It was dark.

Moonlight barely pierced the thick clouds overhead and no lamps were lit in the garden tonight. Only the dim glow of his own optics disrupted the darkness, shining across the mirror's surface; reflected back at him. In the glass, behind him, stood a femme.

"...it meant nothing...," he mumbled flatly, "She was only a slave..."

The femme bowed her helm at the callous dismissal. "Why are you giving me that attitude?!," the mech hissed, servos curling on top of the vanity. "It's not like my situation is any different! Fine, I made a mistake. Does that make you happier?! For a moment, I saw her as you and I c-couldn't-"

He shuttered his optics quickly, trembling servos covering his face. Anger and fear waged through him violently, barely concealing the self-loathing he felt beneath it all.

"I-i... I don't think I c-can do this a-anymore...," the slave whispered weakly, "I-i'm not... I'm s-sorry... I know I p-promised, b-but..."

His servos lowered back to the vanity slowly; lifting his helm, he stared at the femme in the mirror, now standing behind him. Her optics half-shuttered in sympathy and her lip components were quirked in a broken smile.

"I-i... I miss you..." The mech choked the longer he looked back at her, remembering every single time a simple gesture, or gift, or even how the sun shined that orn would bring the sweetest of smiles to that tender face. "I..."

Through the haze of the coolant collected in his optics, he saw the femme step closer, able to outline the worn, thin and paleness of her form. The bare shadow of a wisp. A spectre. He refrained from staring at her frame for long, knowing that if he did, she would melt away entirely. Instead, he stared at her optics -the only vibrant light of her ghostly presence. Sympathy and sorrow reflected in the misty, glassy orbs back at him.

"...I-i... I d-don't w-want...," he mumbled, coolant filling his optics quickly. "T-this place... t-there's n-no one... to h-he-help me..."

The femme reached around to hold him and desperate for the contact, the slave shuttered his optics, remembering with painful clarity the softness of her touch, the warmth of her servos. For an agonizing moment, it actually felt like she was there. Smiling bitterly, he onlined his optics again, his gaze going from serene to terrified.

Jolting, the mech bolted to his pedes, his back slamming against the mirror as he turned to escape his tormentor. But nothing was there; no other soul accompanied him in the room. Through his panic, it took kliks before he realized he was alone. Wheezing weakly, he collapsed to the floor, hugging himself tightly as he rocked in the darkness; unable to shake the image of large, gold fingers tenderly wrapped around his chassis.

xxXxXxx

The court was an eerie place when devoid of all courtesans and slaves. Ignoring the shadows and deep, flickering light from the few lamps lit, Soundwave turned his attention to the main hall from which his Lord would emerge. Already, faint, echoing pedesteps approached; getting louder and louder until they boomed almost like thunder before a vicious storm. Megatron was angry. That was obvious in his stride, even before the Emperor came stalking out of the pitch black tunnel (similar to demons from a nightmare), cape snapping behind him as he viciously turned toward his podium. The grey mech did not even sit at the throne, instead, standing beside it in barely restrained ire; glowering down upon his servant.

"Do you know what time it is?," he growled.

Soundwave bent to one knee immediately, keeping his helm respectively lowered. "Status: thought his Lord would like to hear the findings of the recent mission," the councilor replied. "Fact: It is as the Emperor has pondered."

"Is it now?" At his words, Shockwave came sliding out from behind the throne, taking his place on its right-hand side. It was no surprise to see the assassin there, let alone to see him so alert and aware. Some rumors pondered if the mech was even natural as themselves, for he was never known to sleep and he never ate or drank in the company of others.

With an aggravated sigh, Megatron waved his cape out of his way, turning and finally seating himself in his throne. He pinched momentarily at his olfactory sensor -no doubt, because he knew Soundwave was correct in his thinking- but would never admit to the fact, let alone confirm, that this was a report better shared in private, when all others were fast in recharge, trapped in the dead hour.

"Just...," the Emperor began, vocalizer tinted slightly with exhaustion, "Speak clearly, Soundwave. It is late, and though I admire your diligence, I was much more comfortable in my berth before you decided to make your presumptuous demands."

Soundwave nodded and taking Megatron's words as a good sign, rose again to his pedes. He retrieved a scroll from his sleeve, and held it out to his left, paying no mind to Shockwave who strode forward to take it from him. "Repeat: Deductions as his Lord analyzed. Villages, small and far, are being attacked and burned to the ground. Citizens are slaughtered, though it seems to be as a secondary measure. Fact: All bodies accounted for are Decepticon. Status: No Autobot, whether slave or servant, found."

"Report: explains in finer detail villages affected, number of dead, ratio of supplies and food stocks remaining and documentation of slaves possessed or waiting for ownership," the councilor went on further, "Status: all bear similar signs of attack and count of missing stock. Analysis: Were not random, but orchestrated with finesse, demonstrating a direct and driven operation. Possible theory: Planning made by past military soldiers."

"And there were no slave casualties?," Shockwave asked. His one optic was focused in on the other's report that he had unrolled between his claws. "Hmm... It says here that one or two Autobots were found, deceased, but out of several trader villages, that is a very small, small, small percentile. Let me guess: they died during the scuffle?"

Soundwave nodded. "Deductions: indicate such. Slaves: bear only wounds gravely fatal, studied to be made sloppily or rashly. Seem to be made in haste, rather than intent or with recondition," he answered.

Megatron stared silently at the councilor as all this was being said; his bloody gaze unreadable, his scowl gone for the moment. Somewhat intrigued by the expression, the blue mech turned his attention back to the Emperor, remembering to lower his visor an inch so he would not be seen looking directly into the warlord's optics. After all, it was a punishable crime, if Megatron so wished it to be. Scratching at his chin with a long, black finger, the grey mech slowly vented, before finally speaking whatever thoughts filled his helm.

"Tell me Soundwave: Where do you see their next target being?," he asked.

Not an overall startling question, for sure. Anticipating it, the smaller mech crossed his arms behind his backstruts. "Status: methods of attack following a typical circling pattern, slowly fanning out from one starting point and circling from both sides an entire area. Expectations: Attacks will not cease and instead will continue to increase and encompass a larger area, than another, as more and more Autobots are freed and taken. Targets: will remain smaller villages for the time being, but villas will follow next, then towns and finally cities. Projected destination: Iacon itself," he answered grimly. "Pattern of attacks so far indicate that Iacon is the overall intended target. Smaller towns and villages are merely practice and recruitment. Theory: Rebels intend to remove the Emperor from his throne..."

There was silence for a long, tense moment, until Shockwave rolled the scroll up quickly. "They're planning an uprising?," he said rhetorically, snideful disapproval rich in his tone, "With slaves? The Autobots are more foolish than I had thought. Megatron, my Lord, you shouldn't bother yourself with femmes and slaves... They lack any power or real strategy to-"

"Oh...," the Emperor cut in. Megatron leaned back easily in his seat, the usual, cruel smirk fixed on his lip components. "I am not worried, Shockwave. This would not be the first uprising during my reign." Rising to his pedes, the grey Decepticon leisurely stepped down from the podium, fixing his cape as he gestured for his personal bodyguard to follow. Shockwave did so, slipping the scroll into his sash, before silently slinking into step behind the other mech.

"We'll let them run around for a bit, stuff their tanks and play 'Liberator'... Then we'll cut off their sources, let them weaken with hunger and fall prey to the country guard or take their risks in the wilderness," Megatron discussed lightly with Shockwave. "It'll be... Soundwave?"

The councilor stood at attention. Megatron glanced him over quickly, venting soundlessly.

"You look absolutely haggard...," he continued flatly, "Next time, make sure you look presentable before calling on me. It will do no good to have one of my renowned officials looking like some sewer rate the guards dragged in."

Nodding stiffly, Soundwave bowed his helm and waited until Megatron and Shockwave had left; debating on informing surrounding city guards of possible attack and slave rebelling. Restraining from fidgeting, the councilor immediately turned and left the audience hall when all was clear, hurrying down the palace halls and past the night guard.

His carriage waited outside, equally as road-weary, mud and road dust covering the sides and obscuring the rich purple and vermillion colouring. Even the wheels were pitted and scratched; in need of a good fix or possibly a replacement. Deciding it was something he would leave to the stable servants for worrying, Soundwave made his way down the palace marble steps quickly, climbing into the carriage, giving the footmech barely any time to open it for him.

"Order: Home," he commanded to the driver, waving a servo tiredly.

He could almost hear as his servants sighed in relief and was sympathetic to their state. It had been a long week of hard travel, with barely any rest or breaks, and an even longer month altogether. At this point as well, even Soundwave was glad to be going home. He'd walked through enough demolished villages and among scorched frames to last him for the rest of the year.

He wished to see what had become of Tracks in his absence as well. The last report he'd been given had seemed more hopeful, but things always balanced on a precarious edge with the Autobot. Soundwave only wished that Tracks remained in well spirits. The carriage began to slow down and the blue mech glanced out the window in surprise, seeing the horses pull up to his villa.

One of the several guards on duty stepped forward to open his door as the carriage drew up to the gates; walking back to the main doors with the councilor. Each mech saluted respectively at their master's presence and the Decepticon did his best to acknowledge them in return. He could already feel exhaustion creeping across each of his circuits though and did not feel interested in dealing with the usual pleasantries.

Dismissing the small gaggle of sleepy slaves that waited on the other side for him, Soundwave started quickly down the hall to his room, eager to reach his bed. He slowed down though when he saw the guard standing at Tracks' door.

The guard noticed the councilor and opened his mouth to speak, but Soundwave waved him off before he could start his report. There would be time for things like that in the morning, after he had rested and regathered his thoughts. Stepping forward lightly, Soundwave grasped the knob and gently pushed the door open; quietly peeking inside. He was somewhat relieved to see Tracks' slumbering shape spread out on the bed -no sheets or glass or any other sort of possession had been damaged. Everything was as it should be.

Smiling softly beneath his mouthguard, the councilor closed the door again, nodding at the guard before finally heading down the hall to his much-longed for bed and sleep.

xxXxXxx

The chair creaked a little as he settled into it, the fabric giving and sinking comfortably around his hips. Soundwave took a moment to enjoy the familiar feel of his seat before shifting and looking towards his desk. Ignoring the fact that he would have to eventually replace his chair, he had a sizeable amount of paper work to go through. Most were simple reports from around the villa, but a few he knew were in regards to business around Iacon. The councilor's only focus though was on the large scroll sitting at the top of the pile; placed there this morning by the matron, as part of her usual report.

It would include all staff details and house procedures since his absence... as well as her own and the guards' reports about Tracks. That, the Decepticon was most desperate to get to now that he was in the comfort of his own home again. Picking up the scroll, Soundwave was just about to break its seal and start in the long amount of reading he had to do when the door behind him was opened.

Ah, yes, he remembered, breakfast.

"Order: Just leave it on the side table, thank you."

"As you wish, Master."

Visor flaring slightly in surprise, Soundwave turned in his seat, shocked to see Arcee setting his breakfast tray onto the table. The femme did not pay him any attention as she arranged the dishes neatly on the tray, before wiping her servos on her apron and turning and bowing a little to the Decepticon. "Is there anything else you required this morning, Master?," she politely asked.

For nearly a klik, the councilor was too stunned to even comprehend a response, but he quickly broke out of his daze as the slave bowed once more and turned to leave. "Request: wait..." Arcee paused, facing the blue mech; her expression innocent and curious. Frowning slightly behind his mouthguard, Soundwave rose from his seat.

"Fact: You are supposed to be tending to Tracks," Soundwave began, "Inquiry: Why are you bringing me breakfast instead?"

At the question, the femme stiffened slightly, before she bowed her helm ashamedly. "...f-forgive me, Master, but I fear I cannot see to Master Tracks anymore," she replied meekly. "He has become even more withdrawn a-and dissolves into fits t-that are s-sometimes quite a-aggressive. I tried to d-do everything to make him happier, my lord, but after he p-pushed himself o-on me..." The slave paused, fingers lifting to her lip components in the moment of silence.

"...I-i am sorry, M-master," Arcee continued in a hush, "B-but I f-fear I may only be i-instigating T-tracks further... A-and I do not w-wish to c-cause him a-any more trouble t-than I a-already have..."

Again, Soundwave was stunned into silence, but this time, worry settled into his tanks. "Status: ...see the dilemma," he said, equally as soft as Arcee. He rested a servo on her shoulder, causing the Autobot to look up at him. "Fact: will return you to former duties. Shall see to Tracks myself."

"...s-sir?," Arcee spoke up as the Decepticon stepped past her to leave. Soundwave paused, turning his helm towards the femme. At her master's attention, she rubbed her arm shyly, optics lowering demurely. "H-he... L-lord Tracks will not be f-found in his room. He's taken t-to locking himself in the library every day."

"...status: acknowledged," the councilor replied, nodding his helm towards the slave. "Arcee: relieved for the rest of the day."

She did not complain or protest the order. Curtseying quickly, Arcee hurried from the room at Soundwave's gesture; allowing the mech to exit behind her, shutting and locking the door to his office before he headed down the corridor towards the library.

xxXxXxx

He couldn't work. Tracks sat quietly in one of the chairs (one of the few he'd cleaned) staring at the walls around him; lined with bookshelves and gracious designs in gold, light cascading in from windows set here and there, highlighting everything with a warm glow. A rag was held loosely in his servo, its tip dark with dust before he had abandoned his task of pulling each of the books down from the shelves, wiping them and the tomes free of grime. It would have been a sight to behold, if there had been anyone to view it, that is.

The slave, lost in task, suddenly slowing down... pausing... before slumping altogether in a chair. He had not moved since (and that had been kliks ago) and the silence that engulfed the room was just as stifling as the dust glittering through the sunshine.

When Soundwave entered the room, this was the same state that he found Tracks in.

"...Report: have heard there were some troubles between you and Arcee," the councilor began after a long moment passed, and still, his entrance had not been noticed. He paused, hoping for a response, but none came and worried, Soundwave slowly reached out to feel Tracks' thoughts.

He did not know if the multi-coloured mech felt this, or if he merely was responding to the Decepticon's physical presence, but finally Tracks stirred. If only to merely turn his helm slightly at Soundwave; optics dim and unfocused.

"...are you real this time?"

Soundwave felt his worry increase at the question, especially as the light revealed the dark rings forming under the slave's optics and the sudden dullness of his usually vibrant plating. And the things seeping from Tracks' processor, whispering of delusions and paranoia... As if deciding that the blue mech had answered sufficiently, the Autobot cautiously rose to his pedes, anger beginning to burn in his frazzled optics.

"So you finally came back...," he hissed, tossing his rag somewhere off to the side as he slowly approached the Decepticon. "I hope you weren't hoping for a warm welcome or anything. After the stints you've pulled-"

Soundwave took a weary step back as Tracks drew closer, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. "Status: Do not know what you are referring to. Fact: Have not-"

"Don't interrupt me!," the slave shouted. He was close enough now and he punched the councilor sloppily across his jaw. Facing the hysterical mech, ignoring the slight sting along his chin, Soundwave tried to take another step back and only backed himself into the door. He could of turned the knob, left, he knew, but he was trapped by the mad optics fixed up at him; hatred, fear and... something else... lashing out in unseen waves.

Arcee had been right -Tracks seemed to be delving further into darkness, all progress made before gone. This knowledge frightened him, and the telepath was hesitant to think what events might this lead to next.

"Do you think it's funny?! To play these mind games; to push yourself on me and then to vanish!," Tracks continued, his fingers hooking into claws the longer he shook with the whirlwind of erupting emotions. "Poisoning my thoughts... fragging with my feelings... haunting me... I know you want me! I know you'd do anything to have me -even frag with me until I believed it was what I wanted too. I know your type, don't you try to tell me otherwise!"

"So just do it then! If you want me so badly, RAPE ME!," the Autobot shrieked, grabbing the front of his tunic, ripping the fabric; baring himself naked before the horrified councilor, "Do it now or know that the next time you see me, it will be my cold corpse! Then you can frag it as much as you want, you sick freak!"

Soundwave didn't know what to do. He stood there, stunned, visor flared as he looked down on the deranged mech. He was still trying to process everything that was being screamed at him, and hearing such words of self-harm... The Decepticon felt his spark seize in his chestplates as some sort of rationality seemed to return to Tracks, forcing the slave to stumble back a few steps, trembling.

Servos tried to grope at the remains of his tunic, to cover himself up, as the strained silence that had suddenly fallen grew longer between them; coolant slowly pooling in his optics. "W...," Tracks mumbled weakly, "...w-why won't you d-do anything...?"

The Decepticon quickly undid his cloak, removing his own top and holding it out uncertainly for the other to take. Tracks snatched at it immediately, slipping it over his helm as he took a couple more steps back, hugging himself as he turned away from the blue mech. His wings were low... lower on his backstruts than they had been when Soundwave had first brought the Autobot home...

...there really wasn't anything he could do for Tracks anymore, was there...?

Venting softly, Soundwave gathered his cloak again, slowly turning to the door. "...status: Will grant you freedom. Vow: No tricks or surprises," he announced quietly, "Trade: Clean the library and... Fact: And will compensate you with ten years' wages. Plus: All-paid ticket to any destination you seek, along with ownership documentation. Status: Will have everything prepared by the end of the week."

Maybe this would finally grant the Autobot some peace.

Not even looking back to see if he had been heard, the councilor left, feeling hopelessness weigh heavily on his shoulders and spark alike.