A/N: Thanks to my awesome beta sidekicks-anonymous for her work on this chapter as usual!

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CHAPTER 1
Unexpected Kindness

"Listen, I'm a hard worker, I-."

"Your creator was a factory worker, and you're an ex-inmate. Do you realize the risk I would take hiring you? Let alone having to help you integrate into my caste?"

Ratchet stood there at the door to the Hall of Records, his hand shaking a bit. He was trying his best not to let his anger get the better of him, but after three weeks of this he was growing tired of this. No one wanted to give him a chance, or the time of day no matter what argument he made. They looked at him, and all they saw was a low caste orphan who had been to Juvenile Hall. Neither of those things screamed someone any of them wanted to take into their caste and employ.

"Sir, please. If you give me a chance, I promise not to let you down." Ratchet pleaded. "You're my fifth attempt this week."

The mech regarded him sharply, standing there for a long moment. "What's your alt mode?"

Ratchet gaped, had he really just asked him that? Sure, he had finally gotten his license a week ago, and could finally use his natural one... But it was definitely not something that would look good driving into work. "It's... It's a truck sir. But I can easily scan something more suiting of a data clerk." The mech started to wave him off. "Sir, please. If I don't find someone to vouch for me entering training into a caste soon... They'll force me to work in the mines."

"What do you care? What do you have to live for?"

The door slammed shut in his face, yet again leaving him out in the cold. He wondered if things might have gone differently, had the head of the Hall of Records, Alpha Trion been in. But in all honesty, he didn't have time to speculate on what could have been right now. Instead, he gave the door a sharp kick, and let some of that built up anger out. "Yeah! Well frag you too, you pit-spawned glitch!" He shouted. "You haven't heard the last of me! You'll regret it!"

Ratchet didn't believe a word he'd just said, but it'd still made him feel better to say it. He made his way back down the steps of the building, trying his best not to feel all too discouraged. But it was hard not to, given he had spent the time since leaving the abandoned building recharging under a bridge. A part of him actually might have preferred being in the Juvenile Detention Center, in a way, given at least there he had a roof over his head, and a berth, no matter how uncomfortable.

As he walked down the sidewalk, he watched the better-off mechs quietly. It was embarrassing, walking around looking as he did, among people that were better off. Most younglings like him might have resigned to the life that they were said to be destined for: a factory worker, gladiator, or a miner. But Ratchet didn't want any of those things for himself. He wanted a better life. Perhaps not like the one that First Aid was probably living as they spoke, but none-the-less better than being treated as lower than dirt.

Ratchet went over his last stop, this one being an actual interview. A clerical, entry-level position in a small hospital in the middle-caste sector of Iacon. The mech who ran it, Siren, was said to be one of the best in the field. But he had opened applications up to anyone with a hunger to learn and a good helm on their shoulders. Ratchet figured he only took his application, and gave him a call for an interview to keep up appearances. Especially given Ratchet was not experienced in medical practice, nor had he shown any interest in it in the past.

But he also knew he had to explore any option afforded to him. The only other way into a certain caste, after all, was Iacon Academy. And while he'd been before he was incarcerated, the "university" level classes he'd have to take cost credits. More credits than he'd ever seen in his life.

And so he walked the five miles to that small hospital without any more thought. He was thankful to be reminded of how welcoming and inviting it looked, with the brightly colored exterior, and its less-than-intimidating size. Even once he'd stepped inside again, the place seemed bright and cheery. Though Ratchet didn't totally know what to make of that, it was still better than most of the hospitals he'd been to as both a sparkling and youngling.

"Ah, you're early." Ratchet jumped out of his plating at the sound of a soft, baritone voice. "I like mechs that make it a point to be on time or early. I assume you are my applicant, Ratchet?"

Ratchet turned towards the voice. He'd left his application with a secretary, so this was the first time he'd met Siren himself. The mech that came out of the adjacent doorway towered over Ratchet. His plating was a bright cherry red, and his soft blue optics betrayed a gentle nature to the otherwise intimidating mech. He must have been older, Ratchet guess around sixty vorns, given he appeared to be in his third adult frame.

He shifted nervously, but nodded. "Yes, sir. That would be me." Ratchet replied. "And before you say anything, no, I am not getting out. I know my appearance is not the best, but I was told I have just as much right as anyone else to apply." He stated, so tired of being turned away that he didn't care how it sounded.

Siren looked him over, taking in the sight of the youngling quietly. Ratchet was about five feet shorter than him, with a faded red and white paint scheme that desperately needed a touch up. So indeed, he didn't exactly look like a middle caste mech, but... "Of course you do. As someone with no assigned caste, that is your right." Siren explained. "As for your appearance, I see nothing wrong with it. Especially not for a mech with your history."

"You... Know my history?"

"We did thorough background checks, yes." Siren nodded slowly. "And you have... Dare I say, quite the history. Though I assure you, not nearly as bad as some others. I've seen people come through who went to the stockades as younglings, and didn't leave until they were far older than you."

Ratchet shuddered. Being a Juvenile version of the Stockade was bad enough. The thought of going into the actual thing as a youngling though? What could anyone have done to deserve that? "Yeah, well, if you knew the slag I saw, you'd be in one too. It's a mech-eat-mech world out there. I had to fight to survive it."

Siren looked pointedly at Ratchet, humming quietly. "If you work for me, that won't do. If I'm vouching for you to join the Science Caste as a trainee, I'd be taking you into the high caste. Even if we work in a middle caste sector. Do you understand that?" Ratchet nodded his head in response. "Very good, then we should have no further problems in this interview. If you'll follow me, please."

Ratchet was surprised that Siren didn't throw him out after what he said. Would this mech really consider him, knowing his history of violence? He'd half-expected the science caste to turn him away once they found out who he was. But all the same, he followed the mech down a hallway and into a large, gorgeous office. It was here that Ratchet got the feeling that Siren was higher caste, just from the expensive metals his furniture was made of. "Alright then, Ratchet, have a seat." Ratchet didn't hesitate to take one in front of the desk, his optics still scanning the room. "I'll start this off easy. I've read your records, but tell me a little about yourself."

Ratchet blinked. A little about himself? He thought it over for a minute. How much was he willing to share with a mech he'd known all of five minutes? "Well, not a lot to tell, I guess. I was a foster kid, and born into the low castes. My creators... They ran out on my brother and I when I was eight vorns." He explained.

"You have a brother then? Younger or older? Does he live with you?"

"Younger. But I haven't seen him since my first three months in the system. He was adopted by someone in the science caste himself. I don't remember their names." Ratchet replied honestly. That much he was willing to share. "My social worker gave me monthly updates until I was ten vorns. His family moved, and I haven't heard about him since."

He could see the pang of sympathy in Siren's optics. It was an action he tried to ignore;he was tired of seeing that. "I'm very sorry. It's terrible that the system splits up spark siblings in such a manner."

Ratchet grunted. "It was my fault, really. They were going to adopt us both, but I didn't trust them. I fought with them, and frankly I just... I was angry, very angry." He paused a moment. "What does this have to do with the job, sir? If you want to know more important matters, I'm not educated very well. I was in a facility for so long, and they would not pay for schooling. But I can read and write at the same level as anyone my age."

Siren balked at the outburst, but clearly could see the hurt in Ratchet's optics. Clearly, his brother was a subject that was best left off the table. "Well, that's good. Because it is clerical work, so that is at least necessary. Though... A lack of education can hurt you for this job." He explained. "Perhaps if you were still in Iacon Academy..."

"I can learn! And when I've saved up enough credits from working here, I'll go." Ratchet burst out, surprising Siren with his lack of hesitation. "Honestly sir, I'm desperate enough to get myself off the streets that I'll fragging do anything. And sure, that includes going to the mines, or a factory like my sire. But I also know the life expectancy for someone there without a family looking out for them."

Siren stroked his chinplate quietly. "You live on the streets then?"

Ratchet was silent, slouching in the chair. "Unlike some orphans, I didn't have anything to my name when I was out. I do what I can to get by." He paused for a long moment.

That seemed to hit Siren harder than anything else he'd said. Ratchet wasn't sure what the look he had was, but he got a feeling it was something along the lines of pity. "You'll need the pay you get then for survival, not education. I would never ask you to spend it on education, as important as that is." Siren was silent. "How old are you, again, Ratchet?"

Ratchet was silent for a long moment. "I just turned eighteen vorns a week before my release, sir."

Siren stood to his feet, and crossed over to put a hand on the youngling. "You're a brave mech, coming here with no home, and a record looking for work. So I want to give you a chance, both because I believe everyone deserves a second chance, and more importantly, you're barely a mech. I would rather not be responsible for you being out there and dying of starvation, or in the mines."

"You're offering me the job?" Ratchet asked in surprise.

Siren nodded his head slowly, but then said something that surprised Ratchet. "On one condition. I won't hire a homeless mech. So I'm asking that you take my offer of a place to live. My sparkmate and I have a spare room, I'll rent it out to you for five credits a month." He explained.

"Five credits a month?" Ratchet asked. "I, uh, that's incredibly cheap. I don't-."

"I'm aware. But do you think someone in my position needs rent money? Hardly. I simply doubt you'll come for free, so I'm making a compromise." Siren explained, honestly. "Once we get the paperwork done, you'll be a Science Caste Trainee, so the council can say nothing about it. We will now be on equal footing."

Ratchet looked at him, shifting a bit. "Why would you do that for me?" He asked. "I'm not going to work for free. Or do slave labor if that's what you're asking for in return." He replied skeptically.

"I'm not asking for that. But twenty-five credits an hour is hardly enough to get you a place close by. And frankly... It'd feel wrong having you come to this sector every day, then going home to the streets or whatever you could get at night." Siren admitted. "In my optics, you're still a youngling. So allow me to help you with housing arrangements."

Ratchet looked at Siren with doubt. He was unsure of what to make of the mech's offer. Was he serious? "I don't need charity, sir. I can make the commute, and I'll find a place of my own." Ratchet replied. "I just need time."

Siren looked at him, but then shook his head. "I must insist. You come to work for me, you take up residence nearby. And since it's unreasonable to expect you to afford something in the middle or higher sectors, it would seem I'm your only choice." He explained.

Ratchet couldn't tell why this mech cared so much. He was going to be nothing but a glorified intern to him, yet here he was, offering him shelter. He paused a long moment, tapping the side of the armrest. His optics scanned the mech for some time, trying to make his choice.


"You look like you're starving. Let me get you a fresh cube of Energon."

Ratchet blinked in surprise as the femme said those words. Siren's sparkmate, Mixplate, had only had him in her home for ten minutes when she said it. For Ratchet, it was odd to be treated with such kindness, but he already had the feeling she was one of those types that wanted to help. He'd met a few like her, though none had been as sincere as she seemed, nor as kind looking.

She was a well built femme, with a pink and blue plating. Her soft blue optics matched her bonded's, though that was no surprise given they were in the high caste. Her age was clearer than Siren's, but she still looked quite well for being her age. In general she gave off very inviting vibes, and despite his better judgement, Ratchet was inclined to at least put a little trust in her.

"You don't have to do that m'am. I'm only a boarder in your home. I can... I can find my own way to get Energon." Ratchet stammered a bit.

Siren put his hands on Ratchet's shoulders. For a minute, the younger mech had forgotten the older one was standing behind him. But as if to tell him it wasn't optional, he carefully led Ratchet to a seat at their kitchen table and made him sit. "Ratchet, it would seem to me you haven't refueled in close to a week, correct?" Ratchet blinked, opening his mouth. "I read your readings, son. You're dangerously low on fuel, and you won't be paid for at least two weeks. Let us share our Energon with you."

Ratchetavoided the other mech's gaze out of embarrassment, instead, he focused on the kitchen. It was definitely a high caste home, that much was obvious. Their kitchen was twice the size of the apartment he was sparked in, with the nicest metals credits could buy. Their table was huge too, which meant he could only imagine what their dining room table looked like. These sparkmates were so well off that even his high caste foster families homes didn't compare to theirs.

He was brought out of his thoughts as an Energon cube slid across the table to him. His optics stared between the older couple, as he wondered for the fifth time if this was some sort of trick. Would the Energon be poisoned, he wondered? After a moment, he guessed he should take it anyway. What did it matter if it was, he figured. He had nothing to really live for these days.

And so, with all the table manners of a turbofox, he chugged the Energon cube. Chugged it until he nearly made himself purge from drinking so fast. After a moment, he set the Energon cube down again, now empty, noticing the look of surprise on both of their faceplates. Again, Ratchet was embarrassed, but he hadn't had a full cube of mid-grade in so long; too long.

"I'm sorry, I just-."

"Don't be, you were just hungrier than I expected." Siren commented calmly. "Would you like another?"

Ratchet was silent, his optics looking between them again. Needless to say, he took another one, and another after that. Though he took the other two slower than the first. And though he felt bad doing so, he also could feel his energy returning, as well as his strength. "You're really too kind to a mech you just met." Ratchet finally spoke up, as he looked at Siren, whom was preparing his own meal. "You're aware of that, right?"

"And why is that? Because I treat someone with kindness? You've clearly spent too much time with members of our caste that treat lower caste members like trash." Siren explained, his voice filled with honesty. "We are all Primus' younglings. And you are not the first desperate mech I have gone out of my way to help - though you are by far the youngest."

"Why, though?" Ratchet asked, curiously. "What do you get out of it?"

Siren chuckled as if the young mech had asked him something amusing. "You say that like I expect to get anything out of it. I'm an old mech, with plenty of room in my home, and a caring spark. And to be more frank, my creators raised me to be generous." Siren explained, his optics bearing down on Ratchet. "It makes me happy to help people."

Ratchet paused a moment. "You were going to try and "help" me whether you hired me or not, weren't you?"

That got him a smirk from the mech, who raised his optic ridges. "You could say that. I wasn't about to let a mechling barely in his adult frame leave there homeless. That, Ratchet, is an issue of morality." He then added. "Anyone with a spark wouldn't let that happen."

Ratchet didn't understand his logic. Plenty of mechs and femmes lived on the streets of the slums. Why was he so special? Why did this couple care so much? Or was it simply that he had been in the right place, at the right time? He didn't know, but for some reason, Ratchet thought he could see some other reason betraying Siren in the way he looked at him.

Mixplate cleared her throat, grabbing both of their attentions. "I think we should lay some ground rules before we go much further. You seem like a nice young mech, but there always has to be rules... Even with the overgrown sparkling over there." She nodded at Siren.

"Don't let her make you too nervous. Though I'd start bringing those cubes to the sink." Siren chuckled.

Ratchet didn't give a response, as he was already used to rules. His whole life had revolved around them, so he truly doubted these would be much different. All the same, he did move to bring the cubes to the sink. "That's rule one. Everyone cleans up their own cubes. I'm not a maid bot here, I hope you understand that." Ratchet simply nodded. "Try not to stay out too late. We're older so we like to recharge before the early morning hours. I hope you can understand that."

Ratchet shook his head. "I don't stay out late anyway. I don't have a reason to, m'am." He replied rinsing out the first of his cubes.

"Now that you're in a caste, you're going to make friends. And at your age it's logical to stay out late some nights. We're simply asking you don't come in, say, when the sun is coming up." Ratchet shrugged, somewhat doubting he could find himself making very many friends. "Because lastly is that our day starts early anyway. You can leave for work with me, so we'll be heading in around six in the morning. So it's not good for your health either."

Six... In the morning? Ratchet cringed, he really didn't like the sound of it. But he wasn't going to argue either. These people did seem to be as nice as they appeared. And what's more, they were offering him a roof over his head, a fact which he couldn't blow if he wanted to survive. "That all?" He asked non-nonchalantly. As they both nodded, he snorted. "Wow, you made it sound like they would be worse. You do know I just came from a juvenile detention center, right?"

"Ah, that's right. There is one more rule." Ratchet blinked as Siren spoke. "We're offering you a second chance here, Ratchet. But I ask you don't take advantage of that. First and foremost all we really ask of you is that you do your best to stay out of trouble. Or at least the kind of trouble that could land you in a stockade."

Ratchet tensed a bit, but knew it was an honest comment. He did have to keep himself out of trouble, he knew that. And while he intended to never do anything to land himself in a stockade, he understood their concern. Taking a deep breath, he looked between them. "You have my word." Ratchet nodded his head. "Now, thank you for your kindness, both of you. But I think I need to recharge myself. It was a long day."

Mixplate nodded her head slowly. "Alright then, follow me."

As he did just that, Ratchet again hoped these people truly could be trusted.