#undertow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redyarns · 4 months ago

Text

caught in the undertow

Chapter: 7/?

Rating: E

Relationship(s): Optimus Prime/Megatron, Sentinel Prime/Bumblebee

Summary:

When Megatron, leader of the rebellion, escaped from prison, everyone knew one thing, and one thing only: he stole an innocent with him.

---

"I'm not a sheep, how dare you!" Orion hissed, bristling at the insult.

"Oh, really?" Megatron drawled. His red optics glanced up again, and Orion's glossa went dry.

Scrap.

Who knew the cruel and ruthless leader of the blasphemous rebellion was so... handsome?

STORY: START!

Act I, Scene XVII: Piano Man

Bee wasn't a heavy sleeper.

He was an even lighter one than Orion was, and that was saying a lot, since one time Bee accidentally sniffed too hard and the taller mech instantly snapped his optics open and was already offering a tissue before Bee even knew what was happening.

So when the distant shout of piss off, Cliff, reached his audials, he startled awake with a small snort as his processor jerked online and he reflexively clutched his doll close to himself. The doll was a sentimental thing Sentinel had gifted him vorns ago, and although he knew it was pathetic for a mech his age to keep it so pristine and looked after, it wasn’t just a doll.

Which was precisely why he gripped it tightly as Arcee and Cliffjumper came into view, with the former storming down the line of recharge bays with a look of such ferocity that Bee immediately knew he was going to be in trouble if he said something or got in her way. He scrambled to leave his bay, but he yelped instead as his pede got caught on the edge and he tripped, spilling himself onto the floor with a lack of dignity.

“Seriously?” Arcee snapped, her voice terse and hissing as she stopped right before him. When he opened his intake to apologize, she kicked at the doll that had fallen from his servo, sending it skidding further down the row of berths. “Are you ever going to grow up, B-127?”

“Get up,” Cliffjumper growled at him. It was obvious he was in just as foul a mood as his conjunx, and the scowl on his face was fierce and mocking as he bent down and taunted, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t, though.”

“Guys, come on, enough,” Jazz said somewhere in the back. His voice sounded muffled, and he seemed more exasperated than upset, but there was a warm servo on Bee’s back as he slowly began to sat up, and he looked up to see Jazz shaking his helm at the couple. “You know he didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, sure, he never means to.” Arcee drawled. There was a gleam to her optics, a rare one, but recognizable nonetheless. There was no kindness on her face or in her voice as she said, “just how many accidents has he caused by this point? I’ve heard enough of your team’s complaints to know just how much of a liability you are.”

Bee swallowed hard.

He was aware that even among the large conglomerate of miners, he was a bit of a pariah. It wasn’t - it wasn’t on purpose or anything, which Arcee had made abundantly clear she was aware of. He knew that most of the time it wasn’t his fault, that he was genuinely trying his best and Orion always appreciated him regardless of whatever happened, but…

Well. There was a reason Orion got in trouble so much, and it honestly wasn’t because of his own brazen attitude, as much as the mech tried to play it off as such. For all his hatred of the mines and Ricks and Darkwing, Orion was a surprisingly good worker if he had to be, and when he wasn’t blowing things up or distracted, then more often times than not, Ricks let him be.

It was only when Bee fucked up did Orion intervene. After all, Orion was a miner as much as he didn’t want to admit it, and he had taken up with the underground culture far easier than Bee ever could. He always rushed to defend his friend in the only way miners knew how; with a temper so short that it almost guaranteed a demotion for the both of them.

How many times had Bee unintentionally gotten his best friend in trouble? How many times had he gotten his team hurt? Bee was smaller than the rest of them, a result of not getting the proper energon nutrition he needed as a sparkling, and sure, none of the cogless were exactly tall, but even among them, he was short. He was weak, both emotionally and physically, and often couldn’t handle such long shifts like Orion could endure.

His team tried to make up for it, he knew, but it wasn’t enough, at least not to the likes of Ricks and Darkwing. Output was everything, and Bee’s production was the lowest of everyone else’s.

Bee knew all that.

He did.

So why the hell was Arcee pointing it all out, dammit? She didn’t even know half the bullshit Bee tried to put up with! Did she know how Sentinel was deliberately keeping secrets from him, something that disturbed him so much that he lost recharge over it? Did she know that he was witnessing Orion drift farther and farther away, getting entangled with Megatron of all mechs?

“Leave him alone,” Jazz said. His voice was colder now, a distinct edge to his tone as he squeezed Bee’s shoulder plate in solidarity. Despite how close he hovered, he refused to tear his visor off of Arcee and Cliffjumper, both of whom seemed to expand their anger at each other to just simply anger. “I don’t know what kind of piss poor spiking Cliff gave you last lune, but Bee has nothing to do with it.”

Arcee went an unflattering shade of blue, and Cliffjumper seemed only a micro-klik away from lunging forward and strangling Jazz for the jab.

“Take it back,” Arcee said calmly. That was a bad sign. Everyone knew how much of a temper Arcee had, and when she got like that, all quiet and focused and still, it meant she wasn’t annoyed anymore. She was fucking pissed. “Take it the fuck back, Jazz.”

“Hit a sore spot, then?” Jazz laughed. His smile was on edge, a warning, and so razor sharp that it hurt to look at him. “About the only spot that gets hit these days, right, Cliff?”

“You son of a fragging - “ Cliffjumper spat, his words strangled and his servos tightened into balls to the point that his knuckle joints were creaking ominously through the air.

“Stop it.” Bee managed to choke out. His voice was hoarse, his voicebox admittedly a bit shaky and unsure, but he was standing anyway, and that voice in his head that always sounded like some weird mix of his two greatest friends muttered, what would Orion do? “Stop, Jazz, it’s fine.”

“Hah!” Arcee laughed. It was a mean sound, incredulous and unforgiving as she pointed an accusatory digit towards him, the motion so sudden and jerky that he almost jumped a foot into the air out of shock. “You see? You’re never going to fucking grow up, will you, B-127? You need another mech to come to your defense like some delusional knight in shining armor, all because you can’t stop bumbling around like an idiot!”

“Shut up, Arcee!” Bee exclaimed, unwilling to show how hurt he felt, but his finials were drooping anyway.

“Bumblebee seems like a better designation for you in my opinion.” Cliffjumper sneered. His handsome face was twisted with a fierce scowl, evidently still sore over the comment that Jazz made. “No wonder you need Orion to come save your ass like some pathetic - “

He was cut off when Jazz flung away the towel he had on his shoulder plate, took a step forward, and then punched him so hard in the jaw that Cliffjumper immediately fell to the ground in a heap, a large banging noise following.

A crowd began to surge, hoots and hollers of excitement filling the air as various shouts of Cliff! Cliff! Cliff! or a countering Jazz! Jazz! Jazz! swept up the buzz and turned things into an actual frenzy as Jazz leapt on top of Cliffjumper and began swinging.

Bee stood there, frozen, his shaking servos raised like he was actually going to stop them, but who was he kidding? He was shorter than most femmes, much less well built mechs like Cliffjumper or agile ones like Jazz, so how could he interfere? He wasn’t like Orion or Sentinel, he was just -

He winced when Jazz landed a hit right at Cliffjumper’s throat, who coughed violently before shouting hoarsely in rage as he reached up and tried to force Jazz into a brutal headlock. The crowd, now in a complete frenzy, climbed on top of recharge bays and lockers as they shouted their excitement, and Bee felt completely lost.

He stood near the back, forgotten and pushed aside, as Jazz and Cliffjumper continued to try and beat the piss out of each other for - what? Him? They had completely lost sight of him by that point, so it was obvious that whatever was going on, Bee had no business in.

He glanced around, nervous at possibly pissing off Arcee if he tried to leave, but there was no hint of her dull, pink paint job anywhere. She had evidently gotten the same idea and bailed as soon as things got out of hand, and when Bee nearly fell to the ground because some overzealous mech got too caught up in shouting for Jazz to beat the slag out of Cliff, come on!, he decided to take after her.

It was easy enough to slowly backpedal away and slip past the door that led to the emergency staircase, scooping up his discarded doll along the way, and he slowly let out a breath as the sounds of the brawl fell away and he climbed the steps with a sense of morbid embarrassment.

Had that seriously happened because he’d been unable to defend himself, and so Jazz had felt the need to step up?

Was it because Orion did that all the time, so Jazz thought that it was normal to do something like that?

I really am a liability, Bee thought miserably as he pushed past the door to the top.

The rooftop of the stacks building was always cold no matter what time of the sol it was, and that morning was no exception. Personally, Bee hated going up to this damn place, if only because it provided him with a view that no one wanted to see.

This high up, it was easy to look down on the great divide between the prosperous city of Iacon and its slums. It was almost like there was a distinct line between the two parts, where the glimmering and freshly awakening lights of the aristocratic architecture took its time to bask in the light of Helios. But right behind them, the dirty and dark stacks buildings sprawled across the landscape like vermin, and Bee hated it.

He hated all of it, and he hated that he hated it.

Hatred was such a vile emotion, and one he didn’t think had any place in his spark. He had been handed all the worst cards in life, so he didn’t need another thing to take away the little happiness he managed to hoard for himself as he desperately tried to survive. All those vorns as a sparkling on the streets, stealing and poaching and hurting others just because he had to had taken pieces of himself every time.

Little bits of his spark that were chipped away and thrown somewhere into the various grimey alleys and roads that he had grown up on and could never find again. He had justified to himself every single time he did something he considered a crime that I need to do this. I need to survive. Just this once. Just this one time. I won’t do it again. I promise.

I just… want to live.

Sometimes, Bee was filled with a jealousy that he couldn’t even explain when it came to Orion. They were both dealt the same horrible cards, the same circumstances and situations that they couldn’t change, but Orion still tried. He told Darkwing off whenever he was being too harsh on Bee, defended him from Arcee and Cliffjumper whenever they were in one of their moods, and now -

Well… now he was being… secretive. Something that had never occurred before, but was taking place anyway. Orion kept pushing and pulling away like he wasn’t going too fast, and Bee always seemed to be staring at the back of his helm, overwhelmed with love for his longest friend, frustration because of his stubbornness, and burning envy.

What would it have been like, Bee thought wistfully? To be born like Orion, headstrong and dedicated only to what his spark told him? To be ably to defy others even with the shitty circumstances they were born in, and be proud of wanting for more?

What would it have been like to be born as Sentinel?

Sentinel was an aristocrat in every sense of the word. He looked like one with his handsome face and his strong, tall frame, and his paint that never looked even a tiny bit scuffed. At least, not until recently, but that was just another thing one of Bee’s friends liked to keep hidden, so whatever.

Sentinel had privileges. He had freedom. He was going to be Prime, for crying out loud!

“Then again, it doesn’t look like he’s got it easy,” Bee said to his doll.

It was a soft and squishy little thing, slightly disfigured from being so old, since it had been several vorns since Sentinel had managed to sneak it to Bee for one of his creation days. It had been the first gift Bee had ever received after a childhood of stealing, and sometimes, if he really wanted to, he could bury his nose into the mesh and inhale to get a small whiff of the faint smell of Sentinel still left behind.

If Orion had Sentinel, and Sentinel had Ultra, then Bee supposed he had this doll.

“He’s been working too hard,” Bee said, settling onto the edge of the building and placing the doll carefully beside him. He tilted it so that if the wind blew, then it would at least fall backwards back onto the cement, rather than down below into the streets. “And he’s been getting hurt. He keeps saying it’s just a part of training, but I’ve never seen him have bruises because of it before.”

He hesitated. “He said that he’s been getting lessons from Ultra Magnus. I’m pretty sure his instructor was Sunstreaker, before. Why… did they change it?”

The doll fell over as an answer.

Bee sighed and straightened it up, scooting it closer to his hip so it wouldn’t do that again.

“Sometimes, I think you’re the only one who listens,” Bee said wearily, looking up at the great maw above their city. Through the giant opening to the surface, Helios was starting to peek, but not so much that it was blinding. Bee stared at the pink sky, wondering if the other cities of Cybertron could see the same horizon. “But you can never give an answer, either. Double-edged blade, huh?”

He hesitated, glancing around himself nervously. It wasn’t like anyone came up to this area since most bots were smart and recognized how poorly built the stacks buildings were, especially the rooftops, but still. Paranoia was often what kept him alive on the streets, something he never could shake even after he became a miner.

When he was satisfied with the lack of anyone around him, he dug around his subspace and made a small noise of triumph when he took out a teeny, tiny radio and waved it in front of the doll proudly.

“See this?” He said, unable to stop himself from smiling as he set it down beside the doll and began to fiddle with the fragile knobs. “It’s not much, but Orion found it for me and managed to get it past inspection. It was totally beat up, but I fixed it! Ow!”

He yelped when a small spark emitted from one of the knobs and zapped his digit angrily. He stuck the digit into his intake hurriedly, the protoform sore and throbbing underneath his glossa as he sheepishly mumbled, “uh, mostly.”

This time, when he turned the knobs again, he was careful with it, and other than a small whine of protest, the radio switched on and began to emit a low level of static.

“I’m not really supposed to have one of these.” Bee admitted as he carefully began to try and tune into different frequencies. “The lower caste, uh, well. We’re not allowed to listen to the stuff the higher bots can, which kind of sucks. Not that - not that I don’t understand why the system is like that! I mean, the Primes must have begun the caste for a reason, right?”

He coughed lightly. He glanced up at the billboard that was still standing on the building across the street, where a fierce Ultra Magnus glared down at the viewer with his clenched fist raised victoriously. His gaze never wavered, and there was no warmth in his expression.

“Sentinel is going to be a good Prime,” Bee muttered. He couldn’t tell who he was talking to anymore. Not that it mattered, since no one was there to listen anyway. “He’s going to be great. He has all this stuff laid out for him, and he’s been working his whole life for it, you know?”

What would I have been if I were an aristocrat? Bee thought wistfully.

“I bet I would have been a terrible Prime.” Bee giggled lightly as he leaned back on his palms and abandoned the radio for a klik. “But I think I would have been a good worker! Not a miner, obviously. I’m pretty bad at that. But I like hacking, and I’m even decent at it. Between you and me, though…”

He leaned down and whispered closer to the doll’s head. “I think I would have been a musician. I know, crazy, ‘cause I’ve never even touched an instrument in my life, but still.”

He hesitated, running his digit down the radio knob again. This time, there was no burst of static, and instead, faintly, notes began to play. Nothing from a song he could recognize, not when it was too dangerous to try and listen to music when someone else could overhear, but it was beautiful regardless.

“It’s killing me,” Bee said slowly. The small smile that had been tugging at his dermas faded away as the music continued to play, and he stared at the glimmering lights of Iacon far in the distance. How can two parts of the same city look so different? Feel so different? “I’m sure I could be a great musician, if I could just get out of this place.”

The music played on.

Below him, the streets of the slums of Iacon began to wake up, with various street rats crawling out of the holes they had settled into for the night as they readied themselves for yet another day of pilfering and begging. Miners, who were barely any better off, began to trickle out of the stacks buildings in various groups, some loitering on the cracked sidewalks while others began to wander towards the main city.

Bee swung his pedes idly as the song ended and once again static filled the air. He had forgotten that today was the sol the Revitalization Ceremony was to take place, and he wondered if he should set aside the time to attend. The last time such a thing took place, he and Orion had snuck into one of the many house parties thrown by the elite and stole so many high-grade cubes that their entire floor had been hungover to hell the next morning.

If Bee asked, then maybe even Sentinel could join them and -

BZZT.

“Dammit,” Bee muttered to himself, his servos flailing as he swiped at the radio and hurriedly tried to fiddle with the knobs again. “This thing’s input chip is complete scrap. I’m going to have to go around and see if I can find one, maybe in the dump… come on, come on…”

He mumbled various curses mixed with jumbled questions under his breath as he continued to poke and prod at the tiny device. When it stubbornly screeched at him in protest as he pinched one of its antennae in frustration, he sighed and flipped it around, opening the back and squinting at the delicate wires.

“No wonder why Orion was able to get you past inspection, you’re a mess, buddy,” Bee said sympathetically as he nudged a particularly frayed cable and it nearly sparked. “Ow! Okay, don’t touch that, I get it, don’t worry. You’re sensitive. I’m sensitive, too. What if I did this, instead… Aha!”

He buzzed in triumph when the static slowly began to die down and became a quiet wave of white noise. He turned the radio back around and slowly he adjusted the knob to a different frequency, trying to catch that same station again, desperate to have that small taste of being something he was not.

Bzzt… Bzzt…

“Oh, come on,” Bee said in exasperation. He mumbled something rude and then laid himself down on the concrete completely, already preparing himself to stay in that position for a while considering how stubborn the radio was being. “I’m begging you here, okay? Just a little… more…”

SCREECH.

He yipped in alarm when there was a sharp blast of static followed by a sudden silence that somehow shocked him more than the noise did. He sat there, puzzled and starting to get a little frustrated, his servo raising to once again turn the knob, but just as his digits grazed the plastic, a small sound began to crackle through the speaker.

“... ook… Rook Sol… Come… bastard… “

It was a voice, Bee thought dumbly. A voice that he had never heard before, even when his processor (the part that wasn’t frozen with confusion, anyway) hastily sped through every audio clip he had saved.

The mech who spoke was gruff, but maybe that was just the static that interfered with his words. For a moment, Bee wondered if he should have said anything into the receiver, if he should have let the mech know that he was listening in, but some part of Bee forced him to stay quiet.

He wanted to know what this was about.

Orion would have listened in, his processor whispered.

I’m not Orion, he thought back harshly.

“Rook Sol: Responding. I heard that.”

Another mech. Once again unfamiliar to Bee, but someone who spoke in a silkier tone than the first mech did. Rook Sol wasn’t a designation that Bee had ever heard of, which was rather unusual for a miner. As much as being on the streets had been tough, there came certain advantages, advantages that allowed most lower castes to be more than familiar with middle and upper caste bots.

And Bee had been one of the few who had a talent for picking up on information, since he had been the smallest sparkling before being picked up to be a miner. As it was, Rook Sol didn’t sound like a proper designation regardless.

So what was it, then? An anagram? A codename? Alias? But why? This frequency was strange, and something inside Bee’s chassis began to squirm uncomfortable as it felt like iron ants were crawling down his spinal strut.

Something was off.

“Well, if you had answered in a timely manner, I wouldn’t have to resort to such language, now would I?” The first mech said with a gruffness that practically overflowed with his annoyance.

“How good it must feel to have the luxury of eloquence. You speak more and more like a high caste by the sol, Rook Lune.” Rook Sol grunted.

There was an implication then that both these mechs weren’t high caste. Suspicion as well as fear bubbled within Bee’s abdomen.

It was even more damning, then, that these two were using code names. That meant that they were lower caste, bots who Bee couldn’t recognize despite putting in an effort to know those within his caste as much as possible.

Why would bots below level 15 need to have code names at all?

No good can come out of this, he thought to himself anxiously.

“Fuck you. Did that sound eloquent?” Rook Lune said sarcastically.

“No. Report.”

“Mhm. I’ve gained access to a key code.”

“Don’t tell me you stole it,” Rook Sol said with an anger that surprised Bee. Throughout this entire conversation, he had barely inflected his words, but this time, his tone was sharp, near a growl, and Bee didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until his sensors warned him that his inner gears were heating up too much.

What was a key code? Why was Rook Sol so mad about the idea of Rook Lune stealing it?

Bee’s helm swam with questions.

“... No. He gave it to me,” Rook Lune admitted reluctantly. It was almost as if he was hesitant to tell the truth, though the sinking feeling in Bee’s gut was telling him that the lie probably would’ve been better.

Someone had given Rook Lune a key code. Judging by their tones, that someone had to have access to things they couldn’t easily get. Similarly, it was important enough to warrant anger from Rook Sol, who Bee was quickly gleaning was not one to get easily rattled.

“He gave it to you? Why.” Rook Sol demanded.

“You know why.”

“The King told you not to.”

Bee quickly filed away the name King into his processor.

“Have you spoken with him recently?” Rook Lune asked, his voice dripping with heavy sarcasm.

Rook Sol didn’t respond.

“Then it doesn’t matter,” Rook Lune said in satisfaction.

“Fine,” Rook Sol growled, though his voice suggested anything but. “What have you found?”

“Nothing. Even restricted doesn’t have anything. We’ll have to resort to direct intervention.”

“Impossible.”

“Not if we use the positions of the Knight Noon and Pawn Venus.”

The new designations matched the pattern of both Rook Sol and Rook Lune’s own. Then that meant this was far beyond just two mechs who had too much freetime on their servos; this was starting to sound more and more like an organization.

Bee bit at his thumb. Ever since the rebellion had begun, Ultra and the Council had implemented harsh laws to disband and forbid any coalitions or even clubs, citing that the only group the public had to rely on was the senate members.

To think that not only were these mechs defying Ultra’s law like that, but to do it right under his nose, too…

“We were told to lay low. No movements until the King has spoken,” Rook Sol said sharply.

“I can’t do it on my own,” Rook Lune insisted.

“... No. We will wait for the next opportunity - “

“Sou - “

“No. The loss of you would be too great. We must remain objective. Do not let your feelings get the better of you.”

Silence.

Bee’s optics were wide as he stared at the radio, unsure of what to do. Unsure of what to think, really.

He was going to be sick.

“Fuck.” Rook Lune finally spat. “Fine. But know that I will never know rest until he faces the consequences of his mistakes.”

Bee froze.

His processor practically screamed at him as he raised his servos toward the radio, unable to decide between smashing the damn thing or turning up the volume.

The air felt like it was a single spark away from lighting up, and coolant dripped down the back of his neck cables.

They want revenge, some desperate part of him kicked at his processor. They want revenge. Badly. They’re organizing. They’re moving underground, I - I don’t - but who are they - ?

“Rest assured, I will never stop until Magnus’ helm is separated from his frame.” Rook Sol rumbled, and Bee gasped.

Immediately, he clapped his servos to his intake, his dermas trembling underneath his palms as his neural network went ablaze with his fear, but it was too late. The radio was completely silent, not even a buzz of static interrupting the abruptly still air.

“Someone’s listening,” Rook Lune hissed. “I thought you said that this was a secure line!”

“It is,” Rook Sol said. He sounded - calm. Too calm. “How did you find this frequency?”

“Are you barking mad?” Rook Lune shouted. “Shut the line down! We need to deal with this, Sol, now!”

“Be still, Lune,” Rook Sol said sharply. Miraculously, Rook Lune listened, but there was a simmering anger on his end that Bee could practically feel wafting out of the speaker. “It isn’t everyday that I find someone who can infiltrate one of my frequencies.”

Bee swallowed.

He opened his intake once, twice, before finally, he managed to whisper: “I’m sorry, it was - it was an accident. I swear.”

“An accident?” Rook Lune snarled in disbelief.

“An accident,” Rook Sol said faintly with interest.

“Find his coordinates,” Rook Lune growled. “I'll deal with him myself.”

This time, Rook Sol didn't say anything to dissuade him, merely hummed lightly as a response, and Bee felt like his heart just sank all the way to his pedes. He was stupid to assume that despite their level of secrecy, that they were just a group of frustrated bots who liked to vent to each other.

Rook Lune's genuine and explosive anger meant that he was serious. He was going to find Bee and convince him to shut up, which meant either a threat so clear that Bee would never speak again, or - memories of violence on the streets flashed through his processor - something worse.

Bee had to do something.

Say something.

Anything.

I just want to live.

“I hate him too,” Bee blurted out.

Rook Lune fell silent. Rook Sol made a small noise of inquiry, and though it wasn't much, it was enough to bolster Bee, who fumbled through his words as he stuttered out, “I-I mean - I also hate him. U… ltra. I do.”

I sound like a rebel, Bee thought to himself hysterically. They sound like rebels.

Just the thought alone made him sick. The more he pondered on it, the more his sense of dread grew, and the more he realized that it made sense, of course there were those who opposed Ultra and his rule, even if they weren't necessarily a part of the rebellion.

Ultra was law, and he had done his best to protect his people for the centuries he lead the council, and Bee - Bee didn't hate him, of course not, he wasn't a rebel, he just -

“He's hurting my friend.” Bee continued to speak. He wasn't even sure why, and more than half his neural network was working itself fiercely to work through his emotions, so much so that he was only barely aware his intake was moving. “I can't explain it, and my friend keeps denying it, but I saw the bruises with my own optics! I don't care what kind of training he's getting, it's not right, a teacher shouldn't - shouldn't hurt his student to the point that he walks around with a limp!”

Bee breathed heavily, his helm in his servos, his finials flattened and his optics wide as they stared, unseeing, at the ground. His spark beat rapidly in his audials, each beat accompanied by another memory file of one of Sentinel's numerous injuries, all a result of his training, and Bee…

Oh, he thought to himself. He felt weak. He was going to be sick.

He did hate Ultra.

The pain that he caused. How many lower caste bots ran through the streets, not knowing when their next meal would be, simply because Ultra turned a blind eye and never looked towards the slums? How many times did Bee collapse in the shitty clinic from overworking because of lack of proper labor laws, only to not receive treatment?

How many times had Ultra hit Sentinel? How many times had he hurt him? Ten? Twenty? More?

Bee could endure it. He and the other miners could endure it, sure, simply because that had been their way of life for so long that they knew nothing else. But Sentinel was different; he was an aristocrat whose servos had never ripped and tore themselves to shreds while mining, and he had never known the sharp, gnawing feeling of starvation.

Sentinel was soft, sweet, and Bee couldn't stand it when his friends were hurt.

“I hate him.” Bee repeated dully. “Oh, Primus, I actually hate him.”

“Interesting,” Rook Sol said. Bee nearly jumped; he had forgotten that he had an audience, and felt like his spark was in his throat as Rook Sol clicked his throat with a chirp that Bee immediately understood as curious. “Tell me your designation.”

Bee shuffled nervously.

Though he wasn't sure that the mechs (particularly Rook Lune) were on the verge of tracking him down and ripping his limbs off, that didn't mean he was at all interested in even risking the idea. He had done his part and secured the little radio so that it wouldn't leak his location, but giving away his designation would make all that effort obsolete.

“Tell me yours first,” Bee said instead. He was surprised that his voice didn't waver, and maybe Rook Sol was as well, because after a moment, there was a soft wheezing sound that emitted through the air, something that took Bee to realize was a laugh.

Rook Sol was amused.

“Very well.” Rook Sol rasped.

“Sol - “ Rook Lune began angrily.

“You have heard him, Lune,” Sol interjected calmly. “I heard no lie. He hates him. He is one of us. He is a brother.”

Rook Lune made a noise of annoyance. “Fine. So be it. I'm sure the Eunuch will have both our helms for this.”

“I can deal with the Eunuch,” Sol said. “Very well, mech. I will tell you.”

He paused.

And then: “Designation: Soundwave.”

Soundwave, Bee mouthed to himself. He had heard the name somewhere before, but it had to have been in passing, since his processor couldn't bring up a full file on it. Regardless, something about it relaxed him just slightly, enough that he stopped clenching his servos into fists.

They trusted him.

Well, maybe trust was too big a word, but they didn't view him as a threat anymore.

“Hello, Soundwave,” Bee said slowly. He smiled slightly. “My designation is… Bumblebee.”

Soundwave rumbled that same airy laugh again. “Hello, Bumblebee.”

“Yes, hello, Bumblebee,” Rook Lune said with such heavy sarcasm that it was a wonder Bee's audials didn't bleed. “As touching as this all is, need I remind you both that this is a private line? We need to leave, now. The longer we stay, the higher the chance of getting discovered. We've already lingered too long for my taste.”

“But - “ Bee sputtered.

“He is right,” Soundwave said. His voice was gentler than before, almost soothing, and Bee was grateful for it. “We must depart and scatter this communication frequency.”

“But how will I find you again?” Bee asked a little desperately.

“Why would you want to?” Rook Lune asked with suspicion.

“I - I don't know,” Bee said, stunned. “But my friend - I just - I need to know. Please.”

“Well, Rook Lune?” Soundwave said. He sounded amused, almost, the slightest tilt at the end of his words suggesting that he was about to laugh again.

“... Fine.” Rook Lune forced out. “Look to the sky, and peer upon Selene and Helios. The position of both will tell you. If it is Helios who rises high, find us within the musical frequencies. If it is Selene, we will hide among the arts. Understood?”

“Understood,” Bee said faintly.

“We will meet again,” Soundwave said. “Let the truth dawn. Goodbye, Bumblebee.”

“Let the truth dawn,” Rook Lune mumbled.

And with that, the line shut down, and soon there was nothing but the static in the wind, and only Bee's memory to prove that all of that had truly just happened.

He sat down on the ledge again with a clang, his optics drawn to the billboard with Ultra.

His gaze was penetrating and cruel, and Bee swallowed.

What have I done?

“Bee?”

Bee jolted from where he had been sitting, whirling around and shoving the radio back into his subspace just in time to hide it from sight. Panic mixed with anxiety nearly made him gag out of pure reflex, but it felt as if all his cables were loosening at once as he sagged, ran a servo down his face, and croaked out, “holy shit, Orion, I almost threw up!”

To be fair, Orion at least had the decency to look sheepish as he approached slowly from the door, his servos raised in some form of placation. His voice was warm and so was his hug as he embraced Bee easily, his digits sliding down the back of his helm and cradling his neck cables as he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve been looking for you for a while downstairs, but it’s kind of a mess down there.”

Bee stared blankly up at his friend, wondering what he was talking about, only to startle slightly when he remembered the brawl that had started before he went up to the roof. Wasn’t I the cause of that fight? Woops. “Oh, right, yeah. Erm… Is Jazz okay?”

He was distracted, he could tell, since usually his memory was impeccable, but it wasn’t like he could help it. That entire… thing… that had happened with designation: Soundwave had been much more impactful than he had bargained for. It was like the longer he stood there, the longer he spent thinking everything over.

I’m sure I’ve heard of Soundwave somewhere before… I need to look through my files again, but not when Orion’s here -

“He’ll be fine.” Orion waved off, guiding them back to the edge of the building and sitting down, crossing his legs and placing Bee’s doll in his lap. He patted the spot beside him and Bee complied, nestling close against him and purring quietly when he rubbed Bee’s shoulder soothingly. “If anything, you should be asking about Cliff. I’m pretty sure they had to carry him out to the clinic.”

“What?” Bee said, snapping back into the conversation. He lifted his helm off of Orion’s shoulder and searched his face a little desperately. “Please tell me you’re joking. It was that bad?”

“He can handle it,” Orion said. “There’s no way he would have conjunxed Arcee if he couldn’t. You’ve seen her roundhouses, right?”

That one was an easy file to sort out from his processor, if only because there were just so many clips. In each one, it was almost always Cliffjumper who took the brunt of Arcee’s devastating blows, though occasionally Orion or even Wheeljack would also be kicked into a complete heap.

“She’s strong,” Bee muttered, tucking away the files.

“She is,” Orion said. He paused. “What happened between you guys, Bee?”

Bee stopped purring. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why’re you asking?” Bee mumbled, getting closer and rubbing Orion’s shoulder with his cheek. It was a cheap trick but Orion always melted whenever Bee was particularly affectionate, and just like he thought, Orion began to loosen up, his own purr quietly filtering through the air.

Bee hid his smile in Orion’s chipped paint and allowed his finials to wiggle slightly with happiness. Moments like this were rare, he felt, especially with how chaotic things were at the moment. Bee loved how sturdy Orion was, how warm he felt, and how his smell of sweet engine oil as well as energon dust managed to -

Hold on.

Bee took in a discrete inhale, his processor already detecting faint traces of not only energon dust, but particles of granite and quartz, as well. No miner had been working ever since the Iacon 5000 took place, and so solvent showers had quickly followed, which meant that for once, the stacks building didn’t smell like death.

But this scent meant…

Bee shoved Orion and he accused, “you went to the mines!”

“What?” Orion said, his optics wide and definitely not innocent as he immediately leaned back, almost like he hoped the few inches of space in between them would dissuade Bee from any more accusations. But Orion was a piss poor liar, at least when it came to his friends, so he dropped the act just as quickly as he had put it on and said, “geeze, warn a guy next time! You almost gave me a spark attack.”

“Orion, you can’t go to the mines when they’re shut down, do you even know how many tiers you’ll get busted down?” Bee pleaded with a tinge of desperation. He always knew Orion was reckless at times, but this was pure stupid. “You’re already in hot oil with Ricks and Darkwing! They’ll take any chance to punish you.”

“We’re already at the bottom tier, Bee, it’s not like they can move us down any more,” Orion said with a serenity that made Bee want to hit him again. “And if I even breathe wrong they would punish me, so it’s fine.”

Bee groaned.

He despised how true those words were. Ricks was petty at best, downright cruel at worst, and Darkwing wasn’t any better. They left alone the bots who stayed in line most of the time, but for someone like Orion, that was practically impossible.

“When did you even go?” Bee asked, giving up on any pretense of scolding. It wasn’t as if Orion would listen. He hardly gave Sentinel an audial when he nagged, and out of all of them, Orion was more likely to listen to Sentinel than anyone else, so. I wish things were easier between us. I wish Orion saw me… “I thought I heard you and Jazz talking, but I fell into recharge too quickly.”

“Yeah, we talked,” Orion said, stroking the head of the doll absentmindedly. “He broke me into the archives.”

“HE WHAT?”

Several steel pigeons that had been resting nearby squawked in offense and hastily flew away, with one of them giving Bee a particularly strong stink eye.

“You - you broke - into - “ Bee sputtered, slapping his servos onto his face and dragging them down so that his optic lids stretched out. “Oh, please tell me you're joking, please tell me you're messing with me, don't you dare - “

“It was a lot of fun,” Orion said with an overly large amount of cheer. It was clear that he was teasing Bee, but there was no lie on his face as he beamed and said, “I even almost got caught by a senator!”

“ORION!” Bee yelped.

Orion laughed, and Primus help him, Bee couldn't help but laugh too. It was in moments like these that reminded Bee just how much he loved his friend, who could say such absurd things without looking like he was going to fall apart from worry or anxiety.

“I was safe, don't worry,” Orion said with a smile. “I had a… friend help me out along the way. Hey, did you know Jazz has some pals in the mid caste bots?”

“He does?” Bee said. “Huh. I mean, I guess it makes sense, he's good at talking to people. Even higher castes have to like him. Hey, why did you go to the archives? Geeze, Orion. That's way more dangerous than the usual stuff you do.”

“As dangerous as breaking into Titan's Hold?” Orion said smugly.

Bee mumbled something sheepishly under his breath.

“It wasn't my idea.” Orion admitted, glancing across the cityscape towards the hanging building of Titan's. They were both too far away to see it properly, but the dark, blurry outline of it was enough to put anyone on edge. “It was Megatron's.”

Megatron.

Even now, Bee felt uneasy at the name. His processor quickly brought up countless news reports and live recordings of what the rebel leader had done, how much spilled energon was on his servos, and Bee glanced to the side.

“I'm worried about you,” Bee said quietly. His digits fiddled with themselves in his lap and he swallowed. “I know you feel bad for him, but now you're breaking into the archives just because he asked?”

“But that's just it. He didn't ask me, Bee.” Orion insisted with such a fiercely determined look in his optics that Bee could only gape. “He didn't! I swear. I kept pressing him for answers about the Revitalization Ceremony - “

“Hold on, the ceremony?” Bee interrupted, now feeling more lost than ever. “Orion, slow down, you’re not making any sense!”

“It makes perfect sense, Bee!” Orion stood up so abruptly that Bee nearly fell back off the ledge from him lurching away on instinct. Luckily, Orion was just as easily ready to grab him, and the tight grip around Bee’s wrist only served the near maniac look on Orion’s face as he said, “the trailblazers, Hot Rod, the exploration - don’t you remember? All those datapads that Sentinel snuck us!”

“What about them?” Bee sputtered.

“Come on, Bee, your memory processor is better than mine,” Orion said fiercely. “Before the Primes disappeared, Cybertron was considered a leader in galactic travel and tech development. We had hundreds of planets and moons under the name of Primus, and - “

“And now we’re not,” Bee said slowly. Almost unwittingly, his processor flicked through the thousands of files he had saved away, all the way back to the very first datapad that Sentinel had snuck them, a basic tome about how to begin reading. “Because Ultra said that with how weak Cybertronians are, we’re susceptible to foreign illnesses that could wipe us out in a klik.”

“Exactly,” Orion said triumphantly. “It doesn’t make sense! Our medics are better than ever, and we know more about Cybertronian biology than we did before. Why would we stop now? Why are we still here underneath the surface, trapped?”

“Orion - “

“And the trailblazers! Every single one of them have died, Bee.” Orion interrupted. His optics shined a blue so bright that they were practically cyan as he gestured wildly to the billboard of Ultra. “Do you know where they were found? Here! In Iacon! It’s his fault, Bee, it’s the only explanation! Megatron was right! Don’t you see? He’s the one who - “

He faltered.

His intake fell open slightly on his next word, but no sound fell out, and his optics were wide as he stared down at Bee, who looked back with what had to be a similarly stunned expression.

“You blame Ultra,” Bee said faintly.

“Do I?” Orion croaked.

“I think you do,” Bee said, the words blocky and wrong in his intake.

Orion’s dermas moved. He swallowed. “I - I’m not a rebel, Bee. I swear. I would never betray Sentinel like that. You know I wouldn’t.”

Bee glanced back up at the board.

There was no love for his people within Ultra’s fierce glare. Once, Bee had believed that it was simply because he held a love that most couldn’t understand. Now, finally, he understood that it was simply because Ultra’s love was what most others would call indifference.

“I know you’re not a rebel,” Bee said. He smiled hesitantly at Orion, whose face was so pale of energon that he was practically a sheet of silver and nothing more. “I’m not, either.”

Orion collapsed down onto the ledge with a loud clang. He crossed his legs and covered his intake with a shaky servo. He didn’t make a sound as he clutched at himself, a sight that greatly disturbed Bee, who had never witnessed Orion be anything less than loud.

“There’s something really wrong, Bee,” Orion finally said after several kliks of silence. He didn’t move his servo from his intake, almost like he was afraid Ultra could hear them even now, but the muffled nature of his voice didn’t take away from the seriousness of it. “We have to figure out what. Megatron’s trying, but it’s not enough. We have to help him.”

“You’re asking me to help Megatron?” Bee asked, his voicebox warbling in fear as he fiddled with his digits. “But I…”

I can’t, I’m scared.

I can’t, I don’t want to die.

I can’t… I don’t want to betray Sentinel.

“Please.”

Orion’s servo, worn and busted more times than Bee could count, reached over and curled around his. Like the hundreds of times they had done this, their digits seamlessly slid over each other’s, with Orion’s thumb protecting his, like Orion had always done to Bee. Even back when they had been smaller and younger, with even less than they had now, Orion had always done his best to provide.

“You go too fast, Orion,” Bee said unsteadily. “I can’t keep up.”

“Then I’ll just carry the both of us to the truth,” Orion said.

The grin on his face was crooked, and Bee had known and lived and stole with this mech ever since they had been sparklings. He could recognize that Orion wasn’t just nervous; he was scared, probably more scared than he had ever been, and yet one thing remained the same.

Orion simply wanted to do what was right.

“Okay,” Bee said.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Bee said again.

“Okay,” Orion said in awe.

“Where do we begin?”

“We need to help Hot Rod. Megatron told me that there’s someone in his rebellion that’s already trying, but we have to find him again. I should have asked Jazz for his comm link, shit…”

“Well,” Bee said slowly. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Orion had said. I’ll just carry us both to the truth. It was eerily similar to what Soundwave had signed off with. “I… might have an idea.”

We will meet again.

May the truth dawn.

---

Act I, Scene XVIII: Alexa, Play Boss Music

“This tastes like piss.” Councilman Sunstreaker retorted with all the elegance of someone far below his station as he lounged across one of Magnus’ armchairs and periodically sipped at a faintly glowing cube. “You call this the good stuff?”

“Pedes off the furniture,” Councilman Jetfire muttered. He, at least, was sitting properly in the armchair right beside Sunstreaker. Though both of them were close in age, there was a certain grace to Jetfire as he carefully plucked the half-full cube from Sunstreaker’s digits, clicking his glossa when the latter began to complain. “Don’t throw a tantrum, Sun. Think of our host.”

When both of them glanced towards Magnus’ way, he simply swirled his own cube slowly, only flicking his optics down to catch sight of their wide gazes in the reflection of the window before he went back to staring out the glass.

“Right,” Sunstreaker said, seemingly sobering up as he hastily straightened himself up. Magnus would have to remind him again later just why his behavior was inappropriate, he thought to himself idly, and he took a sip as Sunstreaker cleared his vocalizer in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, my lord. I just thought that you would be bringing out the hard stuff from your - !”

“Enough!”

“Ow! What the - did you just pinch me, you fragger?”

“Anything to stop you from going on another spiel about Prime aged high-grade.”

“I’ll have you know that my hot piece of an assistant is looking for a recipe right now. You know, screw you, I’m not giving you any - “

“That’s fine by me. Your taste in mechs still leaves much to be desired, honestly…”

Magnus tuned out the bickering of the senators, his processor easily lowering the sensitivity of his audials as he continued to drink his energon and stared out the window of his study, irritation soothed for the moment as the sound of their argument drifted away into static.

Though he loathed how he had had to choose those two idiots to be a part of his congress, it had been necessary, and so he simply stood there, leaning against the glass and tucking away a note in his files that he had certainly let his councilmen gain too much autonomy if they deigned to act like this around him.

Rather than giving either of them the satisfaction of acknowledgement, he simply stared out the window of his study, and at the bright pink and purple of the morning as their sun began to peak beyond the rough edges of the opening to their city.

Like this, the rays fell directly through the glass, warming him and his always-chilly armor. To his satisfaction, he saw the last edge of Selene disappear beyond the horizon, her silver and small edges meekly returning to the other side of the planet, as she deserved. He detested their moon greatly, and something in him was satisfied as he watched their sun rise instead.

He rather liked the way Helios pushed Selene aside any time he rose. There was a ruthlessness to Helios’ light, a burning that always satisfied that never-ending hunger in Magnus’ frame. For a long time, he had once believed that his old friends had been the equivalent of their sun, and he Selene; after all, was there anything more glorious than a Prime?

But that was before everything. He had earned the righteous placement of the sun, and he had thoroughly burned away any part of himself that had once resembled that pathetic, unsightly figure of Selene.

“Your ambition knows no bounds,” a voice whispered.

All the better to further Cybertron, he thought back.

“Pitiful,” another murmured.

He glanced at the window.

In the reflection of the cold glass, passing over the ghostly colors of Sunstreaker and Skyfire, he caught the barest wisp of something else. Taller than him, with armor that he had to see every fragging sol in the damn covenant hall. The gazes of Primes who had once called him brother, and if he let himself slip, he could perhaps even feel the slightest touch of a reprimanding servo on his shoulder plate.

Ghosts have no place here, he thought fiercely.

“Not even ghosts of your own machinations?” A figure muttered.

“Are we ghosts, or are we your verdict?” Another asked.

“You will never be rid of us.”

“May your spark never rest.”

“Your history is your marionettist.”

Do you regret it? Do you? Do you regret it? Doyoudoyoudoyoudoyoudoyouregretit -

SNAP.

“ - nus! My lord!”

“Holy - shit, he’s bleeding!”

Magnus blinked slowly. The figures, fuzzy and disoriented, disappeared like they had never been there in the first place. The only ones in the reflection of the glass were him, the anxious face of Jetfire, and a panicked Sunstreaker one.

His processor whirled slowly, clicking disagreeably as it struggled to burn away those phantoms - those voices - as his pain network pinged him urgently. Notifications flooded his vision as slowly, he looked down, and saw his high grade mixing gently with his energon in a puddle of different blues.

He flexed his servo, the wounds from the shattered glass of the cube stinging as he did, and Jetfire made a noise of protest as he hastily reached out, snagged his wrist, and blurted out, “my lord, no! Shoot - can we get some help in here, please?”

“OY! IDIOTS!” Sunstreaker bellowed in a much less graceful manner as he flung open the doors to Magnus’ study with such ferocity that they banged off the walls. His etiquette lessons have to be revisited, some part of Magnus filed away as the councilman stuck his helm out and shouted even louder. “DID YOU NOT HEAR US, YOU USELESS PIECES OF SLAG? GET THE DAMN MEDIC IN HERE!”

“H-He's currently on leave, my lord,” some pitiful lower caste femme squeaked when her colleague shoved her forward to face the brunt of Sunstreaker’s wrath. Most of herself was obscured by his towering figure, but Magnus caught the fleeting glimpse of shaky digits and flattened finials as she continued to stutter, “he said he’s o-on call for Iacon Spark so he won’t be back until - “

“Then bring the first aid kit before I pummel you into the - “ Sunstreaker began to snarl.

“Enough.” Jetfire interjected sharply. He was wiping away as much of the energon and high-grade as possible with his own servo, seeming unperturbed by the mess that was accumulating in between his seams. “Go. Get the first aid kit.”

The femme sniffled, mumbled a confirmation, and scurried off.

“My lord,” Jetfire said, sounding rather rough with distress as he gently curled his digits around Magnus’. “Why would you do this?”

Why would you do this?

Why, Magnus?

Why?

Magnus simply stared out the window.

Phantoms gazed back.

#megop #dpax #megatron #optimus prime #orion pax #d-16 #sentinel prime #bumblebee #transformers #transformers one #undertow #oh my goddddd writers block was beating my ass

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