[IDW] Break the Chain 02/09
Oct. 15th, 2018 06:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Break the Chain
Universe: Mostly IDW with bits of others
Characters: Prowl, Original Character(s), Megatron, Starscream, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Barricade, Soundwave, Sunstreaker/Sideswipe
Rating: M
Warnings: Political Shenanigans, Brief Moment of Sexual Content, Murder Mystery, Machinations, Twincest, Extremely Minor Character Death
Description: Desperate to bring some much needed tactical assistance to the Decepticon uprising, Megatron attempts to recruit Prowl, an outcast Enforcer with a frame exemption. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, political machinations are at work to stem the Decepticon tide and turn Cybertron back to the preferred status quo.
Commission for an anonymous person.
Chapter Two
Prowl onlines the next morning to a headline that screams “Chancellor Bracket Murdered by Decepticon Criminals” and his jaw tightens into a clench. His investigation is still in the preliminary stages; he doesn’t even have a working theory. The press should not be allowed to announce such unproven truths.
Someone should be fired for that leak. Save Prowl is certain it wasn’t so much as a leak as a sanctioned release of information. The authorities want the citizenry to be wary of the Decepticons. They want the people to fear criminals. Fear leads to obedience.
Megatron’s words haunt him.
He sips a morning cube, indecision tossing and churning inside of him. He logs into his console, and there’s a chime, indicating he has a message.
Orion Pax has replied, much quicker than Prowl could have hoped, and has sent a time and location for them to meet. Other than continuing his investigation, Prowl has nothing on his schedule. There’s something curt and business-like about Orion’s response. Prowl appreciates it. No bothering with pointless pleasantries, this one.
It’s refreshing.
Prowl replies with an affirmative and logs off his computer, if only so he doesn’t have to keep seeing the outrageous banner at the top of the screen. His investigation isn’t even a cycle old and the media have already pointed fingers. They are smart to attack an ideal, a vague group, rather than an individual in particular. A person’s motives can be suspect. A group’s motives? Significantly less so.
Prowl scrapes a hand down his face and rises from his console. There’s too much to do for him to sit around and brood. Orion’s meeting time gives him just enough to rinse off and gulp down a cube before he has to fight the morning rush to make it to the other side of the city in time.
He pauses, however, and reconsiders.
He should take a copy of the message for Orion to peruse, he decides. Perhaps Orion can divine some deeper meaning behind it, or recognize a message between the lines. It’s worth a try.
Right now, Prowl can use any information at his disposal.
~
“He didn’t delete the message,” Megatron muses aloud, an odd sense of glee coiling around the spirals of his spark. “Neither did he report it.”
“Affirmative,” Soundwave says, from his right, barely breaking the shadows. A dark frame perches on his shoulder – Laserbeak or Buzzsaw, Megatron is still not sure which is which. He suspects they prefer it that way.
Nearby, Starscream snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Megatron. He’s not yours yet.” His tone is light, but the warning in the words speak of something else.
“No, but it’s promising.”
Megatron peers into the mirror. He can see Starscream over his left shoulder. The Seeker reclines in the rickety chair, one leg folded over the other, lip curled with derision. Perhaps a touch of jealousy there as well.
He and Prowl are either going to be the worst of enemies or the best of friends. They share a similar keen intellect, and a penchant for tactics.
“He’s receptive,” Megatron says as he catches Starscream’s optic before returning his attention to applying the paint streaks on his face. “He’s not unaware of the political rumblings around him. He’s not blindly loyal.”
“He’s contacted Orion Pax,” Starscream drawls and shifts, uncrossing and recrossing his legs. Megatron’s gaze is briefly drawn to the movement. “And we all know it’s impossible to say who’s side that one is on.”
“Situation complicated.” Soundwave moves to Megatron’s right, directly into view. He offers two weapons, carefully selected by Soundwave himself for Megatron’s use.
Megatron debates them. A glaive or an axe? This bout’s sponsor wants a show of strength, not particularly skill. He doesn’t care about logistics. He wants to be entertained. The glaive will certainly accomplish that, whereas the axe is more a tool of quick, efficient victory.
Starscream snorts. “There’s nothing complicated about it. What we have here is a clash of egos.” He pushes himself to his feet, wings rattling around him. “Orion might agree with you, but he’s not interested in doing things your way.”
Megatron taps the handle of the glaive and half-turns to peer at Starscream. “You think Orion will recruit Prowl instead?”
Starscream folds his arms over his cockpit and shrugs. “It’s possible. They’re both Enforcers. They both have a respect for the law.” At this, he sneers. “I don’t know Prowl well enough to hypothesize.” He tilts his head. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see if your newest project is worth the effort.”
Megatron cycles a ventilation and slots the glaive into the sheath across his back. There’s no transforming allowed for this bout. It’s not as much a disadvantage as the organizers think it is. Megatron doesn’t need his alt-mode to fight.
His opponent might be a little put out.
“Extend Prowl an invitation.” Megatron dips his fingers in the paint one more time and sweeps them over his unadorned cheek.
“To meet in person?” Starscream demands, his voice edging toward a shriek, as though horrified. “So he can bring an army and arrest you?” His wings snap taut, the sharp noise echoing in the small suite.
Megatron wipes his fingers clean and faces his two closest confidantes: friends, allies, most trusted advisors. “He won’t do that.”
“You sound awfully certain for someone you haven’t even met yet,” Starscream hisses. His wings arch upright. “It’s not just your spark on the line here, you know.”
Megatron’s gaze slants toward Soundwave. The carrier mech dips his head in assent.
“To next match?” Soundwave asks.
Starscream’s optics widen. “You agree with this idiotic plan?”
Soundwave tilts his head toward Starscream. Whatever passes between them isn’t said aloud, but it makes Starscream’s optics narrow, for all that Soundwave doesn’t move and the light behind his visor doesn’t shift. Perhaps the avian cassette’s stare is equally convincing.
Starscream’s lips press in a thin line. He stares at the far wall, venting noisily. “For the record, I’m against this.”
“Noted,” Soundwave says.
Megatron grabs his shield as the ready light blinks atop his door, and a loud buzz demands his presence. The ground rumbles beneath his feet to the tune of thousands of voices, roaring and cheering.
“You’d better win,” Starscream says with a telltale smirk as he moves aside, clearing a path to the door. “Wouldn’t want your recruit to think he’s throwing in with a losing side.”
Megatron rolls his optics. He ignores Starscream, but hears Soundwave hiss at the Seeker behind him, chastisement perhaps.
They’ll sort themselves out.
For now, there’s a big brute of a mech who thinks he can crush Megatron in less than ten seconds.
It’s time to disabuse him of the error of that assumption.
~
Orion Pax is a very busy mech.
Prowl supposes that comes with the territory, given all of the awards he’s acquired, the mechs he knows, the way others look up to him. Rumor has it, even, that Orion has Senator Shockwave’s favor. A mech Prowl knows as well, but not to the extent Orion Pax seems to have befriended him.
It’s ridiculous. It’s immature. It’s pointless.
Prowl is jealous nonetheless. He sees awards he’ll never earn. Commendations none of his superiors will ever offer to him. He sees promotions he doesn’t qualify for by simple manner of his sparking.
He sees a mech who has all the things Prowl has worked so hard to acquire. It’s hard not to boil in his resentment. Orion deserves them, Prowl is sure. His record certainly reflects it. He’s a good officer. He’s a good mech.
It’s still fragging unfair.
The door opens. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Orion says as he comes inside, striding forward, larger than life and hand extended with greeting. He’s smiling. “There was a recalcitrant arrestee out there.”
And of course, only Orion Pax can deescalate the situation, right?
“No, it’s quite all right,” Prowl replies, swallowing down the snide reply because it’s not Orion’s fault. None of it is.
He accepts the extended hand. Orion’s shake is firm, friendly. There’s kindness in his optics, but a harshness around the edges, too. He could easily be one of Prowl’s friends. But he could be someone’s worst enemy, also, if you made the mistake of committing a crime.
“I understand you wanted to speak about Megatron?” Orion says as he lets go of Prowl’s hand and moves to his desk. He gestures to the chair across from it so Prowl can sit.
He declines. He can’t explain why. Just that if he sits, he’ll feel lesser somehow. He needs to stand to feel on an even keel with Orion Pax, decorated and accomplished, everyone’s favorite.
“Yes,” Prowl says. “I’m told you’ve had some contact with him, prior to his forming the Decepticons and fomenting a rebellion.”
Orion sweeps some of the mess from his desk to the side and leans forward, lacing his fingers together, bracing his elbows on the edge of the desk. “I was present for the incident that many claim is the launching point, yes.”
Prowl tilts his head. “You disagree?”
Orion’s lips purse before he answers. “I think that there was something rotten in Cybertron long before Megatron got involved in that bar fight, and long before one of our officers committed a crime upon his person while he was in our custody.” He looks up at Prowl, his optics incisive. “Rather than a launching point, I’d call it the final bolt.”
“You’ve had contact with him since?” Prowl asks.
Orion leans back and rests a hand on the desk, rapping his fingers in a steady rhythm. “Am I under investigation?”
Prowl cycles his optics. He slides into parade rest on instinct. “Not to my knowledge. My interest is… personal.” Though he won’t be at all surprised if there is an operative subtly watching Orion, hoping to discover a means to get to Megatron through him.
“Personal,” Orion echoes. He stares at Prowl, and there’s something incisive in the look, as though he’s trying to read Prowl’s spark through his optics alone. “How so?”
He doesn’t know if he can trust Orion. But he has to start somewhere. Because he doesn’t know if he can trust Megatron either. And there’s no one else in his life Prowl can trust right now.
If he vanishes. If he goes missing. No one will care. No one will notice.
If he doesn’t start now, who will mourn him? Who will carry on this task?
“He contacted me.” Prowl watches Orion closely for any kind of tell, a sign of his reaction. Orion’s face is perfectly composed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to recruit me.”
Orion nods slowly, his optics briefly flickering as he purses his lips to a thin line. “That sounds like something he’d do,” he replies with a thoughtful hum. “Though how you fell on his radar, I don’t know. They usually contact those who’ve displayed Decepticon sympathies.”
“Which I haven’t,” Prowl says, maybe a bit too quickly.
“Did you reply?”
“Of course not!” Prowl’s panels arch upward before he can master control of his emotions, and he cycles several ventilations. There hadn’t been accusation in Orion’s tone, merely curiosity.
He pauses to regain his bearings.
“I have yet to reply,” Prowl says. “The obvious answer would be to turn over the communication to my superior, but I doubt they’ll be able to trace it anywhere. Megatron is careful.”
“Well, Soundwave is anyway,” Orion says with another drum of his fingertips on the desktop. His gaze tikts downward, pensive. Calculating almost.
Soundwave? The designation sounds familiar. It rings at something in the back of Prowl’s processor, but he can’t put a finger on what exactly. He does note it, however. For later investigation.
“This could also be an opportunity,” Prowl says, again watching Orion carefully. Is he Megatron’s ally? Enemy?
Orion’s hand goes flat on the desk. “Did you come here because you want my advice on how to proceed?”
Prowl allows his panels to drift downward, at rest, projecting submission and innocence as much as he’s capable. It won’t hold long, especially if Orion’s even glanced at Prowl’s service record, but it’s worth a try. “I wanted another perspective,” he says.
The datastick with Megatron’s message sits heavy in his arm compartment. The debate about whether or not he should show it to Orion lasts for a second. The datastick stays right where it is.
“I wanted to speak to someone who’s had contact with Megatron before,” Prowl continues. “Preferably of a nature that doesn’t immediately label him as terrorist or criminal.”
The hint of a smile ghosts at the corner of Orion’s lips. “And did it help?”
“I haven’t decided.” Prowl’s glances around the room, counting the trophies, feeling the weight of their expectations as they stare at the mech sitting behind the desk.
Does Orion feel their judgment when he works on his reports? Does he bask in the gleam of their shining metals? Or does he pay them little notice, considering them little more than cheap baubles of little worth?
Prowl shouldn’t dare to contemplate.
He dips his head, takes a step back. “Thank you for your time. You’ve got my contact information if you wish for me to return the favor.”
Orion pats his hand on the desk before he pulls himself to his feet. “You’ve caught the Chancellor Bracket case, yes?”
Prowl cycles his optics, resists the urge to retreat. Ah. So Orion’s peeked at his service record after all. How enterprising of him. “Do you have some information that could help me solve it?”
“Solve it,” Orion echoes, like he’s tasting the words. “I could have sworn the current theory blames the Decepticons.” He tilts his head, optics searching Prowl’s face. “Or perhaps I heard incorrectly.”
Prowl works his jaw, and the twitch of his panel betrays his unease. “They are ill-informed. My investigation is still in the preliminary stages. Whatever rumors are floating about, I assure you, they are not my determination.”
“I thought as much.” Orion’s optics twinkle. He sticks out his hand again, and Prowl eyes it like he might a live electrorod. “Feel free to contact me again. If I can be of help in any way.”
Politeness forces Prowl’s hand forward. He shakes Orion’s, tries not to hate the helpful, polite, handsome, and perfect Enforcer standing in front of him. Tries not to be attracted, as he can’t help but be, to those who are terrible choices for him in every way.
“I am at your disposal as well,” Prowl says, through his denta. He’s smiling, and Orion’s too good not to see that it’s strained.
If it bothers Orion, he doesn’t let it show. It feels like a game, one with words and gestures, sussing one another out, but they aren’t even sure why yet.
“Nice to meet you,” Orion says, squeezing his hand, not enough to hurt, more like he’s reminding Prowl of how strong he is.
“Likewise,” Prowl replies, smiling.
It doesn’t reach his optics.
~
It’s not that he hates Orion. Far from it. He admires the other officer, admires what Orion Pax has accomplished, what he’s earned, the progress he’s made.
But the resentment. It burns in his spark. It tastes sour at the back of his glossa, like purge after a night of overindulgence, not that Prowl has many of those.
Everything Orion Pax has, Prowl will never receive. Not because he’s unworthy. Not because he hasn’t earned it. But because it’s not meant for mechs like him. He’s lucky he clawed his way out of the rank and file. It’s selfish to yearn for more.
Prowl makes his way back to his own district, Orion’s words lingering in his processor, the other half of which is occupied with Chancellor Bracket’s murder. He can’t be distracted from his first priority, his job. He needs to log into his workstation, see if the forensics reports have been released yet. He needs to question witnesses, investigate Bracket’s office, his co-workers.
He needs to not think about Megatron.
Which of course is why his comm pings him half a cycle later, whilst he’s en route to Bracket’s spacious office, located within a business complex that could house at least ten percent of the city’s homeless population without straining resources at all.
Prowl pulls out of the walkway and steps off to the side, all the better to focus on the conversation without interrupting the flow of traffic, because he recognizes the ident code. His spark thrums a faster beat, like it’s trying to crawl up into his intake.
He leans against the wall of an alley and looks out into the passing crowds. He presses a finger to his comm to accept the call.
“Prowl here,” he says, gruff, as if it’s just another ping and not a voice that keeps trying to shift his worldview, and succeeds so effortlessly.
The chuckle rolling into his audial has no business rolling right along his sensor net, too. “I wasn’t sure if you’d answer or not,” Megatron says because who else could it be? Pinging Prowl from an unknown ident code with a home IP out near Slaughter City?
Prowl works his intake. “Megatron,” he greets. He’s careful to keep his tone even. “What do you want?”
“I would like to extend an invitation,” Megatron says as though Prowl’s tone had been polite and not borderline belligerent. “I assume you received my previous communication. I think it would be in both our benefit to meet.”
“Do you now.” It’s a statement, not a question. Prowl’s gaze flicks out at the passing crowd, all hurrying by, heedless to the fact he’s an Enforcer carrying on what is quite possibly an illegal conversation with a terrorist. “That sounds dangerous.”
Megatron laughs softly, and Prowl’s panels twitch. “I assure you, I mean you no harm. I simply want to have a conversation. And I will ensure your safety, if that’s what has you so concerned.”
Prowl makes a non-committal noise. In Megatron’s defense, there is no ransom his superiors would pay. Prowl has no connections that could work in the Decepticons favor. They would gain nothing by killing him. They would gain nothing by taking him captive. He still debates whether they’d gain anything by recruiting him.
“Where?” Prowl asks.
“As it so happens, I have an engagement close to you within a few cycles,” Megatron says, and Prowl doubts this is a coincidence. “Soundwave will provide you with tickets to attend. We can meet afterward. I will personally guarantee your safety.”
Prowl works his jaw. “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” Megatron replies, his voice as smooth as high grade and as syrupy as coolant. “Think of it as more of a necessary precaution. I mean you no harm but the crowds around these events can be rough.”
“I’m aware,” Prowl bites out. His spark performs a strange flip-flop in his chassis. “Very well.”
“One chance,” Megatron all but purrs. “That’s all I’m asking. Afterward, if you wish I never contact you again, I won’t.”
Prowl swallows over a lump in his intake. He already knows this won’t be the last time. He’s curious what Megatron wants from him, what the Decepticons are trying to accomplish, the truth behind the media lies. One meeting will not be enough to sate the curiosity. It won’t even scratch the surface of the questions he has.
“That’s fair,” Prowl says and then internally curses himself. He wishes he’d had the foresight to record this conversation. Or at least make sure no one else is recording it either.
He’s losing it.
Megatron chuckles again, and Prowl surprises himself with how charming it sounds. No wonder mechs flock to his cause. It’s probably because they’re hoping to catch a private moment with their leader, hoping to hear his voice much closer than their vidscreens or the broadcasts.
“I am glad to hear it,” he says. “You’ll get a message with the date and time shortly. I look forward to seeing you there.”
He doesn’t wait for Prowl to reply. The lines goes silent. Prowl lowers his hand from his comm, disconnecting on his end as well.
He works his jaw and stares blankly into the passing crowd. Hundreds of mechs look exhausted, worn down, optics dim, frame language harried. Those in alt-mode zoom by in the street or the airways. There’s a shuffling sound back in the dark of the alley. Prowl knows if he looks close enough, he’ll find the homeless, the near-empty, the vagrants.
How many of them would be classified unneeded? How many of them were sparked for an occupation that no one needs, and they aren’t allowed to do anything else?
How many of them only need to hear Megatron’s speeches to become another frame for his fighting force?
Too many.
Prowl pushes off the wall and rejoins the hustle and bustle.
He still has a job to do. Chancellor Bracket has been murdered. It’s Prowl’s duty to find out who and why.
~
Prowl is many things.
One might consider his current decisions to be foolish. He recognizes that he is putting himself in harm’s way. He realizes there is something happening beyond his worldview. There are undercurrents, and he’s only a single wave in the midst of a storm.
He refuses to be caught unprepared.
He spends a day deep in Chancellor Bracket’s case. He builds a conspiracy web. He composes a suspect list of none, save that he knows the Decepticons don’t belong upon it. He hits several dead ends with wiped surveillance feeds and generic clues and a forensic team that tells him nothing but what he already knows.
The invitation, the date, and the time all arrive by midday. Prowl’s researching at his modest cubicle in the main office when his mailbox chimes, and there’s a surge of excitement and anxiety both as the familiar sender pops up. He skims the notice quickly, committing it to memory. It reads like a standard event announcement. If anyone were to hack his account and read his mails, they’d find nothing unusual about it. Mechs commonly receive event invitations.
The location is smack dab in the middle of a section of the city Enforcers dare not tread. At least, not by themselves and definitely not while proudly displaying their badges.
Megatron might have assured his safety while in the arena. But there are a dozen ways Prowl could find himself killed on the way to it.
He’s going to need help.
Fortunately, he’s not without his contacts.
***
Universe: Mostly IDW with bits of others
Characters: Prowl, Original Character(s), Megatron, Starscream, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Barricade, Soundwave, Sunstreaker/Sideswipe
Rating: M
Warnings: Political Shenanigans, Brief Moment of Sexual Content, Murder Mystery, Machinations, Twincest, Extremely Minor Character Death
Description: Desperate to bring some much needed tactical assistance to the Decepticon uprising, Megatron attempts to recruit Prowl, an outcast Enforcer with a frame exemption. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, political machinations are at work to stem the Decepticon tide and turn Cybertron back to the preferred status quo.
Commission for an anonymous person.
Prowl onlines the next morning to a headline that screams “Chancellor Bracket Murdered by Decepticon Criminals” and his jaw tightens into a clench. His investigation is still in the preliminary stages; he doesn’t even have a working theory. The press should not be allowed to announce such unproven truths.
Someone should be fired for that leak. Save Prowl is certain it wasn’t so much as a leak as a sanctioned release of information. The authorities want the citizenry to be wary of the Decepticons. They want the people to fear criminals. Fear leads to obedience.
Megatron’s words haunt him.
He sips a morning cube, indecision tossing and churning inside of him. He logs into his console, and there’s a chime, indicating he has a message.
Orion Pax has replied, much quicker than Prowl could have hoped, and has sent a time and location for them to meet. Other than continuing his investigation, Prowl has nothing on his schedule. There’s something curt and business-like about Orion’s response. Prowl appreciates it. No bothering with pointless pleasantries, this one.
It’s refreshing.
Prowl replies with an affirmative and logs off his computer, if only so he doesn’t have to keep seeing the outrageous banner at the top of the screen. His investigation isn’t even a cycle old and the media have already pointed fingers. They are smart to attack an ideal, a vague group, rather than an individual in particular. A person’s motives can be suspect. A group’s motives? Significantly less so.
Prowl scrapes a hand down his face and rises from his console. There’s too much to do for him to sit around and brood. Orion’s meeting time gives him just enough to rinse off and gulp down a cube before he has to fight the morning rush to make it to the other side of the city in time.
He pauses, however, and reconsiders.
He should take a copy of the message for Orion to peruse, he decides. Perhaps Orion can divine some deeper meaning behind it, or recognize a message between the lines. It’s worth a try.
Right now, Prowl can use any information at his disposal.
“He didn’t delete the message,” Megatron muses aloud, an odd sense of glee coiling around the spirals of his spark. “Neither did he report it.”
“Affirmative,” Soundwave says, from his right, barely breaking the shadows. A dark frame perches on his shoulder – Laserbeak or Buzzsaw, Megatron is still not sure which is which. He suspects they prefer it that way.
Nearby, Starscream snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Megatron. He’s not yours yet.” His tone is light, but the warning in the words speak of something else.
“No, but it’s promising.”
Megatron peers into the mirror. He can see Starscream over his left shoulder. The Seeker reclines in the rickety chair, one leg folded over the other, lip curled with derision. Perhaps a touch of jealousy there as well.
He and Prowl are either going to be the worst of enemies or the best of friends. They share a similar keen intellect, and a penchant for tactics.
“He’s receptive,” Megatron says as he catches Starscream’s optic before returning his attention to applying the paint streaks on his face. “He’s not unaware of the political rumblings around him. He’s not blindly loyal.”
“He’s contacted Orion Pax,” Starscream drawls and shifts, uncrossing and recrossing his legs. Megatron’s gaze is briefly drawn to the movement. “And we all know it’s impossible to say who’s side that one is on.”
“Situation complicated.” Soundwave moves to Megatron’s right, directly into view. He offers two weapons, carefully selected by Soundwave himself for Megatron’s use.
Megatron debates them. A glaive or an axe? This bout’s sponsor wants a show of strength, not particularly skill. He doesn’t care about logistics. He wants to be entertained. The glaive will certainly accomplish that, whereas the axe is more a tool of quick, efficient victory.
Starscream snorts. “There’s nothing complicated about it. What we have here is a clash of egos.” He pushes himself to his feet, wings rattling around him. “Orion might agree with you, but he’s not interested in doing things your way.”
Megatron taps the handle of the glaive and half-turns to peer at Starscream. “You think Orion will recruit Prowl instead?”
Starscream folds his arms over his cockpit and shrugs. “It’s possible. They’re both Enforcers. They both have a respect for the law.” At this, he sneers. “I don’t know Prowl well enough to hypothesize.” He tilts his head. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see if your newest project is worth the effort.”
Megatron cycles a ventilation and slots the glaive into the sheath across his back. There’s no transforming allowed for this bout. It’s not as much a disadvantage as the organizers think it is. Megatron doesn’t need his alt-mode to fight.
His opponent might be a little put out.
“Extend Prowl an invitation.” Megatron dips his fingers in the paint one more time and sweeps them over his unadorned cheek.
“To meet in person?” Starscream demands, his voice edging toward a shriek, as though horrified. “So he can bring an army and arrest you?” His wings snap taut, the sharp noise echoing in the small suite.
Megatron wipes his fingers clean and faces his two closest confidantes: friends, allies, most trusted advisors. “He won’t do that.”
“You sound awfully certain for someone you haven’t even met yet,” Starscream hisses. His wings arch upright. “It’s not just your spark on the line here, you know.”
Megatron’s gaze slants toward Soundwave. The carrier mech dips his head in assent.
“To next match?” Soundwave asks.
Starscream’s optics widen. “You agree with this idiotic plan?”
Soundwave tilts his head toward Starscream. Whatever passes between them isn’t said aloud, but it makes Starscream’s optics narrow, for all that Soundwave doesn’t move and the light behind his visor doesn’t shift. Perhaps the avian cassette’s stare is equally convincing.
Starscream’s lips press in a thin line. He stares at the far wall, venting noisily. “For the record, I’m against this.”
“Noted,” Soundwave says.
Megatron grabs his shield as the ready light blinks atop his door, and a loud buzz demands his presence. The ground rumbles beneath his feet to the tune of thousands of voices, roaring and cheering.
“You’d better win,” Starscream says with a telltale smirk as he moves aside, clearing a path to the door. “Wouldn’t want your recruit to think he’s throwing in with a losing side.”
Megatron rolls his optics. He ignores Starscream, but hears Soundwave hiss at the Seeker behind him, chastisement perhaps.
They’ll sort themselves out.
For now, there’s a big brute of a mech who thinks he can crush Megatron in less than ten seconds.
It’s time to disabuse him of the error of that assumption.
Orion Pax is a very busy mech.
Prowl supposes that comes with the territory, given all of the awards he’s acquired, the mechs he knows, the way others look up to him. Rumor has it, even, that Orion has Senator Shockwave’s favor. A mech Prowl knows as well, but not to the extent Orion Pax seems to have befriended him.
It’s ridiculous. It’s immature. It’s pointless.
Prowl is jealous nonetheless. He sees awards he’ll never earn. Commendations none of his superiors will ever offer to him. He sees promotions he doesn’t qualify for by simple manner of his sparking.
He sees a mech who has all the things Prowl has worked so hard to acquire. It’s hard not to boil in his resentment. Orion deserves them, Prowl is sure. His record certainly reflects it. He’s a good officer. He’s a good mech.
It’s still fragging unfair.
The door opens. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Orion says as he comes inside, striding forward, larger than life and hand extended with greeting. He’s smiling. “There was a recalcitrant arrestee out there.”
And of course, only Orion Pax can deescalate the situation, right?
“No, it’s quite all right,” Prowl replies, swallowing down the snide reply because it’s not Orion’s fault. None of it is.
He accepts the extended hand. Orion’s shake is firm, friendly. There’s kindness in his optics, but a harshness around the edges, too. He could easily be one of Prowl’s friends. But he could be someone’s worst enemy, also, if you made the mistake of committing a crime.
“I understand you wanted to speak about Megatron?” Orion says as he lets go of Prowl’s hand and moves to his desk. He gestures to the chair across from it so Prowl can sit.
He declines. He can’t explain why. Just that if he sits, he’ll feel lesser somehow. He needs to stand to feel on an even keel with Orion Pax, decorated and accomplished, everyone’s favorite.
“Yes,” Prowl says. “I’m told you’ve had some contact with him, prior to his forming the Decepticons and fomenting a rebellion.”
Orion sweeps some of the mess from his desk to the side and leans forward, lacing his fingers together, bracing his elbows on the edge of the desk. “I was present for the incident that many claim is the launching point, yes.”
Prowl tilts his head. “You disagree?”
Orion’s lips purse before he answers. “I think that there was something rotten in Cybertron long before Megatron got involved in that bar fight, and long before one of our officers committed a crime upon his person while he was in our custody.” He looks up at Prowl, his optics incisive. “Rather than a launching point, I’d call it the final bolt.”
“You’ve had contact with him since?” Prowl asks.
Orion leans back and rests a hand on the desk, rapping his fingers in a steady rhythm. “Am I under investigation?”
Prowl cycles his optics. He slides into parade rest on instinct. “Not to my knowledge. My interest is… personal.” Though he won’t be at all surprised if there is an operative subtly watching Orion, hoping to discover a means to get to Megatron through him.
“Personal,” Orion echoes. He stares at Prowl, and there’s something incisive in the look, as though he’s trying to read Prowl’s spark through his optics alone. “How so?”
He doesn’t know if he can trust Orion. But he has to start somewhere. Because he doesn’t know if he can trust Megatron either. And there’s no one else in his life Prowl can trust right now.
If he vanishes. If he goes missing. No one will care. No one will notice.
If he doesn’t start now, who will mourn him? Who will carry on this task?
“He contacted me.” Prowl watches Orion closely for any kind of tell, a sign of his reaction. Orion’s face is perfectly composed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to recruit me.”
Orion nods slowly, his optics briefly flickering as he purses his lips to a thin line. “That sounds like something he’d do,” he replies with a thoughtful hum. “Though how you fell on his radar, I don’t know. They usually contact those who’ve displayed Decepticon sympathies.”
“Which I haven’t,” Prowl says, maybe a bit too quickly.
“Did you reply?”
“Of course not!” Prowl’s panels arch upward before he can master control of his emotions, and he cycles several ventilations. There hadn’t been accusation in Orion’s tone, merely curiosity.
He pauses to regain his bearings.
“I have yet to reply,” Prowl says. “The obvious answer would be to turn over the communication to my superior, but I doubt they’ll be able to trace it anywhere. Megatron is careful.”
“Well, Soundwave is anyway,” Orion says with another drum of his fingertips on the desktop. His gaze tikts downward, pensive. Calculating almost.
Soundwave? The designation sounds familiar. It rings at something in the back of Prowl’s processor, but he can’t put a finger on what exactly. He does note it, however. For later investigation.
“This could also be an opportunity,” Prowl says, again watching Orion carefully. Is he Megatron’s ally? Enemy?
Orion’s hand goes flat on the desk. “Did you come here because you want my advice on how to proceed?”
Prowl allows his panels to drift downward, at rest, projecting submission and innocence as much as he’s capable. It won’t hold long, especially if Orion’s even glanced at Prowl’s service record, but it’s worth a try. “I wanted another perspective,” he says.
The datastick with Megatron’s message sits heavy in his arm compartment. The debate about whether or not he should show it to Orion lasts for a second. The datastick stays right where it is.
“I wanted to speak to someone who’s had contact with Megatron before,” Prowl continues. “Preferably of a nature that doesn’t immediately label him as terrorist or criminal.”
The hint of a smile ghosts at the corner of Orion’s lips. “And did it help?”
“I haven’t decided.” Prowl’s glances around the room, counting the trophies, feeling the weight of their expectations as they stare at the mech sitting behind the desk.
Does Orion feel their judgment when he works on his reports? Does he bask in the gleam of their shining metals? Or does he pay them little notice, considering them little more than cheap baubles of little worth?
Prowl shouldn’t dare to contemplate.
He dips his head, takes a step back. “Thank you for your time. You’ve got my contact information if you wish for me to return the favor.”
Orion pats his hand on the desk before he pulls himself to his feet. “You’ve caught the Chancellor Bracket case, yes?”
Prowl cycles his optics, resists the urge to retreat. Ah. So Orion’s peeked at his service record after all. How enterprising of him. “Do you have some information that could help me solve it?”
“Solve it,” Orion echoes, like he’s tasting the words. “I could have sworn the current theory blames the Decepticons.” He tilts his head, optics searching Prowl’s face. “Or perhaps I heard incorrectly.”
Prowl works his jaw, and the twitch of his panel betrays his unease. “They are ill-informed. My investigation is still in the preliminary stages. Whatever rumors are floating about, I assure you, they are not my determination.”
“I thought as much.” Orion’s optics twinkle. He sticks out his hand again, and Prowl eyes it like he might a live electrorod. “Feel free to contact me again. If I can be of help in any way.”
Politeness forces Prowl’s hand forward. He shakes Orion’s, tries not to hate the helpful, polite, handsome, and perfect Enforcer standing in front of him. Tries not to be attracted, as he can’t help but be, to those who are terrible choices for him in every way.
“I am at your disposal as well,” Prowl says, through his denta. He’s smiling, and Orion’s too good not to see that it’s strained.
If it bothers Orion, he doesn’t let it show. It feels like a game, one with words and gestures, sussing one another out, but they aren’t even sure why yet.
“Nice to meet you,” Orion says, squeezing his hand, not enough to hurt, more like he’s reminding Prowl of how strong he is.
“Likewise,” Prowl replies, smiling.
It doesn’t reach his optics.
It’s not that he hates Orion. Far from it. He admires the other officer, admires what Orion Pax has accomplished, what he’s earned, the progress he’s made.
But the resentment. It burns in his spark. It tastes sour at the back of his glossa, like purge after a night of overindulgence, not that Prowl has many of those.
Everything Orion Pax has, Prowl will never receive. Not because he’s unworthy. Not because he hasn’t earned it. But because it’s not meant for mechs like him. He’s lucky he clawed his way out of the rank and file. It’s selfish to yearn for more.
Prowl makes his way back to his own district, Orion’s words lingering in his processor, the other half of which is occupied with Chancellor Bracket’s murder. He can’t be distracted from his first priority, his job. He needs to log into his workstation, see if the forensics reports have been released yet. He needs to question witnesses, investigate Bracket’s office, his co-workers.
He needs to not think about Megatron.
Which of course is why his comm pings him half a cycle later, whilst he’s en route to Bracket’s spacious office, located within a business complex that could house at least ten percent of the city’s homeless population without straining resources at all.
Prowl pulls out of the walkway and steps off to the side, all the better to focus on the conversation without interrupting the flow of traffic, because he recognizes the ident code. His spark thrums a faster beat, like it’s trying to crawl up into his intake.
He leans against the wall of an alley and looks out into the passing crowds. He presses a finger to his comm to accept the call.
“Prowl here,” he says, gruff, as if it’s just another ping and not a voice that keeps trying to shift his worldview, and succeeds so effortlessly.
The chuckle rolling into his audial has no business rolling right along his sensor net, too. “I wasn’t sure if you’d answer or not,” Megatron says because who else could it be? Pinging Prowl from an unknown ident code with a home IP out near Slaughter City?
Prowl works his intake. “Megatron,” he greets. He’s careful to keep his tone even. “What do you want?”
“I would like to extend an invitation,” Megatron says as though Prowl’s tone had been polite and not borderline belligerent. “I assume you received my previous communication. I think it would be in both our benefit to meet.”
“Do you now.” It’s a statement, not a question. Prowl’s gaze flicks out at the passing crowd, all hurrying by, heedless to the fact he’s an Enforcer carrying on what is quite possibly an illegal conversation with a terrorist. “That sounds dangerous.”
Megatron laughs softly, and Prowl’s panels twitch. “I assure you, I mean you no harm. I simply want to have a conversation. And I will ensure your safety, if that’s what has you so concerned.”
Prowl makes a non-committal noise. In Megatron’s defense, there is no ransom his superiors would pay. Prowl has no connections that could work in the Decepticons favor. They would gain nothing by killing him. They would gain nothing by taking him captive. He still debates whether they’d gain anything by recruiting him.
“Where?” Prowl asks.
“As it so happens, I have an engagement close to you within a few cycles,” Megatron says, and Prowl doubts this is a coincidence. “Soundwave will provide you with tickets to attend. We can meet afterward. I will personally guarantee your safety.”
Prowl works his jaw. “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” Megatron replies, his voice as smooth as high grade and as syrupy as coolant. “Think of it as more of a necessary precaution. I mean you no harm but the crowds around these events can be rough.”
“I’m aware,” Prowl bites out. His spark performs a strange flip-flop in his chassis. “Very well.”
“One chance,” Megatron all but purrs. “That’s all I’m asking. Afterward, if you wish I never contact you again, I won’t.”
Prowl swallows over a lump in his intake. He already knows this won’t be the last time. He’s curious what Megatron wants from him, what the Decepticons are trying to accomplish, the truth behind the media lies. One meeting will not be enough to sate the curiosity. It won’t even scratch the surface of the questions he has.
“That’s fair,” Prowl says and then internally curses himself. He wishes he’d had the foresight to record this conversation. Or at least make sure no one else is recording it either.
He’s losing it.
Megatron chuckles again, and Prowl surprises himself with how charming it sounds. No wonder mechs flock to his cause. It’s probably because they’re hoping to catch a private moment with their leader, hoping to hear his voice much closer than their vidscreens or the broadcasts.
“I am glad to hear it,” he says. “You’ll get a message with the date and time shortly. I look forward to seeing you there.”
He doesn’t wait for Prowl to reply. The lines goes silent. Prowl lowers his hand from his comm, disconnecting on his end as well.
He works his jaw and stares blankly into the passing crowd. Hundreds of mechs look exhausted, worn down, optics dim, frame language harried. Those in alt-mode zoom by in the street or the airways. There’s a shuffling sound back in the dark of the alley. Prowl knows if he looks close enough, he’ll find the homeless, the near-empty, the vagrants.
How many of them would be classified unneeded? How many of them were sparked for an occupation that no one needs, and they aren’t allowed to do anything else?
How many of them only need to hear Megatron’s speeches to become another frame for his fighting force?
Too many.
Prowl pushes off the wall and rejoins the hustle and bustle.
He still has a job to do. Chancellor Bracket has been murdered. It’s Prowl’s duty to find out who and why.
Prowl is many things.
One might consider his current decisions to be foolish. He recognizes that he is putting himself in harm’s way. He realizes there is something happening beyond his worldview. There are undercurrents, and he’s only a single wave in the midst of a storm.
He refuses to be caught unprepared.
He spends a day deep in Chancellor Bracket’s case. He builds a conspiracy web. He composes a suspect list of none, save that he knows the Decepticons don’t belong upon it. He hits several dead ends with wiped surveillance feeds and generic clues and a forensic team that tells him nothing but what he already knows.
The invitation, the date, and the time all arrive by midday. Prowl’s researching at his modest cubicle in the main office when his mailbox chimes, and there’s a surge of excitement and anxiety both as the familiar sender pops up. He skims the notice quickly, committing it to memory. It reads like a standard event announcement. If anyone were to hack his account and read his mails, they’d find nothing unusual about it. Mechs commonly receive event invitations.
The location is smack dab in the middle of a section of the city Enforcers dare not tread. At least, not by themselves and definitely not while proudly displaying their badges.
Megatron might have assured his safety while in the arena. But there are a dozen ways Prowl could find himself killed on the way to it.
He’s going to need help.
Fortunately, he’s not without his contacts.
