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Megatronus descended from his makeshift stage in the midst of cheers and applause, a silver bullet ebbing through a sea of mismatched colors and frames. Mechs he’d never met before clapped him on his shoulder, their words of praise and admiration fueling the high that he was on. The streets had been filled to the brim with his supporters, all drinking in the words and promises he’d proclaimed into the air.
Yet a quick scan of the area revealed the absence of one of his closest confidants. Orion Pax was nowhere to be found within the ocean of his supporters. His smile faltered, the grin not quite reaching his optics as it had before. Soundwave flanked close behind him, answering the questions that had fallen silent on Megatronus’s audio sensors.
Amazing how the absence of one single droid could pull him from the elevated feeling he’d experienced just moments before. Even politicians had managed to wriggle their way into the crowd, inviting Megatronus to meet privately with him. And yet he felt empty.
“Did Orion not receive a personal invite to this speech?” Megatronus communicated to Soundwave mentally as he continued to shake hands with the mechs around him, “this is the second time he’s done this.”
“Orion: Preoccupied with data organization. Sent his apology an hour ago,” Soundwave communicated back, effortlessly, “Suggestion: Go visit him. This is becoming a pattern.”
Megatronus did not have to be told twice. He excused himself, leaving his disciples on an amicable note before leaping into the air, and transforming into his familiar jet form. The route to Iacon was second nature to the silver mech now, something he never would have guessed would have happened in a million years. Such a city had been one of the many targets of his anger and hate. How many politicians in Iacon had chained he and his brethren down, had forced them to submit to their “greater”, superior will. He had hated Iacon with a passion, much like Vos and the other higher caste cities. And yet, Orion had somewhat changed his vision of things.
If only to prove that even the ugliest places in their corrupted society had their jewels.
Yet he felt a twinge of annoyance when his gaze settled upon his rather occupied friend. He could see him through the large, open arched windows carved into Iacon’s old halls, busy pouring over a tray of data pads. In a fluid movement, Megatronus jumped into the halls, transforming midair and descending before a wayward Orion Pax.
“I didn’t see you at my speech today,” He beat him to a greeting, standing at full height with his arms crossed, “the speech I told you about ages ago. The one you helped write.”
Orion paused, azure gaze locked onto Megatronus’s. For a second, he stared, hands paused against the data pad he had been occupied with, and optic ridges knitted tightly together. His mouth opened as if he meant to speak, only for his jaw to close moments later. Megatronus stared back, slightly uncomfortable at the growing silence.
“Orion, did you–”
The Gladiators own mouth dropped as Orion turned away from him mid sentence to continue organizing his data. The initial anger he felt died down, replaced instead with a deep sense of concern. It wasn’t unusual for Orion to lose track of time due to his duties, but this was different. This was unnatural.
And then he saw it . A small, circular device on the back of Orion’s neck, just below his helm. A chronometer. The kind used to ensure a task was done seamlessly in a given time. One that he hadn’t seen since his time in the mines. His memory was vague regarding such a device, but he understood the basics. It was only meant to be a simple timer, but to be placed on one’s neck, interfering directly with the electricity that ran through their body. That was different. And he knew a body modification when he saw it.
Megatronus moved without thinking, and his anger was renewed ten fold. “What in the Pit is this?” He hissed, yanking the device from the back of Orion's neck, “a chronometer?”
Orion hissed, then blinked. And brought a servo to the back of his neck, wincing in pain.
“I..I apologize Megatronus, do you mind if we sit? I’m afraid my processor is readjusting to the sudden loss of the chronometer.” Megatronus wasn’t sorry for removing it, though he guided Orion to the nearest seat they could find, giving him a few moments to recollect himself.
“I am very sorry. I meant to respond to you earlier, but I hadn’t been given my time yet. I didn’t expect you to come to Iacon today, and Soundwave said he would tell you I was busy.”
“Your ‘given your time’”? What does that even mean Orion? Why did you have a chronometer on your neck? Why weren’t you speaking with me?” Megatrons tried his best to level his words, to snuff out the fire raising in his spark.
“The higher ups have deemed it necessary to add chronometers to the frames of the clerks. They are simply testing out productivity output. If we work in intervals, the theory is that we can increase the rate at which we are organizing data, and reduce error rates. It was not only done to me.”
Megatronus gulped, his words clear and icy, “Did you provide your consent? Did they inform you of the side effects, such as not being able to speak?”
“They–I–I don’t remember? Yes?” Orion’s answer provided no relief, “This doesn’t matter. It’s standard. Occasionally, when we aren’t working to their standards, they will implement new techniques and technology to ensure we are working at 100% efficiency. However, they were simply running a test phase today.” Orion's defense of his “higher ups” was frightening to Megatronus, and it tugged at a fear he’d long sense overcome.
“But you were unaware of the consequences, and how it would change you?” He asked again, forcing his voice to calm.
Orion ex-vented, closing his optics, “Yes, but it’s not what you think. We have specific coding, and sometimes it fails. If that’s the case, then they deem it necessary to–”
“Orion how is this any different from slavery?” Megatronus couldn’t keep the edge from his voice, “Coding? And when that fails, a piece of hardware that makes you forget where you are? Makes you unable to speak or to talk?”
Megatronus stared deeply into the innocent, deep eyes of Orion. He could get lost in them, on a good day. But today, he was fearful. Horrified. He looked on in sheer terror, fearful that he’d look away only to be met with the bland, empty mech he’d met just moments ago. “You do not even know what they’re doing to you.”
“I am not a slave, Megatronus. What you and I went through are different,” Orion spoke firmly, the only indication in the entire conversation that he’d been himself, “I am a clerical bot. That is my purpose.”
And Megatronus knew he should not have asked the next question. Knew the answer would either anger him, horrify him, or both. Yet he pressed on.
“And when the revolution happens, when there is no more caste, what will you do?”
“You will need someone to organize your data. There will be clerical task. I assumed you would want me to do it.” He responded, practiced like he’d rehearsed it a hundred times before.
“Do you think that’s why I befriended you? To make you do my office work?”
“No, I think you befriended me because we are friends. But I am a data droid. I was created for a singular purpose, Megatronus. To organize data. Even if Cybertron did have a successful revolution, I doubt I’d operate outside of what I was created for.”
“Orion, listen to me, and listen carefully,” he gripped his shoulder plating tightly, pulling him close, “You are more than just a walking organizer. You are a Cybertronian who deserves to have his own wants and needs outside of his programming. That is what we are fighting for. And you do not deserve any less than that. Do you understand.”
“I..I will try to, and I do. I just don’t think it applies to mechs like me.” He said, not a hint of sadness in his voice, “and that’s okay. As long as I can organize data by your side, I am okay.”
“So you do have aspirations, and you do have desires outside of your station,” the relief set in, and Megatronus embraced his friend before he could debate him any further, “You have fight within you, I beg of you to hold on to it.”
“But it’s just data.” He said, muffled, “I am not fighting for my life in the mines or the pits, not like you.”
Megatronus was tired. Something about Orion had zapped the energy from him, and he didn’t know what. Maybe it was the fact that he felt as if he were talking to a wall, or that Orion genuinely believed his life was okay. Or maybe it was the great sadness he felt for his friend, the one he loved the most in the world.
“We all have our own battles, Orion. You are just starting to fight yours.” He muttered, “you’ve done so well at helping me fight mine, only to hide the one you have here.”
“Excuse me. Orion needs to return to processing his data.” Megatronus blinked, fighting the urge to slack the mech who had just interrupted them. Only, he looked into similar blank eyes, “He should have a few more minutes left.”
Orion maneuvered himself from beneath his friend, taking the chronometer from Megatraonus. “I apologize for missing your speech, Megatronus. I will be at the next one, I promise.”
He didn’t give Megatronus a chance to respond. He simply placed the chronometer back onto his body, his form growing rigid and mechanical as he found his cart of data pads again.
“Just like you promised last time.” Megatronus said to himself, jumping and taking flight. He didn’t bother to let Orion know he was leaving. His friend was no longer there. And according to the other droid, wouldn't be for some time.