1) I've been having so much fun with this one. I've never really touched on Soundwave and Blaster's past, so this is gonna be fun for me.

2) So school starts on Monday. I doubt my update schedule will change too much seeing as I don't really have one. For those of you hearing this for the first time, I have abolished all updates schedules for all stories to keep away all stress. I update whatever I want whenever I want, mainly because my muse flits from one story to another. I will try to get the next chapter of Bring Me Peace out ASAP

3) I know for a fact I didn't send replies to everyone, but I can't figure out who I did send replies to. For those of you who didn't get replies, i apologize profusely. I am accustomed to replying at the bottom of a fic, and I am still learning how to review via PM without skipping anyone. Thank you for your understanding, and if you had a question, please resubmit it, and I will hopefully do this reply thing better this chapter.


Pilot: Soundwave

10,727 words


"You've got to be kidding me! You've been interviewing bot after bot! How the frag did you find a bodyguard first?"

"Well, I would assume it was because I was actually proactive in my search for a guardian for Orion. Have you even interviewed a single bot?"

"Oh, don't act all snitty—"

"I was not—"

"I'll have you know that I have found the perfect candidate for Megatron's bodyguard."

"Uh-huh." Disbelief oozed from the mech's voice.

"I have! Primus, I will never know how you came to believe me to be so irresponsible!"

"It was quite easy to—"

"Don't—!"

"You know contractions are quite unbecoming of a noble mech…"

"Oh, stuff it up your aft, Sentinel. We both know nobody cares how I talk. You're the one that has to blow fluff up the Senate's tailpipes with fancy words. I just have to tell them who I'm blowing up."

"That is… rather crude, Killswitch, and quite degrading of both of our duties."

"Frag that. We both know neither of us applied for these jobs. Pit, I recall playing with my friends as a youngling before the Elite Guard showed up at my house and informed my creators in no small words that I was to be the next lord protectorate. I'm glad Megatron won't have to go through that."

"I hardly see how raising the mechling in an army is superior to experiencing a loving family for at least a short time of the sparkling's life."

"You assume that my military base is a dark place of pessimism, hate, and fear. I can assure that it's not. Last time you visited, you had a blast! You even dropped a few contractions!"

"I hardly see how getting overcharged every cycle is good for the mechling's upbringing. Oh, and might I take this moment to say that Orion has never seen me overcharged? Ever?"

"You never struck me as the kind of mech to rub stuff in, but I guess every mech can surprise another."

"You would not be subject to such teasing if you did not give such useful ammo."

"I live life how I can. I work hard; I party hard. It's the military life. Maybe if you came to my parties instead of those fancy, high-caste soirees, you wouldn't be such a stiff."

"Such a what?"

"A stiff. Ah, sorry. Low-caste term. My bad."

"'Your bad?'"

"My mistake, I mean."

"Killswitch… as riveting as this conversation is, I have work to attend to, and I am fairly certain Ironhide will be messaging me relatively soon when Orion next processes waste."

"Ah, yes. A military mech's hardest battle: the first time his sparkling ejects waste. I remember it well."

"Yes. I believe you had a harder time, though. I was blessed with a nurturing-caste femme when I first retrieved Orion. You had to figure everything out on your own."

"Well, I had my army."

"Which means your medic took care of the child when you were confused."

"Ah, yes. Clinique did her fair share of sparklingsitting when Megatron decided to empty his tank all over my chest."

"That was… very disgusting, and I could have easily went through my life without that mental picture plastered across my central processor."

"Aw, c'mon, Sentinel. You can't deny it happened to you before, too!"

"I am dropping this communication line." This was said rather abruptly. Obviously, this was not something that the other mech felt like talking about. "Please find a mech to care for Megatron soon. He cannot stay beside you as you go into battle."

"I think he'd have fun riding in a battle cruiser. And I already have someone. I already told you that!"

"Very well, then. The best of luck training the poor bot."

"The guy's already settling in. He's ecstatic about this new job."

"Good. I shall see you and this new mech at the Senate's soiree, then?"

"Unfortunately."

"Very well then. Goodbye."

The second Sentinel's face disappeared from the screen, Killswitch let his upper half fall overdramatically onto the console. His head hit the keys, bringing up a slew of random commands on the otherwise blue screen, and he gave a low sigh. He was totally and utterly screwed. There was simply no other way of putting it.

Two decaorns ago, he and Sentinel had decided that it was time to get the two future "rulers" — more like figureheads, if one asked Killswitch — of Cybertron bodyguards/caretakers to protect them as their mentors worked. Sentinel had started out by posting a bulletin in the Iaconian Times newsdata as well as paying three different high-society public comms and a single general public comm to report the job offer. That first orn, he had gotten plenty of job requests; however, most of them were unfit for the job, either because they were only in it for the money and prestige or they had no defense capabilities, something that was important for this job.

That first orn, Killswitch had laughed his head off, watching from the safety of his fortress in Kolkular, Kaon as Sentinel whined in the most undignified manner about the idiot bots that had applied for the job. He had been overlooking the training of a few new recruits in the Defense Force and wasn't required to go back to Iacon for a good decaorn, and even then, he would only have to be there for an orn, maybe two at the most. He only went to Iacon when absolutely necessary. Little Megatron, just out of his newspark frame, had enjoyed his time in Kolkular, being passed around to various off-duty mechs and femmes.

You see, unlike the stuffy mechs he was forced to deal with in Iacon, Killswitch knew that Megatron was safe with the military mechs that served under him. While the upper-crust of Cybertron believed these red-opticed mechs to be emotionless monsters, Killswitch knew that these mechs cared a great deal for the little mech that would one day lead them into battle. Having seen their care for Megatron, Killswitch was sometimes surprised when an oblivious blue-opticed bot would comment on a warrior's lack of emotion. When he defended his mechs, the upper-crust's disbelief just didn't make sense to him, and he knew that was because he actually spent time with his mechs and knew them. Still, though, it was obvious they cared for the sparkling. Pit, they worked out a system for who would sparklingsit while Killswitch took care of official business. The mechs knew who Megatron could be given to if something happened, and if a mech didn't think he could handle dealing with the sparkling, they would simply observe from afar instead of signing up to care for him during their off-cycle. Most of the mechs didn't mind carrying him around, though.

Needless to say, Killswitch didn't feel that finding a single particular bodyguard and/or caretaker for Megatron was a necessity. He could easily give Megatron to his Second-in-Command and let the mechling be passed around every cycle. The sparklet would be perfectly happy, and his mechs would be given responsibility for a cycle. He never had to worry about Megatron being lost, mistreated, or kidnapped. Military caste mechs were the most protective caretakers after Seekers.

And thus had begun the procrastination of the vorn.

Do not assume Killswitch was avoiding the task. It wasn't that he didn't want to get Megatron a full-time guardian that would keep him with him at all times and by extension lower the times during the day when Killswitch would see him... Okay… well, maybe that was part of the reason, because when it came down to it, Killswitch really loved his little ward. Megatron was quite the bundle of love and giggles, and he never minded showing that smile to any mech or femme that wanted to give him attention. Killswitch already missed him any time the thought of a guardian came to his processor.

The main problem Killswitch faced with searching for a new guardian was finding time to look for a suitable guardian, and of course, finding someone brave enough to come visit him for an interview. He lived in Kaon, the bottom of Cybertron in both literal and figurative senses. The city-state was home to the Forge, the largest "underground" pit fighting arena and home to the most gruesome fighting circuit on Cybertron. The majority of the bots living there were warriors, servants, and a large section of the mining community. A few low-on-their-luck upper-caste bots lived there as well: a few tradesmechs, a low-end medic here and there, a nurturer to care miner sparklings while the mechs mined and their femme sparkmates worked to help keep their family units afloat. It wasn't the kind of place a high-end caretaker was going to want to visit. Of course, he had taken Megatron on his trip to Iacon for the protectorate's decaornly visit to the prime, and he had put out an advertisement before his arrival. Unfortunately, he faced the same problem as Sentinel.

Then, of course, there was work. It seemed like there was always something to do whenever he finally turned his attention to the guardian problem – because it was becoming a problem. Cybertronian relationships with Arbotia a few light years away from Cybertron were beginning to diminish, and the manufacturing planet was beginning to make threats on Cybertron's prime. That wasn't something Killswitch could take lightly. It seemed like he was always either in a meeting to go to or troops to train or an armada to inspect, and while he didn't mind doing his job, it certainly took up all his time.

Killswitch gave a low sigh as he sat up from the console, no doubt accidentally sending out a few computer commands that he didn't particularly mean to, but he ignored that in favor of slouching in his chair.

"So…" came a low voice from a console near the back of the communication room. Killswitch sat up enough in his chair to swivel it around to face his Second-in-Command, a large red mech who currently had his face focused rather studiously on the screen and console before him. Killswitch knew that this was probably more to hide his amused expression from his commander than to do actual work. "Who's the lucky mech that's gonna sparklingsit?" Yes, there was a rather acute bit of laughter in Strife's voice. Killswitch glared at him SiC, a mech who knew that the protectorate hadn't had a chance to interview anyone.

"You're not funny, frag-head," Killswitch snapped rather childishly. Strife only snorted before swiveling his chair to face his commander.

"You may be in luck, Commander," he stated. Killswitch's red optics brightened a little, and he let a hopeful smile rise to his lips. That smile dropped into a scowl at Strife's next statement. "Maybe if Sentinel Prime likes Ironhide enough, he'll let you borrow the mech to figure out what you're looking for in a guardian."

"Frag you, unhelpful slagger," Killswitch grumbled as he rose to his pedes. He strode to the door, his shoulders held back proudly and his long strides confident. There was no denying that Killswitch had the bearing of the lord protectorate, even if he didn't really look or act the part. Killswitch was a piece of work, completely opposite of his predecessor. Battlework had been a bulky mech with a low, guttural voice, harsh red optics, very noticeable scars, and a quick temper. Killswitch's memories drew a picture of a mean mentor that forced him to learn how to fight at a young age and refused to let him have any friends. He said that friends were distractions, that befriending those below him would only open him up to betrayal. Battlework had been just as strict on his soldiers, controlling them even down to how they could spend their free time. It had made many of his soldiers resent him, and as such, they had sneaked a young Killswitch out to have fun whenever they could, no matter the consequences. Pissing off Battlework was apparently worth it.

Killswitch was, as mention above, completely opposite. The current protectorate was tall and lanky, and unlike his predecessor, his black paint was always polished and buffed instead of battleworn and scuffed "like a true military mech's would be." The mech was laid back and took joy in the simple things of life. He was kind to his underlings and enjoyed a party as much as they. His garnet red optics were light with laughter most of the time, and even when he was serious, his optics still held that gentleness that Battlework had never been able to manage. Of course, unlike his mentor, Killswitch loved using his optics on the femmes he dealt with.

Hence how he ended up with Megatron…

The femme had been sparked by her past sparkmate, a mech that had died protecting them from thieves. She had had the sparkling but knew she couldn't support him. She worked as a bar femme during the solar cycle, then took a mech during the first lunar cycle to temporarily rid herself of the hole in her spark that was slowly pulling her into darkness after her sparkmate. Killswitch had been one of the suitors she had taken, and of course, he had known nothing about her having a sparkling until he heard a cry from another room of the small housing unit shortly after their business was conducted. The little black and gray sparkling mech had been starving, and the femme hadn't been able to find the mercy in her broken spark to feed him that solar cycle. When Killswitch had asked her about the mechling, about why she wasn't leaving to comfort him, she had made some sort of flippant statement about how he would shut up eventually. Needless to say, Killswitch had taken custody of the sparkling without much thought.

Then, after he had fed the sparkling some low-grade from his medic, a femme designated Clinique, his logic center had caught up with his actions. He had no time for a sparkling! As much as he enjoyed spending time with Sentinel's new sparkling, Orion, he didn't have much desire for a successor yet. He was a good ninety vorns younger than Sentinel after all, and he had no idea how to care for a sparkling or even how he would explain said sparkling. He knew the Senate would not take kindly to him giving charity to such lower-caste bots.

It had been Clinique that had inadvertently come to his rescue, though.

"So is this to be our next protectorate?"

"Clin, you know I don't need a successor yet."

"Can you say that for sure? Can you guarantee you will not fall in battle in two solar cycles? Listen to your spark, Killswitch. You do not need the guidance of the primes to know that this little mech needs you."

He had been about to argue, but the sparkling in his hands suddenly opened his too-big optics and gazed up at the protectorate with such a look of adoration, and just like that, every argument against the mech disappeared. Killswitch completed the creator bond in that very second, and little Megatron, as he was named, became the light of his life. He told the Senate that his Matrix of Protection had led him to the mechling, a necessary lie that the Senate had accepted without complaint. After all, Killswitch was their personal favorite because he didn't feel the need to question the caste system like Sentinel did.

'How far we have come,' Killswitch thought to himself as his processor went back over those first vorns. Megatron had single-handed stolen the sparks of almost every mech in his army, then he had stolen the sparks of all the blue-sight Elitists in Iacon. Killswitch always found it funny that the upper-crust of Cybertron loved himself and Megatron – and sometimes his SiC and TiC – yet they thought every other warrior-caste mech was a monster.

"Opi!" a loud squeal broke through his thoughts, and Killswitch focused on the world around him. Apparently, his mindless walking had brought him to the recreation room. The rec room was where bots came to relax after a long shift. One half of the room was nothing but tables and chairs, places where bots could talk and unwind at the end of a solar cycle. The other half was for entertainment. There was a holoscreen against the wall for those lunar cycles when mechs and femmes felt like watching the newest holoadaption – Killswitch always came home with at least fifteen new datafiles for the holoscreen after a trip to Iacon – and a huge couch that around ten mechs and femmes could squeeze onto if they sat on the top and the armrests.

The rec room was only halfway-filled this particular solar cycle. A lot of mechs had recently been assigned more shifts due to the Arbotia threat. The holoscreen was playing an action flick about a blue caste femme who is running away from a tradesmech that wants to kill her for her fortune. She's lucky that she happened to run into a handsome elite mech that knew how to shoot perfectly and fight well with a blade. Needless to say, the bots watching the flick scoffed a lot.

Megatron was currently sitting on a table near the middle of the room, an artist's datapad on the table in front of him, but his attention was focused on his surrogate creator. Three of the four seats at the table were taken up by Killswitch's officers. Boombomber, his demolitions expert, was nursing a cube of high grade as he slouched comfortably in his chair. Across from him was Terretan, his weapons specialist, and sitting beside Terretan was his sparkmate, Clinique. Their two chairs were nearly touching, giving Clinique the ability to lean against her bulky sparkmate.

"Hello, my spark," Killswitch cooed. He walked to the table in four long strides and scooped up his squealing sparkling without hesitation. Megatron, ever delighted to see his mech creator, twittered and chirped happily, flailing his little arms and legs cutely as his sire held him above his helm. Little winglets fluttered when the cool air from the vent above them sifted over them, and Megatron squealed again at the funny feeling. "How's he been?" Killswitch directed his question toward Clinique as he settled Megatron against his chest. The little mech chirped once more before settling down, setting his audio receptor against Killswitch's chest to hear his spark. Acting on instinct, Killswitch shifted Megatron over to the right to where his spark had been moved after a shot had gotten dangerously close to offlining him. His strong spark now resided just below his right collar strut.

"Let's just say we don't look forward to when he can move on his own," Terretan spoke up before his sparkmate could. Clinique rolled her optics and smiled at Killswitch.

"He was perfect, as always, the little Primus-sent primelet he is." Killswitch turned his attention to the little bundle of wires in his arms with a smile. Megatron had found Killswitch's sparkbeat and was starting to doze by the calming sound of it, little hands holding the edges of his chest armor tightly.

"Have you made any progress on the guardian situation?" Clinique questioned, blue optics locked on the sparkling as well. She saw Killswitch's grimace and mentally answered her own question before he spoke.

"No," the protectorate stated grimly. "But I will," he added, his voice and expression holding determination. Clinique looked less convinced.

"Best of luck to you, my lord," she said, though her voice told the lanky mech that she had little faith in him. A glance at Terretan and Boombomber showed that they likewise doubted his ability to find a guardian for the sparkling in his arms. He felt a rare scowl rising to his face at his underlings' lack of support. No matter. He'd show them that he could do this.

::Lord Protector, you are needed in meeting hall delta:: -Strife, Cybertronian Defense Force SiC

::Why…?:: -High Lord Protectorate Killswitch

Even as Killswitch sent the comm. message, he was walking out of the rec room, moving briskly in the direction of the meeting rooms. Meeting hall delta was actually the largest conference room in the whole Kolkular base, and he couldn't recall planning a meeting that would garner such a large space.

::The Kaonian Youth Initiative has been completed:: -Strife, Cybertronian Defense Force SiC

Killswitch blinked, actually pausing in his steps as he thought that last statement through.

::Really? And there were enough bots to fill meeting hall delta?:: -High Lord Protectorate Killswitch

::Definitely enough potential in here:: -Strife, Cybertronian Defense Force SiC

::Oh:: Killswitch started walking again. ::Well, I am on my way:: -High Lord Protectorate Killswitch

It had been a pleasant surprise, the Initiative's initial turnout. The Kaonian Youth Initiative was actually Strife's metaphorical sparkling created after a trip to the Forge. Strife had been surprised and horrified to see that younglings were being trained in the Forge, brought up to kill the very younglings they played with. Yes, Strife had known that this was common practice, but something about seeing a youngling battling another had made him sick to his tank. Yes, he understood that violence was hardwired into every red-opticed mech or femme to some degree, but for somebot to exacerbate that programming for money…

Hence, the KYI was born. The Initiative would allow young mechs to go through a series of physical tests that would give them a place in Academy of Military Combat and Tactics, which was Killswitch's metaphorical sparkling. Much like Sentinel and Strife, Killswitch wanted to get young military bots off the streets and give them purpose in life. If Sentinel was the guardian of the upper castes, the one who made sure those created in comfort remained safe and happy, then Killswitch was the guardian of the lower castes, the one who made sure those created in poverty were given a chance at life and happiness. So many military and servant caste bots lived lives of violence, worry, and disgrace because they weren't given any other options. Killswitch had hoped that his new academy would mirror the Iaconian Academy of Science and Technology.

Of course, these two creations were still in their beginning stages, and Killswitch had yet to hire instructors for his newly built academy. Even so, though, the people of Kaon, which was where the academy had been built, were ecstatic about the potential and the unspoken promise such a building brought. It was obvious through this new structural addition that Killswitch was actually looking out for his people and actively seeking ways to better their lives. It made the lower castes ever the more loyal to him.

Killswitch arrived at meeting hall delta, and he situated Megatron more comfortably against his chest as he sent a wireless signal to the door. It opened with a pneumonic hiss, startling poor Megatron and gaining a squeak of surprise from the sparkling, who glared at the now open door as if to chastise it for not warning him before making any noise. Killswitch snorted at his charge, which, of course, brought Megatron's attention back to him. The silver sparkling looked up at Killswitch with a wide, open-mouth smile, red optics glinting happily when his surrogate creator smiled back at him. With his joyful exchange finished, Megatron allowed his helm to drop back against Killswithc's chest, nuzzling the metal there a bit as he listened in to the larger mechs thrumming spark.

Killswitch strode into the room, his optics still on Megatron as he spoke. "I have arrived, Strife. Now introduce me to these…" Killswitch trailed off as he glanced up. Meeting hall delta was a huge room that held a single table with eighty-four chairs. The room had been created during the command of Battlework, a mech who, in the name of expediency and paranoia, demanded that the commander, second-in-command, and third-in-command of every division in his army be present during meetings of any sort. Personally, Killswitch thought that was overkill, mainly because he knew his mechs would get their jobs done and sometimes the jobs of those beneath them, too. Needless to say, Killswitch had only used the room twice in his two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight vorn career, and both of those times had been because the Senate had visited and (of course) brought with them a perpetual sea of upper-caste idiots. Both times had been exhausting for poor Killswitch, who had to play peacekeeper on both sides of the caste system, trying to keep his soldiers from attacking some ignorant blue-sight while keeping Elitists from being offended by his soldiers' many snubs. He wasn't looking forward to next vorn when it was time for another visit from the Senate.

Killswitch looked around the room, wondering if he had missed something, then his focus returned to the far end of the table where Strife and two nearly identical youngling mechs of different ages were seated. Killswitch gave Strife a decidedly unimpressed look as he strode across the room, his long legs eating up the extreme distance between the door and the far end of the table. As he moved in their direction, Killswitch glanced at the two mechlings, taking note that the younger one appeared to grow more and more nervous as he got closer and the other remained stoic and calm.

They were both cassette holders, Killswitch could see, evidenced by the single opaque armor plates on their chest. A normal mech's chest split down the middle so that both side could open symmetrically. These two mechs would have chest plates that would open downward. Behind that armor would be a holding area where cassettes, which were tiny Cybertronians created by a split in the host cassette holder's spark, would sleep and refuel. Killswitch had only ever met one other cassette holder, a mech by the name of Blacksound. He had been a fascinating mech from Helix, a city-state known for parties, clubs, and all-around fun inhabitants. It was mostly populated by the white-opticed entertainment-caste bots proficient in many languages and talents, but everyone was treated equally there. That was one of the main reasons that so many liked to visit that city: if someone else discriminated against you, you could rest assured that a Helixan would stand up for you, fight for you, and even run the mech from the town and banish him from future visits. Helixans, after all, protected everyone and didn't mind teaming up to help the underdog, assuming said underdog deserved such assistance.

The two mechs before him didn't appear to be Helixan; rather, only one of them appeared as such. The younger – and more nervous – of the two was painted a bright red with gray legs. The chest armor that made up his cassette holder was an opaque yellow that faded into a bright, non-translucent yellow at the edges. His helm was red as well, designed with twin antennae rising up on both sides, and his faceplates were the same dull gray as his legs. What surprised Killswitch – and brought back his thoughts of these mechs being native to Helix – were the youngster's white entertainer optics. Optics that were locked on him as he came to a stop just in front of them.

Both mechs were seated to the left of the end chair that stood at the foot of the table. Strife was seated on the right, leaving the base chair empty for Killswitch. The military commander remained standing behind Strife, though, as he focused his attention on the other mechling.

The older mechling could pass as a Helixan with his frame type, but his paintjob cancelled out that chance. The dark paint was obviously that of a low-class miliary mech. The mechling's frame was covered by navy blue armor, the only exception being his gray legs. The chest armor over his cassette hold was a plain opaque gray, and Killswitch got the impression that he had given all the "fun colored" paint to his younger sibling to keep him happy. Perhaps that was how he spoiled the younger one, gave him what little he could spare. Killswitch was willing to be that this older sibling likely sacrificed quite a bit for the younger, and he was certain the younger was probably happy with anything the older could part with. His helm lacked the antennae his brother had, the only adornment on his being a crest on his forehelm.

As Killswitch watched him, Soundwave's red optics stared back as if listening into his thoughts while his little brother appeared to be growing more anxious at the prolonged inspection. Killswitch understood the younger mech's edginess. He had felt the same way more than six thousand vorns ago when Battlework had stared him down, a common miner's son that had been forced into such a high position of succession. He could remember staring into Battlework's harsh, red optics, wondering what this mech was going to do to him. He could recall refusing to say a word because this mech was the High Lord Protectorate, and he deserved Killswitch's respect, even if he had torn him away from everything he knew and loved. Killswitch wondered if that was what was going through the little red mech's mind

"So… only two successful applicants," Killswitch drawled as he seated himself at the foot of the table. The navy blue mechling straightened in his seat at Killswitch's words, and the red mechling, seeing his brother's action, attempted to do the same, though the effect was ruined by his fidgeting.

"It would appear so," Strife stated as he held out two datapads to his leader. "Here's the stats." Killswitch gave Strife a sarcastic look, jerking his head down to the snoozing sparkling in his hands. Strife grinned back at him, unrepentant. "I can take the future protector off your hands," he offered magnanimously. Killswitch resisted the urge to roll his optics as he lifted Megatron away from his chest, and he audibly sighed when Megatron's optics lit up brightly at the simple movement.

"Please, don't," Killswitch requested flatly of the little sparkling when he saw Megatron's faceplates scrunch up in irritation. The sparkling either ignored him or didn't understand his words, though the latter was most likely. The only thing little Megatron cared about was the fact that he was irritated. He had been taking a nap! How dare his opi move him! He let out a short string of irritated squeaks at his creator who simply rolled his optics at the mechlet's rather famous temper. Every military mech in the base knew better than to interrupt Megatron's nap or refueling. Strife took the mechling into his hands and rested him against his broad, red chest, rubbing his fingers up and down the mechling's back, taking a moment every now and again to rub lightly at the sparkling's developing wing nubs in an attempt to calm the sparkling down.

In the end, it was the little red mechling that ultimately calmed the future protector by saying in an awed voice, "Tha's the futuh p'tectuh?"

All optics turned to the younger mech, who ducked down a little at the attention. The older, navy mechling responded to the mechling's movements by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Strife was about to respond when Megatron suddenly gave a loud chirp. A glance at the sparkling showed him twisting in Strife's hands, his little hands pushing against the SiC's chest as leverage as he stared at the two mechlings across the table. All of the sudden, a wide smile lit the sparkling's face, and he squealed loudly as he held a single arm out to the mechs across the table from him.

"No, Megatron," were Strife's only words. Megatron squeaked again, looking up at the mech his opi always talked to. Strife wasn't one of Megatron's particular favorites – that title went to Havok and Streettalk, a warrior and a special operations agent, respectively – but Strife always seemed to be around. Normally, the mech was willing to go with what he wanted, but this new word… this "no" word… it was beginning to be used more commonly, and Megatron wasn't so sure he liked this new word.

Megatron's growing temper went unnoticed as attention moved back to Killswitch, who was now speaking as he glanced through the datapads in his hands. "So, Soundwave and Blaster… Quite impressive scores in communications and leadership. It looks like you decimated your competition, Soundwave. It appears you did just as well for your age, Blaster…" Killswitch hummed as he scrolled through the various scores and grades, feeling his optics widen along with his grin as he checked everything through. With his decision set, Killswitch set the two datapads down.

"When we set up this program, we didn't expect for it to be so successful," Killswitch began. He ignored Strife's mumbled, "Speak for yourself," as he continued, "You two have actually given me faith that we can succeed at this. Of course—"

Killswitch was cut off by a furious shriek, and all attention focused on the irate sparkling in Strife's arms. Megatron was currently scowling up at the mech holding him, and his little hand was still reaching in Soundwave and Blaster's direction. When he didn't get a response, Megatron gave an angry squeak, as if demanding why he wasn't being obeyed. He wanted to meet these new mechlings – the first mechlings, in fact, that he had seen in a long time that we fairly close to his age – and Strife was keeping him from meeting his new friends. Of course, little Megatron had met younglings before, Orion Pax being a good example, yet none of them were consistent in their appearances, and Megatron didn't remember them. All he knew was that these new bots were smaller than the other bots he always played with, and that made them fun.

"I think he'th gonna cwy," Blaster informed them, and indeed, Megatron's optics were beginning to fill up, a herald to what Killswitch was sure would be a fantastic temper tantrum. As luck would have it, the stoic mechling, Soundwave, stepped in before that could happen.

"Crying: illogical. Action will not solve current dilemma." All heads swiveled to face the mechling who had spoken, the exception being Blaster, who was still focused on the sparkling. Soundwave had spoken in a monotone voice, a vocal pattern that Killswitch had never heard before, but hearing it now, he could discern why the two brothers had different colored optics. Soundwave's voice held a sense of melody, a musical undernote that came in a Helixan frame; however, that tone was tempered by the gruff monotone found commonly in Kaonian miners who couldn't afford high-priced vocal processors to replace the ones they were created with as most military bots did.

Blaster and Soundwave were the products of a cross-caste relationship, likely featuring a military bot and an entertainer from Helix. After all, a Helixan would have no constraints bonding with a military bot. Everyone was the same in their optics. The personal history of the two younglings before him was none of his business, though.

What concerned him was the fact that Megatron went stiff at the sound of Soundwave's voice and was currently staring at the mechling with something akin to awe. His optics were quickly drying up as curiosity took place of irritation, and Megatron reached out again to the other mechling. Strife glanced up at Killswitch, who gave a barely perceptible nod without taking his optics off Megatron. Strife set Megatron on the table on his stomach facing Soundwave, and the sparkling immediately started his attempts at moving.

Megatron was still working on his coordination at the moment, a fact that was not particularly surprising as he was only just out of his newspark frame. His arms and legs weren't strong enough to hold him even if he had figured out how to get them under his body, but what he lacked in strength and coordination, he made up for in determination. Megatron's wide red optics stayed locked on Soundwave as he attempted to will himself into the older mechling's arms. Little hands smacked the table, and little feet kicked while winglets fluttered, yet Megatron remained where he was, much to his frustration. He whirred angrily at his inabilities as he looked at Soundwave, who was on the other side of the table. Where were all the big bots that always helped him move? Couldn't they see he was stuck here?

"I think he'th funny," Blaster stated with a giggle, then he yelped when Soundwave smacked him for his rude comment. "Whaaat? 'E ith," the younger whined.

"Apologies. Blaster: unable to restrain glossa," Soundwave stated by way of apology. Killswitch shook his helm.

"It's not a problem," he stated, sending the younger, red mech a small smile which gained a nervous grin from the younger mechling. Megatron gave a high-pitched whine from the table top, and Soundwave finally reached over and lifted the sparkling up. Megatron gave a loud squeal of approval as Soundwave held him firmly but away from his body. Megatron frowned at this, not appreciating being held like a diseased doll.

"You gotta hold him against your chest," Strife informed him. Soundwave showed emotion briefly through a small frown before his face went carefully blank again.

"Position pointless. Megatron: unable to hear Soundwave's spark. Soundwave's spark: behind cassette chamber." Despite this statement, Soundwave allowed the mechling to rest up against his chassis. Megatron squeaked his happiness and shifted slightly, instinctually searching out the sound of the older mech's sparkthrum. As Soundwave said, though, he didn't find it. Megatron gave a confused whistle as he looked up at the red-opticed mech holding him. Soundwave looked down at the mechling and stated blandly, "Soundwave informed others of outcome." Megatron simply stared at him with a wide smile before nuzzling his helm into the mech's chest.

It was that moment when Killswitch was hit with the newest scheme. He glanced back through the older brother's stats with a growing grin. Soundwave was a sub-adult youngling, meaning that he was fairly close to upgrading to his final frame. A glance at Blaster's datafile showed that he was a mid-youngling, a mere child in Cybertronian eyes. Soundwave must have worked in the Forge because his battle stats were through the roof, and his scars would support such an argument, as well. He worked well with a blade, but preferred distance weapons like spears. He was gentle-natured and mildly protective. When faced with a hostage situation, he succeeded in rescuing the hostage and eliminating the foe.

Primus had obviously sent this mech to solve his problem.

"You have most certainly passed, and I will happily accept you into my ranks," Killswitch announced.

"Soundwave: not a sparklingsitter." Well… that was unexpected. Killswitch narrowed his optics when he remembered an observation from earlier: Soundwave had watched him as if deciphering his very thoughts.

"A telepath?" Strife had apparently reached the same conclusion Killswitch had.

"No' bad though!' Blaster was quick to jump to his brother's defense, gaining a startled squeak from Megatron. "Thoun'wave onwy doth it whenevuh 'e neeth ta!"

"We were not accusing him, young one," Killswitch stated, carefully copying Sentinel's comforting tone. Sentinel was always better with mid-aged younglings than Killswitch was. The protectorate could deal with sparklings, sub-adults, and adults. The in-between was difficult for him, though. It apparently worked as Blaster sat back down. Seeing that the youngster was calming down, Killswitch turned his attention back to Soundwave.

"Megatron needs a bodyguard/caretaker. A dispute with Arbotia has forced my attention elsewhere, and I need to know that he will be safe if ever I need to lead my mechs into battle. I understand that you desire a spot in the Academy, but I offer you something better. You and your brother will be given free room and board with the given luxuries of a mech guarding the future protectorate. You will both receive lessons in language, reading and writing, battle tactics and strategies, politics… the works. The guardian of a future protectorate must be educated themselves.

"In addition to that, you will learn how to defend yourself and your charge with all kinds of weapons, as well as learning how to use unlikely objects as weapons in the event you have no access to a personal weapon. Once Megatron has grown, you will retain a high position in this army, and depending on your relationship with him, you may end up as an officer once he takes command." Killswitch leveled the navy blue mech with a serious look. "The choice, of course, is yours."

There was silence after that, Soundwave obviously thinking the offer over and likely sifting over the electrical impulses that allowed him to read Killswitch's mind. Megatron pushed away from Soundwave's chest when Killswitch went silent, trying to decipher what this new silence meant. Nobody was looking at him, each bot staring at Soundwave, instead. Megatron whistled softly in the silence, not quite sure what to make of this lack of noise. He was rarely in a silent place – a military base was always active, after all – and usually silence meant it was time for him to recharge. But that wasn't right, because when he finally fell completely offline, Killswitch normally shifted him smoothly into his hold. He couldn't move him too early, though, because Megatron had a habit of waking up and kicking the soft walls of his hold whenever he wanted to be held instead.

Maybe they were waiting for him to fall into recharge… Yes, that had to be it! Megatron clicked a few times to himself, mildly disgruntled by the lack of spark sound from his newest perch, and let his body relax, systems whirring as they slowed.

The two eldest mechs felt their optics widen when Megatron peacefully dropped offline. It was a very rare thing for Megatron to recharge in the arms of any bot other than Killswitch. Even those few rare times, it was because he had refused to recharge the cycle before, and each time, he slept in the arms of Havok or Streettalk and awoke grumpy and irritable. For Megatron to fall offline so easily, without a fuss or a long cycle without rest… it spoke a great deal of Megatron's trust for this new sub-adult.

"Soundwave: accepts position. Inquiry: when will we move in?" The sudden monotone made everyone jolt a little, the exceptions being Blaster and Megatron. Killswitch was quick to respond.

"Whenever you wish," he responded as he stood. Soundwave nodded as he mirrored the lord protectorate's movements, and Blaster quickly scrambled to his pedes to stand by his brother who was nearly twice his height.

"Acknowledged. Appreciation: offered," Soundwave noted, and Killswitch grinned at him.

"I wouldn't thank me yet," Killswitch warned him blithely. "You're protecting my sparkling, and you can be sure that I'm not gonna go easy on your training. Strife," Killswitch addressed his SiC, who rose to his pedes when acknowledged, "Arrange an escort to assist Soundwave and Blaster in packing their belongings, then have them set up in the nursery quarters."

"And Megatron?" Strife questioned. Killswitch gave a pained look, then one corner of his mouth rose into a smirk.

"I'm sure Soundwave can keep him safe. He knows as well as I that if he tries to kidnap him, the whole planet will be on his af—skidplate. Primus, I feel like a blue-sight," Killswitch complained as he attempted to keep his language in check.

"I don't even know why you try," Strife stated. "He's growing up in the military. Kid'll be cussing once he learns to talk."

"Primus, help me," Killswitch mumbled. "Well… as you were, then. I have a prime to brag to."

With that said, Killswitch sauntered to the door with a bounce in his step. Strife turned his attention to the remaining two conscious bots in the room, then snorted at the look of unbridled awe Blaster was currently sending Killswitch as he exited the room. He shouldn't be surprised, really. Killswitch was the guardian of the lower-caste. Every mechling wanted to meet him or be him.

"Well, you two, let's get a move-on. I got just the mechs to take you."

"Just the mechs" turned out to be Havok and Streettalk, both of whom were more than happy to hand off their "screen duty" to another unfortunate mech. Strife handed the two new recruits off to the battleworn military mechs, and the four bots, plus one sparkling, headed off. Soundwave's first action was sliding Megatron into his cassette hold, and both of the older mechs gaped at him as his chest plate opened downwards like an energon oven and revealed a large gray space that looked like the inside of any sparkling hold. Soundwave plopped little Megatron into the hold, and the opaque armor rose back up. Once the cloudy glass covered the sparkling, hiding him from prying optics, Soundwave allowed his "hold cables" to slither forward and lift the sparkling to the back of the hold.

"Suggestion: quicker movements," Soundwave spoke up. "Cycle: third. Kaon: busy."

They took the Kaonian Metro in the end, and the trip there was time enough for Soundwave to decide he liked Streettalk far better than he liked Havok. Havok was a large silver mech, very obviously built for his job as a frontliner, and Havok was also apparently very good friends with the weapons specialist, Terretan. This was proven by the plasma cannons that decorated each arm, the large shoulder cannon on his right shoulder, and the two stun-shooters on his ankles. Each weapon was currently offline and as such, sat stationary running parallel to each limb.

While Soundwave could appreciate such weaponry, he didn't quite enjoy the suspicious looks they were getting from the various bots in the vicinity. After all, Soundwave had survived this long by staying in the background, silently observing those around him and preemptively taking down anyone that thought to harm him or his brother. He would be doing such a thing now if Havok wasn't talking so loudly.

This was the other thing Soundwave hated Havok: he was loud, and this coming from a mech that lived with Blaster, a youngling who had to make some sort of noise whenever he was doing anything. If he was washing energon cubes, he was humming. If he was sweeping the floor, he was scatting a tune that harmonized with the swish of the broom. If he was playing on the floor with his blocks, he was singing a Helixan lullaby. His sounds never stopped. Soundwave didn't mind that, though. Blaster's voice, despite his lisp gained from his attempt to talk like his Helixan father while speaking a guttural Kaonian dialect that he had learned from his Kaonian mother, was still pleasant to listen to. Unlike Soundwave's monotone vocal pattern, Blaster had inherited his father's musical voice, a voice that had attracted his military mother into his berth and eventually into his life forever.

Havok, however… He found himself wondering if he would get in trouble for ripping the annoying mech's spark out. It was only one frontliner, after all. He was certain another could be found. This was Kaon, after all, and there were tons of warriors that would love to have this mech's pay. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Blaster took a liking to the boisterous mech, and the two kept each other sufficiently distracted as Soundwave stood by the taciturn Streettalk.

Streettalk was the exact opposite of Havok. Whereas Havok was tall and silver, Streettalk was short and painted a midnight black. Havok carried countless weapons, some of which in plain sight, and Streettalk had no visible weapons on his frame. Havok was a frontliner and center of attention in the Metro car; Streettalk was a special ops mech and stayed silently in the background. Somehow, these two mechs were best friends. The whole way to the Metro station, Havok had talked without pausing to vent, and Streettalk had remained completely silent, optics shifting as he moved. Soundwave couldn't even hear the mech vent, and to be honest, Soundwave kind of hoped this quiet mech would train him to be just as silent. Soundwave had always wanted to work in Special Ops.

Once the Metro car came to a stop, Soundwave, Blaster, and their two escorts were the first to get off, mainly because of Blaster. The youngest mech had white optics, labeling him as a member of the entertainment caste, a caste far above the local militaries. Because of this, Blaster entered all vehicles first and exited first. It was a social law that very few broke. Soundwave and the others were just lucky that Blaster was the only none-red in the car.

"So how far are we headed?" Havok asked immediately, checking out his surroundings enthusiastically like a petropup that was being introduced to a new area.

"Housing unit: four blocks down, three blocks to the right." Streettalk nodded once Soundwave finished his statement and immediately took off down the street, fully expecting the others to follow him. Soundwave immediately started trailing after the mech, the other two mechs quickly moving after him. The feel of a small hand grabbing his own caused Soundwave to look down to his right. Blaster smiled up at his big brother as he tightened his grip on the older mech's hand. Soundwave could feel the excitement and love flowing through his brother's processor, his happiness like a touch of velvet on his own telepathic processor.

Blaster was always Soundwave's favorite subject when it came to his telepathic abilities. The younger mech was filled with so much life, so much innocence. Soundwave had fought harshly for that innocence. Since the day the Iaconian soldiers came and took away their creators, Soundwave had fought to protect his younger brother, to keep him from growing up in the mines or the pit fights as so many abandoned and orphaned younglings were forced to do. Soundwave knew that he would only have to support and protect the youngster until he was a sub-adult. Blaster's white optics and bubbly personality would give him the opportunities he would need to support himself for the rest of his life. The red mechling had been blessed with their mech creator's looks and his lilting voice, and that would be enough to get Blaster a well-off job in a club or bar, hopefully in Helix. Soundwave could only hope, though.

Until then, Soundwave had sworn to keep his sibling safe and healthy, a difficult task in lower Kaon. It had been when Blaster first came down with Red Fever that Soundwave fought his first fight at the Forge. It had been an unfair matchup: Soundwave, a mid-youngling at the time, against Screetfeet, a lightweight. It had been Soundwave's telepathic capabilities and a fair amount of luck that won him that fight and enough credits to pay for the antiviral medication that would save his brother's life from the red-caste-specific virus. From that moment, Soundwave began to build a name for himself and at the same time, keep his brother fed and happy. He fought one match every third solar cycle, and doing so helped him buy the slightly run-down housing unit they currently lived in and the weapons upgrades he needed to stay in the game. Even now, none of the ring runners knew of Soundwave's telepathic abilities. He was actually rather surprised Killswitch had figured it out so easily.

"So," Havok suddenly chirped, yanking Soundwave from his reverie. The mech turned his red optics to the silver mech on his unclaimed side and almost grinned at the slight grimace that took Havok's face before his grin returned. "What's with the voice?"

Soundwave was momentarily baffled both by the mech's question and by his lack of tact. He understood that his voice was strange, a monotone created by the strange mix of entertainer and warrior. He knew from experience that his voice sounded quite pleasant when he spoke the Helixan language Hylox, and the flowing language often took away the single-tone quality his voice typically held. Of course, the guttural quality of Common Kaonian made speaking with emotion far more difficult for him. Of course, Havok could have been speaking of his vocal pattern, which he most certainly could change if he wished. He didn't, though. He was about to make such a blank statement when Blaster spoke up in his behalf.

"Muh bwothuh's voith ith fine!" Blaster snapped angrily, gaining the attention of quite a few passing mechs and femmes. The road wasn't all too crowded, but one still didn't want to draw attention to himself, not in this part of town. Havok put both his hands up in an "I surrender" position.

"I wasn't saying it wasn't fine!" he defended immediately. "I was just wondering why he talked about himself in third person and stuff."

"Soundwave's vocal pattern: not Havok's concern. Suggestion: Havok mind own business."

"See?" Havok exclaimed, gesturing to the navy blue mech beside him. "It's like you've got a thing against pronouns."

"Statement: illogical. Conversation: useless. Suggestion: silence."

"So that's it. You're antisocial!" This was stated in a very delighted voice, and Havok was wearing a winning grin. Obviously, he thought he had Soundwave figured out, and the sub-adult silently debated between bursting the idiot's bubble and allowing him to believe what he wished. After all, if Havok believed him to be antisocial, then it might mean he would turn his attention and annoying small talk back onto his brother, who would happily comply with the other mech's desire for a person to chat with.

"Conclusion: irrelevant. Havok: annoying." At this, Blaster broke out into laughter, his musical giggles rising up over the growing din. They were getting close to the marketer's district. Bots of all sizes, shapes, and colors were beginning to merge in with the ever growing foot traffic, each headed to the market to shop for amenities and necessities, mainly necessities, though. Like the other adults in the crowd, Soundwave pulled the younger mech that belonged to him closer, not wanting to chance a slave marketer, fight coordinator, or mining recruiter to get their hands on him. Though each aforementioned position sounded completely different, each had a single thing in common: unaccompanied younglings were easy prey for gaining credits. After all, those mechs were paid by commission, which meant that if they couldn't bring in a minimum numbers of mechs or femmes to work in the mines or pit fights, they wouldn't get any credits for their time and efforts. It was far easier for them to grab a youngling that wasn't being watched closely and force the kid into the ranks of whatever hell they worked for.

"This place is disgusting," Streettalk noted with a scowl as they entered the Marketing District. He wasn't lying, either. The district was nothing like the marketing streets in Iacon, with their sparkling, clean streets or their friendly tradesmechs. The Kaonian Marketing District was huge, smelly, and dirty. The ground was littered with empty energon cans, metal shavings, half-processed energon purged by overcharged mechs, and browning energon spilt by those stumbling around drunkenly after long shifts. The smell of old oil, body rust, and high grade filled the air as various mechs passed by, each too poor to afford a trip to the wash racks. Tradesmechs scowled at the lowlife that passed them, each bitter that they had not succeeded in selling to the upper castes of Iacon, each stuck selling their wares at low prices to mechs that were so far below them. The building fronts were dirty, and the city's inhabitants were even dirtier.

It was something Soundwave had sheltered his brother from rather fiercely. He could recall Blaster asking rather tactlessly as a post-sparkling youngling why one mech stank so badly. After all, Soundwave made sure to wash him at least twice a half-orn. Blaster hadn't been able to comprehend that these mechs who were so much older than his brother were poorer than they. Couldn't they just go get a job like Soundwave had? Of course, Blaster had no idea what kind of job Soundwave had had. He still was left in the dark. He only knew that every third solar cycle, Soundwave would leave him with Softlight, a lower-class nurturer, then he would pick him up at the beginning of that lunar cycle.

"Turn off: next block," Soundwave informed the small group as they waded through the sea of people just to get across the street. Soundwave was the first to get through, Blaster clutched tightly to his side. Soundwave inwardly cursed that the mechling was finally too big to be carried all the time. It was far harder keeping track of him like this. Havok was next, striding up to Soundwave as he wildly shook his leg and scraped his foot against the ground. He must have stepped in something foul. Soundwave glanced around the nearby area in search of a certain black special ops mech then frowned when he couldn't catch sight of his other escort.

"Oh, don't stress it," Havok spoke up as if reading Soundwave's mind. "He's probably on a roof, creepy fragger he is."

"Acknowledged," Soundwave murmured. Then he pinned Havok with a warning look. "Suggestion: curb language around Blaster."

Havok rolled his optics but nodded all the same. Soundwave glanced up at the nearby rooftops, but didn't see a shadow or silhouette, so he decided to just go ahead to his housing unit. If he got lost, Streettalk could comm them.

Soundwave's housing unit was, as Blaster carefully put it, homey and cute. While Soundwave disagreed, he didn't feel the need to destroy Blaster's positivity. In Soundwave's optics, the housing unit was terribly tiny for two growing mechs, especially when one of those mechs was still young enough to want space to run and play. It had a single berthroom that had enough space for a single berth, which Soundwave and Blaster shared, and a shelf, a small kitchen area that Soundwave didn't really use very often, a living area with a single couch being the only furnishing, and a wash rack. The last item was actually the only reason Soudnwave purchased the housing unit. In Kaon, showers were bought and taken in a public wash rack beside other Kaonians. While cleaning armored bodies was not taboo because it was the equivalent of showering while clothed, it was still disgusting to wash oneself beside a miner caked in oil, rust, minerals, and dust. Oftentimes, one came out dirtier than they went in. Hence, Soundwave's joy at finding a housing unit with a wash rack.

Of course, that was the only positive thing about the housing unit. The rooms were small, and small holes in the walls made living difficult sometimes. Acid storms were particularly irritating. Soundwave and Blaster would hide in the back room, their berthroom, and once the acid storm was over, they would have to stay sequestered in the back of the house while the acid on the floor evaporated. On top of that, the security was nearly non-existent. The only thing keeping other Kaonians from breaking in was Soundwave's growing reputation in the gladiator circuits. Of course, Blaster genuinely believed it was because the other red sparks around him were nice and understood that they had little to give. There were times when Soundwave wished he was still that naïve. Time and experience had sufficiently beaten such childish notions away, though.

"Location: Soundwave and Blaster's housing unit," Soundwave announced as they strode inside. Blaster scurried in beside him and darted to the back room to start packing while Havok took his time walking inside.

"It's… homey," Havok noted hesitantly, obviously not able to find anything positive to say about the rust-infested housing unit. Soundwave felt a wave of irritation at the mech's statement. Yes, it was small and mildly disgusting, but it was home, and on top of that, this was actually one of the better housing units in lower Kaon. He was about to retort something pertaining to Havok's luck in living with the Cybertronian Defense Force, but Blaster's cheerful voice interrupted him.

"Tha'th what I thed!" Blaster piped up, his voice carrying through the housing unit easily as Havok's had. In the end, it was probably better that Blaster had interrupted him. He had a reputation as an emotionless mech to uphold and in this case with the Defense Force, establish.

"Blaster: continue packing," Soundwave ordered as he stalked into the kitchen. Havok trailed after him, looking around at the rust and dust with barely concealed disgust. Soundwave ignored him, though, choosing instead to pry away the part of the wall that hid his and Blaster's energon store. The wall had been built by interconnecting metal slabs, and Soundwave had discovered that one was loose after a few orns of living there. The older mech had decided to hide their energon in the little cubby holes hidden there after a mech broke into their housing unit and stole their reserves. That had been a very long three cycles…

"I'm done!" Blaster chirped as he moved into the kitchen, little pedes making a huge racket as he ran with the heavy bag. Soundwave pulled out the four energon cubes and placed them in the mesh metal bag Blaster held. They couldn't afford subspace bags, so they made do with what they could. Soundwave closed the bag and lifted it by its handles as he turned his attention back to Havok.

"Soundwave: sufficiently prepared to return to base."

"Are you sure? One bag doesn't carry much stuff," Havoc hedged, obviously trying to tell Soundwave that he didn't mind getting another bag for the mech if he couldn't afford one but not wanting to make such a tactless statement to his newest… mildly creepy comrade.

"Soundwave: sufficiently prepared to return to base," the mech repeated, his monotone voice taking on a rougher edge. Havok shrugged.

"Okay then. If you're sure…" he responded, Soundwave gave a single nod, and the three headed out, Havok leading the way. Soundwave took Blaster's hand and led him out after the larger frontliner. A tug on his hand had Soundwave pausing, and his attention turned down to the smaller, red mech at his side. Blaster was staring at their small housing unit with concern on his face. His usual emotions were tainted by concern, hesitation, and a profound sense of sorrow and loss. Ever caring of his brother's emotions, Soundwave knelt down so that he was optic-to-optic with the small mech. Blaster hesitantly looked away from the housing unit to look into his brother's red optics.

"What if thith ith a bad idea?" Blaster whispered. Soundwave glanced up at the small crowd moving around them, at the military escort that was watching them closely. He resisted the urge to sigh, as most times when he needed to comfort his brother, they were in the privacy of their housing unit.

"We will survive, as we always do," Soundwave promised his younger brother, his voice easily humming the Helixan words. This probably gained more attention than a simple hug would have. Soundwave's voice, while monotone in Kaonian, was musical when speaking Hylox, a deep thrum that matched his father's nearly perfectly. Blaster's white optics stayed locked with his brother's even as scared tears rose up.

"What if something happens?" the younger asked, his young, tenor voice wavering as he spoke. Soundwave gave his younger brother a nearly nonexistent smile, and while Havok didn't notice the subtle change, to Blaster, it was like Soundwave was grinning brightly.

"I will not allow such a thing to occur. Trust in me; I will not allow you to be harmed," Soundwave asserted. Blaster smiled brightly at his words and nodded firmly as he used his free hand to wipe away his tears. Soundwave stood and led him away again. This time, Blaster looked back with excitement in his optics. They were moving on to a new adventure, and wherever they went, as long as Soundwave was there, Blaster knew he'd always be safe.


So yeah. Introducing Soundwave and Blaster! Soundwave's about sixteen here, and Blaster's probably around ten or eleven. Killswitch is middle-age like 'Hide, probably in his early thirties. Being about nine thousand vorns, or 746,834 years old, I think he could pull early thirties…

And allow me to explain one last time about the two brothers' voices. Both mechlings have "vocal impediments" because both were born the vocal processors of a Helixan. Helix is a musical city-state with mechs and femmes that have beautiful voices and handsome bodies. Their vocal processors have the ability to produce all sorts of noises as long as those noises are smooth and silky. As you can guess, Kaonian, a rather guttural language, is neither smooth nor silky. It'd be like comparing French and German. French flows like chocolate while German sounds kind of harsh and guttural (not that it's an ugly language. I rather like how German sounds, but the fact remains that it is not flowy like French or Spanish is ;]) Because of this, Blaster has trouble making some of the harsher sounds because his vocal processor has trouble adapting to such a different language, so his impediment comes in the form of a lisp. Soundwave has adapted his voice to fit Common Kaonian by taking the tone out, giving him a monotone voice that can properly pronounce Kaonian words. Hope that makes sense.

"Primelet…" Sounds kinda cute, right? I mean, the primes were sent from Primus, so I guess they're the angels of Cybertron, right? So primelet would be like an angel of Primus. I mean, you couldn't call your sparkling a little prime because there is a little prime! So primelet… I'd like to think it's one of my more creative words. :)