Notes:

I don't know what I'm doing.
Seriously.
The plot bunny caught me and didn't let me go, and here I am.

I will write short chapters because the POVs keep changing and I don't like putting them in the same chapter.

WARNING:
I don't really know anything about Transformers.
All I know about it comes from the first 2 Bay Movies, and from reading around the fandom and looking around tumblr.
For this reason, characters' descriptions are going to be a mess, and probably most of them not canon.
I apologise in advance.

WARNING 2:
Since my knowledge of Transformers comes mainly from the fandom, I'm not sure 100% that everything I write about history and stuff comes from the canon or my imagination.
It MIGHT happen that something of someone else's creation ends up here. If this happens, LET ME KNOW.
I will remove stuff if possible and give credit where it's due.
This I SWEAR.
I don't STEAL.


Before the fall

Night had slowly fallen over the dusty landscape of Cybertron. The two moons, slowly rotating around each other and obscuring the sun, cast their dim lights over the bustling city of Kaon, always and eternally busy and full of harried mechs.

Kaon, the city that never sleeps.

Kaon, where criminality and corruption ran freely in every street, uncontrolled and arrogant in their power.

Kaon, where mechs and femmes fought, bled and struggled just for a chance of survival, alone and forgotten by the Iaconian Council, the Head of the planet, and their 'leading' Prime.

Corruption.

At least in Kaon everyone knew the truth, knew who they were, knew what to expect from every mech they might cross in the streets, knew their places.

Corruption.

In the eastern part of the city the shadows moved. Covered from the moons' light by the towering shape of Kaon's Arena the doors leading from the dungeons to the streets opened, and just as silently closed. A mech moved, soundless steps and movements somehow at odds with the big frame and the hulking weight of his armor and weapons. It wasn't a small bot, not at all, but he managed to keep entirely to the shadows, no one noticing him sneak around the vendors and pleasure-bots littering the streets.

The mech crept towards the docking district, shining black and violet plates of armor dulled by dust and self-applied mud to camouflage the shimmering plating and blinking purple lines of bio-lights scattered over the sides of the abdomen, legs and wings.

He checked his internal chronometer, and entered the designated warehouse, sensors flared and alert to intercept vital signs and energon readings. Just one popped up, a familiar spark resonance being recognised by his processor and displayed with matching ID on his HUD.

His optics scanned the empty area, searching for the figure to match the beacon picked up by his extremely advanced scouting equipment. Movement shuffled to his right, and he zeroed in on the other mech, towering height too evenly camouflaged to his surroundings to be glimpsed by common bots.

"I've already placed white-noise devices and frequencies-interrupters around the perimeter, we can speak freely" vocalized the other mech, slipping from the shadows to penumbra, grey and green plating shifting and flaring. "Report."

The agent didn't bother to slip out of the shadows, merely settled against the wall, rough material scraping against toughened back struts. "Target: rapidly climbing up the Arena's hierarchy, gathering followers and support from peers and crowds."

The other hummed, the low vocalization rumbling from throat to chest and vibrating in the air, long and thoughtful. "Your position?"

"…managed to gain trust and companionship."

"What's your opinion?"

The agent didn't say anything for a while, processor spinning, trying to find another conclusion different from the one he had already formulated orns prior but coming up empty.

"Situation: dire."

The other huffed, a scuffed servo rubbing against a tired and old faceplate, marred by scars and discolorations.

"Is it possible to avoid a war?"

"…Negative."

Kup sighed, feeling all the vorns of his life pressing against his plating and shoulder panels, trying to crush him. He looked at his undercover agent, feeling sorrow, affection and responsibility battling against him.

"We can get you out now, and go back to Iacon. Your abilities will be great he-"

"Negative."

Kup snapped his mouth components shut with a quiet clink, staring at the mech before him, foreboding and alarm crawling all over his cables and lines. "What do you me-"

"War: inevitable… and beneficial for Cybertron. Council: stagnant and corrupted, more occupied with power plays and posturing instead of caring for population, leaving mechs starving all across the planet. Sentinel Prime:… useless" the agent shifted, wings briefly unfolding from their previous tucked-in position behind his back to ruffle and flare sharply at his sides, displaying his agitation, before forcedly reigning control over them and returning them to their inexpressive positions. "More worried about losing his position than confronting the Council. Revolution: needed."

Kup stared sharply at his agent, knowing about the severity of those words and the danger they could provoke if heard by indiscrete audials. He also knew, with certainty and bone-deep tiredness, that they were true. The corruption of the higher classes and commanding circles had led Cybertron to ruin, from the Golden Age to the planet's darkest era. Change was needed, and even if he was the Chief of Security of the Council and the Primes, duty-bound to report insurrections and revolts, he was also Head of SpecOps, a department solely dedicated to Cybertron.

"…You think this… Megatron will be what the planet needs?" he asked.

His agent stilled briefly, movements seen by him only because of the deep familiarity between the two of them, vorns of work to make them knoweach other. "Megatron: strong and charismatic mech, speaks of freedom for lower classes and end of oppression. He will be followed, and needs someone to keep him on track. Things will change."

"But you don't know how."

"Cybertron: needs change."

The two stared at each other.

"If you stay undercover…" Kup fell silent, sadness curling around his spark and making him so tired, tired of seeing agents and friends and mechs he knew die and disappear and just be gone, without no one but him to remember them and know of their sacrifices. "If you stay, you will be on your own. We don't know what will happen, uproar will destabilise everything. I don't even know if SpecOps will remain standing after all this. Pit, I don't even know if I will survive, and I'm the only one who knows you are here, that you are SpecOps, that you are loyal. You will be alone, and without chances of extraction if things go south."

The agent stayed silent, processor calm and in control, nothing to betray him. He had already made his decision orns before, and he knew the risks. He knew what was at stake – his life, his identity will never be the same, he will be forced to do things he will regret – but he was an agent. He was SpecOps. Duty was hardcoded inside him, and his loyalty to Cybertron required sacrifices from him.

"Affirmative."