And I bring you a new update. I ran into another mental roadblock with SAF so this got some head time and voila, a new chapter.

Suprisingly this story is near impossible to write at the same time as my other stories. Why? Because most of my other fiction is written from an omnipotent, omnipresent outsider POV while this story is written from the characters' POV and for some reason I have trouble switching from one writing style to the other quickly.

Warnings for this chapter: nothing graphic, but there is still hints of past trauma. The warning from last chapter still stands and if any of those are your squicks, DO NOT READ!

As always, this is unbeta-ed, so please rate, review, and point out my errors. Enjoy!

*thoughts*

A Line - indicates a scene change

*V*V*V* indicates a POV change

A/N: I have made some fixes to the formatting (FF keeps eating it!) and it should be a smoother read now.

Chapter 2:

When Optimus entered the Grand Chamber of Meeting, the formal audience chamber for the Primes and the only room large enough to host the entire command complement, he noted a singular peculiarity. Nearly three-quarters of the mechs wore ill-concealed looks of fear, *Pit, they look more nervous than me,* the rest appeared to be bored. He had to dismiss the rising questions as to the cause of the disharmony; there would be time to ponder that later. For now he had a meeting to convene.

His shock and confusion only increased though, as boredom changed to disbelief when he apologized for his blunder and fear melted into relief at his announcement that the tradition would be upheld.

His closing statement though, seemed to stun everyone, "-All I ask if you should decide to retire is that you pick a replacement that possesses at least comparable talent and skill potential to your own. I thank you all for your vorns of dedicated service and pray that your functionings be eternally blessed for your contributions."

He stepped down from the podium so Prowl could end the meeting and he took the opportunity to observe the crowd one last time. Many of the formerly bored mecha looked disappointed while the rest of that category looked angry, but the once fearful mecha now bore looks of nervous hope. With such a mixed reaction, Optimusfound himself suddenly unsure if had made the right choice. However, Prowl had been certain of this, so he chose to trust his Second.

Prowl strode purposefully down the hall towards the Prime's office. His confidence was buoyed up by the lifting of the oppression that once imprisoned him. His thoughts bordered on happy as was attested to by his doorwings' occasional flutters. This would be the first step to his freedom and he could not contain his elation at the feeling it elicited.

When the doorwinger reached the office he stopped for a moment to compose himself, it would not do to upset the new Prime when the Praxian was so close to finally escaping.

*V*V*V*

The doorchime was ringing again, but Optimus did not want to open the door. Nearly seventy percent of High Command had been through to tender their resignations and half of those had replacements already lined up for training. The massive red and blue just sat staring at the stacks of datapads feeling like Cybertron's biggest failure. A comm ping finally pierced his despondent veil of self-pity. It was Prowl, he was asking if the Prime were well and if not should the Praxian alert the head physician? Optimus sighed as assured his Second that he was fine, then realized that the mech was so concerned because he had been standing outside the office door without answer for nearly ten kliks.

The Iaconian quickly arranged himself in a more dignified pose, then hit the release button. The proud doorwinger entered, a slight questioning look on his faceplates. Optimus deliberated with himself for a moment on whether to share his misgivings with Prowl. He was afraid of disillusioning the Praxian, but then he remembered that Prowl had been very close to Sentinel so he should be well acquainted with a Prime having doubts about something.

"Prowl, would it be amenable if I took a few kliks of your time to discuss something?"

The white and black almost stumbled, caught off guard by the request *Was it that odd a question?*. Optimus motioned to a chair and Prowl sat abruptly. *Maybe the stories were wrong? He certainly doesn't act like he was used to being in the confidence of a Prime.* the blue and red decided to ignore his growing uncertainty and forged ahead to ask his question. "Am I a disappointing leader?"

In any other situation Optimus might have laughed, Prowl looked completely flabbergasted, but after a tiny flicker of an unidentifiable emotion that almost looked like fear, the SIC settled himself back into his customary stoic visage. "Lord Prime, your reign has not lasted long enough for any true assessment to be rendered upon your quality, but thus far you have most certainly not been a disappointment."

While Optimus was vastly relieved, the answer truly only served to heighten his previous confusion. "Then why are so many mecha retiring? I could understand if it was just the older mecha who have served for centivorns, but I have an entire stack right here of mecha who have served in Command for less than ten vorn yet still intend to retire! The only logical conclusion I have been able to come to is that they are fleeing me!"

Optimus noticed a quick flash of guilt sweep across the Praxian's faceplates at the desperate declaration and saw his Second try to covertly stuff something into his subspace. Understanding came to the Iaconian like a knife to the spark, no this was not his Second, not anymore. "Prowl, give me the datapad."

*V*V*V*

With much trepidation Prowl handed over his notice of retirement, terrified that any sign of noncompliance at this point would result in a beating. A small part of him was surprised that the Prime was sticking to verbal rants and not going directly for a physical release for his anger.

As the Prime read the datapad Prowl tried to explain, in hopes of being spared a more severe punishment. "Lord Prime, the… the tradition dictates that all Command staff must retire regardless of the amount of time served."

The Prime stared at him with an inscrutable expression, "It is ok Prowl,… I,… I understand."

Prowl quailed in seat at the massive mech's quiet answer, sure that he had only further incensed the red and blue.

*V*V*V*

The Praxian was flicking his wings down again and it was starting to worry Optimus. The SIC had sheltered his doorwings as he handed over the incriminating pad and had just repeated the maneuver in response to Optimus' attempt at reassurance. While the Iaconian knew that Prowl was not lying to him, the convoy class mech wondered if there was some secondary reason that was making the officers cling to the tradition like it was a functioning saver.

The brisk stride that Prowl adopted, for him it could probably be classified as scrambling, to get out of the grandiose office after being gently dismissed cemented Optimus' resolve. It was time to get some real answers to this strange atmosphere that pervaded every aspect of High Command.

The blue and red sent out a general notice that he was not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency, and left his office for the meditation room adjacent to his personal quarters.

The corridors seemed to stretch on forever and Prowl was terrified that he would be recalled to face punishment at any moment. His office, his sanctuary, appeared just around the next corner and the Praxian quickened his step to reach the protection of that sanctum.

After locking himself inside he finally released the stranglehold he held over his more overt emotional responses. His plating began to clatter noisily against his frame and his doorwings were quivering so badly that they ressembled the wings of an organic insect in flight. As the multitude of emotions rushed through him, Prowl found that he no longer possessed the strength to stand and fell gracelessly to his knee with a sob.

It was during moments like these that he missed his trinemate the most and wished the mech could be here to soothe his frightened spark. However, he had been forced to send Smokescreen away to protect him from the Prime's taint and if he ever wanted to see him again he would have to gather his courage to stay the course for just a little longer.

Only a few more decacycles and he would be free.

When his panic attack subsided Prowl wearily pulled himself up into his desk chair and arranged himself to greet the first replacement candidate. The mech would be arriving any klik now and the Praxian wanted to present a professional air.

Right on time the doorchime signaled the presence of the aspirant. The SIC opened his door for the mech, examining him intently as he stepped inside. The candidate, designation Prismacolor, was a dark green and silver ground-based mech from Altihex and sported the characteristic 'mood' panels on either side of his helm. He was young, being less than five thousand vorn old, but he came with such glowing referenced from the Archival Department that Prowl felt he would at least be worth a trial run.