Starcrossed 38: Tension Rising
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It was night in Praxus, one of the calmer ones when they could all be together, something that was growing ever rarer by the vorn as crime rates raised and the number of mecha willing to be Enforcers lowered steadily. Praxus was more insulated than the majority of the planet, with a strong sense of culture and connection with other citizens, but it was even happening in their city, and Ops rarely saw an uneventful orn go by anymore.

But their planning hadn't stopped. No matter what was happening to the world around them, the determination to find and destroy the mech who prevented them from bonding had remained a top priority, and after centuries of preparation, everything felt close to ready.

Jazz joined his lovers on their balcony where they were looking out over the city lights, leaning against the rail next to them, greeting with a rumbling purr that was returned by both. They came out here to talk on quiet nights, comforted by the city below, the darkness, and the solitude.

"How do we stand?" Radiance asked them, voice low. They had hoped to be ready by this metacycle and Jazz was getting final reports from Kaon while Prowl ran his final, decaorn-long, intensive analysis.

"Steady from what I can tell," Jazz murmured. "Nothing's changed over there, even with the rest of the city rotting like it is."

"We have the finances to move, but I am concerned," Prowl said quietly, his optics not really looking at the view. "The war that is coming will spread to all of Cybertron. It is already too late for the Senate to change its path, even if it was inclined to. It is a very bad time to expend our resources."

His lovers gave him a startled look.

"Is war so certain?" Radiance asked, just as soft. "The Prime is working with that faction to ensure it never even happens."

"The Prime has no power to go what must be done," Prowl's tone was resigned. "Cybertron has too many mecha. Even under optimal energon production conditions a safe population level is at most two thirds of what it is now. Half would be better. There is no way to provide what the masses need anymore. It has been building for half the Golden Age. It is coming within the century. Likely much sooner now that they have a strong leader."

"So we move now," Jazz said, almost insisted, and there was more than a little pleading in the subglyphs. "While we still can, while the planet is still stable."

Prowl shivered very faintly, distressed by the two painful pulls of his core coding. One, to protect Jazz that said to hold off until the war was over. The other to give Jazz anything he wanted that screamed to comply.

Radiance watched carefully as Prowl froze there, teeking and realizing the coding battle that was starting in his lover, one with severe enough implications and emotions attached that the likelihood of a crash was high, and growing with every nanoklik that passed. Prowl had been deep in analysis, barely moving except when prompted to stretch, for the last five orns, and this had been his conclusion. "You think it's safest to save our resources. Why?" he asked softly.

That seemed to break through the frozen physical functions and there was a flicker first in Prowl's field, then his optics, and then a slow cycling of his vents as the field calmed, drawn back into the steady ground that reasoning gave him.

"There is not enough fuel to sustain the planet," he said. "Though that isn't widely realized yet. Energon prices have been increasing gradually for centuries, almost undetectable, and the pattern is beginning to show all the hallmarks of being exponential. The most likely projection..." He cocked his head, pulling up calculations, figures, and conclusions. "Prices are currently going up by five percent per vorn, and in a decade it will become ten, then twenty, and follow that pattern until it is doubling every vorn. Eventually, the value of a credit will fail entirely, and energon will become the currency, but no one will want to part with it. We need to stockpile, and waste as little as possible to weather this out. We simply..." He paused, and reached out to brush his thumb over Jazz's face, spark breaking at the devastated look he saw there. "It would be unwise to expend any amount of unnecessary energon, and to take him down, we will need fuel."

Jazz just nodded and turned away to look out over the city. "So we wait again."

"Yes," Prowl said softly, relieved and very grateful for Radiance's interference even as he pressed against Jazz's back and held him. "We wait. We ensure our survival. We ensure that when the destruction settles, we are among those ready to move forward and rebuild."

He got another nod before Jazz leaned back against him, head tilting to rest on his shoulder. His hands covered Prowl's and squeezed as almost imperceptible emotions flickered beneath the calm surface of his field, anger, love, grief.

"You can let go," Radiance murmured next to them, reaching over to turn Jazz's face towards him. "We're here, it's okay."

Jazz stared at him for a long moment before he shuddered, brought his arms up to cross over his chest, then lifted his hands to cover his face, slumping against Prowl, who lowered him carefully to the ground.

Radiance moved around in front of him as they wrapped their arms around their youngest mate, holding silently, not even flinching when he threw his head back and screamed all the wild rage and longing in his spark into the night.

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When the economy collapsed out from beneath Cybertron seemingly overnight, as credits were rapidly downloaded from accounts into sticks and it hit the newsfeeds that energon production couldn't sustain the current population for even another decade, Prowl and his triad were among the very few who weren't even surprised.

Praxus was insulated from the worst of the effects, with its own healthy economy, a large middle class, and inhabitants who were drawn, through coding alone, to look after each other. A few of the other city-states, Vos among them, the Seekers just as ready to help their own kind out as Praxians, were faring okay, but the rest of the planet seemed like it was crumbling away within metacycles as mecha did whatever they had to for energon.

They were cuddled together on a sofa watching newsfeeds, one of the rare nights they could be all together anymore, one small candy for each. The equivalent amount of fuel for each had been taken from their ornly cubes so they could have them without wasting any energy.

"Mortar was telling me that Enforcers in other cities are just walking away and joining the rioters," Radiance murmured, watching the images of energon riots from dozens of cities. "No one left to keep order in some of them, those that do tend to wind up dead."

"This is only the beginning," Prowl's harmonics were sad but resigned. "It won't stop until the population has been decimated to the point that the few energon production facilities left after the riots can sustain the entire population. Eventually Praxus will have to field an army to keep non-residents out by deactivating any without the ID to enter. I do not believe the city is prepared for such an action."

"It isn't," Radiance said, shaking his head. He shuddered faintly at the thought.

"Was listening in on some analysts talking at work," Jazz said from the other side of Prowl, leaning against his mate. "If Praxus could stay completely self-contained, most of the population could be supported, but there would have to be even distribution of resources. No more classes, not until everything is stable again, and even then it's a tricky thing."

"I believe convincing the average Praxian, even the average Enforcer, to shoot to kill anyone who isn't a resident is going to be more difficult than convincing the nobles and oligarchs to give up their extras," Prowl murmured. "The key to any plan that has a hope of succeeding is the self-contained part, which is a politically safe way of saying to secede from the empire."

They were quiet for a klik, watching reports of city after city pleading for Imperial aid.

"Think Kaon will formally secede?" Radiance asked. "Saw a report that the representatives all withdrew from the Senate unannounced and they've all but publicly denounced the Prime. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Not until the Empire is so busy with rioters that they don't have enough military to do anything about the announcement. They will, eventually," Prowl said very quietly. They were, after all, discussing acts of treason on a grand scale. "I do not believe this Prime or Senate are prepared to penalize them in a way to stop it."

Jazz suddenly sat up straight as the image changed again, showing yet another noble quarter in yet another city being raided for energon by desperate, starving guttersmecha. "That's-"

"...Central City," Radiance realized, and looked at his lovers, who were both staring at the screen. It was showing a destroyed House, the first of many torn down in symbolic protest of the nobility's wealth. "Is that...?"

Jazz nodded, frowning. "Weird to...see it again."

Prowl's vents hitched with a ripple of pain-loss-no-denial-shutdown-pain-denial before he shuddered and pressed against Radiance, silent except for the trembling of his armor.

Radiance pressed back, arms going around him, flaring as much comfort as he could. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, and turned Prowl's head towards him. "Let's stop watching the newsfeeds for a while, okay?"

A weak nodded was all Prowl could manage of a reply as grief welled up again, mingled with intense failure.

"You couldn't have done anything to help them," Jazz said quietly from the other side as the screen blinked off, and pressed his face against Prowl's neck. "You would just be caught in there with everyone else. None of that is your fault."

"They would have been warned. I saw this coming so long ago." Prowl struggled to make his vocalizer work even as he accepted the comfort of his mates against the emotional storm inside him. He'd never realized how much of his loyalty coding still lined to his original House. He'd never transferred it to Vortex, and Jazz, while he took up much of it, still wasn't a House.

"The ... Central City report says only nobles were killed, the servant class was warned ahead of time and most got out," Radiance said, wincing a little, not sure if more information would help or hurt, but not seeing any way he could keep that from his mates.

Jazz's field went oddly flat. A small hiccup escaped from Prowl and he calmed significantly. Not entirely, coding was a nasty thing when riled, but those he cared about, his creation, may well have gotten away.

Quietly, carefully, Prowl logged into the seneschal network and began looking up the IDs of the few mecha that mattered to him for whatever reason.

"Finding anything?" Radiance asked, rubbing Prowl's neck.

"My youngest ... I didn't keep up with him," Prowl murmured, his voice warbling with static that matched his unsteady processors as he found the last available reports. "He was..." he flinched at the glyph, just in his own processors. He tightened his grip with a new kind of grief and loss, one rooted in personal humiliation. "He was discharged from service centuries ago. He wasn't there, but the network isn't watching him anymore either."

"'Tera..." Jazz said, rousing enough to nuzzle him. "Primus, I'm so sorry. Do you want to see if we can reach out and look for him? Get him with us in Praxus?"

"You could?" Prowl looked at his first love, not doubting the offer but still needing to be told it wouldn't get Jazz in trouble and that there was better hope at finding this creation than their youngest pair. "I can't find what he's doing, if he survived. Only that the dismissal was due to gambling." Another hiccupped intake and Radiance nuzzled him. "His designation was Smokescreen. I don't know what he calls himself now. Even if he won't come, doesn't want me, at least knowing what happened..."

"I can ask around, things like a planet database designation search are easy favors. Won't help if he's gone by a different one, though, and gamblers aren't overly honest about designations if they're not of the legal sort." Jazz sighed. "I'll ask."

"Thank you," Prowl kissed him, soft and chaste but full of thanks.

"We have enough to support a fourth if he turns up, right?" Radiance asked.

Prowl nodded. "I'll make it work. If he's anything like he should have been, he'll be nearly as good as I am at manipulating credits, whatever form it comes in. He might be better. But we are two Praxian Enforcers. He may not want to be watched by us. And he'll know his carrier's designation. It's likely all he knows of me that he likes."

"Mm, hadn't thought of that," Jazz said. "We'll figure that out if he shows up. I can't promise anything, not even a good chance," he told Prowl. "Not with the planet the way it is."

"I know," Prowl rested his helm against Jazz. "He's the only one left. I ... I'd like to know his fate."

Jazz nodded, and Radiance held Prowl tightly. "Berth?" he suggested quietly. "I think I've had enough of the planet for one orn."

Prowl nodded weakly and rose, pressed between his mates, willing to be taken care of tonight.

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With temporary paint covering their official markings, Prowl, Radiance, and Jazz were waiting in the back of a large crowd, and they weren't the only ones sporting fresh paint in the audience. More than a few precinct chiefs had made it quietly clear they would look the other way when an officer wasn't officially on duty so long as he saw a report of some kind on what happened. It was that same quiet statement that intel was more valuable at the moment than action that kept the SWAT units, Radiance's in particular, from worrying about tonight. Many more with fresh paint or quick mods weren't Enforcers but were in positions were they were concerned for their job or rank if they were known to be here.

A glance around and Jazz estimated that a good sixth of the gathering were here to watch rather than any inclination to participate. He wasn't the only Special Operations agent here-a solid third of the local crew was out, and not one of them was going to be joining the revolt.

Of course, that meant that five-sixths of the gathering were potentially supporters, or at least open to being converted, and that was a frightening prospect all on its own.

Rumors had been spreading throughout the city that the leader of the newly organized rebellious faction based in Kaon was going to be speaking to the public. Suspected of Imperial treason, murder of a Senator and much more but not convicted of any of it, even their attendance at this meeting could bring them under suspicion if they were officially discovered.

Unofficially, everyone wanted to know what was going to happen.

::Not sure if this turnout is a good or a bad thing,:: Jazz mused, leaning against the back wall between his mates.

::That it is here is a bad thing,:: Prowl said quietly. ::That it is tiny compared to most of his rallies is comforting.::

Radiance hummed in agreement. ::The city needs to shift its full focus to a long-term, sustainable plan. They're working, but not fast enough for some, apparently.::

::Agreed,:: Jazz and Prowl said in unison, and then the low murmur of conversation from the crowd died down as the large Gladiator build walked out onto the raised, makeshift stage, followed by nine others. A Seeker trine and a host drew most of the room's attention, but Jazz and Prowl, followed shortly by Radiance, locked onto a large, dark, heavily armored rotor with the financial backers.

Prowl's vents caught and optics spiraled wide, though he managed not to tremble in that first moment. Jazz reached blindly for Prowl's arm, clutching his mate painfully tight and otherwise frozen as they both stared at a face they had never expected to see so close to their home, in their city, in a place that had always been safe.

They got shifting, sideways looks at the shock that rolled into their fields, looks that Radiance greeted with a friendly smile that seemed to shift attention back forward to the much more interesting scene on the stage.

Radiance was the only one who saw the host leaving the stage to enter the crowd, and one look at his frozen mates, and he knew they needed to calm down or get out. ::He can't see you,:: he said firmly. ::He isn't looking, you're safe!::

"Citizens of the beautiful city of Praxus," the Gladiator began, his voice warm, rolling, comforting. "It is my true honor to speak with you today about matters of grave importance, matters that the Empire, and the Prime, would rather you and I not talk about, much less with each other, but we will not let that silence us!"

It continued on, and the host was starting to make a slow circle around the room.

::I could make that shot,:: Jazz snarled suddenly, viciously, as shock turned to a seething, deadly hatred even as his field pulled in tight to his armor.

::We ... we would have to start over,:: Prowl was snapped to reality by the statement, even as he recalled his orders to Jazz so long ago that if he had the shot to take it and worry about escape and rebuilding later. ::I like Praxus.::

Radiance grabbed Jazz's shoulder and forcefully shook him, disrupting the targeting systems that he knew had activated, just from the way his mate's optics were focusing. ::Take the shot now and we won't get away!:: he said when engines growled at him. ::There are too many witnesses, and those Seekers will be on you before we're out the door! You will be in too much pain to move, much less run or fight!:: He looked up, the host was getting closer, and there was still no reduction to Prowl's underlying anxiety or Jazz's anger. ::We are leaving,:: he commanded. ::Now.::

That was direct enough to shake Jazz, and with Radiance behind them, they made their hasty way to the exit, the dark mech murmuring apologies for the disturbance as they moved along the back of the crowd, but without seeming to have caught the host's attention.

Behind all of it, the deep, rumbling voice was carrying over everything, reaching out even past the walls. "...in a world where the Prime and his Senate have their own private army, one that could be turned against citizens at a moment's notice!" the Gladiator called, to angry cheers. "And all we have is the word of a corrupt Prime who has let Cybertron fall to ruin while the Senate sits overcharged in their palaces that it will never be turned against the masses! I will tell you, I have seen Vos, and I have seen Praxus, and your people share a common history, one rooted in community, freedom, equality! You care for each other, support those in need, and it is time we showed that way of life to the rest of the suffering planet! Solutions must be devised, and everyone will need to make sacrifices, but together, we can make the changes to replace the Empire with leadership that does not seek wealth, or power, but places strength, fairness, and equality above all else! This is my message to you!"

Even more cheers followed them out onto the street and Radiance didn't stop pushing until he couldn't hear them anymore, turning them down the seclusion of a dark alley.

Prowl was shaking. Radiance immediately wrapped arms around him and pulled him tight while Jazz paced anxiously next to them.

::We know where he is, we could ambush him as they leave, fire from that next warehouse,:: Jazz said, field rippling with stress.

::I can take the shot,:: Prowl said quietly but firmly. ::You can be far enough away that you won't be spotted when the bond breaks.:: He looked at Radiance. ::You can be with him when it happens, help him fight it until we can get to one of his medics. I will arrive as quickly as possible.::

::And if you're spotted?:: Radiance argued as Jazz stopped pacing to look at them. ::If they figure out the angle it came from?::

Prowl rested their forehelms together, his field soft against Radiance. "Then I escape, or I do not, so long as he is gone. They'll never trace me to you."

"I don't like this!" Radiance protested, voice low, as Jazz continued to watch, head cocked and frowning. "Success is not worth losing you!"

"No, it's not," Jazz agreed. "But tactically, you would have absolute advantage, and the chance of them tracing the shot is low if you're using the right kind of weapon. This one," he pulled a small, hand-held firearm from his subspace, one that made Radiance's armor ripple and squeeze in reflexively around his protoform. "Use this one. I will get home, you two stay together."

"No. I can never be traced, even if caught," Prowl hissed even as he accepted the pistol. "He has no such protection."

"You're dead if you're caught, it won't matter!" Jazz said. "You're safer as a pair!"

"I have more stealth training," Radiance agreed.

"I can become part of a wall if need be," Prowl pointed out. "One is always easier to hide than two."

Radiance's engines rumbled with displeasure at both options. "If I stay nearby, I can try to create some kind of disturbance if I see them going after you," he offered. "Without engaging, without endangering myself." He looked between them. "Only as a last resort if he's in trouble."

"Someone needs to be there for him," Prowl's gaze flicked to Jazz. "When it breaks. I won't be caught," Prowl insisted in that way only he could.

"I'll be fine," Jazz hissed, but Radiance cycled his vents out in a resigned huff as his field settled with that decision.

"You'd better not be caught," Radiance growled to Prowl before looking at Jazz. "We'll wait at home."

Jazz's doorwings lifted in a brief moment of protest, but faced with the absolute agreement between his mates, their own solid stances and determined fields, there was no more argument to make. Wings and field lowered into submission of the decision and he stepped into their arms. "Just don't get caught," he whispered.

"I will be home soon," Prowl whispered, the words a promise as he held both his lovers tightly. "I won't shoot unless I can escape as well."

They nodded, gripped each other as hard as they could, and then parted, two disappearing within moments, while the other walked back the way they had come. As he slipped fully into a shadow, Prowl shifted forms into a Praxian, but one of much lower status with dinged armor and faded paint. His ice blue optics shifted to a dim orange-red and his chevron lost the top third on the left side. It was a distinctive and difficult to repair feature that everyone would focus on as he lost himself among first responders.

Physically ready, he double-checked his intended tactics, the range of his weapon and where he wanted to be when he fired.

Jazz had picked out the neighboring warehouse and he agreed with that choice after looking through the other options. There were second story offices above the large storage facilities, ones with windows facing out in the direction that his target had entered, and would presumably exit.

He made his way up, settled in, and waited. While the street remained quiet, he settled his processors, focused on his singular task, and prepared himself to escape after murdering a mech.

It wasn't as easy as it would have once been. Enforcer coding backed up by seneschal coding both rebelled. Yet by the time a joor had passed and there was movement below, he was ready. At first there were civilians leaving from the far exit as the Gladiator and his group presumably remained to talk and mingle with those curious in his movement, and then they started to leave as well.

Megatron talked as he walked between two Praxians, both from the mid-level underworld. His telepath behind him, the Seekers beyond nominally protecting the investors. The grounder warrior ... Deadlock ... was in an active snarling match with Vortex, who was facing away from him, completely engaged in the argument and leaving his entire back exposed.

Prowl focused. Leveled his arm, and pulled the trigger once.

The shot hit one of the rotor blades, and the way Vortex spun and shrieked, clawing wildly at his own back, was enough of an indication as to how much the weapon had to hurt. Deadlock stared at the rotor and Prowl watched in fascination as the blade began to crumble away where he'd hit, rusty brown starting to spread out, up towards his body. Ahead, the commotion caught the Gladiator's attention and he growled, immediately sprinting back towards the scene, shoving past the mecha who were just watching, and saw what was happening.

He reached out, grabbed Vortex's shoulder, and then with his other hand tore the entire rotor pack off, flinging it away to the ground where it dissolved away in a matter of a klik.

By then, the telepath and all three Seekers were looking around, moving in a search pattern through the street.

Prowl paused for a nanoklik and chose to live by not taking a risky, unclear second shot that would guarantee the kill if he hit. He spared a full eight nanokliks to determine the search pattern being used and bolted.

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"Should have stayed," Jazz muttered, pacing anxiously around the edges of their berthroom, edgy and nervous and unwilling to comm their mate for fear of it getting intercepted by the host or potentially distracting Prowl. "Anything?" he asked Radiance, who was sitting on the edge of the berth, watching him.

"There are civilians calling in about a murder attempt in the area. A rotor that suddenly started to rust away," Radiance relayed calmly. He watched his mate pace, ready to hold him but allowing him to move in his tension. "No one saw where the shot came from. No hint of the perp."

Jazz froze mid-step, doorwings hiking high and taut, quivering, before his entire frame sagged. "So he's okay."

"So far both of them are," Radiance said. "He chose to live for us rather than be caught but finish him."

"How long ago did the calls start coming?" Jazz demanded.

"Two kliks," Radiance said calmly.

"It should have spread by now," Jazz murmured, staring at the floor. "Why didn't it spread?"

"Unless it is reported, we'll have to wait for Pantera to tell us," Radiance tried not to shrug. "If the hit location was removed quickly enough, even that thing can be stopped."

Jazz nodded, frowning. "Can't imagine anyone caring enough about that pile of parts to risk touching something like that, even if they didn't know what it was."

"You'd be amazed what loyalty enough credits will bring, especially in the current economy," Radiance sighed and checked the time again.

Five kliks since the first call came in. Prowl should be far enough away to risk comming them. At least a ping that he was all right. "Still no sign of the perp," he told Jazz instead of focusing on all that could go wrong. "First on duty responders are on the scene. Saxo ... does your boss know that you had that thing?"

Jazz shrugged. "He knows I could have it."

Radiance simply nodded his acceptance of that and settled into reporting news that he knew Jazz had the clearance and codes to access himself. It gave them both something to do besides worry. They could focus on the fact that even with a telepath-host, Seekers and plenty of Enforcers now on scene, no one was reporting a clue as to the shooter.

A highly encrypted comm ping caught Radiance off guard at the twenty-klik mark.

::What is it, Charade?::

::Is ... how hard do we want to hunt this one?:: He sounded very uneasy.

::Just don't get in trouble, okay?:: Radiance replied, earning a slight sound of relief from the other end.

::Yes, sir.::

"Who?" Jazz asked when Radiance closed the channel.

"Charade," he chuckled darkly. "Asking how pissed I'll be if they don't catch the shooter. I don't think he likes the vic much."

Jazz purred deeply, that comment getting the first positive reaction out of him since they'd gotten home. He moved over to settle on the berth next to Radiance. "He has good intuition."

Radiance leaned into his lover and settled there. He was still holding him when a ping hit both their comms at the same time. It wasn't a comm request, simply a notice of continued functioning, and in this case feeling safe enough to make the small contact.

"Thank Primus," Jazz sighed as some of the tension in their frames drained away, though a ping was a far cry from holding Prowl in their arms.

::Boss,:: Charade commed after another ten kliks, sounding uneasy. ::I'm suddenly ... not so sure we don't want to hunt this one.::

::Why?:: Radiance asked, struggling to keep himself professional. ::What changed? More bodies, dead?::

::Nah, it's ... got the chem techs down here looking at what's left of what did get hit-witnesses say the rotor pack got torn off, can't even tell that's what it used to be anymore, 's just a pile-and it's a nasty piece of hardware caused that. Like, I've never even seen one of these nasty.:: Charade sent over a tech file with the schematics of the same tiny pistol that Jazz had armed Prowl with. ::I'm shocked he survived a hit from one of these. Rotor blades had to be made from some strong stuff to slow it down enough for anyone to even get 'em off::

::Do what you need to,:: Radiance said carefully. ::I'll bring you up to speed on Vortex later.::

::All right,:: Charade said. ::We'll get things handled down here until then.::

::Thank you,:: Radiance said, and the line closed.

"Charade again?" Jazz asked.

"The weapon freaked him out bad," Radiance nodded.

"...Ah," Jazz said, and gave a rueful grin. "I'd apologize and promise him he doesn't need to worry, but..."

Radiance tilted his head in understanding right as they both got the ping that the lift was headed to their home.

They were on their pedes in an instant, rushing downstairs to be at the door as it opened, pulling Prowl into their arms and holding him as tightly as they could, not even stopping to look at him.

"Energon," the familiar voice gasped even as he held them too tightly to move. "Want out of this shape." His grip loosened on Radiance somewhat and he buried his face in Jazz's neck. "So sorry. So sorry, love. I tried. I hit him. Just not close enough."

"Don't even care, you're safe," Jazz said firmly, stroking his helm as Radiance pressed a cube to his lips, moving with him as he tilted his head back automatically, letting his lover control the speed of the intake. The first cube emptied and another one replaced it almost without pause, then again, and again, until the fourth was empty and he was back in his mates' enveloping hold.

"So close," Prowl murmured, feeling stronger and more settled now that he was safe and with a full tank. "We were so close to being free."

"There will be more chances," Jazz said, turning Prowl's face towards him, hands resting on either side. "More chances when we are better prepared, without so many dangers. We will be free of him one orn."

"The odds were not in our favor," Radiance murmured, nuzzling Prowl. "And now we know that if there were ever to be doubts about this movement, just seeing the company kept should resolve them."

Jazz shuddered. "Agreed."

"We can work on our various contacts to keep Praxus as far from it as possible." Prowl hesitated, a tickle of something Radiance had said so long ago working its way to his thoughts again, but now with a plan and statistics attached. "Do you ... we ... want to be leaders?"

"I believe we could be," Radiance murmured, pressing a kiss to his love's helm. "I don't ... desire to lead, but I believe we could save Praxus. Militarize the city for defense, work out an energy plan that can last..." He trailed off for a moment, considering what they were capable of against what they would truly want. "If we submit an energy plan alone that will do more good than decades of politicians squabbling, without needing to actually lead."

"We know the right channels and contacts," Jazz added, cocking his head and looking at Radiance. "Praxian Ops are just as loyal to the city as the Empire, maybe even more if forced to choose. If Ops fractures in all of this, we'll still have those resources."

"Which you could use in a plan, or even contingencies," Radiance said, looking back at Prowl. "After that we can determine how well it's been received and followed, and discuss actually leadership if the current cast does not live up to expectation."

Jazz nodded. "We don't want to lead," he summarized for Prowl. "But we would rather that than let Praxus fall. We'll submit a plan before the city council first and see if that is enough."

Prowl nodded his acceptance and felt things settle inside him, the question too long ignored given an answer. "I will detail a plan for the energon and we will see how much political pushing will be required to implement it." He shifted to give Jazz a long, soft kiss, then claimed one from Radiance. "Right now, I want to be clean and spend the evening between my mates."

"We can do that," Radiance murmured, touching their helms as the triad took that moment to simply be in each others' presence, safe and whole.

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Whiplash made his way into the interior of the Imperial headquarters in the middle of Iacon, heading for the Prime's private chambers. He hadn't been here in centuries; his orders were given by messenger or by comm, or on the rare occasion, before the Senate, but private audiences with his Prime had become a rarer and rarer thing, something that Whiplash did not like.

With the planet the way it was, it was almost a relief to be called in. He had more than a few things to say.

"Whiplash," came the weary greeting as soon as the matte black mech had slipped into the chambers. Sentinel was sitting at his grand desk, halfway through what looked like a bottle of high grade, surrounded by stacks of datapads.

"Sir," Whiplash greeted with a proper head cant. "I received your summons."

Sentinel gestured at the seat across from him and Whiplash couldn't stop himself from scanning it with more than a dozen sensors before sitting down and declining the offered high grade.

"I'll get right to it," Sentinel said, sitting back, fixing Whiplash with a hard look. "You are ordered to shut down Imperial Special Operations."

Whiplash stared at him for a moment, replaying the words several times before cocking his head slightly, frowning. "You're ... ordering me to make it appear as though SpecOps is no longer functioning?"

Sentinel frowned back. "No, I'm ordering you to shut it down. Completely. You have one metacycle."

If Whiplash had optics, they would have been spiraled completely wide as he just stared at his Prime, mouth dropped open. "Sir-"

"I am cutting off all your resources starting next orn," Sentinel continued. "You will receive no further Imperial aid, and after your metacycle is up, any further acts of the former Imperial Special Operations will be considered inherently treasonous and treated as such to the full extent and force of Imperial law."

"Sentinel!" Whiplash growled, on his pedes in an instant, slamming his hands on the desk and leaning forward. "What the frag do you think you're doing?"

"My hands are tied," Sentinel said, shaking his head. "I have a bottoming out economy, a planet on the brink of starvation, Kaon threatening to declare hostile independence and from all indications Vos to follow-"

"And cutting me out helps any of this how?" Whiplash demanded.

"This Gladiator-Megatron-has been going around implying that the Senate is not trustworthy, and public opinion of the force that ISO represents is declining rapidly. Calls are being made for it to being shut down. I need to make some gestures of good faith."

"This is a concession to those lawless rebels?!"

"Essentially yes."

"What in the Pit am I supposed to do with my agents?" Whiplash snarled, no longer concerned about being polite, Prime be damned. "Some of them won't survive outside our world."

Sentinel regarded him steadily. "Cull them," he said, voice cold.

"Frag you," Whiplash hissed.

"As I said, you have one metacycle. Facilities are to be torn down, resources distributed insofar as is possible into the populace, agents rehabilitated or decommissioned. Any prisoners you are holding are to vanish or be released. Further, your personal designation and appearance will be made fully public, and in one and one half metacycles, you will be summoned to Imperial hearings to stand trial for crimes against the citizens of the Empire. Any changes to your appearance will be considered treason."

Whiplash's vents stalled out and he had to take a moment to gather himself before he shook his head in disbelief. "You're sacrificing me. Everything I've done for you, for Cybertron, and you're sacrificing me up on an altar."

Sentinel let out a long gust of air. "I'm sorry it has to be like this, but I have the good of the planet to consider, and we're helpless without the full trust of the citizens. I have to give them something!"

Whiplash couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Don't do this," he pleaded. "Don't cut my legs out from under me like this, you're going to need us more than ever, this is the worst time to give in! There are other options, let me help you!"

"I've gone over every option," Sentinel said heavily. "You have one metacycle, and I'd better not hear any whispers about remnants."

Whiplash fought back the deep growl of his engines. "You won't," he spat. "Oh, believe me when I say you won't be hearing from us ever again."

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Less than two orns after Whiplash left the Prime's chambers for what he suspected was the last time, an unprecedented meeting was set to begin in a remote facility, with officers, officers in training, junior officers, planet coordination staff, and a small number of other key players having flooded there from every city and region. Those that could not be there physically, even with the aid of a high-speed Aerial, where there by holo-comm, projected as a standing group next to the others.

A story had broken the previous orn about the disbanding of Imperial Special Operations, and Whiplash's image and designation had been broadcast to every newsfeed on Cybertron, with an announcement that he was under investigation for Imperial crimes.

Every single mecha in the room was steadfastly loyal to their commander, and his call was the only thing that had torn them away from the hunt to find out who had leaked his identity. When Whiplash walked out among them, questions and declarations flew from every angle until he lifted his hand, silencing them in an instant.

"This is by order of the Prime, backed by the Senate, as an attempt to prevent the revolutionary war we all know can no longer be stopped," Whiplash said simply. "The newsfeeds are accurate, so far as they go. We have a great deal of work to do in the next metacycle and none of it will be easy. Imperial Special Operations will be no more. That means that the agents under your charge will have new rules to follow and a new job to do." He regarded his agents evenly. "From the joor of decommissioning on, any who follow me are traitors. Any who follow me will be earning that title."

"More traitors themselves!" came an angry snarl.

"They expect us to, what, just disappear into society and live our happy little lives?" the officer from Simfur rumbled, to growls of agreement.

"An' just th'frag are they thinking!" cried another. "Walkin' straight into a trap! Talked into shootin' themselves in th'fuel line!"

"Agreed," Whiplash said, nodding once. "Which is why we're not going to destroy anything we don't have to. Don't get me wrong, we're making cuts-facilities need to be torn down, every single record erased, clerical and desk workers wiped and set loose, prisoners need to disappear, and the agents who can make it out there must do so, but you will have to stay in touch with them."

"What about those that can't?" another asked, quieter. "Got a few not suited for it."

"If you can find a place, one of the undocumented facilities, for them to work in and enough for them to do, use it. Otherwise there is medical stasis," Whiplash said. "If they don't change their mind before my official execution date, not that I'll be there, then we look seriously at ending the war our way and rebuilding Cybertron into a functional entity." He looked around the room at mecha he'd trained, at those who had trained him. Every one was a mecha he had and would trust his very spark with, and more, he trusted with the sparks under his charge. "We're going to sacrifice our visible presence to protect our core. A key component of that will be to break down into cells, cut most communication lines. We've broken enough terrorist cells to know how to make it work for a few vorns."

"So we've got a little work to do," one chuckled good-naturedly, lightening the mood a little. Whiplash gave him a grateful smile and he grinned back, adding, "Not like that's anything new."

One of the youngest officers stepped forward. "So you're really going through with this nonsense investigation? What in the Pit are they even going to charge you with? Doing exactly what they told you to do with absolute loyalty your entire life?"

"Much as I wish I was that well covered, the truth is very few direct orders come in at my level," Whiplash explained. "They have millions of judgment calls and choices I've made at every level, from kills to who to investigate to who to train to even what our internal rules are and how we spend what credits they give us. They won't have to look hard to find enough to make me an excellent public scapegoat. Though I doubt they're prepared to have this trial be broadcast in its entirety once I begin to talk." He glanced at the more comm-oriented agents, who grinned back at him. "I can protect everyone, and I will." He paused long enough to make optic contact with every single mecha. "But the cost is taking full responsibility for everything that I was not directly ordered to make happen."

"They want a scapegoat, but have no idea how high the price of this one will be," someone growled.

Rumbles of agreement echoed around the room. Whiplash was their leader. Except for the rare mated ones, he was their final loyalty.

The head officer of the Iacon facility stepped forward, a commanding femme with the features, frame, and voice of a noble who looked around at all of them. "If there is anyone here who would rather leave than be party to treason, this is your last chance." No one moved, and she smirked, nodding, before growing serious again and looking at Whiplash. "Tell me now why we don't take them out first. The Prime and the Senate have all but declared war on us, why shouldn't we do the same? Assassinate the Prime."

Whiplash offered her a smile that spoke of how very close he was to that. "In simplest terms, because the enemy we know is much easier to deal with than the one we don't know. It would not be the first time that the death of a Prime made quick work of ending the war, only the side against the Prime lost. We've survived insane and treasonous leaders before. We will again. We look out for each other, we protect each other, we share what resources we have so everyone has enough. We each have access to privately held fortunes, businesses, debts and blackmail. Use it as you need to, share what you do not. Whether we return to the fold, go Decepticon or become a third faction, I expect it will be decided within the vorn."

Nods of understanding greeted that, and Whiplash set down to the tedious and exacting work of sorting out assignments, communication plans, and the creation of a new network that they could use to locate each other. The work took orns to complete, and when the gathering broke, it was with the knowledge that they might not see their leader for a very long time, which made the line to speak with him one on one before leaving a huge one.

Jazz waited all the way through it. "Guess I won't be making officer after all," he said, cocking his head and grinning.

"Not yet," Whiplash clasped his shoulder. "You will though. You and that triad of yours are going to survive if anyone does. I'm glad you're in such a good position to survive out there for a while."

Jazz clasped his shoulder in return, gripping tightly. "Three things. One, you know where we are if you need a safe place to crash. Two, talk to Pantera about your finances, he can manage this entire network. Three," his voice dropped low, the grin vanished. "If you take Ops over to these Decepticons, no matter how good their cause sounds, we won't follow you, not to someone who would work with him."

"Not even if the price for my allegiance is giving him to you?" Whiplash asked, his field serious.

Engines rumbled deeply as Jazz considered the offer. "It would depend on how aware Megatron was of his tastes," he finally said. "I can't believe a truly honorable spark would willingly work with him, no matter the credits he brought, knowing some of the things he does. I prefer my leaders to have at least some sense of morality." He quirked a grin at his mentor. "Because Primus knows I haven't."

"I'll find out first," Whiplash promised. "We are strong enough that we don't need to throw in with either side to survive. I will talk to your mate about finances, or at least have the financial processors among us talk to him. It would be a welcome relief not to have things as tight as anticipated. How will you hold up without your work?"

"I've survived worse," Jazz said, smiling wryly, and Whiplash chuckled and nodded before Jazz embraced him tightly, not knowing if or when he'd be seeing this mech again.

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When the first reports of fighting broke out, it sent a stunned ripple across the entire planet, while some let out quietly relieved vents that the tense, nervous waiting was finally over.

Jazz was at home, both his mates just getting off work, as images and reports from Vos began flooding the newsfeeds. ::Come home,:: he commed them, sitting on the sofa, watching in shock.

::We're almost there,:: Radiance promised, and in ten kliks, Jazz heard his mates walking in and moments later, they were joining him, and all three huddled together.

"There's nothing official," Jazz said. "Not yet." Unspoken was that even though the video feeds were glitchy and static-laced, looking through smoke and shrapnel, those fighting the Vosians were clearly Imperial troops, who had occupied Vos less than a decaorn previously under the pretense of peacekeeping.

"Seekers are fierce, but they aren't ready for this," Prowl's harmonics held a grief for kin-ties he had learned to care about within his current home.

"Praxus won't accept this," Radiance murmured, shocked to his very core. "They're kin. Where we came from."

Jazz shook his head. "What can Praxus do, though? Vos has confirmed ties with Kaon, and if Praxus steps in or even speaks out ... the city gets pulled in."

"But they're kin!" Radiance struggled to explain something he simply knew. "The empire declared war on our kin, is slaughtering them. It's a declaration of war on us too."

"We don't even know how this started," Jazz said. "Praxus and Vos have no official alliance, stepping in would violate neutrality, we don't have the resources for that."

"Would that stop you from protecting one of us?" Prowl asked with rising distress, though it wasn't nearly as strong as Radiance's. Still, he turned the feed off and pulled Radiance tightly against him. "The war has begun. It won't end until the population has been decimated enough for Cybertron to easily support it."

"No, no it wouldn't stop me from protecting one of you," Jazz said, looking at them with some shock. "Vos chose to ally itself with Kaon, Praxus didn't. Where exactly in your energy plan did you set aside the resources to assist a second population larger than our own, much less defend it with a military we don't have? Our survival depends on isolation, standing with Vos and Kaon would risk that."

Prowl whispered soothing nothings to Radiance before he reached out to draw Jazz just as close. "If we don't respond to the slaughter of our kin, they will be well within their rights to declare war on us for abandoning them. Praxus is involved whether it will admit it or not. I had hoped ... so long as Vos itself was not attacked, Praxus could legitimately remain neutral. Now, we are going to the enemy of at least one, if not both."

Jazz shivered and leaned against them, nuzzling Radiance anxiously, only relaxing once his darker mate nuzzled back.

"There is no good answer," Radiance said quietly.

"No," Jazz sighed, their tightly pressed frames vibrating with tense energy and stress.

Just joors later, the fighting in Vos having only escalated, Kaon declared its hostile independence from the Empire and joined the Vosians in their attempt to push the Imperial troops back from their city. In response, the Senate declared war against the treasonous rebel state of Kaon, and any who stood with them.

No one in Praxus recharged well that night, and in one household in particular, three mecha were preparing for the worst.