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Chapter Text

Attending the Primal Estate Gala was an inevitable and an unfortunate event he could not find a way to weasel out of in the end. A solid part of Megatron’s processing for the past cycle was devoted to conjuring tasks and calling in meetings that could be considered immediate enough to send a thoroughly convincing and an apologetic letter to the High House, excusing his presence, and yet, here he was. At the very least, Soundwave, who loomed over his shoulder all through the detailing session allowed him the dignity of keeping the formal decorum he was supposed to adorn his frame to a minimum. Megatron respected cleanliness, and occasional polish, it was, in a sense, a point of pride for himself how despite his miner origin and Kaon ever-present grime the gunmetal silver of his frame has always been clear. As a governor of a city-state, it was the very least he could do to set an example.

Now though, the angular blacks and reds crossing his arms and legs in a latticework patterns made him look like a fancy glass holder shaped like a mech, not an elected official and Megatron was mentally preparing to see his reflection in the gaudy crystal heap of a building that passed for the Primal Estate.

He turned his gaze from the hated paintjob to the window of a hovercab instead. Hadeen has just set behind the Manganese Mountains, turning the sky rust red, a clear sign of an oncoming cold, perhaps an electric storm would hit earlier this year, and he should inquire with the civil department about installing insulation and arresters sooner than later. Below them, transport lines heading into Iacon shone bright with thousands of bots hurrying both ways, roads and railways crossing the metal planes like arteries pumping energon and shanix, sucking it out of Kaon and and every other state into the bloated corpse of the oldest city of Cybertron.

First time Megatron came to Iacon his optics were open as wide as their sockets and jaw hang loose, taking in the grandiose sight: unbelievably high towers, sprawling crystal gardens, hanging walkways and mosaic plazas, the constant glow and sparkle of the painted city, it all seemed like a fantastic vision imported from a dream. Now, a thousand years later, when he looked upon it, Megatron saw numbers. Ten thousand shanix a year to keep a boardwalk lit for a night, twenty hundred litres of energon per square for the crystal gardens, the economy of upkeeping the luxurious lives of hundreds of noble houses and thousands of social elites… all of it was a festering wound, a leech on Cybertron’s body, draining lives and lifeblood in taxes and tithes and trade regulations, a choke on the society kept largely unawares.

“Did you know that for the price of a glass of triple refined in Iacon you can rent an apartment in Rodion for a month?”

A sigh in response. “Please tell me this is not your choice of a greeting for the evening” His attache passed the datapad with highlighted files over. “We’re not here to criticize their blend choices, or frankly, anything whatsoever.”

Megatron looked with disdain at the vaguely familiar faces and designations “ I am not new to this dance, Sixshot. What are we offering them?”

“New mining ventures at Terzo-9 and Caruza, approximate 20 milion shanix each in yearly revenue, deals with the refineries in Helex and your charming presence at the soirees for the season.”

“Couldn’t we just blackmail them? I’m sure I saw reports on after hours activities of members of Proteus House in our borders just last week” He loathed Proteus, Megatron was sure he’d strangle the mech if he’d have to spend a day in his presence.

“And so did everyone else in the administration, we do not have a way in yet.” Sixshot adjusted the ceremonial sash attached to his shoulder plates with a frustrated expression

“ I'm sure if you take Soundwave along we’d have more luck.”

Megatron tried to imagine Soundwave holding a dainty engex flute in a garden, surrounded by debonair aristocracy and chuckled “He’ll quit for real this time and I wouldn't blame him. Besides, Proteus hates carriers, his late conjunx ran away with one.”

“Nothing to do with esteemed Senator sticking his spike in every orifice from Iacon to Praxus, I’m sure”

Megatron actually barked a laugh at this one “Ha, is that your idea of a polite conversation then?”

Sixshot’s eyes crinkled with mirth “Took you out of fuming over budgeting, didn't I?”

“Governor of Kaon Tri-Polity, Megatron of Tarn and his attache Sixshot of House Baccus!” Announcer’s voice carried with a slight echo over the ballroom hall, bouncing off the walls and getting lost in the draperies. Megatron might not have been a miner for a long time now, but he never got rid of the spatial infrasound hardware, he could tell the size of a hall, material make up and the size of a crowd with offlined optics and that awareness kept him well guarded through the years against surprise assassins and media reporters alike.

Stepping into the hall, it took half a second to adjust his optics to the multicolor brightness spilling from chandeliers and crystal fixtures hanging from the ceiling, lighting it up brighter than a midday sun. His financial subroutines spun anxiously, eager to provide budget approximates for the illumination.

“Shockwave on our six” Sixshot murmured behind him, just in time for Megatron to arrange his features into polite deference.

“Governor! What joy to have you with us this evening! Not a minute ago I was recalling a tale of your combatant youth to my dear friend over here, Conix of House Sherma, I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet you in person!”

If one were to translate Shokwave’s thespian greeting it’d mean “I am threatening this idiot with your reputation and would like you to play along, as a friend”

“Charmed to make an acquaintance.” Megatron extended his hand and smiled with a slight bow of the head, flashing the fangs. “The road here left me positively ravenous for good company.”

The noble’s face first flushed with color then drained once he noticed the fangs. “ I.. I must be excused, there’s a call that requires my attention” and with a hurried and barely polite nod he disappeared among the crowd.

Megatron turned his gaze to Shockwave with an easy smile and an arched brow “Was it the one about chewing through the spine of a hexbeast?”

Shockwave brought his almost empty glass to the lips, without losing a smile “ Helps as a warning for those who stick their necks where they do not belong. Wouldn't guessed you’d show up this year, what gives?”

Megatron scanned the crowd in search of a glass tray, he’d need something strong to weather the evening. “You know how much I like making new friends, my dear Shockwave.”

Shockwave waved to somebody on the side, not glancing in Megatron’s direction but heeding the words “ You shouldn't worry, the percentage of voters is projected at steady 26%, you’ll keep your office. If they see you squirm you’d be eaten alive.”

Megatron snatched a glass of something violently green, crumbled minerals adorning the rim and whispered “I heard a rumour Decimus has been friendly with Proxima lately. Friendly enough to sponsor her campaign.”

Shokwave hummed thoughtfully then shifted his attention to Sixshot “How is your sire fairing? Would you like to stroll with us and say hi?”

“I appreciate the chance, Senator” Sixshot slightly bent at the waist and extended his hand to the side: “Senator Ratbat should be in the lounge”

The lounge at the Primal Estate was just as decadent as the ballroom, with plush, low and definitely organic sofas gathered in circles around the delicate braziers glowing with a soft blueish light, unnecessary for the carefully curated temperature through the estate, but, judging from the aroma - loaded with chemical cocktail of vaguely legal substances. Megatron’s olfactory receptors itched, adding to the low level annoyance that’s been clinging to him all evening.

The lighting is sparse here, and so are the crowds, murmurs travel between couches accompanied by servants with a pearlescent and delicate plating, same model, artisan cold constructed frames. Downcast optics, silent steps. Megaron feels the urge to set this room ablaze. Instead he schools his features into a pleasant half-smile and follows his aide to the back of the lounge to a slightly raised daise where he can see Ratbat with his retinue.

“Governor! I trust you’ve been caring well for my boy!” Ratbat sways a bit as he raises his glass to the newcomers.

“He does a commendable job of caring for me, Senator” Another bow, another smile, then a slow turn to greet Ratbat’s company. “Senator Proteus, Senator Drossel, I am delighted to greet you this evening, would you mind if I shared the warmth of this fire with you?”

Proteus held his gaze for a long moment, enough to read as a warning as much as acknowledgement and then nodded. “Your company is welcome, Governor. I trust you’ve avoided the traffic on the way to the party, commute to Iacon has been somewhat dreary lately.” An opening move of a game, Megatron recognized. Proteus knew he flew there on a private cab, as much as Megatron knew that Proteus never set a tire on the city street in his life.
“No trouble at all, besides the view was worth it, the gleam of the crown jewel of Cybertron is an enchanting sight by dusk.”

“Indeed it is” Proteus stroked Drossel’s thigh that languidly lay in his lap. “You should visit us in the Fractal Ridge Manor someday, the view from up there is the best on the planet.” It was, Megatron was sure, since it overlooked energon storages and crystal fields that were filled by the efforts of all city-states.

“I’d be pleased to accept the invitation, I’m sure esteemed Senator has an impeccable taste in real estate all over the galaxy” Megatron took another glass off the tray of a passing servant, something frizzy and pink, and smelling sweet enough to corrode his tank and passed it to Drossel with the most charming smile he could conjure.

Proteus looked lightheartedly amused, that was good. His temper and rancour had a reputation of their own. “Perhaps there’s places among the stars that I have yet to appreciate, Governor.”

“I’m sure I can recommend a couple.” Megatron risked a wink, excessive familiarity might sour his attempts but, constructing an image of a thoroughly decadent buffoon most of the senate seemed to wear like a second skin could lower Proteus wariness.

“Hha! Now I’m sure Decimus must be sorely mistaken on your assessment, my dear.” Proteus rolled his head backwards as if having a laugh at his own private joke.

Blast, of course Decimus managed to negotiate with him before Megatron did, but the conversation was not over yet, “Oh? I’m impressed he found time to pay attention to me with how close he’s gotten with Reversionists lately. They do have all these elaborate prayers to busy themselves with.”
Proteus sighed, “Yes, that is unfortunate. I still remember how we snuck in a Vosian parlor together, during our academy days, a shame to see a mech changing his ways at the zenith of their age. His protege, Proxima? You must have heard of her, swore her spark to Eternal Flame. Such a shame, a smart bot like her could have made any mech very happy. ”

This was way too forward, phantom needles prickled at the back of Megatron’s neck. He was not sure how to reply, so he just nodded thoughtfully and waited for Proteus to continue.

“You see, Megatron, I’ve been worrying a lot about my household lately, three sons without their carrier and their sire - a senator of my caliber, have been lacking in a steadying presence. And while the eldest ones are well on their way to become crown jewels of the society, my youngest would benefit from a conjunx he could devote himself to.”

Megatron was definitely out of depth and felt like the conversation that started as a dance veered into one sided artillery barrage.

“You seem like a proper mech, Megatron, a governor, with a second term in the office steadily approaching’ Proteus eyes squeezed with sudden sharpness “ I would like you to join in Primus with Prowl of House Proteus.”

Chapter Text

Megatron forced another smile, “It would be the greatest honour to care for your offspring, senator.”

The rest of the evening went like a blur, he tried to keep attention on the conversations and faces, keep the relaxed posture and jovial appearance, even joined Shockwave on the dancefloor for a spin and yet, his mind was racing circles around Proteus' proposal. Declining it outright would have meant a political death, an insult flung in the face of the High Senator, His House and probably Iacon altogether, if the media got involved.

His career has been built on many compromises but, he never imagined he’d have to leverage his own spark to get where he wanted. Once upon a time, he’d have rather died than give away his freedom. Once upon a time, on a gladiatorial ring he was ready to start the revolution and drag the planet into a new age bloody and bruised, but things changed and he changed with them. Kaon was no longer a lawless scrap heap disguised as a town, since his election - every waking hour has been spent thinking of ways to make his promises come true: housing for all, fair wages, access to better energon and support to the local ventures. Everything painstakingly built over five centuries was precariously balanced against his re-election. Proxima, his opponent, was not the kind of mech he could surrender to, her platform captured the minds of the common folks and elites with wishy-washy promises of care and spiritual improvement as if she was Primus walking, and that was the last thing Kaon needed. Kaon was industry, innovation, factories and mines, scientists and engineers, a city of makers, not dreamers. What Kaon needed was to never be ignored again and Megatron would make sure of that.

Their journey home was silent and brooding, Sixshot stole glances in his direction, as if trying to find a way to start a conversation, but Megatron stared silently into the window not willing to engage in one. Ceremonial paint itched on his plating, he wanted nothing more than to violently tear it off and punch something. “Call Soundwave and Strika, I don't care what time it is. Meeting in the Citadel upon our arrival.”

Sixshot nodded and turned to his internal comms, taking his attention elsewhere and left Megatron to his own devices. He was a good mech, solid and reliable, if not for his lack of ambition Megatron would have urged him to aim for a senate seat of his own. He was a second of five heirs to House Bacchus, stuck between power and obscurity, with decent successes in the Military Academy and no obvious vices, but Megatron knew him long enough to suspect that beyond the decent facade, the real Sixshot would be much happier with a blaster in hand on the rim of a known space.

He sparred with Sixshot whenever he had the chance, it was a sight to behold, the way calm and collected mech shifted into a predator mindset, intense and unrelenting, something base stirred in recognition in Megatron, though he’d never gave in to the urges, Sixshot deserved more respect than that. Megatron wondered if this Prowl was much of a fighter, or, most likely like the rest of his house - a dainty noblemech who never broke a sweat in his life. And with that thought his mood plummeted again.

When they entered the conference room in the Citadel, Soundwave nodded in acknowledgement and Strika was snoring loud enough to rattle the windows. Megatron scraped the floor with a chair next to her and fell upon it with a thud.

Strika shook her head with a rattle as if there’s been a bolt rolling loose “Unicron’s aft, I’m awake. How’d the party go?”

Megatron shot her a sour look, “I’m getting married apparently. To one of the Proteus’ brats.”

Strika guffawed with a deep ex-vent and then abruptly stopped “You’re not joking?”

“No. His name is Prowl.” Megatron shot a look at Soundwave “It was your idea I’d attend. What now?”

Soundwave stared somewhere beyond Megatron’s helm for a second as if the new information and all its potential outcomes was integrating into his processes. “Unexpected development, Proteus might be more worried about us than he lets on.”

Strika snorted “Sending his own kid as a spy? Too shrewd for a barrelcase like him.”

Sixshot hummed in assent “Decimus talked to him before us, might be some powerplay we are collateral to.”

Another rumble, this time more angry in tone, from Strika “ Not the first time Kaon has been dragged into their prancing. What do we even have on that Prowl guy?”

“Third son of Proteus, records show two thousand of age… that’s it” Soundwave dragged up a screen skimming through the public database, almost annoyed. “No images or news, no record of education or service. He exsists and that’s all we know about him.”

Megatron frowned “Highly unusual, we know where his siblings dined last week and nothing on him?”

Soundwave’s hand flew over the console “There is …more. Records of acquisition, state database shows that Prowl has been the one to purchase property for Proteus house for the last thousand vorns.”

“So he’s what? A reclusive accountant of theirs? Seems more and more like a spy to me.” Strika frowned. “Or maybe something is wrong with him. Wrong enough to wipe his existence.”

Sixshot perked up then. “Megatron, there’s an incoming transmission from House Proteus. Through official channel”

“Put it on screen’

The space above the conference table lit up with a chime and showed a long list of data scrolling through which ended with a volumetric scan of a mech standing straight. Black and white cruise vehicle build, with doorwings perpendicular to the frame and a bumper that could raise optical ridges, no decorations save for a red chevron on the head, reminiscent of the one Proteus had.

Soudwave angled his head “This is Prowl.”

Strika squinted and fiddled with the controls on the table to enlarge the scan to his face. “ He does look a bit like Proteus, but less idiotic. Very plain for a noble, no wonder he’s nowhere on the records, he looks like half of Iaconian population.” She raised a finger and poked the hologram in the head “My bet is he’s a spy”

Megatron said, calculating “ There’s no way Proteus knows about our venture. We don’t keep records, the sites are isolated and monitored. Nobody beyond this room knows what we are doing.”

Strika shifted his gaze on him “ We do keep everything very proper, don't we? Perhaps suspiciously so.”

Megatron didn't deign it with an answer, getting rid of a drug trade was the point where he set his foot on, and he would not change his opinion no matter what. “The numbers, Soundwave, what are those?”

“Technical aspects, plating density, engine power, processor capacity…” Soundwave paused and looked slightly embarrassed “ Spark yield and valve limits.”

Megatron grimaced “Do they think I’m buying a freighter here?”
“Apparently so” Soundwave scrolled the documentation down “ This is the bonding contract, if you put your personal signature here then the deed is done. No ceremony needed.”

He sifted through data with practiced ease, fluctuations in the market, news reports, criminal records, everything that’s been happening in Iacon has been laid bare before him. The acquisitions have been set in motion and his network buzzed contentedly, devouring every data packet available, comparing it with others and slotting into the proper space in the grand matrix of his design. Prowl felt content, as he always did when the numbers aligned with his predictions and any external disturbances were within parameters.

“Hello Prowl, I’m home!” Front door, spark signature confirmed, he slowly brought the lights in the hall to a calculated comfortable twilight setting.

“Welcome home, sire.” He used one speaker to the left of Proteus, his sire was always annoyed when he spoke from multiple ones at once. “How was the event?”

“Good, very good” Scans indicated Proteus body temperature was slightly elevated, likely the result of imbibed substances and interfacing activity. No visible damage save for the cuff marks on his hip plating and races of lubricant. Prowl immediately sent a note to Proteus' current detailer to come by in the morning.

“I’d like to have a serious conversation with you, if you dont mind.” Proteus pushed past the sliding crystal doors into the gallery salon of the mansion and fell into a plush master chair. “You remember Sentinel, dont you? A big mech, cute wings, I’ve entertained him here several times”

“I do sire” Prowl sent a fresh coolant cube on a rolling table within a grabbing distance of Proteus.

“You know, once your carrier ran away with that casette whore, I’ve been so, oh so lonely.” Proteus knocked the coolant cube down his throat. “I’ve decided it was time to rectify that. You see, Sentiel is a very straight mech, very thorough, fucks like a drill sergeant in heat.” Proteus giggled “I wish to conjunx him”

“Congratulations, sire. I hope your union will bring you joy.”Prowl pulled Sentinel's dossier to the front of his mind. Planetary defence, Admiral, several dismissed cases of substance abuse and news articles about his temper. Public perception – positive on the whole.

“That’s the thing though, Prowl.” Proteus sighed “If I were to marry him I don't have to have any little secrets that might spook poor Sentinel, you’ve been very good to me, but…”

Proteus toasted to the ceiling “Prowl, how would you like to have a body and a conjunx?”

Having a body again was disorienting at the very least. Attaching his systems to a limited hardware felt like trying to squeeze something big and complex and writhing through a tiny hole and expect it to stay there. His chronometer for example, it used to synchronise with universal Iacon Time, project time dilation between hypergates on several colonies and update every second. Now, it was just a number, ticking away at the back of his helm, just for him.

The doctor Proteus called was the same one who once upon a time installed him in the High House, Pharma, and he did a commendable job, less than an hour and all of his world shifted from a sprawling network of servers to a spark and a brain, back in the mech he was born as. Proteus wanted to call for a special frame, design something more grandiose, but Prowl felt no need, there was no connection to this body, and however long he’s going to reside in it, it was going to be temporary.

Emotional subroutines, a shift, something felt different now. He was never good at decrypting them but, perhaps this was sadness or longing. He looked down at his servos, the fingers bent one after another. Prowl missed his servers.

He sat up, observing the room his body was placed in – solid grey in color, no windows, one ceiling light, from this angle it took him some time to recognize this as a storage room for incoming packages, in the left wing of the High House, ground floor. Floor. He’s supposed to walk now, with his pedes. Prowl shifted his weight, he did not miss having a gyroscope.

One pede after another touched the ground with a clank, solid steel.

He took a step, then another, then stopped. There was a door he would have to go through.

He sent a ping to open it, the door stayed motionless. He sent another, and it bounced back.
There was a new sensation buzzing in his helm, like a white noise enveloping his brain module from the sides, it was not a pleasant one, he could feel his TacNet spinning, looking for a way out, for data to hold onto but there was none. His sensor input told him nothing about the amount of bots in the house or weather outside, no news reports or stock exchanges flowing in. His fans clicked on and Prowl realized he was overheating.

There was a knock on the door, Prowl’s brain latched onto the sound, analyzing it’s depth and reverb, door thickness and height of the knocker and the white noise receded.

“Prowl, are you ready in there?” Proteus' voice rang with a shrill annoyance “I am leaving, your hovercab is outside. Say hello to Megatron from me!”

Prowl opened his mouth and it took a couple clicks to turn his vocaliser on, “ Yes, sire. I am coming.” The sound was unfamiliar and weird, as if a forgotten rusted instrument was lodged in his throat. There was no reply.

Prowl arrived to Kaon in the middle of the day, he’s seen image captures of the city in his feed, so looking at the window has not shown him anything surprising, but once the cab landed, his senses were attacked with a barrage of smells, sounds and images. A public parking lot before the Citadel, oil and electricity, honks and conversations, traffic, so much of it, the world around him was loud and aggressive and it took locking up his joints to avoid falling over. His TacNet was buzzing with all the new data pouring into it, cataloging the input like a starved mech drinking at the energon well. He wished he could stay here, among the crowds, for a whole day.

There was a mech, several feet from him, blue, visor and mask, carrier build. TacNet helpfully pulled up a file, Soundwave, Megatron’s [Conjunx| Owner] Chief of Staff. Prowl cast his optics down in a polite nod and stayed in a respectfully submissive pose, waiting to be talked to.

“Welcome to Kaon, Prowl of House Proteus.” Soundwave’s voice was… incredible. TacNet buzzed with excitement, several harmonies overlayed, as if the mech spoke with three different chords at once, all perfectly harmonized, Prowl had never heard anything like it. His decryption protocols were having a field day trying to place accent origin for each one.

“Governor Megatron is expressing his apologies for not being able to meet with you in person, he shall join you in the evening. I will show you to your quarters and answer any questions you might have.”

Prowl nodded again, Soundwave’s presence was a polite greeting, if a bit excessive. He would have expected somebody of the lower staff to meet him upon arrival, it was probably the respect Megatron showed to House Proteus.

“Follow me.” Soundwave turned away from the Citadel, a relic from the last Great War, now - a Governor’s residence and administration and went down the street.

“Does the Governor not reside in the Citadel, honored sir?”

Soundwave looked at him with puzzlement “Just Soundwave is fine. He does not, maintaining quarters - excessive. Megatron prefers to live among his people.”

Prowl nodded, the information was comparable to the public portrait of Megatron his TacNet has been assembling. Mech of the people, very public, unmatched winning streak in the Gladiator Arena and vocal public speaker, no legal record history. Public perception – overwhelmingly positive.

They moved in silence, Soundwave keeping a slow pace to let Prowl take in the sights. Kaon was certainly more lively than how Prowl had seen Iacon, every corner was filled with shops and restaurants, advertisements, neon and holographic peppered the streets, bots of all sizes and make up, so many industrial builds, were going about their business. If Prowl was alone it would take him hours to navigate his way through, yet the crowds parted before Soundwave with ease, people waving and exchanging greetings with him, barely sparing Prowl a glance.

Soundwave led him through the market square, to the front doors of a three story building at the center of it. “We have arrived, welcome to the Slag House.” Prowl looked up, the house was painfully purple and looked like it was here at least half as long as Citadel was, weather has not been kind to it, soot and dust was visible on the corners and the window stills.

“Slag House?” Prowl could not contain his puzzlement, no such building was listed as a government property in Kaon.

“Used to be a brothel, Megatron bought it after the last match in the Arena.” Something slightly shifted in Soundwave’s manner, the tone now seemed almost mocking. “The previous owner upscaled to a manor in Iacon.”

Prowl nodded, cataloguing the information. It was early to make any judgment but, a chance his presence was unwelcome went to 57%. He followed Soundwave inside.

“First floor is open, the dining and lounge area, sleeping quarters are on the second floor, and the third is private to Megatron.” Soundwave gestured towards a staircase. “I will send an aide to the cab to pick up your belongings.”

Prowl held up a hand “I appreciate the help but there is no need. I have not brought anything with me.”

With every minute in his company, Prowl’s TacNet picked up more and more ques on Soundwave’s behaviour, his guide was much more reserved than Proteus or his friends, but he was still easy to read. Now, his plating shifted tighter and visor a degree brighter than before - an unease? discomfort? Having no possessions should have made integrating Prowl into the household easier, so the reaction must have been because Soundwave hoped to glean something about him while delivering them.

Prowl performed an apologetic nod, lowering his doorwings “Most of my possessions are digital and if there’s a console I could have access to - this would be all I need.”

“There’s one on the third floor, but the access there would be for Megatron to grant” Soundwave said, “I shall inquire about installing another one in your quarters of choice”

“Thank you” Prowl turned his gaze towards the dining area. “I do not wish to keep you from your busy work any longer, Soundwave”

There was a terse pause, then Soundwave inclined his head, “Congratulations on your bonding, Prowl.” And stepped outside.

Chapter Text

A trip to the new state of the art ore processing factory in Helex was supposed to be a jovial one, Megatron was deeply invested in it’s construction, personally inviting engineers from Crystal City to take part in it’s conception, several years in funding has been pulled to support its construction and it’s been an arduous culmination of thousands of bots work, and yet. 

There was a stranger in his house right now, who was considered his conjunx, and Megatron kept imagining him bugging the place, looking behind every closed door and peeling paneling off walls in search of something to send back to Proteus. Or maybe it was a terrified kid crying his optics out, who never stepped foot from his home and wanted nothing more than to run back home. Either way, this Prowl was an unknown entity and Megatron had little patience for ambiguity. 

Purple and green chemist in front of him, Mixmaster, was it? Was excitedly talking about acid based wielding and Megtron maintained a thoughtful expression. “Commendable work” he picked a safe thing to say, to avoid making a fool of himself and strode forward. 

“I’m sure Soundwave has it under control” Sixshot murmured as they passed over the converter belt happily chugging raw ore below them. 

“I dont need reassurances” Megatron rumbled “ I shall make an opinion of him myself.”

“As you should” Sixshot nodded in affirmation “ But we’ll disappear the body if he tries something funny.”

“Back so soon?” Srika poked her head inside Soundwave’s cabinet. “Don’t you have noble’s trinkets to sift through?”

Illuminated by dozens of screens, Soundwave sat in his nest of wires and half-disassembled hardware, typing at the console with more force than necessary. “I dont. He has no belongings. No questions. He called me ‘Esteemed Sir’.” 

“Hmmm. is it too late to arrange an electric malfunction and blow up a hole in Meg’s house in the shape of a guy?” Strika was joking, at least partially. 

She pushed inside Soundwave’s space and leaned against an unfortunate table that creaked precariously under her weight, “Can you pull up the feed from the Slag House here? Let’s take a look at what he’s up to.”

Soundwave enlarged one of the feeds that was already open, no doubt needing no urging to keep an eye on Megatron’s guest. Strika squinted and scratched under the optic. “What is he?.. Is he cooking?”

“Apparently so. Was doing that ever since I left him” Soundwave fell back into the chair with annoyance. “Highly suspicious behavior.” 

“Indeed so, I had no idea Megatron had a compressor stove.” 

“He didn't, Prowl dragged it from the storage behind the bookshelf.” Soundwave zoomed in on the lounge where said bookshelf was shoved to the side revealing a door.

“Didn’t know there was one there either.” Strika frowned.

“Neither did I. Must have been left by the previous owner.” Soundwave nodded. “Highly suspicious behaviour.”

“Well, keep watching then, I shall be patrolling the neighborhood with Blackout, send me a ping if you want me to arrange the explosion then” Strika patted his chair and walked out.

There was no police or senate guard in Kaon, several careful reforms from Megatron forced the precincts to close down under the pretense of budget deficiency, what was there instead was a network of community citizen militia under Strika and independent investigators under Soundwave. To the surprise of no one concerned - crime rate dwindled down to a trickle once bots living in Kaon felt the responsibility and power to influence the space around them. It was still an imperfect system that was carefully balanced against personal involvement and odd hours and faced all kinds of outside threats, but it was better than what it was before, and it was all that mattered. 

Prowl finished arranging the crystals together on the last plate and set it down on the table. He was not aware of Megatron’s preferences so he scoured the shelves for any ingredients he could find and prepared an array of gels and solids in an approximation of what Proteus usually had when he invited guests. 

Slag House’s dining room was an odd sight, he found a stove in a storage covered in dust and all the cabinets were filled with mismatched cookware and occasional datapads, a long solid onyx table in the center was flanked by chairs of different sizes and wear, as if brought by various unseen inhabitants of the home. There was a comfortable level of chaos that his TacNet appreciated, every corner of the house had something distinct and unique about it from scratches around the front door as if somebody tried to shove a fanged beast through it to the firepit littered with spent cy-gar heads. 

The chair at the head of the table had silver paint transfers on it the most and foam padding compressed so often it retained the shape of it’s owner. He ran his fingers over the back of it and brought it to his olfactory sensors. simple polish, strong metal smell, traces of oil and dust, fascinating. Prowl pushed a smaller one, more compatible with his size next to it and sat waiting. 

He did not mind sitting alone for a while, his day was eventful as it is and he busied himself with rearranging protocols and subroutines that got left dangling once he entered this body. He shall have to get by however long without data access and having his frame seize up whenever his brain felt like projecting a probability matrix was not going to do it. 

There was also the question of his interfacing protocols, they were very unhelpfully tied to his emotional subroutines and those never worked as Prowl wanted them to. Untangling the strings of code to make the operation manual was harder than he imagined. If his [Conjunx|Owner] desired to consummate his acquisition Prowl might have to rely on simulating the behaviour of Proteus’s guests. Unfortunate, they were very loud, Prowl did not have that much faith in his vocaliser.

The thought about them did nothing for his emotional subroutines besides making him slightly anxious. His sire acted in the best interests of the House and Prowl had no authority to question that, he even put requests for hiring additional staff upon his departure. The transfer period would still be an unknown variable and being unable to oversee that projected a sub-optimal net loss for the household. 

He was a part of a new household now and should learn the best way to adapt himself to it, there were many unknown parameters he has yet to discover and all he could do is wait.

Five hours later, when the sounds of the market outside lowered to murmurs and clinks and daylight was replaced by warm electric glow in the windows he heard the heavy steps approaching the front door.

Prowl hurriedly stood up and assumed the formal bow in front of the threshold.

Megatron would be the first to admit he tried to avoid going home as long as he could, Soundwave was not much of a help and Strika only grunted noncommitedly in his comms, he sifted through his inbox but his optics stared through every document, so when Sixshot offered to share a drink for good luck – he ended up spinning tall tales about his gladiator days until midnight. A good mech, but even Sixshot started pointedly looking in the directions of his house after a while. 

“Strika is a district away at Obsidian’s joint.” Sixshot said, eventually “ And I’ll be at the plaza for a little while, have to check that market you have on your porch, some good rust sticks out there.”

“I just told you about peeling titanium shells off a vorpal beast and you think I need back up with my own conjunx?” Megatron rolled his eyes but stepped away from the bar stand, leaving a fistful of shanix behind.

“You dont, but as an attache of yours I’d like to be near if there’s some media bomb was about to drop.” Sixshot shrugged “ And help you hide the body.”

They walked together until the plaza, with a wave of a hand, Sixshot veered to a stall with a dozing cassette behind it, neon sign blinking about twelve flavors of something and he headed to the looming dark silhouette of his home. He felt somewhat conscious about the purple paint, Strika’s surprise on the election day, no doubt Proteus’s kid had opinions about it. No sense in putting it off any longer, Megatron pulled his resolve together and confidently strode forward and opened the door.

He didn't know what he was expecting, a bolt to the spark perhaps? But certainly not this, just beyond the porch there was a mech, folded in half, prostrated on the floor, with hands tucked below him and doorwings standing perfectly straight. “What.”

The mech on the floor responded after a pause. “ Welcome home, honored conjunx, I, Prowl of House Proteus is at your disposal now and forever.” 

Megatron stared. The mech on the floor was not moving as if waiting for his response. Thoughts and emotions raced in Megatron’s buzzing head fast enough to induce a helmache. “Stand up.” He eventually croacked.

The mech rose in a swift motion without straightening his back.

Megatron squinted,“Look at me.” 

The mech finally straightened, hands at his side, perfect copy of a hologram he first saw him as, perfectly still, face blank. Megatron heard Soundwave’s “Very suspicious behavior” phrase he dropped earlier today bounce about his brain. Suspicious does not mean hostile, Megatron decided and thrust forward a hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Prowl.” Megatron’s hand was hanging there between them and Prowl shifted his optics between it in his face for a moment.  “You shake it, that’s what bots do when they enter a partnership.”

The mech before him extended both of his hands and tentatively raised and lowered Megatron’s hand without breaking eye contact. Megatron felt the unfamiliar urge to turn his back and run out of his own home. 

Eventually Prowl said “ I have prepared a meal for you, honored conjunx, I would appreciate your honest evaluation on a decimal scale so that I may adjust in the future according to your tastes.”

Megatron frowned “Drop it.” Prowl immediately let go of his hand and put his arms back straight against his sides. “No, I meant the ‘honored conjunx’, I do not wish to be addressed this way.” 

Prowl lowered his head “Duly noted, Governor, sir.”

“Just Megatron, no honorifics, please.” Every second of this conversation plunged Megatron further down into a surreal spiral of unfamiliarity. This behavior was nothing like Proteus, nor any other noble he knew, was this a joke at his expense or this mech was raised by a pile of outdated etiquette datafiles? 

“You’ve made a meal, then? My apologies, I fueled already. I was not expecting dinner.” Megatron looked to the side at the dining room and there it was, a feast, enough for a cohort, of all shapes and sizes arranged as if he was at the Solus’ Eve banquette. Some nagging strand in his mind prompted him to ask, “Have you fueled, Prowl?”

Prowl tried to look down but caught himself in time and returned his gaze to Megatron “My fuel reserves are at safe level, it is impolite to fuel without primary conjunx.”

Megatron forced a smile. “Okay, let’s sit down, I’ll try what you made if you promise to fuel to optimal level, alright? And we’ll talk.”

Prowl cocked his head to the side and slightly frowned as if there were monumental calculations passing through his head, and replied “ Acceptable, let us proceed.”

Megatron stared down in front of him, there were three utensils at each side of his plate, perfectly parallel to each other, polished to a shine, were there always tiny crowbar shaped forks in his house? And was that tungsten layered cakes? Primus save him. If anything, Megatron decided, this Prowl person could run a bakery, with pastry skills like those Kaon would welcome him with open arms. 

Megatron stole a glance at his companion who took one of the cakes and started to disassemble it into separate layers on his plate, carefully scrubbing crystals into a pile, energon slices apart from tungsten cream. Precise and careful like a surgeon, watching Prowl operate on a pastry with a knife put a level of unease in Megatron’s brain.

 “Why do you do that? It’s a perfectly fine cake.” Megatron demonstrated just so by taking a solid bite out of it, he’ll take the chances of it being poisoned. 

“I appreciate your assessment” Prowl continued staring at the cake “ It is a personal preference, I have… difficulty processing mixed flavors, they are too complex for me to fully appreciate. “ He slightly frowned then “I hope this slight does not reflect on my evaluation as a conjunx.” 

Megatron retained the impression he was being made fun of, in his own home so he raised an eyeridge with a reply:  “Remains to be seen.”

Prowl nodded “I shall practice intaking mixed particles then, your feedback is noted.” With that, he shoved all the carefully separated layers into a huge pile, stuck a fork in the thick of it and pushed it in his mouth.

“I was joking, Prowl” Megatron looked at his companion, his plating locked up and stiff movements of his hand, clearly uncomfortable, with slight terror in his eyes, “You can eat whenever and whatever you like.”

Prowl carefully put down the fork and opened his mouth “...kzzrkk…co… correction noted.”

Megatron leaned forward, almost ready to call the emergency medic line but after a moment Prowl seemed to be fine and went back to separating the layers into neat piles.

“So, Prowl, forgive me for prying, but could you tell me about yourself?” Megatron stared warily as he pushed another cake unto his plate. “Your sire was not very forthcoming with information about you, and there are no records about your pursuits in public database. I’m sure you are aware that the conjunx contract was a negotiated deal, but, it does not mean I wish to limit your engagements or influence your personal life, but I need to know what they were.”

Prowl cocked his head to the side once again in thought, Megatron sensed that this was not a schooled gesture but a personal one and made a note. “ I was in charge of House of Proteus estates and actives, coordination and acquisition of property.” There was a slight frown again, Megatron noted it as well “Now that I am no longer part of his household I do not have access to the operations.”

“Well” Megatron looked around the house “ This is the only property I have. I purchase my own fuel and my personal funds are, let’s just say, nowhere near Proteus level.”  

Prowl seemed deep in thought for a moment. “ Would you like to expand your finances? I am adept at predicting fluctuations in the stock market.” 

Megatron regarded him with new depth of incredulity  “Is it something you do as a hobby then? I do not wish to force undesirable work upon you.”

His companion looked down upon the neat piles on his plate. “It is something I was content with.”

Megatron considered himself quite adept at reading people and so these small words rang of real longing to him. 

He put his hand on top of Prowl’s and regarded him with the warmest smile he could muster  “ I will help you find a job you’ll be truly happy at.”

Prowl raised his head and stared directly into Megatron’s eyes for a long moment before uttering:

“Do you wish to perform a consummate interface with me?”

Chapter Text

“Do you wish to perform a consummate interface with me?” Prowl said with a seriousness akin to an investigator inquiring about his alibi at the time of a crime. 

The thread of understanding started to slip through Megatron’s fingers. He answered with all the grace of a turbofox caught in the headlights: “Do I have to?”

“It is customary,”Prowl started to nod but then paused. “But not specified in the acquisition contract, once you have placed your signature I was legally transferred to your household. If this is a service you desire me to provide, I would require a prior notice to set up accordingly.”

“The bonding contract, why do you call it the acquisition? ” Megatron ventured, his experience dealing with diplomats and corporation sharks was ringing several alarms in his head for a while now, his tone turned to a growl.  “Prowl, are you aware you could have declined the bonding proposal? I was under the impression you’ve arrived here voluntarily.” 

“I did, yes. My sire no longer required my services and was graceful enough to provide an alternative. If I did not wish to come I could have simply shut my systems down.” Prowl shrugged as if it was something entirely mundane and obvious.

Black hands gripped the table hard enough to send small cracks running across it’s surface. All the incredulity and confusion in Megatron’s spark was overwhelmed by fury, at Prowl and his compliance, at Proteus, at Iacon at large. How was it possible that at this day an age there was a mech who thought that his only options were slavery or death? Functionism was a long gone rhetoric, there were no Primes, no castes, yet there Prowl was. Was it the noble house drivel that clouded his mind? Megatron was going to get to the bottom of it, but for now…

“Prowl, as my conjunx, you are no longer bound to the acquisition that got you here. You are a citizen of Kaon now, and every one of us are beholden to the same laws. You are not to call me honored or sir and you will not bow and scrape before me, and you most definitely not to offer your frame. You shall learn how to be a fully functional citizen or I will annul the bonding, Proteus be damned. Am I understood?” By the end of his speech Meatron’s voice was loud enough to bounce off the walls of the hall. 

His conjunx was sitting calmly without flinching, watching Megatron rise out of his chair with every word. Once the speech was over, he heaved in silence staring at Prowl. There was a nod and a flicker in his eyes, the smaller mech opened his mouth as if to say something and before he had the chance to, the light in his optics was gone and Prowl fell sideways on the floor before Megaton’s pedes.

He dropped to the floor, carefully cradling the body of his guest, still and unmoving but, warm to the touch, too warm. Without taking his optics off Megatron commed Sixshot  “Get Flatline here, immediately.”

“Got it, boss.” He didn't have to explain anything, from the outside came the muted roar of space grade engines firing up in full force.

“What’s wrong with him?” Megatron loomed at the doorway, frame and field prickly and on edge. Prowl was laid out on his berth, tiny and still, limbs splayed unnaturally, over him, surrounded with whirring diagnostic equipment, Flatline, Kaon’s chief medic, hovered deep in thought. 

“I am not sure” Flatline passed a scanner over Prowl’s frame again “ His frame is in perfect condition, too perfect even.” 

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no stress lines on the joints, no microfissures on the edges. Frankly I would say his body was forged less than a vorn ago if I had not seen his assembly date.”

“Then why is he offline? We were having a conversation and then he just..” Megatron remembered the flicker, the tumble “fell.”

The medic took out the diagnostic cable out of his wrist “ It might be the processes, his brain module is overheated and pulling up energy from the whole frame. May I?” Flatline looked at Megatron with an unspoken question as he flicked the cranial port on the base of Prowl’s neck.

Governor grimaced, but nodded in consent.“Proceed.”

Flatline sheathed his cable into the socket and immediately fell to the knees. “Oh!”

“What, what is it?” Megatron took half a step into the room, ready to do something, anything.

The medic shuddered in visible shock but kept the connection on “...I, I can't get in. Too fast, aggressive firewalls. Something, something is happening to his code! Never seen anything like it! It’s as if he’s rewriting himself in real time, not patches, everything, all at once. Primus..!” 

Flatline broke the connection with a gasp, his cable flying with sparks following “He broke through the medical line… he almost started rewriting me too. Megatron, what is he?”

The room was silent for a while.

“My conjunx.”

He descended back to the dining room where Sixsot was leaning with avid interest over the remains of the disastrous dinner. “How is he?”

“Unresponsive so far.” Megatron dropped into the chair at the head of the table and picked up a crusted roll between his fingers. “Tell me, Sixshot, noble conjuxing, is it a voluntary deal?”

Sixshot shrugged, plucking a piece of pastry as well. “Sort of, yes? It’s more about the merging of actives than personal connections, romance is rarely involved, most of the couples I know don't even live in the same towers? Hellbat, for example haven't set foot on cybertron ever since conjunxing Blue Bacchus and is having a wonderful time operating that asteroid casino near Velocitron.”

“And what if, hypothetically” Megatron turned the roll this way and that, eerily calm, oil started to slowly drip down on his servo ‘What if one of the sides has no wealth to them?”

“Then the contract is drafted to ensure their presence is beneficial… to the receiving household.” Sixshot froze, pastry halfway in his mouth, eyes wide. “ But he is Proteus’s sparkling! He has to have billions and mansions and solar yachts.. and stuff!” 

“He was sold as a slave!” Megatron roared, flipping the table in rage. “20 million a year per mine! That’s what I bought him for!”

Sixshot gazed with concern at the pastry splashed across the floor. “Frag.” 

The directive issued by his primary conjunx was an unexpected one but a directive nonetheless. His protocols surged to life before he could reply and falling to the floor was an unfortunate result. No matter, he was given a task and the TacNet pushed everything to the side, eager to comply. Prowl receded into his mind and started to reorganize his code in accordance with the Kaon policy. His conjunx was right, there were no clauses regarding arranged bonding, no households to uphold or hierarchy to follow, the High House protocols were discarded and in their stead was placed the constitutional law. There was no duty of care in it, nor acquisition paradigms. The idea of independence and personal responsibility seemed very vague but the code threads were put in place, awaiting definition. 

Something outside the system was trying to access his code then. Prowl assumed he was linked to an external processing unit, but the second he tried to divert some of his network to the side - the connection was lost. Disappointing, it will take much longer then, he shall have to put the full defrag cycle after to let the reformatted code to settle.

“His processor activity settled, I think he’s recharging now.” Flatline came down the stairs to see Megatron sitting sullenly among the wreaked havoc and Sixshot pulling the cleaning drone out of the cupboard. “My shift at the medcenter starts in an hour, I can ask for somebody to cover me for the day, but” he spread his arms. “ I don't think there’s much I could do right now. Somebody should keep an eye on him though.”

“I’ll message Soundwave, some of his cassettes might be available.” Megatron rumbled without focusing his optics on anything.

“Don't you think you should be present when he wakes up?” Flatline scratched his chin in doubt. “You were the one to shout him into a coma, you know.”

“No.” Megatron kept staring unseeingly into the window where the early light of the morning slowly creeped into his city. “I fear I might do him worse.”

“As you say, Governor.” Flatline waved tiredly to Sixshot “ Give me a lift back?”

Prowl came online with a terrible headache. His TacNet was buzzing eagerly, ready to sort the new subroutines and start integrating the Citizen Protocol into his subconscious matrix, but the abrupt shutdown he performed yesterday was intensely taxing on his frame. Whatever energon reserves he had last night were all but burned to the last drops. He lifted himself off the berth and fell to the floor with a dull thud. Unfamilliar place, familiar scent, Prowl rolled to the side and surveyed the room, huge berth, stacks of datapads everywhere, chalices and belts on the wall. An avian mech on the floor in front of him, looking with vivid interest.

“Hello?..” Prowl croaked. The mech jumped forward and poked his hand with his beak. “Ow.”

“Not dead, good. Boss would have been disappointed.” The bird responded and jumped closer to his face. “Hello Prowl.”

“And you are?..” Prowl collected his limbs and pushed himself off the floor with caution. His helm was still pounding but the fall seemed to shock some of his gyros back to life.

“Buzzsaw, friend of Megatron.” The mech jumped on his pede.” There’s fuel downstairs, but you’ll have to go get it yourself, I’m bad with doors.”

“In a moment then.” Prowl stood up with a wobble. “Where’s… Megatron?”

“Boss guy is busy, always busy. Left early, made sure I’ll call him once you’re awake. Should I pass anything?” Buzzsaw hovered  around his head and settled after a spin on his shoulder. The contact sent shivers own Prowl’s arm. 

“No, not yet.” Prowl looked around the berthroom once more, TacNet taking in the dust, and datapads and empty cubes on the floor, and walked out.

The stairs posed a challenge but his spatial recognition and gyroscope cooperated by some miracle and he managed to reach the dining hall without falling over, all the while Buzzsaw was chatting about nonsensical things, seemingly oblivious to the slow descent Prowl was performing. It was a novel thought but, Prowl felt some level of appreciation towards avian cassette, TacNet happily placed the [Citizen|Comrade} tag upon him.

A simple dully glowing cube of energon and a smaller one with coolant was on the table with a datapad tucked under them. Prowl hurriedly swallowed both and turned on the pad. Designations and comm codes. 

Strika, head of citizen militia │  │█ █│█ █│  ││█│█│

Soundwave, chief of staff   ││█│█│  │││█  │█ █│

Sixshot, attache and intercity relations  █  │█ █│█  ││█ █  ││

Flatline, chief medic ││█ █  ││││█  │█│

Megatron │█ █  ││││█  │█││  │█ █│

I will return after dusk.

“What do you want to do now, Prowl?” Buzzsaw jumped off his shoulder and landed on the high chair. “ Show you around the district? Things to see, stores to browse. You have credits, yes?”

Prowl frowned, concerned. “I don't believe so, I never held any.”

“Not to worry, not to worry!” the avian mech pushed his beak under the wing and procured a chewed around the edges chip “I’ll bill it to Boss later!”

“No, please don't.” Prowl scowled “I will pay you back. As a matter of fact, I want to find work, can you help me do that?”

Buzzsaw cocked his head to the side, evaluating. “Aren’t you one of them nobles from Iacon? Plenty of work in Kaon but little of it pretty, pretty.”

Prowl shrugged and looked around, “I’m not in Iacon anymore, am I?”

Chapter Text

His spark was not in the work, not after the tumultuous night, the visitor, the realisation. Megatron scrolled through the import legislation back and forth, the numbers making little sense and wording seeming too obtuse than ever. He wrote the bulk of the document, but the words seem foreign as if constructed by some alien entity in a language he couldn't understand. He might have made a mistake.
He definitely made the mistake with Prowl. Why did he even think that an alliance with Proteus would come to anything good? The high senator was a menace, a spawn of Unicron in a politician’s skin, incapable of caring about another. The depth of his depravity bared to Megatron now was beyond anything he could have conceived, he was prepared to scheme and smile around the mech, pay for his support more than it was ever worth, but this… what does he even do with this?..

His comm pinged, Sixshot, worried. “Hey boss, are you online? Turn on the senate feed.” Megatron did just so.

The cameras were transmitting the weekly pre-assembly. Before any proposals were brought and discussed among the senators, this was a space that served as an open floor to any of the members of the senate to speak on the topics that should be of the public concern. Rarely anything important, the mumbling about traditions and holidays, gossip or callbacks to what was in the news, the floor was often taken by the minor senators or the chancellors of the major ones. This time though, the camera stared directly at the Proteus.

“My fellow senators and citizens, today, I would like to speak about the innovation and progress that’s been blooming before our very eyes. Two thousand vorns ago, I doubt we could have imagined the age of prosperity and safety we live in today, where citizens of all walks of life could enjoy the fruits of their labor. Where fair trade was operated within the cybertronian space and beyond, where the global galactic society would look to us as a model of a sane and progressive civilisation. In the age of the Primes we waged bitter wars on ourselves, the barren wastelands beyond the walls of our cities showed scars of our mistakes, how fast it all turned into shining crystal fields and silicate rivers when the difference between the city-states were pushed aside! Today, I want to remind us all that Iacon does not stand alone, the age of enlightenment was brought forth by the hard work of many, and one of the most shining examples of such individuals is the Governor of Kaon, Megatron of Tarn!”
Dissonant “Aye”s echoed from the screen. Proteus,smiling wide, continued showering Megatron with praise. He heard none of it, the ringing in his audials was deafening, he opened the comm line to Sixshot again. “Meet me in the training hall.”

There was no space for the finesse in today’s fight, Megatron wanted to hurt and be hurt back. He stalked in the center of the ring clenching and unclenching his fists restlessly until Sixshot silently assumed the position in front of him and dropped into the stance. No weapons today, they required control, and Megatron shed the last of it when he threw the punch. It passed hrough the air as his attache ducked to the side and countered with a swipe against his middle, aiming for the sensitive grill. He let it connect, sparks of pain – bright flashes of clarity in his fury-addled mind, grabbed Sixshot’s arm with both of his and with a shift of weight sent his opponent flying above his head. Velocity carried him towards the ground and with a half-step Megatron landed heavily on one knee, in time to see Sixshot springing back in his direction, fist aiming for his chin.

“Hrgk!..” More pain, neck snapping back, denta clenched tight, he could taste energon in the back of his throat. There is no space for thoughts in a fight like this, only instinct and survival, Sixshot, for all his noble upbringing - fought as if his life was on the line, teeth and claw.
He threw his leg and it connected with a satisfying crunch, Sixshot exhaling abruptly but taking the brunt. A knee flew into his side, he threw another punch. A snarl, a roar.

In the end, Sixshot claimed the victory in this one, if narrowly. Megatron laid on the ground, limbs splayed, optical feed glitching, bright flowers of pain blooming all over his body, watching his friend over him, swaying under his own weight, energon dripping off his knuckles. A moment of silence, he watched Sixshot shift back into his calm collected self and then extend his uninjured arm, “I pulled a few favors and got Proteus private comm. Let's sort this out.” He took it and pulled himself upright.

Prowl stepped onto the street with a certainty that was immediately lost on the sounds and visions of a busy Kaon day. The Citizen Protocol urged him to go out and find an occupation, get a job in… something. Anything. Preferably where he would be happy. His TacNet struggled with the concept of happiness, it was abstraction beyond profit ratios and executable models. There passed a huge bot carrying a stack of cargo boxes, was he happy? Or perhaps the cassette that sat on the beat up stall filled with colorful datasticks. Maybe the seeker who waved a bunch of flyers before passers-by, shouting something about a club.

“Your first time in Kaon, Prowl? Let me be the guide, I know where the best goods at!”

Buzzsaw eagerly jumped on his shoulder. “That’s a messy bar over here, minibots rave station, if you can believe it! Once got so rowdy they went about town flipping every tank-bot they could find!”

Prowl looked at the place in question, a violently green sign above the miniature door promised engex shots that exploded brains. “Is this a legal operation?”

“Nothing criminal about buncha folks having a good time, I say!” Buzzsaw squawked, “ And over there is them gamesrooms, really popular these days. Boss is not big on gambling but shooting fake things with fake guns is an art, a sport! Gotta try it sometime!”

Prowl nodded politely, but without conviction. “You said you could help me find a job, Buzzsaw.”

“Right, right! Got to fly by the Labor Rig then, talk to my guy! He’s in the know wherever folks are needed, got a keen eye for talent, he is! This way!”

They crossed the market square into a no less busy side street. A mech twice Prowl’s size was arguing with somebot in the second story window, a smell of crushed magnetite brew dragged behind a three wheel car, a two-headed femme walked past them, winking at him. Walking like this for several minutes, Prowl taking it all in and Buzzsaw pointing to places with a history more ludicrous than the one before, the city filling up his TacNet with information and analysis, until something caught his eye.

“What is happening over there?” Prowl pointed to a small crowd in front of a store, somebody arguing in loud tones.

“Oh, that’s Rattrap’s place! Him sells what he calls “ reclaimed antiques” but if you ask my opinion, a bunch of junk, that’s what!” Buzzsaw flew above his head for a spin and landed back. “There’s Blackout with him, from Militia, some trouble brewing I think, best walk by fast, fast!”

“No, I would like to see.” Prowl stepped into the crowd, squeezing between bots with relative ease. In the middle of a crowd, a small beastformer was gesturing wildly at the hulking bot with helicopter alt, staring wearily at the broken glass of the storefront.

“...A precious historical exibit! One of a kind! I paid ten thousand for it in Kalis and they just took it!” A dramatic wail that beastformer emitted was both heartbroken and accusatory.

“Have you seen the perpetrators, Rattrap?” Helicopter bot produced a datapad and began typing, carefully, with one claw.

“You’re solving the crime here, not me! I saw nothing, came in the morning and it was gone!” Rattrap pointed to the door “ I pay my taxes, and this is the security I get? Kaon has never fallen so low! Stealing from a struggling business, in the middle of a night !”

“Rattrap, you bought a statue for ten thousand shanix on the other side of the globe, doesn't sound like a struggle to me.” Blackout peeked into the hole “Did they take anything else? Cash? Credit chips?”

“Do you take me for a fool?! I dont leave money where they can grab them!” Rattrap looked more offended than upset now.

“Oh right? And who’s to say you didn't steal your own figurine then? No money missing, no camera feed, no witnesses? Rattrap, you sold the same glowing rock twice, just last month, claiming it to be the Matrix.” Blackout looked like he was done with it all, ready to fly away.

Just then, Prowl finished the analysis of the scene, the nagging mistakes in others' views of the situation were too much for him to keep silent. This was a citizenship law in action.
“You’re both wrong.”

“Who are you then, his accomplice?” Helicopter bot pointed at Rattrap “Hiring actors now, Rattrap? Too low.”

Prowl ignored the jab and pointed to the ground in front of the store “All the glass shards are on the pavement as well as an unidentified stone material. Nobody broke in, but something broke out.” He kneeled, looking at the glass, constructing it’s trajectory. “ Something that wasn’t very fast.”

Buzzsaw hovered above Prowl’s head just then “He’s with me! Guest of the Boss guy! Make way for Prowl!” The crowd around them parted.

“Looks like dirt to me.” Piped in Blackout, bending to look at the ground.

“Volcanic crust, actually.” Prowl raised one piece and looked it over, “With traces of paint on the inside. I believe the statue in question walked away.”

Rattrap groaned in despair, “Ten thousand shanix! My centerpiece!”

Prowl looked up, TacNet picking out the same material across the street, “That way.”

Helicopter bot shrugged, “Well, let’s find it then.”

It took a better part of an hour, tracing the shambling path, veering from one streetcorner to another, but in the end Prowl, with Blackout and Rattrap in tow, ended up in front of a familiar minibot bar with a garish green sign. “In here.” Prowl gestured.

Blackout looked grim “ I can't fit in there, I’ll call back up.”

The solution to the enigma was so close, Prowl shook his head “I’ll get them.” He ducked his head and went inside. Among the offensively green interior were two bots, one, behind the bar stand, polishing the glasses and another, nursing a vivid yellow cube, his palting, washed out blue and white, with bits of volcanic crust sticking to their back. Prowl felt some unstoppable force tugging at his faceplates. Triumphantly, he smiled.

The comm line rang for what seemed like an eternity until he heard the receiving ping.”Who is this? I’m busy.” An irritated voice sounded on the other end.

Despite everything, Megatron filled his vocals with a good natured ease. “Senator Proteus, I saw your speech today, I must say, I am deeply touched.”

“Oh, governor, I’m pleased I could do you justice!” The recipient sounded anything but pleased, a fervent speech, with shrill tones, so unlike what it was in the news. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“I must say, I am quite surprised you have not mentioned in your speech my bonding to your son at all. A transaction of such nature would have put more weight behind our newfound camaraderie.” Megatron took great effort to control the tone of his voice and not descend into a growl.

“Oh, that! My dear Megatron, I felt it is simply not for me to announce, you are the newly bonded after all, I am just an old cog left behind by a rolling wheel of youth.” Proteus sounded quite manic, if Megatron were to judge.

“In fact, Proteus, I believe you have hidden quite a lot from me as well. From the state of your son’s wellbeing to the nature of the deal.” Megatron couldn't stop the venom finally seeping in. “I do not appreciate being made a fool of, senator. I wonder how the people of your city are going to trust you, if they were to know how you treat one of your own.”

There was a sharp inhale on the other end of the line and, after a beat, Proteus replied, in a voice completely calm, almost serene, “Is that a threat, governor? I do believe you’re not in a capacity to dispense it. You are my accomplice, your signature is on the bonding contract, and my estates now include two mining outposts prospected by your cabinet, after all.”

The senator sighed, and continued. “ Do you remember the day we first met? I doubt you saw me from the senate floor that day, a young rebelious gladiator, full of words and fire. Did you know, I’ve read your writings back then, I read them and I saw a very dangerous mech, with nothing left to lose, willing to kill or be killed for a big idea, too big for Cybertron back then. The last Prime, the Mad Prime, why, his corpse has not finished graying out in the Primal Basilica, and there you were, with your fire and your words at our door, demanding to be heard. I know for a fact you remember what happened next, we let you in, bloodthirst in your eyes, ready to slaughter every senator, every noble, every bot in Iacon. We let you in and offered you a deal, lay down your torch, let the violence end and we’ll let you have Kaon. Pit, we’ll even throw Helex and Tarn in for a bargain deal! Whatever utopia you had in mind, you could build it there, but, in order to do so, you had to make a deal and play nice. With senate, with me.”

Proteus paused, a sound of liquid pouring into the glass filled the silence. “You probably have no idea, but before we met I was ready to send you to the firing squad, execute you for the audacity to question order, for the nerve to attack Cybertron itself when it just barely survived a tragedy of Zeta’s rule! But then something changed, do you know what it is? Prowl. I got Prowl. And then I realised that, whatever deals I had to make, whomever I had to hurt, didn't matter, as long as he was safe. Even if I had to hurt him. You made the same choice, Megatron, you laid down your pride, your glory to protect what you had, no matter the cost. Even if your little revolution fizzled along the way, no more lives were lost.”

A gulp,“So now here we stand, I made a deal with you back then, and after so many years you came to make a deal with me. You're a governor now, just like me, a politician. I know you’ll do whatever it takes to keep your city safe, by any means, however low you'll have to bow. So a deal this time was to keep one of mine’s as well, forgive me for not making it clear.” a shaky sigh, ”Take care of Prowl, you have no idea how unique he is. Goodbye.”

In a High House at the center of Iacon Proteus ended the call. He sat there for a long time, sipping engex as aged as he was, until the last rays of Hadeen reflected on the walls of his cabinet and faded into darkness. A click, a door behind him opened, dull steps reverberating through the mosaic floor. Proteus gripped tight the bolt gun on his table, took the last sip and turned.

“Are you going to tell me where it is?”

“No.” Proteus smiled serenely, placed the gun under his chin and took a shot.

The body of a High Senator flew through the window with the force of a plasma packed blow and fell on the Iacon street like a discarded doll.

Chapter Text

Clause 12. Every citizen has the right to volunteer in upkeep of Kaon Tri-polity, their actions as part of the chosen social institution are subject to the same laws and regulations as their fellow citizens and compensated in accordance with standard income at the time. They bear responsibility towards their fellow citizens and answer to the elected representatives forming the state.

Prowl looked at the surrounded crowd of mechs, taking to the memory every face. This was the law enforcement in Kaon, no uniform build, no badges, from minibots to hulking warframes, no discernible metric to unite them in one category, there was even a shuttle, crouching farther back, his massive wings scoring the ceiling.

“...and then he walks out with that guy in tow, and do you know what they say: “I think I missed my flight!” Can ya believe it? This Tailgate guy, he, oh Primus, he was supposed to be on the Ark!” Blackout was gesticulating wildly with a drink beside him, spilling scores of it all over. Prowl was not a fan of that.

“Is it allowed to imbibe engex in the Militia precinct?” He asked despite suspecting that the answer will not provide clarity.

“What are you, a copper?” A deafening chorus of laughter exploded around him, someone screamed in response “Here comes the drink police!” Laughter only climbed higher.

“Alright, clear off, you gawkers! We’re here to see the boss lady! Is she in?” Buzzsaw put all his frenetic energy into making his voice overlay the buzzing crowd of the militiamen.

“Yeah, in the back,” a feline cassette that lounged in a nest of datapads answered them “Tread lightly, she seems grumpier than usual.”

It was the first time Prowl walked bodily in the government facility. While part of the High House he often monitored the court proceedings and police investigations to keep track of all the factors that might influence the household’s welfare, but, as recordings and data, it was just numbers - fines and payouts, confiscated property and stolen assets. Kaon’s militia was objectively absent of any numbers whatsoever, bots were pouring in and out of the door, leaving packages, asking for assistance, leaving complaints, the whole operation looked mind-numbingly chaotic. It all seemed even stranger so since there were no perpetrators - not a handcuff or a sign pointing to holding cells in sight, Prowl was sure it was supposed to have those. Then again, it was the militia, not the police, perhaps somewhere there was a more organized crime department and this was just a social center for wayward troublemakers.

Buzzsaw led him to the reinforced door at the end of the hall, covered in singe marks and massive fist shaped indents, above it was an elegant brass plaque with “Strika” emblazoned in cursive. His avian guide pressed the control panel next to the door and it slid away with a creak, revealing the most stress-inducing office Prowl could imagine. There were datapads, stacks of them, as high as a ceiling, gutted servers blinking erratically entangled in cables made up a whole wall, among it all a banged up table was propped by a weapons crate chock full of grenades and a portable stove. Behind the table, massive form of a burgundy colored femme slouched over a miniature in comparison console.

“What.” A dead-tone statement more of a question, Strika rumbled without taking her optics off the console. Buzzsaw flew behind Prowl and prompted him to walk forward with a beak.

“I would like to apply for a job.” Prowl tried to look at the femme but his optics kept darting to the surrounding chaos, this operation was clearly more struggling than he imagined.

“So am I, somewhere quiet and calm, but you bastards keep re-electing me.” Strika raised her head “Oh. It’s you. Application denied.”

Prowl couldn't help but frown. “Why? You could use some help.”

“Do I?” Skepticism was almost a physical substance pouring out of her vocaliser “And how would you know? Been here for a day and already know what’s what? You’re Iacon, security risk, no experience and no reference. Go home and sit pretty, noble.”

Intimidation was lost on her guest entirely, Prowl was oblivious to it. “You have a wall of datapads I could sort. I do in fact know nothing about Kaon and would like to learn. I’m no longer an Iacon citizen, my record is clean, I have experience in sorting data and… I just solved a case.”

Buzzsaw peeked from behind his back, “He did! He found Rattrap’s missing statue! Hello, madam commissioner!”

“That so?” Strika leaned backwards regarding Prowl with a stern gaze, “Already looking for trouble, do you, pretty bot? I’m going to be clear with you - I don't like helpful, polite and crime-free people, especially ones that are described as” Strika put her hands up in air quotes “pillars of the community. The vilest of them all.”

“I am not looking to be liked.” Prowl kept eye contact, “ I want to get a job.”

“Hrrm.” Strika rumbled her engines for a second. “Done. Ask Ravage at the door for the registration form. You start tomorrow.”

“He’s done what?” Megatron raised his head to see Soundwave leaning against the doorframe of his cabinet.

“Got a job with Strika. She agreed to keep an eye on him.” His chief of staff sounded amused.

“That’s… a rapid development. How did Buzzsaw describe him?” Megatron felt like he saw an entirely different mech yesterday.

“Calm, not much of a talker, blunt. I saw what happened yesterday, Megatron.” Soundwave cocked his head and pointed to the hardline port on his neck “You think he poses a threat?”

“There’s something going on with him, but no. I dont believe so.” The silver mech laced his fingers in thought. “I had the strangest call with Proteus just now. The senator, he sounded afraid of something. Of someone. You have a lot on your board but, keep an eye on the network for me?”

“If you promise to not make any rush moves, governor.” Soundwave nodded at his bruised face “Call it a night, patch yourself up, bots might think your new bonded is throwing you around.”

Megatron shook his helm, Soundwave’s jokes were as bad as ever, but the advice was sound. Walking out of the Citadel during daylight seemed like a novelty, he worked until he could no more almost every cycle, there was never shortage of the messes he had to sort. He was intensely aware that it was not a sustainable model, the utopian model of a self-sustainable government, just, fair and capable of change, the one that he imagined as a young rebel was nothing more than a dream - time and time again he had to adjust, draft amendments, bend and negotiate , give more of himself and ask more of his followers. Perhaps it was the nature of the world, or perhaps, Megatron thought, sullenly, he was not enough. Proteus was right, he was nothing like his younger self, he cared in a most devastating way.

Once upon a time, there was someone ruthless and uncompromising, someone, whom Megatron imagined carrying this burden like it weighed nothing. The memory of him walked beside him ever since, to have that sharp mind and fiery spark back - Megatron would have given up everything for that. He looked up at the sky, even through the daylight he could see a nearby star shining bright. Just like Starscream. He was everything, persisting at the lowest of odds. And losing him was the end to his crusade, he grieved him still and, thinking others might get lost too, somebody grieving as deeply as him - Megatron could not subject his followers to that. Starscream would be the first to laugh at him, to punch some fire into him, if he saw him a tired and sad fool, caring too much, too afraid to act.

He picked up plain cubes on his way home, with a moment of hesitation, some silica gravy and ferrum shavings as well - his experience with cooking might be primitive, but he still knew how to make one thing Starscream taught him. An old, worn out at the edges memory of a seeker dramatically presenting him a half-burnt dish after almost exploding the communal kitchen floated before him. The best thing he ever had.

Buzzsaw kept him company all day long, seemingly at ease everywhere, never keeping silent for more than half a click. Besides the company, Prowl appreciated the bits of information he could glean from him. Kaon, apparently, did not have police, or courts, or jails. The system was incredibly simple, yet ruthless - people got help, had been cared for, until there was no one to care no more. The city was split in districts, districts split in blocks, blocks split into communities and every community had a representative and volunteers who helped them along. There was plenty of petty crime, since if nobody could find a perp and prove their involvement - it was dropped, but, surprisingly, there was little to no serious offences and no organised crime at all. If anything, the whole system looked like a criminal organisation he once collected data on in Iacon, he wondered if they modelled their operation on Kaon or it was just a naturally occurring system when a lot of opportunistic people were involved. No matter - his opinion on the system was irrelevant, his Citizen Protocol insisted on him becoming a part of it and helping in any way he could, Prowl was surprised though how… excited he was, to take part in it all.

He walked back to the Slag House, with a stack of pads in tow, at a languid pace, once he went somewhere he could find it again - it was easy to find his way, just follow the crowds flowing like energon through the arteries. There were so much bots around, though, so many cafe’s and bars with tables spilling on the sidewalks, so many public spots, conversation filling the air in a cacophony of a myriad voices, it seemed so unlike Iacon where the crystalline gardens, promenades and memorials were meant to be experienced alone, in meditative silence, while all the communal spaces were indoors. Prowl remembered seeing the series of vids on public etiquette, explaining how to act as a proper citizen of Iacon and it all seemed to make sense to him, minimal disturbance, lowered voices, no crowding or intaking engex. Kaon, in everything he saw so far, was an antithesis to it in the loudest, most chaotic way.

He entered his new home at dusk, remembering that he’s going to see Megatron again anytime now. With everything the day had in store for him, Prowl somehow forgot. A spike of guilt issued by his TacNet was not helpful, he had no idea what Megatron wanted of him besides becoming a citizen. Prowl paused in his step, there was a strong smell of chemical processing of energon filling the interior, as well as soft disparate clincks and clacks coming from the dining hall. Softly, he stepped on the carpeted floor until he could peek inside.
Silver back was hunched over the stove, helm slightly enveloped in smoke.

He took a couple steps more and sat behind the table, careful not to disturb the process and watched Megatron shift the pan with jerking motions and slightly curse. Disturbing a task, especially the one involving volatile substances was an unwise choice. And, it gave him a chance to watch his [Conjunx|Owner\\query conflict\\Comrade] a bit more. Prowl liked watching, he saw many bots acting in a myriad ways while in High House, Proteus was one of the most fascinating individuals to monitor, with an array of habits and ticks, moods freely flowing from one to another, constantly changing his manner. Megatron was more reserved from what he got to saw, more in control, but still full of emotion in every gesture and word. He read frustration now quite clearly, for example.

“Frag it, this should do” Megatron quietly cursed, turned off the stove and turned around with two pans held aloft. “AAH!”

“Good evening, Megatron.” Prowl respectfully nodded, ignoring bits of processed food dropping on the floor.

“...Prowl. I haven’t noticed you coming in.” Megatron frowned, trying to regain his composure, with steaming dishes in servos he looked, Prowl surprisingly noted, endearing. ” I, ah, wanted to repay you in kind for yesterday’s feast and..hrm, here’s Chips’n’Sticks.” A generous helping of both was plopped unceremoniously on Prowl’s plate.

Prowl nodded “Noted, I will provide my most honest feedback.” While Megatron kept sorting out the pans and plates he kept looking, his TacNet sounded warnings once he took in his bonded’s frame, signs of damage, scuffs and dents, nothing critical but he still felt it important to ask “Are you well? Can I help?”

Megatron seemed confused for a moment until he looked down and saw a claw mark across his chest. “Oh, that. Don't mind it, nothing a good buffing won't fix. And how.. how are you?” He gestured at Prowl “You shut down yesterday and I, we, were worried. You seem better now.”

Prowl took a bite out of a slightly singed energon stick. “I am functioning at optimal capacity, the concern is appreciated. Your query yesterday was just unexpected. I’ve been operating under the rules of the High House for a very long time and adjusting my directives took… intense form.”

Megatron looked somehow angry and worried at once “Did Proteus made you act like this? Was he holding you against your will?”

Prowl frowned slightly “I was part of the High House and operated in accordance with it’s laws. My sire.. is a complicated mech, but he never made me act against my directives.”

“Forgive me but, Prowl, you sound as if your behaviour is determined solely by the rules you are subject to.” Megatron kept his gaze “As if your spark is not concerned.”

Prowl remained silent for a while, his TacNet unhelpful, the inputs form his emotional core as unreadable as ever, when he spoke, it was quiet and distant “You are correct in your concern. House of Proteus’ primary medic explained that I was constructed with… a malfunction. My emotional core is unable to parse my spark’s impulses most of the time, only the strongest and clearest signals make through, I compensate with my Tactical Network that analyses all data input. It would have been easier for the household if my sire issued a recall once the malfunction was found, but… he did not. I'm grateful for that.”

Megatron turned his gaze. “ I see. I cannot imagine what it's like, but, whatever you need, I will assist. I want you to feel welcome in Kaon.” He paused “Will annulling the contract help? I talked to your sire today and..”

There was a knock at the door that rang through the hall, urgent and loud. Megatron abruptly rose, alert, plating held tight. “I’ll get the door, wait.”

Everyone in Kaon knew not to bother Megatron without calling, he rarely treated visitors in his home and if he were frank, rarely recharged there, preferring to doze off in the cabinet’s chair between the calls. He fell into the aware, ready stance, crept slowly to the front door and waited for the surprise visitor to knock again. As the sound came back, Megatron abruptly swung open the door.

“Good evening, governor. Hope I am not disturbing your downtime?” Red and blue masked mech stood on his porch, he was sure he saw him somewhere before. “I am Orion Pax of Iacon, chief investigator, I am here to ask some questions, if you don't mind?”

Megatron unfurled his hunched form, letting authority fill him from pedes to the top of his helm. “ I do not appreciate house calls. Whatever questions you have to ask you can forward them through intercity communications.”

Orion Pax nodded formally. “I understand and I am not here to cause any trouble, but the matter is rather urgent.” He took a half step towards the door, making their helms almost touch and continued in a lowered voice “The body of senator Proteus was discovered less than an hour ago. You were the last mech he talked to.”

Chapter Text

Megatron stood there for a moment.

Beyond the shoulder of the stranger he could see the bustling with life plaza, dozens of mechs having a normal and ordinary life. This was more than him and his pride. He took a step back and gestured with a slight jerk of the helm. “Please. Come inside.”

The investigator followed him suit, closing the door behind them. “Pardon my intrusion.” His antennae slightly angled back as his gaze slowly traveled around the corridor “I apologize for disturbing you and your guest.”

Prowl was back in the dining hall, how did he?..

As if sensing his worry, his servo made a vague motion in Megatron’s direction “The smell of processed energon. Particles of cooking grit on your arms. Your optics shifted twice in the direction of that door there before allowing my entry.”

Orion Pax optic crinkled with mirth, “I will not take much of your precious time, Governor. Just enough to make a sufficient report on your side of the event. Where can we?..”

Megatron had no trust in the investigator's intentions, or his own ability to pressure him. With a little warning he could have assembled his profile with Soundwave and Sixshot and made up a strategy for their conversation. For now, all he could do is turn on the open broadcast channel to let them hear what was happening and engage the stranger on his terms. Highly dangerous situation.

He led his guest to the lounge, opposite of the dining hall and no further. It’s a risk, he had no idea how Prowl would react to the news, but, if he wanted to listen in - the least he could do is give him that chance.

He sat down in the high chair next to the fireplace, the one facing the hall entry, and gestured to it's opposing twin. "Take a seat." Behind him was a holograph from one of the old gladiator matches, the one where he was covered in acid and held a steaming severed head of a razorbane above him. A good visual reminder of the level his ire could reach if provoked.  

The Iaconinan settled in and took out a datapad with a certain flare of a daily practised motion, clicked the light pen on and began talking.

"Cycle 03.5104.62, Orion Pax, badge number IA-13-840, I am interviewing Governor of Kaon Tri-Polity, Megatron of Tarn regarding his relationship with late Senator Proteus." The detective dictated the opening statement in a calm tone,a lifetime ago, a different mech, with the same tone took all that he held dear. "Do you consent to the data form this interview to be recorded and added to Iaconian Investigative Database?"

"I do."

"The Bureau of Investigations aware that you have been attending the same social circles as the High Seator Proteus, no doubt interacted on many occasions. Can you divulge the information on how you became personally acquainted?"

The offworld mines he bribed Proteus with at that blasted party. "My attache, Sixshot of House Bacchus introduced us at the Primal Estate Gala, Proteus is a good friend of his creator, Senator Ratbat. We found many common interests, to much surprise."

"Interests like what?" Orion's question sounded so innocent but was anything but.

"Engex, literature, philosophy. I appreciated his advice and he respected mine. Politics are the business of communication, after all." Vague enough to make them seem sharing as few secrets as possible but still on good terms.

"..I see, and how often have you been in contact after that?"

"We've been not. I heard Proteus' speech at the open assembly today and was quite touched by his words. I've called him not long ago to express my gratitude." No lies, just half truths, a familiar game.

Orion seemed earnestly empathetic, disgusting. "And how can you describe his emotional state on the call? Did he sound any different?"

"I am sure you're aware of Proteus temperament, he is quite a passionate mech." Megatron deflected.

"Governor,  please." The investigator sounded as if he scolded a sparkling "Are you sure his demeanor was regular? Was he in any way.. disturbed? I am trying to clear your reputation, any assistance would be in your favor."

<<Deflection: Recommended. High chance of media involvement, disengage.>> Soundwave's comm came through before he could reply. Megatron played it as if he seemed slightly embarrassed towards Orion.

"We... I'm sure you're aware of the history we share. Thousand vorns ago." 

"Yes, the riots. I've been on the street duty, back then." Riots, pah. As if all it was is just a public disturbance.

"During my conversation with Proteus, he disclosed that he was the one to influence senate's decision in our favor back then. I, and the whole Kaon owe him much. I had hoped.. that it meant a new era for Iacon and Kaon relationship."

"I see... Did High Senator asked for your help with anything?" Oh, this Pax was good.

Megatron clicked his vocaliser to reply, but then noticed a movement at the corner of his eye. Prowl, he stood at the entrance, silent as a statue, he met his optics for a moment and with a nod, stepped forward. 

"It's quite a private matter and, if the knowledge of the information that is disclosed today reaches public archives - you will be facing an administrative lawsuit. Article 10.5.1 of People's Rights of Cybertron states that privacy of governing entities is prioritised in the face of national security. Any criminal investigation should be conducted only with a signed agreement of all involved such entities." Prowl's voice sounded just as formal and devoid of emotion as Orion's.

His little black and white conjunx stepped to Megatron's side and looked at the investigator with his helm and doorwings high. "I am Prowl of House Megatron, née House of Proteus, a third offspring of his spark. Whatever questions you have should be submitted prior to the interview and approved by the senate decree, no less then three cycles prior, considering Kaon is outside of your jurisdiction, Chief Investigator Orion Pax."

Megatron sat there enthralled. Prowl was decimating Orion's offensive push on the spot, who looked nothing if not shell-shocked.

"I, ah. I apologise, my lord. I was unaware of such matters." The investigator sounded lost. "I must bear unfortunate news.. your sire.."

"Has passed to the Well, yes." Prowl was so calm, Megatron was in equal measure impressed and worried.  "As closest of kin I am in the position to demand all the data pertaining to your investigation. It would be in your best interest to divulge it, if you wish to avoid a disciplinary complaint to your superior."

Megatron enjoyed watching Orion Pax going through several emotion, sadness, surprise and irritation, despite his facemask.

"Of course, my lord." The Iaconian brought his hand forward, turning the holo-projector with an orthograhic display on. "The following images might be graphic, it might be best to..."

"Proceed." Prowl seemed unmoved.

Before them appeared the capture of Proteus' residence. A slow pan and zoom of the camera flew towards the ground. There, on the concrete, surrounded by a halo of glass shards laid the remains of High Senator. Megatron felt a pang in his spark, despite their complicated relationship - Proteus was still a mech. Was. Now, it was a pile of crushed metal plating.

"His head. Where is it?" Prowl asked, calm as dead waters.

"We are searching for it right now, but.." 

Prowl stepped forward to take a closer look. "No need, neck ligaments and parts of the collaring appear to have burn marks, indicative of close range plasma discharge. He was shot." Prowl continued to study the hologram. "Incorrect. He shot himself, zoom in to his left hand."

Orion complied, there, a servo was unnaturally bent, a circular piece of material loosely hanging on his index finger. Prowl pointed at it "Piece of ceramosteel fuse gun. You'll find the rest of it nearby. My sire received it as a gift from the Arcturian ambassador." Prowl shifted his optics towards the investigator "The gun was secured in the display in his private chambers. A display only my sire had the access to."

Megatron noticed a slight shake at the periphery, Prowl's doorwings started to tremble. He abruptly stood up.

"I believe that was sufficient information to continue the investigation, Chief Investigator." he stood beside Prowl, his field extended slightly, offering a steadying pulse of comfort." Please keep my office informed."

Orion Pax froze for a second and then, with a polite nod he stood up as well, hologram off and the datapad tucked away. "Thank you for your time, Governor, Lord Prowl." The mech bent at the waist in the formal acknowledgement. Such difference from his entrance.

"Please accept my sincere condolences, if I can be of assistance please don't hesitate to.."

///Or//n///Or//n Pax///

The investigator froze a step away from the door."Did you hear that?"

Silver mech frowned. The Slag House was silent, Megatron angled his head, his miner sensors briefly doing a sweep, nothing.

"No. I strongly suggest you leave now, Orion Pax of Iacon."

The red and blue mech quietly walked off into the night and out of Megatron's mind. he turned his attention to his companion, carefully studying him. Prowl looked as calm as before, his face void of emotion, but his doorwings trembled as if he was at the center of a hurricane. 

"Prowl? I am so sorry. How can I?.." Megatron hesitated, unsure what to do.

"I don't. I. I." Prowl looked up at him, his optics were sparking."What's. What's happening?"

Megatron had no idea what to say so instead he carefully took his hand and slowly led him to the couch. He sat Prowl down and then, after a moment, joined him. Prowl clasped his servo with both of his so, so tight, but it did not matter. He raised his spare hand and put it gently between the doorwings, a steadying touch. His field extended, gently enveloping Prowl's like a calm sea swallowing a jagged wreckage. 

They sat there in silence for a long while, before Prowl spoke again. "What did he say to you on the call?"

Megatron lowered his helm and gathered his thoughts before replying. "Proteus told me to take care of you. Something made him very afraid."

"I see." Prowl nodded " I do not believe he... did that to himself without reason."

"Neither am I." Megatron sighed, "We will find out what's happening. Soundwave is.."

"I will help." Prowl looked him right in the eyes. "I need to help."

"I understand." The silver mech sombrely nodded. "Whatever you need, Prowl."

Prowl kept his gaze, as if searching for something in his optics before letting go of his hand and springing forward. Oh.

He gently hugged him back. 

 A murmur, a shuffle. A glow of the dozen optics in darkness. A single beam of light from above. A cloaked figure stepped into the brightness, grotesque shadows distorting it's form.

"Prima said, let those who are of Cybertron, be united. Let our metal come of it's core, let our sparks rise out the well, let our optics see it's glory! For we are the Children, The Blessed Children of Primus, Our Divine Lord, and we are His Flesh, His Soul, Separate Yet Whole in the Glory Of Our God. Tonight, another one of his children comes back home, united in His Love. A lost Child, a spark who broke away from His Holy Path. We pray for our brother Proteus, to find his way, for his sins may he be absolved! In Primus, we Shall Be Whole!"

"Shall Be Whole!" A chorus of voices echoes the one in the light.

"Our work is not yet done, brothers and sisters, we remain in the darkness, yet! The nonbelievers walk on His Flesh in hordes and His Holy Light is still hidden! But in darkness our Faith, our Unity shall be strong. We will remain strong, we are destined to find His Light, and it shall guide us to the Chosen one, the Emissary of Primus, and by His Grace we All shall be saved! In Primus light, by Prime's hand!"

"In Primus light, by Prime's Hand!"

The light went out. In darkness, silent figures stood tall. 

Chapter Text

The concept of trust was not something Prowl often contemplated. Trust implied making a conscious decision to defy observable facts and act upon a feeling.

Now probabilities though - was entirely different matter. Probabilities were calculated and measured by existing data. And the data was: Megatron has not acted towards him in bad faith before. He put Prowl’s comfort and well-being as a substantial reason to sabotage his own. Megatron did not limit his activities or communications. The analysis his TacNet provided put the chance of Megatron being a deviant mastermind preparing to take advantage of Prowl at 5.8%.

94.2% said he just… cared. So no. Prowl did not trust him, he was making an analytical prediction. And his field felt nice. The hug was a calculated decision in lieu of his spark going haywire, his mostly mute emotional center had been firing up like a multicoloured flare with different codes, “fear”, “grief”, “anger”, “need” - it was all too much. He could feel his  vocaliser malfunctioning and optics sparking up. He was sure he was about to fall gracelessly into defrag - second day in a row, but then…

Megaton’s big, warm, rough servo gently touched his back and the emotions slowly bled out of him one by one until only one left. “Need” He wanted something so much he could almost cry out. Needed to hold onto something and his [Conjunx|Comrade] was so careful, and big, and right there… It was as simple equation as it could be. 
They sat like this for some time, Prowl’s hands clutching tightly at Megatron’s sides and his useless field dissolving into another. For the first time in his life, Prowl slipped into a recharge with his mind silent and steady.

When he came online again, Megatron was gone. In his place, a heavy mesh blanket was wrapped around him like a cocoon. Stray beams of morning light poured through the window sills. Well, he guessed it was time for him to head out to Strika's operation then...

"Would you like some breakfast?"And there he was, the silver mech stood in the doorway with a pair of cubes in his servo.

"Aren't you needed in the office?" Prowl was sure governor's schedule was a busy one, his chronometer told him it was quite late, almost noon.

"Well, there's always a work to be done, but.." he sat next to Prowl, the sofa dipping slightly at his weight. "Not before we get to talk. Properly, without interruptions."

"Understood." Prowl took the cube, even though he didn't feel like fuelling. "What do you wish to talk about?"

"Well, you. And me. And your sire." Megatron took a sip "There is something you need to know about my accord with Proteus and how it involved you. After that - I'll help arrange your life however you wish to."

Prowl studied him carefully, hunched shoulders, dimmed optics, deep worry lines on his faceplate. His TacNet analysis said that Megatron felt guilty and it was easy to deduce why.

"You wanted Proteus's support for the upcoming elections, he agreed, if you were to bond with me. You're upset because my involvement seems involuntary to you, considering my position." Prowl shrugged. "Don't be. it's an unproductive state. Especially considering that situation changed in the past orn - your deal with my sire is void now. Our bonding is not beneficial to your political standingon those terms, perhaps even dangerous. If you wish to annul it - I will comply."

"How did you?.." Megatron's eye-ridges flew up, inside his helm in surprise, "Your processes are truly something. No, I'm sorry but I do not wish to dissolve the bond because it inconveniences me, Prowl. I gave my word, and I will honour it - here, in Kaon, you will always be safe, but the idea of a political bonding is not appealing to me - people should have a chance to find a conjunx themselves, otherwise it's another form of slavery. Everyone... you deserve better."

"I see." To a certain degree, Prowl could see Megatron's point, considering the Kaonian Citizen Protocol, a vivid hub of freshly integrated processes in his mind, was quite obsessed with personal freedom. "Are you romantically involved with somebody?"

Megatron's vents made a stuttering sound. "..no, not for a long while."

Prowl shrugged the mesh blanket from his shoulders and stood up, stepping boldly into Megatron's personal space, "And do you find me physically or mentally revolting?"

His conjunx tried to fruitlessly escape deeper into the sofa's padding, away form the bumper that was level with his helm and cold blue gaze studying his every reaction. After a second, he uttered, "No, I dont."

"Then, I'd like to remain bonded to you until further data is gathered." Prowl finished his cube without breaking eye contact. "I will send the list of materials I need for optimal functioning to your office. Furthermore, I'd like to conduct a review of your electoral platform, if my continued safety is dependent on your political power in this region - I will provide assistance with it's retainment."

Megatron sat there in silence, too stunned to speak. TacNet parsed a clear note of [pleasure] from his emotional core at such reaction. 

"if you have no objections, let's get on with our day." Prowl allowed a slight smile to form on his faceplates. He had plenty of things to do.

The next few days Prowl's life was a blur of activity. Every morning he walked into the militia headquarters and took on the battle with chaos, sorting the orders and claims, delving deep into it's disorganized servers, it would be some time before Kaonian social data network resembled a proper system, but he knew he could do this, and was probably the only one who cared besides Strika. Ravage, the feline secretary who was in charge of keeping track of milita operations and assigning cases was all too happy to dump the entire filing system in his care. Strika's reaction to server restructurings were at first quite antagonistic, but, after Prowl produced a flowchart of how much time the average militia member spent searching for relevant data, and specifically, how much time she could save for herself with implemented changes - her demeanour changed to almost cordial, by observable accounts. 

In the early afternoons, Buzzsaw picked him up for lunch and a new segment of exploration of Kaonian locale. As a hobby, Prowl picked up conducting a census on all the public establishments avalable in the city, from gambling dens to cy-gar clubs, restaurants and detail shops - there was a handful of everything in every flavor on every street and a comprehensive guide would be a stunning analysis achievement he could pride himself on.

Their walks always ended at the base of Kaon's citadel, Tryptichon, which served as a governing body of the Tri-Polity, a beauracratical hive that oversaw all  public operations of the city. Despite Megatron being the elected leader, the reigning king of the day-to-day functioning of the state was Soundwave. He rarely saw the mech, but the scale and scope of his work had left Prowl deeply impressed and empathetic. He doubted that he could do a better job himself even with all the computational abilities he had back in the High House. Here, Prowl was allocated a console in Sixshot's wing of the building, that he used to go over electoral data, happiness index of the population and the media coverage of Megatron's policies and image. He was not alone in his work, Sixshot's cabinet, a dozen mechs and femmes were deeply entrenched in the campaign management, but none of them spent the last thousand vorns in data analysis like Prowl. 

Quite soon, he managed to form a comprehensive picture of Kaon's public state, despite it's chaotic nature. Megatron and his office, quite frankly, were adored by a substantial portion of the population and absolutely despised by the other. Those who were part of the original movement expressed their support quite enthusiastically, the labourers, miners, war-frames and previously labelled disposable-class mechs all greatly benefited from his policies and enjoyed freedoms unprecedented in other parts of Cybertron. However, the laws that ensured that also antagonised a significant portion of the newer population of the Tri-Polity - foreign business ventures were heavily taxed and regulated as opposed to the local ones, all religious organisations were subject to the same set of business laws as opposed to the exempt status they held on the rest of Cybertron. Sciences and Arts had little to none governmental support beyond public education, healthcare and housing, that forced plenty of organisations to seek commercial side-gigs and investments. In short - those who had not held a handful of shanix in one hand and a pick-axe in another - were perpetually dissatisfied.

Notable worrying case formed the Reverisonists. Prowl remembered that back in Iacon they were a semi-religious movement that rose to prominence quite recently, at the core of their ideals laid the notion of spiritual betterment and return to the so-called Enlightened Epoch in Cybertron's history. And with their support by many noble houses and Iaconian elites - came the funding to scientific and artisitc venues and a piece of their mind. And so, there were plenty of angry and loud Reversionists in Kaon. They even had a candidate put forward towards the elections, Proxima of Helex. Prowl saw several of her public speeches - his TacNet had a field day analysing her cadence and rhetoric. While her image and speech were quite mellow and genteel - the substance of her platform was downright inflammatory, calling for succession of Kaon's sovereignity and return to the caste system, among other things.

His analysis was clear: Megatron was right to worry about the election and seek out support with his sire. Despite his many questionable policies - Proteus's position was firmly rooted in the secular state, as was so for many of his supporters who had lived through Zeta's rule. The Epoch of the Last Prime ended a thousand vorns ago has been a tumultuous time, with several failed expansion campaigns, recession of the economy and harsh ordinances regarding public freedom. Prowl did not live through it but he spent a lot of his time in the High House navigating the fallout of Zeta's time in power and it's effect on the prosperity of Cybertron. Imagining that a return to such time is a good political course - was a logical fallacy Prowl could not understand.

In a week's time Prowl offered his analysis to Sixshot, who after barely getting through the first page called for a high command meeting to disperse it. Prowl felt quite self-conscious presenting his research to a significant portion of the Kaon's ruling body, with Megatron right there, in the front seat. There were no easy solutions to countering Reversionists advancements, whatever unsupported branches they appealed to - needed systemic changes of policies, substantial funding and time. And the election was merely a year away. 

"We do not have the funds." stated Soundwave, still deeply engrossed in the document.

"What he said. Kaon's barely has enough to have the lights on, we're pretty much broke." Strika piped in, she gave up on the reading quite fast.

"Perhaps there's some stock futures that might be liquidated at an accelerated pace? Long-term bonds which we can curtail the investment for?" Prowl offered. A confused silence were his answer.

His TacNet pulled up an emotional tag of 'irritation'. "Alright, lets start small. How does Kaon earn money?"

Soundwave intoned "Taxes."

Strika shrugged "Fines."

Sixshot scratched his earfin. "Export? "

Megatron nodded sagely "Money is an unfortunate crutch of the current system. We rely on it as little as we can."

Prowl looked at them all with dawning horror. The economy of Kaon was not broken. There simply was none.

That evening, Prowl kept silent all the way through their usual dinner. Megatron was giving him occasional worried looks, but kept his distance, sullenly chewing on the crystalline fillet. 

"A thousand years."Prowl finally said. "Tri-Polity of Kaon existed. For a thousand years. Without the economy." 

His conjunx looked downright sheepish "It was not a priority. We were busy with..."

"I am organising a hedge fund. Immediately." Prowl interrupted, barely noticing. " We will need to assemble the perspective investors, construct an asset portfolio and start trading as soon as possible." 

Megatron grumbled "Money's not the end all."

Black and white bot looked at him with solid anguish "It is when everyone is using it except you. Megatron, the entire Kaon city-state can be bought by a low-rank Iaconian investor - they are just not aware of it. The moment somebody figures out how little business acumen your cabinet has - it''s going to be a financial massacre and you'll need nothing short of full on war to stop that. And you don't have the money to start a war."

For a moment there the silver mech looked like he was about to start an argument, but then he leaned back and smiled. "I have never met someone as exceptional as you." 

Prowl held his gaze for a moment, unimpressed. "Noted. We will have to expand your social circle."

A booming laughter was his reply.

After dinner, Prowl retired as usual back to his room. While Megatron's presence quickly became a source of comfort, he still greatly enjoyed the privacy the rest of his day was devoid of. The TacNet made sure he adapted to any situation he was present in but still, the stress of inhabiting a body, continuously, for so long, with all it's senses and limitations pulled on his processes like jagged hooks on a fine cloth. He needed to get outside. 

Several days after his arrival, Soundwave sent a couple minibots to install a console in the room he chose for himself, at the opposite end of the hall from Megatron's. So far, he used it only for navigation and militia tasks, browsing the archives and assembling his analyses but tonight, Prowl felt like he had to reach out. Perhaps, his old servers in the High House were still online, if not - he could start building new ones somewhere remote and anonymous, so that they will not be compromised again.

He sat down before it. Fingers tracing the connecting sockets reverently. The panels on his arms and legs shifted, his helm flared open and several cables one by one attached themselves to the console, aligning his processes, making connections and testing the new pathways. He felt his awareness recede and the computational speed increase, data-net sprawled before him. A familiar ping answered his call. Yes, the servers! His old hardware was still out there, online. Prowl's mind leapt forward, leaving his body behind.

"Prowl? Pardon my intrusion, may I come in?" Megatron's voice came from the hallway.

His question was met with silence.

"Prowl? Is everything fine?.."

Megatron forced the door open, it's magnet lock surrendering with a pitiful groan. Before his optics, a still body of his conjunx splayed like an abandoned doll on a chair. Thick, glowing ropes of cables went from his limbs and frame into the console, it's display dark. Megatron's spark seized.

"...Prowl?"

Chapter Text

Megatron remained at his side until Flatline and Soundwave arrived, there wasn't anything he could do but he still felt as if he shouldn't leave, even when the room became crowded. He hated being helpless. Hated seeing Prowl lifeless like this, his useless mind dredged up the images of the bodies on the streets, his hands, clutching a charred frame, a big hole where it's spark used to be. He could almost sense the burned energon and rubber in the air, a choking hazardous fumes from the explosion, could almost hear the screams of anguish around him, the trilling impact of gunfire..

"Megatron." Soundwave stepped into his field, grounding him with his presence "Prowl is functioning."

"What's wrong with him then? Was it a hack?" He tried to take his optics off the still form but could not.

"Negative, the console is uncompromised. His firewalls remain intact, Flatline notes vestigial brain activity." His friend turned on the holographic projector on his wrist. "The network registered a spike of outgoing data from your address. Around 15 exabytes of outgoing traffic. As much as entire Kaon network produces in a week."

Megatron tried to wrap his head around it. "You suggest that Prowl is.. what? Sent his mind through the network?"

His companion shrugged, a gentle, yet alien presence caressed his mind. //Stranger things have happened, old friend.//

It's been a long time since Soundwave used his gift. Megatron remembered the days when he could barely be in a room with other mechs, sometimes when it got bad, he had to recharge for days only to piece his mind together. Megatron heard of others like him, a construction worker in Helex who could lift triple his weight with just his EM field, a singer in Polyhex who could make you feel the notes of the song. Megatron himself was... Perhaps, Prowl was not unlike them.

He sighed, perhaps he was getting too emotional. Ever since Prowl appeared by his side, he felt off-balance, as if somehow he was the most fragile and dangerous person in the world. A foreign presence sent a comforting pulse and, after a moment, an impression of a winged mech. 

Megatron bristled, "He's nothing like him!"

Soundwave nodded and answered him aloud, "Correct. Prowl is alive."

That felt like a slap. "If you have nothing to add, Soundwave, perhaps it's time you go."

His companion nodded and stepped back "Give him space. I'd suggest you make it seem like you haven't noticed at all but.." Soundwave gestured towards the mangled door with a clear imprint of Megatron's servo in it's metal and walked out.

Flatline took another reading and turned to him "You know, Prowl has an exceptionally strong and stable spark readout. And very healthy frame. I cannot tell what his internal processes are - but by the looks of his firewalls - they are nothing less than optimal."

The medic pointed a scanner his way and tsked in disappointment. " You, however. Cable fatigue, low lubricant reserves, transmetal tension. Clear signs of heightened stress levels."

"Doctor.." Megatron growled in warning.

" But, at least you've been eating properly." Flatline ignored him. "Don't let your tanks fall below 30 again, the fumes warp your metabolic pumps."

"Just go, Flatline." Megatron gestured outside. Long past were the days when his mere presence instilled fear and respect. 

The medic flicked scanner back into his arm. "If you insist on calling me in the middle of the night, have a courtesy to listen to my advice at least. Sixshot is worried about you, you know. We all are. You've stopped coming to the meetings almost five vorns ago."

Megatron regarded him with a cold stare, "I quit. For good."

Flatline responded in ire "Piles of empty cubes in the corners say otherwise. If you think that drinking all the way into the Well is a good way to go - find grace in yourself to let us know, or you'll drag the whole Kaon with you."

"Out!!" Megatron's plating flared in anger. "Get!! OUT!!"

Unimpressed, Flatline stepped out anyways, leaving Megatron alone with Prowl's still form. He glanced at him again, for a moment he could almost see hints of red plating instead of black and white.

Megatron walked out of the room, unseeing. He hasn't noticed how an engex cube found it's way into his hand. Or how he made his way onto the third floor.

He took a sip.

There, a single door. it still bore clawed markings, if he squinted he could see the glints of paint transfers on it's surface. He couldn't make himself to go in.

He took a sip.

His frame pressed heavily into it, the weight of the years making the throbbing pain in his spark no duller.

He took a sip.

He sat down on the floor, heavy legs, heavy arms, heavy helm. He must endure, he is not allowed to fail them. He will not fail him.

He took a sip.

Prowl's consciousness floated in the familiar dataspace. The multitude of discarded processes finding it's way back to him, the compete and utter bliss of clarity and awareness, streams of data forming his world. This was his home. His universe. Coming back here was the closest he could describe as happiness. Powerful analytical mechanisms, combing through generations worth of data, everything is observable and quantified. All the unknowns of the universe projected and accounted for, every variable and possibility superimposed on the knowledge of their species.

Something was not right.

Prowl traced the logs, external access requests. He could see the brute-force code caught in a loop on the periphery of his kingdom. Someone was trying to hack his domain? Idiots. He looked over the invading code stream - not an amateur, perhaps, if his mind didn't came back, they might have broken through in a give or take a century. Cybertronians were beings made of metal and spark, code was their thoughts, but to Prowl - code was his life and blood. He did not need to input the commands or initiate the processes - he lived them. He walked through digital domain as it's creator and god. 

He looked the hacking code over, like a turbohound that studied a petrorabbit that stumbled in it's lair. Quantum parsing and multilevel swarm algorithms. Quaint, but crude. The bits of it's language looked familiar. Military origin. Iaconian parsing. Tracing it's source might be fun. He sent a bait code it's way. The hack swallowed it whole, disassembling it's structure but not figuring out what it was. To a receiving user it would look like a server access screen but it was a completely closed off space with jumbled nonsense files and a nasty takeover subroutine. 

He watched as his bait was swallowed and followed it's jumps between adresses - holdover in praxus, a datacenter in Crystal City, a lunar base, mirror network in Tagan Heights and.. back in Iacon, center, back to High House. Oh, how fun, the hacker was holed in his domain all along. That was clever, if he was against a mere server admin - they might have thought it was just a data lag, but Prowl was... Prowl.

He tapped in the sensors, intent on finding the culprit. But. Oh. Dozens of people, everywhere. In the guest halls, kitchens, game rooms and galleries, in the rooftop gardens and in the ballrooms. He recognised many, almost all of them - senators and nobles, generals and dignitaries. There, in the exibition hall, among Proteus' collection of oddworld trinkets, propped by a rising tide of crystal flowers, was... a casket. This was a funeral wake. 

He almost decided not to go. The news of his sire's demise were widely broadcasted on every media channel and going through a slog of pretending he not only missed him but also oh so loved him very much made him want to puke. But the invitation said it was going to be a private event at their old city residence, and it just so happens he was a couple blocks away, so why not? Might as well throw the old dead bastard a bone.

And oh, the evening was definitely going his way. The thick big hand palmed lustfully his bumper. A hot ex-vent made his doorwings flutter, the big mech behind him was so diligent in his ministrations. A massive spike pistoned in and out of him like a riveter. Obscene sounds of lubricant expunged and heady grunts of his partner filled the air.

"Ah, yeah,come on, come on" His mouth was running mindlessly, "Harder, come on, big guy, harder!"

The mech behind him growled and squeezed his bumper harder, oh, there's definitely going to be marks. 

"You're quite a demanding thing, aren't you?" Another hand sneaked around his waist, enveloped his spike from base to top and tugged. A delicious knot of pleasure was getting tighter in his belly.

"Of course I am! Have you met my sire?" He pushed back on that gorgeous spike, he was so getting close.

"Ugh, sure did, sweetspark. We knew each other quite well." The big mech circled his hands around his waist and lifted him bodily off the floor, bumper scraped against the marble wall, leaving streaks.

"Ah!! Not too, Ah! well, I hope, ahhh!!" A couple more shoves and..

"Smokescreen!!"

He overloaded with a wail right as his brother barged in the room. Great, once again the sour batch here to ruin the day.

Smokescreen groaned and slapped the big mech's arm. "Ugh, put me down before Bluestreak here blows a fuse."

"A fuse?! I am going to strangle you and throw your harlot body into Sonic Canyons! For Primus's sake it's your sire's funeral, can you stop climbing every mech in a room like a turbofox in heat for a moment?!" The grey and red mech threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

Smokescreen closed his panels and groaned. Let his brother run his mouth, there's no need for press - his screams would be heard a couple streets over. "I was just looking for..." his optics fell upon a funeral garland of amethysts and topaz clusters. "This. And the courteous Admiral here has offered his helping hand."

Smokescreen turned towards his partner, Admiral Sentinel was impressive in his stature even with his spike standing high and thighs covered in fluids, perhaps even more so. A very model of a war hero. If only he wasn't so... orange. 

"It seems my brother needs my assistance, sir. We'll have to convalesce at some other time." He waved at the big mech as his fuming sibling dragged him bodily out of the room.

"You're a disgrace, if our sire was not dead he'd disown you right here and now." Bluestreak snatched a cloth of a table, mindless of a clunk and clatter of crystals laid on top of it, and threw it at Smokescreen. "The priest is here, we're starting the ceremony any minute!"

"Oh, so now that our daddy died you're the mech of the house? Don't know why you bother, he didn't care when he was alive and he's not about to start now."

They turned the corner and exited into the gallery, where most of the guests gathered idly chatting among the tables heaped with delicacies and engex. His brother continued in venomous whisper "Unlike some, I'm not wasting my life on gambling and sucking every spike I see. You're making a fool of yourself wherever you go."

Smokescreen smiled with deep vicious delight "At least I'm invited. You've been so deep up your own aft - it's about to collapse into singularity, dear brother."

They pushed forward towards the viewing room of the casket. A beautiful gold and tourmaline fixture, with an etching of Proteus on it's front. His face looked solemn and aloof.  Another face of their sire looked down on them from the hologram above it. 

Smokescreen sighed. "I cant believe he had the nerve to blow his brains out. Seeing his image all over the news has been exhausting. Should have had the courtesy to leave us the bank access codes at least."

Bluestreak pulled a face "Oh I'm sure his last thought was about you and his money. You'd have wasted it all before his spark reached the Well. I hope the will leaves you out in the cold on your whore ass."

Smokescreen sneered in reply. "I hope he left you that mudball full of monkeys who smell like farts on the other end of the sector and nothing else."

They seethed at each other, Smokescreen was sure they were about to start a fight, and well, wouldn't that be a proper send off for their dear deceased sire? Only to Bluestreak grow pale as his gazed shifted somewhere behind his shoulder. "I cant believe He is here."

Smokescreen kept sneering for a moment, he was not going to fall for the same move twice in a lifetime. But then his sibling pushed past him and he followed the direction with his optics. Ugh. His carrier was here. With his beau. Mirage looked striking as always, with pearlescent finish and forlorn expression. A picture perfect of a grieving widow, if only he wasn't hand in hand with that reporter whatshisname. Buster? Blister? He snapped his fingers. Right, Blaster!

"My condolences to your loss, my lord." A deep voice rumbled form somewhere behind him. Smokescreen turned around and ooh. His evening might not have been ruined yet.

Before him stood a sturdy red and blue mech, tall and stately, with pretty fins and a facemask. 

"Thank you. I dont think I've seen you before?.." Smokescreen loved facemasks. He stretched out his hand.

"Chief Investigator Orion Pax, Iacon PD." The big mech took his hand and bowed in deference. What manners.

"You must be the one who was overseeing my sire's case then? Thank you for your work." Smokescreen studied the mech, no wings, too bad, but smokestacks looked promising.

"I did, though I must admit I had a substantial help from your brother. I wanted to express my condolences to him as well, but I haven't seen him around.."

Smokescreen shrugged " Never pegged Bluestreak as a helping kind, but you just missed him - he's over there, consoling our creator."

That exact moment his brother dearest whisper-screamed "YOU WHORE" at Mirage, loud enough to send an echo through the hall. 

Orion Pax politely bent his head, "I meant your other sibling, Prowl."

Smokescreen was too engrossed in the spectacle of his brother and creator drama developing on the ballroom floor to pay attention. He should start taking bets.

"Prowl who? Never heard of him."

His mind receded into his body slowly, as much as he'd liked to stay, he had a new life and new set of directives here, in Kaon.  The hacker ceased trying to get into his servers, and he could not figure out their identity no matter how much he tried. Almost a hundred bots on the premises, every single one of them suspicious, but not alarmingly so - keeping track of them all would be a full time task. He left a couple nasty surprises though, for anyone who'd try to break in again, both code and hardware alike. 

It was also quite an experience to see his relatives in the flesh - it truly seemed for the best that Proteus insisted he'd avoid them, avidly irrational people, from what he could gather from stray snippets of conversation that his sensors picked up.

His cables unplugged one by one and tucked slowly back in their sockets, panels shifting home. He took his time bringing his senses online one by one, sight being last. A single mech, a single body once again. He sighed and stood up.

Something pinged for his attention. An irregularity. The door to his room was askew, it's magnetic locks pried open. A handprint in the metal clearly visible, it's size consistent with Megatron's.

A ping of "worry" passed from his emotional center. TacNet concurred. He must have been unresponsive and Megatron worried he crashed again and broke in, considering, his body was undisturbed, [Conjunx|Comrade] chose to give him space and time to explain himself what happened.

Perhaps, a conversation was in order. Prowl did not think that it'd come soon, or maybe ever at all, but he was too rash in his desire to connect with his old hardware and disregarded a solid probability of being witnessed. That was entirely on him and he best deal with the fallout as soon as possible.

He stepped outside of his room into the corridor, the dim lights dressing the quiet house in shadows. Megatron might have fallen asleep already, work took a lot out of him and disturbing his recharge might have not been the ideal scenario, but Prowl knew he'd appreciate the honesty. Upon reaching the room he raised his hand to knock only to hear a distant *clunk* coming from the stairs leading to the highest floor.

He was instructed upon arrival to not venture there, unless invited. Prowl frowned. There was a logical course of action and an issued command. Oh, how he disliked conflicts like these.

He stood there for a moment until he heard a murmur. Megatron's voice.  Step by step he ventured up, but as the voice grew louder he paused.

"Well, a goodbye never seems finished, just like these songs I write." the words were being sang. 

"They hang aloft like stars in the night. but there's nothing there but the illusion of light." 

If he crossed a couple more steps, the staircase would bend and he'd see Megatron... But Prowl hesitated, his voice had always been quite expressive but now, in the quiet of the night, the tune has been given a depth and emotion that was almost physical. 

"Hold on to whatever you can until it's all gone. Carry on for none of us will be here for too long." 

Prowl heard a vocaliser crack, as if singing was something that brought deep pain to the mech. 

He could wait. 

This was one of the last songs he's written, at the end of their revolution. He intended to dedicate it to Starscream, but the moment lyrics formed - he knew he'd never be able to share it with others. Too much pain, the flares of his spark made it into his vocals. This one was just for himself, and the hurt he felt when he gave it voice was just for him. A stupid mech that wallowed in his grief for so long, it was quite clear it was never going away. 

"Now I will never know you You are just someone passing by"

So, that left him with opening that festering wound once in a while and letting it bleed until he was hollow.

"But I think I'm getting used to the silence now"

He finished the song and drew a shaky invent. The engex cube has been emptied, so were another three. It was best he got back to recharge, but his body felt too heavy to move. Perhaps his old struts could survive another recharge slumped on the floor.

"I never heard this one." A voice called to him from downstairs, his black and white guest stepped into his sight. 

Megatron didn't dare to look at him, the pain would subside and he'd be able to face the world. But not quite yet. "No one did. I wrote it for someone who's... not here. Not anymore."

He heard a couple steps, a shuffle. A frame sat nearby, he could feel Prowl's field. They sat in silence for a while, until he could feel his engines settle and..

"Tell me about them?"

He looked down at his companion, Prowl's face was as blank as ever, but Megatron thought he could see hints of a gentle smile.

"...Alright." Megatron nodded, it was a stupid idea but his life was built on likes of it. "I think you'd have found him quite fascinating. Starscream was a seeker from Vos, he..."

They ended up sitting there on the stairs until the early morning light peered up gently from the windowsills colouring the house in dulcet pink tones.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Megatron started small, he talked about Starscream's origin, the snippets of his life before they met. It was never a consistent story, sometimes the seeker said he was a royalty down on his luck, sometimes - a military mass produced model that escaped the system, sometimes he was a discredited scientist, sometimes - a hired assassin. He told about how they met, how a drunk flier landed in his lap in a middle of a gladiator bout, tried to flirt and immediately vomited excessive engex all over him. He talked about Starscream's penchant for dramatics, his experiments, his quick wit and his deadly claws. How once, during a police raid, he carried five bots out to safety on his failing thrusters and mangled wing. He talked about his smile, how smelled his polish and how sounded his engines. 

He talked for a long time, and eventually, his spark felt lighter, light enough to bear mentioning the bad times as well. They fought a lot, Megatron was cruel and Starscream has been vicious, both of them loathed to admit times when they were wrong. In the end, Megatron wanted to change the order of the world, while Starcream insisted on watching it burn. They never talked about how they felt about each other, both had plenty of partners, sometimes out of fear of commitment, sometimes - to spark jealousy in each other. But inevitably they ended up in each other's berth. After a while, he ran out of bad memories as well, except one.

"How did he die?" Prowl asked, in his quiet calm tone.

Megatron drew a shaky invent "We.. we had a fight. Police and Prime Guard has been rounding us for a while, taking my people one by one, we've been running out of supporters, safehouses, fuel and weapons. Starscream wanted a fight, I insisted that we lay low. He stormed off, and, I thought that he gave it rest, but instead he offered up all the info on our operations to the senate in exchange for a favor. A favor to meet Zeta personally." 

Megatron's faceplate convulsed with a bitter smile. "I thought he betrayed us all, when they rounded us up - I cursed him, promised to murder him with my own hands but he smiled so serenely and said "You won't get a chance". And he was right. When Zeta arrived to oversee our execution - Starscream was by the bastard's side. "

"You see - Starscream had a talent for explosives, he could make a bomb out of an empty cube and a couple bolts. But this one, this last one was..." Megatron sighed. "He took Zeta and half of the Elite Guard regiment with him. There was not even a piece of plating left. The rest is history."

He stretched a little, engex left his system sometime ago, as did pain, leaving behind a sort of exhausted tiredness that could be slept off if given chance.

Megatron thought that talking about Starscream would hurt him more than he could bear but, somehow, Prowl's presence calmed him. He did not judge, nor offered advice, he just sat there, attentive and serious as always. 

"Thank you for indulging me, Prowl. I don't think I've ever told anybody all this, did not think I'd ever be ready to... Thank you."

Prowl shook his head. "I should apologise. I am incapable of providing the emotional catharsis you deserve. It was not my place to ask."

Megatron smiled and raised his hand to gently squeeze Prowl's shoulder, "I disagree. You're a good person Prowl, despite what you might think. You care about your sire, you tolerate me. I think there will come a day when I hear you laugh yet."

His companion looked down as if embarrassed, something warm bloomed in Megatron's chest at the sight.

Perhaps Prowl could call it fascination. Megatron's emotions were complex and vast, clearly readable in his voice and act - so unlike anyone he saw in the High House. There were no lies in how he interacted with the world and talking to him brought a certain clarity to Prowl's world too. His whole life Prowl's been busy with attaining information, yet now, he perceived in himself a desire to share it. How strange.

Megatron's hand was steady and worm against his plating, as if his engine was constantly outputting more power than baseline, as if sharing his field and energy was as much part of Megatron's being as thinking. Prowl looked up at him again.

"You came to see me tonight, Megatron. Why?" 

The big mech's jaw moved around as if he was trying to find words. "I've been thinking about our conversation earlier. You seemed quite upset that Kaon does not follow in Iacon's steps in terms of economy.

"I thought, giving you some reading might clear things up. Here." Megatron pulled out a datapad and offered it to him. It was an old, cheap and very worn out model, with scratches and dents, buttons that were so often pushed they had no markings left.

"It's my writings. All of them. I've started recording my thoughts a couple cycles after I was brought online and, well, never seemed to stop." Megaron chuckled.

Prowl took the datapad reverently, the wealth of information that was in there was the most precious treasure. Nobody has ever given him anything like this. He looked it over - every scratch, every nick, every stain - was a memory in itself. His emotional core flared, bright, loud and clear. He felt "Awe".

"Thank you. I will commit all of it to my memory core." His voice sounded as flat as ever, never before Prowl wished he could express his emotions as much as now.

"Not all of it I hope." Megatron chucked "There was a dreadful period when colourful metaphors got the best of me."

Prowl nodded, still at a loss. He wanted to give something in return but he didn't have anything of value or use, but.. "Megatron? Can I show you something?" 

Megatron hesitated, "If it's about what I saw in your room - you don't have to explain anything. I must apologise for intruding so."

Prowl cycled his vents, "Apology noted, but I express explicit consent to share this information. It would provide an understanding of... Me. if you wish to."

Megatron smiled at him again, plating crinkled around his optics just so. "Alright, I do."

He nodded. It was not something he has ever done, but, he analysed plenty of medical data to support the possibility of such an act. He shifted closer to Megatron, until his frame was right next to his and slightly rose off so that their faceplates would be on the same level. "I will require a connection to your processing core. There will be no damage but you might experience slight disorientation."

The silver mech nodded determinedly and craned his neck to the side, baring his access port without hesitation.

Prowl willed his head hatch open and sent the cable out to plug in. He put his hands on Megatron's chestplate to steady himself and initiated the connection.

If he was being honest - Megatron was not an avid coder. He preferred to type things manually, push buttons on keyboards and turn levers and even during internal comm calls he still turned his vocaliser on, just to imitate a conversation. The best coding job he ever did was installing a bootleg tactical battle assistance plugin Starscream stole for him from somewhere during his gladiator days and even that he turned off after one use - purely out of sheer irritation with it's pop ups.

There was a level of anxiety about what Prowl offered, beyond medical diagnostic- hardline access was too intimate. He knew some mechs who interfaced this way, but a direct connection implied absolute trust. A kind of trust rare even between bonded mechs. The revelation that he trusted Prowl in such manner was something he'd have to think about later though, right now..

The frame of his companion pressed against his, his hands placed right above his spark, Prowl's head rested on his shoulder and his eyes flickered slightly, as if his processors were busy doing a monumental task. At first, as their connection initiated it did not feel like anything, no handshake protocols exchanged, nothing, just silence.

And then, the world around him disappeared, replaced by soft blue light. He was standing alone, in the vast emptiness.

//Hello, Megatron//

"Prowl? Where?.. What is this place?" For a moment he could see a digital grid curving upward from the floor and then it formed an entrance to somewhere, glowing from the inside.

//This is me. I have transferred your processor core inside mine, welcome to my dataspace. //

"I did not think it was possible." The hardline connection was only about sharing information and code, you couldn't just... pull the person in wholesale. Primus, Prowl was extraordinary. 

Megatron stepped through the doorway and found himself among the rapid data streams flying in front of his optics, somehow, he understood that all the flashing lines were gathered information, and the glowing nodes filling up the space around him were analysis points, cross-linking and computing millions upon millions of streams at the same time. "Prowl, how do i know what's all this?"

//I gave you access to my syntax. And simulated input from your sensors, as long as we're connected you can perceive everything that is me. Here//

The scale around him changed, the datastreams shifted to the side, giving way to vast constructions of light - logic gates of infinite complexity, a vast system of the connected registers and multiplexers, like a nest of the world's most frenetic spider. It's connections went to all the different systems, yet most of them were dark. Strange.

"Prowl? Why is more than half of your systems offline?" Megatron traced it's intention with his mind but without the outer connection - he had no idea what they were for.

 //These were responsible for the High House protocols. The way you perceive me now is the real me. The body is just - a shell//

Megatron frowned, Prowl was not an automaton, not a program, he was alive. "What do you mean?"

//One brain module does not have enough operational power to support my needs, I've outgrown it's capacity a long time ago. Back in Iacon I had servers.// An image appeared before him, a vast basement filled with steel blocks, blinking lights and low hum of hundreds of cooling fans.

//For almost a thousand years my mind has been traversing the dataspace, while my body was stored away. Here, my power is absolute// Before Megatron was a pillar of flame, which then collapsed unto itself, an algorithm that was designed to predict the heat death of the universe unfolded in it's place. 

//I can access every piece of data, control every system, I can create anything I desire// Around him - a perfect replica of the Slag House built itself, layer by layer.

Megatron was stunned into silence, what does one ask of a god? Every cybertronian had processes inside their brain modules, some - wrote them for aide with life, but most - were beholden to them, memories and experiences forming the logic circuits, not changed on the spot at a whim. Maybe that's why?.. 

"Prowl, is this why Proteus kept you hidden?" 

//No, I do not believe my sire knew the reality of my existence. He thought I was running away from the world, not creating a new one.//

Perhaps, Megatron should have been afraid, if Prowl wanted to - he could rewrite him into anything, a toaster, a doormat, an external hard drive, yet, this journey felt like an expression of absolute trust, if nothing else. "Do you store memories together with other data?"

//No, it's more complicated, unfortunately. Memories have emotions and those do not cooperate with the rest of my network.//

The world around him shifted and Megatron found himself standing among the field of memories stretching into the horizon. Each one - a sensory record of the event, wrapped in an information core, like a flower made out of math. Datastreams flowed in and out of those- forming a flickering and ever-shifting carpet of light.

//This one is being recorded right now// Megatron stepped towards the brightest glowing core, //Do not be afraid, touch it//

And so he did. It was confusing - having a sensory output on top of your own - he could feel the warmth of his own body, the steady pulse of his spark under Prowl's arms, the fascination and anxiety he felt.

//This is strange. Hold on.// a stream of data pulsed upwards on the other side of the node and the form of Prowl took shape.

"An avatar should be more comfortable to have a conversation with, I presume." This form looked ethereal, almost like a divine vision - strands of data formed his transparent shape and filled it with code.

It stepped closer to Megatron and cocked his head to the side, in an utterly Prowl fashion. "When you touched the memory, I could feel the emotion, clearer than ever before. I believe when you interact with them - they bypass my emotional core directly into yours and feed it back into my processor. Could you... perhaps, touch more of those?"

Megatron smiled " Of course." Some innate understanding of space Prowl has given him led him to the cluster of memories connected to his second day in Kaon. He picked the one where Prowl found the walking statue. 

"Hahaha!" data-Prowl next to him laughed, "I am really proud of this one! Oh, that feels good!" 

Megatron felt it too, the bright joy of triumph and couldn't help but laugh as well. He then had an idea, a stupid one probably, but he had to try. "Prowl, could you take me to your emotional core?"

The data-Prowl nodded and the world around them shifted yet again. Megatron found himself in a.. what he could only describe as a ball of static noise, loose strings of data spun around him at different speeds, incomprehensible and meaningless. He stretched out his hand and touched it.

In a moment, he could feel how Prowl perceived the world - not the sensations but statistics and analysis, there was an overwhelmingly dense torrent of information - the emotional part was completely drowned under it. He concentrated on it, he thought of his days in the gladiator ring, how it felt to focus on the opponent and shut out the screaming crowd and the rest of the world, and pulled it towards him, focusing on the feelings, the distant sensation of the touch between their frames, making all the data noise quieter. Megatron closed his servo around it and pulled it towards himself, imagining it going through his chestplate, into his frame, filling his being.

He turned to Prowl, "Alright, now, can you bring me partially back? I will need motor controls and sight."

He could feel Prowl's confusion yet eagerness and excitement. He trusted him with so much already, Megatron would be a fool to waste it. The world around him shifted, and he could see the reality seeping in, at once, he was aware of Prowl's mind and the world at the same time.

He could see his companion looking up at him, could feel his own spark skip a turn. Megatron raised his servo and gently caressed the side of his helm, fingers tracing the cheekbones and chevron, the smoothness of faceplate, the roughness of his own servo. The warmth and meshing of fields. Little zaps of pleasure belonging to them both.

Prowl, the real Prowl smiled, so brightly - for a moment Megatron forgot about everything else in the world. 

Somewhere in Iacon there was a room. It had neither doors nor windows, it's walls - as thick as a layer of ore over cybertron's core. The space was lavish in it's decoration, solid golden walls, covered in etchings from top to bottom, jewels, encrusted in it's design. Crystalline fixtures hang low, elaborate chandelliers made out of purest energon geodes, as old as the planet itself. There was a table at the center of it and four figures stood around it, shrouded in finest silken cloaks.

"Well, any progress?" One asked, tone filled with ire.

"None. Proteus might have been a dramatic wretch but he was not an idiot." Another of the figures replied. "We combed through his estates, no trace of the thing." 

"His family is oblivious, too busy fighting over his money." A third one piped in.

"His archives are encrypted, I couldn't get in. Two of my people fried to a crisp in an attempt to access through the dataline." The fourth droned, sullen in tone.

"And his brain module is unreconstructible. The bastard exploded it into pieces."

The first one pounded his fist into the surface of the table, leaving a sizable dent. "Then where the hell can it be? We know he took it, it could not be anyone else."

The third one drawled in thought. "Before his passing, he's been awfully friendly with that Kaonian rabble, don't you think?"

The second one groaned "I cant believe you suggesting he hid it there. This is stupid, he has never set a foot on their dirt-mound."

The fourth one hummed in thought, "Neither did we, for that matter. I would not put it past him to bury the diamond in the sluice."

The first one growled, "We'll see what that governor of theirs knows. Whether it's there or not - it's about time we knocked a few of their blocks over. Dismissed."

A low humm of multiple jumpgates and the room was empty and silent again. 

With all it's occupants gone, it was easy to see that the table, was not a table at all, but a coffin, with a mangled, charred from the explosion corpse laid out inside, it's chest open and empty. For a long while now, Zeta, the last of cybertronian Primes, was just part of a decor.

Perhaps, letting Megatron go back into his frame and separating the connection was the hardest thing Prowl ever has done. Keeping his mind enveloped in his forever was an illogical action, but oh, how he wished he could do so nonetheless. He could feel Megatron's reverence and awe at his world, the joy of being able to understand without a word and, some other feeling that he could not yet place, a tender and fragile one. Because of it, letting go was the only thing he could do, despite how much he longed to do otherwise. 

Megatron's emotional parsing has been doing the work for both of them, so when the connection parted, he immediately looked wrung out and shaky, optics shuttering between settings, trying to concentrate on the world."Slag me to the Pit."

"I apologise for the strain, it's not something I've done before." 

"How do you?.. How do you even interact with the world when you have all this?" Megatron waved his hand in general Prowl's direction. "It must be aggravating, not having the same level of control."

Prowl supposed now was as good time for a joke as any, "Strong moral compass and restraint."

Megatron smiled widely at him, a glint of sharpened denta between his lips. " I'm a brute at spark, when world angers me I prefer to hit something until it stops."

"You make it look like an efficient strategy, Governor." Black and white bot shrugged.

The silver mech extended his limbs and stretched. "You know, I believe I had not had a day off in vorns. If I were to abandon work and make a stroll through the city instead - would you care to join me?"

Prowl stood up and delivered a mock bow. "I am a busy mech, the Tri-Polity of Kaon is barely hanging on, what's with its nonexistent economy and all." He cocked his head to the side. "but, perhaps, the Governor would be so kind to assist me with the census of the local establishments I've been conducting."

Megatron extended his arm, offering his companion the elbow to hold on to. "I'm sure I could recommend a few."

Chapter Text

Prowl busied himself with a simple breakfast while Megatron was on the line with Sixshot, reorganising his schedule. The reality of taking a break as a governor was far different from what he remembered Proteus organisational endeavours were. As a High Senator, his primary duty was presiding over senate hearings and making executive decisions for Prime In-Absentia, yet, ultimately, most of his duties were performed in his name by hundreds of clerks and dignitaries, while Proteus busied himself with parties and outings. 

Government in Iacon and  Kaon were entirely different bodies in the end. A millennia old laws in Iacon were meticulous and all-encompassing, as far as Prowl remembered, no new clauses have been issued in a past hundred years, so, ultimately what busied Senate most was the allocation of budget and achievement reports form various institutions, which suited Prowl just fine. Yet here, in Kaon, government was like a living, growing beast, changing every day, barely a month ago a new law regulating production and dispensation of circuit boosters was issued. It was a part of the national law, that decriminalised consumption of drugs but heavily cracked down on it's production and distribution, that was, to Prowl, quite a novel idea. Drugs in Iacon were outlawed, yet, he saw a fair share of senators and dignitaries indulging without measure. Plenty of Proteus's friends had shaky servos and flickering optics, which only he seemed to notice. Yet in Kaon, he saw people taking enhancers on the street in the open and then going about their day as if it was the most ordinary thing, yet none seemed to be well and truly subsumed by the substances. 

Prowl joined Megatron at the table with a plate of sliced silicate rolls and a mug of warm midgrade and after patiently waiting until his companion finished the call said:

"Drugs."

Megatron coughed, seeming somewhat lost "I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you legalise drugs? Circuit boosters, k-grade, nucleon powder. These are harmful substances, consumption of which..."

Megatron looked at him thoughtfully before interrupting, "Would you like to visit a drug store? That could prove enlightening."

Prowl frowned, "Wouldn't a governor visiting such an establishment be a high-risk situation?"

His companion replied nonchalantly "Perhaps in Iacon, here, it is a part of the city like any other. A long time friend of mine operates a store just a couple blocks away." 

Megatron shoved a handful of rolls into his mouth and hummed, Prowl's TacNet filed his obvious delight in the register. He was yet to encounter a dish Megatron did not enjoy, and that once again elicited a jumbled noise of emotion in Prowl's core. 

Their walk through the city was a quiet affair, neither Prowl nor Megatron had a penchant for idle conversation, it seemed, and after an eventful night words somehow, seemed unnecessary.  The streets around them were as usual for the middle of the day quite busy, but, nevertheless, people seemed to step around Megatron, creating space where there was none. Many nodded and smiled, but none seemed too inclined to interfere or approach the governor, as if it was an unspoken rule. Peculiar. Prowl formed an inquiry on how his communication with the populace will be affected in the future after he's been seen in Megatron's company. Their relation so far has been ambiguous to an outside eye, with no formal statement of engagement, but to Megatron's private circle the conjunxing was a well known ordeal. Outside it - he was just pronounced as a guest and left at that. Some curious glances were thrown his way but no more than when he travelled alone, so perhaps, Megatron walking about the city in a company was not such an uncommon sight.

"Shanix for your thoughts?" Megatron slightly turned his head to the side to look at him, a slight smile on his face. 

"I am analysing the public's dispersal on your path. Is it common?"

Megatron snorted "Oh yes. Remnants of the old tales, most likely. I used to be a gladiator for whole twenty years a millennia ago and somehow, that's the one period of my life most seem to talk about. Some of the stories that circulating now are quite outlandish, even by Kaon's standards. Throwing combiner into the pit, cutting through canyon greatworm lengthwise and the like."

Prowl did have Megatron's whole public biography catalogued in his datanet, so he couldnt help but remark " You did cut the greatworm, though. Date 21.51.306712, twin match with Sawblade."

The governor scoffed. "Only sideways and because my partner was distracting it! Strategy and wits are the fodder of success, not brute force."

Prowl couldn't help but remark " Statistical probability of you throwing a combiner with said force is between 60 and 75 percent, based on your matches."

Megatron almost theatrically placed a hand onto his spark, and forlornly sighed "So low? You wound me, Prowl."

Another burst of emotion left Prowl somehow struggling for words, but not for long. His companion stepped into the side-street and stopped before what seemed to be a crystal garden. "Right, we're here. Welcome to the local "den of depravity".

Prowl looked around, his TacNet busily cataloguing the sight, crystalline formations sprung form neat bowls all around them, some almost as tall as Megatron, perfect and well cared for, not a stray shard in sight. Walkways paved in lilac ceramite twisted around them, stray benches peppered the garden, tucked away in shaded corners. He could hear the melodic drizzle of water somewhere and wind-chimes tinkling on the slow breeze. The entire place was covered in a low-yield forcefield that barely glinted in the sun. Down along the path through the garden Prowl could see the one-story building,  it's roof curving like petals of a giant organic flower.

His companion placed his servo on a pedestal at the entrance and said. "Megatron, ID Alpha-Alpha." With a brief pause the force-field before them parted and let them in.

Prowl could admit, the sight was decidedly uncommon. He was expecting something like a myriad of bars and speakeasy lodges he have seen so far in the city, not something out of a fairy-tale holo. The open air garden in Kaon seemed highly impractical. At least the forcefield was a logical thing to expect - drugs could be a target for criminal activity.

He voiced the thought, "Are all drug stores like this?"

Megatron waved his hand in the air, "A variation of a theme. The key requirements are safety, openness and regulation, and each one translates it as they like." 

The silver mech pointed towards the house "The state does not dictate how they should decorate, so, I would advice you to brace yourself."

As they ventured closer, Prowl understood why. The house in question was covered in a massive fresco in bright clashing colors. A fresco, depicting what seemed to be the original Thirteen primes, engaged altogether in what seemed to be... hm. Deeply engaged in each other. To the hilt even. Prowl remembered that pornography was not outlawed in Kaon either, this was perhaps a prime example why it should be. 

"Quite creative don't you think?" Megatron tilted his head to the side "Especially in the anatomical department"

"My sire would have liked it. He had a penchant for collecting provocative art." Prowl nodded, omitting his own disposition on the subject.

Megatron scoffed "Just don't mention him to.."

"Megatron! You have not visited in ages!" A door that was covered in Prima stuffing in his mouth one of Adaptus tentacles swooshed open and revealed a white and red mech, slightly bigger than Prowl. A speedster, all curves and sharp angles, he held some resemblance to the turbofox, of all things. The mech waved them in cordially, with a bright smile. "Do come in, please, I have a fine blend of Tagan cordtree on the stove!"

Megatron rumbled, "It'd be a pleasure, but first let me introduce my companion. Prowl, say hello to..."

The store owner turned his gaze towards the sky "Drift. Like a ship lost at the tranquil sea. May you walk with Primus light."

The silver mech sighed "Drift, you know my stance on religious platitudes." 

"And what have we got, here?" Drift ignored Megatron's remark and turned the gaze of his slanted optics to Prowl, "You don't look like Megatron's usual crowd, do you? And your aura... come closer, mech."

Prowl looked towards Megatron in silent question, but his companion just shrugged. He took a tentative step towards Drift, who reached out his hand and took Prowl's. Drift stood there for a moment studying him, as Prowl studied him in return, the mech was pristine clean, without a scratch, finely crafted armor that looked plain compared to Iaconian elites yet somehow, in it's cleanliness - more regal. Some design was clearly inspired by the clergy of Primus, but dressed down to the essentials. The mech before him was sharp, Prowl's TacNet noted the steady hum of his engines and fluid motions of the well-oiled joints. A sheen of high quality polish and steady glow of the biolights. If there ever was anyone whose existence described "Wellness" that must be the mech before him. Yet Prow;s mind could not help but notice the weapon sockets and sharp talons, a thick battle-grade armor and slightly widened practised stance more common to military mechs. This Drift, was a warrior, among all else. 

"Hmm, you are a very old soul, aren't you? I see a hidden power within your spark yet your mind wrestles with it, does it not? You have an intensive desire for control and not much keenness to seek out the mysteries of the universe." The mech covered his palm with his other servo and hummed. "Your aura needs care, you've been through much strife lately and unsure of your place in the world. I could recommend a daily microdose of relaxants and a guided session with K-grade to attune your spark and mind. I would need your medic contacts and an ID first, of course." 

Prowl was unparalleled with data processing but now he felt somewhat lost. "Are you offering me drugs?"

Drift smiled in return "I offer ways towards finding yourself and reserve no judgement. If you require time to consider - we have brochures." With that, the white mech let go of his hand and stepped back, a whistle of a boiling pot luring him.

Prowl looked around - the inside of the building was white and glossy just like it's owner, plush pillows and milky drapes adorned one corner, where a burning incense and a low table with piles of datapads stood. To the side of the nook - shelving units with multicolored glass contraptions glittered under the low yield UV light. Further along - several white medicinal cabinets behind the counter were being sorted by a medical drone. A beaded curtain behind Megatron obscured an entrance to what seemed to be a small kitchen where their host was preparing the brew, humming to the tune of echoing string melody pouring through the building like a mountain spring. It all seemed, tranquil and easy-going. No dust, no aggressive colors, no outlandish decor. Prowl could easily put the space as one of the most comfortable settings he's yet found himself in, even the Slag House with all it's familiarity seemed jagged and messy compared to this.

He turned his gaze to Megatron, who wore a smug smile all through their conversation."He's an excellent judge of character, despite the aggravating spiritual rhetoric, isn't he?"

Prowl frowned "Point taken, but what about the addicts? Wouldn't they abuse all this?"

"They are citizens of Kaon like anybody else and the stores are protected enough to dissuade theft, and if people abuse the system to harm themselves - their medic would know and they would be cared for. The community cares for it's own." His companion answered. 

Megatron strode towards the nook and lowered himself among the pillows with a grunt. " Come, sit. Drift's brews are a well known marvel, best be treasured in company."

They've spent well over two hours sitting with Drift, as he and Megatron caught up on mutual friends and traded stories. A couple bots came in to refill their orders and were just as normal as Prowl came to expect form Kaon's scene, they took a glance at Megatron though and cut the pleasantries short, but were entirely unafraid to be obtaining narcotic substances in the presence of a government head, and Drift was ever pleasant and professional in his element. From what Prowl could gather - the white mech had been the part of the original movement, well before Kaon gained independence, and traveled plenty after it did so, returning to Kaon not as long ago to settle down. He mentioned planets well beyond the usual colony routes and species Prowl never heard of. His laissez-faire attitude towards life was quite novel and stood in stark contrast with Megatron's blunt decisiveness yet, somehow, they looked fervently cordial with each other. A pang of emotion rang static through Prowl's TacNet at the observation and it was clear enough to categorise it as something he has not yet felt before, "Jealousy".

He stood up and bowed respectfully. "We've taken enough of your time, Drift. Thank you for the hospitality but I suggest we depart before we overstay our welcome."

Megatron crooked an optic-ridge at him in incredulity but sighed in consent. "He's right, it's been joyous catching up with you, but.."

Drift laughed them off "Time is a great waterfall isn't it? Just don't be a stranger and do come around once in a while. I'd be happy to see you. Both of you."

The white mech rose in one fluid motion and stepped to Prowl's side, whispering "And if you need any tips, I lead a master-class on tantric interface every fourth day of the cycle. A broadened horizon is greatly beneficial to spark's well-being."

Prowl nodded, gravely, "I shall be aware."

The two mechs stepped out into the city, the day was at it's zenith and Hadeen shone bright harsh light on the streets of Kaon. Prowl shielded his optics and looked around, the busy streets were filling up with workers coming off early shifts and plenty of eateries rolled out the tables in the middle of the streets, fumes of boiled, grilled and chemically induced fuel rose to the sky, visible among the rooftops.

"There's one thing I've been wanting to try for a while now but had not had the chance" Megatron mused aloud, surveying the scenery. "If you would not mind stopping for a lunch." 

Prowl nodded in consent "Lead the way."

They walked downhill towards the docking area for a while. Prowl has not been inclined to venture that direction before, since it were mostly warehouses and sorting factories surrounding Kaon's own space port. Megatron strode forward confidently, as if he took the path daily and somehow, Prowl noticed, he seemed more relaxed. Perhaps the lack of crowds were the case, the streets here were multi-lane roads with narrow walkways and bots seemed to drive by without notice. Prowl looked at their altmodes in avid interest, noticing how many heavy haulers almost three times bigger as he filled the traffic.

"Would you like to stop by the racetracks later? I dont think you got to drive ever since your arrival here." Megatron seemed to pay attention to Prowl more than he gave him credit for. 

He paused before replying, "I don't think there's a need for that."

Megatron seemed keen to press on, " Why not? You've got wheels. Even I enjoy a tumble in the countryside once in a while, helps clear the thoughts."

Prowl frowned, "...I have never transformed."

Megatron stopped dead in his tracks. "Never?"

Prowl could read his companion's distress clearly. "I have not felt the need to. Perhaps, because of the disconnect with my emotional core, but, it never seemed like a necessary thing to do."

The silver mech regarded with a quizzical stare for a moment and then grinned. "Race me to the port. Loser cleans the kitchen tonight."

With that, he took a striding step towards the road and his form shifted, powerful engine roared and steel plating turned, giving way to heavy duty chassis. With a powerful thud the mining rig connected with the road, taking chunks of ceramocrete to the air and barrelled forward with a brazen swerve, leaving Prowl in the dust.

He sighed, there were worse first times, he supposed. Prowl concentrated on the internal commands that were adjacent to his cables disengagement. There was a big bundle of data-synapses there, some going straight to his spark, some to his mind and a third, bigger part, connecting to his TCog. He could do this, everyone could. Well, except monoformers, nucleon addicts and duocons, but he was a normal vehicle, how hard could that be? He issued a command to his internal systems and felt the engine kicking into high gear, his plating starting to expand and limbs tucking away, his mass shifting downwards towards the ground... And then he found himself flat on the pavement, limbs thrown akimbo and his engine hiccuping to a stop. He tried again, putting all the power of his analytical mind behind the process, the commands seemed almost rudimentary in their nature. But a major chunk of them have been connected to the system he never used before and had no idea how. His engine gave a pained groan and started again, his joints ached and cables strained to assume a new and unknown shape. To no avail. He was still a mech plastered on the sidewalk.

"Prowl? Is everything alright?"  The silver mining rig slowly came into his peripheral view, apparently circling back.

Prowl tried again, but it seemed, he lacked some core processes to finish the transformation. "I apologise. I seem to be... lacking the ability at the moment." 

Megatron drove slightly forward, shielding him from the rest of the street. "It's alright, I.. I should not have pushed. I am sorry. Would you care to take a ride with me?"

Prowl, who managed to climb back to his feet heard his engine kickstart again, without prompting. "Are you suggesting... on top of you?"

"...Yes? I, nevermind, it was a ludicrous idea."

"No, I. I don't mind." Prowl coughed, the dust, yes, it was clogging his filters, nothing more.

He stepped forward and tentatively placed a palm on Megatron's side, it was warm and  slightly vibrating with the force of the powerful industrial engine idling. 

"I will not let you fall, trust me." Megatron's voice sounded just as warm as his plating.

"I trust you." Prowl found it terribly easy to say. He calculated the force and directional movement needed in a moment and hopped up, placing his legs sideways and securing his hands on what seemed to be a drill mount. "Now let's ride."

The investigation was closed, at the insistence of Chief Magnus, despite Orion's protests. Multiple suspicious circumstances regarding Proteus death, yet all that bothered the senate representatives and the relatives of the deceased was shutting the issue down as soon as possible and avoiding any more attention from the media. Yet here he was, disobeying direct orders, in the midst of Kaon. Tracking down the "Prowl" mech, who what he felt in his gut was the key person in this case. How come he was unknown to his own family? How come he knew precisely what weapon Proteus used? And how come he was hiding in one place he could not be extradited from, right under the governor's wing? There was some terrible conspiracy afoot and yet, not a spark in Iacon seemed to pay it any mind.

He assumed one of a disguises he used for stakeouts, his big hauler alt-form was as common as metal shavings, especially in a city as busy as Kaon, all he needed was a fresh coat of paint and a stack of fake cargo and a common ID. Posing as a delivery-mech from Kalis he parked in the middle of the night at the entrance to the square where governor's residence stood and laid in wait. 

Once again, his cog feeling was proven right, the governor came out the door mid-morning with the black and white bot in tow. A simple trailing would be a good start to get the feel of their routine and pick up the loose threads. Pax shut down his comms and followed suit.

He trailed the pair to a gardened house where they resided until noon, one of the few places with an energy shield around it. Who knew what sort of activity went inside, Orion put a pin in it. They headed to the outskirts next, through the warehouse area in the direction of a spaceport, he watched from a distance a strange interaction, "Prowl" falling down and the governor giving him a ride. Perhaps his T-Cog has been compromised? A common damage from an altercation that was hard to repair. 

They stopped at the edge of a spaceport in what seemed to be the offworld market area, Orion could finally drive close enough and obscure himself among other parked haulers to tune his surveillance array to their conversation.

"..alright how about this?"

"Absolutely not, my spectral analysis says there's living organic matter inside. Wriggling. Multiplying."

"As it does in most of the universe beside Cybertron. Come on, Prowl, it's quite fun!"

"I do not require "fun" in my fuel, governor. Nutritional value is enough."

"How about the fossilised one then? This oil here is distilled from things long dead, and triple filtered too."

"It's glowing green, which means there's phosphophyllite in there."

"So? It's harmless, you know."

"It induces gaseous reaction, would you like to be a spectator to erupting belches?"

"Heh, why not? I wager you'd still manage to make them perfectly polite!"

Just a candid conversation, it seemed, though witnessing both of the mechs being so relaxed not long after Proteus death seemed awfully suspicious. The rest of his family was not the image of propriety themselves, but they did observe a proper mourning period until the end of the vorn, distancing themselves from the public outings. The black and white bot seemed brazenly oblivious to that. Not enough to warrant a suspicion of criminal intent though. Not yet.

He laid in wait for a little longer, listening to the pair talking about inane things, food and drinks and places in Kaon they were planning to go to next... were they truly a conjunxed couple?

A flurry of activity on the other side of the market diverted his attention from the pair. Some sort of procession, a religious one? Surveillance array picked up chanting and cymbals, rhythmic thud of drums. Ah, the reversionists. Their congregations were common in Iacon, if somewhat less loud. Someone started to argue, the procession slowed to a halt and seemed to be blocking the front entrance to the market, a protest, perhaps?

"Wait here, I shall see what the ruckus is about." He could see the governor leaving his companion behind the stall and venturing forward toward the procession.

Orion wished he had a partner to split the surveillance with, but if things went south - best he were the only one under fire. He kept his attention on Prowl, only partially diverting his array towards the amassing crowd. It did help that the black and white mech kept still, as if patiently waiting for his companion to return. things were escalating on the other side, someone was shouting prophanities in the crowd and the atmosphere quickly gained heat, perhaps a splinter away form a brawl... yet once the governor strode forward - it was as if the volume of the market was instantly turned off, a silence falling as he spoke in an even and steady voice, too quiet to make out words.

"Hey, is anybody with the militia here?"

Orion turned his attention back to Prowl. Two ordinary looking labour mechs walked by his target from the back entrance of the market.

"Yes, I am with Strika's precinct, how may I help?" He was? Orion had no idea, useful information, at last.

"There's been a break in at the warehouse around the corner, somebody thrashed the place real bad."

"I'll survey the scene, lead the way." Prowl stood up and followed the pair. Something tingled at the back of Orion's spark. Was it all an elaborate cover up for something? He peeled off from the parking lot and took a roundabout next to it, veering off to the side street and around the warehouse. Kaon, it seemed held no belief in fences and private property zoning, to his benefit. 

The investigator shifted to his root mode and picked up the cargo box he was hauling around all day, best disguise was an obvious one, just a delivery guy on his way. 

He peeked around the corner, the door to the warehouse was closed and his target was not in sight. They must have been inside already.

Orion strode forward, pretending his box was way heavier than it looked for anybody who might be looking, even if there was not a spark in sight. He stopped next to the warehouse doors, as if taking a break, ex-venting hard and leaning against it for a moment. His array attuned to it's interior.

Thuds. Rhythmic thuds of metal against metal. A vicious crunch. And another. Voices.

"Alright, he's out. What's next on the list?"

"We gut him, looks like a small fry, but a message is a message. Make sure to crush his head when yer done."

He did not even had to think, his weapon was already online, servo sliding apart to reveal a plasma gun. Orion Pax pressed it flush against the door and fired.

He barrelled through the steaming hot metal and darted to the side, optics taking in the scene. Four bots, two blasters, one plasma knife and a pipe. One body on the floor. His target.

Orion dived behind the shelf while they were still gathering their wits and fired twice above their heads. "Iacon PD! Drop your weapons!"

"Scram!" One shouted and the four of them darted further into the warehouse. He fired again, a shot grazing one perp's shoulder but it did little to stop him from running. He had a choice - pursue them or help the bot on the floor. It did not require even a second to make a decision. The detective stood up, blaster sweeping the scene, no more targets in sight. He heard the steps echoing through the building and then, a slam of metal against metal, back entrance being torn open, it seemed. Frag.

"Prowl, are you online?" He ventured closer to the black and white mech laying still on the floor. Frag it to the pit.

His arm was out of the socket, doorwings twisted and crumpled, glass panelling shattered to the dust on the floor. A nasty dent at the back of his helm and a growing pool of energon beneath him from the jagged gash on his abodmen. He needed immediate help, or else he'd bleed until his spark gives out. 

The investigator dropped to his knees in front of the mech and took out the mending kit. Stop the bleeding first, worry about internal damage later. Call the medic. Keep the target stable. He hoped his medical training was enough to keep him alive. 

He pressed a compressed adhesive patch to the side of the little bot's frame, keeping it tight over the wound. His mind was combing through the network, searching for a urgent care, Primus damn it, he should have downloaded the Kaon record first, idiot.

////Orion////Orion Pax////

He stilled. He heard that 'voice' before. Back in Megatron's house.

////It is time.//// Face your destiny Orion Pax.////

Black and white bot's form twisted in his hands, contracting and spasming like a doll dangling on the invisible strings until his chest was turned upwards, he could see the plating trembling, shivering in place and then... peeling open like a solved puzzle box. metal parts splitting and bending like no metal should, giving way to a cold, brilliant light, brighter than a star.

////Cybertron needs you. ////It needs a new Prime.////

He sat there, frozen. A terrible force compelled him to reach out and take the thing, it felt right, it felt as if the world around him ceased to exist and his only choice was to follow The Will and.. he saw the light reflecting on Prowl's slack face, bruised and bleeding.

"Oh pit no. Frag this."

////...What?///

"No no no" He placed his hands on the peeled bumper chest and attempted to close it with force, "Whatever you are, you go back inside, I need this mech alive."

///...Are you sure?///

"Frag right I am! You shut up and go back in!" He pressed harder, the plating bending slightly under his servos. Orion Pax tried to look anywhere but at the light. 

///Very well...///Until next time, Orion Pax///

With that, the bumper molded itself back, as if a grotesque display of self-vivsection did not just happen before his very eyes. Orion panted, harsh, as if he just climbed the highest tower in Iacon, resisting that urge to reach towards the light drained all his power reserves. Worry about glowing talking things later, now he needs to find...

"Prowl? Are you there? I heard...What is going on here?"

He snapped his head to the side, there, through the hole he left in the warehouse -  a big mech stepped in. The Governor. 

"Thanks Solus you're here!" Pax vented harshly "He needs.."

Then his brain module caught up with him. He was alone, with a mangled frame of Megatron's conjunx. Practically on top of it, both of his servos clasping his bumper in a pool of energon. Oh. 

A deafening roar and a fist flying directly into his face were the last things he registered before the world turned black.