smokescreen had brought back from his assignment.

Perhaps if Orion could have convinced Altri to let him go on one of those missions then he could have avoided this altogether, but the fate woven by Primus himself had other plans.

Followed by the fact that Altri believed Orion needed to spend some time outside of the archives with a friend who isn’t Ratchet.

“There’s actually a new rising star within the Pits, heard his designation is Onslaught,” Ultra said, as if hoping to break the silence.

Orion only hummed as he read over his own personal datapad that contained titles and notes on the newest addition to the archives. He figured this change of scenery could help him organize his thoughts properly and go back to helping Altri with fresh optics and a fresh processor.

“Maybe he will be the one to overthrow the current champion, which will be a blessing for everyone involved—I hear he’s been trying to give speeches after each victory.”

He decided to forgo subtlety as he shut his auditory receptors off for the rest of the ride to the pits. Perhaps he should keep them off throughout the whole ordeal, though the potential of a speech from one of the gladiators did briefly catch his attention. Perhaps he will turn them back on when they reach the arena, so the noise of the crowd could effectively drown out Ultra’s ramblings.

Until then, he carefully leaned away from his companion and put all of his focus on the datapad—content to enjoy the blissful silence while it lasted.

Even if he had to periodically look up from his datapad to glance at Ultra and watch him move his servos as he spoke, as if he was actually paying attention to what was being said; but that soon became more and more difficult to manage as he let his mind wander to the poem written by the miner he bumped into.

How many stellar cycles has it been?

Far too long at this point, and he’s certain that the miner likely forgot that encounter after all this time. For all he knows, the miner may have gotten a new datapad to write more beautiful works in. Carefully hidden away where only those he trusts could read or listen to them.

Perhaps he could find a way to slip away from Ultra and search for that miner?

He would love to have a more meaningful conversation with him now that he knows there is more to him than meets the optic, and perhaps he could even get some feedback for the poem he wrote for him.

For a brief moment, Orion allowed for a smile to grace itself across his faceplates at the idea of sharing poetry with the miner.

Unfortunately he was quickly brought back to reality when he felt an arm drape itself across his shoulders—a reminder that he was not actually alone in this transport with a single datapad to distract him.

He took a deep invent to stop himself from resorting to biting as he re-engaged his auditory receptors and glanced at Ultra with a raised optical ridge.

“Did you need something?” He asked.

“Just letting you know we’ve arrived.”

Orion nodded and waited for Ultra to remove his arm, only to frown when his companion tried to tug him closer into a side hug.

He tugged himself away as he shrugged the arm off and stood up, already making his way towards the exit. “We don’t have all cycle for this,” he said as a reminder, waiting for Ultra to pull out his tickets and bring him to the stands where they would watch the unnecessary shedding of energon as the gladiators are forced to fight for the entertainment of everyone else.

“Of course, let’s go to our booth.”

“Booth? Surely that isn’t necessary here,” he briefly protested, already imagining just how expensive those tickets could have been. Plus the idea of being isolated from everyone else was not what he would consider a good time, in a place where Ultra would be able to talk without interruption.

His companion only smiled wide as he reached for Orion’s servo and started to pull him into a lift. “Only the best for the future Conjunx to the soon-to-be Magnus of Cybertron.”

‘Remember to be polite, and don’t call him out on the fact that Zeta is still in the running.’

Even as he thought that, Orion found it growing more and more difficult to restrain himself as he pulled his servo out of Ultra’s hold. He hoped his companion did not notice how his frame started to literally tremble as he held himself back while walking.

“I’m thinking about putting some shanix onto Onslaught beating the champion, what about you?” Ultra asked.

“Betting? What would Powered Convoy say if he heard this?”

He only got a chuckle in response, which led to him turning his auditory receptors off once again. He’ll turn them back on either when the battle starts or, provided the current champion even wins, when the victor gives a speech at the end.

Because surely a gladiator would have something more insightful to say than Ultra.

“I heard one of PC’s Primes is here.”

“Seriously? And for the Champ’s match against Onslaught?”

Under normal circumstances he would have ignored the gossip from his fellow gladiators, but the idea of there being someone so high up in Autobot society had him realize that this might be the opportunity he needs to finally spread his message even further.

He caught Strika’s sword in the prongs of the trident he held, quickly tilting it until the sword fell from her grasp and he pointed the prongs at her neck—just shy of stabbing her in the neck cables. For a moment he waited until she held her servos up in a signal that she was ready to tap out for this warm-up match.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you were the second coming of Megatronus,” Strika said as soon as he set the trident back on the rack of training weapons. “Some stories say he used a trident to fight off the Invaders.”

“That’s not what I heard. When I was still on Animatron, the other miners said Megatronus used the legendary Requiem Blaster to scare the Invaders away,” Shockwave piped up from where he sat on the sidelines, already standing up to grab a lighter weapon. “Strika, may I have the next match against you?”

He stepped away from the sparring mats, a single digit pressed against his mouth as he thought about Strika’s comparison. Other than “Champion” or “D-16” he has not found a designation that sits right for him—the former was just a fleeting title that he could lose any cycle, while the latter was just a serial number and not a proper designation.

But maybe…

He quickly removed that thought from his processor when one of the staff came to escort him to the arena where his match against Onslaught would soon begin. Though he doubted it would last too terribly long, not unless they wanted to put on a show for the audience; but he’s certain Onslaught felt the same way he did about this fight.

Just get it over with so they can go back to their quarters.

“A special request came from the Prime’s booth,” his escort explained, typing a code into a terminal to unlock the real weapons. “The Prime wants to see a good show, where either you or your opponent are turned to scrap metal.”

He frowned as he reached for the trident, feeling the weight of it in his servos before also grabbing a pair of swords to act as a backup as he strapped them to his back. “You know I generally don’t-”

“Unfortunately there isn’t a choice. He says that it’s for his future Conjunx.”

His frown deepened when he heard that. While he did not know much about this Prime’s supposed betrothed, he already started to develop a low opinion of the individual in question—anyone who demands a fatal fight like this does not deserve respect, no matter their station.

“If you win, please keep your victory speech short and don’t bring up anything controversial. No one wants to hear anything political from a Warframe, just brag about your successes in the arena.”

“I make no promises,” he said with a grin as he twirled the trident in his servos while walking out onto the arena, until he stopped and pointed the prongs right at the private booth where he knew the Prime and his betrothed were watching.

He will show the symbols of entitlement that they’re all more than mere cogs designed to be crushed by an unfeeling machine.

“That’s the current champion,” Ultra said once Orion turned his auditory receptors back on the moment the gladiators stepped into the arena. “His debut in the arena was particularly fierce, as if he was eager to spill energon. Supposedly he volunteered for a majority of his battles and continued to win them, but his luck will eventually run out.”

Even as Ultra spoke, Orion quickly tuned him out as he watched the gladiator lower his trident after pointing it directly at the booth they were seated in. A part of him wondered why the gladiator did that—was it a challenge of some form? Or perhaps he was trying to catch their attention for some reason? It’s while thinking that and studying the gladiator in question that Orion couldn’t help but get a sense of familiarity from him.

He’s seen this silver gladiator from somewhere, but where?

And when?

“I suggest you brace yourself for a particularly gruesome sight, it’s a battle to the death after all.”

Orion held back his groan as he pulled his datapad out once more, though he periodically found himself glancing back at the two gladiators. His processor went to the ode written by D-16 and he started to wonder if the two gladiators fighting might have similar feelings to the miner. He wonders if maybe the gladiators also feel like they’re in shackles, pushed to fighting in these battles for the entertainment of others.

Ultra may have claimed that these Warframes were built for fighting and that they crave it because it’s what they’re programmed to do, but all he can see is a set of invisible chains holding the pair of mechs in the arena—trapping them until one eliminates the other.

And yet, his attention started to be dragged away from the datapad he had in his servos as he periodically looked up to see if the battle had come to a conclusion yet.

It looked less like a brutal fight between two monsters as Ultra liked to describe these battles, and instead more like two mechs locked into a dance as they exchanged blows.

The champion’s movements were more fluid than one could expect from a mech of his size-class, the trident he held acted more like an extension of his arm as opposed to a mere weapon. The prongs an effective choice to catch on his opponent’s wrist and twist it until one of the swords fell out of his servo. Though that did not stop Onslaught from breaking free and delivering a punch aimed at the champion’s faceplates.

He winced. It didn’t take much for Orion to imagine how painful a blow like that could feel.

“I told you it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Even as Ultra said that, he continued to watch as Onslaught tried to take the trident from the champion’s servos. For a moment the champion kept a tight grip on his weapon, only to suddenly release it—the resulting stumble Onslaught took from the force of ripping the weapon out of the champion’s servos provided an opening for the champion and his backup weapons.

“Clever,” Orion said, taking note of how the champion pushed both of his swords straight into Onslaught’s shoulders in a successful effort at knocking him to the ground. It almost seemed like it took the champion no effort to bury the blades deep into the ground, pinning Onslaught to the ground.

“More like brutal, I should have expected something like this from him.”

He didn’t bother answering Ultra, instead watching as the champion picked up the fallen trident and pressed the prongs against Onslaught’s neck. Any moment and this duel will be put to an end, but Orion kept watching until he saw it.

The center prong wasn’t actually pressed against Onslaught’s neck.

He could already imagine the crowd roaring for the champion to end it, but instead he pressed the trident down so it was pinning Onslaught to the ground by the neck.

“I think that should be considered a victory, no?” Orion asked.

His companion only scoffed.

“They will probably break out into a fight when there’s no one watching, and that’s when one of them will go offline.”

He briefly considered telling Ultra to have more faith and admit he was wrong for once in his functioning, but Orion held his glossa and watched as a crew came to extract Onslaught from the arena.

And that was when the champion began his speech.

“Hear me! Open your optics and lend me your audials!”

He pointedly ignored Ultra’s groan as he instead listened to the speech.

Something about the way the champion spoke called to him, as if demanding his full attention.

So why shouldn’t he lend an audial to the champion’s words?

“For millions of stellar cycles we have all been trapped under a machine that continues to crush us, a machine that is designed to make the many suffer for the profit of the few! Well I say we put an end to this!”

Briefly, Orion’s optics looked down at the datapad he had in his servos where An Ode to Primus was pulled up. It was the way the champion spoke that made him think about the lone ode written by the miner…and that’s when it clicked for him.

(Meanwhile, for the champion, the next part of his speech was more improvised. At that moment, when he stood victoriously over Onslaught, he no longer felt like the ex-miner D-16—nor did he feel like a champion fighting for the entertainment of an audience who doesn’t see him as anything more. Instead, he felt like-)

“I am Megatron, and I urge all of you to take my words to spark. Do not let them crush you under their supposed Great Autobot Machine! We are not mere cogs! We-”

Much to Orion’s disappointment mixed with horror, a set of cuffs that were attached to the champion’s, to Megatron’s, servos were activated. The gladiator was silenced and brought to his knees as silent guards stepped forth to drag him out.

As he watched the scene before him, his spark thrumming with a mix of emotions that he could not quite put a label on other than empathy, he returned the datapad to his subspace and shook his head. “They should have let him speak.”

He realized for a brief moment that he forgot Ultra was sitting right next to him, for when he spoke all he got in response was a scoff and some scathing words that burned his audials.

“He's a Warframe, Orion. All they know is violence and war, nothing more. His speech was going to turn into a radical call for violence that will spur those Decepticons to rise up. If only PC actually approved of Zeta Prime's idea to make Councilmech Proteus's proposal an actual law. When I become Magnus, all Decepticons will be registered as the threats they are.”

He’s lost track of how many times they had this debate. For so many stellar cycles he would hear Ultra bring it up, especially whenever Megazarak and his Decepticons would have a rally, and he would always counter by saying Powered Convoy had his reasons for rejecting the initial proposal; and not even Zeta’s attempts at updating it would reasonably work with the Magnus’s concerns.

Instead of rising to the bait, Orion stood up and walked to the lift that would take him out of the private booth. Once he returns to the archives he will put himself back into his work, though something about Megatron’s speech continued to linger in his spark as he remembered the poem he wrote ages ago.

Perhaps he should write another one?

A proper answer to the ode, unlike the one he first attempted. But he isn’t going to erase his first one—instead he wants to keep it to show his growth from that time to the mech he is now.

And then, just maybe, he can find a way to return the datapad with the ode and two new poems to Megatron.

“But what should I call it…?”

As Megatron stood before the gaping hole in the wall that once contained the training room, not quite crossing the threshold, he looked into the optics of Megazarak who offered a servo to him.

“Well? What do you say, Megatron?”

It was a tempting offer. Free from the chains of the pits, free to give his speeches and rally those around him to fight for change, and all it would cost him is to take on the brand—to swear undying loyalty and fealty to Megazarak and the Decepticons, to willingly take the oath.

And yet, he briefly hesitated as he glanced at the other gladiators.

Megazarak was here only for him, but he’s certain the other gladiators would be put through much harsher conditions after he escapes. While he isn’t too terribly fond of all of them, there were a few that he believes deserve the same offer of freedom as him.

“Shockwave, Strika, and Lugnut.”

Megazarak tilted his helm to the side, a curious gaze in his optics as he studied Megatron carefully.

“Give them the same thing you’re offering me, and extend it to the rest of the gladiators if they want; but those three? I’m not leaving without them.”

For a moment the silence lingered, a pressure growing between them as he stood tall and waited. Either Megazarak takes them all, or he has none of them.

He’s especially worried about what would happen if Shockwave was left behind. Even with the improvements he made in his combat capabilities, he likely would not stand a chance in a fight to the death and likely wouldn’t get away with simply immobilizing his opponent.

After a klik, Megazarak nodded and held out the brand.

“Anyone willing to join will be welcome, but know that you only get one chance. Betray the cause and you will be brought before me to face your crime.”

With a firm nod, Megatron reached and took the Deceptibrand.

Chapter Text

Alpha Trion knew something went wrong when Orion returned to the archives after his trip to the gladiator pits with Ultra Prime. Initially he encouraged Orion to go with so he could gain a new experience and maybe see another side of Ultra that hasn’t been displayed during their long courtship period. And yet, he soon noticed that his young ward had a look in his optics that reminded Alpha of when he first found him in the Wilds outside of Iacon.

And yet, Orion kept his rage in check for the next few solar cycles as he put everything into his work while also periodically checking the old miner’s datapad he picked up ages ago. His servos holding it like it was a precious treasure even as his digits continued to type in it, adding what Alpha soon learned to be a second poem written by Orion himself as an answer to the lone ode.

Whatever happened at the pits, it served to widen the gap between Orion and Ultra instead of bridging it together so they could come to a mutual understanding of each other.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Ultra was so persistent, then Alpha would have expected the engagement to be annulled after that solar cycle in the pits.

But alas, now he finds himself and the other archivists shooing Ultra away whenever he drops by to visit Orion. To all of them, Orion just needs time to recollect himself lest he reverts back to biting any who displeases him, but Ultra doesn’t seem to realize just what he was risking by trying to go near Orion so soon after irritating him with whatever in Primus’s name he did.

“Is Orion really that busy?” Ultra asked and for a moment Alpha wished his brothers and sister were still with him so they could properly restrain him as opposed to him doing everything he can to resist leaning back into baser instincts.

He is a civilized mech after all, not someone who would normally resort to instantly biting anyone who displeases him.

(Even as he thought this, he still fondly pressed a servo against a couple dents in the shape of dentae, courtesy of Micronus, followed by the one from Orion.)

“Yes, and he will remain busy for the foreseeable future. Now do you have any other business here in the archives? If not then I will have to politely ask you to leave before I send a report to Powered Convoy that you have been incredibly disruptive in the archives and recommend you be put on a temporary ban.”

He tried to hold back his smile when Ultra slumped.

“Can you at least pass a message to him from me?” He asked.

Alpha really hoped it was an apology for whatever transgression Ultra caused, but a part of him doubted this much. These younger mechs, especially those coming out of the academy, but a mech can dream.

“Very well, what do you want me to tell him?” He asked, half expecting it to be some kind of declaration of affection or a request to move the ritus up even though Powered Convoy already said it wouldn’t happen until he’s ready to pass on the title of Magnus to either Zeta or Ultra.

Fortunately, this wasn’t what he thought it was.

“The Decepticons recently attacked the Pits a few solar cycles ago and a bunch of Gladiators escaped, including Megatron. I saw the look Orion had on his faceplates when we were watching Megatron’s fight against Onslaught and I just,” Ultra paused, as if looking unsure for the first time in all of his functioning, “Please, just tell Orion to not seek Megatron out. He might have already pledged himself to the Decepticons and if Orion goes near them then I’m worried they will…”

Alpha only nodded.

“I will pass your concerns on to Orion, but whether he takes your words to spark will be up to him. But I wouldn’t worry too much about him, he does have a good helm on his shoulders and will do what he believes is right.”

Ultra sighed.

“That’s what I’m worried about, but thank you.”

As he watched Ultra leave the archives, he turned his attention to where he knew Orion was watching from within the shelves.

Listening to see what Ultra wanted to say, as if wondering if Ultra was actually here to apologize or not.

For a moment Alpha Trion stood in the center of the room, watching as archivists and visitors continued to go about their business, and then he gave Orion his full attention as he walked over to see what he was planning on doing now that he knows what likely became of the miner-turned-gladiator.

Orion had a contemplative look on his faceplates, but that look turned into a soft smile as he pulled the old datapad from his subspace.

“I think this might be the perfect time to return this datapad, don’t you think?” He asked.

“While it would be good to return it, there are risks you should consider in the event that he has indeed pledged himself to the Decepticons. Will you be able to handle what that means? To have this ideal you had about this mech in particular potentially shattered beyond repair?”

And yet, just like Prima and Solus Prime, Orion had a soft look that showed a love for a fellow Cybertronian. But he also had a determined fire in his optics that nearly matched that of Megatronus and Onyx, as if he knew that there was more than what any of them were implying when they tried to warn him. As if he was already set on his own plans and nothing save for Primus’s own interference would stop him.

“But I see you’ve already calculated the potential risks and are determined to follow through with returning the datapad. I won’t try to stop you, I only ask that you proceed with caution.”

Orion looked up at him and positively beamed as he held out the datapad so Alpha could read the newest poem added.

“Do you mind looking over this? I want to make sure it’s a good enough answer when he reads it.”

With a warm smile, Alpha gently took the datapad and looked over the poem.

“I do not know him personally, but I am sure he will at least appreciate the genuine effort you put into this. If not, then that will be on him and not on you.”

He just hoped that if Megatron does not like or appreciate the effort Orion put in then he will let him down gently, instead of doing everything in his power to crush Orion’s spark.

Because if he does that, then Alpha Trion is certain he will lose whatever restraint he has left from dealing with Ultra for these recent cycles.

He will make Megatronus’s fall look like a sparkling’s stumble when he is done with whoever hurts his ward.

Ratchet wanted to bury his faceplate in his servos as he sat across from not only Whirl, an old patient of his and someone who has publicly denounced the Decepticons alongside Devron and the few remaining Destrons who believe in Powered Convoy and the Autobots, but also across from a Decepticon who introduced himself as Deadlock.

Initially he wondered just how he came to this situation, until he remembered when Orion contacted him just a few solar cycles ago. He should have known that Orion would have wanted to find a way to meet with the writer of that ode, but with very little information about the mech in question other than him being a Warframe and a miner made it a nigh-impossible feat.

But now that his friend has more information…

“I didn’t expect you to actually have a contact within the Decepticons, thought you would have brought in one of the miners or something,” Ratchet began when a cube of energon was set in front of him. He pointedly ignored the way the server side-eyed Whirl, but made sure to file it away for if said server comes to his clinic for whatever reason.

Sure he will still fix whatever issue she has, but he will also tell her to wipe the old Senate’s doctrine from her processor.

Who cares if a mech doesn’t have a face anymore? That shouldn’t change who they are in their spark.

“Deadlock and I were part of the same unit during the second Golden Age, and we decided to stay in contact afterwards. Even if our personal beliefs don’t perfectly align, he’s still a good mech at spark,” Whirl explained, one of his clawed servos lightly patting Deadlock’s shoulder.

With a quiet nod, Ratchet looked at the large black and orange mech who sat next to Whirl. While Whirl may have put in a good name for him, he still doesn’t feel right talking to a Decepticon—especially after all of the rallies they have had, the most recent one where they attacked the Gladiator Pits, but he has to put that aside so he can get what Orion needs.

He just hopes that Orion has good enough compensation for this.

“Were you there when the Pits were attacked?”

Deadlock, who remained silent during the ordeal, frowned and leaned back in his seat. “I wouldn’t call it an attack, we were freeing our brethren from their chains. But to answer your question, yes. I was there when Lord Megazarak blew a hole into that wretched place.”

He knew trying to argue semantics would get them nowhere, so Ratchet took a sip from his cube to try and cool off and think about how to best ask his next set of questions.

“Are you in contact with any of the former Gladiators? For example, the former champion Megatron? Used to be a miner?”

“What business do you have with him?”

Ratchet smiled, “I don’t, but I have a friend who has something of his. He wants to return it and, I don’t know, actually meet him properly.”

He watched both Warframes carefully, though Whirl was noticeably more difficult to read, hoping to discern what they thought of this particular request. He wouldn’t be surprised if they said it wasn’t feasible, or maybe Deadlock would request the datapad in question to deliver it for Orion.

In fact, that would be preferable as opposed to having Orion personally meet Megatron, but he knows his friend better than anyone.

Orion would find another way.

“Tell me about this friend of yours and I’ll pass on the request if he’s earnest enough,” Deadlock said.

“He works in the archives and was unfortunately dragged to watch Megatron’s fight against Onslaught. If you want to know, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Pits, but he got dragged there anyway,” Ratchet began, closing his optics as he pulled up the logs from Orion’s messages to him—specifically the times where he tried to find ways to get out of going to the Pits with Ultra. Why Ultra didn’t realize that his future Conjunx was not interested in that sort of thing still baffles Ratchet to this day, but hopefully he will finally get the hint.

After taking his time to push those logs back and finish the cube in front of him, Ratchet opened his optics and stared directly at Deadlock, “But when he heard Megatron’s speech that cycle, it was all he could talk about. Last I heard, he was still mumbling about how they should have let Megatron finish his speech in the arena.”

For a moment both mechs were silent, and then Whirl started to laugh.

“It’s- It’s Pax!? Oh I should have known this was the friend you were talking about!”

Ratchet felt the energon rush to his face, but he invented and nodded at Whirl’s guess.

Perhaps it was a little too obvious, and maybe he should have tried harder to hide Orion’s identity until he knew if he could trust Deadlock or not, but it appears the cybercat was out of the bag.

“Pax? You mean Alpha Trion’s apprentice? How did Megatron even get- You know what, never mind. I’ll ask Megatron if he wants to meet him, and we’ll see from there,” Deadlock said, his chin resting in a servo as he looked Ratchet in the optic. “But I make no promises. For all we know, Megatron wants nothing to do with a high class mech.”

Ratchet nodded when a second cube was placed in front of him, though he noticed how the server didn’t bring a second cube for the two mechs in front of him.

“That’s all we can ask for,” he said before holding a servo up at the server. “Hey, could we get two more cubes over here? It’s on me.”

After a deca-cycle of searching whenever he has time, even getting Ratchet to help him, Orion found himself standing just outside of the designated meeting location.

Ironically he found himself in Kaon once more, the place where he first met the mech who would become Megatron and also the place where he heard that speech, but something about it felt different than from those occasions.

The first time he remembered feeling so small, cramped up thanks to the sheer size and number of miners that surrounded him, but now the streets are surprisingly barren. It made him want to stretch out further, but he refrained from doing so when he remembered why he didn’t the first time he came here.

The silence sent a chill down his frame, as if it wasn’t something that should naturally occur here. It reminded him of his time in the wilderness, where if there was silence then it meant there was a predator close at hand.

And perhaps this comparison wouldn’t be too terribly inaccurate, especially as he took in the graffiti that covered the buildings which surrounded him.

Purple Deceptibrands and the glyphs “Break Our Chains!” were especially prevalent in this area.

How things change when a movement grows, eventually taking hold of an entire city that once housed miners and their overseers.

After taking a moment to calm himself, Orion continued forward until he arrived at the entrance of one of the mines. His optics scanned the area, hoping to find someone waiting for him, only to slump slightly when he realized he might have either arrived first or worse.

It could be possible, and incredibly likely now that he thinks about it, that Megatron decided to forgo this meeting entirely due to not trusting Orion’s intentions.

And could he blame him?

They came from two entirely different worlds, so how could Orion possibly understand Megatron’s words? The feelings behind them, the intention, everything.

Maybe he really was just a naive fool.

Before he could think of turning back and making his way home, the sound of rubble moving reached his audials. He turned and looked up where he could see a pair of red optics that looked at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, as if he was trying to read Orion like a shiny new datapad he had never seen before.

The silence between them was tense and almost thick, as if neither of them knew what to say at first. But when Orion went to break it, he noticed Megatron also opened his intake to speak only to stop when he noticed Orion was also about to speak.

It was almost endearing in a way, but Orion knew one of them needed to break the silence.

And perhaps it was for the best if he was the one to break it first.

So he reached into his subspace and pulled out the datapad, holding it like the treasure it was before holding it out to its original owner.

“I don’t know if you remember, but we bumped into each other here while I was delivering a report as a favor. I picked up the datapad you dropped and was planning on returning it to you that cycle, but I couldn’t find you and was needed back in Iacon, which is where my curiosity got the better of me because I had no idea what could be on this datapad and…I found what I wanted to call the greatest treasure in all of Cybertron,” he said, watching as Megatron reached and took the datapad.

While it looked colossal in Orion’s servos, it looked like it fit perfectly in Megatron’s.

But he decided to continue talking before he could lose his nerve and potentially fumble.

“”An Ode to Primus” inspired me to try my hand at poetry, which you will see in the datapad right after it…but then I was dragged to watch your fight against Onslaught and when I heard your speech,” he paused as he pressed a servo against his chassis, right over where he could feel his spark throbbing, “It touched my spark in a way no other mech has. It gave me more inspiration, so I wrote a second poem for you and I-”

Orion took a moment to collect himself as he finally looked Megatron in the optic, hoping to gage what he’s thinking at that moment. But once again the Warframe was difficult to read, and yet he did not let that deter him.

“I want to help you in whatever way I can.”

Now that he finally said it, Orion realized that it was true.

He knew there had to be more to his functioning than being a simple archivist, to then be bonded to a mech he did not actually love, and this must be it.

While he may not pledge himself to Megazarak, he will instead offer whatever he can to support Megatron in fighting against those who want to continue pushing someone down just because they were built for fighting.

To show that there’s more to them than what they’re programmed for.

Finally, Megatron spoke to him.

“Do you really mean that?”

“With all my spark.”

There was nothing to hesitate about when he answered Megatron within a nanoklik, because he truly meant it. Even if all he can do is pass datapads onto Megatron so he can educate himself and his fellow Decepticons, he will do his best to make sure they have whatever he can provide.

For a very brief moment, Megatron just stared at him quietly before finally nodding.

“Will you be able to meet again in three deca-cycles?”

Orion nodded, “I believe I can find time to return. Will we be meeting here again?”

“For now, until I can find a better place for us to meet again.”

“I look forward to the occasion.”

As soon as Megatron returned to one of the strongholds they had in Kaon, he found himself staring dumbfounded at the datapad he held in his servos. This very same datapad which caused him so much trouble the moment it went missing, and yet it was claimed to be a treasure by that archivist.

Not just a treasure, the greatest treasure in all of Cybertron.

Those were the words that the archivist used to describe it and the ode written there, from a time when Megatron was still that starry-opticed miner who believed in waiting patiently for a better future to come to him.

And yet, the fact that the archivist said his words touched his spark in a way no other mech has; Megatron swore he nearly short-circuited in that very moment. Especially when he looked at him with optics that were brighter than the pools of pure unprocessed energon he witnessed when briefly trapped in Cybertron’s Underworld. It was a look of nothing but the purest of respect and admiration, which was matched by the way he carried himself.

Unlike others of his stature, the archivist did not see Megatron as beneath him.

No, he saw him as an equal…or perhaps even superior to him, as if he was the one who held more authority in this world.

And perhaps that isn’t too far from the truth, if what he suspected about the archivist was true—that he spent most of his functioning sheltered, but was wanting to break out of that mold and see how their world truly works with his own optics and thus grow as an individual.

As he sat in a chair and activated the datapad, he found himself smiling nostalgically as he looked over at the ode written by a much younger and more naive mechanism, but then he turned the page to read the first work written by that archivist—Orion Pax.

And while he could tell that the short poem, “Made to Create”, was incredibly juvenile and written by a mech who was just as naive as D-16 was, he still smiled at the earnestness behind those words.

He then turned the page to read the second poem Orion wrote, “We Are More Than Our Programming.” While the title did not have the same ring to it as the first one, he could tell that there was a growth there when compared to the first one. A sense of maturity that the first poem lacked, but still ultimately optimistic for a Cybertron where everyone is free from the shackles put on them.

And, for the first time since before he lost this very datapad that now sat in his servos, Megatron could feel that same optimistic hope grow in his spark.

Because, surely, if an upper class archivist could recognize their plight and offer to help in whatever way he can, then maybe the rest of Cybertron will follow in Orion’s example.

“So, how did that meeting with a Civvie go?”

Megatron turned when Strika and Shockwave made themselves known, and that was when he realized he likely still had that smile on his faceplates as they both gave him amused grins.

“You look absolutely smitten,” Shockwave observed with a teasing smile as he leaned forward. “Anything you want to tell us about this mech who must have stolen your spark?”

With a snort, Megatron put the old datapad away and stood tall over his two companions and most trusted allies within the Decepticons.

“He’s an archivist and is offering to help us to the best of his capabilities, which will likely be allowing us to educate ourselves. After all, knowledge is power in this world. You know that more than anything, Shockwave.”

Even as he said that, he knew there wasn’t a true counter to Shockwave’s observations.

But if something happens and Orion becomes more of a hindrance than a help, then Megatron expects this brief period of fondness to fade away just as quickly as it appeared.

But until then, he will entertain this little alliance.

(Little did he know, but that fondness would soon blossom into something more…)

Chapter Text

“Archivist Pax, do you mind assisting me with something?”

Orion looked up from where he was gathering titles to make a new set of reading material for Megatron and his allies, an optic raised when he saw the blue and gold form of Zeta Prime. While he had a polite look on his faceplates, Orion couldn’t help the sense of unease he got when he remembered the project Zeta has been working on for a few million stellar cycles at this point.

Could Zeta have found out about Orion’s secret meetings with a Decepticon?

“Of course, how can I help you?” He asked, knowing that if he tries to push Zeta onto someone else then it would make whatever suspicion the Prime has grow exponentially.

Though perhaps Zeta wasn’t actually suspecting Orion of anything as he instead had a warm and polite smile on his faceplates, a cordial friendliness that usually follows him whenever he interacts with his fellow Autobots.

“I heard you and Alpha Trion recently compiled a few records that Devron was able to actually write down, do you happen to know if any of them contain a sort of census of all Warframes who were online during the time when Nova Magnus still ruled? Or even one from Terragar Magnus’s time?” Zeta asked, his servos clasped together save for a pair of digits which tapped against each other—as if it was an attempt to make himself look more endearing.

Orion only shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Zeta, but we never got any records like that. The only thing Devron was able to compile for us are stories he could personally recall, and we still haven’t been able to properly date any of them in our unfortunately barren timeline of history. But perhaps I can direct you to the Elite Guard’s records? I’m certain they keep a record of all who participated in the expansion period during our second Golden Age,” he offered as he prepared to return to his current task at hand.

Perhaps he should bring copies of the records they got from Devron and see if Megatron can corroborate some of the details?

Or even put a date to some of the events, maybe even help discern which stories were actually true as opposed to myths which originated from the Warframes of old.

“I already checked our records, but we only have a list of Warframes who were forged after Nova Magnus was deposed by PC and Devron. There wasn’t a need to have records of those who came before because it was expected that they would all go offline during the expansion.”

Deciding to file that tidbit away for later, Orion only shook his head once more.

“That is irresponsible of the Elite Guard, but this sounds like an argument I would have with Ultra and not you,” he paused as he put his list into his subspace so he could give Zeta his full attention. “Why do you even need this census? Is it related to your current project?” He asked.

“Where did you-? Ultra, of course he couldn’t keep his big intake shut,” Zeta grumbled before he put that smile back on his faceplates. “I’m actually trying to learn more about Megazarak because there’s something about him that just doesn’t feel right. But there are no records in the Elite Guard about him and I was hoping that, maybe, there would be anything about him here.”

Orion frowned before leading Zeta to a table with a few blank datapads and picking one up. His digits quickly flew over the screen to start preparing a form for the Prime to fill out. Once he was satisfied, he handed the pad over to Zeta with his own smile as he tapped at the top of the screen.

“Please fill out this official request form and we will contact you if we find any information at all,” he said.

The Prime blinked quickly before taking the datapad and filling in all of the blanks, though he did not work at the same speed Orion did. “Don’t you usually assist your friends without the need for a form? Surely something this simple wouldn’t require a form.”

“Actually, they filled out a form when they first came here. I take the time to amend that first form if they request anything within their normal field of requests, but anything outside of the scope of that first form and I ask them to fill out a new one,” Orion explained, pulling out the form Ratchet filled out when he came into the archives for the first time.

“That makes sense, I guess even you would put your career as an archivist before your friends,” Zeta said, his smile brightening as he finally finished filling out the form. “I find that to be one of your most admirable qualities, such a shame that more bots can’t be like you.”

As Orion took the datapad from Zeta and forwarded the form to their official request queue, he only shook his head as he pulled his own datapad out once more to finish going over the list of materials. “I personally disagree. If we only did our jobs and nothing more, then it would lead to a dull functioning for all mechanisms here. There are those who should branch out and do what makes them happy.”

“Oh? So are you unhappy with your current functioning?”

Once again he shook his head. “I can’t say I’m unhappy, in truth I enjoy what I do here in the archives. I would consider a lot of us to be lucky that we get to do things we genuinely enjoy, but there should be an option for those to do what they dream…and yet never got the chance to do.”

As he said those words, he thought about Megatron and even the other Warframes. Did any of them get the same option the rest of them got when deciding what to do with their functioning?

“I suggest you be careful, Archivist Pax. We wouldn’t want anyone assuming you’re a Decepticon Sympathizer,” Zeta warned, already turning to leave the archives.

Orion stood there in silence as he watched Zeta walk away.

A part of him wondered if maybe Zeta really did suspect him of being sympathetic to the Decepticons, but if he did then he wouldn’t be nearly as friendly with him as he was.

Or perhaps he was trying to warn Orion away from falling into any sort of traps. In fact, it’s very likely that Ultra might have sent Zeta in to pass on this sort of warning—especially after Altri finally had enough and banned Ultra from personally entering the archives until further notice.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts before returning to his list.

“What else should I bring…?”

Shockwave knew the others were concerned with the rate he consumed the datapads Megatron brought back from his meetings with the archivist, but they likely did not realize just how precious of a rare opportunity this was. He nearly tackled Lugnut with a ferocity he had never felt before when he thought the giant lug was mishandling the precious datapads.

Any damage to them could potentially get their ally from the inside caught, and then what?

How else are they supposed to get datapads which discuss some of the sociopolitical theories of Cybertron during the Functionalist Era? Or even ones that speculate just why Nova Magnus enacted the Great Purge? Not to mention the theories of why their coding works the way it does followed by the fact that, sometimes, they don’t just do what they’re expected based on their codes.

“Anything good in this set?”

Shockwave smiled as he handed the datapads back over to Megatron.

“All of them are amazing, but I’m more interested in the sociopolitical theories and the stuff about Nova Magnus. While there’s definitely a link between Nova and the more overt Functionalist society Cybertron fell under during that time period, I can’t help but wonder if there is another link that we’re missing,” he said, watching as his friend pulled out the relevant datapads to read over himself.

First there was the fact that Nova Magnus ordered a purge of all data, but scholars could only speculate why followed by what he deemed to be unnecessary for the society he led.

Those who saw Nova in a more positive light speculated that he saw those records as too dangerous were they to fall into enemy servos, so he did it to protect all Cybertronians.

But Shockwave was skeptical of that theory.

Because if Nova Magnus was truly that concerned about an enemy even though they had supposedly been in a more peaceful era, then why didn’t he focus more on bolstering Cybertron’s defenses?

No, Shockwave had his own theory.

And based on the look on Megatron’s faceplates as he read the two datapads, he knew his friend likely had his own theory as well—perhaps one that overlaps with his own.

“It all roots back to class disparity, doesn’t it?” Megatron asked with a sense of resignation in his voice, as if he was hoping it would be anything else.

Shockwave nods.

“What’s the easiest way to keep those who are kept at the bottom to stay in their place?” He asked, already taking notice of how Strika and Lugnut had started to pay attention to this particular discussion.

“By limiting their access to knowledge, but there was one group they could never truly keep in check,” Megatron said, one of his digits tapping against a screen before he picked up a different datapad that contained a discussion of different traditions for storing knowledge. “They could delete anything from datapads, even the archives, but they could never permanently destroy something that’s passed down orally.”

“Which is why we were selected to be on the bottom by those high class aftholes, because they couldn’t effectively control us,” Strika chimed in from where she sat next to Lugnut.

While Shockwave doesn’t remember her picking up a single datapad, he still commended her for piecing this together based on his and Megatron’s discussion. Then again, she has always been more observant than mechs gave her credit for—probably why Megatron was insistent on keeping her close at servo.

“I think I know what to ask Orion when we meet again.”

Shockwave raised an optic ridge curiously.

So he’s calling the archivist by his designation now? Perhaps that’s what almost a million stellar cycles worth of secret meetings would do to a mech. And was that a fond smile on Megatron’s faceplates?

How curious…

“Will you give him the gift?” Lugnut asked, though his volume almost made it sound like a shout instead of a soft inquiry.

Megatron shook his head.

“It probably isn’t a good time to present it to him. Besides, I have to make sure the intent behind it is clear before I can even think of letting him see it,” he explained.

Shockwave can understand why his friend was hesitant.

If the archivist gets the wrong message behind this gift, then it could have disastrous results that may cost them an ally from the inside. It may even be worse than if Lugnut were to accidentally destroy a datapad, because an offense like this could be more disastrous on a personal level.

“Perhaps you could gauge his feelings? See if there’s a chance of reciprocation?” Shockwave offered only to blink when Megatron narrowed his optics at him.

Could he have gotten it wrong? Maybe whatever gift Megatron had prepared for the archivist was more in-line with friendship as opposed to a potential offer of courtship?

“I highly doubt he sees me as anything more than a friend, and I’d rather not confuse him or potentially alienate him. Any attempts of gauging how he feels will have him jump to conclusions, and maybe scare him off in the worst case scenario. So no, I can’t simply “gauge how he’s feeling” as you eloquently put it, Shockwave.”

So he was right.

Shockwave only held up his servos placatingly as he stepped aside to give Megatron space to step out of the room.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

With a nod, Megatron turned his attention back onto the three of them.

“Let me know if you have any questions for Orion, and I will pass the message on when I meet with him again.”

“Very well,” Shockwave said right as Megatron left.

He then looked at Strika and Lugnut, taking note of the smile on their faceplates.

“He has it bad,” Strika finally said.

“No kidding.”

Orion sat on a simple rock formation that rested outside of a cave in the outskirts of Kaon, his optics briefly focused on the starry skies above him. Out here, in a place that borders between the wilds and a city, he has a view that he never gets when in Iacon. The lights of the city he’s spent so long in completely overshadows the stars until they become impossible to see, but here…here he realizes yet another thing he misses from the place where he lived for most of his early functioning.

“Are the stars like this even in Kaon?” He asked when he felt Megatron sit next to him, his own EM field had a sense of wistfulness that he’s certain his companion would be able to detect. Under normal circumstances he would have kept it close to him, but Orion decided that this would be a fine time to allow it to brush over someone else.

It’s almost relieving, finally letting another sense just how he was feeling.

Something that’s been deemed improper when he was first brought to Iacon.

“No, you don’t really get to see them unless you’re permitted to fly high above the city. I never got the chance even after I broke my flight locks.”

Yet another thing he’s learned after roughly a million stellar cycles of sneaking off to these meetings. Back when he naively believed that the flight-based Warframes willingly put on flight locks when they registered as miners—he was such a fool back then, wasn’t he? How many of them were even given an option to work in something else?

He wouldn’t be surprised if the answer was “No.”

“It’s worth it, to see the stars when far from the reach of the cities. If it wasn’t for my duty in the archives, then I would have returned to the Wilds eons ago. Though had I done so, then we may have never met,” Orion admitted. Maybe if he hadn’t met Megatron then he wouldn’t regret that idea, but now?

Now he knows he would regret it, because then they wouldn’t be able to talk like this.

His companion briefly chuckled.

“I truly did not expect you to originate from the Wilds, because everything about you just screams someone who has lived his whole functioning in Iacon with high class mechs.”

Orion laughed alongside Megatron, a smile spreading across his faceplates as he held a servo over where his spark was located. “That’s only because my caretaker was insistent I not come out into public until I learned to not bite everyone who displeases me. If I had my way, then I would have bitten this particular mech a long, long time ago.”

Though it’s not like that would change anything.

An annulment requires approval from the Council, as they were the ones who set up this courtship in the first place.

“Depending on the location and how hard you bite, us Warframes would likely see it as different from what you expect. For example, a particularly harsh bite right here,” Megatron began, pressing one of his digits against where the juncture of his thumb and index digit meet on his other hand, “Would be a sign of rejection. To back off, and a normal mech would take the hint and leave you be.”

“That’s actually where I want to bite him, but it isn’t a valid rejection in polite Autobot society. Even then, I would be hard pressed to have my rejections accepted, not without appealing to the Council,” he admitted.

Megatron shook his head.

“Sometimes we question just how and why the Autobots developed such strict rules, but it’s likely ingrained from their roots as Functionalist Protectobots. After reading a majority of the datapads you brought in, Shockwave and I have become convinced that Functionalism still remains rooted in our society long after Nova Magnus was deposed.”

Orion closed his optics and nodded. It made sense, considering how Warframes like Megatron have been treated in a Cybertron that is in an era of peace. Without the ability to do what they’re designed for, they have been relegated to doing the types of jobs no one else wishes to do. Because if they don’t have some way to contribute to the great machine, then why should they be allowed to continue functioning?

Such a significant part of Functionalism was allowed to remain rooted deep in their society, and as a result has harmed a large part of their population.

And those like Orion?

They were left none the wiser, completely unaware of the suffering their brethren were forced to endure until, ultimately, they would snap and explode in a conflict that may very well destroy their planet and way of life.

“I’m sure if more of us become aware that Functionalism still persists to this cycle, then we can all band together and force the Council to make some much needed changes,” Orion offered. “I know it likely wouldn’t change for those who believe in it with all their sparks, but surely we outnumber them thoroughly enough? Because, surely, if those living in Iacon learn just how much you all suffer then they would wish to bring about change.”

Megatron hummed softly, “Perhaps, but that would require for them to realize that they are also suffering. That they are just as much victims of Functionalism as we are.”

He couldn’t help looking at Megatron, confusion likely obvious in his optics and EM field.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Humor me, Orion, but haven’t you considered your own functioning?”

Orion shook his head as he answered, “Not really, how is this relevant?”

For a moment he was reminded of his encounter with Zeta in the archives, when the Prime asked him if he was unhappy with his current functioning. He denied it then because it’s true, he finds his work in the archives to be perfectly satisfactory.

His companion frowned.

“Just continue to humor me, I promise it is relevant to our current discussion,” he said, a servo briefly reaching up towards him before it was pulled away. “When you were found and brought to Iacon, were you immediately given a list of careers for you to pursue?”

“No, I was put with a batch of those who had recently come online and we were given various tests. After those tests were completed, that was when we were given…a…list…”

He trailed off as he remembered the few options he was given. Though he figured the list was based off of his test scores and, were he not satisfied with the list in question, then he could have requested a broader list.

But instead he selected the archives after reading the description of the type of work he would be doing, followed by the fact that the one who found him was in charge of the archives anyway.

So it made sense for him to go there instead of anywhere else.

“Were you strongly encouraged to select a specific career? Or were you free to pick anything from that list, or even pick something that wasn’t on the initial list?”

Orion prepared to answer that of course he wasn’t encouraged to be an archivist, but then again he remembered how all of the other options just appeared to be dull in comparison.

Sure working at the docks could have been fun, especially with his alt-mode, but then he would have been surrounded by strange and unfamiliar mechs.

And maybe he would have thrived as a member of the law enforcement division, but would he actually be happy if he uncovered how things had become only to realize he’s one of the ones enforcing those very corrupt laws?

Sure they likely wouldn’t have said anything had he selected one of those other options, but he also remembered how the overseers had brief frowns on their faceplates when he looked at those options. It wasn’t until he saw them smiling when he looked at being an archivist that he was confident in his choice.

“They….were a little more encouraging when I considered becoming an archivist,” Orion finally admitted. Was it the same way for those who took those tests with him? Did they also feel like they were being pushed towards a specific occupation, no matter how they personally felt?

Would he have still picked his position as an archivist if he was given more options?

Just how much of his functioning, from the moment he was brought to Iacon, really his choice?

Not to mention his current betrothal…

Orion felt his servos fall into his lap as he stared down at them, realizing just how thoroughly the world as he knows it has completely shattered. Because while he can’t say he is unhappy with his current functioning, could he truly say he would have always decided to become an archivist if he was truly free to decide for himself what he wanted to be?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this would be such a big shock to you,” Megatron spoke after a moment, his EM field reflecting his worry.

For a brief moment he basked in this EM field, realizing that this was the first time he had felt another’s field in so long. Not since Altri first found him, and even then his field reminded him of one of the twelve his spark has felt while his frame remained dormant. Before he felt ready to actually come online, only to find himself completely alone when he was finally ready to greet the world around him.

“You shouldn’t apologize,” he said, slowly inventing as he sat up straight and looked his companion in the optics, “I needed to hear this. I needed to open my optics to the truth that I was willfully blinded to.”

Just as it appeared, Megatron pulled his EM field back until Orion could no longer feel it. But for a moment, before it vanished like that, he could briefly feel a touch of relief and affection in the field.

“Still, it is a difficult truth to accept. Perhaps we should move on to lighter topics?”

Orion nodded. Perhaps it was for the best, at least until he can find a moment to process this startling revelation and then figure out what he can do about this.

Because if he can convince those in Iacon of this truth, then maybe they can have an easier time fighting for change.

“Have you written anything new lately? Like another ode?” He asked.

Briefly his companion hesitated, but then he nodded and stood, offering a servo.

“Not necessarily an ode, but I recently reread a couple poems and decided to try my servo at something a little more freeform. Do you perhaps mind giving it a listen? I would like to hear your feedback on it.”

A little confused at why he was being offered a servo, Orion figured that it wouldn’t hurt as he took the offered servo. As he was pulled up from his seat, he was briefly given a warning to hold on tight as Megatron reached down to lift him up into his large arms.

“Won’t you join me for this flight, through the stellar seas?” he began, his thrusters activating as they slowly started to ascend. “Across the cosmos to a new world, free from strife and hardships.”

As he clung to his dearest companion, Orion could feel his face heat up when he noticed just how intimate this position was. But he found he couldn’t complain as he gave Megatron his full attention, knowing that he would likely have to give feedback at the end.

But still, this was definitely a strong opening…

“To a world where we can be us, to a world that knows not what we are.”

The gentle smile on Megatron’s faceplates matched the warmth he emitted from his EM field which he finally released, as if he noticed how disappointed Orion was when he pulled it back earlier. “To a world free from castes, to a world where we are equals.”

Orion nodded.

If this hypothetical world that Megatron proposed truly did exist, then he would love to be in that world.

A place where they could stand together in front of their peers without worrying about what would happen, without worrying about what any of them would say about their companionship.

The smile he got in return was absolutely dazzling, especially under the light of all the stars that surrounded them. It was at this moment he realized just how high up they were—far above Kaon, and perhaps even above Iacon, where the stars shined brighter than ever before.

“Fly with me to the stellar seas, where I can gaze into your optics.”

Those bright red optics held a surprising softness as they looked into Orion’s, while the stars above made his face glow in a way that looked pleasing to the optic, as if Megatron belonged up here instead of down with grounders like Orion.

“Where I can claim they shine brighter than any star, a true beauty that is surpassed by none.”

Orion’s derma briefly parted, his face likely a perfect reflection of his shocked EM field.

There is no way Megatron actually believes that, is there? Unless he’s thinking about another mech when saying these words, and yet he’s still looking at him with those optics.

But why? Or maybe he’s completely misunderstanding the intention behind this?

“Megatron…?” He spoke with a brief whisper when his dearest companion gently pressed a large servo against the side of his helm.

“Fly away with me, my dear archivist.”

There was no denying it now, not unless Megatron knew another archivist.

Unless he was still, somehow, implying a desire for their continued friendship? To have it be more public? But then why the implication about his optics?

Orion’s spark thrummed as he felt himself drawn closer to his dearest companion, a friend that feels closer than those he have had before, but could he still see him as a friend?

Especially with how his spark is racing with a desire that he has never felt before?

“Fly with me to a new home, to a new home among the stars.”

As Megatron finished, he didn’t comment on how close they had grown.

Instead he had a soft smile as he briefly pulled Orion closer until their derma were almost brushing against each other. For a brief moment, it seemed like they were just a millimeter away from kissing.

“It was…a beautiful poem,” Orion admitted, his voice quiet as he felt his optics start to close. There was a contentedness in his EM field, followed by an affection that he didn’t realize he held for his precious companion until now. Until he heard those words leave Megatron’s intake.

For a moment they remained just like that, in the air high above Kaon and so close yet just shy of sharing a kiss. Instead they basked in each other’s EM fields, a swirl and swell of affection that has likely continued to grow in this million stellar cycle friendship (relationship even?) they had.

And yet, right as Orion felt Megatron’s derma ghost across his, he pulled away when a message briefly flashed across his optics.

“Sorry, it appears an emergency popped up at the archives and I’m needed,” he said as he read the message from Altri. If only his mentor could have waited just a few nanokliks, or even a few kliks, before reaching out to Orion with this notice.

The disappointment in Megatron’s EM field was almost palpable as he nodded.

“I understand, I just got a message from Lord Megazarak requesting I return to base asap,” he admitted as they descended. Almost reluctantly, he set Orion down and took a small step back.

Not wanting to leave with a lingering air of disappointment, Orion reached out and took one of Megatron’s servos in his own. For a moment he marveled at just how large it looked compared to his own, but he quickly shook that awe away as he slightly turned it until the palm was facing upwards.

“Perhaps when we meet again then we can discuss this new poem properly,” he offered, leaning down until he pressed a soft kiss against the palm of his precious companion’s servo.

“Until then, I leave you with this.”

Megatron took the servo back as soon as Orion released it, but the smile on his faceplate showed that he wasn’t unhappy with the gesture. Instead, he pressed the palm of his servo over where his spark chamber was located.

“I look forward to hearing your thoughts.”

While he regretted having to part with Orion so soon, especially upon realizing that his archivist was open to reciprocation, he knew that they both had a duty to their own people.

Orion to the archives, and Megatron to the one he has sworn fealty to.

So he kept his pace swift without breaking into an undignified run as he entered their current base, his optics immediately falling onto Megazarak as he brought himself down to a kneeling position.

“You summoned me?”

“Stand, we have something important to discuss,” Megazarak ordered, pulling out a holo as Megatron stood. He waited until he had his full attention before activating it to show what he wanted him to see.

Megatron almost froze when he saw an image from his most recent meeting with Orion, specifically the moment when he took him into his arms. For a moment he prepared to explain just what was happening there, but it was like his voice box glitched and he could not utter a single sound.

“I’ve been aware of your secret meetings with a high class archivist,” Megazarak said, watching as the images shifted to show all of the meetings. From the beginning when Megatron was more cordial but still distant, to the ones where he had started to open up, until they finally cycled back to the most recent one which was them at perhaps their most intimate moment.

How can he explain this away without looking like a weak and love-glitched fool?

Is there any possible way to save them both from Megazarak’s potential wrath?

And yet, as he felt his processor start to spiral, he noticed Megazarak still had a neutral look on his faceplate.

The neutral turning into something more calculating as he had the image zoom in on Orion’s smiling face.

“The only reason why I allowed them to continue is because I noticed an improvement in the speeches you wrote for me, and it’s likely that this archivist you are so fond of is the cause of your improvement,” he said when he noticed Megatron wasn’t speaking up, and he took his further silence to continue, “However, it is apparent that this little fling you have for him could harbor some risks to the movement.”

Megatron bristled ever so slightly at the implication behind those words, but he was careful to keep his EM field close to his spark. He could not afford to let Megazarak suspect any form of treachery, even if he had no plans to betray him and the Decepticons.

Not unless Megazarak starts down a path that Megatron can not follow, nor would he allow the Decepticons to go down whatever hypothetical path this may be.

“If this archivist proves to be a threat to the cause, then you will be the one responsible for eliminating him.”

Servos clenched into fists, Megatron carefully exvented to calm himself as he bowed once more.

“All threats to the Decepticon cause will be eliminated swiftly and with prejudice,” he said, though he knew his Orion was not a threat to the cause. If anything, his Orion was more than willing to help to the best of his current abilities.

“Dismissed.”

As Megatron left to meet with the rest of the former gladiators who followed him into the Decepticons, he realized that there may be a possibility where he would have to choose.

Either Orion or Megazarak.

Hopefully he will never be forced to pick one or the other.

(Unfortunately…he does choose.)

Even with the bright lights outside of his window, Zeta Prime’s apartment remained dark as he sat on his recharge slab. A single cube of energon sat on the night table on his side, but he ignored it in favor of the datapad he held in his servos. He had a frown on his faceplates as he read the information compiled together for him by the archivists, but none of it made any sense.

“Terragar Magnus, he had the shortest term before quietly stepping aside to let Nova Magnus take power,” he mumbled, disappointed that there wasn’t an image file included to show what Nova’s predecessor looked like.

But maybe that was by design.

Other than a designation, the fact that he staged a military coup to take power from Zeemon Magnus, and had a surprisingly short term of only a million stellar cycles: nothing was known about Terragar Magnus.

Could all other information about him have possibly been erased during the Great Purge?

Zeta looked up when he heard the sound of glass shattering on the ground.

“Is someone there?” He asked, his optics briefly scanning the room before he reached for the light. He checked the illuminated area only to find nothing there, only for the light to flicker off once more.

“Must be a maintenance drone, clumsy one at that,” he mumbled as he returned to the datapad to look over the information the archivists had gathered about Megazarak. He just hoped that clumsy drone would hurry with its work and not break anything else.

He reached for the cube and took a slow sip as he continued to read.

Much like the records they had within the Elite Guard, there wasn’t anything about when Megazarak first came online. It was like he suddenly appeared out of nowhere, but with full knowledge of how their society functions—and he followed his own function perfectly.

Still is, based on how the *demonstrations* have been going as of late…

No amount of speeches that were obviously written by some other mech would change the true root of Megazarak’s ideals.

To completely dominate Cybertron and turn their world order upside down so those who are on the bottom are suddenly brought on top, and those who have been rightfully placed on the top of their hierarchy would find themselves at the bottom.

“It sounds like when…” Zeta trailed off, only to have his train of thought interrupted when he heard another noise from somewhere in his dark habsuite. He turned his attention to where the noise came from, which sounded like a pair of hushed whispers.

“Drones aren’t supposed to speak!” He hollered out at the disturbance, already frustrated as he turned back to his datapad once more.

He grumbled when he flipped back to the beginning, to the short bio gathered on Terragar.

Once again reading over how Terragar staged a military coup to depose Zeemon Magnus, he stopped as he remembered the violent uprisings with Megazarak at the head of it all.

Was it the same when Terragar took power from Zeemon?

“It couldn’t be…”

He froze when he heard something walk into his room, followed by the sound of an energy weapon charging up.

For a moment, Zeta Prime wondered if it was just his imagination as he turned to face the intruder. While he did not often pray, he prayed to Primus that this was just his imagination.

But Primus turned his gaze away from Zeta when he was instead met with bright red optics that belonged to a Warframe who was all sharp angles and dark purple paint that almost looked black.

“Megazarak…or should I call you-?”

Chapter Text

When Orion walked into the Hall of Records, he couldn’t help but notice Outback was absent again when he checked the current list of archivists who had clocked in for the cycle. For a brief moment he felt concerned and wondered if his fellow archivist was alright, but that concern soon shifted to fear when he noticed an oppressive atmosphere within the hall.

“Orion, thank Primus you’re here! I don’t think we could handle another no-show!”

When he heard the tremor in Dion’s voice, he knew things were not looking good in the archives.

Especially as he saw a few other archivists ducking under terminals to avoid the wrath of Outback’s usual work partner—truly he was the only one who could handle her.

When he heard the thumping sound of rotary blades, he knew she was moments away from grabbing whichever poor spark was in reach to then drag them off for whatever task she would have been put on alone.

“Pax! You’re with me today!”

Orion winced when he heard Airachnid’s shout, already bracing himself when he felt her servos grab his arm and forcefully drag him to her usual work station. He was careful to not comment on the obvious mess of datapads that were scattered all over the place, though he did raise an optic ridge when he noticed a few of them had cracks in their screens.

“Airachnid, what has Altri said about damaging our datapads?” He asked, already moving to grab them from her desk to sort them properly. When he only got a snarl in response, he sighed and put the ones with cracks in them to the side to deal with later as he prepared to try and make conversation once more.

“Save your sanctimonious slag for someone who actually cares.”

Seeing that she wasn’t in the mood for a conversation, he went back to work on sorting as he thought about why she could be like this. Though based on the sheer number of datapads that had piled on her desk, waiting to be returned to their homes in the archives, he knew it’s likely because she was overworked thanks to her normal partner being absent.

Again.

“I take it you haven’t heard anything from Outback?” He asked, one of his digits tracing over a crack in a datapad as he tried to see if the information stored within it was salvageable enough to transfer onto a new one.

Her silence was enough of an answer as she gripped one of the datapads in a too-tight grip, the screen briefly cracking before she carefully put it aside.

“Are you still mad about being assigned to Zeta Prime’s request?”

Airachnid only grumbled something along the lines of how it should have been the one who filed Zeta’s request who fulfills it.

“That was three million stellar cycles ago, and I would have worked on it that cycle, but Altri had another assignment for me at the time,” Orion said, though he knew it was a futile affair—it took her and Outback all that time to gather all of the requested information, and now it’s been over a deca-cycle since they finished the task.

“And now Outback has gone missing and Zeta Prime hasn’t appeared in public since we gave him the datapad with all of our findings.”

Orion nodded as he finished with the second pile before moving on to the third.

“When I initially filed the request he was asking for a census of all Warframes who were online during Nova Magnus’s, or even Terragar Magnus’s, reign. I take it you were able to fulfill it somehow?” He asked.

“Yeah, he changed it while we were working on compiling it when he noticed a designation was missing from the list,” Airachnid grumbled as she handed him a datapad. “This was the list Outback and I started to compile before Zeta changed the nature of his request, he went from wanting that census to wanting whatever information we could dig up on both Megazarak and Terragar Magnus.”

Confused, he took the datapad and started to read over it.

“I didn’t receive a notification that he changed the nature of his request. Did neither of you file it?” He asked.

“We figured since they were related it would have been a non-issue, those were Outback’s words.”

Orion groaned as he prepared to lecture her about the importance of making sure they keep an accurate request of all requests, but he quickly closed his intake when she handed him a different datapad.

“I know, I already started on updating the initial request, but ever since Outback quit showing up I’ve been swamped,” she said, her digits briefly digging into the screen before she stopped herself from cracking yet another datapad. “This is a copy of the pack we gave Zeta Prime, and…it isn’t pretty.”

He took the datapad and nodded, putting it in his subspace so he could review the information later and find the proper place to store it.

Until then, he has a fifth pile to help Airachnid with.

“If it’s any consolation, I hope Outback returns soon.”

His coworker only smiled.

“When he does, I’m going to take three deca-cycles off. Then we’ll see how he feels about skipping work.”

With a nod, he continued to provide his assistance until Altri stepped in with a warm smile on his faceplates.

“Airachnid, I apologize for the intrusion, but I’m going to need Orion for a bit.”

She only waved them off, marginally calmer now that her desk was better organized.

“I’ll return to help you finish up your work, hopefully Outback will return or we can get you someone else to help,” Orion said with an apologetic smile as he followed Altri away from her desk.

Whatever his caretaker needed was likely important, and perhaps confidential as he’s being led to an office that only Altri has access to.

Perhaps what he needs to discuss is something incredibly sensitive?

As he sat at his desk, Alpha watched Orion carefully the moment he took a seat once given permission.

He didn’t say anything at first, instead watching as his young charge took his time to glance around the office—completely unaware of why he was brought here, but likely suspecting it was something important.

And important it was, when he noticed how every few deca-cycles his charge would leave with a few datapads, but not before returning whichever ones he had taken from the previous time he had off from work.

Even if Alpha was proud that his charge was likely spreading knowledge to those who did not have access to it, he knows that he will need to know something about just who Orion was teaching. Because if this individual was using Orion, only to then toss him aside once they got everything they wanted from Orion, then he would have to put a stop to this and soon.

“You wished to speak with me?” Orion finally asked, now putting his full attention on Alpha.

He nodded, his gaze briefly softening when he saw the earnest look his charge was giving him.

It reminded him of when he first found Orion in the Wilds, the look of shock and earnest trust in a mech he had never met before—though that trust also held a hint of recognition, as if he knew Alpha Trion despite never once meeting him before.

At least, consciously.

“Indeed, I noticed you have been taking a few datapads from the archives before you would be given leave,” he began, already holding a servo up before Orion could speak, “No, you are not in trouble. I am always a firm believer in spreading knowledge wherever we can, but I need to know about the one you have decided to teach.”

He waited, watching as his charge brightened up considerably.

Based on that alone, he knew Orion likely saw whoever he was teaching in an incredibly positive light—but nothing could prepare him for what Orion said.

“You remember the ode that the former miner, Megatron, wrote a long time ago? I finally found him and returned his datapad, and from there we’ve been meeting in secret and…he’s incredibly wonderful. His processor is brimming with untapped potential, but no one ever bothered to give him a chance because of his frame type,” Orion began, his EM field positively brimming with a mixture of joy, admiration, respect, and something else entirely.

But he did not stop.

“In one of our more recent meetings we had a discussion about the mines, specifically how flightframes were made to wear flight locks. When I mentioned that I thought all of the miners voluntarily took on those functions, he brought up how that wasn’t really the case for Warframes like him. It was either the mines, the pits, or war for them. It was an enlightening conversation that challenged me in a way I have never been challenged before, and from there we talked about his time in the pits and-”

As Alpha listened to Orion continue to gush about this mech, he paid closer attention to his field and the way his optics seemed to literally shine.

Even brighter than the purest of unrefined energon, Alpha Trion could tell that his charge felt a lot of positive emotions for this particular mech.

He could even hazard a guess that it might even lean towards something more affectionate than a typical friendship.

Which brings an unfortunate issue that could cause a massive crack for Orion.

“You are aware you cannot pursue a relationship with him, correct?” He asked, deciding to just get it over with.

Orion slumped slightly as he looked down at his servos.

“I am aware,” he said, his field reflecting the sorrow he likely felt as he gave an exvent. “I won’t pursue this any further, no matter how I feel about it. It would be irresponsible for me to follow my spark when I have a duty to uphold.”

After taking a moment to watch his charge carefully, he knew that something like this was an inevitability with how the rift between Orion and Ultra continued to grow.

While he isn’t sure just when the rift started, he knew it was likely easily noticed by those who knew the two of them well enough—perhaps even large enough for the council to notice.

“I am glad you are aware, however it is possible that the council may have noticed something is wrong with this arrangement,” he said, already checking his calendar to see when the council would have a meeting. “It is very possible that they might agree to have your engagement to Ultra Prime annulled.”

Alpha watched with a smile as his charge immediately perked up.

“You mean…?”

“I will put in an appeal to the council at the next meeting. When it comes to a Conjunx Ritus, it is imperative that both mechs are happy and willing to go through with it. Having it only be one-sided would be cruel, to both you and your partner.”

Orion’s smile was contagious, followed by the sheer relief and joy he emitted from his field. He looked to be nanokliks away from leaping over Alpha’s desk to give him a hug, and he would have welcomed it even if his old frame would have protested the action.

But Orion restrained himself as he instead gave a verbal thanks to Alpha.

“Alright, I believe you should return to work now. I wouldn’t want to keep Airachnid waiting.”

Orion nodded before pausing as he stood up.

“Have you heard from Outback at all?” He asked.

Alpha frowned and shook his head.

“I have not,” he admitted, though he had a suspicion on why Outback has not returned to work—it was likely connected to why Zeta Prime hasn’t appeared in public at all.

Perhaps he should request Airachnid be monitored, just in case…

“I see. Well when he does return, Airachnid plans to take three deca-cycles off to teach him a lesson. Will you approve of that?”

With a chuckle, Alpha found he could respect her for that alone.

“I could be talked into giving her five deca-cycles if she so desires, and maybe even double Outback’s workload.”

“Please don’t make Outback go offline! I don’t think we could handle losing two mechs!”

Alpha waved Orion off, hoping to reassure his charge before leaning back in his seat once he was alone.

He then pulled up all of the fulfilled requests and checked the latest one Airachnid and Outback fulfilled, a frown appearing on his faceplate as he read over Zeta Prime’s request.

Perhaps he made the right call in not having Orion be assigned to this despite being the one to file the request, but the fact that it’s putting his archivists in danger did not bode well for him.

For any of them.

“What did they uncover while working on this request?”

Orion never thought they would be doing something like this together, though he should have figured it would have been an eventuality considering what drew him to Megatron in the first place. But the idea of actually collaborating like this, it brought a warmth to his spark as he listened and thought of how he could add to it.

But it was becoming difficult to focus from where he sat in Megatron’s lap, where the sound of his velveteen voice struck him straight to his core—as if it was a silken rasp of a blade across harsh stone. A voice that held a certain promise of darker delights to come, delights that gave Orion a sense of excitement he has not felt since before Altri found him.

“Is something wrong, my archivist? You’ve been silent this whole time.”

For a brief moment he flinched, a smile that showed his embarrassment at being caught spread quickly across his face as his companion started to chuckle.

“My apologies, it seems I got a little lost in the moment. Do you mind if we start over?” He asked.

“Perhaps, but I ask that you pay attention. We are supposed to be collaborating on this one,” Megatron said, his red optics soft as he shifted slightly to get in a more comfortable position.

Orion allowed himself to settle in, deciding to try and actually focus on what Megatron was saying instead of only focusing on his voice.

As difficult as the task may be at this moment, he knew he would somehow manage.

“I dream of a time where we are allotted the same opportunities, where we can stand on equal footing.”

There was always something about the way Megatron begins that just captivates him, and not only his voice. The choice of words he uses always strives to catch every last shred of his attention, especially now that he’s more focused on what Megatron was saying instead of listening to the sound of his voice.

“I dream for a time where we don’t have to hide this, where we can be together and not a single mech bats an optic.”

He leaned into the massive servo that gently held his helm, his optics briefly shutting as he pictured the time Megatron described.

Where they could walk the streets of Iacon, servo in servo, and not a single individual gives them a second glance. Where they could both go into the Hall of Records and browse through whatever texts caught Megatron’s optic.

Or even better, perhaps a world where they could work in the Hall of Records together.

“What about you, Orion?”

He knew that was his cue to start, but he still needed to take a moment to absorb the words spoken to him. A quiet whisper for his audials and his alone, but a part of him wondered if he could possibly match what Megatron gave him.

To find words that would actually fit in with the beginning of a poem that also acted like a conversation between the two of them—a conversation about dreams that revealed hidden yet incredibly intimate desires shared between them both.

When Orion looked up at Megatron, all he saw was a look of encouragement on his faceplates followed by a gentle squeeze.

As if he was being told that anything he says would be perfect in Megatron’s optics.

And so, he began with something he hoped would hold the same amount of strength and passion his beloved companion opened with.

“The dreams I hold are similar to yours, Megatron.”

He almost cringed, but stopped himself when he noticed Megatron’s small smile briefly grew.

While he didn’t say it out loud, his optics easily told Orion to continue.

With that encouragement, he continued as he reached for what to possibly say next.

“I dream of a time where we are all free to live our lives, where no one can tell us what to do or who we are.”

As he said that line, he knew it was the truth.

He would love, more than anything, to live in a world where they did not have to worry about the council getting in the way. A world where Orion did not have to worry about a betrothal he never wanted in the first place, but a betrothal he felt he had no choice but to accept when it initially happened.

That was a cycle when he was still learning what’s considered acceptable or not in polite society, and he didn’t know he could have rejected Ultra.

In fact, now that he thinks about it, he didn’t even know what Ultra was proposing until it was too late and the council had marked them as courting in preparation for a Conjunx Ritus.

If only he knew…

After a quick cycle of his vents to regain his bearings, he smiled up at Megatron and continued with his part of the poem/conversation.

“I dream for a time where we can stand together, where we can stand side by side,” he paused as he brought his servo up to the one that still held his helm, careful to slot their digits together until they were perfectly interlocked, before finally finishing this part of the poem, “Holding servos as we face opposition in unity.”

“Then that is what we will do, together we will chase our dreams,” Megatron said without a lick of hesitation as his servo completely enveloped Orion’s in a gentle caress. His other servo, which still pressed against Orion’s back, moved to pull him closer so they were at optic-level.

Where Orion could see the burning passion within those red optics that looked to be staring at him in the spark.

“We will chase them and make them come true. With linked servos, we will face down any who stand in our way.”

The servo on his back slid down, until it was in a more optimal position to lift him up. He briefly made a small sound that resembled a honk from his alt-mode, but it quickly morphed into a laugh as he smiled at Megatron.

“Even if they try to stop us, to separate us, they will learn that I refuse to let go of this shared dream of ours,” he accentuated the ending with a soft squeeze that pressed Orion closer to him.

Until Orion’s free servo pressed against the Deceptibrand that sat in the center of Megatron’s chassis.

It didn’t take him nearly as long to give an answer, likely because being held like this gave him the push he needed.

Because hearing this confession, which reminded him of the poem Megatron wrote for him what felt like forever ago, allowed him to speak with a feeling he has kept deep in his spark.

A feeling he was ready to finally let out, especially with Altri’s promise to get the engagement annulled.

“You worry too much, but I can understand the sentiment,” he opened, one of his digits gently tracing over the purple brand before he gave his precious companion his full focus. He wanted to make sure that this could not be misconstrued—he needed his feelings to be acknowledged in some form.

“As there are many who would look at us—many who would look down at this bond we have.”

He knew, out of all of the mechs he knew, Ultra would be the one who would look down on this the most. And yet, he doesn’t care what Ultra would think or even say were he to be here and witnessing this. This was Orion’s functioning, and he doesn’t want to be a fancy little decorative drone designed to stand by Ultra’s side and nod along to whatever he says.

“But I must admit to a confession, to a slight change in this.”

He knew this was it, this was his moment, especially as he knew he had Megatron’s full attention.

And with this particular line, that attention had turned to curiosity as his companion whom he loved more than anything briefly tilted his head to the side. That curiosity turned into a knowing gaze, as if he only now realized just how close their derma were to one another.

“Megatron, you are my dream,” he said this final bit with a whisper, his derma gently pressed against Megatron’s in a chaste kiss—almost hesitant, as if worried that he read this all wrong and his dear companion did not love him in this fashion.

Whatever doubts Orion had were instantly washed away the moment Megatron properly processed what was happening, as he felt him press back to return the kiss. Their derma slid against one another until they slotted perfectly, as if they were two parts of the same machine that has been missing one another for millions of stellar cycles.

It felt simultaneously like a never ending sign of a shared love and a moment that was far too quick when they briefly separated, staring into each other’s optics as they took in the realization that their respective feelings have been acknowledged and reciprocated.

Orion’s entire frame trembled with laughter as he pressed his forehelm against Megatron’s, his field alight with a love and affection that was reserved for Megatron and Megatron alone.

A part of him never expected something like this to happen, but in hindsight he should have seen it coming. He should have known the moment they took to the skies together, when they nearly kissed that cycle.

“And here I thought I would be the one to initiate our first kiss,” Megatron said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Well you could be the one to initiate our second kiss,” Orion offered, his own voice teasing as he closed his optics.

“I might take you up on that.”

He knew his closest companions could tell something wonderful happened at his most recent meeting with Orion, and they would be correct in their assumptions as he set the pile of datapads on the table so he and Shockwave could go through them to read and formulate questions for Orion at a later cycle. After all, a part of him had wondered if he and Orion would eventually quit this little dance and actually address their mutual affections for one another.

“So I take it he returned your affections?” Shockwave asked as he picked up one of the datapads—the one that contained information gleaned from Devron that Orion wished to have fact-checked, if Megatron remembered which datapad was what correctly.

“More than that, he expressed his own affections and made the first move,” he said as he looked through the datapads himself. Counting and organizing them carefully in order of which ones he and Shockwave would want to go over first, followed by which ones he thinks Strika and Lugnut would like to learn about.

And yet, as he counted out what was supposed to be nine datapads, he noticed there was an extra one. A lone datapad that wasn’t supposed to be in this pile…could it be a present from Orion? A courting gift even?

At the idea of them already moving towards exchanging gifts, Megatron’s smile softened as he activated the datapad—the curiosity at what Orion could have left for him already pushed him to reading what he hoped to be a cute little note from his archivist. But all he found was a note, still cute with the way his Orion wrote it, marking the contents of this datapad as something to review later for filing purposes.

“Courting gifts already?” Strika asked from her post by the door.

“No, it appears he accidentally left this in the pile of pads he gave me,” he said, though he also knew this was an incredibly rare opportunity.

The ability to read and review something his Orion has not gotten to yet, and perhaps even help his Orion with something work related.

With that idea held firm in his processor, he swiped to the next page to read over what he soon discovered to be a report written by what he could only assume to be two of Orion’s coworkers—Airachnid and Outback. Though something about the designation Outback was familiar to him, as if he heard it while walking past where Megazarak and his inner circle hold their meetings.

“”A Comprehensive Report on Terragar Magnus, Megazarak, and Warframes for Zeta Prime”? Why would Zeta Prime want this information?” He asked as he read over the short blurb on Terragar Magnus, rumored to be a Warframe who held the shortest term as Magnus before stepping down to let Nova Magnus take power.

“Could it be related to the Decepticon Registration Act there have been whispers about?”

Megatron looked at Shockwave and nodded, it was a reasonable assumption after all. And if Zeta Prime was the one leading this little project, then it’s likely that he would dig for whatever information he could gather about Megazarak.

“But how does Terragar Magnus fit into all of this?”

When that question left his vocalizer, Megatron flipped through the rest of the report—his optics taking in every last glyph typed up in the hopes of finding the key to all of this.

He flipped back and forth, from the beginning of the (frankly limited) information on Terragar Magnus to what was known about Megazarak at the time the archivists put this report together.

He has to be missing something.

“Lord Megazarak and Terragar Magnus are the same!” Lugnut shouted, pulling Megatron from his thoughts as if only now realizing that his fellow ex-gladiator had somehow snuck up on him to read the datapad over his shoulder.

At first he wanted to shout at Lugnut to not sneak up on him, to not suddenly shout something right into his audials, and to never read over his shoulder again: but he stopped as he looked at the datapad once more, seeing he was at the beginning of the information gathered about Megazarak. He read over the opening portion before reading it again when it finally hit him.

“No records of when he first came online.”

“It could be that his records were lost in the Great Purge,” Strika remarked.

He shook his helm, “Construction records were one of the few things Nova Magnus did not destroy—at least for cold constructs like us. Megazarak always claimed to have been cold constructed, but there would have been a record with his original serial number.”

And while Megazarak held some visual similarities to a D-Unit like Megatron, he knew that there were far too many differences between the two of them to have Megazarak be labelled as a D-Unit.

“Lugnut might be onto something with this,” Megatron finally said after taking a few nanokliks to process everything and reread the information he held in his servos.

And if it’s true, then they could all be in danger from learning about this.

Not just them…

“Nothing we discussed here leaves this room, understand?”

He watched as they all nodded, with Lugnut going so far as to make a motion to mute his vocalizer. Even if Lugnut was not known for his discretion, he could only hope his loyal companion would understand the severity of this and do his best to keep quiet.

“What about the datapad? And your beloved archivist?”

Megatron looked at Shockwave and then back to the datapad.

While he knows it would be safer in the long run to destroy the information and never allow Orion to see the contents, he also knew it would be a massive breach in trust between the two of them.

Could he really destroy Orion’s trust just like that?

With shaking servos, he put the datapad in his subspace.

“It’s for the best if he doesn’t read this datapad,” he said, hoping that this was the right decision.

He just hopes Orion will understand the dangers within this datapad when he explains it during their next meeting.

After taking a moment to cycle his vents, Megatron stood up straight and stepped out of the room.

He will think about what to do with this information at a later time, and from there he will take action. Even if it means taking out the true threat to the Decepticon movement.

“It is rare for you to call a meeting, Alpha Trion.”

He only gave a pleasant smile in Powered Convoy’s direction, rising from his seat to address the rest of the councilmechs in the room. He was careful to not lock optics with Ultra Prime, even if he wondered why he was even here. Normally Powered Convoy would have brought Zeta Prime to sit in on these meetings, but maybe his old friend was actually considering Ultra as a successor instead of Zeta.

While it would be a foolish endeavor, he doesn’t have much say in the lineage of Magnuses.

No one on the council has a say at the end of the cycle.

“Indeed it is, but I believe this is a matter of utmost importance as it involves my young charge.”

He waited for the others to give him their full attention, and he knew Ultra was also paying attention—could he suspect what this is about? Or perhaps he is none the wiser.

Once he was confident he had all optics on him, Alpha turned to give Powered Convoy his full focus as he spoke, “I am certain everyone here remembers that I voted against the current arrangement between Orion Pax and Ultra Prime, who was a Major back then. At the time I believed Orion was not fully aware of what the nature of the proposal was when he initially accepted, and my suspicions were recently proven correct.”

Whispers filled the council chambers and he could feel Ultra’s optics glaring at him, but he chose to ignore that as he continued to plead his case.

“It is of utmost importance that, when going through a Conjunx Ritus, all parties involved are happy and more than willing to go through with it. It would be too cruel to put them through this when one of them does not actually love the other.”

“What are you trying to say!? That Orion doesn’t love me!?”

“Ultra, restrain yourself!”

Alpha watched as Ultra shrunk under Powered Convoy’s firm gaze. He waited for the rest of the council to settle down so he could continue with his case, though he hoped that these whispers would put matters into his favor.

If he can get everyone present to agree to an annulment, then Orion would be free to pursue the mech who has so thoroughly claimed his spark.

“To get back on track, I called this meeting to request a vote in favor of annulling the arrangement between Orion Pax and Ultra Prime. Orion was not ready to accept any form of engagement when Ultra proposed it to him, and now there is a rift growing between them that I fear cannot be bridged. It is for the best to annul the arrangement, or even alter it from a Conjunx Ritus to an Amica Ritus.”

The whispers returned in full force, though he noticed a lot of the attention was now focused on both Powered Convoy and Ultra. As this matter involved both of them in some fashion—though in the case of Powered Convoy it stemmed from a few rumors that Alpha allowed to fester, they were amusing and provided the perfect cover for where Orion came from after all.

“Unfortunately, I will be voting against the annulment,” Powered Convoy said, his optics held a sympathetic gaze. He likely understood where Alpha was coming from, but the fact that he voted against this was still troubling.

“We are currently in a state of unease, with Megazarak and the Decepticons going from being a nuisance to an actual threat—which is putting stress on the Destrons who are being compared to Decepticons because they share a frametype. And with Zeta Prime’s disappearance-”

Disappearance? Is that why Zeta wasn’t present at the meeting?

Alpha realized something must be incredibly wrong, especially as he thought about Outback’s own disappearance almost a deca-cycle ago.

Could it relate to Megazarak and the Decepticons?

“-I have recently appointed Ultra Prime as my successor. And in order to make sure the transition goes as seamlessly as possible, to also boost morale, I have decided that the ceremony will occur on the cycle I officially bestow the Magnus Hammer onto Ultra.”

Perceptor stood up and nodded along with Powered Convoy.

“It is only logical. Ultra Prime is not the popular pick, so it is for the best that we show the citizens that he does have a soft spot.”

He watched as Highbrow and Botanica also put in their votes against the annulment, with Botanica giving him a sympathetic look.

Which brought the vote to a four against one majority in favor of keeping the current arrangement intact.

“Now that that’s settled, we can move on to other matters that need to be discussed. Before Zeta disappeared, he sent me something for us to consider—he called it the “Seeker Clarification Act” which would classify all flight-capable Cybertronians as Warframes…”

Alpha tuned the rest of the meeting out, instead focusing on his failure as he sat in his seat.

He would have to apologize to Orion when they both return to the Hall of Records, and from there he would have to figure out what to do.

Even if Powered Convoy likely still has a few million stellar cycles in him to continue leading, the clock is still ticking down and soon they would both run out of time.

Hopefully they can have something figured out before they run out of time.

Even if it means sending Orion back to the Wilds where he found him…

Chapter Text

It felt like everything was going wrong for Orion, as if the worst case scenario struck him. Those were the thoughts that rang through his processor as he stood in front of the door that would take him into Powered Convoy’s office.

First there was the fact that he somehow misplaced the datapad Airachnid gave to him for filing purposes, followed by her not clocking in for the cycle, then there was the apologetic gaze Altri gave him, and now-

Now he stood before this door having been summoned by Powered Convoy for an important discussion.

Could Powered Convoy have uncovered Orion’s secret meetings? Could he have discovered the, frankly, illegal friendship with Megatron that had only recently blossomed into a love that still makes his spark thrum hard in his chamber to this cycle and perhaps for more cycles to come? What would he have to say about this? Would he express disapproval or even go so far as to lock Orion away to prevent him from seeing Megatron?

For a few kliks he remained standing there, cycling his vents as he thought about what he was going to say in his own defense. Especially since he hasn’t heard if Altri was successful in getting the arrangement annulled or not—for all he knows, Powered Convoy would need to see further evidence before agreeing to have a vote on it.

Once he knew he was calm and ready to face the Magnus, Orion stepped forward and knocked on the imposing doors.

“You may enter.”

Upon being granted permission, Orion stepped in and stood before Powered Convoy and waited to see what he had to say. Even as the anxiousness for what this meeting is about continued to tickle at his processor, he kept a calm composure and stood straight before the Magnus.

After taking a couple nanokliks to study Orion’s frame, Powered Convoy stood from his seat and made his way to the window. He motioned for Orion to stand with him before finally speaking—finally revealing why he called Orion here.

“Ultra Prime has been selected as the next Magnus. I called you here to let you know as this will impact your current courtship with him.”

“I thought you were going to select Zeta Prime,” Orion admitted, remembering his brief encounters with Ultra’s rival for the Magnus Hammer. He then shook his helm, deciding he should not question this particular choice. If anything, it could be that Ultra becoming the Magnus will make him ineligible for taking on a Conjunx.

“That was my original intent, however…” Powered Convoy trailed off before he offered a single datapad to Orion. Within the pad contained a detailed report of a successful assassination on Zeta Prime, followed by a description of the Decepticon symbol painted on the walls of his hab. “Ultra Prime is now the only viable successor.”

Orion stared wordlessly at the datapad, reading the report carefully. A part of him wondered if this was some giant prank, but the images contained within proved otherwise. For a moment he thought he was going to purge his tanks, but he refrained as he handed the datapad back to Powered Convoy.

“Why hasn’t this been made public?”

The Magnus shook his helm as he returned the datapad to his subspace. “It’s because I’m concerned about how public opinion will shift in regards to the Destrons and other Warframes who refuse to ally themselves with the Decepticons. It’s becoming apparent that most civilians are looking at all Warframes with suspicion, as if they assume they’re all following Megazarak. Even with Devron publicly denouncing Megazarak, it isn’t doing much to ease the fear that’s starting to permeate Cybertron as a whole.”

Powered Convoy paused as he rested a servo against the window, as if thinking about what to say next.

“Devron believes the Decepticons, and especially Megazarak, need to stop before they permanently shatter whatever goodwill the general populace have for the Warframes. He has gone so far as to compare Megazarak to both Terragar and Nova Magnus.”

“By taking out Zeta…could it be that Megazarak is trying to destabilize Cybertron?” Orion asked, wondering if Megatron was aware of any of this or not. While neither of them really talk about what role Megatron has within the Decepticons, he always figured he wasn’t within Megazarak’s inner circle. Though perhaps he could ask Megatron when they meet again in a few cycles.

“That is the suspicion, which is why I need to ensure there is as smooth a transition as possible. When I pass the Magnus Hammer to Ultra, I want to reassure all Cybertronians that this will bring about a peaceful era that hasn’t been seen in the known history of all of Cybertron.”

Orion nodded.

“It makes sense, but you mentioned that this will impact the current arrangement? How so?” He asked, hoping that there will be an annulment when Ultra inherits the hammer.

“Right, I haven’t gotten there yet,” Powered Convoy said, a warm smile spreading across his faceplates as he set a reassuring servo on Orion’s shoulder. “On the cycle Ultra is promoted to Magnus, that will be when the two of you go through the Conjunx Ritus.”

Whatever hopes Orion had were instantly dashed when Powered Convoy made that statement.

Perhaps that was why Altri kept giving him apologetic looks, because he failed to convince the council to annul the arrangement.

And now he has a more concrete date of when he’s supposed to go through with a Ritus he truly does not wish for. To be bonded by the Spark to Ultra, when he would much rather bind his Spark to Megatron.

“Won’t having two ceremonies be too confusing? It could bring mixed messages, as the populace would not know what to celebrate—a change in leadership or a sparkbonding ceremony,” Orion countered, hoping that this would be enough to have Powered Convoy reconsider and maybe delay the ceremony just enough so Orion can find a way to have it be annulled himself.

Provided Ultra doesn’t try to have it happen the cycle after his promotion.

“Ordinarily it would be confusing, but you know as well as I that Ultra is not nearly as popular as Zeta was. It is the hope of the council that by having Ultra go through the Conjunx Ritus with you will endear him to the public, to show that he has a softer side and is willing to keep good relations with the Civilian Guilds and the Hall of Records. You are Alpha Trion’s ward and pupil after all, so this decision will help Ultra become a more respectable leader for those who do not have ties to the Elite Guard.”

Orion looked down to where he had set his servos against his chest, his spark almost freezing at the realization that there likely was no changing the council’s minds.

Which means drastic measures would have to be taken if he wishes to avoid being forced to give Ultra his spark.

He took a moment to cycle his vents as he looked up at Powered Convoy, already prepared to say something.

“I believe I’ve taken up enough of your time with this. Please take your time to process what was discussed here, but know that I still have a few million stellar cycles left in me. So there’s still time to adequately prepare yourself for your new future.”

Closing his intake, Orion only nodded and turned to leave.

He mulled over what was discussed as he left the fortress to then make his way back to the Hall of Records.

“I’m going to need some good High Grade after this,” Orion finally said once he was far enough from the fortress.

Perhaps Ratchet would be willing to pay a visit to the oil house?

“In our dance high above Cybertron, I would bear my spark to you,” Megatron mumbled as he reviewed the few lines that came after that one, a smile on his faceplates as he finalized the rest of the poem before giving it the title Waltz the Sky.

But just as easily as the smile appeared from thoughts of Orion’s reaction to reading this new poem, it fell when he heard unfamiliar pedsteps approaching the door.

Neither did they sound like the heavy and confident steps from Lugnut and Strika, nor did they sound like the light steps from Shockwave.

Instead they were almost hesitant, but still heavy—which means it wasn’t from any of the gladiators who joined the Decepticons alongside Megatron.

He put the datapad in his subspace and stood up to greet the mech who decided to come into his personal chambers.

“Lord Megazarak wishes to see you.”

He knew better than to keep him waiting, especially if he wanted Megazarak to still believe that nothing was amiss.

The datapad Orion accidentally left with him continued to sit heavy in his subspace, safe from prying optics who may become too curious for their own good.

Because if Lugnut could uncover the connection between Megazarak and Terragar, then anyone who reads the contents of this datapad would be able to come to the same conclusion.

As he stepped into where Megazarak summoned him, he took note of the members of the Inner Circle that were gathered in the room. A part of him wondered what made them trusted enough to be members of the Inner Circle—did they also know about Megazarak’s secret? Or were they simply opportunists who believed if they were close enough to Megazarak then he would reward them for their loyalty?

He did not allow those thoughts to wander too far in his processor though, instead giving Megazarak his full attention.

“I have a new assignment for you, Megatron.”

So he was asking for another speech, which means he doesn’t suspect that there were others aware of his little secret.

Which means he can continue onward with his potential plans, provided Megazarak truly is a threat to the Decepticon cause.

“Another rallying cry?” Megatron asked, reaching for the offered datapad to go over the primary topic of the speech he would be writing for Megazarak. As he read over the information, he tilted his helm to the side when he noticed he had to include details about Zeta Prime, as if he had gone offline.

“More than that, it’s time we rally the rest of the Destrons into the cause.”

Megatron’s frown deepened as he read the rest of the request, only to pause when he noticed Devron’s designation included alongside Zeta Prime—a requirement for this speech to label them both as mutual oppressors.

While he would agree that Zeta Prime was a mech who would have happily put down those who did not fall into their assigned functions, and that his admiration for the former councilmech Proteus did not bode well for Warframes, he could not fathom why Devron would be given the same label as Zeta Prime.

And with the way this request was written, it’s like…

“You plan to have Devron assassinated.”

His words echoed through the room, silencing everyone present as he stared at Megazarak.

With a solemn nod, Megazarak leaned back against his large chair that resembled a throne befitting an emperor instead of a simple leader of a group of what they had all naively believed to be freedom fighters.

“Devron is a disgrace to Warframes. He has been trying to make peace with our oppressors, giving them more and more opportunities to push us into their shackles. If it wasn’t for Devron, then we would have taken the power that is rightfully ours—but instead he believed we needed to atone for the crime of deposing Zeemon Magnus. I refuse to roll over and allow for a bunch of weak civilians to push us down until we’re seen as nothing more than mindless drones who do their bidding.”

While Megatron wanted to counter and say that by offlining such a prominent figure—especially the one who helped Powered Convoy depose Nova Magnus—it would instead make them out to look like the tyrants they’re fighting against, he also knew that speaking up would paint a target on his back that Megazarak would be more than happy to exploit.

And perhaps if he didn’t read the datapad Orion accidentally gave him then he would have been questioning just what kind of leader Megazarak really is, but now he knows the truth of the matter.

Even with all this knowledge, he held his glossa because of this precarious position he found himself in.

One wrong move and Megazarak may decide he is no longer of any use to him online—and he would find no support in this room with those in Megazarak’s inner circle.

“This will be difficult to write, but I will create a speech that can rally all Warframes under the same banner,” Megatron said, putting the request into his subspace as he gave a single bow.

Not leaving until Megazarak dismissed him with a grin.

“I figured you would understand, as it was Devron’s actions that put you in your shackles in the first place, D-16.”

Megatron did not dignify him with a response, instead turning to leave the room so he could send a comm to Shockwave and Strika. They will need to discuss this meeting he had with Megazarak and figure out where to go from there.

But now…he’s becoming more convinced that the tyrant is a threat to not only the Decepticons and Warframes, but to Cybertron as a whole.

And he refuses to allow Megazarak to remain if that is the case.

Deadlock found it becoming increasingly rare for himself to be on his own. In recent times Megazarak has been trying to put a tighter leash on all of them, which means his times meeting up with Whirl and even Ratchet have become more and more scarce. Though his interactions with Ratchet have been an uncommon occasion anyway, especially with his disdain for Decepticons and how busy he keeps himself with his little clinic over at the Dead End all the way in Polyhex.

Why the grouchy medic decided to put himself in the slums was a question that always eluded Deadlock, but there was someone out there he knew who could possibly provide insight for why Ratchet decided to go there of all places. But opportunities to meet her were even more scarce considering what her current function was.

Even then, Deadlock still had a way to meet with her as he sat himself at the nondescript oilhouse and waited patiently until the femme in question finally walked in and gave him a pleasant smile.

“Hello Teaching Unit RC-”

She only raised an optic ridge, “Deadlock, I already told you to just call me Arcee.”

“RC-687-040,” Deadlock said with a smile on his faceplates even as she raised a servo to smack him. He knew it was worth it to see the normally composed and kind Autobot teacher lose her composure in a more casual setting such as this.

Said teacher only sighed and shook her head before she took a seat at the table across from him. “Something important must have popped up if you asked to meet, have you decided to defect or something? Do you need protection?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Though I do suspect things will be changing in the Decepticons soon,” he whispered, careful to make sure no one was listening in on him. If what he suspects is true, then it’s likely that the former gladiators might attempt to stage a coup and overthrow Megazarak. If anything, that would make his choice to align himself with the Decepticons more concrete—as opposed to what he’s been doing in recent cycles.

If only he could have given what he knew over to Whirl, because surely Whirl would be able to warn the other Destrons of what’s to come in the future.

But with the leash growing tighter, he knows he can’t risk his position within the Decepticons.

He took a moment to cycle his vents before finally saying what he really wanted to say, “It’s about Ratchet, do you know why he opened his clinic in the Dead End of Polyhex? Of all places, why there?”

For a brief moment Arcee studied him before smiling when it seemed like she got what she wanted. “You’re worried about him. In all honesty Ratchet was aware that he had plenty of opportunities to make a name for himself in places like Iacon, but that isn’t the type of Mech he is. He didn’t go into the medical field for fame and glory, he did it to help those in need—which is why he spent so much time with Whirl.”

Deadlock nodded as he remembered the first time he met Ratchet—if it wasn’t for Whirl then they likely would have never crossed paths. And from what he was able to gain in his interactions with Ratchet, sparse as they were, he knew the medic was finding a way to help Whirl in some fashion. Likely going so far as to find a way to get Whirl reformatted so he can have a proper face and servos.

“It isn’t wrong to worry about him, it shows that you care in some capacity. But it’s also good to recognize that Ratchet can handle himself, but maybe you should try to find time to visit him or something. Maybe he can help you get on a good path for yourself.”

For a brief moment he wanted to laugh.

“If things continue the way they are, I doubt anyone will even think to allow me to walk a better path. I’m a Warframe, Arcee, there’s only one thing a Mech like me is good for.”

Arcee looked at him with sympathetic optics as she set a servo on his. “Just promise me this, Deadlock, please do not drift away from either of us. Ratchet may be grumpy and a little jagged, but he does care about you…in his own way at least. Please have faith in us, I promise that we will find a way to get you on a better path if you ever wish for it.”

With a smile, he turned his servo over to hold Arcee’s. “I will keep that in mind when the time comes, but we’ll see what the future has in store for all of us.”

Perhaps, depending on how things go with Megazarak’s meeting with Devron, he could actually ask Ratchet and Arcee if they would be willing to form a Trine with him.

If not, then at least allow him to be with them in some capacity even if it’s just as a close friend or even a member of their family unit. He would be happy no matter what they all decide for each other—so long as they can find a way to stay together.

“Would you like for me to pass on a message to Ratchet for you?” Arcee asked.

Deadlock shook his head as he smiled.

“No, I have a feeling I will run into him at some point in the future. What I want to say to him, I believe I should tell him face to face,” he said, though he knew it would have to be soon.

Especially before things potentially go downhill for all of them.

If only he was allowed in Megazarak’s inner circle, then he could be more privy to whatever he has planned for the Decepticons and the future of Cybertron as a whole.

Chapter Text

As Orion took his place next to Megatron, he looked up at him and tried to smile. Unfortunately he could feel it was strained from everything on his processor, but it appeared his beloved also had a lot on his processor based on the deep frown he had on his faceplates. It was almost relieving to Orion, even if a large part of him wanted to know what could be bothering his beloved.

“Is there something on your processor?”

Megatron nodded before looking down at Orion with those bright red optics.

“There is, but you also look like you have something troubling you. Would you like to discuss your own troubles first?”

He wished he could laugh, but everything he discussed with Powered Convoy continued to push towards the forefront of his processor.

Would he be able to still meet with Megatron like this after Powered Convoy steps down? The only other option would be to run away, but then what? What use would he have if he can’t bring his beloved datapads and other information that could come in handy?

“I believe I asked you first, but you don’t have to go into detail if you don’t wish. I’ll tell you what troubles me after I hear what you have to say.”

He will worry about his own troubles later, because he wasn’t in any immediate danger—compared to Megatron who could easily be harmed in some fashion because of which faction he was part of.

Megatron continued to look at Orion before he brought a servo up and gently held Orion’s face. “What troubles me is not a pleasant story, but if you desperately wish to know,” he paused as he reached into his subspace and pulled out a datapad, “You accidentally included this in the datapads you loaned to me at our last meeting. Unfortunately, I cannot give it back to you because the information held in here…it will put an unnecessary target on you.”

The datapad Airachnid gave him before she disappeared—the one he thought he misplaced.

This entire time Megatron had it, but thankfully it appeared to be perfectly intact. But what could be contained in that datapad that would put a target on his back?

If he remembered correctly, it contained a copy of the report Airachnid and Outback wrote up to fulfill Zeta Prime’s….request.

Zeta Prime who had recently been assassinated by Decepticons.

“Were you involved?” Orion asked, taking care to maintain optic-contact with Megatron. When all he got was a look of confusion, he opened his intake and clarified, “Were you involved in Zeta Prime’s assassination?”

For a few nanokliks there was silence.

For those few nanokliks he felt his spark start to sink.

Only for the tension to relieve itself as Megatron shook his helm.

“No, I only learned about his assassination a few cycles ago,” Megatron said, before continuing, “I will admit I don’t feel anything in particular about this, especially considering Zeta Prime was known for admiring former Councilmech Proteus.”

Orion nodded and briefly smiled with relief.

“I will admit, Zeta Prime’s assassination was part of my own troubles. I can’t say I particularly cared for him, but him going offline like that…it’s starting to make things more, I want to say troubling? For me at least,” he said, leaning into the servo that held his face in a surprisingly gentle grasp.

“I’m suspecting our troubles might be more linked than we expected,” Megatron admitted with a soft smile as he planted a soft kiss on Orion’s forehelm. “In my case, Megazarak now has Devron in his crosshairs…and I am certain he expects me to be there. However, I cannot possibly fathom how offing him could possibly benefit the Decepticons as a whole.”

He parted his derma briefly, his processor going back to what Powered Convoy told him about Devron’s opinion of Megazarak.

Along with his own suspicion on Megazarak’s motivation for assassinating Zeta Prime. To destabilize Cybertron and then seize power for himself, in a move that’s reminiscent of what they know about Terragar Magnus—which soon led to him willingly giving Nova Magnus the hammer.

“I recently had a meeting with Powered Convoy Magnus, he told me about Zeta Prime’s assassination and what that could mean for Cybertron as a whole. He also brought up how Devron has continuously denounced Megazarak and the Decepticons whenever given the chance…he even went so far as to compare Megazarak to Terragar and Nova,” Orion explained, only stopping as he started to think about that conversation.

He felt like he was missing something, but what?

He knew there was the suspicion that Megazarak was trying to destabilize Cybertron, with Devron as his likely next target, to eventually take power for himself. But there has to be something else in there, some missing piece of the puzzle.

“Devron…is not wrong to make that comparison,” Megatron admitted before letting out a sigh. “The contents of the datapad, they’re the likely reason why Megazarak assassinated Zeta Prime. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the two archivists who worked on it also fell on his radar.”

From what Megatron said, followed by how both Outback and Airachnid seemingly disappeared without any prior notice, Orion could quickly infer just what was in the datapad even without reading it. But he did not dare voice it, instead nodding with a small frown on his faceplates.

“If it’s true and the comparison is more accurate than we realized, then it would explain a lot of his actions. By destabilizing Cybertron, he makes it easier to establish power for himself in an almost exact recreation of how Terragar Magnus seized power from Zeemon Magnus. He had Zeta Prime assassinated, which leaves Ultra Prime as the only viable successor to Powered Convoy…and he is not the popular choice,” Orion said, his frown deepening as he remembered what would happen to him when the Magnus Hammer is passed on to Ultra.

“Both Devron and Powered Convoy would be old enough to recognize the signs, which means Megazarak may go after Powered Convoy once Devron is out of the picture. And with so few mechs who were around during that time, then he could potentially stage a military coup during a time when no one would realize or expect it.”

Orion leaned against Megatron, closing his optics as he pictured what a military coup led by Megazarak would even look like. All his processor could picture was Cybertron as a whole being set ablaze, buildings toppling, the screams of innocents eventually silenced in a tyrant’s march that left nothing but carnage behind.

This was something none of them should allow to happen.

“If he gets his way, then he could potentially destroy Cybertron.”

Megatron hummed as he pulled Orion closer to him.

“For a while I have been considering what would be best for the Decepticon cause, especially after Megazarak revealed that he’s known about our meetings. And after reading the contents of the datapad, after hearing about his plans for Devron, I’ve come to a decision,” he said as he pulled out a datapad Orion recognized to be the one that initially brought them together.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“You have already gone above and beyond in all these stellar cycles we have known each other, the only thing I ask of you is to stay safe. To do everything you can to stay off of Megazarak’s radar until he is dealt with, and then afterwards…we can continue with our meetings.”

Orion looked up and tried to smile, but it felt too weak as he thought about what would happen when Megazarak is removed from the equation. While it would take a time for the Decepticons to adjust to losing their leader, he’s also aware that Powered Convoy may just see it as a sign for him to give Ultra the Magnus Hammer.

“Orion? Is something wrong?”

He knew he needed to say it, especially considering how the annulment failed to go through.

“I’m afraid it might become impossible for me to sneak away to see you after Megazarak is removed…you remember how I mentioned an arrangement that I’ve been wanting to get annulled? Well,” he paused, knowing these next words will hurt him in the spark, “The council voted against the annulment, and Powered Convoy declared that I will have to go through with the Conjunx Ritus on the cycle he passes the Magnus Hammer to Ultra.”

Now that he finally said it, Orion realized just how real it all felt. He would have to give his spark to a mech he does not actually love, all to reassure his fellow Cybertronians that Ultra would make for a good leader who cares about all of them.

That he actually has a softer side, all at the cost of Orion’s freedom—which appears to be incredibly cheap for the council, free for all they know. And he knows he would eventually be crushed by the very same machine that has harmed every last one of them, no matter their frame type.

“I won’t have any room to stretch properly,” he admitted with a whisper, remembering the first time he stretched himself to his more natural size when with Megatron. Unfortunately, as he feared would happen, he was not willing to return to a more acceptable size for those in Iacon—but he somehow managed.

But it came at the cost of him realizing just how unbearable it was to compress himself down to such a small size, all for the comfort of those within his immediate surroundings.

He wondered how Altri was able to handle it for so long.

For a moment, Megatron remained quiet as he took in what Orion said, one of his servos gently trailing down Orion’s side before stopping just above his hips—as if admiring the true size that Orion had kept hidden for so long during the early cycles of their secret meetings.

It must have been quite the shock for him, now that Orion thinks about it, but he’s just grateful that his beloved still accepted him all the same.

“What would happen if you bonded yourself to someone else?”

Orion blinked.

“What are you trying to-?” he started to ask, only to silence himself when Megatron set a single digit against his derma.

“You don’t need to answer me right away, take your time to think over the possibility…and then I will ask you again once Megazarak has been dealt with,” Megatron spoke, his voice quiet as he activated the old datapad he brought out before holding it out to Orion.

He took the datapad and found it easier to smile as he flipped through the different poems, reading some of the newer ones like “Waltz the Sky” until he arrived at the newest one, his optics taking in the glyphs written within the datapad.

“I was thinking of making that one into a rallying cry for the Decepticons after Megazarak is removed, what do you think?”

“It’s good, and the title is catchy…but I don’t know if it really fits what you’re envisioning,” he admitted, reading the poem once more, “You want not only the Decepticons, but all of your fellow Warframes to stand with you. To rise above…to rise…” he trailed off before looking up at Megatron when an idea hit him. “How about, instead of telling them to get up and stand up, you call for them to rise up?”

“Rise up? Rise up…that might be a better idea, actually—could you hand me the datapad?”

Orion smiled as he passed the datapad over to Megatron, watching as he started to write something new. As he looked up at his beloved, he realized that he might have an answer to the proposal he received. But it might be for the best to wait until Megatron asks him again, to give the answer his beloved deserves.

Until then, he will have to content himself with this small moment shared between them.

Chapter Text

“You want me to witness what?” Ratchet asked, almost dropping his cube of energon as he looked at Orion like he was insane. And perhaps his friend really was insane, because if the council somehow catches wind of this ludicrous idea then they could potentially bring back the Empurata procedure just to punish all of them.

But as he looked at his friend, he knew he was serious based on the look in those optics.

A part of him wondered just why Orion asked him of all mechs, when he likely has other friends who would be more than willing to risk their helms for something as ridiculous as this dumb idea.

“We each need at least one witness, and out of everyone I know…you’re the only one I can trust with this. So please, Ratchet, please be my witness.”

He stared at his closest friend before sighing and downing his cube of high grade.

“Fine, I’ll be your witness,” Ratchet said, a fond smile on his faceplates as he set a servo on his closest friend’s shoulder. After the shock of the initial request wore off, followed by seeing just how serious his friend was, he knew he couldn’t actually refuse him.

Much like how, some millions of stellar cycles ago, when Orion asked him to help track down Megatron after he escaped from the Pits, he could not reject his request even if he thought it was a bad idea. But sometimes Ratchet can be wrong about things, and with Orion having the desire to go through with a secret Ritus ceremony with Megatron…

How could he possibly break his closest friend’s spark like this? Especially if he wants to ask Orion about the possibility of going through the Amica Ritus with him.

When Orion smiled at him, Ratchet knew he made the right choice. His friend’s happiness was something to cherish and encourage, and he knew Orion would be miserable were he to go through with his arrangement to Ultra.

If only he met Orion before Orion met Ultra, then maybe he could have prevented the arrangement from happening. But there is no point in wishing to change the past, not when they can focus on the future and what’s for the best.

He will just have to find a way to clear his schedule and go to where the Ritus is being held, unless Orion and Megatron decide to have it held at the Dead End where Ratchet has his clinic…

“I personally don’t trust him, but it is up to you. If you really want to give your spark to a ‘Con then that is your choice.”

“And what’s wrong with ‘Cons?”

Ratchet wanted to groan as he turned and looked up at Deadlock.

“Gee, considering what the majority of you do under Megazarak’s orders? Weren’t you involved in some disappearances or something?”

Deadlock only held his servos up as he joined them at their table.

“Lord Megazarak doesn’t like to involve those he doesn’t fully trust in his more important missions, he has a weird way of knowing whether we forge connections outside of the Decepticons or not. He isn’t too fond of my friendship with Whirl, for example.”

“Does that mean he’s aware of Megatron’s…?” Orion trailed off before shaking his head as he held a servo out to Deadlock and gave a pleasant smile, “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Orion Pax, and I take it you’re Ratchet’s friend?”

“He is not my friend!”

Deadlock laughed as he took Orion’s servo in his own.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Pax. Never expected the infamous archivist who has caught the former Champion’s attention would be this polite to us Warframes. Most archivists snub us.”

“Let me guess, a majority of them see you as savage brutes that are lacking in basic intelligence within your processors?”

Ratchet almost wanted to wince, because surely that couldn’t be true.

Though he also knows that he hasn’t seen a single Warframe enter the Hall of Records, he always figured it was due to a lack of interest in acquiring knowledge through the datapads.

Because surely Megatron was an outlier compared to his brethren, a true glitch of a Warframe.

Instead of taking offense like Ratchet almost feared, Deadlock continued to laugh good naturedly as he leaned back in his seat.

“How perceptive of you, I didn’t think someone of your class would catch on like this.”

“I admit that it took some time for me to unlearn what was taught to me, not to mention that I wouldn’t be surprised if I would experience what the rest of you experienced had I not been taken in by my mentor, as it took him a long time to have me the way I am now,” Orion said.

Ratchet looked at Orion like he had grown a second head.

“You’re a Civilian though, how could you possibly relate to a Warframe?”

His friend looked at him with a deep frown on his face, as if what he was about to say is something that has been troubling him for some time—whether it’s something recent or not, Ratchet can’t say he knows for a fact. But what he does know is that he needs to put aside whatever he might assume about his friend, based on what he was about to say.

“There was a period of time where I was not, what is it that they would have said at the time? Civilized? Yes, that sounds about right—there was a time where I would not have been considered civilized by our standards,” Orion began, his optics focused on the cube that had but a few dregs of energon left in it. “Most of my early functioning was in the Wilds outside of our known settlements, so I had nothing to go off of other than my immediate surroundings.”

“Wait, you were a Feral Mech? You don’t seem feral to me,” Deadlock remarked, much to Ratchet’s reluctant agreement.

The Orion he knew has always been very polite, able to speak coherently, and even function almost perfectly in their society. So the idea that, at one time, he wasn’t like how he currently is—it’s completely unbelievable for anyone who knows him now.

With a smile, Orion set his cube aside and closed his optics. He was likely thinking about what to say next, a small hum coming from his voice box filled the silence he left behind until he finally found whatever he wanted to say next.

“You flatter me with your words, but you likely would not have said that had you known me when I was first found. That cycle, I actually bit my mentor far too many times to count. Were it not for his infinite patience and wisdom, then he might have turned me over to the Elite Guard where they would have made a decision about me—either train with them or be sent to the mines. It took him about a hundred stellar cycles to have me ready to meet other bots, and from there I took my tests to determine my functioning.”

Ratchet stopped, the energon he had pressed against his intake briefly spilling without going inside where he could properly process the fuel. For a moment he sat there, completely frozen as the cube slipped from his servos.

The idea that someone would consider his closest friend to be on par with a Warframe is not something he could possibly comprehend, especially considering Orion didn’t have any integrated weaponry—nor did he seem to have the ability to fight programmed into him like those who were fortunate enough to be brought into the Elite Guard.

He turned his optics onto Deadlock, wondering if the Decepticon shared his disbelief over the matter. Because surely Orion was telling a joke, right?

It has to be a joke.

But Deadlock only had a contemplative look on his faceplate as he stared at Orion, as if seeing him in an entirely new light. As if whatever first impressions he had, any preconceived notions, had completely shifted in a new direction.

“Going from a Feral Mech to someone considered civilized by Autobot standards, only to then turn around and take your time unlearning what they initially taught you…I can see why Megatron has become so smitten with you,” Deadlock said as he stood up and turned away from them both. “But I suggest you be careful, because I am certain the Autobots won’t appreciate the idea that you have started to question them and their great machine.”

When he said that, he gave a pointed look towards Ratchet.

“Most of them still carry prejudices that remain so deeply rooted in their programming, that they can’t recognize the rust that has plagued Cybertron for eons.”

For a moment Ratchet bristled, his plating flared as he thought about slamming his servos on the table and giving Deadlock a piece of his processor, but he refrained from doing so as he grumbled from where he sat. Why should he allow that Decepticon to get under his plating like that? Besides, Ratchet actually has manners unlike those Warframes-

He paused when he noticed that thought hit, especially as he remembered what Deadlock and Orion brought up when it came to how Warframes are viewed and treated by Civilians like Ratchet.

How many times has he jumped to this conclusion purely from the nature of their frames as opposed to their actual character? Sure Deadlock was definitely rude for butting in like that, but he shouldn’t be assuming that because of Deadlock being a Warframe.

Slowly exventing, Ratchet put his focus on Orion as he tried to relax.

“So, when’s the ceremony?”

He was careful to stick close to Shockwave, one of his only allies who were permitted to come with on this particular meeting, which was fine by him.

If he wants this to go without a hitch, then he will need Strika and Lugnut to lead the gladiators who were left behind in weeding out Megazarak’s loyalists who remained back at the base.

They will either fall in line or be removed—and Megatron is certain they all have a sense of self-preservation within their programming.

For a moment he looked at those gathered, paying close attention to who Megazarak selected to join him for this meeting. It was no surprise that the mechs that were part of his inner circle had been brought in, but Megatron couldn’t help noticing a few former gladiators and even Deadlock were brought in for this.

Perhaps this was Megazarak’s way of making sure any he considers to be a potential threat to his leadership had a reason to back down. A show of strength by assassinating Devron would be enough to have those unaware of who he really is, but not for Megatron.

And from the way Shockwave looked at him, he knew his closest ally felt the same way.

“Why did you request a meeting, Megazarak?” Lord Devron, in his faded blue and bronze glory, asked from where he sat. The energon cube in front of him remained untouched as he focused his full attention on Megazarak, his orange optics held a look of wariness which showed how little he trusted this meeting.

“I felt we have come to a misunderstanding, Devron, when it comes to my movement,” Megazarak said, his posture completely relaxed as he swirled the energon within his own cube. While his EM field remained carefully guarded, nothing about him seemed threatening to those who were unfamiliar with him.

But from the way Lord Devron and those within Megazarak’s inner circle remained tense, Megatron knew that it was all an act. At any moment, Megazarak could decide to put his assassination plan into action.

“In what way? Because your followers’ actions paint a perfectly clear picture for myself and our fellow Cybertronians.”

Briefly Megazarak took a sip from his cube, as if contemplating what he wanted to say next.

“Perhaps our actions have been a little too barbaric for those Autobots, but I find them to be necessary in the end—how else are we supposed to fight the injustice that our oppressors have put us under? Don’t you tire of rolling over and trying to make peace with them?”

Lord Devron’s frown deepened as he pushed his still full cube to the side as he stood from his seat to tower over Megazarak.

“Our duty as Warframes is to protect Cybertron, to protect those who are unable to defend themselves from the likes of Invaders from beyond the sky. What you are doing is bringing our home down a path of destruction, where those who eye our home with nefarious ideas could then swoop in while we are in a weakened state and conquer us. Plus we have a duty to atone for what Terragar Magnus did.”

“The actions of one Warframe should not dictate what the rest of us should do, or do you truly believe we are all like him?”

Megatron held his glossa, realizing that Megazarak was laying out some bait for Lord Devron.

And perhaps he was also laying out bait for those who have somehow become aware of the truth, so he can weed them out before the information could spread.

But what if Lord Devron was not aware of the truth like Megatron was? Could it be that Megazarak was trying to give him a chance to join the Decepticons, to fully unite the Warframes into one faction?

“No, I do not believe that for all of us,” Lord Devron began, his optics narrowed on Megazarak as he leaned forward and started to whisper something to him—something that Megatron could not hear and would never hear as, faster than his optics could track, a sword was pushed straight through Lord Devron’s spark chamber.

Time seemed to come to a complete standstill as Lord Devron’s frame greyed out before finally falling to the ground the moment Megazarak pulled his sword out, not even bothering with cleaning off the bright pink energon that stained his blade as he turned his attention towards all of the Warframes gathered—Destron and Decepticon alike—as he prepared to recite the speech he had Megatron write for him.

“For millions of stellar cycles we have been made to roll over to the oppressive Autobots, and for what purpose? To atone for the actions of a long offline and disgraced Magnus? Was Nova Magnus not a Civvie himself? The very same Nova Magnus who put systems in place that created the perfect breeding ground for Functionalism to persist to this very day! Were it not for Nova Magnus, then the likes of Proteus and the now deceased Zeta Prime would not have gained the level of influence they have now! And you heard Devron, he believed it was our solemn duty to bend the knee to those who would put us down! Well I say no more! I say-”

“No.”

Megazarak stopped, his focus now on Megatron who finally spoke up.

Megatron ignored the hushed whispers, the stares that burned into his frame, as he took a single step forward and drew a blade. With resignation in his field, he pointed his blade straight at Megazarak and stood firm in his stance.

“What is the meaning of this? I broke you from your shackles where you were forced to entertain our oppressors, or have you grown soft from those meetings with that archivist?”

The whispers grew in intensity, but he still paid them no mind.

“When I took your brand, I made a vow. All threats to the Decepticon cause will be eliminated swiftly and with prejudice—that was the vow I made to the cause, and I have come to a realization about you, Megazarak.”

He took a moment to watch as his opponent processed what he just said before continuing, knowing that this would be the final nail in the matter, “You are a threat to the Decepticon cause, and so I challenge you to a duel. Winner takes leadership and decides the fate of the loser.”

Everything went back to a complete standstill as the whispers stopped, no one making a move as they watched Megazarak carefully.

As if gauging if he would accept this challenge.

A wide grin spread across his face as he pointed his sword at Megatron, crossing their blades.

“I accept your challenge, and I already know what your fate will be when I win.”

Megatron did not wait for the signal to start, instead he brought his ped up and kicked the table that held Lord Devron’s still full cube up and pushed it straight towards Megazarak. He knew better than to give his opponent a chance to recover from the shock, his processor briefly bringing him back to the time when he and his brothers were first dropped on that battlefield with two orders—fight and survive. A basic set of orders that became difficult to follow when their enemies kept plucking them off one by one, but orders Megatron was able to follow flawlessly until he was brought back to Cybertron and shoved into the mines of Kaon.

And perhaps those first two orders have remained rooted in his processor for this long, two orders that have allowed him to survive for this long.

To survive those battles, to survive the mines, to survive the Gladiator Pits, and now…to survive this fight. Because failing to survive will mean certain doom for Cybertron as a whole, and more selfishly—failure to survive would mean he’d never see Orion ever again. He would never be able to see his beloved archivist brighten up whenever they would debate philosophy, would never see that beautiful smile whenever he shared his latest writings, and perhaps worst of all—if he falls now, then it’s likely that his Orion would be put into shackles created by the council.

Forever trapped in a sparkbond with a mech he did not love.

When Megazarak sliced the table in half, Megatron had already darted towards the left and jumped on a chair to use it as leverage to bring himself just out of his opponent’s reach. His sword was held at a horizontal angle to block the vertical slash aimed for him, his momentum just enough to get Megazarak to stumble backwards.

But just as quick as this strike landed, Megazarak regained his footing and changed the grip he had on his sword as he pushed Megatron away from him.

His whole frame trembled from where he stood, movements slightly sluggish as he tried to stand tall and look down at him with fiery red optics.

“Your execution will come after I crush that little archivist.”

For a brief moment he felt his plating flare up, his battle protocols already on high alert immediately zeroed in on Megazarak as a far larger threat than previously perceived. And yet, he stopped himself from rushing in blindly when he thought about all of the taunts he received from his time as a gladiator. Especially when they would threaten Shockwave even though Megatron was their opponent; those gladiators saw Shockwave as a possible weakness, and Megazarak likely believed he could use Orion as a means of making Megatron sloppy in his attacks.

Instead he controlled his venting and adjusted his grip on his sword once more before carefully analyzing Megazarak’s movements. His peds moved at the same rate as his processor, pulling him away when he noticed his opponent had charged at him—he watched the way his opponent’s sword moved and quickly shot forward to take advantage of the opening he saw. His sword made quick work of where Megazarak’s arm was connected to the rest of his frame, taking both arm and sword down where it clattered on the ground.

He didn’t stop as he pivoted and sweeped low, his ped knocking Megazarak down on his back where he could then stand with one ped on his opponent’s chassis—his sword pointing where it could easily go right through neck cables and slowly remove his opponent’s helm.

“I stand victorious over you, Megazarak.”

His opponent only scowled before finally raising his one remaining servo up in surrender.

“Do it, offline me and crown yourself as the new leader of the Decepticons.”

For a brief moment he stood there, considering if it was actually worth it to end Megazarak like this. But that brief consideration did not last as he pulled his sword away and took a step back, offering a servo down to his opponent.

“Exile, that will be your fate followed by the fate of those still loyal to you. Enough energon has been spilled this cycle, but know this. If we find you have somehow brought yourself back to Decepticon territory, then you will be turned into scrap metal.”

Megazarak stared at him in shock before taking the offered servo where he only nodded.

“Very well, but I will find a way to return and retake my throne.”

“If you can reach me in one piece, then I will permit you to challenge me—but the next time you challenge me, I will not allow you to walk away from our bout. So leave, while I’m still feeling merciful.”

The moment Megazarak and those within his inner circle left, he brought himself to stand on a table that remained intact where he could tower over and properly address the crowd gathered around him. Even if he knew a chunk of them were actually Destrons, he figured he could rally some of them to the cause.

“Decepticons!” He shouted, a servo pressed against where his Deceptibrand sat on the center of his chassis.

“I stand before you as your new leader, as the one who will change our world for the better! For too long we have spent under the peds of tyrants who demand we do all of the heavy lifting so they can live in luxury!”

Briefly he thought about those speeches he would give while still functioning as a gladiator, speeches that would consistently get cut short before he could reach his main points.

Before he could truly rally the crowd to actually listen to him, before he could actually touch their sparks.

Though he knew he touched at least one spark when he announced his designation, which gave him hope that he could actually reach more with his words alone.

“For too long we have served under the Autobot elites, fighting their wars for them, digging through mines until the energon leaks from our servos, and fighting in the pits for their sick entertainment!”

While this bit was more in relation to his personal experiences, which led to him joining the Decepticons, he could tell that this was resonating with all of the gathered Warframes—Decepticon and Destron alike.

Because they have all experienced the same thing in some capacity.

The one thing that could actually bring them together.

“We thought we had hope when Megazarak came to us with ideas of a new Cybertron, but like the elites he craved power for himself. Like the Protectobots led by Terragar Magnus, like Nova Magnus who led the Great Purge, he had plans to throw Cybertron into complete anarchy so he could seize power for himself.”

He briefly glanced at Lord Devron’s greyed out frame, his processor already deciding it was for the best to treat Megazarak and Terragar as separate mechs even though they were one in the same. The evidence gathered, while damning, was ultimately circumstantial and had far too many holes in it to prove this fact definitively.

Perhaps if they could somehow collect something more concrete, then they could spread the truth around.

But he had something else he could use, something far more damning for the former leader of the Decepticons—and he could only thank Lord Devron for giving him this particular idea.

“Where we would be forced to fight in his wars alongside those that we were built to protect, forced to work in his mines so he could reap the benefits we would never see, and subjected to the pits for his own personal entertainment! Not once has Megazarak shown he cares about us, not once has he shown that he has our best interests at heart.”

The enraptured silence shifted to whispers which soon turned into an uproar, the betrayal evident on the faces of those Decepticons who joined alongside Megatron.

Those who came from the Gladiator Pits who thought they would finally be free from their shackles.

“We will fight our own battles, not some other mech’s wars!” He shouted above the crowd, quickly bringing their attention back on him as he looked at each and every last Warframe that surrounded him.

“Decepticons! Rise up and follow me, to a brighter future!”

As a collective, Decepticon and Destron alike, they started to chant together when they knew his speech had come to a natural conclusion.

“Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!”

As Orion stood in Kaon proper for the fourth time in all of his functioning, knowing that this time it was safe for him to actually go into the city the moment he received the message from Megatron, he waited patiently in the spot where he had bumped into Megatron for the first time—that chance encounter perhaps the thing that brought them to their current paths.

To the moment where he now plans to step off of the path everyone has laid out for him, to perhaps even return to his true roots and not what they forged him to become, and actually do something he genuinely wants for himself.

Selfish as it may be, he knows that his spark is his to give and not something for someone like Ultra to take by force.

He smiled brightly when he saw Megatron approach, his peds already bringing him to meet his beloved halfway. At first his steps felt far too slow, so he quickened his pace. And then a light jog turned into a full blown run, even as he was tempted to go into his alt-mode or even use his wheels to meet his beloved faster, he soon flung himself right towards Megatron where he felt those massive arms wrap around him in a hug that could easily be conveyed as a sign of affection.

“Welcome to Kaon, my Orion.”

Without hesitation, he moved to pull Megatron in for what was supposed to be a quick kiss—but neither of them could restrain themselves as his intended chaste kiss quickly morphed into an electrifying passion as their fields met and brushed against one another.

But they still pulled away so he could actually voice his greeting.

“I’m happy that I can properly take it in.”

For a brief moment they just stayed like that, Orion nestled in Megatron’s arms while Megatron stood in the center of what once was a busy street where miners would move to and from work.

Neither spoke for that moment, instead focusing on basking in each other’s presence.

But soon that silence came to an end when they realized what needed to be discussed, what their future might look like now.

“Do you remember what I asked you when we met last?”

Orion nodded, having not forgotten as he looked up into the hexagonal optics of his beloved.

He did not speak, remembering that Megatron wanted to ask him the question once more. Even if he knew what it was—even if he knew what his answer was, especially as he had already asked Ratchet to be his witness.

With a gentle smile that held an affection that was only surpassed by the brush of an EM field, Megatron set him down right before taking his servos into much larger ones. The thumb of his servos gently brushed over the backs of Orion’s as he brought them up to his derma for a soft kiss. He kept quiet for a few more moments, as if the world around them had completely frozen in time. As if nothing else mattered except for the two of them.

“My Orion, my dearest archivist, our fateful meeting is something that I believe only Primus himself could have blessed,” he began, taking one of Orion’s servos up to rest against the side of his helm where he nuzzled against the palm. “I do not wish to imagine a world where we never crossed paths, because while my life had plenty of low points—it’s those low points that make our time together sweeter than the richest energon I have had the fortune of tasting.”

He listened carefully to his beloved’s words as he lightly brushed a single digit over Megatron’s helm, his own optics likely shining as he took a step closer while his other servo turned and linked with his beloved’s. He gave an encouraging squeeze to the servo he now held, wishing that Megatron would ask him the question soon so he could give his answer.

“I held hope in my spark that we would always find a way to continue seeing each other for many stellar cycles to come, for perhaps an infinite amount even as our frames crumble to dust. For our sparks would always resonate with each other—would always find a way to reunite even in the Well, that no matter what frame our sparks get moved to…we would always find each other and fall in love all over again.”

Megatron paused for a moment, watching Orion carefully. As if drinking in his reaction to the words spoken to him. It wasn’t until he seemingly found what he was looking for that he continued, “When I asked you what would happen were you to bond to someone else, I wanted to ask you what would happen were we to bond. But I wondered if that might have been too forward of me, and yet I could already see it in your optics that cycle—and I see the same thing now. So I ask you this now, Orion Pax—will you perform the Conjunx Ritus with me?”

With a smile that he hoped conveyed the same amount of joy he felt, Orion nodded.

“I was hoping you would ask me that question, for my answer remains the same from what I thought when you initially proposed the idea that I bond to someone else. That someone else, I want him to be you and no one else—so my answer is a resounding yes, I would be delighted to do the Ritus with you.”

It didn’t take long for Megatron to lift Orion into his arms once more, already pulling him in for another kiss that held only the deepest of love felt between the pair.

And perhaps they would have used this as an opportunity to seal the bond for those who wandered the streets of Kaon to witness, or maybe they would have gone straight to the Council to let them bear witness to the love shared between a Warframe and a Civilian, an ex-Gladiator/Miner and an Archivist, the new leader of the Decepticons and the one promised to the future Magnus of Cybertron.

Instead they broke apart to discuss just what kind of ceremony they wanted.

How many they wanted to attend, how long they wanted the ceremony to last, and even where they wanted it to take place.

But they knew it would happen, and perhaps happen soon enough.

“I already have someone to officiate the ceremony and my own witness selected,” Orion admitted with a smile from where they sat on a bench. Though it was more accurate to say that Megatron was the one sitting on the bench while Orion sat in Megatron’s lap.

“Really? Care to share?”

“My caretaker, Altri, and my best friend, Ratchet. Altri is actually certified for officiating these types of ceremonies while Ratchet is…he’s actually the one who helped me find you. Out of everyone I know, he’s someone who I trust more than anything,” Orion admitted with a smile as he thought about his closest friend.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be a stretch to ask him about the possibility of becoming Amica?

But that would have to wait until everything was settled for Orion, and there’s no telling how long that will be. Even with all of that, he knows that the first chance he gets he will ask his best friend the important question.

But first, he has a Ritus to prepare for.

Chapter Text

Alpha Trion always knew he would be the one to officiate Orion’s Ritus, no matter who would eventually become Orion’s partner. Had things gone according to the council’s plans then the ceremony would have been a massive affair where all of Cybertron’s people would witness the event. Instead this particular affair was one that was designed to be kept private, far more intimate in comparison.

And perhaps, if he actually thinks about it, this entire ceremony could be seen as the fourth and final act in a Conjunx Ritus. But he also recognizes how important it is to make this more official, especially when it comes to the process of bonding—and who better to officiate this ceremony than Alpha Trion himself?

As he stood tall with a single datapad in servo, he couldn’t help but notice how his ward stood taller than normal and had a certain glow to him that he has not seen for many stellar cycles. Not since he first found him—to see recognition in those bright optics as flared plating relaxed, a curious tilt to a helm as he studied him, crouching slightly to be at optic-level as he asked Alpha Trion if he was “Altri.”

How long has it been since Orion was able to comfortably stretch himself to a more natural and comfortable height for himself?

Since Orion actually allowed himself to display traits that were less Civilian in nature?

His young ward—his youngest brother—was finally free in a way that he hasn’t been since before he was found, and sometimes he wondered if it might have been for the best were he to leave Orion in the Wilds as a Feral Mech instead of bringing him back to Iacon with him.

Because, truly, what does it mean to be a Civilized Mech now?

Once Orion and his chosen partner stood before him, Alpha Trion looked up at them both and gave a pleasant smile. Perhaps he will never know the true answer to his earlier question, but that is fine so long as he can ensure the safety and happiness of his brother.

“Four acts are required within the Conjunx Ritus, and for your final act you have opted to repeat the other three before finally proclaiming your devotion to one another. And so I ask you to join servos and perform your act of intimacy in whatever feels natural to the both of you—show Primus that you are on the same page when together.”

He watched as the couple joined servos, facing one another with soft smiles until Orion took a step closer while Megatron leaned down slightly. The kiss may have been short and sweet, but he could tell that it was no less intimate than some of the other acts he has witnessed in all of his functioning.

Alpha Trion put his attention back on the datapad within his servo as he filled out the act performed, his optics double checking to make sure he filled it out correctly before he leads them into the next act. He has to make sure every detail is recorded just right so the Council will have no loopholes to exploit when he steps forward and announces that Orion is no longer eligible to be bonded to Ultra.

If they find even the smallest of cracks within this document, then they will claim it does not hold up to their standards and then they will try to sever this bond between Orion and Megatron.

And he would rather be deactivated than allow his brother to go through that painful process.

Orion always knew just what secret he wanted to disclose to Megatron when going through the Ritus. Even if he has divulged a lot of secrets to his beloved, he also knew that they were secrets that some of his fellow archivists and even Ratchet was made aware of.

And perhaps there were a couple that Ultra also knew, so those particular disclosures were ones that just didn’t fit right for when he and Megatron decided to make things official.

So when Altri instructed him to perform his act of disclosure, he first looked at his caretaker and could see a knowing look in his optics. This particular secret was one that only Altri knew—a secret Altri insisted that Orion never share with anyone unless he knows he can trust them to take it with them to the Well.

And he knew this was something he could trust Megatron with, for he was already trusting him with his spark.

And he wants there to be no secrets between the two of them.

“Pri, Menus, Chema, Altri, Micro, Lus, Nyx, Vect, Nex, Liema, Quin, and Amal,” he whispered softly when Megatron crouched down to listen to his disclosure, “Those were the names of my family, eleven brothers and one sister. Before I truly came online, they would all visit me…and then I came online all alone. Twelve siblings, and I’ve only met Altri.”

His beloved looked at him with wide optics, his derma parted slightly as if debating what to say.

“Thirteen Forged, but only Twelve Activated… I thought that was a myth, a series of stories to tell younglings before they go to recharge,” he whispered, careful to keep his voice only audible for Orion.

A Warframe myth perhaps? Orion can’t recall seeing anything about Thirteen Forged within the Hall of Records, not even among the records Devron was able to get for them what felt like forever ago. Plus it’s not like whatever myth Megatron mentioned could be talking about his older siblings—as there are those with plenty of siblings within their batch of cold constructed frames, or even the Velocitronians who are known to have litters of Sparklings if they’re lucky to get Sparked.

As if shaking off the shock, Megatron leaned forward to give his own disclosure.

“D-Units such as myself were only programmed to fight and survive—we were supposed to be drones without personality, individual thoughts, ambitions, or even dreams. However our ability to survive by whatever means caused a glitch where we started to have things that we weren’t supposed to have, I developed a love for literature when it should have been out of my reach…but what I really wanted more than anything was to save lives—my first dream, the first thing I ever desired, was to be a medic.”

Were his servos not still held by his beloved, he would have brought one up to rest against the side of Megatron’s helm. Instead he gently squeezed his beloved’s servos and brought them up to lightly kiss at the knuckles.

“Thank you, I promise I will take your secret with me to the Well.”

“And I with yours,” Megatron whispered.

He wished he didn’t have to release his Orion’s servos, but he knew it was a necessity for each of them to present their gifts. While they have each already given one another plenty of gifts throughout their friendship that soon turned into something more romantic, he knew this particular gift needed to be something special.

Something that links them both, a shared passion and love.

Something that not only represents Megatron himself, but also something that Orion would absolutely love and appreciate.

So when instructed to, he released his precious Orion’s servos to bring the gift out of his subspace. He looked at the datapad which would be considered ancient at this point, should have been rendered obsolete, and smiled fondly at the memories it held for him as he offered it to his Orion.

“This is…?”

“I added every last thing I have ever written to this datapad, from long before we met to right before this cycle. This datapad may have initially caused me trouble when I dropped it, but you made it into something to be cherished and I believe your servos will be the ones that can cherish it more than me,” Megatron explained, pressing the large and ancient datapad into his beloved’s servos.

He cherished the smile his Orion gave him upon receiving the datapad, already making quick work of saving a capture of him to view at a later point.

“It’s perfect,” Orion said, his voice a quiet whisper as he held the datapad close to his chassis before he finally pulled out the gift he brought for Megatron.

A small hatchet that looked almost diminutive in Megatron’s servos, but the craftsmanship was something he’s never seen before—obviously well made based on the weight distribution followed by how there wasn’t even a speck of rust or some other form of deterioration that’s common on older weapons.

“When I actually came online, this was one of the things left for me and for a time it was the only thing I had to defend myself with—well, I also had my servos and dentae,” Orion admitted with a chuckle before lowering his voice to a whisper, “This was originally from Menus, and I considered it to be a precious treasure because it was one of the few things that proved my family actually existed and weren’t something my lonely processor fabricated for me.”

Megatron slowly turned the small hatchet in his servo before smiling as he brought his other servo up to lightly cup his Orion’s face.

“I will treasure it in the way it deserves,” he said, leaning down for another quick kiss before pulling away to look at Alpha Trion—and perhaps that should have been his biggest clue about Orion’s status as the Thirteenth.

He knew that they only had one act left, the one that would seal the deal for their ceremony.

The moment he got the signal, Ratchet stepped forward with a cube of innermost energon. He could see Megatron’s witness, Shockwave if he caught the designation right, also step forward with his own cube. Typically it would be an Amica who would present the innermost energon to the pair getting ‘Junxed, but because neither Orion nor Megatron currently had an Amica it instead fell onto the shoulders of their respective witnesses.

After he handed the cube he held to Orion, Ratchet quickly returned to his place just a few steps behind his friend. While he still could not gauge just what type of mech Megatron was, he knew that he made Orion incredibly happy.

He can’t remember ever seeing his friend glow in this particular fashion—instead he always had some kind of melancholic air about him, but he would always mask it with a pleasant smile and easy conversation about whatever datapads Ratchet came to request from the Hall of Records.

“Held in your servos are cubes of innermost energon, which is a binding agent that will bring you both close to one another. A true test of your devotion to one another before you engage in a merge,” Alpha Trion explained, nodding at both mechs with a gentle smile. “You may exchange words, promises, vows—anything that you believe is fitting for this occasion as you drink the other’s innermost energon.”

He watched as Megatron took the cube first, already speaking vows that Ratchet knew were for Orion’s audials, but he couldn’t help but pay attention to the words spoken.

Because it was words written that had Orion initially smitten with this mech in particular.

“On the cycle we properly met, I was excited to meet someone who saw past my frame type. And that excitement grew and developed further as we continued to meet until I could no longer deny what I felt for you,” Megatron began, his voice soft as he brought the cube he took from Orion to his chassis—right over where his Deceptibrand was located. “On this cycle and for many cycles to come, I make a promise of eternal love and devotion to you—but only if you will have me. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and happy, no matter what happens. Through thick and thin, I will stay by your side.”

Ratchet’s entire world seemed to completely freeze over when he heard that declaration, when he saw the intense way Megatron looked at Orion.

Everything remained still and he wondered if there might be a glitch in his processor or something, until he finally heard something hit the ground with a drip.

Instinctively bringing a servo up to his faceplate, he blinked when he felt a trail of fluid leaking down from his optics.

He quickly turned away, hoping beyond hope that no one noticed that he sprang an optic leak.

Though he still did his best to listen to Orion’s own vows.

“I will admit that I did not expect myself to love you the way I do, but I find that I do not regret it one bit. When I read that ode you made all that time ago, and when I made my attempts at writing a response, that is when I knew I needed to meet you. The speech you gave in the pits touched my spark in a way no other mech has, and then the meetings we had with one another helped me realize that this admiration I had for you grew into a love that I have not felt before now,” his dearest friend began, likely smiling that soft smile which he reserved for those he cherishes—and how could Ratchet deny it now?

Megatron was definitely of great importance to Orion, and based on Megatron’s words and actions it was definitely reciprocated.

“So on this cycle and for many cycles to come, I vow to stand by your side until it’s time for me to return to the Well. No matter what hardships we face, I promise that we will always face them together,” Orion finished right as Ratchet had finished dealing with his leaking optics, now able to watch as the pair drank the innermost energon provided to them.

“And with this act of devotion complete, I can now declare you both Conjunx Endura.”

After taking his time to savor the Energon brought for the ceremony, Shockwave found himself lingering to the sides while watching the happy couple discuss a topic that held such a level of importance and potential severity that he couldn’t help but eavesdrop just a little bit. While he knew to give them space if they were talking about something private, he also knew they wouldn’t discuss anything they didn’t want him, the medic, or Alpha Trion to be aware of.

At the thought of Alpha Trion—an ancient mech who is rumored to be forged by Primus himself, head archivist of the Hall of Records, Councilmech who represents the Civilian Guilds, and Shockwave’s personal hero—he wondered if it would be rude to approach him to ask for advice on potentially joining the Council. But he refrained from approaching, purely because he figured he did not have a right to talk to such an important mech—especially when it’s something incredibly trivial.

So he contented himself with listening.

“It won’t be long until Powered Convoy steps down, what do you plan to do?” Alpha Trion asked, as if no one present already knew the answer.

Shockwave remembered how Megatron brought up the idea of bringing Orion to the Decepticons to lend a helping servo. While he is aware that most of them will be leery of letting a Civvie, especially one from a higher caste, step up into a leadership position, he also knows that this might be the only way they can get properly organized.

Plus Orion is genuine with his intentions to help them with their cause, so those who may be leery at first will eventually warm up to the idea of a Civvie lending a helping servo.

“I’m going to have to leave my post in the Hall of Records at some point, the plan is to slowly pull myself away and fully into the Decepticons,” Orion said, his voice holding a hint of sorrow at the idea. Which is logical as he is literally leaving everything he knew up to this point behind to instead stand with the mech he loves.

“It will be difficult to manage without you, but I believe we will find a way. Plus it might be for the best, because if you are still present and they try to force you into a bond when you’re already bonded…”

“I know.”

He started to turn away and tune out what was obviously supposed to be a more private affair between a caretaker and his ward, but he stopped when he noticed Megatron had been staring at him the entire time. Taking it for the signal that it was, Shockwave walked over to stand next to his leader and gave a quick bow.

“Was there something you needed, Lord Megatron?”

His lord nodded before turning his attention back to Orion and Alpha Trion who had just separated from a short yet gentle hug.

“Perhaps Shockwave could assist you in the Hall of Records?”

Shockwave froze, checking his audials to make sure he heard his lord right.

Because surely he wasn’t being offered something like this, especially to Alpha Trion of all mechs. And yet, as he looked between his lord and the Head Archivist he knew he heard him correctly from the way Alpha Trion ran a servo over his facial fibres.

Realizing that this might be his chance, Shockwave found himself smiling awkwardly as he gave Alpha Trion his full attention.

“He only says that because I once told him I had dreamed of studying in the Hall of Records so I could one day join the Council and give a voice to Warframes,” he admitted, realizing that it must sound silly. Truthfully he always knew this was but a pipe dream, something he would never get a chance to fulfill. He wouldn’t be surprised if Alpha Trion only gave it a passing thought before saying he would be able to manage without Orion—as there were probably plenty of archivists who could fill in the gaps Orion will leave behind.

“It is a shame that you were unable to receive an opportunity to study sooner,” Alpha Trion began before smiling as he offered a servo, “But there’s no time like the present.”

For a brief moment he stood there and stared at the offered servo, as if it was an illusion. As if he was in the midst of a dream and would soon wake from recharge at any moment, only to snap himself out of it when he did a quick check on his systems.

He took the offered servo with a grin so large he could feel it straining his faceplates, but he didn’t mind because he realized that this would be it. This would be his moment.

“I’ll give you my personal codes and a pass so the guards will know you are my personal guest.”

“I- Thank you,” Shockwave said, still smiling wide as he held Alpha Trion’s servo in a firmer grip.

“Perhaps I should lend a servo as well? I could help teach Shockwave until you’re confident in his capabilities,” Orion offered as he gave a kind smile towards Shockwave.

All of this still feels like a dream that Shockwave never wants to wake from, but the knowledge that this is real has him realizing this is definitely one of the best cycles in all of his functioning. Almost as good as the cycle when he first met Lord Megatron.

“Thank you for this opportunity, I promise I will do my best.”

He tried his hardest to keep up his annoyance with all of this, but Ratchet knew it was difficult as he watched Orion chat with the two Decepticons. A large part of him knows he’s just grateful that his closest friend is finally able to express himself more freely—even if it means Ratchet learns things about his friend that he never realized until now.

And maybe that’s why there’s still that lingering hint of annoyance that refuses to leave his field.

Even then, he still refuses to forget the original message the Decepticons spread when Megazarak was still in charge. Even if Megatron is not the same mech as the original leader, Ratchet knows it will be next to impossible for the Decepticons to shake off the initial impression everyone has of them. Even Ratchet himself is still leery of the ‘Cons—so far he considers Deadlock to be an odd exception to the norm that has plagued him when the ‘Cons first made their appearance.

Perhaps if Devron was still online and the Destrons still active, then the potential for a peaceful resolution would be greater. And yet, with so few Destrons actively calling themselves that—a majority pledging themselves to Megatron—Ratchet can’t help but be worried for the future.

But he will have to trust Orion.

He smiles when Orion looks his way and he can tell his friend is both grateful and relieved upon realizing that Ratchet is giving him his full support.

As he watched Orion leave with Megatron and Shockwave, a part of him couldn’t help but worry for his friend.

Because while he is certain Megatron wouldn’t harm Orion, he can’t help but wonder what will happen when Ultra inevitably learns about this.

“All we can do is hope this has a happy conclusion,” Alpha Trion spoke the moment Orion had left.

“Yeah, all we can do is hope.”