Prowl stood on the catwalk, looking down at the training soldiers beneath him. After a full off-cycle of recharge—or at least closer to a full off-cycle than he'd had in a while—he was anxious to leave the Tarn evacuation behind and move on to the next set of problems.

They probably had at least a decaorn or two before anything happened, but Megatron could attack any orn if he wanted to. His numbers had grown, and all the city-states near Kaon and Tarn were in danger.

Mecha from the Tarn evacuation were still enlisting in the Autobot army, which was good, especially since they were in better shape, on average, than the Iacon factory workers. They were largely from the middle class, and even some upper middle class—well-educated enough to recognize that Megatron wasn't going to save them from anything.

They were promising, but they weren't soldiers yet.

Prowl watched them anyway, looking for anyone who seemed to take to fighting more quickly, taking note of mecha who were good at following orders. Leadership qualities were harder to quantify, and so he wasn't sure how to identify those, but he'd figure it out.

He made notes on his datapad, jumping back and forth between watching the mecha below and working. He was sure he was missing things, though. He frowned down at the soldiers for a moment, trying to decide.

Then he activated his battle computer.

It was like his processor expanded to become a hundred, giving him much more space to think, plan, observe. He directed the majority of that processing power toward interpreting the data from his doorwings, and everything in the room came into crystal focus. He could pay attention to each individual soldier now, watch them learning all at once. Working and taking notes on his datapad seemed unbearably slow, so he created a file in his processor and stored all of the useful information in it.

He put his datapad in subspace and reached out slowly and deliberately to grip the railing of the catwalk, steadying himself. One downside to the battle computer was that it took a lot of power, which he had to pull from other systems or risk overexerting his spark and engine. He couldn't move very well when the mod was online.

But he learned more about the group of soldiers below him in ten breems than he would have if he'd watched all orn without the battle computer on.

By the time he finished observing, he had mentally organized them all into units he thought they would work well in.

He carefully shut down his battle computer and made his way over to the ladder that led down to the main floor. He wasn't really sure how much his observations would help. He'd have to come back several times to see several different groups of soldiers.

Hopefully, if he prepared well enough, and if he knew the Autobot forces well enough, he would be able to win a battle, even against Megatron's much larger army.

Hopefully.

Jazz drummed his fingers on his desk, trying to decide what to do.

Something was wrong about this whole situation. The more time went on the more memories he seemed to lose. Under normal circumstances, he'd probably want to go see a medic about that, but the missing memories didn't seem random. They were too precise, too clean-cut. And he seemed to lose them as they happened, or only shortly thereafter.

It was like he kept discovering something he decided he didn't want to know and then wiped his memory of it.

Which led him to think that maybe dwelling on it wasn't a good idea.

Of course, the other option was wondering why the pit he'd sided with Megatron, and he didn't want to dwell on that either, because he knew he had to stay loyal in case Soundwave was listening. They were looking for a traitor. If he couldn't stay loyal right now, then the mech would certainly rat him out.

Unless Soundwave was the traitor. But Jazz figured if that was the case, the telepath would have come to him already and tried to convince him to switch sides.

It wouldn't be a very difficult case to make. Megatron was bad news, and Jazz wasn't happy with his decision to follow the gladiator anymore anyway.

Once again, he'd made the wrong choice and picked the wrong side.

Why?

He could hack into that datapad if he really wanted to know.

He got an internal comm. from Soundwave and answered it reluctantly.

"Hey, mech, I'm deep in an existential crisis or something. Can ya comm. back later?"

"Megatron requires your presence immediately." Soundwave said. Even his simulated voice was inflectionless and monotone.

Jazz sighed. "Fine. I'll be there in a breem."

Soundwave cut the comm. and Jazz pushed away from his desk.

He got up and walked to the door, but then hesitated. The summons to come to a meeting with Soundwave and Megatron was nothing out of the ordinary. But something about the extra-lifeless quality of Soundwave's voice bothered him.

It could mean any number of things, though, so there was no reason to freak out. He'd stay alert and try to be ready for anything.

Jazz left his office and walked down the hall. He counted off the cameras as he went, glancing at each of them from behind his visor. This building had been a mansion before, kind of like Mirage's tower, but not quite as ridiculously tall. It was pretty defensible, but they were working on another base—rebuilding on top of what had once been a government building instead.

Jazz got to Megatron's 'throne room' and entered. Soundwave was by his computer console, and Megatron was sitting in the big chair in the center of the room, watching Jazz through glowing red optics. An immediate feeling of unease washed over him, but Jazz tried not to show that he was nervous.

"Sorry if I kept ya waiting," he said casually.

"No matter," Megatron said.

The doors slammed shut behind him and two gladiators stood just inside, weapons powered up.

"I'll give you a chance to come quietly," Megatron said, standing and powering his arm cannon. "There's nowhere for you to go."

What the frag?

He shouldn't have ignored that uneasy feeling.

"What do ya mean?" Jazz asked, looking for an escape route. Of course, it didn't matter if he found one because Soundwave was listening. He couldn't think of an escape plan while Soundwave was listening.

He had to get rid of Soundwave… but he couldn't come up with a plan to get rid of Soundwave without the telepath knowing that too.

Megatron stood and aimed his cannon at Jazz's helm, walking toward him. Not the greatest idea. If the other gladiators fired, then they were likely to hit their leader. This mech was used to fighting by himself. All of them were. Could Jazz use that somehow?

"I'll explain once you're in the dungeon," Megatron said, pulling a datapad out of subspace. "Or rather, I'll let you explain it to yourself."

Pit.

That was the datapad he was supposed to read to find out why he was loyal.

How had they taken it without him noticing?

Megatron put it back into subspace. "Turn around. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Jazz glanced at Soundwave. You owe me one, 'Wave. I saved your life back in secondary school that one time.

Soundwave stared blankly at him.

Jazz had one chance.

He dove to the side, shifting his hand to a stun blaster, and shot directly at Soundwave's helm. Megatron fired and Jazz felt a sudden, crippling pain in his leg. He didn't have time to react, though. As Soundwave collapsed, Jazz changed the settings of his gun and fired up at the fancy light fixture that was the primary light source. It came down to crash on the ground in a spray of crystal shards and an explosion of energon smoke that filled the now-dark room

Someone else fired. The shot ricocheted off the wall and hit a computer console from the sound of it. Jazz curled his fingers around a floor panel and lifted it just enough to slide down into the crawl space between floors.

He let the panel fall back down above him and lay underneath, venting hard. He forced his pain grid down as far as he could as the excitement of the moment wore off and his leg—or what was left of it—started to really hurt.

He couldn't stay here, though. He had to move while everyone in the room above him was still shouting at each other, trying to get the lights back on, trying to figure out where he'd gone.

He rolled over and crawled, squeezing through ventilation shafts and navigating around pipes. He tried not to think about the painfully obvious energon trail he was leaving as his fuel levels dropped rapidly.

After a few breems that seemed like eternity, he came out into a space with a little more room. He sat against a wall and studied the damage to his leg.

Or… the part of it that was left. He'd lost almost everything beneath the knee. That cannon of Megatron's was pretty powerful.

With shaking fingers, Jazz reached into subspace for a knife, and pried aside a panel on the upper half of his leg. He cut the cable that was sending pain signals to his sensory grid, and then sat back against the wall for a moment, basking in the resultant numbness.

He was still losing energon, though. He reached down and did his best to tie off the energon lines. When he had stopped leaking so much he crawled away again, looking for an exit. He still wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, but either way his orns in the Decepticon army were over. He doubted the Autobots would want him back, but he couldn't stay here any longer.

If he could get out of the building without getting caught, he'd probably make it, even without his leg. But he had lost a lot of energon. As he crawled through the walls of the base, he started to feel sluggish, and his processor kept trying to shut down. It was just a natural reaction to losing so much fluid. If he went into stasis, he'd stabilize, but he couldn't let himself do that until he was somewhere they wouldn't look for him. He stopped in a maintenance tunnel that led out onto the street. He couldn't walk, that was for sure. And he was too close to powering down. Maybe if he just rested for a breem…

He curled up in the tunnel and shuttered his optics.

Orion followed the wall, ignoring obstacles, walking through all the challenges in his path, focusing on mapping out the maze in his memory. He'd been offlined twice this time, so his chances of getting through were slim, but if he picked the right way…

Around a corner, he came to a dead end. With a huff of frustration, he turned and headed back the way he'd come. It was so easy to get turned around.

He dreamed about the maze almost every time he recharged now. It seemed embedded in the back of his optic shutters. The dull lighting, the gray walls, the monsters. It almost felt like he never left.

A shriek sounded from somewhere ahead and a creature with burning optics and too many legs rounded the corner. Orion's energon froze, but he shuttered his optics and kept going toward it. This one had gotten him before. He heard it shriek again and his spark pulsed irregularly, as if beating against his spark chamber, trying to flee.

Then the creature crashed into him, knocking him over. Orion screamed as it latched onto him and shoved its claws deep into him. He tried to struggle, but it didn't let go, reaching deeper inside of him, twisting, shredding systems and internals as its pointed helm burrowed deep into his chassis, toward his spark. Orion shuttered his optics

And then came to himself at the beginning of the maze.

Spark-eater.

Orion leaned against the wall, venting hard as frustration welled up inside of him.

At this point, there wasn't much hope of making it through the maze. But if he waited too long, the scraplets would come find him.

Orion walked out of the small waiting room-like entrance. At least the layout seemed to be the same each time. That should theoretically make it possible to get through.

Orion walked through the intangible cloud of scraplets and then kept walking. He hadn't gotten very far before the walls went blurry and he knew he was coming back to the crystal garden.

He un-shuttered his optics, but didn't say anything, just looked up at the distant Iacon sky. How many times had he attempted the trial? He'd lost count.

"Well?" Yoketron said at length.

"Again."

"That was already three times."

"Again," Orion repeated. He was so sick of that stupid maze—so sick of dying in horrible ways, over and over again. He had offlined hundreds of times in the past several decaorns. Maybe even thousands.

"No," Yoketron said.

"Yes," Orion insisted. "I am going to get through the maze."

Yoketron studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I'll let you try one more time. But you had better make it. Agreed?"

Orion nodded. "Agreed."

"All right," Yoketron came around behind him. Orion felt the data stick, and then the maze materialized around him.

Liege Maximo's voice spoke, seeming to come from every direction.

"You are the master of your own processor. You choose what is real and what is fake. Your objective is to reach the end of the maze."

Orion prepared himself. This time he was going to do it. He'd be faster. He wouldn't let anything distract him. He'd make it.

He set his hand against the wall of the maze, trying to map it out in his processor. Where hadn't he tried yet? What route had he missed? Which way did he need to go?

What if there wasn't a way out?

But it wasn't supposed to be impossible. There were some places he hadn't tried yet—some branching corridors he hadn't gone down.

He just had to decide which way to start. He was fairly certain he wouldn't have time to backtrack if he wanted to beat the trial this time.

He could hear the scraplets in the distance now. They were coming, but they weren't real. Nothing in this maze was real.

Orion looked up at the wall he was leaning on, optics widening.

Nothing in the maze was real. It was all in his helm anyway. The scraplets were getting closer, but he didn't care anymore. Orion took his hand away from the wall. He tried to imagine the space behind it, the hallway where the scraplets had surely reached by now. Then he touched the wall.

Still there.

Orion stepped back and shuttered his optics. There was no wall, just empty space. The wall was just his imagination. It wasn't real…

He took in a deep vent, un-shuttered his optics, and leaned forward. His palm went through the wall and it vanished.

The scraplets turned as one, apparently unfazed by the fact that the wall next to them had just disappeared. They swarmed Orion, buzzing hungrily… Pain overwhelmed him as they tore him to pieces, feasting on his mesh.

Orion was almost too excited to care. He shuttered his optics and let them kill him, waiting anxiously to start over.

Then the room was silent, and the maze was still and Orion was in one piece.

He fixed his new route in his processor. It was going to be a lot simpler than he had thought. This place wasn't a maze after all, just an empty field.

He walked forward and through the wall. It vanished as he did so. He crossed the hallway and walked through the next wall. And the next.

The scraplets chased him but it didn't matter. He didn't have to worry about them. They were no longer blocking his way.

Orion started running, passing through walls, gathering dangers behind him. Once, he lost his concentration, and smacked into a wall, but he got up and rushed through it before anything caught up to him. After several breems of running, leaving a clear path behind him, he started to wonder if the maze would ever end.

Maybe this wasn't the way out. Maybe the maze went on and on eternally.

And then he burst through a wall and into a dark, open plane. Orion blinked and turned to see a smooth wall behind him—the outer wall of the maze.

After an astrosecond, Liege Maximo's voice broke the silence.

"You have reached the end of the maze. You may proceed."

And then Orion un-shuttered his optics and he was sitting in the crystal garden. The sky was darker now, indicating that the sun dome had turned off for the off-cycle.

"Orion?" Yoketron sounded alarmed.

Orion stood. A wave of relief washed over him.

"Orion what happened? That was barely fifteen breems…"

"I made it," Orion said. "I got through."

Yoketron blinked. "How?"

"I went through the walls of the maze. They weren't real either. None of it was real."

Yoketron looked down, then back up. A small smile graced his lip plates. "That was very clever. Well done."

"Thank you, Master Yoketron," Orion bowed. Encouragement was common from the circuit-su master. Praise was not.

"I know Ironhide is probably worried about you," Yoketron said. "And you should go home and get some well-earned rest."

Orion stood. "I… I'm finished, aren't I? I never have to go into that maze again."

"Never," Yoketron promised, standing as well.

Orion vented a sigh of relief, but he was too on edge to really relax. "Of course… I'll have to start the second trial next orn… I'm still behind schedule."

"Don't dwell on it," Yoketron counselled. "We can talk about the second trial next orn."

Orion nodded.

"And don't worry," Yoketron said. "You'll catch up."

"Thank you," Orion bowed again, then walked toward Landquake's back door. No more maze. He was finished.

Jazz woke up fighting. He hit his helm on the ceiling and sank back to the ground, venting hard. Then his optics adjusted and the maintenance tunnel came into focus. He'd managed to bury an energon blade pretty deep in the wall. Sheepishly, he rubbed his aching helm, then reached to pry out the knife.

It was stuck deep in, and he was weak enough from energon loss that the exertion of trying to pull it out was making him dizzy. So he just left it. A shame, as it was a really good knife.

Jazz crawled through the tunnel on hands and knees, trying to keep the splintered shards at the end of his leg from scraping across the tunnel floor or catching on any wires. He couldn't really feel it, but if it started leaking again, he'd probably pass out—maybe even offline. He still felt weak. He wouldn't make it too far without some energon, but he could try to find some out in Kaon somehow.

He got to the door at the end of the tunnel and listened, straining his audios. Was anyone out there? He couldn't hear anything.

He knew exactly where he was in the building. From this door, Jazz would just have to cross a small courtyard. There was a drain there that he'd probably fit down, which would lead him away from the Decepticon base. There might be some acid rain residue at the bottom, but he'd just have to try to keep his injured leg from touching it. That drain was probably his safest way to avoid any guards.

Jazz took a deep vent and twisted the handle on the door. It swung open with a creak.

Soundwave was standing right there, with a gun pointed at Jazz's helm.

Pit.

Jazz froze, spark sinking. How had Soundwave found him? Could this mech hear his thoughts even when he was recharging?

Astroseconds passed by while Jazz waited for the telepath to shoot him, but Soundwave didn't move.

Jazz looked down. "Ya ever fired that thing before, mech?"

There was a clicking sound and Jazz flinched, but nothing happened. He looked up again, and Soundwave's hand was extended.

Jazz hesitated. But he was at the other mech's mercy so he might as well just go along with it. He accepted the proffered hand and let the other mech pull him out of the tunnel and to his one pede. "Thanks, mech."

"We're even," Soundwave said coldly.

Jazz vented a sigh. "I'm going back to Autobot," he said. "Wanna come with?"

Soundwave was silent.

"That mech ain't Searchlight anymore," Jazz said. "Come on, ya know that."

Silence.

"I know ya were friends and all, but... He's trying ta take over the world. Are ya really gonna help him do that?"

The other mech didn't move. It was like talking to a statue. But Jazz knew his words had to be making some sort of impact.

"Come on."

"No."

"Mech, ya can't save him. He's gone."

Soundwave's long fingers transformed back into a gun. "Go."

The unspoken 'before I change my mind' hung in the atmosphere. Very well then. Jazz hopped across the courtyard. He almost stumbled once, but made it to the tunnel. He bent down and opened the doors with Soundwave's silent gaze on him… still… then he let himself down as slowly as he could.

He was pretty confident he would get away now. Too bad he couldn't have brought Soundwave. It was pretty clear the Autobots were at a serious disadvantage without a telepath.

But they'd make do.

Of course, he was assuming they'd let him come back. They might just lock him up—maybe even decide to offline him. But he would deserve it, and at least he could give them some info about the 'Cons.

Jazz smiled bitterly to himself. He'd done this before.

And he'd keep doing it, every time he made a stupid mistake and joined the wrong side.

Alpha Trion knocked on the office door and waited, tapping his pede on the ground. He really didn't have time for this, but he felt some obligation to explain himself. The Fallen was confirmed to be on Cybertron, and would be coming after them now. Alpha Trion was an obvious target, and continuing to sit on the Council would be risky. For safety, he'd have to drag one or more of his siblings with him to Council meetings.

He didn't really mind inconveniencing them, but he was embarrassed about how far he'd let the government fall.

He had tried to guide them with a light hand, because Primus had warned the Thirteen to stay out of government affairs. But he was afraid he had turned a blind optic too many times.

The door slid open after a few astroseconds, and he entered. Grand Councilmech Halogen was sitting behind his desk, looking at a datapad. He didn't glance up from it until Alpha Trion was seated across from him.

"Good orn, Alpha Trion. To what do I owe the honor?"

"I needed to talk to you."

"You've been absent from your seat very often of late."

"Yes," Alpha Trion said. "I have been dealing with other, more pressing matters. What have you been inflicting on the mecha of Cybertron in my absence? You might as well tell me and save both of us some trouble."

Halogen raised an optic ridge, meeting Alpha Trion's gaze evenly.

"I hear we have a new captain of the guard. What happened to Ultra Magnus?"

"The Autobots didn't want him anymore," Halogen said. "And neither do we. He is out of the picture for now."

Alpha Trion stared. "Did you kill him?"

"No," Halogen said. "We are convinced he can still be useful."

Alpha Trion shook his helm. "I don't know why I'm even surprised. How did his happen, Halogen?"

"How did what happen?" Halogen asked. "I'm not sure I understand your question."

"I know that power can corrupt," Alpha Trion said. "That's why I've never directly sat as head of the Council myself. But… I thought that surely you'd be strong enough to withstand it all a little longer. Were you always like this? Did I simply not see it?"

Halogen blinked. "I… am still not certain what you're babbling about."

"Where's that young idealist I voted into office two hundred vorns ago?"

"You're referring to me?"

"Yes."

"That sparkling is dead," Halogen said calmly, meeting Alpha Trion's gaze. "And I am glad to be out from beneath your shadow, old mech. You could say…" he trailed off for a moment, with an almost pained expression. "You could say… that I believe I am a better leader than I would be if I still followed your ridiculous ideals."

Alpha Trion shook his helm again. "You broke your promises to the mecha of Cyberton. And the result is this war. It's on your helm."

"The war was a mistake," Halogen growled. "It was never part of the plan."

"What plan?" Alpha Trion demanded.

There was a flicker—just a flicker of fear in Halogen's optics, but then it was gone.

"What plan are you talking about?" Alpha Trion said, suddenly concerned. "You already rule the world—or you did until recently."

"Enough pleasantries," Halogen said. "Despite our differences, I'm glad you've come to speak with me—"

"Don't change the subject—"

"We must end the war as quickly as possible," Halogen said. "Surely we can agree on that much."

Alpha Trion shook his helm. "I'm not helping you end the war so you can tighten your grip on society again. In fact, I'm finished with your Council. You can expect a letter of resignation some time in the next few orns."

"You can't do that—"

"You can't stop me," Alpha Trion said. "I should think you'd be happy. You've been trying to get rid of me for quite some time. Well, now I'm going."

There it was again. That fear.

There was something wrong with the expression—something very unlike Halogen in it. But it was gone from the Grand Councilmech's faceplate before Alpha Trion could figure out what it reminded him of.

And he needed to get back to Maccadam's. He and his siblings had to prepare for a war of their own.

So he got up from the desk after a few more silent astroseconds, and left Halogen's office.