"Do you have friends?" Raf finally asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fell over the pair. Steve had been silent for over half an hour, refusing to look or talk to him. He wasn't quite sure what he said that got the Vehicon in this state.

The preteen thought he wouldn't answer. He was surprised when Steve did.

"No."

"Why not?"

"We are built to serve Lord Megatron and nothing more," the Vehicon replied in matter-of-fact tone. He sounded almost prideful. How was serving a mass murderer something to be proud of?

Raf frowned. "That sounds awful," he said honestly.

The Vehicon bristled, plating flaring out like an angry cat. It was quickly clamped back down when it rattled against the restraints. "It is not!" he snapped, indignantly. "Lord Megatron is leading the Decepticons against the Autobots' corruption. But it's not like you'd understand."

"Why's that?" Raf asked, arching an eyebrow.

Steve spat, "Because you're their pet."

Raf's jaw tightened. "I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Raf groaned loudly, rubbing his temples in frustration. Why am I arguing with a Vehicon? he thought. This was a being that had likely been alive for centuries, if not longer, brainwashed or programmed—whatever the case was—into unwavering loyalty to the Decepticon cause. What was the point?

Steve, however, didn't seem deterred by his exasperation. "Lord Megatron promised a better Cybertron for all of us," he said suddenly, sounding... reverent. "For the low castes, who suffered in the bowels of our once-great home planet."

The preteen blinked, startled by the sudden confession. He turned to the restrained mech. "Yeah? And how'd that work out?"

The Decepticon's visor flared brilliantly. "It was not Lord Megatron's fault!" he hissed defensively. "The Autobots were the ones that killed Cybertron!"

"That's not true!" Raf shot back, anger flaring as he glared darkly at the Vehicon. He was well aware that the mech could easily crush him... if he weren't strapped down securely to a metal slab. "The Decepticons killed the planet. You were the ones who poisoned the core with dark energon! You were the ones who tore Cybertron apart with your war!"

The Vehicon's optics flared even brightly, startling Raf with their intensity. Partially blinding him. "Is that what the Autobots told you?" he asked, his voice low and accusing.

"I—well, yeah!" Raf stammered.

"They lied," the Vehicon said firmly. His tone was steady, as if stating an undeniable fact. "The Autobots were the ones that destroyed our planet. They fought for the corruption we tried so hard to eradicate! They fought for the Primes—the very mechs who enslaved our kind! They ejected the Allspark from our planet, depriving it of life. No spark will ever be born again because of them."

Raf blinked, stunned. The Primes enslaved Cybertronian kind? There was no way that could be true. Because then that would make Optimus corrupt... right? And the Guardian Knight didn't sound anything like the Prime the Vehicon was describing. Optimus was kind, caring, and selfless—he would give his life in an instant to save a human or one of his teammates. This Vehicon had to be lying...

But one word stuck in Raf's mind, and despite his anger, he was curious to know what it was. "Allspark?" he asked hesitantly.

The Decepticon let out a laugh that startled the boy. "Do the Autobots tell you nothing, fleshy?"

"It's Raf," the preteen snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Fine. Raf," the Vehicon mocked. "You fight their war, risk your life for them, and they don't even tell you the truth about what you're fighting for. Pitiful."

"They've told me plenty. Enough to know the Decepticons are wrong."

"Wrong?" the Vehicon hissed angrily. "We fought for freedom! For equality! For a Cybertron where every spark could live without oppression!"

"And look where that got you," Raf shot back. "Strapped to a table, your planet destroyed, and your 'freedom' costing countless lives."

The Vehicon went silent, visor dimming just for a few seconds. Then, with a sneer in his voice, the mech responded with a question in such a venomous tone that it took the preteen aback.

"Did they tell you that your precious Prime stole the Matrix?"

Raf stiffened and glared at the restrained mech. "He didn't steal it!" the boy snapped. "Primus chose him to be the next Prime! He was worthy—unlike Megatron."

The Vehicon let out a harsh laugh that made the boy wince, rattling his bones at the intensity of it. Raf glanced around, wondering how nobody had noticed their conversation yet. "Worthy? You mean your so-called Prime was just handed the Matrix while others toiled and bled for change? Do you even know what really happened?"

Raf bristled. "I know exactly what happened!" he shot back. "Ratchet told us everything—how Optimus, when he was still Orion Pax, earned the Matrix because of his wisdom and compassion. Because he wanted to protect Cybertron, not destroy it!"

"Is that what they told you?" the Vehicon sneered, his optics glowing brighter as it shifted against its restraints. "That your beloved Orion Pax was chosen by the great and benevolent Primus? Let me tell you the truth, fleshling. Your 'Prime' stole what wasn't his to take."

Raf felt his chest tighten with anger. "You're lying," he said, shaking his head. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't I?" the Vehicon retorted. "I was there. Lord Megatron rose from nothing, fought for equality, for the downtrodden, for bots like me who were born into suffering. And I saw how Orion Pax betrayed him, how he took the Matrix that should have been Megatron's!"

"That's not true! Megatron didn't fight for equality! He wanted power—he wanted to rule Cybertron!"

Steve shook with fury. "He wanted justice! He wanted to tear down the corrupt system that kept us in chains! And for a time, so did Orion Pax. They stood together, side by side, fighting for the same cause. Until your precious Prime turned his back on Megatron and everything they had worked for."

The Vehicon's words clashed against everything he had ever been told. He thought of Optimus—calm, wise, and selfless—and tried to reconcile that image with the accusations being hurled at him. It didn't make sense.

"Optimus isn't like that," Raf said firmly. "He's not the kind of pers, er, mech who would betray someone. He cares about everyone—Autobots, humans, even you Decepticons."

The Vehicon scoffed. "Optimus Prime wasn't always a Prime. He was just another low-caste clerk, a nobody. Megatron saw potential in him, mentored him, gave him a voice. And how did he repay that kindness? By taking the Matrix for himself and siding with the Autobots who destroyed Cybertron!"

"That's not true!" Raf hissed. "Optimus didn't choose to become a Prime—he was chosen! He didn't betray anyone! He wanted peace, and Megatron wanted war!"

The preteen could practically feel the heat of the mech's glare melting into his skin as he glowered at him. "Peace?" it spat. "Tell me, fleshling, how much peace have you seen since this war began? How many lives have been lost because of your so-called 'Prime'?"

"That's because of Megatron!" he argued. "The Decepticons started this war, not the Autobots!"

The Vehicon's optics flared dangerously."You've been fed lies,"he said venomously. "The Autobots were the ones who drained Cybertron dry, who clung to their hierarchy and corruption while bots like me toiled and died for their luxuries. Megatron fought to free us from their tyranny. But your Prime—your thief of a Prime—chose to side with the very system that oppressed us."

The boy shook his head vehemently. "No. Optimus isn't like that. He's a good person. He wouldn't let that happen."

The Vehicon fell silent, optics dimming as he stared at him. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less sharp. "You believe in him,"he stated. "Blindly. Without question."

"Were you programmed to be this way?" Raf snapped, surprised by how sharp his voice was. Maybe he was being a little too confident. But he wouldn't allow a Decepticon to slander Optimus' name, or the Autobots for that matter.

"Programmed?" he repeated dumbly. "What do you mean by that, fleshling?"

"Were you programmed to blindly follow orders? To spout propaganda like it's gospel? Because that's all you seem to do."

The Vehicon bristled."I am loyal to Lord Megatron because I choose to be," he hissed."Not because I am programmed, as you so ignorantly suggest."

"Really?" Raf challenged, glaring at the mech. "You choose to believe everything Megatron tells you? To serve him without question, even when it means hurting innocent people? That doesn't sound like a choice to me—it sounds like brainwashing."

Steve growled lowly."You've been fed lies by the Autobots," the Vehicon retorted."You believe their twisted narrative because you're too naive to see the truth. Lord Megatron gave us purpose. He gave us hope when there was none. And I will gladly serve him until my last spark."

Raf shook his head. "And you don't think for yourself at all, do you?" he said. "You just take whatever he says and believe it without question. That's not loyalty—that's programming."

The Vehicon snarled, struggling against the restraints. "I think for myself more than you ever could, fleshling!" he snapped."You sit there acting as though you're so much better than me. But you're just as blind as you claim I am!"

Raf flinched at the words and opened his mouth to argue, but the Vehicon wasn't finished.

"You think that the Autobots have never spilled innocent energon or made sacrifices for their cause?" the Vehicon continued bitterly."Your precious Optimus Prime isn't the hero you think he is. None of them are."

"That's not true," the preteen muttered, crossing his arms and looking away from the Decepticon.

"Isn't it?" the Eradicon pressed.

The preteen slumped, not wanting to debate with the Decepticon anymore. It was obvious that the mech's mind wouldn't be changed. Ever. He went back to the computer, then realized that Steve hadn't answered his earlier question. He looked up at Steve. "Well?" He folded his arms as he sat back in his chair.

"Well, what?"

"How were you program—" The boy shrunk at the withering glare from the mech and quickly corrected himself. "—made?"

"That's none of your business."

"Come on," Raf insisted, tapping his fingers against the desk. "You've already told me so much—why stop now? Are you scared to tell me or something?"

Steve bristled at the taunt. "I am not scared of you, fleshling."

"Then tell me," the boy replied, staring unblinkingly at the mech. He was shocked at how confident he was, though he wished he could've been brave earlier with Miko. But he had no choice. She would've been killed if he hadn't agreed.

The silence seemed to stretch on for ages. And then, with an ex-vent, the Vehicon relented. "Fine. But don't interrupt me."

Raf nodded quickly.

"I was created by Shockwave," Steve began.

"Shockwave?" the preteen interrupted immediately.

Steve groaned. "And this is why I didn't want to explain. You fleshies always have so many questions."

"Just tell me who Shockwave is!" Raf demanded, huffing.

"Shockwave," the Eradicon continued, "was a scientist. One of the best—and worst—Cybertron has ever known. Logical to the point of cruelty, he was respected and feared in equal measure. When Lord Megatron—back then, he was still Megatronus—needed an army, Shockwave was the one who made it happen."

Steve's voice darkened as he continued. "I was the first of my kind, a prototype, created to test his theories about artificial sparks. I saw everything. I saw the friendship he shared with Orion Pax, and how it all fell apart. After me, they created more. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. We were made to serve Megatron's cause, constructed cold."

"Constructed cold?" Raf interrupted again.

The Vehicon growled in annoyance. "Would you let me finish?"

Raf raised his hands defensively. "Sorry, sorry. Go on."

"Being constructed cold is having frames that are pre-constructed bodies, built in factories, and powered by sparks that are artificially made. Those sparks are created by taking fragments of real sparks and combining them with other... processes. It's nothing like being forged."

"Forged?"

Steve groaned. "You really don't know anything, do you? A forged spark comes from the Well of Allsparks—the spar- heart -of Cybertron. It's a natural process. The spark is placed inside a liquified protoform, which then begins to transform, over a few cycles—weeks, for you fleshies—into a full Cybertronian. It develops its own frame, its alt-mode, its personality."

"And then what?" he asked softly.

The Eradicon hesitated before answering. "Then they're sorted into castes."

"Castes?" Raf frowned.

Steve seemed in shock, then spoke with disbelief. "You're telling me the Autobots never told you about the caste system, fleshy?"

The preteen huffed, crossing his arms. "It's Raf, and no, they didn't."

The mech let out a low sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Figures. The Autobots love to—how is it that you fleshies say it? Ah, right. 'Sweep their dirty secrets under the rug.'

The quick switches from Cybertronian to English sounded odd. Guttural and unnatural. But it was the only way to describe it, since they didn't have as many words as humans did in their language. Raf opened his mouth to retort, only for the Vehicon to continue before he could say anything.

"The caste system," Steve started, sounding bitter, "was the "foundation" of Cybertronian society. There were three tiers: low caste, middle caste, and high caste. Your place in the caste system was decided by your alt-mode.

"If you had a military alt-mode, like a tank or a flyer, you were put into the high caste—Cybertron's warriors. If you had a laborer's alt-mode, like a drill or something designed for heavy work, you were shoved into the mines or factories—the low caste. And if you had a specialized alt-mode, like a microscope or something rare, you were placed into the high caste as a scholar or scientist or whatever they wanted you to be."

The boy frowned. "What if you didn't have an alt-mode that fit any of those categories?"

"Then you were pounded into scrap."

Raf flinched at the bluntness of the statement. "That's horrible," he muttered.

Steve laughed bitterly. "That's one way of putting it. If you were constructed cold, like me, it didn't matter what your alt-mode was. Most Cybertronians didn't even consider us real. To them, we were sparkless, second-rate machines. Scrap."

Despite the mech being a Decepticon and what he said earlier, Raf felt sympathetic to him. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like to live in such a cruel, rigid system. "And Megatron promised to change all that," he guessed quietly.

The mech's visor brightened slightly. "He did. He rose from the mines, from the lowest caste, and united us under his vision of freedom. He promised equality, justice, and an end to the corruption of the Autobots and their high-caste leaders."

The preteen hesitated. "But if Megatron wanted freedom and equality... why did he turn to war?"

"Because the Autobots left him no choice. They fought to protect the caste system, to keep bots like the low castes in chains. Megatron had to fight back. He had to."

Raf didn't know what to say. He had always seen the Decepticons as villains, but hearing Steve's story made things feel a lot more complicated. Instead of responding, the boy merely nodded, swallowing down any retorts and returned his gaze to the screen.

He was too tired to have another debate.

My child...

The preteen jerked at the sudden sound, falling off of his chair. What the—

"Who said that!" Raf cried out in alarm, frantically searching for the voice. Steve craned his neck, looking at him strangely.

"Said what?"

Jack never knew he could be so angry. He was angry at Silas, at MECH, at that... that monster Felton, who had tortured Miko. Angry at Airachnid, whose venom now coursed through his veins, and most of all, he was angry at his father—the father who wasn't here to help him anymore, who had left a hole in his life that no one else could fill.

What if he'd never met Arcee? What if he hadn't walked out of KO Burgers that day and sat on that blue motorcycle in the parking lot? What would have happened then?

He wouldn't be here now, locked in a cell. He wouldn't be caught up in a war between giant alien robots, dragged into battles he had no business fighting. And neither would Miko. Neither would Raf. If only—

Jack forced himself to stop. No. he couldn't think like that. He couldn't let himself fall into this trap. This wasn't Arcee's fault. This wasn't the Autobots' fault. This was MECH's doing. MECH had taken him. MECH had turned his life upside down. MECH had stolen everything, and now they were trying to steal his humanity too, with that stupid E-X1 venom experiment.

He looked around the small, grimy cell that was now his world. The walls were plain and dull, cracked in some places. There was nothing in the room but a narrow cot shoved into the corner and a dingy metal bucket that served as a makeshift toilet.

"MECH really knows how to roll out the red carpet," he muttered bitterly to himself, slumping down onto the cot. His body ached from the torture he had received from that bastard, Felton, despite showing no signs of ever being touched. Besides the torn clothing and blood.

A knife pressed against his skin, cutting cleanly through it. He hissed in pain as it cut in deeper, tracing down to his abdomen.

He could still hear Miko's screams in his ears and her begging. Begging. Miko never begged for anything. It broke his heart and made him furious at the same time. He saw terror in her eyes when they took her out of the room for a 'bath.'

His cheek stung from the harsh blow and a bruise started to bloom, one of the many across his body.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but it didn't help. God, he was going to be scarred for life. Not in the physical sense but emotionally. He wished Mom was here...

Jack...

The voice startled him so badly he nearly fell off the cot. He jumped to his feet, heart racing, and whipped his head around to look for the source.

It was deep, filled with a kind of ancient power and wisdom that sent chills down his spine. It hadn't come from the cell door, or inside the cell. It hadn't come from outside the cell at all.

The voice had come from everywhere.

My child...

"Who—who's there?" Jack demanded, searching for the voice. Maybe he could fight off whoever—or whatever—this was.

There was no response. Just silence. The teenager scanned the cell again, eyes darting to every corner, every shadow. Was this a side effect of the venom? Hallucinations? Voices in his head?

Am I losing it?

My warrior...

The voice sounded as if it had been spoken aloud and whispered directly into his thoughts. Jack shuddered, calling out to the voice. But there was no answer. No name. Just an overwhelming sense of being watched by something vast and incomprehensible. The voice hadn't been cruel or threatening. It hadn't been like Silas or MECH.

This voice was... different.

It felt ancient, like it had existed since the dawn of time. It was wise, filled with a depth Jack couldn't even begin to fathom. And it felt... warm. Comforting. But that didn't make it any less terrifying.

You must suffer in order to be reborn...

Jack felt a surge of anger he couldn't hold back. "Suffer? Suffer?!" he shouted. "Are you kidding me right now? I've been kidnapped by MECH, poisoned by Airachnid or whatever, and locked in this stupid cell while some psycho organization decides whether I live or die. And you're telling me I need to suffer?"

It is through suffering that true growth is achieved.

Jack shook his head. "That's easy for you to say! You're not the one locked up, injected with some alien venom, and waiting to be turned into MECH's latest science experiment! You're not the one whose life is falling apart!"

There was no immediate answer, and Jack's anger started to creep back in. He hated feeling like he was being toyed with, like someone—or something—was dangling answers just out of his reach.

He clenched his fists, trying to keep himself from shaking, though to no avail. "I've had enough suffering! I don't need to suffer anymore—I need help! I need to get out of here! I need to save my friends!"

Only through trials do you find strength. Only through fire is the metal tempered...

Jack growled, pacing the small space of the cell like a caged animal. "Oh, great! Another riddle! That's so helpful! Are you some kind of fortune cookie now? I don't want this!"

The voice didn't rise to meet his anger.

No one asks for the burden of destiny. Yet it chooses them regardless...

"You think I care about destiny?" he snapped. "I'm just a kid! I didn't sign up for any of this! I didn't want to get dragged into some war between robots. I just wanted to live my life—go to school, hang out with my friends, maybe get a job someday. But no, instead I get venom in my veins, MECH breathing down my neck, and now you are telling me I'm supposed to suffer for some kind of greater purpose?!"

Your trials are not meaningless, Jack. They are shaping you for what lies ahead...

Jack shook his head furiously, unable to suppress a shiver when the voice used his name. How did it even know his name? "I just want to go home!" His voice cracked, and he hated how vulnerable he sounded.

Home is not a place you can return to. Not as you are now. Not as you will become...

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked warily.

I see what you cannot... the voice responded, ignoring his question altogether. The pain you feel now will forge you into the protector you are meant to be. The darkness you face will prepare you for the light you will bring...

"Protector? What are you talking about? I'm just a kid! I can't protect anyone!"

You are more than you know, Jackson Darby.

The way the voice said his full name sent a shiver down Jack's spine. It wasn't a threat, but it carried... something in it that made his protests die in his throat. The boy sat back on his cot, shoulders sagging as he buried his hand in his face.

"I didn't ask for this," he whispered after a moment, his voice trembling. "I didn't ask to be part of this war, to be dragged into all of this. I just wanted a normal life."

Greatness is rarely chosen, my warrior. It is thrust upon those who have the strength to bear it...

Jack stared down at his hands, thinking of his mom, of Miko and Raf, of Arcee and the Autobots. Of everything they'd been through together.

"And if I don't want to be great?" he asked quietly.

I do not believe you will choose that path. You have more courage and strength than you realize, Jack...

Jack closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold wall of the cell. He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to be part of something bigger, something that demanded so much of him. The teenager was just a kid caught up in a war that wasn't his.

He just wanted to go home to his mom.

The boy looked up, looking straight at the security camera watching his every move. MECH wouldn't let him out of their sight for a second—but at this point, he didn't care. They already thought he was some kind of experiment, a guinea pig for their twisted plans. What difference did it make if they thought he was losing his mind too?

He ran a hand through his hair. "You're not real," he muttered under his breath. "You're just in my head. Probably some side effect of Airachnid's venom or... or whatever it is they've been pumping into me."

But even as he said it, Jack wasn't entirely convinced. The voice had been so... vivid and clear. It wasn't like the random thoughts or inner monologues that sometimes crept into his mind; this was something else.

Yet now, it was silent.

"Are you still there?" he asked hesitantly, feeling silly for even asking.

Nothing.

He let out a frustrated groan. "Of course not. Why would you be? Probably just my imagination messing with me. I mean, what do I expect? That some magical, all-knowing entity is gonna swoop in and save the day? Yeah, right."

Still nothing.

The boy hissed in frustration. "You could at least answer me! Especially after what you said!"

He turned toward the small camera mounted high on the wall. Its red light blinked steadily. "Enjoying the show?" he snapped, glaring at it. "Bet you think it's funny watching me talk to myself like some kind of lunatic."

The camera, of course, didn't respond. How could it? It was just some piece of machinery. Nothing like Cybertronians.

Jack buried his face in his hands. "Get a grip, Darby," he muttered to himself. "You're not crazy. You're just... under a lot of stress. Yeah, that's it. Stress and... and whatever junk is in your system. It's messing with your head. That's all."

He rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of anything. Every time he thought he'd wrapped his head around the crazy world of Autobots and Decepticons, something new came along to throw him off balance.

First, it had been the war itself—a secret conflict waged by alien robots hidden in plain sight. Then, it had been MECH, a human organization willing to go to any lengths to exploit Cybertronian technology. And now... now there was this.

If the voice was real, then it had chosen to speak to him for a reason. It had called him a warrior. Did that mean it thought he was supposed to... what? Fight in this war? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. That was something he definitely didn't want.

But then again, hadn't he already fought? Hadn't he already stood up to Decepticons, risked his life to protect his friends and the Autobots? Maybe he wasn't a warrior in the traditional sense, but he wasn't helpless either.

Jack exhaled and laid himself flat on the cot. If the voice wasn't going to help him, then fine. He didn't need it. He'd find his own way out of this mess, no matter what it took. He almost did it once, he could do it again.

Raf may seem a bit OOC in this chapter, but he's angry at Steve for 'slandering' the Autobots. Plus, the Vehicon is strapped down, unable to harm him, which gives him a confidence boost.

And oooo... whoever could be that mysterious voice...?

Honestly, I don't see Steve trying to paint the Autobots evil, even though that's what Raf seems to think. He's just saying what he believes.