Thank you for the reviews! Dreamer of the Infinite, mahatter, I needed to as fast as possible. I didn't want y'all to think I was shipping Megatronus and Orion, which is not what I am aiming for (ever). I just wanted the hug from behind because I couldn't think of it happening any other way.
Anyways hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think :)
Nightwing watched as the large, green mech maneuvered around her suite, awkwardly holding a thick metal sheet hoisted over his helm. She winced as he knocked it against her chandelier, dislodging a few delicate crystals that fell, shattering as they hit the floor. Each one of those shards were worth hundreds—if not thousands—of credits.
"Please watch where you're going, uh..." Nightwing trailed off, eyeing him blankly, not remembering their name.
He glanced over his shoulder, looking at the broken crystals on the floor as he lowered the slab. "Bulkhead."
"Right. Bulkhead." She crossed her arms, optics narrowed. "Please, watch where you're going."
Bulkhead nodded, a little sheepish, as he hoisted the metal slab up again, moving carefully around the room. Unfortunately, his careful was still somewhat destructive, and another soft crack echoed through the suite as he accidentally brushed the chandelier again, sending a few more crystals tinkling to the floor.
The senator pressed her dermas tightly together, suppressing a vent as she rubbed her faceplate, feeling her patience thin. She had been dreading this remodeling process, and watching her priceless decor suffer only added to her growing irritation. Between the cost of repairs and the crystals currently littering her floor, this was going to run far beyond a few hundred thousand credits.
Bulkhead looked slightly embarrassed as he lowered the metal slab, carefully navigating around the piles of broken items she'd left scattered after her last temper flare. I should've moved some of that stuff... she thought, chiding herself. But she'd been too occupied lately, and a major social event loomed on her calendar in just a cycle from now. This wasn't ideal timing, but then again, this crew was far from ideal, either.
Not wanting to watch another breem of her suite being torn apart, she decided it was best to leave them to their work. Straightening, she addressed the bot nearest her. "I'm going head out. Contact me when you're done."
She turned, slipping through a door that led her to the kitchen. There, she pulled a datapad off the counter, using the stylus to quickly scribble her commlink number onto it. Returning to the main room, she scanned for one of the other bots—her gaze landing on a bulky blue bot whose name she didn't quite remember. It was Breakhead, she thought, I think.
Handing the datapad to the mech, she said, "Here. Comm me when everything's complete."
The blue bot took the device with a polite nod, glancing at the number before tucking it away in his subspace. Bulkhead, now carefully stepping around her broken table, cast a regretful glance at the trail of small, broken crystals on the floor. A part of her felt a pang of sympathy. After all, he didn't mean to destroy her decor.
Nightwing's optics drifted to the heavy framed green and yellow accented mech who hadn't destroyed any of her broken furniture. Yet. She knew none of their names, and in truth, she hadn't really paid attention when they introduced themselves, distracted by her schedule.
Nightwing stepped out of her suite, walking down the halls to the elevator. She uncomfortably rode it down into the lobby, exiting the lavish building and walking down the sidewalks, bustling with bots of the morning crowd.
The femme let out air through her vents, scanning the buildings that she passed for any furniture. If it were up to her, she wouldn't be out her, hunting for overpriced furniture for a party that she didn't want to host. It wasn't her thing to keep up with the latest styles, let alone spend a fortune on "designer" pieces.
She'd gladly settle for far simpler options—one that didn't require her presence in pricy stores filled with snobby, greedy employees.
But she'd heard enough snide remarks from other senators, sniping about the importance of proper hosting environment. It drove her mad to no end, but she had no choice but to keep up appearances, if only to maintain her cover.
Nightwing mentally made a list of everything she needed to get while she was out. Furniture and drinks. Lots of drinks. Maybe after she could go to Maccadam's and grab some energon there. The femme decided that would be her plan for the solar cycle, hoping that Bulkhead and his crew wouldn't break something they weren't supposed to.
C-14 stared at the entrance of Maccadam's Old Oil House, gaze lingering on the sign that flickered on and off. The lights on the sign needed to be replaced, he mused. It had been nearly two stellar cycles since he had last set a pede inside this bar. Two stellar cycles since the last time he was chosen for an energon transport assignment.
Before entering the pub, he glanced over his shoulder, having a nagging feeling that something was watching him. It had been pricking against his sensors the entire way on the monorail transport—even though he knew he was being watched on a security camera. He had enough worries without adding paranoia to the list.
The klik he stepped into the pub, he was hit with loud music that was common in this bar, and the familiar scent of energon and oil tickled his olfactory sensors. The miner spotted Maccadam immediately. The old mech was wiping down the counter with a mesh cloth, cleaning up spilled energon. His orange frame was large, with plating that showed signs of age and a hundred or so patches where welding had been done over the vorns. His cerulean optics, however, sparkled with mischievous energy.
The old bot glanced up as C-14 approached, optics lighting up as his faceplate broke into a welcoming smile. "Well, if it isn't the gladiator himself," Maccadam greeted, placing the silvery mesh fabric down and gesturing to the stool. "Been a few cycles since I saw you drag that bulk of yours in here."
C-14 felt his derma twitch upward in the faintest of smiles as he settled into the seat. "Been a while since they chose me for transport duty," he informed the mech. "They gave me a breem or two to myself before I have to head back, thought I'd check if this old place was still standing."
The barkeep laughed heartily. "Still standing, and still serving the best energon in all of Cybertron." He turned, reaching under the counter to pull out a cube of energon. C-14 furrowed his ridges, confused as to why he was getting energon. He usually just ordered low grade—it was all he could afford, even though Maccadam had offered him the better, cleaner version.
C-14 scanned his HUD, looking at his reserves and they were lower than they should've been. He hadn't received his energon ration today. He glanced at Maccadam who pushed the cube to him, smiling slightly, optics twinkling with a knowing look. How did he know that he needed energon? Maybe it was lucky guess...
A bot came up to the counter, placing a used energon cube on the counter and leaving. Maccadam grabbed it, using his mesh to clean the cube. "There's been word about the miners having extra work loads," the barkeep remarked.
C-14 frowned, venting. "I wouldn't be surprised. They've been pushing us hard."
The mech shook his helm. "They're in over their helms." He looked past the miner, staring at something before saying, "If you ever need more than a drink, come find me. A lot goes on in these walls that the Functionists don't know about, and I'm not above helping a bot in need."
"I don't need to be in any more trouble than I already am," he replied, not wanting to reveal the dark truth of why he couldn't just leave. "Besides, I keep my helm down when I'm not in the pits." He paused, staring down into the cerulean liquid. "Thanks, Maccadam."
The barkeep opened his intake, but another bot came up and ordered a drink, forcing him to turn his attention away from him to serve the patron. Taking his cube with him, C-14 moved to an empty table in the back, setting the cube down on the metallic surface.
He ex-vented, allowing warm air to escape his frame as he tapped his digits against the table. Where was the datapad? Did the enforcers find out? Why hadn't they arrested him yet?
What happened after talking with Chainlink?
A clawed servo slammed down on his table, startling him from his thoughts. He jerked back, helm snapping up to meet the cold gaze of a police officer. His sparkrate sped up, dread blooming in his core. They knew. They had to know. Why else would enforcers be here?
The mech had a tall and broad frame, colored dark blue and black, with the occasional streaks of gold highlighting his spiked and dangerous armor, protruding out in razor sharp edges. The Functionists golden insignia was forged on his chassis. He stared into the smoldering vermilion optics of the officer.
Next him was a purple femme with a shorter stature, but no less intimidating. She had the curves and frame of an average femme, though her frame seemed modified to be slightly blockier, most of it being on her back. She bore the Functionists insignia on her shoulder plating.
"You're C-14," the mech stated, drawing his gaze back into red optics of the officer.
C-14 nodded in response, keeping his plating clamped to his protoform, trying to mask his nervousness.
The mech's optics narrowed, glancing over his frame. "We have a few questions for you."
The miner wracked his neural net for anything that could've gotten their attention in the last few solar cycles—anything besides his illegal book. He hadn't been fighting after his matches, keeping a low profile since his last round, avoiding any confrontations that could land him on the police's radar. That only meant one thing. They knew.
"What is this about?" C-14 asked cautiously.
"We know you've been in contact with AVL," the femme said coolly, crossing her arms.
The gladiator blinked, the words striking him as a slap. "I- what? What the pit is AVL?"
The officer arched an optic ridge, clearly unimpressed. "Don't play dumb, C-14. We know all about your associates. Whiplash—AVL's top agent and co-founder, the founder that goes by the alias Soundblaster. Ring any bells?"
He frowned. Sure, he knew a few bots with sketchy reputations, but he had never heard of this Whiplash or 'AVL.' "I don't know any Whiplash. And I certainly don't know anything about an AVL."
The femme snorted. "Right. And I'm a sparkling fresh out of my Carrier."
The mech officer glanced at her, his intake quirking upward before he turned back to C-14. "How about you save both the trouble and tell us where we can find your leader. Or maybe a few AVL safehouses? Make this easy on yourself."
C-14's frowned deepened as he grew more and more confused. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The enforcer leaned forward, coldly staring into his optics. "Come on, big buy," he said in a sickening-sweet voice. "I get it, life's rough down in the mines, and a mech like you wants more than to just slave away in the pits, right?"
The miner clenched his jaw, glaring at the officer. As if they knew how rough life was in the mines! He refused to take the bait, instead, allowing his gaze to drop to the table.
"Oh, come on now. Let's not make this difficult. You give us the names we're after, particularly the leader of AVL's identity and the locations of your safehouses, and maybe we'll go easy on you."
"As I said... I don't know what you're talking about," the miner replied in a low growl, getting annoyed with the police officers.
"A shame." The mech leaned back, crossing his arms. "See, I know your type. Just another low caste that's just desperate because everyone around you leaves you behind."
C-14 bit back the instinct to retaliate, though he couldn't help how he stiffened.
"Oh, did I strike an axon?" the officer taunted, a smug grin spreading across his faceplate. "Tell me, how does it feel knowing your so-called "mentor" died for nothing, hmm? One spark snuffed out in the mines, and no one cared."
He bared his fangs, derma pulled back into a snarl as that familiar burning returned in his spark, spreading through his frame. His plating bristled outward as a warning growl came from his engines. "You don't know a thing about him," he hissed darkly, raising his claws ever so slightly. "And you don't know a thing about me."
The officer chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying every nano-klik of this. "Oh, I know enough. Just a pitiful scrap, thinking he's worth more than the sum of his parts."
That was it. C-14's vision turned red, his systems warning him of the building heat. Overcome with white-hot rage, he swung his fist at the officer, hitting him with a satisfying crunch of metal. The officer staggered back, clutching his faceplate with a snarl, though it quickly turned into a smirk.
The gladiator forgot about the femme. He turned just in time to see her press a volt baton to his neck cables. A jolt of electricity surged through him, flooding his systems, forcing some of them to shut down. His vision exploded into static, error warnings flashing across his HUD.
The miner groaned, trying to sort through the error messages that ruined his already fractured vision. His processor struggled to recalibrate as it sent messages to his systems, attempting to force energon to reroute to his stabilizers that were not responding.
His hearing was broken. There was a terrible buzzing in his audios, followed by the muffled sounds of something. He couldn't make out what it was, but he suspected it was the officers talking.
"-mus stl awk?!"
A sharp ringing sounded in his audios, before clearing with a click, allowing him to hear what the officer said next.
"Faulty shock baton, most likely," the voice sneered. "Nothing a good wrench to the helm wouldn't fix."
The miner's vision sharpened with a painful whirr, focusing on the faceplate of officer crouched close. He snapped at the mech, forcing him to pull away with a disdainful look.
"Get up, miner," growled a voice from behind, servos hauling him to his pedes with great difficulty. His joints felt sluggish, groaning with each movement as he was jerked upright, forced to face the ugly faceplate of the mech in front of him.
He tried to speak, only for a series of odd noises to come out. He was forced to reset his vocalizer, glaring at them. "Yuhzzz caan't do izzz," he slurred, voice laced with static.
"We can, and we will," a femme's voice from behind him said.
The officer in front of him scoffed as the femme behind him slapped a pair of stasis cuffs on his wrists, pulling wires and gears uncomfortably tight.
"You're under arrest for assaulting an officer," he sneered. "We have special treatment for your kind."
C-14 opened his intake to speak, but quickly clipped it shut, realizing that it wouldn't be wise to give them any other material to use against him.
"Since you don't seem to remember your comrades," the mech continued in a haughty drawl, "maybe we can take you to Pharma. He's got a way of making the memories flood back. Primus knows he has a soft spot for little glitches like you."
The energon in his fuel lines turned to ice, a cold, terrible claw wrapping around his spark. Mnemosurgery. His optics widened ever so slightly, dread pooling in his core at the thought of those needle-tipped digits and the invasive probing of his processor.
He'd heard stories—whispers from others about what a mnemosurgeon could do to a bot's processor. They were horror stories designed to scare bots, but what if they were true?
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
The three of them—the two officers and C-14 himself—turned toward the source of the voice. His optics fell on a femme. She was small... compared to him. Her pale red and grey plating were impeccable, not even a scratch to be seen. Two sleek wings extended from her back, while smaller wings protruded from either side of her forearms. She had no claws.
He couldn't help his derma curling upward in disgust, imagining the amount of credits she paid to keep her plating buffed and polished. High caste scum.
He flinched, feeling her raging EM field licking against his when she came in range. It was radiating anger so potent that it prickled against his circuits, making him feel uncomfortable, even making the officers flinch.
"This is a security matter for the police, femme," the officer said coolly, acting as if there wasn't a raging bot by him.
The femme's optics flashed dangerously. "Do you not know who I am?" she demanded sharply.
The mech sneered. "Should we?"
The bot raised a delicate servo, face up, projecting a hologram that displayed her ID. C-14 squinted to see the words, managing to make out a few numbers a name. Nightwing.
"Senator Nightwing," the bot behind the slave breathed, sounding almost apologetic.
"Apologies, Senator. We didn't recognize you," the officer stammered, his previous smugness wilting as he straightened, trying to sound respectful, though it came out forced.
Nightwing only hmphed, letting her optics trail over C-14 as if he were some object that was put for sale on the black market. He seethed, avoiding optic contact, focusing on anything but her, too humiliated to even dare say anything.
"Why are you arresting this bot?" she asked, looking at the officers once again with disapproval in her optics.
"For assault of officer," the femme behind him answered dutifully.
Her electric blue optics narrowed. Then, with a dismissive wave of her servo, she said, "Never mind that. Release him."
The two officers exchanged glances. "Senator, why would you want this dirt hauler to be released?"
"This 'dirt hauler.'" The femme glanced at his shoulder. "C-14, was chosen by me, personally, to be an advisor."
An advisor- wait, what?! The idea was so absurd that, under different circumstances, he might have laughed. He shot the senator a befuddled look, before it turned into a scowl, realizing what she was doing. He didn't need her help; he could take care of himself just fine. Without her.
The mech's faceplate twisted into one of disbelief, optics narrowing. "An adviser?" the mech repeated incredulously. "This low caste scum as an advisor?"
The femme's optics darkened a few shades. "Officer...?" Her voice trailed off in a dangerous tone, prompting the officer to stammer out his name.
"Overload," he muttered, looking like he was biting back something far less respectful.
The high caste's piercing optics flicked over the officer with a look that could have frozen even the most confident bot in his tracks. "I am looking to open a mine in the Lithium Flats," she continued coolly. "I've been hearing promising rumors of a newly discovered energon vein, ripe for mining, and I intend to invest heavily in this venture. However, I lack the practical experience needed to start such an undertaking. That, Officer Overload, is why I recruited C-14 here to advise me."
C-14 would have scoffed, if he weren't in his current predicament. There was nothing in the Lithium Flats, nothing but an area to race, though he doubted the officers knew that. The miner glared at the senator, mustering all the resentment he could, even though he knew she was trying to help him.
Overload seemed to falter, clearly struggling to process what she was saying, searching her faceplate for any sign of a joke. But the senator's expression was unreadable.
"Senator Nightwing," the femme interjected, exchanging a glance with the mech. "With all due respect, this... bot doesn't have any credentials that qualify him to work alongside a senator. Surely, you could find a more... reputable advisor."
Nightwing crossed her arms, her wings lifting slightly as something rippled across her fields. "I don't recall asking for your opinion on my decision, officer," she replied icily. "I've done my research. C-14 is one of the most experienced miners still active, with a skillset honed over vorns of hard work. His knowledge of the mines and his servos-on experience make him the ideal candidate. Unless you know someone better equipped, which I doubt you do, I suggest you step aside."
Overload's intake worked silently for a klik before he finally relented, sourly glaring at the miner as he grudgingly took a step back. "Fine," he spat, nodding at his companion who removed the stasis cuffs, relieving him of the stiff position. "But if he's caught out of line again, Senator, we won't hesitate to bring him in."
Nightwing gave a curt nod. "Noted." She turned her gaze on him. "Now, come with me, C-14. We have a lot to discuss."
The miner rubbed his wrists, walking over to the high caste, optics narrowed as he followed her out of the bar. His derma curled with barely restrained anger as he glared at Nightwing. "Why'd you do that?" he demanded. "I had it under control, Senator," he spat her title venomously.
The femme crossed her arms, looking at him pointedly. "Oh, clearly," she replied sarcastically. "Yes, you looked very 'in control' back there, surrounded by two officers with a shock baton at your neck cables, practically tripping over yourself to prove your innocence."
C-14 gritted his dentas. "I didn't need your help," he ground out. He'd managed this long on his own; he didn't need help from some towerling that happened to stroll into his life, deciding to take pity on him. Not even Chainlink did that, but he was a different story.
"Oh, forgive me, then!" Nightwing snapped. "I didn't realize a simple miner like you was capable of handling interrogations from officers with more authority than sense."
He shot her a scathing glare, clenching his servos as he struggled to keep his plating from bristling. "You don't know give a frag about what it's like for bots like me," he seethed, optics brightening in intensity. "All you high caste mechs do is look down at us from your polished towers."
The high caste held his gaze, unflinching, her optics blazing. "You think I don't understand?" she hissed. "You think I don't know how this system works?" She jabbed a digit toward the bar, optics darkening. "If I didn't step in, you'd be halfway to a cell in the Rig, fitted with chains and a shock collar, begging for a fair trial that'll never happen."
He scoffed. "And you think that makes you different? That standing up for me just this once proves you're better than the others?"
Nightwing paused, optics narrowing slightly as she assessed him. "I didn't help you to prove a point, C-14," she said coolly, softening her tone. "I helped because I refuse to stand by and watch mechs like you—bots who've suffered enough—be dragged down even further by this corrupt system. Call it whatever you want, but I'm not here to make you like me. I'm here because sometimes, even a senator has to pick a side."
"Axon" is nerves and "axon circuitry" is nervous system. Borrowed this idea from Hexalys' After the Fall (it's an amazing read and one of the the best Jack centered fics I've ever read) Cybertronian terminology she chose to use. That fic is the only one that I've read that uses terms for nerves/nervous system.