Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All in all, Sublevel 50 wasn’t too bad, B-127 would often reason to himself during a slow shift.

Open hours, he got his own room instead of a crowded barracks, and he got to keep whatever salvage he wanted.

Life was good.

Honest.

But there were days, like today, where the smoke grew hazy and B-127 just stood in place watching the conveyor belt slowly feed the furnace an endless stream of scrap and metal.

He feels exhausted even though he just woke up from recharge. His tanks are more than half empty but he knows he can last fine for several more days before he starts feeling real hunger pangs.

B-127 doesn’t speak, it feels pointless today, but he knows he’ll feel like making up for it later, usually through song. But for now, the only noise, aside from the usual, happens when a particularly large deposit of debris crashes onto the conveyor belt. The racket doesn’t even phase him.

Through his daze, he spots bits of bronze and slabs of glass wool in the mix of metal. He has been working the job long enough to guesstimate where comes from.

B-127 imagines it’s trash from a berthroom renovation from Iacon’s towers where the city’s nobles live. He pictures a grand stalactite estate with a rare ray of light from the actual sky seeping in through massive decorative windows like he had seen in thrown away advertisements and barely functioning holovids. The view would be full of the hues of gold and blue of Iacon’s skyscape.

Suddenly, his fantasy is broken when he notices an odd noise.

At first, he just thinks it’s the conveyor belt. It’s an unfamiliar shrill whine that pierces the regular droning clunks and clatters of Sublevel 50’s machinery. Probably a stuck roller. But then it gets louder as the largest pile of glass wool trundles closer.

B-127 hesitantly lifts a hunk of berth-insulating fiber, bracing himself as he expects another retro-rat to jump out. Experiencing that once was more than enough, thank you very much. Instead, he finds a small bundle nestled in the glass wool.

Inside, a tiny blue thing frailly keens and, for B-127, Cybertron stops.

It’s a sparkling – no, a newspark. The protoform is clearly still in its gel-stage.

“Oh, Primus! Oh, fragging Primus!” B-127 swears as he instinctively scrambles onto the rattling conveyor belt, scooping up the little bot as fast as he can. “Easy!” B-127 gasps as he cradles the small bundle close as the wails only intensify, “Easy little fella, I’ve got you.”

The newspark just cries and struggles weakly.

B-127 feels the flames of the furnace burn at his heels just as he manages to roll the two of them off and onto the dingy metal floor. He curses again as he lands hard but ignores any pain as he inspects the newspark.

The poor little bot’s chestplates are badly scuffed and scratched. Energon seeps from the chassis and an empty cogslot.

“Sweet Solas Prime, that fall must have really done a number on you, little guy,” B-127 frets as he pulls out a cleaning cloth from his forearm subspace. It’s far from spotless but he has little else. He presses against the mess until the energon gelates into greyish weldscabs.

He paces restlessly in the small space as he cradles the squirming and sobbing newspark as best as he can.

“Okay, B, think, think, think! You worked four days with the mine’s med department, something’s got to have stuck,” he mumbles out loud as he racks his frantic processor for any idea of what to do.

He rushes to the nearby table where three lumps of sculpted salvage wait patiently. B-127 gives them an apologetic look as he clears the table of cards, empty cubes, and other junk with a sweep of his free arm.

“Sorry, gang. I’ll fix up the game later, I promise. Right now, this is an emergency,” he says before gently laying the wriggly newspark down.

The newspark kicks and shrieks brokenly as B-127 carefully runs a hand along the small neck, searching for a medical access socket. When he finally finds it, he claws open one of his forearm panels to fish out his communications cable-jack from his wrist. He struggles to unspool it at first, it’s not a very pleasant sensation, but B-127 manages.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” B-127 whispers as he clicks the cable-jack into the newspark’s med-socket. He can’t understand most of the access feed window that lights up in his HUD but he reads what he can.

“Alright, lemme see what we’re working with here,” the yellow mech murmurs as he shuts his optics momentarily to focus on his HUD’s readout. “Registered self as a mech. Whew, no major structural damage but you’ve got some pretty nasty dents,” he sighs in relief, pausing to run a soothing hand over the sniffling newspark’s blue helm. “No batch information so you’re probably either forged custom or unscheduled from the Well. Frag, not even online for a day. Okay, automatic cognitive and built-in systems seem to be working, that’s good, but no prelim firewalls or anti-viruses. Weird. Here, let me give you a copy of mine.”

It takes a little coaxing, but B-127 manages to show the newspark, who is starting to settle down into quiet hiccups, how to install and run the processor mods.

They stay connected as the process buffers, B-127 gently holding the newspark’s tiny hand as he hums out a comforting aimless tune.

“Primus, you’re so small…” the yellow mech says offhandedly, not liking the growing silence, “You’re like a mini-minibot.”

The newspark just looks up at him with big sad optics as B-127 disconnects from the med-socket.

“Hey, can you speak? Where’s your mentor?” He winces as he catches himself. “Ah, wait, you’re cogless like me. Um, do you at least have a supervisor? Who took care of you in the Forge’s newspark department?”

B-127 remembers the femme that had helped him for his first few days online. She was the mentor assigned to the batch forged that day and someone was needed to test out his cognitive skills and comprehension before he was shipped off to the mines. She was nice, a little curt, but nice. What was her name? Shatter? Shutter? It didn’t really matter. She wasn’t really his mentor, after all.

Mentors were for cogged bots.

“Yellow…?” the newspark finally speaks, his voice small.

“Huh?” B-127 blinks, thrown off by the tiny sound, “Oh, you mean me!”

The newspark says nothing else, just flexes his stubby fingers the way a cyber-kitten kneads their paws.

B-127 can’t help but smile down at the tiny mech.

“You’re a cute little guy, but I’m sure your caretakers are looking all over for you. You wouldn’t want to miss your first shift, right?”

B-127 props himself up on his elbows on the table to lean closer as the newspark looks up at him with quiet interest.

In contrast, B-127 can’t help but run his vocalizer full speed. “Can you tell me what happened to you? How did you get down here? Did you crawl in? Were you playing hide-and-seek? ‘Cuz let me tell you, the wall chutes are a terrible place to hide for that game, it’s like a maze everywhere you go. Um, not that I’m speaking from experience. It’s not like my batch-mates liked to shove me into-”

“Mon…ster…” the newspark whispers, clearly straining to find the right word.

“Monster?” B-127 asks in confusion, “You mean like a Quintesson? Primus, are they letting newsparks tell scary stories right out of the Forge these days? Because I first heard about them my first night in a barracks. Gave all the newbies nightmares for nearly a cycle. Except me, of course. I knew Sentinel Prime had sent those squids off Cybertron waaay before even anyone had to tell me. Totally. Not that I was scared or anything, I- Hey, shh, don’t cry!”

The newspark whines, optic cleaner tears already flowing again, as B-127 picks him up and rocks him soothingly.

Just as he starts to pace again, B-127 nearly trips on a bit of trash. Around them, the floor is already cluttered with metal and garbage that has managed to fall off the conveyor belt.

“Ah, scrap,” B-127 sighs then laughs at his own pun because there is no one else to, “Here, let me get you situated while I clean the place up.”

The yellow mech pulls on his backplates until something finally snaps and he hisses through the pain. It hurts a lot more than when his forearm panels were forced open so he could store tools during his very short-lived stint as a repairmech’s assistant. Still, his backplates make for good subspace, so B-127 wrangles the little blue bot into the tender new compartment.

The newspark finally settles to loop his nubby arms over B-127’s shoulders and nestles his helm into the crook of the yellow mech’s neck, completely exhausted.

As he starts sorting through the waves of trash, B-127 begins singing. It’s an off-key string of consciousness barely held together with rhymes.

“We’ve got engex bottles and a broken Shock Pop ‘trax, followed by bent rebar and expired finish wax. And the next bunch on down is a flat lob-ball and an oil-stained gown – Well, it’s more of a cape – Here we have busted holo-vids and a… slice of old beryllium baloney… Ew!”

By the time B-127 finishes his shift, the newspark has woken up from a gentle recharge.

“You hungry?” B-127 asks and is answered with a sleepy nod. He rummages around his subspaces before finding an emergency ration and hoists the newspark back into his arms.

“Here, eat up. You gotta keep your tanks above half,” B-127 insists as he helps the little mech with each precious bite of energon.

“There you go, buddy. Remember, little bites.”

“Little bites…” the newspark repeats quietly as he carefully nibbles.

“Don’t you worry, I’m going to take care of you until they send someone down here to pick you up,” B-127 says as the newspark finishes.

“In the meantime, I should introduce you to the gang!”

B-127 proudly waltzes back over to the table and points to each of his statues.

“The short troublemaker is A-A-Tron and here you’ve got EP-508.”

Finally, he rests a hand on the one with a hollowed-out projector for a helm.

“And last but not least, there’s my main mech Steve.”

“Steve,” the newspark chirps, finally perking up.

Suddenly, blue light flickers and Steve warbles loudly, making the newspark recoil in surprise.

“No, no, it’s okay! Steve just does that sometimes,” B-127 soothes as he sees the newspark near to tears again. “Shh, it’s alright.”

He flicks Steve’s head and scolds “Nice one, dipstick. Now apologize.”

Steve blinks out another staticky noise and sags under its own weight.

“There, see? He’s sorry,” B-127 says as he holds the newspark at arm’s length, giving the little blue mech a long thoughtful look.

“What about you?  Do you have a name, little guy?”

The newspark just hums and swings his legs idly.

“C’mon, you’ve got to at least have a serial number. I got stuck with B-127 in my batch, what about you? Can you give me at least one number to work with, buddy? Just one itty-bitty digit?”

The newspark just gives an unhelpful whirr of his tiny engine, now trying to lean out of B-127’s hold to paw at EP-508’s helm.

B-127 has to fight himself from just squealing “Awwww!” every time the newspark did anything. He clears his vocalizer, telling himself he needs to be mature and focused.

“I guess I can just give you a name. You can always choose your own once you’re older,” B-127 decides, tapping a finger against his chin. “Still, it’s gotta be a good one. Let me think, let me think…”

B-127 clicks his glossia in deep thought before saying “I think I’ll call you Rubble.”

“Rub…ble…” The newspark sounds it out slowly, trying out each syllable.

“Do you like it?”

“Rubble!” the newspark beams and B-127 feels his spark swell with pride.

“And you can call me Badassatron!”

“Bada…” Rubble mumbles, sucking absentmindedly at his thumb.

“No, Badassatron,” B-127 pouts, “C’mon try it. It’s pronounced BADASSATRON!” He has to flex his faceplates and wiggle his antenna to get the full effect.

Rubble squeals out a giggle. His first laugh.

The sound is enough for B-127’s processor to stall but he can’t help but grin.

“You like that, huh? Finally, someone with some taste. It just rolls off the glossia, doesn’t it? BADASSATRON!”

B-127 repeats the name several more times, each time pulling a face.

Rubble claps his hands, utterly delighted.

That cute little smile fixated on him tugs at something deep within B-127’s spark. He feels seen, wanted. The incinerator, his job, even the gang, everything seems to suddenly disappear save for the tiny blue mech in his arms. A sweet little starshine of blue in a world of smoke and red.

It is enough for B-127 to suddenly be blinking back optic cleaner.

“Or just B works too, I guess. We can work on saying more than two syllables in the future,” B-127 chuckles, using a free hand to thumb away his tears.

“B! B! B!” Rubble chirps, wriggling happily in the yellow mech’s hold.

B-127 cradles Rubble close, nearly trembling as he bites back more tears.

Chapter Text

“You're making a huge mistake! Ask Senti-!” D-16 calls up to Darkwing, drowned out by the roar of thrusters as the flyer rockets up the elevator shaft. Massive doors slam shut behind him, nearly crushing the silver mech’s outstretched hand.

“Primus, what an afthole,” Orion Pax grunts as he helps his best friend up.

“Now where are we?”

“Pit if I know.”

The two mechs look around the strange space, confusion growing as they take in their surroundings.

The room is brightly lit from a roaring incinerator and strings of mismatched lights hanging along the ceiling. Makeshift metal dividers block off most of a noisy conveyor belt system laden with garbage spewing from a chute above. The furnace mouth is painted into that of a frightening green-eyed horned beast endlessly feeding on the scrap dumped in. The walls, and almost every other surface of the small chamber, are covered in strange drawings and scribbles, mostly of Cybertronian wildlife.

In the corner stands a short cogless yellow mech replacing a bulb from a line of lights. Suddenly aware of their presence, the mech pauses and stares at Orion and D-16 for a moment with his creepy mask before stomping towards them, brandishing a half-shattered bulb menacingly. He snarls his small engine and his growls are near incoherent.

“I told you to get out! You think I’m scared of you anymore? I know you’re just in my head and I’m not going to let you-”

“Whoa, whoa! Hold on a klik! We don’t want any trouble!” Orion exclaims as he holds up his hands defensively, keeping himself in front of the equally startled D-16.

Suddenly, the yellow mech freezes in place. “You’re… real?” he asks, voice quieting. Then he jumps up with an excited whoop. “Oh, my Primus, you are real!” he laughs as he lifts his welding mask, revealing a huge smile and bright blue optics.

Both miners are stunned in confusion.

“Uh…” Orion starts but is quickly interrupted by the small mech’s babbling.

“Fantastic! Right, sorry for freaking out like that. I haven’t had a visitor in cycles! Completely forgot my manners!” the mech grins, tossing the bulb casually aside and it lands right in the furnace.

“Cycles?” D-16 asks, sharing a confused look with Orion.

“At least I think it’s been cycles, I dunno. It’s hard to keep track down here most of the time. Everything here just blurs together, you know?” the yellow mech chuckles, as if making a joke. He holds out a grubby hand for either of them to shake. “By the way, the name’s B-127, but my friends just call me B, so you can too.”

“That’s, um, great. I’m Orion Pax and he’s D-16.”

At hearing the silver mech’s designation, B-127 waggles his antenna knowingly. “Oh-ho! Another cogless struggling in the nickname department, huh?”

D-16’s faceplates heat as he grows increasingly flustered by the strange mech’s antics. “I am not-”

“Don’t worry, I totally get it. In fact, feel free to ask for some pointers. I’ve actually been juggling around some nicknames of my own. Currently, I’m testing out a pretty good one, it’s…” he pauses with a dramatic flair before punctuating it with a wink and finger-guns, “Badassatron!”

An awkward beat passes.

“It’s pronounced BAD-”

“Pax, I am going to need you to get me out of this waste hole before I blow a fragging gasket!” D-16 interrupts, voice strained.

“What? But you two just got here,” B-127 pouts, looking slightly hurt.

Orion nudges D-16, whispering, “Could you not act like a glitch for a nanoklik?”

“Stop calling me a glitch, you-”

“Wait, wait, wait, before you make any snap decisions, let me give you the tour!” B-127 grins as he gestures around the room. “First, the star of the show, the garbage chute. Then there’s the conveyor belt, where the salvage is sorted before its fed into our last stop, the furnace.”

The yellow mech then spins and poses, smiling up at the two bewildered miners.

“Aannnd that’s the main tour. Excited? I know I am!” B-127 beams, his little engine revving. “This is amazing! I haven’t had a day like this in cycles. I’ve been dreaming about having more co-workers. We can reorganize, I’ve been meaning to remodel the place, maybe even solder some new bunks on the far wall. Supply runs will have to be more frequent but I’ve gotten better at-”

“Hold up, more co-workers?” Orion cuts in.

“Oh, how rude of me! Let me introduce you to the rest of the gang.”

B-127 raps his knuckles in a little tune along a nearby wall before sliding the panels back to reveal a small storage room. In the center sits a large table circled by three piles of scrap fashioned into vaguely bot-shaped figures.

“Sweet Primus have mercy… He just keeps getting weirder!” D-16 mutters under his breath with a wince.

Orion shushes him with a jab of his elbow.

“This is Steve, EP-508, and A-A-Tron,” B-127 introduces each metal sculpture like an old friend.

“Quick question, do they talk back to you?” D-16 interjects, slightly unnerved.

“I do.”

The tiny voice startles both Orion and D-16, making them yelp.

“Ahh! Okay, that one’s real!” Orion gasps as a little blue bot peeks over the table.

“Hello,” the young bot waves.

“Oh, there you are, buddy. I didn’t wake you did I?” B-127 asks.

“S’fine, I’m not sleepy anymore,” the little bot mumbles, rubbing the recharge from his eyes.

“That’s a sparkling,” D-16 balks.

“His name’s Rubble ‘cause that’s what I found him in!” B-127 declares proudly as he scoops the sparkling into his arms, which proves to be slightly difficult as the little bot is only a head shorter than him.

“You found a sparkling in the garbage?” Orion asks, not believing his audials.

“Pfft, no. I found a newspark in the garbage.”

The two miners stare at Rubble, dumbfounded.

“How did he get out of the Forge facility? It’s inescapable,” Orion mutters, speaking from experience.

“Dunno. I kept waiting for someone to come down here and take him home but I been waiting a long, long time and I haven’t gotten any luck trying to contact anyone streetside. But we’ve had our fun playing the waiting game.”

“Time out for a klik,” D-16 interrupts, extremely troubled, “You understand how messed up this is, right? A newspark. In the garbage.”

“Well, yeah. But we laugh about it now,” B-127 shrugs nonchalantly.

“Yep,” Rubble adds with a nod, “I was a mess.”

“You sure were, buddy. Nearly gave me a spark attack,” B-127 chuckles, patting Rubble’s helm.

“How long have you two been down here?” Orion Pax asks quietly as he takes another look around the space, optics lingering on the drawings littering the walls.

“Well, Rubble’s only been down here long enough for his protoform to mostly solidify. As for me? I’ve been here for just a little shy of, um, forever…”

Suddenly, there is a loud clunk as several clumps of metal crash through the chute. Some of the scrap get stuck on the conveyor belt, filling the room with a loud whine.

“Ah, lugnuts! Could you help me with this for a nanoklik?” B-127 asks Orion who quickly jumps into action. “It’s nice to finally have some extra hands down here.”

“Uh-huh. Where are we, exactly?” Orion asks as he helps free the warped scrap.

“Sublevel 50.”

Orion blinks. “That doesn’t make any sense, there’s only fourty- Ugh, this is too much! How do we get out of here? Can we even get out of here?”

“Of course you can, it’s as easy as chrome-alloy pie. Unless your foremech transferred you here, then you don’t.”

“What?”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it too much, I’m sure you two will love the place in no time. If you want to stretch your struts once in a while, there is limited access to all fourty-nine Sublevels up to Waste Management. But, if your foremech assigned you down here and you get caught leaving your new post, you could be punished.”

“We’re already stuck down here,” Orion says in frustration, “what’s the worst anyone could do at this point?”

“Well, there’s always withholding rations, refusal to review or accept quotas, penalties for not completing said quotas, longer shifts, physical discipline, confiscation of property- Wait, what?”

Orion Pax gives the yellow mech a very concerned look. “Has anyone ever done that to you?”

“Here? Primus, no,” B-127 laughs, but it comes out strained and bitter, “Someone would have to come down here first.”

Orion feels a pit forming in his sinking tanks.

As Orion starts asking B-127 more questions, Rubble looks up at D-16 with big curious optics.

D-16 shifts awkwardly as the sparkling just keeps staring. “Uh, hi,” he grunts and clears his vocalizer, “Can I help you?”

“Are you really from the mines?” Rubble asks.

The question throws D-16 for a loop and he can feel his chassis slot itch. “Yeah…”

“Wow,” Rubble murmurs in awe, “What do the mines look like?”

D-16 sputters as his processor buffers and stalls. “Uhhh… They’re big tunnels and, um, there’s lots of rocks.”

“Ooh, rocks!” Rubble grins, engine puttering excitedly, “I have a rock collection. You want to see?”

“Erm, sure...”

Rubble jumps up and scoots next to EP-508 before digging through his subspaces.

“So far, I have this one aannnd this one,” Rubble proudly declares as he drops two different rocks onto the table.

“That’s… certainly is something…” D-16 says as he rubs the back of his neck, looking at the odd pair of unremarkable stones, “You’ve honestly never seen the mines, little mech?"

“Nuh-uh,” Rubble says with a shake of his head, “But B’s always told me they looked very pretty.”

“That’s… huh.” D-16 had never thought of the mines as anything but a place he had to work and that was it. He supposed it was true, if this place was the only comparison.

“Have you tried talking with admin?” Orion cuts in as he follows B-127 back to the table.

“I’ve tried explaining everything to Waste Management but I kind of hit a snag there with their new shift manager. They do not like distractions, let me tell you,” B-127 sighs.

“What if we could talk to someone above their station?” Orion asks, the gears in his processor clearly turning.

“You can do that?”

“Sort of, we-”

“We had an in with Sentinel Prime, THE Sentinel Prime, until SOMEBODY ruined it,” D-16 interjects with a scoff.

“Whoa, slam on your breaks, how did I have anything to do with this mess?” Orion frowns.

“You dragged us into another one of your stupid big ideas and pissed off the wrong mech, like always,” D-16 sneers.

“D, you’re not being fair,” Orion snaps back.

“Like the Pit I am!”

“Hold up, no need to fight. We’re all friends here,” B-127 tries to intervene but D-16 gets right up in Orion’s faceplates.

“Why do you always act like you’re the only one who’s going to change Cybertron?”

“Hey! At least I can actually picture a future where we’re all not stuck underground, at least I haven’t given up!” Orion shouts.

He throws his arms wide in frustration and manages to clock Steve’s head clean off onto the floor in the process, sparks flying everywhere.

“Steve!” B-127 shrieks in horror.

“Whoops…”

“Oh, good one, Orion,” D-16 sighs, pinching the bridge of his noseplate.

“Bye-bye, Steve,” Rubble waves down at the decapitated statute, completely unphased as B-127 is panic-stricken.

“Not my Steve!” the yellow mech laments, nearly on the verge of tears.

“Sorry, sorry! Here, let me fix it!” Orion sputters as he scrambles to pick up Steve’s head, only to immediately fumble it onto the table.

Suddenly, something small falls out of the salvage and then all of Sublevel 50 is bathed in blue as a static scrambled holo-projection beams to life.

“Sweet Solus Prime, what is that?” B-127 gasps, Steve completely forgotten about.

“Pretty…” Rubble coos as he reaches for the hologram.

The pixelated mass focuses into the shape of an older mech shouting in a garbled recording.

“That’s… Alpha Trion?” Orion gasps as soon as he recognizes the figure.

“High Guard, I repeat, please respond!” the image of the ancient Prime yells, tense and distracted. His voice is barely coherent through the static and warped repeating audio, “Zeta Prime-- fallen. Matrix-- Matrix compromised-- Protect-- Matrix. Sending location coordinates. I repeat, High Guard-- respond!-- Sending location coordinates.”

Then, the hologram Alpha Trion blinks out of existence and is replaced by a map of Cybertron. Specifically, of Cybertron’s surface.

All four cogless mechs stand in a long and stunned silence until Rubble quickly breaks it.

“Whoa… What the frag was that?”

“Rubble, language!” B-127 scolds as he picks up the young bot, “Where did you learn that word?”

“A-A-Tron.”

As B-127 tuts in outrage and turns to reprimand the shortest of his statues, Orion Pax and D-16 exchange a look.

“Primus, I don’t believe it! It’s a map to the Matrix of Leadership!” Orion gasps in awe as he rotates the projection.

D-16’s expression falls. “Don’t you dare start. I know that look in your optic.”

“Didn’t you hear what the distress signal said? The Matrix was hidden topside in this mountain range,” Orion says as he points to the map’s route.

“And you think it’s still there?”

“I KNOW it’s still there. I can feel it in my spark.”

D-16 scoffs. “Even if it is up there, how are we supposed to get out of here, smart-aft?”

“Through Waste Management, of course,” B-127 suddenly cuts in as he gives the map a spin, delighting Rubble.

“B, you know a way to the surface?” Orion asks.

“Sure, it’s easy, if you ignore the fact that it’s probably the hardest thing ever. Every half cycle Waste Management loads several trains full of hazardous trash and dumps it on the surface. Best way to get up there is to climb the garbage chute and then hitch a ride right on up with a train. They’re fully automated so no one will notice if someone sneaks in with the waste crates.”

“That… actually sounds doable,” Orion says, a confident grin growing on his faceplates, “When’s the next shipment?”

“Oh, they’ll be starting prep work for this run’s any klik now,” B-127 shrugs giving the map another spin before Orion snatches it.

“Then there’s no time to lose, let’s get going,”

“Wait,” D-16 interjects, “Can we actually stop and think about this before we get caught up in another one of your crazy schemes?”

“If we miss the trains, we’ll have to wait a whole half-cycle down here for the next shipment.”

The silver mech sighs in defeat. “After you then, my good mech,” D-16 relents as he motions his red and blue friend towards the conveyor belt’s collection bin.

“Great, you guys have fun up there,” B-127 smiles at them with a wave.

“It was nice meeting you,” Rubble adds.

“Hold up,” Orion stops dead in his tracks before whipping back around, “We can’t let you two stay down here.”

“What?” B-127 asks, genuinely confused.

“You mean we can go on an adventure with you?” Rubble smiles, optics lighting up.

“B, you’ve got an entire plan to get topside. Haven’t you ever tried going up there yourself?” Orion questions.

“Well… yeah. But that was before Rubble…”

“Please, B!” Rubble begs.

Even with the little bot’s big optics blinking pleadingly up at him, B-127 still hesitates. “Why would we leave all this?” he says as he gestures to the rest of the Sublevel.

As if on cue, another round of trash crashes onto the conveyor belt, rattling the small space.

“Puh-leeze, can’t we go with them, pretty, pretty please?” Rubble whines, tugging at the yellow mech’s arm. “If we go to the surface, we can finally see all the things in my picture book datapad. Stuff like turbofoxes or maybe even a singlehorn!”

“Or a scraplet hive,” B-127 winces, recoiling at the thought.

“Or a sunset!” Rubble counters. “Remember all those stories you use to tell me about you, Steve, EP-508, and A-A-Tron traveling all over Cybertron? You explored the ruins of Praxus and you outsailed space-pirates on the Rust Sea and you found the caves of ancient Rock Lords and-!”

“Rubble, those were all just make-believe,” B-127 interrupts softly.

“I know!” Rubble chirps, optics locked on the yellow mech, “But, B, this is your big chance to do it for really reals!”

“I…” B-127 gulps, suddenly at a loss for words. He jumps as Orion places a warm hand on his shoulder.

“B, you have my promise as a friend. I won’t let anything bad happen. I swear it on my spark,” Orion says, holding a hand over his empty chassis slot.

Behind them, D-16 gives a disapproving rev of his engines.

B-127 grows surprisingly silent as he is momentarily lost in thought.

“Alright…” B-127 quietly relents before grinning and puffing up his chassis with soaring confidence. “Yeah, okay, let’s do this, mechs! Let me just grab a few things.” He rushes to the backroom, digging through a couple of hidden cupboards.

“Yay!” Rubble cheers triumphantly.

The red and blue mech smiles at the two only for D-16 to flick one of his helm finials, none too gently. “Yowch! What was that for?”

“What are you thinking? We can’t take a newspark onto the surface of Cybertron, Orion.”

“I’m not a newspark,” Rubble butts in with a pout.

Orion just rolls his optics. “C’mon, D. When we were his age, our internships already had us swinging pickaxes and panning reservoirs before we graduated to the big leagues.”

“It’s just asking for trouble.”

D-16 is shaken from his brooding as B-127 finishes shoving things into his subspaces.

“Okay, I know it isn’t a long trek but I’ve packed every ration we’ve saved up. There’s a busted first aid kit in case of emergency. I’ve got a working datapad with Rubble’s favorite stories. Lastly, a thermal blanket in case it gets chilly.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep, that’s everything. EP-508 and A-A-Tron will hold down the fort for now. Oh, wait, just one last thing.”

As B-127 shoves past them, D-16 hooks an arm around his friend’s neck to grumble into Orion’s audial. “You know it’s dangerous up there, Pax. Are you just trying to top how dumb you can be in one day? Because even after that mess you pulled in the race, this really takes the oil cake.”

“D, we’re not leaving without them,” Orion says firmly, his mind clearly made up.

“Orion, for the love of Primus, you can’t be serious about going to the surface with a sparkling and a… him…” D-16 catches himself and bites back something rude, watching B-127 drape a dirty blanket over what remains of Steve.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” B-127 whispers to Steve, giving the pile a parting pat, “may Primus sing thee to thy rest in the Well.”

D-16 grimaces.

As B-127 carries Rubble in a makeshift sling, the two share one last look around Sublevel 50.

“Come on, last one out of here is scraplet bait!” Orion urges as he rushes towards the chute only to be knocked back by a blast of trash to the face.

Rubble giggles at his failed attempt and D-16 gives an unimpressed snort.

“You won’t get far trying to brute force your way up. Think of it like a game of cube and look for the tells,” B-127 says as he positions himself and Rubble at the top of the collection bin. “And a three, two, one…”

On cue, another round of garbage pours from the chute. As the last of it tapers, B-127 holds Rubble close then scuttles up the hatch like a cyber-tick.

D-16 and Orion Pax do their best to follow.

The climb is grueling.

They have to shut off their olfactory sensors just to stand the stench. Their fingers slip on grease-slicked walls so they have to dig their digits into the metal hard enough to chip paint. The endless waves of garbage beat down relentlessly on their backplates and the larger scrap metals leave lasting dents.

B-127 instructs D-16 and Orion Pax every step of the way as Rubble clings comfortably to him, shielded from the worst of it. He tells them when to brace against the unpredictable flow and which Sublevel hatches are safe to rest at momentarily. He weaves through the gauntlet of garbage with practiced ease.

“You climb this all the time?” Orion calls up to B-127 who is almost a Sublevel ahead, breezing the ascent like a pro.

“Yeah, supply runs are always the workout!” B-127 laughs as he pauses to adjust the straps holding Rubble in place safely against his chassis. “But if you think this is bad, you should see it when there’s an event streetside!”

“But how did- Auuggghkk!” Orion gags and spits as something horrible lands in his mouth.

“Don’t speak, just climb!” D-16 grunts, keeping his gaze on the chute’s wall in front of him, praying to Primus for the ordeal to be over.

By the time they make it to Waste Management, D-16 and Orion struggle to claw their way out of the chute hatch after B-127 and Rubble. They collapse in a heap together, vents heaving and tanks twisted in nausea.

“Fun, huh?” B-127 grins down at them, unphased.

“Yuck!” Rubble winces as he peels a sticky wrapper off his helm.

“That was slightly more… traumatic than I was expecting,” Orion wheezes, the hydraulics in his limbs aching terribly.

D-16 groans as he stands, wiping his sore dirty hands uselessly on his thighs. “Ugh, if I don’t get rust rash, it’ll be a frigging miracle.”

“Okay, next part is the trickiest,” B-127 says as quietly as possible as he carries Rubble. He ducks behind the various stacks of crates and equipment littering the large expanse of Waste Management.

He leads Orion and D-16 to a covered outcrop to survey the busy trainyard.

“And there is our ticket to the surface,” B-127 whispers as he points to several huge ceiling cranes. “We hitch a ride on one of those and we can sneak onto a train using the roof hatch.”

Rubble interrupts with a huff as he shifts uncomfortably in the sling holding him against the yellow mech’s chassis.

“Maybe you should put him down. He’s pretty big for a sparkling,” D-16 mutters, giving the little bot a sympathetic glance.

“Yeah, B,” Rubble whines, kicking his dangling legs.

“No, I can still carry him,” B-127 insists, ignoring the way his backplates audibly creak, “At least until we’re safe on the train.”

The young bot pouts and start squirming harder.

“Rubble, shh! Don’t fuss,” B-127 whispers.

“It’s fine, I’m a big bot now,” Rubble insists, wriggling restlessly and attempting to unlatch the straps himself, “Let me down. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, this was a great idea. Real stealthy,” D-16 hisses sarcastically.

“Rubble, please.”

“Let go! I’m not a newspark anymore!” the little bot snaps in frustration, no longer interested in staying quiet.

“Settle down, little guy,” Orion hushes, “We need to be-”

“What do you think you’re doing?” a stern voice suddenly demands behind them.

All three grown mechs cry out in alarm.

Chapter Text

“Orion Pax,” the pink femme seethes as she glowers at the huddled mechs, “Of course, it had to be you.”

The red and blue mech relaxes as soon as he recognizes her. “Oh, Elita, fancy meeting you here. We-”

Orion is cut off as Elita-1 seizes him by the scruffbar and forces him to her level. “Did you come down here to rub your stupid streetside shenanigans in my face?” she fumes, “Well, that was a big, big mistake on your part, buster. This is a restricted area.”

“Just let me explain,” Orion pleads.

“No, Pax,” she retorts, grabbing him by a finial, “I am hauling your corroded aft to security. Maybe they can finally knock some sense into that thick processor of yours and that goes double for you, D-16.”

“What? What did I do? He dragged me into this mess, as usual.”

“Exactly. You should’ve learned well enough by now.”

“Now wait a klik-,” D-16 begins but Elita-1 ignores him as she catches movement over his shoulder.

“Hey! Don’t think I don’t see you two minibots over there!” Elita-1 calls out as B-127 and Rubble tried to sidle into the shadows behind them, “Get your rear-gears over here where I can see you.”

Sheepishly, they walk to D-16’s side. “Ma’am, I can totally explain, we-” B-127 blurts out but the pink femme interrupts as soon as she gets a good look at Rubble.

“Why is there a sparkling in Waste Management?” she gasps before sending an accusatory glare at Orion and D-16, “What did you two do now?”

“Nothing!” Orion says, hands held up defensively, “After the race, Darkwing threw us down an elevator shaft and we found these two living in Sublevel-”

“Do any of you have any idea how many rules you are breaking just by standing here?” she vents with a snarl of her engine.

“No problem, ma’am, we’ll just head on back down the chute. No need to get your shift manager involved,” B-127 gulps nervously as he points to the nearest hatch.

“But, I don’t wanna go back in the garbage,” Rubble mumbles, dragging his heels.

“I feel you, little mech,” D-16 sighs as he watches B-127 struggle with the sparkling.

“Rubble, c’mon.”

But Rubble just pouts and goes completely limp against his hold, nearly knocking the yellow mech over. “M’not moving!”

“Rubble, please…”

As they squabble, D-16 clears his vocalizer, hiding a tiny amused snort.

“Time out,” Elita-1 says with a confused look, “I’m sorry, did you just imply the four of you came out of the trash chute?”

“Maaaybe…” B-127 answers.

Elita-1 frowns. “Hold on a nanoklik, don’t tell me you’re the weirdo in the walls everyone talks about down here.”

“That’s probably me. Although, technically, it’s a chute system. Wall panels are an entirely different can of rust-worms. You’ve got your wires and your drainage gaps and your-”

“Mute it, I’m getting a foremech,” Elita-1 declares, stomping away, only to be corralled into a completely secluded corner by Orion. “Keep your rusty servos off me before I break something, you big dumb-”

“Wait, wait! Elita, you don’t understand. Look!” Orion whispers urgently as he pulls out the mini-projector from a subspace pocket. He flicks the map back on, startling the pink femme.

“What is this supposed to be?”

“It’s a map to the Matrix of Leadership. We- Wait, wait!” Orion sputters as Elita-1 makes a noise of disgust and tries to shove past him. “Just listen, this is a S.O.S. from Alpha Trion himself. Give me a klik and I can show you.” He frantically taps at the teeny tiny buttons, struggling to find the one for replay.

“We found it in my friend Steve’s head!” B-127 explains as he pops up beside her with a big dumb smile.

“What?”

“Steve’s dead now,” Rubble adds cheerily.

“Primus…!” D-16 cringes at the pair, slapping a hand to his forehelm.

“What is wrong with all of you?” Elita-1 lashes out and snatches the mini-projector as she glares at Orion. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t confiscate this and drag your sorry afterburner to the nearest cogged overseer?”

Orion blinks. “Because you’re a good bot, Elita,” he answers honestly, “In fact, you’re one of the best of us, even if you don’t have many opportunities to prove it.”

“Excuse me?” Elita-1 balks, taken aback.

“Please. I know I’m asking a lot, but this is too important to ignore,” Orion begs as he takes her hand in his just long enough to hit the right button on the mini-projector.

Alpha Trion’s form flickers on and is superimposed over the map, paused and unmoving.

Elita-1’s ever-present stern expression finally softens in confusion at the sight of the ancient Prime.

Orion seizes his chance. “With this map, we can find where the Thirteen hid the Matrix of Leadership. We can finally make things better for everyone.”

Elita-1’s engine stalls as she gives both Orion and the hologram a long thoughtful look before she suddenly gives a small mocking chuckle. “I don’t believe this. You’re going topside to save Cybertron? You, the most irresponsible mech in Iacon?”

“Not just me, all four of us,” Orion says proudly as he motions to the others.

Elita-1 pauses to massage the temples of her helm with a groan of exasperation. “Let me see if I have this right. A stupid troublemaker, a block-headed bruiser, a freaky nutjob, and a little sparkling all plan to go to the surface to find the Matrix and jumpstart the flow of energon?”

“That’s right!” B-127 grins, pumping his fist, “Though I wouldn’t call myself block-headed, my helm is more of a roundy sorta shape like a-”

With a long-suffering sigh, Elita-1 slumps her shoulders and glances up at Orion. “Look, I don’t know what you’re really planning to do up there, but I’ve decided that I don’t care. Here,” she sneers as she holds out her hand.

“Wow, thanks Elita. I knew you’d-” Orion says as he takes the mini-projector only for her to seize his wrist tightly.

“On one condition,” the pink femme cuts in, “Get the sparkling back to his supervisor before you three idiots go gallivanting topside.”

“What!” B-127 chokes out in a panic.

Rubble instinctively latches onto the yellow mech as if magnetized.

“No! W-We’re all supposed to go together!” Rubble sniffles, torn between throwing a frustrated tantrum and just sobbing.

“Elita, can we have an aside for a quick klik?” Orion insists as he drags her and D-16 to the edge of the corner, giving B-127 and Rubble some privacy. “We can’t do that to them.”

The pink femme gives a disapproving shake of her helm. “The sparkling isn’t his, Orion. Cogless can’t waltz up to the Forge during Well Harvest season and order a custom build or file a cold-constructed adoption. I know an insubordinate like you might find it unfair but it’s just a fact of life down here.”

“It IS unfair. He rescued the little fella from the garbage furnace when Rubble was just a newspark,” Orion asserts.

“And you believe him? He could have stolen the kid for all we know. Everyone here has a story about him creeping in the walls and begging for different junk until the newest shift manager stepped in.”

“Elita, there’s not a doubt in my spark that B’s a good mech. He’s just trying to take care of Rubble.”

Elita-1 quirks a judgmental optic ridge before turning to the silver mech. “What do you think, D?”

D-16 vents a snort of exhaust. “He’s weird, annoying, has no social awareness, or concept of personal space, and he’s a real-” D-16’s vocalizer hitches as he glances over his shoulder to see B-127 is bouncing Rubble on his knee as best as he can, murmuring and wiping away the young bot’s few worried tears. Shame hits D-16’s spark like a nasty punch and he can’t help but course correct. “- really cool guy…” D-16 doesn’t catch the way B-127’s antenna wiggle as he overhears just the last bit.

“Tch. Well, the sparkling must have a supervisor, or something, somewhere in Iacon. Newsparks don’t fall out of the sky,” Elita-1 says, crossing her arms.

“Come on Elita, look at ‘em! B and Rubble are inseparable, like the lacquer layers in an oil cake. They’re obviously mentor and mentee.”

“Cogless can’t be mentors, you know that,” Elita-1 snaps curtly, “Even if he could be, what are his qualifications?”

“Well, the kid’s not retro-rat food, so that’s at least one point in his favor,” D-16 remarks, his optics lingering on the pair, only to get jabbed by a red elbow in his chassis. “Ow.”

“Not helping, D.”

“Orion, it just isn’t natural,” Elita-1 continues, voice softening to an exasperated sigh, “Cogged supervisors are meant to prepare cogless sparklings for their long productive lives in the mines. You went through it. I went through it. For once, just take my advice and let the kid stay somewhere safe.”

“Would it really be any different on the surface compared to the mines? Especially with the uptick of tunnel collapses lately?” Orion suddenly snaps with a discouraged rev of his engine.

A small stab of guilt stings Elita-1’s spark at his words.

Orion spots it and presses further. “Think about it. We take him to the nearest authority and what are they gonna do? The same thing that happened to all of us. They’ll railroad him into the fastest way to get a pickax in his hands and that’s it.” He pauses to grip the mini-projector like a lifeline.

“But if we show up with the Matrix and deliver it to Sentinel Prime, we can show everyone that cogless bots can be more than what we were forged to be. Plus, with the Matrix back in a Prime’s hands, there won’t be any need for the mines and all of our futures can finally be our own.”

Elita-1 opens her mouth to fire back but she pauses as her processor gears spin and she considers.

Eventually, she throws her hands up in defeat. “Oh, you… you self-righteous glitch!” she snarls under her breath, glaring daggers at Orion. She kicks a nearby heavy crate, unflinching as it dents under the impact. She then nearly throws a punch at the wall but opts to instead bury a muffled yell of frustration into her hands.

“She sounds like she’s taking this well,” B-127 quips as he and a dejected Rubble join the other two mechs.

“Actually, this has been one of their best talks ever,” D-16 shrugs.

Feeling better after muttering more curses under her breath, Elita-1 sighs.

She clicks her glossia as she puts her hands on her hips and gives a long look at the three disheveled mechs and sniffling sparkling.

“The last train leaves in five groons. It’ll be less crowded by then. Keep low in the janitor’s closet until I finish my shift and grab us some supplies for the road.”

All four mechs are momentarily stunned by her change of tune.

“You’re coming with?” B-127 brightens, “Fantastic!”

“Only because you three moronic go-bots clearly have just one functioning processor diode between you. I can’t expect you to protect yourselves much less a-” she begins only to be startled as Rubble wrangles his little arms around her into a tight hug.

“Thankyou! Thankyou! Thankyou! Thankyou!” he cheers happily.

Elita-1 wilts against the warm contact, suddenly flustered. But she quickly hardens her faceplates and keeps Rubble at arm’s length. “Um, alright, enough of that,” she tuts, brushing herself off, “Now, if I come along, I expect to have this entire experience reflected flawlessly on my character. Understood, mechs? I’m getting a promotion to get my life back on track, one way or another. You at least owe me that, Orion.”

“You got it, boss.”

Elita-1 rolls her optics at him. “Don’t try to grease my wheels, Pax. This little team up between the five of us is purely transactional. And if it turns out there’s nothing up there, I am personally drop-kicking your rusty afterburner into next cycle.”

“Not if I get my hands on him first,” D-16 adds with a playful nudge.

“Deal,” Orion grins.

“Fine, just stay in here for now,” she whispers as she unlocks a nearby janitor’s supply closet that is marked off-limits for renovations. 

B-127 and Rubble dart in excitedly and immediately start messing with things.

“Don’t worry, Elita. I won’t let you regret this,” Orion says as he heads in as well.

“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” she mutters before she motions to D-16. “This is a pretty stupid idea, huh?” she asks sharing a look with the silver mech.

“Eh, I’ve been handling plenty of stupid ideas lately. What’s one more?” D-16 nods but his optics linger on B-127, Rubble, and Orion, all three of them already goofing around in the janitor’s closet.

Elita-1 gives an annoyed scoff at their antics but she cannot ignore the small excited thrill deep in her spark.

Chapter Text

“Heh. Talk about a bad sign,” B-127 jokes nervously as he points upwards to a large caution sticker.

It depicts a miner being crushed by the train’s automatic doors.

“That’s it. I’m not taking another one of his terrible puns. I’ll be in the next car,” D-16 grumbles as he goes to stand.

“D, cut it out,” Orion shushes as he shoves the silver mech back down to the train car’s dark corner, “Will you get a grip?”

“By Primus, he’s worse than you,” D-16 hisses under his breath, elbowing the red and blue mech right back.

Rubble, meanwhile, hums quietly in B-127’s arms. He gently clacks the two halves of his rock collection together as the four wait for Elita-1 and the final crate.

“No prob, I can handle the last of it!” her voice calls out from the tarmac as a whistle blasts from the station outside. She drops the sizable waste crate and glances around. “Locking down!” she shouts, hand hovering over the control button as she waits for a reply. She smirks when she doesn’t get one.

She slaps the control lock button and all of the crates in the crowded car glow red, magnetized in place.

Elita-1 then darts behind the nearest stack and all five of them tense until the train slowly lurches forward and the doors slide shut.

“Whoo, we’re actually doing it!” B-127 cheers as he pops up from their hiding space only to be knocked off his feet as the train rattles along the loops of the infinity tracks beneath.

“Oof, kind of a bumpy ride, huh?” Orion chuckles, helping the yellow mech up.

“Well, hold onto your struts because the climb up to the surface is going to be a pain in the skidplate,” Elita-1 says as she braces herself against a wall.

“Why is that box green?” Rubble suddenly pipes up as he stands, pointing to the far end of the rattling train car.

Sure enough, one crate’s lights are green as it slides around with every bump.

“Someone must have forgot the lock-sync. Sit tight, I’ll take care of it,” Elita-1 grunts as she walks over to the end of the car, her stride wobbly. She slaps a hand down on one of the crate’s buttons.

The lights on the crate flicker red before remaining green.

“What the-?” Elita-1 blinks before repeatedly tapping the button like she would in an intense arcade match back in the barracks. “The locking mechanism is broken.”

Suddenly, all of them are thrown off their feet as the train teeters into a steep incline.

Elita-1 desperately claws for the loose crate. The five cogless bots scramble to find purchase as gravity shifts and jolts as the train veers sharply vertical.

“No!” she shouts as the crate slips from her grip.

“Look out!”

D-16 instinctively snatches Rubble up just as B-127 tackles Orion into them, the yellow mech knocking them all out of the way. The crate whooshes by and slams into the back row. The collision crashes against the entire rear cluster of boxes, their lights changing green under an alarming chain reaction of the impact. In an instant, their original hiding spot is crushed under a near dozen crates that are knocked into a loose pile.

“Oh, scrap!” Orion hisses in quiet alarm.

“Quick! Lock them back into place before we hit a decline!” Elita-1 shouts as she drops towards them one box at a time.

Frantically, all four mechs jump down and press every green button they can as the rattling train climbs ever higher.

“I can’t reach!” B-127 cries out as he struggles to touch the buttons of two crooked crates.

Orion manages to yank the yellow mech free just as the train lurches again, the boxes just narrowly avoid scissoring B-127’s arm off. Elita-1, D-16, and Rubble pull the two of them up to safety amongst the rest of the secured crates.

Despite their best efforts, several crates fail to magnetize and the train’s jostling tosses them about like a violent game of Cube below their footing.

“What do we do now?” D-16 shouts, Rubble tucked under an arm.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad once we land rightside-!” B-127 starts only for the train to spiral.

They scream as they are sent into the air as the train returns to a horizontal tilt.

The loose boxes barely manage to avoid seriously injuring them as D-16 and Orion deflect them like seasoned Cube players but the dents they leave are nasty.

“Get to the roof!” Orion yells as he rushes for the access panel as another series of bumps send the loose boxes bashing into the surrounding cargo.

“Are you crazy, Pax?!” Elita-1 objects, a crate sailing right over her helm.

“If we stay in here, we’ll be crushed! We need to make it to the engine car!”

No one decides to argue further as they scramble to escape.

Light floods the train car and a squall of wind batters against them as Orion opens the ceiling hatch.

Just as they peek through the opening, the surface around the train transforms. Huge mountainous waves of jagged metal crash upwards alongside the speeding train.

“This is stupid. This is stupid,” B-127 mutters like a mantra as he holds a worried Rubble close and follows Orion and Elita-1 out of the cargo hold with D-16 right behind. The mess of dusty wind stings as the five cogless cling desperately to the top of the train car as the landscape around them sharpens and warps in waves.

“Oh, this is soooo much better, Orion! I frigging hate the surface!” D-16 shouts out as another violent bump rattles his spark.

The metal of the earth stabs upward on either side of the line of cars as the train automatically bobs and weaves through the groundswells of Cybertron’s surface.

Elita-1 tries to crawl forward, a free hand shielding her optics from the onslaught of sand and sun. “Head to the engine before we’re-!”

As soon as the words are out of her vocalizer, one last spike of metal earth manages to skewer the tail-end of the infinity track and the whole train is flung into the air.

All five of them are sent flying in different directions.

In that horrifying moment, B-127 grabs desperately for Rubble as the hard rocky surface rushes towards them, but the little bot cries and flails just out of reach.

Suddenly, a silver arm hooks around the two of them, pulling both small mechs flush against a broad protective chassis.

D-16 braces himself as they crash against something hard. They manage to bounce once and then land heavily in a patch of sand, sinking slightly in the impact.

Above them, the train cars right themselves back onto the track and thunder away, leaving the cogless behind.

There is a mighty rumble of metal against metal in Cybertron’s vast terrain and then the ground around them suddenly stills.

Wincing, B-127 lifts himself up, bracing his hands against D-16’s sturdy chassis. “D, are you alright?” he mutters, slightly dazed, before looking worriedly at the silver mech.

D-16 groans as he twitches in the crater he made in the sand. “Ngh. Yeah, perfect. Who needs a fully functioning spinal-strut anyways?” he coughs through gritted denta.

B-127 quickly helps D-16 to his feet, the taller mech grimacing as he arches his back. His sore and dented backplates hiss and pop as they align back into place. “You two good?” D-16 asks, flexing his hydraulics as best as he can.

“I tink I frew up…” Rubble mumbles as he kneels beside them, processed energon dripping from the corners of his mouth.

“Aw, come here, buddy,” B-127 frets as he pulls out a cleaning cloth and wipes the sparkling’s pudgy faceplates clean.

D-16 notices Rubble hold back a sniffle and gently gives an encouraging pat to the small blue helm. “That was some ride, huh kiddo? You handled it like a big brave mech.”

“Thanks…” Rubble mumbles, but he does seem to perk up at the silver mech’s praise. “Where’s Orion and Miss Elita?” he asks as B-127 helps him up.

“They couldn’t have gotten far,” D-16 muses, hands on his hips, as he gazes around, “C’mon, let’s get looking.”

The sky is a drab and cloudy yellow grey and the area around them is mostly outcroppings of metal from the earlier surface tremors and clumps of sand. Within some of the patches of sand grow small strange organic vegetation.

“What’s this stuff?” Rubble asks, poking at a sprout.

“Don’t mess with it,” D-16 warns, “If it’s not metal, then there’s no telling where it came from.”

“’kay,” Rubble chirps obediently.

 B-127 interrupts as he turns a corner and finally spots Orion and Elita-1 not far away. “Oh, there they are. Aannnd now she strangling him. Yikes,” he winces as the two promptly launch into another argument.

“Sounds like they’re doing fine then,” D-16 chuckles dryly.

“B! B, come look!” Rubble suddenly cries out, having darted in the opposite direction and managed to crawl up a huge rock in the few kliks the two were distracted.

“Rubble don’t run off!” B-127 yells as he and D-16 clamber up to him, their shouts alerting Elita-1 and Orion who rush over as well.

As B-127 reaches the top of the metal rock, Rubble points out to the horizon in excitement. “Look!” he grins, his optics alight in wonder.

Clouds in the westward sky were thin and let a hint of the sky peek through, exposing blue and a sprinkle of ever-present stars. Several large rays of light bathed the expanse of no-mech's-land in warmth and the massive outcrops of metal around them shimmer with iridescent sheens.

“What a view!” Rubble gasps in awe, a huge grin on his little faceplates, “The surface is amazing!”

B-127 struggles to form words, the sight making his vents hitch and stall. Just as he is about to join in the excitement, a loud boom shatters the silence behind them.

“Get down!” D-16 shouts as he instinctively grabs the two minibots and slides down the rock’s edge to where Orion and Elita-1 meet them at the bottom.

“Everyone, quiet!” Elita-1 hisses as she looks over her shoulder, “Something’s firing an artillery cannon. Something big.”

“Quiet-quiet or whisper-quiet? Because there’s a bit of a big diff- Mmpffh!” B-127 babbles nervously only for Elita-1’s hand to clamp over his mouth.

“Shush!” she orders as she motions the others to look eastward.

There, in the hazy distant sky, red scanner beams bleed through the thick blanket of clouds and something unmistakably large descends. The ominous shape is thickly plated like the shell of an exoskeleton and is asymmetrically organic, unlike anything on Cybertron.

“A Quintesson ship…!” Orion whispers in horror.

All five of them freeze in a tight huddle as they watch the large alien ship drift slowly above the various distant cliffs and valleys of Cybertron’s surface.

Suddenly, just below the ship, the train from earlier rockets by before disappearing into a valley. The ship lazily follows the train, the beams of the scanner shutting off as the Quintesson vessel slips back into the mist of clouds.

“Why isn’t it scanning the train?” Orion asks out loud as he stands, cautiously double checking their surroundings.

“That`s what you’re worried about?” Elita-1 grunts as she nudges him, “What’s it doing on Cybertron in the first place? There’s nothing up here but rocks.”

“Maybe they’re looking for pretty rocks? There’s lots of those,” Rubble offers as he starts pawing through some nearby pebbles, clearly eager to expand his rock collection. He squeaks in indignation as B-127 attempts to scoop him into his yellow arms.

“Whelp, time to head on back!” B-127 announces as he tries to wrangle the squirming sparkling.

“But we just got up here!” Rubble interjects, jumping out of B-127’s hold and stomping a foot, “We didn’t even get to see a turbofox yet!”

“I’m sorry, Rubble, but some things aren’t worth it,” B-127 sighs as he glances back to where the Quintesson ship had hovered, “Let’s just go back home to Iacon and let someone who knows what they’re doing handle things.”

“That’s the sanest thing the motormouth has said since we’ve met,” Elita-1 agrees, crossing her arms.

“Are you kidding?” Orion interjects as he points to the jagged wall of metal behind them, “How are we going to backtrack through that mess?”

“We’ll circle around if we must. We can’t be too far from a security outpost,” Elita-1 retorts.

Orion shakes his helm stubbornly. “We’re already up here, we should just keep going.”

“Towards where a Quintesson ship was headed?” B-127 interjects with a gulp.

“If anything, that proves they may be looking for something they can’t reach, here look,” Orion says, turning the map back on, “See? The signal shows a cave system in this mountain range here. We can sneak our way in easy.”

“No, this is foolish,” Elita-1 snaps, “No one wants to follow that stupid map except you, Orion,”

“Nuh-uh!” Rubble declares loudly, taking Orion Pax’s hand and standing opposite of B-127 and Elita-1, “I wanna stay too!”

“Rubble!” B-127 gasps.

“Puh-leeze, B!” Rubble begs, puffing up his chassis, “I’m not scared of Questasons or nothing!”

“That’s the spirit!” Orion beams at the sparkling’s enthusiasm.

“Don’t encourage him,” Elita-1 sneers.

“He’s a big kid, he can make his own decisions, Elita.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Pax.”

“Well, it’s still two against two,” Orion retorts.

Although his back is to the bickering, D-16 tenses as he realizes four pairs of optics are suddenly on him. “Why’s everyone looking at me?”

“The vote’s two for two. Whether we stay on the surface is your call, D,” Orion says as Rubble gives his hand a little squeeze.

D-16 blinks, taken aback. He looks at each of his cogless companions before venting a deep sigh. “We’re the first cogless to make it up here in maybe forever. We’ve done some of the craziest, stupidest things in the past day. Which is why it pains me to admit it but…” He pauses to lock his golden optics with his best friend. “You’re right, Orion. We can’t go back to Iacon now. We’ve got to investigate the map or find Sentinel Prime while we’re topside, whatever we run into first.”

Rubble whoops excitedly while B-127’s entire demeanor deflates.

“Typical,” Elita-1 scoffs before snatching the map away from Orion. “Fine, but no more of your shenanigans, Pax. I’m only agreeing to this because this whole stupid adventure of yours should only take a day or two. That said, I carry the map and I navigate. If I say things are too dangerous, I expect you to listen, understood?”

“You got it, captain. We’ll stick to a route that lets us keep as much cover as possible,” Orion grins confidently.

“Agreed. We should have enough supplies to make it there and back even with some unexpected detours,” Elita-1 hums as she studies the map. After a moment, she points to a structure at the foot of the mountain range leading to the signal’s destination. “We can make camp here. The map says it’s a pre-war energon depot.”

“Sounds good,” Orion nods before addressing the group, “Alright, everyone ready?”

They each answer with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“Then let’s go! Look out Matrix, here we come!”

Chapter Text

“And see that horizon? That means we’re at the Litter-ee-um, er, the Lee-thee-em-” Rubble excitedly babbles, struggling with the word.

“Lithium Flats,” Elita-1 calls over her shoulder.

“Yeah, that,” Rubble nods before skipping back to where Elita-1 leads, proudly reading the landmarks alongside her.

“Look at him!” B-127 beams as he walks beside Orion Pax and D-16, “I’ve never seen him this talkative!”

“Guess some bots really do take after their mentors,” the red and blue mech chuckles.

B-127 promptly stumbles. “Whoa, whoa, ease your breaks, Orion. Me, a mentor?” he balks.

“Sure, why not?”

“Cogless don’t have mentors…” B-127 says simply, shoulders slumping as he glances back at Rubble, “and cogless can’t be mentors…”

Orion scoffs with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nonsense, you can find a mentor anywhere if you look hard enough.”

D-16 butts in with a snort of his vents. “Of course you’d say that, Pax.” He leans down close to B-127 to whisper, “When he was a kid, he thought he had a mentor in the walls of his internship mines. Said she lived in the wires.”

“Hey! I told you that in confidence, D!” Orion snaps with a frown before looking wistfully towards the distant clouds. “Besides, it’s true…”

“Uh-huh and I transform into an alloygator,” D-16 quips sarcastically.

“Ugh, you’re such a fragging glitch!” Orion teases as he shoves the silver mech playfully before turning back to B-127. “Seriously, B, why can’t you be a mentor? You’re a natural.”

B-127 shrugs. “I get what you’re saying. But it’s just the way things are, mech. Just like how cogged bots transform and we don’t. They have mentors, we have supervisors. They have apartments, we have barracks. They go to the Academy, we have internships. They graduate to whatever job they qualify for, we stay in the mines.”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that, B,” Orion insists.

“I guess…” B-127 hums, voice growing distant, “Maybe things can change...”

As they reach the top of a hill Rubble points excitedly. “Oooh, B look, dieselles! Those were in my picture book too!” Rubble cheers as he spots a small herd of metal beasts grazing nearby.

The dieselles keep their distance but do little else than flicker their antler blinkers as they watch the five pass by.

Rubble attempts to run right up to one of them before Elita-1 manages to catch him.

“Whoa there, little fella,” Elita-1 says, “What part of ‘keep out of trouble’ don’t you understand?”

“Aw, rust-nuts,” Rubble sulks, attempting to curse.

Elita-1 clears her vocalizer, hiding a small amused snort. “C’mon, it’ll be dark soon. The energon depot should be that structure just up ahead,” she says as she points west towards a dilapidated complex in front of mountains shrouded in mists.

“You mean we get to see a sunset?” Rubble asks, promptly perking up.

“Sure, but let’s get some cover first. I don’t like being out in the open like this.”

With the memory of the Quintesson ship fresh in their processors, the five pick up the pace until they reach the threshold of the depot.

“Well, that’s more rust than I anticipated,” Orion grimaces as they approach cautiously.

“Seems like most of the damage is on the outside,” Elita-1 muses as she studies the surface of the complex. “If we find a way in somewhere, we can hopefully avoid the worst of it.”

The five split into two teams, Orion with D-16 and Elita-1 with the minibots.

“Ew, more yucky veggie stuff,” Rubble frowns at the tangles of vines, roots, and lichens that seem to accompany the patches of rust that cover almost every surface.

Elita-1 spots a small rusted hole hidden behind a clump of vines along a shadowed metal wall. “Stand back,” she warns before landing a kick to the wall, sending up a cloud of dust and rust. It takes only two kicks for her to widen the hole enough for all three of them to crawl through and drop down. Inside is a small mostly empty supply closet and a locked door.

“You guys having any luck?” Orion’s voice calls from outside.

B-127 peeks through the opening, standing on a stack of crates. “Nah, just a whole lotta noth-”

Elita-1 interrupts as she manages to ram the door open, the slab of metal stuck halfway off its track.

Orion and D-16 join the others as they explore the new room.

The room is unimpressive, just a couple tables, supply boxes, and a meager kitchenette. The door leading deeper into the complex is opened just enough to show the hallway has partially collapsed. Although every surface is caked in dust, the spread of rust is luckily minimal.

“Looks like this was a break room,” Orion says as he notes the long damaged energon dispenser and line of crooked cabinets and countertops along one wall.

“Emphasis on the break- Hey!” B-127 instinctively quips only for D-16 to flick one of his antennas.

“Watch it with the puns,” the silver mech warns but there is a smile on his faceplates.

“We’ll camp in here. The walls should be thick enough to hide us from any scanners,” Elita-1 says as she runs a hand along the surface of a single corner table, grimacing at the dust. “We should probably try to clean things up first.”

Luckily, the cogless know how to keep a clean barracks, so the five grab what little tools that they can from the supply closet and get to work. By the time they tidy up enough, the sun is setting.

“Cold,” Rubble mumbles, nuzzling up to B-127 as he keeps an optic on the hole to the outside. He watches, entranced, as the purples of dusk seep into the little light they have.

“I think I can fix that,” Orion says as he turns on his helmlamp and digs through the energon dispenser. “The crystal capacitors should have enough juice left in the emergency ampules to warm up the place for a couple groons.”

After tucking two dim capacitors under an arm, Orion drags a large metal bin into the center of the room. “Here goes nothing,” he says before shaking one capacitor and cracking it like a glowstick. It immediately flickers with purple heat and singes his fingers just as he drops it in. “Ow! Sl-” he nearly curses but one look at Rubble makes him segway, “Slipping Star Saber…”

“Smooth…” D-16 teases as Rubble giggles.

“Yeah, yeah. Chuckle it up you two,” Orion smirks as he readies the next capacitor, handling it with a bit more care this time.

While the heat from the sturdy bin is blistering, it’s a far cry from Sublevel 50’s incinerator. Still, they welcome the light and warmth as night falls.

“Rubble, get down from there and come get some fuel,” B-127 calls as he starts divvying up the energon rations he and Elita-1 collected.

Rubble doesn’t look away from his perch at the exit, too mesmerized by the last faint rays of the sunset and reflections cast against what little of the complex was free of corrosion. “But I’m not done watching. I’m not hungry anyways,” he insists as he props his elbows on the ledge, optics locked on the stars.

B-127 taps a finger on his chin for a klik in thought before rushing over and rummaging through the kitchenette’s drawers. “Not even for some toasted energon?” he calls over.

“Cube toasties?” Rubble asks, suddenly eager and jumps down in excitement.

“Dare I ask what that is?” Orion says as Elita-1 hands him a ration.

“Oh, it’s nothing special. It’s just what we called energon that we would roast over the incinerator.” B-127 grabs a long metal drink stirrer and skewers a cube at the end.

“Doesn’t that turn them into a huge mess?” Elita-1 asks as B-127 carefully angles the cube over the makeshift heater.

“Sure does, but that’s part of the fun,” B-127 smiles as he begins to rotate the energon over the searing conductors.

“Cube toasties! Cube toasties!” Rubble sing-songs, clapping his hands and circling the bin in delight.

“Let me get in on this,” Orion smiles as he digs through the kitchenette and pulls out a long two-pronged dining fork. He sidles next to B-127 and joins in after figuring out how to get the angle just right.

D-16 and Elita-1 exchange bemused looks but stick to eating their rations the old-fashioned way.

After a few kliks of cooking, the two mechs pulled their makeshift skewers from the bin, the surface of their cubes darkened and crystallized.

“Careful, it’s a little hot,” B-127 warns Rubble as he hands the cube to the sparkling.

“Thanks,” Rubble chirps before giving the cube a few cautious pokes.

Orion, on the other hand, takes a big bold bite of his cube. He winces as the hot energon stings his glossia a little but the warm gooey stretch and sweet char of the energon more than makes up for it. “Whoa, this is pretty good!”

“B and I used to make these with the furnace whenever we found big cubes,” Rubble says as he slurps up a big mouthful of his toasted ration.  The bright gooey energon stretches and makes a mess all over the blue sparkling’s fingers and faceplates. “Wow, sticky,” Rubble says in awe before suddenly advancing on D-16, goopy hands outstretched menacingly.

“Oh, no you don’t, you naughty little scraplet!” the silver mech yelps as he barely dodges the gummy little fingers.

Rubble just cackles as he attempts to swat at D-16 only for B-127 to swoop in for the rescue.

“Gimme those paws, buddy,” B-127 tuts as he cleans Rubble’s hands and face.

“Aw, no fair!”

“Serves you right, you little menace,” D-16 sneers.

Rubble huffs and sticks his glossia out at the silver mech but slips into a fit of giggles as D-16 pulls his glossia as well.

By the time everyone finishes refueling, Orion somehow ends up messier than Rubble so B-127 helps clean him up too.

“We should probably get some recharge. There’s a long trek ahead of us tomorrow,” Elita-1 hums as she examines the map, calculating the next leg of their journey. “One of us needs to keep a lookout so we should swap in three two-groon intervals.”

“I’ll take the first shift,” D-16 offers.

“I’ll go second then,” Elita-1 says.

“Then me!” Rubble declares, puffing up his chassis bravely only for B-127 to ambush him with the thermal blanket he packed.

“You are going right to recharge, young mech,” B-127 chuckles as he swaddles the sparkling with practiced ease.

“Noooo! I’m not sleepy!” Rubble whines as B-127 secures him in the thermal blanket as if he were a giant snuggly beryllium baloney wrap.

“There we go, all tucked in.”

Rubble just pouts and wriggles restlessly in the blanket cocoon as B-127 pulls him onto his lap and nestles onto the floor, keeping close to the bin’s warmth.

“You mechs are sleeping on the ground?” Elita-1 asks as the rest of the group gets themselves comfortable.

“Why not? We can pretend it’s like a berth,” Orion answers as he uses an old rolled up tarp as a pillow. “Besides, I’d prefer not to have a kink in my spinal-strut when I wake up for once.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d prefer not to have dust in my afterburner,” Elita-1 scoffs as she locks her joints in place in the familiar barracks mandated stance.

“Suit yourself, Elita. But you’ll be missing out on all this leg room,” Orion grins, wiggling his pedes for emphasis.

Elita-1 just shuts her optics.

As B-127 cuddles close, he turns to the other three one by one. “Goodnight, Orion,” he says.

“’Night, B,” Orion smiles.

“Goodnight, Elita.”

“Nm-hmm,” was all she musters.

“Goodnight, D.”

D-16 just grunts with a yawn as he huddles closer to the warmth, optics locked on the exit.

“Goodnight, Rubble,” B-127 whispers as he powers down his optics, holding the sparkling close.

Rubble doesn’t answer, having already nodded off into recharge.

No sooner than he slips into sleep mode, B-127 is jolted awake by a firm hand shaking his shoulder.

“Hey, wake up! The kid’s fine! Look, he’s right here!” D-16 hisses quietly as he motions to Rubble. The sparkling had, at some point, managed to wiggle halfway out of the thermal blanket and cuddled up against the silver mech.

B-127 blinks in confusion, his nerves feel jittery and frayed. “W-What happened?” he chokes out, his vocalizer glitching on a hiccup.

“You’ve been talking in your recharge the whole time,” D-16 says, slightly unnerved.

B-127 winces. “Oh, sorry. That happens once and a while,” he says as he sits up and tucks the blanket over Rubble’s shoulders.

“Really?”

“Well, actually all the time,” the yellow mech admits flatly, somewhat embarrassed.

“Ah, I see…” D-16 hums, leaning back. The silver mech chews on his lower lip for a nanoklik before blurting out a soft, “Are you… okay?”

“I’m fine. Did I say something strange? Rubble says I can be a real chatterbox when I recharge,” B-127 quips as he scoots a little closer.

“Actually, you started off listing energon goodie flavors. Then you kept repeating what sounded like the manual of an energon-driller over and over again. It was annoying at first then it was kinda funny,” D-16 explains, a small smile tugging at the edge of his liplates before his expression falls, “But suddenly you got… weird.”

“Weird how?”

D-16 shifts uncomfortably. “I dunno, you sounded upset. Then you started getting all twitchy and got really scared and it just kinda freaked me out. Then you started screaming for the kid – something about how he was floating away.”

“Oh, sorry,” B-127 says honestly.

“Would you say it was a bad data defrag or a nightmare?” D-16 asks.

“Bit of both,” B-127 answers, strangely quiet as he strokes Rubble’s helm.

D-16 doesn’t press him and instead grunts an affirming “Hm.”

There is a long uncomfortable pause before D-16 is the one to break it.

“Primus, I could go for some high grade right about now.”

“You drink?”

D-16 smirks wistfully. “Only ever tried it once. Orion made me sneak into an oilhouse with him. We hid our chassis with just some sheet metal and spray paint. I still can’t believe that it worked as long as it did. But we only got two drinks in before he blew our cover and said he could outpace a loudmouth mech in a drag race. The two of us ended up getting chased all over downtown until we escaped clinging to a passing mining train.”

“You went out of the mines?” B-127 asks, clearly impressed.

His response throws D-16. “You haven’t?”

B-127 shrugs simply. “Not any place I couldn’t reach through the chute. The other Sublevels beneath Waste Management I could access were all different kind of unpleasant. But, I’ve seen lots of places in Iacon in old advertisements in datapads and a few holovids I could get to work. That’s basically just as good, right?”

“Um, sure, mech.”

Another long pause crawls its way between them.

“So, I gotta ask,” B-127 pipes up suddenly, eager to shift the subject, “What’s with you keeping your serial number. Don’t most cogless bots your age choose a nickname by now?”

D-16 snorts out a laugh. “That is hilarious coming from you, Mr. B-127.”

B-127 gives an indignant rev of his engine. “I told you, I’m already working on BADASSATRON!”

“Not a real name.”

“It is too!”

“Dream on, B, it’s never happening.”

“You’re no fun!”

D-16 can’t help but chuckle. “Where’d you even come up with something like that in the first place?”

B-127 scoffs, as if the answer is obvious. “Uh, by combining the coolest things someone can be, duh! You take badaft, assassin, and add a suffix to pull it all together. Badass-a-tron!”

The two share a genuine laugh together.

“I’ve always told myself this: you choose a name for who you want to be,” B-127 explains with a grin. He leans in close, blue optics locked on the silver mech. “What about you, D? Who do you want to be?”

D-16 blinks, again thrown for a loop by the strange yellow mech. His hand idly traces the decal on his shoulder. “I want… I want to be like Megatronus Prime.” D-16 flinches as he realizes he said that out loud. “Don’t laugh.”

B-127’s smile only seems to grow. “I’m not laughing, I think that’s actually really sweet.”

“Oh, puke…” D-16 sneers with a roll of his optics and crosses his arms.

“No, I totally get it, he’s one of the coolest Thirteen,” B-127 enthuses, his babbling kicking into high gear, “Most bots I knew were fanbots of Prima or Alpha Trion. Which are cool and all, but those are such basic glitch choices for a favorite Prime, you know? Me, on the other servo? I’ve always been partial to Amalgumous Prime. Or is it Amalgamous? Frag. How do you pronounce it, D? A-mal-goo-moos or Amal-gum-us or Am-alga-”

“Wow, it is just a hic a klik with that vocalizer of yours, huh?” D-16 interrupts, quirking an optic ridge.

B-127 withers almost instantly. “Sorry, I’ll mute it…”

“Nah, it’s cool,” D-16 says, nodding at Rubble, “If the kid can get used to it, so can I.”

Relaxing, B-127 smiles gratefully at the silver mech. “Thanks, D.”

D-16 just smirks and gives B-127 a good-natured nudge. “C’mon, B, get some recharge. We’ve got a mountain to climb in the morning.”

With a nod, B-127 scoots closer to Rubble and shutters his optics. It doesn’t take too long for him to slip back into recharge.

Just as D-16 relaxes, the yellow mech’s voice startles him again.

“I like rust-sticks. Do you like rust-sticks, Steve?” B-127 sighs softly as he nuzzles himself closer to D-16 and Rubble, his words slightly slurred and his optics fully shuttered. “Best ones are the ones with iron filings… and the ones with potassium fizz sprinkles… chrome-alloy crunch… dilithium dust… chrome-alloy double crunch…”

D-16 can help but listen and watch the two minibots with a strange fascination.

Eventually, B-127’s endless murmurs quiet enough to bleed into the ambience, leaving D-16 with his thoughts.

BONUS DOODLE:

Chapter Text

“Nuh-uh!” Rubble pouts, crossing his arms as he glares up at the rocky cliff face towering in front of the five of them.

“C’mon, Rubble, don’t be stubborn,” B-127 sighs.

“I’m a big brave bot, B! I can climb up all by myself!” Rubble whines with a fussy little stomp.

The two minibots had been arguing for what felt like groons, the other three sidelined as B-127 tries to wrangle Rubble into the sparkling sling.

“I’m sorry, but it’s just too-”

“You won’t even let me try!”

“Enough, I’ll carry him,” D-16 suddenly interrupts, taking the sling from the yellow mech.

Rubble’s expression instantly brightens. “Okay!” he smiles sweetly, reaching his arms up to the taller silver mech. He lets D-16 secure him to his broad back and latches his little arms around him tightly.

Compared to the garbage chute, their ascent up the mountain’s cliff face is a piece of oil cake and it doesn’t take long for the five of them to reach the threshold of an oddly shaped cave. While overgrowth obscures most of it, the maw of the entrance gapes like the open jaws of a frightening beast.

“I know they call it the mouth of a cave but this is ridiculous,” B-127 shudders at the sight, “Spikes like big ol’ teeth, fantastic. Maybe we should stay out here and find another less creepy way in?”

Elita-1 rolls her optics, fiddling with the map.

“Come on, B, you’re going to let a bunch of stalactites stop us?” D-16 teases, tweaking one of the yellow mech’s antenna playfully.

“Yeah, B,” Rubble tuts as he pokes B-127’s arm just as teasingly.

“C’mon, the Matrix is just inside,” Orion says as he and D-16 turn on their helmlamps.

“Everyone at least hold hands so we don’t get lost in here,” B-127 insists as they enter.

“Yes, mentor!” both Orion and D-16 sing-song as they salute.

B-127’s faceplates heat in embarrassment but he forces all five of them to join hands as they head into the darkness.

The tunnel constricts into a tight squeeze and they eventually have to crawl their way through. At the end, the passageway dissolves into a massive cavern with a single ray of light seeping in from above.

“This is the place,” Orion announces in awe as they enter one by one.

The cave is huge with more plantlife growths mingling with the metal of the walls and crystalline stalagmites. With the exception of twelve large scraps of faded color that stand out from the blanket of greens and greys.

Excitement is replaced by confusion and sadness as the four fully grown bots realize what they have done.

They have just entered a tomb.

“Oh, Primus! Rubble, don’t look!” B-127 gasps in dismay as he covers the sparkling’s optics.

“What’s wrong with everyone? Why are they recharging so weird?” Rubble asks quietly as he attempts to peek between B-127’s fingers.

“That’s… Vector Prime….” Orion chokes out, pointing towards a broken silhouette, recognizing it from the stickers he collected back when he was a sparkling. His optics drift to a crushed tangle of limbs and then to a skewered body. “Amalgamous… Solus… Primus, this is where they all fell, isn’t it?”

“I knew this was a bad idea…” Elita-1 hisses through gritted teeth, a shudder rippling down her spinal-strut, “We should leave.”

“Way ahead of you,” B-127 says as he tries to drag Rubble back into the cramped tunnel and away from the grisly sight.

But Rubble will have no more of the yellow mech’s coddling and promptly begins to put up another fuss.

Orion frowns as he feels his spark sink. “D, maybe they’re right. We should go and regroup before we- D?”

D-16 suddenly bolts forward, like a mech possessed, startling the others and making them freeze in their tracks. He stumbles past the other discarded corpses before he slumps to his knees in front of the pieces of a large purple mech. The decapitated masked helm is unmistakable.

The silver mech hesitates before placing a reverent hand to the mask. The touch is cold and D-16 feels stupid for feeling surprised. They were taught of the Primes’ deaths since they could remember, and Megatronus was no exception, but still D-16 feels cheated.

“This isn’t right… Megatronus would have never fallen this way…!” D-16 says slowly.

Murdered and desecrated like an executed criminal. The thought makes D-16 feel bile at the back of his intake.

Orion places a hand on D-16’s shoulder, unintentionally brushing against the decal there. “D, c’mon, we have to-”

“This is insane!” D-16 shouts as he slaps the other’s hand away.

Orion flinches and is about to respond before something in his processor clicks. “Wait… Zeta!” he gasps before bounding through the cavern, searching each body. “Of course, how could it have slipped my mind? Zeta Prime is the one who holds the Matrix of…”

What was once the stately teal Prime lays sprawled in a forgotten heap. The remains of his chassis are burst open like an exploded can of bubbly high grade. The inside is barren save for the multiple dried and rusted stab wounds to his spark casing.

“It’s not here,” Orion says softly in disbelief.

“Great, this day just keeps getting better and better! All this way for nothing!” B-127 groans as he struggles with Rubble, who has managed to cling to the tunnel’s edge like a space barnacle, refusing to leave.

“B, don’t get frustrated, the Matrix is probably-”

“Oh, will you shut up!” D-16 snaps as he stomps over and gets right in Orion Pax’s face, his golden optics blazing. “He has every right to get mad. You made him bring a sparkling topside to a rusted-out graveyard! Once again you drag everyone along on another one of your stupid hunches and for what, Orion? All this trouble and there’s nothing here worth investigating!”

“Not even the blinky corner?” Rubble suddenly interrupts, pointing over to one of the large piles of debris.

At once, their five pairs of optics zero in on a pile of rocks and exoskeleton husks. It takes a nano-klik but a weak emergency spark-light flashes in the dim corner.

Suddenly, it clicks which Prime was missing.

“Alpha Trion?” Elita-1 gasps, “No way…”

Orion dashes over and peeks in through the cracks in the rock, catching a hint of purple chassis.

“His spark is still lit! Help me with this!” Orion calls over as he starts to clear away the rocks and other debris.

As Elita-1 and D-16 quickly join in, B-127 hesitates going further into the cavern but Rubble wrenches himself free and runs over. The sparkling promptly tries to lift a rock too big and strains with it until B-127 helps him lug it out of the way.

With the five of them working together, the mess is cleared away easily and before them stands Alpha Trion, frozen in stasis but alive. His ancient body is locked in a silent shout, corrosion and strange alien lichens pockmark his armor, and the rare fabric of his cape is in tatters.

“Here, this should be enough to jumpstart him out of stasis,” B-127 offers, unpocketing one of his remaining energon rations and handing it to Orion.

Orion reaches up and plinks the little cube into the Prime’s open mouth like slotting a shanix into the barracks’ arcade cabinet.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Dust and exhaust heave from Alpha Trion’s vents as life surges back into his circuits. His optics flicker on but struggle to see as his internals whirr and clunk. A garbled shout escapes his vocalizer as he moves to spring into action only to stumble worse than a newspark.

The ancient Prime blunders his first steps and B-127 flinches away, instinctively shielding Rubble. The other three rush forward, Orion catching Alpha Trion by a pauldron.

“Easy now,” Orion says gently as he tries to steady the large mech, “It’s okay, you’re safe now, Alpha Trion.”

 Alpha Trion clears his vocalizer, ignoring the sudden sparks that claw up his throat as the cabling reactivates. He looks confused and lost while his wiring is stricken with tremors. “Ambush…! Someone help Onyx, he’s… Need to fall back… High Guard, someone warn them… I can’t… I don’t…” Alpha Trion mumbles, more to himself than anyone else.

The Prime’s dazed processor seems to stall as his optics blink and glitch as he seizes and looks down at the five cogless, suddenly aware of their presence.

“Hello!” Rubble chirps loudly, peeking out from behind B-127 with a friendly smile.

A choked gasp rasps and splutters from Alpha Trion’s mighty engine as he suddenly recoils from the sparkling, as if Rubble were a scraplet swarm. He manages to trip over the edge of his tattered cape and falls to the ground with a heavy thud, his creaking limbs scrambling to find purchase.

“Whoa, whoa, relax! Are you alright?” Orion asks as he tries to rush over but Elita-1 catches his arm.

“Give him some space for a klik,” she insists.

Alpha Trion does not answer right away as he shutters his optics and presses his forehelm to a shaky fist. Something else inside him sparks and fizzles. “No, no… What are you thinking, you old fool? Is your processor failing?” he hisses under his breath, seemingly lost in his thoughts again before his optics snap wide open.

“Why is there a sparkling here?” the Prime demands, his voice growing stronger. He snaps his head up to look directly at each of the five, his optics then narrowing. “What is the meaning of this? Where is his t-cog? Where are all your t-cogs?”

“Settle down,” Orion gently says, “I know you’re confused. The war’s been over for some time.”

“How long have I been in stasis?” Alpha Trion cuts in curtly.

Orion flinches. “Um, try not to freak out, but it’s been a little over fifty cycles.”

“Fifty…” Alpha Trion utters numbly.

Orion exchanges a concerned look with the others. “Where is the Matrix of Leadership? We came so far to find-”

“Gone. Long gone, of course. No worthy leader, no Matrix,” Alpha Trion says offhandedly as he rubs his chin, his gaze lingering on each of them, “But that’s not important right now.”

“What?!”  B-127 blurts out what all five of the stunned cogless are thinking, “You’re joking!”

“What are you saying? Of course it’s-” Orion starts but Alpha Trion is quick to interrupt.

“You do not seem to understand the gravity of your conditions. So, I will ask again. Where are your transformation cogs?”

“We’re miners,” D-16 answers with a confused frown, “So naturally, we were forged without cogs just like-”

“You are all speaking nonsense!” Alpha Trion thunders, outraged. He suddenly stands, towering large and imposing with the powerful presence only a Prime has. “There is nothing natural about any of this!” He points a shaky finger at all five chassis one by one. “Each and every one of you have had the most precious part of you, the unique form of self-expression gifted to every Cybertronian…” he pauses as a sadden and pained grimace overtakes him, his expression twisting, “mutilated and torn away… And none of you even realize it!”

“What are you talking about? We were all born like this,” B-127 says as Rubble gives his hand a nervous squeeze.

D-16 steps in front of them, glaring up at the Prime. “Old mech, I have had this empty slot with me since I first onlined my optics. Don’t act as though you know anything about us,” he challenges.

But the ancient mech is unmoved. “No Cybertronian comes from the Well of the Forge or the warmth of a spark without a transformation cog,” Alpha Trion rumbles, his voice a near growl as quiet fury grips his spark.

“Is he cracked?” Elita-1 hisses under her breath, exchanging a confused and worried look with the others.

“Look, I know this is a lot for your processor to handle. A lot has changed in fifty cycles so maybe I can explain,” Orion offers, placing a comforting hand on Alpha Trion’s arm. “You see, without the Matrix, energon dried up and Cybertron began to run on fumes. Because of that, cogless like us started showing up in Forge batches. Since we can’t transform, Sentinel Prime thought it best if we-”

“PRIME?! He’s calling himself a PRIME?!”

At once, all five cogless recoil at Alpha Trion’s frightful outburst, huddling close together and instinctively forming a circle around Rubble.

“Now what is wrong with you?” D-16 shouts, fed up with the Prime.

“Sentinel is not a Prime. He is a murderer and a traitor to Cybertron,” Alpha Trion seethes in anger and disgust, his twitching hands balling into tight fists.

The cogless look up at him with growing unease.

“You can’t just say something like that and expect us to believe you!” Orion snaps.

The purple mech matches his defiant glare with a knowing glower. “I can do better than that,” Alpha Trion says coldly as he turns away, “I can show you.”

Although there is a hitch in his step, Alpha Trion marches over to the center of the cavern and presses a hand to the metal surface. There is a pulse of magnetism that ripples in the air and, all at once, filaments of dust, fragments, and even paint flecks of the fallen twelve Primes hover and swirl like a dense sandstorm. In an instant, Alpha Trion’s silhouette is lost in the clouds of particles as familiar figures begin to take shape.

Suddenly, the Thirteen stand before them, all gathered around a hologram of the illustrious Sentinel Prime.

“He had been our aid and trusted ally during the height of the Quintesson War. We were thirsting for a solid victory and, in our desperation, we trusted his word without question when he told us of a secret meeting of Quintesson commanders. With their end we could have driven them from Cybertron for good, so we did as he suggested…”

The cogless jump as the magnetic clouds shift again, the tiny metals brushing past them as they take the shapes of the thirteen entering the cavern.

B-127 shudders as he feels the particles graze his shoulder like a gentle caress as they flow by. He glances at Rubble and his spark sinks.

Rubble stands rigid, his circuits twitching and his optics wide. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Rubble? Rubble are you okay, buddy?” B-127 whispers worriedly, touching the sparkling’s helm.

That seems enough to jolt Rubble out of his processor lag and the little blue bot blinks up at B-127, suddenly near to tears. Before Rubble can answer, the memory of a voice rings out in alarm.

“Ambush! Quintessons from above! Battle positions now!”

All five cogless look up in dismay as hundreds of Quintesson ground soldiers pour into the cavern from every nook and cranny as they swarm the Thirteen.

Rubble whines in distress as the Quintessons open fire on the Primes, staying in the protective stance the older bots keep around him.

“Enough, you’re scaring the kid!” D-16 shouts, as if his own spark isn’t pounding with mounting panic as he locks his optics on Megatronus Prime who charges bravely into the chaotic fray.

The two sides clash in the violence of battle, the Thirteen uniting despite being outnumbered. Their weapons tear into the organic invaders as explosions and gunfire echo like thunder in the cavern.

Energon and blood fly everywhere.

“I don’t like this adventure anymore!” Rubble whimpers, tugging at B-127’s arm, “I want to leave!”

“You all need to watch this, you need to understand,” Alpha Trion’s voice speaks from the shadows, “A Quintesson trap was nothing new to us. We knew how to adapt to their tactics by then. We knew how to rally as one.”

Suddenly, a massive blade punches through Nexus Prime’s spark, circuits and shrapnel gore spilling down his chassis.

“But we had no idea we had been lied to from the beginning…” Alpha Trion says quietly.

Behind Nexus stands Sentinel, a smug triumphant grin on his handsome faceplates as he twists his Primax Blade.

Rubble starts screaming.

It is something terrible and raw.

B-127 rushes to shield the sparkling from anymore of the brutality as the image of Sentinel uses Nexus Prime’s weapon on his fellow Primes, grinning like a madmech. “Shhh, it’s alright Rubble, it’s not real,” he hushes as he rocks Rubble through his shrieking.

Rubble’s wails only increase as he buries his face into the crook of B-127’s neck, trembling uncontrollably.

“I’m afraid the truth is very real, little ones,” Alpha Trion’s stern voice booms through the cavern.

The imagery only ramps in violence and chaos.

Orion feels sick as Solus is sent flying by Nexus’s blaster, the impact empaling her spark on a downed Quintesson’s spiny exoskeleton.

Elita-1 turns away in revulsion, hugging herself close as a struggling Liege Maximo is swarmed.

D-16 watches in horror as Quintessons force Megatronus to his knees and it is Sentinel that lands that terrible blow with his blade.

Around the five of them, phantoms of the Primes are cornered and slaughtered one by one. None of them go quietly, their deaths are cruel and horrid. Beaten down and torn into scrap until Zeta Prime is the last, barely clinging to life as Sentinel gleefully tears open his chassis.

Zeta and Sentinel exchange the Prime’s final words, before Sentinel unceremoniously shoots him in the head. Their voices are lost as Rubble’s endless howling sobs are impossible to ignore and they drown out everything.

The image of Sentinel wrenches the Matrix of Leadership free from the remains of Zeta Prime’s chassis and holds it up like a prized trophy.

In a sudden nanoklik, the Matrix powders to nothing in his hands.

Sentinel stands in stunned silence, surrounded by staring Quintessons, before he glares in hatred at Zeta Prime’s corpse.

As the blue and gold mech advances on Zeta with his blade, the images crumble back into dust and debris.

All five of the cogless are left shellshocked as Alpha Trion steps before them, his expression somber and seemingly unrepentant.

Rubble’s cries are broken and shrill as he thrashes in B-127’s hold.

“I don’t want to be here! I want to go home!” Rubble screams, tiny voice laced with static, as he collapses violently to the floor and curls into a trembling ball.

“Oh, sweetspark, shh…” B-127 murmurs tenderly as he tries to gather Rubble back into his arms.

Alpha Trion’s righteous glare evaporates into an apologetic frown. He walks over and takes B-127’s wrist. “Here, hold his helm right to your spark. Like this,” he instructs, his large battle-scarred hands gently coaching B-127 to nestle the distraught Rubble against his yellow chassis.

In a nanoklik, Rubble’s frame-wracking sobs quiet into weak sniffles. Rubble nuzzles into B-127’s embrace, sucking on his thumb like he did as a newspark.

B-127 blinks in surprise. “Whoa, that worked fast. How’d you do that?” he asks as he cuddles Rubble closely.

“When the Well started for the first time, none of us knew what to do. When we realized the batches would keep coming every cycle, we all took turns raising each batch of newsparks as mentors until Solus and Quintus completed the Forge and I wrote up the curriculum for sparkling care for the Academy. I was never anyone’s favorite mentor but I did learn a thing or two over the cycles,” Alpha Trion explains as he softly pats Rubble’s helm. “Most useful in moments like these is the sound of a carrier’s spark.”

“Great! Um… What is that supposed to mean?” B-127 asks as he looks at Orion who just shrugs in mutual confusion.

Alpha Trion frowns at their reaction. “My apologies, I thought you were his carrier,” he says as he stands.

“Well, I carried him around everywhere when he was littler. Not that we ever went-”

“No, no,” Alpha Trion cuts in with a shake of his head. “I meant that you carried him within your spark,” the Prime explains, motioning to his chassis for emphasis.

B-127 just stares at Alpha Trion, cocking an optic ridge. “Metaphorically…?”

“Of course not.  I’m talking about the rare parthenogenesis modules.”

Now Orion Pax and Elita-1 are staring up at him too. Behind them, D-16 seems to be lost in his own thoughts.

“You know, budding, to put it into laymech’s terms,” Alpha Trion tries again, simplifying his words but they just keep staring. “By Primus, how much knowledge did he take from you?”

“I thought newsparks only came cold constructed or custom forged from the Well,” Orion says.

“Most do, not that there is any real differences between the types. The protoform on spark-sourced newsparks tends to take about two cycles longer to fully solidify and that’s it. Though I can’t say I’m very learned on the matter. Solus and Quintus are… were the experts in that field…”

“Does this matter to any of us?” D-16 suddenly snaps, his faceplates twisted in a scowl.

“If you have lived your lives in starvation or stress, I suppose it does not,” Alpha Trion says evenly, “And it is obvious all of you have suffered from both.”

“He said everyone needed to undergo strict rationing in Iacon, no exceptions. Are you implying that was another of his lies?” Elita-1 asks, her processor gears turning.

“Sentinel more than likely planned on bribing the Quintessons with energon. I can guess that, without the Matrix, that aspect of his plan has proved troublesome for him. I suppose he would have implemented a cover to siphon energon in large enough quantities to satisfy their parasitic desires. Using an impressionable workforce is an easy solution to such matters, so long as they are kept weak and subservient from birth.”

“Primus, what a monster…” B-127 whispers as he strokes Rubble’s helm soothingly.

“I don’t believe you!” D-16 suddenly spits, his voice full of venom but his words are weak. They have seen enough of the truth with their own optics.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Alpha Trion counters, “All five of you are living proof of his misdeeds, nevertheless.”

The cavern is silent for a moment, save for Rubble’s soft whimpering.

“They gave us trinkets and games as rewards and pitted us against each other for promotions,” Elita-1 says, her hands clenched into fists, “All for nothing…”

“What’s it matter?” D-16 snarls, stamping a foot loudly, “We have to do something! It’s our energon he’s stealing and it’s our cogs he took!”

“What matters, D, is that Sentinel’s hold on Iacon is to the core,” Orion says as he steps up to his best friend, “It means we can’t just waltz back home with one of the Thirteen. We’d be stopped before we’d reach the city’s perimeter. We need a plan.”

“A plan means nothing if we can’t fight!” D-16 shouts, shoving Orion out of his personal space.

“D, calm down!”

“He looked at me and saw this,” D-16 seethes as he slams his fist to his silver chassis, “And he smiled... He knew exactly what he had done to me and he smiled!”

“D, relax. We’re all in this mess together. We’re going to stop him.”

D-16 whirls on Orion, his golden optics darkening again. “I don’t want to just stop him, I want to…!”

His voice dies as he catches B-127 and Rubble glancing his way, fat tears still spilling down the sparkling’s cheeks. In response, D-16 quite literally bites his glossia. He bites down hard enough to taste energon, the pain numbed away by simmering anger that he tamps down and down until all that comes out is a frustrated sigh.

“You’re a Prime, can’t you just summon the Matrix?” Orion asks as he turns to Alpha Trion and grips a purple arm.

“Young mech, I have spent a lifetime trying to understand the will of Primus with mixed success,” Alpha Trion sighs as he places a large comforting hand over Orion’s, “The Matrix of Leadership is only granted to the one most worthy on Cybertron. I suppose, after fifty cycles stuck in stasis, I’ve been knocked down in the running back to square one.”

“Tch. So, we’re just screwed then?” D-16 sneers quietly with a bitter scoff.

“Not necessarily,” Alpha Trion says as his gaze sweeps around the cavern, “There is something I can still do for you young ones.”

Alpha Trion lumbers slowly back to the center of the cavern. Again, his palm presses to the floor and magnetism flows through the metal around them, only this time in softer tendrils. One by one, the transformation cogs of the fallen Primes drift into the air and orbit around the ancient mech.

Only eight cogs circle above Alpha Trion, which is expected. Those belonging to Zeta, Solus, and Nexus were destroyed in the massacre along with their sparks. D-16 is seemingly the only one that makes a mental note of the one that is unaccounted-for.

“Transformation is Cybertron’s lifeblood, Primus’s gift to us all. No one knew this better than me and my fellow Primes. We had guided generations of bots to embrace their true potential as Cybertronians for hundreds of cycles. It is about time I continued our tradition again and give you the opportunity to change your world,” Alpha Trion says before he holds out a hand to Orion Pax, pointing a t-cog towards him.

“Prima, our eldest. His cog is worthy of someone willing to take initiative as well as one with an understanding spark.”

“That… doesn’t really sound like me, but I will do my best to honor his memory,” Orion smiles politely as the cog levitates in front of him.

Then Alpha Trion turns to an expectant Elita-1.

“Alchemist, a tactician like no other outside his field of sciences. I have no doubt in my mind that a bot with sharp intuition will excel with his spirit in your circuits.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got the right bot for that,” Elita-1 says confidently as she holds out two hands and the cog swoops right to her.

D-16 is next.

“Onyx, a wildcard of a wild bot. He would’ve found you as a brave and steadfast kindred of the spark.”

D-16 holds out a hand but says nothing as the cog hovers in place just above his fingers, his optics locked on the floor.

Finally, Alpha Trion turns to B-127, who is helping Rubble to his feet.

“And Micronus-”

B-127 steps forward excitedly. “Oooh, wait let me guess! Is it my magnetic personality or my rugged strength that-”

“It is the only one here that will fit you.”

“Oh…” B-127 pouts, shoulders sagging.

That gets a tiny giggle from Rubble as he wipes his sniffly noseplate with the back of his hand, his tears finally drying.

A small smirk quirks at Alpha Trion’s thin lips. “I will say that your tenacity is just as infectious as hers,” the Prime nods as he lets the cog glide over to the yellow mech.

B-127 promptly fumbles it with an echoing clang.

That earns a big laugh from Rubble that makes the others’ sparks soar.

Alpha Trion draws the remaining cogs close, reexamining each one as his expression falls.

“I’m sorry I have nothing that will fit you, little one,” he apologizes as he kneels to Rubble’s level.

“That’s okay,” Rubble hums, taking the Prime’s giant hand in his as he watches the cogs circle the other cogless.

Suddenly, all four of them levitate off the ground as the transformation cogs slot into their chassis.

“As the Thirteen of us once were one, you four shall be as one and you will teach others the same. For as Primus’s single proverb says: 'Til All Are One!” Alpha Trion encourages as the four begin to convert.

A cyan glow fills their frames, starting from their sparks then surging through their limbs. Their HUDs fill with system jargon that rushes too fast for their processors to keep up. Their frames grow, the metal of their armor fortifies and shifts, their silhouettes becoming sleek and dynamic, built for speed and built for strength.

All four of them touch the cavern floor as changed bots.

They stand taller, their transformation seams finally unlocked. Their amplified armor gleams as if polished to perfection, their nanites running at full function. Their engines thrum together in tune, as they feel power course through their circuits, undampened and excited.

“Awesome!” Rubble cheers as he rushes over to the four, his jaw dropping as he looks up at them in wonder. “You guys look amazing! You got so big!”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Orion grins as he looks himself over before turning to the others, “This is better than anything I ever dreamed of!”

“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” Elita-1 says as she flexes her struts and runs a hand over her newly formed kibble.

D-16 stays quiet but a smirk forms on his lips as he clenches a fist.

“I feel like a brand new mech!” B-127 giggles as he strikes a pose.

“You look brand new. You’re sooo shiny now,” Rubble beams up at him as he stares at the near golden gleam of his yellow armor, “I think I can see myself!”

“Ah, I just noticed something else,” B-127 pauses.

“What?” Rubble asks.

“Weeellll, it looks like someone isn’t too big for me to carry anymore!” B-127 whoops as he scoops up the sparkling and hoists him into the air with ease.

“B! Cut it out, I’m not a newspark, haha!” Rubble laughs as he is swung around like a flyer, his little arms outstretched. “Higher, B, higher!” he chirps in delight.

The young bots start to all talk at once, their enthusiasm is infectious as they huddle up and chatter, the horrors of the tomb around them momentarily forgotten.

From the sidelines, Alpha Trion just sits his weary frame down and watches them. Then, for the first time in over fifty long, long cycles, Alpha Trion truly smiles.

Chapter Text

“I think I want to be something like a half-track. That’s a thing, right?” Rubble buzzes excitedly from his perch on Alpha Trion’s back.

The ancient Prime’s bestial alt-mode lumbers slowly through a valley of large plant life as the group of six continue their journey towards the mountain passages that will lead them safely into the mines. “I’ve seen stranger alt-modes,” Alpha Trion chuckles at Rubble’s enthusiasm, “But don’t you fret over it, your cog will always let you change into whatever will suit your spark’s desires.”

“Really?”

“But of course!” Alpha Trion smiles over his shoulder, his mighty fangs gleaming, “This isn’t my first alt, after all.”

“Wow…” Rubble whispers in awe before another crash up ahead distracts him, “How come they’re having so much trouble?”

Up ahead, Orion Pax has finally managed to get more than just his head sunken into his chassis but it is just his left arm. The rest of him continues to wobble around blindly until B-127 accidentally bumps him and he rams right into a tree. Meanwhile, Elita-1 skates by them, still struggling to put her wheels away. D-16 trips again as his tank treads seize and force him out of alt mode then tumbling into B-127.

“First transformation steps are always the hardest,” Alpha Trion explains, holding back an amused snort as Elita-1 bowls over D-16, as her follow-through sends her head over wheels. “When it was her shift during Well Harvest season, Solus would throw a batch of newsparks into an obstacle course first thing out of the Well. Claimed the thrill would jumpstart t-cog instincts naturally. She was always the most… intense as a mentor but most sparklings thrived under her teachings.”

Alpha Trion sighs as the four smack into another collision. “They’ll get the hang of it… eventually.”

Rubble relaxes as he pats Alpha Trion’s neck, earning another chuckle from the beast as the Prime quickens into a trot. The two trail behind the other four as they go crashing down a hill and promptly land in a tangle of bushes.

“Alright, that’s it. I need a break,” Elita-1 grunts as she fiddles with some branches stuck in the wheel sticking out of her ankle.

“Seconded…” Orion and D-16 both groan out in unison as they lay in sprawled heaps, their plating all mishmash in mid-transformation.

B-127, however, bounces up, ready to try again. “Wait, wait, I think I’ve got it this time. Just need to figure out the wheels to stick the landing and… Transform!” he says as he jumps high before he spins into a near perfect racing alt before landing hard. Unfortunately, his arms and legs stick out where his wheels should be.

“Ah, scrap…”

“Hee-hee, you look like an alloygator, B,” Rubble laughs as he jumps down from Alpha Trion’s back and runs right over.

“I do?”

“Yeah! A weird yellow one!”

“Awww, that’s too bad… ‘Cause alloygators eat sparklings! Numnumnum!” B-127 snickers as he snatches Rubble up, his hands grabby and ready to tickle.

“Eeek! Hahaha!” Rubble giggles as he tries to avoid the worst of the tickles and manages to slip free.

“Whooo, I’m gonna getcha!” B-127 teases as he scuttles after Rubble with his half-transformed alt-mode, toddling along on all fours.

With a squeal of delight, Rubble darts away and climbs up the nearest defense, which happens to be D-16.

The silver mech is jolted from a brooding funk as soon as Rubble is on him. He grimaces as he finishes forcing his transformation seams back into place, but he lets the little bot clamber all over him as he stands.

“Where’s Rubble?” B-127 sing-songs as he circles around them, looking utterly ridiculous.

Rubble muffles his giggles into D-16’s pauldron, trying to hide.

“Seriously, someone’s gonna have to tell me, I still haven’t figured out ‘looking’ while in alt,” B-127 adds.

Their nonsense is enough for the barest of smiles to return to D-16 but he promptly snuffs it with a serious scowl and an impatient huff of his powerful engine. “This is stupid,” he declares as he unceremoniously deposits Rubble onto the yellow mech, startling the both of them.

“Why are we busy goofing off here with the basics, Alpha Trion?” D-16 snaps as he shoots a glare at the ancient Prime, “I need to know how to transform a weapon.”

“No need to rush into something so advanced on your first day,” Alpha Trion says simply as he pauses to lay his creaking frame down in a warm sunbeam, his tail swishing. “Fundamentals are key and I find they are often overlooked in favor for tactical offense. Know your body well enough and you will find enough tricks within you that you may never need a weapon.”

“We can’t take down Sentinel with some fancy acrobatics, Trion. We need to know how to fight properly.”

“In due time, D-16, in due time.”

“Whatever. If anyone wants me, I’ll be trying to test out my alt’s cannon,” D-16 says huffily before stomping off to the side.

B-127 starts to follow after him but there is a loud scrape and a clunk as something snags internally. “Uh-oh… Guys, um, a little help? I think I’m stuck. You were right, Elita, that dent from our first jump did bend my backplates up.”

“Oh, for Primus’s sake,” Elita-1 sighs as she slaps a hand to her forehelm.

“Are you hurt?” Orion asks as he finally figures out how to transform his head and arms in and out of his chassis.

“No, just stuck,” B-127 replies as Orion walks over to examine him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotten myself stuck like this back when I didn’t have a t-cog, so I know exactly what to do. Now, hold still for a klik,” Orion says as he takes one of B-127’s hands.

D-16 pauses entering the underbrush to glance back when B-127 lets out a surprised yelp as Orion yanks his arm and coaches him to flare and shift his plating. He scoffs in annoyance.

Just as he continues forward, D-16 bumps right into Rubble, who is suddenly clinging to his side like a magnet.

“Hi,” he grins up at the silver mech.

D-16 forces a frown. “What is it now, Rubble?”

“I’m bored,” the sparkling hums as he swings his arms idly.

“Yeah? Well, go bother your mentor about it. I want some alone ti-”

“Why’d you pick a tank?”

D-16 does a double take, thrown by the question. “What?”

“Why’d you pick a tank as your alt-mode?” Rubble asks as he runs a curious touch along the silver mech’s leg, fascinated by the treads.

D-16 quickly nudges him away. “The cog mods were already fully unlocked in my HUD. Out of what was available in the basic cog and Onyx’s personal scannings, a tank was the only thing that resonated with me once I tweaked a few things.”

He looks down at himself, the shiny silver gleam and flawless paint still feeling strange and extraordinary. The decal of Megatronus Prime is the only thing that stayed the same.

“I want to be something useful. Someone needs to protect us,” D-16 says as he glances back at the others as Orion and Elita-1 yank B-127’s limbs in opposite directions in an attempt to force the yellow mech out of his mistransformation. “What’s a cargo truck, a muscle bike, and a rally car going to do in a fight?”

Rubble scrunches his little faceplates in deep thought before puffing up his chassis and striking a pose. “Then maybe I should be a tank when I get my cog. Then I can protect everyone too!”

“No, absolutely not,” D-16 says firmly as he frowns further.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re still a kid. You…”  D-16 pauses as he feels a pit forming in his tank, “You shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of serious stuff.”

“Hmmm, what about a weapon?” Rubble chirps, pointing a finger gun.

“What?! No! What did I just say?” D-16 snaps with a frustrated groan but Rubble doesn’t listen.

“Yeah, yeah, it’d be perfect! I could turn into something like Micronus Prime’s warclub or a blaster and you can-”

“Stop this nonsense,” D-16 interrupts Rubble’s enthusiastic babbling, his voice rising, “Get those dumb ideas out of your processor, young mech, do you hear me?”

“But, D!”

“ENOUGH, THIS ISN’T A FRAGGING GAME!”

The silver mech’s shout sends Rubble stumbling backwards and he lands hard on his little rear. Rubble blinks up in hurt and confusion before tears bead at his optics.

An apology is on the tip of D-16’s glossa before Rubble runs back to the others, hiding a weak sniffle.

B-127 is mechhandled back into root mode, his joints popping loudly, just in time for Rubble to jump into his arms. “Whoa, buddy, what’s wrong?”

Rubble just hiccups on a whine as he buries his face into B-127’s hold.

As B-127 comforts Rubble, Orion and Elita-1 send concerned glances to the silver mech.

D-16 turns away from them, wincing and gritting his denta until they creak. It takes a great deal of effort to suppress the guilt welling up in his spark but he forces it down anyway.

“We… should get going,” Elita-1 says, dusting herself off.

“Agreed,” Alpha Trion grunts as he eases himself back onto his paws.

The six continue on foot for about a groon, with B-127 occasionally breaking the awkward silence by trying to cheer up Rubble.

“Hey, D, can we talk?” Orion asks as he pulls his friend aside.

“There is nothing to talk about, Pax,” D-16 grunts, keeping his gaze on the ground, “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because you’ve been acting off ever since-”

“I said I’m good, got it? I don’t need you always butting your fat helm into my business. No one does,” D-16 snaps as he shoves by and jogs ahead, eager to put some distance between the two of them.

Orion watches him go, his spark sinking.

Suddenly, Alpha Trion stops mid-step, his tail twitching.

“What is it?” Elita-1 asks.

“We are being followed,” Alpha Trion grunts, his vents flaring as his olfactory sensors sniff the air.

“What is it?” B-127 gulps as he pulls Rubble close.

“Hush now,” Alpha Trion says as he glances around the dense foliage surrounding them. “They are close…”

The six bots tense, all of them on alert as they take defensive stances.

Just then, Rubble catches something dart through some nearby bushes and catches a glimpse of metal paws.

“A turbofox…!” Rubble whispers to himself before slipping out of B-127’s hold and crawling towards the rustling bushes.

“Rubble stop! Get back here!” B-127 gasps quietly as he scrambles after the sparkling.

Before anyone else can react, a large cybercat darts from the underbrush with a snarling growl and swiping sharp claws.

Rubble screams in surprise.

“Rubble!” B-127 cries out as he tackles the young bot out of the way and claws briefly rake down his backplates.

“I’ve got it!” Orion shouts, grabbing for the beast, only for the cybercat to pounce paws first onto his face, leaving a few clawmarks. Orion is sent toppling backwards into D-16 and the two crash to the ground.

Elita-1 dives after it and manages to grab the cybercat by the tail as the beast thrashes. She readies an instinctive punch only for Alpha Trion to transform and seize her wrist.

“Stay your hand, young one. She’s an old colleague from the High Guard.”

The cybercat bares her dangerous fangs with a hiss and swipes at the both of them. She manages to claw the Prime’s arm, drawing energon, but Alpha Trion just gives her a rivaling hiss of his own.

“Steady, Ravage,” he warns, “They are friends of mine.”

Ravage spits out a yowl as she wiggles free but lingers near, her tail swishing.

Suddenly, a red laser reticle appears on the Prime’s chestplates. Although, the others are startled, Alpha Trion only reacts by batting at it dismissively.

“That’s quite enough of your teasing. Come out where we can see you and let’s talk,” Alpha Trion says firmly as he glances expectantly at a dark corner hidden in the foliage.

A blue mech with a sharp yellow visor and distinctly angular chassis steps out into the open. Although expressionless, his EM field is intrusive and prodding.

“Good to see you too, Soundwave,” Alpha Trion says as he helps B-127 and Rubble up.

“Apologies: I needed absolute proof it was you,” the blue mech says, his autotune accent thick.

Ravage circles around the blue mech, before sitting beside him and licking her claws.

“Query: What are you doing alive?” Soundwave asks simply, cocking his head.

“I was trapped in stasis at the mission site. From what my young companions told me, my S.O.S. to you was eventually intercepted and thrown to the incinerators.”

“Understood. Second query: what are unvalidated foundlings doing with you?”

“They rescued me and I showed them the truth. In turn, these young ones have informed me of Sentinel’s rise to power in my absence.”

“Correction: Understatement,” Soundwave states as he touches a hand to his helm, “Understatement by magnitudes.” Then a beam of electrical impulses projects directly from his processor.

“What’s going on? What is this?” Orion demands as he and the other four recoil away from the pulsating rings of blue, feeling tingles all over.

“Answer: processor emotional memory scanning.”

“Hey! Cut it out!” B-127 yelps as he shields Rubble.

“Warning: Stay still and it won’t feel weird.”

Alpha Trion interrupts as he places a hand on Soundwave’s shoulder. “This is not necessary. I can vouch for them.”

Soundwave politely but quickly shrugs off the Prime’s touch, not stopping the beam. “Again, correction: standard security protocol. This is a required countermeasure for unclearanced bots, especially when they are in the presence of a Prime.”

“I said that’s enough, Soundwave,” Alpha Trion insists with a growl.

Soundwave reluctantly relents, the beam shutting off with an audible click.

Suddenly, another voice nearby rings out, “Are my audials deceiving me or did you just suggest shirking rules you put in place?” A purple mech with a single yellow optic steps out from the underbrush. “Sounds like your processor is slipping, Trion. Never thought I’d live to hear such a thing.”

“No way, Soundwave AND Shockwave of the Cybertronian High Guard!” B-127 gasps, recognizing them, “Two of Iacon’s best warriors. You two were the best tactician and frontline scientist during the Quintesson War, right?”

Shockwave shoots a glare at the yellow mech before turning to Soundwave curtly. “Why does he know that?”

“Possible data breach: Iacon garbage systems.”

“Possible? That’s all you gleaned from him?”

“Apologies: That one is a… difficult type.”

“Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch as well.”

“Empathetic as always, Shockwave,” the ancient Prime begins but Shockwave interjects.

“With all due respect, Alpha Trion, but step off. We shall debrief you later, where it is safe. First, we have business with these miscreants,” Shockwave says before advancing on the five bots.

“Hold on, we’re not here to start any trouble!” Orion says as he keeps in front of the others but D-16 steps forward defensively as well.

“It is far too late for that,” Shockwave says with an annoyed rev of his engines. “Do any of you realize what you have done? Tracker patrols from Iacon have been nonstop since last night and are increasing their scope by the nanoklik. I don’t suppose any of you fools thought to scramble their security cameras before you left on your little vacation?”

“Uh…” Orion starts but Shockwave continues.

“What about your overseers? Or your coworkers? Surely someone knew of your absence. Any single slip up leads straight to someone informing Sentinel’s Guard in which, congratulations, you’ve doomed us all.”

Something in D-16’s processor clicks at his reprimanding. “Wait, how much do you know about what’s happening in Iacon?” he demands.

Shockwave ignores him and turns to Soundwave, not even bothering to whisper. “You are certain they are harmless?”

“Positive: they are also quite naïve. They even brought a sparkling along.”

“Hm, I suppose you have a point.”

“Hey, cyclops! We can hear you, you know,” Elita-1 snaps, growing irritated.

“Hold your glossia, troublemaker,” Shockwave warns.

“Everybody just relax. We’re all on the same side, right?” Orion says, holding Elita-1 back as her fists tighten on reflex.

“Young Pax is right. We are more than happy to cooperate with the High Guard. We are all eager to see Sentinel brought to justice,” Alpha Trion states sternly.

“Understood, Trion, we will reconvene at our HQ,” Shockwave nods before waving dismissively at the five bots. “I suppose you lot wait here and try not to get shot. Maybe we’ll send a scout by later to escort whoever is left to some nearby ruins if we get the clearance for it.”

“Hey!” B-127 balks, offended.

“We’re not splitting up!” Rubble shouts grabbing B-127 and Orion’s hands firmly in his little grip.

Elita-1 and B-127 hook their arms together as well but D-16 ignores Orion’s offered hand.

Just as Shockwave is about to retort, Alpha Trion looms over the shorter purple mech. “They stay under my watch, understood?”

Shockwave shifts uncomfortably as the ancient Prime towers over him, weighing his options. “Very well, I’ll signal the rest of the patrol to secure and incapacitate the five of them. I won’t have our security compromised by a bunch of-”

“Belay that protocol, Shockwave,” Alpha Trion booms, his blue optics flashing.

“But war policy, guidelines you helped write, mind you, clearly state, and I quote: ‘that the secrecy of a hideout’s location should logically stay only within-”

With a snarl of his engine, Alpha Trion transforms and bares his diamond-sharp fangs with a snarl of his engine. “My charges will not be harmed. Am I making myself clear?” the beastly Prime growls, the breath of his exhaust fogging up the single yellow optic.

Shockwave staggers back but Soundwave and Ravage stay put, the blue mech slightly amused.

“Fine,” Shockwave snaps with a scoff after some hesitation. He then aims his glower at Soundwave. “But if ‘his Majesty’,” he grumbles as his single hand gestures massive sarcasm quotes, “has another one of his fits over this, I’m not dealing with the fallout.”

Alpha Trion’s plating bristles at that. “And who, pray tell, are you talking about?”

Soundwave turns to Alpha Trion and cocks his helm as the light reflects on his visor, making it seem to twinkle mischievously. “Guess.”

Chapter Text

The High Guard’s hidden stronghold is a dump of a place.

Nestled out of sight in a valley boneyard of several downed Quintesson ships, the base is cobbled together from the hollowed-out exoskeleton of an alien battleship and logs of the plantlife infesting Cybertron’s surface. In the evening glow, it is dark and stinks of stale organic rot.

However, B-127 couldn’t be more excited.

Rubble clings to his helm as the yellow mech carries the sparkling on his shoulders. B-127 tries to keep Rubble’s spirits up by naming every bot he can recognize. “…and that’s not all. Check it, with Shockwave and Soundwave, we’ve also have got Wavelength, surprised he’s still kicking, Airwave… Hey, is Tidal Wave here?”

“Will somebody shut that incessant little yellow annoyance up?!” Shockwave glowers as he and Soundwave lead them deeper into the stronghold.

His outburst is met with the glares from four of the other bots, with Alpha Trion looking utterly disappointed in his attitude. It is a similar look he had given Shockwave when the Prime had caught him trying to hack into datapads from the Archives during his newspark days.

Shockwave grumbles something under a vented huff but keeps the rest of his complaints to himself.

Soundwave hums an amused synthesized trill at his purple companion’s frustration as the two usher the six into a large makeshift throne room.

Rubble glances up with curious unease at the dozens and dozens of seekers that stare and lurk in the rafter-like ribs of the ship’s exoskeleton. He tightens his hold around B-127 just a little.

At the end of the crowded hall, leading into a cave system, sits a large gnarled throne flanked by two huge braziers filled with tinted purple fire. On the throne sits a seeker, who stares down at the newcomers in a haughty and scrutinizing expression.

“Whoa,” B-127 gasps, “It’s Starscream! He’s the guy who once single-handedly took on a Bailiff on top of a Quintesson gunship!”

The proud seeker blinks, and preens a little with a seemingly dismissive scoff at B-127, before focusing on the ancient Prime. He shoots a glare at Soundwave.

“When you messaged me that a bunch of miners found one of the Thirteen alive, I thought you meant one of the good ones. Not the librarian,” the seeker frowns with a pout and Soundwave just answers with a teasing shrug.

“Good to see you too, Starscream,” Alpha Trion says as he gives a long-suffering sigh.

“Botsitting foundlings, are we, Trion? How trite,” Starscream sneers as he props a leg over an armrest, looking far too relaxed, and checks the paint on his fingers, “You chaperoning an Archives sponsored fieldtrip or just sightseeing up here?”

“These young ones braved great odds to find me. They-”

“Scratch that thought. I don’t care,” Starscream interrupts rudely.

Alpha Trion crosses his arms. “You should, because I recall a seeker sparkling who once-”

“Mute it,” Starscream interjects, “You’re not here to waste my time reminiscing, old mech.” He straightens his back and fans out his wings in an authoritative angle. “You know what Sentinel’s done, now tell me what you and your little pep club can bring to my resistance. Preferably, say it without your signature senile prattling.”

“Hey! You’re being awfully disrespectful to one of the Thirteen,” Elita-1 pipes up bravely.

“Sorry if I don’t bend over backwards for the Prime who spent most of my lifetime as a motivational lecturer and an Archives hermit. Meanwhile, the real game-changers, like Liege Maximo, stuck to the war room and the frontlines,” Starscream fires back at her as his fingers dig into his throne’s armrests before returning his attention back to Alpha Trion.

“If you were him, Solus, Amalgamous, or better yet Megatronus, this would be a different story. Pit, I’d even take that dipstick in the mud, Vector, over you. Really, you ought to be grateful you’re more useful to me alive and cooperative than dead. Hopefully, your rookies are smart enough to understand that too, if they know what’s good for them,” Starscream continues as he sweeps a glance at the younger bots.

“Are you threatening us?” D-16 growls, stepping forward.

Starscream blatantly ignores the silver mech and smirks fiercely at Alpha Trion. “So, let’s hear it then, Trion. What’s your big plan to deal with Sentinel? Lecture him into submission? Throw one of your signature speeches about accountability and humility at him, hm? That’s a sure-fire way to end up dead.”

Around them, the air of the stronghold fills with chuckles and jeers.

With the patience of a true Prime, Alpha Trion lets the seekers have their laughs before speaking, his voice firm. “Our first priority should be informing Iacon’s public of the atrocities he has committed. They deserve to know the truth, especially the miners. After he is incarcerated, the Senate and I will issue-”

“Oh, of course you’d bring up the Senate,” Starscream cuts him off with a loud mocking laugh, “I’ll have you know, your precious project you started with Zeta and Prima has been doing just great since you took your little stasis nap,” Starscream says sarcastically as he gives a knowing nod to Shockwave before turning his attention back to the six.

“You there, cargo truck!” Starscream suddenly points to Orion Pax, who jumps a little, “Tell me, what do you think of Senator Decimus?”

Orion shifts a little under the stares of the High Guard that are suddenly focused on him. “I, uh… He’s the Senator with the beardplates, right? We never got much political coverage in the mines.”

Starscream quirks an optic ridge at his answer. “Oh? Well, what if I told you he is a mech who profits from Iacon’s mining operations and energon distribution? He’s also the one who has final say on mining security and safety. Any accident, safety risk, or casualty you’ve ever experienced in your short miserable life can be linked back to him in some way.” Starscream props his chin on a hand as he sees the realization dawn on each of the younger bots and smirks a little. “Paints quite the picture, doesn’t it?”

“Starscream, this pettiness will get us nowhere!” Alpha Trion tries to reason, sensing where the conversation is going. “Even if Sentinel has sympathizers in the Senate, I’m certain they can be reasoned with the truth or voted out.”

“Hey! It’s my ‘pettiness’ that’s kept the High Guard safe for this long. Do you realize how far Sentinel’s corruption has spread, old mech? Proteus has a Senate seat, for Primus’s sake! Proteus, of all mechs!”

Although the name is not familiar to the five younger bots, Alpha Trion tenses, his optics flickering in confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense… No one should have voted him in after that nasty tirade of his against cold-construction leaked to the Primacy guard… not without…” the Prime mumbles, more to himself than anyone else.

“There we go, the processor wheels are finally turning. C’mon, keep up, grandsire. Sentinel has got a chunk of the Senate under his thumb and everyone streetside is too content to notice or care,” Starscream says smugly before relaxing back into his throne and resting his arms behind his head.

“But that’s not the worst of it. Sentinel has also commandeered vehicon and other drone productions in the Forge. He had each of his trackers and personal guard outfitted with a direct link of their processors to his handler. Whatever they see, she sees and whatever she knows, he knows. Nothing stays a secret long in Iacon.”

Starscream then suddenly slams his fist on his armrests, startling practically everyone. “Which is why we’re now dealing with an endless mess of scout patrols thanks to your pathetic little protégés!”

“If anyone here is pathetic, it’s you!” D-16 suddenly thunders, surprising the entire stronghold, especially Starscream.

“Excuse me…?” the seeker balks.

“You’re telling me you knew exactly what was happening in Iacon? You knew what was happening to bots like US?” D-16 slaps a hand to his broad silver chassis for emphasis, “And you’ve done nothing about it?” D-16 glares at Starscream in disgust. “You’re either a coward or a failure!”

“Excuse me?!” Starscream shrieks, utterly offended. “Would a coward sabotage and ambush every one of Sentinel’s trackers every chance we can take? Would a failure be able to build all of this?!” He sweeps his arms wide to motion to his throne room and seekers. His wings are hiked up in warning but one of them twitches.

“This place is yucky and smelly…” Rubble suddenly interjects from his perch on B-127’s shoulders, shattering an awkward pause, “And we lived in a garbage room…”

“Rubble!” B-127 gasps.

Starscream’s faceplates heat in outrage and embarrassment. “Who asked you, you little pipsqueak?!” he seethes and suddenly stands but Alpha Trion steps in front of the five younger bots.

“Enough, Starscream, you’re acting like a spoiled newspark,” he chides.

“I am not, you senile old schoolmarm!”

“Why are you doing this?” Orion asks loudly as the surrounding seekers begin to grow restless, “We all want to free Cybertron from Sentinel and the Quintessons!”

“Because it isn’t fair! Why is he still alive and not Liege Maximo?!” Starscream shouts and points an accusing finger at Alpha Trion, his vocalizer cracking at the mention of the seekers’ crafty mentor. For a nanoklik, a sad little hiccup of vulnerability slips out into the open but Starscream promptly hides it with a scowl of disgust. “Of all the Primes to survive, it had to be the self-righteous bookworm.”

Alpha Trion sighs before giving the seeker an honest and understanding look. “So, what is your strategy after Sentinel is dealt with, Starscream? Have you even planned that far? The public still needs representation and, I think with a little guidance, any of you could run for a Senate seat after there is an internal investigation. I believe several of you would do surprisingly well in politics. In fact, weren’t you angling for that career in your Academy days, Shockwave?”

The purple mech politely adverts his gaze. “Perhaps, back when I was a naïve sparkling. But those days are long gone, Trion.”

“Besides,” Starscream butts in, his red optics gleaming, “We won’t need to worry about that if we tear down the entire Senate and make an example out of all of Sentinel’s acolytes within. Violently and publicly. If that doesn’t work, we’ll just have to root out everyone until all of Iacon learns their lesson.”

“So, you’re just going to kill anyone that you and the High Guard think deserves it? Some hero you are,” Elita-1 challenges.

“Sentinel murdered and cheated first. Why can’t we play by his rules?”

“I will not have Cybertron ruled by terror,” Alpha Trion growls evenly.

Starscream rolls his optics. “Newsflash, old timer, it’s already been that way for fifty cycles. And if you ask me, I- Hey! Don’t you leave while I’m talking, ground pounder!”

D-16 pauses his nonchalant exit as seekers suddenly surround him and he gives an unimpressed glance back over his shoulder. “I don’t care what the rest of you phonies and hypocrites plan to do, but I’m done with talking. I’m going back to Iacon to take down Sentinel myself. Now.”

“What?” Orion gasps but the silver mech ignores him, “Hold on a klik!”

“D, wait!” B-127 calls after him but he and Rubble are rudely shoved aside.

Starscream laughs coldly as he steps pass them. “Oooh, tough talk for a rock-lugging rust stain.”

D-16 challenges the seeker with his own sneer before turning to force his way through the crowd. “Better than me being a spoiled brat playing king in a rotted-out fort and getting offended when a sparkling doesn’t think I’m cool.”

Starscream lets out an indignant near-squawk as he signals with his wings and the throng of seekers block D-16’s path completely. “Say that again to my face, you stupid corroded port-cleaner!” he hisses as he advances on the silver mech, wings held high and null-rays humming.

D-16 stays his ground until Starscream is within reach and swipes a jab at the seeker, only to completely whiff it.

Starscream takes the opportunity to kick the silver mech with his thruster heel and lands it directly into D-16’s tanks. He revs his thrusters and leaves a burning sting as D-16 seems to reel back.

The seekers cheer but seem to grow surprisingly more enthusiastic when D-16 wallops a fist into their leader’s faceplates.

“You call that a punch?” Starscream spits, not even staggering, as the crowd rallies in excitement, “Hit me like you mean it!”

D-16 readies another strike but is pulled back by Orion who grapples his arms.

Sensing an easy opening, Starscream clicks his heels, activating his thrusters, and launches himself at D-16 only for Alpha Trion to catch him out of mid-air.

“Stop this nonsense! You two are grown mechs, act like it! This isn’t the Academy’s schoolyard!” the Prime admonishes them, straining to hold the wriggly seeker in his worn hands.

The High Guard boo and jeer in response.

D-16 thrashes against his best friend. “What did I tell you about butting into my business, Pax?” he growls, his anger growing.

“You heard Alpha Trion, D, knock it off! Look around you. Are you really going to lower yourself to the level of a bunch of selfish bullies?” Orion grunts, struggling to hold his friend back.

D-16 looks away with a snarl only to freeze.

Despite his growing unease, B-127 protectively holds Rubble close as nearby seekers jostle them as the larger bots swarm, shouting and heckling.

Rubble looks scared.

Shame flooding his spark, D-16 begins to relax into his best friend’s grip.

But then, Starscream slips from the ancient Prime’s hold and cracks a left hook into D-16’s jaw, knocking both him and Orion to the ground.

“I said hit me like you mean it, sweetspark!” Starscream taunts and the High Guard goes wild, increasing their volume as Soundwave starts blasting a backup track in encouragement.

D-16’s engine snarls with a roar and he tackles Starscream into a violent brawl.

“Enough!” Alpha Trion commands but it falls on deaf audials under the shouts and pulsing music.

Fists fly, metal buckles, and paint chips as the two tear into each other. When Starscream knees his thigh, D-16 answers with an elbow to the seeker’s cockpit as they match each other blow for blow. It isn’t until D-16 uppercuts with both his fists that the silver mech suddenly gains the upper hand. He hammers a punch directly into Starscream’s face again and again until there is a crunch.

“D, don’t!” Orion shouts as he is dragged out of the fight forcibly, “You’re going too far!”

Energon runs thickly down Starscream’s chin and his noseplate is badly dented, but he is cackling in delight, his laughter manic and sharp.

“Primus, you’ve got spunk, miner! Too bad we can’t do anything about that weak right hook!” he taunts, spitting out a wad of energon, before deflecting another jab.

“These guys are unhinged!” Elita-1 exclaims as she instinctively takes a protective stance close to a nervous B-127 and Rubble.

Starscream manages to pin D-16 then activates one of his null-rays and angles his shoulder to fire a beam at the silver mech.

D-16 barely manages to dodge the blast but, as it grazes his cheek, it still leaves a painfully numb mark.

“Stop, that’s cheating!” B-127 pipes up in alarm only to get laughed at by the seekers circling him and Rubble.

Starscream crows with enthusiasm as D-16 wrenches himself free. “Watch and learn, goody-goodies!” he quips at the five mortified onlookers before he sends D-16 staggering with another sharp kick. “The only thing that matters on Cybertron is power and what you do with it,” he declares as he works up the crowd.

The proud seeker flares his wings and motions expectantly at D-16. “So come on, tough guy, what’s the big bad miner going to use to take down the demon of Iacon? Let’s see what Sentinel apparently has coming for him.”

The silver mech answers with an echoing rev of his engine and forces his systems into manual override, ignoring the warning windows flickering at the edges of his HUD. From his chassis, D-16 feels the newly installed cog hum and sting as his instincts rewrite his internals’ coding. The silver metal shifts and transforms along the entire length of his right arm until a cylindrical artillery cannon takes shape.

It is not like the barrel on his tank alt. The quite literal firearm is rounded and has concentrated power siphoned directly from his burning spark. It thrums with fusion energy that D-16 pulses through his cabling with every one of his sparkbeats. Smoke already seeps from the end of the chamber dangerously.

The seekers fall strangely quiet, utterly baffled by his skill.

“Well…! Aren’t you just full of surprises?” Starscream chuckles oddly as he actually takes a step back, his wings angled low but in mild respect, seemingly impressed.

Soundwave cranks down the volume as D-16 holds the weapon up high.

Suddenly, the powerful fusion cannon triggers and a blast of searing molten purple rockets into the sky and D-16 watches it fade into the gathering dark clouds in awe.

His wonder is interrupted by Soundwave suddenly clapping and the High Guard erupts into rowdy applause.

“I SAID, ENOUGH!” Alpha Trion bellows as he rises to his full height, towering over everyone. “I don’t believe this! Fifty cycles pass and all of you hellions are still acting like foolish sparklings!” Alpha Trion thunders as he grabs the closest seekers, Skywarp and Thundercracker, by their scruffbars before pointing at D-16.

“Put that damnable thing away this instant, before you do something you can’t take back!” the Prime demands, his stern optics narrowed in disappointment.

“Ha! You going to let him talk to you like that?” Starscream sneers at D-16 with a smug and wild look in his ruby red optics as he wipes away energon with the back of his hand. “What is he, your mentor?”

D-16 blinks, then his expression hardens. “I never had a mentor… I never had a carrier… If I did, I’ll never know, thanks to Sentinel… He took away everything and I’m going to make him pay for it with his energon!”

The silver mech punctuates his declaration by firing more rounds into the air.

Starscream laughs and the entire High Guard whoop and roar, loving it.

“D-16, stop this at once!” Alpha Trion scolds as he watches the blasts trail high into the clouds like flares. “You’re making a scene!”

“Mute it, grandsire!” someone suddenly shouts and lobs a rock at the Prime’s face.

Alpha Trion reels as it nearly catches his optic, releasing Skywarp and Thundercracker as he teeters.

“Go back to recharge, old mech!” Skywarp jeers before shoving the Prime.

Others quickly join in until Alpha Trion topples to the hard ground and the High Guard swarm him.

“Stop!” Orion yells as he strains to fight against the seekers pinning the Prime down, attempting to jam the ancient mech’s gear joints.

Shockwave exchanges a judgmental look with an enthused Soundwave, but is suddenly knocked aside by Elita-1, who elbows him right in the optic as she tries to reach Alpha Trion as well.

“Someone get these miscreants under control!” Shockwave shouts, clutching his optic.

“You heard ‘im! Get the teacher’s pets!” a seeker shouts out rowdily.

“Shove them into the barracks’ lockers where they belong!” another adds as the High Guard advance on the five of them.

Rubble cries out as B-127 is suddenly pushed to the ground and the two minibots are sent tumbling.

“B!” Rubble screams as he reaches for B-127’s hand as the crowd closes in around them.

“No! Rubble!” B-127 shouts as he is knocked back and someone kicks dirt in his optics, momentarily blinding him.

By the time B-127 can see again, Rubble is gone, lost in the frenzied mob.

D-16 barely notices their cries as he admires his fusion cannon and he turns to address the revved up High Guard.

“The false Prime has done enough damage to Cybertron! He sold our future to invaders and I will not stand for it! I am storming Iacon and freeing it from his clutches! By the time I am through, his head will be on a pike and there will be no place for his benefactors to hide!” He pauses to clench a mighty fist as his optics gleam an orange vermillion. “I will root them all out, even if I have to burn it all down!  Who is with me?!”

“Burn it!” Starscream shouts encouragingly.

The High Guard all join in, shouting and repeating his words fervently.

“Burn it!”

“Burn it!”

“Burn it!”

D-16 feels a strange pride wash over him as the High Guard cheer him on, the turmoil in his processor gone. He smiles, completely enthralled by the moment.

But then D-16 finally hears a voice cry out over the chanting.

“Move, please!” B-127 begs, desperately trying to maneuver past the taller seekers, only to be shoved down again. But that doesn’t stop the yellow mech as he continues to search the crowd in a panic. “Rubble, where are you? Can you hear me?” he shouts as loudly as he can, “Rubble!”

In a nanoklik, guilt and dismay seize D-16’s spark and the fight suddenly seems to evaporate from his demeanor.

Suddenly, before D-16 can react, an electricity laced explosion shatters into the throne room’s shabby roof, sending injured seekers and exoskeleton debris falling.

Above the hidden stronghold, a swarm of engines buzz as the makeshift fortress is surrounded and gunfire rains down.

“Trackers! We’re under attack!” a guardsmech shouts only to be downed by a sniper blast to the helm.

“Everyone, scatter!” Orion orders on instinct as he scrambles to his feet along with Elita-1 and Alpha Trion.

The High Guard don’t need to be told twice.

The riot crumbles into chaos as a battalion of assembly-line bred and trained trackers swoop into the stronghold with guns, tasers, and restraints. They prey on the High Guard with ruthless efficiency, a group of golden plated guards leading the charge with violent intensity.

As the trackers tear their way through the High Guard, the Quintesson boneyard burns under the ruthless siege.

High out of the reach of the carnage, Sentinel hovers.

Chapter Text

Rubble stumbles as the first explosion rings out, knocked aside by the surrounding seekers as the stronghold is assaulted at every angle by Iacon’s secret guard. He covers his audials as he flees in a random direction into the frenzy.

No one seems to notice him. A sparkling’s small frame is easily overlooked in the bedlam.

Ducking behind a log blockade, Rubble searches desperately for any familiar faces.

D-16 storms into the fray, his optics blazing as his fusion cannon tears into trackers as if the mass-produced bots were made of sheets of aluminum. He manages to execute a flawless transformation into his tank alt-mode as his treads thunder by Rubble. He kicks up dirt as he fires into a flock of trackers circling above, completely missing the sparkling’s cries as he disappears into the clashing horde.

“D! D, come back!” Rubble calls after the silver mech, his sobs drowned out over shouts and gunfire.

A bisected seeker is thrown into a nearby barricade, sending splintered logs flying everywhere, and Rubble is forced back out into the open. “B! Orion! D! Miss Elita!” Rubble shouts, his weeping useless as he looks around for any sort of help.

And then Rubble spots that terrifying blue and gold frame floating gracefully in the air, high above everything.

The Monster.

For a horrifying nanoklik, it seems that the Monster is looking right at him. The callous and smug expression of the mech twists into confusion then shocked recognition.

Dread grips Rubble’s spark and he runs blindly in the opposite direction, only for another explosion to burst into a nearby seeker.

A tiny piece of shrapnel cuts into Rubble’s cheekplate but he barely notices the sting and the trickle of energon. He can feel the Monster’s terrible blue optics locked on him as he weaves past fleeing seekers, charging trackers, bodies, and debris.

Rubble trips over a tracker’s discarded wings and lands hard on the ground, scuffing his knees. As he tries to stand, Rubble feels hands seize him and he cannot think to do anything but cry.

“Rubble!” B-127’s voice shakes the sparkling from his numb terror and a warm embrace finds him, “There you are! Thank Primus!” B-127 lets out a shaky sigh of relief as he holds the little blue bot close, “Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

“B…!” Rubble wails as he hugs B-127 tight. He ducks his helm into the safe and familiar crook of B-127’s neck as the yellow mech scoops him up.

“Don’t worry! I’m going to get you out of here!” B-127 says as he stands, cradling Rubble protectively.

Suddenly, three golden plated trackers surround them, brandishing blaster rifles.

“Don’t move, runt,” one warns only for a set of mighty fangs to crush their helm to bits.

Alpha Trion ambushes the three with his bestial alt, his roar echoing across the battlefield. His electrified tail whips the weapon from one guardsmech before his strong forepaws crush the remaining armed soldier into the ground.

“Run, little ones!” Alpha Trion urges the two as he swipes at the fleeing guard.

B-127 nods before nearly tripping on the discarded rifle. Shifting Rubble to one arm, B-127 picks it up reluctantly.

Suddenly, Alpha Trion bellows in pain, his howls echoing over the burning stronghold.

A terrifying tall femme stabs into the Prime with multiple bladed limbs as she manages to pin the powerful beast to the ground. Each jab is made with wicked precision, despite her wild speed. She incapacitates his weapon systems first, then manages to catch his snapping jaw, easily avoiding his counterattack.

Before she can continue, D-16 bursts onto the scene, his engine snarling. He throws a tracker at the femme as he readies his fusion cannon for another volley of rounds.

Rather than be distracted, the femme slices through the tracker like nothing and tackles D-16, who is caught off guard. Alpha Trion struggles back to his paws and tries to retaliate but she is more than capable of handling a hobbled Prime and an inexperienced brawler at the same time.

“D! Alpha Trion!” B-127 gasps in horror as more golden guards fly in to assist the femme, swarming the fiery silver mech and the ancient Prime. The blaster rifle is heavy in his free hand as he has no choice but to flee with Rubble.

B-127 returns to the bombed-out throne room, which is mostly empty as most of the fighting has moved outside. He darts toward the tunnels, praying that they are clear. After some desperate searching, B-127 finds a makeshift office that had already been ransacked. In the corner, an empty crate lays on its side next to a divot in a cave wall. It is just small enough to be perfect.

“Rubble, you stay here,” B-127 says as he sets the sparkling down and angles the crate to block the hole. “I’m going to go help our friends,” he adds as he looks down at the rifle in his hands.

But Rubble shakes his little helm and grabs for the yellow mech’s arm. “B, you can’t go! The Monster’s outside!” he whimpers, clutching B-127 close.

“What are you-?” B-127 is cut off by a boom from outside, “Ugh, no time. Explain it later.” He strokes Rubble’s helm gently as he tries to settle the nervous pounding of his spark. “Right now, just stay low, close your optics, and keep quiet no matter what, okay?”

“But, B!” Rubble sniffles.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” B-127 shushes, pecking a reassuring kiss to the sparkling’s forehelm. It takes all of his willpower to leave. Still, B-127 looks back from the room’s doorway and only exits once Rubble shuts his optics, the sparkling now completely hidden in the shadows.

Back at the mouth of the tunnels, a gold tracker stands with his back to the yellow mech as he just finishes calling to others nearby.

B-127 has no choice but to fire the blaster into the mass-produced mech’s back. The blast cuts through the flimsy metal with disturbing ease and the tracker falls to the ground, a molten hole burned through the greying chassis. As he leaps over the bot’s fading corpse, B-127 doesn’t notice the flash of purple in the visor.

With his spark hammering with stress, B-127 takes aim at several circling guards and fires, startling them. Frantically, he tries to lure them away from the tunnels but they suddenly stop and land in a blockade formation. Before he realizes it, the guardsmechs have surrounded the throne room’s exits. B-127’s unease turns into confusion when, all at once, the entire encircling guard suddenly turn their backs to him, as if he wasn’t even there.

Before he can react, something large swoops in from above and strikes into B-127. The yellow minibot is sent flying with a pained cry, the rifle slipping from his hands. It clatters to the ground far out of reach as B-127 tumbles and crashes into the throne’s lichen-covered steps. Pain lances up his backplates and warning popups blip over his HUD as B-127 gasps and twitches, momentarily stunned.

There is a gentle hum of thrusters as a large and highly polished mech lands gracefully nearby. B-127 opens his optics and finds a familiar stately blue and gold mech towering above him.

“Where is it?” Sentinel asks, his golden wings flared as he looks down at the battered yellow mech with disdain.

“Where’s… what?” B-127 winces, processor spinning as his vision briefly pixelates.

Sentinel suddenly slams a thruster onto the minibot’s yellow chestplates, violently pinning B-127 to the stairs.

“Listen, I have had the weirdest and worst forty-eight groons in my entire life, so I’m not going to ask again, you dumb little glitch,” Sentinel says cooly, his heel threatening to dig into B-127’s chassis. “Answer me or I crush your filthy spark.”

B-127’s vents wheeze as painful pressure compresses against his chestplates, forcing his fans to gasp and stutter. He struggles to speak but he is overwhelmed by dizziness.

Just as the yellow metal begins to warp and dent into B-127’s newly installed t-cog, a shot rings out. A laser bullet nearly clips a golden wing and Sentinel looks up to see a small blue sparkling standing at the mouth of the tunnels.

“Leave my mentor alone!” Rubble shouts, pointing the blaster at Sentinel. His aim is trembly and he can barely hold the forgotten rifle.

Sentinel’s optics widen as he stares at Rubble. “I don’t believe it! It really is you…!” he murmurs in stunned awe. He casually kicks B-127 aside, like he was no different than an empty can of high grade, his gaze locked on the sparkling.

“I said leave him alone!” Rubble yells before firing the weapon again. This time, his mark is way off and Sentinel doesn’t even flinch as the bullet sails by and takes out a chunk of the exoskeleton roof above them.

A smile slowly grows on Sentinel’s sharp handsome faceplates as he fans out his golden wings, stalking closer to the sparkling. “Aw, my sweet little bot. Look at you. Protoform is still soft, yet here you are, holding a gun like a big tough mech!”

Rubble recoils as Sentinel steps closer and brandishes the rifle as best as he can. “G-Go away…!” Rubble tries to say valiantly but a whimper catches in his vocalizer. He yelps and scrambles backwards when Sentinel suddenly snatches the firearm from his little hands.

“Whoa, whoa, relax!” Sentinel coos as he nonchalantly holds the rifle in a loose grip, “We’ve got so much to catch up on, don’t we? C’mon, let's reminisce.”

Sentinel grins as he squats to Rubble’s level, making the little bot cower, and B-127 struggles to stand. “Get away from him!” B-127 rasps weakly as he barely manages to his knees, his spinal-strut stinging horribly in protest.

Hearing his mentor’s voice, Rubble shuts his optics and curls into a defensive ball, as if that would will away the blue and gold mech. “Go to the Pit, Monster!” Rubble shouts, pretending to be brave like D-16.

Sentinel just gives a snort of his vents. “Rude!” he tsks with a disappointed shake of his head. “Is that any way to speak to your carrier?”

For B-127, Cybertron suddenly stops.

“What?” B-127 chokes out, his entire body going numb. “He’s…” Primus, B-127 almost can’t say it, “He’s your sparkling?”

The false Prime barks out a long laugh. It sends shivers down their spinal-struts.

“Yes, my little miracle mech…” Sentinel chuckles as he stands, miming wiping a tear from his optic. “Primus, the things we do to keep up appearances, am I right?”

Rubble whimpers out a squeak, unnerved by the way Sentinel keeps close.

“And you did a great job, by the way, kiddo! Outstanding even!” Sentinel grins as he beams a salesmech smile while flashing a double thumbs up. “The Senate instantly loved you the moment I teased it during a private banquet. Made them completely overlook so much for that cycle. They couldn’t blame me for slipping up stuff like losing an entire classified platoon or that little fiasco in the Crystal City ruins if my spark was budding, after all. I love it when a plan falls together.”

Rubble flinches away as Sentinel looms closer, looking down at the sparkling the way someone would look at an interesting decal sticker sheet, ready to pick it apart.

“You see, my Primacy came with a lot of firsts. Lots of internal restructuring, particular privileges, and whatnot. It was fine until some bots, important bots that couldn’t be swept under a rug, started asking questions and kept asking them. But I knew where to find a good distraction.” Sentinel pauses to run a hand over his chassis with a hum of his engines.

“And that’s where you came in, kiddo!” the stately mech chuckles down at Rubble, who fidgets nervously. “The public needed a reminder of what I was fighting the Quintessons for. Percentages of carrier emergences were down on every Level so much that they started being treated as special as Well Harvest. Which was all fine and dandy, but you know what would really get their motors running?”

He lets the pause drag on and on until Rubble quietly whispers a timid, “No…?”

“A Prime who was also a carrier. Now that was something that had never happened before. Probably something to do with the geezers being Primus’s prototypes, not that it matters,” Sentinel continues with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I just uninstalled my budding inhibitor and kicked backed and relaxed until my spark decided to prophase.”

B-127 slowly forces himself to his feet, his tanks twisting as Sentinel circles Rubble.

“It was the perfect open secret. Oh, how the sycophants loved it. All the fawning and well-wishes and gifts and parties and, ugh, it was a magical cycle,” Sentinel sighs wistfully.

Suddenly, he snaps a wickedly sharp glare down at the sparkling, his lips curling into a sneer.

“But then you came out…” he spits in disgust as he suddenly advances on Rubble, fire in his blue optics. “You took more of my chassis than you were supposed to, you greedy little thing. Do you have any idea how much reconstruction I had to go through to fix the mess of your emergence? And for what? You were small and weak and you couldn’t even bother to have wings...”

“Stop!” B-127 yells as he runs over and places himself between the sparkling and the large mech, shielding Rubble with his battered body.

But Sentinel doesn’t even acknowledge B-127 as his optics are locked with Rubble’s. “So, as I was hauled to the medics for repairs, I told Airachnid to salvage the only thing of value you had and to leave you on the berth for the guards and renovators to deal with.”

Outrage and horror surges through B-127's pounding spark, his tanks twisting painfully at the cruel words. “You threw him down into the Sublevels?!” he chokes out, voice cracking with emotion.

Sentinel scoffs out a laugh as he finally spares B-127 a glance. “Naturally, what else are you supposed to do with garbage?”

B-127’s engine snarls on instinct, his optics briefly flashing a wild reddish purple. Ignoring the persisting pain in his backplates, he lunges at Sentinel like a mech possessed, clawing at the blue and gold plating.

“Wow, you’re a feisty little thing!” Sentinel chuckles as he manages to keep B-127 at arm’s length, avoiding every punch and swipe the short mech throws at him.

He meets B-127’s furious blazing optics with an amused smug smirk. “It turned out to be a great move, though,” Sentinel goads, “A grieving carrier plays up well amongst the saps. Gullible rubes with bleeding sparks flooded the Primacy Vaults with sympathetic donations as the rumors spread and I gave a vulnerable impassioned speech about loss and perseverance and blah-blah-blah.”

“Shut up!” B-127 shouts, finally wrenching himself free and launching himself towards the tall mech.

Sentinel just sidesteps and trips B-127, making him land hard.

“B!” Rubble cries out as he tries to rush over to his mentor, only for Sentinel to block his path.

“You want to join in, kiddo? Here,” he smiles sweetly as he offers Rubble the rifle’s stock. “Go on, take it and fight back like a real mech. I’ll even let you have a free shot,” Sentinel beams down at the sparkling and angles the barrel right at his blue and gold chestplates, “It’ll be fun!”

“Rubble, no!” B-127 yells, stumbling to his feet. He manages to grab the tip of one of the golden wings and yanks it, making Sentinel seemingly falter.

But they fall right into his trap.

Rubble grabs for the rifle just as Sentinel snakes a large hand around B-127’s wrist. Twisting his arm callously, Sentinel hauls the yellow minibot forward like a shield just as Rubble’s fingers slip on the trigger.

Although the sparkling's aim is poor and there is just enough time to course correct, the rifle blast still finds B-127’s side. It is a glancing blow, but the damage is grisly.

The blast burns and warps the metal into a molten sparking wound that travels all the way to his hip socket. B-127 screams as pain stabs through his circuits, barely even aware when Sentinel nonchalantly drops him.

“B!” Rubble wails as he drops the rifle and rushes over to his fallen mentor. He bursts into tears and throws himself into B-127’s arms.

B-127 winces but holds Rubble close, trying to ignore the terrible burning pain that travels up his entire side.

“Oh, for frag’s sake. You’re crying?” Sentinel frowns down at Rubble with an annoyed pout, “I didn’t even touch you and you’re crying?”

Sentinel grabs the little blue bot by the scruffbar, tearing him away from the yellow mech’s embrace.

“Rubble! No, no, please! Leave him alone!” B-127 gasps, trying to sit up.

“Wait a klik. Oh, wow. That’s the best name you could come up with?” He turns to Rubble with a judgmental look. “And you’re okay with this?” he sneers in revulsion. “Disgraceful. No spawn of mine would be caught dead with such a pathetic name.”

In spite of everything, B-127 rises back to his feet, his engine revving defiantly.

“HE ISN’T YOUR SPARKLING!” B-127 shouts, maxing out his vocalizer, “HE’S MINE!”

Sentinel actually reels in surprise at B-127’s passionate cry before his expression hardens in malice. “Let me make myself clear, minibot. Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I do not like being disrespected. Understood?” Sentinel deadpans and stands up to his full height with a growl. His movement yanks Rubble along like a ragdoll.

The sparkling screams.

“Rubble!” B-127 yells in dismay, “Let go of him, you-!”

“Ah, pause that thought, I’ve got to take this call.” Sentinel interrupts, holding up his free hand to shush before pressing it to his audial. “This better be good, Airachnid, I’m having a moment. Yes, yes, pack them up, we’ll be heading home soon. Oh? Frag yeah, send a copy right on over!” Sentinel grins before glancing back to the struggling yellow mech.

“Recordkeeping finally found your file, mini. Took them long enough,” Sentinel says before pausing, momentarily distracted by something on his HUD’s readout but it only makes him smirk. “My, my, my, B-127, you’ve been a very naughty bot. Not a single mining department found you useful. Insubordination, constant quota failures, trespassing into restricted zones, and, wow, the list of infractions goes on and on...” Sentinel’s wicked sneer widens and he runs his glossia over his teeth, optics locked on B-127, who withers under his enthralled stare. “Oh, sweet bot, what are we going to do with you?”

“Wait… Wait, please…”

“Get on your knees, slagheap,” Sentinel orders B-127, shaking Rubble and making the sparkling whimper.

B-127 slumps to the ground and does what he’s told.

“I’m sorry…” B-127 whispers to Rubble, feeling completely and utterly helpless.

Rubble starts to say something softly in response but Sentinel interrupts, forcing B-127 to look at him.

“Aw, sweetspark. That’s far too weak of an apology.” The false Prime tightens his grip on Rubble’s scruffbar and the blue metal buckles easily under his cruel grip. “Say it to me like you mean it.”

“I’m sorry!” B-127 chokes out with a whimper as he stares up at the blue and gold mech as Sentinel holds Rubble just out of reach, “I’m sorry! Please, please, stop! I’ll do anything you want, Sentinel!” he begs brokenly as Rubble begins to sob.

“Now, now. You should know better than to offer yourself up like that,” Sentinel chides as his wicked grin sharpens. He looms closer to B-127, the heat of his exhaust brushing against the minibot’s cheek.

“Because what I want is for you to watch what happens next.”

***

“Orion? Is that you?” a voice calls out, waking Orion Pax from his pixelated daze as he is dug out from a pile of rocks.

“E-Elita?” he stutters, his vision swimming as she yanks him onto his feet.

“C’mon, get up! They’ve grabbed everyone they can carry and are leaving! We have to stop them!” she urges, dragging him back out into the open but it is far too late.

The last of the troops are already high in the air with their captive seekers as they depart from the High Guard’s ruined stronghold.

Orion charges blindly after them only to crash right into Shockwave, who was distracted as he was tallying up the grave casualties along with Soundwave.

“Get out of our way, fragger,” Elita-1 snaps, brandishing a fist.

“Ngh, knock it off, troublemakers!” Shockwave growls as Soundwave helps him back up, “Your attempts of a pursuit are futile and pointless. Sentinel got what he came for.”

“Which is?” Orion asks.

“Simple: patsies,” Soundwave answers matter-of-factly, “Sentinel needs the High Guard as an excuse for the Matrix’s disappearance. He will let the rest of us flee then send a squad back to pick us off one by one until all are gone.”

The four bots look up to see the tiny silhouettes fade into the rosy distance as the sun begins to rise.

“They took Alpha Trion,” Elita-1 mutters in defeat as she watches them disappear.

“What about the others?” Orion grimaces, a stabbing pit forming in his tank.

“I don’t know…”

Orion frowns and begins sprinting. “D!” he calls out, desperately scanning the desolation for any response, “B! Rubble!”

Elita-1 hesitates before joining in as they search through the remains of the stronghold.

The surviving High Guard pay them no mind. They tend to their wounded and dead as they look to Soundwave for guidance.

Elita-1 and Orion scour the battlefield in vain, finding no trace of their three missing companions. “They’re fine… they’ve got to be…” Orion mumbles to himself, trying to quell the terrible pounding in his spark, “No sign is a good sign. That means there’s still a chance we can rescue them…”

 “Maybe we should split up, we can cover more ground that way,” Elita-1 offers with a hesitant but reassuring look.

Orion cannot muster more than a weak nod.

The two head in opposite directions, but quickly run out of remaining places to scout.

Orion pauses at an entrance to the empty throne room and heads straight for the tunnels as soon as he spots them. Halfway there, something small and grey-blue catches his optics at the foot of Starscream’s destroyed throne and his spark seizes in horror.

Orion Pax can do nothing else but fall to his knees at the sight.

Elita-1 rushes over only to stop mid-step as she sees the little figure. “Oh… Primus, no…!” she gasps, her voice a distant tremble.

Noticing their reaction from a distance, Soundwave and Shockwave exchange quiet looks as the atmosphere becomes grim, both at a loss.

Around them, the remaining High Guard slowly grow silent as they circle around the throne room until the only sound in the destroyed hideout is a cold whisper of wind.

Chapter Text

D-16 awakens as he is dragged between two guardsmechs. The reflective glint of their golden plating against the morning sun stings his optics. His terrible headache persists even as his vision clears and he finds himself cuffed and being hauled through a long opulent hallway, undoubtedly within Iacon’s famous Tower of Primes. Alongside him is an equally restrained Starscream and a platoon of High Guard seekers. Bringing up the rear is the tall femme, Airachnid, who is proudly towing a half-conscious Alpha Trion.

The chamber they are herded into is a repurposed elegant ballroom, with huge windows, open landing pad balconies, and large golden statues of the Thirteen that stand guard along the perimeter of the chamber. It is a stark contrast to the disheveled and dirty prisoners lined up and huddled into two groups in the center of the grand hall.

B-127 is already there, his bound form sprawled in a quivering heap as D-16 is forced to kneel beside him. The yellow mech’s side is a terrible scarred mess, held together by energon scabs and melted metal. In addition to the nasty wound, he has clearly been slapped around, if the numerous dents all over his yellow armor are of any indication.

“Ngh, what happened to you?” D-16 grunts as he immediately tries to break free from his shackles, to no avail.

B-127 just flinches, as if only now aware of anyone else’s presence.

Alpha Trion is dragged before all of them by a haughty Airachnid, who delights in slamming the Prime’s face to the polished floor. She ignores the bitter glare D-16 shoots her direction as she circles back to assist a guard with Starscream, who is starting to put up a fuss.

D-16 curses under his breath when the energon strengthened bands hold firm to his thrashing and dig into his wrists. He glances back down to B-127 as the yellow mech slowly shifts to his knees, his little helm held low. “B? I asked you a question. You’re being awfully quiet,” D-16 huffs. He comes off far harsher than he means to, but his nerves are frayed from stress and anger.

B-127 does not say anything for an agonizingly long moment before he finally looks up at the silver mech. His once bright cyan optics are a dim indigo hue as dried tears stain his faceplates.

Sudden dread seizes D-16. “B?”

B-127 blinks and twitches, as if forcibly snapped out of a daze, and he struggles to find his words. “Rubble… Rubble is… gone…” B-127 chokes out weakly before his expression twists into utter anguish. He collapses forward and buries his face against D-16’s chassis with a strangled dry sob.

The sound is harrowing and its echo stabs into D-16’s spark, amplified by the sudden close contact. For a nanoklik, the silver mech is too stunned to respond. Flashes of a sweet little smile and big curious optics bubble up from D-16’s memories as the haunting revelation rocks him to his core.

No, no, no, this can’t be happening…

D-16’s optics begin to glow a livid red and he feels a rage like no other.

His spark hammers with rising savage ferocity as D-16’s processor is consumed with thoughts of ripping the false Prime into pieces with his bare hands.

He is torn from his violent fantasy as he feels B-127’s warmth as the minibot’s weeping tapers into quieter and quieter whimpers.

“He… didn’t even let me … hold him…!”

The yellow mech’s stuttered words are enough to momentarily break D-16. Gently and hesitantly, D-16 rubs his cheek against B-127’s helm, attempting to give the shattered yellow mech any semblance of comfort.

Suddenly, Sentinel’s voice rings out and D-16 instinctively curls his larger body around B-127’s shivering form.

The blue and gold mech struts into the ballroom with a huge beaming smile on his handsome faceplates. “Well, well, looks like everybody’s finally up!” Sentinel’s laugh echoes through the elegant chamber as he casually walks up and down the rows of prisoners. He glances at Airachnid who stands near a bruised Starscream. “How much longer until the Senate send in their camera convoy?” he asks.

“Less than a groon, sir,” she answers respectfully.

“Marvelous. You hear that, Starscream?” Sentinel grins down at the seeker. “I’m certain Senator Proteus can’t wait. He always had a chip on his shoulder over your little High Guard club, didn’t he?”

Behind D-16 and B-127, Starscream scoffs loudly. “Cram it up your tailpipe, you filthy-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Save it for the show,” Sentinel mocks as he pats Starscream’s helm condescendingly before continuing forward.

Sentinel throws a pleased smirk at B-127 who shrinks back as D-16 glares up at him.

Just as a taunt is on the tip of Sentinel’s glossia, D-16 is on his feet, lunging at the blue and gold mech. “Murderer!” D-16 roars, his red optics wild as he is barely held back by guards.

“Whoa! Down bot! Save some of that moxie for the cameras!” Sentinel laughs as several guards attempt to wrangle D-16 back to his knees, “Primus, the rubes are gonna love seeing your helm splatter.” He pauses to motion for Airachnid. “Can someone get him muzzled?”

D-16 snarls only for a taser to be jabbed into the back of his neck by a guard and he is knocked to the floor, his body thrown into tremors. However, it still takes multiple mass-produced guardsmechs to keep him subdued.

“Good enough,” Sentinel sighs.

Coughing on a rasp, D-16 gnashes his denta, the rev of his engine thunderous in his fury. “You killed a sparkling, you traitorous-!”

“Oh, please, the little liability didn’t even feel it. I’m strategic, not cruel,” Sentinel interrupts with a roll of his optics, not missing the way B-127 jolts then zones out, as if completely lost in processor lag. Sentinel then smirks and taps D-16’s scuffed chassis, “Unless we’re also counting those lost by proxy under my orders. ’Cause, if I’m being honest, it took a couple of tries to get t-cog removal seamlessly streamlined in the Forge.”

Sentinel swiftly turns on his heel towards the Prime, who is struggling just to even make it to a kneeling position.

“Which reminds me. Thank you, Alpha Trion, for the new trophies,” he sneers as he unpockets the four remaining transformation cogs of the fallen Primes and hands them to a nearby guard. “These are going to look great next to my Six Lasers Over Cybertron memorabilia,” he says before shooing the guard out of the room, adding, “Top shelf, next to the souvenir cups.”

“You are a wretched disgrace to all of Cybertron,” Alpha Trion seethes, “May Primus judge you for the vile monster that you are.”

“Better idea,” Sentinel says with a snap of his fingers, “How about you do something useful with your Primacy status and find a way to get him to give the Matrix back so Cybertron is up and running properly. Surely, you being one of his favorites comes with some privileges, right? I’m assuming that’s why you’re still alive. Look, I’d just very much appreciate it if my bosses are kept off my tailpipe, for all our sakes.”

Alpha Trion narrows his optics in disgust. “The Matrix of Leadership is only granted to one who Primus deems worthy. It belongs to a Prime, not a liar and a thief.”

“Oh, I have no intention of trying to take it again. I’m more than happy to let the rightful heir keep the Matrix,” Sentinel tuts as he dusts off Alpha Trion’s shoulder, before thinking better of it and cleans his hand with a subspace cloth. “In fact, it will be the only thing I allow them to keep, aside from any vitals they need to maintain their spark online. Once all the pesky useless bits are uninstalled, I’ll have them and the Matrix locked in a box underneath my office while I get Cybertron back to working order.”

“You are sick, Sentinel!” Alpha Trion growls as he recoils, “Even the Pit of the Well will reject you at this point. Your wanton avarice has blinded you to-”

“Oh, for frag’s- Here we go again with the poetic speeches. It’s always the same with you. Give me that,” Sentinel snaps as he snatches the taser the group of guards were using to keep D-16 under control. Without hesitation, Sentinel digs the taser right into Alpha Trion’s vocalizer.

The ancient Prime chokes on a scream as his vocalizer cracks into garbled static.

Sentinel holds the taser in place until there is smoke then finally withdraws his hand. “There. Did we learn our lesson?” he teases as Alpha Trion slumps into a twitchy heap. “If not, maybe a cushy view from the luxury box of the series of public executions I’m planning will change your tune, old mech. We’ve got plenty of volunteers to go through and I am going to make each one suffer and squirm the longer it takes for you to give me what I want.” He emphasizes by motioning to the rest of his bound prisoners.

“E-nough…!” Alpha Trion wheezes, voice riddled with terrible crackles, “Leave… them… a-alone!” He pauses to swallow back the pain. “Hurt… Hurt only me…!”

“Ugh, spare me the heroic routine,” Sentinel scoffs, “See, this is the problem with you Primes. Not everything is about you. Some of us find pleasures in the little things.” He continues, stepping over the shuddering body, his sharp smile sliding back into place as he zeroes in on B-127.

B-127 barely reacts as Sentinel looms over him, having fallen into a silent stupor.

“Isn’t that right, sweet bot?” Sentinel purrs as he cups B-127’s chin, almost tenderly.

D-16 chokes out a protective growl as Sentinel forces B-127 to meet his gaze.

As if a spell suddenly breaks, B-127’s optics flash bright purple. His little engine revs and he savagely bites the false Prime’s hand.

“Fragging spawn of a glitch!” Sentinel curses as he yanks free, energon dripping from the bite mark. He backhands the yellow mech to the floor, polish scuffing under the impact.

B-127 just lets out an anguished howl that rattles D-16’s spark as he curls into a trembling ball as much as his restraints will allow.

Airachnid stalks toward the minibot but Sentinel holds up a hand. He glares down and kicks B-127.

“I was going to be gracious and execute you first, but you’ve just earned yourself last place, you nasty little pipe-sucker,” Sentinel sneers as he strikes B-127 again and again, punctuating every word with a kick. “And I’m going to make you watch every single one.”

With an echoing thunder of his engine, D-16 rips free from several of the guards’ holds. He manages to take a few lumbering steps towards Sentinel even as the remaining security mechs struggle to hold him back.

“I’m going to KILL you, you disgusting, traitorous shell of a mech!” D-16 declares, his optics glowing a harrowing fluorescent red, “I’m going to rip out your spinal-strut and drag your still functioning helm and spark up and down every street in Iacon until all you can do is scream and beg for death! Then I’m going to shove your broken pieces down the intake of you and every one of your supporters until you all fragging choke on your crimes!”

Sentinel is silent for a hushed nanoklik until he laughs and gives a tiny applause. “Oooh, gory and imaginative! Bravo! I might actually keep you until intermission,” he chuckles.

Not even flinching as D-16 snaps his denta, aiming for the neck, Sentinel bends down close, just out of reach. “I offered you the highest reward imaginable to you, cogless scum, and how do you repay my generosity, D-16?” he sneers as D-16 trembles with rage against the guardsmechs. “By tattling everything to a senile old Prime? Now you’re threatening me? You think you have some real brass bearings, don’t you, miner? Primus, the disrespect!” Sentinel emphasizes his last word with a vicious punch to D-16’s jaw, splitting his lower lip.

D-16 heaves a gasp as pain lances from the fresh dent, energon trickling down his chin. He barely even notices the guards resecuring their holds.

“Now then, anyone else have a smart-aft comment to make before I get the show on the road?” Sentinel snaps, dusting his hands off, as he glares at the staring seekers.

“Your finish is just as tacky as ever!”

Sentinel rolls his optics as he begins to walk away. “Cute, Starscream, real mature. Glad to see fifty cycles have-”

Just then, D-16 manages to rip himself away from the guards, their fingers leaving painful scratches and dents, and crashes right into Sentinel’s back. He knocks the blue and gold mech off his thrusters, managing to smack Sentinel’s jaw to the floor in the process, and earns shouts of encouragement from the High Guard. D-16’s teeth find one of the golden wings and sink in with single-minded vengeance.

“Get him off of me!” Sentinel screams in outrage, arrogance finally faltering as his wing is twisted painfully.

It takes Airachnid and a whole group of guardsmechs to separate the two but D-16 does not make it easy even with his hands bound behind his back.

The instant he scrambles back to his feet, Sentinel’s hands seize D-16’s throat. “Can’t wait, huh?” Sentinel growls as his grip on D-16’s neck tightens, “Since you’re just dying to jump in line, I’ll be more than happy to give everyone a little preshow.”

D-16 hisses as Sentinel pins him to the ballroom floor, his shackled arms trapped uncomfortably against his backplates.

“Get the mini on his knees, Airachnid,” Sentinel orders, thumbs digging into wires, “Wouldn’t want him to miss this.”

Mercilessly, Airachnid hauls the unresponsive B-127 upwards, forcing him to focus on D-16 as her sharp fingers dig into his yellow helm. B-127’s blue-violet optics lock with D-16’s and life seems to return from his deadened faraway look.

D-16 steels his resolve at the sight of that lost stare.

“Now where do I start with you?” Sentinel interrupts as he rakes his smug glare over D-16 before noticing the worn sticker on the silver pauldron. He snatches it with a wicked grin. “Aw, a little Megatronus fanbot, are we? Me too!”

Grimacing with revulsion, D-16 strains against the hold constricting around his neck. “Thieving traitor, don’t you speak his name!” he snaps, “You stole his cog!”

“Correct, little detective,” Sentinel chuckles as he crumples the sticker into a fist. He smoothly turns it into a punch to the silver mech’s cheek, smearing energon from D-16’s lower lip. “Don’t you fragging dare interrupt me!” he chides as he wipes energon to the flat silver chassis but then gives pause.

“Now, I’m no fashion expert,” Sentinel says with a click of his glossia, “but aren’t decals so passe for someone your age?” He snaps the fingers of his free hand and a guard promptly gives him a handheld welding torch. “Let’s send you off with something a bit more permanent.”

With a click, white hot flames cut into the silver metal of his chassis and D-16 bites back a howl of agony.

B-127’s optics widen in horror. “D!” he cries, struggling against Airachnid’s cruel grip, “No, no, no! Please, leave him alone! Please!”

D-16 can taste energon filling his mouth as he sinks his denta into his own glossia, but still he resists. He won’t give Sentinel any satisfaction in his pain. He concentrates on B-127, keeping his grimace as neutral as possible against every terrible stroke that burns into him. He needs to be strong, he tells himself. He needs to be brave. He needs to-

“Hey,” Sentinel interjects as he jabs the torch’s flame deeper, making D-16 shudder, “Look at me.”

D-16 refuses, keeping his optics on B-127 and forcing his fans to vent evenly.

Sentinel scoffs, not tolerating being ignored. “Suddenly quiet, are we? Tch. I’ve seen your type before. Acting like a brave mech, thinking you’re the big hero who’s going to save the day,” he jeers as he drags each motion of the torch slowly, every piercing kiss of the flame lingering. “That’s a sparkling’s way of thinking, D-16.”

Sentinel then pauses and turns to the yellow mech, seemingly satisfied by the crude lacerations cut into the silver chassis. Under a certain angle, the wound looks like Megatronus Prime’s mask.

“And we all know how that attitude works out, don’t we, sweetspark?” he smirks as he gives the tool an expert little twirl and winks at a trembling B-127.

Without warning, Sentinel stabs the blazing welding torch right into D-16’s left optic.

The silver mech finally cries out with a bellow of pain. Static and warnings swarm his HUD, overwhelming his processor so much that D-16 barely notices Sentinel twisting the tool cruelly.

“There we go, newspark, there we go. See what you get for being difficult?” Sentinel coos.

“Stop!” B-127 sobs brokenly, “Please stop hurting him!”

“Aw, you hear him begging, D-16? I wonder how much he’s going to cry over trash like you.” Sentinel laughs as the silver mech spasms, shock overwhelming his systems.

“E-nough… S-Sentinel!” Alpha Trion yells from a heap on the floor, his vocalizer glitching terribly. “You… w-won! Why… Why take so… so much… from them?”

“Don’t you get it, old mech? I own them,” Sentinel spits, throwing the welding torch aside and lifting D-16 into the air by his neck. “Every cogless in this city is alive because I allowed it!”

The false Prime’s gaze bores into D-16’s remaining optic, haughty and triumphant. “Their lives are mine! Mine to do with as I please!”

The pressure increases at his neck and D-16’s vision is clouded completely by warnings filling his HUD. He can barely recognize B-127’s distressed weeping as his consciousness starts to slip.

“The entire future of Cybertron is mine!” the false Prime declares.

Suddenly, far above, something explodes, rattling Iacon’s ceiling.

Sentinel pauses. “Tell me that is not a security breach,” he growls, rubbing the temple of his helm with his free hand.

Throwing B-127 down like an afterthought, the tall femme readies her weapons on instinct. “All Tower guards!” Airachnid barks, her voice echoing through the stronghold’s speakers as she rises to her full height, “Protect your Prime!” In an instant, she transforms and is in the air.

“First wave defenses engaged!” Airachnid informs from the speaker systems as she swoops out the nearest open landing pad and joins a swarm of guardsmechs already hovering around the Tower’s perimeter.

Sentinel dumps D-16 to the floor, more annoyed than worried. As he glances out one of the windows, he sees streaks of gunfire in the distance.

B-127 throws himself over the bleeding silver mech with a shattered sob, attempting to shield D-16 from any more harm.

Through the agonizing pain, D-16 anchors himself on that soft touch like a lifeline. He forces his thoughts back into coherency and manages to sit himself upright. His red optic glares daggers at the blue and gold mech as energon oozes down his face and drips on his still smoldering chassis.

“Second wave defenses engaged! On route to intercept!” Airachnid’s voice notifies as blaster shots fire far away.

“You know,” Sentinel muses as he looms over B-127 and D-16, his engine purring. “It’s kind of adorable how you miners keep thinking you are anything but wretched junk. You are ungrateful for my grace,” he sneers at D-16 before addressing B-127, “You try to steal from me. And for what end? All of you pathetic cogless are going to-”

“HAZARD THRESHOLD PENETRATED!” Airachnid’s voice unexpectedly shouts, strained and distracted.

Sentinel suddenly tenses and every shred of smugness evaporates. “What?” is all he gets out before Airachnid is bellowing in alarm.

“TOWER PERIMETER COMPROMISED! ALL UNITS-!”

Alpha Trion is just able to haul himself upright with a mangled shout. He throws himself at D-16 at the same time that he manages to grab B-127 by the yellow mech’s scruffbar with his teeth.

The three crash into Starscream and several other seekers, all of them knocked back just as a nearby golden wall explodes from the impact of a train car barreling into the ballroom.

Sentinel shrieks as the engine car clips him, sending him flying through a wall opposite of his prisoners.

The Tower of Primes rattles to its core as the train chugs through the top floor and spills the tip of the engine out the other side.

Far below, the sizeable crowd gathered for Sentinel Prime’s press conference all look up in horror and confusion as the mining train crashes to a halt. The front and back train cars dangle slightly from both ends of the ballroom story. A few sanctioned press cameras buzz into the air but are quickly outnumbered by the swarm of cam-drones belonging to the Senate as they circle around the Tower. All through Iacon, broadcast feeds display the crashed train and the chaos unfolding in the air. Nearby, Sentinel’s guards clash against members of the High Guard and a squad of jetpacking miners.

Back inside the Tower, the train cars open and Orion Pax, Elita-1, Soundwave, and Shockwave leap into the fray, rushing the golden guards.

“Alright, Soundwave, you’re up next!” Orion encourages as he shoots a guard advancing on Alpha Trion, D-16, and B-127.

“Acknowledged,” Soundwave states as he transforms and fires beams of psionic waves that scramble and deactivate the energon cuffs of every prisoner.

“About fragging time!” Starscream crows as soon as he is freed. His null-rays promptly start firing into the nearby overwhelmed guards and he cackles.

Orion rushes over to D-16, B-127, and Alpha Trion, his optics widening at the sight of the three disheveled mechs. “Primus! What did he do to you?” Orion gasps as he crouches down to place a comforting hand on D-16 and B-127.

“Don’t…!” D-16 snarls, shoving the red and blue mech’s hand away, “Don’t touch me!” He rises upwards onto shaky legs, the onslaught of pain keeping his movements sluggish.

“D, listen to me. You need a medic,” Orion says as he stands. He quickly places a finger to his comm-link. “Jazz, see if you and the rest of the crew can find a way in. We need Red Alert right away.”

With a dismissive sneer, D-16 pushes Orion away and focuses on resummoning his fusion cannon.

“Come… lit-tle one. We… must go,” Alpha Trion says softly as he tries to usher B-127 to his feet, struggling to stand himself.

But B-127 just stays on his knees, not even reacting to the Prime, or the fighting, or really anything as that numb look overtakes him again.

Suddenly, the surrounding windows are blocked one by one with heavy plated shutters as the ballroom is sealed off.

The remaining guards scramble to form a defensive line as Sentinel appears from behind blazing ruins. All of his bravado is gone, and there is a slight hitch to his run, as he rushes to the ballroom’s main exit. As the huge double doors shut and lock behind him and the retreating guards, Sentinel glares at his foes with unbridled hatred.

“Tower lockdown protocols engaged! Bar all exits and keep them away from the windows! Do not let them escape and do not let anyone spot them!” Airachnid’s voice booms once more through the Tower’s speakers, sounding haggard. “All available units report to the top floor and take firing squad positions.”

“Great. They’re trying to box us in before they overwhelm us with numbers,” Starscream frowns, wings twitchy, as he glares at Orion. “Now what, wise-aft?”

Orion turns to Alpha Trion. “Can you transform?”

The ancient Prime shuts his optics momentarily as he attempts to shift his plating but there is just a nasty pop of hydraulics and a hiss of sparks. “No… t-cog mis-aligned…”

“Okay, new plan then,” Orion declares as he motions his comrades and the High Guard closer, “Does anyone know if the Tower’s structure is connected to the streetside infinity roads?”

Soundwave steps forward. “Answer: technically yes. However: access is limited to the control room several levels below.”

“Can we use them to form a tunnel from the Tower to the broadcast station?”

“What the frag are you planning, cargo truck?” Starscream interjects.

“If we can’t get him out to the streets safely, then we need to get Alpha Trion to the station to address Iacon via the public channels. Fastest way is building a straight line from here to there,” Orion explains.

“That’ll be hard to do since they’ve surrounded us at every exit and are ready to open fire,” Elita-1 muses.

“Not if we drop straight down.”

“Are you insinuating we hack through the Tower floor by floor? I thought you were mad before, but this is ridiculous!” Shockwave scoffs at Orion.

“But can you do it?” Elita-1 asks, shouldering a rifle.

Shockwave huffs before scanning the floor for the best escape route. “Give me a few kliks.”

“Sound-wave… assist. We need… a decoy…” Alpha Trion suggests.

“Good idea,” Orion says, “But don’t try to strain yourself. We’re going to need one of your patented speeches.”

“I… shall try,” Alpha Trion nods solemnly.

Orion gives him a reassuring smile before D-16 suddenly grabs his shoulder.

“Will you stop with these stupid ideas of yours!” D-16 growls as he shakes Orion by the collar, letting his fusion cannon hum, “I say let them open the doors and we’ll see who dies first!”

But the red and blue mech grows stern, his optics narrowing. “D, you’re not helping anyone in this state. Fall back and help B before he gets himself killed.” Orion orders, “I’m going to find us all a way out of here, even if we have to keep making one the hard way.”

Orion turns to the oversized statue of Nexus Prime, eyeing the large gold-plated version of the Prime’s shield. “Quick, help me with this,” Orion urges the others as he grabs for the shield that is nearly four times his size, “We’ll cover them until we can drop down safely.”

“You heard him, Blinky,” Elita-1 says as she gives the purple mech an encouraging slap on the back before rushing over to help Orion set up a barricade.

Shockwave does not appreciate it and grouses as he transforms his arm into a torch blade. He sets to work on a specific spot on the floor as Soundwave does the same, further away.

D-16 sneers at Orion with resentment before veering toward the double door. He spares a glance over his shoulder as a flicker of yellow-gold catches his remaining optic.

B-127 wanders the ruined ballroom in a daze, his expression unreadable. He limps along as he occasionally picks up bits of debris and tucks them under an arm. He seems completely unaware as the others work on the escape routes and makeshift barriers.

On the other side of the double doors, D-16 can hear Sentinel’s voice.

As his fusion cannon warms with a rev of his engine, D-16 makes his decision.

BONUS DOODLE (WARNING ROBO GORE):

Chapter Text

B-127 stands in the middle of Sublevel 50. The space is littered with garbage and the heat of the furnace is stifling.

“Got to block off the conveyor belt, for starters. Can’t let the little guy climb up there whenever…” he mumbles as he starts digging through the clutter. “What am I going to do about energon? I can’t let him starve…”

On cue, the newly found bundle, that lays swaddled between A-A-Tron and Steve, begins to cry in hunger. They need more energon but B-127 hesitates to leave. He hasn’t left Rubble alone since he found the little newspark.

“One thing at a time, B,” Steve encourages as he rocks Rubble gently.

“Look at you, being all responsible-like!” A-A-Tron teases, casually flipping through another hand of cards, “Ah, if only your old supervisors could see you now. They’d be… Well, not impressed but they’d probably feel… something, so I’d still call that a win.”

“Very funny, A-A-Tron,” B-127 says, forcing a small smile as he picks up another piece of junk, readying it for the furnace.

“Certainly is taking the little fella’s guardian a while. Shouldn’t someone of shown up by now?” the ever-vigilant EP-508 muses, optics on the shut elevator door.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” B-127 offers.

“Well, they better be. Primus knows you have no idea what you’re doing,” A-A-Tron fires, sounding uncharacteristically harsh.

B-127 tenses. “I’m trying my best…”

“You’re a cogless. Your best isn’t even worth half the worst of a real mech,” EP-508 snaps, voice suddenly cruel.

Wait, that was wrong. B-127 had…

As he looks down at his chest, B-127 sees a t-cog rammed into his ripped open chassis. It bleeds as it hums and rotates, as if it was forced into somewhere it did not belong and was trying to burrow its way free.

“Look at the mess you made. Primus, how are you such a screwup?” Steve chimes in the voice of one of B-127’s old bosses. He then shifts into a familiar croon that sends shivers down the yellow mech’s spinal strut. “Can’t you hear the kiddo crying? Aren’t you going to do anything about it, sweetspark?”

“B…” Rubble calls out, voice sounding strangely deep and off.

B-127 is too frightened to turn around.

The furnace mouth belches out fire as it begins to laugh, booming and devilish. The childish paintings on Sublevel 50’s walls begin to melt, the animal figures bellowing judgmental cries. Garbage spews from the chute in horrid waves, threatening to bury everything in scrap and refuse.

B-127 cowers as he stands in the middle of the room, utterly lost.

A large dark hand suddenly grips his shoulder, shattering everything around him.

Flinching at the contact, B-127 looks up to meet the concerned look of D-16’s remaining optic. “B, we need to go. It’s not safe here,” D-16 says softly before frowning at the clutter in the minibot’s arms, “What are you doing?”

Blinking in confusion, B-127 steps back. “I can’t leave. The Sublevel’s a mess and…” he tries to explain. He looks around frantically at the remains of the Tower of Prime’s ballroom. “W-where’d the conveyor belt go…?”

D-16’s spark sinks as the minibot starts compulsively picking up more junk. “B…”

“Just… give me a few kliks. I’m sure I can find it,” B-127 says with a little chuckle as he gives a crooked but polite smile.

“B, enough… Look at where you are,” D-16 snaps as he grips the minibot’s shoulders and gives him a single firm shake. “Focus! We don’t have time for this!”

B-127 recoils from the larger mech’s grip. “N-No, no, this is just a nightmare. I’m still on good old Sublevel 50!” He laughs again, this time hard enough for his vocalizer to crack. “I’ll wake up from recharge just in time for rations. Rubble will be there and…” Everything around him seems to darken and warp as his processor spirals deeper. “Better yet, I’ll wake up alone… like I deserve…”

“Don’t you dare say that!” D-16 shouts, his spark hammering and twisting in his chassis. He unintentionally tightens his grip as if the yellow mech would disappear.

“Let go! Don’t tell me what to do! You’re not even real!” B-127 screams as he throws down the debris and shoves D-16 back, wrenching himself free. “You’re just another figment of my imagination!” His arms loop around to hug himself as he collapses to his knees. B-127’s fingers dig deep into his yellow plating hard enough to dent metal and strip paint.

D-16’s still functioning optic widens in alarm. “Stop it, you’re hurting yourself, you-!”

B-127 shakes his helm and deepens his grip until there is a crunch of an arm panel. He lets out a choked noise, his voice strained with static as he starts babbling. “Which isn’t fragging fair because Rubble liked you and I… liked you…!” He breaks, unable to cry anymore tears as his optic cleaner ran dry groons ago. “And I liked… having friends… And I… liked all of us together… And… I just wish…”

Stepping close, standing tall over the minibot, D-16 reaches towards B-127. “B, please, take my hand,” he says.

Quivering, B-127 grasps the large hand before touching it to his cheek. The warmth of the dark metal brings everything back into focus.

 “Feel that? It’s me and I’m right here, understand?” D-16 says evenly as he helps B-127 back onto his feet. “And I’m not going anywhere, even if Primus himself transforms and tries to drag me down to the Well.”

B-127 looks up at the silver mech, his footing wobbly. “D… I’m… I’m scared…” he whispers honestly as he keeps close to the larger mech. He squeezes D-16’s hand tightly as his gaze falls to the ruined ballroom floor. “What am I supposed to do with myself...?” he asks numbly.

D-16 keeps his hold just as tight. “Stick close and let me handle things,” he says as he leads B-127 over to the barrier set up near Alpha Trion and Shockwave.

“Update: security wires tapped,” Soundwave announces from his shielded position as Starscream supervises, “Awaiting structural config integration.”

“Great, once we get down below we just need to get into the Tower’s main access,” Orion nods before turning to Shockwave, who is up to his elbows in wires. “Can’t you go faster?” he asks as he finishes setting up the perimeter of shoddy barricades.

“Yeah, hurry up!” Elita-1 chimes in as she and several seekers, including Skywarp and Thundercracker, take defensive positions around the blockades.

“I am trying!” Shockwave snaps as his arm slowly continues as the torch blade digs into the flooring panels beneath the wires. Finally, there is a snap and the chunk of metal is removed and Shockwave spots what he is looking for.

A thick bundle of glowing blue wires that sticks out amongst the others.

“Once I breach the Tower’s structural systems, things are going to start happening very fast. So, you’d better be ready with whatever you have planned next, cargo truck,” Shockwave huffs as he unspools his wrist’s cable-jack and the tip transforms into a hacking needle. “Give me a mark, Soundwave,” he instructs as he readies position.

Soundwave holds up a free hand then shoots an expectant look at Orion.

“Alright, everyone lay low and get ready to drop down,” Orion announces as he crouches to the floor. As soon as everyone else does the same he signals to the other two. “Okay, now!”

Shockwave stabs the hacking needle into a specific line in the glowing bundle with expert precision just as Soundwave hacks in as well but with two wires at the same time.

The entire ballroom suddenly groans as the floor begins to shift. The circular design in the center of the room rotates slightly then back again and again like the dial on a safe.

“Whoa, whoa! What are you doing?” Elita-1 shouts, nearly thrown off balance along with a few of the others.

“Trust the process,” Starscream chuckles as he spots a section of the once polished paneling sink. There is an echoing click then a large gap creaks open.

“Announcement: lower-level access granted. Next possible access point is within eighty metrons.”

No sooner than the words are out of Soundwave’s vocalizer, Starscream and his seekers dive through the open hatch and gunfire quickly sounds below. Shockwave and Soundwave disconnect and quickly do the same.

“Come on, Alpha Trion, let us help you down,” Orion says as he gently ushers the injured ancient Prime to the escape hatch.

Suddenly, the surrounding windows and grand double doors slam open, revealing golden guardsmechs aiming their weapons.

“Open fire!” Sentinel orders, his voice far down the hall, keeping at a safe distance.

The five remaining bots scramble for the hatch as gunfire rains down at them from every direction.

D-16 takes B-127 into his arms as he leaps down. The upright landing is rough on his knees but he practically is up and running as soon as he hits the ground. Around them, the High Guard are already tearing into the straggling trackers who had not made it up to the ballroom floor.

A laser blast clips Orion’s left shoulder badly as he and Elita-1 have to shove the sluggish Alpha Trion through the hatch and all three of them crash hard to the lower level.

“Alpha Trion! Are you alright?” Elita-1 asks as she rushes over as sparks hiss from the Prime’s dislocated shoulder.

“F… F-Fine…” is all he can muster as he drags himself up, dazed. “Con… control r-room… now…!” he gasps, stumbling as Elita-1 catches him.

“Where’s the Tower’s control room?” Elita-1 shouts as the High Guard surround Soundwave defensively as he starts hacking into another command panel.

“Same story as the Well Reservoir courtyard, over twenty levels down,” Shockwave informs before firing his left arm laser cannon and taking down two guards at once.

“Primus, we can’t keep this up for that long,” Orion says in frustration. Then he spots something and his processor gears start turning. “Can you hack the elevator?”

Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream all share a look.

“You want to cram over fifty bots into an elevator?” Starscream sneers.

“We won’t need to if we can also get the nearby windows open at the same time,” Orion explains as he fires a couple rounds as he covers D-16 and B-127.

Starscream rolls his optics but signals to Soundwave. “Give us a timestamp, Soundwave,” he quips as he readies himself.

“Acknowledged: five kliks, on the dot.”

“Alright, D and I will cover the half going towards the elevator. Skywarp, Thundercracker, you cover the half heading outside,” Orion says as he helps B-127 to the ground, “B, you stick to Alpha Trion where we’ll try to keep the both of you safe.”

“Don’t get used to giving orders to the High Guard, cargo truck,” Starscream interrupts as he takes position, making sure to elbow Orion in the process. “You ought to thank your lucky stars most of us are still in one piece so I can keep humoring you.”

Orion does not dignify the seeker’s goading as another wave of guards charge down the hall.

Shockwave transforms, his flying artillery cannon alt ramming down several guards as he barrels down the long hallway. He manages to brake suddenly by transforming his wings into tank-walker legs and skitters backwards towards Soundwave as he keeps firing.

Finally, there is a loud ding and the elevator opens just as a row of nearby windows unlock. Outside, they catch a glimpse of the Tower’s guards still clashing with the remaining seekers in an intense dogfight.

“Quick, get in!” Elita-1 shouts as she struggles to help Alpha Trion.

B-127 takes the Prime’s free arm and loops it over his shoulder, ignoring the persistent pain in his side, as he and Elita-1 carry the limping Alpha Trion into the elevator.

Starscream, Soundwave, and several other seekers cram their way in as well, with Starscream complaining the entire time. Shockwave transforms and squeezes in to help Soundwave with the button panel.

Orion and D-16 bring up the rear as they cover Thundercracker and Skywarp and the last of the seekers escaping via the windows.

“Look out!” Orion shouts as Airachnid slams into a seeker as she transforms and leaps through the open window.

Her aim is directly at Orion and she manages to land a hit that shatters and burns a chunk of his chassis.

As he is sent flying into the crowded elevator, Orion grabs D-16 with him, keeping the silver mech from confronting the femme one-on-one. “D, we need to stick together,” he hisses through clenched denta as the doors shut.

“Fine. But, the nanoklik I see Sentinel, I am goin-” D-16 begins only for the elevator to lurch in a horribly steep drop.

“Hey! Easy with this thing!” Elita-1 exclaims as she and B-127 steady Alpha Trion as nearly everyone is thrown off their feet by the plummeting velocity.

“Query: You want fast or do you want safe?” Soundwave quips as he fiddles with the control panel’s wires and buttons as he taps into the override.

“I prefer we not fragging die!” Elita-1 snaps.

“Yeah, you rusted-out blockheaded glitch!” Starscream adds shrilly.

“Duly noted.”

With that, Soundwave withdraws his hacking needles and the elevator eases then brakes sharp enough to make everyone’s tanks churn. The doors open with another jaunty little ding.

“Warning: two kliks left until Tower’s emergency shut down completely locks us out of access,” Soundwave informs as the snug group practically spill out of the elevator.

“Can you keep going, sir?” B-127 asks softly, looking up at the Prime.

“G-Get… me to… access frame,” Alpha Trion chokes out through the static filling his vocalizer, a small smirk at his lips, “Then… I… I’ll show them… what a… old-timer… c-can do.”

With most of the guardmechs scrambling from their positions at the top floor, the control room is sparsely secured. The only thing in their way are several mass-produced security sentries and a code panel. All are taken care of swiftly by the High Guard.

As soon as all of them are in, they take defensive positions as the sturdy doors are locked behind them.

“How many roads can we connect to the Tower?” Orion asks as he tails behind Soundwave and Shockwave as they promptly get to work, hacking their way in with ease and pausing the lock-out timer.

“Depends, how many bots are you willing to kick ten stories off the courtyard plaza?” Shockwave asks as he brings up several outside camera feeds that show off the huge crowd gathered in front of the Well Reservoir.

“None!” Orion balks.

“Must you continue to make this difficult?” Shockwave grumbles as he plugs in a few lines of code and runs a diagnosis. “We have enough track to make it about four-fifths of the way to the broadcast station.”

“What, that’s it?”

“That’s it if we want proper cover to keep from being easy targets,” Shockwave explains before turning towards Alpha Trion, “Not that I’d advise moving you in such a state without medical attention first.”

“Non…sense…” Alpha Trion grunts as he has B-127 guide him to the primary console, “Get me into… structure access.”

The High Guard exchange knowing looks that range in concern.

“Trion,” Shockwave starts, “If you’re planning on doing what I think you’re-”

Everyone is suddenly startled as a welding laser stabs into one of the control room’s doors, cutting through it like thin aluminum.

“Great, just what we need. Quick, everyone grab whatever you can and block the doors. We gotta buy as much time as we can,” Elita-1 directs as she starts ripping a console chair from the floor, “Primus, what else can go wrong?”

“Alert: Airachnid is trying to reclaim control access via hacking channels,” Soundwave announces as he stabs more needles into wires as his free hand types furiously between two keyboards as Shockwave does similar.

“Isn’t she a bit busy?” Orion asks as he watches the security feed that shows the tall femme just outside wielding the welding torch.

“It’s her lackeys,” Starscream explains dismissively, “She shares her eyes with everyone of her guards and tells them what to do. She sees and commands everything in Iacon under Sentinel’s orders.”

“Huh,” Orion muses but is snapped out of it as Alpha Trion slams a hand down onto the primary console. “What are you doing?!”

Magnetism flares out powerfully from the ancient Prime, his optics glowing. “Going… to see if… Primus… is listening…” Alpha Trion thunders through painful static as the entire Tower of Primes rumbles.

Then the Tower begins to transform.

On the outside, it is nothing major, at first. A slight sidle shift on a couple levels and protrusions for maintenance scaffolding. But then long structural additions start branching out like stems on plantlife in all sorts of directions. The Tower creaks as it leans a little. After one long newly formed hall reaches out toward the broadcast station building, tracks of infinity road coil together to form a tunnel that crashes right into an empty lounge area.

The Senate and Iacon press cameras swarm as more and more optics are locked on the Tower of Primes as it stills.

Inside, however, is in complete chaos.

As soon as Alpha Trion feels a fraction of control, thick slabs jut upwards from the floor and become moving barricades that are locked to each bot in the control room. Panels strip from the non-load bearing walls then slam into guards and Airachnid barely manages to avoid them by jumping up to crawl on the ceiling.

“This is our chance!” D-16 shouts as he fires through the remains of the control room’s doors, “Push them back!”

The ragtag group of bots rally, sending all their firepower into wave after wave of mass-produced bots that charge down the long grand hall leading to the courtyard lobby. The walls and floor shift and ripple as the entire Tower goes haywire. Sections of walls slam together like compacters, flooring moves about like a slide puzzle, and the windows open and shut like guillotines on the guards trying to enter from outside.

Out of nowhere, a volley of missiles hammer into the control room’s doors. The heavy blasts take out several guards in the process and tear the doors off their hinges. Everyone nearby is sent flying backwards, the residual electrical currents in the air momentarily scrambling their optic feeds.

After landing violently into a console, D-16 looks up and, through jumbled pixels, spots a large blue figure hovering down the far end of the hall at the lobby entrance.

“You fools still think you can make it out of here alive?! Don’t you get it?! If you’re in my way, you’re as good as dead!” Sentinel smirks from beneath a battle mask, his body fully transformed. Every bit of him has been outfitted for battle, from a high-powered blaster arm to missile launchers lining every limb. “I have sacrificed far too much for my future to let a bunch of old-world losers and pathetic cogless ruin everything I’ve built!” Sentinel shouts as he swoops towards the fray with the confidence of a one-mech army.

D-16 snarls his engine as he transforms and mows down guards as he takes aim at Sentinel, the Tower’s transforming walls giving him cover.

“Everyone forward!” Orion shouts as he, Elita-1, and Shockwave lead the seekers into the hall to keep the endless onslaught of guards at bay.

With Alpha Trion’s help, the line of guardsmechs faulter as the rebels hold them back.

Suddenly, there is an audible crackling pop in the control room and the ancient Prime collapses onto the console with a static filled cry. Energon drips from his noseplate and the corner of his optics heavily as his fingers dig into the console’s metal, spraying sparks. His vents heave weak shuddering coughs as his body spasms uncontrollably.

“Alpha Trion!” B-127 screams in alarm.

Starscream promptly rushes over from his cover and forcibly yanks the Prime’s grip from the console, the entire Tower stilling at the lost connection. “Enough, you senile old mech! What good are you to us if you’re dead?”

Alpha Trion blinks as he slumps to the floor weakly, no longer able to stand. He looks at the seeker with grateful dim optics. “T-Thank… you… Star-”

“Fragging spare me your prattling,” Starscream interjects with a seemingly dismissive sneer as he snipes down another guard with his null-rays, his wings flicking.

Suddenly, Airachnid skuttles in from the ceiling. She drops down and takes out Soundwave’s dashboard controls, aiming a kick to his chassis.

Soundwave blocks the worst of the damage with his arms but is knocked into Shockwave. Guards attempt to overwhelm them but Shockwave is quick with his arm laser.

 Airachnid, in the meantime, lays her attacks into Starscream, her bladed limbs aimed at the seeker’s wings and face. She manages to kill four seekers that try to help their leader in the process, bodies beginning to pile up in the control room.

“Kill them!” Sentinel orders loudly as D-16’s tank cannon hits one of his thrusters and forces him to the ground, “Kill all of them!” Sentinel fires another barrage of missiles, not caring who is caught in the crossfire, and knocks the silver mech out of his tank alt.

Orion manages to grab D-16 out of the way as Sentinel unsheathes his blade and swipes it at the two of them. D-16 cries out as the treads on his left leg are cut into, energon gushing from the small but deep wound.

Airachnid’s snarling engines bellow out from the control room as her blades stab at Starscream with wicked increasing speed as she pins him to a nearby wall.

Starscream answers her with a loud hiss and kicks out his thruster just as she aims for his spark. Still, she manages to land the blow to one of his null-rays and slices it clean off.

The null-ray goes flying through the air until Elita-1 suddenly catches it by the barrel and clobbers it against Airachnid’s jaw. “Eat this, creep!” Elita-1 shouts as she hammers the tall femme’s helm as Airachnid stumbles to the floor, “Bet you didn’t see this coming!”

Starscream promptly joins in as soon as it looks like Airachnid is going to retreat, kicking her with his heel. Both wail on the deadly enforcer until she stills. “Hey, Sentinel!” Starscream shouts over the fighting, “We’ve got your newspark-sitter!”

“Nobody said anything about taking hostages,” Elita-1 whispers as she gives Airachnid one more parting whack before heading over to Alpha Trion. She keeps an optic on Airachnid as the femme slips into statis but lands a heel to her back as her blade limbs curl subconsciously.

“Relax, I know what I’m doing. Sentinel won’t know what to do without his handler coddling him,” Starscream says knowingly as he returns to a defensive position.

Sure enough, the seeker’s taunt is enough to throw Sentinel off his full assault and D-16 takes the opportunity to fire his fusion cannon directly at the false Prime. Sentinel crashes to the ground as one of his wings is clipped badly. Orion shoots his hand and sends the mighty blade clattering to the floor.

“Why are all of you idiots standing around?!” Sentinel shouts at the guards, who start to struggle to rally without Airachnid’s direct instructions. Wincing, Sentinel clutches his mangled hand as he begins to back away, “There are way more of you then them! Keep fighting!”

Just then, there is an echoing clunk as two nearby sets of doors open simultaneously.

From the two opposite halls, bots pour in with whooping battle cries. One side seekers, led by Thundercracker and Skywarp, the other side cogless miners.

“Hey, I recognize you!” Jazz grins at a shocked Elita-1 as the femme pauses digging her heel into the unconscious Airachnid’s back, “Long time no see, captain!”

“Everyone!” Orion calls out as he rushes over to meet the smaller bots, “Thank Primus all of you made it!”

“Cavalry barely managed to get inside. It’s a total mess out there,” Ironhide explains as he and Prowl take down a pair of guards.

Both newcoming groups fire into the remaining guards and trackers, the rebels quickly out numbering the mass-produced bots who fall easily to the gunfire. Some guardmechs begin to break rank, their self-preservation instincts overriding whatever programming was built into them from the production facilities and Airachnid.

Sentinel’s optics widen as he staggers toward the courtyard lobby, turning his back on his remaining security.

D-16 steps forward and revs up his fusion cannon, finally gifted a perfect shot at Sentinel.

But then Orion Pax grabs his shoulder.

“Move, Pax! He’s getting away!” D-16 shouts.

“D, stop it! It’s over! The guards are retreating and there’s nowhere for Sentinel to hide! We have wounded we need to help, including you!” Orion tries to reason.

“I SAID MOVE!”

D-16 fires at Sentinel just as Orion reaches for his fusion cannon…

And the silver mech misses both of them completely.

The blast takes out a large golden-plated statue that manages to fall onto Sentinel but only manages to bend one golden wing. Snarling in pain and frustration, Sentinel stumbles out of the hall and into the Tower’s primary lobby.

Orion grapples the silver mech’s arm with all his might as D-16 thrashes violently. “D, stop! Listen to me, your depth perception is off. You fire that damn thing anymore, you’re just going to end up hurting someone!”

“Yes,” D-16 growls, “and it’s going to be Sentinel! Now, get your fragging hands off me!”

But the red and blue mech shakes his head and tightens his grip. “Gunning Sentinel down will only turn him into a martyr in the eyes of his supporters,” Orion says evenly, “We have to handle this delicately if we want his punishment to-”

“Rubble is dead because of him, you self-righteous glitch!” D-16 bellows.

Blue optics narrow against a single red glare. “You think I don’t know that?!”  Orion suddenly fires back with an uncharacteristic snarl of his engine, his optics briefly darkening as he seizes D-16 by the collar. “You’re not the one who had to bury him!”

His shout hits D-16 like a wicked punch and the silver mech reels back, stunned and rigid. He lurches away from Orion, his fight dying as his gaze sinks to the ruined floor. “You can’t be serious. You want to… spare that fragging Pit-spawn? After what he’s done?”

Orion tenses and clenches his fists until something dents. “We’re not sparing anyone, but… I want justice. I want the rest of Iacon to hate him as much as I do. But I don’t want to be like him, someone who just takes a life because I can.” Orion sighs and puts a hand on his best friend’s shoulder.  “D, I know you’re hurt but we have Alpha Trion. Once he gets medical attention he’ll explain everything to the public and help clean up the Senate. In the meantime, we also have Airachnid. Her memories must be full of incriminating evidence that we can broadcast publicly to quickly get everyone on our side. C’mon, D. Let’s just try this.”

D-16 tenses before a long-suffering sigh heaves from his vents. “I’m giving you one last shot, Orion.”

“That’s all I need,” Orion nods before turning towards the others. “Okay, one more change of plans. Elita, you, Soundwave, and Shockwave get Airachnid to the broadcast tower and hook her memory files up to every public channel you can. D, you and the rest of our mining squad help Red Alert stabilize Alpha Trion until we can get him to a medical facility along with the rest of the wounded. Starscream and I will lead a group to distract Sentinel until the broadcast airs.” He points to each squad as he explains each step, confidence swelling in his spark.

“Lastly, B, you stick close… to…” Orion continues only for his voice to hitch and wither as he notices a sudden absence, “B?”

D-16 looks up as horror grips his spark.

It is surprisingly easy for B-127 to slip after Sentinel as the blue and gold mech trudges into the empty courtyard lobby. Quiet things tend to be overlooked, after all. It is easy for anyone to mistake his yellow color for a sheen of gold out of the corner of an optic as he shambles after the murderer.

Sentinel bursts through the Tower’s massive lobby doors and limps onto the platform above the crowded courtyard in front of the Well Reservoir.

“Loyal citizens of Iacon, listen to me!” he shouts as loudly as he can, demanding the confused and rattled crowd’s attention, “The Tower of Primes has been taken over by a gang of crazed cogless and traitorous usurpers! They have an imposter posing as-!” Sentinel is abruptly cut off as B-127 leaps out of his nearby cover and grapples onto the false Prime’s back.

With a roll of his optics, Sentinel glowers over his shoulder at the yellow annoyance clinging to him. Cockily sneering with a hidden flash of his denta, Sentinel whispers teasingly as he reaches for the small mech. “Really, the sneak attack thing again, sweetspark?” he quietly coos as his hand finds one of B-127’s wrists, ready to twist it into a broken mess. “You really think you can hurt me, you stupid little fragg- ukk!”

The sudden pain is too intense for Sentinel to fully register. Stunned by the onslaught of HUD warnings, he doesn’t even have time to process anything before they blip away and are replaced by a single line of text.

TERMINAL ERROR, it reads.

Sentinel looks down and sees that a blue energy blade has gored right through his neck.

The crowd below erupts into horrified screams and cries of alarm.

Around the two locked mechs, the buzzing of the dozens and dozens of circling cameras thunders into a deafening fever pitch.

Sentinel looks back, trembling, to the minibot’s face but all he can see is the righteous rage gleaming through a neon purple visor.

Chapter Text

B-127 feels like he is in a dream.

The feeling of warm energon trickling down his wrist is surreal. His touch is wet and sticky against blue metal.

Sentinel’s handsome faceplates are twisted in shock.

B-127’s spark twists painfully as he catches a glimpse of something familiar hidden in Sentinel’s features. The shade of royal blue, the shape of his helm’s crest, the soft cheeks… had the signs always been there? B-127 tilts his helm, silently musing more to himself, as he caresses and angles Sentinel’s chin with his free hand.

Without warning, another energon stinger blade slices the false Prime right in between his blue optics. It glides like cutting into a jellied energon goodie but not deep enough to make oblivion come quick or painlessly.

B-127 blinks, confused. He withdraws the blade from Sentinel’s face as the blue and gold mech begins to twitch and spasm, his body beginning to shut down.

They both fall to the ground in front of the massive relief altarpiece of the Matrix that looms tall before the Well Reservoir. Below, the crowd’s gasps and cries increase in volume as energon pools all over the courtyard’s stage.

The yellow mech studies both of his hands as he extracts the blade from the back of Sentinel’s neck. For a long moment, all he can do is stare.

Knives?

No.

No, this isn’t fair!

Why now?

Why now of all times?

Anger and frustration overcome all of his numbed senses and energy surges into the stinger blades, making electricity spark and arc. Primus, he wishes he could cry. But the tears are long gone, so his purple optics just burn as he thrusts his crackling knives into the blue and gold mech.

He doesn’t care that Sentinel’s lower face and neck are quickly reduced to molten blue slag as he continues to stab.

He doesn’t care as nearly a hundred floating cameras swarm around him, broadcasting his gruesome actions to all of Iacon before cutting off and claiming technical difficulties.

He doesn’t care as members of crowd scramble up the platform, their voices harsh and hostile.

He doesn’t care if they call him a murderer.

He doesn’t care when they start throwing projectiles at him, dozens of rocks, bricks, and other debris hitting him hard.

He doesn’t care whether what happens next is an accident or not.

He doesn’t care about anything anymore.

When he reaches up an arm to shield his helm, a blaster transforms on the end of his hand. Energy blasts sourced from the same electric energy pulsating from his spark, and the blade in his other wrist, fires automatically. The shots are relatively weak in this state but they still land and scorch metal. One finds the chassis of a blue and white mech, sending him tumbling backwards over the platform. More blasts rain into the advancing bots, who quickly retreat, injuring dozens of others as their features all quickly blur together.

They don’t know the truth, he mentally chides himself, they don’t know any better.

He hates himself for not being able to protect Rubble. He hates himself for not being able to do something earlier. He hates himself so much and doesn’t know how to stop.

The bullets just keep firing in time with his sparkbeat, aimed at nothing in particular.

Now keeping a distance, the chaotic crowd riles up in retaliation, calling for his life.

And by Primus, B-127 wishes they would just take it.

Suddenly, something large and mostly red crashes into him, pinning his small yellow form to the ground. B-127 freezes and shudders at the larger body pressed against him. He momentarily doesn’t recognize the mech as a blue helm stares down with wide horrified optics.

“What are you doing? Stop! Stop!” Orion screams loudly into B-127’s masked face. He grabs the yellow mech’s wrists, unflinching as the blade digs into his fingers and palm, spilling more energon. Orion sinks forward, their foreheads touching as he shakes B-127 roughly. “Why did you do that?! What were you thinking?! Primus, what were you thinking?!”

B-127 just lays there, looking past the distraught Orion, and notices the surrounding bust statutes of Sentinel leering down at him. He shifts his numb gaze to Iacon’s ceiling and sends one more silent prayer to Primus. Maybe this time he’ll answer. Then all of Iacon will snap shut like a pair of jaws and none of Sentinel’s city will remain. Or, at the very least, a stalactite will wiggle loose and have the good grace to impale B-127’s broken and useless spark.

Instead, another rock hits his helm as the crowd rallies.

“Killer!” one mech shouts.

“Murderer!” a femme chimes in.

“Little monster!” different bots echo each other as the crowd advances toward the Well Reservoir.

“No, wait! You don’t understand!” Orion tries to explain, shielding B-127 as best as he can.

“STOP THIS MADNESS AT ONCE!” a familiar voice suddenly thunders, reverberating throughout the courtyard.

The crowd’s uproar fades in utter shock and confusion as Alpha Trion is half-carried by D-16, Ironhide, and Arcee. Red Alert, Jazz and Prowl quickly follow as Starscream lingers at the lobby’s doorway.

“You said you weren’t going to shout!” Red Alert whispers to the Prime, scolding him the same way he would the rest of the mining crew when they ignored his advice, “Your welds are still fresh, you shouldn’t strain yourself.”

Alpha Trion just huffs and nudges those carrying him aside. He lumbers his broken body forward as he attempts to stand on his own. He subtly spreads his cape wide as he holds up his hands for quiet, attempting to cover B-127, Orion, and Sentinel’s body from view.

“Dear citizens of Iacon, you have been deceived by a traitor!” Alpha Trion states, wincing at the pain lingering in his vocalizer.

Hushed confusion overcomes the rattled crowd as murmurs bubble up.

“Get the poor thing away from the cameras!” Alpha Trion hisses over his shoulder but is interrupted as the Senate’s holo-drones swarm him.

At once, each one projects a mini holo-feed of a Senator standing atop their drone representative and soon the entire Senate is before them.

“Do my optics deceive me? Is that truly you, Alpha Trion?” one feed asks in awe.

“Indeed, Senator Crosscut,” Alpha Trion responses politely as he puts a hand behind his back in an attempt to wave the young bots away but the cameras loom closer, surrounding them.

“Why is everyone just standing around? Did you not just see that Sentinel Prime was just murdered by a minibot psychopath?!” Senator Decimus interjects in undisguised panic, “Somone do something!”

Alpha Trion bares his denta and snarls. “Sentinel is no Prime!” his static laced voice booms across the courtyard, “Fifty cycles ago he killed my fellow Primes and sold Cybertron to the invading Quintessons! He enslaved an entire population of young bots to toil for energon that he would use as collateral to keep Iacon locked away and Cybertron under Quintesson rule!”

Gasps echo up from the crowd of onlookers and most of the Senate’s video feeds.

From his position nearby, D-16 silently makes a mental note of those of the Senate that clearly react aloof, unsurprised, or feign an overreaction. He will remember those faces.

“That is quite a claim you’re making,” one Senator pipes up nervously, “Do you have any proof?”

“I concur with Senator Proteus,” another Senator adds, shoving his drone forward, “Something to back up these horrifying allegations and this act of barbarism would be nice.”

Alpha Trion frowns as he recognizes the small figure on the feed. “Must you always play devil’s advocate, young Ratbat, you sordid little cassette,” Alpha Trion snaps, the lingering pain from his wounds beginning to build up as he tries to appear composed.

“Oh, well, that shuts me up!” Senator Ratbat laughs, immediately relaxing and curling his wings around himself, “Only one mech on Cybertron would ever call me that.”

“Now, wait a nanoklik!” Proteus shouts, voice on edge, “I demand real proof! Our Prime has been murdered just as one of the Thirteen suddenly rises from the dead? Bit convenient, isn’t it?”

“This is no time for conspiracies!” Senator Crosscut interjects, only for almost every Senator to start talking at once.

“Someone get Iacon security down there!”

“Sentinel was in charge of public security. Is that not a conflict of interest?”

“Why are miners up here? Why am I the only one noticing this?”

“Is someone going to do anything about the fragging murder? My entire office is freaking out!”

“If you really are Alpha Trion, transform right now and let us see your alt-mode!”

“I would like some clarification before we all jump to conclusions. Why would Sentinel work with the Quintessons? No one in their right processor would-”

Senator Dai Atlas’s musings are promptly cut off as finally Iacon’s public broadcast screens flicker back on. They momentarily show a test pattern before a first-person mental recording of Sentinel begins to play.

“I KNOW WHAT I PROMISED YOU, BUT OUR MINES… THEY’RE RUNNING OUT,” Sentinel’s regal voice suddenly booms, echoing through out all of Iacon.

B-127 clutches his helm and starts screaming uncontrollably.

He never wants to hear the Monster’s voice again.

The mob quiets slightly in shock as screens above them show Sentinel kneeling before a Quintesson battalion. Trains full of energon are plundered by the alien conquerors while Sentinel negotiates and grovels like a submissive coward.

The recording jumps around a little, until the events of the ballroom begin to play. Cries of surprise ring out from the crowd as Sentinel is shown torturing Alpha Trion and D-16 before jumping forward to his haughty tirade as he attempted to throttle D-16.

The crowd roars with scandalized outrage.

“Calm yourselves! All will be explained!” Alpha Trion says as he attempts to pacify the simmering mob with mixed success.

Orion finally gets the opportunity to carry B-127’s limp form back into the Tower before they draw attention back to the yellow mech.

D-16 watches them leave with a troubled expression before he locks a half-blinded glare with Sentinel’s faded optics. They look confused and scared as they are dimmed into nothingness.

Slowly, D-16 grinds his heel into Sentinel’s nearest hand, crushing it as the last of the polished hues of blue and gold fade completely from the greying corpse.

D-16 prays that it had hurt.

Alpha Trion interrupts as he places a hand on D-16’s shoulder, still addressing the crowd. “But that will have to come later. Right now, we have casualties to tend to. Afterwards, I shall broadcast a brief public Q and A to explain our next step for the process of Iacon’s healing. Until then, please respect my comrades’ privacy and newly appointed duties.”

The Prime pauses and leans in close to the silver mech. “Help me with this scrap,” he whispers with a grunt, grabbing Sentinel’s arm and dragging the body towards the lobby’s entrance. D-16 and Ironhide assist as best as they can as the other miners attempt to form a blockade around them.

Suddenly, Senator Proteus’s camera drone buzzes in front of them, not willing to be ignored. “What about the little psycho? Is he one of your comrades? Civilians were shot at, aren’t you going to do anything about that!”

“No more questions at this time, please,” Alpha Trion huffs, attempting to remain cordial and polite.

But most of the Senate will have none of it and their drones close in on the bots still on the courtyard.

“Answer us, Trion! You can’t just waltz in and take over with no explanation! I demand that you-”

“What part of ‘no more questions’ do you scavengers not understand?!” D-16 growls before he grabs Senator Proteus’s drone and singlehandedly crushes it.

Immediately, the other Senators give them plenty of space, the cameras veering back.

Alpha Trion gives D-16 a look that is half judgmental and half grateful. “We’ll have to deal with them later,” he sighs as they reenter the Tower of Prime’s lobby.

Suddenly, Elita-1 bounds into the now crowded room, distracted as she fiddles with a wrist screen, keeping track of multiple contacts at once. “So far so good with the memory feed tap, but Soundwave says we’ll need a cortical psychic patch to access Airachnid’s memories older than… What the flying frag happened here?” She stares in confusion at Sentinel’s remains.

As soon as Prowl and Jazz lock the courtyard lobby doors behind them, Alpha Trion dumps the greyed corpse to the floor unceremoniously. He slumps his shoulders and turns to Starscream. “Comm Soundwave and have the broadcast room commandeered until further notice. I’ll need to make the public statement as soon as possible.”

“Whoa, whoa. Since when do I take orders from you?”

Alpha Trion gives the seeker a tired look. “You have something better to do right now, young mech?”

“Whatever,” Starscream scoffs, hands on his hips, “this is your one favor, old mech.” With that last teasing jab, Starscream hurries out of the lobby.

D-16 watches him go before his optic is once again drawn to the false Prime’s metal carcass. At some point, one of the minibot’s blades grazed his chassis, splitting a bit of the blue metal open. Inside, D-16 catches a hint of purple still glowing.

Discreetly, D-16 plucks his hero’s t-cog from the blue and gold mess and pockets it in his chassis subspace.

If Alpha Trion notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Just as he stands, D-16 jumps as Elita-1 places an awkward but comforting hand on his arm. “Hey, you okay, big guy?”

D-16 just grunts. “Better, I guess,” is all he can muster as a response until he scans the room and tenses, “Where’s B?”

When D-16 and Elita-1 find the other two in a nearby hall, Orion is kneeling before B-127 and holding the minibot at arm’s length. B-127’s mask had retracted but his faceplates are set in an empty and unreadable expression as Orion can’t take his optics off of him.

“B, look at me! Just five kliks, that’s all we needed! Why? Why did you do it?” Orion laments, keeping his grip tight.

“I’m not sorry,” B-127 chokes out, voice raw as energon drips everywhere on his yellow plating. His stony optics blaze like polished sugilite as he trembles in the red and blue mech’s hold.

“B…”

“I wasn’t going to let him get away!”

“Oh, B… I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t have every right to-”

“I PROMISED RUBBLE I’D TAKE CARE OF HIM!” B-127 suddenly screams, his vocalizer fritzing as the blades on his wrists flicker on and off again, crackling with arcs of unstable electricity.

“B, stop! Calm down!”

“I BROKE MY PROMISE! I’M A TERRIBLE MENTOR! I ALWAYS KNEW I WOULD BE A TERRIBLE MENTOR! WHY WASN’T I STRONGER? WHY DIDN’T I TRY HARDER? WHY DIDN’T I TRY HARDER? WHY DIDN’T I- STOPIT! STOPIT! DON’T FRAGGING TOUCH ME!”

Orion forces B-127 into a hug even as the yellow mech sobs and tries to push the larger away.

“I’m so sorry, my dear little friend,” Orion softly murmurs, rocking the minibot gently.

The tender comfort breaks B-127. Letting out a terrible shattered whine, he goes completely limp and buries his faceplates into Orion’s dented and scorched chassis. “He didn’t… H-He didn’t even let me say goodbye…!”

D-16 feels his spark twist painfully at the sight. Just as he reaches out, Alpha Trion limps towards them with purpose.

“Get him cleaned up, Elita, then find a room with no windows and keep him there for now,” Alpha Trion says as he motions her forward.

Giving Orion and D-16 a weak but reassuring smile, Elita-1 ushers B-127 to the nearest washroom.

As soon as they leave, Alpha Trion turns to the miners filing in from their curious positions at the lobby threshold. “One of you go to the guards’ armory and get some restraints for him.”

D-16 balks in indignation and confronts the ancient Prime, glaring up at him. “Excuse me?! He’s not a criminal! He just saved Iacon from the monster who took his sparkling!”

“Either we lock him up or they do,” Alpha Trion says firmly, motioning to the courtyard doors and the buzzing camera drones just behind them, “At least with us, we can keep his safety in mind.”

“Lock him up for what? Killing the traitor that stole from us and enslaved us for his own greed?”

“And those he shot at afterwards?” Alpha Trion counters, his expression suddenly grim and business-like, “I take violence against innocents very seriously, young mech.”

“Did we see the same fragging thing?! He was only focused on Sentinel until those idiots attacked him! They got what they deserved! Besides, it’s not like his blasts did anything worse than a punch!”

“Listen to me. You are far too attached to be making any judgments, D-16,” Alpha Trion warns before taking his leave, “I suggest you step back and keep yourself at a distance until a trial is conducted.”

“What are you fragging saying?!” D-16 shouts in disgust and fumes as the Prime turns away, “No! You get back here, you senile old scrapheap!”’

Suddenly, Orion is in front of him, holding the silver mech back again. “D, listen to me, our friend just violently fired into a crowd of defenseless bots right in front of all of Iacon. We can’t just ignore that.”

D-16’s jaw drops in outraged. “I don’t believe this! You’re taking that old fool’s side over B? He rightfully killed his sparkling’s murderer and you want to punish him?!”

“No one is suggesting punishment,” Orion snaps in frustration, “B is damaged and clearly not in his right mind. He needs help but we can’t just ignore those he hurt. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Who cares about fair?!”

“We should! Rebuilding Iacon relies on all bots from all Levels to be united. Something like this misunderstanding can tear everything apart before we get a chance to fix anything.”

“And I don’t suppose you have an answer like always, Pax?”

Orion tenses as his gaze drifts out a nearby window and focuses on a holoscreen currently displaying a standby image. “If we can’t convince them with our words, we can… use our own experiences to show the truth.”

“You…” D-16 chokes out, “You understand what that entails, right? If he’s dragged into a trial and they show our memories off like some sick watchalong, Primus, reliving that horror is going to crush him, Orion…”

Orion looks up, his faceplates stern. “Make no mistake, I’m going to put my whole spark into finding an alternative. But… if that’s the only thing that will clear his name without any more violence then…”

D-16 stumbles backwards, processor reeling as his fists clench. “No…” he seethes, “No. Frag this… Frag you, you selfish glitch!”

D-16 suddenly lunges forward and punches Orion square in the jaw.

 “D! Stop this at once!” Ironhide exclaims as D-16 pins the other mech to the floor and begins hammering remorseless blows as his engine snarls. The nearby miners try to separate the two but D-16 is so much bigger and stronger than them now.

“This is all your fault!” D-16 roars as he punches harder with every sentence, “You had to be the one to rescue a little sparkling and his mentor from the garbage! You had to be the one who found the Matrix! You had to drag them into your heroic nonsense just so you could play savior! You always think you know what’s best for everyone and look what you’ve done!”

His words hit Orion harder than any physical blow. The blue and red mech slowly stops resisting and lets his best friend continue, growing silent.

“D, stop it! Get off before you kill him!” Jazz shouts as he, Arcee, Prowl, and Ironhide finally manage to pull the silver mech away.

D-16’s vents pants as he struggles to break free, Orion weakly looking up at him as energon drips from his lips and dented optic socket. “You swore it on your spark, remember?! You swore nothing bad would happen, you selfish fragging liar!” D-16 rages as his remaining optic blazes an unapologetic red, “I hope it tears you up for the rest of your miserable life, Orion Pax!”

The silver mech then stands to his full height knocking his former mining team off him. He points his right arm at Orion, his fusion cannon humming lowly as purple gathers at the barrel.

A long horrible quiet moment passes between the two mechs.

Growling, D-16 lowers his arm. “You stay the frag away from him and you stay the frag away from me!” D-16 warns before withdrawing his aim and taking a lumbering step backwards. “I am done with you, you hear me? I NEVER want to see your face again, Orion Pax!”

With that, D-16 stomps away leaving Orion with the rest of the miners who rush to his aid.

D-16 wanders the Tower of Primes aimlessly until exhaustion and pain finally outweighs his rage and adrenaline. With a choked sigh, D-16 slumps down to sit at the foot of a flight of stairs and buries his face into his hands.

For a long time, he just sits there, trembling.

“Hey there, tough guy, what’s got you so down in the dumps? Victory not sweet enough for you?”

D-16 glares through his fingers at Starscream, who saunters over and leans against a nearby wall.

“Too bad about the little bug, huh? The public is going to feast on him like scraplets once the shock of Sentinel dies down,” Starscreams says as if they’re having a casual conversation, “Bet my last shanix that the Senate are going to rile up any fussy sap that shifts focus away from any of their involvement with Sentinel. Primus, so sad. Looks like dark days ahead.”

“Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently, seeker,” D-16 snaps, patience quickly waning.

“Easy now. Just trying to give the High Guard’s newest commanding brass some friendly advice as his little pet is unfairly locked away,” Starscream quips as he checks the paint on his fingers, pouting at the scuffs.

“What makes you think I’m joining your stupid club?” the silver mech glowers.

“Because you’ve earned it,” Starscream smirks as he pats D-16’s pauldron, touching brushing against the residue left by the decal. “And well…” he pauses to flash his denta and winks knowingly, “You’ll need someplace to keep the little yellow annoyance once you steal him away, won’t you?”

D-16 tenses, unnerved that Starscream could read him so obviously. “What’s your angle?”

Starscream shrugs, nonchalant. “You’re surprisingly inspiring and intimidating, D-16. We’re going to need that if we want to make some connections in Iacon with a few, how should I put this, unsavory characters. The sorts that thrive in the dark corners and deep pockets streetside that hate the Senate as much as we do. In exchange for your cooperation, your pet will be kept safe and secure.”

Starscream pauses to give a haughty smirk. “So, interested?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know the answer.

“Tell me more.”

Chapter Text

It takes over twelve days for the opportunity to arise. Twelve days longer than D-16 was willing to entertain.

The day after Sentinel’s fall, a private representative had arrived at the Tower of Primes with Iacon’s meager volunteer police department, the only public defense force outside of Sentinel’s direct interest. They, accompanied by a large group of coordinated bots, had come with an arrest warrant for B-127.

It turned out that one of those injured by B-127 was a mech named Mirage. A stray gunshot had landed right in the middle of his chassis, minorly damaging his t-cog. The blast had tripped him off the platform and he had landed hard on his hip, dislocating a socket and breaking his knee hinge. Doctors said that, while he would recover, he would never be able to transform without pain and his racing career was over.

Without the Well being fully functional, replacing the cog to minimize the pain seems completely out of the question.

It also happened to be that Mirage’s sister was none other than Chromia, the recent winner of the Iacon 5000. She and other racers were absolutely livid over the incident and were vocally critical of the proposed cleanup efforts made by Alpha Trion and the cogless. She demanded justice for her brother and every bot effected by B-127’s actions. With her and her brother’s close friends, she had managed to rally Iacon’s entire racing community against the yellow mech in less than twenty-four groons.

Their sizeable number flanked the representative and officers as they explained their concerns to Alpha Trion. While they had the decency to admit that Sentinel’s fate was a crime of passion, it was up to a jury of B-127’s peers to ultimately decide if his public actions were justifiable. They also insisted he be held responsible for the crimes of attempted bot-slaughter and unregistered weapon use. They seemed completely unconcerned that the latter law was put in place by Sentinel himself to keep Iacon’s transforming citizens compliant and non-confrontational.

By Primus, how D-16 wants them all dead.

In an act of malicious compliance and political transparency, Alpha Trion managed to stall them for two days by making them go through every string of red tape he could think of. His plan forced the representative and underprepared ringleaders all over Iacon to notarize and verify every piece of paperwork leading up to the supposed warrant.

At first, it seemed to work, buying enough time for the outrage in the racing community to simmer down. This let Orion and Elita-1 take the opportunity to start building up a case for B-127 in between their other duties under Alpha Trion.

D-16 helped as well. However, he made it quite clear he would not share the same room with Orion. Granted, he did this only to distract them as he, Starscream, Soundwave, and Shockwave started piecing a real plan together.

The long groons the three alternated in the Archives were spent speedrunning their way through law datapads and fishing for advice and probable hires in Iacon’s very few law programs that were untouched by Sentinel’s influence.

But then someone got the Senate involved.

Soundwave’s personal informant, none other than Senator Ratbat, who had worked as the High Guard’s single surviving collaborator, tipped them that it was Decimus that started the discourse. He was attempting to turn the transforming public against the freed cogless and their sympathizers, pointing out that no Matrix meant no flowing energon, meaning the mines still needed to be run. He was looking for any wedge issue to distract from the internal investigations Alpha Trion was attempting.

In response, Alpha Trion took Orion’s advice and promptly attempted to restructure the mine to be a volunteer run service with benefits. Unfortunately, such a shakeup had completely taken up his attention to everything else as the Senate attempted to draw out every step of the process with posturing and calls for public insight and voting. Lots and lots of voting.

This left Alpha Trion stretched thin and, right under D-16 and Orion’s noseplates, he compromised with the racing community and their representative. They would not push for a lengthy trial or a severe punishment of any kind, but their asking price for B-127’s exoneration was the minibot’s memories to be judged.

The thought of such a price makes D-16’s spark burn until he can taste bile.

In response, Orion had tried to push for Airachnid to get involved but she craftily used his words and sense of justice against him. She claimed her rights as a prisoner were violated by having her memories broadcasted publicly without her consent or fair trial. Using plenty of connections she set up under Sentinel, she was currently attempting to sue Alpha Trion’s new government. She clearly knew her meddling was a farce, and would not keep her from her own eventual trial, but she seemed more than happy to drag things out from her overtaxed enemies.

Meanwhile, B-127’s preliminary hearing went poorly. It turns out the talk of a sparkling’s involvement did not endear him to the racers. They wanted proof of where Rubble came from or even if he existed.

D-16 had flown into a rage when such questions were so casually fired during the prelim of B-127’s hearing and was forcibly removed from the courthouse.

Orion, on the other hand, tried to pacify the prosecution and public commenters with his own memories. He had himself wired up right in front of them as soon as an opportunity was offered. Unfortunately for him, the extraction process for memories older than forty-eight groons was a painful and harrowing experience, especially if not set up properly with a particular system. Just plugging his processor into a projector via the patch was not a thing to do impulsively.

From what D-16 was told from Soundwave, who stayed the entire session, the cortical psychic patch feed seemed to glitch every time Rubble showed up. Orion, overcome by emotion during the procedure, barely held it together as he tried to summarize their journey on the surface. Things ended disastrously. When he tried to display the terrible moments after the ambush, the nanoklik he saw a hint of Rubble’s little grey form, Orion’s processor completely crashed as he broke down physically. Medics had to be called in to remove the malfunctioning cortical psychic patch and he was sent to a medical facility immediately after.

Last D-16 heard, he was still bedridden, not that the silver mech cares.

The video recording was judged too corrupted by pixelation to be used as any evidence for dismissal, publicly or legally, and was stricken from the record.

Thankfully, B-127 had not been present at the time, as he was being forcibly relocated to the courthouse for his preliminary hearing, just missing the opening statements and comments. He was quickly deemed uncooperative as he remained utterly silent during the entire procedural, with only Elita-1 left at his side. B-127 was then chastised further by being locked away in the courthouse’s rarely used jail until his trial.

Alone.

For the past five days B-127 has been stuck in a cell all alone.

The thought sickens D-16 as he follows Shockwave and Soundwave up the steps to the courthouse’s rear entrance. Starscream, Skywarp, and Thundercracker meet them at the threshold from inside.

Starscream barely contains that smug aura of his, a sharp and knowing grin on his stupid faceplates as they enter the building under the cover of night.

Senator Ratbat was more than happy to discreetly give them info on how to gain clearance into the courthouse and copy keycards to particular rooms within.

They stride through the sparse halls like they belong there, splitting up and reconnecting as they keep to the precise routes timed and mapped out for them. D-16 recites his script verbatim as he pauses at the lobby’s help desk just long enough for Soundwave to double check his bugs and signal him to reconvene down a nearby side hall.

“Look at you, settling right into the cloak-and-dagger. What did I say, you’re a natural,” Starscream teases as Shockwave and Soundwave separate and the rest of them file into a nearby elevator. It is marked with a sign that reads ‘closed for maintenance’ but Ravage had placed it there earlier when she made her initial security sweep and covert sabotage runs.

D-16 says nothing as he waits for Soundwave to take the elevator’s control.

Soon, they arrive to a basement floor and enter a, thankfully empty, darken hall. They go down the winding path and it isn’t long before they hear voices.

“Aw, frag, the lights are out again? That’s the fifth time in three days.”

“Eh, what do you expect? The city’s being run by miners now. Everything’s going on the fritz.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Did you see what the monster did?”

“You mean to Sentinel?  Of course, how could anyone miss it? It was on every broadcast screen. I guess he deserved it but, yikes, what a way to go.”

“No, what the little weirdo is doing right now.”

“You mean how he’s talking to garbage? Yeah. Primus, what a freak. I hope someone- Hey! What are you doing here? This is a restricted area!”

One of two cogged mechs steps forward as D-16’s remaining red optic gleams in the shadows, his large silver form striding forward brazenly.

D-16 promptly decides to screw subtlety. Simultaneously, he grabs and rips out the two mechs’ artery cables at the base of their necks. Soundwave had suggested this as a last resort but D-16 is no longer interested in playing nice. He feels no guilt as they fall to the floor, twitching and sparking in the dark.

Behind him, Starscream gives a small amused laugh that the silver mech ignores.

Stasis would possibly save them from bleeding out, but D-16 does not care either way. He steps over the mechs and leaves them for Starscream, Skywarp, and Thundercracker to deal with.

Using a combo keycard, he opens the corner cell and, finally after long and miserable days, he lays his optic on B-127.

A glowing collar and matching cuffs sit snugly around his neck and wrists respectively, as B-127 sits on his knees next to a slab of a bunk. His hands are tearing at a uselessly thin mattress as he picks handfuls of spongy near-rotted glass wool and stuffs them into an odd shape made from the mattress cover.

“Come on, B, we’re leaving,” D-16 says curtly, spark sinking at the sight.

Suddenly startled, B-127 looks up at D-16 with half-lidded purple optics with dark circles underneath them. “What?” he mumbles out, “What about-”

“I handled it,” D-16 interrupts as he presses a different keycard to the collar. It instantly dims and clicks open, clattering loudly to the floor along with the cuffs.

B-127 blinks as a faraway look in his optics linger. “Is this another dream…?” he asks as D-16 helps him to his feet only to tense and wrench free of the silver mech’s grip, “W-Wait…!”

Before D-16 can argue, B-127 rummages underneath the mattress and pulls out a strangely shaped lump. D-16 frowns at the mess of mattress padding, torn and badly sewn fabric, candy wrappers, and other unidentifiable junk until he notices details. Two nubby mismatched legs, a single dangling arm, different sized caps for big curious eyes, and a small shy smile drawn in sloppily with a dry detail marker.

“I… I can’t go. He’s not fixed yet…”

Primus, he was trying to make a doll.

D-16 feels a twinge painfully sting at his spark.

If he has to tear down all of Iacon for this mech, he will.

“Take my hand, B. I’ll get you whatever you need for the little guy, I promise. But first, we must get you somewhere safe,” D-16 says, using the softest voice he can muster.

B-127 looks at the large outstretched hand for a long klik before gently taking it as he clutches his unfinished doll close. “Okay…”

D-16 shepherds him out of the room, relieved to see the hall spotless and the seekers already gone to carry out their parts of the plan. If everything went off without a hitch, they would all rendezvous at the trainyard and move on to the next phase.

“Where are Elita and Orion?” B-127 asks numbly as they enter the elevator, the floor’s lights flickering back on just as the doors close.

“We don’t need them,” D-16 deadpans as he keeps his gaze forward as he waits for Soundwave’s cue.

Silence crawls in between them like a familiar presence for an agonizing klik. Quietly, D-16 asks, “How do you feel?”

“Like… nothing…” B-127 whimpers out weakly, optics locked to the floor.

D-16 feels something he thought he had suppressed into emptiness shatter within himself. Without thinking, he kneels down and gathers the minibot into a firm embrace.

B-127 stays quiet but does not push him away. He just gently settles his face into the crook of the silver mech’s neck and chokes out an exhausted sigh, nestling into the warmth.

“No matter what they say, you did nothing wrong,” D-16 whispers, cradling B-127 close, “You were his mentor and you did everything you could. No one is going to take that fact away. Never. I won’t let them.”

He keeps the small mech by his side as the elevator starts up and brings them to another long hall just out of view from the populated corridors. It eventually leads to a currently empty loading dock and a mezzanine bay. The dock is so quiet their footsteps echo as they make their way to their contact point. However, no sooner than they descend the dimly lit metal stairs, a figure rushes in to leap over the railing above and lands before them.

 Instinctively, D-16 readies his fusion cannon, uncaring as he recognizes the bot instantly. “What did I say about never wanting to see your face again, Pax?”

“Then pluck out your other optic,” Orion fires back, sounding exhausted and uncharacteristically hostile, if only for a nanoklik, before calming himself. His knees creak from his landing as he holds up his hands, yielding. “Please. I need to talk to B, just for a moment.”

“No. I don’t want any more of your excuses or moral judgments. I’m not letting the Senate take him,” D-16 insists with a growl, baring his denta.

“And you think I do? D, as far as the rest of Cybertron is concerned, this conversation isn’t happening. Once we’re done, I’m not going to tell anyone. I swear I… I mean it, I really do…”

“Oh, please. I don’t need your pity anymore, you are nothing to me,” D-16 snaps, keeping his aim focused.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Orion retorts before he kneels in front of B-127. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to do this sooner. They wouldn’t let me schedule visitation or anything, even when I camped out in front of their offices. It’s not much, but... here…” Orion murmurs as he holds out something small in his hand.

B-127 just stares, not sure what he is looking at, until it clicks and his vocalizer lets out a terrible broken sob. He snatches the unremarkable rock and clutches it close as his purple optics fill with fresh tears.

“Don’t worry, he’s keeping the other half of his collection safe,” Orion says softly.

“T-Thank you…!” B-127 hiccups, his vocalizer glitching with emotion filled static.

Orion’s optics linger on the minibot and he stands to casually leave. He pauses as he catches D-16’s conflicted glare.

Their gazes meet, cautious blue and smoldering ruby red.

“You honestly think Iacon is worth saving?” D-16 sneers.

Orion shifts as he lets the question hang over them like a weight. “The Quintessons are still out there and without the Matrix, no one can be free of the mines,” he says, voice firm as he straightens, “I’m going to fight for an Iacon where another Sentinel can’t rise up.”

D-16’s optic narrows but he relaxes by a fraction. “I suppose that means we’re on the same page then. Fine. You keep up with your niceties and play the flawless hero while I actually go and get things done. We’ll see who turns around this city first.”

They are interrupted by a soft shuffle of paws. Ravage waits at the edge of a nearby doorway, ready to escort them away to their getaway train.

Orion averts his optics, pretending to not see her.

“If you need any help, don’t try to contact us. We’ll contact you,” the silver mech grunts, making sure to elbow Orion as they pass.

Just then, the red and blue mech reaches out and captures D-16’s arm in a hard grip. “You take care of him and you keep out of trouble, you hear?” Orion says evenly, his expression stony, “Don’t make me regret this, D.”

D-16 curls his lips in a dismissive sneer as he shrugs off his former friend’s touch. “I promise you nothing, Pax.”

With that, D-16 curls a protective arm around B-127 and the two follow Ravage down the nearest hall as Orion stays rooted in place. He hesitates to watch them leave, but when Orion looks up, they have already disappeared.

The night air that greets them outside the courthouse is cold. B-127 nuzzles closer to D-16 as Ravage leads them down Iacon’s maze of streets to the city’s dark corners. In his arms, the doll rattles as it holds Rubble’s treasure where it’s spark would be.

BONUS DOODLE: