"Do you know why you're here?"

Sideswipe cocked his helm to the side. "I won a prize?"

The Praxian did not look amused. Sideswipe knew him, or at least his type. He was one of those stuck-up, 'show me respect or you will regret it' mecha who thought they were in charge but were actually just hated by everyone. All organizations had them—schools, companies, governments, Quantum… he wasn't surprised that the Autobots had some too.

"What is your designation?" the Praxian demanded.

Schoolteacher mode. Trying to put Sideswipe on the spot and embarrass him. Good luck with that. Hmm… Sideswipe didn't want to make him too angry. "Sideswipe, sir," he said with an over-exaggerated salute and as much sickening cheerfulness as he could muster.

The mech's stern expression didn't change at all, but somehow his glare intensified. A worthy opponent.

They stood in a group of about fifteen mecha who had apparently incurred the wrath of the Autobot leadership. Sideswipe was pretty sure he knew why he and Sunstreaker were here. And it was likely the others were gathered for a similar reason.

"For most of you," the mech said. "This is the second time in a row you disobeyed orders during a battle. That will not be tolerated. We gave you all a warning last time. This time, there will be punishment."

Sideswipe frowned. That word had haunted him his entire life.

"All of you will be assigned to clean and restock the energon hall for two decaorns."

Not the worst punishment, but annoying. He and Sunstreaker could probably figure out how to get out of it. More interestingly, this mech's voice sounded kind of familiar…

"And if there is a third infraction, you will spend some time in a detention center."

Sideswipe raised his hand.

The Praxian ignored him. "You are all…"

"We have a detention center?" Sideswipe cut in.

"Not yet," the other mech said.

"What if we disobey orders during a battle again before you have one?"

"Then we will ask the Council if we can borrow a jail cell somewhere."

"Doesn't that tower place have like vaults and stuff?"

"Mirage would rather we not use…" The mech trailed off and then seemed to realize Sideswipe was trying to goad him into an argument.

"Does he keep cool stuff in them?"

"You do not have permission to speak."

"You're the mech who gives the orders out on the battlefield," Sideswipe said. "I recognize your voice."

"All of you are dismissed," the Praxian said through gritted denta. "Except for you, Sideswipe. Thank you."

The others left, except for Sunstreaker. Sideswipe was disappointed. This mech had bailed too quickly. Too smart and not angry enough—though he did seem pretty angry.

"I said you are dismissed." The Praxian turned to regard Sideswipe's brother.

"I'm with him," Sunstreaker jerked his helm in Sideswipe's direction.

"We're twins," Sideswipe explained.

"I see," the mech said. He seemed fairly composed, but Sideswipe wondered if this mech was feeling a little intimidated. After all, he was outnumbered, and much smaller than either of the twins.

"Very well," the Praxian said. "Sideswipe and…"

"Sunstreaker."

"I am serious about imprisoning you," the Praxian said. "This is not a matter to take lightly. Failing to follow orders in a battlefield situation can cost the lives of your fellow soldiers or even your own life."

Sideswipe raised an optic ridge. What the frag was a 'battlefield situation' supposed to be? He could just say 'during a battle' or something, couldn't he? "We've only had like two battles. And there haven't been any wars since the Quintesson wars. Don't act like you're some sort of seasoned general. You are the mech telling us what to do out there, right?"

"That is correct."

"So you're as new to this as we are."

The mech's doorwings flicked irritably. "That does not change the factuality of what I just said. You endanger lives when you disobey orders. Do you or don't you understand that?"

"Ok, fine, whatever," Sideswipe said. "But what if you make a mistake, and my disobeying you saves lives."

"That is not your concern."

"It fragging well is. I've got to keep myself in one piece."

The mech's expression hardened. "I'm not in the business of making mistakes. I am also not in the business of arguing with lowly ground troops. And if you're in this to save yourself, then maybe you joined the wrong army."

"Maybe we did," Sideswipe said. "Mr. High and Mighty. What's your designation?"

"You are dismissed."

"That's a funny designation."

The mech glared at him. "Get out!"

Sideswipe figured he'd better not push his luck or he'd end up with a longer punishment. He led the way out of the building and toward the big warehouse where they were supposed to be training. Sometimes, he still questioned their decision to join this army, but he'd met Optimus at one point, and he thought that the Prime was a good mech, and Ironhide too. So even if all of the other mecha in charge of the Autobots were stuck up nobles and the like…

"Maybe we did join the wrong army," Sunstreaker said.

"Nah," Sideswipe said. "We can't back out. We owe a life debt. We're Autobots and we'll stay Autobots. Besides, there are probably lots of troublemakers among the Decepticons already. Wouldn't want to get crowded out, you know."

"Of course not."

Jazz followed the mech from a distance until the streets emptied. He'd been wandering around Iacon for an orn and a half, sticking to shadier places, looking for any clues about those mecha who'd detonated buildings during the fight. A whole bunch of civilians had seen them so he had a lot of descriptions, but no one knew who they were.

He finally had a lead, though. He'd heard this mech at an energon bar talking about the incident in a way that suggested he knew more than hearsay. Jazz didn't recognize the mech from any of the specific descriptions he'd been given, but there was a slight Kaon accent in his voice, which was somewhat suspicious.

Jazz had gone to talk to him, but the mech had insisted he really didn't know anything.

So Jazz had left the bar, then hung out on the corner, waiting for the mech to leave so he could follow.

Now, after several breems of driving through the perpetual Iacon dimness, Jazz followed his mark down a side road, engine quiet, lights off. The mech transformed and knocked on the door of a nearby house. Light and sound filled the street for a moment while the door was open, and then quiet descended again.

Jazz crept closer. It had sounded like a lot of mecha in there. Big mecha with deep, booming voices.

The civilians had described large, intimidating mecha herding them out of their homes before luring the Decepticons inside, then blowing the buildings up. So this could be them.

Jazz looked for a back way in. He did find a window but it was in full view of a large group of mecha sitting around a table, talking. Jazz boosted his audios to try and pick up on their conversation as he peered cautiously through the window, but they didn't seem to be saying anything useful, and it was hard to pick out the words since multiple conversations were happening at once.

He positioned himself so he could just see over the windowsill. His visor made it easier to spy on mecha, since they couldn't see his optics, and would be less likely to recognize him as a person.

The mecha at the table were a motley group—some large and powerfully built, others smaller. He was pleased to recognize a couple of the more distinctive mecha from the descriptions he'd been given. He'd found them. These were the ones he was looking for.

He watched them for a few breems, trying to gauge how dangerous they were. Some seemed to have weapons, and two or three had the pointed fingertips and stylistic armor of southern hemisphere gladiators. Were these mecha all from Kaon, then? Were they some sort of renegade anti-Decepticon group?

Jazz probably shouldn't sneak in and trap himself with these mecha just in case they turned on him. But he did want to talk to them and find out more about them, and he wasn't patient enough to just hang around and observe.

Pit, one of them was staring at him. Jazz froze until the mech turned away, and then ducked away from the window and scaled the wall up to a deep, dark alcove higher on the building.

A few astroseconds later, one of the mecha from inside came out and stood, staring at the window. He put a hand to his helm. "You're seeing things, mech," he said. "There ain't nothing here… which… sure… who the frag would be watching us anyway?... whatever, I'm coming back in."

Jazz watched him go, thoughtful.

He was probably supposed to comm. Mainspring now he'd found them. They'd caused property damage and civilian casualties, on top of attacking the Decepticons without authorization.

Mainspring would probably want to have these mechs arrested.

And Jazz thought that was stupid.

He would be a pretty big hypocrite if he turned these mecha in. They had blown up a couple of buildings, but it seemed like they'd been trying to help the Autobots. He needed to talk to them before he notified enforcement. He had to see if they could be reasoned with—see if they were willing to work with him.

Then again, enlistment was open to everyone and these mecha had decided to work on their own instead of signing up.

Jazz commed Mainspring and had to wait about a breem for him to answer.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I'm about ta do something stupid," Jazz said.

"…What?"

"Well, I found those mecha we were looking for. Ya know, those ones who blew up some 'Cons during the battle."

"…all right."

"I'm gonna go talk ta them."

"Why is that stupid?"

"Cuz they're probably pretty dangerous, and I'll be cornered and outnumbered. So if I send ya my location sometime in the next couple of breems, it probably means I'm in trouble and ya should send me back-up."

"Maybe I should send you back-up first."

"Nah, I wanna talk ta them, see if they'll tell me what they were tryin' ta do, and what side they're on. I might be able ta convince them ta join the Autobots."

"You'll probably have to ask Orion's permission for that," Mainspring said. "These mecha seem somewhat destructive. In fact, we should probably turn them over to enforcement."

Just as Jazz had suspected. "Well, let me talk ta them first, anyway."

"All right. Be careful."

"Be ready," Jazz replied and cut the comm.

Then he carefully climbed down from the alcove and went to press the entry request on the front door.

"Come in," Orion said. His office door opened and a vaguely familiar mech with an Elite Guard symbol on his shoulder came in.

"Good orn," Orion said. Red Alert hadn't commed him to warn him he had a visitor, so he'd expected someone from the command element.

"Prime, Sir," the mech bowed slightly.

"Are you here from the Council? I can't meet with them until later in the on-cycle.

"No, Sir. Ironhide suggested I come speak with you, Sir."

"Oh," Orion said. "All right." He gestured for the mech to sit in the chair across from him. The guard hesitated, then walked over.

"Please, sit," Orion said.

The mech did so.

"What did you want to speak with me about?"

"Well, Sir," the guard said. "There are two things. The Elite Guard… many of us would like to join the Autobots."

Orion nodded. "We would be happy to have you."

"It would mean breaking our oath to serve the Council, but some of us have already been violating that by passing information to you through Ironhide."

Orion looked down. "I'm sorry to put you in that situation."

"Considering the things we've all seen the Council do, Sir, it's a relief to have an excuse to forsake them in favor of a better cause. It was unforgivable the way they refused to speak with you last orn during the Decepticon attack. I mean, it's not as unforgivable as some of the things they've done in the past, but…"

"Again," Orion said. "I cannot encourage you to break oaths you have made. But we would be happy to have anyone who's willing to join us…"

Though if the Elite Guard left the Council… the Council still needed to be protected.

"The second thing, Sir," the mech said. "Is that High Councilor Halogen intends to use the meeting this orn to try and establish control over you by threatening to withhold the Key to Vector Sigma."

Well, that wasn't much of a surprise.

"Barring that, he may have you arrested," the guard continued. "I recommend that you refuse to meet with them."

Everyone seemed to recommend that. But Solus Prime had said she would accompany him. That should make things a lot safer. "Thank you for the information. I will take it into account."

"You're still going to meet with them?"

Orion nodded. "I am. And… if it's possible, I'd like you to stay and protect the Council."

"Why?" the mech asked.

"Because they do have the Key to Vector Sigma. And because—as corrupt as they are—the Council is essential in keeping order in Iacon."

The mech's optics hardened. "Is that what you care about, then? Do you have any idea… some of the things the Council does…"

"I know,"

"But you think they're a necessary evil?"

"No," Orion said. "I think there are better ways to deal with them than betraying them."

The mech shook his helm. "Ironhide swears you're not in league with them, but maybe we can't trust him either." He stood. "Thank you for speaking with me, Sir."

"Wait!" Orion said.

The mech stopped halfway to the door and turned around.

"What would you do?" Orion asked. "In my position. The Council is beyond corrupt, but I can barely run this army—I don't want to have to run the government as well. Ask your fellow guardsmechs to stay with the Council for now, until we are prepared to put something better in its place."

The mech sighed. "Very well, Prime, Sir," he said. "The large majority of us are prepared to swear loyalty to you, as soon as you give the word."

"Thank you," Orion said.

The mech nodded, and left the room.

Almost as soon as he'd gone, Orion got a comm. from Jazz, which he answered promptly.

"Good orn, Jazz. Do you have something to report?"

"Yep," Jazz said. "Ya got some time before ya have ta go see Yoketron?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"Remember those explosions last orn?"

Orion sat up straighter. "Did you find out who set them off?"

"Yeah!" Jazz sounded pleased with himself. "And I've pretty much recruited them."

Orion hesitated. "Recruited?"

"For my department," Jazz said. "Of course, Mainspring wants ya ta talk ta them first, and their leaders want ta talk ta you too."

"Who are they?" Orion asked.

"Bunch of random mecha from Kaon, Tarn, and other cities near the south pole. Gladiators, laborers, technicians, that sort of thing. They actually helped out a little with the Slaughter City battle, but we didn't notice it."

Something about this didn't seem quite right. "But… if they wanted to help us, why didn't they just enlist?"

"Um… I think some of them are wanted mecha… not ta mention, I don't think they like rules much. But after they talk ta you, I'm sure they'll be happy to join. I don't think they'd make good ground troops, but I can work with them."

"I'm… not so sure about this."

"Ya let me join," Jazz said. "And in any case, Mainspring says ya have ta talk ta them first. If ya don't think we can trust them, or they decide they don't want ta follow you, then there'll just be some respectful declining and everything'll be fine. But mech, please, give them a chance. I think they could really help us."

Orion sighed. "All right. Are they ready to talk now? I have some time before I meet with Master Yoketron."

"Yeah. I brought them about a block away from the tower. I'll send ya coordinates. I don't think they'll try anything, but ya might want ta bring someone cuz I'm not sure I could take both of them if they do."

"How… dangerous are these mecha?"

"Eh, it'll probably be fine."

"All right," Orion said. "I'm coming."

He got up from his desk and left his room. Ironhide wasn't here, and Orion didn't want to bother anyone else.

Red Alert commed him over an internal frequency as he was walking toward the elevator. "Prime! Where are you going?"

"I'm going to meet some mecha Jazz wants me to talk to."

Orion braced himself.

"What! You can't do that! There's no way we can trust Jazz."

"I'll take some guards if it makes you feel better."

"You think my security guards can stop Jazz?"

"I trust Jazz," Orion said as he stepped into the elevator, but Red Alert's words had made him think. Given Jazz's reputation, if he was worried about these mecha overpowering them, they were probably very dangerous…

But these mecha just wanted to talk to him. There was no reason to be paranoid.

He left the building and went to the coordinates Jazz had told him about. There were many such buildings beneath the high towers. They were usually home to servants or guards or other mecha who worked for the nobles. Mirage owned a handful of them, and the Autobots used them for various purposes.

Jazz beckoned him inside, where two mecha waited for him. Both of them were unusually large and intimidating.

And Orion recognized one of them…

"Prime," the unfamiliar one nodded to him.

"Good orn," Orion said, then turned to the second mech. "Springer, right?"

"Yeah," the mech said, grinning. "Sorry about the mess we left during the battle."

"Yes," Orion said. "I heard about that."

The other mech crossed his arms. "You are Optimus Prime?"

"Yeah," Jazz said, coming to stand slightly in front of Orion. "Optimus, this is Impactor and Springer—guess ya already know Springer."

"Yes, we met once before," Orion said. He felt more comfortable now that he knew Springer was one of the mecha he was meeting with. The big green gladiator hadn't attacked him the last time they'd talked.

He turned his attention to the other mech—Impactor. "It's good to meet you too. Jazz says you have some interest in joining the Autobots."

"That's stretching it a little," Impactor said. "We are interested in preventing invading armies from taking over city-states. So far, I'm not sure if your side's much better."

"You may have heard rumors about—"

"No," Impactor said. "It's not the rumors. My friends and I have problems with authority in general. I've seen it corrupt too many mecha."

Orion met the mech's optics and saw a frightening hardness in them, and none of the friendliness that Springer gave off.

He took in a deep vent. "Well, we're grateful for your willingness to help us fight the Decepticons, and your help during the battle last orn… however, you caused a lot more damage to the city and its citizens than strictly necessary."

"Necessity is sometimes a matter of opinion," Impactor said.

"I… don't think it is," Orion said.

"You know, Optimus Prime," Impactor said. "I lived in Tarn before I got my current group of mecha together. Almost all of my old friends joined the Decepticons."

Orion let silence fall before speaking again. "Why didn't you?"

"I heard a couple of Megatronus's speeches," Impactor said. "And it was apparent to me that he's a delusional mechling. He spoke of rising up and ridding the world of oppression, which is slag. I've been around long enough to know that's not how it works."

Orion wondered how old he was. There was nothing frail or elderly in his motions or his gaze.

"Of course you are but a mechling yourself, even if you're also a Prime. I'm wary of placing myself under any obligation to follow orders from someone with so little experience. I prefer to do things my own way anyway."

"Unfortunately, that's problematic," Orion said. "What you did could have been a disaster if it had happened in the wrong place at the wrong time. And even though it didn't impede us this time, you did kill a lot of mecha in those explosions, including civilians."

Impactor crossed his arms. "What's a couple of civilians? They'd just have been captured by the Decepticons anyway. We probably prevented more casualties than we caused."

Orion met Impactor's optics. "I'm sorry," he said. "If you do not care about civilian casualties, then perhaps we can't work together. As the Prime, I am responsible for every Cybertronian life, and I expect the mecha who fight under me to take that seriously."

Impactor shrugged, but a grim smile tugged at his lip plates. "Maybe we can't."

Silence fell between them.

"I'm all for joining the Autobots," Springer said.

"I know you are, you're almost as much of a stupid idealist as this one," Impactor jerked his helm in Orion's direction.

"I think we should give him a chance anyway. Come on, if we keep showing up to cause trouble, they'll arrest us, right? Isn't that what happens when you break the law too many times?"

"I take it back, you're a fragging sparkling," Impactor shook his helm, then looked back at Orion. "Look, I actually do want to join you. I'll even play it by your rules if you like. But you're going to have to convince me that you deserve my help. Why should I be an Autobot?"

Orion took in a deep vent. Impactor wanted him to make his case. He'd said these words so many times to news reporters and groups of mecha he probably had them memorized…

"And I don't want your media faceplate," Impactor said, as if reading Orion's processor. "I want the truth. Straightforward; no gold paint. Reality. Who are you, Optimus Prime? And what exactly is it you're trying to do here?"

Orion met his optics, unsure. If he told the whole truth—how he didn't know if he could do this, how he wished he could just go back to being a librarian, how he worried he would never be good enough at fighting to actually go out on a battlefield, how he wasn't really entirely a Prime yet, how he was so desperately afraid of his friends dying, how he still wanted to try to reason with Megatron despite the fact that everyone told him it was impossible… If he told this mech the truth, he was almost certain Impactor would refuse to follow him. Orion was no leader, not really.

But Impactor was right to want the truth. He deserved the truth. Everymech deserved the truth. Orion took in a deep vent. "My designation is… well was… Orion Pax. Before this, I was an archivist. I have no experience leading an army. I am not a fighter. Most of the time… I don't really know why I'm here…"

Mirage walked through the streets of Kaon, pondering the unfortunate conundrum. He had already discovered some interesting information, but the really useful information was in places that he couldn't go without risking Soundwave catching him.

He didn't want Soundwave to catch him.

So he kept to the streets on the edge of the central sector, listening in to conversations, trying to find important-looking mecha to follow, and staying far away from the Decepticon base of operations.

It was almost…boring. Honestly and truly, playing the high tower games—listening in to the other noblemecha, rooting out their secrets—had been much more interesting than trudging through dirty streets trying to glean information from the scum of society.

To say that Mirage had been very good at playing the high tower games would be an understatement. He could have had anything he wanted. Any secret, any alliance. Of course, he didn't really want the hassle of trying to keep everyone from hunting down his secrets, so he'd stayed in the background, mostly watching, invisible. Mirage's modification was quite a gift. Not only did it create a complex illusion that hid him from sight, it also cloaked him from every kind of sensor and masked his sound. Prowl seemed to know he was there sometimes. That bothered him. Maybe the mech was just guessing. Mirage couldn't muster the humility to ask him how he did it, though.

He kept wandering around. He learned that Megatron was forcing more mecha to work in the mines. That was probably where the civilian prisoners he'd taken from Iacon were going. He hadn't heard anything about that, though. Apparently Megatron didn't want his loyal citizens to know that he was kidnapping and enslaving civilians from other cities. The public opinion of him already wasn't great. Mecha seemed to think he was better than the previous establishment, but not by much. Some argued against him, but usually only among friends. There were rumors that if you were an Autobot sympathizer, you'd get sent to the mines, or worse.

It was textbook definition tyranny. Some defended him by claiming that at least he was all about the common mech, and that in his system, there was no elite class to lord over everyone else. But he only fought for the common mecha who supported him, and abused those who disagreed with his methods. That was one of the big differences between him and Orion. Orion cared about everyone, even those who didn't support him.

The claim that there was no elite class was a lie as well. You couldn't have a government without some mecha being higher up than others. It just wasn't possible. What was Megatron, if not nobility? He even called himself "Lord" Megatron.

He was a hypocrite. Or, if not that, at least delusional. Completely insane.

Mirage paused to look toward the Decepticon base. Maybe if he was careful…

No. Not only would that be disobeying Jazz's orders, Mirage didn't want to put himself in more danger than he had to. A healthy sense of self-preservation was a good trait for a spy to have. It kept you alive, kept you from getting captured.

Speaking of being a good spy, it was time to report in. Mirage found an empty alleyway where no one was likely to disturb him, and pulled out a datapad to type up a quick summary of what he'd learned and how everything was going. He would encrypt it and send it over a frequency that the Decepticons couldn't detect. It had taken a while for Jazz to explain how to do it, but Mirage had understood eventually.

He finished and sent the message, then went back out into the streets.