Prime regarded the prisoner with as calm a gaze as he could manage… though inside, some portion of his spark shuddered as his optics met that scarlet visor. Megatron might have had a fearsome reputation among the Autobot forces, but almost any soldier or officer would tell you they would rather face the Great Slagmaker himself than Soundwave. His telepathic abilities alone made him a formidable opponent, and he was no slouch on the battlefield either… but it was his silent, enigmatic nature that was most frightening. For who knew just what the blue mech was thinking at any given moment… or his precise reasons for serving Megatron.
The fact that they had the infamous cassette-carrier in chains didn't ease Prime's CPU nearly as much as he had hoped. Soundwave might be cuffed to a chair, stripped of weapons and his cassettes captured and locked away, but he regarded the Autobot leader calmly, without a trace of fear or defeat in his posture. And despite the Council's orders, Prime knew that he would have better luck trying to wring oil from a rock than prying information on Megatron's whereabouts from this prisoner.
"I don't want to make this harder than it has to be," Prime told him. "Tell us - where is Megatron?"
Soundwave didn't so much as twitch. He simply regarded Prime as if he were in total control of the situation… which, in a way, he was.
"You're facing a war-crime trial," he pressed. "If you cooperate, I can ensure you a lighter sentence."
No answer.
"Soundwave… I know you are loyal to him, and want to protect him. But consider just what he has done to Cybertron. His actions have ruined nearly half the planet and killed millions - Autobots AND Decepticons. Do you really want to keep protecting him?"
The mech didn't reply, but Prime swore he'd just earned a dirty look. He didn't blame the prisoner - it had been a low blow, even if it had been deserved.
"Think of your cassettes, if nothing else," he urged. "I know they're far more than living weapons to you. If you tell us what we want to know, I can ensure you're in a better position to take care of them."
Soundwave regarded him silently, then raised his chin. Prime took it as a gesture of defiance… until he saw the snapped wires amid the prisoner's neck cables, and his tanks lurched in horror. His vocalizer was gone - not just destroyed, but ripped out entirely. The blue mech had gone to the greatest lengths possible, short of self-deactivation, to ensure he wouldn't betray his commander.
"You… didn't need to do something so drastic to make your point," Prime said at last. "The answer is no, then."
Soundwave gave a slow nod - the first actual response he'd gotten from the prisoner.
"Very well," Prime told him. "If that's your final decision. Guards, we're through here."
The guards uncuffed Soundwave from the chair and recuffed his hands behind his back, ushering him out of the interrogation room. Prime waited until they had left before he sighed in exasperation and finally accepted the comm call that had been pinging in his HUD throughout the session.
Any luck in there? Ironhide asked.
Prime almost shook his head in response, but caught himself. Soundwave has always been Megatron's most loyal officer, and that hasn't changed in the wake of the Spiralis Disaster. I don't know why the Council is insisting we interrogate him.
'Cause they know anythin' Starscream says is fulla slag, Ironhide replied. Sounders' info's gonna be more accurate.
If he chooses to give it… and he's made it abundantly clear he won't. And I refuse to get rough with him like Xaaron has suggested. Even prisoners deserve to be treated with respect.
Huh… dunno if I'd do the same in yer situation, Prime. But he didn't press the issue. What happens now?
Soundwave is sent to Cybertron with the rest of the New Proximus prisoners. In the meantime, we continue the search. There are only so many places Megatron could have run this far out in space, unless he chooses to take his chances by fleeing into Unknown Space. I hope he hasn't gotten that desperate yet.
He's outta henchmechs, outta hidin' places… who knows WHAT he's thinkin' at this point? Ironhide growled in frustration, then his voice unexpectedly softened. Any news from home on your end?
Perhaps… I take it you've received news of your own? Prime couldn't help but chuckle. If Ironhide's eager tone was any indication, then that "news from home" most likely involved Zinc somehow.
His instincts proved correct - the next message from the red mech was a video file of Zinc sitting in the main living area of the family's apartment, her yellow paint job completely obscured by a coating of engine grease. Said grease was smeared all over the floor, walls, and viewscreen as well, and smudges of it dappled the nearest window. Muffled giggles accompanied the video as it panned across the room to take in the damage, then focused back on the grinning sparkling.
"This one's on me, sweetspark," Chromia managed through her laughter. "But I'm saving the next mess for when you get home."
Oh my… she's going to be a handful, Prime noted.
Aw, she's worth it, Ironhide insisted, his voice glowing with pride. 'Sides, can't tell me your Orion ain't gotten up to shenanigans either.
Prime laughed, recalling the images Elita had sent him just a few hours ago - images of Orion proudly showing off a stuffed petrorabbit that he'd methodically gutted of its stuffing, with the accompanying message of "this child had better grow up to be a surgeon because we better not be raising a serial killer." He's had his share. Pity we haven't been there to see them in person.
All th' more reason t' catch Megs fast. So we can be there with our kids.
Too true, Ironhide. Too true. He drew his shoulders back and left the room. Meet me at the gunship. The search continues.
Caliber roused, his head pounding as if Paddles had been using it as a punching bag. His optics refused to focus, and his CPU scrabbled madly to regain its bearings. Vaguely he remembered leaving the bookstore, and irrationally his first fear was that he'd managed to drop the book he'd just purchased during…
Memory slammed back into place, and he gasped and jerked to his feet… or tried to. Thick chains bound him into a chair, and all he could do was lurch forward as far as his restraints allowed.
"Ah, the son of Megatron has awakened." The voice was rich and resonant, as smooth and golden as high-quality oil, but with an undercurrent of menace that chilled him to the core. "Good… very good."
Caliber forced his optics into a hard reboot and stared at his captor. A tall, broad-shouldered mech stared back at him from across a cramped and dimly-lit chamber, reclining in a chair of his own with his arms folded across his massive chest. Black and violet and silver, with cannons and thick tank treads bulking up his shoulders, his entire frame spoke of lethal strength and power. Deep scratches and dents in his armor did nothing to detract from the aura of menace he projected - if anything, they only made him look all the more dangerous.
It was the mech's face that made Caliber's internals quake - or rather, the mask that concealed his face. Said mask bore the sharply angled, sinister shape of the Decepticon sigil, with fiery red optics blazing through the sockets. It should have looked absolutely ridiculous, and if Orion had been here he might have burst out laughing… but somehow it just looked terrifying on this mech.
His captor looked him over for a long moment, then dropped to one knee, bowing low. "My apologies for the rough introduction, Son of Megatron. But my comrade feared you would be… less than willing to approach us of your own accord. I assure you that if you cooperate, we can remove the chains very soon."
Caliber recoiled as far as the chair and bonds would allow. "Don't bow to me. Please. I… I'm not who you think I am."
"You are Caliber of Kaon, son of Megatron, heir to the Decepticon Empire," the mech replied, rising to his feet. "You were taken in and raised by Optimus Prime, and have spent the majority of your life in Iacon. Am I wrong?"
Caliber couldn't argue with that. "Who… who are you?"
"Ah… forgive me, my young liege. How rude of me not to introduce myself." Another sweeping bow. "Tarn, leader of the Decepticon Justice Division, may their souls rest in the Allspark. At your service."
Caliber's spark froze in his chest. Tarn… he'd heard horror stories about this mech and his sadistic Justice Division - stories that had barely been hinted at in their history classes but gleefully circulated among the sparklings like tales of monsters and boogeymechs. The five of them had blazed a trail of terror and destruction across the galaxy, torturing and slaughtering any Decepticon who showed any sign of disloyalty towards their leader and cause. And their commander was the most fearsome monster of them all, his zealotry and his ability to kill with his voice making him the stuff of nightmares.
Some small part of his CPU relaxed, insisting that Tarn's complete devotion to Megatron meant he wasn't in danger. The rest of him quailed in terror, the knowledge that he sat before one of the worst war criminals in Decepticon history blanking out his CPU.
"You're frightened," Tarn noted, his optics gleaming with amusement. "That's a natural reaction… but trust me when I say I won't hurt you. I would sooner tear out my own spark than put a scratch on the son of Megatron."
And shoving a stun baton in my neck and chaining me up wasn't hurting me? Caliber dearly wanted to say that out loud, but he lacked Orion's gift of sass and so just voiced the next question to cross his CPU. "Then why am I here? What do you want with me?"
Tarn rumbled, and Caliber recoiled before realizing the sound wasn't a growl but a chuckle. "Here I was told you were exceptionally bright for your age. You should know very well why we want you. You are the heir to the Decepticon Empire, after all."
A pit seemed to open in his tanks at that. He'd been dealing with the consequences of being Megatron's son all his life, but he'd never really thought that his heritage actually gave him a rank among the Decepticons. It had never occurred to him that there might be Decepticons who actually saw him as a potential leader, who not only expected but wanted him to follow in his father's footsteps and take control of his Empire.
It was a bewildering thought… and a repulsive one. "No, I'm not."
"Oh come now, don't be modest," Tarn purred. "You have a glorious destiny ahead of you, young Caliber. A destiny you can't deny. You will lead our scattered forces to victory over the Autobots, bring unity and hope to a people who have long been without either… and retake Cybertron and the Decepticon Empire once and for all!"
Caliber shook his head, anger and disgust burning away some of his fear. "I won't. I'm not Megatron. I don't WANT to pick up where he left off. I just want to go home!"
"You ARE home, young Caliber."
Fear, anger, and disgust were all swept away by a flash of pure shock. He knew that voice… but he hadn't heard it for vorns, had accepted that he would never hear it again…
Another mech stepped into view, and Tarn stepped aside to let Caliber get a good look at him. His armor had a battered, patchwork look to it - the original violet had given way to patches of gunmetal where damages had been repaired but not painted over, and the arm and leg on his right side bore mismatched replacements in tan and dark green respectively. But the single golden optic framed by silver headfins were all too familiar…
Caliber opened and shut his mouth several times before he could force out a reply: "C-Carrier?"
Shockwave nodded once, as if satisfied that he'd been recognized. "You remember me, then. Hello, Caliber. It has been a long time."
"You're… you're dead!" Caliber insisted. "The tower… the attack… they found pieces of you…"
Shockwave flexed the fingers on his right arm - an arm bulkier than the one he'd worn in Caliber's previous life, a khaki tan with clawed black fingers. "They should never have declared me killed in action without a full body as proof. I survived the attack, albeit badly damaged and in stasis. By the time Tarn found me in the ruins and reactivated me, you were long gone. I had given you up as dead."
Caliber stared at his carrier, shaking as a dozen different emotions pounded at his spark at once. But before he could voice any of them, Shockwave gestured to Tarn with his gun-hand.
"Cut him loose, but stand guard over him in case he attempts something foolish. Caliber… follow me. It is time you learned the truth about your destiny."
The apartment was so crowded Orion couldn't twitch without bumping into someone, yet he'd never felt so alone. The adults seemed to pass by him as if he didn't exist, focused on their own conversations or on talking to his parents. Part of him welcomed the solitude, wanting to be left alone to process his own thoughts and chaotic emotions, but part of him wanted to jump to his feet and scream for attention. It was his brother that was missing, after all - didn't he deserve to be comforted too?
When Caliber had failed to return home from his trip to the shopping district, Orion hadn't been terribly worried at first. Especially since he'd planned on stopping by a bookstore or two - it would be like him to get so stuck in a book that the shopkeeper would have to kick him out so he could close the store. But Prime had been less dismissive and tried to contact him… only to receive no answer.
That had been the first time Orion had ever seen his father panic. And it had only been the beginning of what was quickly becoming a nightmare. Mechs and femmes packed the house - friends of his father, who had worked with him during the war - and each seemed determined to offer their advice or words of comfort.
I wouldn't mind the full house so much if Zinc were here, or Glory or Rhapsody. Pit, even Paddles or Soar, or Alpine. But the other young mechs and femmes had been left home, as if Caliber's disappearance had all the adults paranoid about a possible kidnapper on the loose. Which was silly, in Orion's mind, but he wasn't about to cause a fuss by saying it aloud.
"We'll find 'im," Jazz assured Prime, sitting down on the couch next to his commander. "He ain't the kinda kid to run off an' go missin', right? Probably just took a shortcut home an' got lost."
Prime shook his head, optics clouded with worry. "He's not answering our calls. He's never been that irresponsible. If it was Orion, I might accept that he's choosing not to answer, but this is Caliber we're talking about."
I'm right here, I can hear you, Orion wanted to snap, but he just remained in his chair and bristled quietly.
"Just got off the horn with Swerve," Blaster announced, hand still touching the side of his helm as he disconnected the call. "Hasn't seen him today."
"Have you contacted the library?" asked Prowl. "That's often his safe place when he's overwhelmed and needs to relax, or put distance between himself and a bully."
Elita nodded. "They searched the stacks. He's not there."
Prowl nodded. "Orion did mention that he was searching for a particular book. In that case, we may want to expand our search. Contact bookstores and see if he's transacted business or browsed there."
"I can handle that if you want," Windblade offered.
Prime shook his head. "I appreciate the generosity, Windblade, but you don't need to. This is our family's business."
"That doesn't mean we can't help," Piston insisted. "Caliber is Glory's friend. She'd want us to help. And we know you'd do the same if it was Glory who went missing."
"Th-thank you," Elita murmured. "That means more to us than you can know."
"Dinobots will search the streets!" Grimlock thundered, punching a fist into his palm. "Sniff him out! Nobody dare hurt him with us on their trail!"
"Who would WANT to hurt him, though?" Hound protested. "He's a perfectly good kid. He's never caused trouble or gotten involved with the wrong kind of crowd…"
"He's the son'a Megatron," Ironhide growled. "That's excuse enough fer some mechs. An' just 'cause a kid don't cause problems don't mean trouble can't find 'em. Sad, but true."
"Have we at least called the police?" asked Piston.
"We have," Elita replied. "But… they're dragging their feet in getting started. They seem to think that because he's in an adult chassis and not a sparkling, he's in less danger."
"The statistics, I'm sorry to say, are on their side," Prowl noted. "Law enforcement put missing-sparkling cases as top priority, but a newly upgraded mech is assumed to be a runaway or missing of their own accord rather than abducted. And I hate to say it, but the fact that he's Caliber could have something to-"
"Thank you, Prowl," Prime snarled, shutting the white-and-black mech up mid-sentence. "That'll be enough of THAT talk.."
Orion squirmed in his chair as he watched Optimus drape an arm around Elita, pulling her to his side. He was so used to seeing his parents so strong in the face of every crisis, calm and knowing and collected no matter what two sparklings and an entire planet's worth of trouble threw their way, that seeing them so frightened and fragile bothered him on a deep level. They should be the strong ones, the pillar he could lean on… not like this. Not close to tears and clinging to each other as if they'd drift away at the slightest gust of wind.
Why is everyone just sitting here anyhow? he thought. We should be out looking for him, not moping or arguing! He could be lost, he could be hurt, he could have been abducted by the Council so they could torture him into joining the Autobots…
A hand rested on his shoulder, making him yelp and jump in his seat.
"Easy, Orion," Mirage urged. "It's just me."
Orion vented deeply and settled back into his chair. "Sorry… you spooked me. Um… how's Alpine?"
Mirage frowned. "Fine… at home researching his upgrade. But that's not what has you worried."
Orion narrowed his optics. "Suddenly you're a telepath?" He knew his father would have blown a gasket had he heard him sassing one of his former comrades, but at the moment he didn't care.
"No, but I was a spy, and as such I've learned how to read a mech." Mirage squeezed his shoulder. "We're all worried about Caliber, Orion. And I know it has to be hard on you - you see him as a brother. But go easy on your parents - they see him as a son. They would be just as broken and worried if it was you, you know."
Orion stared at the blue-and-white noble. He'd always sided with Alpine in his assessment of the mech - an attentive father, but a little stuck up and more than a little overprotective. But this was a new side to him, an observant and caring side he hadn't really seen before.
"Perhaps you can see what you can do to help them, instead of sulking in a corner?" Mirage suggested. "It will help you as well as them. Doing something productive in a crisis is better than stewing about it, after all."
He nodded. "Thanks, Mirage."
"You're welcome." Mirage patted his shoulder, then walked off to talk to Elita.
Orion stared down at his hands, pondering Mirage's words. The spy was right, fraggit - just sitting here moping wasn't doing Caliber or his parents any good. He had to do something. And while Mirage probably meant for him to go comfort his parents or simply stay out from underfoot while the adults handled things, that didn't feel like enough to him. He wanted to be proactive, to go find his brother, to track down whoever might have hurt him and punch them in the face!
He looked around, ensuring that no one was watching, then rose from his chair and quietly slipped off to the front door. The adults might have checked Swerve's bar and the library, but he and Caliber had plenty of other favorite haunts, some the adults probably didn't know about. The rooftop where most of their races started, for example, or the shop where they had first dared each other to try Green Energon (an experiment that had ended with both of them grounded and Orion violently purging his tanks after the first few sips). Maybe he'd left a clue there, or was even hiding there, injured and waiting for rescue…
He'd made it as far as the apartment building's lobby when something pinged in his comm unit, and he cursed himself for not turning it off before leaving. Busted already… and while he couldn't really blame his parents for being overprotective of their other son right now, he really didn't want to be locked in his room…
Looking for Caliber?
He relaxed and grinned, sending a ping back. Yeah. Have you seen where he's gone, Ravage?
The black panther slipped out of a ventilation grate and landed on the lobby floor, pacing towards Orion. I have not. But we can search together. Two sets of optics are better than one, and my sense of smell and hearing are far superior to yours.
"Thanks, furball." Orion gave the cassette a brief scratch behind the audial receptors before hurrying out of the building, Ravage at his heels. "Where'd you see him last?"
Just outside Shelf Life, the bookstore on 280th Street. He was heading home, then spotted a street fight and ducked into an alley. He didn't come out the other side, and by the time I entered the alleyway itself, he was gone.
"Should I be creeped out that you guys are still following Caliber around all the time?"
Ravage curled his lip. Be thankful that we care enough to want to protect him. He still has many enemies, simply because of who sparked him.
Orion couldn't argue with that. "Lead the way, Ravage. Try not to be seen, though."
I'm very good at not being seen, the cat assured him, and loped off, the magenta flier hot on his heels.
