Soundwave looked over the ruins of the town, frowning behind his mouthguard. "Inquiry: What happened?," he asked, turning to his guide.

The soldier bowed quickly, before straightening up, helmet tucked under his arm respectively. "Attack, sir," he answered. "Witnesses report that an unknown group swept in during the night and razed the town. Only a few of our people were able to escape unscathed."

Our people... the term was only ever used in reference to Decepticons; proud kin of the Emperor. Soundwave peered harder at the ruins, his processor working away. "Query: Any Autobots found?"

The soldier seemed a little caught off-guard by the question. "Um, none, sir," he replied, bowing quickly at his stumble, "No Autobots were retrieved- dead or alive. The men surmise that all of them were taken as prisoners. This was a slaver's village. What Autobots were here already had been bought or were awaiting transfer to Iacon or Kaon for sale."

Of course the soldiers would think that, Soundwave wanted to sigh. They were entirely unimaginative 'bots -none of them could possibly fathom that this wasn't a simple kill and claim raid, but rather a rescue. The councilor would have to make mention of this in his reports. The Emperor would not be pleased to know that the rebels' were on the rise -and being successful, on top of it all.

"Theory: noted. Order: scope the ruins for further evidence. Books, clothes, markings..." Soundwave trailed off in his commands, spotting a messenger running toward him from the left. The servant humbly bowed as he approached, panting out an apology for his interruption, before drawing a scroll from his satchel and presenting it to the councilor. The Decepticon waved his servo, dismissing the soldier to his duties as he received the scroll; striding for camp as he looked it over.

The message had been sealed with the crest of his house; no doubt from the matron. Worried that the news may be about Tracks, Soundwave quickly broke it open, unravelling the message and holding it steady in the light to read it. To his disappointment, it was about the other mech...

Tracks had attempted to escape -again- and was now being confined to his room, with all-hour guard watch. Thankfully, the matron had been wise to wave off the usual punishment, already knowing her master's stance on the matter. There was a small report from Arcee though, commenting that her charge was experiencing vivid and frequent night terrors, and had consequently stopped eating again. Soundwave felt his spark wither in concern. The nightmares could only be about Tracks' memories of his capture and whatever tragic events that occurred before it; no doubt shaken loose from whatever barricades the Autobot had in place from the councilor's constant prying...

The guilt was enough to eat him alive. He wanted to help -to make Tracks happy- but what could he do?

Soundwave's visor gleamed as an idea struck him.

"Messenger: here," he called to the waiting mech that stood not too far away from him. The servant dashed forward, pulling out a spare scroll and pen, already anticipating the councilor's request. The Decepticon took the items silently, scrawling a quick message onto the paper, before he rolled it up and tied it shut.

"Suggestion: run fast," he told the younger 'bot as he handed him the reply. The messenger bowed, slipping the scroll into his satchel, before turning and sprinting across the field back home.

xxXxXxx

They say at your worst moments, in the dark of the night, you dream. Tracks, for one, could attest to that.

He found himself snared in a web of memories, first ugly and horrifying... before they shifted, changed, and he was left with only her.

"I-i... I'm sorry," he whispered softly to the air at night, almost feeling her very presence -but knowing how ridiculous that all was. She didn't exist, not anymore, and he knew this. Knew it, just as strongly as he could remember the chilling warmth of her energon on his servos...

"I'm s-sorry," he would choke, curling into himself, servos covering his face in shame. "S-sorry, I wa-wasn't s-strong enough... w-wasn't fast enough..."

She had been getting better; bursting into life once more. They were destined for happiness. Then fire and smoke tore through their lives and- Tracks cringed, burying his helm beneath the pillows and sobbing in his grief. Now, he was captured and doomed to a life of imprisonment, belittled and treated as a whore. His life was nothing more than a hundred, thousand shards; all too sharp for him to even touch.

"I-i... I-i'm sorry...," he whispered again, "I-i'm s-so, s-so so-sorry..."

But even her smiles could not resolve him of his sins. And so, the slave spiraled down in his grief, desperate for forgiveness and freedom, until exhaustion took all such thoughts and dreams away from him.

xxXxXxx

Arcee walked past several guards in the span of twenty feet, before glancing uncertainly at the final one posted at her charge's door. "G-good morning," she said to him. The mech glanced down at her, the shadow of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"He has not moved much," he informed her dutifully. "Only to get up and sit at the vanity..."

Smiling nervously back, she thanked the guard and pushed open the door, finding Tracks just as the other servant had said. "Good morning, Tracks," she called, before crossing the room. "I've brought you breakfast."

The other slave did not even look at her as the femme drew up to his side, gently setting the tray down onto the vanity. "I thought you'd like something nice... so, I brought you some fresh-sliced fruit and quail eggs. They're better for your stomach, I hear."

Still no response.

Being bolder than she'd usually be, Arcee stepped behind the mech, gently leaning over and cupping his chin; looking at their reflections in the vanity's mirror. "The cut's healing nicely," she tried to smile encouragingly. "You took such a nasty fall, I was afraid that it might scar... but given a couple more days, you should be all healed up! No ugly mark to mar that handsome face!"

Arcee onlined her optics to find Tracks' reflection staring up at her; dull optics penetrating deep and intensely. Feeling somewhat unnerved, the smaller slave immediately stepped back, folding her servos before herself. "M-my apologies...," she mumbled, "I d-didn't -o-oh!" Arms lifting hurriedly in remembrance, Arcee withdrew a thin scroll that had been tucked away into her sash, holding it out for Tracks to take excitedly.

"The Master has sent a message for you!," the femme chirped. "He's heard that you've been unwell since his leaving, so he's decided to give you the key to his library. He writes that you may keep it as your own, and that, if it is to your liking, you may work in keeping it tidy as part of your exchange for freedom. Isn't the Master so kind?"

That drew a reaction out of Tracks.

He whirled around in his seat, snatching the scroll from the other slave's servos, ripping it open and reading through it quickly. Glad to see her charge react -no matter how- Arcee turned and busied herself with the wardrobe, selecting an outfit and matching accessories for the day. She missed the way Tracks began to sneer, before the venom left his optics and he looked at the scroll in mute contemplation.

"...where is this library?," he asked; his first words in a few orns.

Arcee beamed as she turned to him, folding the clothes neatly in a carry-along basket. "The matron has given me the key to pass along to you. After your morning bath, I will escort you to where the library is," she informed eagerly. "It'll be nice to see the library being used again. Master used to frequent it often, but recently, he just doesn't have the time anymore."

She half-turned to the door, in a silent prompt. Scowling slightly, the multi-coloured mech rose to his pedes, strutting ahead of the femme and out the door pompously; ignoring the guards that stiffened at his sudden exit, looking first at the mech and the slave femme that followed, beaming like a ball of sunshine itself.

xxXxXxx

The library was in a relative state of neglect. Tracks looked slowly about the room, taking his time to step forward and touch certain articles. A thin film of dust came away as he stroked his fingers across a stack of books lying abandoned on a table.

This would take some time cleaning, the Autobot noted irritably.

It looked as if no one had been in here for several weeks at least. Thumbing the key he held in his other servo, Tracks moved further into the room, pulling back the drapes and watching as sunlight poured into the room. From here, he noticed, staring out the window blankly, he could see the fountain he liked to frequent most in the vast garden.

The mech's helm cocked curiously, half-wondering why the councilor had never used this room to spy on him. It would have been a better way to do so, without the fear of interruption or being caught... wouldn't it? Tracks turned away from the window quickly, burying his thoughts and continuing his evaluation of the room.

Cobwebs and the like had grown in the corners of the rooms and under tables; sweeping them away, the slave could see all the gold filaments and gorgeous carvings that had been added into the wood. This... this was truly a beautiful library. Even just glancing at some of the tomes filling the massive shelves, Tracks could recognize a wide variety of literature of different languages, ages, cultures and subjects. It was a well of unimaginable knowledge and richness at his fingertips... Why would some slave owner give possession of such a lovely collection to his lowly property?

Struck with the suddenness of his own thought and questions, Tracks turned and flung the key into the farthest corner of the room, screaming shortly in rage.

xxXxXxx

He'd seen nothing but the same dirt paths for a few orns now. Sighing, Soundwave settled back into his carriage, thumbing through the scrolls covering his lap. His Emperor's mission, though he knew important, had taken him farther than he had first anticipated. Any longer, and he feared that Tracks might do something drastic.

The councilor glanced at the third report he had gotten on Tracks, half-smiling beneath his mouthguard. At the very least, it seemed that the Autobot was doing better. He had accepted his gift and was even noted as spending his entire orns in the old library now. Soundwave was glad. He knew it was wrong, but maybe, maybe this would be incentive enough to at least have Tracks stop constantly glaring at him?

Perhaps if he...

Soundwave grabbed his pen, making a note to the matron who would receive his reply, that Tracks was to be given an extra package to help him in his new duties.

xxXxXxx

The question as to why he had been given the library as his own still plagued him several orns later.

Arcee walked into the library, smiling brightly with a tray of lunch in her servos. "Good afternoon," she chirped, "I've brought you some lunch. Would you like to take a break now?"

The mech paused in what he was doing, glancing at her coolly before stepping down from the ladder, laying his dust rag over the side of a chair. Arcee watched as he approached, noting that he wore a different outfit than the one she had picked out that morning. "I see you have a tunic... did one of the other servants supply it? I suppose it would be much more practical to work in," Arcee smiled good-naturedly. "Not to mention, I've never seen you wear one before. You look quite dashing in common green and sapphire."

The femme giggled as she drew out a chair for Tracks, pouring him a cup of wine to go along with his meal. "Master will be so pleased that you're-"

The rest of her words were lost as suddenly she was pushed up against a bookshelf; optics flared as she found herself lip-locked with the other slave. Struggling, the femme got her arms under Tracks' guard, putting all of her strength into pushing him away even a little bit.

"P-please my lord!," she cried, twisting her helm sharply. "You mustn't-"

"Lord?!," Tracks hissed, pulling away from Arcee just as quickly as he had pinned her. He glared at the other Autobot, his denta bared as she looked at him meekly; still trembling from the sudden assault. "How am I a 'lord'?!," he shouted, fists balling at his sides, "I am a purchased frag-toy! How do I carry any status?!"

Arcee glanced off to the side, holding her servos to her chestplates. "T-that... that's not so," she said to the irate mech. "P-please... you must listen to me, Lord Tracks! I... I know you're still upset and a-afraid -I can understand! But you mustn't be angry with Master still. He's kind and nice and... and even I can see now that he cares about you. More than he does any of us other slaves. That's why he's always trying so hard: he wants you to be happy! ...C-couldn't... couldn't you be happy with all this, Lord Tracks?"

The mech looked at her, horrified, before he snarled, racing from the room. The femme didn't even bother to follow.