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Orion awoke from strange dreams. It took a moment to separate the realm of sleep from the still-unfamiliar ship around him. But slowly he became sure- Someone was crying.
Orion rose from his private room. It was large for a common archivist, but Orion didn’t intend to deny Megatronus- Megatron’s- generosity.
The sound was faint and uneven, drifting through the Nemesis halls like a ghost. Orion couldn’t get used to how massive and sleek the ship was. The Autobots had to be truly underhanded, to compete with it.
He followed the sound down to the miner barracks. Megatron had said the work happened much too fast to give him a tour, so he had to map out the place as he walked.
He finally reached a door where the sound was strongest and knocked lightly. To Orion’s surprise, the door was automatic.
One of the Vehicons sat inside. He stood up sharply, expression unreadable but fists tightly clasped.
“Are you alright?” Orion asked. “I heard-”
“Eat slag, Pax.” The Vehicon spat out the name as he stepped forward, choking the sobs down. Orion stepped back. “Yours is the last face I need to see right now.”
“Dude, shut it.” A second Vehicon appeared from the shadows, pulling his roommate back by the arm.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Orion assured, confused.
“Sorry about him, sir,” the second said hurriedly, stepping in front of his friend. “We, uh- The last clash with the Autobots took a few of our guys. It’s been... a little messed-up since then.”
Sadness fell over Orion like a cloud. “I’m so sorry.”
The first Vehicon scoffed, dropping to sit on his berth. “Are you?”
“Of course,” Orion pressed. “Life is the right of every spark.”
The Vehicons glanced at each other. Both looked like they wanted to say something, but Orion couldn’t imagine what.
“Have you… already had the funeral?” Orion asked gently.
“Something like that,” the first muttered into his clasped hands.
“May I ask the designations of your fallen mechs? I could place a record to their honor in the archives.”
The first sat up slightly. “...You would?”
Orion nodded. “Of course."
The mechs looked at each other again. The first sighed. “MX217 and FJ590,” he said quietly.
Orion paused in taking note. “Those are their assignment designations, correct?”
Both nodded.
“I meant to ask for their personal designations.”
The two looked at each other again- and burst out laughing. The second buried his face in his arms, shoulders trembling, while the first threw his head back and cackled. Orion could not have been more confused.
“Did I say something…?”
“No, man, no,” the second gasped, collecting himself. He sounded like he wore a faint smile, to which Orion was slightly relieved. “You’re… you’re alright.”
Orion fidgeted uncomfortably. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Just win the war,” the first sighed, his laughter deflating. “And- don’t bother Lord Megatron with this. He already knows it all.”
Orion nodded slowly. “Sleep well, then."
The door closed behind him. The room stayed silent.
Orion rubbed his heavy optics. His list of questions for Megatron continued to grow. In the meantime, he had much to do tomorrow, and so walked back through the echoing halls to his too-big, too-empty room.