Chapter Text
Megatronus set his hydraulic excavator down against the mine wall, the smooth cavern turned ragged and hot by the bodies of his fellow miners. He peered quickly over his shoulder, confirming the overseer, Darkwing, was busy beating someone else into scrap metal– hyperbole, except when it wasn’t.
His sonar module was glitching again, frag, it’d been telling him there was energon ahead only to find empty dirt. His numbers were already dropping. Another cycle of this and he’d be in the demotion zone, if they even let him keep his job. He wouldn’t be the first bot in the megacycle to be let go over trivial things.
Without proper sight, he found a seam in the side of his torso and wrenched the casing apart. His internals were all a mess of wires and grime under the dirty plating, which was just itching to snap shut again. He kept one servo on it to keep it from doing so, while the other dug into the circuitry. His digits were a little large for the job, but he managed to find the module anyway, wincing as he pulled the tiny box out.
He flicked the switch. Off, waited a klik, on, then shoved it back in, letting his plating snap back into place and settle.
Then for the worst part. What he wouldn’t give to have the module built directly into his helm like the older models. With a grunt, he manually rebooted his whole sensory array. It was the only way to reset the connection. His vision went static. An uncomfortable energy rippled through his lines. He reset his optics to find new energon readings to his right, and absolutely none where he had previously been digging.
He heard the strike before he felt it. A resounding clang followed closely by pain of bludgeoning across his helm.
“D-16! There should be an excavator in your servo!” Darkwing’s voice was more a violent cacophony of sounds than speech, only emphasized by the sharp walls of the mine throwing it around and mixing it in with the drilling of a dozen workers. Every bot in the shaft could hear the reprimand. He knew if he’d turn to face them, he’d see no friendly face looking back. It was common practice to pretend not to hear when another bot was being slagged, some sentiment between courtesy and self preservation.
There was an excuse on the tip of Megatronus’s glossa, even if it would do nothing. A nameless protocol requested access to initialize. Fight, it urged. Instead he turned wordlessly and reached for his excavator.
Only for Darkwing’s pede to slam down onto his servo and the drill, crushing the metal of both. Megatronus grit his dentae around the yelp that threatened to escape his intake, finally forcing his helm up to face Darkwing properly.
“You don’t care for your equipment. You can dig with your servos the rest of this shift.”
The other mech towered over him, gleeful malevolence painted clearly on his faceplates even behind his mask and visor. A vision erupted from deep within the back of his processor. The visor shattered, the mask ripped off entirely, reduced to twisted metal around his face. Megatronus’s fists dripping with burning fuschia. That hidden smirk wiped from his faceplates. Forever.
A sharp ting broke through the focus Darkwing had on Megatronus. A pebble dropped to the stone floor where they stood. Finally, mercifully, Darkwing’s pede released his servo as he whipped around to confront the cavern.
“Who threw that?!” Darkwing stormed off, searching for the offender.
Megatronus vented deep relief, instantly soured when he flexed his digits. The damage had been well and truly done. None would consider the circuitry of his servos delicate, and yet, there were few other words for the tiny gears and hydraulics that made them up. The intricate rotors of his digits sent sharp impulses at any movement, and even in the dim light he could see the metal in his joints bent and misaligned. He could already imagine his place on the leaderboard dropping as he gingerly hefted his damaged excavator back into position, sending more of that jarring pain into his servo with every pulse of the machine as it jacked through Cybertron’s crust.
Not that it was much different from any of the other pain in his aching joints.
*
“I’m a pacifist.” Orion Pax stated, wiping down his excavator. He was sitting on a bench in the lockers beside a scoffing Elita-one.
“Pacifists don’t throw stones,” she shook her helm, twisting her own cleaning rag around her machine. Orion craned his neck cables, noting the clearly superior technique and quickly copying it.
“I can assure you, a simple probe into the records says otherwise.” Only after that did he seem to be aware of his surroundings, scanning the room. Bots scattered around, drying solvent off their chassis or putting away their tools. None paid them any mind.
Elita’s brow ridge hit the brim of her helm. “Remind me to avoid you. The records? What in the pit were you doing in there? How?”
Orion tutted. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“You’re a pacifist.”
“Exactly.”
Elita sighed long, shuttering her optics. “Listen Pax, you’re new here, so I’ll give you a bit of free advice– next will cost you shanix. If a bot’s getting a dressing down, you mind your own business. If Darkwing saw you–”
“I’m new to this mine. Not mining. Every mine has a Darkwing. That’s why minding my business is the last thing I’d do.” He smiled. She’d call it cocky if there wasn’t a nervous scrunch in his optics.
“Yeah, well, I guess there’s a reason no one ratted on you. We all saw you throw the pebble.”
The crinkle smoothed out of his faceplates, and Elita’s spark spun just that bit lighter despite herself.
“So who was that bot? D–sixtee–”
“Don’t,” Elita raised her servo in a warning gesture. “That’s his serial number. Darkwing makes a point of forgetting bots’ designations, or never remembering them in the first place.”
“I’m surprised he’d go after a bot like him. He’s pretty big for a mining mech.”
“And you’re small for a miner.”
“Point.” He conceded with a bent helm. “For a nanoklik I thought he might just hit the fragger back.”
“Yeah, well, Megatronus never went as far as hitting back, but the last time he stood up for himself cost him most of his savings.”
“Darkwing robbed him?"
“No. It just cost every shanix he had to get his mechanics up and working again at the repair shop. I’m quite frankly not sure how he managed to drag himself out of the mine after that. I thought he was offlined.”
“And you just left him?!”
“Hey. You don’t know what it’s like–”
“I’m a miner too!”
“Yeah? Well I’ve never met a miner with your disposition. Whatever mine you came from? There’s no way it’s anything like ours. Pacifism? Camaraderie? You’re damn lucky no one outed you about the pebble. This place does things to mechs.”
Elita found herself standing. Her fans had kicked on at some point to cool down her reactor. She met Orion’s gaze with her own.
Those blue optics burned bright, even against the harsh fluorescents of the locker room, brow ridge pinched, intake tilted in a near snarl. His servos were clenched into shaking fists.
For a moment Elita’s fight or flight protocol’s– the same ones Darkwing, or any superior incited in her, threatened to engage.
And just as quickly, Orion’s faceplates smoothed into passivity. He sighed and stood. Elita’s stabilizing servo twitched a step back, before standing ground. He was small, she could take him. Orion’s optics squeezed into that previous uncertainty, field pulsing regret.
“I apologize,” Orion said, sounding suddenly tired. He extended a servo, and she nervously took it in a handshake. “It was nice meeting you, Elita.”
He stepped around her, excavator in servo to return to its locker to charge.
Elita willed her frame to relax before doing the same.
*
“There’s not a lot I can do without equipment, Megatronus.” Ratchet leaned over the damaged servo for a better look. He wouldn’t be able to diagnose any specific damage without disassembling the digits, but even that wouldn’t be of much use without a way to fix it.
“You’re saying…” Megatronus started slowly, as though putting off the words would make them untrue. Ratchet was never one for being delicate.
“You need a professional. I can’t fix this.”
“Ratchet, you know I can’t afford another body shop.” Megatronus slowly closed his servo.
“Stop that!” Ratchet put his servo over Megatronus’s, coaxing it firmly flat.
“What’s the point?” Megatronus growled, but he didn't move his servo again. “It’s not like it’ll heal on its own with the way I have to use it! It’s scrap metal!”
“Just because you’ll have to move it tomorrow doesn’t mean you aggravate it now!”
Megatronus slumped back in his chair. Ratchet followed suit. They were taking up one of the tables in what was supposed to be a rec room. It was rarely used. Bots off work were either recharging or overcharging at an oil house. There wasn’t energy for anything else. And besides, the room was unofficially Ratchet’s office at this point. Not that he was a real doctor. No one ever mentioned that to him though. The care he provided was real enough, and he did it for free. That was more than enough to excuse the terrible bedside manner.
“You’re lucky you didn’t get worse,” Ratched huffed, rifling through a ratty bag he brought with him. Megatronus’s plating rose at the statement, then settled down, instead opting to level a glare.
“How so?”
“That mech saved you from digging with your servos,” Ratchet tapped one of his bent digits. “Namely that servo.” He found what he was looking for, a screwdriver that worked on most bots’ digits. He gestured for Megatronus’s servo again. “I’m going to take apart your digits and try to flatten these rings.”
Megatronus perked up just that bit. “You’ll fix it?”
“Bu-bu-bup!” Ratchet held up the screwdriver. “I doubt this will fix it, in fact, it may make it worse,” he muttered under his breath. “But it should ease your movements. Return some range and maybe take away some of the pain. But, this will hurt.”
Megatronus slumped again, but some level of relief flowed from his field, despite Ratchet’s warning.
“Work your magic, doc.”
Ratchet directed his annoyance at the name, setting his screwdriver in the first bolt’s slot. He waited a moment for Megatronus to steel himself, before beginning the turn. Already a processor-ache was settling into his helm, just knowing he was unlikely to catch any recharge that night-cycle.
“Who was the bot?” Megatronus asked.
It took Ratchet a moment to recall their conversation from the moment previous. “Ah, the stone-thrower, yes. He’s a new mech, joined a few solar-cycles ago.”
“That describes several mechs.”
Most of them would not last the stellar-cycle. It took a certain spark to survive down here.
“The red one, blue helm, silver crest. I didn’t catch his designation.”
“Is he stupid or just defective?”
“Defective and or stupid he may be, I wouldn’t go speaking badly of him after what he did for you.”
“He’s going to get himself offlined.”
“Very likely,” Ratchet sighed.
The first bolt of the index finger came loose, but the bent metal kept it from detaching. Ratchet gave Megatronus a look meant to convey sympathy and a wordless ‘brace yourself,’ before yanking the thing apart. Megatronus hissed, before biting down on his free servo, venting heavily. Ratchet would give just about anything for access to some pain blockers. Even some of the correct cabling could allow him to disable the pain receptors through the processor, invasive as it may be, it would certainly be preferable to a painful operation. He had asked for these things. Once.
*
Ratchet worked in mostly silence after that, a smattering of conversation to distract from his hammering out of the rings meant to be in Megatronus’s digits. When all was said and done, the servo no longer looked mangled, though certainly still damaged.
“How’s it feel?” Ratchet asked after tightening the last bolt.
He finally glanced up from his work. Megatronus looked how he felt, dark rings under his optics, and pinpricks of coolant gathered on his faceplates. After the first digit, he hadn’t made another sound, but the pain was written all across his frame.
He gingerly lifted his servo, balling it into fist, then smoothing it out. He tried each digit alone, then smirked and pointed his middle digit up to the ceiling, where they both imagined Darkwing recharged. Somewhere high above them.
“Much better, doc.”
“How many times have I told you to use my designation?”
Megatronus’s smirk faltered, before becoming something softer.
“I’m sorry, Ratchet. I really do appreciate it.” He tapped his digit to the table surface. “Let me buy you a high-grade next time we have a short shift.”
“I know you don’t have the shanix for it,” he scoffed, returning his tools to his bag, before wiping up the small smatter of energon from a twisted line. “Do you still feel any pain in your servo?” He said, shifting the subject back.
“I won’t lie and say no,” Megatronus smiled a little ruefully.
“How’s the range of motion?”
“Not fully returned either, but um…” Megatronus stood up, tense, and it was deeply strange to see a mech as big as him unsure. “I’m not exaggerating when I say, I owe you my life.”
Ratchet’s engines hiccupped. “Yeah, well,” he scratched the back of his helm, rising too with his little makeshift medical pouch slung over his shoulder. “You and just about every bot in this damn mine.”
“I’ll repay you someday.”
“Yeah, yeah, repay me by getting in less trouble.”
“You know I wasn’t making trouble.”
“Fine. Repay me by finding that bot with the pebble, and thank him instead. How about you keep him alive? As a personal challenge.” He turned and headed out the door. “We could all stand to stick a little closer together if you ask me.”
*
Orion let his helm drop forward against the wall of the washracks, savoring the warm solvent sluicing dirt from his plates. The pressure was better here than at the last mine, but he had to admit– loathed to admit–
That Elita was right.
It had only been two solar-cycles and he could already say with confidence that this mine was indeed worse than the one he had come from. It was more mechs crushed into one space, deeper shafts, hotter working conditions as they burrowed closer to Cybertron’s mantle. Even the dirt and rock was packed together more tightly, and still they expected the same rate of energon retrieval.
But it would be temporary. Not because he expected to make the shanix that would eventually buy his freedom like many of his fellow miners dreamed. He had no such illusions, in fact, he was sure this mine was one excuse away from being overhauled just as the last one was. ‘Automated workers!’ The new signage had brightly proclaimed. Cold constructs built for the job. Orion couldn’t quite believe it. Not that the Ioconian elites wouldn’t try it, but that the cold constructs would really work any better than the current mining force. No bot with a spark would degrade themselves to these positions any more than the miners who were already doing so.
Automated his aft. As far as he was concerned, they were already the autobots they were seeking to replace them with.
A mech settled in the space beside him, switching the solvent on. It was probably time to vacate then. No faster way to a bot’s slaglist than taking up a place at the washracks for too long.
The bot sighed, gunmetal gray chassis deflating after the long cycle’s work. Orion turned, surprised. Of the hundreds of bots stationed, it was Megatronus who happened to take up the space beside him.
The gray mech locked optics with him, the scrutinizing crimson, winged helm, large chassis, and angled shoulderplates all came together to form a powerful figure. He almost couldn’t equate this bot with the one who had been kneeling at Darkwing’s pedes just a few solar-cycles previous.
Did he know..?
“I know what you did,” the mech rumbled.
“Ah . ”
He tamped down the intense compulsion to apologize. It must have come across in his field, though he tried to keep that close as well.
“I don’t want your apologies, or your pity.” Megatronus ducked his helm under the solvent, continuing his shower, practical. “I’ve come to give you my… thanks, and to get your designation.”
Orion let surprise color his field, brow ridge rising.
“Orion Pax,” he tentatively offered his servo. The other took it. The one that had been trampled, Orion noted. He was glad to see it looking less mangled.
“Megatronus,” the other said.
“Yes, I asked Elita-one about you.”
Megatronus’s expression soured, returning to washing.
“Don’t get along?”
“Never knew a bot more full of herself.”
Orion shrugged, “I’m not sure about that. And she was nice enough.”
“Hey, if stuck-up’s your type.”
“No!” He waved his servos, disconcerted, his faceplates flushing pink just to spite him.
Megatronus watched his reaction, stone-faced just a nanoklik before cracking a smile. He didn’t seem like a mech who smiled a lot, but it really suited him. His optics shone warm and bright, his nose– which looked like it had actually been broken and badly reset, crinkled. His whole frame curved with the expression, ease flowing through it.
“Ah, you’re messing with me.” Orion had definitely been staring too long.
“If that’s how you want to interpret it,” Megatronus shrugged, an edge of teasing to his tone.
A bot sidled up to the washracks entrance to wait, frag. Not wanting to end the conversation, “say, you want to go up a level? Ironhide told me there’s an oilhouse up there.” The idea was sudden, but Orion found himself looking forward to it already. He had tried to ask Elita up there– didn’t want to go alone, but her refusal had been sharp enough to put him off from asking anyone else.
This place does things to mechs.
Megatronus dug tiny bits of dirt out of the rotor at his knee as he contemplated it. Already progress. Elita’s rejection had been immediate.
“I don’t have the shanix.” Regret colored both their fields, quickly shifting to surprise, then mirth.
“I’ll cover you,” Orion said, chuckling at the mirrored reactions. If anything, it only convinced him further that they should get to know each other.
Megatronus offlined his optics a moment, before shutting off the solvent.
“Fine. But I’ll owe you.”
“Oh there’s really no need.” Orion had some saved up. He’d been fortunate enough to never have any major accidents, and the last mine had given a measly severance when it shuttered to them. Nothing to live off of, but certainly a leg up over his fellow miners here.
“I insist,” Megatronus said. “And we are not going to the Level Eight. That place cuts its energon. I know a much better one, and the owner knows me.”
Orion beamed, deciding then and there to make sure Megatronus never paid him back.
“Lead the way.”
*
It’d been stellar-cycles since Megatronus had made the pilgrimage to Shocky’s. Three border checks and two elevator trains later, they arrived on the correct level. It wasn’t the surface. He’d actually never been. But they were only two levels below it, and he could finally present the oilhouse to Orion with a flourish. It’d been redone since he’d last been there. Much sleeker, a new purple finish and lots of neon signs directing street goers to the delights within. From the look on Orion’s faceplates, the signs were performing their function well.
The place was even livelier than he remembered. Mechs and femmes all dancing to the tune of a live synthlectric quartet. The other end housed one of two bars, this one quieter and somewhat shielded from the clubbier side of the oilhouse.
The pair sidled up to it, taking stools side-by-side. Given how busy the place was, service took a moment, but when it finally arrived, Megatronus couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his faceplates.
“Megatronus!” Shockwave hopped over the bar counter to lock servos and pull him into a good-natured embrace. Shockwave squeezed a little too hard on his bad servo, but he made sure to give no indication of the pain flaring up his lines. “It’s been stellar-cycles, how the hell are you?”
“Been better, been worse, Shockwave. The oilhouse is looking better than ever.”
Shockwave beamed, placing his servos on his hips and puffing out his chassis in pride.
“It’s been hard work of course, but worth every klik.” He turned and wheeled back behind the counter. “So what can I get you tonight? On the house.”
“First I’d like to introduce my friend.” Megatronus leaned back, gesturing to Orion.
“I didn’t even see you behind the big bot’s chassis!” Shockwave laughed, then took Orion’s servo in a quick shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Orion smiled.
“So, what can I get you both to drink? Like I said, on the house.”
“Is that a sound business model?” Orion asked, optics crinkled.
“It is when it only extends to old old friends,” Shockwave said. “Megs and I go way back.”
“Megs?”
Megatronus waved Orion off. “We met while on the same construction job.”
“Construction? Both of you?”
Shockwave shot Megatronus a pointed look.
“He’s not a cyberrat, Shockwave. He saved my hide from our overseer just last solar-cycle. Threw a rock at him to get his attention off me.”
Shockwave’s optics did a quick flick around the bar. No one was near, so he leaned way in, lowering his volume. “For your audials only. I saved shanix and scrap metal working construction. Megs helped with the latter. Eventually the shanix went to the lot and the initial energon and oil stores, and the scrap metal became the building.”
Orion eyed the structure, incredulous.
“Don’t worry, it’s sound. Built it with my own two servos, and replaced most of it later anyway.”
“And your function?” Orion asked, then quickly waved his servos at the flicker in Shockwave’s field. “Not that I believe in them! I just mean, construction, then business owner?”
Megatronus understood the confusion. Shockwave was the only mech he knew who’d managed the impossible– to change one’s place in the caste system.
Shockwave’s brow ridge knit, contemplative. “Logically, if one’s caste is defined by one’s frame, then all a bot has to do is get it changed.”
“Shockwave’s a good builder and a better businessmech, as it turns out,” Megatron smirked. “But that’s why you can’t tell anyone about it. The consequences...”
Orion nodded gravely, and Megatronus tried not to think about the mechs the elites liked to parade around– the ones who’d had their faces and servos taken from them, the optics that weren’t dead but held no emotion behind them. The mechs who hadn’t stayed in their place.
The two ordered, Megatronus opting for his usual bitter high-grade with nickel shavings, Orion sprang for something sweet and syrupy, but not exactly sickly. Megatronus still made a jab at it, which Orion brushed off good-naturedly.
“So how’d you two meet?” Shockwave asked, eyeing them like there might be more to the nature of their relationship. Megatronus rolled his optics and elaborated on the story— Darkwing and the pebble and their meeting in the washracks.
“And your servo?” Shockwave asked, expression pinched.
Megatronus flexed it, a grimace crossing his face.
“Ratchet did all he could, but it’s still no good. Honestly, I’ve needed a tune-up since before the last time I laid optics on you.” He had a quick thought, “you wouldn’t know any medics who’d work for cheap do you? Even a butcher’s got to be better than nothing. Do you know anyone?”
Shockwave leaned back, toweling off a cube long past dry, thinking deeply on it.
“I don’t, not for cheap, but you know who may? Breakdown.”
“Construction Breakdown?”
“Do you know any others?”
“No,” Megatronus leaned back, indignant. “But why would someone like him know someone who could fix this?” He flexed his damaged servo, anticipating the wash of pain in response.
Shockwave leaned in again, beckoning the two close, even closer than when he was disclosing his own past. “He’s been in here lately, after jobs.”
“Naturally.”
“Well, unnaturally, or so some would call it, he’s had this little red mech on his arm.”
“His arm?” Orion asked.
“Okay, not on his arm, not quite, but they’re close.”
“And what does that have to do with anything,” Megatronus rumbled.
“I’ve seen the mech before, on a billboard in Velocitron.”
“The last time you were there was nearly half a vorn ago!”
Shockwave tapped the side of his helm where that powerful processor of his resided. Construction had been beneath him. Even bartending and business-running was beneath him. Pity his frame held him back from ever entering the public spotlight. Some of the conversations Megatronus had had with the mech– he could’ve been one of the great minds of Cybertron.
“My point is, the sign was advertising his medical practice.”
Megatronus sat up straight at that.
A construction worker, and a doctor.
Even if they were friends, and not the ‘something more,’ Shockwave seemed to believe they were, it was taboo.
“So you’re saying, if the mech is willing to berth a construction-bot, he might just be willing to fix a miner-bot for cheap.”
“Or you could blackmail him if he isn’t,” Shockwave shrugged.
Orion’s faceplates read scandal. Megatronus gave him a reassuring pat on the back.
“He’s joking Orion.”
“I’m not.” Shockwave smiled.
Orion recovered from that hiccup quickly, soon asking lots of odd questions about running a business. The only thing more powerful than his moral compass was his bottomless curiosity.
“Why?” Shockwave quirked his helm. “Thinking of getting into business yourself?”
“Oh, no.” Orion picked at a nick in his arm, exposed silver under red paint. “I could never. I don’t have the frame for it.”
Shockwave scoffed, “that didn’t stop me, and it shouldn’t stop you. Besides, you’re smaller than what most would recognize as mining class. A few tweaks and you could be up top in no time.”
Orion’s faceplates twisted, before disappearing behind his cube. His distaste didn’t escape Megatronus, and it certainly would not pass Shockwave by.
“You display disdain?”
Orion shuttered his optics. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend. I just– I don’t want to change my frame to get ahead.” He slumped. “I just wish I could do what I want despite it. I want that for everyone.”
As Shockwave considered this, Megatronus realized that he was the only bot who’s fans kicked on when he thought.
“Logical,” Shockwave concluded. “Cybertronian society would benefit as a whole if bots’ talents could be placed beyond what their outer shell dictated.”
“And bots would be happier if they could be allowed to pursue their passions, and have the energy to do so.” Orion tossed back.
Shockwave assented with a smile. “Yes, that would benefit Cybertron as well.”
*
It took a few more drinks before Shockwave finally let Orion pay for one, and only because he insisted. Megatronus made no such offer, instead opting to stay one drink behind his companion. Despite his smaller size, he found Orion mostly capable of holding his high-grade, speaking only slightly more impassioned, about things slightly less relevant. At some point Shockwave had to go tend to other patrons, and as much as his spark panged at the departure, he felt lighter doing what he set out for: getting to know Orion better.
“And that’s why I think Alpha Trion is the best councilmember,” Orion swirled his drink like he had said something clever.
“Because his helm is a rhombus?”
“No! Were you even listening?”
“Yes, but I got a little derailed when you called him rhombus-helm, and said it was your favorite shape.”
“Okay, but my actual point, which you clearly missed, is that he’s actually spoken out against the functionalists.”
“What the hell is a functionalist?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just. What. I have no idea what that word you said is. You’re talking nonsense, Pax.”
“Functionalism.” He waved a servo like it was a totally normal word that everyone knew. “It’s the system where your frame determines what you do, and your place in society.”
“But that’s just… society.” His processor struggled with the definition— why it was needed. It just was.
Orion’s lipplates quirked in one corner. He took another sip of his drink before continuing. “But what if it wasn’t.”
“If what wasn’t?”
“What if instead of your frame determining what you do, you did. What if you could run a business with a so-called construction frame, or paint with a server’s frame. What if you could do whatever you damn-well wanted with a miner’s frame, and the only limit was the scope of your ambition?”
“But it doesn’t make sense!” Megatronus found himself feeling frantic. “We do what we do best. A miner mines, servers serve, a construction bot—“
“Stays slaving away in construction even though it’s clear he’s smarter than anyone else in the building?”
Megatronus’s gaze shifted to where Shockwave was, just then serving a customer— some small-time city official and his conjunx. No, it didn’t make sense.
“That’s what I’m saying, and it’s what Alpha Trion is saying too. He thinks bots should be able to choose their own destiny. He’s the least evil person in government, and they’re hiding that from us.”
“Who is they?”
“The elites! The other members of the council.” He lowered his volume settings. “ Prime. ”
“You know you sound absolutely deranged, right? Sentinel Prime? ”
Orion seemed to think on this a moment, then shrugged. “Don’t you think if the system was perfect you’d know it?”
“I never said it was perfect.”
“But they do.”
“Again with the they.”
“Megatronus!” Orion got a firm grip on Megatronus’s shoulderplating, his digits were warm where they connected. His optics were a wild blazing blue. For a moment he was sure those optics could see right through him. He wondered briefly if his spark was that same shade. If he tore open Orion’s chassis, right down to the chamber, would he be greeted by that same swirling cyan?
“I think I need to purge my tanks,” Orion said, all passion fizzling out.
*
Orion leaned heavily against Megatronus on the way back to the mine, having quickly said a goodbye to Shockwave. The violet mech pinged his comm channel with a link to Breakdown’s, insisting he give the other bot a call.
“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Shockwave said.
Damn the mech , Megatronus thought with a twitch up in his lipplates as they turned away. Always right.
Only a few steps down the street and Orion’s pede caught on an upturned section of sidewalk. Megatronus placed a steadying servo on the other’s shoulder, just long enough for him to regain his footing. Something buzzing and warm clouded Orion’s field.
“You had too many, didn’t you, Orion?”
He grumbled, swatting at Megatronus’s chassis. “Who asked you?”
“I could carry you.”
“Frag off,” Orion laughed, leaning on him more despite his biting words.
They soon arrived at the station that would take them back down to the mine. For better, but usually worse, there were always less checks going down than up. Less hassle on the way back, for which Megatronus was grateful now, but undeniably bitter about the rest of the time.
Orion leaned his helm against Megatronus’s shoulderplate, drowsy from the high-grade. Orion’s reactor must’ve been amped from the overcharge, the way his plating radiated heat where they touched.
He considered draping an arm around the other bot, then thought better of it.
“Megatronus?”
He didn’t respond immediately, slowly turning his helm to be greeted again by those blue optics. They were dimmed, but hadn’t quite lost their previous intensity.
“Yes, Orion?”
“Do you ever feel like you were meant for more than this?”
Megatronus vented sharply, but did not answer.
He understood the feeling perfectly.