Was this miner for real? Nightwing's optics narrowed, watching the miner as he turned, ready to storm off. She'd just pulled him out of the bind he'd been in, practically gift-wrapped an escape from a prison cell, and he had the audacity to demand why she'd done it?
Without thinking twice, the femme reached out, servo clamping onto his forearm, tugging him back toward her. "Walk with me," she said, not giving him a chance to respond to her gesture. She gave a small nod toward the two officers nearby, who were doing a poor job of pretending they weren't watching them.
C-14's darkened optics snapped to hers, field hot with anger. A low growl came from his engine, plating rising in a way that made him look bigger than he already was. He looked every part the terrifying brute—optic ridges low, derma pulled into a snarl, claws flexed slightly.
For a brief, terrifying nano-klik, Nightwing found herself frozen, staring up at him, a cold shiver running down her spinal strut. This was a bot who had survived the mines. Primus knew what he had done—the very thought scared her. She didn't want to imagine what those claws had done to keep him alive.
But she forced herself to keep her expression neutral, her field controlled, hiding the trace of fear she'd felt. She had faced far worse than a miner's anger. She finally managed to get her voice box working, lowering her tone into a gentle lull.
"Come on."
Something flickered in his optics—a trace of something she couldn't quite read. Surprise? Whatever it was, it passed quickly, but his anger seemed to ebb, his tense posture easing slightly.
Walking down the streets, she guided him to a plaza, bustling with all sorts of mechs and femmes, seating herself properly on the seat, legs crossed as she glanced up at him. He hesitated, his gaze shifting between her and the empty space beside her. She patted the seat next to her, inviting him to sit with her.
After a long klik of silent consideration, he finally sat. His large frame took up most of the space, forcing the femme to scoot to the edge, leaving barely enough room for her wings to spread comfortably without touching him.
But for once, she didn't mind the discomfort.
The senator ex-vented, allowing her gaze to drift across the plaza, focusing on a carrier who was tending to her mechling, picking him up with a smile. Folding her servos neatly in her lap, she straightened her posture, hopefully looking every part the composed senator.
"You were right," she murmured, breaking the silence that sat between them.
Out of the corner of her optic, she saw C-14 glancing her way, optics narrowing as he tilted his helm. Clearly, the mech hadn't expected her to say anything, or even talk to him.
She let the words settle, then repeated them, this time with a little more force. "You were right. Back there, in Maccadam's... you were right." She paused, trying to put together what she was going to say to him without getting him angry. "I don't know what it's like down there."
She folded twiddled her digits before forcing her servos to still. "I'll never know what it's like down there," she continued. "I can't begin to imagine."
Finally, the femme turned to look at him. His gaze was intense—sharp, scrutinizing, as though trying to dissect her words for any hidden deception. But there wasn't any. For once, she was stripped bare of her political mask, unsure of how to handle this miner.
She always had the AVL agents do work like this. Most of them were low castes and related to the strays. Nightwing, on the other servo, never interacted with any of the bots she saved—most of them didn't even know who she was, which was a good thing. She had to keep up appearances for her job.
"I'm sorry that you have to go through that," she said genuinely. "It's not right. None of it.
"And I wish I could help all of you right now," Nightwing continued, wings drooping slightly. Her gaze trailed down from his faceplate down to his abdomen, where she knew the inhibitor lay, unseen but inescapable.
"But I can't. Not without hurting you." She gestured toward his midsection. "They forge the low castes with those inhibitors, wiring them deep so that your kind can never rise up against them."
C-14 scowled, frame tensing. He let his servo drift over his abdomen, optics falling to the ground as his digit traced over the spot. For a long klik, he stayed silent, his fields revealing what he thought of her words. She half-expected him to storm off right then, to give her scathing remark about high caste hypocrisy and leave her.
But he didn't.
"You think it doesn't eat at us knowing that? Knowing we're built to be nothing but tools?" He shook his helm. "All we can do is haul rock and watch others be punished if they even think about pushing back."
Nightwing's spark ached at the sadness in his tone. She forced herself to stay silent, letting him speak. She had wanted so badly to help—needed to—but she had never really heard it like this, from a bot who bore the scars of the system.
"Every time I see one of us die or 'disappear,' I wonder if we're ever gonna be free." He looked at her, optics spiraling as he studied her. "You senators... you just talk and talk. And we keep paying for it.
"And it's not only that," he said, optics fixing on a point far beyond the plaza. "The inhibitors keep us down, and they hurt, yes. But... it's more than that. They've got us convinced that... it's all we deserve. That this is our place, nothing more.
"They tell us it's our purpose—like we're scrap thrown into the mines just to be forgotten. And eventually... some of us start believing it." His fists tightened, claws digging into his own plating. "That maybe they're right. That maybe this is all we are."
The senator's spark twisted painfully, and she found herself reaching out, resting her servo lightly on his, drawing a surprised reaction from him. "No bot deserves that. Not you, not anyone. What they've done to you... it's wrong. All of it."
"Easy for you to say, Senator," he murmured, but there was no venom in it. "You don't know what it's like being at the bottom, looking up, wondering if you're ever going to make it out or if they'll just toss you back into the pit again." He laughed bitterly. "So don't tell me you understand."
"No, I don't understand," she admitted. "But I want to."
"You want to understand?" he seethed. "Fine. Try working sixteen to eighteen breems a solar cycle in the mines, breathing in dust that clogs your vents, clawing through rock and debris while taskmasters bark at you to work faster. Try losing friends—good bots—because the mines collapse and no one bothers to dig them out. Try being treated like your life doesn't matter because you were forged in the wrong place at the wrong time."
She flinched at his harsh tone but resisted the urge to lean back, removing her servo off of his.
"And knowing that you sit up there, polished and clean, never having a servo dirtied, hurts more than anything. And then you say it's not right?" His optics bore into her, hard, searching.
Nightwing felt his words sink into her spark like jagged shards. She didn't look away and didn't flinch, meeting his gaze helm-on. She had known about the suffering, yes, but she'd never had to live it. "Yes," she said softly. "Because it's not."
A bitter laugh escaped C-14. "You think words change anything? You think feeling sorry for us down there changes the chains that keep us bound down there?"
"No, I don't think words alone can change that," Nightwing replied. "But maybe action can."
The miner scoffed, shaking his helm. "You senators have had vorns to do something about it. You think we haven't heard those promises before? Every functionary who ever made it to the higher levels made the same empty claims."
"I'm not like the others," she insisted. "I'm not here to make empty promises. I'm here because I hate that system as much as you do. I hate that mechs like you—good, hardworking mechs—are trapped and discarded like scraps."
He stared at her blankly before finally speaking. "All I've seen is talk. High-caste bots come around every once in a while, promising change, but we all know the truth."
For once in her lifetime, Nightwing was left speechless. She didn't know how to respond to this. It was the truth, even though she hated to admit it. Many like her had come before, vowing false promises to the low castes but never following through. And those who weren't promising false things, were permanently silenced. But she was different. She was actually doing something. Or at least trying.
"Yeah, well, trying isn't good enough anymore, 'Wing."
Nightwing sagged slightly, remembering the AVL agent's words. Trying wasn't good enough. She had to—
Her thoughts were cut off by the miner, who had started to speak again, this time in a voice so soft she strained to hear him.
"I never cared about others' freedom before," C-14 said. "I just wanted mine. That's why I fight so hard in the arena. Why I push myself to the brink." His clawed servo brushed lightly over his abdomen again, and his optics held... guilt. "Every cycle, I tell myself if I just earn enough credits, I can buy my way out. Get out of the pit I was thrown into."
The senator's spark twisted, but she remained silent.
"I didn't care until I met another miner," he continued. "He opened my optics and showed me that there was more than just me suffering. That it wasn't just about the caste system or what they did to us as miners. It's about everyone they crushed under their pedes.
"They've broken us down so far that we're just... tools. Replaceable. They don't even care when we die as long as someone else can pick up the slag. And what do I do about it? Nothing! Because I can't!
"I want to help, but the truth is... I can't fight them. I can't change anything. Not like this." He gestured vaguely to himself, clenching his fists. "I'm just another miner. Another 'dirt hauler.'"
C-14 finally turned to look at her directly, optics burning with sudden fierce hatred. "So yes, Senator, you don't know what it's like down there. You never will. You don't know what it feels like to be forged into nothing and treated as less than nothing. You will never have your only worth measured in the energy you can extract or the credits you can earn for someone else's benefit."
Nightwing's spark ached at his words, but she didn't look away. He let out a bitter chuckle as he leaned back against the bench. "And even if you tried, even if you wanted to help, you can't. Not really. The system won't let you, just like it won't let me."
"I want to help," she said softly, staring down at her servos. "But maybe you're right. Maybe I can't. But that doesn't mean I won't try."
The femme twitched, looking back up looked at him, seeing his ridges furrowed and a thoughtful look on his faceplate.
He tilted his helm. "Why?" When she stared at him, he clarified, "Why do you want to help us 'low caste scrap?' What does it benefit you?"
"Because it's the right thing to do."
C-14 snorted, optics narrowing. "That's not an answer. Bots like you don't risk their polished plating for us 'low caste scrap' without some ulterior motive. So, what's in it for you? Political gain? Credits? A clean conscience?"
The femme resisted the urge to snap at him, refusing to let his words rattle her. "You don't know me at all," she said evenly. "But I don't blame you for thinking that way. You've probably only ever seen bots like me use you and your kind as pawns in their little power games."
C-14 tilted his helm, optics narrowing further as if trying to read her. "Then prove me wrong, Senator," he spat. "Why risk everything for us? You said it yourself—you don't know what it's like down there. You never will. So why bother?"
She glanced away for a klik. "Because I'm tired of watching Cybertron fall apart," she said, looking back at the miner. "I'm tired of pretending everything is fine when I know it isn't. I see the way the high castes exploit you, the way they crush you under their pedes and act like it's your fault for not being forged better. And it makes me sick.
"I can't undo the damage that's been done. I can't erase the suffering you've endured. But I can try to change things. Even if it's just a little. Even if it takes the rest of my functioning cycle."
C-14 stared at her; expression unreadable. For a long klik, he said nothing, and she began to wonder if her words had come across as hollow. But then he spoke:
"You really think you can change anything?" he asked. "Do you know how many bots have said that before you? How many have tried and failed? How many have been silenced before they could even make a dent?"
"I know," she admitted. "And I know I might fail, too. But if I don't try, then who will? If I don't use the position I've been given to fight for those who can't fight for themselves, then what's the point of any of this? What's the point of being a senator?"
"You talk like you care," he muttered. "But words are easy. Actions are what matter."
"I know," she said softly. "And I plan to prove it. Not to you, not to anyone else—but to myself. Because if I don't, then I'm no better than the bots I claim to stand against."
Silence fell between them again. Nightwing waited, giving him the space to respond if he wanted to. Kliks passed and when she realized he was done talking, she decided to break the uncomfortable silence. She straightened slightly, looking down at her servos before looking at the miner.
"Why's a bot like you here?" she asked, genuinely curious.
The larger mech shifted slightly, looking at her blankly.
"In Iacon," she clarified, tilting her helm.
"Energon delivery," he grumbled.
She cocked a delicate optical ridge. "Wouldn't you be at the refinery?" she questioned.
He rolled his optics, derma pulling into a slight sneer. "No. The factory's automated now, thanks to your Senate," he said pointedly.
The jab landed, and she inwardly winced, but she didn't let it show.
"I get a couple of breems to myself before I have to return to the pit," he added after a klik.
Nightwing hesitated, wondering if she should push further. But her curiosity won out. "Do you always go to Maccadam's when you visit Iacon?" she asked, her optics flickering to meet his.
"Yes," he replied curtly.
"Why?"
He turned to look at her fully now, optics narrowing in suspicion. "Why are you so interested in me?"
Nightwing paused, considering how to answer. She debated whether to tell him the truth or deflect the question. Finally, she opted for honesty. "I've never interacted with a miner before," she admitted.
He huffed, though she couldn't tell whether he was amused or not. "There's not much to know about me, Senator," he said coolly.
The femme tilted her helm slightly, studying him. "I doubt that," she said. "Everybot has a story. A reason for why they are the way they are."
"Yeah?" he scoffed. "And what makes you think you have the right to know mine?"
"I don't," she admitted calmly. "But I'm here, and you're here, and it seems like we both have time to kill. At least until those two leave." She nodded toward the two police officers, still watching them from afar.
He stared at her for a long klik, optics scanning her faceplate as if trying to discern her motives. Finally, he ex-vented heavily and leaned back against the bench.
"Maccadam's is the only place that doesn't treat me like slag," he said gruffly. "Bots there don't care what caste you are, what you've done, or where you've been. As long as you've got credits and don't start trouble, you're welcome."
Nightwing nodded slowly, filing that information away. She had a feeling that he would say something like that. She went to Maccadam's for similar reasons. "It's rare to find a place like that," she said thoughtfully.
"Yeah," he muttered. "And now I'll probably never be able to go back, thanks to you."
She blinked, taken aback. "Me? What did I do?"
He shot her a look. "You walked in there with your shiny, high-caste plating and dragged me out in front of the whole crowd. Everybot in there saw. Word'll spread. They'll never let me back for energon deliveries."
Nightwing frowned. "I didn't mean to cause trouble for you."
"Doesn't matter what you meant," he said pointedly. "It's done."
Silence fell again, heavier this time. Nightwing looked down at her servos, folding them neatly in her lap again. "I really am sorry," she said softly.
He grunted, clearly not convinced. "Words don't mean much, Senator."
She glanced at him, her optics meeting his. "Then tell me what does."
He hesitated and then looked away. "Actions," he said. "And not just the kind that make you look good on a podium."
Nightwing nodded. "It'll happen one solar cycle. I'll make sure of it."
He turned to look at her again. "Good luck with that," he grunted, leaning back against the bench again. "You'll need it."
Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I'm really excited to release the next chapter :D
We'll get to explore a bit of Megatronus' past. I wanted to dive into some of his past to see where he was and how he came to be. Who inspired him? Who kept the naive miner going? Why did he abandon his peace-loving ways? So far, I think the next chapter is my favorite out of all of them.
Anyways, see you all in a few days :)