Orion Pax shifted on his pedes, optics darting between Alpha Trion and the pretty femme, taller than him with a pink frame, accented with black and white. She tapped slender digits against her arm, looking like she had difficulty crossing her arms because of the large shoulder plating that extended outward.

"I didn't mean to reveal myself like that," Orion admitted. "It wasn't planned. I just—" He shook his helm, trying to keep his emotions from bleeding out onto his fields. "I couldn't just stay silent."

"And now you bear the consequences of your passion," he said in that even tone that the archivist knew well. "You use more of this"—he tapped his chassis gently—"than this." He tapped his helm.

"What was I supposed to do?" he argued. "Sit there and let them slander everything we've fought for?"

"The right words at the wrong time can be as dangerous as any weapon," Alpha Trion cautioned. "You have made yourself a target."

The librarian looked away. He knew the Master Archivist was right. He had spoken from his spark, without thinking properly. Once again, he had let emotions guide his words.

"Come," the older mech gestured for them to walk, leading them further down the alleyway and onto a quieter street. "You will have another chance to speak, and properly, this time."

"What do you mean?"

"I am arranging a meeting with the High Council," Alpha Trion said simply. "You and Megatronus will have the opportunity to present your vision to them directly."

His optics went wide. "You- what?"

"The High Council holds great influence, Orion. If you wish to enact change, you must start with those in power."

This was an opportunity he had only ever dreamed of. The High Council was notoriously rigid, deeply entrenched in the caste system. But if there was even a chance they would listen...

"You truly think they'll hear us out?" he asked, catching up with the pair on his still shaky legs.

"Some will."

"Thank you, Alpha Trion," he said sincerely.

The Master Archivist studied him for a long klik before he ex-vented. "I must take my leave," he informed him. "There are arrangements to be made, and time is not on our side."

"Of course," he said, though he was reluctant to part ways so soon.

"Before I go, however, I would like the two of you to become acquainted." He gestured to the pink femme with something that almost looked like amusement in his optics. "Elita One, this is Orion Pax. Orion, this is Elita One."

Elita crossed her arms. "I know who he is," she said. "He's the mech that threw himself into the public eye and made himself a target."

The archivist was momentarily taken aback. He recovered quickly, arching an optic ridge. "And you're one of Sentinel's Council members," he countered, remembering her from a news headline. "I didn't expect someone from the Senate's inner circle to be meeting me in an alley."

"I didn't expect an archivist to stand up in the Grid and throw away his entire life."

He bristled. "I didn't throw anything away," he responded, crossing his arms. "I stood by what I believe in."

"Hmm..." she eyed him critically and then nodded. "Alpha Trion wasn't kidding around about you."

"What?" Orion moved closer to her and then glanced around the street, noticing that lack of the Master Archivist. How could an older mech like him move so fast and quietly? The librarian was suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was standing to Elita One.

Taking a few steps back, he awkwardly muttered, "So..."

The pink femme glanced at him and arched an optical ridge. "So?" she repeated, clearly unimpressed.

Orion hesitated, scrambling for something—anything—to say, but every option seemed terrible. He was reverting back to the shy, nervous newspark that Megatronus had helped him through. Primus, femmes were terrifying. "You-you're... a Council member."

He winced the klik those words came out of his intake.

Elita One gave him the flattest look he had ever seen. "I am," she said slowly. "And you were an archivist. Before you threw your career into the smelter, that is."

Orion winced. He walked right into that one. But what was the deal with the femme and his former occupation? "I—yes, I suppose I did." He vented. "But it wasn't exactly a choice."

"No?"

"It was a necessity," he corrected. "I couldn't just sit there and let them twist everything we stood for."

Elita hummed noncommittally. Orion wasn't sure if she agreed or was simply humoring him.

The awkward silence stretched between them, and he fought the urge to fidget. Maybe he should try a different approach and get to know her. That's what people did when they met, right? They asked questions.

"So... where are you from?"

"Polyhex."

He nodded, trying to keep the conversation going. "Oh? I've never been there. What's it like?"

"Functional."

That... wasn't exactly a descriptive answer. Weren't femmes supposed to give details? That's what he heard from other mechs at the Hall who tended to gossip about their femme coworkers. He tried again. "Do you have any hobbies?"

"Surviving."

That was—well, technically, it was an answer, but it didn't give him much to work with. He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a strangled noise. "That's... not really a hobby."

Elita crossed her arms, looking somewhat amused, if he was reading her facial expression correctly. "Depends on who you ask."

This is going well. Not at all disastrous, he said to himself, repeating it as if it were going to make it true.

He tried another angle. "Okay... favorite energon blend?"

The pink femme gave him a blank stare. "Seriously?"

He smiled, trying to appear casual despite the fact that he was internally panicking. "What? It's a normal question."

"For a casual chat at Maccadam's, maybe," she said. "Not exactly the kind of conversation I expected to have... here," –she gestured vaguely to the less desirable parts of Iacon— "after meeting a wanted mech."

Orion hoped that she couldn't feel his EM field. "I'm just trying to get to know you."

"You're terrible at it."

"Noted."

Elita studied him for a klik before shaking her helm. "Fine. High-grade, engex blend. Now, do you have any more ridiculous questions?"

The archivist didn't dignify her with a reply to that. His questions weren't stupid. Or were they? He didn't think they were stupid. After all, this is what one does when trying to get to know another bot. "So... how did you get to know Alpha Trion?"

Elita studied him for a long klik before replying, "We met."

Orion resisted the urge to groan. That was technically an answer, but not the kind he was looking for. "Where?"

"In Iacon."

The librarian vented. "Do you ever give straightforward answers?"

Her intake curled slightly in amusement. "Depends on who's asking."

Primus, she was... well, he decided not to go there. He rubbed his faceplate, exasperated. "Fine," he muttered. "You met him in Iacon. Were you on the Council at the time?"

"No."

He arched an optic ridge. "Then what were you doing in Iacon?"

Elita paused. "Existing."

Orion let out a low groan. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

She tilted her helm, those knowing blue optics glimmering. "Doing what?"

He gave her a pointed look. "Giving me the most vague, infuriating answers possible."

She smirked, clearly enjoying this far more than he was. "Maybe."

"Okay, let's try this another way. Why did Alpha Trion take an interest in you?"

The pink femme's amusement faded. "I was too smart for my own good."

Orion felt her fields ripple with an emotion, but it was so quick, he couldn't get a read on it. There was something she wasn't saying, which couldn't be any more obvious. He could press, but something told him she wouldn't appreciate that.

The archivist didn't say anything else and surveyed their surroundings. The golden-hued alloy he often saw in Iacon wasn't present in this rundown area of level nine of the city. Everything here was so rundown and broken, which was surprising to even him.

There were many mechs who just sat in the streets, watching the two newcomers. Many others just kept their helms down as they weaved through the waning crowd of the evening. Orion looked ahead and saw a security checkpoint had been set up. Enforcers stood rigid, watching the crowd and checking IDs.

"Down," Elita One abruptly ordered, shoving his helm down as she pushed him to the side and against the entrance of a closed shop. Her servo pressed against the wall behind him, and she briefly glanced at him, before watching the patrol pass by them without a second glance at them.

The archivist was hyperaware of how close he was to the femme, and he pretended not to feel her fields entangled in his with their... close proximity. He looked away, trying to find anything to distract him from the rather awkward situation.

They remained like that until the enforcers were a safe distance away.

Only then did Elita stepped back slightly.

"That was the start of the Clampdown," she remarked, scanning the crowd for more enforcers.

Orion, managing to get his thoughts together, had no idea what that was. His blank look must have said it all, because she elaborated. "It's an emergency enforcement measure, declared when the Senate deems it necessary to 'protect the populace.' In reality, it's just a sweeping crackdown, giving enforcers unrestricted authority to detain, question, and imprison any mech they consider a 'threat.'

The archivist frowned.

"They're hunting dissidents," Elita continued. "Rounding up anyone suspected of being involved in anti-Senate activity. Arrests will be public and brutal to send a message."

His spark twisted. Mechs like him, who had dared to speak out, to question the system, would be among the first to disappear. He looked back at the checkpoint. A line had already begun forming, mechs being stopped and questioned. Some were scanned for their identification codes. Others were not-so-gently pulled aside for further inspection.

He turned back to Elita. "They move quickly."

"The Senate is both paranoid and desperate," she said flatly. "They won't wait for the situation to spiral further out of their control."

"I have to get back to Megatronus."

"And what will he do?" Her voice was hostile, and dangerously close to a snarl. What had Megatronus ever done to her?

"He has protection in Kaon," Orion said. "If this Clampdown reaches the lower sectors, there will be riots. Megatronus has support there and if he organizes, they can resist."

The pink femme studied him for a long klik with an unreadable expression. Then, with a small nod, she turned away from the checkpoint. "We need to move quickly," she stated. "Before you end up in one of their holding cells."

The Grand Imperium was the largest waste of shanix ever. Being a multi-storied building with many things that needed power it in, it was one of the biggest energon consumers on Cybertron. From energon bars to private landing pads, it had all a high caste bot could ever want.

The main attraction was where the Senate gathered for its sessions. It was one large room, extending upward in multiple tiers with balconies that overlooked the large arena of seats. Bridges connected to the large power core that gave power to the building, pumped with a large tube that ran with energon.

A large statue of Sentinel Prime stood proudly, holding a sign that said: 'Freedom is the right of all civilized beings.' The saying disgusted her, and she knew that they didn't consider low caste bots 'civilized.'

"—a direct attack on the very foundation of Cybertronian society!" One senator snapped, slamming a servo against the railing of their balcony. The Decepticons are not a political movement; they are a terrorist organization!"

"The Clampdown must be enacted immediately!" one senator barked. "The Decepticons are a plague, and we must root them out before they infect the entirety of Cybertron!"

"We cannot afford to wait!" another senator snapped. "They have already begun their insurgency: rallies, riots, open defiance of the caste system! If we allow this to continue, they will tear down everything we have built!"

"They are a threat," a third voice agreed. "But we must be strategic. A full-scale military action could drive the populace further into their ranks. We should increase surveillance, identify their key figures, and—"

"The Decepticons are not simply a nuisance to be swatted away," another senator cut in, filled with fury. "They are an infection. And like any infection, if left untreated, it will spread and fester."

"The Clampdown begins immediately," one senator declared, leaving no room for debate. "All known Decepticon sympathizers are to be detained and questioned. Enforcers will have full authority to maintain order, and any resistance will be dealt with swiftly and without hesitation"

So, it was official. Only one other time had the Clampdown been enforced, and it did not bode well for the Senate's favor among their kind. However, there were no Decepticons then to rally with.

"And what of Kaon?" another senator that sounded suspiciously like Starburst. "It is a breeding ground for this rebellion."

"Then we cut it off," another answered coldly. "No supply shipments, no energon distribution. If they choose to house terrorists, let them starve."

Nightwing forced herself to remain neutral. The cruelty of the Senate never failed to disgust her, even as she continued to play her role among them. They spoke of Kaon like it was an infection on the planet Cybertron, and the beings there were less than Cybertronian.

"Do you wish to incite war?" A lone voice challenged. "Depriving an entire sector of energon will only ensure further violence!"

A scoff. "Then we bring order to them by force."

This was getting worse every klik that passed. The Senate was using this chaotic time to eliminate any threat to their rule before it could grow beyond their control, and it was all under the guise of 'protection.'

"And what of those who merely sympathize?" Another senator inquired. "Surely, it is not just the ones who raise arms we should be concerned with. Ideas are as dangerous as weapons."

"Arrests will be made of known agitators, their collaborators, and anybot found spreading Decepticon ideals."

A familiar EM field brushed against hers and she barely covered a wince, remembering who was next to her. She turned slightly to look at Senator Typhoon, who was far too close to her for her liking. Nightwing suppressed the urge to slap his faceplates, keeping her expression into that of impassive professionalism.

I can barely stand this idiot, the femme thought. She intensely disliked him, and on more than one occasion, he had grown inappropriate with her, which further agitated her.

"Disgraceful, isn't it?" Typhoon murmured as his helm touched her shoulder plating, allowing her olfactory sensors to pick up the sweet smell of engex at their proximity. This fool was overcharged or partially overcharged. "This infestation of Decepticon vermin. They multiply like Scraplets, emboldened by weak-willed fools who think they deserve a voice."

Nightwing feigned agreement, simultaneously feeling the need to purge her tanks at the touch of the brown and white mech. "Quite."

Typhoon smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "They act as though they are revolutionaries, but what are they, really? Nothing more than brutes and labor drones who've deluded themselves into thinking they matter." He scoffed. "It's laughable, truly. I'd almost admire the audacity if it weren't so pathetic."

The femme remained silent, letting him ramble. The less she said, the better.

"Megatronus," he continued, practically spitting the name. "A low-caste gladiator who fancies himself a leader. Do you know, I had the displeasure of watching one of his speeches? Nothing but appealing to the weak and the desperate. The kind of garbage that inspires riots, not change."

"And yet, he's managed to rally quite the following," she pointed out, coolly.

The brown and white mech scoffed. "Because the lower castes are fools. Easily swayed by grand words and empty promises. They believe they can rewrite the very order of Cybertron with their idealistic nonsense." His derma curled into a grin, a malicious thing. "They will learn soon enough that change is not something granted to those who grovel in the dirt."

Nightwing hummed noncommittally, feeling disgust welling up. She pulled away from him, resisting the urge to go and clean herself off, feeling as if she had Scraplets crawling on her plating from his mere touch.

Typhoon didn't get the hint and shuffled close once again. "Between you and me, I'm looking forward to this Clampdown. It's about time we weed out the troublemakers properly. Let them cower in fear and let them learn what it means to challenge the Senate."

"You seem rather invested in all of this, Senator."

He chuckled darkly. "Of course. I have investments in Iacon's security industry, you see. Increased enforcement means increased demand. It's good business."

Ah. There it was. Not only did Typhoon support the oppression, but he also profited from it. It made her burn with fury as she stared at him through lenses of red. She kept her plating clamped down tightly, to prevent it from bristling.

Nightwing wanted to rip out his spark.

Instead, she nodded again, offering him a pleasant smile. "A wise investment."

Typhoon grinned, utterly oblivious to the venom lining her words. "I knew you had sense, Nightwing." He straightened, casting a glance back at the chamber. "Now, let's see how long it takes before they finally put an end to this nonsense."

"—f Sentinel Prime?!" a senator bellowed loudly against the shouts that had risen up.

A familiar, deep-voiced mech that she recognized as Callidus, spoke up. "We have yet to confirm his whereabouts," he admitted. "Altihex Casino fell down to Cybertron during the bombings, destroying a good portion of the city. We are scavenging it for any remains of Sentinel Prime."

"The Decepticons took him. Either that, or he perished in the attack!"

The Senate roared loudly, voices rising up an angry arguments and statements at this attack on the spark of Cybertron itself.

Senator Typhoon—still far too close to her for comfort—huffed. "Of course they took him," he said smugly. "Megatronus and his fools want war; this would be a fine way to start it. Taking the Prime? It's a declaration of war."

"We no proof the Decepticons were responsible," countered a femme senator, almost as if she had heard the small talk between her and Typhoon. "There are no survivors from the casino and no witnesses to confirm who set the bombs. We must proceed with caution."

"Caution?!" The same senator from earlier slammed their fist on the railing of their balcony. "With all due respect, Stormburst, the time for caution is over! We have indulged this... insurgency for too long!"

"They have Sentinel Prime!" Another senator shouted. "They struck at the very heart of our system!"

Another roar of rage from the mechs and femmes of the Senate.

Typhoon scoffed beside Nightwing. "If they haven't taken him, then where is he? A Prime doesn't simply vanish."

Nightwing remained silent, realizing how dangerous this situation was. The Senate was already bloodthirsty for Decepticon sparks. With Sentinel missing, they had the perfect excuse to escalate the Clampdown.

"I will not deny that Sentinel Prime's disappearance is troubling," Stormburst said over the outraged cries. "But without evidence, we cannot act blindly. If we strike first, we risk proving the Decepticons right."

Some foolish senators accused her of being one of them. While Stormburst was a respected senator, Nightwing doubted that she was a Decepticon. Although, it was entirely possible she sympathized with them, considering her past actions.

At one point or another, she had allowed a low caste who rebelled against their superiors orders to go free, even after they disrespected her. Whiplash had informed her of this a while back, when she first took the reins of AVL after its founder abandoned it.

That's when she started to compile a list of those that were against the system. Stormburst and Sherma were apart of the few.

"This is an attack on the very foundation of Cybertronian order!" A senator snarled. "You think we should sit back and wait while they dismantle everything we have built?!"

"Prime or no Prime," another voice added, "the Senate must take control. If we delay, we give the Decepticons time to rally. We must act now."

The murmur of agreement spread like wildfire.

A softer, calmer voice cut through the voices. "What about the rebels at Nova Point?" they asked. "They have outright rebelled against the Senate's authority, and they are cutting off our largest supply of energon."

The assembled senators quickly broke into frantic discussion. Nightwing had never seen the Senate in such disarray. Discussing was usually made in orderly manners, one at a time, from the most pressing to the least. Apparently, now it was whatever came to another senator's neural net.

The Senator frowned, praying to Primus that C-14 was alright. It was only a matter of time before the unrest boiled over. The conditions in those mines had been deteriorating for many stellar cycles. The Senate had ignored their pleas, overworked them, and left them to rot in the dark. The Decepticons had given them hope, and now, it seemed, they had acted.

"We do not yet have confirmation that Nova Point is lost. We must confirm the situation before acting rashly—"

"They seized the mines!" one voice cut off Stormburst. "They refuse to let any shipments through! They are hoarding our energon, our resources! If we do not put them down immediately, the entire system will collapse!"

A mech on the balcony from across Nightwing stood up from his chair, red plating polished so that it sparkled in the light, the Functionists emblem proudly stamped on his shoulder. "Then I propose we deploy the Sentries."

Low murmurs rippled through the room.

Nightwing's optics darkened.

The Sentries. A pet project of the top tier senators, they were created to kill any and all those who defied their orders. They had yet to be used. These Sentries were an elite force, but mindless drones, meant to protect the Senate's interests and silence threats before they could take root.

There would be no negotiations. There would be a massacre.

Stormburst did not sound happy. "The Sentries have never been deployed against Cybertronians before."

"And why not?" Typhoon sneered beside the red and black accented femme. "They exist to maintain order. This is what they were built for. If we hesitate, the Decepticons will seize Nova Point and use its resources to fuel their rebellion. Then we will have a full-scale war on our hands!"

"A war we already have!" Another senator snapped. "How many bombings will it take before you all open your optics?! The Decepticons have declared war on us, and if we do not respond with force, we will be the ones who fall!"

"The miners are not Decepticons!" Stormburst countered. "They have rebelled, yes, but we do not know their full intentions. There is still a chance to bring them back under control through diplomacy—"

"Diplomacy?!" A senator scoffed. "They have made their choice!"

"It's a shame that all this is happening," the rich voice of a familiar senator lamented. Nightwing perked up at the voice, turning to see Senator Proteus, a tall blue and red accented mech, with intricate gold accents highlighting his large frame and rounded plating, his optics scanning the Senate chamber below, watching as they continued their endless squabbling.

The femme smiled softly. "Senator Proteus."

Proteus' derma curled into a warm, familiar smile as he stepped closer, reaching out to lightly grasp her servo between his own. "My dear," he said smoothly. "You look tired."

Nightwing ignored the jealous look of Typhoon and vented, relieved that one familiar face was here. Proteus was always there when she needed him, especially after her sparkmate perished. The mech had always guided her, advised her and ensured she never lost her way in the treacherous world of politics.

He had never shown her anything but kindness, and it resulted in her looking up to him.

However, something within her, an instinct deep within her had always kept her from fully trusting anyone, even him. Proteus was a powerful figure, well-respected, well-connected. He knew things and understood the game far better than most.

But there was always an air to him. Something she couldn't place, and although it was bothersome, she often brushed it aside, merely thinking it was just her broken spark trying to protect her again. After all, the last time she trusted someone, her Conjunx had been murdered.

"Tired, perhaps. It has been... a long session," she admitted.

Proteus chuckled softly, releasing her servo with a knowing look.

"Indeed, the weight of leadership is never light," he mused, shifting his gaze to the Senate floor. His optics darkened slightly as he took in the sight below.

The blue and red mech vented, looking weary. "Do not burden yourself with these troubles, my dear," he said. "You have a bright future ahead of you, and I would hate to see it darkened by unpleasant matters."

"Of course."

Proteus inclined his helm approvingly before glancing at Typhoon, who had been watching the exchange with some sort of jealousy, though it changed to something else when the respected Senator looked at the brown and white mech.

"Senator," Proteus greeted amicably.

Typhoon smirked. "Proteus."

They stared at each other for a few nano-kliks, and Nightwing got the feeling they were having a silent conversation. She pretended not to notice and turned back around to look at the buffoons arguing below.

A warm servo on her shoulder nearly made her jump and Proteus kindly smiled down at her. He spoke up, "The Decepticons only wish to be listened to by us, and I believe I have a solution for that my fellow senators. I have drafted the idea of the Decepticon Registration Act..."

Two solar cycles after they took the mine, the enforcers arrived.

"They're here!" a miner shouted, panic rising among the crowd.

"Everyone inside!" C-14 bellowed, gesturing for them to run into the recently opened mouth of the cave. The miners scrambled to obey, rushing into the depths of the mine that served as their home for vorns. C-14 stayed behind, hoping that they didn't have the controls to their inhibitors.

They had already ripped them out all the taskmasters of the mine, ensuring they couldn't hurt them while they remained... out of commission. From his subspace, he produced the detonator that would seal off the mine.

Yes, they had just come out of the mines from a close call with a Dweller, but he'd rather face that than the so-called justice of the Senate. They'd be executed or taken to the Rig, perhaps even the infamous Institute for reprogramming.

One of the lead enforcers transformed and walked down the path, their colleagues following not too far behind with guns at the ready.

"Stand down, miner!" one of the enforcers barked, his voice amplified through a built-in speaker. "You don't want to do this."

C-14 sneered. "I'll blow this mine to the Pit before I let you take it."

The lead enforced scoffed. "You wouldn't do it," he said. "You wouldn't sacrifice your own kind."

His derma curled into a snarl. "You think I won't? I'd rather be offlined than spend another cycle as a slave. And I'm not alone." He gestured toward the mine behind him. "We'd all rather die free than live under your servos."

The enforcers exchanged uneasy looks, and it was then they came to the conclusion that they were in deep slag if the mine was blown up.

Finally, after a few nano-kliks of exchanging low whispers, the leader spoke up. "What are your demands?" he asked—more like sneered it.

"Tell your masters—" he spat the word venomously, "—to come dig for their own fragging energon. Let's see how they like living like us."

The enforcer huffed and then laughed. "As if. That's what you dirt haulers are for."

C-14's smile was sharp enough to cut through energon lines. "Then you're not getting a single drop," he said, turning his back on them. He strode toward the mine entrance, sparing one last glance over his shoulder. "If you want it, come and get it yourself."

The enforcers shouted after him, but he ignored them. As the last of the miners disappeared into the mine, the gladiator followed. He paused just inside the entrance, looking back at the enforcers one final time.

"Have fun explaining this to your masters," he called out, pressing the button.

The ground shook as a series of explosions ripped through the mine's entrances, sending dust and debris flying into the air. The enforcers shouted in alarm, firing their weapons blindly into the cloud settling over them. C-14 ran deeper into the mine right as the entrance of the mine closed off, sealing them off from the rest of Cybertron.

Proteus is not who he says he is...

Also, politics suck.