"I want him to be happy," Megatron's gaze was fixed on something out of the window, "But he's been spending every solar cycle with them. And he won't return my comms."
"I still can't believe it." Knock Out took a hefty swig from his glass of high grade behind the bar, a couple doses already emptied into the medic's tank. He shook his helm. "Starscream. A seeker." His faceplate scrunched up questioningly. "You know, I've never even seen him fly before. I bet he's fantastic."
"Actually..." Megatron's optics fell to his arm, turning it over and examining his fusion cannon. "He's never been able to fly before."
Knock Out raised an optic ridge.
"It's a bit of a long story," Megatron explained, "But, basically, he doesn't have a t-cog."
"What?" Knock Out began choking on the energon he was drinking. He sputtered and doubled over, coughing as though he was going to hack up his tank. When he finally managed to regain his composure, he said, "What kind of seeker doesn't fly?"
"Well, he has one now," he said bitterly. "Skywarp gave it to him."
"He gave him his t-cog?" Knock Out nearly choked again, sliding the glass away from himself until the surprises ceased. "How can he give his up if he needs it himself?"
"Not his own." Megatron glowered down at his servos, feeling useless. "Apparently he has access to these things."
"I don't even have access to most biotech!" Knock Out was either very impressed by the seeker or angry like Megatron in his inability to provide for his patients.
"He probably purchased it on the black market," Megatron surmised, aloof as if he were merely speculating. "I hear they're quite expensive."
"Seekers are loaded." Knock Out crossed the room to join his friend, bringing a glass of high grade for them both. "He could probably afford t-cogs for every citizen in Kaon if he wanted to."
"I'd rather not drink right now," Megatron refused the offering.
"Your mate is off gallivanting with his trine. You need this." Knock Out put the drink in his left servo, optics trained on his fusion cannon mistrustfully as he curled the gladiator's digits around the glass.
Megatron sighed and took a swig, feeling minimally better as the high grade made his processor fuzzy.
"It seems the both of you have been through quite a lot of changes as of late," the medic commented. He held his helm up with disdain and his lip even quivered with disgust, optics still on his weapon.
Megatron moved his right arm from on top of the table to resting on his leg, but even then the cannon still peeked over the top. "We're both working towards better lives."
"Mhmm..." The grounder took a sip, averting his optics.
"It's not going to go off on its own," Megatron said, annoyed.
"So long as it's integrated properly, no." The medic glanced at what he probably decided was a shoddy weld job. "I do appreciate the change from orange paint to purple to match the cannon's colour scheme, though. I don't even want to imagine how garish you would have looked with the clashing styles." Then, in a complete change of subject, Knock Out said, "You'll never guess who Starscream ran into while we were at the spa."
"Won't I?" Megatron sighed, clearly interested in whatever tidbit of fascinating information the grounder was to give him.
"I didn't catch their names, but they were the spitting image of Starscream. For a cycle I thought the paint strippers were getting to me." Knock Out fanned himself as if the fumes were wafting around him presently.
Megatron's optics narrowed. "Was one of them blue and the other black and purple?"
Knock Out cocked his helm. "How did you know?"
Megatron stood and put his servos on the table, leaning over towards Knock Out. "When did this happen?"
Knock Out raised his servos defensively. "Shortly after you left for Iacon. Why?"
"Did he know them?"
"He said he had met them once before." Knock Out shrank beneath Megatron's shadow.
"What did they talk about?" Megatron was so close he could feel Knock Out's frightened ventilations on his faceplate.
"Not much. Starscream ran off shortly after that and I haven't seen him since. And the other two left before I could talk with them. Why the sudden interest?"
With a growl, Megatron stalked out of Knock Out's apartment, ignoring his friend's questions.
If someone had wanted Megatron to rise to his place as the leader of a revolution, they would only have had to tell him of all the perks he would be able to enjoy. Right then, he was enjoying being able to simply walk through a portal and arrive outside the Hall of Records in Iacon. A ground bridge pass from a disgruntled operator could work wonders on one's quality of life. It made him understand why the upper classes though it was so easy to save energon; the amount he saved on the trip alone would fuel him for another five solar cycles.
Walking into the Hall of Records, the gladiator was once again in awe of its magnificence. So much so, that he did not see the figure approach him until he lay a gentle servo on his shoulder.
"Megatron. It's good to see you," Alpha Trion, the old mech from his last visit, said.
"Likewise." Megatron nodded at the mech, a little awkward at his familiarity.
"I trust you remember the way to Orion's workstation." Alpha Trion led him with a servo on his back behind the reception, the force field momentarily deactivated to allow him access.
"Yes, but I am not here for him." Megatron's optics wandered up to wonder at all of the knowledge around him.
"Oh, I know." The old mech gave a little chuckle.
"Perhaps you can help... me..." Megatron squinted into the dim, searching for the mech who seemingly disappeared into thin air. "Alpha Trion?"
After spotting nothing but a few archivists flitting about, Megatron shrugged and continued on, stopping occasionally to sift through a stack of data pads he thought might hold the information he was seeking. The only ones he found to be anywhere near useful merely scratched the surface. Creation dates, spark types, and other specifications that Megatron would have rather not known about.
He slammed another data pad back into its shelf slot, frustrated. The Hall seemed to hold all the information except for what he was searching for. He found a catalog station, but even it could not point him towards the information he sought. He had hoped to avoid a confrontation with Orion, but it seemed like that was becoming his only option.
All the way there, he thought of some excuse he could give the archivist for needing to use his computer, but each one sounded suspicious or absurd. He could only hope the sight of his new fusion cannon would deter any curiosity Orion might have.
Fortunately, he found his workstation to be empty, but the computer active. Wherever Orion had gone, he would be returning soon.
Megatron got to work quickly, digits flying as he searched for the archives. He pulled up Starscream's file, a little unsettled by the giant image of him and Skywarp smiling proudly before the Well. He scrolled down quickly, thankful for the wall of text. He had read the first few paragraphs numerous times from the data pad given to him by Orion, but what his lacked was the link just below the article. He clicked it, but found whatever contained it was encrypted.
His fist came down heavily on the edge of the workstation, causing the screen to short out momentarily. Reeling his anger back in, he snatched an empty data pad from the neat pile, effectively rendering it un-neat, and shoved it into the dock, dragging a copy of Starscream's file into its drop box. He did the same with Skywarp's and Thundercracker's, both having similar encryptions attached to their otherwise normal statement of creation.
Megatron felt a little offended when he opened his own file to find not even a third of the amount of information he had found in the seeker's files. More so when he found all the linked files from it to be encryption-free. But, he supposed, a blurry picture and minimal information on him would prove to be beneficial to his cause.
After following a chain of links, Megatron discovered ancient articles pertaining to the original Primes. A second jab of offense stabbed his spark when he found pages upon pages of data on the long-dead, and debated existence of, the Primes. There was more archived on his namesake from eons ago than there was on the average Cybertronian, including the pesky seekers in Starscream's present. He even found an article hypothesizing what sort of spark types the Thirteen had. It mostly used stereotypes that had been debunked by dozens of scientists in their modern age, but still. It felt wrong for one to worship the past in such a way when the present was so wrought with suffering.
He placed copies of the more interesting articles on the data pad, sifting through everything and beginning to grow bored. Then, he found the relics. Or rather, information on them. They boasted the strength of an army, the ability to create anything, and even a device that claimed to snuff the sparks of all of those in proximity.
"Perhaps the ancients do have something to offer me," Megatron whispered quietly to himself. "With these relics in my possession, no one would be able to stop me." He smiled. "They would have to listen to me." He stopped at the images of the Forge of Solus Prime and the Star Sabre. "And once they have made me Prime, I will use these to keep my rightful title."
"Megatron?" the quiet voice of Orion Pax spoke up from the doorway.
The gladiator closed the file pertaining to the relics, revealing Starscream's, or "Nexus'", file. The three seeker's smiles seemed to sneer down at him.
"Orion." Megatron kept his voice steady. "I hope you do not mind my use of your workstation. I have found it much more useful than the public workstations."
Orion was cautious. "Who allowed you in here?"
"I believe his name was Alpha Trion." Megatron turned back to his research.
Out of the corner of his optic, he saw Orion take a shocked half step back. "What is it you are looking for?"
"Nothing of importance." Megatron shut down the workstation, grabbing the loaded data pad as an afterthought as he passed by the confused archivist and out into the hallway. When he heard the pedesteps of Orion following, he added, "Starscream dropped the data pad you gave me on my last visit. I came to get another copy, and when I couldn't find you I decided to do it myself."
Orion was quiet for a moment. "Where are you going now?"
"To Kaon, of course. I must return this to Starscream forthwith." He gestured nonchalantly to the data pad.
"Must you leave so soon? You do have a long journey ahead of you, after all. Perhaps you should stay the night and refuel." Orion grabbed Megatron's arm, the one holding the data pad.
"I have a ground bridge pass." Megatron removed himself from Orion's grip.
"Please, Megatron," Orion pleaded. "There are new matters I wish to discuss with you."
"You can talk with me on the way to the Ground Bridge Terminal, if you must," Megatron said with a tired sigh. "But I really must be going."
Just then, Orion started to beep.
Megatron turned, one optic raised. "Is your voicebox malfunctioning?"
The archivist's faceplate was quickly turning a deep shade of red. "No, no, it is fine." The grounder fumbled with the switch on the side of his helm, turning away, embarrassed, until he finally silenced the noise.
"What was that all about?" Megatron looked upon Orion as if he were a sparkling caught doing something he shouldn't be.
"Uh, well..." Orion averted his optics.
Megatron crossed his arms.
"It's just an alert from my data net. It's nothing." Orion played with a loose wire on his wrist.
"What sort of alert?" Megatron pressed. "Are we in danger?"
"No... Well, I hope not."
"I don't have time for this, Orion. Either tell me what it is or let me leave."
Orion bit his lower lip lightly, optics flitting about as he considered his words. "It's an alert that tells me if your name is mentioned on the data net. I've been keeping tabs on you to make sure you're still safe."
Megatron frowned. "I am capable of caring for myself, Orion."
"I know you are. I am just very interested in what you're trying to do. I have seen the injustice of the world and have wished for some way to change it, but..."
"But you don't want to risk your cozy job as an archivist." Megatron continued towards the exit, an angry hunch forming in his back.
"That's not it," Orion said as he caught up to Megatron.
"Perhaps it's for the best," Megatron told him. "I have nothing left to lose."
Orion followed Megatron a step behind, and the gladiator wished he would just spit out whatever he wanted to say instead of latching onto his shadow. It was only after they left the Hall of Records that the archivist found his words.
"The alert. It was because someone has spotted you in Iacon."
"What of it?" Megatron continued walking without turning.
"Your followers are growing restless. They want to know what your next move is." Orion took Megatron's arm, gently but firmly, stopping him in his tracks. "Please. Speak to them."
"I have a plan. But it is not for those in Iacon. Not yet, anyways." Megatron shook his arm free.
"I fear they will act rashly if not given guidance."
"I can't possibly keep them all from acting on their own," Megatron argued.
"Of course not. But they've had a taste of freedom, and they will want more, with or without your leadership."
"They will have to wait." Megatron let the door to the Ground Bridge Terminal shut between them.
"We have collected all of the energon we need to begin Phase 2 of our plan to tear down the Senate," Megatron addressed the assemblage before him, and he could swear their numbers had doubled since their last meeting. "I am working on a way to obtain an audience with the High Council to show them what their so-called "perfected" caste system has done to the masses of Cybertron. I will speak of the injustice that befalls the lowest classes, show them that they cannot live without us should we decide to silence our drills and pick axes. That without our servos to mine the energon buried deep in the crust, their tanks will yawn with emptiness, as ours do from the inadequate rations we are so "graciously" given. That without miners," Megatron's next words were spit out like a disgusting tastes, "their seekers would also be out of a job."
The gladiator stopped his speech for a moment to take a deep ventilation in. When he spoke next, his words were back to being triumphant and hopeful. "I will tell them of the humble data sticks, slaves to the higher caste, so that they may record their memories and not be burdened with the weight of information. I will tell them how their wide shoulders sag with the weight of this responsibility, knowing that their well-being is only maintained so that their master can be reminded of what happened during their last meeting.
"I will tell them of the tireless labourers of the land. The bots that nearly blend into the buildings they are working on, so often forgotten for their hard work. I will tell them that without these bots hefting girders and panelling about all day, they would have no home to return to, and no place of work to attend the next day.
"It is a cruel irony. To be surrounded by fuel all solar cycle long, but to taste not a drop of what is harvested. To be full of information from our masters, but forbidden from accessing it without their permission. To build skyscrapers tall enough to block the sun's rays, only to live in the shabby hut in its magnificent shadow."
Megatron let his gaze sweep across the twinkling sea of optics, really letting his words sink in. "All that I ask from you, is your undying loyalty to the cause. That you will follow me into battle, should the High Council refuse to listen to reason. That you would lay down your life in the name of freedom for all."
The audience was silent for a few moments more, then mutterings started up at the back, spreading to the front of the crowd like darkness falling upon a planet at sundown. Many of the optics flit around; scared, confused, searching for answers.
"You are being deceived," Megatron said darkly. "The Functionists wish you to believe that treads upon your back mean your processor must not be suited to be a doctor. That because your servos transform into wrecking balls and jack hammers, you can't possibly comprehend the thought process of someone in a higher class. You can't possibly become a teacher, a politician, or a scientist. It is simply unheard of. We shall use this line of thinking to our advantage. If they truly believe us to be incapable of thoughts beyond "work", "refuel", and "recharge", then we shall let them. And while they are thinking this, we shall enact our plan in secret, and by the time the senators get their helms out of their afts, it will be too late. So, my Decepticons," Megatron would lie to anyone who asked how he came up with the name, claiming it to be spur-of-the-moment thinking, when, in reality, he had gone through about fifty other variations before he was satisfied, "join me and rise up against the Senate!"
Megatron raised a fist to punctuate his last words, and the assembled bots raised theirs in solidarity. Their cries had risen to a fever pitch, and Soundwave had to release a short, high-pitched sound to quiet them down again. Once the gladiator was sure he had their attention again, he began to speak seriously.
"Now, we can stay here all night and the next solar cycle talking, but without action the words will be empty." Megatron gestured to the silent surveillance bot in the shadows to his right. "Thanks to Soundwave, we now have a clear map showing where all the mines around Kaon are located. We will use this map to find the best points of entry to strike them down and release the workers from their posts. Once we have managed to seize enough of these mines, the Senate will start to worry about energon supplies in Kaon, and they will have no choice but to speak with me.
"These missions won't be easy," Megatron warned, "which is why I am asking for volunteers. You will be compensated for your energon used during the raid, and if the mine contains enough raw fuel, you will be rewarded further. You will be provided with a weapon, but we're looking to keep casualties to a minimum. Live prisoners warrant swifter action, anyways." Megatron paused. "So, knowing what lies ahead, who is with me?"
Everyone looked to their neighbours, and for a moment Megatron worried that he may have asked too much of them, but then one bot spoke up, an unassuming mech, who said, "I am with you."
His proclamation of loyalty brought a frenzy of others in quick succession. Soon even the apprehensive bots joined in from peer pressure. All but a select few cowards, who were swiftly ushered out, swore their allegiance.
Megatron smiled. "We shall meet north of the Badlands in five solar cycles' time."
After the crowd dispersed and Megatron was done shaking servos, he approached Soundwave. The surveillance bot looked like he hadn't moved the whole time, and his only acknowledgement of Megatron's presence was the slight turn of his helm, and even that was hard to miss. If it weren't for the light shining off of his visor, he might have thought that he hadn't moved at all.
"May I ask a favour of you?" Megatron held out the data pad from Iacon, which Soundwave took in his spindly digits. "These files all contain encryptions, and I was hoping you could decode them for me."
Soundwave gave a small nod.
"Excellent."