Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cybertron had already become a utopia, and the enemies of a utopia were all imaginary foes that could be defeated through effort.
--Excerpt from Senator Shockwave's speech when introducing the Utopian Imaginary Enemy bill

The commuter craft hummed with a worn-out buzz, its interior and exterior bustling with noise. Orion wasn’t sure if the emotion in his spark was excitement or disappointment.

Even though seats on the craft bound for Messatine were always discounted due to perpetual low occupancy, he still couldn’t afford a first-class ticket—so he lacked even a shred of privacy. The bot beside him had been staring at him the entire ride, and Orion shifted uncomfortably, trying to make the parole number on his shoulder pad less noticeable.

“Just got out of prison?” The yellow-and-purple medium-sized bot beside him finally spoke halfway through the flight. “What’d you do?”

Orion turned his head to look out the porthole, refusing to answer.

“Come on,” the mech scoffed. “Look at you… Theft? Illegal publishing? Couldn’t hack it in Iacon, so you’re off to the miners’ turf to beg for scraps?”

“Sort of,” Orion mumbled.

“There we go. Learn to talk—don’t be such a silent jar. Who doesn’t have one of these?” The bot twisted awkwardly in his seat, gesturing to his right shoulder pad, where a faint, electroplated-over number peeked through. “Name’s Swindle. If you want to survive, you picked a good spot—full of low-level Cybertronians. They’re stupid. Easy to rip off.”

“I’m not here to rip anyone off,” Orion said, his voice tight.

“Whatever.” Swindle shrugged. “Want me to hook you up with some connections? Or introduce you a job? Usually newbies would stick together with us. What’s your name?”

The craft’s hum grew louder as the landscape outside shifted from endless pale yellow rust sand to scattered ruins and abandoned open-pit mines—hollowed-out scars Iacon had refused to fund filling. Orion tore his gaze from the window.

“No, thanks,” he said. “I already found a job.”

“On parole? Lucky you.”

They didn’t speak again until the craft landed. As Orion stood to leave, Swindle muttered, “Good luck with your job, big shot.”

Messatine—a border planet of Cybertron, rich in tungsten ore and energy crystals, enough to keep generations of cold-constructed miners working until their parts wore out.

Though far from the homeworld, the planet’s administrators still parroted Iacon’s orders, issuing flashy, useless policies. In reality, the Cybertronians here ran a small, autonomous society—disconnected from Iacon’s nobles, yet still shipping armor materials and energy crystals back to the core nonstop.

“All I need is to turn them to my side when conflict erupts. Not that you’ll matter in this move, but isn’t this the perfect escape Primus gave you?”

That slag, Orion thought, shaking off the memory and resetting his optics in annoyance.

He’d been sitting in the spacecraft dock waiting area for half a cycle. The last commuter craft’s passengers had long gone, but the local guide who’d promised to meet him was nowhere to be found—and his internal comms remained unanswered. When he checked again, he saw the guide had blocked him.

Great. He’d paid half the commission. Now money flew away.

He gathered his luggage. According to his built-in map, his destination was dozens of miles away. Forget learning the local customs—if he left now, he might still make it to the teaching site on time.

There is no effective transport. If he could transform into a flyer, he’d bypass the chaotic roads and buildings, but his mode was a heavy truck. So he switched between root mode and vehicle mode, trudging toward his goal.

Fortunately, the residents didn’t seem to care about his parole number. Unfortunately, they despised all outsiders. Even when Orion used the local Messatine dialect to ask directions, bots just glared and gestured for him to leave.

He finally reached the teaching site: a low, drafty house in front of an abandoned mine, split into a tiny classroom with no electronics, barely enough space for a dozen students and a residence. The fence was skewed, the walls scuffed—no one had lived here in ages.

The lack of electronics didn’t bother him—he had a holographic projector on his arm. The drafty walls? He’d fix them. Besides, he had nothing for anyone to steal.

Orion was adaptable. He walked inside and out, confirming no one had come to check if he’d arrived on time. In other words, if he ran away now, no one would notice.

Yes, I’m that insignificant, he thought.

Still, he sent a message to his parole officer Ultra Magnus.

I’ve arrived in Messatine.

Ultra Magnus replied instantly: Good. I’ll send the follow-up parole requirements shortly. There’s a tracking chip under your shoulder pad armor—activated now. I’ll report to my superiors.

Thanks, Orion typed back.

Ultra Magnus is a responsible bot. Orion opened the file sent via the comms; it was crammed with dense information, making his optics ache. He let out a sigh, settled himself patiently on the somewhat shabby charging bed in the room, and tried to get through the file on his data pad.

It seemed that the folks back in Iacon were quite confident that Orion would resign himself to staying here without causing trouble. Or perhaps this lax supervision was under Alpha Trion’s orders. Orion would be spending the next few hundred vorns here, and either way, having fewer guards watching over him was ultimately a good thing.

Just then, a noise outside—spray paint on wood. Then the crack of breaking glass from the front hall. Someone had thrown something in.

Orion didn’t move from the charging bed. He kept reading the file Ultra Magnus just sent, until the troublemakers outside muttered, swore, and left.

When he stepped out, the walls were covered in messy red spray paint. The characters barely resembled Cybertronian Common. Orion remembered: on Messatine, only administrators learned Common. Workers were illiterate, so they’d developed their own script—simpler, but enough for daily use. His job was to teach them Common.

He pulled up a translator. Even without it, he knew the words weren’t nice.

Robbers from Iacon.
Thieves who steal armor and energy.
Slag.

Surprisingly mild, all things considered.

He looked at the walls which needs repaint and the fence that is more broken than before. Then he thought of something absurd, yet crucial.

He didn’t know where to collect his salary.

Chapter Text

No one would come to visit at such a late hour. Smokescreen checked the empty list of unprocessed events and decided to organize a shift change after inspecting the entire archives.

He walked towards the gate sentry post of the Rust Sea Archives. The patrol sentries stopped to salute as they passed him, but few people greeted or chatted with him as they used to. Everyone had been on edge lately. Even though Alpha Trion repeatedly told everyone that the incidents involving Elita and Orion were just accidents, no one dared to let their guard down at a time like this.

Smokescreen let out a soft vent. Now, he was the only one left by Alpha Trion's side.

But this thought was overshadowed by an annoying reality when Smokescreen reached the entrance of the archives. No, there was also Shockwave, that scheming egomaniac.

Shockwave had repainted himself again. He stood at the entrance of the archives, waving at Smokescreen. He seemed to be behaving properly by not crossing the sentry's cordon. It was completely unnecessary, though. Alpha Trion had long given him permission to enter and exit the Rust Sea Archives. Smokescreen didn't know why he insisted on waiting for him before entering the archives, but he knew that Shockwave's behavior annoyed him greatly.

"As what I've already told you," Smokescreen raised his voice, "you can come in directly, or at the very least, tell me when you're coming. There's no need to wait over there."

There was a smile on Shockwave's faceplate—somewhat ingratiating? Smokescreen couldn't tell. He spread his hands, addressing Smokescreen: "I understand you have some opinions about me, Captain Smokescreen. So I have to do my best not to displease you. This is also one of the ways I show my sincerity. I sincerely hope that you can put in a good word for me in front of Alpha Trion, instead of holding onto Orion's matter."

"Is that so?" Smokescreen said, "But what you're doing makes me even more displeased."

"That's unfortunate," Shockwave said regretfully. "I'm not proud of my actions, but this matter was approved by Alpha Trion too—"

"Alpha Trion is researching documents on the third floor of the main building," Smokescreen interrupted Shockwave's rambling, which was obviously intended to shirk responsibility. "Later he'll be resting, so hurry."

"Alright," Shockwave said. "Do you want to know about Orion's situation? He's safely arrived in Messatine."

"Whatever happens to him has nothing to do with me. I don't care, so you don't need to inform me," Smokescreen said impatiently. "Are you going to come in or not? I need to organize the shift change."

"Alright, alright," Shockwave raised his hands. "In case you want to check, there's no weapon on me."

This was an opportunity, a rare one. He had to seize it.

Shockwave quickened his pace, walking through the main building of the Rust Sea Archives, past the high shelves filled with various backup files that looked like copies of each other, through the dim lighting, towards where Alpha Trion was. There was a bright light there, from floating lighting drones. These little sparkless creatures were obdiently floating beside Alpha Trion, changing the direction and intensity of the light according to his movements.

"Sometimes I can't help but marvel at the development of technology. They have no sparks, completely driven by programs, yet can be so attentive," Alpha Trion heard Shockwave's footsteps. He didn't turn around, just raised one arm and waved in the air. The lighting drones quickly adjusted their positions so that the data pad in Alpha Trion's hand could be illuminated with just the right amount of light. "I really think that sometimes, bots with sparks are far less satisfactory than them. I can understand why you senators would support such things like... replacing workers with sparkless robots."

Alpha Trion's words were a rebuke. Shockwave let out a deep vent, trying not to let his voice show panic. "But you and I both know that it was wrong. I have never supported their proposal. On the contrary, I proposed the Utopian Imaginary Enemy Act and put it into practice, didn't I? No matter what, the lower-level workers are still members of Cybertron's populace. They are worth fighting for, and I will never stand by and watch those bastards in the council strip them off their rights."

"Is that so?" Alpha Trion still didn't turn his head. "Do you know what rules these sparkless little things follow? They analyze my preferences and movement trends. Their programs have set up reward and punishment mechanisms. If they correctly please their master, they get rewards; otherwise, they get punished. But do they have their own thoughts? As the concurrent dean of the Academy of Sciences, I think you know these clever little technologies better than I do, Senator Shockwave."

"My feelings are wounded by these words, sir. My spark belongs to the people of Cybertron, and I will always stand with them," Shockwave argued. He awkwardly changed the subject, trying to defuse Alpha Trion's anger. "Orion has safely arrived in Messatine. As you requested, apart from the hidden guards ensuring his safety, I've given him maximum freedom, and he can also contribute to our future endeavors there."

Alpha Trion didn't reply. He handed the data pad in his hand to Shockwave. The lighting drones, detecting two subjects to serve, didn't know how to adjust the lighting and started flashing erratically. Alpha Trion turned them off, leaving only the original dim lighting in the archives.

"Come with me. Let's go to a place with seats and proper lighting to talk," Alpha Trion said.

Shockwave noticed that the archive data pad in his hand was labeled "The Last Chosen Leader" and felt a wave of relief. Alpha Trion was not unaware of his arrangements, and he had something to exchange with Alpha Trion. Alpha Trion's silence regarding Orion's whereabouts was the best indication of his stance on Shockwave's actions.

Alpha Trion's time was always precious, so on their way to the conference room, Shockwave began to state the purpose of his visit: "Research shows that ancient Cybertron didn't have a universal language across the entire planet either. So we decoded it based on another language family. Fortunately, after changing our approach, our scientists decoded 60% of the information on the crystal disk, including what the archives have been paying attention to—the whereabouts of the Matrix of Leadership."

"That matter has always been handled by the Iacon Archives. The Rust Sea Main Archives don't have as comprehensive information as them," Alpha Trion said.

"But... you know, Orion is in Messatine now, and the Iacon Archives are leaderless," Shockwave observed Alpha Trion's mood, but the latter's faceplate was impassive. He had to assume that Alpha Trion wouldn't be raged at what he was about to say. "If you could let me temporarily take over the work at the Iacon Archives, I'm sure our decoding efficiency will be much higher."

Alpha Trion stood at the door of the conference room and finally turned to look into Shockwave's optics. The light from the conference room shone from behind him, making it hard for Shockwave to see the expression on his face. But the magnetic field around Alpha Trion seemed to indicate that he wasn't angry, but rather in a state of confusion.

"You young ones," Alpha Trion said. He paused for a moment, gesturing for Shockwave to enter the conference room with him. "After Elita's death, Orion came to me too. He expressed his anger and... his urge for revenge. To achieve these, he hoped I would hand over part of Elita's work to him."

"Orion can be impulsive with his words sometimes," Shockwave averted his gaze, suddenly feeling a touch of sympathy for Orion, who was far away in Messatine. "But I understand him. At that time, he was indeed a suitable candidate to take over Elita's work."

"His personality isn't suitable for leading the guard or the army," Alpha Trion said firmly. "Nor are you suitable for taking over the Iacon Archives entirely. The people at the Iacon Archives have quite a few complaints about you. I will take back part of the management authority of the Iacon Archives. Only the parts related to the Matrix of Leadership and the council will be open to you."

"I'll follow your arrangements," Shockwave said.

Finding the Matrix of Leadership was crucial for their future plans. He wouldn't get hung up on such trivial matters. Now that Alpha Trion had personally taken over most of the work that Elita and Orion were responsible for, as long as Orion stayed in Messatine, there would eventually come a day when Alpha Trion was stretched too thin.

Chapter Text

On the first day, Orion waited alone in the classroom for a long time, but not a single bot came to attend the lecture.

Except for having a place to stay, the role he was assigned after being sent to Messatine was no different from other bots who had sneaked into Messatine for various reasons.

He politely asked Ultra Magnus, the only bot who maintained contact with him, who apologized and told him that he also didn't know who Orion's students would be or where his payment should be collected. He was only responsible for confirming Orion's location and conducting parole registration.

Brilliant.

He sat on the classroom's podium—a structure that was more like an abandoned table, simply placed in front of the other seats, giving the room a vague resemblance of a classroom. In fact, he had no idea what the room was originally used for: a meeting room? A lounge?

Orion activated his data pad's networking function to confirm Shockwave’s proposal was indeed legitimate, then hopped off the table and set his navigation coordinates to the Iacon Consulate Office on Messatine.

Two mega-cycles later, he stood at the entrance of the consulate office. Located in a relatively bustling area, the shabby little building was hidden in a very inconspicuous way among a row of equally dilapidated structures， which Orion almost failed to recognize. Unlike Iacon's official establishments, there were no guards posted here, allowing Orion to enter the building without any trouble.

The consulate office was completely empty. Orion went from the first floor up to the fifth, then back down to the first, and finally stood at the entrance again, looking up at the holographic projection playing in the center of the first-floor lobby: an interview with Shockwave on the Iacon Daily News.

"Senator Shockwave, the public's concerns about sparkless machines are evident to all. We are pleased to see that, unlike most senators, you stand with the people on this issue.

"But at the same time, another voice has grown louder recently. This view argues that Cybertronian workers outside Cybertron Prime Planet: their origins and cultural levels have diverged so far from those on the homeworld and your new bill is clearly using Cybertron Prime Planet citizens' resources to gain support from marginalized Cybertronians. What is your response to this perspective?"

Shockwave in the hologram remained radiant: "First, I will always stand with the interests of Cybertronian citizens. While sparkless machines can greatly liberate labor, their drawbacks are obvious: occupying jobs, reducing public trust... We must never sacrifice long-term stability for short-term gains. As for my proposed bill, please allow me to interpret it from another perspective—"

"Iacon's a bunch of fraggin' idiots, ain't they?" A hand suddenly clapped down on Orion's shoulder armor.

Orion jolted violently, twisting the hand behind him in a sharp countermove that sent the bot sprawling face-first onto the floor before him.

"Hey! What the--?!" The bot suddenly pinned to the ground protested, "It's me, it's me!"

Orion snapped out of his panic-fueled alertness, focusing his optics until he recognized the bot before him. It was Swindle, whom he'd met on the commuter shuttle. Swindle hadn't actually meant harm obviously, so Orion released his grip.

"Frag," Swindle grumbled, rolling his shoulders as he stood, "Primus, what'd they enprisoned you for anyway? Killing? Robbery?"

"We're not acquaintances," Orion stated flatly. It seemed this trip would yield nothing. He turned to leave.

"Hey!" Swindle sounded thoroughly frustrated by Orion's dismissive attitude. "We've met twice now—at least tell me your name!"

Orion ignored him, striding outward without pause.

"Alright, alright," Swindle persisted, hurrying to keep up with Orion. "I noticed you’re looking for someone, aren’t you? I bet you’re after the clerk here. Well, I know exactly where they are. I’ve been around Messatine long enough to know all the ins and outs here."

Orion’s steps faltered slightly. He decided to take the chance. Despite the untrustworthy vibe Swindle gave off, he was the only bot here willing to talk to him. A potential breakthrough.

"Is that so?" Orion asked. "What’s your price?"

"Well..." Swindle’s optics darted side to side. "You seem like a cautious bot. If I said I wanted nothing in return, you’d never believe me. Tell you what, I’ve got a little problem lately. I need backup. You look like you can handle a lot, yeah? Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to the staff you’re after. Deal?"

"I don’t want to get trouble for no reason," Orion replied flatly. "Thanks for the offer. Goodbye."

"Wait! Or—" Swindle scrambled to stop him again, "—I’ll take you straight to the clerks. 100 Shanix. No ‘backup’ needed. Just… call it a friendly gesture."

Orion let out a soft vent. His processor warned him: going with this stranger could easily land him in an uncontrollable mess. Swindled, sold, or scrapped here on Messatine.

Yet a reckless resolve flickered to life. Maybe starting his time on Messatine with chaos was acceptable. His life was already in shambles; perhaps this would jolt him into a new perspective.

He retrieved a 100-credit Shanix chip from his subspace. "Orion," he said, extending it. "My name's Orion."

Swindle took the meager Shanix chip, eyeing Orion with a flicker of surprise, as if trying to parse his sudden agreement. "Pardon my curiosity, but earlier you mentioned your work here. Don’t tell me it’s with the clerk’s office? Last time I checked, they don’t take parolees."

"Not here, exactly. But close enough." Orion offered a noncommittal reply.

Swindle’s faceplate twitched, then he nodded. "Alright, mysterious big shot. Rest easy, I won’t lead you into a pit unless I know you’re worth the trouble. Gotta keep earning my keep here, after all."

Orion followed Swindle through a labyrinth of identical, dust-choked streets. Off-duty workers clustered in small groups, chatting listlessly beside crumbling structures; the few sturdier buildings kept their doors tightly locked.

At last, they reached what could have been either the start or end of a long thoroughfare. A canopy of tarps sheltered the street, where goods of every description spilled across the ground, leaving only a narrow path for two bots to squeeze through. The crowd was dense, almost impenetrable.

"The black market," Swindle explained, gesturing broadly. "You’d never find this place on your own. And even if you did? Without an escort, no one here would spare you a glance."

"So you’re basically saying the clerk in the Iacon Consulate Office on Messatine would hang out here in the black market?"

"What else is there for them to do? Where else would they go? Digging in the mines? At least here they can find some fun, grab some circuit boosters, or that sort of thing."

Orion’s processors hummed with silent warnings, but he brushed them aside. Whatever came next, he’d face it head-on. They squeezed into the black market street one after the other. The space inside was larger than he’d expected, yet still cramped and claustrophobic.

Swindle called out greetings to bots on both sides, as if making a point to show Orion how well-connected he was. They came to a stop in front of a blue-and-white medium-frame bot whose stall held almost nothing of note.

"Soundwave!" Swindle spread his arms wide. "Long time no see, buddy! How’ve Rumble and Laserbeak been lately?" Before the bot addressed as Soundwave could answer, he hauled Orion over with a sharp yank. "This is Orion. Orion, meet Soundwave, clerk at the Iacon Consulate on Messatine."

"Hello," Orion extended a hand. Swindle could’ve easily messaged this blue-and-white bot ahead of time, he held no illusions about the authenticity of Soundwave’s "clerk" title. "I’m a teacher sent from Iacon."

"Orion Pax, correct?" Soundwave’s voice came in a strange, electronic warble, almost like singing. "Iacon transmitted your file. What inquiries do you have for the consulate?"

Since arriving on Messatine, he hadn’t told anyone his full name. Orion raised an optic ridge, casting a surprised glance at Swindle beside him, the latter bot shrugged indifferently, gesturing for Orion to continue speaking with Soundwave.

"Yes, I am Orion Pax." Orion suppressed the urge to study Soundwave’s appearance for more information. "And yes, the task Iacon assigned me is to implement Senator Shockwave’s proposal here on Messatine, providing essential cultural education for the workers. But... I don’t seem to have any students."

"Understood," Soundwave replied. "The consulate has no authority to require miners to attend classes. You’ll need to recruit students yourself."

Orion wasn’t surprised by this, but he still needed to ask one more question: "One more thing, according to the notice from Iacon, I’m employed by the consulate. So how should I receive my salary?"

Soundwave shook his head. "The consulate isn’t responsible for salary disbursement."

"But this is a policy issued by Iacon; there should be financial allocations for it," Orion frowned. "Are the miners themselves supposed to fund the implementation of this policy?"

"The consulate will not handle salary payments," Soundwave repeated. "I apologize, but that’s all I can tell you."

Swindle beside him chuckled aloud. "It’s not necessarily that Iacon didn’t allocate the funds, buddy," he said with a knowing air. "You just won’t be getting them! Honestly, you’re from Iacon, didn’t you ever skim a few credits off similar policies before?"

Having spent too long under Alpha Trion’s mentorship, Orion was indeed ill-acquainted with the realities of Cybertron. "No, I never have."

"Whoa, respect," Swindle seemed genuinely taken aback by the answer. "But the miners won’t pay for useless classes. You could work as muscle for me or something."

Orion sighed. "Thank you, but no. I’ll find another way to handle my livelihood. Do you know where the miners usually gather?"

"Still thinking about those miners, aren't we? You sure you don’t want to roll with me? I'll pay." Swindle offered.

"Actually," Soundwave fixed his gaze on Orion, as if he could see through his thoughts, interrupting Swindle’s recruitment, "I know some miner friends who’d be willing to pay Shanix for knowledge. Maybe I can find you some students."

"Wait, what?" Swindle looked as if he hadn’t expected Soundwave to say that. His optics widened as he turned to Soundwave. "You’re planning to introduce him to... to...but why?"

"I have my own reasons, Swindle." Soundwave’s voice carried a warning tone, "Take Orion back. If the communication goes smoothly, I believe you can start your first class later today, Orion."

Chapter Text

Once again, Orion sat on the podium at the front of the classroom, gently tapping the corner of the table with his finger. There were only a few kilks left until the originally scheduled teaching time, but the classroom was still empty. He almost thought that the conversation he had previously had with that bot named Soundwave had never happened at all, and that all of this was just a processor hallucination he had while being bored in Messatine.

He set a built-in alarm for himself and silently told himself that as soon as the alarm went off, he would immediately turn around and think of a new way out.

Orion had no hope for today's class until the large silver-gray bot entered the classroom through the door, half-bent. He was staring blankly at the door when a pair of bright red optics met his, not even realizing that the first student of the day had already entered the classroom.

The large silver-gray mech stopped at the door, scanned the shabby classroom and the dazed Orion, narrowing his optics as if judging whether to stay.

Orion snapped back to attention immediately, adjusted his expression, and put on a friendly smile.

"Hello," he said. "Are you here for the class?"

The large silver-gray bot was clearly a miner, as could be seen from his massive frame, thick and rough armor, and bright yellow warning stripes on it. He didn't reply, but found a seat in the middle-back area by himself, took out a basic-model data pad, and placed it on the desk in front of him. After that, their gazes no longer met.

It was clearly not a good idea to rush down the podium to talk to the only student willing to attend the class at this moment. Orion planned to sit on the podium without moving around much. The internal alarm he had set for himself went off, but he turned it off immediately.

"Is there anything you want to learn about?" Orion switched to the Messatine dialect and asked.

The large silver-gray bot glanced up at him, then lowered his head again, ignoring Orion's question.

Orion understood—if he were in the other's place, he might not be willing to speak up in such a strange situation either.

"Alright then," Orion took out his prepared teaching materials and began the class on his own. "Our class has begun. I'm here because Iacon hopes that the people of Messatine can become more familiar with various types of Cybertronian knowledge. I'll start by teaching the Cybertronian common language, because on the Cybertronian prime planet, most documents are written in Cybertronian. Mastering the compilation methods of this language will help you all grasp the knowledge and technology possessed by the main planet more quickly."

Orion paused and glanced down at the audience. The large silver-gray bot still hadn't looked up, as if he had no interest in Orion's words at all. However, he sat quietly, didn't do anything else, nor did he suddenly leave his seat.

"Well, perhaps someone might ask at this point," Orion decided to pose a question to himself, "Isn't language learning just a matter of loading a data pack? Admittedly, even in places outside Cybertron's main planet where Cybertronian common language isn't widely used, there are second-hand dealers in the black market selling data packets. But what they sell are likely vorns old.

"Yet the common language evolves into different branches and interpretations in less than half a Vorn. Even if you obtain a data pack, when you use it to read the latest documents and news, at least half of it will be undecodable. The Messatine dialect, for some reason, doesn't iterate nearly as fast as the common language. Many people on Messatine lack the awareness and means to update their language packs. This is why learning the latest common language is crucial."

It seemed the silver-gray bot in the audience wouldn’t look up or talk to Orion, but at least Orion felt he wasn’t speaking to thin air. He continued his self-questioning: "Someone might also wonder, since I—by the way, my name is Orion Pax—have left Iacon, how can I ensure the language pack I teach you is the latest? Rest assured. The place I work... uh, the place I used to work is the Archives led by Alpha Trion. It’s dedicated to promoting Cybertron’s latest technological achievements and the foundation for studying them, which is Cybertronian common language. Though I’m now on Messatine, I still have access to the Archives’ database, ensuring everything I teach you is up-to-date."

The silver-gray bot finally looked up at Orion, if only for a moment before lowering its head again, but Orion took it as progress. Perking up, he said, "Shall we begin then? I’ll start with compilation methods."

Orion was grateful he’d always been the type to talk to himself for hours. He tried to imagine the only attendee in front of him as an eager, question-loving student, even if all the questions were his own, posed and answered alone. Watching the silver-gray bot's expression, he felt a flicker of relief: the other seemed willing to listen to what he had to say.

Orion was acutely aware that with Messatine’s miners working in shifts, his sole student only had about one cycle to spare for the lesson. He pushed himself to cover more ground. After all, there was no telling if anyone would show up next time. Pay had long stopped being his goal; once class ended today, he planned to wander and scrounge, hoping to find even odd jobs to scrape by.

Midway through his lecture, the silver-gray bot glanced at the chronometer on its arm guard, then rose and began striding toward the podium.

Orion stared in surprise as the bot extended a hand, placing seventy Shanix coins in a neat row on the desk where he sat, then turned and walked away.

Miners here were always in a rush, so he understood the early departure. But seventy Shanix? That was nearly half a full day’s wages on Messatine. For half a cycle of lessons?

“Wait!” Orion hopped down from the desk, grabbed most of the Shanix coins, and hurried after the silver-gray bot, who was already at the classroom door. “Seventy Shanix is for a full class. With just you here, you don’t need to pay that much.”

The silver-gray bot accepted the returned coins without hesitation, then fixed his gaze on Orion’s faceplate. “That look—I know it well,” he said. “What do you want me to help you with?”

Orion blinked, unsure what expression the bot was referring to. "What's your name?" he asked, setting aside his confusion. "If you found the lesson even a little useful... could you help spread the word about these classes? I don’t have a work permit, so I can’t enter the mining zones."

The silver-gray bot pointedly ignored the first question. "Don’t get your hopes up." he said, storing the Shanix in a subspace compartment. Then he left without looking back.

Orion stood in the doorway with his arms folded for a moment, glancing at the stripped, overharvested landscape around him, then turned toward the black market he’d visited before.

The mining zones were off-limits. If he wanted to scrape together a living, the black market was his only option. And this was one errand that couldn’t wait.

Soundwave’s stall stood empty. Swindle was still lingering on the black market streets, though his demeanor was less at ease than before. When he spotted Orion wandering over again, a strange look flickered across his faceplate. “Shouldn’t you be… teaching those miners? What are you doing back here?”

Orion shrugged. “Looking for a job.”

Swindle looked genuinely startled. “Not getting enough payment from Megatron?”

Megatron?

“The Megatron you’re talking about—the silver-gray bot? He paid me enough, but I returned part of it. There was only one student in the class. I couldn’t let a single bot shoulder all the fees.”

Swindle’s faceplate twitched, as if he’d just swallowed a spoiled energon cube. “Who knows? All miners look the same… Guess you haven’t been on Messatine long enough to learn not to turn down free credits.” He seemed jittery now, edging backward. “You got anything else you need? If not, scram. This place is gonna get messy soon.”

“Messy?” Orion glanced around, noting the crowd had thinned noticeably since his last visit.

Swindle’s optics darted sideways, then locked onto something over Orion’s shoulder. His tone shifting abruptly, as if a switch had flipped. “Funny thing, that… this mess might actually involve yours truly. You said you’re looking for work? How about a spot as muscle? Still interested?”

Orion’s spark dropped. He spun around, just as a fist the size of his head slammed toward him.

“Scrap!” He ducked, the wind of the blow ruffling his audio receptors. The attacker stood twice his height; Orion lunged, clamping onto the exposed seam of the bot’s arm plating as the fist sailed past. With a sharp twist, he sent the brute attacker sideways.

When he whirled back, Swindle was already ten meters away, yelling over his shoulder as he fled: “Hang in there, buddy! Miner crew’s comin’! Just hold ‘em off a sec!”

“Are you the new thug recruited by the miner crew?” The large blue-and-white painted bot in front of Orion looked down at him. “We're all colleagues working for money. Step aside, and I might not give you a hard time.”

Orion readily stepped aside.

The blue-and-white bot looked at him in surprise. Excitement flashed in his optics. A smile appeared on his faceplate, but this expression made Orion think of the images of Sharkians he had seen in the literature. “My name is Overlord,” the blue-and-white bot reached out his hand. “You don't seem to be very afraid of me.”

Orion did not reach out his hand. He could see that Overlord's joint bearings were secretly storing force, clearly preparing a sudden attack. If he shook hands, he would probably be pulled up and torn to pieces by this thug named Overlord.

Instead, Orion took a step back. "I'm just passing by. I don't mean to cause trouble."

"Is that so?" Overlord still smiled. "You don't look like you're just passing by. You seem quite familiar with Swindle." He looked up in the direction Swindle had fled. "The black market sent me to scare that slippery kid. Didn't expect there'd be a bonus."

Orion couldn't see how this was a bonus. He took another step back and repeated, "I told you, I don't mean to cause trouble."

Overlord showed no sign of leaving. His optics narrowed, then he let out a long sigh and muttered to himself, "What am I dawdling for?"

As soon as he finished speaking, he lunged at Orion.

Orion had already realized in their previous combat that despite Overlord's immense strength, the armor plates at his joints were just the most ordinary ones on Messatine, and his movements were not particularly agile. Orion dodged Overlord's attack again, rolling forward to the side to evade, then darted behind Overlord. He immediately stood up, bent his knees, and slammed the armor at his joint hard into the back of Overlord's left leg.

Though technically half-clerical in Iacon, Orion was under Alpha Trion and personally trained by Elita-One. His fighting skills were far from mediocre, and his armor was among the most advanced available. The plating covering Overlord’s leg joint shattered easily under the impact, with sparks erupting from the pressure-damaged bearings and pipelines inside.

Overlord's left leg buckled as its support bearings failed, dropping him to one knee. Yet he made no sound. Instead, in a split second, he lashed out with a backhanded grab, desperate to catch Orion first.

Orion knew better than to clash head-on. He retreated a few steps, leaped into the air, and transformed mid-flight. The tires of red-and-blue truck form crushed a black market stall that hadn’t been cleared away in time, drawing a chorus of curses. He didn’t dare linger, flooring the accelerator as he fled the black market.

Overlord didn’t give chase. Orion heard Overlord's laughter from where he knelt, and a knot of worry tightened in his spark—he’d provoked someone he should never have crossed again, just like he had back in Iacon.

Chapter Text

Orion didn’t dare linger, flooring the accelerator as he fled the black market.

Orion had originally prepared himself for the possibility of encountering other bots brought by Overlord during the escape and spending some effort to break through them and flee. After all, even in Iacon, a place where there were no overt conflicts, they wouldn't just send one bot to cause trouble. Apparently, Overlord was just the vanguard.

And Swindle's shout of "Miner crew’s comin’" only strengthened his conviction that chaos was imminent. Now he could only hope to get out of the trouble before things spiraled out of control.

But that hope was clearly about to be dashed. The entrance to the black market was already blocked by several rows of bots—tall, silver-gray armored miners at a glance. The bright red optics of the leading bot stood out even from nearly a hundred meters away, unmistakably the same bot who had come to Orion's class earlier. A faint surprise flickered in Orion's spark, but his speed didn't slacken as he tried to dart through the gap at the side of the group.

To his surprise, the miners who had stood like a wall before him actually parted to make a path. Orion soon realized the miners weren't stopping the small vendors fleeing the black market to avoid the chaos. They were leaving a passage for any merchant wanting to escape. Perhaps they mistook him for one of those fleeing vendors. What a coincidence, Orion had no desire to stay either. He slowed slightly to avoid accidentally colliding with anyone, then carefully went past the miners.

In his haste to leave, he failed to notice that the lead miner with the bright red optics had subtly turned his head, watching him depart.

——————————

The Black Market, in truth, was a street cutting east-west through the Messatine settlement. Megatron had never much liked the place. Stretching about two klicks in length, this thoroughfare offered few mid-route exits. Aside from a handful of concealed passageways within the buildings temporarily occupied by the vendors, which are secret routes leading to other streets, the rest was flanked by crowded rows of half-height small buildings packed tightly along both sides.

Every time he entered this place, he would have trusted friends guard at least one end of the exit. The thought of being trapped in this narrow passage, with people ready to attack from both front and back, was enough to make his spark uneasy.

Swindle didn't show up. He had probably gambled on the wrong direction and run to the other end of the Black Market. There was a group hired by the Black Market waiting for him. Fortunately, Swindle had always been alert, and his life should be safe before the two forces met.

Other than that, he did catch sight of a familiar figure. Primus knew why that teacher from Iacon would show up in the Black Market for no apparent reason. Judging by his hurried demeanor, he’d probably gotten himself into some kind of trouble too. He watched as the teacher—Ori… what was it… Pex? Was that the name? Or maybe Pax?—left the Black Market, then promptly put the matter out of his mind.

"Jazz, Soundwave, have some people by your side and guard this exit, thank you." Megatron said. "I'm going to meet Ratbat."

"Be careful," Jazz replied.

Soundwave, as always, remained taciturn. He simply nodded at Megatron.

The miners' alternate modes weren't much faster for traveling than walking. Megatron waves his hand, and the miners silently followed him deeper into the Black Market.

By this point, the situation had grown truly grave. Even the petty vendors who had no intention of leaving had all their stalls packed up without exception, huddling into the gaps and shadows between buildings, striving not to attract any attention.

They walked all the way to about the middle of the black market. Only then did the people invited by the black market start to show up one after another. Compared with the small vendors in the black market, they were obviously much more composed. Some of them folded their arms and leaned against the walls, while others squatted down to examine the goods on the stalls that hadn't been put away in time. When they saw Megatron coming with the miners, most of them voluntarily moved away.

Megatron silently assessed his reputation on Messatine based on the reactions of these bots. He also noticed that there was no fear in the optics of those who had stepped aside, there was just curiosity toward him at most.

He stopped at a suitable spot. There were people from the black market here, but not so many that they’d be in danger. A little further ahead, a large blue-and-white bot leaned against the wall of a nearby building, fixing its optics on Megatron’s newly arrived group. His gaze darted between them, as if searching for something.

Megatron realized almost without thinking that the large blue-and-white bot was the trump card Ratbat had brought in. Earlier, Soundwave had sent back information that Ratbat had used some connections to find a gladiator from who-knows-where, hoping to add some deterrence to his faction.

The blue-and-white bot seemed to have a problem with his left leg. He was standing almost entirely on his right leg, with sparks and energon fluid leaking from the joint of his left leg. Though the injury had been given a makeshift treatment, it was clear he had no full fighting capability in such a state.

Could it be that this gladiator had already fought someone else before?

Somehow, the red-and-blue painted figure he’d seen earlier flashed through Megatron’s processor. He furrowed, then averted his gaze to search for Ratbat.

Ratbat was hiding behind the bots he’d brought, as usual. When he saw Megatron arrive, the purple-painted medium-sized bot stepped forward as if nothing was wrong, though his optics involuntarily drifted toward the large blue-and-white bot.

He’s guilty. Megatron acutely sensed it. Ratbat was guilty, presumably because the trump card he’d brought in wouldn’t be of use today.

"Where's Swindle?" Megatron, seeing this, dispensed with pleasantries and asked bluntly.

"Hmm, that slippery little wretch? He ran off," Ratbat replied. "No matter. We can get straight to the point. We have Terminus' body and Impactor in our hands. I think that’s enough to make you barbarians sit down and talk properly, don’t you?"

"I want to see Impactor safe and sound. Only then will there be room to sit and talk. Otherwise—" Megatron’s gaze swept over Ratbat and the reinforcements behind him, "—these bots won’t be enough to stop us."

At that moment, the large blue-and-white bot, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened up and began walking toward Megatron. He stood even taller than Megatron, yet his steps were noticeably limping as he approached, the imposing aura he might once have commanded dimmed by his injury.

The blue-and-white bot stopped about a body-length away from Megatron. Ratbat made no move to stop him. Perhaps he, too, harbored a flicker of wariness toward this gladiator. He no longer glanced behind Megatron. Instead, his optics locked directly onto Megatron’s.

Megatron tilted his head slightly upward to meet his gaze, his faceplates remaining as steady and impassive as ever.

"So you’re the miners’ leader?" the blue-and-white mech asked with a faint smile. "Where’s that red-and-blue medium-sized bot of yours? Where is he? What’s his name?"

Orion Pax. The name of that bot suddenly came to Megatron. He recalled the red-and-blue bot had mentioned it in passing during the lecture. Fortunately, Megatron’s memory was as sharp as ever. Otherwise, he might have fried his processor trying to dredge it up. He glanced at the gash on the blue-and-white bot’s left leg, silently forming an assessment of this Orion Pax.

Megatron had no intention of revealing anything he shouldn’t. Orion’s dwelling was secluded enough that few would stumble upon it by chance. Ignoring the feigned amiability of the gladiator before him, he raised his voice to address Ratbat instead: "You haven’t introduced this one yet, Ratbat."

Ratbat seemed equally anxious that the gladiator might suddenly lash out and ruin his plans. He hurried forward in quick strides, positioning himself just behind and to the side of the blue-and-white bot.

"Overlord," he said, "calm yourself for a moment. Megatron, this is Overlord. Overlord, this is Megatron."

Ratbat’s introduction was perfunctory at best. The gladiator—Overlord—cast a sidelong glance at Ratbat. After a moment of silent assessment, he stepped back, and even offering a cordial smile and a wave to the gathered miners.

Megatron redirected his attention to Ratbat. "So... where is Impactor?"

A flicker of irritation showed on Ratbat’s faceplate, as if he resented not being the one controlling the situation. But with one of his bargaining chips already lost, he merely lifted a hand and gestured for the bot Megatron demanded to be brought forward.

A miner, shackled in stasis cuffs, was shoved to the front of the crowd. Megatron studied Impactor carefully. Though his vocalizer was gagged, the miner seemed otherwise unharmed. A faint flicker of relief crossed his optics as he fixed Ratbat with a firm gaze.

"Release him now," he rumbled, "and perhaps I’ll agree to talk."

Ratbat narrowed his optical sensors, then affected a magnanimous air. "I am a bot of my word, Megatron. Once our discussion concludes, he’ll be freed immediately."

"You’ve set a good start, Ratbat," Megatron said. "In our past disputes, taking hostages was never part of the game."

"Is that so?" Ratbat feigned surprise. "But my methods pale in comparison to yours. After all, I’ve never killed anyone."

"Shall we skip the pleasantries?" Megatron’s voice sharpened with impatience. "What exactly are you demanding in exchange?"

"Very simple. Restore the original rules. We'll recycle the dying and deceased cold-constructed miners. Additionally, neither you nor your most loyal subordinates are allowed to enter the black market anymore."

"Absolutely impossible," Megatron said. "You can only trade directly with the miner crews. They won't allow you to enter the residential areas to search for severely injured miners."

"It seems you don't really care about your friend's life," Ratbat threatened.

"So, you want a fight to the death," Megatron remained unmoved, "we're ready anytime." His gaze shifted to Impactor, who couldn't speak but had a resolute look in his optics.

Ratbat frowned, raising a hand to rub his head as if troubled. "When a bot dies and their spark fades, they just become a pile of scrap metal. I really don't understand, what are you guarding those miner's bodies for? Could it be..." He suddenly stood up and leaned closer to Megatron, whispering, "...could it be that, you still want to do something with those bodies?"

The miners behind Megatron almost thought Ratbat was going to attack. They all drew their crude homemade weapons out from subspace. The black market bots also took out their weapons. As the two sides faced off, the tension instantly becoming palpable.

Megatron raised his hand, gesturing for the miners behind him to calm down. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Simple," Ratbat said triumphantly, "on Messatine, after what happened to Terminus, all datapads were monitored, but the things he wrote kept spreading. Oh, or maybe you added fuel to the fire too, Megatron. So what are you using as the carrier to record these words?"

He pulled a armor plate out from his subspace. It's clearly torn from someone's body frame. The outer side of the plate was the same rough silver-gray armor as the miners', but the inner side was densely carved with tiny characters.

The miners were furious at the sight. Several hot-tempered ones cursed and tried to rush forward to tear Ratbat apart, but fortunately, they were held back by their companions.

A flicker of anger finally crossed Megatron's optics. "You desecrated the remains of Terminus."

"Hmph," Ratbat replied nonchalantly, "as if you haven't desecrated it enough. But the most important thing is—this thing is strictly forbidden to spread. Let me see... the title is Towards Peace—Primus, it looks just like the rebellion manifesto from Terminus' days. What I'm so curious about is that, if I hand this over to Iacon, will your fate be the same as Terminus, Megatron?"

Chapter Text

When Ratbat said this, Megatron's expression remained mostly unchanged, though a hint of anger still lingered. However, several miners behind him seemed to recall something and exchanged glances with each other.

"Megatron," a miner with slightly darker armor took two steps forward and whispered beside Megatron's audio receiver, "Your safety is of the utmost importance, and we all understand that. A situation like what happened with Terminus can't happen again. We're definitely no match for the army sent by Iacon right now."

Megatron didn't respond. He vented deeply. Seeing his tactic work, Ratbat's faceplate showed a satisfied expression. "So, accept our terms, and there's still room for negotiation."

"You now have a better bargaining chip," Megatron said calmly. "Release Impactor, and we'll continue talking."

Ratbat shrugged and gestured for his subordinates to push Impactor toward the Miners' crew. The stasis cuffs on Impactor's arms were unlocked, and he angrily tore the jammer off his voice box, threw it to the ground, and crushed it underfoot. Impactor had always been a proud bot; having fallen into Ratbat's trap this time, he would definitely settle the score later. But he also knew it wasn't the time to pick a fight, so he merely muttered a curse and stood with the Miners' crew.

Megatron watched as Impactor walked behind him, ensuring there was no longer any danger of being held hostage, before speaking unhurriedly: "We can compromise. We still won't hand over the bodies of the miners or those who are dying, but we can give you the corresponding amount of money. Naturally, this money won't be as much as what you earn from reselling and disassembling the bodies, but I think this can be the start of our benign cooperation."

"Benign cooperation?" Ratbat scoffed, as if he had never heard the term before.

"The miners are also an important part of the black market ecosystem, aren't they? Otherwise, you wouldn't have only banned me and a few others from entering the black market. Do you think if you go too far, the miners will still come here?"

"Nonsense. If they don't come here, how will they update their armor parts? How will they buy daily necessities?"

"They've got the Miner's Crew." Megatron's simple statement left Ratbat speechless. "They don't need to worry about these things. Maybe life will be harder if we cut ties with the black market, but we'll never be at the end of our rope. On the contrary, if we totally fell out, it's you who should worry. Without miners, where will your energon come from? Robbing each other?"

Ratbat fixed his gaze on Megatron's faceplate, realizing he was speaking the unvarnished truth. His expression flickered strangely. Clearly his processors were racing to regain the upper hand. But this wasn't about words or negotiation tactics. It was cold, hard fact.

"Fine!" he finally agreed with obvious dissatisfaction. "I need to calculate a reasonable amount, and you'll compensate us accordingly."

"Good. But to ensure fairness..." Megatron said. "Prowl."

A medium-sized bot with smaller build than the other miners, armored in black and white, stepped forward from the miners' ranks in response.

"Prowl is our best auditor. Since we want to maintain good cooperation, he will oversee every step of the cost calculation. I'm sure you understand my concerns, Ratbat—your reputation as a businessman isn't exactly sterling."

"Of course. Cooperation requires mutual oversight." Ratbat naturally wouldn't let the deal slip through his fingers. "Given that Terminus' frame seems to hold special significance for you, we'll return it to you."

With that, he clapped his hands, and several large bots behind him carried over crates. Clearly Terminus' remains had been disassembled. Megatron's gaze fixed on the crates, and for a moment, he couldn't contain himself. A flicker of killing intent glinted in his scarlet optics.

“Hook, Breakdown,” he said. “Bring the crate back.”

Two miners stepped forward to take the crate. The rest of the miners wore expressions of unbridled rage, but without Megatron’s order, they could only clench their jaws and endure.

Ratbat ignored their fury. The disassembly of Terminus' frame had been done earlier. He hadn’t anticipated the negotiations would move so quickly, leaving no time to reassemble it. Delaying the return or handing it over now were both bad options, but he chose the latter: avoiding another face-to-face with Megatron, even if it meant insulting the miners. There was something about this lowborn miner that grated on him. He’d rather risk their wrath than stand in Megatron’s shadow again.

In theory, the negotiation should have ended here. Both sides were supposed to leave without interfering with each other, returning to process the outcome on their own. But there was clearly an unpredictable variable in this incident.

As Megatron stepped back, preparing to depart with the miners, Overlord called out to them.

His left leg joint had just been patched up again, now functional enough to support his weight and allow him to stand normally. Megatron tensed. This gladiator’s regenerative abilities were truly astonishing. If he chose to attack, the miners would likely suffer heavy losses.

"What do you want?" Megatron shifted his stance, positioning himself between Overlord and the miners.

"I can tell you know who that red-and-blue bot is," Overlord said, tilting his head down to stare at Megatron. "Why not call him out?"

"Unfortunately, you’re mistaken. I don’t know who he is," Megatron replied. "Our negotiations just ended. You’re not planning to break the peace already, are you?"

Sensing the tension, Ratbat stepped forward, but Overlord raised a hand, and he fell silent.

"I’m only here working for Ratbat. I don’t care about your personal grudges," Overlord said. "I just want to find a worthy opponent. I finally found one earlier. Do you think I’ll let this opportunity slip away?"

What kind of weirdo had Ratbat hired? Megatron wondered silently. And who was Orion Pax exactly?

Orion Pax. He repeated the name in his mind. When Soundwave mentioned that a teacher from Iacon had come to enforce Iacon’s laws, Megatron had assumed it was an advance team from the police force. But after listening to half his lesson, he’d realized this bot didn’t seem like the same police group that had killed Terminus. Yet this seemingly ordinary clerk had taken down Ratbat’s best fighter in seconds, leaving Megatron questioning Orion’s true identity.

The best way to eliminate trouble was to let Overlord go after Orion and let the two problems destroy each other. Megatron saw no logical need to insert himself in the middle.

But…

“I told you, I don’t know who he is,” he said. Despite relying on cold logic all his life, Megatron decided to trust his instincts this time. He'll stand in the way.

Overlord’s smile faded, replaced by a sneer. “I’ve seen plenty like you. Ever been to the gladiator pits, miner? Overreaching there usually means an express ticket back to the Allspark. I’ll ask one last time—where’s that red-and-blue bot?”

Something must be fried in this Overlord’s logic circuits. Why was he so fixated onto this?

“Since you’re just working for Ratbat,” Megatron shifted tactics, “would you take my coin instead? I can pay more than he ever could.” But Overlord clearly wasn’t interested.

“Totally irrelevent,” the blue-and-white gladiator finally snapped. “Even if you were hiring, it’d be after I crush that red-and-blue scrap. Though I doubt you’d still want to work with me then.”

“I truly don’t know who you’re talking about. Tell you what, I’ll help you dig around. How’s that? My offer stands, anytime.”

Overlord laughed.

——————————

Orion's previous training allowed him to be certain that no one was following him. He turned left and right, and finally didn't choose to return to his temporary residence. He randomly bought a piece of metal cloth on the street and wrapped it around his head as a hood in the way commonly used by ordinary residents of Messatine.

There was a voice in his spark telling him: He couldn't stand staying in this place anymore.

But if not here, where else could he be? He could certainly take a sharp piece of metal, pry the locator out of his shoulder armor, scratch off his parole number, and just leave. But what would Alpha Trion think about him then? How would he ever return to the Archives?

He didn’t want to admit he was actually lost. This emotion had never cut so sharply through his processor, not even when he’d been thrown into prison. As it turned out, nothing teaches a bot to face reality better than reality itself.

On the busier streets, the sidewalks were lined with workers off shift or those temporarily jobless. With little else to do for entertainment, many huddled in groups of three or five against the walls, clutching small canisters of circuit booster. They said nothing, just bowed their heads to pump the booster into their fuel tanks. Their faceplates would slacken with relief; some, who misjudged the dose, would sway unsteadily and slump against the wall, only to be roughly shoved aside by those nearby.

Orion couldn’t help but slow his steps. In Iacon, circuit boosters were tightly regulated, available only in small doses under strict control. He’d never used them, nor had he any interest in abusing something so harmful to his own frame. He didn’t believe such fleeting indulgence could truly fill anyone’s emptiness.

“In our crew, these things are strictly forbidden,” a gentle voice came from behind him. “Workers rarely have extra credits. If they get hooked by circuit boosters, they won’t even be able to replace damaged armor, and eventually lose the ability to work… then get picked up by the black market.”

Orion turned, finding a medium-sized miner with black-and-white painted armor standing a body-length away. "You must be Orion," the bot said. "Apologies. Miner's Crew tracked your location via the locator. My name's Jazz. We need your help."

Orion furrowed his faceplate in confusion. "I thought locators could only be tracked by Iacon." Still, he felt no hostility toward the bot before him. "What can I do for you?"

"One of ours—Soundwave—he’s an information specialist, also part of Messatine’s Administrative Office. He gave me your details and location. You’re a teacher from Iacon, so you must know some medical basics, right? We’ve had… some disagreements with the black market. Our usual medic answers to them, and he’s refusing to treat our injured."

"Injured?" Orion's spark twitched. Some instinct told him this was likely tied to what he’d done earlier. "What happened?"

"Our leader was injured," Jazz’s voice sharpened with urgency, losing its earlier caution and calm. "We miners could only give him some first aid. His situation was still unstable. Could you help us?"

Orion blinked. "I—of course. I’ll do whatever I can. Where is he?"

Jazz exhaled, relief evident in his posture. "Follow me."

The black-and-white armored miner transformed first into an ore truck, and Orion followed him, driving back the way they’d come.

"Is the injured one Megatron?" He couldn’t suppress the odd flicker of concern in his spark. "The large-frame bot, silver-gray armor, bright red optics?"

"That’s him," Jazz replied, keeping pace. "I heard he met with you earlier."

"Indeed." Orion admitted, swallowing the unspoken addendum: But I didn’t know he led the Miner's Crew.

Orion didn’t have much fondness for so-called "Miner's Crew." In Iacon’s eyes, after all, any organized group in the outer regions was dismissed as a destabilizing threat to social order. Megatron—he couldn't recognize this name, yet he recalled archives in Iacon mentioning a rebellion on Messatine linked to the Miner's Crew here. Elita might have known more, but he could no longer ask her.

The rest of the journey passed in silence. Jazz led him to a spot as remote as his own cabin, so isolated that Orion nearly suspected another trap. But when he pushed open the simple metal door, the sharp tang of energon hit him like a physical blow. Someone here was badly hurt, no pretense about it.

Inside, several unfamiliar miners huddled together, talking nervously. When Orion entered, many optics flickered with recognition, while others regarded him warily, though not hostilely.

"That’s him?" A broad-shouldered miner with blue optics, built similarly to Megatron, asked with curiosity. "Does he even know how to perform surgery?"

"I'll take over from here. Thank you, Jazz. Impactor, take the others downstairs. Hook, stay." The familiar electronic voice emerged from a partition, followed by Soundwave stepping out. The dull blue energon streaking on his frame was quite concerning.

Jazz and the blue-optic miner nodded, leading the group out.

This organization wasn’t as disorganized as Orion had imagined. "I need to examine the patient first," he said, nodding to Soundwave.

He followed Soundwave into the partition, where a weary-looking miner looked up. "Are you sure you know how to perform this surgery?" he asked.

This must be Hook, the one Soundwave had mentioned earlier. Orion didn’t reply. He stepped forward and saw Megatron lying silently on what could barely be called an operating table.

Megatron’s once-thick armor was marred by terrifying claw marks, his chest plate violently torn open to expose the internal pipelines. Many had been crudely welded shut, while the remaining fractured tubes still gushed energon. Images flashed through Orion’s processor.

Elita, too, had her spark pierced back then, execution-grade rifles blasting straight through her chest plate.

He couldn’t help but glance inside Megatron’s chest, and when he saw the spark still beating strongly, he let out a faint sigh of relief.

"I temporarily bypassed the wires at the wound to prevent electrical sparks from igniting the energon," Hook’s voice sounded strained. "But I can’t proceed with the surgery.Too many fractured pipelines. One wrong connection and it’s over."

Orion shook the flashing images out of his processor. "I know some medical protocols, but I’ll need assistance. I’ll connect with a friend for guidance during the procedure."

Soundwave beside him nodded slightly in approval. Orion pulled up a familiar name from his internal comm list.

As always, the call was answered promptly on the other end. "I thought you’d cut ties with me after leaving Iacon. What happened exactly, Orion?"

"I need your help right now, Ratchet," Orion said.

Chapter Text

Orion didn't know whether the operation was successful or not. Although Ratchet assured him that despite the different pipeline arrangements between cold-constructed miners and the forged, with his experience of traveling around to practice medicine, it was impossible for him not to cure such a simple exposed wound.

Anyway, Megatron's chestplate had been welded back on. The silver-gray armored miner still lay in a peaceful coma under the effect of the circuit stabilizer. Soundwave left the compartment to stay out of the way and waited quietly in the neighboring room.

Hook seemed to relax a bit. He looked at Orion curiously and finally asked, "Is the one communicated with you a medic from Iacon?"

"Ah, yes, Orion." Ratchet heard Hook's question, and there was a bit of delight in his tone. "Introduce this young fellow to me, please. I can tell that he has a special passion for medicine."

Orion shrugged. He raised his hand and used the built-in holographic projector on his arm to project a small image of Ratchet. The holographic image of Ratchet reached out its hand and said in a friendly way, "Hello. You're right. I'm a medic from Iacon. But you probably won't find me in Iacon. In a way, I'm a traveling medic. My name is Ratchet."

"Hello," Hook tensed up again. He reached out his hand, but didn't know how to shake hands with the small holographic projection. So he awkwardly withdrew his hand and rubbed a new scalpel in his hand. "I'm Hook, a miner from Messatine."

"New talents emerge from the Stars generation after generation," Ratchet said excitedly. "Are you interested in learning from me, Hook? You have great talent, and I'm thinking of taking on an apprentice right now."

"I—" Hook widened his optics.

Just as Hook was hesitating about Ratchet's invitation, a deep and calm voice came from beside the two of them.

"Hook has always been the most rigorous and eager-to-learn one among us."

Orion turned his head to look at Megatron, who had just woken up on the operating table. The latter slightly tilted his head. His originally bright red optics were rather dim at this time, but the expression on his faceplate didn't give him a feeling of weakness. Instead, he seemed to be relaxed. His pale red optics scanned back and forth between Orion and Ratchet's holographic. Finally, his gaze settled on Ratchet.

"I seem to have heard your name just now. Is it Ratchet, right? And Orion and Hook. Please allow me to express my gratitude to you." Megatron nodded slightly as a gesture, "You saved my life."

Ratchet nodded, and Orion took a small step back awkwardly. Strictly speaking, he was the one who had caused the trouble. Just now, he had learned from Hook that Megatron had been injured because he didn't want Overlord to know Orion's whereabouts. His gratitude towards this silver-grey bot in front of him was enough for him to temporarily put aside his slight prejudice against the miner's crew.

"Actually," Orion cleared his vocalizer, "I'm the one who should express my gratitude and apologies to you. I'm very sorry for causing you such a big trouble."

"I do believe that everything has its reason, be it a meeting or a conflict," Megatron said. At this moment, he looked completely different from the cold-faced one when Orion was giving a lecture. He looked into Orion's optics. "I guess it has something to do with Swindle, right? I sent him to the black market to gather information before the conflict occurred."

In the holographic image, Ratchet slightly frowned upon hearing the name Swindle. "Orion," he interrupted, "then I won't disturb you two. Let's talk when you're free."

Hook opened his mouth to try to persuade Ratchet to stay, but Megatron noticed Ratchet's expression. He tilted his head and glanced at Hook, then gently shook his head. Hook fell silent. "We'll send your surgical fee to you through Orion, Ratchet," Megatron said. "Thank you again."

Ratchet waved his hand. "No need for payment. I'm helping Orion. There's no need to be so polite." He greeted Orion and then logged off.

Megatron propped himself up with his elbows. Orion and Hook quickly stepped forward to help him sit up on the operating table. Megatron stretched out his hands and examined the marks left by violence on the back of his hands and arm guards. For a moment, he was lost in thought.

Seeing his optics flickering slightly, Orion nearly believe there was a problem with his recovery from the operation. Worryingly, he asked, "Megatron? Are you okay?"

Megatron snapped out of his trance and cast his gaze on Orion again. With a bitter smile, he said, "Nothing. I just recalled some past events. I just ran a self - check, and there's nothing serious." He tilted his headpiece and asked curiously, "You're from Iacon, right? Did you know my name before?"

Orion became alert, but there was not the slightest hint of hostility in Megatron's tone. At least, he couldn't sense any. "I've never heard your name, but I've indeed heard of the Miner's Crew."

Both Megatron and Hook tensed up visibly. "About... our recent situation?" Megatron asked.

"No, no," Orion quickly clarified. "It's about something in the past. The records in Iacon show that there was once a—"

"A rebellion?" Megatron laughed self-deprecatingly. "Iacon's records are quite detailed then. I thought our deaths were so-called 'insignificant'." He said this in a contemptuous tone, as if there was a defeated imaginary enemy standing in front of him.

Orion averted his gaze. There was a kind of intensity in Megatron's optics that he didn't want to face directly. "I do understand," he replied randomly.

Megatron narrowed his optics, and thoughtfully he said, "No, you don't. You don't have a good impression of us, do you?" He waved his hand gently, signaling Hook to leave first.

"Forgive me for being blunt, but yes," Orion said softly as he watched Hook leave. "I believe it has to do with my lack of experience. I simply can't understand the necessity of the existence of the Miner's Crew."

"Haha! A sharp observation," Megatron was amused. "Necessity! Yet, despite that, you still saved me. Was it out of guilt for causing trouble?"

"I'm impressed by your perceptiveness," Orion admitted. "Please allow me to apologize again."

"There's no need. As I said just now, everything has its reasons and destinations," Megatron said. "But I assume you didn't travel all the way to Messatine just to teach, did you?"

"I'm quite ashamed," Orion finally sensed a hint of uneasiness hidden beneath the feigned calmness of the silver-gray bot in front of him from Megatron's repeated confirmations. But he did think that the sense this emotion somehow reflected Megatron's trust in him. "I was paroled. Apart from teaching here, I really have nothing else to do."

Megatron tilted his head slightly and looked at him curiously. "A teacher can beat up Overlord?"

"Ah," Orion knew Megatron would definitely ask about this. After all, even when he looked at himself in the mirror sometimes, he didn't think he looked like someone who could fight. "It's related to my previous job."

"I remember you were an archivist?" Megatron asked in confusion.

"In a way, yes. But my duties aren't just about managing archives. I'm also responsible for some other things, like... uh, guarding." For safety reasons, Orion decided not to tell Megatron everything for the time being.

Actually, the Archives is a force under Alpha Trion that spreads across the whole Cybertron. It's more like an intelligence agency than an archive. Naturally, there are real archivists in the Archives as disguise, but Orion is only a part-time archivist. He is more like a spy specially trained by Alpha Trion to collect intelligence... A high-level one at that. Spy, yes, that's the closest word Orion can think of, which is also why he was directly thrown into prison by the Senate after his exposure. With this kind of identity, basic self-protection ability is of course very important.

While Elita's job was even more dangerous. She was placed by Alpha Trion into the Guard of Iacon as one of the attempts for the Archives to get involved in military and political affairs. After more than hundreds vorns of effort, she almost became the supreme commander of the High Guard. However, this attempt ultimately failed, and Elita lost her life as a result.

Megatron seemed to notice that Orion didn't want to reveal much information, and the parole number on Orion's shoulder armor was genuine. He nodded, "Then let's not talk about this. You just said that you don't understand the necessity of the Miner's Crew?"

Orion touched his head, "That statement sounds really terrible now. Please allow me to rephrase it: I don't quite know what the Miner's Crew does."

"There's no need to be so cautious. I guess your habit of choosing your words carefully comes from Iacon." Megatron waved his hand. "You don't have to be so uptight here. We're all workers. If you talk in a roundabout way, we won't understand. How about this? When I'm feeling better, I'll take you around. Or—" He got up with Orion's support. "—better now than later. Let's go right away."

*****

Megatron admitted that his motive for inviting Orion wasn't pure.

He could foresee that in the eyes of an intellectual like Orion from Iacon, the existence of the Miner's Crew was nothing more than an unstable factor in Cybertron's governance. Even when he extended the invitation, a dark corner deep in his processor was whispering protests: perhaps the seemingly gentle bot in front of him was thinking about how to wipe them out at this very moment. He shouldn't have let the turbo-wolf into the house. He should have killed Orion in some unknown corner to eliminate future troubles. Killing was easy, wasn't it? Especially for Megatron.

He cast these absurd thoughts aside and focused on another less-pure purpose.

Perhaps Orion would think that he hadn't listened very attentively in the first class, but that wasn't the case. During the half class when Orion kept talking to himself, Megatron realized two things.

First, Orion meant no harm; second, Orion could provide resources that he could never obtain on Messatine.

The first point was the basis for cooperation, and the second was the significance of cooperation. So after waking up from the operation, Megatron used these two things to convince himself in his processor that it made sense to save Orion at the risk of his life. Moreover, Orion had brought him unexpected gains. He was satisfied with his own meticulous and emotionless analysis. Although when Orion's optics widened in surprise at the achievements of the Miner's Crew, a sense of pride welled up in his spark, along with a secret hope of finding like-minded individuals.

Orion stared at the miners in the distance as they emerged from the mine shaft in the cage after a day's work. Their armor, made of a special material, wasn't overly soiled with dust. Fatigue was hard to hide, but when they saw their comrades and Megatron, who had brought Orion there, expressions of joy appeared on their faceplates.

The two of them had just come from a mine where the Miner's Crew hadn't been properly organized yet. The situation of the miners there was quite different from here. The mining equipment was old, and the miners' exhaustion came from deep within. Miners there would also gather in twos and threes for a little get-together. However, what they took out from the subspace were small bottles of circuit booster. In a sense, it also meant that there would be some unexpected incidents in the tavern later.

"How did you stop the miners from using circuit boosters?" Finally, Orion Pax abandoned the caution and false, flowery praise he had shown since learning Megatron's identity and posed a truly worthy question for discussion.

Good question, Megatron thought to himself.

"What do you know about circuit boosters?" Megatron countered.

"Um," Orion hesitated. "In Iacon, circuit boosters are used for emergency treatment. They have high medical value, but generally, they are strictly controlled. I noticed that the control of them by Messatine doesn't seem to be very strict."

"Originally, it should have been strict. But since some people realized that they could earn energon and shanix from the workers by reselling this stuff, things have changed. You should know that the cost of making circuit boosters isn't very high, right? By making some minor chemical modifications to a part of the energon that was originally supposed to be made into energon cubes, boosters can be produced. But those people have taken control of the manufacturing process and monopolized the production of boosters. Although the price of boosters isn't high, they are the sole sellers."

"Do you mean the black market when you talk about the dealers?" Orion couldn't help asking. "Is this one of the reasons for the conflict between the Miners and the black market?"

Megatron stared into Orion's bright blue optics. "Don't you know who I'm talking about?"

Orion was stunned, as if there was no other word in his processor except "black market". Megatron vented slightly and patiently said, "The black market may also be involved in the sale of circuit boosters, but they don't have the power to make the entire Messatine addicted to boosters. The dealers I'm talking about are the Council of Iacon." He watched the expression on the faceplate of the bot in front of him gradually freeze, and softly asked, "You've never considered this possibility, have you?"

"I..." Orion opened his mouth. "I do know how despicable the political means of the Council of Iacon can be, but I always thought that, on the whole, they were still considering Cybertron. This kind of means..."

"How can not this kind of means be considered as for the sake of Cybertron?" Megatron laughed. "The miners take the boosters, spend extra Energon cubes and Shanixs, which increases the income of Iacon. In miners' leisure time, they lose the ability to act and think. After getting addicted, they will even defend the boosters. Naturally, it corresponds to the further policies the Council of Iacon wants to promulgate, and it also reduces the governance pressure. Isn't it killing multiple turbo-foxes with one stone? You... have you never worked for the Council?"

"No, no." Orion shook his head. "Basically, our stance is on the opposite side of the Council. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here."

"You've piqued my curiosity even more," Megatron said. "Who on earth do you work for?"

Orion took a deep breath. "I really can't tell you. Sorry."

"All right," Megatron changed the subject. "You just asked how we've curbed the use of circuit boosters. I assume you've already figured out where it comes from. Well, it's simple. Just cut off the source."

"If that could really be done, it would basically be..."

"Establishing another regime? Yes," Megatron said. "That's what we're doing."