C.M.D: Been a long while since I did another chapter for this fic, but I'm glad to crank one out again. Getting ever closer to the end and diving into the real thick of things -oh, the plans I have for these two! Anyways, please read and enjoy yet another update in this new year!

As it seemed routine now, the night had not been a restful one for Soundwave. Plagued with doubts and reflecting uncertainly on his actions in the bath hall, it had taken cycles for the telepath to quiet his tumultuous thoughts long enough to finally breach the gap between conscious and unconsciousness. Alas, that had only granted him a couple, miserable cycles of recharge before Soundwave was rising once more. Skipping breakfast, he marched right for his office, eager to distract himself for the entirety of the orn. And what luck, the councilor thought, perusing the scrolls waiting on his desk. He still had to prepare the Emperor's annual report. That meant a long orn down in the city, interviewing selected subjects and documenting both their business and private lives. Gathering his necessary materials into a satchel, the blue mech headed this time for the estate's entrance, stepping out into the pink-tinged morning. He noticed something was off the moment he noticed the odd lack of activity in the yard, even before the pressing cloud of fright reached his thoughts.

At the sound of carriage wheels cracking loudly, Soundwave looked up, watching in bafflement as his coach barrelled up the road towards the estate in a hurry. Just what exactly were his servants doing out on the road so early in the morn?

"M-my lord!," the driver yelped, snapping on the reins harder. The beasts at the front quickened their lumbering, carrying the carriage closer to the councilor. "I-it -I m-mean, he said- T-the Autobot Tracks, h-he-!"

Confusion turned to anger and then into panic in less than as astrosecond, the telepath grasping the answer from his frazzled servant's processor. Tracks had run away again. "Order: Head back down the road!," Soundwave barked, grabbing onto the coach and hoisting himself up to the side door before it had even stopped. "Emphasis: Quickly! Do not stop until commanded!"

The driver nodded his helm fretfully, the reins cracking as he pushed the beasts to circle around the yard and back towards the road, while the councilor awkwardly opened the door and threw himself into the bouncing carriage. Getting up and closing the door behind himself, Soundwave took up position at the opposite window, his optics squinting as they tried to scan across the gold-tinged hills rolling into sight. All of his negative emotions for Tracks and last night's tricks were set aside for a moment, his spark pulsing to an erratic tempo. Running away... The Autobot had not attempted such a stupid endeavour in months! Considering the progress of matters, Soundwave had honestly thought those orns were long past them. Most slaves only tried once or twice before failure either taught them common sense or relieved them of thought entirely, yet Tracks was special in that regard. Obviously his time under the Decepticon's care had never made him susceptible to that lesson and now the winged mech did not know the trouble he was walking right into.

Especially with Megatron's new decrees having been put into affect the last couple weeks.

Soundwave strained his optics to see farther across the colorful hillside; trying to project his telepathy past the carriage and his staffs' anxious ponderings at the same time. He would need everything to spot Tracks before the Emperor's patrols did and if he did not... If he failed to find the slave first, the councilor would receive a notice of Tracks' status, along with the return of his golden collar. Tanks churning chaotically, Soundwave prayed that would not be the case.

xxXxXxx

Tracks walked over the rugged hillside, trying to plant his pedes evenly among the scrub and bush, yet tripping on the small, loose rocks and hardened clumps of soil all the same. This, he bemoaned silently, was not going to be as easy a task as he had first thought. Already his plating was dinged and sore from his trek through the untamed vegetation; intakes cycling heavily at the general strain this was putting on his frame. 'I've become feeble,' the mech thought mournfully. Too many orns, pampered and domesticated, had robbed him of his prior strength. Not that the Autobot had ever lived a very athletic life before his slavery, but he certainly could have managed a simple hike without feeling exhausted a few kliks in. And with the sun rising high into the sky, soaking the colour rich valley in a blanket of heat, Tracks was beginning to feel like this whole endeavour was grossly ill-advised on his part.

Pausing, beginning to condense under his thicker cloak, the slave reached for his purse, fumbling over the drawstrings before remembering that he had no water on himself. He had hoped he would be able to march from the capitol before needing to quench his thirst... Venting wearily, Tracks grabbed for the only other thing (aside from jewels and coins) -a piece of cheese and unpeeled fruit kept from his final meal in Soundwave's estate- devouring them for their moisture. It sated, for now, but he would have to move quicker to avoid hunger or thirst later on. Sealing his purse up once more, the Autobot continued onward, starting to crest a small incline. He had barely made it halfway before a shadow suddenly rose and cut across the golden horizon; its lanky presence falling down upon the winged mech. Startled by the sudden cast of shade, Tracks stopped once more, trying to peer up past the glare and see the unknown entity for what it really was. At first, he worried that Soundwave or his servants had already found him, but then he saw the buckles as they flashed in the morning light, and Tracks felt his spark drop down into his roiling tanks.

Imperial sentries...

He ran. There was no time to think about it; no astrosecond that could be spared for deliberation. Knowing who he was and the mark he bore, Tracks was as good as dead should he be caught by one of the capitol's guards. So he turned and dashed back down the hillside, hopping that the uneven terrain would provide him some leverage against his pursuer. There was the sound of the sentry's horse neighing into the sky before rider and beast came thundering down the underbrush. Favour was not on his side. Panicked servos tugged at the cloak around his neck, miraculously undoing the clasp and letting the extra weight drop to the ground like a rock, giving the slave a boost of speed as he bounded through the scrub and grass. There had only been one other time that Tracks had moved as swiftly, and it had been so long ago that the difference was felt in the burning of his thighs and the gasping of his intakes. Yet he had to get away. Outrun the sentry, somehow, and hope that there was some sort of cave or turbofox burrow that the Autobot might hide in until he was certain he was out of danger. He was so focused on keeping himself moving and desperately searching for a place to run to, that Tracks was unaware of how close the sentry had truly gotten; only finding out the moment the leather sacks of the guard's bolas slammed into a calf, causing the winged mech to yelp before the remaining rope subsequently tangled around his legs, immobilizing him and sending Tracks crashing to the ground.

Bouncing as his earlier momentum carried him into a rough roll across dirt and rock, it took precious astroseconds for Tracks to even become aware of his surroundings once more, and by then, his pursuer had already caught up. With terror in his optics, the Autobot watched as the sentry brought his stead to a standstill at the fallen mech's side, the tip of his sword brushing aside the bits of captured foliage that had gotten stuck in his collar with the tumble.

"So you aren't just a serf," the guard spat, his lip component rising in a sneer. "Then allow me to inform you, that on behalf of his great majesty, the One True Emperor, you are hereby-"

"Plea: Wait!," a secondary vocalizer called out.

Alarmed, both sentry and slave turned toward the source of the sound; the tears no longer at bay, and instead cascading down Tracks' face as he watched Soundwave lumber over the nearest ridge awkwardly. At the sight of the other mech with a sword to the captured Autobot's neck cables, the Decepticon straightened up stiffly, marching the rest of the way towards the sentry.

"Fact: That one is mine. Order: Stand down."

"I am afraid I can not do that, councilor," the soldier scowled, not budging. "It is by the Emperor's decree that all slaves found guilty of desertion, especially one of Autobot kin, are subject to immediate punishment. In this case: execution. Interfering, or impeding, in my sacred duties to his majesty are treasonous crimes, sir, and are also met with similar justice."

Soundwave glared at the sentry as he closed in, pausing five feet away from the pair. "Status: Am aware of the law," he replied, his tone even more chilling in its monotony than usual, "Autobot: not fleeing. Fact: Was taking him for a picnic on the hillside, after a little hike. We were separated for a short period of time."

"A picnic?," the guard questioned snarkily, "With a slave?" His expression belied how much slag he thought the telepath's excuse was.

With all the calm of a rising storm, Tracks watched as the blue mech lifted a servo silently, one golden finger pointing somewhere off to his right. "Estate: past these mounds and fifty paces by your stead. This area is subsequently mine to enjoy as I please," Soundwave informed, his visor dimming as his glare intensified. "Judgement: Not yours to pass on what I do or do not do with my concubine, given your status."

The sentry practically flinched as the other Decepticon brought up his social standing. Gritting his denta for a tense moment, the soldier glanced down on the still-captured Tracks, cutting the winged mech with his vile gaze. "Very well, councilor," he eventually bit out, "I release this one back to your custody again."

Dropping to a knee, the mech none-too-gently yanked the leather-braided cord from around the Autobot's legs, wrapping the bola up and returning it to a small satchel sewn into the side of his horse's saddle. He paid Tracks no mind as he scrambled up from the ground in a hurry, rushing to the telepath's side and hesitantly taking shelter behind Soundwave's larger form. Sword sheathed and personals gathered, the sentry turned around to face the councilor, bowing stiffly in respect. "A good orn to you, sir," he said, no sincerity to his words. "I hope your 'concubine' does not stray far from your optics a second time. For your sake."

Not replying, Soundwave merely watched as the soldier mounted his stead and returned to his patrol, on the far side of the hills. Only once he was out of sight completely did the Decepticon turn about, grabbing his slave by the arm harshly. "Command: Come," was all he said, practically dragging Tracks through the rough underbrush as he headed back for the carriage, waiting on the nearest road side. Now that the threat of death was passed, all compassion had left the telepath and intense ire had reclaimed its place within him. He thought he might just throw the Autobot to the ground and beat him himself, that is how much every sound -every little grunt or gasp as Tracks tripped along behind him- annoyed Soundwave. Yet he managed to refrain from such violence, marching to the coach that finally came into view and silently forcing the winged mech up inside the vehicle.

"Heading: To the city. Swindle's market," the councilor ordered of his driver, before he too climbed inside. Before he had even fully shut the door, the carriage creaked into motion.

xxXxXxx

He'd made a grave mistake...

Sitting in the coach, rocking as it moved from open, pitted roads to the winding, cobbled streets of the city, Tracks stared mutely at his pedes, unable to find the words to speak up. Soundwave's anger did not allow for anything other than silence; his glowing visor beating any glances upward back down to the floor. It had been that way since the councilor had saved him from the sentry back on the hillside and Tracks believed it would remain unchanged for the entirety of the trip. His escape attempt, after last night's horrible confrontation, garnered him no favours.

'Idiot,' the multi-coloured mech chastised himself silently.

The Decepticon should have just left him to the soldier. Granted, death wasn't really what the slave wished for, but it would be a much better punishment than sitting here, helm hung in shame, wondering what (or when) Soundwave's next move would be. Hoping for some sort of reprieve, Tracks glanced toward the carriage windows; the curtains parting enough with a particularly hard bounce to show the tightly mashed row of homes and businesses. Recognition was slow to bloom and when it did, the Autobot felt his spark wither drastically a second time that orn. This was the slave market.

The coach began to draw to a stop as they neared one door in particular and Tracks whipped his helm to the councilor in fright. Soundwave still sat, arms crossed over his chestplates, just staring in ire. He did not speak to explain or question where they were, only confirming the dreadful thoughts the winged mech felt buzzing around in his helm.

"P-please, I-," Tracks began in a panic.

"Order: Silence!," Soundwave interrupted immediately. His cutting glossa brought the slave to instantaneous muteness, but could not quell the vicious trembling of his plating or the wheezing of his intakes as he struggled to swallow down all his screams and protests.

'I-i deserve this,' the Autobot cried within, tears welling around his optics. 'A-after all I've do-done and d-didn't do... I s-should have been sold o-off long ago...'

And now the telepath was doing just that. Tracks couldn't blame him for wanting to get rid of the winged mech. He wouldn't want to bother with himself any more either. Getting to his pedes, Soundwave shuffled out of the carriage and down onto the street as his footman opened the door, ignoring the shaking slave as he relayed hushed commands to his servant. Knowing what was to come next, Tracks was alarmed when the door slammed shut instead; the councilor seen outside the window, gathering his cloak and satchel from the footman and heading down to Swindle's door by himself.

"His lord demands that you remain where you are," the footman informed, noticing the terrified Autobot's watching. He seemed indifferent to the other's frazzled state. "He will return in some time."

So that was it then. Soundwave was first going to haggle over return prices with Swindle, before sending the merchant out to collect him. Tracks leaned back against the coach's upholstered seats, going limp, trying to keep from purging on the decadent fabric. Given how angry the Decepticon had been, the slave was sure that it would be a very short meeting. A hiccup escaping, the winged mech covered his mouth with a servo, hoping against hope that it would be enough to silence the whimpering cries escaping him in bursts now. He didn't want to return to the market; didn't want to suffer any more...

Primus, how could he have made such a folly?

xxXxXxx

It was dreadfully quiet as Soundwave moved through the cellar.

"As you can see," Swindle grumbled from behind, the lantern swaying with the merchant's slight motions, causing shadows to jump around the empty cells, "I have no more wares. My stock was predominately Autobot and what wasn't sold within the Emperor's time frame was... disposed of. So now I have nothing."

The final comment was added softly and with a touch of something that sounded curiously like resentment. One glance at the smaller Decepticon though and Soundwave was met with an innocent smile. Which might of worked on others, but seeing as the councilor could hear the traitorous thoughts of the merchant (and all his complaining about this stupid decree) it would not spare him from facing punishment for slandering the Emperor. Yet Swindle wouldn't have to bear such consequences for the blue mech did something very unbecoming of himself -he dismissed the other Decepticon's comments instead of noting them in his reports.

"Query: Have any other stock moved through your possessions since the new year?," Soundwave asked, prying deep into the tan mech's mind as Swindle opened his mouth to reply.

"Some small baubles and trinkets. Nothing of significant value, really," he answered. He was speaking the truth, the councilor saw. Swindle's sales had circled around common pottery and jewels since the winter; his purses had suffered greatly from the inability to sell slaves. No smuggling outside of exotic creatures, either.

Satisfied, the telepath finished his notes, rolling up the scroll of his handwriting and a copy of the merchant's records together, and pocketing them both for later. Taking the lead, Soundwave headed back for the stairs leading back up to the main house.

"So, uh," Swindle began, trying to strike up some casual conversation, "Do you know when this ban will be lifted?"

That was a curious question. "Answer: No," the blue mech replied.

"Ah, okay... Do you know if it'll ever be lifted?"

Soundwave came to a stop, turning and glaring at the smaller Decepticon. All these questions were annoying, but especially being in a mood as he was, the last thing the councilor wanted was some idiot yammering away in his audio sensors. Swindle cringed a little at the glare boring into him, but he only lifted the lantern higher, trying to hide behind its flame.

"I'm just asking! Autobots are good merchandise, you know! I mean, you have plenty yourself, right?," the merchant babbled, his glossa speeding through his words in his nervousness. "So, being a customer yourself, I figured you would be kinda off-put by these changes as much as some are. After all, you have physical evidence just how beneficial a stock Autobots make. I'm sure that exotic, winged one you bought from me has paid for itself by now!"

At the mention of Tracks, the telepath felt his arm snap forward, snatching the lantern from the other Decepticon's shocked fingers and leaning down into the tan mech's face, before he became aware of every inch of his frame again and the red-hot rage that coursed through it. "Autobot: Has a name," Soundwave growled, his visor a sharp red against frightened purple. "Addition: Is not for you to discuss. Ever."

"Y-yes, co-councilor," the merchant stammered, his jaw tightening as he tried to quiet his chattering denta. "I a-apologize for over-stepping my p-place. P-please, allow me t-to b-bless you with some f-fine silks o-or gems as c-compensation. I even h-have-"

"Negative," the blue mech cut in, straightening up and storming up the rest of the staircase. "Status: Do not want your merchandise."

"O-of course, councilor. Whatever y-you say, sir," Swindle said, following quickly, bowing every few steps as a means to soothe Soundwave's anger.

Unfortunately, Soundwave was not the type to be bought and he did not have the patience to deal with mouthy fools. Setting the lantern down on the first table he passed, the telepath moved directly for the front door; pausing only long enough to grab his cloak and don it once more. Swindle, unsurprisingly, had kept close on the blue mech's trail and spoke again as he bowed for the umpteenth time.

"If his lord thinks of anything he might desire, please allow me to provide him with any such items -free of charge- to apologize for the offence I have made in foolishness today," the tan Deepticon pleaded, his final attempt to remedy the situation before the councilor left. "I'm afraid I may have forgotten myself, distracted by the toil I bear gladly as I serve his great Emperor and this bountiful land."

Soundwave looked the merchant over -from his lowered chassis, to his clenched fists, shaking trepidly at his side- and could not bother formulating a response for the anxious mech. Instead, he just turned and left, slamming the door on Swindle's pathetic display. At the sound, there came an immediate scurry of activity: his servants, sitting at the carriage, leaping into action upon their master's return. Hurrying into place, the footman opened the door as the councilor stormed across the street and inside in one fluid motion. "To the harbor," he ordered of the waiting serf, glad to feel the coach grind into motion once more.

Tossing his satchel to the side, the telepath leaned back in his seat finally, finding himself staring at the source of all his frustrations again. Tracks sat crumpled over as before, his helm hanging between two hunched shoulders and wings dipped heavily behind him. It didn't take a genius to see that the slave had been crying also; the drops from his tears still glittered in spots about his lap.

Soundwave supposed he should have felt something like pity for the Autobot. After all, Tracks was only in such straits because he believed that the councilor headed to the market with the specific intent to sell him back. The terrified thoughts had been practically screamed at the telepath once the multi-coloured mech realized they were drawing near Swindle's dwelling. Yet, despite wishing greatly that he could turn the troublesome slave onto some hapless merchant, the fact remained that doing so was now illegal. Death being the only alternative for a misbehaving slave. Tracks did not know this though... And Soundwave was not going to enlighten him either. The Autobot's spark-seizing fright kept him blessedly silent -in processor and mouth. Silence was a state sorely needed of Tracks after his scurrilous actions this morning. Pleased with this result, the blue mech settled comfortably into his seat, mulling over the number of businesses he had to visit still this orn.

All the while delaying the nagging question of what to do with the winged mech once they returned home.

xxXxXxx

After a long orn, driving about the city, they were finally heading home.

It was not a joyous occasion. Tracks, convinced that Soundwave was just unlucky to have no one to turn the slave over to, kept silent still as the carriage began the long drive up the valley and back to the Decepticon's estate. Though he himself felt nothing but misery at the fact, his tanks revelled at the idea of returning. They had ached all orn as the winged mech had been too afraid and too distraught to mention his hunger when it had struck. The estate would have food plenty! Provided that the councilor saw it fit to feed the slave... Tracks was certain he wasn't going to get that privilege.

Fresh tears coming to his optics, the Autobot remained with his face turned down as the carriage rocked and bobbed its way up to the top of the hill, pulling into the estate front courtyard with a gratifying squeak of wagon wheels. Immediately, the footman was at the door, opening it for Soundwave who climbed down before turning to look back into the coach. "Tracks: Follow," the blue mech commanded lowly, ire still prominent in his vocalizer.

Tracks did not argue or beg; simply slid out with barely any grace, falling into line behind Soundwave's pedes. He felt the unhappy stares of the servants as they walked away from the carriage and knew that the other 'bots were justified in their anger. The slave had been the one to commit a crime and drag the others into it by way of unwitting collaboration. In any other situation, they would be severely punished alongside Tracks. They still might be punished once Soundwave was through with the Autobot. Now plagued with guilt on top of everything else, Tracks marched behind the councilor, hoping that this would all come to an end shortly.

"Order: In," the Decepticon said, opening Tracks' berthroom door as they arrived. The slave entered without a word, sitting on the edge of the berth as per a golden finger's silent instruction, listening as Soundwave shut the door angrily. A hesitant glance upwards showed that the councilor had not left.

Red visor an angry beacon in fast approaching night, the telepath paced the room for a couple kliks, eventually turning and facing the hunched over Autobot. "Query: What were you doing?," he demanded, fists clenching tightly as he spoke.

The winged mech tried to respond, but only could move his lip components silently for a few astroseconds at first. "I-i'm sorry, M-master, I-"

"Demand: Silence!," Soundwave interjected nastily. "Tracks: Full of slagging excuses. Status: Enough is enough! Do you wish to die? Fact: Running away will result in nothing but execution. If you're so desperate to be off-lined, I can save you the trouble and summon a court official to perform the task for you!"

It was quiet following the councilor's outburst and Tracks could only presume that meant the blue mech was waiting for a response. "N-no," he began uncertainly, servos sliding upwards slowly and gripping at his forearms, "I-i... I j-just thought..." His optics were warming over a third time and his intakes stuttered a little from the tightening of his chestplates, as he struggled to put the words to his oppressive emotions. "I-i believed i-it best if I w-wasn't here a-a-any longer. I d-didn't wa-want to d-die."

Soundwave gave a snort at the answer, arms crossing over his chestplates irritably. "Death: An equal solution to that problem," he said cruelly, watching as the slave flinched violently. "Status: Are lucky that so far have been able to narrowly escape such an end multiple times."

"N-no," Tracks whispered back daringly. "No, I'm n-not..."

Feeling a sudden urge to hit something, the Decepticon stomped to the door, whirling back around as he jabbed a finger towards the other mech. "Status: Are not to leave this room ever again! Tracks: Will be monitored strictly and fed only when thought suitable. Be grateful you are not being severely punished for your foolishness," the telepath growled.

It seemed, finally, that his words had struck a cord within the Autobot. "W-why?," Tracks demanded, his vocalizer quickly rising as he turned weeping optics to the councilor. "Why are you doing this?! I'm only trying to get away so I won't bother you any more!"

Soundwave pulled his servo away from the door handle for a moment as he replied. "Fact: That is not how it works," he glared.

"I know!," Tracks shrieked, throwing his servos up into the air. "By Primus, I know that, but running off would be better than asking the one I love to sell me or release me." It took all of ten astroseconds for the Autobot to realize what he had just shouted and when he did, he sank deeper into his seat, a servo clapping over his mouth in shock.

"Query: Love?," the blue mech questioned condescendingly. Tracks, understandably, refused to look anywhere in Soundwave's direction. "Tracks: Dare to suggest that you 'love' me? Status: After all your cruelty, you think it's possible for anyone to care for you in any regard? Idiocy!"

His patience having run out completely for that orn, Soundwave turned and yanked the berthroom door open violently, eager to put as much distance between himself and the slave. Though he didn't see the way Tracks hugged himself, folding over into a ball, the telepath felt as a clouting miasma of despair billowed around the room quickly. And he didn't care. He'd excused the Autobot's trangressions one too many times. Right before the door slammed behind Soundwave and he stomped off to round up some guards, the softest of whispers was heard from within the room; echoing another "I know" into the gathering darkness.

C.M.D: Think Soundwave was justified? Feel sorry for Tracks? Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?