Chapter Text
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Chapter I
ꪑꫀ ρ ꫝꪗ᥅᥅ꪖ
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“Welcome to Sonic Sweets! May I take your order?”
“Yay! I’ve been waiting for these!”
“Primus, I’ve had dreams of these muffins!”
“I’ll take a whole dozen please!”
“Thank you! Come again!”
The delicious scent of plasma-glazed energon twists and spice-flecked cogberry muffins wafted through the polished, sliding glass doors of The Sonic Sweets, Mephyrra’s pride and passion. Warm lighting glinted off chrome-accented shelves lined with frosted servo-scones, glimmer-cubes, and her specialty: turbo-gonnie coils.
Her wings folded neatly behind her back, Mephyrra moved with practiced grace, plating a tray of still-steaming energon dripcakes for a pair of Praxian bots.
“Oh my, these look absolutely scrumptious, Mephyrra,” Orisyn exclaimed, her servo digits clasping with joy as she watched Mephyrra box up their order. She was an older femme, visiting Vos with her retired conjunx, Judgemark.
“I’m sure our grandlings will be delighted,” Judgemark said, smirking slightly. “I truly feel bad for our full-plate sparklings.”
Mephyrra chuckled at that. “You don’t sound that guilty, Judge.”
She knew the mech through her Sire’s connections, and while he’d once been a strict Magistrate in the Praxian district, he’d always been soft on youngsparks—especially Mephyrra herself.
She rang them up and said, “I’d say ‘come again,’ but it’ll be a while, won’t it? Still, I’m really glad you both came to visit.”
“Your Caer, Malphora, just wouldn’t stop bragging about you over the comms,” Orisyn said, grinning from audial to audial. Her words made Mephyrra blush with a mix of embarrassment and joy. The old femme went on, “How you opened your own store, baking all these delectable sweets, and about when you were little, you would make sandcakes and force your Sire to eat them—”
“Okay! Here’s your order, Orisyn! Judgemark!” Mephyrra cut in, just slightly rushed, as she sent the digital receipt to each of them and placed the neatly packaged baked goods in front of them.
The Praxian pair flashed teasing grins at her before finally exiting the store, wishing her a good day.
“Fly safe out there!” she called after them with a smile, her ruby-red optics soft and warm.
Once they were gone, Mephyrra ex-vented, a quiet sigh of relief escaping her vents. Still, pride swelled in her spark—she had built this, and it was thriving.
Business had been strong and steady. That morning, the line had wrapped around the curved walkway outside the bakery—a small but meaningful triumph in the upscale mid-tiers of Vos.
But even with credits flowing in and glowing reviews stacking up, the numbers didn’t lie. Rent was an energon-guzzling beast, and her corner shop was a hungry spark-eater.
She had to keep pushing. Yet, with expenses climbing higher by the cycle, affording hired help was looking less and less feasible. She’d been running the shop solo for nearly four months now, closing it only once per deca-cycle. Her carrier always warned her not to work too hard, but with how everything was going…
Just then, the doors slid open, the soft chime following a moment later.
Only this time, it wasn’t a customer.
The figure was tall and broad, his frame plated in muted gray, adorned only by a red satin sash bearing the gleaming badge of a Vosian Enforcement emblem. A datapad rested in one servo, the other already tapping away with practiced precision.
“Designation Mephyrra?” he asked, not bothering to look up.
“That’s me,” she replied slowly, stepping out from behind the counter.
“Code Compliance Officer Tyreon. You’re being served with a formal penalty for violation of Sanitation Protocol 47-C.”
Her optics whirred. “Uhhh… come again? Sanitation??”
He handed her the datapad without ceremony. “Your exhaust filtration vents failed to cycle trace particulate levels below the acceptable threshold. A drone sweep confirmed this a few cycles ago. Result: unfiltered micro-plasm particulates in your shop’s airflow. That’s classified as a Class-3 health risk. Penalty: 5,000 credits, due by the end of the next deca-cycle.”
“…WhaAAAaaat—?!”
“—Failure to comply will result in a shutdown order and potential endangerment charges,” he concluded.
Mephyrra’s spark dropped. “That’s—no, that can’t be right! I just serviced those vents last quartex!”
Tyreon shrugged. “Take it up with the Civic Maintenance Bureau. I’m just here to issue the notice.”
With that, he turned on his heel and exited.
She stood there, numb, the datapad still clutched in her servo. Rent was due next week too. She didn’t have that kind of credit buffer.
Her processor jumped to her Sire. Of course he’d have the funds—he always did. She could go to him, ask for help, and he’d probably provide it without much effort.
But she’d see it in his optics—that smug, assessing look. The silent confirmation of what he’d always believed: that she couldn’t do this on her own. That she was bound to fail within the first mega-cycle of her business.
She shook her helm, resolute. No.
She was going to prove her Sire wrong.
I can do this. It’s not over yet.
Without hesitation, she initiated a voice call over the gridlock, selecting a trusted name from her contact list. The call rang... and rang... until a familiar frame finally appeared in her internal HUD.
“Sunflash!” she greeted. “How are you?”
“’Phyrra! I’m doing well, thanks!” he said, flashing a grin. “What’s up? What do you need?”
“Do you have any spots open tonight at your karaoke bar?” Mephyrra asked, her smile wavering just slightly. “I need to pick up some extra funds this week. Just part-time. A few shifts. Nothing fancy.”
“Sure! I’ll check in with Veez,” Sunflash replied. “I’m actually out of Vos for a bit—visiting the head branch here with Tungston and, well… getting some alone time with him, y’know? So, you’ll be dealing with Veez.”
“I’m good with Veez! Veez is nice!” Mephyrra said.
Veez was a mini-con who could speak—and though he had a touch of ‘small bot syndrome,’ often acting bossy, confident, and a bit aggressive, he was always polite and respectful with femmes like Mephyrra.
“Thanks again, Sunflash! Enjoy Iacon, and say hey to Tungston for me.”
“Will do!”
The voice call ended.
Another chime echoed through the shop, alerting her to a new customer walking in.
Mephyrra straightened her purple apron—still bearing a smudge of gonnie—gave her wings a quick flick, and smiled.
“Welcome to Sonic Sweets! What can I get you today?”
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Slants of warm amber light filtered through the gaps between high-rises, casting long shadows across the stations and streets slipping by. The mag-rail train hummed steadily beneath Mephyrra’s pedes, its vibrations blending with the low drone of the city as dusk settled over Vos. She leaned lightly against a support bar, watching as the buildings swallowed the last of the fading sun.
A crackling audio feed broke the calm, emanating from the HUD projector of a nearby passenger. A lanky mech—oblivious to the annoyed optics flicked his way—was streaming the news onto a low-res hologram hovering just in front of his faceplate.
“…in breaking news, a delegation from Stanix arrived at the Prime Citadel in Iacon City today,” the anchor’s voice buzzed, metallic and urgent. “The visit comes after several alarming incidents involving injured working citizens from allied regions during visits to Stanix territory. Leading factions within the Senate Council have submitted formal petitions to the Lord High Protector and the Prime, demanding an ultimatum be issued.”
A pause followed, cutting to clips of sleek delegates arriving, their expressions stern and unreadable.
“The call is simple: a unified Cybertron cannot sustain fractured sovereignties. The Stanixian refusal to formally join the planetary government structure continues to raise concerns about future cooperation. If the nation remains independent, experts fear it could develop into a threat to Cybertronian stability.”
Mephyrra ex-vented sharply, her optics dimming. Politics—again. It was just stupid.
So what if Stanix didn’t want to join the Cybertronian government? It wasn’t anyone else’s business. As far as she was concerned, both leaders got along well enough, so why were the rest of them always butting in? And those injured workers? What were they even doing close enough to Stanix territory to get hurt? There were Pitmaws out there!
Rolling her optics, she flicked over to her own HUD overlay, replacing the grating newsfeed with something far more engaging—the familiar arena thrum of a Pit Match clip.
There he was—Flashburn.
The Stanix-born indomitor with wings that shimmered like sapphires and optics like radiant amber stones. Ranked third in the Grand Prix, already hailed as the breakout rookie of the season. He’d even earned praise from the Trion Legionnaires themselves.
But he wasn’t just a fighter. He had an aura. Untamed. Relentless. The kind of bot who carved his own path and never let anyone dictate it.
Her spark pulsed faster as she watched him parry a crushing blow, pivot with fluid grace, and pierce his opponent cleanly with those signature rapier blades. The crowd in the clip erupted as his servo shot up in victory.
She stayed with him through three more highlights before the train hissed to a stop at her station.
The karaoke club was already glowing with neon buzz and booming sub-sonics as she stepped inside.
Skyline Serenade was a favorite mid-tier hangout—loud, busy, and overflowing with energon-fueled drama.
“Mephyrra, you’re here!” called out a mini-con from atop the front desk.
“Veez! Sorry I’m late!” Mephyrra replied.
“It’s no trouble. We needed the help anyway! Still remember what to do?” Veez asked.
“Of course! I’ll get straight to work. Where do you need me?” she said, already heading toward the employee lounge to grab a uniform-ribbon and cap.
“Near the outback!” he called after her, referring to the area farthest from the karaoke stage—but still inside the club.
“Got it!”
She quickly tied on her uniform-ribbon, striped in red and yellow, and donned a crisp white cap before diving into the crowd, weaving through tables with practiced ease.
Midway through her shift, a Seeker stepped in front of her tray. His paint was glossier than his charm—violet and silver, with wing tips that screamed ego.
“Heyyy, you’re Mephyrra, right? Hedgepath. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”
How could she forget?
No—she wished she could forget.
This mech was the sparkling of some Vosian Council-mech her Sire worked with, and Primus, was he annoying at parties.
She gave him a flat look. “Can I help you, Hedgepath?”
He grinned. “Yeah, by letting me take you out sometime.”
Eugh.
“I’ve been watching you for over a joor now. I think I could treat you real right. You deserve better than this mediocre place, filled with mechs stinking of poverty and desperation—”
She rolled her optics, already tuning him out. Her gaze drifted behind him, landing on a large poster of Flashburn on the wall—highlighting his (possibly inflated) stats, including the fan-favorite: Regal Rating – Five Stars.
Her thoughts wandered, swept up in the imagined roar of the arena. Flashburn lifting his arm in victory, wings catching the lights—
Their optics meeting for a fleeting moment. Fated strangers.
“—Are you even listening?” Hedgepath’s voice dragged her back to the present as he followed her line of sight.
“Ahhh, I get it,” he sneered, his tone curdling. “You’re one of those rabid fanatics. All wrapped up in that indomitor trash. Beast-lovers, the lot of you.”
Mephyrra made a face like she’d just sipped spoiled energon. “Excuse me?”
Before Hedgepath could fire back, a shrill voice cut through the noise.
“Hedgepath! What in Pit’s name are you doing?!”
A green-and-gold femme stormed up behind Hedgepath and shoved him aside, her optics narrowing in on Mephyrra.
“You! Aren’t you a waitress here? Is this what karaoke bars do now? Throw yourself at bots who already have partners?!”
Mephyrra raised a brow. “Throw? I was working. He was harassing me. You might want to realign your receiver.”
The femme snarled and lunged.
Mephyrra stepped aside smoothly, catching her attacker's wrist mid-swing and flipping her over with practiced ease. The Polyhexian femme hit the floor with a grunt, her half-finished energon fizz splashing across the tiles.
It was a move her sire had taught her—a lesson she was now very grateful for.
“Hey!!” Hedgepath shouted, rushing forward to grab her.
But Mephyrra caught his wrist too, and in the blink of an optic, he hit the ground next to his partner, thrown with the same fluid maneuver—despite her much lighter frame.
Every mech in that karaoke club screamed in shock, hyped up by what they’d just witnessed.
However, the fun was over before it even began.
“Security!!” Veez’s voice rang out from the front desk. Within moments, two bouncers moved in, seizing both Hedgepath and the Polyhexian femme.
“H-hey! Let go of me! Do you know who my sire is?!” Hedgepath barked, squirming uselessly against the larger mech holding him down.
The femme kicked wildly, screeching back at Mephyrra.
“My sire’s gonna hear about this! You’re just a waitress!!”
Mephyrra dusted herself off calmly, straightened her ribbon and cap, and returned to work as if nothing had happened.
Half the club had witnessed the entire thing—and once the troublemakers were dragged out, they burst into applause.
Mephyrra didn’t make a show of it. She just cleaned up the spilled, fizzy energon and went right back to serving.
But her tips that night? Drastically higher.
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The cool night breeze of Vos greeted Mephyrra as she returned to The Sonic Sweets, her weary servos fumbling with the security lock. The interior lights flickered on in a warm cascade, casting a soft glow over the empty bakery. Rows of carefully labeled pastries rested in chilled stasis, untouched.
She stepped inside and locked the doors behind her with a firm click, then pulled down the heavy duranium shutters over the wall-windows.
A long, tired ex-vent escaped her as she rubbed at her helm. The shift at Skyline Serenade had been more exhausting than usual, and the scuffle with Hedgepath and his overcharged girlfriend had only made it worse.
She’d lost more than just patience tonight. Several customers had walked out during the commotion—without paying their expensive tabs.
“Veez says he’ll recover the credits once he tracks them through the registration logs,” she muttered to herself. “But that could take weeks.”
Which meant her tips—the ones she was counting on to help patch the gaping credit hole left by the compliance fine—were effectively gone.
And they’d been good tips too. Over a thousand.
She slumped toward the backroom of the bakery, but paused at the foot of the stairwell that led to her quarters.
Instead, she turned toward the rear exit.
She needed to check on the gonnies.
Slipping outside, Mephyrra stepped into the small enclosed patio she’d painstakingly converted into a bio-farm. Rows of mist-circulators buzzed softly, filtering the air around a central pen where her gonnies pulsed with bioluminescent light. The little jelly-like creatures wriggled restlessly—a swarm of pastel blobs with thin stalks and expressive, musical hums.
They weren’t asleep.
Instead of laying flat and saggy like they usually did at this cycle, they were agitated. Rolling, bouncing, quivering. A few had even climbed the sidewalls of the enclosure, alert and panicked.
“What in the AllSpark…?”
Her optics narrowed.
The wooden nest she had built for them—a protective housing more than anything—was smashed. Splinters and scraps of debris lay scattered across the ground, and a sticky trail of glimmering energon-sap marked a chaotic path through it all.
And then she saw it.
A mech.
Half-buried under the wreckage, still and silent. He had wings—but not like a Seeker’s. Not rigid steel plating.
Feathers.
An indomitor, her processor whispered.
Her energon pulsed faster.
Had they crashed? It was hard to tell in the dim light whether it was a mech or femme, but their build was slender. Light-framed. Injured.
And their wings—sleek feathers, deep blue.
Carefully, Mephyrra stepped around the panicked gonnies and the shattered remains of the nest. She knelt beside the figure, braced herself, and with a grunt, lifted the heavier debris off their chest—
—then gasped.
“…Flashburn???”
...And he was bleeding out.
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A/N:
This Alternate-Universe OC fic is a gift written for AO3 user Mephalis.
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