Jazz groaned as his systems rebooted, his HUD flooding with a cascade of error messages through blurry vision. A dull ache radiated throughout his frame; he felt as if he had been hit by a train. Protocols started to boot up and scans were quickly run of his systems, checking for malware and damage.

The report came in quickly: a torn arm, a cracked visor. Internal circuitry stress in multiple areas. Everything hurt. For a klik, he lay still, forcing his neural net to focus and push through the fog clouding his thoughts.

Then, his vision cleared, and he froze.

Orion.

Battle protocols booted up quickly as his spark nearly seized when he saw his friend lying crumpled on the ground nearby. He forced himself to deactivate the protocols and scrambled over to Orion's side. His frame screamed in protest, but he didn't care.

"Holy Primus," Jazz whispered when he finally knelt beside him, taking in his friend's state.

Orion's right leg was utterly destroyed, crushed and mangled beyond recognition. The jagged metal edges were stained with energon, the joint twisted at an unnatural angle. His shoulders were dented in the shape of two servos, clearly where the inebriated mech had grabbed Orion at some point, probably when he was unconscious.

But it was the energon leaking from at least a dozen different wounds that sent Jazz's spark plummeting. Trails of energon leaked from numerous punctures and cracks across his frame, pooling around him in softly shimmering puddles.

Worst of all, there was no light in his optics.

"No. Nononono—" the cultural investigator muttered, starting to panic. He pressed two digits to Orion's neck, desperately searching for a pulse. For a terrifying klik, he felt nothing, and the panic surged.

And then—there it was. Faint.

Jazz let out air through his vents, relief flooding through him. "Primus, you're still alive." He couldn't waste time. Orion needed help—now. His friend was in bad shape. If he didn't get help soon... Jazz didn't finish the thought. He couldn't.

Ignoring his own pain, the white and blue mech raised two digits to his audial receptor, activating his comms, frantically searching through his internal communication systems. Finally, he found the frequency he was looking for. Ratchet's familiar number flashed across his HUD, and Jazz immediately opened a channel.

The line clicked, and Ratchet's irate voice came through. "What is it, Jazz? I'm busy!"

"It's Orion!" the mech said, his words spilling out in a rush. "He's—he's fragged up bad. Real bad. He got jumped, and his leg's smashed to bits, he's leaking energon everywhere, and—"

"Jazz, calm down!" Ratchet snapped. "Where are you?"

The cultural investigator glanced around, trying to orient himself. He spotted the nearly street markers and wasted no time to give it to the grumpy medic. "Near the Hall of Records, just off Cadmus and Vektor," he said, then remembered that he could send his coordinates in a message. "Hurry, Ratchet, I don't think he's got much time!"

"I'm on my way," Ratchet replied. "Keep him stable if you can, and don't move him unless you absolutely have to."

The comm line went silent, and Jazz let out a shaky breath. He turned his attention back to Orion, his servos hovering over the battered mech as he tried to assess the damage without making it worse.

"You hang in there, y'hear? Ratchet's comin'. He's gonna patch you up, no problem. You just gotta hold on."

Kliks felt like breems until the distant roar of an engine drew close, growing louder by the nano-klik. Within the next two klicks, the unmistakable alt-mode of Ratchet came into view. The older medic transformed, and his optics immediately locked onto Orion's broken frame. "Move," he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jazz scrambled back to give Ratchet room to work, watching anxiously as the medic pulled out his tools from his subspace and immediately began stabilizing Orion. His spark ached, guilt gnawing at him with every passing klik.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go. They were supposed to be walking back to the Hall of Records, or to their favorite place to grab a drink, debating politics and cracking jokes. Not... this.

"Will he make it?" Jazz finally asked.

The medic didn't look up, entirely focused on his patient. "I'll do everything I can."

Jazz nodded and spotted the mech's datapad on the ground nearby. He picked it up and leaned against the wall, only able watch helplessly and hope as Ratchet worked to save his friend.

The waiting room at Vector Point Clinic was mostly quiet, with a couple of bots in the waiting room, either waiting for an appointment or for somebot. There was soft murmurs and the occasional sound of pedes, light music playing lowly.

It had been breems since Ratchet had rushed Orion into surgery, and the medic hadn't left the room since. Jazz sat slumped in one of the less than comfortable chairs, trying to ignore his own injuries. The cultural investigator shifted uncomfortably, tapping his servos against the chair impatiently. His optics darted to the hallway every time he thought he heard pedesteps heading this way.

He hated waiting, especially like this—helpless, useless. He should've done more to protect Orion. He should've—

A soft buzz interrupted his thoughts, pulling his attention to Orion's datapad, which lay on the table nearby. The screen blinked with a new message; the sender marked only as M.

Curious, Jazz leaned forward, wincing as it pulled at the tears in his arm. He hesitated for a klik before picking up the device. He wasn't one to invade someone's privacy, but with Orion in surgery and unable to respond, he figured it couldn't hurt to take a look. His optics scanned the message.

M: Orion, I need those files we talked about. Let me know when you're ready.

It was simple enough, but Jazz's processor churned as he recognized the sender. 'M' stood for Megatronus.

The infamous gladiator was Orion's Amica Endura—an announcement that had shocked him to his very core. Orion Pax, the idealistic archivist, bonded to him. To Megatronus, the revolutionary gladiator. It didn't sit right with Jazz, no matter how he spun it.

Jazz vented, conflicted on what to do. He tapped his digits against the edge of the datapad, debating whether to ignore it or not. Something in his spark told him it was better to inform the mech now rather than allow his friend to deal with him later. After all, Megatronus was Orion's Amica Endura, even if Jazz didn't trust him.

Megatronus had a right to know Orion's condition... didn't he?

With a vent, the cultural investigator picked up the datapad and typed out a message:

OP: Orion can't help right now.

The response was instant.

M: Who are you, and why are you on this line?

OP:This is Jazz.

The next message didn't come for a klik.

M: Where is Orion?

Jazz hesitated, optics flicking toward the door to the surgery room. His digits hovered over the keypad before he started typing again.

OP: He's in surgery.

M: Why?

How much detail should he give? He decided to keep it simple, though he knew it would likely set the gladiator off.

OP: A Decepticon goon beat him up. Badly.

M: Where?

OP: Near the Hall of Records, just off Cadmus and Vektor.

There was a long pause before he finally got a reply.

M: Where are you?

Jazz hesitated. Was it truly wise to give the gladiator where Orion was? He vented. Megatronus was his friend's Amica Endura, and he had just as much as a right to come and see him as he did—even if the cultural investigator didn't want to. Hopefully the gladiator didn't try and come today.

OP: Vector Point Clinic.

M: I'm coming.

Jazz groaned, rubbing a servo over his helm. Guess not. The last thing this situation needed was the infamous gladiator storming into the clinic, but it seemed like that was exactly what was about to happen. Not that it was illegal or anything, it wasn't like the mech was wanted or anything... yet.

Primus help them all if the gladiator didn't like what he found.

Megatronus read the message that this 'Jazz' had sent over and over, as if willing the words to change, but they remained the same. Orion was in surgery.

The rage came slowly at first, simmering in his spark, but it built into a roaring inferno that consumed every rational thought. Orion—his Orion—was hurt, because of some foolish, insubordinate wretch that broke his specific orders not to harm the archivist.

He slammed his fist into the wall, denting the metal paneling. He could still hear his brother's voice in his helm, patient and sincere, defending the ideals they both fought for. Orion believed in the cause, but he believed in him even more.

And Megatronus had failed him.

His optics darkened as he clenched his servos into fists, resisting the urge to destroy something. Anything! He had just dealt with two of his followers, who had been reckless and insubordinate, nearly jeopardizing Orion's safety in the process. He had warned them—no, promised them—what would happen if they put Orion in danger again. Now, there was one who had gone further. One who had dared to harm Orion Pax.

The consequences would be fatal.

Without a second thought, Megatronus stormed out of his quarters into the maintenance halls. Nobot was spared from his raging EM field as it crashed against every bot in his path like a tidal wave. The gladiators walking through the halls recoiled away from him, praying they weren't the target of his wrath.

It didn't take him long to find Soundwave. The spymaster was stationed near one of the monitoring rooms, surveilling the city of Kaon while his symbiotes played around him. When the gladiator entered the room, Soundwave stiffened and his Minicons froze in place, feeling his raging fields.

Megatronus didn't waste time with pleasantries. He growled in a voice laced with enough venom to make even the spymaster blanch. The Champion had not been filled with this much rage since Terminus. "A Decepticon has hurt Orion."

Soundwave nodded, processing the information, but before the mech could even think of responding, Megatronus slammed a servo on the nearest console. "I want to know who it was! NOW!" Staring into the black void of his most loyal follower's visor, he realized that having a tantrum wasn't going to help anyone.

Forcing himself to calm down, he thrust the datapad forward, showing the information Jazz had provided. "You will find them. I want every shred of data you can uncover on this wretch. When I return, I expect a name. If I do not have one—"

Soundwave interrupted him, not allowing him to finish the threat that was most certainly on the tip of his glossa. "Understood."

Megatronus loomed over the spymaster for another klik, glaring at the spymaster as if daring him to disappoint him. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel strut and stormed out, his heavy footfalls echoing down the halls.

The Champion would have never imagined that he would fly to Iacon—the place where the bots he hated lived, where the root of corruption festered. Yet, he would do anything for Orion, especially if he was hurt.

He would burn down Cybertron to save his friend.

Since the High Council had no proof about him leading the Decepticons—thanks to Soundwave—despite their claims about him, he couldn't have a warrant placed for his helm. Yet. Unless they wanted to risk millions of low castes wrath, despite the inhibitors planted inside their frames.

He was free—mostly—to travel to wherever he desired on Cybertron.

The wind whipped against his wicked jet mode as he pushed himself through the brisk dawn air, feeling his surroundings. Watching for the Seekers that patrolled the skies of Cybertron. The elite flyers of the Cybertronian military ruled the skies, always watching for intruders. Though if Starscream, professing a desire to work with him and his followers, would've called them off on him, if he truly wanted to earn their trust—his trust.

The stars twinkled brightly in the sky, though slowly faded away as the shining city of Iacon came into view. He did some lazy acrobatics in the air, maneuvering easily as if it were natural—as if he hadn't just chosen this alt mode a few mere stellar cycles ago—and slowly descended into the city.

He swooped down, transforming in mid-air and slamming down into the ground of Trion Square, drawing a few startled gazes to his imposing form as plating and gears and armor locked back into their rightful places. The Champion's gaze swept the mostly empty plaza, noticing the husk where the statue of Sentinel once resided. It was being reconstructed.

The gladiator turned away, walking down the street and toward the hospital that Orion was currently being held in before he got angry at being reminded that two incompetent fools had nearly hurt his archivist here.

As he walked, towering over all of the bots that he passed, he thought about how Orion had no idea how far his followers had spread, or how much energon had been spilled in the shadows to protect their cause.

Megatronus had worked tirelessly to keep it that way. Orion didn't need to know. He wouldn't understand. The secrecy was a necessary burden, one Megatronus bore willingly. Primus knew that he couldn't lose his friend, not without having a devasting effect on him.

When he finally reached the clinic, Megatronus burst through the entrance, just his presence causing some of the bots nearby to scatter like startled sparklings. His optics scanned the room until they landed on a lone white, blue and red accented mech, who was standing up looking surprised. Jazz, he realized.

"You're Megatronus," Jazz said as he approached.

"And you're Jazz," the Champion replied, not bothering to look at the smaller mech. "Where is he?"

"Still in surgery," Jazz said. "Ratchet's been workin' on him for breems. Said it was bad, but—"

"I know it's bad." Megatronus's optics bore into Jazz, and looking into Orion's friend's optics, he knew that the mech had been there when Orion was hurt. "You were there. You let this happen," he accused.

The smaller mech bristled, field rippling at the accusation. "Hey now, I didn't let anything happen! That scrap came outta nowhere. I tried to protect him—"

"Not enough," Megatronus growled, cutting him off.

Jazz's optics narrowed, his field flaring. "Listen, I get you're mad, but don't you dare pin this on me. I ain't the one who attacked him. And while we're at it, maybe you should be askin' why one of your so-called Decepticons did this."

The words hit like a physical blow, and for a klik, Megatronus faltered. His optics narrowed as he attempted to reign in his anger. "You think I condone this?" he snarled, dangerously. "You think I would allow anyone to harm him?"

"I don't know what you allow," Jazz shot back. "But if you care about him half as much as you act like you do, maybe you oughta take a harder look at the bots followin' your lead."

The two mechs stared each other down until a voice barked at both of them.

"Enough, both of you!" Ratchet growled, storming out of the hallway and planting himself in between both mechs.

Jazz immediately looked at the medic, Megatronus forgotten. The cultural investigator noticed that his cerulean optics were dimmer than usual, probably from the amount of work Orion's surgery was. He opened his intake to ask how his friend was doing, but the gladiator beat him to it.

"Well?" the Champion growled. "How is he?"

Ratchet's optics flicked between the pair. "First of all," the medic started, waving a servo, "you don't get to growl at me like I owe you something. I've been in surgery for most of the night keeping your friend alive, so if you've got something to say, you can wait until I've finished speaking."

Jazz was startled at the medic's bluntness. Megatronus, to his credit, didn't snap back. Instead, he just stared at the medic with a look that could've melted metal.

"To answer your question, Orion's stable," he said. "It was touch-and-go for a while, but he's going to recover."

"How bad was it?"

The medic's optics flicked toward Megatronus, narrowing slightly, a frown worming its way onto his features. "Bad enough. His leg was nearly crushed beyond repair. His frame took a severe beating—dents, fractures, energon loss. I spent most of the evening piecing him back together."

"But he'll be okay, right? Like, eventually?" Jazz asked.

Ratchet nodded. "He'll recover, but it'll take time. He's going to be in stasis for a while. His systems need to reboot, and his frame needs to adjust to the repairs."

"I want to see him," the gladiator said.

Ratchet's optics narrowed. "No. I won't risk his recovery being disrupted by your—"

"I want to see him," Megatronus interrupted, seething.

Ratchet glared at the larger mech. "You're not scaring me, gladiator. His physician says that he needs rest, not visitors stomping in and throwing their weight around. Especially you," he added, optics narrowing. "And that's final."

"And you," he said, his sharp gaze sweeping over the smaller mech, "look like you've been through the Pit yourself."

Jazz raised his servos defensively. "I'm fine, Ratchet. It's just a couple of dents—"

"Fine?" Ratchet snapped, optics narrowing. "You're favoring your left side, your arm is torn, and your EM field is practically screaming at me. Sit down before you collapse."

Jazz blinked, startled by the medic's sudden shift in demeanor, but he reluctantly obeyed, easing back into the chair with a wince. The cultural investigator realized that he had failed to control his fields and quickly reeled them in as Ratchet stepped closer, activating a scanner from his forearm.

"You're lucky it's nothing too serious," the older bot muttered brusquely as he examined Jazz's injuries. "But you still need patching up. Come with me."

The white and blue mech glanced uneasily at Megatronus, who was glaring darkly at the medic. "Uh... you sure he's not gonna smash the place up while we're gone?"

Ratchet shot the gladiator a sharp look. "He's staying out here. Aren't you?"

Megatronus's optics flashed dangerously as his glare intensified. "If it means I'll see Orion sooner, I'll wait. But don't test my patience, medic."

Ratchet huffed, unimpressed. "You'll wait because I said so," he retorted before turning back to Jazz. "Let's go."

Man, Ratchet's a beast when he wants to be 😂

During this chapter when Megatronus and Jazz message each other, you probably noticed that it said 'OP' when the cultural investigator sent. Well, Jazz is using Orion's number to alert the gladiator that his friend is in trouble. So it's not going to change to'J' merely because Jazz is using it. Just wanted to clear that up, should it cause confusion.

Megatronus is really angry too. He just blamed Jazz.. that's low even for ya Champion. But it's understandable, in a way. Hope I wrote when he flew in the air decently.

After rereading this chapter for errors, I noticed that I swapped Megatronus' perspective to Jazz, which I actually didn't realize I did. Oh well... I'm too lazy to change it. Besides, it kind of fits.

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed. Let me know what you think :)